Dolly™

The festival had been your idea.

Sevika had been grumbling about it since the moment you suggested it. Judging by her constant complaints, you’d think she’d been forced to attend at swordpoint.

“It’s crowded.”

You ignored her.

“The food’s overpriced.”

You ignored that too.

“And if some noble bumps into me, I’m throwing them in the river.”

That finally earned a laugh from you.

Sevika’s chest tightened at the sound.

The capital was alive tonight.

Strings of lanterns hung between buildings, painting the streets gold and amber. Music drifted through the air. Vendors called from colourful stalls. Children ran through the crowds carrying tiny lanterns that glowed like captured stars.

You looked like you wanted to see everything.

Sevika found herself slowing down every few minutes because you’d stop to admire another decoration or stall.

“Look at these,” you gasped, holding up a delicate paper lantern.

Sevika glanced at it.

Then at you.

Then back at the lantern.

“It’s nice.”

You smiled.

Sevika immediately forgot what the lantern looked like.

Hours seemed to disappear as you wandered through the festival together.

You sampled sweets from market stalls. Watched performers dance through the streets. Stopped to listen to musicians playing on a crowded corner.

By the time you reached the river, the sun had long since disappeared.

The sight waiting for you stole the breath from your lungs.

Thousands of lanterns floated across the water.

Golden light shimmered across the river’s surface, reflecting against the dark sky above.

For a moment, all you could do was stare.

“Oh.”

The quiet wonder in your voice made Sevika look at you.

A mistake.

The lantern light painted your features gold.

Your eyes were wide with amazement.

A soft smile pulled at your lips.

You looked like something from a story.

Something far too beautiful to be real.

“Sevika,” you whispered, reaching for her arm. “Look.”

“I am.”

You smiled without turning away from the river.

Sevika wasn’t looking at the lanterns.

Not even a little.

The crowd pushed past around you, but neither of you moved.

You stepped closer to the water’s edge.

The lanterns drifted slowly beneath the night sky.

One after another.

Thousands of tiny lights carrying wishes into the darkness.

“They’re beautiful.”

Sevika swallowed.

“Yeah.”

You finally turned towards her.

And froze.

Because she was already staring.

Not at the river.

Not at the lanterns.

At you.

Heat crept into your cheeks.

Sevika looked away first.

A rare occurrence.

You smiled to yourself.

Then your eyes landed on a small rowboat tied nearby.

A grin immediately spread across your face.

“No.”

You hadn’t even spoken.

“No.”

“Sevika.”

“No.”

“Please?”

Absolutely no one was surprised when she found herself helping you into the boat five minutes later.

The river carried you gently away from shore.

The sounds of the festival grew distant.

Soon it was just the two of you surrounded by floating lanterns.

The world felt impossibly still.

You sat opposite her, your hands resting against the side of the boat as you watched the lights drift around you.

The lanterns reflected in your eyes.

Sevika found herself staring again.

You noticed this time.

“You haven’t looked at a single lantern, have you?”

Caught.

The corner of her mouth twitched.

“Seen lanterns before.”

You laughed softly.

“Thousands of them?”

“No.”

“Then why aren’t you looking?”

Sevika leaned back against the boat.

Her gaze never left yours.

Because she was Sevika, she could have looked away.

Could have brushed the question aside.

Could have hidden behind another sarcastic comment.

Instead she said quietly,

“Got something prettier to look at.”

Your breath caught.

For once, Sevika seemed just as startled by her own honesty as you were.

The lanterns continued floating around you.

Golden light danced across the water.

Neither of you looked away.

Sevika would deny it with her entire chest.

“Don’t start,” she warned the second your fingers brushed her side.

You froze. Slowly turned to look at her.

“…Sevika.”

“No.”

“That was a flinch.”

“It wasn’t.”

“You’re ticklish.”

“I’m really not.”

The lie would’ve worked better if she hadn’t looked vaguely horrified while saying it.

Your grin spread instantly.

“Oh my god,” you whispered dramatically, “my gorgeous, terrifying wife has a weakness.”

Sevika grabbed your wrist before you could try again, glaring hard enough to make most people fold on the spot. Unfortunately for her, you were already vibrating with delight.

“Don’t.”

“You are ticklish,” you repeated, delighted. “Where? Here?” You poked lightly at her ribs.

She jerked again and immediately looked offended at her own body for betraying her.

“That doesn’t count.”

“You squeaked.”

“I did not squeak.”

“You absolutely squeaked.”

Her face darkened with embarrassment while you nearly collapsed laughing into the couch cushions. Sevika looked like she was debating divorce.

“You tell anyone about this and I’m leaving you in the Lanes.”

“You’d miss me too much.”

She muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a reluctant ‘true.’

After that, it became your favourite form of harassment.

Lucky for you, her stomach was often on display in that slutty little top with her low-rise pants, giving you the perfect access point to sneak in a teasing touch.

Tiny pokes to her sides or fingers dancing across her waist while you were out in public. Always sneaky and perfectly timed to break her focus and make her jolt mid-motion, pausing as she shoots you a sharp, warning look, which you met with an overly innocent smile like you had no idea what you’d done.

Hands slipping to her stomach when you hugged her from behind, dancing along her soft skin. Testing her restraint and earning that low, dangerous sound in her throat that said she was one second away from grabbing you.

Sneaky attacks when she was half asleep and defenceless, when her guard was down and her reactions slower, your fingers ghosting across her body, light and careful, just enough to make her shiver.

Every single time, Sevika reacted like you’d committed a federal crime.

She’d grab your wrists before you could dart away properly, firm but careful, and pull you in close until you were pressed against her chest or the bed beneath her. She’d hover there for a second with that exaggerated scowl she tried so hard to keep in place, eyebrows drawn down like she was genuinely offended.

“You’re insufferable,” she’d mutter, low and unimpressed.

But it never quite landed the way she intended.

Because her grip didn’t hurt, her hold didn’t tighten in anger, and her eyes were never really sharp when she looked at you like that. There was always something softer underneath it, something almost fond that gave her away if you knew her well enough.

And you did.

So you’d only laugh harder, breath catching as you squirmed a little in her hold, and that would make the corner of her mouth twitch before she could stop it.

“Stop laughing,” she’d try again, like it was an order she expected to be obeyed.

