nico

“yeah, baby, m’just too sleepy … we have to be up at sunrise again tomorrow, but do whatever you want.”

he groans against your neck. “I love you so much, angel, it makes my heart fucking hurt. so perfect for me.”

“yeah? you’re such a good boy, reiner.”

he chokes out a soft cry, and you’d be lying if you tried to say that you weren’t getting a bit worked up, but you’re exhausted. he’s softly pawing at your stomach and hips, crying and sniffling. he’s just so fucking big, his warm hands traveling along your pretty body, and his big, heavy length slotted against you.

“you love me, don’t you? please tell me that you love me, baby.”

“I love you, reiner.”

he sighs, his heart pounding in his chest. you kiss him softly, one of his hands gently wrapping around your throat, the other pushing your hips back into his and holding you there. he’s rubbing against you in long strokes, humping against your thighs and ass. the friction from the clothes does feel good, but he desperately wants to touch your skin.

while you’re distracted by his mouth, his fingers pull at your pajamas and slip into your panties. you moan against his lips, so close that you’re stealing each other’s breaths. he rubs your clit so softly, in gentle circles, just enough for your cunt to start dripping around his fingertips. after a moment, you push his hand away and he whines.

“shhhh, just focus on yourself.” you reassure him as you turn away, still mostly preoccupied with sleep. “n-need, please.” he whispers, on the verge of tears. “yeah? you need my pussy, baby?” you take his hand in yours again, and you’re so much smaller than him. you guide his hand back into your panties, gently placing your fingers over top of his while he whimpers and humps you harder.

he’s close, but he’s having second thoughts about cumming in his pants and making such a mess this fucking late. he slips his pajamas off, turning you onto your stomach and fucking your perfect thighs while rubbing your clit. he’s practically laying on top of you, his face still in your neck and you’re both panting and moaning into the pillows — it’s desperate, messy, and rushed, but it feels so fucking good.

“reiner, just—” you breathe, hardly able to think. at first, you didn’t care about finishing, but now it’s all you can think about. “just let me fuck you, baby, please, just lay down.”

“nnnn,” he whines, “I’m gonna cum, angel, please, I can’t—”

“rei, baby, be good, just listen to me.”

he swallows hard, pouting, but of course he’s going to listen to you. he’s your good boy.

he lets you settle on top of him, his toes curling and his eyes nearly crossing as soon as you sink down onto his thick cock. your warm, tight pussy gets caught on his rosy head due to the lack of prep, and you softly fuck yourself on it until you can slip further down his length. he lets out a cry, covering his mouth, biting his hand to keep quiet.

you normally need to be prepped much more because he’s so big, but you need him fast and you need him now. it’ll always be a struggle to fit him, and his gentle fingering didn’t really open you up much. your brows knit together as you bite your lip in concentration, planting your dainty hands onto his chest, your little pussy fluttering as she swallows him down inch by inch.

“reiner .. it’s too fucking big,” you pout, riding him as best as you can in deep, languid strokes that you can feel in your tummy.

“I know, m’so sorry, baby. I’ll eat your pussy for hours next time, I’m sorry, I just needed you so fucking bad tonight.” he sighs, breathless.

he lets you fuck him like this, one hand resting behind his head and the other on your waist, his muscles clenching and shimmering in the soft candlelight. he thinks that you’re the most gorgeous thing in the world, and he can’t believe how lucky he is to let you use him like this, to be allowed the privilege of pleasing you .. which makes him realize that he should be the one doing the work.

“doin’ so good for me, c’mere, pretty girl.” he whispers, softly laying you onto his chest, his hands guiding your hips to ride him. he knows how sleepy you are, and he just wants you to sit there and take it like his perfect little cocksleeve. and god, are you good at it; just whining and crying and praising him, softly digging your nails into his muscular chest while you lick and suck at his neck, brushing against his sensitive nipples every so often, making him whimper and lose control.

you’re absolutely soaked now, which lets him pound you hard as he easily slips in and out of your pretty hole. he’s so gentle and sweet in the way he touches you, but not in the way that he’s fucking you right now. he can tell that you’re close, and he’s surprised that he’s held out this long. your pussy is squeezing around him like your life depends on it, and you’re fucked out, mewling about how deep he is and how fucking good he feels.

“shhhh, baby, just cum for me, please.” he pleads so softly, taking his thumb to rub your little sweet spot to help you out. “good fucking girl, that’s it.” he feels you clench down hard as you cum on his big cock, and he has to pull out right that second or he’s going to fill you up. the pit of your stomach is hot, all molten lust that pours out of you while you shiver and clench around nothing, and he replaces two of his thick fingers right where he was inside of you so that he can help fuck you through it.

you’re sobbing, wetting his chest with warm tears, grasping at him and you feel ropes of hot, thick cum coat his abs where you’re on top of him. reiner groans and cries your name, holding you close as he quietly shushes you, still rubbing his gorgeous, massive, needy cock against your stomach just to overstim himself against your soft skin.

he kisses your pretty face all over, and you’re already falling asleep again because you’re so comfy and content. he grabs a worn shirt of his and cleans up before slipping on fresh clothes, trying his best not to stir you. he doesn’t care about any sticky mess on himself; he just wants you to be comfortable and warm for the night. he sighs, softly kissing your cheek as he holds you close. reiner looks at you with all of the love in the world, rubbing your back and threading his scarred fingers through your hair.

“love you, angel girl.”

yeah, he plans to wake you up with head in the morning as thanks for putting up with him when he gets like this.

先輩 ⸻ written by senpai with love

notes. reiner, you’ll always be famous :3

[ @slutsenpai ⨯ my masterlist ] — likes, reblogs & comments much appreciated! ◟♡ do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my writing anywhere for any reason

general rei hc's 💫

🧸: reiner luvs baking for you as he knows how much you love sweet treats. sometimes he just shows up at your place with a basket of muffins or a tray of cupcakes

🧸: he luvsss to make silly tiktoks with you — especially if they're couple trend

🧸: after a long day he luvs to rest his head in your lap and have you play with his hair

🧸: always helps you with homework, the boy has brains and brawn.

🧸: reiner is a devout smoker. he's a stressed guy, and he destresses by chainsmoking. you lowkey find it super attractive tho.

🧸: reiner LUVSSSS when you curl up into his arms after a particularly hard day. he loves feeling your body moulded against his.

🧸: he plays with your hair all the time. like. all. the. time. he loves doing your hair for you too.

🧸: reiner luvs watching you do your makeup, especially when you make your lips into an O shape to do your mascara — he finds it so endearing.

🧸: he also luvs cats. not in a male manipulator way, just in a genuine love for the animals. he has a russian blue named smoky.

🧸: super protective of you. whenever someone even BREATHES funny around you, he's pulling you into his side, glaring at the other person.

🧸: sometimes has his doubts. he can be quite jealous when you interact with others, but all you have to do to remedy that is grab his face and pepper it with kisses. all jealousy forgotten.

🧸: that being said, you can also be EXTREMELY jealous. he's a pretty popular guy, and that means girls always try and get his attention.

🧸: he doesn't give them it though. rather he passes them off, saying he has a girlfriend. none of that "sorry i have a girlfriend." bullshit with him. he's straight up. "i have a girlfriend."

🧸: always posting you on social media. always. has a designated insta highlight of just you.

🧸: constantly reminds you of how gorgeous you are. he's always telling you that you look pretty, and he's always doting on you. he buys you flowers all the time, he's always writing you little love letters and he loves you loudly.

🧸: reiner keeps a picture of you in his wallet. yep, he's that inlove. he says "you're the type of woman he'd go to war for."

🧸: the king of princess treatment. he pays for your hair and nails, he refuses to split the bill, he tops up your makeup when it runs out, buys you your favourite snacks etc.

🧸: always holds doors open for you. he's like a built in bodyguard. if any guy hits on you, he lets them know you're taken.

🧸: that being said, he's not overbearing, he's very aware that you appreciate space, and he's always willing to give you it.

🧸: he will always pamper you, but even moreso when you have your period. he's not the type of man to avoid the topic or get grossed out. no, no. this man will track your cycle so he can be aware of any irregularities or any moodswings he needs to know are coming.

🧸: when you do get your period, he treats you like a queen. he bathes with you, brushes and braids your hair, he gets you heat packs and pain relievers, he will have your favourite snacks and movie ready. and he's always there if you need to cry.

🧸: matter of fact, he will too.

🧸: he's quite a vulnerable person, and that's what you love about him. he doesn't have to pretend to be strong around you. some days he'll just collapse into your arms, and you'll hold him tight, letting him vent.

🧸: you're both very open about your emotions, and you both work through it together. if you're struggling, reiner is quick to notice it, and he's always there to pick you back up.

physical rei headcanons💐

🍰: he has a dimple on his left cheek that appears when he smiles.

🍰: he has quite a low laugh, that melts your heart.

🍰: he has big strong arms and legs, but he's also quite lean; this is moreso visible if he's going through a rough patch.

🍰: he bites his nails when he's anxious.

🍰: he literally refuses to get glasses, even though he literally has to squint to see anything.

🍰: but you persuade him to, and he's the literal cutest with those dorky glasses on.

🍰: he has freckles all over his back, along with some scattered acne.

🍰: fluffy ass hair that you love to play with. he keeps it that way specifically for you.

🍰: veiny hands. not too veiny to the point it's scary, but attractive.

🍰: he has this watch he always wears on his right wrist. always has to be his right.

🍰: two little fanged teeth that poke out from his lips when he smiles.

🍰: literally the most LUCIOUS eyelashes ever. you're always so jealous of how naturally long and thick they are.

🍰: prettiest hazel eyes. sometimes you just lay on him to stare into them. you say they look like honey.

🍰: this man's v-line... lord have mercy.

🍰: big ass gorgeous perfect stunningly beautiful amazing ethereal nose. big biggggg nose. what doja said. you luv his nose ;)

🍰: his little beard + mustache combo tickles your cupids bow when you kiss. and you luvvvv it.

🍰: he's not an extremely hairy guy, and he always grooms himself well. if he's going through a rough patch, he'll let his beard grow out the tiniest bit.

🍰: softest lips ever. like sooooo soft. like pillows.

rei's favourite dates 🌧

💌: this man just loves to be with you.

💌: he loves taking you out to eat, even if it's just at a little dinner downtown where you both share a milkshake or some pancakes.

💌: for your birthday, he will always spoil you. always. whatever you're interested in, whether it be art, theatre, music etc, he'll always do something on theme for you.

💌: he loves going on walks — esp in the fall. fall dates are his favourite, even if the weather is gloomy. you both stop at a little coffeehouse and share a cinnamon bun and have some coffee whilst talking eachother's ears off about trivial things.

💌: reiner just loves seeing you smile. your smile means more than anything to him — that's why

💌: he even loves home dates. just messing around in the kitchen baking or laying in bed together, limbs tangled asleep.

💌: reiner will always make you feel loved, no matter what. you're his love and he will always take care of you 🪽🩷

history teacher!erwin smith who finds empty classes for you to have lunch together and talk about that morning or grade papers together. You would sit across from each other, your heel caressing his leg as he rambles about his new ways of teaching the World War I.

history teacher!erwin smith who got caught staring at you through the window between your rooms during passing period. He was supposed to be writing lesson objectives on the board; instead he had his chin in his hand, eyes soft, completely zoned out watching you explain Punnett squares with animated hand gestures.

history teacher!erwin smith who would die to attend one of your lectures to just listen to your voice. He would sit at the back row, looking at you move through the class, he would ask interesting questions that he knows you'd love to answer. He just loves watching his wife talk about what she enjoys the most.

history teacher!erwin smith whose students are going crazy because they see him flirting with their Biology teacher (and her flirting back), but both of them wear wedding rings! It's a scandal, everyone is going crazy to know more about you two.

Imagine how they react when they see you get in the same car after school!

history teacher!erwin smith who absolutely loses composure when you casually drop by his room after school to return a book he lent you (it’s actually just an excuse to see him). The second you step inside, his commanding lecture voice drops to something warm and private. He forgets there are still stragglers packing up; one girl freezes mid-zip of her backpack when he murmurs, “You look beautiful today,” Cue immediate sprint to the group chat: “I JUST WITNESSED MR. SMITH FLIRT WITH MRS. L/N IN REAL TIME. THEY’RE CHEATERS. CONFIRMED.”

history teacher!erwin smith who finds out of all that fake drama in an evening. He's cooking with some podcast on while you're in the living room grading papers. An email pops in his screen from the school, explaining the whole situation and how it's distracting their students.

