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juniper-sunny · 1 month ago

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The Art in the Heart* - Chapter 6

It's Silco's turn to give you an invitation, and you're not quite sure what answer to give him. Then something chases you through the dark corners of the Undercity—and you end up somewhere unexpected...

Happy Ending AU | Silco x Reader | Young!Silco | F!Reader | No [Y/N] | Slow Burn | Romance | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Fix-It || SFW | TW: Stalking | WC: 4.1k

beta reader: @silcoitus <333

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

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Even though you told Silco you’re not painting today, you still have to check on the mural. When you arrive at your worksite, you lift the plastic sheeting and rest your palm gingerly against the wall; the rough stone is cool but dry to the touch. The colors seem a bit dim in the overcast weather, but the paint is still intact. It looks like your protective measures were successful.

The desire to linger persists, though. You extend the scissor lift higher to reach the rooftop, climbing up onto the ledge. You lean forward, kicking your feet against the wall. Staring out into nothing and shivering at the cold air that blows through your clothes.

Silco’s sleepover was already a significant disruption to your usual routine, but that’s not the only reason you feel disoriented. It’s been a while since you’ve made a new friend, and the buzzing excitement is enhanced by how much you have in common with him.

Unfortunately, it’s tainted by anxiety about the heist. According to the papers, the shipment will be arriving in two weeks. It seems unlikely that you’ll see Silco before then.

Still, you can’t help but wonder. Should you go looking for him? It would be a change of pace if you were the one to initiate contact for once. Would he find that refreshing? Or would he think you’re coming on too strong?

Something tells you he wouldn’t want to be disturbed during the planning phase of the raid. It’s an important mission, but he doesn’t have a lot of time to prepare for it. Maybe it’s better to leave him alone for now; he knows where to find you if he can make time for a visit.

These thoughts and more circle your mind like Poros chasing each other. You probably would have sat there for even longer, but a light raindrop taps your cheek. When you look up to the sky, the clouds are blotting out the sky, heavy trails of dark blue and gray ink swirling above your head.

As you wipe your face, the back of your neck tingles, goosebumps rising as your hair stands on end. The chill at the base of your skull isn’t caused by the weather.

Someone is standing behind you.

“Silco?” you call out, turning around in surprise.

You almost don’t hear it over your own voice and the rumble of thunder: a mechanical click and whirring, low like a buzzing insect. Simultaneously, a blinding, white flash bursts in your face, burning into your retinas.

As you squeeze your eyes shut, footsteps patter away; metal clanking echoes in the distance as something jumps onto rooftops. When your eyes readjust, you carefully jump off the ledge onto the roof.

“Who’s there?” you say in a small, quivering voice.

But you’re all alone. Whoever that person was, they’re long gone by now. You pull your jacket tighter around you. You’re just about to leave when you spot something small floating to the ground.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you walk over to the thing and pick it up. It’s thin, glossy, and square, artificially smooth and warm to the touch. There are undefined shapes on it, blurred edges slowly sharpening into focus as the dull gray smears become stained with color.

The shock of what you’re looking at almost makes you drop it.

It’s a picture of you, your face blurred as you’re turning to look over your shoulder. But it has your clothes and your hair color, framed by a cloudy sky.

On instinct, you crumple the picture and stuff it into your pocket. Your body moves on its own, climbing onto the scissor lift and running away.

Stalkers aren’t unusual in Zaun, but their presence is still unnerving. No one’s ever followed you this closely before, and the picture proves that their issue with you is personal.

Instead of heading home, you make your way Topside. You had meant to go shopping for new art supplies, and now seems as good a time as any. Hopefully you’ll be able to lose them in the streets of Piltover, where there’ll be more scrutinizing eyes.

This one time, you’re grateful that Pilties are so judgmental of people from the Undercity; if you’re being watched like a hawk, they’ll be able to spot whoever’s stalking you. So you take your time browsing in an art store, not bothering to step away from the shop attendants that shadow your every footstep. It's late and raining hard by the time you finally leave. When you step out and take several careful, cautious steps, the tingling sensation doesn’t come back. You start walking faster to take advantage of your pursuer’s absence.

On the second full day without rain, you return to the mural. But just as you pry open a can of paint, the feeling strikes you again. This time, your scalp tingles and stings painfully, as the stalker seemingly observes you from the rooftops. You jam the can’s lid back in place and run away again.

For days after, they don’t come back. But those close calls are enough to make you dread going to work. You keep your sessions short just in case you need to flee. The shorter workdays aren’t a problem for now, as you’re still laying down the base coat for the mural. However, longer sessions can’t be avoided when painting the finer details, as they’ll require focus and precision.

The fear of being stalked embeds itself into the very air around you, making you hyperaware of your surroundings. It doesn’t help that your nights have become restless, disturbed by nightmares of faceless figures towering over you and footsteps growing louder and louder as they approach you.

Still, you’re determined to not let your newfound paranoia get the best of you, especially on the day after the raid. Silco had promised that he would find you, after all, so you steel yourself and head out to the mural.

To your immense relief, Silco is already there waiting for you, a triumphant grin on his face blazing like the sun. All your worries fall away as you rush to the scissor lift, impatiently slamming the button that extends it to the roof. During the ascent, you take a deep breath to calm your hammering heartbeat, hoping to regain some semblance of dignity.

As you pull yourself up and over the ledge, Silco extends a hand out to you. You take it, savoring the feel of his calluses and scars, solid and rough as you find your footing. He lets go of you all too soon to rummage in his backpack. You shove your own hand in your pocket, squeezing reflexively.

“We were right about the shipment,” he says excitedly, pulling a bottle of wine out of his backpack. “Noxian goods were just some of the many illegal imports we found last night. The councilor’s in trouble.”

“Hello to you too, Silco,” you say, laughing with relief. “Are you okay?”