It wasn’t.

The sound of your laughter filled the space between you, bright and helpless, and after a moment she’d give up on pretending entirely, letting her forehead dip closer as her scowl finally broke into something softer, more real.

“You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” you leant closer and whispered smugly in her ear, “you married me.”

You nearly shoved Sevika back out the door the second she stepped inside.

“Wait,” you said quickly, planting both hands against her chest before she could take another step into the apartment. “Actually, maybe don’t look around yet.”

Sevika stared down at you flatly.

“You invited me here.”

“I know, but now that you’re actually here, I’m realizing this might’ve been a horrible idea.”

Behind you, distorted guitar screamed through the apartment speakers loud enough to rattle the cheap picture frames on the walls.

Sevika’s brow lifted slowly.

“…What exactly are you hiding in there?”

“Nothing.”

Another blast of drums thundered through the apartment.

“You got someone getting murdered in there?”

“Shut up.”

You snorted, cheeks pink as you finally moved aside and let her in.

And then Sevika paused.

Her eyes moved slowly across the apartment.

Dark walls covered in band posters layered over each other so heavily you could barely see paint underneath. Vinyls stacked beside old speakers. Chains hanging from hooks by the door beside leather jackets and patched hoodies. The entire place smelled faintly like incense, old records, and whatever candle you’d burned earlier trying to make the apartment seem less embarrassing somehow.

Your bedroom was visible down the hall too. Black sheets. Dim lights. A bass guitar propped beside the bed.

Sevika looked back at you.

“You’re telling me this whole time,” she said slowly, “you’ve secretly been one of those.”

“One of what?”

“A metalhead.”

You crossed your arms defensively. “I was never hiding it.”

“You wear oversized sweaters with little animals on them.”

“And?”

“And you cried over a stray cat last week.”

“It had one eye!”

Sevika snorted softly, still looking around your apartment.

Honestly, she looked a little amused.

Which somehow made this worse.

You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. “Look, I know it’s kind of a lot.”

“A lot?” Sevika echoed.

The music switched songs suddenly, somehow even heavier than before.

She gave the speaker a look.

“…You listen to this voluntarily?”

“Sevika.”

“What? Sounds like the guy recording it lost a custody battle.”

You laughed despite yourself, shoulders loosening a little.

That seemed to settle something in Sevika too.

She wandered deeper into the apartment while you followed close behind, mortified as she inspected pieces of your life you normally kept private from everyone.

Her fingers brushed over your shelves.

“So these are all bands?”

“Yes.”

“You own this many records?”

“Yes.”

“You alphabetized them?”

“…I need you to mind your own business.”

Sevika looked over her shoulder with the most obnoxious smirk imaginable.

“You’re a dork. Metalhead behaviour canceled out by nerd behaviour.”

“Says the woman with an entire drawer dedicated to cigar cutters.”

“That’s different.”

“It literally isn’t.”

A grin tugged briefly at the corner of her mouth before her attention drifted elsewhere.

She noticed the smaller details eventually too. Candles tucked between records. Plush blankets thrown over dark furniture. Tiny animal charms hanging from drawer handles. A chipped mug filled with guitar picks and pens.

Your apartment wasn’t just metalhead chaos.

It was still you underneath all of it.

Warm. Soft. Thoughtful.

Sevika noticed all of it.

And maybe that was what made you nervous.

Not the posters. Not the music.

Just her seeing you this clearly.

She paused near the wall beside the couch.

“…Huh.”

Your stomach dropped immediately.

Because of course she’d found the photos.

Concert tickets, polaroids, random scraps pinned together messily across the wall.

And unfortunately, there was one very obvious picture of Sevika right in the center.

You buried your face in your hands instantly.

“Oh my god.”

Sevika reached up and pulled the photo off the wall carefully.

“You carry pictures of me around?”

“It was a candid!”

“You hung it up.”

“You weren’t supposed to notice it that fast!”

That rough laugh finally escaped her then, low and warm and impossible not to love.

You groaned dramatically while she stepped closer, still holding the picture between her fingers.

“You’re kinda cute,” she said.

“You’re being mean to me in my own home.”

“Nah.” Her hand settled against your waist. “I’m being affectionate.”

“You are never allowed over again.”

“Too late,” Sevika said easily, hands drifting down your hips. “I live here now.”

You rolled your eyes, but leaned into her anyway. You wanted to both kiss her and evaporate.

It felt strangely intimate.

Not because of the bedroom.

Not because you were alone.

Because this place was undeniably yours. Every unique, loud, strange little piece of it. And you had let her see it.

“Wish you’d shown me sooner,” she said quietly.

Your expression softened.

“I love it.”

You blinked up at her, adoration and surprise evident on your face.

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

Her eyes drifted around the apartment again, softer now.

“It feels like you.”

Something in your chest tightened painfully at that.

Because nobody had ever said that like it was a good thing before.

Your voice came out quieter. “Yeah?”

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

-

• The first time you call her “my wife” in front of someone, she freezes for half a second because the title hits her harder than she expects. It isn’t just the words themselves, it’s the way they sound coming from you, so casual and certain, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

• She barely reacts outwardly at first, just a slight pause, a flicker in her expression before she’s back to normal. But inside, something shifts. She’s suddenly hyper-aware of everything. Your hand brushing hers, the way you stand close without thinking, the fact that you just claimed her like it meant something real and permanent.

• The rest of the day, she gets butterflies in her stomach, replaying it in her head. “My wife.” Over and over, like it’s stuck on loop. It makes her chest feel tight in a way she doesn’t fully know how to name, and she catches herself smiling at nothing more than she’d ever admit.

• Even small things start to feel different after that. When she looks at you across a room, there’s a softer edge to it. More certainty. Like that single phrase rewired something in her, and now she can’t un-hear it, can’t un-feel it, and honestly doesn’t want to. She is your wife.

• She’s terrible at verbally asking for comfort some days. Instead, she’ll hover nearby while you’re doing something, leaning against counters, sitting too close on the couch, silently waiting for you to tug her into your side. When you do, she holds you as close as humanly possible and completely melts into you.

• She likes burying her face in your neck, chest, or hair, breathing you in slowly like it settles something deep inside her. Your scent comforts her in a way nothing else can, grounding her almost instantly after a rough day. She’d never admit how much she needs those quiet moments, but the way her entire body relaxes against yours gives her away every time.

