#Complete Medical Examination | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blythesarchives · 4 months ago

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Limbo | W.S

summary: Not quite Bucky, not quite Soldat, but all yours.

a/n: Oh my god, I have no self control. I love writing WS!Bucky and I'm glad so many people have been enjoying it too. So, I finally got to a smut. I won't write the typical 'aggressive' WS (if I ever do it will be like a blue moon situation) because imo I don't see that, plus...I like this better lol. Edited lightly but ignore any missed mistakes pls ty ;; wc: 5.0k

You felt like your life was a complete mess.

But it was nothing compared to his.

James, Bucky, Soldat...each name he had gave him the same reaction.

Nothing.

His brow might furrow deeply, eyes glazing over with confusion as he stares intently at the floor, his gaze drifting slowly from side to side as if attempting to piece together an impossibly complex puzzle laid out before him. When his name was called, no recognition flickered across his features, no familiar warmth lit up his face.

He wasn't truly any of the identities that had once been his. Not James with his easy smile, not Bucky with his loyal heart, not the cold precision of the Soldat.

Instead, he existed in a nebulous space between all these versions of himself, these names and personas washing over him like waves, each one bringing with it fragments of memories that would surface briefly before slipping away like smoke through his fingers. Nothing concrete would stay, only wisps of who he used to be.

He was stuck, trapped in this liminal space between identities, neither one thing nor another.

You watched helplessly as he struggled, how he would desperately grasp at each fleeting memory that surfaced, trying with all his might to hold onto even the smallest piece of his past. But inevitably, tragically, even these fragments would dissolve like morning mist, leaving him once again adrift in that haunting space between what was and what is, lost in the void between his many selves.

His handwriting often too shaky to make out among the journal’s pages.

For whatever reason, the soldier had taken to you, of all people. Not even Steve could reach him without causing further distress and confusion to the poor man. Heartbreak glossed the blonde’s eyes each time Bucky rejected Steve's gentle advances, careful attempts to trigger some form of memory, some spark of recognition from their shared past, only failed.

Your own heart ached watching these interactions, seeing the pain etched across Steve's features with every failed attempt at connection and the ever growing agitation from the soldier. You didn't want to step between them, this bond that had survived decades and wars, and you couldn't explain why he had taken such a peculiar liking to you over anyone else.

For the soldier’s sake, you took your new role without complaint.

Countless hours in the medical wing of Avenger's tower proved exhausting for the both of you. Hours of treatment on his end seemed to stretch without end, punctuated by moments of crisis when you found yourself having to wrestle with him every time someone new came into the room.

Your voice grew hoarse from spitting sentence after sentence of reassurance, constant streams of gentle reminders that no one here was going to cause him harm, that he was safe, that these people were here to help. The mantra became as familiar as breathing, though no less important with each repetition.

The soldier experienced dramatic swings between states of intense panic and unsettling calmness, making each medical examination completely unpredictable. Sometimes he would remain completely still, frozen like a statue during the procedures, while other times he would thrash and struggle with every ounce of strength to escape from the men in white. His behavior was noticeably different with female medical staff, even when they wore the white coats - he showed a marked willingness to cooperate with them much more. The behavioral change made your stomach churn with the obvious implications.

As days turned to weeks, he gradually began to show signs of adjustment within your quarters. The decision to let him stay had come naturally, as every attempt to establish separate living arrangements had proven futile…he invariably found his way back to your space.

Every time.

It became a predictable pattern: regardless of the hour, whether in the dark of night or dawn of early morning, he would somehow make his way back into your room and by your side. He was satisfied sleeping on the floor, he settled himself at the foot of it or beside it, he liked the small area tucked between the wall and your mattress, a small hidden space for him to form some sense of security.

It had been several months since the day when you first took him in, watching as he struggled daily with the fragments of his shattered identity. The psychological wounds were still raw and festering, making it impossible for him to process or accept who he truly was. Every morning brought new challenges, every evening ended in confusion and frustration.

Together with Steve, you dedicated countless hours trying to help him piece together the puzzle of his past life. Steve brought out old photographs, shared stories, and created detailed timelines in journals, but despite all your patient guidance and gentle encouragement, the poor man remained trapped in a void of forgotten memories. He couldn't recall anything from his previous life, not even the smallest detail.

The mounting frustration grew in every line of his face, in the way his hands would clench and unclench as he'd violently shove away the journals and carefully curated photos. His eyes would dart around the room like a cornered animal, accusing Steve of fabricating elaborate lies as his mind wrestled between what felt true and what his broken psyche insisted was false.

"Shut up!" Bucky suddenly exploded, sending the leather-bound photo album flying across the room with enough force to leave a mark on the wall. He launched himself up from his position between you and Steve, his entire body radiating tension and hostility. As he whirled to face Steve, his eyes were wild with confusion and fear, nostrils flaring with each rapid breath.

Steve was clearly struggling to maintain his composure through all of this too. Though he tried his best to remain patient and understanding, watching his oldest and dearest friend transform into someone who didn't even recognize him was taking an enormous emotional toll. Rising slowly to meet Bucky's challenge, Steve's face was a mixture of hurt and frustration. "I'm not lying," he insisted, his voice thick with emotion, "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes - I'm your friend!"

"No!" The soldier shouted back, his chest heaving rapidly with each labored breath as he stood there, his long dark hair falling in tangled strands over his face while he shook his head violently in denial.

"You know me!" Steve retorted passionately, his voice cracking with emotion as he faced the resistance before him, desperately trying to reach through to his old friend.

"No, I don't!" The words came out as a raw, desperate cry, filled with confusion and pain.

You wanted to intervene in their intense confrontation, but for the moment you stayed silent and watched the two of them from your position, your heart racing as you observed their exchange, wondering if maybe Steve's unwavering determination could finally break through the soldier's programmed shell and reach the Bucky that lay buried underneath all those years of conditioning.

The soldier threw a punch, his metal arm whirring with the momentum as Steve quickly dodged out of the way. The poor soldier had thrown such a powerful and uncontrolled swing that it sent him stumbling forward, his boots scraping against the floor as he struggled to maintain his balance. You immediately rose to your feet as you realized this confrontation was rapidly escalating. You had been able to keep the soldier at bay, his unstable emotions were pretty manageable up until now and you didn’t want them to get out of hand.

"Okay, enough! Steve, stop-" You warned with urgency in your voice, desperately wanting the blond man to create some distance so the agitated soldier could have space to regain his composure.

"Soldat...easy, it's okay." You placate in a gentle voice, carefully watching his tense form as he sharply turned around to face the two of you again, his chest heaving with each breath.

"He's lying!" The words tore from his throat, anger, fear, confusion filled his tone.

"It's okay...it's all okay," You soothed, focusing all your energy on defusing the situation. You held your hands out toward him in a peaceful gesture, maintaining steady eye contact despite the intensity of his gaze. "You're fine...just take a breath." Your measured, calming tone seemed to pierce through his agitation like a shaft of light through storm clouds.

Gradually, the harsh, rapid breathing that had been wracking his frame began to slow, your non-threatening demeanor and passive body language helping to anchor him back to a more stable state.

"I think that's enough for today..." You muttered quietly, glancing back at Steve with a weary expression. He was still visibly frustrated, his jaw clenched and shoulders tense, but he had enough sense and self-awareness to know it was time to back off for now. Your attention shifted back to the soldier, carefully and gently guiding him down the hallway to your room to give him a much-needed break from the intensity of the memory session.

He was noticeably stiff when he walked, his movements reverted to being mechanical and hesitant. You had no idea what thoughts were racing through his mind, but you hoped you could help ease some of his obvious distress. Days that were more emotionally tense and unpredictable tended to disturb his sleep patterns significantly more than usual, restless nights filled with nightmares and you had to tend him through them. You didn’t mind, but it was exhausting after a few weeks.

Once inside your bedroom, you quietly shut the door behind you and watched as he began to relax ever so slightly, the familiarity of your quarters helping to settle his frayed nerves bit by bit. He slowly trudged over to your bed, his footsteps still carrying that residual tension, before sitting down heavily on the edge and looking up at you with an expression that made your heart ache - his eyes shy and pouty like a kicked puppy, clear with shame and uncertainty.

"M'sorry...I was…bad. I shouted." He muttered softly, his eyebrows deeply furrowed in distress, "I just...can't..." His hand gradually balled into a tight fist and before you could react, he struck himself in the head, hitting over and over as he sat there - delivering short and sharp knocks to his temple that made you wince with each impact.

"Soldat, hey, no. Stop it right now." You quickly grasped his wrist firmly but gently, staring at him with intense concern in your eyes. "We talked about this so many times...don't hurt yourself like this. You don't deserve any punishment...none of what happened was your fault. You just got a bit overwhelmed by everything, and that happens to everyone, even me." You soothed in a gentle voice while maintaining your grip, determined to keep him from continuing to hit his head. “You don’t need to hurt yourself anymore, okay?”

He didn't reply verbally, but the gradual lowering of his mechanical arm provided enough reassurance and comfort for you to finally release your grip on his wrist. With a heavy exhale, you pushed yourself up from your position, muscles protesting slightly from the tension. "I think it's best if we stay in tonight, all things considered." You observed thoughtfully, taking measured steps toward your closet to retrieve some fresh clothes, "I'm going to take a shower, okay?" You turned back to look at him after seconds of silence, only to find his piercing gaze fixed intently on you, his eyes blinking slowly as if processing your words. "Soldat?"