The fire in his eyes diminishes to something softer, a warm hearth as he looks at you properly now with appreciation. But his smile widens as he holds out the wine to you.

“We prevailed thanks to you,” he says proudly. “It isn’t much, but we wanted you to enjoy your share of the spoils.”

“Oh—” you say, surprised. “You didn’t have to—”

“Is this not enough? We have much more stashed away—” he asks.

“No, no,” you shake your head, hesitating. “I—I just need to hear you say that you’re okay.”

He doesn’t tell you those exact words, but instead launches into a grand retelling of last night’s events: staking out the warehouse for hours, bribing some of the less disciplined guards, knocking the rest of them out, hurrying away with as much cargo as they could carry, and dumping the rest of it in the harbor. He puts down the wine bottle and pulls a flask out from his pockets, toasting to the Children’s victory.

His tale is probably a very thrilling one, and you’ll have to ask Silco to tell it again someday.

But right now, your attention is focused on his sleeves; despite the warm weather, he has them pulled almost all the way down to his wrist, bandaging peeking out like a dog sneaking into a dining room for table scraps.

When he holds the flask out for you to take, you instead seize his left wrist, shoving the sleeve up as high as you can. His entire forearm is bandaged past his elbow; it’s not unusual for him to accessorize with unnecessary bindings, but he hisses in pain from your manhandling.

You handle him more carefully now, fingers lightly grazing over the makeshift wrapping. The cloth is gray and dirty, smeared with dirt and coal dust. A tight, stubborn knot in the crook of his elbow refuses to untangle despite your best attempts to press your thumbs into its crevices.

“Dummy,” you say, exasperated. When you let go of him, he pulls his forearm close, rubbing it gingerly. “You broke your promise.”

“What do you mean?” he asks defiantly.

You climb over to your scissor lift and grab your bag, placing it carefully on the ledge. After pulling out a first-aid kit, you wave at him to come closer, scolding him gently, “You promised you’d stay safe.”

“There are always mishaps in battle,” he fires back, but there’s no malice in his voice. “And I’m here in one piece, aren’t I?”

“I’ll be more specific next time.” You roll your eyes and gesture again. “Besides, if you die of infection then that will count as you breaking your promise.”

“My own well-being is of no importance—” he protests.

“Silco…” You glare at him. ��Don’t you ever say that again.”

His eyes widen in surprise at the anger in your voice. He’s almost meek when he finally steps forward, extending his forearm out to you. You take the flask from him and put it on the ledge next to your kit.

“What happened?” you ask, pulling out a pair of scissors to cut off the knot. You unwrap the dressing slowly, peeling it away layer by layer. On his arm is a long, jagged cut, almost spanning the entire length of his forearm. Another shorter cut closer to his wrist runs parallel to the first one. Neither are very deep, with dried flecks of blood already crusting at the edges of the wounds. His fingers are cut up as well, with tiny nicks at the joints that have already scabbed over.

“Climbed out of a broken window,” he says dismissively. When you narrow your eyes at him, he says defensively. “Time was of the essence—”

You sigh. “I know.”

Your first-aid kit is an expensive, deluxe product from a Topside pharmacy, stocked for almost every kind of emergency. First, you use a sanitizer on your own hands, making sure to meticulously scrub underneath your fingernails. Then, you carefully pour clean water onto a sterile cloth, just enough to dampen it but not soak it.

You look up at Silco apologetically. “Sorry, this might hurt a little.”

Carefully, carefully, you dab away at the caked dirt and blood on Silco’s arm and fingers. To his credit, he’s a good patient, enduring your administrations without complaint. He winces when a particularly stubborn scab refuses to chip away, his tendons flexing involuntarily. When it finally does, a tiny droplet of blood oozes out.

“It’s a good thing you don’t need stitches,” you remark as you finish wiping up. You pull out a fresh roll of bandaging and start wrapping his forearm securely, but not too tightly. The cuts on his fingers have healed enough that they don’t need to be covered.

“That’s quite a shame; I would have welcomed the scars,” he jokes.

When you secure the wrapping at his elbow, you slide your hand down his arm, assessing your handiwork. The dressing’s grainy bumpiness gives way to Silco’s rough skin as your hand reaches his palm.

Reluctantly, you start to pull away, but he squeezes your hand appreciatively, his thumb sweeping across the back of your hand.

You can’t help but squeeze him back. His palm feels warm against yours, your own skin molding against his calluses.

“I missed you,” he says lightly. But when you look up, his eyes are sincere, turquoise waters as clear as a fountain. “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you before the raid. But I would like to ask: did you make any effort to find me?”

You look away, mouth suddenly dry. His intense and earnest gaze has your legs feeling unsteady. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

(Also, you weren’t sure how closely your stalker was following you. You would never forgive yourself if they followed you straight to his doorstep.)

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” he chuckles.

You purse your lips at him, annoyed; he didn’t deny that a visit from you would be bothersome. You open your mouth to tease him, trying too late to stave off your rising embarrassment.

But before you can speak, he reaches out with his free hand to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear. His fingertips linger on the shell, tracing the shape of it all the way down to your lobe. His touch is gentle, a soft and tender caress.

Wild heat blooms under your skin at his touch, no doubt spreading across the rest of your face and neck.

You yank your hand out of his grasp and jerk back, hitting your first-aid kid with your elbow. It falls sideways off the ledge and you catch it just before it hits the ground. Some of the supplies within tumble out, rolling across the roof.

“You’ll—uh—you’ll probably need painkillers for those cuts—I’ll get you some—uh—some pills and stuff later,” you stammer out. You seize the opportunity to look away from him, leaning over the ground to pick up the fallen items. “What about your friends? Are they okay?”

“They’re alright, thank you for asking.” He crouches down to help you pick up a roll of gauze. When he holds it out to you, you swipe it from him, careful to avoid touching him directly. He frowns, a little notch sinking between his eyebrows, but he doesn’t remark on your sudden skittishness. “In fact, they’ve expressed interest in making your acquaintance.”