• She keeps random little things you hand her, without telling you. Receipts with doodles on them. Notes. A bottle cap from a date night. A dried flower that you once tucked behind her ear. She pretends she’s not sentimental, while secretly hoarding evidence that you love her.

• Arguments with Sevika rarely involve yelling. She grew up around enough screaming to hate it. When she’s genuinely upset, she gets quieter instead. Short answers, tense shoulders, avoiding eye contact. Though the moment she finally mutters, “C’mere, baby,” you know she’s already halfway over it.

• Sevika can stay stubborn for hours if she really wants to though. Arms crossed, jaw tight, pretending she’s still annoyed while you glare and pout at each other from opposite sides of the apartment. But the second either of you finally cracks and reaches out first, all that resistance disappears almost embarrassingly fast.

• She’s more than happy to apologise or forgive if it means holding you again. The moment the argument is over, she’s pulling you against her chest like she physically can’t stand the distance anymore. Sometimes she’ll grumble a quiet apology into your hair, sounding irritated only because she hates admitting she was upset in the first place.

• Even after small arguments, she sleeps closer than usual. One arm wrapped tightly around your waist, face tucked against your neck, holding onto you like she’s making up for every second you spent apart. You’ll wake up half tangled beneath her, with her grip still firm even in sleep.

• Sevika never wants pride to matter more than you do. She grew up around people who let anger and resentment rot relationships beyond repair, and she refuses to let that happen with her marriage. No matter how stubborn she is, loving you will always come easier to her than staying angry ever could.

• She learns your routines without ever setting out to. The exact way you take your tea. Which side of the bed you curl toward when you’re hurting. What expression means you’re overstimulated and need to leave immediately. Whether you need comfort, encouragement, distraction, or space. She knows which side of her you naturally gravitate toward when you’re walking together. She can tell what kind of day you’ve had from the moment you step through the front door. She remembers every topic that makes you light up and never gets tired of listening to you talk about them. She knows when you’re asking for help and when you’re silently hoping she’ll notice you need it.

• Eventually, she stops thinking about these pieces of you as things she’s learned at all. They’re just you. As familiar to her as her own routines, woven so deeply into her everyday life that she couldn’t separate them even if she tried. They stay tucked away in the back of her mind alongside everything else that matters. Caring for you becomes as natural as breathing.

• Sevika is terrifyingly protective when you’re sick or injured. You look a little tired? God forbid someone mentions it. Someone accidentally bumps into you too hard? She’s already glaring before you can even react. If you’re bedridden, she turns into a guard dog that refuses to let anyone bother you. Friends trying to pressure you into going out? Not on her watch. Boss trying to call you into work? Get fucked.

• She loves domestic intimacy way more than she expected. Washing dishes together, swaying to music. Trying to learn a new recipe while wearing ridiculous matching floral aprons, Sevika grumbling the entire time even as she keeps tugging you close with flour-covered hands. You sitting on the bathroom counter while she gets ready, legs swinging back and forth as you admire her. Standing side by side, brushing your teeth, sending quick glances at each other through the mirror. Quiet evenings spent with your legs draped across hers while she reads through paperwork, wearing the glasses she insists she doesn’t need.

• Her version of flirting after marriage becomes deeply unhelpful. Smacking your ass while walking past. Leaning down while you’re cooking to murmur something in your ear that makes your cheeks heat up. Pressing kisses into your neck when you’re trying to concentrate on work. Casually calling you “pretty girl” at the worst possible moments knowing it makes your heart race.

Sevika was grumpy long before she admitted anything was wrong.

Not angry exactly, just… sharp around the edges. Spicy. She huffed when her cigarette wouldn’t light properly, glared at anyone who spoke too loudly in the bar, and spent the entire walk home muttering under her breath about how everyone in Zaun was apparently born without the ability to walk in a straight line.

You knew something was off the second she got through the door.

Usually she’d peel off her coat, toss it somewhere inconvenient, then immediately busy herself with something. A drink. A smoke. Cleaning her prosthetic. Anything.

Tonight, she just stood there.

Then she looked at you with the most exhausted expression you’d ever seen on her face.

“C’mere.”

You blinked. “That bad?”

“Mm.” She held one arm out toward you impatiently. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You barely had time to laugh before she was pulling you against her, burying her face into your shoulder with a long groan.

“Oh, honey,” you said softly, instantly understanding. “Period?”

“Unfortunately.”

Her voice sounded muffled against your shirt. You felt her slump more of her weight onto you dramatically.

“Everything hurts,” she complained. “My back hurts, my stomach hurts, my head hurts. My tits hurt.” She paused. “Existing hurts.”

You snorted quietly, rubbing your hand up and down her back. “Poor baby.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You literally walked in here and collapsed onto me.”

“I did not collapse.”

“You absolutely collapsed.”

Sevika grumbled something unintelligible, but she made no effort to move away. If anything, she clung tighter.

That was the thing about her. Most people only saw the intimidating parts. The hard stare, the muscle, the temper.

But when she was with you, all those walls disappeared. Especially when she wasn’t feeling her best.

Suddenly she wanted your hands on her constantly.

She wanted your attention every second.

Wanted to be held like she’d melt apart otherwise.

By the time you got her settled on the couch, she was practically glued to your side, one leg thrown over yours while her head rested heavily in your lap.

“You need anything?” you asked, brushing your fingers through her hair.

“You.”

“I’m already here.”

“Closer.”

You laughed softly. “Sevika, there physically cannot be less space between us right now.”

“Figure it out.”

Despite her words, her eyes were already drifting shut while you played with her hair. Her face had softened completely, all the tension slowly leaving her body beneath your touch.

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She made a quiet noise and immediately reached for you again when you tried to pull away.

“Hey,” you murmured. “I was just kissing you.”

“Do it again.”

There was no attitude in it now. Just sleepy neediness.

Your heart practically melted.

So you kissed her forehead again. Then the corner of her mouth. Then her cheek until she finally cracked the tiniest smile.

“There she is,” you teased gently.

“Don’t start.”

“You’re cute when you’re clingy.”

Her eyes narrowed immediately. “I’m not clingy.”

