Arcane headcanons | °• Silco •°

You provoke him

• Silco is standing by his desk, meticulously reviewing plans. His posture is as sharp as his words as he dictates orders to one of his lieutenants.

• You watch him, leaning casually against the wall, the urge to disrupt his perfectly composed demeanor bubbling to the surface.

• “You know, for someone so good at scheming, you sure take forever,” you quip, your tone light but teasing, interrupting his monologue.

• He pauses mid-sentence, the faintest twitch of irritation crossing his face, but he doesn’t immediately acknowledge you.

• “Careful, darling,” he warns, his voice low, not bothering to turn around. “I’m not in the mood for games.”

• Ignoring the warning, you smirk, taking a step closer. “Oh? Is this your serious face? Could’ve fooled me. You look like you’re brooding again.”

• His jaw tightens, but he still doesn’t turn, clearly trying to maintain his composure.

• “Don’t test me,” he mutters, his voice a dangerous mix of amusement and warning now.

• You saunter closer, brushing against his arm as you walk by, your tone dripping with mock innocence. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

• Finally, he turns, his mismatched eyes narrowing as he fixes you with a pointed stare. “You enjoy provoking me far too much, my dear. What exactly are you trying to achieve?”

• You tilt your head, stepping even closer until there’s barely any space between you. “Oh, I just like seeing how far I can push you.”

• His hand snaps out, grasping your wrist gently but firmly, pulling you even closer. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmurs, his voice a quiet threat laced with intrigue.

• “Am I?” you challenge, leaning in, your breath brushing his jaw.

• He studies you for a moment, his eyes flicking to your lips briefly before his grip tightens, not out of anger but tension. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?”

• “Not when it’s this fun,” you reply, your smirk unrelenting.

• His patience finally snaps, though not in the way you expect. He pulls you in abruptly, his lips crashing against yours in a fierce, claiming kiss.

• It’s not soft or hesitant—it’s intense, like he’s pouring all the frustration and tension you’ve stirred into the kiss, his free hand sliding to your waist to hold you steady.

• For a moment, you’re caught off guard, but you recover quickly, your fingers curling into his jacket as you kiss him back with equal fervor.

• When he finally pulls away, his mismatched eyes are burning with something between irritation and desire. “You push, and you push, until you get what you want. Are you satisfied now, love?”

• “Not quite,” you murmur, still catching your breath. “But this is a good start.”

• He chuckles darkly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the intensity moments ago. “You’re insufferable. But I suppose I can’t fault you entirely.”

• You grin, leaning up to press a quick, softer kiss to his cheek. “Admit it—you enjoy it.”

• He smirks faintly, his thumb brushing over your wrist before releasing it. “Careful, darling. Keep this up, and I’ll find ways to keep you distracted permanently.”

• “Promises, promises,” you tease, but there’s no mistaking the warmth in your voice—or the satisfaction in his smirk as he turns back to his work, leaving his hand resting on your lower back for just a moment longer than necessary.