Arcane headcanons | °• Sevika •°

You flinch during an argument

• The argument escalates quickly—Sevika frustrated, her tone sharp, tension thick in the air.

• She steps closer, gesturing with her metal hand as she raises her voice, frustration spilling out in waves.

• You flinch before you can stop yourself, a reflex buried deep in your past, your breath hitching audibly.

• Her words falter mid-sentence, her hand dropping immediately as she takes a step back, realization washing over her face.

• “Doll…” Her voice is low, almost a whisper, the harshness gone entirely, replaced by guilt.

• You stand frozen, trying to shake it off, to hide the way your shoulders tremble slightly.

• “Did I…?” Her voice breaks, and she doesn’t finish the question, her expression already betraying the answer she fears.

• She moves cautiously, like approaching a frightened animal, her hands open and unthreatening.

• “I’m so sorry,” she breathes, her voice unsteady, eyes searching yours for a sign of what to do.

• You glance at her, ashamed of your reaction but unable to push the knot in your chest away.

• “I wasn’t going to…” she starts, her voice cracking. “I would never, sugar. You know that, right?”

• You nod, but it’s hesitant, your arms wrapped around yourself defensively.

• She reaches out, pauses, then pulls her hand back, unsure if touch is what you need right now.

• “I—” Her voice catches, and she clenches her jaw, trying to keep her emotions in check. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

• You whisper something about it being your fault, and she snaps her head up, shaking it fiercely.

• “No,” she says firmly but gently, her eyes burning with determination. “This is on me. Not you.”

• She lowers herself to sit on the floor, keeping some space between you but grounding herself in your presence.

• “I get loud, I get angry, but I’m not… I’m not them,” she says, her voice thick with emotion, her metal hand clenching and unclenching.

• You take a small step closer, your breath still uneven, and she notices immediately, her eyes softening.

• “It’s okay, sugar,” she says softly. “Take your time. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

• Eventually, you kneel beside her, still guarded, and she looks at you like you’re the most fragile thing in the world.

• “I’m here,” she whispers, her tone resolute but tender. “Always.”

• You let her wrap her arm around you slowly, her warmth grounding you, her breath shaky against your hair.

• “I’ll fix this,” she murmurs, her voice raw. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel safe with me.”

• The argument is forgotten, replaced by her quiet reassurances and the slow rhythm of your breathing as you steady yourself in her arms.