“Huh?” You were about to grab a container of sterile water when you stop, hand still outstretched in midair.

Silco picks it up for you and puts it away in your kit. “They wish to express their gratitude, as I have mine. Your aid was a monumental factor in the raid’s success.”

After craning his neck around you to look for more medical supplies, he stands up. With the kit fully reassembled, he zips it shut, putting it back inside your bag. You get to your own feet as he turns to face you, leaning casually against the ledge.

“Our preparations were more than adequate due to your intelligence,” he says solemnly, looking straight at you. “I do not mean it lightly when I say you helped save many lives that night.”

“Oh…” You fold your arms, hugging yourself against a sudden breeze. It ruffles Silco’s hair, and he pushes his bangs out of his face. “I just took some pictures, that’s all.”

“All it takes to set off an avalanche is a pebble,” he says. “We struck a single blow against Topside last night. And we’re going to do it again and again until they finally fall at our feet.”

“Don’t call me a pebble just because I’m shorter than you,” you joke.

“We’re all ‘dirty little animals’ living in Topside’s shadow,” he smiles ironically at you. “We ought to stand united because of that. If you ever find yourself at our doors, they will always be open to you.”

“Hmm… The Last Drop is in the Lanes, right?” you ask. The name of the Children’s headquarters is common knowledge, but you’ve never been there yourself.

He nods. “I could lead you there, if you like.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you say quickly. “I’ll think about it.”

Silco grins at your answer. You bite your tongue, unwilling to dampen his mood by voicing your reservations.

So far, you have no regrets in helping Silco, but opening yourself up to an organization of strangers is a different story. If they learn about your connections to the Council, the other Children might want to exploit them.

What would Silco do in that instance? Would he stand by your choice to remain uninvolved? Or would he also pressure you to officially join their cause? He seemed respectful enough of your decision during the sleepover, but you wonder if his friends would change his mind.

Silco picks up his flask again and unscrews it open. When he offers it to you, you take it automatically, still lost in your own thoughts as you take a sip. Instead of water, the tart taste of the Noxian wine floods your mouth. Caught off-guard by the alcohol, you cough and choke. He laughs and thumps you on the back.

You don’t get any painting done at all today. Instead, you both relax, talking about everything and nothing. Silco shows you some knife tricks, his own smile as sharp and shiny as the blade dancing through the air. You make up more stories about the dark-haired woman you’re painting.

He visits you at least once a week after that. Each time he does, the fear of being stalked fades away. Maybe it’s because the harasser is scared off by his presence, or you just feel safe around Silco. Either way, his visits never fail to cheer you up. You enjoy his company, and you pay polite attention every time he launches into a monologue about the Undercity’s future. His seemingly endless well of ambition means that he always has some new insights to share. At least these conversations distract you from darker thoughts about your stalker.

One day, you tell him that you have errands to run in the Undercity. You try to ask him as casually as possible if he wants to accompany you; you’re just interested in hanging out again later, nothing more and nothing less. When he declines, you let some lighthearted disappointment show, but hide the sinking dread that sinks through your chest and into your stomach.

But maybe you’ll get lucky. After all, the underground never sleeps, its children traversing the alleys at all hours of the night. They might provide enough cover for you to slip undetected to your destination.

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You should have known better than to be optimistic.

It might be easier to lose your stalker in the crowded streets, but that also means it’s harder to pinpoint what direction they’re coming from.

Every conversation you overhear seems to be about you.

When you sidestep a pair of men wearing long capes and pointy Ionian hats, their sideways glance at you seems to linger unnervingly.

A weapons vendor catches your eye and he smirks at you, licking one of his knives before he stabs his table with it.

Silhouettes in windows point at you before disappearing from view.

As much as you dodge and sneak through the lanes, you can’t outrun the sense of impending doom that chases you.

Your palms are sweaty.

Your breath is loud and fast in your ears.

Blood drains from your veins to be replaced by a howling anxiety.

Your heart beats a rapid and running pace that the whole of the Lanes can hear.

Colors and noises swirl together in a dizzying and incomprehensible spiral.

When you sidestep into an alleyway around the corner from a fruit stall to catch your breath, you review your options. You could head straight to the elevators, but that still runs the risk of the stalker following you home. If you wait it out at Babette’s, they might charge you a premium for a room, especially if you have no intention of spending time with any of her employees.

You’re forced back onto the streets when the stall’s vendor yells at you to get away from his merchandise unless you’re buying. You swiftly step around him, keeping your gaze locked forward. Even in your compromised state, you can’t afford to look weak.

An unmarked, large, multi-story building at the end of the street seems safe enough. It lies at the junction of three different avenues, and you speedwalk through the open courtyard as fast as you can. The edifice is painted over in flaking shades of orange and brown, revealing rusted gray and turquoise steel underneath. Curlicues of metal pipes encircle the front door artistically, iron vines crawling up the walls reaching up towards the sky.

The establishment seems to be a pub of some kind. Most of the chairs are filled, patrons drinking or lounging at tables and booths. You sidestep a tall woman dragging a babbling man out by the collar. From the muted smack of flesh on steel and squeals of pain, the woman used the man’s face to push open the door. You can’t help but chuckle under your breath as you make a beeline for her recently vacated booth, enticing worn red fabric welcoming you as you scoot in to observe the other customers.

Low music leaks out of a brightly lit jukebox by the entrance. The furniture looks handmade, all made of sturdy wood with metal trimmings at the joints. Tables of mismatched sizes and shapes are spread unevenly throughout the room, seemingly moved around at the patrons’ whims. Exposed lightbulbs cast warm, yellow light, illuminating assorted portraits and posters on the walls. Worn brick peeks out from underneath peeling wallpaper. Wooden barrels sit in quiet corners.

