#arcane reader

He looked up, tired and lovely, eyes catching yours. “You should be asleep” he murmured, voice soft but also filled with the exhaustion that always lived there.

You smiled. “So should you.”

A pause. The way his mouth quirked, the shy, almost guilty twitch of a man who both wanted and feared to be wanted. You reached for him, fingers brushing the sleeve of his shirt. That single touch set something loose, he exhaled sharply, hand catching your wrist as though to steady himself.

And then the silence folded around the two of you. His thumb stroked the inside of your wrist once, twice, slow and thoughtful, before his gaze drifted to your mouth.

He leaned in first. The kiss was tentative at the start, uncertain, his lips soft but hesitant. When you responded, pressing back with certainty, his composure cracked. He made a quiet, needy noise “mmh”and pulled you closer by the waist, the movement sudden, instinctual. His hands joining together at the small of your back, holding you cloose to him.

Your bodies fitted together though there were layers of fabric between you, but it didn’t matter. His breath hitched as you tilted your head, deepening the kiss. His mouth moved with a goal, tongue brushing yours in a rhythm that grew hungrier by the second. His cane clattered softly against the worktable as he shifted to brace himself, free hand gripping your hip.

You felt him, hard already, pressed against you through his slacks. He tried to ignore it at first, the way his hips subtly sought contact, but his breath betrayed him. “Ah—p-please…” he whispered against your mouth, a half-plea, his accent thicker now, a r tremor in his voice as he tried to restrain himself.

You didn’t stop. Your hands slid up the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, pulling him close to you again. The kiss turned messy, wet, open-mouthed, all tongue and teeth. He groaned quietly, a trembling “nnnh” and his hips rocked forward, like on instinct, catching against you with friction that made both of you gasp.

It started small, a drag, just once, his hardness nudging against your lower body through the fabric. The heat that spread there was immediate, almost dizzying. You could feel the pulse of him even through the clothes, and Viktor’s control began to slip.

He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing fast. “We—should not…” he managed, but the rest died in a shudder as you rolled your hips back against him. The rough texture of his trousers met the soft give of your clothes, a cruel, perfect friction that made you both gasp again.

His hand shot up to your waist, steadying you. “God…” he hissed, the word like a prayer. His hand tightened just enough to make you whimper.

You kissed him again, silencing whatever apology he’d been about to make. His hips found yours now with purpose, slow at first, cautious, then deeper, pressing, until every motion made the air between you heat up. Each grind could be heard from the layers of fabric rubbing against each other.

“Mmmnh—ah—” your breath hitched as he rocked against you harder, his bulge dragging over the seam of your clothes, doing it in such a way that made your knees weak. He let out a ragged and low “Hhh—yes—” muffled into your neck as his lips found the skin just under your jaw.

The friction grew faster, more desperate. His movements lost their rhythm, his body betraying his restraint. You could feel every twitch, every tremor, his hips stuttering as his breath became uneven. The sound of it filled the room, the rubbing of fabric, your shared gasps, his small, helpless noises “ah…nnnh…takhle, takhle…” words just dissolving into breath.

You tugged at his shirt, wanting more, wanting skin, but he caught your hand, shaking his head faintly, eyes half-lidded but burning. “No, stay—like this,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “We shouldn't do this right now.”

He changed positions making your hips hit the edge of his desk. Papers scattered, a pen rolled away. He braced one hand beside you, the other gripping your thigh through your clothes, guiding you in rhythm with him. The angle let him press fully against your center, and when he rolled his hips again, you both gasped loud enough that it echoed.

“Ah—hahh—Viktor…”

The sound of your voice saying his name broke him. He thrust harder now, ragged, his breath shuddering with each motion. The hand on your thigh clenched, just shy of painful, grounding himself.

