#rpf tw

[wentzparty2007]

Ehrm busted

[0crooked-arcade0]

Hey, Hey!

Doctor Alexander Glass here with a PSA. ((RANT CW: RPF)

If you write RPF or make artwork in the same vein you're fucking weird.

I genuinely DO NOT know how some of you in the Ego fandom or just enjoy content creators can still make things like that and believe it's completely OK after what happened to a lot of creators.

It's 2024, I don't care if you're a minor, If you're old enough to be on this app, you should have the comprehension skills to understand that shipping real people in an explicit manner is incredibly disrespectful to say the least.

Especially in the most OBVIOUS case.

The two creators involved in the most talked abt example were so heavily impacted by that shit that it caused them to distance each other for a while, they're friends for fucks sake, do you have any understanding about how hard that is?

And I'm also going to point out, that there are a good chunk of accounts with this type of content, who do not tag it as RPF and instead use the main creator tags to put their work under, leading to it popping up on peoples FOR YOU PAGE, and making it so it can't be blocked outrught.

Not everybody wants to he exposed to that, I honestly think it's on the same level as someone not tagging triggering content like violence or hate speech.

Am I being overdramatic? Maybe, but I don't give a shit cause apparently neither do the people doing this.

((PSA OVER))

[nostalgicsummers]

I hate going in the idol agere tag because most of it is just rpf ;-; what happened to love live agere? Idolmaster agere? Bwehhh

[cauldronofmorning]

have any rpf opinions

My rpf opinions are heavily influenced by my time in W*tcher/Buzzfeed Un*olved, as in there was so much gross stereotyping of the Asian man being totally submissive to the white guy despite that not being their dynamic at all. But that said, while I find it icky and there needs to be a strong fourth wall, it’s probably not morally wrong.

[thebadchoicemachine]

whenever anyone says they like Dan and Phil there’s an instant suspicion because they’ll either be

1. Pretty chill or

2. The worst type of person you’ve ever met.

[rhythm-catsandwine]

Relax

Notes: Even more vamp Adam and werewolf Justin.

Once Adam latched on a wave of Serenity washed over him. It was mostly biological, the hormones. When vamps feed on you, it’s meant to keep you there. The dopamine and slow heartbeat locked you in. Most thought a wolf's blood was poison to a bloodsucker. 

Adam tried the others, but Justin tasted the best. Maybe it was blood type, or maybe it was cus it was Justin. He didn’t care. They didn’t care. After he got his fill, they both got off on each other. He had a thing for Justin. Now Justin had a thing for him, too.

[vanosslirious]

Fandom: Banana Bus Squad (Vanoss Crew.) Ch: 27. POV: Vanossgaming. Words: 1.751 | 45.235. Excerpt:

He glared, "Let me open the fucking door," he said under his breath, trying not to strain his shoulder. Why did they have to make sure pain was as real as it is on the otherside?

[verdantmeadows]

Tumblr I have no idea why you think this post would interest me but I can PROMISE you it most definitely does not.

[v1rtualsalvat10n]

𓆩♡𓆪 how to tell you goodbye

— weeks after his mysterious disappearance, lu shows up at your door with a message for you.

notes :: TW FOR DUBCON. uh yeah I find the idea of him apologizing for doing what he has to do very hot. f!reader sorry guys this is self indulgent

You don't remember how long it's been.

But you know it'd been long enough for you to stop wondering if he was actually coming back or not, and try to cope with that fact. He was gone - there was very little doubt in your mind about that. He'd stopped responding to calls and messages, his socials went cold, his friends, at least the ones you knew, hadn't heard anything either.

He disappeared. And the last thing you ever heard from him was that he was planning on doing something... real. But he never told you what. He could be dead for all you know, and there was nothing you could do about it.

It took a pretty big toll on you. He was one of the few friends you had, and just like that he was gone. Just when things were looking up for you, your support system just had to vanish into thin air. You missed him, fuck, you missed him more than anything. You missed your little coffee shop dates, the weekend parties, playing games in your apartment when it was lonely, sitting in the park together just talking for hours.

You miss those little looks he gave you when he thought you weren't looking, the way that some of your mannerisms made him smile, the nights where your conversations would get real and you'd cry on his shoulder when it was too much for you. You miss how he'd let you.

You missed the moment when he made you look at him, and wiped your tears with his thumb, letting the tension between you two linger for longer than it should. You missed his warm, shaky breath against your cheek. But you missed the most that moment when you felt his lips on yours, just for that few seconds.

You didn't miss the way he seemed to have regretted it after.

But you remembered that the clearest of all... watching the guilt in his eyes set in as he moved away from you, standing from your couch and rushing for his bags, saying that "it was getting late" or some lie like that. You remembered how he didn't even look back at you as he walked out of your door.

And that was the last day you saw him. He texted you the next morning.

"Hey, I probably won't be able to see you for a while. Working on stuff. Gonna do something real with my life."

What the fuck did that even mean? It made you angry, irrationally so. It probably only made you angry because you thought it was your fault. But god dammit, that felt valid! You felt like you had a fair reason to be pissed. It was no secret you liked him - it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out either! He'd do something like that so carelessly, and then just throw you out?

You hated it. Maybe you'd feel better with an explanation, but the truth of the matter is that he kissed you and then mysteriously disappeared, not to be seen again. And how were you not supposed to make assumptions in that situation?

And so you'd spend your days by yourself. With no more Luigi to rely on to keep you from spiraling, you'd been curled up in your room by yourself, scrolling through his social media posts, rereading your message logs to see if there's something you'd missed.

You had a jacket of his he left at your place, and every night you'd wrap a pillow in it and breathe in the mix of cologne and his natural scent until it lulled you to sleep.

It wasn't enough. You wish he'd come back, but even if he did, what was there to say? Even if he apologized, you didn't know that you'd forgive him.

That is, until he actually did come back.

No, surely that was just wishful thinking - that knock was probably a salesman or someone stupid like that coming to bother you. You dragged yourself up from your bed and slowly approached the door, groaning to yourself before putting on a fake smile to answer it.

And sure enough, there he was. Cold and scruffy looking, his clothes ruffled and his hair matted, bags under his eyes. He pushed you inside, and slammed the door behind himself.

He kissed you again. But this time he didn't hesitate, and he wasn't gentle - he threw himself onto you, your lips messily colliding with his as he leaned into it, diving his tongue into your mouth. His hands slid down to your hips, grabbing the waistband of your sweatpants so tight it was like he might fall off the Earth if he let go.

The kiss was sloppy and desperate, and he hungrily pushed it as far as you'd let it go, which was admittedly pretty far. But then the shock faded, and you pressed your hands to his chest, shoving him back. He was weak enough that he fell back into the door, leaning against it to prevent from fully toppling over.

"What the fuck?!"

You'd never yelled at him before. Never even thought about getting upset with him. His face turned fearful, as he steadied himself and tried to walk forwards again. You took a step back for the one he took forwards.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Who do you think you are, fucking with me like this?!"

His expression shifted. He just stared at you, blankly, either too tired or too numb to show any emotion anymore. And fuck, that only made you angrier. "You think this is funny? I was worried you could be dead, and now you just- show up, months later, looking like this? Why didn't you say something? You just- just-"

"I'll explain everything. Just... I really... missed you."

"Yeah? You didn't miss me enough to at least give me a heads up that you were alive!" You hid your face in your hands, sighing deeply trying to contain yourself. What reasonable explanation could there possibly be? You couldn't reason with him surely.