The way her arms tightened around your waist the second you shifted said otherwise.

You raised an eyebrow.

“…Shut up.”

You grinned, leaning down to kiss her properly this time.

Sevika sighed into it like it relieved something aching inside her.

“Stay with me?” she asked quietly once you pulled back.

The softness in her voice caught you off guard. Sevika rarely asked for things so openly.

You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear gently. “Always.”

That seemed to ease something in her immediately.

A few minutes later, after you’d gotten a heating pad settled against her stomach and convinced her to drink some water, she ended up half sprawled across your chest in bed, utterly refusing to let go of you.

Every time you shifted even slightly, her arm tightened.

“You trying to fuse us together or something?” you mumbled affectionately, pressing a kiss to her head.

“Maybe.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

You smiled into her hair, wrapping your arms around her properly as she melted against you with a tired sigh.

The apartment was dead quiet when Sevika got home.

…Suspiciously quiet.

Usually you were humming somewhere, talking to yourself in another room, or bothering her before she’d even gotten one boot off. Tonight there was nothing.

Sevika narrowed her eyes immediately.

“Alright,” she called, dropping her keys onto the counter. “What’d you break?”

A muffled snort came from the kitchen.

There you were.

Bent over the counter in one of her oversized shirts, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter while staring at something in your hands.

Sevika sighed the second she saw that look on your face.

“No.”

You looked up innocently. “No what?”

“That face means you’re about to annoy me.”

“Wow.” You pressed a hand to your chest dramatically. “What a horrible thing to say to your loving wife.”

“My loving wife glued googly eyes to the toaster last week.”

You burst into loud, delighted laughter. “You noticed!”

“How could I not notice? It’s staring at me.”

You grinned at her so brightly it almost hurt to look at.

Almost.

Sevika tried very hard to stay unimpressed as she stepped closer, shrugging off her coat. “So what’s the problem now?”

Without a word, you held up her metal arm.

She hadn’t worn it today. Her shoulder had been aching since yesterday’s shift, and one of the joints in the prosthetic was sticking badly anyway. So she’d finally given in to your nagging after you saw how much pain she was in and left it home for once.

Which apparently had been a terrible mistake, because now there was a tiny paper cowboy hat taped to two of the fingers.

Sevika stared.

Then stared harder.

“…Is that a cowboy hat?”

“It’s a robot cowboy hat, actually.”

“You made my arm a sheriff?”

“No.” You fought another laugh. “Your arm made itself sheriff. I’m just respecting its dreams.”

A long silence.

Sevika pinched the bridge of her nose.

You completely lost it.

Not little giggles either. Full body laughter. The kind where you nearly collapsed against the counter because you found yourself way too funny.

And there it was.

That sound.

Warm. Bright. Infectious.

Sevika felt her mouth twitch before she could stop it.

Your eyes widened immediately. “Oh my god, was that a smile?”

“Don’t start.”

“You smiled at Sheriff Clank!”

“I did not.”

“You LOVE Sheriff Clank!”

Sevika grabbed you around the waist before you could escape, hauling you against her chest while you shrieked with laughter.

“You are unbelievably annoying,” she muttered into your hair.

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“You looove me.”

“I fear I do.”

You tipped your head back to grin at her. Soft. Sunny. Completely ridiculous.

Everything in Sevika’s life had once been sharp corners and survival. Long days. Longer nights. Violence. Stress. People trying to take from her faster than she could hold onto anything good.

Then you stumbled into her life like living sunlight.

Now her apartment had terrible jokes written on sticky notes.

Now there were doodles and love letters hidden in her paperwork.

Now she came home to someone dancing terribly in the kitchen while making tea.

Someone who climbed into her lap during meetings just to whisper nonsense in her ear.

Someone who once spent an entire afternoon trying to teach her how to “properly” fake faint for dramatic effect.

Someone who could pull exhausted laughter out of her even on the worst days.

Sevika would never admit how much she needed that.

You squinted at her suddenly. “You look like you’re thinking emotionally again.”

“I’m gonna throw you out the window.”

“You’d miss me.”

A beat.

“…Yeah,” Sevika said quietly.

Your expression softened instantly.

Then, because you physically could not remain serious for more than twelve seconds, you gently grabbed her metal hand and made it wave.

“Sheriff Clank would miss me too.”

Sevika barked out an ugly laugh before she could stop herself.

You froze in triumph.

“Oh, that was a REAL laugh.”

“Don’t make this worse.”

• Sevika absolutely keeps track of your cycle without ever admitting it outright. She notices patterns. The way you get quieter. The way you curl into her side more at night. The specific face you make when cramps hit suddenly.

• If your cramps are bad, she becomes weirdly attentive. You’ll grumble that you’re fine while practically folded in half on the couch, and suddenly there’s a heating pad plugged in, painkillers beside you, water on the table, and Sevika standing there like:

“Didn’t say you had a choice.”

• She’s very big on physical comfort. One massive arm around your waist while you lie against her chest. Warm hand rubbing slow circles into your hip or stomach. Carrying you to bed when you’re too exhausted to move.

• Her metal arm is surprisingly useful because she can cool drinks against it for you or press the colder metal against your forehead when you’re overheating.

• If you get emotional easily during your period, Sevika never makes fun of you for it. Ever. Even if you’re crying because a stray cat ignored you or because you dropped a spoon.

She’ll kiss your forehead and mumble:

“C’mere, sweetheart. World’s cruel enough already.”

• She becomes very protective in public during that time. Keeps a hand on your lower back. Glares at anyone irritating you. If someone stresses you out, she looks seconds away from committing a felony.

• If your pain gets severe, Sevika gets genuinely angry on your behalf. Not at you, just furious that your body hurts you so much.

“Stupid fucking biology,” she mutters while massaging your stomach gently.

• She learns your comfort cravings by heart. Specific tea. Salty foods one day, sweets the next. The exact blanket you like because the texture feels nice when you’re overstimulated.

• At night, she sleeps lighter so if you wake up hurting or nauseous, she notices almost immediately.

• Sevika secretly loves when you get clingy during your period. She’d never tease you for it because she knows you feel awful, but internally she’s like:

Finally. My wife accepts she belongs in my lap.

-

The apartment was quiet except for the rain tapping softly against the windows.

