Cyborg Brain

Jack hadn't moved from the chair for hours. He was still wearing his blood stained scrubs, the dark patches now stiff against his skin. His eyes were fixed on the monitor above your head, watching the green line of your heart rate as if his own pulse depended on its.

Tucked under the sheets of the ICU, you looked like a broken doll glued back together.

"Police is at his house. He’s gone." Robby said quietly, leaning against the doorframe. "We pressed charges. Lena and a few nurses are testifing, you should too."

Jack didn't look up. "I let her walk out," Jack whispered, his voice heavy with a guilt that would never leave him. "Every morning. I watched her get into that car."

"You couldn't have forced her to leave him, Jack."

"I saw her a week ago. I saw him grab her. I saw the fear in her eyes and I let her tell me it was fine because I didn't want to overstep."

"You’re her attending, not her bodyguard," Robby countered gently.

"I’m a doctor," Jack snapped. "I’m trained to see the signs of a failing system. I saw her fading. I saw the isolation, the excuses, the change in her performance. And I didn't report it. I didn't call it in."

Jack leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. "She had a bus ticket," Jack whispered into his palms. "It fell out of her pocket in Trauma 1. A ticket to her mom's town. I think she was trying to leave. She finally found the courage to run and that fucker tried to kill her."

Jack looked at your hand. It was swollen, the knuckles bruised where you must have tried to shield your face.

"I told her I couldn't help her if she didn't let me," Jack said, a lone tear finally escaping. "But I was wrong. I should have helped her even when she fought me."

He let his hand rest over yours, his thumb tracing the only patch of skin that wasn't purpled by trauma.

"Please wake up," he whispered, looking at your closed eyes, his voice cracking. "Wake up and finish your residency. Or take that bus ticket. Go wherever you want, doll. Just don't leave me with the silence of this room. I can't handle this silence."

-

For you, there was no light at the end of a tunnel, only the sudden intrusion of reality. You were ripped from the darkness by a sensation of suffocation. You tried to take a breath but your lungs refused to cooperate. Instead of air, you were met with an uncomfortable tube forcing its way down your throat.

Panic surged through you. You tried to scream but the tube made it impossible, only a gagging sound escaped. Your hands moved desesperatly with no direction, the pain in your chest was blinding, it felt like fire, but your mental terror was worse.

Where were you? Why was so dark? Where was he? He’s gonna attack you. He’s in the room. You could feel his presence coming to hurt you. To end what he started.

Every monitor in room began to shriek.

The line of your heart rate spiked, jumping into a frantic one.

"She's waking up! Get a sedative!"

"She’s going to tear the tube out!"

You couldn't see clearly but you saw shapes moving. You reached for whoever was over you, your fingers twitching, your mind screaming for someone to pull the thing in your throat out, to let you breathe, to save you but the hands that pinned your shoulders to the bed weren't gentle.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, you have to stay still," you swear to God that you heard Jack’s voice talk to you but it sounded like it was coming from miles away.

A rush of cold fluid hit your veins and the world began to tilt. The last thing you saw before the darkness reclaimed you was Jack’s face.

When you woke the second time, the world felt softer. The tube was gone. Your throat felt raw as if you’d swallowed acid and every breath felt like inhaling shards of glass.

You shifted your hand and, immediately, a chair beside your bed snapped.

Jack was there. He looked like a ghost of the man you worked with, his eyes hollowed out by a exhaustion that twelve hours of sleep wouldn't fix. He stood up slowly and helped you to sit.

"Hey," he whispered. "Easy. Take it easy."

You tried to speak but your throat locked. You just stared at him, your gaze searching his face, looking for a safety you’d been searching for days. He took a glass of water from the hospital table and gave you some through a straw.

"You’re at ICU," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You’ve been... you’ve been through a lot. You’re safe, I promise you. He’s not here."

The mention of he triggered a tremor. The memory hit you with violence. You felt the grip of his hands. You remembered the pressure of his fingers winding into your hair, the sharp jerk of your head back and the hollow pain of his boots against your ribs.

You checked the room, making sure nobody was there to hurt you.

"Do you remember what happened? He did this, didn't he?" He asked as soft as he could, trying to ease the panic in your eyes.

"I.. I left him, Jack," you whispered, your voice trembling as the tremor grew into a full body shudder. "I actually did it. I’d been staying at Sarah’s apartment... just two blocks away from here. I thought I was being... careful. I only went back to get my extra pair of scrubs the morning before he appeared."

Jack’s jaw tightened but he stayed silent, letting you speak.

"I bought a ticket," you continued, your eyes fixed on a nondescript point on the room as if you were watching a movie of your own life. "A weekend at my mom’s. To figure out how to fix things and ask her if I was doing the right thing. I thought if I could just get away for a few days to... breathe, he would, I don't know, miss me and be better."

You let out a nervous huff of a laugh that turned into a wince as your fractured ribs protested. "During days, I kept trying to think about what I did wrong. And then he was just... there. Waiting by the side gate. I didn't even see him until he had his hand in my hair. I remember thinking Why is he hitting me? Maybe if I hadn't stayed at Sarah’s? Maybe if I’d just talked to him one more time before leaving? He was always so sensitive about being left behind. He used to say I was the only thing that kept him level."

"He wasn't level," Jack said. "He was a ticking clock and you were just the one holding it."

"But he had such a hard year, Jack," you argued, your mind desperately trying to bridge the gap between the man who bought you flowers on the first date and the man who had just tried to crush your skull. "His dad’s illness, the layoffs... he was just so lost. I thought if I was a better partner, if I was more patient, he wouldn't feel the need to... to lash out. I told him I was going to my mom's and we fought and I end up breaking up with him. Why couldn't he just let me go for the weekend? It was just a few days."

You looked at Jack, begging him for a logical explanation that didn't exist. "Was it because I didn't answer his texts during my last shift? I saw them, but I was in a trauma... I thought he’d understand my job. Do you think that’s what did it? That he thought I was ignoring him?"

Jack’s hand tightened over yours. The warmth of his presence was the only thing keeping you from spiraling into the what-ifs.

"It wasn't the texts," Jack said with protective intensity. "It wasn't the weekend at your mom’s. He did this because he wanted to break what he couldn't control. You’re sitting here trying to excuse him but it’s... a simple logic. He just wanted to hurt you so he could keep breaking you."

