sevika was a tough nut to crack. having grown up in the sweaty pits of zaun, and having fought nail and tooth to where she was today; stoicism was her shell. it was not simple, working for a crime lord. especially one as petty and dramatic as silco.

but she respected him all the same, and subsequently lost her left arm whilst protecting him from a bomb. the fucking bomb. later, sevika had replaced it with a chemtech prosthetic which injected shimmer into her bloodstream and the device to strengthen her punches.

the arm also worked quite well in bed.

you two were happy enough together, happy as anyone in the lanes could be. the exact definition of your relationship perhaps was not simple enough for any language, but you both felt comfort in that.

however, there were certain times when sevika’s insecurity of her prosthetic arm would take hold in her gut like the thorns of roses and spread thick black tar over her lungs. she needed comfort.

more often than not, this meant your arms. or a drink.

“fucking pilties,” sevika grumbled under her breath as she stalked into your apartment, shutting the door vehemently behind her bulky form. even the way she discarded her boots was violent. the cursing of piltovans was also typical, more of a norm in the undercity.

yet she flopped ungracefully beside you all the same, grey irises hard yet also soft as her legs spread open casually. her prosthetic hand twitched unnaturally as she lay it down beside her; an eyesore. then her good side leant against you, despite her muscle mass being very heavy.

“baby, do you hate my arm?” this now was a mumble, too soft for sevika.