Arcane headcanons | °• Sevika •°

A typical morning

The sheets beside you are cool, Sevika long gone from bed, as expected. The faint clink of dishes drifts from the kitchen.

You blink against the soft morning light, stretching out with a tired groan, sore from sleeping alone longer than you’d like.

The faint scent of coffee wafts through the air, strong and rich—undeniably Sevika’s doing.

The distant creak of the kitchen cabinets, followed by the clatter of a pan, confirms her presence.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you pause, listening to the faint hum of her low, wordless tune—rough but oddly soothing.

Barefoot, you tread across the cool floor, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you approach the doorway.

Peeking in, you spot Sevika standing at the stove, her broad back to you, shoulders flexing beneath her tank top as she flips something in the pan.

Her metal arm gleams faintly in the sunlight filtering through the cracked blinds, the soft hiss of sizzling food filling the air.

A mug of coffee rests beside her, steam curling from the rim, already half-drunk. She’s been up for hours, no doubt—worked out, cleaned up, and now this.

The faint creak of the floorboards draws her attention. Without turning, she smirks slightly. “Morning, doll.”

Her voice, rough from sleep despite the hours awake, sends a familiar warmth through your chest.

Approaching her side, you lean into her, resting your cheek against her shoulder, inhaling the faint mix of sweat, soap, and coffee clinging to her skin.

She shifts slightly, tilting her head to press a kiss to your temple. "Couldn't stay in bed, huh? Guess I was too long gone," she teases softly.

You hum in response, still half-asleep, arms slipping around her waist from behind. Her metal hand pats your arm gently.

The faint sizzle from the stove reminds you of breakfast, and Sevika shifts just enough to plate the food—simple but hearty.

Sliding the plate onto the counter, she turns, leaning her hip against it, smirking down at you. “Come on, princess. Eat up before it gets cold.”

Still clinging to her warmth, you grumble sleepily against her chest. She chuckles, rough and low, fingers brushing through your hair.

“You’re impossible in the morning,” she mutters, but there’s no bite to her words—just affection laced beneath her gravelly tone.

Despite her teasing, she stays still, letting you cling for a few more moments before nudging you toward the stool. “Sit. Eat. I’ll pour you coffee.”

As you settle down, she grabs the mug, pouring fresh coffee without needing to ask how you like it—she knows by heart.

Sliding the mug into your hands, she lingers beside you, her hand brushing your shoulder in passing before she leans against the counter, sipping her own drink.

There's no need for more words—the quiet companionship is enough. Her presence, steady as ever, grounds you like nothing else.