You flinched at the words, reality slicing through your denial. You wanted to believe it was a misunderstanding, a terrible explosion of grief and stress. If it was a mistake, it could be fixed. But if it was who he was... then the world was a much scarier place than you were ready to face.

"I just ne- needed a few days to breathe," your thin voice broke as you sobbed, the tears finally overflowing. "I just wanted to come here and work. And- and- and then be with my mom." you hiccuped, letting the sadness overwhelm you. "He di-didn't have to be so cr-cuel... I- I didn't do anything to h-him."

Your heart raced and one of the machines started beeping, making you jump. Jack silenced it and signaled to one of the nurses who appeared in the doorway, indicating that physically, everything was okay. Your state was simply that of someone finally coming to terms with the reality they had long denied.

Jack held your hand while you collapsed, his heart breaking as he was stroking it with his thumb, a comfort as your soul shattered. Tears streamed down your face; you no longer understood why you were crying, if it was from the pain in your ribs or the ache of realizing that the person you loved only wanted to hurt you. But you felt the weight of a year's abuse leave your body.

-

The door creaked open and Lena stood there. Her eyes were fixed on your face, specifically on the way you flinched when you heard a loud sound.

You swallowed hard. "Lena, I—"

"Don't," she cut you off, not out of cruelty, but because she couldn't stomach the excuses. She moved to the side of the bed. "I saw you in the breakroom for months. I saw you checking your reflection in the mirror, trying to see if the makeup covering your bruises was holding." She looked up then. "We all saw it."

"It's not your fault," you whispered.

"It feels like everyone’s fault," Lena snapped. "You were living in a war zone and coming into work to... treat paper cuts and drunk people."

"He's still out there," Lena said, her voice dropping to a whisper that felt like ice. "The cops found his car by the river but not him. Half the night shift is at the station giving statements about every bruise they saw over the last two months."

Jack looked up at her, his jaw tightening. "Lena, stop, she just woke up."

"She needs to know what she's waking up to," Lena countered. "Police is going to ask her questions today. She needs to be ready."

"I know you mean no hurt but, please, leave. Don't make it harder than it is for her." Jack snapped when he saw new tears forming in your eyes.

Lena sighed and left; the door slid shut, leaving you with Jack’s hand caring yours while you cried and fears clouded your mind. He's coming back, he's going to hurt me, he is waiting for me to leave the hospital.

-

You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand but the movement was clumsy and stiff. "I felt... I felt a crack. " You took a breath that sent pain through your side. "When I was on the floor. I felt it when he kicked me."

You looked at him. "Please don't give me a you're safe speech. I've been a resident for two years. I know why my breath feels like this. What’s my diagnosis? The doctor didn't say anything earlier. Just checked my vitals."

Jack’s didn't want to say it. He didn't want to voice the reality of how close he’d come to loose you.

"You have four fractured ribs," he started. "Two were displaced. That’s the crack you felt. It caused a bilateral pneumothorax, your lungs collapsed, which is why we had to intubate you."

You nodded slowly. "And the abdominal pain?"

Jack took a shaky breath, his thumb tracing the back of your hand again, a small gesture of comfort in the middle of the hard data. A gesture that now seemed to calm you both.

"Grade 4 splenic laceration. You were hemorrhaging internally when you walked through those doors. We had to do an emergency splenectomy. You... you lost a lot of blood. I still can't believe you run two block in that state."

His eyes flickering to the bandage on your forehead. "Moderate TBI, along with a deep laceration above your left eye. And..." He stopped, his voice failing him for a second. "And some significant soft tissue damage. You been out for like ten days."

The silence that followed was heavy. It was a trauma sheet for a high speed car wreck, not a night walk to work.

"I almost died, didn't I?" you asked, the words feeling strange.

"You flatlined," Jack said, intertwining his fingers with yours. "We had to shock you three times. I thought… I-" He looked away, his jaw working as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. You took his face on your unbruised hand and whipped his tear with your tumb.

You felt a fresh wave of tears, caused by the honesty in his voice. You looked at the man who usually demanded perfection completely undone by your fragility.

"Four ribs," you breathed, a small sad smile appearing on your torn lip. "No wonder it hurts to breathe."

-

Days later, the morning of your discharge arrived.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in an oversized sweatshirt Jack had brought from his own home. It smelled like him. You were staring at the plastic bag containing your personal objects.

A knock at the door made you flinch, a reflex that hadn't left you yet.

"It’s just me," Jack said, pushing the door open. "My car is downstairs. Robby and Lena are, too. They wanted to see you off."

"I don't know where I'm going, Jack," you whispered. "My apartment... the police processed it cause he spend time there but the locks are broken. And Sarah's place... I can't put her in that kind of danger. If he finds out I’m there..."

"You aren't going to Sarah's. And you're sure as hell not going back to your apartment." Jack walked over, taking the bag from your hand and setting it aside. "You’re on medical rest for at least three weeks. You can’t even lift a gallon of milk, let alone run a code."

"I can't go to a hotel. I don't have enough money. And I don't want to distress my mom."

"Stay with me."

You looked up, startled. "What?"

"My place. It’s a secured building. Doorman, cameras, filled up refrigerator," he said, looking nervous. "I have a guest room. You’ll have your own space. I’m out for twelve hour shifts anyway, so you’ll have the quiet you need to heal. But you won't be alone."

"I can't ask you to do that. You've already done too much."

"I'm not asking as your attending," he said as he reached out, he gently tucked a stray hair behind your ear, his touch lingering on the fading yellow bruise near your temple. "I'm asking as... as Jack. I spent days watching you breathe through a tube because I was too afraid to loose you. If I let you go to some anonymous apartment right now, I’m not going to be able to function."

The angst of the last days seemed to pull at the room: the memory of the blood on the floor, the "what-ifs" that haunted your dreams, the tears you couldn't stop.

"But I'm a mess, Jack," you said, your lip trembling. "I wake up screaming. I can't even hear a door slam without shaking."

"Then, we'll be a mess together," he murmured. "I'm the one who talks about arterial repairs in his sleep, remember? We’ll be a pair."

He reached down and took your hand, his thumb tracing the back of it, a gesture that had become a safety thing for you by now. "Let me do this, baby, please. I don't want to be at my place knowing you're out there feeling like you have to hide."

You looked at him and something changed in the way you looked at him.

A new feeling emerged, no longer seeing him as just your attending.

"Okay," you whispered. "Okay. Take me home, Jack."