"Да." The response came swiftly and automatically from his lips, prompting you to turn and make your way deliberately toward the attached bathroom. As you walked, you couldn't ignore the sensation of stress gradually creeping through your body, tension coiling through your muscles like a spring. You knew that a hot shower would at least provide some relief, hopefully working to unknot the tight muscles that had formed across your shoulders and down your back.

When you emerged from the steamy bathroom later, towel pressed against your damp hair as you scrunched the moisture from the strands, you stopped in your tracks when you crossed the threshold - the soldier was spread across your bed, his body taut with obvious need as he desperately sought some form of release.

He was alone, his eyes darting around nervously.

Your room smelled nice, a gentle and comforting aroma that made him relax ever so slightly. He felt deeply estranged sitting perched on the edge of your bed, knowing he shouldn't be on the furniture. The memory of that lesson being violently beaten into him surfaced with crystal clarity, he felt a sharp phantom pain at his side, electricity fueling his body.

Should he get down onto the floor where he belonged? You hadn't said anything about it when you left, hadn't seemed to mind his presence on the bed, so maybe just this once it was okay?

“Just this once, you mutt.” He spat at the soldier, perhaps its handler felt some sort of pity for it that day. It was just grateful it didn’t have to curl up on the splintering wooden floor by the bed.

After several long moments of internal debate, he decided to stay on the bed.

You were nice, you wouldn’t hurt him.

He laid back against the bed, a soft sigh escaped his barely parted lips. The sheets smelled incredibly good, carrying your distinct scent; your shampoo, your natural musk that gradually seeped into his sensitive nose as he hesitantly buried his face against your impossibly silky pillow.

God it smelled so good.

Try as he might, he couldn't quite pinpoint the exact notes of the scent, his senses having been shot and dulled for so terribly long. But he knew deep in his bones that it smelled good, smelled sweet and pure and perfect.

As he clutched your pillow closer, hugging it tightly to his chest, he suddenly felt something unfamiliar stirring in his gut, like a sharp fluttering sensation that made his breath catch. His trousers felt uncomfortably tighter and he glanced down at himself with wide eyes, blinking in confusion at the sight. Seeing his body react this way was deeply odd...he hadn't experienced anything like this in such a long time. His handlers always had to give him pills to get this kind of response, otherwise it simply didn't happen.

Growing increasingly curious despite his lingering apprehension, he cautiously felt himself through the fabric and was genuinely surprised to discover that it felt good. It felt...really good, wonderfully good. And it didn't hurt in the slightest. It had always used to hurt so badly before, so why didn't it hurt now? Each time one of his handlers touched him, it hurt a lot. He remembers sharp pain, it made him nauseous a lot of the time. But now…he didn’t feel that pain, only this fluttering feeling.

He couldn't help himself any longer, his control crumbling entirely. Before he fully realized what he was doing, he had frantically ripped his own pants off, stumbling awkwardly as he struggled to kick his heavy combat boots off in order to tear the restricting black pants completely off himself as he penguined around your room. Bouncing precariously on one leg and growling in mounting frustration, he nearly toppled over onto his ass in his desperation.

He stared at his crotch, his thick cock twitching and leaking fluid as it throbbed at attention. The neglected part of him begged for his touch, the way it sent neurons rapidly to his brain to do something almost hurt. The soldier was desperate yet hesitant, he hadn't been allowed to touch himself in HYDRA, it was forbidden for him to ever do so. Only his handlers had that luxury, and it never felt good.

The poor thing felt hot and he bit back a strangled whine as he finally allowed himself the intimate touch he'd been denying for so long. His trembling fingers hesitantly explored bare skin, trailing down his abdomen and to his neglected cock.

He carefully grasped himself, unsteady and out of practice, his hand moved up and down the length with tentative strokes as he tried to replicate what he knew from distant memories. He squeezed and turned his hand with experimental motions, though the sensations remained frustratingly muted, falling short of what he desperately sought. His behavior replicated that of past hands, mechanical and clinical touches that had never prioritized his pleasure or comfort.

His frustration mounted steadily as his pent up desire overwhelmed his senses, leaving him breathless and yearning for more. The soldier moved back to your bed with shaky steps, his cock felt heavy, his balls full and needy for some kind of release. He buried his face deep in your pillow once more, inhaling deeply to chase that fluttery feeling that he felt earlier when inhaling your scent.

As you stood there, freshly showered with droplets of water still clinging to your skin, the plush towel wrapped securely around your body - you were surprised at the sight before you. The soldier on your bed moved with such raw, unrestrained desperation, his movements so primal and needy that you couldn't help but wonder if this was his first taste of pleasure, as if he hadn't ever experienced the sweet release of an orgasm before, or hell, even remember what it was like.

The man clung onto your pillow, face buried in it as his hips jut into your bed, the comforter balling up under him. His grunts were muffled against the pillow, his thrusts against your sheets were sloppy and jerky. You could tell he was just trying to reach climax, but none of his actions would get him there. He'd only cause himself enough friction to stay hard.

He lifted his face up gradually, his flushed cheeks burning bright and his dark eyebrows drawn tightly together in concentrated pleasure. His lips were glossy and parted, glistening with saliva as he practically drooled with desperate need, his entire body trembling on the edge of climax. His frantic thrusting began to slow to an erratic rhythm as waves of tension visibly radiated through his muscular form. The soldier's heavy-lidded eyes fluttered open hazily, only to suddenly lock onto your watching form.

In that moment, his entire body froze completely rigid, like a marble statue caught in a compromising position, as the full realization dawned across his features that you had discovered him rutting so shamelessly against your bed.

Assuming the worst, he quickly got up and leaned back, exposing himself without realizing it. His cock angry with need, leaking thick fluid as it tried to get its host to relieve the growing pain of orgasm denial. Your eyes were naturally drawn to it, the thick member twitching and staining your favorite pillow.

His face was flushed a deep crimson with overwhelming embarrassment, his eyes cast downward to avoid meeting your gaze as he desperately tried scooting further back on the bed. The poor man was clearly consumed by shame, not just from staining your belongings but from experiencing such intense, primal need for the first time in what felt like countless decades.

You had always been careful with him before, understanding and respecting his past experiences and trauma. But right now, watching his reactions and body language, it seemed like he was silently pleading for your intervention.

And honestly...the sight of him this way made your pussy feel wetter by the second.

"Awe, baby...are you struggling?" You asked in the softest, most nurturing tone you could, slowly making your way to the bed, careful not to startle him. "Don't worry, I know it feels weird, huh...I'll help make it better."

Your hand gently reached out and ran up from his knee to his thigh, the bare skin feeling warm and inviting against your palm. Your fingertips traced delicate patterns as they moved upward, savoring each moment of contact he allowed you to have. Your eyes glanced down at the scars marring his beautiful body - silvery lines etched across his skin like a canvas of survival. He didn't like looking at them, always trying to hide them away from view, but you didn't mind. They didn't make him any less pretty to you .

You reached his pelvis, your touch feather-light as you looked up through your lashes to meet his eyes. They were glossy with need, dark with desire as he stared down at you - his broad chest heaving with painful anticipation, each breath making the muscles in his abdomen tense and relax. "Please..." he spoke meekly, voice barely a whisper, his bottom lip trembling as he gripped the sheets beneath him, desperately resisting the overwhelming urge to rut upward towards your teasing touch.

"I'll take care of you," your voice cooed, gently reassuring him as your heart fluttered rapidly against your ribcage as your gaze drifted downward to rest upon his erect cock. Your fingertips traced light patterns up the length of his thighs, the touch both teasing and tender, avoiding those silvery scars. You pressed against his thighs, carefully guiding his legs to part.

Fuck, he was beautiful.

Pretty pink head just weeping for your touch, twitching as it laid against his belly, sticky fluid webbing into his neat, curly happy trail. Pretty pearls flowing out of him as the blushed tip became a darker, angrier red with the company of your touch.

His balls hung heavy, so so full, so you gently kneaded his sac. This earned a loud whine in response to your warm hand palming against him, massaging the sore testicles. "Please, please...please, I need..." His pretty voice was so delicious as he begged for something, he just didn't know what.

"What do you want baby...tell me, I'll give it to you," you whispered softly against his skin, your warm breath causing goosebumps to ripple across his flesh. The man beneath you was struggling to maintain his composure, his chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. Tears welled in his glacial eyes as he trembled against the soft, cotton sheets, his fingers desperately clutching at the bedding beneath him.

His voice caught in his throat - a deep, ripping cry of need as you slowly placed tender kisses along his knee. You took your time, savoring each press of your lips as you traced a path along the sensitive inside of his thigh, feeling the muscles quiver beneath your touch. Just before reaching the spot he craved your attention most, you paused, letting the anticipation build a bit.

"I won't tease too much, I know you are needy." You finally grasped him, letting your hand move along. Bucky squirmed, moaning and desperately rutting up into your touch for more. You kept a slow pace, steadily stroking his hard flesh so as to not overwhelm him. Your thumb gently caressed his tip, circular motions spreading those pearly beads all around and coating the tip in a thick lubricant.

You let your thumb gently press and swipe up through his slit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make him quiver. The sensation overwhelmed him, causing his body to tremble uncontrollably as waves of pleasure coursed through him. His back arched dramatically off the bed as he cried out in pure ecstasy, every nerve ending singing with delight as it felt so good. You felt so incredibly good, your touch electric against his sensitive, neglected cock.

