Arcane men x reader with a voice kink 😳
ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ
ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ || ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ || 5869 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ, ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ, ᴍᴀᴋᴇᴏᴜᴛ
ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴏᴋᴀʏ, ɪ ꜰᴜʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ (ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ). ꜱᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ, ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ ᴍʏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ! <3 <3
ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ
JAYCE
The first time you realized it, it was completely accidental.
You weren’t even doing anything special—just sitting in the council chambers, watching Jayce give one of his impassioned speeches about Hextech advancements. But the way his voice carried, the way it dipped low and rumbled like a summer storm, made something tighten deep inside you.
He was always charismatic, but when he got lost in his own convictions, speaking with such firm belief and certainty, it was like he wove a spell around the entire room. His voice wasn’t just sound—it was presence, warmth, command.
You swallowed, shifting slightly in your seat, a rush of heat crawling up your neck as you forced yourself to focus on the actual content of his speech. But the damage was already done.
That voice did something to you.
And once you noticed it, you couldn't unnotice it.
It was when he murmured to himself in the lab, lips barely moving as he worked through equations, deep in thought. It was when he spoke in that authoritative, commanding tone, making decisions for the future of Piltover with absolute confidence. And it was most definitely when he let his voice soften just for you—leaning in close, murmuring your name like a secret only he was allowed to know.
You were doomed.
=
Tonight was no different.
The two of you had been working late in his private workshop, going over blueprints and schematics. Well—he was. You were mostly trying not to let your thoughts drift to dangerous places.
The room was warm, illuminated by the soft golden glow of hexlights. The smell of parchment and metal filled the air, mixing with something unmistakably Jayce—cologne and the faintest trace of sweat from a long day. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the toned muscles of his forearms, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a teasing glimpse of his collarbone.
He was a distraction. A beautiful, terrible distraction.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Jayce noted, glancing up from his work. “Everything okay?”
You swallowed. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”
“About?” He smirked, leaning back against the workbench, arms crossing over his chest. His voice had that casual, teasing lilt—the kind that always made your stomach flutter.
Your voice, you thought. I want to hear you say my name again. Want to hear what you sound like when you—
Nope. Nope. Not going there.
Jayce tilted his head, watching you with curiosity, and you cursed his stupidly perceptive nature.
“You sure?” His voice dipped lower now, smoother, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
You bit your lip. “It’s… it’s stupid.”
His grin widened. “Now I have to know.”
You inhaled sharply, debating whether or not you could actually say it. But Jayce was nothing if not patient, and damn it, you trusted him.
“I just…” You hesitated, then finally admitted, “I really like your voice.”
Jayce blinked. “My… voice?”
Oh god. Abort. Abort.
“Forget it,” you rushed, heat creeping up your neck. “It’s nothing, really—”
But then he chuckled.
A deep, rich, amused sound that sent shivers down your spine.
“You like my voice,” he mused, like he was testing the weight of the words. Then, in a tone so sinfully low it practically vibrated through you, he murmured, “You like when I talk to you, sweetheart?”
Oh. Oh, hell.
Your breath hitched. Your entire body felt like it was made of molten want, tingling from your fingertips to the base of your spine.
You clenched your hands into fists, trying not to visibly tremble. “Jayce—”
“Say my name again,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was pure velvet now, smooth and teasing, wrapping around you like a warm embrace.
Your lips parted, but you hesitated. That only made his smirk deepen.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his voice dipping even lower, almost hypnotic. “If you like my voice so much… let me use it for you.”
You exhaled sharply, pulse thrumming in your ears.
He was enjoying this. The realization sent another sharp thrill through you—Jayce was smart, he was confident, and he wasn’t above using every weapon at his disposal. And right now? That weapon was you, unraveling in front of him.
“Jayce,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.
And god, the way he reacted.
His pupils darkened, his fingers flexed at his sides, and that smirk turned into something dangerous.
“There it is,” he murmured. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, the faint scent of cologne mixed with something deeper.
Your thighs squeezed together involuntarily, and his eyes flickered downward for the barest second—enough to see. Enough to know.
His voice dropped to a devastating whisper.
“You really do like it, don’t you?”