Sevika sat sprawled on the couch, one foot on the floor, the other propped lazily on the table. One arm rested around your waist while you lay curled against her chest beneath a blanket, face buried against her shirt.

Her fingers moved slowly over your side.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

You’d barely moved for almost an hour.

“You alive down there?” she rumbled quietly.

A miserable groan answered her.

“Mm. Tragic.”

You weakly shoved at her stomach without lifting your head. “Don’t be mean to me. I’m dying.”

Sevika snorted softly, though her hand immediately slid lower, rubbing gentle circles over your abdomen.

“You said that three hours ago.”

“Because I’ve been dying for three hours.”

“Poor baby.”

Another cramp twisted through you, sharp enough to make you tense.

Instantly, her grip tightened.

“Another cramp?” she asked, voice lower now.

You nodded against her chest.

Sevika clicked her tongue under her breath. “C’mere.”

Before you could even process what she meant, she shifted, tugging you fully into her lap. Her warm hand spread across your stomach while the cooler metal fingers of her prosthetic brushed lightly along your spine.

The temperature contrast made you sigh.

“Better?”

“A little.”

“Little’s enough for now.”

You melted further against her, exhausted and sore and emotional in that horrible fragile way periods always made you feel.

“I hate this,” you muttered quietly.

“I know.”

“It’s stupid.”

“Yeah.”

“My body’s evil.”

That made Sevika finally tilt her head down toward you.

“Hey.” Her voice softened immediately. “Don’t start talking about yourself like that.”

You shrugged weakly, blinking hard against the sudden sting behind your eyes. “I just feel gross.”

Sevika stared at you for a moment like the statement personally offended her.

Then she leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead.

“You’re my favorite thing in the world,” she murmured. “Little blood isn’t changing that.”

Your throat tightened embarrassingly fast.

Which, of course, made Sevika notice immediately.

“Oh, don’t you dare cry.”

“I’m not-“ Your voice cracked horribly.

She sighed the deepest sigh imaginable, already pulling you closer.

“Alright, alright. C’mere, sweetheart.”

You buried your face against her neck with a pathetic little sound.

Sevika held you without hesitation, large hand smoothing slowly up and down your back while rain filled the silence around you.

After a long moment, she muttered against your hair:

• Sevika notices it immediately. The way you apologize for needing help before you even ask. The way you’ll struggle with five grocery bags cutting into your fingers instead of calling her from downstairs.

• She starts doing little things without making a big deal out of it because she knows if she fusses too much, you’ll get embarrassed. Refilling your water before you realize it’s empty. Buying your favourite snacks when you run out. Plugging your phone in when you fall asleep on the couch. Quiet care.

• You’re so used to solving your own problems that sometimes you genuinely forget you have someone now. Not because you don’t trust Sevika, but because relying on people has never really felt safe before.

• Sevika pretends to be annoyed every time she catches you trying to do something alone that you absolutely do not need to do alone.

“You know I’ve got two functioning arms, right? Even if one’s mechanical.”

• The first time you wake her up because you need something, Sevika nearly melts on the spot. She’s half asleep, voice rough and confused, but secretly thrilled that your first instinct was her.

• She’s patient about it. Never pushes too hard. If you pull away or insist you’re fine, she lets it go for the moment and just stays nearby instead.

• Sevika’s love language becomes making space for you to rest. She knows you’ve spent your whole life surviving independently, so she tries to teach you, gently, that love can be soft instead of transactional.

• Sometimes she’ll physically take things out of your hands. Laundry basket, toolbox, heavy bags.

“Sit down before I bench press you instead.”

• When you finally do start leaning on her more, even in tiny ways, Sevika acts smug about it but she’s unbearably soft underneath.

“Look at that. Finally learning.”

• Secretly, nothing makes her happier than hearing:

“Sevika?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you help me with this?”

Because to her, that means you trust her.

-

Sevika looked up from the couch, brow furrowing as she watched you carry an overstuffed box across the room with your jaw clenched tight.

“You moving out?” she asked dryly.

“I got it.”

“You say that like I asked.”

You ignored her, already trying to awkwardly shove the box onto the top shelf. Your arms trembled from the weight.

Sevika stared for three whole seconds before standing with a long suffering sigh.

“Move.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are visibly not fine.”

Before you could protest again, Sevika stepped behind you and effortlessly lifted the box from your hands. She set it on the shelf like it weighed nothing.

You crossed your arms immediately. “I could’ve done that.”

“Mhm.”

“I could.”

Sevika looked at you for a moment, then snorted softly.

“You know what your problem is?” she asked.

You narrowed your eyes. “This should be good.”

“You act like accepting help is gonna kill you.”

Heat crept up your neck.

“It’s not that dramatic.”

“No?” Sevika leaned against the counter. “Yesterday you nearly burned yourself because you refused to let me carry the soup pot. Last week you limped around on a bad ankle for two days before telling me. And ten minutes ago I caught you trying to move furniture alone.”

You looked away.

“I just don’t wanna bother you.”

The room went quiet.

Sevika’s expression changed instantly, irritation melting into something softer. Something aching.

“You bothering me would be if you started a fire, or… I don’t know, slapped me across the face.” She paused thoughtfully. “Actually, wouldn’t hate that.”

A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it, and you rolled your eyes, swatting lightly at her chest.

“Helping you isn’t bothering me,” she continued, reaching out to brush your hair back.

You shrugged weakly. “I’m used to handling things myself.”

“I know.”

And she did know.

Sevika knew about the years that taught you depending on people usually ended in disappointment. Knew that independence had stopped being a personality trait a long time ago and turned into survival instinct instead.

She stepped closer, warm hands settling gently against your cheeks.

“You don’t gotta earn being taken care of with me,” she said quietly. “I want to.”

Your throat tightened immediately.

It was embarrassing how much those words affected you. How badly some small, hidden part of you wanted to believe them.

Sevika noticed the way your eyes glossed over and immediately softened further.

“C’mere.”

You let her pull you against her chest with surprising ease. Her arms wrapped around you firmly. Warm and steady and safe.

For a minute neither of you spoke.

Then, muffled against her shirt, you muttered, “I still could’ve lifted that box.”

Sevika barked out a laugh.

The first time Sevika met your boyfriend, she’d disliked him instantly.