You hear him step forwards, and he places his hands on your hips again. You reach down to pull him off of you, but the moment you move your hands away from your face, he's pressing more kisses to your lips. He holds you tighter, his arms wrapping around you. "Get off me," you growl, but he doesn't listen.

He kisses your neck, his warm breath shaking profusely. "Luigi," you say, and he can't even look up at you. You yank one of his hands off, only for him to put it back on you with more force than the last time. "I said get off!"

"Let me make it up to you," he begs you, his gaze meeting yours as he walked you forwards, pushing you onto the couch. You try to stand, but he's quicker, and he straddles you, hovering over you and pushing you down by your shoulders. He stops looking you in the eyes, too embarrassed at what he was doing.

"Luigi, stop! I'm trying to talk to you, god dammit!" He doesn't listen. He can't. He's already straining his jeans, grinding his hips into yours. It's warm. He's warm, and fuck, you can't lie to yourself. You missed this feeling. You missed the feeling of something real being there with you. You missed him.

Your body betrays you, and you softly rock your hips forwards into his, swearing under your breath. He smiles softly, cupping one of your hips in his hand. "It's okay. I know you missed this." He looked at you, a weird sincerity in his eyes, considering what he was actually doing.

"I'm not messing around. This- this isn't funny. Let go of me." At some point you had stopped struggling without noticing, and you squirmed again, causing him to push more of his weight down onto you. He spoke softly to you. "Shh, it's okay... It's okay, I promise I won't take long. Promise, promise."

He muttered some words in Italian, something that sounded along the lines of a prayer as he rutted into you, yanking your hips up to get more friction. "Stop it," you say again, covering your face with one of your hands.

The truth is that you'd dreamed of this moment for so long. So very long. You'd dreamed of what it would feel like when he finally touched you, his skin on yours, giving you all he had to give. But fuck, not like this, not like this-

He finished with whatever he was reciting, and slipped his fingers under your waistband, along with the one of your panties and tugged them down. You pressed your thighs together, but he was stronger than you and pushed them apart, leaving you exposed for him.

"You're beautiful..." He stared down at you, leaving a crimson shade on your cheeks. "I'm sorry, I just... I felt like I had to tell you goodbye." Your eyes widened as he said that, and you shook your head. "What are you talking about? Luigi, I'm not going anywhere. You're not going anywhere either. You don't have to do this, please-"

By the time you finished, he was already unbuckling his belt, the sound of the buckle clinking against itself making you shiver. He unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down, rubbing himself against your folds. He was big. Bigger than you expected. Big enough that it looked like this might leave you sore.

You tried to scoot back, but he reached for you and pulled you closer than you were before, gasping at the feeling of your wetness against his cock. He'd longed for this forever, maybe even since the moment he'd first laid eyes on you. It felt like heaven to him, despite how dirty he felt - despite the fact that he knew it was wrong.

Something about you looking down on him for this only made him harder.

He lined himself up with your entrance and parted you with just his tip, his nails sinking into your hips as he did. "Fuck," he whimpered, "I'm so sorry, amore."

And with that, he slid into you slowly. You sighed in relief, only to cry out when he was so overwhelmed by pleasure that he slammed himself into you as deep as he could manage, rolling his hips into you.

Fuck. You could feel him pressing against your cervix. His breath shook as he panted heavily, shutting his eyes tightly as he pulled out nearly all the way, only to slam back into you. He swore, leaving bruises on your sides from how hard he was holding you. It hurt but you didn't care.

He kept up this brutal force, moving all the way out just so he could thrust deep into you again. It took him a while to speed up just because he was so overstimulated by it. But when he did, he fucked you like a wild animal, slamming his hips into yours, the obscene sound of his skin hitting yours filling your apartment.

You looked up at him, who still had his eyes closed out of shame. You couldn't help but imagine what he saw behind his eyelids, what he was imagining as he fucked you in earnest. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but he fought against them. "I'm sorry," he muttered, over and over again. He couldn't stop apologizing.

"It's- it's okay, it's okay... fuck-! I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you... oh god..."

That was too much for him. Your acceptance, that unconditional love of yours, the fact that he could do this, and you would still understand, pushed him over, and tears streamed down his cheeks.

His hands frantically slid up your sides as he leaned down onto you, both your chests pressed together, getting as much of his skin on yours as possible. He ran his fingers up and down you, committing every hill and valley to memory. "I'm sorry, I promise I'll make it up to you. I promise you. I promise."

He kept mindlessly apologizing as he used you, controlled by his own need. There was no stopping him now, and you didn't want to. He was beautiful even like this, even at his lowest point. You knew that you loved him in this moment.

"I'm gonna cum, please, please... I'm sorry, I need it, please, baby-" He kept babbling through his tears, which fell onto your cheeks. You closed your eyes softly, leaning into his touch, pressing your lips to his.

He devoured you in an instant, the kiss deeper than before, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he neared his release. "Perdonami, ti prego," he begged, speaking inbetween breaths.

"Lu," you cooed. "Go ahead. It's alright."

As soon as you commanded him, his eyes shot open and he threw his head back as he rammed into your cervix, spilling himself deep inside of you, his body shaking as he did. You tightened around him, the feeling of him finally letting himself go enough to make you cum too, as you called out his name.

He stayed tensed up over you for a moment, his arms struggling to hold his weight as his eyes shut, and he collapsed on top of you, his face in your chest. He started to sob, gripping you tight, one of his hands going down to entangle with yours. "I'm so sorry, amore," he repeated, over and over, "I'm sorry"s falling from his lips.

You pressed him closer, free hand stroking his hair softly as he crumbled in your arms. "It's okay. I forgive you."

"Please don't hold it against me."

"We'll figure it out, okay, Lu? We'll figure it out, together. Me and you. Because I love you."

"I love you too.... No matter what happens, remember that I love you."

[luck-duo]

bugs ....

x x x

x x x

x x x

[0crooked-arcade0]

I shit you not, I just had someone comment on my RPF post about how I've become burnt out from seeing that type of thing unpromted-

They blocked me as soon as I replied so I didn't take a screenshot but it said.

"All cops are bastards, especially kids who try and police what I get off to."

Which is, so layered It might as well be an onion, those were certainly words spoken to me, but I can't fucking decipher what they mean.

I'm so sick of people putting Mark and Sean through dogshit drama because people don't want to respect their line of consent.

I'm so fucking pissed off right now.

((My response below))

[castielsprostate]

judas, ass up in the air: oh my-, oh, oh right there hit it J, oh my god...

jesus, stopping mid-thrust: what the- did you just call out my dad's name??? did- did you fuck my dad?? judas did you fucking fuck my dad???

judas: what??? no it's- the locals were saying it! like... like "omg" yknow?

jesus: you fucked my dad. YOU FUCKED MY DAD!! i knew it! i knew it was weird you were on your knees more often praying and begging for forgiveness...

judas: jesus i can expla-

jesus: you fucked my dad!!!! oh my god- fuck!

[hippopotamusdreamer]

Period Reds

genre. [F][C]

warnings. Talks about periods; as in MENSTRUAL CYCLES. No actual mentions of blood but it does talk about tampons, pads and cramps.

additional notes. Female! Reader | You/Your pronouns, reader is aged between Hyunjin and Han, includes all members of Stray Kids in some way, Lee Know as Minho

This was a request by an Anon!