You bit your lip so hard you nearly drew blood.
He reached out, tracing his fingers along your wrist, barely touching, but enough to make you shiver. His lips tilted into something more intimate, more possessive.
“What if I keep talking?” he mused.
You nearly whimpered.
“I could say anything.” His thumb brushed your pulse point, feeling how fast it raced. “Talk about Hextech. About politics. About you, sitting here, looking at me like you want to hear something very specific.”
Your breathing was shallow now, your skin burning under his touch.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he continued, his voice dropping to something wickedly deep, his lips hovering just inches from your ear. “If I just… kept talking to you. Told you exactly what I want to do to you.”
Oh. Oh.
You were completely ruined. Jayce grinned, watching the way you melted, the way your body responded to nothing but his voice. Then, with the cruellest, most devastating smirk you’d ever seen, he murmured—
“Say my name again.”
VIKTOR
Viktor had always been an enigma to you, a man of sharp intellect and sharper wit, with a voice that could command a room or whisper secrets into the dim glow of the Hexcore. You had spent countless evenings watching him work, enthralled by the way his lips formed words, by the careful cadence of his speech.
But tonight… tonight was different.
You were seated on the edge of his cluttered worktable, swinging your legs lightly as he moved around the lab, his cane tapping a steady rhythm against the floor. The sound was familiar, grounding, just like everything else about him.
But then—his voice.
“Pass me the spanner, would you?” His accent curled around the words, the softness of his tone almost affectionate despite the request being so mundane.
You swallowed, fingers gripping the tool tightly before handing it to him.
“Thank you,” he murmured, glancing up at you through tousled auburn hair. The way his voice dropped ever so slightly on the last syllable made heat curl in your stomach.
Gods, he had no idea what he was doing to you.
Or maybe he did.
Viktor cocked his head, observant as ever, his sharp gaze flicking from your face to the way you shifted against the table. A slow smirk tugged at his lips, and he set the spanner down, leaning on his cane as he moved closer.
“Something wrong, milý?” The pet name rolled off his tongue like silk. (Dear)
Your breath hitched.
He caught it—of course he did.
Viktor was nothing if not brilliant, and as soon as realization dawned on him, his expression shifted. Amusement. Interest. And something darker, something that sent a delicious shiver racing down your spine.
“My voice,” he mused, tilting his head. “You like it, don’t you?”
You averted your gaze, but that only made him chuckle.
“Fascinating,” he purred, dragging out the word, letting the syllables sink into your skin. “And here I thought you only indulged me for my mind.”
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, but the way your thighs pressed together betrayed you.
Viktor exhaled a quiet laugh, moving impossibly closer, his warmth wrapping around you like a second skin.
“Ah, but if I am insufferable, then why are you trembling?”
Your breath hitched again, and he smirked, slow and knowing.
His cane thudded against the floor as he lifted his hand, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.
“Tell me,” he murmured, voice dipping into something velvet and sinful, “what is it that you love so much? The way I speak your name? The way my voice—” he dragged out the last word, savouring it, “—sounds when I’m thinking? Or is it… something else?”
You shivered, nails digging into the edge of the table. “Viktor—” He hummed. A simple sound, but it sent a wave of heat straight through you.
“Mm. I see.” He traced his thumb along your lower lip, his own lips curling into a grin. “You truly are something else.” His voice alone had you unravelling, and he was clearly enjoying every second of it.
And, judging by the glint in his eyes, he was far from finished.
=
The air in the lab had changed.
It was charged, humming with something electric, something that made the fine hairs on your skin prickle in anticipation. Or maybe that was just him. Viktor, standing so close, his cane pressing lightly against your knee as he studied you, as if unraveling some great scientific discovery.
Except this wasn’t an experiment.
This was you. And the way his voice made your pulse stutter.
"Ah," he mused, voice low and knowing, "so this is what makes you tremble."
You opened your mouth to deny it, to say something, anything, but words failed you. How could they not, when he was watching you like that, with sharp, burning curiosity?
His fingers, dexterous from years of precise work, trailed from your jaw down the side of your neck, pausing just over your pulse. It was racing, and he exhaled a quiet laugh.