Every grind became wetter, soaking through layers, the slick friction making the contact unbearably good. You could feel yourself throbbing, the thin fabric sticking to your skin, his hardness sliding against it in a rough perfect rhythm. His lips found yours again, sloppy, desperate, murmuring against your mouth: “Feels—so good, I can—ahh—”

You swallowed his moan with your kiss, rolling your hips to match him. The desk creaked under your weight. His breath grew harsher, faster, each exhale heat against your cheek. You could hear the faint, rhythmic sound of your bodies moving together, shk—shk—shk, the rustle of clothes wet with sweat and other liquids.

Viktor’s voice came in broken gasps. “You—drive me insane—” His head fell to your shoulder, teeth catching the fabric there as he groaned, deep and trembling. His hips jerked, losing pattern entirely as the pleasure built. You felt the tremor through him, his entire frame shaking with the effort not to let go too soon.

You reached up, fingers cupping his jaw, tilting his face back up. His eyes, half-lidded, glassy with need, met yours. “Let go” you whispered, and that was all it took.

He moaned, a low, guttural sound, nghhh, and ground himself against you hard, once, twice, again. His body went rigid, breath catching as he came, the heat flooding through even the layers between you. You could feel it, the way his body shook, the way his legs shook as he gasped against your neck. His hand stayed at your waist, holding you there through the aftershocks, every breath a soft, trembling exhale.

He stayed pressed to you for a long moment, panting softly, his forehead resting on your shoulder. Mechanical hum was the only thing that filled the silence again.

Finally, he lifted his head, eyes still unfocused but warm. “You are… dangerous” he murmured, and let out a breathy. His lips found your cheek, then your temple, gentle again, reverent. “And I am… utterly powerless to you.”

You smiled, brushing your fingers through his hair, feeling his heartbeat slow under your palm. He leaned into the touch, sighing softly, as if the world itself had finally stilled.

The two of you stood there pressed together, the air still thick with heat, and Viktor simply whispered, “Next time… I want to feel nothing between us.”

Divider by: @/cafekitsune

The music in the bar is head-achingly loud, every throb of the bass ricocheting straight through your skull. You wish you’d thought to bring some painkillers with you tonight, but your head had been far too foggy when you woke up to think that far ahead.

All you’d known then was that everything hurt – your throat, your head, every aching joint in your body – and that you wanted nothing more than to curl back up in bed and stay there for the rest of the night.

But you have rent to pay. And you know if you miss a shift, you’ll be out of a job faster than you can blink. Such are the joys of having a boss who doesn’t believe in things like sick days.

So here you are, grinding through an eight-hour shift behind the bar while feeling like you’re halfway to death.

“Hey, princess.”

The low, familiar voice cuts through the noise, and you turn to find Vi leaning against the counter, watching you with that usual crooked smirk.

She looks like she’s just come from one of her nightly fights. There’s a bruise blooming beneath her left eye, her lip split and crusted with dried blood, and black paint still streaked across her face from the pit. Still, she looks solid and unbothered. Very Vi.

“Hey, you,” you say, aiming for flirtatious. It comes out rough and hoarse instead.

Vi’s smile fades almost immediately. Her ice-blue eyes sharpen as she tilts her head, studying you while you pour a couple of vodka shots.

“You feelin’ okay, sweetness?” she asks. “You don’t sound too hot.”

Of course that’s the exact moment you have to duck away, sneezing several times into your elbow, as if to prove her point. You sigh, finish the drinks, and slide them down the bar before turning back to her.

“I’m working,” you say, like that explains everything.

Vi raises an eyebrow. “A bartender with a head cold, huh? Doesn’t sound real hygienic.”

You shoot her an unamused look. “Yeah, well. Some of us have bills to pay and an asshole for a boss.” You shrug. “Is what it is.”

You cough again, then clear your throat. “What can I get you, Vi?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Her gaze lingers on you, heavier than usual. Vi’s normally all teasing and swagger when she drops by after fights, the two of you dancing around something casual and unspoken. But she’s never looked at you like this before.

“How much longer you got on your shift?” she asks instead. “You look beat, sweetheart.”