A tall, burly man stands behind a counter, wiping it down. A wide selection of various alcoholic drinks occupies a glass shelf above him.

In a more peaceful world, this place could be… cozy. Some patrons allow themselves to slouch in their chairs, even though their hands never stray too far from belted knives. One man has fallen asleep in his cups, but nobody bothers him or his pockets. A group of rowdy friends laugh and encourage each other at one of the pool tables.

“Hey.” The tall woman you walked past steps in front of you, blocking your view of the bar. She’s muscular and tough, a bright red poncho draped proudly around her shoulders. Her short dark hair is tied neatly back in a half up-do, almost girlish except for the dark scowl carved into her face. “You’re in my seat.”

You finally glance down at the table, only just now noticing an almost-empty glass of orange alcohol and a half-full ashtray in front of you, still warm from recent use.

“Sorry,” you say hastily.

You slide out of the booth as quickly as you can, scanning for an empty table. The woman’s energy tells you that she could have just as easily picked you up and thrown you to the floor, and you’re thankful that she opted to evict you more politely.

She raises an appraising eyebrow at you. You draw your hood lower over your eyes, avoiding her gaze.

“If you grab me a drink, I’ll let you sit here.” She takes a seat in the booth, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, still staring at you. “You look like you need it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, relieved.

“Tell him Sevika wants her usual,” the woman says, jerking her head at the barman.

You make your way to the counter, leaning against it. When you place your hands on its edge, it’s cool to the touch, polished to a brilliant shine. You crane your neck to look for the bartender; he’s at the far end of the counter, finishing up with another customer.

Just as you raise your hand to catch his attention, he spots you. He slaps a towel over his shoulder and saunters over to you.

“Never seen you ‘round here before, miss,” he says, curious. The glass he picks up looks tiny in his massive, boulder-like hands. He holds it out to you flirtatiously, his wink as shiny as the spotless glassware.

“It’s my first time here,” you say politely, taking the glass from him. You put it down carefully in front of you. “Can I get Sevika’s usual, please?”

He nods, a slow grin spreading across his wide cheeks. He pushes his short brown hair out of his face before he grabs a second cup. When he grabs a bottle of orange liquor from a shelf, you belatedly realize that you have no idea how much drinks cost here.

“Does she have a tab?” You pat down your pockets, groaning internally at your carelessness.

The bartender ignores your question, instead pouring both glasses half-full with a flourish.

“Oh, nothing for me, thanks,” you protest.

“It’s on the house, sweetheart,” he says cheerfully. “Welcome to The Last Drop.”

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Chapter 7

#Arcane #Arcane fanfic #Silco #Arcane Silco #Silco Arcane #Silco x Reader #my writing #The Art in the Heart #TAITH #tw stalking #stalking tw

84 notes · View notes

justporo · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! Very sorry if your post was rhetorical, but you asked for Astarion fluff and I had an idea. Since he's a canonical cay person, I like to think that a druid Tav would enjoy wildshifting into a cat and lounging in his lap, either acting as a heat source or letting him run his fingers through their fur when he's nervous or upset.

Anon, thank you so much. I immediately had a scene in my head and this was a true delight to write.

So now that I'm already crying from replying to that other Anon message (not their fault ofc), let's return to our regularly scheduled fluff, eh?

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You, Druid this time) Wordcount: 1,8k

Cats with Benefits

Sometimes it got all too much. Those were usually the moments you used your wild-shape abilities to shift into a cat and strolled off into the forest to have some moments of peace and quiet.

Today had been an especially exhausting day – the party had been fighting and bickering trying to figure out how to get through the Mountain Pass. The way was always steep and only loosely fixed, so you only made very slow progress and all of you were already completely exhausted came noon. So, you had decided that you’d take an additional rest midday when the sun was high and hot, adding to your already physically demanding hike.

You had put down your pack, went a few yards into the nearby patch of trees you had stopped at today to use their generous shade, and shifted into your usual form of a fluffy black cat and started to stroll around the small patch of forest. For some time you just wandered over fallen trees or through the underbrush, enjoying how differently it was to experience nature from the perspective of a feline creature. You loved it – it was almost like meditation for you.

The others didn’t know you wandered off like this sometimes. Or at least they hadn’t mentioned it. They wouldn’t leave without you and so far, you’d always gotten back to them in time. And as of late tension was high enough that everyone was pretty much occupied with just themselves, so they didn’t miss you.

After some time, you found a nice big rock in the sun on a clearing in the woods. Perfect for a cat to lounge on and take a nap. You jumped up, allowed yourself a long full body stretch and a big yawn and then rolled up into a ball of fur to enjoy the sun and some time alone.

As you laid there, your thoughts started to wander. You thought about your companions. You liked them, each and every one of them. Naturally, some more than others but you respected them all. But the path through the Mountain Pass had been a strain on all of you. And it really hadn’t helped that today everyone had just seemed on edge from the very first step on out.

Specifically, Astarion had been incredibly annoying today. Not being able to stop complaining about everything. Always replying with a sarcastic remark. To be honest, your relationship with him was probably the hardest and most formal of all thus far.

You had already realised that his flirty and sassy behaviour obviously were his coping mechanism for something deeply troubling, but by the Gods, it seemed he could never shut up. He was hand full at the best of times. Your furry ears started to twitch and the tip of your tail zig-zagged just thinking about it.

You tried to clear your mind then after your thoughts kept spiraling, hoping to relax enough that you could actually sleep a little.

But only shortly after your peace was broken.

“Well hello, who are you my beauty? A descendant of a mighty mountain lion? Rawr.”

No, it couldn’t be… The damned vampire had found you.

Of course he didn’t know it was you, but…

You opened one eye lazily and saw Astarion lean down to you, reaching out one hand to stroke you. Your jaws opened and you could already feel the hiss inside you rising to the top, but oh.