Hope you don't mind that I tweaked it a bit!

pairing. OT8 x 9th member

w.c. 1.1K

synopsis. It's that time of the month again, so how do the boys handle it?

Kpop Masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

Waking up, you knew that that day was going to be a problem.

You’d started your period yesterday. And as usual, Day 2 was always the worst for you. Everything felt twice as difficult. Lower back pain? Unbearable. Cramps? Unbearable. Overwhelming urge to not move? Unbearable in your line of work.

Not only did you have to waddle to the bathroom like some sort of deranged cowboy, but the ondol in the apartment stopped working at the beginning of month so your tootsies were cold. Your mother had always nagged that your cramps were worse because you were barefoot on the cold floor. You hated every second you were out of bed…

Not to mention your lower half needed a soak but the unfortunate thing about Korean bathrooms was that there was no tub. Just a double filtered showerhead attached to the sink.

At least the water heater worked…

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

After allowing the discomforts of this morning literally go down the drain, you found yourself holed up in one of Binnie’s pullovers. Not wanting to be confined to your room, you made your move. Fuzzy socks and house slippers on, you trudged your way to the living room, the plush couch calling your name. Everyone was out for the day besides Hyunjin since it was one of the rare days off.

Speaking of Hyunjin, the couch was where he found you not even fifteen minutes later of laying down. Half asleep and cozy with s Pochacco blanket that remained in the living room. The title song of some random Netflix show playing on the tv nearly lulling you to sleep.

As he dried his hair with a towel, he made his way to you. A pep in his step until he saw how your eyebrows remained furrowed. Kneeling by your head, he touched your forehead while calling out to you gently.

“Y/N-ah?”

“Mm?” you roused softly.

“You ok?”

“Mmhmm”

“You don’t feel warm, so you’re not sick…at least not yet.”

“’m not sick Hyunjinnie. My uterus is just mad at me for not being pregnant,” you mumbled.

“Oooh,” he says, already used to how casually you talked about your period with them. With that new information squared away, he took out his phone to message Minho.

‘We have a Code: Empty Nester’

Minho hyung: How is she?

‘Image.png sent’ Minho-hyung: Ah it’s day 2 Minho-hyung: Give me 20 minutes. I’ll be there soon. Minho-hyung: Message Felix too ‘Ok’ ‘Lix, we got a Code: Empty Nester’ Yongbokkie: Which day are we on? ‘2’ Yongbokkie: ‘2 ½ batches of extra fudge brownies coming up.’

Nodding to himself, he looked back towards you. You’d basically conked out on him, so he couldn’t ask you if you needed any of the American medicine you had. Instead he decided to do the next best thing.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Minho and Han walked into the rapper dorm; hands loaded with groceries for the soup that he was going to make for you. You’d commented once that it had settled your stomach when he’d whipped it up the first couple of times during your period. So now it was basically a staple during these times.

They were rendered motionless immediately after taking off their outside shoes. Through the opening that lead inside the apartment, they were able to see you and Hyunjin asleep on the couch. Somehow Hyunjin had managed to wiggle himself behind you and had essentially koala wrapped himself around you. They silently chuckled as they walked past, careful not to make a sound. It was common knowledge amongst them that you got terrible sleep any time you got your period.

The two of you stayed asleep until the soup was just about ready for lunch. Felix and Jeongin walked through the door, each carrying a kimchi container filled with brownies. Smiling as they watched you stir, Felix handed over his container to the maknae and made his way towards you.

“Hey sleepyhead,” he greeted softly while cupping your cheek as he crouched in front of you.

You gave him a delirious smile in return, still in the process of waking up.

“You hungry?”

“I am,” the muffled voice of Hyunjin was heard from behind you. The two of you giggle as the lanky man detangled himself from you.

“Minho-hyung made your favorite-” the Aussie began.

“Soooup,” you cut him off with a croak.

“Haha, yeah soup. And I made brownies.”

“Extra fudge?”

“Of course, I’m not a monster.”

“You guys are the best,” you said with your best half asleep smile.

“Wanna get up?”

“Yeah, just give me a sec,”

The other thing about Korea was that tampons were not widely used in comparison to pads. So getting a box of 12 was not worth the price. Instead you had to wait for your friends and family back in America to send you a mega pack to keep over time. Which meant that you were able to feel everything shifting as you moved about.

Hyunjin helped you up slowly from your laid down positions. Occasionally having to stop every now and then. Until a sudden pain in your lower stomach had you take a breath in sharply. A few seconds of worried glances from the boys had you reassuring them that you were fine and that it happened every now and then.

“I’m gonna go freshen up first then meet everyone in the kitchen, ok?”

As you made your way to your bathroom, you heard Jeongin calling after you.

“Hyung said that him, Changbinnie-hyung, and Seungminnie-hyung were at the store picking up snacks for your stash. But then Sungminnie-hyung said that they were out of your chocolate covered sunflower seeds. They said they’ll be here in like 15 minutes.”

“Aww, tell them I said that’s ok and thank you!”

Phone in hand, you sat on the toilet. You couldn’t help but reflect as the sounds of the boys getting rowdy in the kitchen intensified. You were very appreciative of them and how far your relationship with each of them had come. How grateful you were for their understanding of you and your menstrual cycle. There have been plenty of childish men in your life that had tried to make you feel bad when talking about it but they were no longer worth your time.

Your guys certainly made everything easier to deal with.

You knew you’d gotten lost on your phone doom scrolling when a timid knock sounded from the door and Chan questioned if you were alright.

‘Uh-oh…’

“…I’ll be out in a sec!”

a/n. For my sake, 9th member will never be a different age than where she's at. Just to keep everything orderly.

Tag list: @elizalabs3

This in no way reflects the actual persons involved/based in this fic, nor their actual character. This is purely fiction.

© hippopotamusdreamer, est 2024. all rights reserved.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Bucket List || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader Summary: Life changes in the blink of an eye with a diagnosis and you are forced to face your mortality with the help of Charles Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, implied smut, grief, implied character death.

WC: 5.8k

Story || Death Scene || Two Years Later || Bucket Moments || Five Years Later

The winter break was meant to be a time for Charles to relax but one simple act had put an end to those plans. It had been a little joke between lovers while you were getting dressed. Charles had seen an opportunity and taken it, cradling the swell of your breast in his palm and giving it a quick squeeze.

“Honk, honk!”

You gasped at the sudden pain that flared and rubbed at the aching area. Charles was immediately sorry, apologising profusely as he brushed your hand aside and massaged it gently for you.

“It’s ok, Cha, this one’s been a bit tender lately.”

“What do you mean?” His concern was palpable and his hand flattened so the palm was pressing into your flesh. You couldn’t hide the wince at the spot he touched and he couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes.

“What?!” You stepped away and grabbed your breast, almost immediately feeling what he felt as your heart began to hammer hard in your chest. “It’s probably nothing, boobs are lumpy all the time.”

“Yeah…” he murmured distractedly. “We should probably check just to be sure. Right?”

You tried to nod casually but it was too hurried. “I mean, just to be sure.”

Everything moved quickly after that. The exhaustion was no longer jet lag. The low red blood count was no longer anaemia. The lump was no longer just fatty tissue.

“What happens now?”

You looked at your boyfriend, but his eyes were fixed on the doctor who had been explaining the test results. Charles had done all of the talking while you sat in a state of shock. You didn’t even feel like you were inside your own body but floating somewhere in the room and watching from outside.