"My love, you aren't going to believe what we caused in the school." Then he reads the email out loud for you. You nearly drop your red pen. Within seconds you're both doubled over the kitchen island, tears in your eyes, wheezing.

history teacher!erwin smith who, still chuckling, pulls you against him by the waist and stage-whispers like he’s in on the world’s best conspiracy, “Darling, we’re having an affair with ourselves. How delightfully scandalous.” You swat his chest, trying (and failing) to stay stern, but then he dips you dramatically over the cutting board like you’re in some romance film.

you really were such a marvel, weren’t you? a force to truly be reckoned with.

as sweat had started to cling to his skin, turning the palms of his hands clammy, and as the ends of his hair stuck themselves to the nape of his neck, joost had found himself stuck. not even the end of the world could have moved him from his spot amongst the crowd. in a single breath, almost, you had him hooked, didn't you? obsessed with you.

though honestly, it shouldn't have taken them so long to realise. the clues had all been there, right underneath their noses – stuntje, bram, teun, lyon. how they’d each had to queue to get in and then pay in cash on the door, despite it only, at least seeming to be a regular, old run-of-the-mill bar on the city outskirts. how it was wall-to-wall heaving with people all clad in heavy, dark leather and silver chains, leaving them with hardly enough room to stand on their own.

but the countless shots of tequila from the last three bars had still coursed heavily through their veins, clouding their judgements and skewing their eyesights. none of them had taken any notice of all the posters stuck up around the room, but even if they had, they wouldn't have thought to google translate them. priority one had been figuring out who’s round it was then, and priority two was trying to spot a bottle of don julio behind the bar. 

it took the sudden, deafening strum of an electric guitar to make them all jump enough to spill a few drops of their drinks. as lyon had glanced up from his phone, already in search of the next bar to crawl to, joost was turning on his heel to follow the sound across the room, around a corner, leaving the rest of them to all trail behind him. seeing the make-shift stage set up right against the far back wall; all the mic stands, guitar peddles, and miscellaneous cables that drowned it — the penny had finally dropped. 

aimlessly, they had wandered into your show without even realising it. an exclusive, ‘one night only’  intimate show in one of the last few countries in europe that your band hadn’t played in yet. and bram had been the first one to say it – a little in awe but also ever so slightly, harmlessly mocking the situation, asking if they’d all somehow stumbled into a ‘my chemical romance concert circa 2006’. it was only because of that, that joost had taken another sip of his double-tequila, eager to settle the disappoint in his chest as he readied himself to leave after only the first song or two. the whole ‘goth’ thing wasn't exactly to everyone’s tastes; joost had already accepted that he was bound to be outnumbered in wanting to stay.

except then, you had sauntered on stage, hadn’t you? with your band-mates all following in tow. you, in all of your delicate, black lace; your sweet, saccharine smile, and a voice so heavenly that he could only stand there and watch you sing with parted lips, hypnotised. by the third song in he was already looking you up on every platform that he could think of. on instagram, some part of him stopped working properly when he’d seen that ‘follow back’ button staring right back at him.

it had flustered him terribly. had him clicking on it and following you back without any hesitation or regard of the potential ramifications. as stuntje had begun to tease, yelling something about ‘goth mommies’ right into his ear, he’d only shaken his head and tried to swat him away, unable to hide the soft rosiness of his cheeks. 

so the end of your show had come as quite a relief, actually. it gave him the chance to eventually step outside for a moment, to shake all the sweat from his hair with the tips of his fingers and take a heavy, big deep breath in. as the others all lost themselves in the debate of ‘bar number five vs mcdonald’s’, joost was busy chain-smoking through his pack of cigarettes and trying to brainstorm different ways he could possibly collaborate with you somehow.

maybe he could teach you how to rap or something; maybe you could be the one to finally teach him how to sing.

because he just couldn’t get you out of his head. over the sound of a dozen other conversations all happening around him, he could still hear the sound of your voice in his ears, see the sight of you glowing on stage every time that he so much as blinked. 

“oh shit, wait, isn’t that…?”  he ignored the slight nudge to his ribs, his head still down, gaze still fixed on his shoes. “fuck, okay, she’s coming right for you, man. wake up.”

and you were, weren’t you? making a straight fucking beeline for him, with the brightest fucking grin tugging at your lips. 

the dark blouse and long, awkward skirt that you’d been wearing on stage still cling to your skin, blowing in the wind that would have sent a chill straight down your spine if it wasn’t for the heavy coat that you now wear. your shoulders carry most of the weight of the denim that almost swallows you whole, threatening to fall down past your hands and hanging around your ankles. though somehow in spite of the weather, you still radiate warmth.

and it throws joost right off his axis. not at your lips or around your eyes, there’s not a single smudge of anything anywhere. there’s no pinkness to your face, or droplets of sweat settling along your hairline. it’s all too good to be true — you’re standing right in front of him now, close enough for him to see the faint smile lines that frame your mouth, and it’s just perfect. 

“of all people i thought i’d see here, you really weren’t one of them.”  he only manages a nervous, half-smile before you’re continuing with an inked hand splayed out across your heart. “i have to admit that it’s been a while, but i used to watch you on youtube all the time; do you still go by unicorn-joost?” 

his friends all cough simultaneously, their shoulders jolting, each and every one of them failing at trying to hide their sudden cackles. they’re a little too amused by the simple, almost innocent translation of his old social media name, laughing in a way that has no malice behind it at all, but holds just enough of something that joost refuses to entertain it. he can tell that you’re trying — hear how there’s a rich softness to your accent that’s indicative of some place else. english isn’t your first language either; to join in would feel almost cruel to him.

he only smiles at you sweetly as he shakes his head, endeared by just how equally giddy you seem to be. “just joost now… i’ve grown up.”

and your voice wavers just enough for him to hear it when you finally return the favour and introduce yourself, speaking your name and giggling when he tries to repeat it back to you in your accent.

“did you enjoy the show, joost?”  

you really don’t expect him to say ‘yes!’ as feverishly as he does. 

maybe it’s not fair of you to judge him or any of his friends as so, but it feels too safe to have assumed that none of them were exactly your intended demographic. they stick out like sore thumbs amongst the rest of your fans; the only ones adorning any sort of colour in their outfits, one of which in a minecraft t-shirt, and a severe lack of any type of leather. you can see it on their faces, feel it in their body language, that they’re just not used to being around so many people that all look like you. it’s cute.

but it means that you’re left speechless when joost veers away from the script that you’d had ready in your head. you were prepared for a cordial ‘yeah, it wasn’t bad!’ and nothing more; something a little obvious in its lack of sincerity. you’re not quite sure what to do with it when he just starts rambling instead, apologising for not having heard of you before, but promising that it was one of the best performances that he’s yet to see. how his friends are all nodding behind him whilst he’s waving his hands around, taking drags of his cigarette in between breaths, calling you captivating and ‘unlike anything that he’s ever seen’. 

a blush of your own starts to creep it’s way up the back of your neck as you finally find the right words to say, clutching onto your own hands just to stop them from shaking. “thank you, you don’t…you have no idea how much that means to me, wow.”

“how do you do that, by the way?”  he waggles a finger in front of his eyes, head tilting to the side. “i wear the eyeliner for my own shows sometimes, but it never stays right.”

you try to answer without stumbling over any syllables, gazing into the blue of his eyes and already trying to picture how they’d look with a thick streak of black along their waterlines. but then you stop, flinching, taking a step or two closer to him at the sound of yelling from behind you. it’s only a group of guys taking turns downing their drinks and competing to see who can do it the fastest, but they’re loud enough for you to lose all train of thought. 

it’s instinctive the way that joost then brings his arm up high around your shoulders, keeping his hand balled up into a loose fist as he guides you to stand even further into his side. 

“yeah, i’m not a big fan of loud noises either.”  he pauses only to curl his spine, bending down until he’s level with your ear. “do you want to move somewhere quieter? would that be better?”

when you nod, he readjusts, the warmth of his palm finding your lower back as he starts to lead the way. 

at the very far end of the smoking area, hidden ever so slightly around another corner, is a picnic bench that you’re surprised to see no one else has found yet. it’s old wood is a little green, a little rotted, but it’s dry enough for you to sit down on without the damp soaking through your clothes. you’re lighting up a cigarette of your own as soon as you’re settled, cocking an eyebrow at the look on joost’s face as he sits down across from you.

“surprised that i smoke too?”

he grins at you again, shrugging. “with a voice like that, a little. you’re not so…’rahrahrah’ with it.”

immediately you choke on that first heavy inhale of smoke, your head hanging, coughing hard enough for your throat to burn as you laugh. it’s through watery eyes that you watch him start to crack too, giggling as he squints behind the thick, dark frames of his glasses. he’s only laughing because you are, and you’re only still laughing because he is.

“what was that?!”

“i was trying to do the smokers voice thing!”

“you sounded like that skeleton with the…the, fuck, i don’t know what the  word for it is in english.”

except joost already knows exactly what you’re trying to say because then his eyes are lighting up, and he’s nodding at you again as he starts to act it out, almost, hitting an imaginary bin-lid with an invisible bat of some kind. 

“ja ja ja ja, the one with the stick!” 

“yes!”

a subtle aching starts to seep into your cheeks, pulling uncomfortably at your lips — it’s just becoming so easy with him, isn’t it? you’re smiling so much that it’s starting to hurt now, and it means that you don’t even think to check your phone that’s slowly buzzing itself to death inside your pocket. in no more than an hour somehow, joost already has you wrapped irrevocably around his finger, hanging off his every word.

your elbows resting on the table, hands cupped underneath and propping up your chin, but still clutching onto the cigarette that’s long since burnt itself out all the way down to the filter. you’re watching him throw his hands around again because he’s lost himself inside a story about one of his nephews dressing up as a skeleton for halloween one year. you’re smiling so much that it hurts. 

it does nothing but feed right into his ego. it’s rare that he’s so extroverted with someone like this, someone like you, someone that could easily make his knees buckle with a single glance. he’s the type to quickly blush at mere eye-contact, unable to do much other than simply nod politely when spoken to. you’re bringing out something new in him, aren’t you? a confidence that he’s just not used to yet.

it means that neither of you realise it when the time starts to slip away right through your fingers. it’s just too hard of a thing to help — the way that the conversation flows from one topic to the next as though you’re more old friends catching up than anything else. 

suddenly joost knows each of your bandmates by name, mannerism, and most embarrassing moment of the tour so far. you learn of his friends beyond their art and online personas, from each of the little vlogs and tiktoks that he has saved of them on his phone. you tell him a little too much about your new ‘resident evil’ obsession; he returns the favour by admitting his recent mexican wrestling one. 

the only thing that you both dare to leave unsaid is any mention of your families. it’s only because you remember enough from watching him back on youtube that you know better than to ask; you’re not exactly in a rush to explain your own situation, either. 

and it’s not until you’re half way through trying to list each of your favourite films without laughing, because somehow you have just a few too many in common with him to wrap your head around, that you’re interrupted. someone in a t-shirt bearing the bar’s logo stands beside you with an almost blank expression, speaking a language neither of you can understand. after a moment of awkward silence, she finally clears her throat and sighs, rolling her eyes slightly.

“we close in thirty minutes so we’re asking for last drinks. can i get you anything?” 

joost answers hesitantly on your behalf, shaking his head ‘no’ with a hint of a smile on his face as he reassures whoever it is that you’ll be leaving in just a minute. when you don’t dispute it, disappointment starts to lower itself onto his chest, the weight of it crushing, but it’s subtle enough that it only brings a slight furrow to his eyebrows. 

you just can’t believe what time it is.

for seemingly the first time all night, it occurs to you to finally dig your phone out of your coat pocket and dismiss the low battery warning. the time that you’re confronted with, ‘00:53am’ sends a small shock to your system, only because it means that you’ve been out here with him for almost three hours now. several texts from your bandmates clutter your lockscreen, and they all read relatively the same.

‘we got the hint ;) and went to go get food. we’ll probs be back at the hotel by the time ur done. plz be safe we have no room for a baby on the bus. see u tomo’ 

a slow heat rises to your cheeks, staining them a soft pink despite the cooler breeze that still whips around you every now and then. you don’t look up until joost starts to stand, a blush that matches your own creeping its way up the sides of his neck. and then you don’t stop to ask why he seems to be almost just as flustered as you know that you are, as you copy his movements, rising to your feet with a shy reluctance.

you’re still trying to grasp the certain implications of what your friends had said. it makes you a little dizzy actually, imagining it, and realising just how much you want it.