"I wonder," he murmured, his voice a mere thread of sound, "how far this goes?"
The rasp of his accent, the deliberate way he spoke—it sent another shiver coursing through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. He noticed, of course. Viktor noticed everything.
His smirk deepened.
"Would you like a demonstration, Y/N?"
Your breath caught. He was teasing you, testing you. And yet, beneath the amusement, there was something else. A hunger.
"Viktor," you started, voice unsteady.
"Yes?" He drew out the syllable, savouring it. His thumb grazed your chin, tilting your head up further. "Do you like the way I say your name, milý?"
You bit your lip.
That was all the confirmation he needed.
Viktor chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest, before leaning in, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Perhaps," he purred, "I should keep speaking, then?"
His voice dipped into something even more intoxicating, a deliberate whisper of sin against your skin. He wasn’t just speaking anymore—he was using his voice. A weapon, a lure, pulling you in, unravelling you piece by piece.
"Would you like that?" His lips brushed the shell of your ear, sending a shudder down your spine. "For me to talk you through all the ways I could ruin you?"
You let out a shaky breath, thighs pressing together involuntarily.
He laughed. Soft and knowing.
His cane shifted as he moved between your legs, his free hand finding your waist. His grip was firm, grounding, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
"I could tell you, step by step," he murmured, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your hip. "How I would take my time, how I would make you fall apart with just my words."
He leaned in, lips grazing your jaw—so close, so deliberate. "Would you like that, můj drahý?" (My Dear)
Your fingers dug into his shirt, desperate, needing something to hold onto as his words set you alight.
"I—"
His lips ghosted over your pulse, and you gasped.
"You do like it," he mused, wicked amusement dripping from every syllable.
He tilted his head, dragging the bridge of his nose along the line of your throat, inhaling as if memorizing the way you smelled, the way you reacted. His fingers tightened on your waist, his cane shifting as he steadied himself.
"Then," he whispered, voice dark, velvet-soft, "perhaps I should see just how much you can take?"
And with the way your body responded to just his voice, to just the promise of his words—
You knew you were completely, utterly doomed.
JAYVIK
Piltover at night was something of a wonder. The city of progress never truly slept, its golden lights reflecting against the rivers and illuminating the towering spires of Hextech advancement. But inside a candle-lit penthouse, away from the hum of the bustling streets, you were being tormented in a very particular way.
By them.
Viktor and Jayce had long since figured out your little… proclivity. You weren’t sure exactly when or how—perhaps it was the way your thighs had pressed together the first time Viktor murmured something low and slow while working on an invention, or the way your breath hitched whenever Jayce let his voice drop into that rich baritone during council meetings.
Whatever the case, they knew. And they were merciless.
Wrapped up in one of their oversized hoodies—Jayce’s, judging by the scent of metal, parchment, and the faint hint of cologne—you were curled up on the couch, trying desperately to appear unaffected. But it was a losing battle.
Jayce had been reading out loud from one of his research papers, voice slow, deliberate. Each word was carefully spoken, the deep timbre vibrating through his chest as he sat back in the chair across from you. You knew damn well he was exaggerating it, just to make you squirm.
“…The integration of Hextech stabilizers has resulted in a remarkable increase in mana conductivity,” Jayce mused, flipping a page, his voice dropping an octave as he let the sentence roll off his tongue. “Perhaps we should conduct… further tests.”
Viktor, lounging beside you, tapped his cane idly against the floor—a slow, methodical rhythm, as if measuring the seconds between your breathing. He wasn’t reading, nor was he pretending to be occupied. No, Viktor was simply watching you. Observing, calculating, taking in every little twitch of your fingers against the hoodie’s sleeves.
“Oh, I agree, Jayce. Further testing is always important,” Viktor mused, his accent curling around the words like silk, wrapping them into something intoxicating. His golden eyes flickered with amusement, his lips curling in a knowing smirk. “Wouldn’t you say so, darling?”
Your fingers twitched, gripping at the hoodie’s fabric as your throat went dry. “I—I mean, research is important, obviously.”