“We could take a biopsy to be certain but the tests so far are quite conclusive and I wouldn’t recommend waiting. We could fit you in to remove the tumour in the next couple of days and have you home for Christmas.”

You knew this already. He had spoken about removing the lump. You couldn’t bring yourself to call it a tumour because, benign or malignant, it made it too real. Removing the lump was the extreme simplification of what he really meant. Mastectomy. Double to be precise. The risk was too great to leave the other breast untreated, apparently.

“We’ll take the surgery as soon as possible.”

You blinked at Charles, waiting to see if he would even look in your direction before making such a decision but his chin was resting on the tip of his steepled fingers. He leaned forwards, digging his elbows into his knees as he always did when he was deep in thought.

“No,” you rasped. “I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can,” Charles replied without even looking at you. He had hardly looked your way since the first appointment a week ago.

“I’ll give you two some time to talk,” Doctor Hall said softly as he rose from his chair and left the room, the click of the door closing too loud in the heavy silence.

“It’s my body, Charles,” you whispered, your throat too hoarse to manage anything louder.

“I know that, but this is your life we are talking about.”

“We don’t even know for certain that it’s…that it’s…”

“It’s cancer,” he said with a sigh, “not saying it doesn’t change the test results.”

Your eyes burned, your tear ducts working overtime all week. The harsh lines on Charles’ face softened as he saw them well on your waterline before spilling over. Pulling you into his lap, he cradled your head to his chest as you ruined yet another one of his shirts with your makeup and tears.

“Mon amour, we will get through this but we have to trust the doctors.”

“I won’t have boobs,” you whispered as your voice broke.

Charles curled his finger under your chin and tipped it back as he searched your eyes for the answer. He found what he was looking for and dropped his forehead to yours with a shake of his head. “You will still be the most beautiful woman in the world. And I need you in the world, mon amour, do you understand that? I need you to fight this.”

A few days turned out to be just one after the oncology department received a large, anonymous donation. The private room in the hospital was filled with bouquets from friends and family, their floral scents were almost able to erase the tart smell of bleach. You still felt numb to the entire experience and Charles watched on with concern as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

Your reflection was the same, yet it wasn’t. Permanent marker pen lined the skin that would soon be permanently marred. The outlines accentuated what would be taken from you and you turned to your side profile, trying to imagine waking up without the pieces of your body Charles had loved.

“The surgeon said there are options, if it’s really that important to you,” Charles said as he pushed off the doorway he had leaned against and walked into the room. “But you don’t have to think about that now.”

You let him drape the surgical gown over your arms and they fell limp at your side while he tied the bows to keep your modesty. “Come and lay down with me,” he murmured as he took your hand and led you to the bed. You hadn’t been sleeping well, neither of you had.

It was narrow but Charles made space for you to lay in his arms with his chest pressed to your back. Monaco was alive outside the window you faced but the sounds didn’t reach you. Instead of watching the cars on their journeys you turned your eyes up to the cloudless sky and spotted the gulls that danced in the salt air.

“I lo-.”

Charles’ chest shuddered with the breath he took before he kissed your temple and whispered, “Don’t.”

“I need to tell you.”

“We promised, not until you wake up.”

“But what if I-”

“Don’t,” Charles begged, a wet drop falling into your hair. “Please.”

A knock sounded at the door but you kept your eyes firmly only the white feathers of the bird that landed on your windowsill outside. Charles pressed his lips to your temple once more before releasing you from his hold and climbing off the bed.

“I’ll be right there when you wake up, mon amour.”

“I…I’ll see you soon.”

He smiled sadly as you caught yourself from saying what you wanted to say, that sad smile remaining while your bed was wheeled away. You craned your neck as you were taken further down the hall, wanting to memorise the way he looked in case it was the last time you had the chance.

As promised, you woke up bleary eyed and groggy to those gold and green eyes, his hands holding yours tenderly as he sat beside your bed.

“Hi, beautiful,” he greeted as his smile brightened your day. It was a true smile, one you hadn’t seen for over a week, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and revealed the dimples in his cheeks. “I love you.”

You felt drunk as the anaesthesia still circulated your body and you were sure you slurred the words you had been banned from telling him before. “I love you.”

You dozed in and out of consciousness until the pain relief began to wear off and breathing itself hurt. The bandages across your chest irritated your skin and the stitches pulled with every little movement. Charles noticed it all.

“I’ll see if they can give you anything for the pain.”

You caught his hand before he could leave and winced as the IV line in your hand tugged uncomfortably. “I’m hungry.”

Charles chuckled, knowing you would be after eating nothing before the surgery, and cradled your cheek gently. “Maman’s on her way with your favourites. I’ll be right back, baby.”

Charles arrived back with a large bag of hot dishes from your favourite restaurants around the city and the promise that the nurse would bring some medicine around soon. 

“We’ll have someone come and move you up to the ward shortly,” the kind nurse said after she had given you another dose of pain relief. “You’ll be able to see your visitors there.”

You thanked her since you knew your parents would have been waiting with Pascale, Arthur and Lorenzo too. Charles had been keeping them updated since you woke up and his phone was constantly going off with notifications from your friends. 

“How are you feeling?”

You placed your fork down into the empty bowl and Charles whisked it off your lap and tidied up the rubbish with the need to keep himself busy. “I don’t know,” you admitted as your head began to clear from the anaesthesia. “Two weeks ago we were partying in Baku and now we’re here. I still don’t know how this even happened. What if they made a mistake? This was all done so quickly.”

Charles carefully tucked the sheet back around your body after helping you to lie back down. “Mon amour, this is one of the best hospitals, they wouldn’t have done this unless it was the right decision for your health.”

“I know, I know. I just don’t know how to feel anything right now, except confusion.” You took his hand as he sat back into the chair beside your bed and kissed his knuckles. “How do you feel?”

“Me?” His brows pinched together as if he hadn’t been thinking for himself, and he really hadn’t. All of his thoughts and feelings had been focused on you. “I’m relieved, I suppose. You are here, I get to kiss you and hold your hand. That is good.”

You smiled at the hope in his voice. “I don’t remember a kiss.”

“Ah,” he hummed with a nod as he leaned closer until his lips were so close you could feel the heat of them as he whispered, “This one.”

You were warned that day two would be the hardest. The hard drugs had worn off and what you were supplied with took away the dull throbbing ache when you were stationary but did nothing to prevent the sharp pain of moving. 

Charles had just lifted you back into bed after helping you go to the bathroom when the surgeon arrived with a forlorn look on his face. Immediately you felt the air leave the room.

Doctor Hall started with the good news, that the surgery went as planned with minimal bleeding from the tissue removal, but then there was a pause. Your fingers tightened around Charles hand as the doctor flipped the piece of paper on his clipboard over and clicked the end of his pen. 

“When we began the removal of the tumour we found that the shape wasn’t exactly as we expected from the ultrasound.” He drew an oval shape on the paper before adding webs spindling off in all directions and pointing to them. “We removed as many of the tentacles as we could find but they are invasive and so we would like to start chemotherapy as soon as you have recovered from the operation.”

Charles' knee shook the bed as it bounced nervously. “Chemo?”

“Does this mean it is definitely c-cancer?” you stumbled over the word as you said it aloud for the first time.

The doctor nodded. “We were quite sure before but pathology confirmed it with the sample we sent.” 