“my uh, my hotel’s not that far…would you want to come back with me?”  

and the offer almost knocks joost right off his feet, doesn’t it? he finds himself needing to lean back against the bench just to try and stay upright.

the way that you’re smiling up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, tucking strands of fallen hair behind your ears and blushing more out of nervousness than anything else. it’s the first time that he’s truly seeing the effect that he has on you, and it’s killing him. 

he nods softly, grinning without his teeth as he pulls the hood of his jacket up and over his head. “yeah! i’d really like that.” 

he curves an arm around your shoulders again, and you assume that it’s only to keep you close whilst you make your way out, but once you’re out onto the street he doesn’t move, and neither do you. it’s like that, that you both walk the ten minutes back to your hotel, with you tucked gently into his side and listening quietly as he rambles about how beautiful this city is. you ask him about where else he’s been, on tour or otherwise, and he tells you sparing little to no detail. 

but it’s really not too long before you start to lose track of it all, of the finer, almost intimate details of his stories, because it’s the mere sound of joost’s voice that you find yourself so stuck on. the sheer softness of it. how it’s so much deeper than you remember, with just enough gravel to it to make your head spin. 

it feels a little…wrong, despite all things considered, but you just can’t help it. the old leather of your boots hit a puddle, you hear muffled live music spilling out from a lounge as you pass it by, but all you can focus on is the heat pooling beneath you. you think of his voice in your ear, deeper, breathier, groaning. you can’t appreciate where you are, all of the light, and art, and life that surrounds you, because you’re just too caught up in the thought of whatever this is leading to.

you don’t slip out from underneath his hold until you’re faced with the heavy glass doors of your hotel, and you can’t hide the way that your hands shake when you unlock them with your keycard. it’s dawning on you now that you haven’t exactly clarified what you’ve invited him back with you for, and you’re still waiting for him to ask. you want to hope that it’s obvious when you both step into the lift to head up to your floor, and you immediately take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together. 

but you just never really do this, do you? at least not very often. and joost, you know enough about him by now to gather that he’s something of a gentleman, maybe even a little unassuming. you can’t imagine him ever putting an expectation like that on you; if all you wanted was someone to talk to until you fell asleep, you’re almost certain that he really wouldn’t mind that. 

it doesn’t phase you that neither of you have spoken in a while until you’re wandering down a corridor and he’s asking you which room is yours, and you realise that you’re just about to miss it. 

you pull him to a sudden stop alongside you, the momentum of it swinging him around, and now you’re not quite sure what to say with him gazing down at you like this. 

“you okay?”

“are we on the same page about this?”

you meet his eyes and see the ease in them; how his slight frown melts into something so much sweeter as he shrugs. “we don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to; trust me, i’m on board no matter what.”

for just a moment you let the words sit, hanging in the air that thickens around you, before you nod, a faint smile tugging at your lips. and it says exactly what you need it to, because then joost is reaching forward to cradle your jaw; your blush deepens at the feeling of his thumbs smoothing along the skin of your cheeks.

“in my country, we would say ‘zo mooi’.” at the tilting of your head, he continues in something akin to a whisper, leaning into you a little closer. “so beautiful.”

you just about manage to breathe out his name in a sigh before he’s kissing you, clutching your face in the palms of his hands so delicately as your noses bump. the subtle taste of tobacco and sugary soda hit your tongue; the coarser hairs of his moustache tickle the very corners of your mouth. when you hook your fingers through the holes of his belt loops, pulling him flush against you, it’s only to anchor yourself down, really. suddenly your knees feel all funny.

and it’s absolutely ruining you, isn’t it? how perfect it all feels. how you just can’t seem to hold back the way that you whine into his mouth when he moves to step back, leaving you to wobble on uneven feet. not even a full second passes before you’re mourning the loss of him sucking on your bottom lip, but it’s enough to remind you of where you still are, standing on the wrong side of your hotel room’s door. 

with your keycard still balanced between your fingers, you unlock it with a single beep. 

“i’m…gonna go freshen up. wait up for me?”

he nods, leaning down to peck your lips again. “i’ll be here.”

the bathroom door clicks shut behind you, the sound of the shower turning on quickly following. now that he’s on his own for a minute, joost can’t contain his excitement anymore. he’s pumping his fist in the air, doing a little shuffle-dance, and taking fit-pics in the mirror before stopping to fix his hair. 

it almost doesn’t feel real. he doesn’t do this. he can count on one hand the amount of one night stands he’s ever had — if that’s all that this is going to be in the end. something not too dissimilar to disappointment starts to settle beneath his skin as he slips off his jacket and shoes, and perches patiently on the edge of your bed. maybe he already likes you a little bit more than he probably should. 

he sends another selfie to his groupchat; the friends of his that are still awake each reply with a combination of emojis that make his stomach twist as he laughs.

“hey…”

joost glances up at the soft sound of your voice, locking his phone and leaving it somewhere on the bedside table. 

you’re standing at the foot of the bed dressed in nothing but a ‘sisters of mercy’ t-shirt that’s several sizes too big for you. the ends of your hair that poke out from the bun sitting on top of your head hang heavy with drops of water, your face fresh and bare of any makeup. it’s looking like this, so disarmed and almost shy, that he really starts to swoon for you, isn’t it?

a hot breath catches in his throat, his voice threatening to crack. “hi.”

you don’t think too much about it as you cross the room, only stopping once you’re in between his spread-apart legs, with your hands smoothing along the short stubble of his cheeks. you feel him melt into the touch, see how the sharp cerulean of his eyes sparkle in the warm lights around him. the subtle curve of his cupids bow, and the beauty mark that sits just above his chin. it’s only now that you’re noticing the ombré of his eyebrows, too. 

“i think you’re beautiful, too.”

and then before he can blush, you’re kissing him again, and it’s his own hands finding the backs of your thighs and squeezing that keeps you steady this time. you also find yourself becoming pliable in his palms, because when he tugs you in closer, you move without any resistance. when he slips his tongue into your mouth and lets his grip wander up onto your hips, you let him, you encourage it. 

in fact, you only stay like for another moment or two before you’re climbing onto his lap, aren’t you? knees falling either side of his own two hips, fingertips dropping from his face down to the hem of his t-shirt to pull on the dark cotton of it until he finally takes the hint, and throws it off and over his head.

he just can’t help but to giggle when you mutter out a string of what he can only guess are swear-words in your first language, your eyes carefully drifting along his pale, bare chest. “good things i hope?”

with your hands resting on his tummy, you nod with parted lips. “very good.”

he’s about to make a joke when you then start to shift, crawling back off him and onto the floor at his feet. you make a strong reach for his belt-buckle as you do so, fighting with the silver heart and feeling how his muscles jump underneath the touch. you only stop because suddenly his hand comes down to clutch yours, making you glance up with a pout.

“hey — only if you want to, okay? i don’t want you thinking that you have to; you don’t.”  despite the way that his cock strains against his jeans at the mere thought, he really does mean it. 

“no, i want to.”  you gulp down the thick saliva that fills your mouth, eyes flickering between his face and his bulge. “please, but i can’t….get this fucking…”

it’s not mocking how joost laughs at you again, almost painfully endeared by just how desperate you are to get to him. a jagged crease cuts right through your eyebrows, a thicker pout pulling on your full, wet lips, and it’s all because you’re still struggling with his buckle, your patience starting to wear a little thin. 

he doesn’t say anything as he takes over, lifting his hips up off the bed as he guides the cracked, black leather back through the old clasp. he just makes it look so easy, doesn’t he? because you blink and suddenly he’s holding it free in his hands, dropping the belt to the floor and letting his jeans sit loose around his thighs.

it gives you such a perfect view of him, of the boxers printed with his own name — how the cotton stretches around his erection, and he just can’t seem to stop twitching underneath your gaze. gently, you curl your fingers beneath the waistband and pull down, your mouth watering again as your hands start to shake. you’re not even sure what you were expecting, but he’s still somehow bigger. 

“keep looking at me like that, and this might be over before we’ve even started.” 

you only grin before you reach forward and hold him throbbing in your hands, hearing how he sucks in a sharp breath at the soft touch. you don’t grant him a moment to catch his breath either, before you’re licking a smooth stripe up from the base to the pink of his tip, swirling your tongue and sucking, watching how his pretty eyes screw shut. 

and it’s all the encouragement you need to keep going, taking more and more of him into your mouth until he hits the very back of your throat. you’re not even halfway.

“f-fuck, schatje.” 

you’re not sure what it means, but you love the way that it falls from his lips.

joost digs his nails into the mattress behind him, needing to lean back and brace himself on his hands just to feel as though he’s still in control of himself. short, strangled huffs fly from his noise, his tummy all tense and cramping, as small beads of sweat start to gather along his hairline. 

maybe there’s a joke to be made about a singer being so good with their mouth, but he doesn’t know, he can’t seem to think with your lips wrapped around him like this. maybe you’re too good at this, bobbing your head as you try to take as much of him as you possibly can, gagging, and using your hands to reach what you can’t fit. 

he reaches forward to cup your face, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheek, wiping away some of the spit from your chin before carefully pulling your hair free from the bun that it’s in. he wouldn’t even know where to begin if you were to have asked him why, so he’s glad that you don’t. he just needs to hold you in any way that he can. 

you feel him lace his fingers through your hair, scratching at your scalp and tugging on your roots every time that you try to push yourself a little further down onto him. it’s really not too hard to tell that he’s holding himself back every time that he does, because his hands are trembling, and as soon as he’s caught his breath, he’s smoothing the messed-up strands back down. 

his head tips forward as his spine slowly curls in; he’s almost hugging your head to him as he whimpers out your name as though it’s some kind of prayer. 

“fuck, wait wait wait, schat, wait.”  

you let him go with a little ‘pop!’. there’s just a few too many tears welled up behind your waterlines to fully see the fucked-out look on his face, and your throat’s too spent to then speak without your voice cracking. “everything okay?”

joost can only laugh, can’t he? as he pulls you up into another kiss by the hold that he still has on your face. “yeah…i just…i was getting really close.” and then his hands move up to catch the last of the tears in your eyes. “are you?” 

you merely shrug, trying to stifle a small cough. “my throat hurts a little.”

and it’s only because of that, that he finally pulls back, turning around and stretching to reach the bottle of water that he remembers seeing laying on a pillow behind him. it’s open but hardly touched, and something that he insists on holding for you as you take a few sips. 

“better?”  he doesn’t put it down until you nod, and then he’s taking your hands in his to help you stand. a small part of his heart starts to sink at the sight of the sore, red scuff marks on each of your knees. “swap with me, it’s your turn.”

you don’t hesitate. 

as joost moves in turn with you, rising to his feet just to give you the room that you need to take his seat, you lay yourself down across the bed, propping yourself up and resting on your elbows. you watch him stumble trying to kick off his boxers and jeans before settling in between your legs, and you don’t mean to hold your breath for as long as you do when he gently pushes your t-shirt up. you hadn’t bothered to put on any underwear; there’s already a faint coating of your slick stuck to the very inside of your thighs.

it’s the accumulation of the effect that he’s had on you all night, and it renders him fucking speechless. because even as he’s taking you in his grasp and hooking each of your legs over his shoulders, he’s silent, simply staring, losing all of the colour in his eyes to just how wide his pupils dilate. as he flattens his tongue against you and licks a solid stripe up your centre, you hear him take a big deep breath in, taking in your scent. 

“zo lekker…” 

and you don’t get to ask him what it means before you’re suddenly squirming as he grins into you. his hands move to press down against your stomach when your hips buck up from off the bed, forcing you to still despite how he’s sucking on your clit as though it’s some sort of lifeline, and he’ll die if he doesn’t. between that and how he keeps pulling away every few minutes only to blow his cold breath along you, through your folds and laughing at how it makes you shiver, you really don’t stand a chance, do you?

fresh tears spring to your eyes again. with every sharp breath, your tummy caves in on itself a little more. you almost wish that he’d stop moaning at the sheer, sweet taste of you on his tongue, bumping his nose against you as he delves in a little deeper and laps you up, because it’s too much. every vibration sends another jolt up the length of your spine, and your thighs press together around his head. 

“jesus….fuck, joost.”  the words come out all strained and fragmented. you’re very quickly forgetting how to breathe. 