Jayce chuckled, finally setting the papers aside. He stretched with a dramatic sigh, letting his shirt ride up just enough to reveal a glimpse of his toned stomach. You hated that they were both so effortlessly attractive.
“You’re cute when you try to pretend,” Jayce murmured, voice heavy with amusement. His gaze darkened as he leaned in, resting his chin on one broad hand. “But let’s be honest, sweetheart… you’ve been real quiet ever since I started reading. Why is that?”
You stiffened, your stomach twisting with a familiar warmth.
Viktor shifted beside you, his cane sliding along the floor before resting against the couch. His voice dipped lower, softer—lethal.
“She’s always so reactive to sound, Jayce,” he mused, drawing out each syllable in that dangerous slow cadence. “It’s quite… fascinating.”
A shiver ran down your spine, your thighs pressing together on instinct.
Jayce caught it immediately. His grin widened. “Oh, what’s this?” His hand, warm and too confident, found your knee, squeezing lightly—just enough to send heat flooding through your body. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”
You clenched your fists. “I hate you both.”
Jayce laughed, shaking his head as he ran his thumb in slow, idle circles over your knee. “Oh, do you?” His voice was all velvet and amusement, all taunting warmth.
Viktor hummed, leaning in. His voice was barely above a whisper, golden eyes locked onto yours as if he could see straight through you. “It’s endearing, really,” he murmured, his words slow, drawn-out, teasing. Torturous. “How just a few words can make you so—hmm, what is the word?”
He tilted his head, eyes glinting in the dim light. You knew he already had the answer. He just wanted to hear you squirm.
Then he smirked.
“Flustered.”
Your breath hitched, and you hated how much they noticed it.
You yanked the hoodie’s collar up over your face, your entire body curling inward. “You two are insufferable.”
Jayce chuckled, leaning down to press a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. “And yet…” His lips lingered for a moment, warm against your skin before he finally pulled away. “…you’re still here.”
Viktor exhaled a soft laugh, reaching out with his fingers—light, barely-there, ghosting along your wrist, teasing. The kind of touch that made heat coil in your stomach. His golden gaze softened just enough, but the teasing edge in his tone remained.
“Perhaps,” he murmured, lips dangerously close to your ear, “you secretly enjoy being teased, hmm?”
The shudder that wracked your body was humiliating.
You clenched your thighs together, burying your face deeper into the hoodie’s collar, desperate to escape their knowing gazes.
Damn them both.
VANDER
The Last Drop was quieter than usual tonight. The usual rowdy patrons had filtered out, leaving only a few stragglers nursing the dregs of their drinks. You leaned against the bar, fingers lazily tracing the rim of your glass as Vander wiped down the counter. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing the strength in his scarred muscles as he worked.
“Long night?” he rumbled, voice thick with the gravel of exhaustion.
You hummed, tilting your head to look up at him. “Could say the same to you.”
A chuckle rolled through his chest, deep and warm, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. You tried to ignore the way it made heat coil in your stomach, but you weren’t very good at hiding things from Vander.
He gave you a knowing smirk, resting his weight against the counter. “What’s got you smilin’ like that?”
You hesitated for a moment, swirling the liquid in your glass before deciding that, screw it, maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was just Vander looking too damn good under the low lantern light, but you felt bold.
“I like your voice.” The words came out softer than you intended, a confession tucked between the hum of the empty bar.
Vander raised a brow, but the smirk never left his face. “That so?”
Your cheeks burned, but you held his gaze, something challenging in your eyes. “Mhm. Deep, rich… kinda feels like it wraps around you.” You shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant, but the way his expression darkened ever so slightly made your breath hitch.
He leaned in, just close enough that his scent—whiskey, leather, and the faintest trace of smoke—clouded your senses. “Didn’t know I had that kind of effect on you,” he murmured, voice dipping into something even deeper, raspier, like he was testing you.
You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to squirm under his gaze. “You do.”
That was all the invitation he needed. Vander smirked, slow and lazy, before brushing his knuckles along your jaw, tilting your chin just enough so you had no choice but to look up at him.
“Hmm… what is it, then?” His voice was nothing short of sinful, dragging out the words, teasing you. “The way I talk to you? Or the way I say your name?”