Not because she was jealous. Not yet.

It was the way he talked over you. The way he accepted your kindness like it was something owed to him. You’d hand him your jacket when he was cold, offer him the better half of your meal, smile softly every time he barely looked at you, and he’d take and take and take without a second thought.

Meanwhile, Sevika sat across the room practically vibrating with irritation.

Because you were good.

Too good.

You remembered everyone’s favorite drinks. Fed stray cats in the lanes behind the Last Drop. Patched up bruises for people who didn’t deserve your gentleness. You laughed with your whole body, bright and warm and sweet enough to make Sevika feel sick with how badly she wanted to keep you close.

And that asshole barely even noticed you.

So yeah. Sevika hated him.

“You could do better,” she’d grumble sometimes.

You’d always roll your eyes fondly. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

Then you’d smile at her, all soft and teasing. “You’re biased.”

Maybe she was.

Sevika had been hopelessly in love with you for months.

Maybe longer.

She started inventing excuses to see you. Walking you home. Bringing you stupid little things she claimed she “found lying around” even though everyone knew Sevika did not casually buy fresh flowers or your favorite snacks for people she didn’t care about.

You always thanked her like she’d handed you the world.

That made it worse.

Because every time your boyfriend forgot you somewhere, every time he canceled plans last minute, every time he snapped at you and you immediately apologised even when you’d done nothing wrong, Sevika had to sit there clenching her jaw instead of dragging him into an alley.

You deserved somebody who looked at you like you hung the moon.

Sevika already did.

You just didn’t know it yet.

-

The two of you were sitting together at the bar one evening while Sevika finished paperwork she’d been putting off for days.

Well. Trying to finish paperwork.

Mostly she was watching you ramble happily about some little trinket you’d bought at the market.

“And the lady even drew these tiny little flowers on the paper bag!” you said excitedly.

Sevika snorted softly. “You’re easily impressed.”

“She was sweet!”

“You think everybody’s sweet.”

Your grin widened. “Not everybody.”

Sevika looked up then.

Really looked at you.

You were leaning against the counter, chin propped in your palm, smiling at her with this unbearable softness that always made her chest ache.

Before she could say something stupid, your phone buzzed.

You glanced down automatically.

Then your face changed.

The smile disappeared first.

Your brows furrowed.

Then the color drained from your cheeks.

Sevika straightened immediately. “What?”

You didn’t answer.

Your thumb trembled against the screen.

“Hey,” Sevika said more gently this time. “What happened?”

You swallowed hard and turned the phone toward her.

A message.

From some girl.

At first Sevika only caught bits and pieces.

Didn’t know he had a girlfriend.

Been seeing each other for months.

Thought you deserved to know.

Attached beneath it were pictures.

Your boyfriend kissing her.

Holding her waist.

Looking happier than Sevika had ever seen him around you.

For a second, Sevika saw red.

Pure, violent rage.

But then she looked at you.

You were staring blankly at the screen like your whole world had just cracked open.

“Oh,” you whispered.

That tiny broken sound hit Sevika harder than anything else could have.

“Hey,” she said immediately, shoving the paperwork aside. “C’mere.”

You shook your head once, sharp and shaky. “I- I don’t understand.”

“He’s a fucking idiot,” Sevika snapped.

Your eyes filled instantly.

And that was it.

Sevika moved without thinking, pulling you against her chest as you finally started crying.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, one hand cradling the back of your head. “Don’t cry over that piece of shit.”

You clung to her immediately.

Like you’d been holding yourself together by a thread.

“I wasn’t enough,” you choked out.

Sevika pulled back so fast it startled you.

“Don’t say that.”

“But if I was-”

“Don’t.” Her voice turned rougher this time. Fierce. “You are more than enough. He’s just too stupid to appreciate what he had.”

Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks.

Sevika wiped them away carefully with her thumb.

“He cheated on the sweetest, kindest person I’ve ever met,” she muttered bitterly. “That says everything about him and nothing about you.”

You stared at her silently.

God, Sevika hated seeing you hurt.

It made something ugly and protective curl in her chest.

“I just really liked him,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“And he still-“

“Because he’s selfish.” Sevika’s jaw clenched. “Not because you failed.”

You broke again after that.

Soft sobs shaking through you while Sevika held you tighter, one hand rubbing slowly up and down your back.

She could’ve stayed like that forever if it meant keeping you safe.

Eventually your crying quieted into sniffles.

“You’ve always hated him,” you mumbled weakly.

Sevika huffed. “Yeah.”

A tiny laugh escaped you despite everything.

“There’s my girl,” Sevika said softly before she could stop herself.

The words slipped out naturally.

Possessively.

Your eyes widened slightly.

Sevika froze.

For a long moment neither of you moved.

Then quietly, you asked, “Why are you so good to me? Why do you care about me so much?”

Sevika stared at you.

At your tear-stained cheeks. Your soft eyes. The way you still leaned into her like you trusted her more than anyone else in the world.

And she realized she couldn’t lie to you anymore.

“Because I’m in love with you,” she admitted hoarsely.

You inhaled sharply.

Sevika almost pulled away immediately. “Forget I said that. You’re upset and I shouldn’t have-”

“No.”

Your hand caught hers before she could retreat.

“No?”

You shook your head slowly.

Then, with this shy little smile that nearly killed her, you whispered, “I’ve been in love with you too.”

Sevika just stared.

Actually stared.

“You serious?”

You nodded.

“I just never thought you’d feel the same way. So I kept trying to bury it and ignore it… but I guess it never really went away.”

And Sevika laughed once in disbelief before cupping your face carefully in both hands.

“So that asshole really fumbled this badly,” she murmured.

You snorted wetly through your tears.

Then Sevika kissed you.

Soft at first.

Almost hesitant, which for Sevika was unheard of.

But the second you melted into her with this tiny relieved sound, something in her chest cracked wide open.

She kissed you like she’d wanted to for months.

Slow and careful and full of everything she never knew how to say properly.

When she finally pulled back, your forehead rested against hers.

“You deserve so much better than him,” Sevika whispered.

Your fingers curled into her shirt gently.

The first few days are easy to hide.

You laugh when you’re supposed to laugh. Lean into Sevika’s side on the couch. Kiss her goodbye before she leaves for work. You even make dinner one night, humming softly to yourself while Sevika watches from the doorway with that fond little smile she only gets around you.