“fuck, i like that.”  he lifts his head up to wipe the wetness from his chin and see for himself the utter state that he’s gotten you in. how your chest is heaving, your face all wrinkly and screwed up with your cheeks just a tad tear-stained. “you should say my name again.”

you all but scream it when his lips wrap around your clit again and refuse to let go. 

clammy hands knot themselves in his hair and pull, and unlike him, you wouldn’t have been able to hold yourself back even if you wanted to. every muscle that lies underneath your skin starts to lock up, cramping, almost turning to stone as you writhe against his mouth. his hands on you aren’t enough to keep you steady anymore; your back is arching up off the bed as he moves his grip down to hold your hips instead. 

you try to push off the mattress — feet digging into the fabric. joost is relentless as he eats you alive, and it’s only by instinct that you’re trying to crawl away. there’s a feeling bubbling up that you just don’t know what to do with, one that’s making you clench around his tongue as you watch him through wet lashes, all starrey-eyed.

“j-joost, fuck, i don’t….i, i fucking, i can’t. oh my god.”

his hold you grows a little stiffer, and he yanks you back down onto his mouth when you manage to wiggle away just a bit. 

“i got you, baby. it’s okay. gonna make you feel so good.”

“joost!”

its when he sucks on your clit again that you cum for the first time, isn’t it? something inside of you snaps, your whole body contorting as you shake, and it well and truly wrecks you beyond all recognition. because as joost sits back on his knees and you drip from his nose all the way down to his chest, you’re curling in on yourself as you struggle to gasp for air. 

piece by piece it feels as though you’re dissolving right into the mattress beneath you, your eyelids heavy and starting to droop. it means that it hardly registers when joost crawls his way up to you and sits just beside your head, brushing the sweat-soaked strands of your hair away and out of your face.

“still with me, schatje?”  his voice isn’t much higher than a whisper.

“mmhm.”  you hum as you slowly roll over onto your back, gazing up at him half-lidded and leaning into the soft touch of his hand still stroking through your hair. “just a little…gone. that was…wow.”

if you could see the look in his eyes, you’d surely blush under the weight of it. “we don’t have to keep going. if you’re too tired, we can sleep. it’s okay.”

“no, no i’m fine i just…can i get some more water please?”

its only after helping you to sit up with him that he holds the bottle to your lips again, with a large, warm palm still cradling your face. and when a dribble of it starts to fall from your bottom lip, he wipes it away on the tip of his thumb, before taking a small gulp himself.  

“then let’s go a little slower, ok? and to be honest, i really don’t think i’m gonna last that long, anyway.”

you simply nod, smiling at him just enough for it to reach your tired eyes. “yeah, that sounds nice. i don’t even…”  and then you lay back down amongst the pillows, beckoning him over with just a small wave of your hand. “i don’t want anything crazy, i just…i want to feel you for a while.”

as soon as joost’s on you, your legs are wrapping around his waist and pulling him down, fingers stretching into the white-blond of his hair as you latch onto him by the nape of his neck. his inked arms are holding himself up by his hands pinned on either side of your head. they start to shake as soon as you start to grind against his cock, whining into his mouth. you can still taste yourself on his tongue — feel that he’s still twitching. 

“you’re really gonna kill me, schat.”

joost shifts slightly; he reaches down and lines himself up, collapsing a little into the curve of your neck as he hisses. because you’re just so warm, aren’t you? and moulding to his shape with every inch that he eases in, fluttering around his length and squeezing.

it’s just that you can feel him everywhere. every time you think that he’s finally bottomed out, he keeps on pushing until he settles into a gentle rocking of his hips. beside you, his knuckles turn a faint shade of white, and you can hear the low baritone of his breathy little groans inside your ear. it doesn’t even compare to what you were imagining earlier. 

the feeling of him on top of you, weighing you down as he pecks, kissing along the dip of your shoulder. the way that he’s being so ridiculously gentle as he fucks you exactly how you asked him to, his strokes slow yet still deep enough to leave you reeling. at first it has you gasping, mewling, as your nails carve neat lines down the pale skin of his back, but then your jaw goes all slack and you can only babble out soft prayers in your own language. 

“how do you feel, baby? you feeling good?”  he lifts his head to look at you, beaming at the teary, cock-drunk look in your eyes. 

you really are just so pretty like this, aren’t you? hair sprawled out across the pillows, nose all scrunched, and your shirt bunched up around your midriff high enough to expose the bulging of your tummy with each one of his slow thrusts. maybe you weren’t just a marvel, maybe you’re actually a lot more than that to him now — maybe you’re greatest thing that he’s ever fucking seen.

“so, so good, joost….fuck.”  the praise comes out as more of a cry than anything else, catching in your throat. 

and it feels a little different than before when you feel that knot inside of you start to twist again. it’s tender, quieter, still enough to have you quivering beneath him because you’re still just so sensitive from the last one. goosebumps prick up along the skin of your arms as your sight turns a little blurry around the edges; the only thing strong enough to keep you anchored to the room is the hand on your hip, kneading the soft flesh. 

he knows that you’re close, doesn’t he?

 he knows that he is, too.

“think you can give me one more?”

you can’t even nod before it happens, stealing your voice, turning you limp as your eyes roll far back inside your head. it’s delirium. your whole body convulses for a moment; your nails dig crescent shapes into the muscle of his biceps as your ears ring too loud for you to really hear his own whimpering of your name. 

he tips his head forward as he cums, resting his forehead against yours, taking in and memorising every soft little detail of your face. there’s a faint voice in the back of his head telling him that he might not ever see it again, at least not like this. it really scares him, doesn’t it?

and it’s only because he knows that he has to, that joost then finds the strength to pull out once you’ve had a minute or two to ground yourself. you both can’t help but hiss at the feeling of it, even such a brief touch now far too much for either of you to bear anymore. 

you’re scooped up into his arms before he rolls, tugging you up to lay flat across his chest as he settles to rest on his back. with your cheek pressed firmly against him, you can hear his heartbeat, a little elevated but steady, threatening to lull you to sleep as his palms caress up and down your spine. it’s all too warm, too safe; you lose the fight of trying to keep your eyes open for another moment longer. 

“you don’t have to stay, you know. it’s okay.”

the way that joost frowns at that is immediate, and he brings a hand up to gently tuck a few strands of fallen hair back behind your ear. “why wouldn’t i want to stay?”

you just shrug against him, nuzzling yourself further into his chest. “i don’t know, they normally don’t.” 

he’s quick to rebuttal. “well what if i wanted to?”

and it's almost lazy how you then drag your head up to face him, resting your chin on his sternum. for as sweet as his smile is, you can see that it doesn’t really reach his eyes fully — there’s something a little sad in the way that he gazes at you, hugging you to him a little tighter as he does.

“even in all the mess?” 

there’s a puddle of something, of one of you or maybe a mixture of the two seeping into the sheets beside him. you’re both still painfully sticky, still covered in a thick layer of sweat that the stuffy air around you is only exacerbating, and laying on top of the covers instead of underneath them. 

the thought of his clean, untouched bed back at his own hotel doesn’t even cross his mind. only a quick, cold shower with you does, if either of you can even find the willpower for that. 

you’ve never been one to revel in the luxuries that come along with being who you are, have you? to pridefully sit back and let everyone else ‘beneath you’  carry the weight of the silver spoon you were born with. no — by tooth and fucking nail you fight against it, against your family name and your title in any silly, stubborn way that you can. 

you’ll forever be grateful for the security of it; you understand that it’s a privilege to be princess and how that means you’ll never have to go a day without a full meal or warm bed to sleep in. you just resent the more human cost of it, how so many others are supposed to live just to serve you, simply because you carry a bluer blood. as a kid it never sat quite right, how differently your only other friend in the palace was treated, looked down upon because he was different. now that you’re of age, it enrages you. 

everything that you can do for yourself, you do with your own two hands; your father lost that war a very long time ago. and for the most part you’re proud of it, of your independence, even though it’s come at the cost of deeming you the ‘black sheep’ of the family. you wouldn’t have it any other way.

the only true downside to it is when you’re here, standing in front of your tri-panelled mirror and stretching so far behind yourself that you fear your shoulders might pop right out of their sockets. the tips of your fingers feel red-raw, almost numb, the strings of your corset slicing straight through them as you tug, wincing, unable to get the angle just right. it’s been forty five minutes of this, of struggling to lace up your own undergarments because you’ll never ask anyone else to do it for you. normally you just skip the corset part entirely, but you know you won’t be able to get away with that tonight.

all this effort was bound to be futile anyway — a banquet for one of your father’s old friends, another duke or an earl or someone, coming to visit from a neighbouring country. what that has to do with you, exactly, you have no idea, and yet your attendance was still being demanded. you were still being doomed to spend an entire evening staring blankly at a wall, reduced down to nothing more than another prize on a man’s arm. a mere barging chip. you’ve already heard the whispers of somebody’s son being in dire need of a new wife. 

another curse slips past your lips; a quiet, muttered “fuck!” as you lose your grip on the strings for what feels like the millionth fucking time. 

“better watch your mouth, duifje. that’s no way for a princess to talk.” 

your mirror wobbles, its intricate, gold frame banging against your bedroom wall and leaving behind a faint, jagged scratch on the side of it. your elbow aches from where it had collided with the glass, and you struggle to regain your balance as you swivel on the spot, your heart pounding loud inside your ears and your lips curling into a pout. you see the dislodged panel of your wall before you see him standing there leaning against your chest of draws, his arms crossed and a wide grin plastered across his face as he giggles.

“i hate it when you do that.”  but he already knows that you don’t. “how long have you been there?”

though he ignores your question only because you don’t really need to know the answer to it, do you? and he’ll never have the heart to lie. “need some help?”

he also knows that you won’t question it any further than that. you’re just not privy to the one little crack along the panelling of your bedroom, just to the side of the rather grand family portrait that hangs on the far wall. you’re clueless to just how much of his free time he spends lurking there, hiding inside the old tunnels of the palace that you’re certain only he still uses to get around, watching you, admiring you; his darling best friend. he won’t tell you because he does, he knows that it’s wrong, that it’s borderline perverted and such a horrible invasion of your privacy, but what you don’t know surely can’t hurt you. 

“please.”

in the reflection of your mirror you watch him nod, sauntering over to you, the bells of his hood jingling with every step. seeing him clad head to toe in his full uniform, his dark lace blouse and the delicate, painted mask that dangles from a cord tied to his trousers, ready for a performance later, it makes you frown. he always looks so beautiful like this; such striking blue eyes cast in smudged rings of black, and soft, blond hair pulled into small bunches on either side of his head. it’s enough for your heart to skip a beat but you despise what it means, the humiliation that it’s going to entail for him.

“i didn’t think you’d be coming tonight; father promised he would give you the night off.”

joost klein, the palace jester; your best friend and the one that truly bears the brunt of everyone else's abuse. 

“it’s alright, schat. it’s my job. i’ll be fine.”

“that’s not the point, joostie.”  as soon as he’s within reach you’re pulling him into a tight hug, standing up on your tippy-toes and looping your arms around his neck. “we had a deal. if i promised to attend, you wouldn’t have to. he knows how i feel about it.” 

and in turn he wraps his own around your middle, pulling you further into his chest as he buries his face into your hair, sighing. “hey — at least we’ll get to be with each other, yeah? you won’t have to suffer through tonight alone.”

“having to watch them be so cruel to you is suffering.”

gently, he pulls back from you, his hands falling down to clutch yours and squeezing them. it’s simply for your sake that he’s still smiling so brightly. “i don’t know, i quite enjoy watching you crush the hearts of those assholes that think they actually have a chance with you.”

you roll your eyes in faux-annoyance but a smile of your own betrays you. every single suitor that your father has ever invited to one of his events, princes from other allied nations that seem to believe they’re somehow owed your hand in marriage, joost always hates them. they’re often the targets of his routines; the ones to have the tomatoes thrown at their heads when he juggles just to eventually ‘lose control’ of it all. he insists that it’s just ‘revenge’ for how terribly they always take the rejection, never wanting to listen when you firmly tell them no, and getting handsy because they think that if they show you a good enough time, it’ll change your mind.

 he’s just protective of you like that; he always will be. 

“oh i know you do. sometimes you honestly bring it on yourself.”

joost merely shrugs, raising your hands up to place a light kiss along your knuckles. “and it’ll always be worth it for you, duifje.”

you have to avert your gaze to stop your eyes from tearing up; you don’t know how to handle it when he looks at you like that, as though you’re his only reason for still breathing. “you’re too good to me.”

so you don’t see it when a flash of something else falls across his face, changing his features, almost deepening them until he pulls himself together again. but even then he can’t really acknowledge what you’ve said, not when you don’t even know the half of it. the kind of love that hides behind why he’s just always been so unbelievably good to you. 

