Nostalgia 𖹭 Joost Klein x Reader

𖹭 twenty-three 𖹭

whole new world.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

First Person POV:

"I don't understand why I have to do this." I said softly, wrapping my arms around myself, feeling the coolness of the air on my skin as I stood there, uncertain and uncomfortable. I was in his room—his bedroom, of all places. The posters of bands on the walls, the clutter of clothes on the floor, and the faint smell of cologne hanging in the air were all too familiar. But there was a heaviness in the atmosphere that hadn't been there before.

He stood across from me, his eyes fixed on me in a way that made my stomach churn with unease. He stepped closer, a small, almost patronizing smile tugging at his lips. "Come on, Y/N." he said, his voice low and coaxing. "It's not a big deal. Don't you want to be a good girlfriend?" His tone was smooth, almost too smooth, as if he was trying to convince me this was something I wanted, something I should be okay with.

I bit my lip, shaking my head, feeling my arms wrap tighter around my body, pulling my top down further as if it could shield me from the pressure of the moment. "I don't... I don't think I'm ready." I whispered, the words barely escaping my throat. My heart was pounding, my mind screaming at me that something wasn't right, but he just sighed, rolling his eyes as if I were being difficult, as if I were the one causing a problem.

"Y/N." he said again, stepping even closer, his voice taking on a more frustrated edge. "We've been together for months. I'm your boyfriend, for God's sake. You can trust me." His hand reached out, grazing my arm, and I flinched slightly, pulling back.

His eyes darkened with impatience. "It's not like I'm asking for much. Just your top. I've seen you in a bathing suit, for fucks sake. What's the difference?"

My breath hitched, and I felt the weight of his words pressing down on me. My throat tightened as I tried to find an excuse, something that would make him understand, something that would make this pressure stop. But the room felt smaller and smaller, and the walls seemed to close in as he stared at me, waiting, pushing, demanding.

"It's just a top." he repeated, his voice now soft and almost sweet, like he was doing me a favour. "Come on, don't you want to make me happy? Isn't that what being a good girlfriend is all about?"

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. How had it come to this? Why was he making me feel like I wasn't enough unless I gave him something I wasn't ready to give? The room felt suffocating, my heart pounding in my chest as I struggled to reconcile what I was feeling with what he was saying.

"I... I don't think I can." I finally whispered, my voice trembling, barely audible. My heart pounded in my chest, the weight of the moment pressing down on me as the words left my lips. I hoped—prayed—that he would back off, that my hesitation would be enough for him to understand.

But instead, his expression darkened, his patience clearly wearing thin. Without saying a word, he stepped forward and, before I could react, he grabbed my wrist, pulling me toward the bed. The force of it made me stumble, my body awkwardly falling back onto the mattress as he loomed over me.

"Don't be so dramatic." he muttered, his voice no longer soft but edged with frustration. His eyes narrowed, and I could feel the shift in the air—the sudden tension, the aggression. He climbed on top of me, his weight pinning me down before I had a chance to pull away.

"Stop—" I tried to say, my voice cracking, but he didn't listen. His hands were rough as they reached for the hem of my top, yanking it upward with a force that left me breathless. Panic surged through me, my hands instinctively pushing against his chest, trying to stop him, but he was stronger than me.