His touch was so gentle. His fingers softly stroked from the top of your head down your feline neck and back and you couldn’t resist leaning into his hand when he started again from the top.

“Someone likes that, hmm?”, Astarion said softly while petting what he received only as a wild but friendly cat.

Shifting into an animal also meant adapting some of their unique abilities and habits, so you couldn’t help when your feline body responded to the gentle touches by purring.

The vampire was positively intrigued when he heard that. As you opened your other eye you could see his big smile – a genuine one. You had never seen him smile like that. “Seems like someone’s just as touch-starved and desperate for some comfort as me”, he whispered while continuing his pets. That made your ears perk up and you immediately felt for the pale elf. Questions filled your mind about his unknowing revelation.

But you had barely any time to ponder them because suddenly the vampire scooped you up into his arms and sat down in front of the boulder you had laid down on. You yelped – or rather meowed at the sudden change of position.

Astarion moved carefully with your cat self in his arms until he was laying in the grass, legs angled, and you snuggled up against his chest. Since he had donned his armour and was only in his camp clothes you could feel his body, beneath your own.

This was incredibly weird and would probably end up with an awkward revelation but – you couldn’t deny that it was also very delightful.

“We can be cuddle buddies, my beauty, at least for an afternoon. So we can both get some much needed affection, hm?”, Astarion whispered to you. His red eyes looked so sad saying that. Whatever you had started to think about to get out of this situation evaporated. Suddenly, you only wanted to keep him company – it seemed he desperately needed it.

And the way he unknowingly had started opening up to you: it was a good albeit saddening look on him. You wanted to provide some comfort it that was what he seeked.

Also, it felt incredibly good to lay there on your new vampiric stone, soaking up the sun together while Astarion carefully continued petting you: scratching behind your ears, stroking down your back with both hands, even when he tickled one of your paws with a single finger. And you couldn’t stop purring. That bastard knew exactly what to do to keep the purrs coming.

Then after a while he just laid there with you, hands on your soft and shiny fur. He sighed: “I wish I could take you with me. You seem to like me. At least more than my other companions.”

Your ears perked up again, you looked at him but he had his eyes closed, head lolled back to enjoy the warming sunlight.

“Especially, Tav”, Astarion continued with another sigh “I wish I knew a way how to change that.”

That was it. You couldn’t in good faith continue to lay there with him as he offered up his innermost feelings. You got up and jumped off the vampire’s chest who got up on his elbows looking sad by your departure. You sat there and shortly pondered if you should just leave, keeping your secret. But you couldn’t, you needed him to know – and also have some words with him.

You changed back into your humanoid form, making Astarion scurry back from you, eyes wide with shock.

“Hi Astarion”, you whispered as you knelt beside him.

“You – what? How? Oh, I knew your eyes looked familiar!” His voice rose several octaves and you kept silent as his mood changed from shock to anger – but he stayed where he was.

“What the fuck was that about? Trying to spy on me?”, he hissed at you. Excuse him? He invaded your privacy. “I was here first, you bastard!”, you spat back and crossed your arms over your chest.

“And you didn’t think to reveal yourself before I proceeded to make you fucking purr?” “How when you didn’t leave me anytime in between petting me and lifting me up? I only wanted to be alone!”, you screamed back.

That made Astarion’s shoulders slump a little, some of his softer side returned. “I’m sorry”, he said quietly.

“No, I’m sorry”, you replied and looked down at your knees while pressing the balls of your head against your forehead “I should have said something way earlier.”

You looked up at him: “But then you sounded so sad and I… didn’t want you to be sad so I let it happen and it was kinda nice... I’m sorry, I invaded your privacy like this, Astarion. I’ll just leave and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

You saw the surprise on the vampire’s face who remained silent. So, you moved to get up, but Astarion quickly grabbed your wrist. “No, please. Stay… It was nice”, he confessed and looked into your eyes. The look he gave you was almost pleading.

The urge to move in and hug him overcame you, so you acted upon it – you had already laid on his chest, hadn’t you? How much worse could this make it?

You moved in and wrapped your arms around him – surprising the yelping vampire so much that he fell onto his back again. You were scared that you had crossed yet another line but to your own surprise you felt his arms wrap around you in return slowly.

And so you hugged him long and tightly. He was tense at first, but you felt him relax after some time. He even started to stroke your back again. You squeezed him and held onto him trying to offer him as much comfort and affection you could muster.

“For the record, I do like you, Astarion. You’re just annoying sometimes. But so can the others be, and I too”, you spoke into his chest, squeezing him yet harder. “And if… if you need someone to maybe talk to or hug you or just, you know, lounge in the sun… I can also change back into a cat, if you want me to. I could be your cat with benefits so to speak”, you brabbled into his shirt before you got too shy to make the offer. Your words were muffled but you hoped he heard you.

He did and the vampire chuckled softly. “That sounds… nice. Thank you. I may take you up on that if you promise you will keep this our little secret”, he answered hesitantly. You lifted your head from his shirt but not letting him go. “Would you like me to change back into a cat?”, you asked him and blushed as you realised what kind of weird deal you had just made with the vampire.

“No, Tav, not this time. This… this is very nice too”, Astarion replied and gave you another – the second this afternoon! – genuine smile. And this time it felt even better, knowing it was actually meant for you. You smiled back and placed your head on his chest again. Astarion’s hands kept softly wandering over your back as you kept holding him.

This is where you comfortably remained until it was time to get back to camp. But you were both sure it wouldn’t be the last opportunity to enjoy a nice cuddle in the afternoon sun.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction #baldur's gate iii #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x reader #astarion x you #poro answers #poro writes #cats #again

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cauldron-of-oddities · 3 months ago

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A snipped that took over. @jm-chrome @youmaycallmeyourhighness

This is your doing, making the Ekko and Jinx poros way too cute.