“cmon, let’s get you dressed. don’t want you to be late.”  he’s grateful that you don’t try to question this either, the way that his voice falls so low that it’s hardly above a whisper, despite the way that it’s made your eyebrows furrow together ever so slightly. 

you turn around wordlessly, still a little too shy to meet his eyes again in the mirror. at the feeling of his fingertips on the back of your neck, brushing your hair over the curve of your shoulder, you shiver, absentmindedly leaning into the soft touch. even as joost starts to fiddle with the laces of your corset, pulling on them only once you had sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes almost flutter shut as a sudden tingle runs up your spine. 

a quiet hum finally urges you to look back up and find him in the reflection, finding the stare that’s already on you. you’re not strong enough to fight the heat that rushes to your face, the rosy blush that tints your cheeks a pretty shade of pink. it just leaves you so breathless, doesn’t it? the intensity of him, the gentle deliberateness of his movements. 

“tell me if it hurts.”  he tugs on the strings again, harder, starting to knot them into a small bow. he assumes that’s what makes you whimper and not the heavy baritone of his voice in your ear. “almost got it.”

you just nod, rendered too brainless in the moment to try and use your words. this effect that he’s having on you, that he’s had on you for as long as you can remember, it always does this. it always leaves you dizzy; pliable to the touch. you’re so transfixed on him that you can’t imagine glancing away even if you wanted to — there’s a tender smile starting to curl at the corners of his lips as he stares back at you in the mirror, his hands falling to your hips now that your corset is all laced up. 

“zo mooi.” 

your wrist feels a little heavy as you raise a hand to swat him on the shoulder. “oh stop it.”

and it’s just enough to diffuse the tension because then joost is sticking his tongue out at you before licking a wet stripe up your cheek, making you squeal. “if any bachelor so much as lays a single hand on you, i’ll kill him.”

“sure you will.”  you can’t stop your eyes from rolling; it’s what he says every time that he hears of your father trying to trade you off to someone new. your precious hand in marriage in exchange for cheaper imports, military aid, better natural resources. “just like how you ‘killed’ the last one, right?”

“trust me, i didn’t want to miss -”

“- you didn’t. your arrow caught him on the cheek — father almost had your head for it.”

you move to hit him again when he simply giggles at the memory, a little too proud of himself for making some future king bleed, running away from you and your assault as he does. “ow! ow! hey! that was the least he deserved for trying to stick his hand down your dress!”

but you’re not so fond of the memory, are you? of the reminder that some sneering, slimy, brute of a man had so easily overpowered you, backing you up against a wall as he palmed so grotesquely at your tits. you’ve had so long to get over it now, and yet you’re still not quite sure what the worst part of it all was, exactly. the fact that everyone, the whole congregation had beared witness to it, or the fact that joost had been the only one amongst them to try and stop it.

your darling best friend, your jester, who’d been right in the middle of a little archery act when he’d seen it all unfold from the corner of his eye. some nephew of one of your father’s dear friends; his hand pushing down into the front of your dress as he squeezed you. you’re not entirely convinced that joost had properly thought it through before letting his arrow fly just past the prince’s face, merely grazing it, swearing blind that it was all a part of the show. it was by the very thin skin of his teeth that he’d gotten away with it.

though now he’s watching you deflate before his very eyes as you’re suddenly confronted by every speck of fear, shame, disgust that you had felt in the moment. it has him reaching for your hands just to clutch onto them again; the only thing he could think of to try and keep you grounded for a little while longer. already he was starting to mourn your smile. 

 “i shouldn’t have brought it up; forgive me duifje.”

“no, it’s not that. it’s okay.”  you pause just to breathe out a laugh that you don’t mean. “it’s fine, i just…i wish that you could actually be with me at these things. and i don’t just mean in some silly old costume half way across the room, dancing for all the same people that are laughing at you. i mean i wish you could sit right there next to me, holding my hand, keeping me safe from anyone with such ill intentions like that.”

and it truly wrecks him, doesn’t it? seeing you so small, so desperate, almost needy for his comfort. anything that you could ever possibly want from him, it’s yours, it always will be, but it hurts to see your light so dim now. he’s not sure if he’ll ever be strong enough to let go of your hands again. he already knows that he doesn’t want to. 

“i promise, i’m not going to be far, okay? i’ll be right there; i won’t let anything happen to you.”

and for the most part, joost managed to keep his promise. throughout the night, his gaze hardly strayed from you, watching, guarding, a permanent smile stuck hidden underneath his mask. he watched you shine amongst the gold details of the palace ballroom, shaking hands and indulging in only those that you absolutely had to. he giggled every time that he saw you roll your eyes behind someone’s back, or pull a funny face at him each time that your gaze met from across the dance floor.

and it was during one of those fleeting moments where joost had no other choice but to look away, that he lost you. yet another nobleman and his wife, both holding a title that he didn’t quite understand, stopped him in his path, requesting another magic trick. telling them ‘no’ simply hadn’t been an option and somehow, in the two minutes that his attention had been turned, you had gone. 

he didn’t catch sight of you again until you were already half way up the staircase, teetering on your heels as you took it two uneasy steps at a time. despite the heavy silk train of your dress dragging at your feet, threatening to trip you up, joost still wasn’t fast enough to catch up with you. he was too far behind to see the soft bouncing of your shoulders as you swallowed down hot, choking tears as you left. 

it was him that your father planned on marrying you off to, the prince that joost had almost blinded in one eye for putting his hands on you. what was promised to be a quick, innocent introduction to some sweet old friends of his, was an ambush — a way for your future in-laws to decide whether or not you were good enough for their son. and nobody, not you father, your brother, your uncles, not one of them intended on letting you have a say in the matter.

though really, you had been an idiot to expect anything else, any better; this hadn’t exactly been the first time, after all. you knew that it was an expectation of a young lady in your position, and your father had made it clear to you before that you were certainly no exception to that rule. it had just never gone any further than a few not-so subtle hints thrown into conversations that you wouldn’t entertain, a few nudges in a particular direction when a respected suitor was in attendance at a ball, or another banquet.

but this had been different. together they all spoke as though it was already all set in stone, as though you hadn’t even been present to make a stand for yourself. talks of a next, far more private, more intimate dinner between the families, a grand engagement party to properly announce the union between your two nations, the wedding. none of them had taken any notice of the sullen look of horror that had fallen across on your face; they’d assumed your silence meant compliance until you had finally found your voice.

steady, firm, without any room left for doubt, you refused. at each word dared to be spoken over you, you only got louder, more abrasive, demanding to still be heard. under no circumstances would you be marrying anyone unless it was on your own terms, your own authority, and for nothing less than love. and when they all laughed and sharpened their tongues, growing tired at your constant defiance, you’d only held your head up higher and stood your ground, unmoving.

it wasn’t until your father had declared you as ‘your mother’s greatest disappointment’  that you left in a hurry to be anywhere else but there. you were just too proud to let any of them see you cry, too embarrassed under the watchful eyes of the guests that had eavesdropped to see if joost happened to be amongst them too.

you hadn’t seen that he was; you hadn’t seen that your brother had followed you, either.

at the gunshot-sound of your bedroom door slamming open into the wall, chipping its white paint, you jump. then it falls shut behind him with another bang, as he takes a moment or two just to watch you, his movements suddenly so much slower, almost calculated, and his lips curving down into a deep grimace. something about the look in his eyes opens up a small pit inside your stomach; when you fold your arms across your chest, it’s only to try and hide yourself away from him.

“what do you want, erik?”  

you’ve never been particularly fond of him, and whether it comes down to your rather substantial age gap or just his cruel, vindictive nature, you’re still not sure. all you know is that you’ve tried — you’ve spent far too many years trying to bond with your big brother, and he’s never changed. he’s never liked you. in his eyes, you’ve always been the little sister that he never wanted; the new baby that killed his mother. a parasite.

“you just can’t help yourself, can you? always throwing your little tantrums whenever ‘princess’ can’t have her way.”  

your eyebrows furrow at that, your nose scrunching up just a little bit. “what are you talking about?”

“how you keep disobeying father like that — believe me, he’s trying to do you a favour. you should have some fucking gratitude.”  

for every step that erik takes towards you, you take another two back, until your legs hit the very edge of your bed. “gratitude? i’m not some fucking house-pet that you can just…that you can just give away to the first person that shows some interest!”

his voice darkens as he takes a last step, standing so close to you now that you can smell the bitter alcohol on his breath. “no, but you are a woman, so it’s your duty to just shut the fuck up and do as you’re told.” 

something starts to burn underneath your skin, an almost brash, ambitious kind of anger that has you sneering up at him; spitting. it’s an accumulation of every other time that he, or anyone else has ever looked down upon you for such a groundless reason. when he used to campaign for you not to receive the same education as he did, insisting that it would merely be ‘a waste’, or that time when an old cousin once laughed at you for trying to argue that bearing children wasn’t the only thing you could be destined for.

you’re reminded of every time that a man has ever made you feel vapid, incompetent, small, and it only further ignites the outrage that courses through your veins. 

a single dollop of your saliva hits his cheek. “fuck you.”

and the slap that follows knocks you clean off your feet, down onto the mattress behind you.

“fucking bitch.”  you hardly hear the insult over the sound of a shrill ringing in your ears, accompanied by a soft throbbing in your cheek that’s hot to the touch. through the tears that have welled up in your eyes from the pain of it, you can see how your bedroom walls spin ever so slightly. “had it been up to me, i would have sold you off to the higher bidder years ago.”

“you’re…you’re vile.”  your rebuttal comes out weak, your voice cracking after every syllable; it makes him laugh.

“you can call me whatever you like, sister. i’m still going to teach you some respect.”

rough hands grab at your legs, yanking you to the edge of your bed hard enough to leave behind future bruises on the supple flesh of your thighs. it’s solely by instinct that you react as fiercely as you do despite the haziness of your head, pushing against the chest that tries to weigh you down, the fingertips that slip underneath all the layers of your dress. you fight to bring your knees up high enough to then kick as you dig your nails into erik’s shoulders, through the padding of his jacket, scratching.

“nonononono, no, please, erik, please don’t do this.”

he strikes you again with the back of his hand, knuckles catching on your bottom lip, your vision threatening to fade around the edges. it subdues you long enough for him to slot a knee in between your legs as he tears through each layer of your gown, not stopping until you're almost bare besides your corset and what little remains of your underwear. 

there’s a faint taste of blood in your mouth as you begin to cry, still desperate in the thrashing of your heavy limbs. “erik, please. please, i’m begging you.”

but your brother stays silent, only grunting as he quickly catches both your wrists in one hold and pins them down against your sternum. it makes you wince because it’s with enough force to cut a breath of yours short and your ribs ache; it feels like you can’t breathe anymore. 

“father should have done this when he first had the chance, but we both know he’s too much of a coward for it, don’t we? he doesn’t have it in him to discipline you like this.”

then a sob chokes you at the sound of his belt buckle clinking, his free hand struggling to pull the leather back through the silver clasp. suddenly you find yourself screaming for joost’s help instead. 

you’re not sure if there’s any logic behind it; for once you don’t even know where he is, but you don’t stop. you keep calling out his name until it leaves behind a taste of its own on your tongue, until your voice grows hoarse and your throat raw. you cry for him as though it’s an act of worship, a prayer, in the same way that someone might cry for god in their final moments. and you make peace with the fact that it might still all be for nothing, because you know in your heart that his name is the only one worthy of your last breath, anyway.

“really? you think that little freak of yours is gonna come save you?”  simply saying it out loud is enough to make erik falter, for a moment. the very idea of it, of the jester having any chance at all of stopping him, it’s too ridiculous, too silly not to laugh at.

though before you can answer, he’s shifting his grip, bringing your arms up to pin your wrists just above your head as he cracks. he leans down, resting too much of his body weight on top of you as hot breath fans across your face with every chuckle. the one hand that he still has spare moves to cup your heat, and you squirm beneath the touch of it, another sharp scream ripping right through you.