You sigh again, followed by another cough. “A few more hours.”

Someone farther down the bar slams a hand on the counter. “Barmaid!”

You roll your eyes. “Sorry. Duty calls.”

As you head down the bar to take the man’s order, you can feel Vi’s eyes on you the whole way.

It’s several busy minutes of filling orders before you manage to make it back to Vi’s side of the bar. Without waiting for her to ask, you pour her usual whiskey and slide it across the counter. She nods in thanks, but doesn’t take a sip.

“You need anything?” Vi asks, her voice quieter now. Softer. “Anything I can do to help?”

Your pulse does a strange little jump. This is more concern than you can ever remember Vi showing you.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, even though your feet ache, your head is pounding, and all you really want is to sit down. “Not the first time I’ve worked a shift while sick.”

Vi’s frown deepens. She finally downs the glass of whiskey in one swallow, jaw tightening, but she doesn’t say anything.

You get called away again. When you turn back around a few minutes later, Vi’s seat at the bar is empty. Your heart sinks before you can stop it. You thought she might stick around a little longer, seeing as how she seemed concerned and you aren’t feeling well, but you also know Vi. She's not exactly known for her steadiness. She has her own demons she's fighting, and you don't hold it against her. Everyone in Zaun is just trying to make it through each day, yourself included. 

So you throw yourself back into work. You take orders, pour drinks, and wipe down the bar. The routine is automatic, muscle memory carrying you through as your symptoms slowly creep worse.

It takes you a moment to realize Vi’s back. You only notice when you look up and meet that familiar blue gaze watching you from across the counter.

“Brought you a few things, princess,” Vi says, sliding a small paper bag toward you as you approach.

You peer inside. A box of ultra-soft tissues, cough drops, and, blessedly, a bottle of painkillers.

Your stomach does another funny little flip. “Thanks,” you say, a little thrown. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”

Vi shrugs one shoulder, smirking. “I like to play knight in shining armor every once in a while.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

She grins back at you. “Take your meds, princess.” Then she laughs when you suddenly sneeze. “And I think you might wanna use those tissues, too.”

“I owe you one,” you say, already twisting open the bottle and shaking a couple pills into your palm. “Seriously. You’re a lifesaver.”

Vi's cheeks pinken up a little at that, the effect honestly adorable. 

“Don’t mention it,” she mutters, eyes still fixed on you. “Just…feel better.”

And as you continue your shift, with painkillers dulling the ache in your head, cough drops soothing your throat, and tissues ready whenever you need them, you realize something. 

You do feel better.

And maybe there’s more between you and Vi than you ever let yourself believe.

You frowned. Night air? Something snapped in your brain and straightened your back, sitting on your small perch. It was broad daylight … The flood of memories and images hit you all at once, and you felt all of them all at once. You felt your brain split open and be sewn back together. Jayce, Viktor, your two friends, broken and made whole again. The hextech, the hex core, and its idea of a hive mind world. Mel, a force of nature finally found what she was truly made of, marble and gold. Caitlyn and Vi, the backbone of the enforcers. You, a high society figure tangled in the science you patronized, turned fighter for Piltover's survival. 

You heard the chaos of the last hour in your mind, the screams, the clinking of swords and blasts of guns. The smell of blood, fear, and magic. 

You felt it all until…you didn’t. And it all became quiet. The silent whisper of the wind on your face and the normal sound of a city under your feet.

You got up on unsteady feet, realizing you were still wearing your makeshift enforcer armor. You looked around, seeing the skyline of the city, bathed in an orange moonlight, until you reached the Academy’s dome. A silent gasp came out of your mouth.

It was still intact. 

The gasp turned to frown and the hope to realization. You took a step back as you watched the red moon reflected on the glass pane.

It was still intact, but not for long.

You remembered Jayce talking about how he got to go to a different time, an alternate universe. A divergence in reality that sent him somewhere. His description was dire, filled with what he called ‘Hex Angels’ coming after him. But this seemed like your world, your time. Before Jinx attacked the council.