“What about Christmas?” you asked. “Can I still go home for Christmas?”

The doctor nodded again and you exhaled in relief. Christmas had been organised to be held at your house for months and it would give you a chance to do something normal after your life had been thrown off the rails. You needed this Christmas. 

“We will schedule you in for after New Years, but you wouldn’t want to delay it much further than that.”

“Thank you,” Charles choked out for the both of you as you fell silent and he left. “What are you thinking so hard about, beautiful?”

“The menu. It needs to be special. And I want to invite everyone.”

“What, slow down, what are you talking about?”

“Christmas, Cha, I need to start planning now.”

Charles knew you were deflecting, pouring yourself into a future task so you didn’t have to think about the present. You had already gone through enough, so he bit his tongue and took a second to clear the thoughts he wanted to voice. Instead, he asked, “who, exactly, is everyone?”

“Slow down, you’re meant to be relaxing,” Charles warned as you rushed around the house for a last minute tidy up. “Don’t hurt yourself, baby, let me help.”

“I love you, but please leave this to me. I know where everything is.”

“I do too,” he exclaimed, falling silent when you picked up a remote that had stopped working. You had asked him to get the batteries for it the night before, but he hadn’t been able to find them. 

“Second drawer in the kitchen,” you said as you tossed it to him and folded the blanket you snuggled under with him every night. “But you knew that right.”

He sent you a charming smile as he backed out of the room. “Of course, honey.”

You chuckled at his retreating figure. “Thought so.”

You had just finished lighting the scented candles around the house when the front door opened and Arthur breezed into the living room. 

“Merry Christmas, ma chére. Shouldn’t you have your feet up?” he tutted as he kissed your cheeks, careful not to hug you since your chest still hurt. 

“Merry Christmas, Tuthur.” His smile lifted at the old nickname and it only grew as you said, “You know how well your brother cooks. Be glad I don’t have my feet up.”

Everyone arrived steadily after Arthur and as the night grew colder every seat in the living room was taken by your guests. You could have imagined it being just like every other family Christmas as you sat on Charles lap and listened to Joris recount how he had spent the winter break so far.

You could have imagined it being just like every other family Christmas, but it wasn’t.

You were self-conscious in a way you never were before. The dresses you had loved so much were now something you couldn’t bear to wear as it accentuated the changes in your body. You had taken one shopping trip with Pascale so you could buy some presents but by the time you had got home there was a photo circulating the F1 WAG pages. The comments had nearly made you sick as they compared your flat chest to that of a young boy, or joked that the championship wasn’t the only thing that was lost at the end of the season. 

You knew it was only a matter of time before the truth came out but you doubted they would feel any remorse, anyone who could say such things through a keyboard didn’t have the emotional capacity to feel guilt. 

When midnight came and went, so too did the guests. Tipsy and jolly, they said their goodbyes and well wishes until the house fell quiet except for the music playing softly from the speakers. Charles pulled you into his arms and gently rocked you side to side as you laid your head on his chest. “Merry Christmas, mon amour. I didn’t know what to get you this year, so I was absolutely selfish and got this.”

Charles stepped out of your embrace as he dropped to one knee and held a ring out. Similarly designed to his mother’s, the ring was timeless and elegant with a large princess cut diamond. “Will you make me the happiest man and marry me?”

You had waited years for the question but the answer that fell from your lips went against every fibre of your being. Your hands covered your mouth but there was no silencing the words as they hung in the air. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Confusion slapped Charles’ pink cheeks and he swallowed twice before his voice could work again. “Why not?”

“You know why,” you whispered. 

“No, I don’t.”

“Because I’m sick, and I don’t want to make plans if I’m not going to be there to…I just don’t think now is the right time.” You took the ring from his fingers and sighed with longing. “It’s beautiful, Char.”

“Hold on to it for me,” he said as he stood up and closed your hand around it. “When you beat this, I’ll be waiting, mon amour, however long it takes. I’ll wait for you.”

You held the ring tight as you closed the distance and put all the words and emotion you couldn’t articulate into a kiss, deepening it until you were breathless and needy. “Come to bed,” you breathed against his lips.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He looked pained by the very idea, or maybe it was the weeks of celibacy after your surgery.

Lacing your fingers together, you took a step towards the stairs and gently tugged him to follow. “You could never hurt me.”

The moment had been weeks in the making as the chemotherapy took its toll on you. For days after the treatment you had been ill and Charles had been at your side with a bowl ready for when you emptied the contents of your stomach. Then your muscles ached and you could barely hold your own weight up to walk. Just when you thought the worst had come to pass you felt the first strands come loose.

“Hello, my dear,” Pascale answered your call, only to be met with a hiccup. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“M-my hair,” you stammered as you looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Charles had been out shopping but you saw his face appear behind you as you turned to show him what filled your gripped fist. “It’s my hair.”

“I’ll be over shortly, just let me lock up the shop,” Pascale soothed before ending the call.

“I just brushed it,” you hiccuped as you touched your hair again, more of it floating to the tile floor. “It won’t stop.”

“I know, baby,” he murmured as he took your hand and brushed the hair from your palm. “Maman will know what to do. We’ll get through this like we have everything else, together.”

Pascale promised she could have a wig made for you if you wanted one but it was already late in the evening and you knew she was exhausted from working all day. You did however accept her offer to shave the rest of your head so at least the patches of missing hair didn’t stand out as much. Charles had sat with you in the bathroom and held your hand the entire time before asking his mother to shave his next.

“No, I love your hair,” you argued as he pulled his shirt over his head to save it from getting covered in the short dark strands.

“I told you we are doing this together,” he replied as he kissed your knuckles and nodded to his mum to proceed.

It took a while to get used to the smooth feel of skin on your head but you came to prefer it to the wig that Pascale crafted, somehow finding hair that was almost the exact same shade and texture to your natural hair. The moment you got home from any outing you would pull the wig off with a grateful moan just as you used to do with your bra.

“Are you going to be alright? Maman said she can come and stay with you.” Charles sat on his suitcase so he could zip it closed before looking up to where you sat in bed with a book on your lap. “I don’t like leaving you here alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured him. “It’s only for two nights.”

His team had let him get away with having one extra night at home before going to Bahrain for the 2024 pre-season testing, but it was still too long away from you in his eyes. You would have been with him but you were due some follow up tests.

“You’ll be so busy you won’t even have time to miss me,” you teased, spurring him to climb onto the bed and cage you beneath him.

“I miss you every second we are apart.”

You recognised the number calling your cell phone because you still had nightmares from the last time they rang. A pit of dread was already opening in your gut as you hovered your finger over the green button. You debated not answering the call but if you didn’t answer it then he would try Charles’ number next - and he needed to focus on driving.

You wished you never answered the call.

You had been quiet the entire drive from the airport to the hotel Charles was staying at. He wasn’t one to push you to talk before you were ready but he was certainly worried when he reached across the gearbox and placed his hand on your lap. He spared a glance to you as he gently squeezed your thigh but still you didn’t react, or take his hand, or even blink.

You didn’t remember the walk from the car to the hotel room. You were busy thinking about how you were going to break Charles’ heart, something you had never imagined you would have a hand in. You never wanted to hurt him, you loved him more than life itself, a life that was going to be shorter than you had once thought.