“by all means, if thinking about him is what it takes to get yourself off…”

you wiggle a little harder when he sits up, leaning back on his knees slightly and easing his grip on you just enough to try and pull your hands free. it earns you another slap, leaving you rather limp and useless before he lets you go completely only to tug on his belt again. he knows that you’re not going to have it in you to fight anymore; maybe he’d hit you a little harder than he meant to.

so it means that it doesn’t really register at first when erik suddenly goes rigid, and the light spray of something warm hits your skin. you don’t see the dagger that’s poking out through the centre of his chest, or the blood that drips from the corner of his mouth until the fog behind your eyes starts to clear. but even then it still takes just a moment or two for it to properly click, and for the thick, iron-heavy scent of his blood to overwhelm your senses.

only then do you start screaming again. 

you scream because it’s the expression on your brother’s face that you just can’t seem to bear; the look of terror in his eyes as he gasps out one last breath, before falling still. you scream because you know that it’s his blood splattered across the bare of your chest, even though you’re far too afraid to look. you’re screaming because it’s his dead weight that’s starting to crush you, and you can feel the very tip of the blade pressing down into your skin.

a force from behind him takes erik by the shoulders and drags him off of you, only to leave him discarded and alone on your bedroom floor. it feels right to assume that it has to be a hallucination when you then lock eyes with joost, who stands right there still clad in his costume, his mask pushed up to sit on the very top of his head. you’ve never been one to fawn over god and the very idea of religion, but for a second it makes sense that this could be your heaven. 

you blink one, two, and then three times, but the sight of him doesn’t fade. joost remains standing there with shaking hands and a heaving chest, tears of his own welling up in the frightened blue of his eyes. and it’s only because you try to stand, making such a desperate reach for him that he finds it in himself to finally move, catching you half way. 

gentle hands grasp your hips to keep you steady before strong arms wrap around your waist to keep you close, and in turn you loop your own around his neck. it’s not until you feel him bury his face into your hair, breathing out a quiet sigh of relief as he cries, that your shoulders come to drop and you slowly start to melt. 

“i was so scared, duifje…i thought i was too late.”  he pulls back to cradle your face in his palms, though he does so without straying so far that you aren’t still able to clutch onto him if you need to. the soft pad of his thumb strokes along the bruise of your cheekbone and he frowns at how you flinch, before dabbling away the blood of your split lip. “where else did he hurt you?”

and it’s whilst you stammer and trip over your worlds that joost finally takes notice of the marks on your arms. the red, aching handprints adorned with darker, half-crescent moons dug into the delicate skin of your wrists. it’s only then that he takes in the whole sight of you; how all the rips in your clothes leave so much of you out and on display for him.

you shake your head. “no where, really…but he just….he tried to… he wanted to teach me some respect.”

joost didn’t need you to say anything more, didn’t want you to say anything more. the way that your hands trembled as he held them, how you couldn’t quite look him in the eyes anymore, it all said enough. it tied a sharp tether around his heart, made him hurt as his lip wobbled and he wiped a few more tears away from your eyes.

“you don’t have to worry about him anymore, okay? he’s gone, and i’m gonna make this all better again, i promise.”  with the most tender of movements he guided you back to sit on the chair of your vanity — pulled the old shawl that you had laid over the back of it and draped it across your shoulders to cover you up. “i’m gonna go find some new sheets for you, and then we’ll get you all cleaned up, and -”

“- no.”  you shook your head again, sniffing. 

right there, peeking out from the far side of your bed, you can see him, see the blood that’s still pooling out from your brother’s mouth and soaking into the fabric of your rug. the dagger plunged into his spine, you can see that it’s joost’s; the handcrafted, argent handle marked with his initials; a gift from his late father, you remember. one of his trademark props.

“no. no, you…you killed him, we have to…they can’t ever know this was you. they’ll hang you for it.”  you rise back to your feet, knees wobbling just enough for joost to take your hand, just in case. “you have to take the dagger and go — i’ll lie for you, i’ll say it was an intruder or something.”

“schatje, -”  he gulps, his voice cracking.

“- no!”  and you grip onto his arms as a thick wave of nausea starts to rise up the very back of your throat, the room starting a spin a little faster than before. “my brother, he was the prince, and you killed him, joost. and they won’t care why even if they believe us, so you need to go, okay? because the longer that you’re here, the more that chance they have of realising you’re gone and they will, they’ll connect the dots and they’ll come for you and i can’t lose you. i can’t.”

watching you spiral like this, becoming hysterical at the very thought of his death or even just never seeing him again, it was far too much, too painful. all the tears still wetting your cheeks, bringing a flush to such a pretty face, and how your eyes are so wide and panicked, staring up at him as though you were afraid he would vanish on the spot. pulling you in by a soft hold on your jaw and kissing you — it was the only thing that joost could think of to do to help slow the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

a faint taste of salt met his tongue as your lips collided, and it was instantaneous how you both moulded to the shape of the other. he cradled you as though you were on the cusp of breaking, like porcelain; precious and so unbelievably worthy of his protection. 

you hadn’t misspoken once; he knew exactly what was in store for him if he didn’t act and quickly. perhaps joost just didn’t have it in him to leave you like this, all shaken up and bleeding, possibly concussed and still crying. maybe you were worth the risk of torture — maybe he’d be able to handle the thought of oblivion if he could know for certain that you’d be falling asleep tonight with dry eyes and a fresh pillow. 

at the sound of your small hum, he parted from you with an easy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “and you won’t, princess. come find me when the coast is clear.”  

it’s not without one last peck to your lips that he then turns, making a sure dash towards the hidden passageway in your bedroom wall and taking back his dagger as he goes. it’s to his own surprise that no one bats a single eye when he rejoins the banquet, his hands now clean of your brother’s blood and no longer shaking quite so hard. nobody ever noticed that he left. your father’s guests continue to approach him as he wanders almost aimlessly around the room, asking, or rather demanding their own little performances from him. 

though only a few minutes of this normality passes before he starts to hear the whispers passed from one guard to another, their weapons suddenly raised as they each take off running in your direction. one of the more ‘higher up’ members of staff makes the announcement — no one is to leave the palace grounds until further notice, and all other employees must immediately gather in the east wing. your wing. and you’re already there putting on the show of a lifetime as he arrives. 

in his heart, joost knows that you’re not really acting. the way that everyone hears you scream, watching from only the very corners of their eyes as you cry into the chest of your father, who’s too busy berating the heads of security to properly comfort you, he knows that it’s genuine. but the story that you spin of a faceless intruder, one kept anonymous by the dark cloak and obscure mask that they wore so you couldn’t possibly describe them, it’s all a small performance of your own. no one had climbed in through your bedroom window and attacked you, mercilessly killing your ‘beloved’ brother in the process, who’d only been there to try and ‘save you’, and yet no one doubted it.

of course everyone was still relentlessly interrogated, royal attendants and staff alike, but eventually, every palace guard and king’s knight were ordered to patrol the premises, and everyone else including joost were ordered to their bedrooms for the night. he just never expected you to already be there waiting for him when he slipped in quietly through the door, sat a little awkwardly on his bed with damp hair and dressed in nothing but a silk nightgown.

for the first time in years, you had allowed a few of the maids to attend to you. whilst hendrika washed your hair and beatrix bathed you, nurse aletta did what she could to help patch you up. you’ll never forget just how big they smiled at your use of their first names, addressing them more so as old friends than anything else. and despite how you’ve always typically felt about it, for once their attention actually helped you feel a little better, even though it wasn’t from who you truly desired some fussing from the most.

as soon as they left you to sleep, you were up again and climbing through the hole in your wall, tiptoeing down the old, servant tunnels that you haven’t stepped foot in since you were a child. finding joost’s room came almost naturally, as though it was still muscle memory, and it really wasn’t long before he was standing in front of you again, frowning.

somehow in only an hour or two, the bruise along your cheekbone had changed, appearing so much worse than he ever remembered it being. 

and you know him well enough to read his mind, to know exactly what that look of anguish meant. 

“i know what you’re going to say, and i’m fine; it’ll heal.”  carefully, you rise to your feet, still feeling a little unsteady. “how did it…?”

“no one so much as glanced in my direction, schat. they’re all out searching for this ‘attacker’ of yours; i owe you my life.”

a weight that you hadn’t felt sitting on your chest before suddenly lifts, evaporating, and you pull him down into another soft kiss by the broad of his shoulders. it says more than any spoken words possibly could have. how his hands squeeze at your hips as your own find the nape of his neck, fingers knotting in the pale white of the hair that now falls loose around his ears; it’s both an admittance of your love and a silent plea for him to never let go of you again. 

so you only part once you’ve grown too breathless to continue any longer, nearing a feeling of euphoria as you settle for merely panting into each other’s mouths for a moment. 

“we’ll call it even if you let me spend the night with you here.”

it shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does. compared to yours, joost’s room is not much more than a shoebox; always dark from the lack of candlelight, the walls only home to a few pieces of his own hand-drawn art, and his bed hardly big enough for him, let alone for two. it’s so much less than what he knows you’re used to, to what he would normally insist that you deserve, but he’ll just never have the heart to say no to you, will he? to ever deny you of what you ask.

he simply nods, because he’s already so certain of your reasoning that he won’t make you say it out loud. just as well as you do, he knows that your bedroom must be spotless by now — the sheets changed and clean, the blood-stained rug taken away to be burned, your brother’s body gone. it’s not only spending the night alone that you’re so desperate to avoid but the actual room itself; the memory of what happened there before joost had got to you.

your eyes never leave him as you climb beneath his covers, laying your head down against his pillow and watching unashamedly as he undresses. in scattered heaps across the floor, joost starts to leave his uniform discarded, yanking off each layer of fabric and letting it all fall until he’s in nothing more than his own old undergarments. and you try to memorise every beauty mark that decorates his skin as though it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him so bare, every subtle flex of his muscles as he moves, every golden hair hair that covers him. from his chest trailing down to the soft of his tummy and further, you let your gaze wander.

“keep looking at me like that duifje, and i’ll faint.”

there’s a pink tint to joost’s cheeks as he joins you, hands rushing to find your waist again and gently tugging you as far up underneath his chin as you can possibly go. it’s only by his own doing that you end up more so on him than you do his mattress, legs all tangling together as you settle against his chest, the steady thumping of his heart daring to lull you to sleep so soon.

“thank you.”  as light as the words leave your lips, they hit him heavily. you’re not just thanking him for sharing his bed. “if you hadn’t found me when you did…”

as soon as your voices wavers, you feel him press a single kiss to the roots of your hair. “it’s okay, just try to sleep.”

“you killed a man for me tonight, joost.”

it’s only been a week.

you can still almost smell the faint lavender scent of his bedsheets when you close your eyes and concentrate on it hard enough. you can feel the warmth of the morning sun on your lower back as it peaks through the cracks in his blinds, bringing a soft warmth to the then bare skin. his face buried into the crook of your neck again, lips parted, hot breath fanning across the curve of your shoulder. 

it’s only been a week since you last saw joost, last woke up in his bed with a heavy arm draped across your waist, anchoring you down to the mattress. considering that’s how you’ve spent most mornings over the past couple months, the so-called ‘walk of shame’ more of just a normal walk for you now, to go a week without it is actually quite something. it’s sobering.

he’s already called six times — always in the mornings, when his voice is still so thick with sleep that it’s several octaves deeper. he’s not even been in the same country, he’s been in finland doing something or other, something about a new song with some new friend of his or something along those lines. you really shouldn’t be guessing, you should know why he’s there, you know that you do because you know that he’s already told you and you’ve just forgotten what he’s said.

in your defence, it’s hard to keep up when it’s always a thirty-five minute long ramble about the night before, and then another twenty about whatever’s new in your life. it’s almost like you’re ‘friends’ now, and not just two people fucking around whenever everyone else’s backs are turned. no one knows about the two of you or what happened at his album release party, no one else can ever know; as far as your brother’s still concerned, you both still despise each other. you honestly don’t know if you do anymore.

after that night at the club, when old, stained porcelain had left small bruises along your abdomen, and a tender, rough grasp had left handprints on your hips, you actually had gone back with him. the whole way there you’d contemplated turning around, telling him that you’d made a mistake and just wanted to go home instead. he didn’t need to make it something; he didn’t owe you that kind of care.

and then joost had gotten you in the shower with him. his hands hadn’t strayed from your hair, scratching at your scalp, keeping the shampoo out of your eyes and such a sweet, easy grin on your face. he’d made you laugh the entire time, cracking jokes that brought a hotter blush to your cheeks than the steam did, and kissed you as though the world would surely end if he didn’t. he’d gotten you all dressed in his clothes, an old t-shirt with his own face on it and pair of calvin kleins; pulled you up flat against his chest once the covers were tucked up tightly underneath your chins. 

you don’t seem to mind the sound of his voice so much anymore. when he’s been calling in the morning just to talk to you, because it’s what you normally do every time you wake up in his bed, you always pick up. you let him gush about whatever breakthrough he’s had in the studio, promising to play you the demo the next time you come over. and when the conversation inevitably takes its turn and suddenly he’s asking you if you’re touching yourself again, you don’t put up any kind of fight; you actually do as you’re told for once and you let him talk you through it over the phone. 

but it’s still just all a little bit weird though, isn’t it? because as soon as watchful eyes are back on you, your brother, martijn, nathan — suddenly it’s like nothing ever changed. you’re at each other’s throats again and you always mean it; you’re never pretending. as soon as there’s an audience to observe you, joost becomes joost klein again, and you go back to being background noise. 

that’s why you’re not even looking at him now, as you sit alone in the corner of kaj’s living room, the luke-warm prosecco in your hand doing little to calm the bitterness you feel settling in underneath your skin. he’s with the only other people than you know here, taking up all the air in the room, leaving you to suffocate with only a few photographs of your in-laws to keep you company. 

you really had tried to join in, for the sake of your brother and it being his birthday and everything. you’d stood with the group, fighting to stay afloat in conversations that you hadn’t actually cared all that much about, and for a moment it honestly seemed like you were finally getting somewhere. joost hadn’t immediately jumped down your throat when you’d first tried to speak, delving into a random story about kaj and his old childhood obsession with the power rangers.

he’d been nine, you only six because of how your birthdays fall in the year, and he’d almost knocked out one of your bottom teeth trying to do a karate kick jumping off the front room sofa. 

but you never got to finish your story though, did you? because dr jekyll always becomes mr hyde, in the end.

