Arcane headcanons | °• Silco •°

You randomly kiss him

• Silco is seated on the worn couch in his office, one leg crossed over the other, sharp features bathed in the flickering light of the nearby lamp. His focus is glued to the documents in his hands, the weight of his empire etched into every line of his expression.

• You watch him from across the room, his intensity drawing you in as always. The way he commands the space even in stillness is magnetic, but tonight, the urge to break through his guarded exterior feels irresistible.

• You cross the room silently, your steps light against the floor. He doesn’t glance up, too engrossed in his work, until your hand brushes his shoulder gently, grounding him in the present.

• Before he can utter a word, you lean down and press your lips to his.

• He stiffens under the unexpected touch, his sharp mind clearly derailed by the gesture. It’s rare for anyone to catch him off guard, but you’ve managed it effortlessly.

• The tension lasts only a moment before he leans into the kiss, his lips parting slightly as his free hand rises to rest against your waist, fingers curling just enough to pull you closer.

• The kiss deepens, deliberate and intoxicating, his grip firm but not demanding, his control unmistakable.

• When you finally pull back, breathless, his good eye opens, sharp and focused, though there’s an unmistakable glint of surprise and curiosity.

• “And what, exactly, was that for?” he asks, his voice low and laced with a touch of wry humor.

• You smile, shrugging playfully, though your gaze holds his. “Because I felt like it.”

• He smirks faintly, setting the papers aside without breaking eye contact. His fingers slide from your waist to the small of your back, his touch firm, claiming.

• “You do enjoy distracting me, don’t you, my dear?” he murmurs, his tone both teasing and fond.

• Before you can respond, he pulls you down into his lap with ease, positioning you so you’re fully pressed against him. His free hand trails to your jaw, tilting your face to meet his as he kisses you again, this time slower, deeper, as if savoring the moment.

• His thumb brushes over your cheekbone, a gesture so gentle it makes your chest ache.

• When he breaks the kiss, his lips hover near yours, his breath warm against your skin. “If you keep interrupting me like this, love,” he says softly, “I may have to punish you for it.” His tone is low, teasing, but his hand tightens on your waist, betraying the possessiveness behind his words.

• You laugh quietly, tracing the lapel of his coat with your fingers. “Maybe you needed a distraction.”

• His eye narrows slightly, though the small curve of his lips remain. "You're insufferable." he says, but the way his hand rests in the nape of your neck betrays his affection.