Before Jayce placed Viktor in the hextech bath, turning him into the Herald.

You had one chance. One impossible chance. 

The urgency of needing to get to council chambers hit you like a brick and you started to try and make your way inside the hexgate. Find an enforcer, tell them to get you into the chamber, and warn the councilors of the attack. If it would be easy, you were a well-known face in Piltover. Your father was a respected figure, an old councilman, only giving up his seat when your mother died 20 years ago. Getting into that chamber would be easier than getting down from this rooftop.

Which you managed with surprising ease, thanking Caitlyn for showing you the many ventilation entryways where the enemies could try and get inside.

And your feet hit the metallic floor of a walkway you ran as fast you could to any place you deemed safe to jump down. It seemed like a never-ending spiral that was clawing into your anxiety. But when you were about to scream you found yourself face to face with a door with a sign “Maintenance. Do not open it if Hexgate is hot.”

You gave it a few tugs. Nothing. You groaned and started pounding on it, until you saw an enforcer come to the door, frowning. 

He opened the door, a hand on the handle, another on his electric baton.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” 

You frowned at the first question but answered it. His eyes looked nonplussed and you frowned deeper. You hated to pull this card but you didn’t know how much time you had.

“Do you not know who I am?” Your voice echoes through the tube. “I don’t care who you are! You are trespassing on government grounds” He grabbed your forearm and roughly pushed you into a small corridor. “How did you even get in there?” He mumbled to himself, losing the door. “Doesn’t matter. I need to get to the council chamber.” You blurted out, knowing by his demeanor it was futile.  “Pal, you're going straight to HQ to answer how you got into a place with only three guarded doors, and why.”

He once more grabbed your elbow and dragged you away from the metal door towards a minuscule industrial elevator. With his free hand, he grabbed the key ring around his belt and unlocked it. It was beautifully crafted, as was everything in Piltover, but the cramped space and your shoulder pauldron made it difficult for both of you to get inside at the same time. 

You looked at the Enforcer, while he was trying to figure out if going down the thousands and thousands of stairs was worth it. The stairs were barely used, placed there by an overzealous engineer and much like the door to the elevator, it was locked. 

“I’m sorry…” you whispered to the guy and when he turned you did your best Vi impression and head-butted him, leaving him hurting and confused. You quickly snatched the keys from him and rushed to the stairs.

“Stop!” You heard him mumble, trying to regain his balance.

Yanking the door open you rushed down the stairs, jumping whole sets of stairs at a time, using the walls as a concrete cushion to break your descent. You kept jumping and running and colliding with the walls, begging that the ground floor appeared soon. 

The last landing was below you and you saw four enforcers open the door below you and rushed in, looking up and spotting you. You couldn’t take them all. 

Before you could do anything you felt something shift. Similar to when someone stretched after a good nap, but it was in the air around you. Not the air you realized, the reality around you awakened. It whispered something unintelligible, but you heard it even above the guards shouting at you. A faint piano note followed and right in front of you a rune appeared. Like a pattern on a broken mirror. 

A magical rune, you remembered talking with Jayce and Viktor about it.

The officers were approaching and without thinking you inscribed the rune with your foot on the dusty floor of the stairwell. Once made you waited. The guards stopped for a moment looking confused. Nothing happened.

A conversation between you and your father flashed in your head. You had finished practicing a piece on the piano, your father, ever the willing audience sat with a frown on his face. 

“What's wrong?” you asked, turning to him and he shook his head. “Is it supposed to be a happy song?” He asked and you shook your head. “No, it’s a requiem, but I didn’t feel like playing a sad song, so I changed the note.”

Your father smiled sadly and got up from his armchair.

“My dear child, if a song is intended to be sad, then it must be played as such. That was its intended purpose.” He placed a hand on your shoulder “You are only a tool to bring that song to life, your aim should be to bring it to life.”