“You’re in a good mood lately,” she says.

Your stomach twists so hard it hurts.

“Mhm.”

Because you are good at this. Good at pretending. Good at making yourself soft and bright and easy to be around while something ugly festers underneath your skin.

And every time Sevika looks relieved, every time she relaxes beside you like she finally stopped worrying, guilt claws deeper into your chest.

But you can’t tell her.

You can’t stand the thought of seeing that look on her face again. The heartbreak. The fear. The careful gentleness afterward, like she’s terrified you’ll shatter in her hands.

So you hide it.

You wait until she’s gone.

Or asleep.

Or distracted.

Then the smile falls away so fast your cheeks ache from holding it up all day.

By the fourth day, exhaustion settles into your bones.

Keeping the mask on is harder now. Your eyes burn constantly. You’re quieter. Slower. Sevika notices, of course she notices, but every time she asks if you’re okay, you force out another smile and say, “Just tired.”

And Sevika, because she loves you and wants to trust you, lets it go.

Mostly.

That evening, friends are over.

The apartment is warm and loud with conversation. Someone’s laughing at one of Sevika’s dry jokes while music hums softly in the background. You sit tucked against Sevika’s side on the couch, smiling at the right moments, nodding along like you’re present.

Sevika’s hand rests on your thigh the whole night.

Grounding.

Protective.

Loving.

You nearly break just from that.

“You alright, sweetheart?” she murmurs quietly into your hair at one point.

You look up instantly with a bright smile. “Yeah, course.”

Her eyes linger on you.

Searching.

Then someone calls her name from across the room and the moment passes.

By the time everyone leaves, your entire body feels hollowed out.

Sevika starts cleaning up bottles and glasses while you mumble something about being tired and disappear down the hallway before she can really look at you.

You make it into the bathroom before the first sob tears out of you.

It’s ugly immediately.

You clamp a hand over your mouth, folding in on yourself beside the sink as the pressure finally caves in. Your breathing goes uneven and sharp. Tears blur everything. Your chest hurts so badly you can barely stay upright.

You’re tired.

So, so tired.

Pretending is exhausting. Existing is exhausting. Feeling trapped inside your own head is exhausting.

You slide down against the cabinet doors and cry into your knees, trying desperately to stay quiet.

You don’t hear Sevika approach.

But suddenly she’s there.

“Baby?”

The word is soft. Careful.

Your head jerks up.

Sevika’s standing in the doorway, one large hand still braced against the frame like she stopped moving the second she saw you.

And the look on her face-

It breaks something inside you.

There’s no anger or disappointment. No judgement. When it comes to you, there never is.

Just devastation.

“Oh, honey,” she breathes.

You immediately try to wipe your face. “I’m fine.”

The lie is pathetic. Both of you know it.

Sevika crouches in front of you slowly, like approaching a frightened animal.

“No, you’re not.”

That only makes you cry harder.

You turn your face away in shame, but Sevika gently catches your jaw before you can hide completely.

“Hey,” she murmurs. “Don’t do that.”

“I didn’t want you to know.”

Her expression crumples.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

You can’t even look at her now. “I tried really hard.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t understand,” you choke out. “I really tried to be okay this time.”

Sevika’s eyes immediately go glassy.

She can hear how defeated you sound.

She sits fully on the bathroom floor then, not caring about the cramped space, and carefully pulls you toward her.

You resist for maybe half a second before collapsing into her chest.

And Sevika holds you.

Tight.

One hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubs slow circles up and down your spine.

“I’ve got you, baby,” she whispers.

You shake violently against her. “I’m sorry.”

“No.”

“I hid it from you.”

Her grip tightens instantly. “You do not have to apologise to me for struggling.”

“But-“

“No.” Her voice stays gentle, but firm now. “I mean it.”

You curl into her harder, crying against the front of her shirt while she presses her cheek into your hair.

For a long time, she says nothing at all.

Just holds you through it.

Through every shaky breath. Every embarrassed apology. Every attempt to pull away because you think you’re being too much.

Sevika shuts every single one down with patient hands and quiet affection.

Eventually, when your sobs weaken into exhausted hiccups, she leans back enough to look at you properly.

Her thumb brushes carefully under your swollen eyes.

“You’ve been carrying this alone for a while now, huh?”

You nod miserably.

Her face twists like the answer physically hurts her.

“Oh, honey.”

The tenderness in her voice nearly starts the tears all over again.

“I didn’t want to ruin things,” you whisper.

Sevika looks genuinely confused by that.

“Ruin things?”

“You were happy.”

She stares at you for a second before both hands come up to cradle your face.

“You think I’d rather have a fake happy version of you than the real you hurting?”

Fresh tears spill down your cheeks.

Sevika wipes them away immediately.

“I love you,” she says softly. “All of you. Not just the parts that smile all the time.”

Your mouth trembles.

“I know this is hard,” she continues quietly. “And I know you probably feel ashamed right now. But you do not have to hide from me.”

You close your eyes.

Because you want to believe her.

Sevika presses a kiss to your forehead.

Then another.

And another.

Until your breathing finally starts evening out beneath her hands.

“C’mon,” she murmurs eventually. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

-

• Sevika starts subconsciously making room for you in every part of her life before she even realises she’s doing it. A second mug already sitting out. Your favourite snacks appearing in cupboards. Her jacket draped over the back of your chair instead of hers because she knows you’ll get cold first.

• She acts annoyed every single time you steal her clothes, but secretly loves seeing evidence of you everywhere. She’ll grumble about missing hoodies while very obviously pulling one of yours closer to her face when you’re not home.

• Terrifyingly good at noticing your moods despite pretending she isn’t paying attention. She’ll clock the tiniest changes. The way you close doors softer when you’re sad. How your voice gets quieter when you’re overwhelmed. She notices before you even say anything.

• Always walks on the side closest to the road without thinking about it.

• Sevika becomes ridiculously protective over your sleep. If someone wakes you up unnecessarily, she takes it personally. Doesn’t matter if it’s noise outside, a phone call, or somebody knocking too loud. You’ll just hear a low, irritated, “Seriously?”

