Nikto had always been a man of walls—unshaken, closed off, a storm of fury bottled within a body hardened by war. But in the quiet moments, when the world wasn't demanding blood and orders, there was you—his beautiful wife, his safe haven.

You were a vision of warmth and grace, standing in stark contrast to his cold exterior. Tall, statuesque, your hourglass figure draped in the most elegant fabrics. Your platinum blonde hair cascaded in soft waves, and your pouty red lips always curved into a knowing smile when you looked at him. You were breathtaking, yet it was your unwavering devotion that truly left him breathless.

Nikto never knew how to ask for comfort, but he didn’t have to. You always knew. After grueling missions, when his body was sore and his mind weighed heavy with ghosts of the past, you welcomed him home with open arms. You ran your fingers through his hair when he sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. You massaged his tense shoulders, whispering reassurances as he let out a heavy sigh, his guard finally slipping.

“You’re home,” you’d say softly, pressing a kiss to his masked cheek.

And that was all he needed.

Nikto had never believed in softness before you. He had never known patience, kindness—true, unconditional love. Yet, with you, it was effortless. Your presence melted away his rough edges, not by force but by simply being there. Even when his temper flared, when his insecurities gnawed at him like sharp teeth, you never wavered.

One night, as he lay beside you, watching you sleep with your golden locks splayed over the pillows like silk, he let himself reach out. His calloused fingers brushed against your cheek, and for once, he allowed himself to believe he was worthy of this—of you.

He didn’t say the words often, but you never needed them.

Because in the way he held you at night, in the way his arms tightened around you like you were the most precious thing in the world—Nikto told you everything.

And you always understood.