This was entirely new territory for him - he had never experienced anything that came close to this level of intensity before. Physical contact without pain was a rare occurrence, and when he did get touched in the past, it was never on his terms. But this - this was something entirely different, something that made his whole body feel alive with sensation. The pleasure built and built until it felt like brilliant fireworks were exploding in his belly, sending sparks of pure bliss radiating through his entire body until his fingertips and toes tingled with static numbness.

You let out a soft breath, a smile quirked at your lips as you viewed the mess of white ropes that hung against his belly and draped on your fingers from your stroking. He came already, you barely touched him and he fucking came. Disheveled, he took deep breaths and looked up at you, his eyes peeking open as a small whimper emitted from his throat.

However, he was still hard.

You wondered if super soldiers could go more than once without a refractory period.

"What do you want, Bucky?" you asked the trembling soldier, your voice barely above a whisper. His breath hitched as you leaned closer, eyes searching his face intently. "What do you want...tell me. You get to choose. You decide what happens now," you murmured, watching his reactions carefully as your hands slowly traced gentle patterns across his thighs, fingers trailing deliberately up and over his pelvis, thumbs following the natural V-line. You applied just enough pressure to his shaking muscles to make him gasp, feeling the way he tensed and relaxed under your touch.

The poor man could barely form a coherent thought, his mind clouded with desire. His hands frantically grasped at your arms, fingers flexing against your skin as he tugged and yanked lightly, desperately trying to pull you on top of him. His voice came out rough and pleading, filled with raw need as he begged, "More, more...more..." His lip trembled and his eyes watered, you had never seen him like this, so taken over by the cloud of need.

"You want me to ride?" you asked gently, your fingers unwound the towel still wrapped around your body, letting it fall softly and you tossed it off beside the bed. Your skin glowed in the dim light as you leaned forward, your voice dropped to a calm whisper. "I'll ride you, all you have to do is sit back and enjoy..."

The words ghosted across his skin as you traced a delicate path with your lips, starting at his sternum and working your way up, each kiss lingering longer than the last. Your mouth found the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, and you could feel the thundering of his pulse beneath your lips.

His breathing had grown ragged and uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath your touch. His arms encircled you, fingers pressing into your skin as if he were anchoring himself to reality, terrified that if he loosened his grip even slightly, you might fade away and he’d wake up in a cold cell again.

Before you knew it, his cock was poking your slick entrance and you sunk down on his length without wasting a beat, impaling yourself on his thickness. He let out a shuddering cry, his glossy eyes widening with unbridled desire as his trembling hands instinctively shot out to grasp your plush, inviting hips, fingers pressing deeply into the soft flesh.

Oh, this felt...fuck, he struggled to find words. The warmth enveloping him, the wetness made his head spin, the softness of your cunt threatened to undo him completely.

You squeezed him so good, your inner muscles contracting rhythmically around him like your body was purposefully attempting to milk him of everything he had stored away, drawing out every last drop. You carefully began to move on him, lifting your hips up slowly before letting gravity guide you back down, savoring each sensation as you felt him stretch and move your insides. The fullness was overwhelming - he was absolutely massive in you, spreading you wider than you'd ever been, yet somehow he fit perfectly, like your bodies were made for each other, two lost pieces of a puzzle finally united.

Your body moved in perfect harmony with his, each roll of your hips drawing out beautiful moans in response. The way you naturally undulated against him, finding an intoxicating rhythm that had him gasping and trembling beneath you. His hips bucked up desperately to meet your movements, seeking more of that friction that felt so damn good. The soldier's hands gripped you tightly, his fingers still digging into your skin as he struggled to maintain what little composure he had left.

"C..can't...gonna..." His voice strained and broke, he buried his face into your chest as he thrusted up hard - warm, gooey cum shooting out and coating your cervix and inner walls, pooling out of your cunt and coating him as he thrusted slowly until he stopped and remained tucked inside.

He cried out against you, his body trembling and clinging desperately as waves of intense pleasure coursed through him, his second release of the night overwhelming his senses completely. His fingers dug into your skin as he shuddered, overcome by the intensity of sensations he had been denied for so very long.

"I've got you," you whispered soothingly, your arms wrapping protectively around his broad shoulders. One hand found its way into his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as you gently scratched his scalp in a comforting rhythm. His face remained buried against your breasts, and you could feel the warm wetness of tears against your skin.

A seed of worry took root in your gut at his emotional response, but you quickly reminded yourself that these tears were caused by relief and pleasure, not pain or distress. His hurt body and tortured mind were simply overwhelmed by the rush of positive sensations - after decades of existing without any form of physical pleasure or intimate touch, it was natural for him to be overcome by these emotions when finally getting to experience pleasure again.

Bucky sobbed.

His body trembled violently as if the bitter chill of winter had taken his body all over again, leaving him shaking uncontrollably in the aftermath. He clung to you, unwilling to release his grip on you. The safest he had ever felt was here, wrapped in your arms, where nothing else seemed to matter.

His broken mind, a constant battlefield of screaming thoughts filled with pain and unrelenting anger, was silenced - if not just a little - when he was in your arms. The constant torment of pain and guilt became manageable right here by your side, tucked away against your chest and arms.

No longer lost. No longer wandering aimlessly.

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #winter soldier smut #winter soldier x reader smut #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x you #the winter soldier smut #the winter soldier x reader smut #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #thunderbolts #emwrites🌿

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great-and-small · 3 months ago

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Speaking of breed standards, would you be able to give me some context on what the heck is up with the German Shepherd "stack"? I see a lot of GSD owners saying it's breed standard and therefore fine, but the slant looks so extreme in some dogs that I have some skepticism about it (and also because, of course, breed standards have nothing to do with animal health).

This is a pretty hot button issue and you’re right that there is a ton of bickering back and forth about it online. I’m happy to share my thoughts, but keep in mind that as a veterinarian I am biased towards function over form. I care way more about if a dog can do the things it wants/needs to do than how it looks. I won’t get into it here but I actually have real qualms with the distinction between “working line” and “show line” in some breeds.

My quick takeaway opinion- There are several orthopedic issues in the German Shepherd dog (specifically show lines) that have likely been exacerbated if not entirely caused by breeders striving for the classic “sloped back” look that is considered breed standard.

Now that being said, it is a fact that the three point stack (how a dog is positioned when standing) greatly exaggerates the angulation of the back and hind legs. You will often see comparison images like this one that show a dog in stack versus standing square and you can clearly see the top line looks more sloped when the dog is stacked. This image is from a GSD subreddit, a pretty dog here nicely demonstrating how the stance can change the appearance of the top line.

This phenomenon is what certain hardline GSD breed standard loyalists will point to when discussing this issue. They posit that the sloped back is essentially an optical illusion caused by aesthetic posing, and therefore a German Shepherd is no more prone to orthopedic problems than any other large breed dog. This is where I disagree.

You can easily find stark examples of a poorly put together dog in any breed or mixed breed out there, so when discussing my concerns with the GSD I will only use photos of titled dogs that are accomplished within the show ring. These are not random backyard bred shepherds, but champion dogs from acclaimed lines that will almost certainly be bred to pass on their genes. When breed clubs like the AKC award these dogs as exemplars of the breed, they tacitly endorse the conformation issues I’m about to discuss. So my beef is not with German shepherds or dog breeds in general, but specifically with breed clubs that refuse to examine whether their standard harms animals. An important disclaimer, not every breed club is like this and many take health concerns extremely seriously.

Dogs have a very different limb anatomy and gait to humans and a healthy dog is meant to walk on their paw pads. The “ankle” or hock should be upright and angled as you can see here in this nice-looking champion shepherd from 1902.

German shepherds can sometimes have a problem that is colloquially called “dropped hocks” where that joint is abnormally loose and in more serious cases can even be touching the ground, which is completely abnormal and something I would consider a serious physical flaw. A dog having dropped hocks/tarsal hyperflexion like this is proven to cause medical issues for these dog, but unfortunately the sinking joints also help to give the dog that “classic” sloping look that breed clubs love.

This dog “Ch Kysarah's Pot of Gold” won best of breed at the National dog show in 2015. You can see his hock is literally flat on the ground even when not stacked

And it’s not just one dog. Here is another champion dog (Cruaghaire Catoria), who got some controversy for winning best of breed at Crufts in 2016 despite an extremely abnormal gait.

Perhaps we could excuse the low hocks when the dog is standing as being the result of the stack, but it is glaringly obvious when she moves that this is no trick of her positioning. Her entire tarsus rests on the floor as she runs and in close ups you can even see bald patches there to suggest this is a “normal” gait for her. In this video, the announcers agree that this is the ideal gait for a shepherd. If I saw this gait in a friend’s dog I’d politely express my concerns for long term mobility issues and recommend an orthopedic consultation. To see it win best of breed is galling to say the least.

And lest you think the problem has been solved, here’s another from the National Dog Show in 2023

None of these dogs could charge athletically into a field and effectively herd sheep. If we are prioritizing aesthetic over function to the degree that a dog cannot do what it was bred to do, or more importantly that it cannot do the simple things that dogs love to do, then we have veered unforgivably off course. Not to put too fine a point on it but what the fuck is the point of a breed standard if it impedes the dog’s function in any way? We have no right. German shepherds are an incredible breed of dog that have stood by us humans in some of our darkest moments; I think the breeders and kennel clubs who claim to love them the most should work harder to ensure the “champion” dogs they are producing can live long pain-free lives. If we have to adjust our notion of what the breed is “supposed” to look like then so fucking be it.