• Has absolutely no shame about using you as an excuse to leave places early. “My wife’s waiting for me.” “My wife hates these things.” “My wife wants takeout.” Meanwhile you never said any of that.

• Sevika slowly develops softer habits she’d deny to anyone else. Thumb rubbing absentmindedly over your knuckles. Pulling blankets up around your shoulders. Pressing sleepy kisses to your temple while half asleep.

• Learns your routines so thoroughly she can tell something’s wrong from tiny disruptions. You skipped a step while making tea? You didn’t hum while getting ready? She notices instantly.

• She never really cared much about domestic things until you. Suddenly she has opinions about laundry detergent because “this one smells like home now.”

• Pretends your pets love her more just to annoy you. Fully serious arguments like, “No, c’mere sweetheart, don’t listen to your mother.”

• Gets quietly smug whenever someone refers to you as her wife. Doesn’t matter how long you’ve been married. It still hits her every single time.

• Sevika will absolutely stop mid conversation if you walk into the room looking pretty. Just fully loses her train of thought. Staring. Someone has to snap their fingers in front of her face.

• She doesn’t always know how to verbalise affection directly, so she shows it in practical ways instead. Your phone charged before it dies. Your drink refilled before you ask. Heat pack already warmed up and waiting for you after a rough day.

• Sevika becomes way more talkative late at night when it’s just the two of you. That’s when you get the soft stories, the quiet confessions, her dry little jokes she’d never make around anyone else.

• Absolutely refuses to let you apologise for needing help. You start saying “sorry” automatically and she just gives you that look before muttering, “Knock it off. I’ve got you.”

Sevika came home late.

That wasn’t unusual.

The sound of the apartment door creaking open somewhere past midnight barely pulled your attention from the book in your lap. You were curled into the couch beneath a blanket, half asleep already, waiting for her the way you always did.

“You’re late,” you mumbled softly.

“Mm.”

Her voice sounded rough.

You frowned immediately.

Normally Sevika would toss some sarcastic comment your way. Something about you sounding needing or clingy. Something gruff and teasing under all that smoke and steel.

Tonight there was nothing.

Just heavy footsteps.

Then silence.

You looked up.

And your stomach dropped.

“Oh my god.”

Sevika was covered in blood.

Not soaked. Not dying. But enough.

A split lip. Bruises already blooming across her jaw and throat. One eye swollen dark purple. Her shirt torn open near the shoulder, exposing angry cuts and a bandage stained through with red.

Sevika noticed your expression and immediately sighed.

“Relax, babe. Looks worse than it is.”

You were already standing before she finished speaking.

“What happened?”

“Work.”

“Sevika.”

“I handled it.”

But she swayed slightly when she stepped forward.

Your chest tightened so hard it hurt.

You rushed to her immediately, hands hovering uselessly over her body, terrified to touch somewhere painful. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!”

Your voice cracked.

Sevika blinked.

You rarely yelled.

She reached for you automatically, probably intending to calm you down, but the second your fingers brushed against the blood on her knuckles something inside you snapped.

“Oh my god…”

Your eyes burned instantly.

Sevika froze.

No.

No, no, no.

Not tears.

Anything but tears.

You turned away quickly, pressing your hand over your mouth, but it was too late. A broken sound escaped you anyway.

Sevika stared at you like someone had struck her harder than any fight ever had.

“Hey,” she said carefully.

You shook your head.

“Don’t do that.”

“I’m okay.”

“You are not okay!”

The words came out wet and shaking. “You came home covered in blood and you’re acting like it’s normal!”

“It is normal.”

“That’s worse!”

Your voice cracked again and suddenly you were crying properly now, shoulders trembling as panic and relief and horror all tangled together inside your chest.

“I thought…” You swallowed hard. “I thought you were just caught up at work. I was just… sitting here, missing you, waiting for you to get home, while you were out there getting hurt!” Your voice broke. “I feel so stupid.”

Sevika went completely still.

You kept talking before you could stop yourself.

“What if next time you don’t come home at all?”

There it was.

The real fear.

Not the bruises.

Not the blood.

Losing her.

Sevika had seen people cry before. Beg before. Scream before.

But you?

You looked devastated.

Like the sight of her hurt you too.

And somehow that was unbearable.

“C’mere,” Sevika muttered softly.

You shook your head again, wiping angrily at your face. “Sit down first.”

“Honey-“

“Sit.”

Sevika actually listened.

Which was saying something.

You disappeared into the bathroom and returned with the first aid kit, still sniffling as you knelt between her knees. Your hands trembled while cleaning the cut on her cheek.

Sevika watched you the entire time.

“You’re crying like I died.”

“You could’ve.”

Quiet.

You dabbed antiseptic onto another cut and Sevika hissed.

“Sorry,” you whispered immediately.

“It’s not your fault.”

Another tear slid down your cheek.

Sevika suddenly grabbed your wrist gently with her metal hand.

“Please stop crying, sweetheart.”

“I can’t.”

Her expression twisted strangely then. Guilty. Uncomfortable. Almost scared.

That caught your attention immediately.

“…Sevika?”

“I don’t like it.”

“What?”

“You crying.”

Her voice was low and rough.

“I’d rather get my ass kicked again.”

A weak laugh escaped you despite yourself.

Sevika looked relieved just hearing it.

You finished wrapping her shoulder carefully before resting your forehead against her uninjured side with a shaky breath.

“Please be careful.”

Sevika’s hand settled against the back of your head instantly.

“I am careful.”

You pulled back enough to glare at her tearfully.

She sighed.

“…I’ll be more careful.”

And strangely enough, she meant it.

After that night things changed.

Not dramatically. Sevika was still Sevika.

Still reckless. Still violent when she needed to be. Still came home bruised sometimes.

But less.

She stopped throwing herself into fights she didn’t need to join. Started letting other people handle the smaller problems. Started coming home with split knuckles instead of cracked ribs.

People noticed.

One of the undercity goons even laughed once after Sevika refused a fight that normally would’ve ended in broken teeth.

“What, getting soft?”

Sevika lit her cigar calmly.

“You wish.”

But later that night, when she came home mostly unharmed and found you asleep on the couch waiting for her again, she stood there quietly for a long moment.

Because she finally understood something terrifying.

She could handle pain.

Could handle blood.

Could handle bones breaking and bullets grazing and knives splitting skin.