Charles stood quietly in the doorway to the bedroom, your suitcase still in his hand. He watched as you pulled your wig off for the first time since leaving Monaco and listened as you sighed heavily. His feet only carried him closer when you pulled a piece of paper from your pocket and held it out silently.

“What’s this?” Charles asked as he unfolded the note you had written on the plane. You had almost 10 hours to think of everything you wanted to do while you could and his eyes scanned over the list. “Baby, what is this?”

“It’s my bucket list.”

“A bucket list?”

“It’s a list of what I want to do before I die.”

“I know what a bucket list is!” He took a breath and ran his hand over the fuzz that had grown back on his scalp before lowering his voice as he shook the paper. “Why am I holding yours?”

His green eyes blurred with tears as you bit your lip and looked at your feet. He was already shaking his head in denial, wet droplets soaking into the list.

“My results came back…”

“Non, non, baby, non…”

“I’m sorry, Charles,” you choked as he fell to his knees and let the paper fall to the floor. His arms encircled your hips and you cradled the back of his head to your stomach as he cried against you. You finally let your own tears fall, the tears you had held back since you received the news. “I’m so sorry.”

Charles missed testing the next morning as he held you in his arms. The tears had long run out but the sadness still remained. He had laid with you all night as close as your bodies would allow and together you had seen the sunrise over the desert. He had listened to you quietly recount the doctor’s words but most of it made no sense to him. 

Metastasized. Stage four. Terminal. The information ruined him.

“How long?” he finally asked. He looked at the paper that was still on the bedroom floor before clearing his throat and trying again. “How long do we have?”

You didn’t know if answering him would help or not but he was waiting for an answer as you rolled over to face him. The last three months had taken a toll on him and dark circles rimmed his eyes and they no longer held the same brightness. They were only going to dim more at the news. “Six months, maybe a year.”

He was silent, but you knew it wasn’t because he hadn’t heard you. Emotions warred behind his eyes before he climbed out of the bed and walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

You hated the silence but the screaming was worse. The painful wail echoed around the room and you felt it shatter something deep in your chest, before something shattered in the bathroom.

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you held yourself together while Charles fell apart.

You weren’t sure how long he screamed at the universe, how many times he asked it why, what he had done to deserve to lose someone else he loved. You weren’t sure how long it took him to clean the blood from his fist and wash his face of the tears before he unlocked the door and slipped back into the bed.

“Whatever you want, mon amour,” he promised as he unclenched your hands and curled his body around yours. “Anything you want to do, we’ll do it. We’ll do it all together.”

You stood at the edge of the lookout and smiled at Charles as he took the photo, another one for the memory box you were making together. Charles kept his promise, taking you everywhere around the world with him to tick off the items on your bucket list.

You had watched him win his home race for the first time and gone to a couples cooking class.

You visited all the Disneyland Theme Parks you hadn’t been to before: the Tokyo one when he raced in Suzuka, the Chinese one when he raced in Shanghai and the Floridian one when he raced in Miami. 

Charles had taken you to Iceland to camp under the northern lights and to Pamukkale in Turkey where the blue waters were meant to work miracles. It hadn’t cured the illness that ravaged your body but each activity you crossed off cured some of the sadness in your soul.

“It’s bigger than I imagined,” Charles commented as he looked up at Christ the Redeemer. “What size shoes do you think he wears?”

“Well you know what they say about big feet.”

Charles’ head fell back with a laugh. “You cannot say that about Jesus.”

You fluttered your eyelashes innocently as he stepped closer to take a photo of you together. “I was going to say he wears big socks, get your head out of the gutter.”

“Of course you were, mon amour.” Charles’ lips curled up in amusement and you relished the way his eyes crinkled before you rose onto your toes so you could kiss him before the smile faded. 

The flash of his camera captured the moment and you reluctantly pulled away as the sun began to set on another day spent living. The days were getting tiresome, your energy flagging as the medication changed from treating the illness to managing the pain. You had read enough to know that time was running out.

“We should get going, don’t want to miss our flight to Vegas.”

“About that…” he trailed off as he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and placed it in your hand. “I made a list of my own.”

Marry the woman of my dreams.

“I can only do it with you by my side.”

—

Pascale had created a beautiful headpiece for your wedding but when it came time to leave you hadn’t been able to place it on your head. A year ago you had only dreamt of the day you married Charles and in all those imagined scenes you had your hair styled up like she had crafted on the wig with pearl pins and a delicate tiara. But a lot had changed in a year, you had changed. 

“Oh, sweetheart, you look beautiful,” she said as she wiped her eyes. Your own mother was speechless as she pulled you into her arms and held you tight.

“I’m going to ruin my makeup if you two don’t stop crying.”

“Honey, let her go,” your dad said softly as he placed a hand on your mother’s shoulder. “It’s time.”

Your throat felt as if it were closing and for a second you held on tighter before you both opened your arms. “I love you,” you said to them all as you looked at the proud but sad smiles on their faces. “Thank you for making this possible, for both of us.”

Your father grabbed the wheelchair you had been using, the exhaustion sometimes too much for you to handle, but you shook your head. “I’m going to marry him on my own two feet.”

You knew Charles had a lot of help organising the wedding because there was no way he could have done it on his own. The entire paddock had come to a standstill at the end of Media Day and you found yourself walking down a makeshift aisle on the grid to the starting lights. 

Hundreds of friends joined your families on the track and you had no doubt that Charles had flown them all there at his own expense. 

“When you said married in Vegas, I thought you meant the White Chapel,” you whispered with a giggle.

Charles' smile grew at the sound and he took your hands in his. “That’s something tacky Pierre would do.”

“Hey,” the groomsman objected beside Charles. “Elvis isn’t tacky. Focus on your own wedding, mate.”

You laughed at the exchange before Lorenzo cleared his throat and your eyes widened as you realised he was the celebrant. “Is this legal?”

“The online certificate I got says so,” he said with a wink. “But if you’ve changed your mind I can skip the legal bits.”

Your eyes lit up with amusement. “No way, I’m not going to miss having you as a brother-in-law.”

“And I thought we were here because you wanted to marry me,” Charles joked. He had waited so long to marry you but now that the moment was here he was in no rush for it to end. He wanted to stay in this moment forever, where you were lighthearted and smiling. Where you weren’t lost in thought but present in the moment, with him. 

“I do,” you said with a grin before peeking back at his older brother. “Does that count, can I kiss him now?”

Lorenzo wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not quite, shall we get started?”

Charles could hardly keep still with his excitement. “Ready, baby?”

You reached into a hidden pocket in the dress and pulled out the engagement ring he proposed at Christmas with. Slipping it into your finger, you gave him a serious nod. “Now I am.”

—

“Good morning, Mrs Leclerc.”

You smiled as Charles kissed your shoulder blade and rolled you over to face him. He had already showered and dressed for the day before climbing back into bed with you and you peeked at the clock to see he would almost be late. 

“You should be at the track already,” you hummed between the sweet kisses he peppered across your skin. 

“Wasn’t going to miss watching you wake up as my beautiful wife for the first time.” His smile wavered as he kissed your forehead before pressing the back of his hand to it. “How are you feeling?”

“A little tired, but last night was worth the lack of sleep.”

He smirked and traced your lips longingly with his eyes. “Definitely worth it. But you don’t feel hot or cold?”

“Focus on FP1, Cha,” you said with a little push for him to get out of bed. “You’re going to be late.”

He playfully nipped your collarbone before getting off the bed and blowing you a kiss. “Rest up, mon amour, I’ll come back between the practices.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, more than the moon and the stars.”