You exhaled, pulse thrumming in your throat. “Both.”
Vander chuckled again, but this time, it was deliberate—low, intimate. His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered, “That’s a dangerous thing to tell me, sweetheart.”
His words sent a shiver racing down your spine, and he felt it, the way your body reacted to just his voice alone. He pulled back just enough to watch you, eyes dark with amusement and something else—something possessive.
“Gonna be real hard not to take advantage of that,” he mused, tracing a slow line down your arm, his rough fingertips setting your nerves alight.
You bit your lip, breath uneven. “Who says I don’t want you to?”
Vander let out a quiet groan, his hand sliding to your waist as he pulled you flush against him. His mouth hovered just over yours, his breath warm and whiskey-sweet. “Then you best be ready, love,” he whispered, voice thick and dripping with promise.
Before you knew what was happening, he was gripping your wrist and pulling you toward the back room, his steps purposeful. He didn’t rush, didn’t say a word—just led you through the dimly lit hallway with the kind of confidence that sent heat pooling in your core.
The door shut behind you with a quiet click, the hum of the bar fading into the background. Vander turned to face you, arms folding across his broad chest as he leaned against the wooden desk, watching you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with something hungry.
“So,” he drawled, his voice dipping even lower. “You like the way I sound, huh?”
You nodded, breath hitching. “Yeah.”
His tongue flicked across his bottom lip, a quiet tsk leaving him. “Gonna need more than that, sweetheart.”
Your throat went dry, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I love your voice,” you admitted, your own voice softer now, almost breathless. “It’s deep, rough—makes my whole body feel like it’s burning up.”
That earned you a dark chuckle, low and rumbling. “That so?” His head tilted slightly. “Could’ve fooled me. You seem real shy about it now.”
You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck. “I—”
“Shh.” He brought a finger up, barely grazing your chin. “I think I like this little confession of yours, love. And I think I wanna see just how much you really like it.”
His voice alone had your thighs pressing together, your breath uneven as he traced slow circles over your hip. He leaned in, lips just brushing the shell of your ear.
“Bet I could have you falling apart just from my voice,” he murmured, each word slow, deliberate. “Bet I could make you squirm just whisperin’ in your ear.”
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, breath coming in shallow pants. “Vander—”
“There it is,” he praised, voice nothing but gravel and heat. “Knew you’d sound real pretty sayin’ my name like that.”
A quiet whimper left you, and Vander groaned, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your hips. “You really are dangerous, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Damn near impossible to say no to.”
His lips barely ghosted over yours before he pulled back, his expression shifting into something dark, something unreadable.
“But you ain’t getting everything you want just yet.”
You blinked up at him, dazed, your mind fogged with desire. “What—”
Vander smirked, reaching down to give your backside a firm, playful tap—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a spark of heat up your spine. “Upstairs. Now,” he ordered, his voice dropping into something dangerously low.
Your breath caught, your thighs pressing together at the sheer authority in his tone.
“Gonna finish closing up,” he continued, stepping back and eyeing you like he was already imagining what he was gonna do once he followed. “By the time I get up there, you better be waitin’ for me.”
His fingers traced one last slow path down your arm before he turned toward the door, leaving you standing there, still trying to catch your breath.
“Don’t keep me waitin’, love,” he called over his shoulder.
And just like that, Vander strode back out into the bar, his voice carrying through the walls as he barked at the last stragglers to clear out.
You barely had the strength to move, your body humming with anticipation. But you knew one thing for certain—
You weren’t about to disobey that voice.
SILCO
Zaun’s underbelly was no place for soft things, no place for delicate affections or whispered promises. But somehow, you had carved out a place for yourself in his world—woven into the very fabric of his life like the slow burn of a cigar, curling around him, lingering.
No one would ever know.
Silco was a man who kept his power close and his weaknesses closer. He didn't parade you through The Last Drop or allow idle hands to pry into what was his. You were a secret. A well-guarded one.
And yet, even in the quiet, he ruined you.
=
Tonight, you were in his office—again.
The dim glow of lanterns cast long shadows across the room, flickering against the mahogany desk he had pinned you against. His body was close—too close—yet still, he hadn’t truly touched you.
