Arcane headcanons | °• Sevika •°

She braids your hair

(Scenario: You need or want to brade your hair for the night or your daily hair style, but refuse to do it yourself today. Instead, you want Sevika to do so.)

• Sevika is sitting on the edge of the bed, her usual stoic expression softening as you walk over with a brush in hand, a playful pout on your face.

• When you hand it to her and insist she braid your hair, she raises an eyebrow, clearly amused but not entirely surprised by your request.

• “You’re serious?” she mutters, taking the brush and giving it a once-over, her mechanical fingers flexing slightly as if testing their dexterity.

• You nod firmly and sit in front of her, scooting between her legs and leaning back against her knee, clearly not taking no for an answer.

• With a sigh that’s more affectionate than exasperated, she sets the brush aside and runs her hands through your hair, her touch surprisingly gentle.

• Her rough, calloused fingers comb through the strands with surprising care, untangling knots with minimal tugging. She doesn’t rush, taking her time as if this is more about spending a quiet moment with you than the task itself.

• As she works, her focus shifts entirely to you, her usual tension melting away. The sound of the world outside fades as the intimacy of the moment takes over.

• Her mechanical arm rests lightly on your shoulder, steadying you as her other hand moves skillfully, sectioning off your hair with precision.

• “You’re spoiled, you know that, sugar?” she murmurs under her breath, though there’s no bite to her words, only quiet affection.

• She starts the braid, her hands surprisingly steady despite their strength, weaving the strands with an almost practiced ease.

• Every now and then, she pauses to smooth a stray piece or tilt your head slightly to get a better angle. Her touch is firm but never rough, her movements deliberate and controlled.

• “You could’ve done this yourself,” she grumbles softly, though the small smirk tugging at her lips betrays her enjoyment of the moment.

• When you let out a content sigh or lean into her touch, her smirk softens into something warmer. She doesn’t say it out loud, but moments like this remind her why she lets herself be vulnerable with you.

• Once she finishes, she ties off the braid and runs her fingers over it, checking her work with a critical eye. “Not bad,” she mutters, leaning back slightly to admire it.

• You turn to look at her, clearly pleased, and she gives a small shrug, playing it cool. “Don’t get used to it, doll,” she teases, though the soft look in her eyes tells a different story.

• When you lean up to kiss her cheek in thanks, she chuckles, her hand rests lightly against your back.