Arcane headcanons | °• Silco •°

You get kidnapped

• The news reaches Silco through one of his lieutenants—terse, panicked, and unable to meet his eyes. “They’ve taken her,” they stammer, and his world narrows to that single, unbearable sentence.

• His hand tightens around the edge of his desk until the wood creaks, his good eye flashing with icy rage. “Where?” His voice is calm, too calm, the kind that makes his men shift nervously.

• He wastes no time. Plans are abandoned, meetings canceled, and his entire network is mobilized. No resource is spared; every ally, informant, and enforcer is put to work.

• In the dim light of his office, he pours over maps, reports, and intercepted messages with a deadly focus. He barely speaks except to issue orders, his mind a whirlwind of strategies and worst-case scenarios.

• Hours stretch into what feels like days, and his temper grows sharper. When one of his men hesitates with an update, Silco’s voice cuts through the room like a blade. “I don’t want excuses. Find her.”

• The moment he gets a lead—a possible hideout, a whispered name—he’s out the door, ignoring the protests of his inner circle. “I’ll handle this myself,” he snaps, his tone brooking no argument.

• The hideout is heavily guarded, but Silco moves through it like a storm, his movements precise and deadly. His men follow in his wake, handling stragglers while he pushes forward.

• He finds you in a dim, cold room, tied to a chair, bruised but alive. His breath catches for a moment as he takes in the sight of you, the anger in his chest flaring white-hot.

• “Darling,” he says quietly, his voice rough as he kneels before you, his hands working quickly to untie the ropes. “Are you hurt?”

• You shake your head, tears streaming down your face as you collapse into his arms the moment you’re free. His hold on you is fierce, almost desperate, his hand cradling the back of your head as he murmurs, “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

• He lifts you effortlessly, his grip firm but gentle as he carries you out of the hideout. Anyone who tries to stop him doesn’t live long enough to regret it.

• Back at the base, he refuses to let anyone else tend to you. His hands are steady despite the storm raging inside him as he cleans your wounds, his touch surprisingly tender.

• “I should have been there,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you. The guilt in his voice is raw, cutting through the air like a knife.

• You reach for his hand, your fingers weak but insistent, and he grips it tightly, his good eye meeting yours. “You’re here now,” you whisper, and the tension in his shoulders eases ever so slightly.

• That night, he doesn’t leave your side. His arm is wrapped protectively around you as you rest, his gaze never straying from your face.

• The next morning, his men can feel the change in him—colder, more ruthless. Whoever dared to take you will face his wrath, and Silco ensures they regret every moment of their existence.

• But when he’s alone with you, his voice softens, and his touch is warm. “Never again,” he promises, his lips brushing against your forehead. “No one takes you from me. Ever.”