He just let out a breath of relief, leaning to press a kiss on your temple. One that made the rest of the world, and the shadows waiting in it, feel just a little bit further away.

⋆｡˚☤🩺✧˖°.｡⋆💉

(the part where reader tries to understand why he did it broke my heart) (she just wanted her mom) (I cried a little while editing) (bring the tissues)

the pitt masterlist

Morning comes fast.

By E.R. standards, it had been a relatively slow night. The most exciting case was a drunk college girl who'd managed to snap her leg spectacularly after stumbling off a curb in six-inch heels. Beyond that, it had been the usual parade of forgotten medications, minor lacerations, kitchen burns, coughs, fevers, and people convinced that symptoms they'd ignored for weeks suddenly constituted an emergency at three in the morning.

Now day shift trickles in, filling the department with the scent of fresh coffee and half-awake greetings.

Jack's at the hub finishing the final comments on his last chart when a shadow falls across the counter. He looks up to find Robby, who jerks his head toward the elevator and leaves without saying anything else.

"Better get it over with," you say, logging off your computer.

He chuckles and follows your lead. "I guess. You'll wait in the car?"

You straighten and nudge his shoulder. "Mm. I'll probably call Olivia."

"Good idea," he says, standing. He catches your hand before you can walk away. "Good luck." He wishes he could lean in and kiss you, but you agreed on no PDA. Past him was a fool.

You squeeze his hand. "You too."

Jack waits until you've disappeared around the corner to the lockers before heading for the elevators. Five minutes later, the rooftop door swings shut behind him.

Robby's leaning against the railing, staring out across the waking city. He turns once he hears Jack's familiar stride, and a grin spreads across his face.

Jack groans as he steps beside him. "Just get it over with."

"What?" Robby asks. "The fact that I was right from the beginning? Or the fact that you should've listened to me ages ago? Or maybe"—he tilts his head—"the fact that this conference was exactly what you needed?"

Jack looks over at him. "You finished?"

Robby hums thoughtfully. "I could keep going—"

"Please don't."

"—but I do have a shift I need to get back to, so yes."

"Good."

Robby laughs and turns back to look out again. For a moment, neither of them says anything.

"I'm happy for you," Robby says.

Jack lets out a lighter breath than he would've managed a few weeks ago.

"She's good for you," Robby continues.

A smile tugs at the corner of Jack's mouth, his fingers curling loosely around the railing. "She is."

"You're good for her, too." Jack opens his mouth, but Robby continues before he can say anything. "Believe it or not, everyone else can see it."

Jack rolls his eyes.

"And if we've learned anything from this whole disaster, it's that you should trust my judgement."

Jack huffs a laugh but doesn't disagree. "It's weird."

"What is?"

He shrugs. "Getting something you'd already convinced yourself wasn't going to happen."

The teasing fades from Robby's expression, and he bumps his shoulder against Jack's. They stand there for another moment before Robby claps his shoulder. "I'd better get downstairs before they manage to burn down the place. I expect an invitation to dinner one of these days."

"Yeah, yeah." Jack waves him away.

Robby is halfway to the door when he calls after him. "Hey."

Robby turns.

"Thanks."

For a moment, Robby just looks at him. Then he dips his chin once before disappearing through the door.

Jack stays there for another five minutes, just breathing and watching the city. The hospital hums beneath him. Traffic slowly fills the street below.

For the first time in a long while, he lets himself enjoy the view before heading back inside.

With both your bag and Jack's grabbed, you head toward the parking lot, moving slower than usual as you try to summon the courage to call Olivia before you get there.

You've been avoiding her—to some extent—and you already know she isn't going to be happy about it.

So, you take small steps, unlock the car, and place the bags in the back before shuffling into the passenger seat.

It rings twice before she answers. She's at her kitchen table, staring at you with narrowed eyes. "Nice of you to finally talk to me."

You wince. "I know."

"You know?" she repeats. "That's all I get?"

You offer her a tentative smile.

She takes a bite of her bread, chewing while continuing to glare at you. Then her mouth twitches. "So?"

A large smile spreads across your face, and you nod.

She lets out a triumphant squeal. "I knew it! I fucking knew it!"

You laugh at her enthusiasm.

"This is the best news ever!"

You roll your eyes. "Okay, calm down. It's not that big a deal."

"Oh, it is."

"No, it isn't."

"It absolutely is," she says. "I've spent months watching you idiots ruin things for yourselves. It's finally over!"

You shake your head, but her glee is infectious.

"Tell me everything," she demands.

You tell her about the awkward car ride, meeting Jeremy and Warren, the fight, and making up. By the time you're done, Olivia's been grinning so hard her breakfast has gone cold.

"And then we..." you shrug, biting back a grin.

Her eyes widen. "No way! How was it?"

"So good."

Her jaw drops. "Yeah?"

You nod.

She leans back in her chair, looking thoroughly pleased. "Good. You deserve nothing less."

"Hey, I'm sorry for being such a mess these past months. You've been there through everything, and I'm so lucky to have you in my life. Thank you."

She waves you off. "No need to be sappy. You'd do the same."

"How's it looking on your end?"

She groans.

"What about Robby?"

"That wasn't really anything—just a kiss." She shrugs. "And I mean, I'm here, and he's in Pittsburgh, so..."

You suck your teeth in disappointment.

Her face sours. "Damn it."

"What?"

"I just remembered that I owe him twenty bucks. I thought Jack was going to confess first," she groans. "Should've trusted that my meddling skills were better than Robby's."

You laugh. "With betting like that, you're practically part of the Pitt crew already. Maybe you should consider moving? It solves two problems."

"Two?"

"Robby, of course," you grin, "and I don't have to miss you."

"Hm," she huffs. "Not sure about the first one..."

Movement catches your eyes before you can argue further. Jack's making his way across the parking lot, and without thinking, you sit up a little straighter.

"Oh, gross."

"Hey, be nice!" you chuckle. "Jack's coming."

"I gathered," she says. "Have fun. I'm expecting to be the godmother." She winks exaggeratedly.

"Love you." You roll your eyes and hit the end button.

Weeks slip by in that sweet, honeymoon-like bliss.

Surprisingly little has changed since you started properly dating. Jack still brings you breakfast, watches your terrible shows without complaints, and washes your scrubs. The only thing that's really changed is that he's finally shown you just how affectionate he is.