“Hopeless romantic.”

“Love of my life. Fire in my loins. The apple of my-“

“Go away!” You tossed a pillow at him before falling back into the warm blankets with a laugh that turned to a yawn. “Profess your love to someone else and let me sleep.”

“Never,” he chuckled quietly as he watched your chest rise and fall into a steady rhythm. “It will only be you.”

Your health deteriorated rapidly after Vegas and your doctor urged you to return to Monaco, but you weren’t ready to leave just yet. There was only one thing left on your bucket list and it was within your grasp. Charles and Max were neck and neck in the championship but you had faith your husband would triumph in the end. So instead of heading home you remained by his side in Qatar and Abu Dhabi, letting him hire a medical team as a trade off for ignoring your doctor's advice.

It wasn’t just the season coming to an end and you could both feel it as Charles prepared for the final race. You didn’t have the strength to go to the track and see him start from pole, the prime position for the championship deciding race. You barely had the strength to stay awake for the whole race but you fought against the heaviness in your body and scanned the screens that had been brought into your room.

Pride made you heart light as you watched the world through Charles’ eyes. The onboard camera was clear ahead, all his competitors in his rear view, and as the laps passed by his lead grew wider. Charles was flying and he was taking you with him.

Charles took a seat on the centre podium as confetti rained down and fireworks exploded overhead. He wiped the sweat and champagne from his face before reaching into his race suit and grabbing the pen and paper he had tucked away.

Putting a strike through the last line he held it up triumphantly to the camera. “We did it, mon amour, we did it.”

You smiled as if he would see it and closed your eyes as you lost the battle. “I’m ready to go home now.”

The Bucket List:

Sleep under the northern lights 

Swim with sharks

Skinny dip (not with sharks)

See Christ the Redeemer

Bowl a strike

Go to every Disneyland once

Ride an elephant

Go to India for the colour festival 

Win an escape room

Learn to whistle 

Have a mud bath

Teach Charles to cook

Watch the Grand National horse race

Get a tattoo

Learn to use chopsticks

Throw beads at Mardi Gras 

Have my palm read

Try absinthe 

Ride a luge

Go to a rage room

Join the mile high club 

Catch a fish

Make a will

Bathe in healing waters 

Charles Leclerc - World Champion

Click here for the requested last day alive.

[rhythm-catsandwine]

Bar

Notes: Not sure what this is. Maybe a hint of unrequited love, an actual relationship, and maybe one more.

Maynard and Danny left and Justin followed. Adam opted to stay in to put a dent into the stack of comic books he rescued from a dying store. The place Danny knew about had red and blue lights, fancy beer, and good music. Food was always a major factor in where they went to drink or eat. This place was no exception. There was real food. American food that he was still learning. The huge buffa of familiar but not familiar food was overwhelming. He had made progress in the short time since moving to America. 

“Where?” He mumbled under his breath. One thing he learned quickly was when he was a third wheel to whatever Danny and Maynard shared. Strong beer on an empty stomach meant he was already getting a little dizzy. The moving lights did him no favor and it wasn’t much of a walk back to the hotel. “Sorry.” He nearly bumped into someone as he found the door to the outside world. 

“Hey!” His bandmate greeted as he let the door to their room close behind him. “You look like you were dumped or something. Did they do anything?”

“No.” Justin fell back on the mess of sheets.

“No one to bring back here?” He glanced over to the perfectly made bed beside the one he was in. 

“No.” Tremors shook like an earthquake back in his new home.

“More for me then?” Adam hovered over him, with the I’m really into you looks. 

“Won’t complain.” He meant it this time. On the walk back he realized Danny would never see him like he wanted. They might fuck again. But it would be meaningless. Good sex but just sex. Danny and Maynard were a thing. Even though the two would never say it in front of their friends, they were in love. 

So where does it leave them?

[killerlookz]

Bloody Kisses | Joost Klein

Description: joost klein x f! reader-(reupload) after joining the moshpit at his own show Joost winds up with a bloody nose, which reader is tasked with cleaning up. (not a blood kink fic, this is a very common moshing injury, no need to clutch your pearls)

Content: 18+ (mdni), suggestive content (no smut), prestablished relationship, making out, hickies, some "over the pants" touching, nosebleeds/blood- THIS FIC CONTAINS RPF AND HAS BEEN TAGGED AS SUCH, IF THAT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT INTERACT. this has also only been tagged under joost fanfic tags so like if you’re here it means you searched for it! (like seriously, its really not that hard lmao just keep scrolling and stop looking for shit to be mad at), I ask you KINDLY, DO NOT SHARE MY WORK EITHER AS SCREEN SHOTS OR IN ITS ENTIRETY ON OTHER SOCIAL MEDIAS, keep tumblr stuff on tumblr and i swear everyone will be so much happier <3

Joost couldn't help himself, not as the crowd of hundreds of festival goers buzzed with excitement. Not as a larger chunk of the crowd than he expected screams every word he sings back to him. He had to get in on the action, live entirely in the moment.

Joost was no stranger to joining the crowd at his shows, often times asking the crowd to clear a space around him so on his count he could start a mosh pit around him. And tonight was no different, except the crowd had been rowdier than usual, not that he really minded, having long gotten over any fear of being hurt in the pit. The fear had so long left his mind that, he had forgotten he could get hurt. An elbow to the face was a swift reminder of that fact, an intense force colliding skin with skin.

Joost was quick to hurry out of the pit once he noticed the bitter liquid that dripped down his mouth. While an injury, much less a simple nosebleed, wasn't going to slow him down, bleeding on your fans, Joost felt, wasn't a particularly smart course of action.

Luckily for him he was finishing off his final song- making him able to get out of the crowd, thank everyone for a good show, and get off the stage before the metallic taste on his tongue became too much to bear.

"What happened?" You furrow your eyebrows, watching Joost step off the stage, a dark crimson running down his face, dripping off his chin.

"Fucking hit in the face," He says, in more of a disbelief than any actual upset of having gotten hurt. He places his fingers against his upper lip, swiping upward towards his nose. The blood smears on his face and coats his fingers as he attempts to wipe it away. He looks down at the liquid that covers his hands, eyes widening.

"Is it bad?" His gaze flicks back towards you. You nod reluctantly, it's pretty bad. Gushing, even.

"C'mon," You pout, grabbing his non-blood stained hand, "I'll clean you up."

Luckily for Joost his trailer wasn't far from the stage, allowing for the two of you to move quickly so you could get him cleaned up.

"Go stand by the sink in the bathroom and tilt your head back." You motion to Joost as you enter the trailer, leaving him alone for a moment to sift through your things, knowing you had a small pack of tissues somewhere, heading back to the small trailer bathroom after retrieving it.

Joost leans against the sink with his head tilted backward, the position putting his face's bone structure on full display. The way his neck stretches upward perfectly highlights the angles of his jawline, his cheekbones hollowed out as he clenches his jaw, attempting to keep any blood out of his mouth. The rest of his body glistens with sweat, his hair perfectly messy, and his chest still rapidly rising and falling in an attempt to catch his breath from all the excitement of the show,

For a moment you forget what you're meant to be doing, all too caught up in the way he looks.

"Some help?" Joost asks, clocking how long you had been standing motionless.

