Bunni.

• Sevika never admits she’s exhausted. You notice anyway. The way her shoulders sit a little lower. The way her mechanical arm hums louder because she hasn’t maintained it in days. You gently take her hand and tell her to sit. She listens. Only for you.

• You remove her prosthetic with slow, careful, practiced movements. You press soft kisses along the scars on her shoulder where metal meets skin. She goes completely still. No one has ever treated that part of her like something precious.

• When her temper’s been running hot all day, you don’t argue back. You slide between her knees and rest your forehead against her chest. Your arms wrap tightly around her waist, fingers trailing along her skin and you breathe with her until her heartbeat steadies. She relaxes and completely melts into you before she realizes she’s doing it.

• She pretends she doesn’t need help washing up after a fight. You wordlessly roll up your sleeves and clean the blood from her knuckles with warm water and a soft cloth. Your thumbs trace over every bruise , wishing you could heal them with just your touch. She watches you like you’re an angel sent specifically for her. She thanks Janna every day that you chose to marry her.

• On nights when the weight of everything presses down on her, you pull her down with you into bed and tuck her head under your chin. She’s bigger, stronger, but she folds so easily when you run your fingers through her hair. The sound she makes is barely there. Pure contentment. You always catch it.

• You whisper gentle praises into her skin. Soft, kind words meant only for her. I’m so proud of you. You did enough. You can rest. She pretends to be asleep so she doesn’t have to respond. She doesn’t know how to. But her grip around you still tightens.

• If her mechanical arm glitches, you sit on the floor with her tools spread out and patiently hold pieces steady while she works. You’re not afraid of the sparks. You trust her completely. She looks at you like you’ve just handed her the world.

• When she finally breaks, it’s silent. Shoulders shaking, jaw clenched. You cup her face in both hands and press your forehead to hers. You kiss away her tears. You hold her with an unrelenting tenderness. You show her a love that knows no bounds. You don’t ask her to explain. You just tell her she’s safe. She believes you.

-

Sevika doesn’t say anything when she comes home. She just shuts the door a little harder than usual and stands there, breathing.

You’re already up.

You cross the room slowly, like approaching a startled animal. Gentle and unhurried. When you reach her, you slip your hands beneath the fabric of her cloak and push it off her shoulders.

“Sit,” you murmur.

For a second she looks like she might argue. Then she sinks into the chair.

You kneel in front of her.

Her knuckles are split. There’s dried blood along her jaw. A faint tremor runs through her mechanical arm, that familiar overworked hum. You take her hand first. The real one. You bring it to your lips and press a soft kiss into her palm.

She exhales. It sounds like something breaking open.

You clean her up without commentary. Warm cloth. Careful hands. Your fingers trace over every mark like they’re mapping constellations. When you reach her prosthetic, you pause.

“May I?”

She nods once.

You detach it carefully, setting it aside like something fragile instead of the weapon that it is. Then you lean in and press your mouth to the scarred edge of her shoulder. Slow. Reverent. Your thumbs stroke over her collarbones.

Her other hand finds your waist.

“I’ve got you, baby,” you whisper.

She tilts forward suddenly, forehead dropping to your shoulder. Her weight nearly knocks you back, but you wrap your arms around her without hesitation. One hand cradles the back of her head. The other rubs slow circles between her shoulder blades.

She’s shaking.

No one sees this part of her. The way her breath stutters. The way she clings to you, her fingers digging into your flesh like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You press your lips into her hair.

“You don’t have to be strong right now, honey,” you whisper, fingers moving slowly through her hair. “You don’t have to lead. You don’t have to be feared. You don’t have to hold everything together. Right now, you’re just my wife. That’s enough.”

Her grip tightens. She tucks her face into your neck and breathes you in, her breath warm against your throat.

Once her breathing settles and her body relaxes, you guide her to bed. She lies down reluctantly, like rest is something she has to earn. You climb in after her and tug her down against your chest.

Her body molds against yours, head tucked into the crook of your neck, one arm winding around you, pulling you impossibly closer, her leg draped over your hip. She presses herself to you fully, every inch seeking contact, as if any space between you would be too much.

She fits there so perfectly. Like you were made for each other.

You cradle her gently, letting your fingers trail through her hair and along the slope of her back. You press soft kisses to her temple, her brow, the faint crease between her eyebrows.

She rests against you, heavy and trusting, her breath evening out against your collarbone. The tension she carries so easily during the day melts into your chest, leaving only warmth, trust, and quiet.

In this moment, she is entirely yours. Every sigh, every soft press of her body, every trembling exhale belongs to you alone. She is yours to hold, yours to protect, yours to love, yours to cherish, yours to keep safe. And here, in your arms, she makes no attempt to be anything else. She is your wife, and that is enough.

“Stay,” she murmurs, voice rough and small.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

She settles fully into your warm embrace as her chest rises and falls with calmer rhythm and her heartbeat finds a steady pace.

And when she finally sleeps, she doesn’t look hardened or feared or untouchable.