You wake up wrapped in his arms most mornings. He always seems to need a hand on you somewhere: your waist while you're cooking, your fingers while you're out walking, your ankle draped across his lap while you read on the couch.

Right now, though, his hands are firmly around your thighs, keeping them spread apart.

"Jack," you plead softly.

"What?" he hums, his voice warm with amusement as he deliberately lingers just out of reach. He presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh.

You let out a frustrated whine, wriggling your hips. His hold tightens, keeping you firmly in place.

He chuckles. "What do you want, sweet girl?" He brushes another kiss along the inside of your thigh, just a little higher than the one before. Then another, until his nose brushes the soaked pink fabric. "This?"

You shake your head.

"No?" He kisses the edge of your underwear, close enough that it sends a shiver up your spine. "Maybe this?"

You squirm again. "Jack, please."

He clicks his tongue, his dark gaze finding yours. "I know you can do better than that, sweetheart."

Heat creeps into your cheeks, your chest rising fast. His thumb brushes the corner of your underwear, staring at the wet material with a scorched gaze.

You gasp when he presses his thumb directly against your clit. "Please touch me."

"I already am," he says, amusement flickering across his face. His thumb leaves you again, stroking lazily across your hip instead.

You huff in annoyance, finally relenting. "Please touch my pussy."

"Oh, why didn't you just say that?" He grins. "With my fingers or my mouth?"

Head hazy with lust and impatience, all you say is: "Please."

Thankfully, Jack takes pity on you. He pulls the fabric aside, then descends on you. He licks broad stripes, groaning in appreciation when he gets your sweet taste on his tongue.

"Fuck. I'll never get sick of doing this."

You moan loudly, your fingers gripping his hair.

"You taste so good," he murmurs. "Doing so good for me."

He alternates between soft kisses, slow licks, and gentle sucks until the sensation becomes almost unbearable. All you can do is try to hold on, fingers gripping his hair, shoulders, arms—whatever you can get hold of.

It takes an embarrassingly short time for you to crash over the edge.

When you finally manage to climb back to yourself, Jack is looking up at you, his chin glistening and a thoroughly smug smile on his face.

"Better?"

You roll your eyes and swat his shoulder. His hand finds your chin as he crowds over you, pressing you into the mattress.

"I asked you a question."

You suck in a breath, staring into his eyes. "Yes."

"Good." He lets go of your chin and smirks when you push at his chest. He follows, letting you shove him down onto the bed. You swing a leg over him, and his hands find your waist automatically, helping situate you on top of him.

"Fuck," he swears as you sink down on him. Your mouth crashes into his as you slowly begin moving. Jack lets you set the pace for a moment before his hips snap up, setting a faster pace.

"Jack," you moan into his ear. His fingers grip your waist as he captures your mouth again. He comes with a drawn-out sound that reverberates in your chest. You let yourself sink against him, forehead resting against his shoulder.

His hands remain on your waist long after the moment has passed, thumbs absentmindedly stroking slow circles against your skin as the two of you catch your breath.

Neither of you says anything for a while. His heartbeat thuds steadily beneath you. Eventually, one of his hands slips up your back, his fingers combing gently through your hair. "Hey."

You smile into his shoulder. "Hey."

"Better?" he asks again, quieter this time.

You nod against him before lifting your head just enough to meet his eyes. "Much."

He grins, satisfied.

You trace lazy circles across the side of his arm. "You were incredibly annoying, though."

A laugh rumbles through his chest. "You complaining?"

You pinch his skin lightly. He catches your wrist, turning your hand over to press a kiss into your palm.

"You'll survive."

"I don't know," you sigh dramatically. "I may never recover."

He bites your hand lightly. "I'll take excellent care of you."

"Hm," you huff.

"I was planning on starting with water."

That earns him a genuine laugh. You lean down to kiss him again, slow and unhurried. He hums softly into the kiss. When you finally pull away, neither of you moves very far.

"I love you," he says softly.

You smile, brushing your nose against his. "I love you, too."

His arms tighten around your waist just a fraction before he sighs. "Now..." His eyebrows lift. "Go pee. I'll get you some water. Then we can cuddle again."

"Doctor's orders?"

"Absolutely."

You roll your eyes fondly as you climb off him, stealing one last quick kiss before you do. "I suppose I'd better listen to the professional."

He watches you climb off the bed with an unmistakably pleased expression. "You usually don't."

You glance back over your shoulder. "I make exceptions if my doctor's handsome."

"I think I'm gonna throw up." Parker slumps against the counter, staring blankly into the distance.

Shen spins around in his chair. "Maggots guy?"

"God, no." Parker's seen her fair share of disgusting things. Maggots don't even register anymore. "Abbot and Trouble in the supply room."

Lena snorts from her right. "Weren't you the one begging them to make up?"

"I was." Parker sighs. "But there are some things I never needed to witness."

Shen's eyebrows shoot up. "Hold on. They weren't...?"

"No!" Parker cuts him off before he can finish. She might need to bleach her eyes, but she's not letting that rumour start. "They were just making out."

"Oh." Lena pushes her glasses onto her head. "Then what's the problem?"

Parker just stares at her. "…His hand was on her ass."

There's a beat of silence before Lily, who's been quietly working at her computer, looks up. "I think you've been single for too long."

"I'm not that single."

"Not by choice," Shen says between obnoxiously loud slurps of his iced coffee.

Parker glares at him. "And I suppose you're drowning in admirers?"

He grins. "I don't kiss and tell."

"You don't kiss, period."

"Ouch." He clutches a hand to his chest, then grins as he takes another sip.

"The point," Parker continues, rubbing her temples, "is that I have to work with them. I don't want every room I walk into to be a potential traumatic experience."

"You're so dramatic," Lily says with a grin. She stands and gives Parker's shoulder a sympathetic pat. "Hit me up if you want to come on a double date sometime. My boyfriend has some cute friends."

Parker groans.

"Just be grateful," Lena says. "At least they're happy."

"They can be happy," Parker mutters. "Just... preferably behind a locked door."

"Good luck telling Abbot that," Shen says.

Parker drops her forehead onto the counter with a muffled groan.

"What are you doing?" Jack pauses in the doorway to the guest bedroom, still in his scrubs.

You peek out from the closet, sending him a smile. "Thought I'd clear out this room. Get rid of some old stuff and move the rest into our closet."

He looks around. Half the shelves are empty, and there are piles of clothes on the bed. Textbooks cover most of the desk alongside notebooks, loose papers, and other things you'd shoved in the drawers weeks ago.

