Arcane headcanons | °• Sevika •°

You fall asleep in the last-drop

• The Last Drop is buzzing with life, a cacophony of shouting, clinking glasses, and off-tune laughter echoing through the space. Sevika weaves through the crowd, her broad frame making it easy for her to part the seas of drunken patrons without much effort.

• Her sharp eyes sweep over the room, searching, until they land on you. Slumped in a corner booth, head resting on your crossed arms, you look completely out of place amidst the chaos. You’re asleep—peaceful, oblivious. Vulnerable.

• Her chest tightens at the sight of you, exhaustion clear in every inch of your posture. What the hell are you doing here, alone and defenseless?

• She’s at your side in moments, her shadow looming over you as she crouches down, taking in your face. A soft breath escapes her lips. "Doll," she murmurs, her voice low but firm. No response.

• Gently, her metal hand brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, the edges of her armor glinting in the low light. Her other hand comes to rest on your arm, warm and grounding. She hates seeing you like this, out in the open where anyone could take advantage.

• Someone stumbles too close, nearly tripping into the booth, and her head snaps up, her glare cutting through the dim light. "Watch it," she growls, her tone enough to send the drunk patron scurrying off without another word.

• She leans in closer, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, "Princess, you can’t just fall asleep anywhere, you know that?" Her tone softens despite the annoyance in her words. "What am I gonna do with you?"

• Carefully, she slips an arm around your back and under your knees, lifting you with ease. You stir slightly, mumbling something incoherent, but you don’t wake. She cradles you against her chest, her flesh arm supporting your weight while her metal one shields you from the chaos around.

• As she moves through the bar, the usual noise quiets slightly. People notice. They know better than to mess with Sevika, and the sight of her carrying you with such care is enough to turn a few heads. Her glare ensures no one lingers too long.

• Outside, the air is cooler, and she adjusts her grip, pulling you closer to keep you warm. "You’re lucky I found you, sugar," she mutters under her breath. "You know I’d never let anything happen to you."

• She takes you back to her place, her movements deliberate and careful as she lays you down on the bed. Her hand lingers on your cheek for a moment, her thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

• Sitting on the edge of the bed, she watches you for a while, her usual hardened expression softening. She’d never admit it out loud, but you’re her weak spot, the one thing in this godforsaken world that makes her feel human.

• After pulling a blanket over you, she finally allows herself to relax, leaning back and running a hand through her hair. "Next time," she whispers, her voice barely audible, "you call me, yeah? Don’t make me worry like that."

• Even as she says it, she knows she’ll always worry about you. That’s just how it is when it comes to you.