“ayeee wait wait wait, yo, look at this guy!”

one of his friends, one that you’re still waiting to be introduced to actually, had started to dance a little silly — that was it. ‘jumping all over the word’ had come on over the speakers and his mate had tried jumping along to it, just as scooter usually does. apparently that demanded everyone’s attention; joost’s voice shouting over the top of yours and putting an immediate end to what little contribution you’d managed to make to the conversation. 

no one had asked you to continue after that. in a single breath, he’d rendered you invisible all over again.

no one’s asked you a question in over forty-five minutes.

J

u look sad?

J

u ok?

your phone dinged! in your lap, joost’s two messages front and centre, lighting up your lockscreen. 

you hadn’t seen him stealing glances of you every few minutes, eyes dancing over every little detail of your face that he could still see from across the room, his smile faltering at your scowl. this…arrangement of yours, it was weird for him too, of course it was, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t give a shit. joost cares about you more than he knows he should.

before was different. he had put himself in between you and that asshole from the club simply because he has a heart, he’d do it for anyone in that kind of trouble, but you were also you. his best friend’s little sister, someone that he grew up with. he’s never been able to quite shake the feeling of being responsible for you whenever kaj isn’t around, even as adults. 

now, if anything it was only worse. you were always there somehow, even when you weren’t supposed to be — on his mind, in his dreams, hanging off the tip of his tongue. all-consuming. it’s something that he still can’t seem to make sense of, because it’s all just so fucked up, isn’t it? how much he thinks of you when you aren’t around, how much you make him sweat with a single smile just because you actually do that now, you smile at him. and it’s fucked up that there’ll never be a way out of this; you’ll always be the secret that he’ll have to die with. 

from the corner of his eye, joost watched you only glance at his texts before shoving your phone into your bag and standing up, abandoning the last of your prosecco to make a run for the back door instead. 

the pounding behind your eyes wasn’t from the alcohol or the deep, thumping baseline of your brother’s favourite techno playlist, it was from him. joost klein and his constant fucking double-act that was making your head start to spin and your chest tighten every time that you heard him laugh. you still don’t know what you even want from all this or what the end-goal is going to be, but you know that it’s not this. it’s too much and it’s not enough.

you need some air and a fucking cigarette. 

you didn’t see that he was right behind you, weaving through all the small huddles of old friends just as you were a couple paces ahead. a few tried to stop him, beckoning him over for a ‘quick catch up’ because it’s been so many years and joost has accomplished so much, but he didn’t slow down. he waved them off, lying about a phone call and promising to find them later.

the squeaking of the patio door sliding back open made you jump; the last few seconds of ‘rainbow in the sky’ and a chorus of sudden laughter becoming just a little clearer before joost came into view, pulling the door closed behind him.

“hey!”  there was a gentle eagerness to his voice, one that simply had you rolling your eyes at him as he fished a cigarette of his own out of his jacket pocket. he didn’t have to ask to borrow your lighter before you were already handing it over to him; a small act of kindness that would’ve meant a lot more had you bothered to spare him a look. “what’s going on with you? what’s wrong?”

“we shouldn’t be out here together.”

there was a short beat of silence; joost furrowing his eyebrows as he just stared at the side of your face, almost hurt, trying to decode the sight venom to your tone. “i’ve known you since i was seven, i can have a cigarette with you without it meaning something.”

you took your lighter back from him, scoffing, only now meeting his eyes so you could watch him take that first drag. “when have we ever done that before?”

“okay, fine— near you then.”  he waited for you to say something, watched you take another inhale of your cigarette with that scowl still on tugging at your lips before he sighed, surrendering. “is it me?”

you simply scoffed at him again, chuckling darkly underneath your breath. “when is it ever not you?”

because that was always your problem, wasn’t it? him.

and he knew that — despite everything that had changed, all the nights that you’ve spent tangled up in between sheets together, joost knew that. it was why he rolled his eyes at you, shaking his head and grimacing. “seriously? you’re gonna do this now? tonight?”

“you’re the one that followed me out here; you were more than welcome to stay inside and continue ‘the joost show.’”

“i just wanted to make sure you were okay! you looked like you were going to cry in there.”  there was something else slipping in through the cracks of his voice, something almost akin to heartache as he took a small step forward, towering over you. “and there’s not any ‘joost show’ going on, i was just having a laugh with some of our friends, which, by the way, you’ve always been more than welcome to participate in. it's not my problem that you always choose not to. like…this is the first time that you’ve said a word all night, schat. how is that my fault?”

your cigarette tasted the bottom of your heels, only half burnt and stained a soft, glittery pink colour from your lipgloss. “and that just proves my fucking point, doesn’t it? like you honestly have no idea that i’ve spent most of the night fighting to be fucking heard over you, do you?”

he didn’t, but there was no malice in that, no intention. sometimes it’s just a little too easy for joost to get ahead of himself in conversations — to forget that he doesn’t really have anything to overcompensate for anymore. he doesn’t need to be the loudest in the room just to try and hide away from everyone desperate to ask him if he’s ‘doing okay’ and ‘coping well’.

so maybe if it had been someone, anyone else standing there in front of him, seething, then he wouldn’t have bit back his apology. he wouldn’t have swallowed it down despite his better judgment, knowing that he was the one in the wrong. because it was you, and you were glaring back at him with a look sharp enough to kill, still so certain that he’s just that irredeemably awful, he couldn’t bring himself to put his pride aside. 

joost simply laughed at you, instead. because if you didn't know by now that he wouldn’t ever want to make you feel that small, that insignificant, then maybe you didn't know him as well as he thought you did. maybe you aren’t  as caught up in whatever you both are as he is. maybe he really is that stupid for ever thinking that it could be something different, or something more. 

he’ll never get to tell you how he feels now, because you’re never going to let him, are you? 

“so you’re having this whole tantrum right now because i didn’t want to listen to that fucking power rangers story for the millionth time? schatje, i was there when it happened. why the fuck does it matter?”

but he couldn’t quite let go of that nickname for you though, could he? the one that he’s been calling you ever since you first cuddled up into him in his bed, still shivering from the cigarette that you’d shared out on his balcony. at least, that was the first time that he’d ever said it and meant it without trying to mock you. 

“oh so you did know that i was talking? because suddenly we’ve gone from ‘oh! this is the first word you’ve said all night!’ to ‘yeah, actually i did hear you before, i just wasn’t listening.’”  how joost shook his head at you then, sighing, running his hands up and down his face as though all this fuss was over nothing — it brought a couple tears to your waterline. “you can’t even see that you’re doing it now! you’re not listening to me!”

“maybe i’ll start when you stop acting like a child!”  

“since when was it childish to not want to be fucking shouted over all the time?! not everything has to always be about you!”

joost tossed his cigarette to the ground next to yours, crushing it under the soles of his new, but already scuffed-up shoes. he did so without stopping to take a breath or avert his eyes from yours, his hands still flying around a bit as he spoke in a voice that was only growing louder, more irate. maybe it was just a testament to how well you actually did know him; that you really could get under his skin so easily.

“has it ever fucking occurred to you that not everything i do revolves around you either? because believe it or not i don’t actually spend all day everyday trying to come up with new ways to piss you off -”

you cut him off, being the one to laugh at him, now. “- well congratulations! it must just be another one of your god-gifted talents then.”

“jesus christ, schat. get the fuck over it!” 

the way that you flinched, stepping back slightly, suddenly without a word to say because for the first time ever you think, joost had properly yelled at you; of course it made his heart sink. it was enough to make him stop for a moment, clear his throat, awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck as a few stinging tears began to roll down your cheeks. 

“get over what, exactly? you? the fact that you’ve spent the last twenty years tormenting me, or the fact that you’re still doing it now, despite fucking everything?”

“i don’t get it — despite what?…who am i to you?” 

you hung your head low, shaking it, wiping the wet from your eyes on the back of your hand and smudging your mascara in the process. “i don’t know; that’s the problem.”

“if i really was that much of a dick to you when we were kids, i’m sorry. and i’m sorry for yelling, and making you cry, it’s just -”

“- we’re just different people when we’re not alone.”

at his silence, only disturbed by a single soft sigh of defeat, you collapsed down onto the patio bench behind you. you hunched over, digging your elbows into your knees as you cried into your hands without stopping to consider the rest of your makeup or how joost was still there, watching you. quite frankly, you just couldn’t quite bring yourself to care about any of that.

this, now, it’s exactly why you never do this. you never get all tangled up and involved with people beyond the odd one night stand here and there. you don’t let them in or get to know you, never bestow them with the privilege of simply mattering enough that they can reduce you down to tears like this. you can’t stand how you’re giving joost the satisfaction of it, because somehow he of all people managed to slip in through the cracks and break you. 

and the more dust that settles over this realisation of yours, that maybe the only reason why you seem to hate him so much is because you don’t actually want to hate him at all anymore, the harder that it becomes to gather yourself. every breath that you try to suck in only chokes you, makes you splutter out another cry as the bench beneath you creaks under the weight of joost coming to sit down next to you. it has your shoulders tensing up at the feeling of his arm wrapping around them, pulling you in gently to his side, before resting his chin on the top of your head.

you’re only crying because you already know that you’re not alone in this. the hole that you have in your chest, and the sharp, nauseating twisting of your stomach — you know that he feels it all too. the truth is heavy in his whispers, promising you that he really is sorry and that he means it over and over again as you turn to cry into his chest. it lingers in every memory of every night and day that you’ve ever spent together; every sweet kiss that he’s ever laid along the shallow dip of your spine and against your lips. 

the truth is there, and it’s screaming at you, but it’s still not enough, is it? 

you tilt your head up, and joost trails a kiss from the crown of your head to your temples, down your cheek, cradling your face in his hands as he starts to smother you. he doesn’t find your lips until his thumbs find your cheekbones, smoothing along the skin and wiping away all of the salt that still lays there. because simply saying that he was sorry suddenly wasn’t enough anymore, he needed to prove it, needed to show you just how much you really meant to him after all.

he leans into you slightly, dropping a hand from your face to hike your leg up and over his thigh, making the hem of your skirt start to rise up. 

“joost -”

“- it’s okay, i’ve got you, just…let me help you feel better, yeah?”  you couldn’t help but sob a little at the feelings of his touch starting to wander; a rough, warm palm grazing up your inner thigh, kneading at the soft flesh. “tell me to stop and i will, schat.”

“someone could come out here and see us.”

“they’re not going to.”

joost waits for a moment, for any kind of sign that you truly don’t want this. his fingertips dare to toy with the seam of your underwear without crossing any lines as he still pecks at one corner of your mouth. he doesn’t have to say it; you already know that he won’t do anything more until you tell him to.