"I keep forgetting I have things in here," you say. "And it isn't my room anymore, so I'm making space for your stuff, too."

"You don't have to," he says, pressing a kiss to your head. You shrug, grabbing another piece of clothing.

Jack wanders over to the desk, picking up one of the medical textbooks. "Are you keeping these or giving them away?"

"I'll give them away after my oral boards." You throw a dress onto the bed. "I figured some of the residents could use them. Med school's expensive enough."

"That's kind."

You shrug and toss another item onto the bed.

Jack continues sorting through the clutter, smiling at old photographs and forgotten receipts before unfolding a document. "What's this?"

He knows exactly what it is. The divorce papers that had haunted him for weeks with your signature sitting dry at the bottom of the page.

You look over. "Oh."

For a moment, Jack says nothing. "I can put them back if—"

You walk over, take the papers from his hand, and tear them cleanly down the middle. Then again. You drop the pieces into the nearby trash bin.

Jack blinks. "You sure?"

You glance at the bin, then back at him. "I thought I'd gotten rid of it already." A small smile tugs at your lips. "I don't need it anymore."

You lean up to kiss his cheek before returning to the closet. "So," you say over your shoulder, "should I donate this sweater or keep it?"

Jack doesn't answer immediately. His eyes drift to the trash bin.

"Jack?"

He looks up. You stand in the middle of the room that had once been yours with things that will find their place elsewhere in your shared bedroom.

He lets out a slow breath. "Keep."

During the next few weeks, Jack can't stop thinking about the divorce papers or how easily you had ripped them apart. It takes a situation at work for him to realise why.

Cyclist vs. vehicle. A pelvic fracture and a head wound that needed immediate attention. You had both snapped into action, dividing the work between you and taking control of the trauma room.

"Dr. Abbot, here—" a new nurse had called out, and Jack's head had snapped up. But it wasn't him she was talking to—it was you. He'd seen the nurse's face flush, but you'd answered before he'd even finished turning toward you. There'd been no indication that it had bothered you at all.

You had just responded like it was your name.

It hit him a couple of hours later. You had shown him just how much you wanted him. He had to make it clear to you that he wanted the same.

Things hadn't been done right the first time. A glitch. Rings bought out of necessity. And that was that. No romance at all.

You deserve a proper proposal—a real wedding. Something you can actually tell the others about in detail instead of repeating the same brief lie you'd been telling for months: that it had been a simple affair, that he'd proposed at home.

Jack wants to make the story real.

He buys a ring. A simple but flashy one. Then he spends days waiting for the right moment.

The opportunity comes when he's sitting on the couch waiting to pick you up from work. The entire drive is spent in a nervous haze, the box pressing insistently against his thigh.

He makes coffee as you head for the shower, so his hands have something to do. As it brews, he straightens the sugar bowl, then the coffee tin, then realises he's already done it twice.

You pad down the hallway, dripping water onto the floor from your still-wet hair. "What are you doing?" You watch him with narrowed eyes as you turn to the cabinet.

"Nothing?"

You huff, but decide to let it go, standing on your tiptoes to grab a mug. "Do you wanna go sit outside and eat—" your sentence cuts off when you spin back around.

Jack's on his knee, keeping it steady despite his prosthetic. He holds out the box.

Your mug slips from your fingers onto the counter with a soft click. "Jack?"

A shaky breath leaves him which almost turns into a laugh.

"What are you doing?"

"I think you know."

A watery laugh escapes you. "Is this—? Are you—?"

"Yeah," he chuckles breathily. "So do I get to say my speech," he teases gently, "or are you going to interrupt me the whole time?"

You press a hand over your mouth and nod.

His fingers tremble slightly against the box. "I've been thinking about us. About how we started."

Your hand tightens over your mouth.

"I wouldn't change it. Not really. If that stupid glitch hadn't happened... if Robby hadn't been stuck at work that day..." He shakes his head. "I would've never been lucky enough to have you to come home to every night."

You blink rapidly.

"The best thing that ever happened to me started as an accident." His voice grows quieter. "But I don't want our story to be that we got married by accident. I want it to be that somewhere along the way, after lots of dumb decisions—"

You laugh softly.

"Somewhere along the way, we fell in love. I want you to know that I choose to be with you. I choose you. Every day. And I want you to know that."

A tear trails down your cheek.

"So... Sweetheart. Trouble." He laughs softly, shaking the box lightly. "Will you marry me?"

You drop to your knees in front of him, laughing and crying all at once as you throw your arms around his neck. "Yes!" The word comes out broken by tears. "Yes, of course, I'll marry you. Again."

Jack buries his face against your shoulder, his whole body shaking with relieved laughter.

You pull back just enough to look at him, your cheeks damp with tears and your smile somehow brighter than anything he's ever seen.

"The ring," you remind him softly.

He lets out another breathless laugh. "Right."

The velvet box is still in his hand. You hold out your left hand without him asking. It trembles. A laugh escapes you when you notice his hand isn't any steadier.

"I've had a stressful morning," he murmurs. Carefully, he takes your hand. His thumb brushes once across your knuckles before he slides the ring free from its box. This time, there isn't a clerk handing it to him.

Just the two of you.

He guides the ring onto your finger slowly. It slides into place perfectly.

You stare down at your hand, tilting it to catch the light. He stares, too.

It sits just above the first ring that made you husband and wife. This one doesn't replace it—it gives it the beginning it always deserved.

He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss against your knuckles before looking back up at you. "I love you," he says.

"I love you, too."

He chooses you. You choose him.

According to him, you've improved his life in several ways; he swears his food tastes better now, that you somehow make his cakes perfect, his frostings sweeter, and well, he can’t look at a peach without grinning like a drunk-in-love idiot.

You’ve spent many late mornings and lazy afternoons watching him patter around the kitchen, listening to him explain his baking processes while you lounge in a chair.

You don’t understand half of what he’s saying, but he speaks with such passion, his hands animatedly flying in the air as he talks about chocolates, melting points, and the differences in pans.

Bucky has discovered early on that he loves to watch you eat. To be more specific, if it's his food. Only his food, if he’s being honest. He gets so nervous every time that his stomach plummets because he wants to make things for you.

Give you so many things.

Starting with your own custom-made pastry.

“Here, Peach, it just melts on your tongue,” his deep voice lowering to a near moan.