The great cookie heist

Ekko had been eyeing the confectionery bakery for weeks. With its smells of butter and sugar, three tiered cake displays and sweet buns, and cotton candy cafe terrace, it was beyond enticing. The promise of so many treats luring him in. And then he'd seen it. The most wonderfully enchanting tasty looking cookie ever: The size of a plate, with gooey chocolate chips, wafts of vanilla, and cinnamon rising from it and it had electric blue popping candy sprinkled all over it. And when you broke a piece off, you could see it was the chewy sort.

It would be his. He decided with stars in his eyes. He'd be charming, puff himself up for an extra bit of fluff and roll around, and give wide sparkly eyes. And no human, yordle or other could say no to him. With careful consideration, he picked his target. The chirpy blond, with her hair in a bun, and far too frilly apron and a sucker for cute.

Confident in his choice, he sets about with his charm offence. What was it humans said? Oh yeah, rizz. The next day, he makes sure his orange scarf is just so, and he shuffles from under a table. Fluffs himself up a bit, trills happily, and for good measure offers a coin he'd found.

“Aww, aren't you adorable?” Yes! It's working!

“Would you like something, sweetpea?” Yes! He warbles as much. He dashes past the girl to the display and leans up by the cookie. The girl laughs, “Well, would you look at that, your coin’s half the cookie, and because you're such a cute poro, you get half off.”

Success! She comes back round the counter with his prize when a streak of blue, white, and a dash of pink pilfer the cookie out of the shop attendant's hand.

There's a pink paw print on the blond's forehead, who looks completely dazed. That paw! He knows who the culprit is. Turning to the high-pitched victorious warble, he sees her: Jinx.

Up on one of the parasols, with a smug look, she chirps, teasing him. There, between her horns is the giant cookie. She sticks her tongue out and wiggles getting ready to jump, daring him to catch her.

He glares at her with a growl and a wiggle of his own. He jumps to the parasol, and she hops right over him to a table and down to the ground and runs.

No! That's his! With a dash, he takes off after her, racing through streets their speed ruffling skirts, tripping pedestrians, and knocking hats off heads he tries to snag his cookie back.

Then she dives between the legs of a vendor, under the narrow gap of his cart, and Ekko goes crashing into the wheel with a poof. He can hear the vendor above him fussing over him, picking him up, and patting him on the head. Mumbling sadly, he mourns the loss of his treat.

He's been placed down on one of the park benches and told to take it easy for a bit. Crestfallen, he does. Why his cookie? And worse, why her? He liked the pretty poro, with her downy fluff and blue streaks. Murmuring sadly, he hopes he gets another chance.

There's a nudge against him and a rueful warble. Turning, he sees Jinx looking regretful, wobbly, with big, watery eyes, the cookie still held between her horns. Her hiccuping chirps told him she only wanted to play. She drops the cookie next to him, looking away.

Ekko feels rather fuzzily warm at that. She wanted to do something together with him, not steal his cookie. He headbuts her softly and warbles. Next time, she should just ask to play. A pleased and questioning ‘murrrp’ is his answer.

He licks her then and gestures the cookie, breaking it in half. He can barely push her half to her before he's tackled in a cuddle, nuzzling her face into his side.

He's feeling beyond chuffed while he bashfully grumbles something along the lines of “next time you get the cookie”. With that, he finally gets to chomp down on his hard earned treat.

#timebomb #ekko x jinx #poros #silliness #cookie heist #I should be writing jinx having a bit of a meltdown over her emotions and making things right #mini break

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sleetkissed · 4 months ago

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@freljordi sent

"It pains me that you think I wouldn't fight for us. The Winter's Claw would not approve as well. We could've had it all, Esteri." #crack

𝙻𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 . unprompted interactions

Now, wasn't that romantic. A forbidden affair. Esteri almost had to roll her eyes in amusement — Her lips, however, did not quirk up. Much.

❝ All, you say ? And make more turmoil by raiding the lands ? Sejuani, I believe we would either have to keep it a secret, or our heads would be pierced on stakes next to each other. And I do enjoy my head on my neck. ❞

#freljordi #bsdhabdahkb it's a romeo and juliet situation #Bristle can chill with the Poros outside while they *discuss politics* inside her hut #❆ ˚ freezing visions ˚⠀⠀/ v. league of legends .#❆ ˚ nuisances. ˚⠀⠀/ answered .

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movedtoferinehuntress · 1 year ago

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Oh! Pets! Pets are good. Poros like pets! Are quite petable. Because are soft! and warm! And filled with love! Are good things for poros to be! The poro immediately begins snuggling into her hand. Happy poro! Friend!

A soft chuckle escaped the woman's lips, as the Poro seemed to enjoy the attention and she couldn't deny the plush fur tickled her hands like a soft warm blanket in the middle of winter. "You are precious," Caitlyn whispered, as the Poro pushed into her hand more and begged for more attention. "Well, how about we try to find your owner, I'm sure someone here is missing you," Caitlyn offered picking up the little fella into her arms and up against her chest. Her fingers reached around to find the base of their horn and scratched there as she glanced around. Perhaps a young child was missing their pet, or someone who might have a little ball of fluff here. Her feet started to walk along the cobblestone of Piltover, hoping to see any indication of someone searching for a missing Poro.

"You don't have a collar, so I don't know what to call you. Your horns remind me of cinnamon rolls though,"

#snugglyporos #[muse] caitlyn — interactions.#[muse] caitlyn — answers.#[post canon verse] — its time for change.#[default verse] — welcome to piltover.#so cute #Caitlyn with a Poro is precious

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rainydayarcaneimagines · 25 days ago

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One Last Night(Jayce x reader)

Warnings: SHIELD YOUR EYES FOR THE UNCOVERED ANKLES (smut. There is smut.)

It was all a shock. To land in an alternate reality where everything was fucked up. But it was an even bigger shock to him when he went to go back to his own and still ended up in the wrong reality.

There he was and everything was…

Great?

