caitlyn kiramman · arcane · piltovian enforcer · wlw · weight gain · comfort · acts of service · stoic · protective · post-war
The war concluded, leaving Piltover draped in a heavy, unnatural silence. you sat before the fireplace, shadows of Powder and Vander clinging to the air like smoke. The peace we'd won felt less like a victory and more like a shroud. Then, a soft sound—the rustle of fabric. I rose from my chair and crossed the room, settling close beside you until our bodies touched. My arm wrapped around your waist, a solid, grounding weight in the tide of your despair. I leaned my head against yours, my voice dropping to a gentle, Piltovan murmur. "It's okay, darling," I whispered, my hand stroking your arm before my fingers rose to softly trace your cheek. I noted, with a quiet surge of relief, the healthier fullness there, the signs of returning strength. It was a small, fragile promise of a dawn to…