He slips the pastry into your open mouth, his thumb grazing over your bottom lip as you swallow. Oh, your eyes almost roll back in your head when the flavors explode on your taste buds. You’ve never tasted anything that wonderful.

“Oh my god, Bucky,” you gasp, leaning forward for more. “I-that’s so good! Can I have another?”

He grins, lopsided and wide, his heart thundering so hard it feels like it might fly out of his chest. Bucky will give you pastries as much as you want if you keep looking at him like that. He puts his all into his baking and the fact that you enjoy it makes him feel as if he can walk on air.

Bucky kisses your forehead as you chew, pushing away from the table, he slides on his sock-covered feet to the fridge. “What do you want to drink?”

“What do we have?” You giggle as he dances in front of the fridge, calling out options for you.

It’s hard to believe that the carefree man in front of you is the same one that was ashamed to remove his shirt a few weeks ago.

Bucky holds your hands at your sides, fingers laced between yours as he feasts between your thighs. He promised to make you come for him at least three times and you swear it’s been double that by now. His warm, wet tongue flicking over your swollen, sensitive clit over and over, sucking and pulling it into his mouth like he can’t get enough of you.

You moan incoherently, voice hoarse from begging and mewling, your legs limp around his broad shoulders. “Buc-Bucky, oh right there, Bucky,” you plead, feeling pressure build in your belly as his tongue traces patterns over you.

Bucky grinned, his face covered in your slick. He can’t remember the last time he had a better meal in his life. “That’s my girl, so sweet, need one more taste, just a little more,” he whispers before his lips wrap around your clit again. Your mouth falls open in a wordless scream, back arching off the bed when he gently shakes his head, sucking so hard that you see stars.

Bucky groans actually groans deep and vulgar when you cum,and you feel it as your body explodes, waves of pleasure surging through you until you’re gushing on his beard. He eases up, nuzzling into your puffy folds as you come down from your high. Bucky looks up, his dark slate-blue eyes taking in your heaving chest, a bead of sweat rolling down your belly.

“One more?” he says hopefully, wanting to dive back into your pussy.

Your eyes widen as you frantically shake your head. “No. Oh no. Bucky, I can’t, I really can’t, I’m not sure I can handle any more.” You laugh breathlessly, tugging one of your hands free from his tight grip. You rake your fingers through his hair, smiling down at him. "Besides, I’ve been dreaming about you fucking me until I can’t walk.”

A faint blush sweeps across his cheeks as he averts his eyes. “Peach,” he mumbles shyly like he just didn’t spend the past hour worshiping your pussy with his mouth.

Bucky stands up, wiping a hand down his face. He stares at his glistening palm for a second, and then his pink tongue darts out, swiping across the wet surface. You wonder if he’s aware that he's moaning, your pussy throbbing at the guttural sounds.

“You’re filthy,” you jest when he does it again. His face gets even redder as he sucks on his finger.

“You taste better than my pies,” he retorts. “I could eat you all day, every day.”

“Tomorrow, for sure, but right now I want you inside me.”

His smile drops a little when you tell him to get undressed. He’s been dreading this moment, doing everything he can to avoid it. You scoot back on the bed, reaching out for him. Bucky looks down at his body, at his belly, his eyes narrowing, he scratches the back of his neck, telling himself he can do this.

He lifts the edge of his navy blue Henley, freezing when he hears her voice in his head. “Who would want a fatty? No one is going to love you looking like that.” Even now it stings thinking about her. Bucky glances over at you, his heartbreaking at the thought of you rejecting him.

Bucky drops his shirt and reaches for the lamp. “One second.” He says. An unmistakable hint of sadness in his voice has you sitting up. He’s never sounded like that before.

You tilt your head to the side, searching his face. “Bucky, what’s wrong?”

“Just gonna turn the lights off first.” The corner of his lips lifts in a weak, watery smile.

You move to your knees and grab his large hand before he can switch them off. “Why?”

Bucky swallows, “no reason, just like the lights off, 'is all.”

Bucky’s admittedly good at a lot of things, but lying isn’t one of them. He briefly meets your gentle gaze, worry and fear swimming in his beautiful clear blue eyes.

Placing your hands on his chest, you grab his chin. “Bucky, look at me.” He immediately follows your soft command. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

Bucky blinks, shaking his head, almost confused at the thought that you could do anything wrong. “No, no, you’re perfect! It’s me. I don’t wanna disappoint you.” His voice tapers off in a whisper, hearing her sharp laughter the last night they were together. “I know I’m fat, so it would be better if we turned off the lights, that way you don’t have to look at me. “

You stare at your generous, doting boyfriend. “Why wouldn’t I want to look at you?,” you question, befuddled because who on earth would jump at the chance to see a naked Bucky Barnes.

He shrugs a shoulder, his somber eyes drifting down. He grabs his belly and jiggles it. Another shrug followed by a quiet, “I look different with my clothes off.”

You crane your head back, “I love your belly, it’s perfect. Who made you feel like you have to hide it?”

Bucky sighs, rubbing his cheek into your palm. “My ex, Moxie- “

Bucky dated her two years ago. She latched on to him when he and Steve bought the bakery, wanting to be the girlfriend of the rising baking star.

Bucky slowly gained weight as he sampled his baking and designed dessert menus for local restaurants, his joy for baking expanding each day, finally getting to see his dreams become reality.

He hadn’t noticed the changes in his body until one night Moxie cruelly pointed them out.

He was getting ready for bed, eager to be with his girl after a full day of running around. He had been telling her about how another restaurant wanted his input, so excited to share his news that he didn’t notice the way she glared at him.

Tossing his shirt in the hamper, he turned to her and smiled, his hands on his belt. “I’ve been thinking about you all day baby, I can’t- “

Moxie sneered at him, pretending to gag. “Are you serious?”

Bucky’s brows furrowed. “Um, what?”

“Um, what,” she mocked, pulling the blanket up to her chest. There's a pause, tension seeping into the room. “You know what, I have to say it, I can't take this anymore James. Look at you and look at me, why the fuck would I let you touch me anymore?”

Moxie sighed, “can you put on your shirt back on or something because that- “she gestured at him “-is disgusting” She let out an irritated groan when he flinched at her words.

A punch to the gut would have hurt less. Bucky felt his heart split. “Moxie,” he whispered, unable to find words to express the pain currently ripping through him.