"Oh-yeah, sure." You smile, walking a few steps closer to the sink. You place the tissue package on the rim of the sink, taking a couple out. "Keep your head back," You say, placing one hand on Joost's hip, and using the others to pinch his nose with the tissues to try and stop the bleeding. "Does that hurt?"

He doesn't really need to answer, not with the way he groans under your touch. The sharp noise sends shivers down your spine.

"I'm alright," He sighs, his eyes screwing shut.

"Doesn't sound like it." You can't help but giggle at his feigned assurance.

"Just a nosebleed." With his hands snake around your waist, attempting to pull you closer to him.

You don't budge as you unclamp your fingers from around his nose, the tissues already soaked in his blood. You toss the dirtied tissues in the garbage, not far from where you're standing before grabbing a couple more. You pinch his nose once more, forcing him to suck in a sharp inhale, his chest rising as he winces.

"Sorry," You mumble, but as you force his head back a little farther, you can't help but to be slightly enticed by how almost pathetic he seems now. His small gasps and groans take your mind to a place far from the current moment.

Joost's fingers dig into your lower back as you pinch a little higher on his nose, hoping for the pressure to stop the bleeding soon. His strong grip finally forces you closer to him, your chest nearly pressed to his. You try not to lose sight at the task at hand, fighting the urge to press just a little bit harder to earn another gasp out of him.

Slowly, you remove the tissues from his nose, realizing they don't seem to be getting any bloodier.

"I think the bleeding stopped," You remove your hand from his waist, instead placing it on his jaw to pull his head from its tipped back position. His face is still obviously bloodied, lips and chin smeared with streaks of red. You pat the area around his nose with a clean part of the tissue, attempting to dry it up, throwing the tissue away once it had become too bloodied.

With your hand still on his jaw, you place your thumb to his lips, swiping away the blood that remained. He looked a little cleaner now, some blood still dried around his nose, and his lips stained red.

Not exactly thinking you remove your hand from his face, sticking your thumb in your mouth to clean off the blood. Your eyes widen a little as the metallic taste hits your tongue. Joost is caught off guard, rightfully shocked that you just licked his blood off of your hand. You hadn't even meant to, the action was almost involuntary. But things suddenly feel much more intimate as you stared up at him through your lashes, your thumb hanging half-way out of your mouth, forcing your lips into a pout. You linger for a moment before Joost raises an eyebrow,

"What was that?"

"Nothing," You let your hand fall from your face, and attempt to play off the action "A little blood isn't going to kill me."

He smiles, revealing his teeth, lightly stained with blood. A chuckle falls from his lips,

"Guess you're my little vampire now,"

"I suppose I wouldn't mind sinking my teeth into your neck," You laugh, shrugging innocently.

"Oh," Joost's eyes widen, "By all means then." He tilts his head to the side, putting his neck on full display for you. You eye up the Lola Bunny tattoo that sits at the side of his neck, and admire the way his muscles strain as he stretches his neck.

You slide one hand up Joost's torso, letting your touch linger on the length of his body before finally resting your palm on his shoulder. You push yourself up on your toes a little, and let your body fall closer to Joost's, your chests fully pressed together.

You tilt your head, leaning forward so your lips press against his neck, slowly beginning to kiss at his flesh. As your lips connect with his neck a small gasp leaves his mouth, sounding much sweeter now that it was out of pleasure instead of purely pain.

You kiss up his neck before slipping your tongue from your mouth, searching for where his pulse pounds the strongest. You trail your tongue up, finding his pulse right below his jaw. You return your lips to his skin, sucking against the throbbing artery. Joost's fingers once again dig into your back, his fingernails surely leaving small crescent moon shaped imprints in your flesh. Ever-so-lightly you nip as his neck, before quickly flattening your tongue over the area to soothe the bite. The simple action resulting in a groan leaving Joost's mouth. The small sound sends vibrations down his throat, meeting your lips, eliciting a hum back from you.

Using his grip on your hips, Joost pulls you flesh against him, his belt buckle pressing into your abdomen. You smirk against his neck upon the realization that the buckle of his belt is not the only thing pressing into you. The full extent to which he had been enjoying the way you kissed at his neck on display as you push your hips forward, letting the bulge in his jeans graze your crotch. Your stomach tightens at the feeling, and you're suddenly not in as much control as you thought you had been, feeling weak in the knees at realizing how bad you need him.

You continue your pattern of biting and sucking at Joost's neck then soothing the marks with your tongue. You knew as soon as you lifted his head his neck would be littered with splotches of purple and red. Slowly, you pull your hips from his, allowing you to slot your hand between your bodies, pressing into where he strains against his jeans. The pressure you apply against Joost has him groaning above you, his hips following your hands, chasing the friction. Your kisses become quicker, no longer lingering on his skin with each movement, instead you peck up his neck, to his jaw before slowly pulling away.

Joost smirks down at you, your body set ablaze as your eyes meet his. His gaze quickly becomes to much to bare, and you avert your eyes, instead trailing your vision down his torso.

"Oh, no," You force a pout, realizing the white tank top he wears had been stained with blood, not only that but you realize how poor of a job you had honestly done cleaning him up, blood dried on his chin and down his neck. "Your shirt." You lift your hand from where it presses against his crotch, letting your fingers crawl up to the hem of his tank top.

"What?" He asks, quickly turning his head down to look.

"It's all bloody," You sigh, purposefully poorly acting out being disappointed, "I guess you have to take it off." You shrug.

Joost hums, shaking his head, trying to desperately to hide the smirk that was threatening his lips, "I guess so."

"I've got it," You respond confidently when you notice his hands beginning to slip from your waist. "Arms up," You smile.

Joost obliges, raising his arms as you play with the hem of his shirt with one hand before grabbing it on both sides, lifting it over his head, careful to not hit into where his nose is injured. You quickly toss the shirt on the floor, eager to get your hands on him.

You place both of your palms flat against his chest, his skin is soft, sticky, still covered in a fine layer of sweat. You push into him, sliding your hands upward until they rest on his shoulders. Joost slips a hand to the back of your head, the other returning to your waist. With the vantage point of having a hand behind your head, Joost is able to guide your lips to his, him bending down slightly so he can engage you in a passionate kiss.

You moan lightly at the taste of the blood that lingers on his lips, unable to entirely understand just what about your boyfriend having been bloodied was getting you so worked up. You apply more pressure onto his lips with your own, your mouth parting slightly so you can slip your tongue into his. Joost eagerly accepts, allowing you to deepen the kiss.

You slide your hands back down the length of Joost's body, your fingers once again finding themselves at his waist. You swipe a finger across the waistband of his underwear, which stick out from the jeans that hang low on his hips. Slowly, you let that singular finger slip into the waistband, dragging it back and forth, teasingly.

After letting your fingers tease the waist band of Joost's boxers for too long apparently, Joost finally speaks up, briefly parting from the kiss.

"You wanna move those hands a little lower?"

You mumble into his lips as he returns to you, "Mhm," Your fingers fall from the tight elastic to his belt. You're a bit uncoordinated due, trembling fingers making awkward movements against the thick buckle. Eventually you get it, the cool metal unhooking with a jangly sound as you let the belt open.

"Joost!" A sudden voice somewhere else in the trailer calls, causing your blood to run cold as both of your heads perk up, forcing you out of the kiss, "Are you here buddy? Everyone's been looking everywhere for you, you kind of just ran off."

"Ja-Ja," Joost stutters, trying his best to call out, "Just getting cleaned up!"