This is too long already so I’m not getting into hip dysplasia, DM, carpal laxity, elbow dysplasia or other conditions that exist in the breed. If German shepherd clubs want to distance themselves from the notion that their breed standard is causing problems with canine health then they will need to stop publicly lavishing awards on dogs with medically concerning gait issues and start focusing on breeding dogs that can run around a ring without causing even the most casual of onlookers to realize “something’s not right there”

#asks #long post #vetblr #german shepherd #animal welfare #vet med #tarsal hyperflexion #dogblr #dogs

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carefrontgroup · 1 year ago

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specialgradefckr · 1 month ago

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here, kitty, kitty!

tw: dubcon, hybrid au, reader is literally a pet, loss of bodily autonomy, examination kink, slight medical play, piercings, possession

So, Satoru wants to get a cat hybrid.

Suguru supposes he shouldn't be surprised. Satoru's never hidden his porn history or anything. He's constantly suggesting they find a third, while instantly rejecting all suggestions.

A diva like him couldn't have sex with just anyone. And for Suguru himself, well, he preferred to have a certain level of... control in a relationship.

Which suited Satoru fine, most of the time, and Suguru was willing to concede on the rare occasion.

But Suguru doesn't have cat ears, a tail, and a pussy, and he can even admit that he misses the fairer sex sometimes, too.

They've been together so long, know each other so well. Familiarity breeding boredom, maybe. They're happy together, but Satoru wants more.

He's also incredibly needy, exactly the type of child who would beg mommy and daddy for a pet kitty.

That's also the type of child cats tend to despise. But no matter how many times he tries to explain it - "It's not that simple, Satoru" "A pet is a serious commitment, you know" - Satoru, much like a whining child, just doesn't listen.

And, well, Suguru is getting tired of telling him.

So that's how they end up here - with you.

A beautiful thing. All curled up in the corner of your stall - cage, really. Your ears twitch at the noise, and you look up, wide-eyed and anxious in a way that tugs his heartstrings.

It's truly a pity that you're at a place like this.

The interior is well-decorated, clean, with lush carpets and furnishings. The interior of your cage has a soft-looking blanket bunched up in it, and plush bedding in the back.

But there's no mistaking its purpose. In the background, there are moans, whimpers, and the occasional sob.

Throughout the wide room, a few pets were being taken out, paraded for potential owners. Poked and prodded and played with.

You, like all the others, are completely naked.

These hybrids are for sex.

Suguru had almost wanted to leave right away, but Satoru had been so excited, dragging him in by the hand. "Just look! We only have to look!"

After the assistant, a tall, well-dressed blonde man, guides them to the cat section, he's starting to think this isn't Satoru's first time here.

And that's when they'd found you, the sorry thing that you are.

Something trickles down his spine at the thought that you'll be seen by others, sold off, used for sex at your owner's discretion.

"Ooooh, I love this one!" Satoru sounds excited. "Can we take a closer look?"

Nodding, the assistant unlatches your cage. You look out, carefully, with big wide eyes, and the assistant waves you out, but you don't move.

He goes in with a leather lead, latching it to your collar, tugging until you finally crawl out, ears tilted back as your tail curls around your body.

Suguru accepts the lead in one hand as the man steps out for a moment.

The assistant reappears pushing a cart of what looks like medical instruments. Tongue depressors, stethoscopes... lubricant.

"All our pets are virgins. You aren't permitted to have sex but you're free to examine them however you like."

Suguru stands there, silent and shocked while Satoru gleefully agrees.

With a tap of his hand to your back, the assistant guides you to lean forwards, chest pressed against the floor, ass up, right in the middle of the shop in front of them.

Your tail sways gently, curling around Satoru's hand when he grasps at it, delighted, running his hand through it and down the length of your body.

"She soooo cute! Look at her pretty tail. And that ass." He whistles, smacking you on the flank.

Suguru watches your whole body flinch at the contact, but you stiffen up, staying in position. He feels a weird, light flip in his belly. This sort of thing was crazy to begin with... but wouldn't it be better to adopt you than leave you here?

He can't even see your face, meet your eyes. Something inside him screams to comfort you; gather your smaller figure up tightly in his arms and squeeze.

"It'll be all right," Suguru finds himself saying, effortlessly smooth as he approaches you. Gently petting the side of your head, watching the ear on that side tilt to accommodate him. Cute.

Well. He supposes he's a cat person, too.

Satoru is still cooing and groping over your admittedly fine body. Suguru can't help but notice how you stiffen under Satoru's wandering touch, but lean into his gentle pets.

He kneels by your head so he can scratch behind your ear, catching the side of your pretty face.

You reward his efforts with a slight, barely noticeable purr - one that goes away when you gasp, face flushing.

That'd be Satoru.

"See, look at her getting wet already! I bet she looks real good taking dick." Satoru says with a giggle as he reaches your pussy, giving your clit a little rub and teasing your entrance.

The employee, straight-faced, gestures towards the instruments beside him.

"As I said, our pets are kept as virgins until they're sold, so you can't have sex with them. But any other form of examination is permitted, including penetrative ones."

Satoru gives him that terrible, impish grin. "C'mon Suguru. We should check she's in good health before we get her."

"Who said we're getting her?" Suguru shoots back, stroking tenderly over your head, down your back, in soothing motions.

There's a sparkle in Satoru's eyes; he knows Suguru isn't willing to leave this shelter without you.

Those terrible, wicked, beautiful eyes glance over the instruments, mouth splitting into a grin as he fixes his gaze on one of them.

Pulling out the speculum, Satoru slinks towards your backside. Tracing lines over your folds, fondling your clit with purpose.

"See! Soooo wet," He coos, positioning the speculum at your entrance.

Suguru pulls away from you to sit next to Satoru, "Be careful. That's not a toy."

"I know, I know!"

Satoru's tone isn't exactly reassuring to you. Still, you can't do anything but hold yourself up, your ass and cunt bare and exposed to them as the cool metal slides in.

Just the feeling of it spreading you open has you whimpering, tail curling around your thigh.

Suguru's hand comes to rest at the base of your tail, near your back, petting down it in a gliding motion.

"There's a good girl, hm," His voice has a heady satisfaction to it, fingers curling around your tail, "Just hold still for us, don't be afraid. We won't hurt you."

You can't help your reaction, keening under his soothing, affectionate tone. A little whine escapes you as the cool metal slides deeper in, and Suguru makes an effort to reach down and pet your head again.

"Yeah!" Satoru chirps. "See, it's not so bad!"

Somehow, this, too, fails to reassure you. However, one of his hands sneaks around to rub over your clit, until you're dripping, clenching around the metal instrument.

"Good kitty," Suguru murmurs, and you find a shameful, low rumble building in your belly.

Satoru notices, though, "She likes it!" - to your horror, he slides the speculum all the way in, and starts spreading it - you - wide open.

"Here, Suguru, don't you want a look?" Satoru says, spreading you one-handed. His other hand rubs just close enough to your clit to keep the arousal lit.

"Hm..." Suguru hums.

But Satoru knows him - knows that this is as close to a yes as he can bring himself to admit to an idea he hadn't suggested himself.

You're so cute, too, he can't help but stroke your pretty little folds, all soft and wet for him. Even as he gapes your cunt wide, it's drooling all over his fingers. You're a natural. So perfect~

"Just look!" Excitement shoots through his chest, "You can see inside... that's her cervix, right?"

He does see it, they both do, that tender, reddened roundness at the end of your pretty little passageway. Walls straining against the speculum, a tight little hole winking at them at the very end.

Like a prize. Like an invitation.

It stirs a terrible, primal heat in Suguru's loins. Seeing so deep inside you. So far. You've almost certainly never even seen this part of yourself... it's only for him. For him and Satoru.

For them to see right now. And later, feel it kissing their dicks, hot and wet as you get filled up with their cum...

"God," Satoru says out loud, "I just want to take her here and now, you know? This cute cunt would look so nice all swollen and dripping with cum, yeah? Right, Su-gu-ru~?"

It's so painfully obvious by now; Satoru had already scouted you in this shelter. He'd picked you out on purpose.

Somehow, he's not even upset. But he can't just say that. Even if he's already itching to have you home, with his name on your collar and your leash in his hands, to play with...

"She looks... healthy." Suguru says, glancing at the employee.

The assistant nods shortly. "As you can see, she has a very strong pelvic floor, and she's in prime breeding condition. Our pets are kept in perfect health."

A pause. "Is she in fit to go home today?" Suguru asks, ignoring how Satoru nearly cheers at the statement.

"All of our pets are. If they weren't completely healthy, they wouldn't be on display. We take their care very seriously here."

Suguru nods again, and the assistant leaves to retrieve the final adoption papers.

Satoru pulls the speculum out, and Suguru takes a moment to press his body into your thigh, supporting you, petting over you.

"You were so good for us," He cooes, "Don't be scared. There's a good girl," Suguru hums as your tail slides against him, "You're coming home with us, now. Aren't you excited?"

There's a terrible relief that pours through you at the words good girl, at the gentleness with which those large hands guide you to a much more comfortable position, sitting at his feet.