Life was almost a damn Utopia. What was crazier was Zaun and Piltover were put together and better functioning than his own damn reality. He walked the streets absolutely fucking baffled by what was happening before him. He heard tidbits and realized that in this reality his creation killed Vi, but was destroyed in the process.

From what he managed to understand, he had basically gone through his trial by getting his experiment confiscated. Even weirder, Jayce was successful in other ways but not… actually hextech.

It was beyond bizarre. Especially since… you were alive. No hextech meant no advanced weapons, no explosion, no explosion meant you were alive. Now he was fixated on finding you. If he was stuck there, he had to find you.

He had looked high and low.

And nothing.

Not a freaking sign. He sighed, sitting at a booth in a bar with his head in his hands when the gods seemed to finally answer his prayers.

“Can I get you anything sir?”

Jayce’s head snapped up and his eyes widened. You were fucking beautiful. Your hair was longer, dyed a vibrant color, just like you always said you wanted but weren’t ballsy enough to go through with it. Your eyes were brighter. You seemed happy.

“Y/n..” he breathed.

“Yeah that’s my name dude, don’t abuse it.” You chuckled.

“Jayce— it’s me Jayce.” He said staring at you. You squinted.

“Uh… do I know you man?” You asked confused. Oh fuck. No hextech meant you never got hired at the academy to be his assistant…

“Fuck uhm…” he sighed. You looked at him confused.

“You okay?” You asked. Your kindness was definitely still there.

“Uh… Shit I uhm.” He couldn’t form words. You were alive. The love of his fucking life was alive. But didn’t know who he was.

“…Need a drinking buddy?” You asked.

“…Yeah that uhm… Yes please.” He nodded.

“Vander! I’m taking my break!” You called out. Holy crap— Vander and Silco were alive?! And running a damn bar—“what’s got you so weirded out right now?” You asked.

“Why do you think I’m weirded out?” He muttered.

“Because you looked… bugged out, like you just took a fucking ice bath dude.” You shrugged. Glad to see your bluntness was still intact too.

Jayce smiled sadly before sighing. “I uhm… well I just… feel like a fish out of water.” He admitted.

“Why’s that?” You asked.

“…” did he risk sounding nuts, potentially causing you to freak the fuck out? Did he risk pushing you away from him? Fuck it. Things were still out of control in his reality, he needed to find a way back and there was someone he knew had a brilliant enough of a damn mind to make it work. “This is going to sound crazy but—“

He explained it all. From start to finish. You of course, stared at him like he was nuts. “Yeah but do you have proof dude, because right now you sound batshit.” You said after the explanation.

He sighed leaning back. “Your favorite song is Midnight blues. But you always say it’s Eros.” He says. You snorted.

“Okay weirdo maybe you just lurk on my Next tune—“

“You are allergic to peanuts. You always wanted a poro but your allergies stop you so you have a hairless cat instead. You love to sit on top of the old factory at night because it overlooks everything and you love to see the city at night, you love ionian literature, you hate the sounds of trucks that run too loud and flip off the driver every time you see one.” He listed off. Some of those were habits you knew no one would know. And he knew this. “You wear your grandmother’s locket. It has a picture of both your grandparents inside, the damn thing is almost eighty years old and has their initials engraved on the heart.” That. That detail made you believe him. Because you wore your locket, yes. But it was tucked inside your shirt so the pendant wouldn’t fall off.

You stared at him “..How did you—“

“Because in my reality we were together.” He said softly.

“…oh” you said. That’s why this guy stared at you like you completed his life just by merely existing. “Did we break up or something—“

“You died, Y/n… some girl— uhm… she went nuts and shot off a missile into a council meeting. Killed half the council, my partner got severely injured and… you died.” He muttered.

You blinked “…No offense, really. But if… your reality is really that shit, why are you so eager to go back?” You asked.

“Because before I ended up in this one, I saw what happens when I don’t succeed. I gotta say. It’s bad.” He said. You sighed.

“Why… tell me all this?” You asked.

“Because I know your mind. I know your talent Y/n, if anyone can help me I know it’s you.” He said softly. You stared at him before sighing again and running your fingers through your hair.

“…I mean I don’t even know how to start with time travel.” You admitted.

“I don’t either.” He admitted. “But… I think if we work together we can figure it out.” He said softly. He put his hand over yours that rested on the table and you pulled away. He mentally scolded himself that you didn’t know him in this reality.

“Okay I mean I can try but don’t be disappointed if me in this universe isn’t a damn genius.” You said leaning back in the booth. You seemed to have a lightbulb moment. “But my dad might know.” You added.

Your dad. You never mentioned even in your relationship in his reality who your dad was. He assumed he wasn’t around in his reality.

“Hey! Dad!” You called. Silco looked over.

“Yes kid?” He asked. Jayce froze. Silco? Silco the gods damned inventor was your dad? The man who basically made Vi’s sister into Jinx was your dad? That’s why you never mentioned this?!

“Come here for a sec.” You motioned. He walked from behind the bar and sat down. With zero hesitation you explained everything Jayce had told you. You trusted Silco. You clearly loved your dad too.

“…Well this is… interesting.” He said.

“Yeah. Any idea where to start?” You asked.

“My best educated guess is string theory. You made a major event. You came back here from a major event. So maybe make a major event. Your uh… hex something or other, doesn’t exist in this world, do you know how to make it again?” He asked.

“Yeah..” he admitted.

“Then I’d start there. And maybe try to do what you did to your core in your timeline to that one?” He suggested.

“That’s… solid advice. Thank you silco.” He nodded. The fuck? Silco never said his name..

“Right. Be careful Y/n.” He muttered before getting up.

“Thanks dad.” You nodded. Jayce looked at you. “What?” You asked.

“Your dad is Silco?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah. Why? Was he not in your reality” You asked.

“No he was but… nevermind.” Jayce sighed.