Intention. You’re a tool with a purpose. You nodded and took a deep breath. Looking up at the enforcers you thought about what the objective of your plan was. Leave. Move from here. And then, you stomped your boot to the ground and a wave of air burst from it. Like a gust of powerful wind, knocking the enforcers down.

You looked at the groaning bodies on the floor, your chest heaving in deep breaths. For a second you were frozen to the ground, until the clanking of metal armor and footfalls snapped you out of it. 

“I’m so sorry…” You whispered to the guards on the ground and ran outside the hexgate, shoving whoever stepped in your path out of the way. 

You relied on your muscle memory of Pilltover to get you to the University where the Council of Clans was to be taking place. You managed to lose most of the enforcers by swerving into the building’s back alleys, stopping only by a garbage chute to dispose of the outer layer of armor you still had on, leaving you with a simple pair of blue pants and a tank top.

Arriving at the University steps you slowed down and walked confidently towards the enforcers at the door, hoping they had not been warned about your encounter at the Hexgated and that they knew about who you were. The last part was quickly dismantled as they stepped towards you with a hand up. 

“I am here for the Council meeting.” You announced, your tone showing the confidence you didn’t have, but that years of practice made second nature. “Good evening. We are not expecting any visitors.” The enforcer replied, politely. “Please turn back and come back tomorrow with an appointment.”  “Councilwoman Mel Medarda is expecting me.” Your tone dripped with the impatience only a Topsider was known to have. “I am truly sorry, but we are not expecting visitors. If any member of the Council was expecting you we would have been warned.” The other enforcer repeated and started towards you. “This is astounding. How dare you stop me from an engagement with a Councillor? Preposterous. I will tell your supervisor about this…” “As is your right. Now please turn around.”

You huffed and puffed, putting on a performance of a lifetime until you finished the rune you had learned minutes ago. Once that was done you turned to the enforcers and once again apologized, watching as they got knocked on their asses when you stomped the rune with your boot. It was enough for you to walk to them and grab another key ring for your collection. 

Unlocking the side door of the main entrance you stepped inside while hearing shouting approaching from the outside. Time is running out. You looked at the marble steps and both you and your knees groaned. You took the steps two by two until you reached the second landing and then you found the main elevator. You had no time to wait for the thing to arrive nor to go to the last floor by the stairs. 

Reality did the thing again and once more a rune whispered and showed itself as if it was a patch on the elbows of a jacket. There was no dust on the floor or walls, nothing for you to write the rune on. 

All of a sudden you felt a burning sensation in your hand and looked at it. In your palm, a bright blue rune appeared, glowing in the darkened university hall. The bright light spread, filling your palm, your knuckles and your fingers. When you moved your hand to turn it and watch the light consume the rest of your extremities, you noticed your fingers were painting light into the air. You moved your fingers in a wave a small path of light painted the air in front of you, like a stroke of a brush on canvas.

Once again, the clanking of armor and shouting kicked you out of your stupor and you used your now weirdly illuminated hand. For a second today, the rune did nothing and once again you thought of the purpose you had. Reach the last floor.

Another voice flashed in your head. Vi’s shouts when you were on the hexgate, back…back there.

“Well…don’t just stand there…push forward…get them out!”

Push forward. Quickly you drew the rune in the air and just as Vi sometimes spoke with her fists, you did the same, punching the rune with enough force to push it towards its destination.  

The elevator pinged and opened its double doors and you rushed inside. The elevator took off as fast as it could with its old gears but it was still quicker than the steps and by the quiet you were hearing, the enforcers were still finding a way up.

As soon as the elevator stopped you were darting towards the gigantic doors. Midway, you caught a glimpse of something shining through the sky through a window—the rocket. Jinx was going through the motions of pulling the trigger if she hadn’t pulled it already. If the rocket was already in the air, you had seconds to put a stop to the Herald’s ascension.

You swerved right, knowing the main doors would be guarded, but the side doors were usually…hopefully… left unattended. Never did a sigh of a door make you so happy. You grabbed the door handle. Locked.