You press yourself against his lower legs, looking up at him shyly, feeling a purr glow through your chest as Suguru smiles down at you.

He's so nice. The other man is lecherous, a bit scary, but it'll be okay as long as this nice man is here, right?

It seems almost finished, as the employee returns - but the white-haired man, the extra pretty one, raises a brow at an option on the paperwork.

"Clit piercings?" Satoru's voice seems extra excited, "Is that an option? Instead of the microchip?"

Piercing? You stiffen at the word. To say you didn't like pain would be a dramatic understatement. Just the thought of some needle near your flesh, a hole that won't heal...

Suguru's hand comes down onto your head, running through your hair, brushing all the thoughts away as you lean into his touch.

It's hard not to crave the warmth, the gentleness. You're only a hybrid, after all, bred for companionship and affection.

The employee pauses for a moment sighing, "It's not an option for all pets. It's a clitoral hood piercing, which can house a micro-sized, state of the art gps tracker. The issue is, it requires some delicate handling. You would have to keep her still, and ideally, keep her clit hard, so it's easier to avoid."

Satoru pulls you up into his arms, like you're no lighter than a switch - you yelp, but he just laughs.

He sits back onto a chair, holding you in his lap and spreading your legs. With one hand, larger than your whole pussy, he spreads your lips open, revealing your cunt.

Your feverish eyes look for Suguru, who approaches from the side, squirming in Satrou's lap anxiously.

Those dark eyes run over you, and for once, the look on the handsome, dark-haired man's face makes you shiver.

"That should be easy. You've been playing around it all this time, haven't you, Satoru?" Suguru's tone is half-accusatory, but Satoru only laughs.

It's easy for you to follow the line of his sight to between your legs, right at the crest of your clit, where Satoru's long, clever fingers stroke heavy circles around it.

"Just hold her like that" The assistant states, pulling out a piercing gun, "This will only take a moment."

"Look at her cute little clit!" Satoru snickers, "Gonna look so pretty with the piercing over it. Plus, if she ever gets lost, we'll find her right away!"

You can feel his body better now, pressed up as you are against him. His chest is solid, muscled, and he's wiry but lean behind you as he holds you easily in his grip, locking his legs inside yours.

Your ears tuck down as you squirm nervously, but Satoru's grip holds you tightly in place. The tip of your tail swishes as it winds against Satrou's leg as it presses into yours.

Suguru sits down next to you, one arm wrapping around your back and up over your chest. He presses his cheek to your poor quivering ear, nuzzling into it.

"Mmmh, don't be scared," He hums lowly, a noise like involuntarily relaxes you, "It'll be over quick."

His voice changes, deepening, hardening, and it's like it's coming from someone else entirely when he says - "Satoru. Keep her on the edge, make her cum when it goes in."

A whine escapes you. Goes in? You don't want this.

The assistant's gloved hands nears you as he gets on his knees, sharp eyes darting at your exposed sex, pulling the strange, unfamiliar tool right up to your most vulnerable place.

You whimper, and Suguru kisses your ear, folding it against your head, "Shhh, shhh. Don't be scared. You feel good now, doesn't it?" He says in a voice like honey.

Satoru's fingers dance over your folds. The strokes get shorter and shorter, the bud of your clit swelling up with pleasure and sensitivity alike. Gut churning with arousal, dripping from you, and a rapidly growing anxiety.

"I don't," You say, but your head is already spinning, "I don't, don't, wanna, I don't wanna, please..."

Leaning forward, Suguru tucks some hair behind his ear, showing you his own gauge piercings.

"I have one too, see?" He hums, "Yours will be much smaller, just a little one. It'll barely hurt."

You stare in confusion, tearing up as your own ears flick nervously. He has one too? But this is between your legs!

"No, no no no, please no," You plead with him, "I don't want it, please-"

"Shhhh." Suguru's hand darts up to your mouth, fingers pressing down on your tongue, "Yes you do. You'll love it so much once you have it, don't worry."

He feels silly for trying to explain. That won't calm you down now.

It makes sense that you can't understand. You're just a sweet little kitty, as much as you look like a human, and this is all just scary and uncomfortable for you.

You're a cat hybrid, a domesticated creature. Pets don't have to think about what's best for themselves; their owners do that for them.

He feels your rough tongue squirming against his fingers, drool pooling around them.

It makes him lick his own lips. His pants are tight. He wouldn't be surprised if Satoru hadn't already -

"Hnngh... yeah, kitty, you'll love it," Satoru pants, grinding up against your ass, making you whimper even more.

Suguru lays another heavy kiss on your ear, "Shh, shh. Hold still, kitty, you can do that, can't you?"

In the midst of all the pleasure, the quickening strokes that have your core clenching in anticipation. The fingers in your mouth, the iron grip on your hips, your legs, holding you in place, the bodies against you; Suguru's soft voice is your anchor in a sea of overstimulation.

But all you can do is warble, fangs teething against his skin, just barely not breaking through. You tremble at the effort, gnawing at his knuckles, wrapping your lips around his fingers.

"You're so sweet," He croons, "So good for me. There's a good kitty."

His fingertip draws down along your tongue, triggering your reflexes to suckle at it.

"There you go, nice and ready," Suguru coos, stroking your head, "Keep her close, Satoru."

With one large hand on your hip, holding you steady, Satoru starts rubbing your clit in sharper, fierce circles, coaxing it to stiffen and peek out further.

The assistant tugs back the delicate skin over your clit, all dripping and swollen. He gives it a quick wipe as he pulls the piercing gun in, making you panic even further.

Suguru pets and kisses as you, squeezing at the tension in your shoulder and your neck, while Satoru rubs just beneath your clit, in hard presses that send pleasure shooting through you.

"Feels good, right?" Satoru pants in your other ear, pinning your hips tightly against him and his throbbing erection, "I'm gonna make you feel even better real soon, kitty."

You sniffle helplessly in his lap, clit throbbing as his fingers work your sensitive nub. It sends you closer and closer to release, a tightening coil of anxiety and pleasure curling in your core.

"Hold still," Suguru murmurs softly, "Be good."

And you try; you try to be good and hold still for Suguru, who pets you and strokes you and says nice things to you. But it's so hard. Every fiber of your being wants to flinch away, and the constant stimulation against your clit is nearly blinding, burning hot arousal searing through you.

You're half-trembling with terror. Heart racing as you stare at the piercing gun sliding into place over your wet, exposed cunt.

"You're being so brave," Suguru whispers, "Such a brave little kitty. Just a little longer."

With a final click, the employee pierces you, sending a sharp jolt of pain through you. You shriek at the sensation, and would have jumped if it weren't for Satoru's iron grasp around you.

But Satoru keeps rubbing, your sensitive bud throbbing with both the effects of his touch, and the pain of the piercing now settled in place just over your clit.

It's all too much, the swell of pleasure building in your core until the pain only adds to the intensity. The dam bursts forth, and you choke on Suguru's fingers as you tense up, breathless, all discomfort melting away in the airy bliss of your climax.

"See," Satoru purrs, arms moving to wrap around your chest and hold you close, "Told you I'd make you feel good."

"That wasn't so bad, was it, kitty?" Suguru lays a kiss against your heated cheek, pulling his saliva-slick fingers out of your mouth so you can pant in the aftermath of your release.

"Look, Suguru~!" Satoru grins, cheeks red, as he taps at your new piercing, "It's so cute!"

Suguru straight up smacks his hand away, muttering some admonishment you don't catch; dimly, you register a wetness against your ass, at the front of his pants.

Panting, sweat-soaked, you slump forward as soon as Satoru's grip on you loosens - but it only tightens right up again, drawing a confused mewl from you as Satoru tugs you up to carry in his arms.

There's more kisses to your head, your ears, your burning hot cheeks. A buzz between your legs so sharp you can't even tell if it hurts or feels good, so you settle for whining whenever you're jostled.

"Be careful with her, Satoru."

"I am, I am - aren't you gonna do the paperwork? I think she needs a little aftercare."

You slump helplessly against Satoru's chest, ears flicking to pick up conversations you're too tired to pay attention to. Tail swaying underneath you, slung over one of Satoru's arms.

"Don't start monopolizing her already. We can do that together once we get home."

"I'm the one who wanted her in the first place!" Satoru whines.

Suguru rolls his eyes, "So you admit you went here without me and picked her out first?"

"But you like her, though," Satoru says, giggling, shifting you carefully in his arms to better support your head.

He looks down at you, curled up in his arms, with a satisfied smile, as the paperwork is signed and they're about to leave.

Aren't you just the cutest little kitty he ever did see?

He just knew Suguru would love you. He's playing it cool, but Satoru knows he can't wait to get you home to dote on you, set up rules and routines. He's probably salivating at the thought.

A pet just for them. Docile and sensitive and fuckable, a loving companion to come home to every day, a toy for them to use together or apart.

Satoru tucks your head against the crook of his neck.

He can't wait to break you in.

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pucksandpower · 4 months ago

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Kiss It Better

Charles Leclerc x medical student!Reader

Summary: your boyfriend has a habit of faking injuries in order to receive some tender loving care

Warnings: 18+ content and non-life threatening health issues

You let yourself into the Monaco apartment you share with your boyfriend, dumping your heavy backpack by the door with a sigh. Another long day of classes and clinical rotations. Being a medical student is exhausting.