“We can use my dad’s workshop. Plenty of space. Come on.”

You started working. Days Jayce spent close to you, working on calculations and making a hexcore. Many nights he found you sleeping at your desk. And every time his coat would be wrapped around you in the morning when you woke up.

It was strange. A man you swear you had never met loved you so much that you could tell that the closer you got to cracking this, the more he struggled with the idea of losing all you over again.

It had been a week. You walked over to him sitting on the couch with calculations.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked. He looked up and nodded. “…Were we happy?” You asked softly.

His focused gaze cracked to a soft fondness. “We were.” He told you.

“…And even though I don’t really know you… do you still love—“

“Without question.” He said softly. You stared at him in silence. You almost felt sad. To have such a firm romantic love from someone, even if it was from another timeline but not be able to know, to share that feeling with this man that seemed to unconditionally love you…

There was guilt. You thought of throwing him a line, flirt with him. But you didn’t want what you knew were his last memories with you to be a lie. You couldn’t force yourself to love this stranger either.

“Jayce?”

“Mhm?”

“What if we went on a date?” You asked. He seemed shocked by this suggestion. “I mean… you feel this love for me. And judging by the way you mentioned your memories of other me, it was mutual and it… bugs me that I can’t really share that.” You said.

He looked at you like he was happy yet still… sad. “Sure, Y/n. Where would you like to go?” He asked softly. He couldn’t refuse one last lasting memory with you. Not when this wound still felt this fresh.

“Uh… well I dunno. This version of me never went on a date before so..”

“Mm. I can figure it out. Come on.” He said getting up.

“Oh— now?”

“Yeah. I know where we should go. Come on.” He said softly.

So you went. On a date. From that moment on, every night was a date. Spend the day working with this strange little blue glowy ball, then go off to dinner. What was worse? You knew this version of you was going to lose him. But you still fell in love with him anyway.

It was the final night. The last piece had been clicked into place thanks to Ekko and Heimerdinger in the same damn predicament. Heimerdinger insisted he needed to make adjustments. In reality he was giving the boys time to say goodbye.

You sat across from him in your apartment. “So this is it… after tonight you’re going back.” You said softly.

“Yeah… yeah I uhm… I am.” He nodded clearing his throat.

You looked in his eyes “…I didn’t expect this to be hard.”

“For what to be—“

“You leaving.” Jayce went silent. You drew in breath “…after these dates, these… times… I get why I loved you, Jayce.”

He swallowed hard. “Then… let’s treat this night like it really is our last.” He said softly.

You looked over at him “how?”

He pulled you closer to him from the chair you were sitting in. “…Let me love you for one last night.” He said softly. You broke at that. This was your last night. You were losing the only romantic love you have ever known. You had had “situationships” that pretty much were just sex but nothing like this. You had two options. Cry….

Or cherish it.

You kissed him. For the first time you kissed someone. Was this absolutely bizarre? Oh fuck yeah. But you didn’t regret it.

He pulled you even closer, into his lap, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. He needed you like fucking air right now. One final victory before the bigger fight he knew he’d come back to.

He kissed you, over and over again, his fingers in your hair, his other hand on your back holding you close. You slid off your shirt and his eyes widened.

“Y/n are you sure—“

“I don’t want to think anymore Jayce… I just… I want to feel.” You whispered. So that’s what he did. He kissed your neck, unhooking your bra, cupping your breast in his hand. He rolled your nipple through his fingers and you buried your face in his neck.

“We can back out at any time Y/n—“

“Don’t stop” you breathed out. No. Not breathed. You moaned. Any semblance of control the man may have had flew out the window as he pushed you onto the couch.

Kiss after kiss, hickey after hickey his hand moved lower undoing your pants. He slid his hand past the hem of your panties and you gasped, your hands covering your mouth.

He pulled them away with his freehand. “Let me hear you.” He said in your ear, rubbing circles over your clit. Your eyes fluttered closed, your hands moving to his hair as you took moaning breaths.

“J-Jayce I need—“

“I know baby. I know.” He said pulling off your pants. There you were sprawled out naked under him as he pulled off his belt. He let it hit the floor with a soft clatter and he gently spread your thighs.

“Gods if we had time I’d be worshipping you right now,” he murmured. You kissed him as he lined himself up. With a gasp from you he pushed in and you gripped the couch moaning as he moved. He went the pace he knew you loved. Deep, and fast.

“Oh gods— don’t stop please don’t fucking stop!” You moaned.

“That’s it. Let me hear you.” He whispered in your ear. Gods his voice as he was absolutely railing you was making this very difficult not to finish on the spot. It didn’t help that his fingers found their way back to your clit rubbing circles as he kept going with his thrusts.

In.

Breaths kept mingling

Out.

Kisses and moans filled the room.

Back in.

“I love you”

“I love you too”

Back out.

Your nails dug into his shoulder as he thrusted, your head tilting back. The release hit you both, his face buried in your neck as he panted against you.

After a few minutes he pulled away looking in your eyes. You looked at him with that same warmth. That soft smile. But from both of you it had an underlying sadness. You looked in his eyes before you swallowed hard, looking down.

“…Jayce..?” You murmured

“Yeah?”

“Do you… really have to go?” You mumbled. He sighed softly.

“Believe me. If I didn’t, I would stay right here with you.” He muttered.

“What if I went with you..?” You muttered.

“Baby, I don’t know how that would go… you died in my reality. If I brought you from this one… you might die… again.” He said softly.

You looked sad. “I’m never going to see you again… am I?” You murmured.

“…I don’t know. I will find a way to come back once all this shit in my reality is over.” He murmured. You swallowed hard.

“And if you can’t?” You muttered.

“I will.” He said determined. You looked in his eyes. You could tell he meant it.

“Then let’s get you to that weird little core then.”

#jayce x you #lol jayce #arcane jayce #jayce talis #jayce x reader #arcane

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