Instinctively you made the gust of air rune in the air and punched it, the door rattled. You groaned loudly, your desperation evident. You painted the rune again but made it bigger. The door rattled again. If not size, then quantity. You made four runes on the ground, in a single line and stomped on it. 

The door flew open and you ran inside, watching as everyone in the room fell silent. You hadn’t been inside the chamber when the rocket hit, but you knew that Mel’s shield had naturally appeared to protect her. Jayce, being so close to her, had been protected, but Viktor was a breath away from it.

Mel’s eyes snapped to you as you took several gulps of air. Looking at a smaller window in the chamber you saw a light fly towards the dome. You locked eyes with Viktor, sitting on a chair, his expression confused. 

As you dashed towards him, Mel and Jayce, you were half tempted to use magic again, but when he reached for his cane you stopped that thought. You weren’t about to throw poor Viktor around, this was gonna hurt as it was.

A councilman got up in an attempt to stop you, but Vi and Caitlyn's training had paid off and you quickly skidded away. You were centimeters from Viktor when a blue glow bathed the chamber. Everyone’s face turned towards the domed ceiling. As everyone’s eyes were transfixed on the sky you grabbed Viktor's hand and pulled him to you as you rushed towards Mel. You heard the glass shattering as the rocket hit the target, the force of the impact enough to send you crashing to the ground, never letting go of the bony hand in yours. And then…blackness…

Sevika has always known that being close to her comes with risk.

She just never thought it would look like this.

It happens fast. Too fast. One moment you are beside her, fingers brushing her wrist as you murmur something teasing under your breath, and the next there is shouting. Movement. A blur of bodies and intent.

Someone aiming for Sevika.

And missing.

You feel it before you understand it. The sharp impact to your side, the force of it knocking the air from your lungs. You stumble, barely catching yourself before you hit the ground.

Sevika’s name leaves your mouth on instinct.

She turns and sees you bent over, one arm wrapped around yourself, face pale in a way that makes something in her chest seize hard.

The world narrows.

Her hands are on you immediately, rough and shaking, scanning you with frantic precision. “Where,” she demands, voice low and dangerous. “Where are you hurt?”

“I’m okay,” you try to say. It comes out weak. “I just-”

She does not listen.

The person responsible is already backing away, suddenly aware they have made a mistake. Sevika barely registers them. Someone else will deal with that. Right now there is only you.

She gets you out of there fast. One arm braced solid around your waist, the other steadying your steps, her body a shield even after the danger has passed. You can feel her heart hammering through her chest where you are pressed against her.

Later, when the adrenaline fades, the bruise blooms dark and ugly along your ribs. A gift meant for her.

She sits beside you while you ice it, jaw tight, eyes fixed somewhere far away.

“This is my fault,” she says finally.

You shake your head. “Vika, no. I wasn’t the target. I just happened to be there. That doesn’t make it your fault.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” she replies, eyes downcast and an unmistakable tremor in her voice.

After that, she changes.

At first it is subtle. She walks a half step ahead of you. Positions herself between you and doorways. Keeps her hand hovering near your back without quite touching.

Then it gets worse.

She stops letting you come with her at all. Makes excuses. Shortens conversations. Keeps herself busy in ways that leave you on the edges of her life instead of at the center where you have quietly lived for months.

When you reach for her hand, she pretends not to notice.

When you lean into her space, she steps away.

It hurts in a way you cannot describe.

One night, you finally corner her in the kitchen. She is washing a glass that is already clean, shoulders rigid, expression closed off.

“Did I do something?” you ask softly.

She flinches like you struck her.

“No,” she says too quickly. Too rough. “Of course not.”

“Then why does it feel like you want nothing to do with me?”

Silence stretches. Heavy. Charged.

She turns away from you, gripping the edge of the counter like it is the only thing holding her upright. “Because when they aimed for me,” she says, voice tight, “you were the one who got hurt.”

You step closer. She does not move.