“Charles? I’m home!” You call out, slipping off your shoes. No response. Frowning slightly, you pad down the hallway toward the living room. “Charles? Are you here?”

That’s when you hear it — a muffled groan coming from the bedroom. Your heart leaps into your throat as you rush over, pushing open the door. There’s Charles lying on the bed, face contorted in apparent agony.

“Charles! Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You hurry to his side, dropping to your knees by the bedside. His eyes are screwed shut, jaw clenched as he lets out another pained groan.

“It hurts,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “So much pain ...”

“What hurts? Where does it hurt?” Your mind is racing, trying to diagnose based on his symptoms. Does he have gastritis? Kidney stones? A twisted intestine? You reach for his wrist to check his pulse.

Charles doesn’t answer, just squeezes his eyes shut even tighter and groans loudly. You feel a surge of panic. This could be serious!

“Charles, you have to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you! Where’s the pain?” You grip his arm urgently. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No … no ambulance,” he manages to choke out, shaking his head minutely. “Just need … you ...”

“Me?” You stare at him in bewilderment. “Charles, I’m just a med student, if you’re really sick we need to get you to a hospital right away!”

He cracks open one eye to look at you piteously. “Please … you’re the only one who can make it better.” His voice is strained as he reaches down to grasp your hand, guiding it lower … lower ...

You suck in a shocked breath as his hand moves yours to cup his crotch over his thin athletic shorts. “Charles! Is that what hurts? Your … special place?”

He lets out a shuddering breath and nods weakly. “Yes … I need you to take care of it. Only you can fix this pain.”

It hits you then — the dramatic groaning, the vague answers, guiding your hand … Charles isn’t sick or injured at all. He’s turned on beyond belief and putting on this whole pained act to get you to help relieve him.

You gape at him, caught between exasperation and reluctant amusement at his antics. “You complete dork! I was so worried something was seriously wrong!”

Charles finally breaks into a sheepish grin, though he’s still palming himself urgently through his shorts with your hand. “What can I say? I’ve been thinking about you all day. Imagining you in those tight little scrubs … bending over examining patients ...” He gives an unconvincing whimper. “The ache has been unbearable, ma chérie.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips or the warmth unfurling low in your belly. Even after all this time, Charles can still make your heart flutter with his flirtatious charm and that roguish smile. You lean in closer until your face is just inches from his.

“Is that so?” You murmur, voice dropping into a sultry register. You give him a lingering stroke through the thin fabric and he draws in a sharp breath. “Well, we can’t have you suffering, can we Mr. Leclerc?”

“Please, no more suffering,” he whimpers unconvincingly, eyes sparkling with mischief now. “You’re the only one who can cure me, Doctor.”

You chuck softly at his overacting and lean down to kiss him, long and deep. Charles moans into your mouth, hands coming up to tangle in your hair as the kiss turns hungry, passionate. When you finally break apart, you’re both panting harshly.

“Well then, I better take a look and get you … taken care of,” you murmur, slowly inching his shorts down over his straining erection. His hips rut up shamelessly as you wrap a hand around his hot, silky length.

“Oh god … yes ...” Charles groans, head tipping back against the pillows as you start to stroke him firmly. His eyes slip shut again and his breath comes in harsh pants as you steadily work him over. You drink in the sight of him like this — cheeks flushed, lips parted, utterly lost in the pleasure you’re giving him.

“Tell me if it still hurts,” you tease lightly, swiping your thumb over the slick head in a way that makes his body jerk. “We have to take care of all your aches and pains.”

“It hurts so good, mon ange,” he gasps out, hips rocking shamelessly up into your fist now. “Don’t stop … please don’t stop ...”

You lean down to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along the taut cords of his neck, relishing the whimpers and moans you pull from him. Charles always loves a bit of teasing during sex. You torture him sweetly by licking and sucking at the sensitive spots that drive him wild even as your hand continues to steadily pump his length.

“You like that, don’t you baby?” You tease against his skin as he writhes beneath you, mewling and chanting your name. “Can’t get enough of your girlfriend playing doctor for you.”

“Yes, oh god yes,” he gasps, hands fisting tightly in the sheets as his hips stutter. You can see his abdomen tensing, muscles clenching as he nears the edge. “I’m so close … I’m going to-”

You silence him with a searing kiss, swallowing his cries as you jerk him firmly through his climax. Charles bucks and shudders, body pulled taut as a bowstring for long moments until he finally slumps back against the mattress with a ragged groan. There’s a sticky mess between your bodies but neither of you care in the least.

“Better now?” You tease lightly, gently stroking the sweaty curls from his forehead. He blinks up at you looking utterly blissed out and sated.

“I’ll say,” he rumbles throatily, pulling you down for another lingering kiss. “My own sexy doctor, taking such good care of me.”

You grin at his playful tone, happiness blooming in your chest. You’re so lucky to have this man in your life — this kind, generous, funny, impossibly charming man who somehow loves you just as much as you love him. What did you ever do to deserve someone like Charles Leclerc?

He seems to read your thoughts in your eyes and smiles softly. “I love you, do you know that? So much.”

Your breath catches and you lean down to rest your forehead against his. “I love you too, you big goof. Even when you pull crazy stunts like this to get my attention.”

Charles chuckles unrepentantly, cupping the back of your neck to hold you close. “What can I say, ma belle? I’m skilled at getting what I want.”

His eyes are shining with quiet devotion and you know, without a doubt, that underneath the teasing bravado Charles truly means those words. He loves you, wholly and completely. A swell of emotion rises in your throat.

“Yeah, well, lucky for you I don’t mind playing doctor,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him again. Charles’ arms come around you, holding you flush against his body as the kiss turns heated once more. You’re breathless when you part again.

“If I get sick, will you put on that naughty little doctor’s outfit for me?” He waggles his eyebrows at you comically.

You laugh out loud, swatting his arm in mock chastisement. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t send you to a real hospital and leave you to the not-so-tender mercies of Nurse Helga.”

“No need for jealousy, mon amour,” he croons, rolling you onto your back and hovering over you. There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as he leans down to nuzzle your neck, making you shiver. “You’ll always be my favorite caregiver.”

And with that, he shows you just how much he appreciates your caregiving in a very thorough, very passionate way …

***

A few weeks later, you’re settled on the plush couch in Charles’ motorhome, legs tucked up under you as you watch replays of the post-race interviews on the large TV screen. Your heart swells with pride as your boyfriend appears, beaming and sweaty in his race suit as he answers questions about his thrilling come-from-behind victory today.

“It feels incredible to get this win,” Charles is saying, running a hand through his tousled hair. “The team worked so hard and we’ve had some tough races recently, so to finally get back on the top step is amazing.”

You can’t help but grin at his obvious elation. Few people know just how driven and dedicated Charles is — how much time and effort he pours into racing at the absolute highest level. Seeing that hard work and sacrifice pay off never fails to fill you with joy.

“I just want to thank the team again for all their-” Charles breaks off, wrinkling his nose and reaching up to dab at his lip with a finger. When his fingertips come away smeared with red, you frown in concern. Is he hurt?

“Ooh, looks like I bit my lip out there,” Charles says with a rueful chuckle, still prodding gingerly at his mouth as a thin trickle of blood runs over his chin. “Must have been clenching my teeth a little too hard battling for position.”

“I didn’t realize you were injured!” You start to rise from the couch with worry etched on your face, moving towards your now off-screen boyfriend. “Here, let me take a look ...”

“No, no, it’s just a little cut.” Charles tries to wave you off, smiling reassuringly even as he winces again, dabbing at the fresh flow of blood. “No need to fuss, mon cœur. Just a tiny thing.”

You hesitate, hands on your hips as you scrutinize him skeptically. Charles has a bit of a flair for the dramatic at times, always playing up little hurts or mishaps as if he were holding vigil at his deathbed. But you know from experience that he tends to downplay any actual significant injuries.

He senses your continued concern and lets out a theatrical moan, tipping his head back dramatically. “Oh, the AGONY! So much pain … so much … if only there was a way to make it stop ...”

Your eyebrows shoot up as realization hits. Oh, you know that tone. And the coquettish look he’s giving you from under his lashes, lower lip caught between his teeth … yes, you definitely recognize those signs. You shake your head slowly, fighting a grin.

“Seriously, Charles? Not this again.”

“Non, I fear it’s no use,” he groans pitifully, draping a hand over his eyes. “My poor, mangled mouth … so damaged and bloody … the pain is becoming … unbearable ...” Charles pauses to peek at you from between his splayed fingers, eyes twinkling mischievously.

You put your hands on your hips and arch one eyebrow at his antics. “Uh huh. Is this the part where I’m supposed to swoop in all concerned and give you a bunch of sympathy kisses to make your agony all better?”

“If you insist,” he quips, pursing his lips in an exaggerated pout. The effect is somewhat ruined by the fresh smear of crimson at the corner of his mouth.

You can’t help but laugh softly as you move closer, cupping his stubbly jaw in your palms. “For someone so good with their mouth, you’re just a giant wimp, you know that?”

“Maybe,” Charles allows with a roguish grin. “But you love me for it, no?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” You trace your thumb lightly over the plump curve of his lower lip, wiping a smear of blood. “Now hold still, I guess I better give you a little tender loving care for that gaping wound.”

“Oh please, doctor! I need your magical healing touch, I’m in so much — mmph!”

