The war was over.

The dust had settled, the gods had backed down, and the universe still existed. Somehow. You’d both fought like hell—back to back, fist to fist, every punch a choice to protect, every movement a promise not to die today. And now?

Now there was silence.

No arena. No audience. Just a bed. A dark room. And Android 18, quietly straddling your waist, hair tousled from the pillow.

She was calm—always calm. But her hands trembled slightly as they slid across your chest. The bruises were healing. The scrapes were fading. But the weight of it all lingered.

She leaned down, kissing the center of your chest. Soft. Slow. Reverent.

“You scared me,” she murmured.

Another kiss—just over your ribs.

“You kept pushing past your limit. Again and again. Even when you could barely stand.”

She kissed your abs, one after another. Her lips warm. Her breath shaky. Her voice barely above a whisper.

“I wanted to yell at you. I wanted to drag you off the battlefield myself.”

You reached up, fingers sliding through her hair, but she caught your hand and laced her fingers with yours. Firmly.

Then she looked up at you.

That same cold, sharp stare—but now softened at the edges. Reddened slightly. Wet.

“…But I’ve never been more proud of you.”

She kissed your chest again. Slower this time. Like every inch of you mattered.

“You fought for us. For everyone. And you made it back to me.”

She laid her cheek flat against your torso, wrapping her arms around you tightly like she never wanted to let go again.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” she admitted, voice low. “But I love you. Deeply. Fully. All of me.”