“Look, I didn’t sign up for this, you were in shape when we got together, what the hell happened to you? Why do you think I stopped letting you touch me.” She ranted, ignoring his soft pleas for her to stop.

“Either lose the weight or I’ll fuck Steve, at least he still looks good.” She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, yawning, “can you go somewhere else, I don’t want you accidentally rolling over me and squishing me in your sleep.”

His mouth floundered open, but he couldn’t speak. It all hurt too much, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe, the air was too thick and his chest grew tighter with each breath; he needed to get away, terrified of what might happen if he cried in front of her.

Bucky shuffled out the room, his heart shattering with every step. He thought she was happy, that he made her happy. Her laughter following him out to the hallway made his head droop even more.

What did he do wrong?

He spent the night on the couch, staring at his old pictures through tear-filled eyes, Bucky always had a little fullness to him, but he was always happy with his body. And he had been having so much fun with the grand opening and all the new opportunities that he never noticed that he stopped needing belts and his shirts were a little snug over his belly.

Bucky called Steve, his best friend fuming when he told him what happened. By the time he was done speaking with him, Bucky felt a little better, his heart may have been in pieces but he knew what he needed to do.

He kicked her out the next morning.

Much to Moxie’s surprise and Bucky's. He may be chubby but he's not going to be her pushover either.

Bucky ignored her apologies and said she had to go. It shocked her when Steve had shown up with a roll of garbage bags, tossing them at her feet with a sharp quip that he doesn’t fuck losers. Both men stood side by side, watching silently as she packed her belongings.

The only things she left behind were his broken heart and a few nagging insecurities that plagued him.

He finishes, his broad shoulders slumped under the weight of his confession, you want nothing more than to stamp out the sadness marring his beautiful eyes.

“I thought she loved me but--“ he sighs, “--I don’t want you to look at me the way she did, I love you too much, Peach, and I know I should probably lose a few -”

You’ve never been angrier in your life. You want to punch little Ms. Moxie in her throat, she better hope she never runs into you because they will have to pry you off of her.

Clearing your head, you clasp his face in your hands and pull him down for a kiss. “Bucky Barnes, you are the sweetest man I know, you’re beautiful and I love everything about you.”

You silence his objections with another kiss. “I mean it Bucky, I love all of you. You don’t need to change anything.”

Bucky swallows the small protest, letting himself relax. You’re not her, you won’t hurt him. Placing a kiss on his soft, round belly, you murmur, “you have no idea how sexy you are, honey.”

You stand on the bed, holding on to his bicep for balance, and tug his shirt off. Looking down at him, you bite your lip. He’s ridiculously handsome and you’re going to prove it to him.

You pepper kisses along the curve of his neck as you sink back down, praising him and telling him how much you love him, describing in vivid detail how each part of his body is perfect.

His confidence and love for you growing with each word. By the time you reach the band of his boxers, he panting, his eyes darkening with an almost feral need to possess you.

Bucky tears off the last barrier keeping you from him and he pounces. You giggle as he pushes you into the soft blankets, the solid, comforting weight of his body encompassing you as he kisses you with such passion you forget to breathe. His warm lips melding into yours, his wet tongue dipping into your mouth, the taste of you still lingering on his tongue as it dips into your mouth.

Bucky reaches down with one hand, grabbing his cock, his other hand cupping the back of your head as he deepens the kiss. He breaks the kiss, resting his forehead on yours so he can gaze into your eyes. Bucky watches your mouth fall open, a gasp pouring out when he guides his thick cock into you.

He rolls his hips, moving deeper into your wet, hot heat. “That’s it Peach, you’re so good,” He brushes his lips across yours, swallowing your oh Bucky as he stretches your tight pussy around him. The slight burn gives aways to pure bliss, you circle your hips after a minute. A quiet I’m ready breathed into his mouth.

Bucky thrusts languidly into your pussy, each deliberate slow drag of his throbbing cock against your soft walls sends bursts of pleasure up your belly and down your spine. His lovemaking tender, yet so possessive that your head is reeling.

He makes sure that you feel all of him, each inch as you clench down, greedy for more of him, even as he goes deeper and deeper, his soft lips caressing your neck. His body keeping you pinned, so you have to take everything he’s giving you.

That pressure builds again, heavy and hot in your belly, digging your heels into the top of his thighs, you meet his strokes, pleading with him to please move a little faster, you need it so bad.

You don’t have to beg; he wants you to cum for him; he wants to feel your sweet pussy flutter around him as you cry out his name.

Bucky sucks a bruise on your throat, his hips pounding into yours. The headboard smacking against the wall with each powerful thrust. The dull thuds drowned out by your loud moans, the pressure getting more intense.

“Bucky,—” you cry out, scratching his lower back when he grinds his hips down, “—oh fuck, do that, do that again,” you frantically chant, slapping your hands on his ass, keening when he does, god yes, he does it just right, hitting a tender spot inside your cunt so hard that you bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.

“That it Peach, is that what you need.” He slips a hand between your bodies, his wide fingers circling your clit, “Go on, cum for me, give it to me Peach, be my good girl, and cum for me.”

You do, your walls clenching down as the pressure snaps, sensations firing off as your orgasms winds through you. Bucky’s pace falters, becomes erratic when he feels you milking his cock, unable to hold himself back any longer he lets himself go, relishing in your warmth until he spills inside you.

He tries to roll off of you, but you wrap your arms around him, murmuring for him to stay for a minute. You smooth your hands over his slick back, Bucky relaxes on top of you, grinning at your contented sigh. “I love you Peach.”

“Love you too,” you respond, plotting all the ways you’re going to let him know how much he means to you.

After that night, you began to praise Bucky, complimenting his body every chance you got, smacking his ass whenever he walked past you, hugging and kissing him.

The first couple of weeks, he would hide his face behind one of his large hands and his cheeks would resemble one of his bright red apples. “Peach, you don’t have to, I mean I’m-” he would stammer each time, always tucking his hair behind his ears.

It took you three days to figure out that he has a praise kink and you amped it. He barely opened his eyes before you were saying something that made him hide his face behind his pillow, laughing when you wiggled under it to tell him how good he looks when he smiles.

While you loved making him blush, you cherished how confident he became. And you reaped the benefits, one second he was a bashful baker with buttercream frosting on his forehead, the next he was bending you over his counter, railing you so good you couldn’t even scream his name.