You cut off his theatrical plea with a firm press of your lips, kissing him hard and insistent. Charles moans into your mouth, the sound sending a shiver down your spine even as his hands come up to grip your hips and pull you flush against him.

The coppery tang of blood mingles on your tongues as the kiss turns heated, deep and wet and dizzying. You suck lightly on his split lip, gentling when he winces, and Charles rewards you by dragging blunt nails over the sensitive skin at the small of your back.

When you finally part, you’re both panting harshly, staring at each other with heavy-lidded eyes. Charles’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and slick.

“Better?” You murmur, voice low and throaty.

He gives a slight shake of his head, tendrils of curls falling over his forehead. “No … I need more treatment, I fear. The pain … it still lingers ...”

You chuckle at his dramatics, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as you tug him back in for another searing kiss. Charles releases a noise that’s almost a growl against your lips, big hands cupping your backside and grinding you firmly against him.

You can feel him, hot and hard already as he ruts shamelessly against you. The desperate urgency of his movements thrills you, sends sparks of arousal zinging through your veins. Charles always gets so worked up so quickly when you two play these little games.

This time it’s you who pulls back first, sucking in a shaky breath. His eyes are blazing, swollen lips parted invitingly. You deliberately rake your gaze over his disheveled appearance — the tousled curls, the swipe of crimson over his mouth, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“Mr. Leclerc, are you quite sure your … condition requires such aggressive treatment?” You try for a clinical tone but it comes out more of a lustful purr. Charles’ nostrils flare and his fingers tighten convulsively against the curves of your ass.

“Yes, yes, it absolutely does,” he rasps out urgently, already trying to pull you back in. “Please, you must heal me ...”

He captures your lips again in a fierce, demanding kiss and you melt into him with a soft moan. His clever tongue is doing wicked things, slick and hot as it slides against yours in a sensual mimicry of what’s surely to come.

A teasing nip to his swollen lower lip makes Charles gasp and jerk against you. Taking shameless advantage, you swiftly divest him of his sweat-damp race suit until he’s bare from the waist up. Muscles rippling beneath tawny skin, his toned chest and abdomen shiny from his hours in the cockpit.

It’s a deliciously debauched look that makes arousal curl hotly in your belly. You drag your lips in open-mouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, down the strong column of his throat as he tips his head back with a groan.

“There … is that helping with your … condition, Mr. Leclerc?” You tongue at the hollow of his collarbone, tasting salt and musk as your hands skim over his chest in teasing caresses.

“Ohh god, yes … but I need more ...” He’s panting harshly now, muscles jumping as you rake sharp nails over one reddened nipple. “Please … more ...”

“Good. Then you’d better hold still for me to examine the problem area more thoroughly.” Before Charles can blink, you’ve shoved him back to sprawl gracelessly against the soft leather couch. He stares up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, lips parted enticingly as his chest heaves.

You drink in the sight for a long moment, satisfaction curling in your belly. Sometimes it’s nice to be the one calling the shots, to see Charles squirming and flushed and desperate beneath you for a change.

Slowly — torturously — you strip out of your own clothes until you’re equally bare. Charles tracks your every movement with burning eyes. When you sink down to straddle his hips, both of you groan at the scorching friction as bare skin meets bare skin.

“God, you’re exquisite,” he husks out reverently, hands trailing up the dips and curves of your body with something like awe. “An absolute goddess ...”

You can’t resist leaning down to capture his mouth in another heated, messy kiss as you grind down shamelessly against his rigid length. Charles muffles a hoarse cry into your lips, hips jerking up to meet your movements.

You let the kiss turn sloppy and wet and deep, both of you luxuriating in the hot slide of tongues and the delicious glide of bare skin. Charles’ hands roam greedily over your body, squeezing and caressing as you rock together in a sensual push and pull.

“Please … I need you ...” he growls against your lips when you momentarily break apart. His voice is wrecked, eyes dark with lust. “Need to be inside you … now ...”

You shudder at his heated words, arousal a molten ache between your thighs. Reaching down, you grasp his rigid length and line him up with your slick entrance. Charles sucks in a sharp breath, muscles going taut beneath you as the swollen head catches on your folds.

“Like this?” You breathe, swiveling your hips in a teasing grind that has him throwing his head back with a guttural groan.

“Yes! Putain, just like that ...” He bucks up helplessly, trying to force you to sink down onto him, but you resist with a low chuckle.

“Patience, Mr. Leclerc. Don’t you want me to take care of your … condition properly?” You murmur, lips brushing the shell of his ear. You punctuate the words with another maddeningly slow roll of your hips and Charles legitimately whimpers.

“Yes, yes … anything! I’ll do anything, just please ...” His eyes are wild, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs hard enough to leave marks. “I need you so badly, ma chérie ...”

Smiling, you finally take pity and sink down in one smooth glide until he’s sheathed to the hilt. The sensation of being utterly filled, stretched and burning in the most delicious way, makes you throw your head back with a long moan. Beneath you, Charles lets out a broken litany of French and English and Italian curses as his hips pump up in short, jerky thrusts.

You set a driving pace, lifting and dropping in a dizzying rhythm as Charles matches you stroke for stroke. The room is soon filled with the lewd sounds of slick flesh and harsh breathing, punctuated by grateful whines and moans. You lean down to capture his mouth again, the angle shifting to let him plunge even deeper until you’re both trembling on the razor’s edge.

“You feel so good, so incredible,” Charles pants harshly against your lips between sloppy kisses. He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, using the leverage to somehow take you even faster and harder. The pace is almost punishing but you can’t get enough. “Always so tight … so perfect for me ...”

His praise and the delicious drag of his thick length have you quickly spiraling higher. You brace your hands on his heaving chest as you throw your head back, overcome. Every nerve in your body feels electrified, set alight from the inside by the sheer intensity of your joining.

“Oh god … Charles, I’m gonna-” You cry out sharply as he aims for that one angle that has stars bursting behind your eyes. He latches onto your exposed throat, sucking a stinging mark as his thumb finds your pearl and begins rubbing merciless circles.

That’s all it takes to send you shattering apart with a keen, clenching down with bruising force as your climax rips through you. Charles pounds up twice more, teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, before following you over the edge with a guttural roar. His hips stutter erratically as he empties himself in hot pulses that you can actually feel hitting deep.

You both gradually come down, slumping gracelessly together as your harsh breathing slowly evens out. Charles carefully rolls until you’re cradled against his sweat-slicked chest, nuzzling languidly at your temple. His palms stroke up and down your spine in a gesture that’s somehow both possessive and worshipful.

After a few minutes, you let out a breathless giggle that has him pulling back slightly to look at you quizzically.

“What’s so funny?” His voice is gravelly and well-fucked.

You tap the wound on his lip lightly, tsking in playful reproach. “I’ll say this — you certainly know how to get my attention when you’re … ailing. I think you milked that little injury for all it was worth.”

Charles doesn’t even have the grace to look sheepish. He breaks into a slow, self-satisfied grin and shrugs unapologetically. “What can I say? Worked, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight your own matching smile as you lean in to kiss him softly, carefully avoiding his split lip. When you pull back, you brush back the tendrils of hair from his forehead with a tenderness that makes his eyes go warm and molten.

“You’re ridiculous, Charles Leclerc. Completely ridiculous … but I love you.”

His smile somehow grows even more blinding. “I love you too, mon ange. And I always will.”

His sincerity washes over you in a wave. You know without a doubt that despite his antics, his words ring completely true. This funny, passionate, caring, magnificent man truly does love you with every fiber of his being. And you love him just the same.

Maybe you’ll both drive each other crazy for the rest of your lives … but at least you’ll never be bored. Settling back against his chest, you let your eyes drift shut contentedly. Yes, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than right here in Charles’ arms.

***

A few months later, you’re woken abruptly in the dead of night by the sounds of muffled groaning coming from beside you. At first you think it must just be a dream, but then Charles lets out a pained whimper and your eyes fly open.

“Charles?” You blink groggily and prop yourself up on one elbow to peer at him in the dim light filtering through the curtains. “Hey, are you okay?”

He’s curled into a tight ball on his side, arms wrapped around his midsection as if cradling his stomach. A sheen of sweat glistens on his brow and his face is pinched in an unmistakable expression of agony.

Alarm spikes through you and you quickly reach over to grasp his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. “Charles? Baby, what’s wrong?”

Charles just groans again, a low wounded sound that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He’s trembling finely against you, teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut against the obvious wave of pain rippling through him.

“Talk to me,” you urge, trying to keep the rising panic from your voice. “Where does it hurt? Should I call an ambulance?”

For a long moment he seems incapable of speech, muscles going rigid and a harsh gasp tearing from his lips. You watch helplessly as he rides out the spasm, cold dread coiling in the pit of your stomach. This is bad … this doesn’t seem like one of his pranks or games to get attention. Charles looks to be in genuine, serious distress.

“Charles?” You try again once he’s relaxed slightly, dragging in shallow panting breaths through his nose. His eyes slit open to mere glassy slits, unfocused and hazy with pain.

“M’stomach ...” he finally gets out through gritted teeth, voice thin and strained. “It hurts so bad … like I’m being stabbed ...”

Your own abdomen clenches reflexively at the words as your brain kicks into high gear. Severe, stabbing abdominal pain that seems to be localized in one area and radiating out … it could potentially be appendicitis. That would definitely explain the excruciating nature of Charles’ discomfort, as well as why he’s curled in the fetal position. Appendicitis is considered a medical emergency — a ruptured appendix can lead to a life-threatening infection if left untreated.