“I can’t do that to you again,” she continues. “I won’t.”

“So you’re just going to push me away?” you ask, hurt bleeding through despite your best effort. “Decide for me?”

She finally turns, eyes dark and raw. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

“I’m not fragile,” you say.

Her laugh is hollow. “You shouldn’t have to be strong just to stand next to me.”

The words hit like a confession she never meant to make.

“I love you,” Sevika says suddenly, like the truth has forced its way out past her teeth. “And loving you makes you a target. I can’t live with that.”

Your breath catches.

“You think I don’t already know the risks?” you whisper. “You think I haven’t chosen this… you, anyway?”

She stares at you, stunned.

You step into her space this time, hands firm on her chest, grounding. Certain.

“I love you too, Sevika,” you say. “And I would rather be hurt beside you than safe without you.”

Her composure finally shatters.

She pulls you into her like she is afraid you will vanish if she does not, arms wrapping tight and protective, forehead pressed to yours. Her breath comes uneven, chest rising and falling against you.

“I was so scared,” she admits.

“I know,” you murmur, fingers threading into her hair. “But I’m still here.”

She stills when you say it.

Then her hands come up, slow this time, careful like she is relearning how to touch you. One settles at your waist. The other cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek in a way that makes your breath hitch.

“Don’t leave me,” she murmurs. It is not a command. It is a plea.

“I won’t,” you promise. “Not ever.”

She leans in like she is afraid of startling you, forehead resting against yours, breath warm where it mingles with yours. For a moment, she just stays there, eyes closed, steadying herself.

Then she kisses you.

It is tentative at first. Barely there. Like she is asking permission even now. Her lips are warm, soft in a way that surprises her, and when you kiss her back, when you lean into it without hesitation, something in her chest finally gives.

The kiss deepens, lingering, but shy. Warmth and longing blooming where fear used to live. Her hand tightens at your waist, grounding herself in the reality of you. Alive. Here. Choosing her.

She pulls back just enough to bury her face in your neck, breath uneven.

“I love you,” she says, quieter now. Steadier. Like something she means to keep saying.

You smile, thumb brushing the scar at her jaw. “I know.”

And for the first time, loving you does not feel like something she has to survive.

It feels like coming home.

For a moment after, Sevika just stays there, hands still on you like she is afraid to let go and realize this is real.

She exhales a quiet, disbelieving laugh under her breath. Shakes her head once, slow.

“I really did that,” she murmurs, more to herself than to you.

You smile, gentle, and brush your thumb along her cheek. “Yeah. You did.”

Her ears go faintly warm. She clears her throat, tries to look composed, but her grip on you tightens instead, like she has decided that pretending nothing has changed is no longer an option.

Then she leans in again.

This time the kiss is sure.

Still careful, still tender, but no longer hesitant. Her mouth fits against yours like she has finally stopped overthinking it, like she is letting instinct take over instead of fear. One hand slides up your back, firm and anchoring, pulling you closer until there is no space left to doubt.

When she pulls away, she rests her forehead against yours, eyes closed, breathing you in.

“Should’ve done that sooner,” she admits quietly.

You laugh, soft, and she smiles too, small and genuine, like it surprises her every time it happens.

Later, you end up on the couch together. You curl into her side like you always have. Except now she wraps her arm around you fully, no hesitation, palm warm against your shoulder. Cuddling you back.

She shifts once, then stills, clearly aware of every point of contact.

“You comfortable?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say, already half asleep. “Are you?”

She nods, pressing her cheek to the top of your head. Her thumb traces slow, absent shapes against your arm, a habit she does not bother stopping anymore.

“I am,” she says. And for once, it is that simple.

You fall asleep like that, tangled together in the quiet of the apartment. Sevika stays awake for a while longer, staring at you in adoration and utter disbelief. Holding you like something so precious and delicate. Something she no longer intends to keep at a distance.

For the first time, she lets herself think that maybe love is not just something that hurts.

She realises she does not protect you by leaving.