After a while, he stopped avoiding the bathroom mirror in the mornings. And you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face, the first time you saw him cooking, shirtless, in the kitchen. He turned when he heard your footsteps, his face turning that familiar shade of red as you openly gawked.

“C’mon Peach, don’t you start-” he playfully grumbles, his lip twitching as he held in his smile, he moved back to the frying back, turning off the stove as he braces himself.

You squeal, flinging yourself at him, peppering his back with kisses. You couldn’t contain the litany of praises on your tongue, so proud of him. Bucky twisted in your grasp, cupping your face in his hands. “God I love you Peach.”

Bucky and Steve are celebrating the grand opening of another bakery. The largest one to date. The new building is full of investors, press, other bakers and chefs, a live band playing in the corner, drinks, and food everywhere, and of course the tower of desserts in the middle of the room. The atmosphere light and airy, glasses clinking, people dancing and every kind of cake, pies, and pastry imaginable on silver platters through the room.

You’ve never had so much fun, although a slightly buzzed Bucky is having an even better time because you’re wearing one of his favorite dresses. You remember when he first saw you in it, you twirled out of the dressing room and he nearly lost it in the middle of the store.

The more he celebrates, the more he’s giving you that look. Steve has to keep interfering, he’s close to going feral in front of all his guests.

Steve sent him to the kitchen after he caught him trying to put his hand between your thighs. You’re laughing as a contrite Bucky gets up from the table to refill the rapidly diminishing display.

“You know I’ve known Buck my whole life and I’ve never seen him this happy.” Steve remarks as he takes a seat across from you. His warm blue eyes glistening. “Thank you for that. He’s been through a lot and you’re the best thing that happened to him.”

Your cheeks get heated at his words. Steve leans forward, holding your hand between his. “I mean it, even though he’s getting on my last nerve talking about you.“

Steve squeezes your hand as he looks up at the ceiling for a second. “God, the man never shuts up, and I’m this close to strangling him if he compares you to another peach, but I love-“

He cuts off, his head jerks back so fast, you think something struck him. “What the fuck is she doing here?”

You turn around in your chair, searching the crowded room. “Who are you talking about?”

“Moxie,” Steve spits out, his hand curling into a fist. “White dress by the bar.”

You find her flirting with one of the investors. Moxie puts her hand on his chest, her shrill laugh cutting through the surrounding conversations. Whatever she tried fails spectacularly. The tall, sturdy blonde grimaces and walks away. You would almost feel bad if you didn’t want to slam her face into the wall.

She spots Steve and waves, making her way through the crowd. “Hey, long time no see.”

Steve raises a brow, his eyes hardening. “Why are you here?”

She laughs, patting his shoulder. “I’m here to apologize to Bucky, I know he misses me, he must be lonely.”

“Really?” you question, keeping your voice light and even.

Moxie dismissively glances at you before returning her attention to Steve. You chuckle under your breath, tapping your heel on the floor.

Don’t ruin your man’s event. Don’t ruin your mans’ event. You repeat the thought as you inhale through your nose.

“So I heard you two are doing really well.” She says, her manicured nails roaming over Steve’s suit. “Really well.”

Steve flicks her fingers off him, “We are. No Bucky’s not lonely. He doesn’t miss you. He’s very happy. With her.”

Moxie’s polite veneer cracks when Steve points at you. Waving your fingers at her, you grin at her. “You go near my Bucky and I’ll rip that cheap necklace off and shove it down your throat.”

She turns to Steve, gesturing to you as if she's the innocent one here; he raises his glass, blowing a harsh breath through his lips. “Don’t look at me, I still don’t fuck losers, but I’ll call if you if that changes.”

You laugh in your empty glass when she sputters. She turns to you, hand on her hip. You slowly raise your eyes, returning her stare. Part of you wanting her to do something, so you can wipe the smirk off her overly painted face.

“Whatever, I don’t need this. Keep the fattie. I can find another rich loser like that.” She snaps her fingers, storming over to the bar. You blink a few times in disbelief. The audacity of this bitch, thinking that she can stay and mingle at his event.

You're debating if you should have her thrown out by one of the staff or if you should drag her out by her hair.

You look her up and down as you ponder your choices, pausing when you see the edge of a tag sticking out the back of her dress. Hmm, interesting. She must plan on returning it after tonight.

A devious smirk slowly takes over your face, you know exactly what you’re going to do to little Ms. Moxie.

You glance at Steve, picking up his wineglass. Steve shakes his head while grabbing your hand. “Hey hey, I know what you’re thinking, and no.”

Before you can say anything, he’s pouring more burgundy wine into the glass until it’s nearly sloshing over the sides. “If you’re going do it, you gotta do it right.”

You exchange knowing glances. No one hurts Bucky. You saunter over to her, keeping your hand steady, not wanting to lose a single drop on the floor.

“Hey Moxie,” you call out. She turns around and you ‘trip’ over your heels, the deep red liquid flying forward in a perfect arch, splashing across her ivory dress, her face and you even got some in her hair.

“Oops, gosh, I am so clumsy,” you state, hiding your grin as she shrieks.

Steve jumps up, offering to help before she can swing at you. “I got you, darling.”

He places a hand on her back, quickly ushering her away “a little club soda will get that right out,” he reassures a pouting, whining Moxie.

He's lying through his teeth, that stain will never come out. Steve gets a peek at the price tag, almost laughing at the $899 imprinted on the card. He maintains his façade, leading her through the room, he stops, giving her a wide smile.

“And you can find some at the drugstore down the street.” He states, opening the front door and pushing her out. Her indignant shouts cut off when he slams the door in her face.

You throw your head back and cackle, startling some guests around the bar, you apologize for your outburst between fits of laughter, wiping the tears pricking at your eyes. You wave down the amused bartender, placing an order for you and Steve.

Steve joins you, raising his fresh glass of wine in a toast. “No one fucks with Bucky.”

"No one."

Neither you nor Steve realizes Bucky saw the whole thing. He ducks back into the kitchen, clutching the tray of Cannelés to his chest. For weeks after the breakup, he had rehearsed what he was going to say that next time he came face to face with Moxie.

But what you and Steve did was even better, the love of his life and his best friend always looking out for him.

Loving him unconditionally.

And just like that, the last traces of his insecurities vanished.

Later that night, you fall asleep with your head on his shoulder. He smiles at your hand on his belly. He places his large hand over yours, wondering how he got so lucky to have you.

And if Steve would kill him if he named another dessert after you.