“okay.”

and then you gasp through another small cry, desperately clenching around the 9 and the 8 that sink knuckle deep inside you as you dig your nails into the skin of his arms, clawing. every movement, every drag of his fingers is slow, enough so that it’s almost cruel, and the heel of his hand rubs careful circles against your clit in the way that he already knows makes your jaw go slack and your legs start to shake. 

you try to suck in another breath as you squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to suppress the moan that’s rising up the very back of your throat. it makes you gulp as you lean your head back to rest against his shoulder, goosebumps rising to the surface of your sink when his lips finally reach your pulse, his teeth grazing, gently biting at the spot. you’re not stupid, you know that he’s doing everything he can to get a noise out of you; it’s not until he curls his fingers that he does.

a whine escapes you and you feel him grin against your neck, already so proud of himself and muttering a quiet “there you go.” between a kiss. “one more time for me, baby. please.”

joost draws another, and then a third one out from you simply because he’s greedy, and he’s petting that spongy spot inside you now that you swear only he’s ever been able to find. unlike you, he just doesn’t care if anyone inside hears you unraveling beside him, trembling, so close to cumming on his hand as presses down a little harder on your clit. a part of him actually hopes that someone does, that they come out and catch you both in the act like this. 

your brother would surely kill him — deep down he’s made peace with the fact that it would still be worth it. 

“fuck-fuck, joost, you’re gonna make me -”

he just nods, smiling, nosing your cheek. “- i know, baby. i know, it’s okay; just kiss me.” and then the hand that’s still cupping your face moves to brush the hair out from your wide, teary eyes, and he’s whispering to you again, almost begging; needy. “kiss me.” 

so you do, and it breaks you all over again.

it leaves behind dark, aching crescent moons in his bicep from where your nails had dug themselves a new home, threatening to draw blood. and you’re moaning, crying into his mouth, eyes all puffy and red, dark mascara running all down your face, the taste of salt heavy on your tongues. if anything it only makes you cum harder, how tender joost’s being with you as you fall a little limp against him, starting to drip all down his wrist. 

it just…it still doesn’t shift the weight from off your chest, does it? the dampness that now dribbles down the inside of your thighs, the hollowness that you’re left to try and grasp after joost pulls out his fingers and sucks them clean — it doesn’t change anything. it can’t.

your argument still hangs in the air, thick, dizzying, ringing loudly in your ears. you almost don’t hear the click of the back door opening because of it; the sound of EDM and your brother’s laughter spilling out, making your stomach drop. as you jump, joost more or less throws himself on top of you, tripping over his own feet and stumbling, close to slipping off the bench. it only just about gives you the chance to pull your skirt down before kaj comes wandering out with the rest of his friends, nursing another beer.

none of them see you, somehow. they’re all too tipsy and wrapped up in their own conversations to notice joost struggling to climb off you, grabbing your hand as he finally stands up straight and pulling you up with him too. even as you both make a run for it, holding your breaths and keeping your heads down, leaning further into the dark as you tiptoe back inside, not a single head turns. 

but at least it’s something, isn’t it? for as complicated, and borderline painful as your thing with him has been, you’ve always been able to make it out of situations like this by the skin of your teeth. it’s always been easy.

the further into the kitchen, hallway, living room that you get, weaving in through the people that both of you have known for almost your entire lives, the more that you find yourself waiting for the switch. for joost to finally drop your hand, turn his back, and go scurrying off to talk to someone else more eager for his attention. you expect it because it’s what he does, he’s joost klein. it means that no one notices how your fingers are still intertwined as he leads you back through your brother’s house; they’re all too busy staring at him to ever see you. 

“joost?…joost, where are we going?”

if he could hear you calling his name over the sound of paul elstak making the walls vibrate, then he was pretending not to. he didn’t stop, or even turn his head to anyone else shouting for him, trying to wave him over because they’re still just dying to hear how he’s getting on these days. if he remembers them from school — how ‘close’ they used to be.

but god, there really is just something about the two of you and bathrooms, isn’t there? because of course that’s where joost is dragging you to instead, your brother’s downstairs toilet. it’s where you always usually end up anyway, one way or another. whether it’s yours or his and you’re both just trying to ‘save some water’, or some random clubs’ when neither of you are sober enough to see straight.

he’s lunging forward before you can question him, locking the door behind you before he’s on you again. large palms cupping at your face, teeth biting at your bottom lip as he walks you back until you’re pressed against the far wall. the tiles are cold on what your top exposes of your spine, making you shiver slightly which only seems to spur him on, actually. it makes him drop his hands from your cheeks to fiddle with the hem of your skirt again, tugging it up as he hums, slotting a firm knee in between your legs.

and normally you would, you would be so ridiculously into this; you know that you want to be. it almost hurts you that you’re not, that you can’t allow yourself to be, and you’re pushing at his stomach with what dwindling self-control you still have. 

you don’t even have to say anything, he's already taking a small step back before you can. he’s smiling at you in a way that’s soft enough to show off his dimples, raising a single finger to catch the drop of blood that’s about to dribble from your lip. he bit you a little harder than he meant to; there’s a pink blush creeping up the sides of his neck because of it.

“too rough?”

you shake your head, swallowing down a faint taste of iron. “we need to stop doing this.”

a moment of silence passes that has you bracing yourself for impact, waiting, nervously tucking random strands of hair behind your ears, expecting it to all blow up in your face at any second. you don’t think that joost would get angry, yelling at you for wanting to dump him or anything, you know that’s not who he is, not in a situation like this. you’re expecting tears, confusion, heartbreak, and you really don’t know which one would actually be worse right now.

when he just nods and lets out something that you could easily mistake for being a sigh of relief instead — you’re not sure what to make of it. you can’t explain why it makes you feel so stupidly nauseous, either. 

“fuck, maybe you’re right. that was….that was really fucking close back there. i don’t know how they didn’t see us.”

and then it clicks, and tears start to brim your eyes again. 

“i don’t just mean tonight, joost.”

it’s distant and muffled, but you can still hear the sudden tone-deaf chorus of ‘happy birthday’  bleeding in through the walls from the kitchen. it makes you both stop, shoulders slumping and heads starting to fall, hanging in shame, because you should be out there too, celebrating your big brother with everybody else. you wished the singing had been loud enough to mask the sound of your phone dinging! again, and again, and then joost’s, too.

kaj :)

is joost with u? can’t find him either?

kaj :)

no one’s seen u in ages

kaj :)

where are u??

it’s not until you realise that you’re still going to have to try to explain where you were and with who that you actually start to crack. the idea alone — of having to lie to kaj again, and on his birthday, that you’ve spent almost the entirety of sneaking around with his best friend. it only adds more fuel to the fire. makes that hot, sticky, nauseous feeling start to creep up the back of your throat.

“you don’t want to see me anymore?”

but somehow joost is almost unphased by it, isn’t he? because it’s only kaj, and it’s you that he’s about to lose, and you’re just not predictable like your brother is. he doesn’t know what he wants out of this little arrangement of yours anymore than you do, but he’s not ready to let it go yet; he doesn’t want to. he knows that if you left, he’d have no idea how to get you back, and it feels as though he’s only just got you in the first place.

at your lack of answer he continues, his voice breaking ever so slightly. “what’s changed in the last two minutes?”

“just think about what would have happened if they had caught us -”

“- they didn’t. we’re fine.”

“but they could have, and it would’ve…kaj-he would never forgive us, and for whatever ‘this’ is — it’s never gonna to be worth that. i mean, it’s not like this is going anywhere, is it?”

you don’t miss the way that he frowns then, head tilting to the side as he stares you down with such big blue eyes that shine in the bathroom light. the next words that come out of his mouth, they tumble out too fast for him to stop them. 

“but it could.”

it only throws you off kilter for a moment because you can’t bring yourself to believe him. “nows really not the time to make your stupid fucking jokes, joost.”

but it knocks you off balance completely when he doubles down, hands latching onto your shoulders and smoothing along the cold skin of your arms. he almost smiles when it makes you tremble again. “i’m not, i’m-we could, schat…if that’s something you’d want. we could tell everyone the truth; why the fuck not?”

you can’t help but stutter, tripping over your words in a way that just makes you feel stupid as the tears finally break through and start to roll down your face. they carry some more of your makeup with it, leaving behind longer, darker steaks of black down your cheeks that joost is still fighting to wipe away. 

“i…i-i don’t get it — since when do you…?”

he doesn’t try to interrupt, or fill any of the gaps that you’re stumbling over. instead he’s beaming at you so hopefully as he shushes you, just to try and calm you down a little, telling you that it's ‘okay’ over and over and over again. it’s the first time all night that he’s truly just being joost and not joost klein, or any other variant of the concept. 

it almost works.

“no.”  you shake his hands off you, suddenly insisting on wiping away your own tears with the sides of your thumbs; all it does is smudge around some more of your mascara. “no, you don’t get to just do this. not now, it’s not fair! you don’t get to just drop this on me!”

“schatje -”

“- no! you’re just going to make it worse. you’re gonna make it harder.”

“make what harder, exactly?”  he’s growing just as desperate as you are now, throwing those same makeup-stained hands around as he talks in a voice that keeps cracking. “it only feels so impossible because you keep fighting it. there’s something here, schat. i’m not crazy. i know that you can feel it too.”

“joost…”

you’re almost begging him to stop, to not dare to say it out loud, to not cross that line that you’ll never be able to come back from. the truth is not just there screaming at you but strangling you now, refusing to be ignored and demanding to be seen. it’s just because you can’t bear the weight of carrying it yet that you still resist, breathing out his name as though it’s a prayer that you’re forbidden to speak.

“do you love me?” 

you can only muster another sigh. “does it matter? we still argue all the time, it’s like it’s the only thing we know how to do. so what if we love each other? we can’t even like each other.”

and joost simply shakes his head at you with such hard, knotted eyebrows. “we’ve not even tried. i don’t understand why we can’t just try.”

“i don’t even understand why you want to.”  and it’s just so unlike you, isn’t it? how you’re surrendering at all, let alone so soon, too tired for another fight. “it’s me, joost. you know i’m not built for something like that.”

you don’t expect to see him stop quite so quickly, lips curling up into a frown that you just can’t help but roll your eyes and scoff at. he looks so confused that it feels almost aggressive, insulting, as though he’s trying to play dumb just for the sake of getting you to admit it out loud. 

“something like what?”

your arms find your middle and you lean into the familiar touch, hugging yourself as you finally drop his graze, eyes drifting up to the ceiling. “cmon, when have you ever seen me bring someone home? or heard kaj or mum mention a boyfriend? i’m not someone you date, and fall in love with, and take home to meet the parents, joost. i’m a stop-gap; something to fuck whenever there’s nothing else better to do -”

“- watch your mouth.”

it’s only out of habit that you scoff again. “i wasn’t talking about you.”

“i don’t care, you shouldn’t say stuff like that about yourself.”

when you sink down to perch on the edge of the bath, joost copies you, sitting just close enough for your knees to touch. it’s weirdly instinctive how you lean even further into him when he takes your hand to lace his fingers back through yours, resting your head on his shoulder as he gives your palm a soft, reassuring squeeze. the heat that he radiates is the only warmth that you feel, because beyond the bathroom door there’s still random singing, and laughing, and it reminds you again of the guilt that sits heavy on your chest; your blood running colder.

“is that really what you think?”  there’s a new thickness to his voice as joost speaks again, coughing, unable to dislodge whatever’s becoming stuck inside his throat now. “you’re only something to fuck?”

you nod against him. “i try not to think of it as a bad thing.”

and it does nothing but break his heart.

“for what it’s worth, i think you’re so much fucking more than that.”  he only pauses to take a breath, exhaling as he sniffles and tries to blink back the tears from his eyes. “and i really want us to try because i meant it when i said that there’s something here, and i love you, and i think we’d be fucking stupid to not give it a chance.” 

“our lives would implode, joost…kaj might not ever speak to you again.”

he doesn’t miss a beat. “i know.” 

“and you don’t mind?”

“he’d get over it eventually.”

you lift your head from off his shoulder, raising the hand that clutches your own to tuck yourself up underneath his arm, nestling further into his side.  and just like he had, you steal a moment just to breathe, letting your eyes flutter shut. 

“you really love me?”

“stupidly. do you love me too?”

somehow you don’t flinch like joost does at the sudden, sharp knock on the bathroom door. the handle rattles, your brother’s voice on the other side calling out, yelling both of your names just in case one of you were in there. it almost makes you laugh, how it so evidently doesn’t even cross his mind that you both could be hiding inside together.