Arcane headcanons | °• Silco •°

You get injured

• The door to Silco’s office slams open, and you stumble in, leaning heavily against the frame. Blood is seeping through the makeshift bandage on your side, your face pale, eyes strained with pain.

• Silco looks up from his papers, his expression immediately hardening as he takes in your state. His hands grip the edge of the desk, eyes narrowing, body tense.

• You try to steady yourself, but your legs buckle slightly, and you stagger forward. His hand is already there, steadying you, his grip firm and possessive.

• “What happened?” His voice is cold, but there’s an undercurrent of something deeper, something sharp. His good eye scans you, assessing the damage quickly.

• He doesn’t wait for an answer. With a swift motion, he moves you toward the couch, helping you sit down gently, but his eyes never leave you.

• “Stay. Don’t move.” His words are sharp, but there’s a hint of concern beneath the command. His hands shake ever so slightly as he pulls the bloodied cloth from your wound, eyes scanning for something to help.

• His fingers brush against your skin, a little more delicately than usual, his jaw tightening as he sees the severity of the injury.

• He moves quickly now, retrieving a first aid kit and setting it on the table. His movements are efficient, but there’s a harshness in the way he handles you, as though he’s fighting the urge to snap at you for being reckless.

• “Idiot,” he mutters under his breath, but it’s more a reflex than anything else. He’s barely aware of how his voice cracks when he applies pressure to the wound, his gaze hard but worried.

• His hands are steady as he works, cleaning the injury with precision, but there’s an unmistakable tension in his shoulders. You can feel it in the way his touch lingers for a moment longer than necessary, his breath hitching ever so slightly.

• After a few moments, he takes a step back, his eyes scanning you with intensity. “You’re lucky. Don’t make me go through this again, darling.” His voice is rougher than usual, the edge of anger still simmering beneath his words.

• He kneels in front of you, pressing a soft cloth to the wound. His gaze softens briefly as you wince, his thumb brushing across your knuckles in a surprisingly tender gesture.

• “You’re never going on a mission like that again.” His voice is low, almost a growl, and the possessiveness in his words is clear.

• He lifts you gently from the couch, his grip firm but careful as he guides you toward his private chambers, clearly intent on keeping you close.

• “I’ll deal with your recklessness later, love,” he mutters, his tone colder again, though it’s clear he’s struggling with the need to protect you. His jaw tightens, a dark storm brewing behind his eyes.

• As he settles you onto the bed, he pauses, just for a moment, his hand resting against your cheek. His gaze softens as he looks at you, but there’s a tension there that speaks volumes.

• “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” he breathes, his voice almost breaking as he touches your face gently, his thumb brushing against your lip. His usual coldness has dissolved, replaced by something far deeper.

• Silco stands up abruptly, his expression hardening once more, though his hand lingers for a second longer, unwilling to fully let go.

• “Rest. I’ll make sure no one gets close to you,” he says, but there’s an unspoken promise in his words. His eyes flicker with something darker—something you know will never let anyone harm you.