That was always the game.
His patience was infuriating. He knew exactly how to play you, how to leave you wanting, how to drive you to madness without so much as lifting a finger.
"Tell me," his voice came low, a purr of dark amusement as he leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. "Do you enjoy being kept in the dark like this, my darling?"
Your breath hitched. Gods, you hated him. Not because of what he was saying—but because of what it did to you.
His voice slithered under your skin like silk, threading into every nerve ending, sending heat coiling deep in your stomach. It was the way he spoke—so precise, so controlled, every syllable laced with dark promise.
"Silco—" You tried to turn your head, to get even the slightest bit of control, but his gloved fingers caught your chin, forcing you to face forward.
Not yet.
He let his lips hover just beside your pulse, never quite touching, just letting his breath tease the sensitive skin.
"Shhh." The whisper was soft, almost intimate—but the effect was devastating. You shivered, the warmth of his breath sending a sharp pulse of heat between your thighs. "We wouldn’t want someone overhearing us, would we?"
Your fingers curled into the edge of his desk, knuckles white. He was such an ass—deliberate, cruel in his attentions. Always testing your restraint.
"You’re the one whispering in my ear like you want me to lose my mind," you bit out. A chuckle—dark, rich, sinful—slipped from his lips, and you felt it in your bones.
"Am I?" His voice dropped, becoming rougher, raspier—worse.
You barely had time to brace yourself before he let his lips graze the delicate skin beneath your jaw, his breath leaving a searing trail.
"I think you’re the one who likes being talked to like this."
You sucked in a sharp breath.
His fingers skated down your waist, slow, teasing. Too slow. The way he dragged out every single movement was torture.
"You always respond so beautifully," he murmured, words rolling off his tongue like velvet, deep and indulgent. "A little breathless. A little desperate."
Your thighs clenched together before you could stop yourself, and he felt it. Of course, he did.
Silco was far too perceptive, and even in the dim candlelight, you knew he was watching you with that sharp, knowing gaze—taking you apart, piece by piece, with nothing but his voice.
His gloved hand slid lower, curling possessively around your hip as his other pressed into the desk beside you, trapping you against him.
And still—still—he hadn’t touched you properly.
"Tell me," he drawled, his lips brushing your ear, "how much do you want me right now?"
The heat between your legs had turned to an ache—one that his voice alone had created.
Your fingers dug into the wood. "You already know."
"Mmm." His hum of approval sent a shiver down your spine. "But I do love hearing you say it."
He shifted, pressing his knee between your thighs, adding just the faintest pressure. Not enough. Never enough.
Your breath hitched, your body betraying you, arching closer without thinking. Silco hummed in satisfaction. He had you.
"You drive me insane," you admitted, voice hushed, breathless.
His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his mismatched gaze—blue and ember, sharp as a knife.
"And yet," he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours, "you keep coming back for more."
His kiss was slow, deliberate—a calculated torment. Lips firm but patient, moving against yours with a control that had you shaking. His voice had already undone you, but this? This was the final blow.
And he knew it.
His whispers continued between kisses, words melting into your skin like poison and honey all at once.
"You’re mine." His lips drifted down, pressing against your jaw, your throat. "And I do so love making you weak."
His voice alone was ruining you. And the worst part?
You wanted him to.
CLAGGOR
The flickering candlelight cast long, shifting shadows along the stone walls of your shared hideout. The others had long since retired for the night, leaving only you and Claggor lingering in the quiet, the remnants of your latest heist strewn across the worn wooden table between you. The air smelled faintly of oil and dust, mingling with the lingering scent of sweat and adrenaline from a long day’s work.
You let out a slow breath, fingers idly toying with a small trinket from the pile, but your focus was elsewhere—entirely on the man across from you.
“Alright,” Claggor murmured, leaning forward, his large hands sifting through the items. His voice was rich and low, the kind of sound that settled in your chest and refused to leave. “Looks like we got some decent supplies this time. Food, parts, and—oh, check this out.”
He lifted a small, well-worn book, its spine cracked from age and use. He flipped it open, his thick fingers carefully turning the delicate pages, his eyes scanning over the text with quiet curiosity. But you barely registered what he was saying.