“Okay, we need to get you to a hospital now.” You scramble out of bed and quickly throw on some clothes, grabbing your keys and phone. “I’m calling for an ambulance to come get you. Just stay still and try to breathe evenly.”

Charles doesn’t argue or even crack one of his customary smirks or jokes, just nods weakly and tries to pull himself into an even tighter ball. It’s frightening, seeing the normally confident and charismatic man so thoroughly debilitated by the waves of torment rolling through him.

The emergency dispatcher responds promptly and assures you that an ambulance is being dispatched to your address straight away. You quickly relay the situation to them — the acute pain, localized in the lower right quadrant of the abdomen, along with the nausea, fever, and Charles’ otherwise good health. They seem to share your suspicion of appendicitis and promise to give you further instruction once the paramedics arrive.

In the meantime, you hurry back to Charles’ side and try to keep him as comfortable as possible. You gingerly help him out of bed inch by agonizing inch, grimacing at the stifled cries he can’t quite bite back. It’s slow going, but eventually you have him propped up against the pillows and headboard in a semi-upright position that seems to ease his suffering slightly. You grab a cool damp washcloth and gently sponge the beads of sweat from his ashen face, murmuring soothing nonsense as he pants through another visible spasm.

“You’re alright, just keep breathing,” you coach him. “In and out, nice and slowly … the ambulance will be here any minute now.”

“Hurts so much ...” he whimpers, looking utterly pitiful and nothing like the cocky, self-assured star athlete he normally is. It nearly breaks your heart to see.

“I know, I know ...” You stroke his sweat-dampened curls back off his forehead. “And I’m sorry, but please no joking right now, okay? I want to stay focused in case … in case this is really serious. Like, potentially life-threatening serious.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, there and gone in a flash. “Trust me … m’not … feeling cheeky right now.”

You press a feather-light kiss to his clammy forehead, relieved that he seems to understand the gravity of the situation. “I didn’t think you were. Just hang in there for me, okay?”

Ten long, agonizing minutes later, you finally hear sirens blaring outside. The paramedics move swiftly once you let them in, whisking Charles onto a gurney and starting an IV line. They pepper both of you with rapid-fire questions as they assess him, all while carefully not jostling his abdomen too much to avoid exacerbating the pain.

All too soon, though, it’s time for them to whisk him away to the hospital. You trail after them anxiously, only pulling up short when Charles suddenly grasps your hand like a lifeline.

“Wait … wait!” His eyes are still hooded with pain but there’s fierce urgency there too. “Kiss me one more time? Before they take me in?”

Your heart clenches in your chest at the pleading in his tone. Brushing your thumb soothingly over his cheekbone, you lean down and press the sweetest, gentlest kiss to his parted lips. Charles sighs and seems to melt into you for a moment before the gurney is jostled and he grunts in agony again.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you,” you promise softly. “We’ll get you all taken care of.”

He nods weakly and blows out a harsh breath as the paramedics start wheeling him back towards the elevator. You let his hand slip from yours reluctantly as you watch him go, then hurry to grab the essentials and follow. The whole way to the hospital your mind whirls with fearful possibilities as you pray that whatever is causing Charles such terrible pain, it isn’t life-threatening.

Hours later, after CT scans and blood tests and evaluations from the E.R. doctors, you finally get confirmation — it is indeed acute appendicitis. Charles is swiftly admitted and prepped for emergency surgery to remove the severely inflamed organ before it ruptures.

You’re pacing anxiously in the pre-op area, wringing your hands, as nurses bustle around him getting the I.V.s ready. In the harsh fluorescent lighting, Charles looks small and pale against the crisp white sheets. But he greets you with a wan smile when you approach his bedside.

“Well … this is certainly not how I thought this day would go,” he quips tiredly, always looking for an opportunity to try and lighten the mood. You snort a quiet laugh despite yourself, allowing your fingers to brush against his arm in a gentle caress.

“Yeah, you and me both. Believe me, I didn’t think the first time I’d ever have to rush you to the emergency room would be for a burst appendix of all things!”

Charles frowns thoughtfully, looking exhausted and drained but mercifully no longer in dire, crippling agony. “Remind me … have I ever pretended to have appendicitis before?”

“No, somehow that particular organ didn’t come up in any of your medical fantasies,” you tease lightly. Then your smile falters as you recall just how horrifically bad it had looked earlier. The memory of Charles stifling those tortured groans, jaw clenched and body wound tighter than a bowstring, has a sobering effect. “But I’m really glad this wasn’t some dumb prank or act this time. You were … it seemed so awful, I was really terrified there for a while.”

His eyes soften and he captures your hand to give it a comforting squeeze. “I know. I’m just sorry I put you through that kind of scare with all my previous fake bouts of pain to rile you up.” Charles grimaces ruefully. “Not my finest habit, in retrospect.”

“Well, we can discuss suitable penance for all that later.” You try for a playful wink though it falls a bit flat against your lingering nerves.

Just then a nurse bustles over, all brisk efficiency as she prepares to wheel Charles back to surgery. “Alright Mr. Leclerc, we’re going to take you back now. The anesthesiologist is ready.”

You squeeze Charles’ hand one more time before leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right here when you wake up, okay?”

He nods bravely even as the nurse starts pushing the bed toward the operating room doors. “See you soon, mon amour. Try not to worry too much.”

“Me? Worry?” You force a small smile, desperately attempting to keep things light despite the knot of tension in your gut. “When do I ever do that?”

Charles chuckles weakly before disappearing through the swinging double doors. You stand there for a long moment staring at the entryway, running your hands through your hair agitatedly. This entire situation is your worst nightmare — your loved one being wheeled into surgery, their life quite literally in someone else’s hands.

Blowing out a shaky breath, you turn to find a place to wait during the procedure. It’s going to be a tense few hours, that’s for sure. You just have to trust that the doctors and nurses will do everything in their power to get Charles through this safely.

Several agonizing hours later, a surgeon in scrubs finally appears to fetch you from the waiting room with an update. Your heart leaps into your throat but the man is smiling, so it can’t be too terrible, right?

“Ms. Y/N? I’m Dr. Beaumont, I operated on Mr. Leclerc. I’m pleased to report that the surgery was a complete success. We were able to remove his inflamed appendix without any complications before it could rupture.”

You nearly collapse with relief, legs going watery. “Oh, thank god! He’s okay then?”

“He’s doing very well, all things considered,” Dr. Beaumont confirms with a nod. “Of course, we’ll need to keep him here for a few days to monitor for any signs of infection or complications from the anesthesia. But barring any unforeseen issues, I expect him to make a full recovery within a couple weeks.”

“That’s … oh, that’s wonderful news. Thank you, Doctor. Truly.” The words are woefully inadequate but you hope he can hear the depth of gratitude behind them.

A few minutes later, you’re settled into a chair at Charles’ bedside in the recovery ward. He’s still unconscious, face lax and peaceful in drugged sleep as the anesthesia slowly wears off. His chest rises and falls evenly with each reassuring breath. You reach out to gently brush some wayward curls from his forehead, relief crashing over you in waves.

It’s only been a few hours, but it already feels like a lifetime ago that Charles was writhing and groaning in unspeakable agony. To see him now, resting comfortably with the threat neutralized, it’s almost surreal.

You lean forward to press a feather-light kiss to his forehead, breathing in the familiar, grounding scent of him. “You really gave me a scare today, Leclerc,” you murmur against his skin. “But I’m so thankful you’re okay.”

His eyelids flutter slightly, lashes brushing high cheekbones as he starts to slowly swim back toward consciousness. You sit back and simply watch, letting the tension finally drain from your shoulders as he gradually blinks awake.

“Hey there, champ,” you say softly when his eyes find yours, still looking a bit dazed and glassy. “How are you feeling?”

Charles considers this for a moment, taking stock. “Floaty … but not too much pain anymore.” His tongue darts out to wet dry lips. “Did they ...”

“Yeah, they took out your appendix,” you say, unable to stop the relieved smile that curves your mouth. “Surgery went perfectly, and the doctor says you’re going to be just fine.”

He returns the smile, looking exhausted but still radiant with that dimpled grin you love so much. “Well … maybe there is an upside then.”

You tilt your head quizzically. “An upside to your burst appendix nearly killing you?”

“Of course.” Charles releases a tired chuckle, leaning back against the pillows. His gaze grows impish despite his pallor. “At least now I’ll save some weight in the car, no?”

You stare at him for one long beat of silence … before bursting into somewhat hysterical laughter, tears of sheer relief and exasperation pricking the corners of your eyes. Trust Charles to find the humor even in the most dire, frightening circumstances.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” You roll your eyes fondly as your giggles taper off, leaning forward to take his hand and squeeze tightly. “Honestly Charles, what am I going to do with you?”

His expression grows impossibly tender as he squeezes back just as firmly. “Just keep loving me, ma chérie. No matter how many stupid jokes I make or stunts I pull to get your attention.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, letting the warmth and sincerity of his words wash over you. Despite his recent trauma, you can see the pure devotion shining in his eyes. How could you ever want anything else?

“Always,” you whisper, fiercely meaning it with every fiber of your being. “I’ll always love you, Charles Leclerc. No matter what.”

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