Gods, his voice.
It wasn’t just deep—it was steady. Assured. The kind of voice that made you feel safe, even when the world outside was anything but. And the way he spoke? Each word deliberate, unhurried, carrying a weight that made even the simplest statements feel important.
You swallowed hard, warmth curling low in your stomach, creeping up your neck. You shouldn’t be thinking about this right now. Not here. Not with him so close.
Claggor’s voice softened slightly. “Y/N?”
You blinked, caught off guard, realizing too late that you had been staring.
“Hmm?” you managed, shifting in your seat.
He raised an eyebrow, his expression amused but not unkind. “You listening?”
“Uh—yeah. Totally.” You forced yourself to focus, nodding toward the book. “Food, parts, and… a book?”
Claggor chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.
“Yeah,” he said, thumbing over the edge of the pages. “Figured Powder might like it. Or maybe you. You still like bedtime stories?”
There was a teasing lilt to his words, but the joke barely registered over the sheer effect of hearing him speak. You shifted, pressing your thighs together as subtly as possible, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your breath had hitched.
Depends, you wanted to say. Depends on who’s reading.
Instead, you tilted your head, smirking to cover your nerves. “Depends. Who’s reading?”
Claggor huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “What, you want me to read to you?”
Your heartbeat stuttered.
Yes.
You shrugged, forcing nonchalance, but your pulse betrayed you, thrumming in your ears. “Maybe. I just like the sound of your voice.”
The words left your lips before you could think better of them.
For a moment, Claggor said nothing, his dark eyes studying you with quiet curiosity. Then, he set the book down on the table with slow deliberation, his movements easy, unhurried.
“You like my voice?” His words came slower this time, more thoughtful. Testing.
Your breath caught.
He was too perceptive. He always had been. Claggor wasn’t just brawn—he noticed things, even when you tried to be subtle. And right now? You were not being subtle.
You nodded, heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah. I do.”
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a rare sight. Claggor wasn’t usually one for teasing, but there was something different in his expression now—something amused. Interested.
“That so?” he murmured, leaning back slightly. He let the silence stretch between you, as if weighing his next words. Then, deliberately, he let his voice drop even lower, his tone thick with quiet amusement. “What if I talked to you like this all the time?”
A shiver ran through you, sharp and electric.
You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice even. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
Claggor exhaled a quiet laugh, but there was something else beneath it now—a quiet satisfaction. He leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the table, his presence filling the space between you with an undeniable weight.
Then, as if testing you further, he reached for the book, flipping it open once more.
“Alright,” he mused, voice slow, deliberate. “Let’s see… ‘Once upon a time…’”
The words were meaningless. What mattered was how he said them. Each syllable rolled from his lips like honey, smooth and unhurried, carrying a warmth that settled deep in your chest. His voice wrapped around the words, made them something more than just ink on paper.
You barely noticed the story. You barely noticed anything except him.
Claggor glanced up, watching you. His voice remained steady, unshaken, but there was something in his gaze—something knowing.
You didn’t even realize you’d been leaning in until he paused, raising an eyebrow.
“Enjoying yourself?”
You swallowed, pulse quickening. “Maybe,” you murmured, voice slightly uneven.
His smirk widened, his expression both amused and intrigued. He turned the page slowly, dragging out the moment, letting the silence settle before speaking again.
“…Should I keep going?”
You hated how easily he was getting to you, but you also loved it.
“Depends,” you said, your voice lower this time. “You gonna make a habit of this?”
Claggor chuckled, deep and warm, shaking his head. “Oh, I definitely am now.”
He closed the book with a quiet thump, resting his palm on the cover as he regarded you. His expression was unreadable for a long moment—then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop to a near whisper.
“Didn’t know you had a thing for voices,” he murmured. “But I think I just found my new favourite way to get a reaction out of you.”
Your breath caught in your throat.
Claggor wasn’t usually one to tease, but the way he was looking at you now? Like he’d just uncovered a secret he fully intended to use against you?
Yeah. You were so in trouble.
And you loved it.
