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haik-choo · 3 years

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what the holidays look like with the haikyuu boys

oikawa.

they look like sandy beaches, late sunsets, and tanned skin. festive red and green lights illuminate the bar you sit at with oikawa, the colors bouncing off his face as he looks at the menu. his skin is warm, heated from the setting sun; his arms and shoulders are tan, his pale chest peaking through his loose sleeveless shirt. “it’s strange for december to be so warm,” he murmurs as your finger traces circles on his open palm. “only to you. for everyone else here it’s just another day.” he makes a face and nods, flipping to the next page of the menu. “don’t you miss your home, tooru? japan must be nice and chilly outside right now.” he laughs, finally closing the menu and looking up at you, eyes shimmering. “it’s more than chilly. the roads must have iced over by now. but...” you lean in, anticipating his next words, “but...?” “...but, I am home. I’m here with you.” shy, you scoff, brushing his hand away and rolling your eyes. “oh, shut up.” you look at the beach in front of the restaurant for a while, heart pounding too hard to look back at your grinning boyfriend. from outside your peripheral vision his hand reaches to grab yours again and brings it up to his lips, gently kissing the back of your palm. “I mean it, though,” he whispers, “you really are my home.” the words tickle the hairs on your hand, heating up your ears and cheeks. you look back at him, taking in his glowing demeanor and loving touch, eyes soft. “I know. and you’re mine, tooru.”

tsukishima.

they look like messy hair even in the evening, neither one of you bothering to comb it when you woke up. there’s no fireplace, instead, there’s kei’s laptop on the coffee table, a video of fire playing, gentle wooden crackles filling the warm silence. the lights are off, save for the lamp that barely glows bright enough to be able to read under it. but, it still works. kei’s long legs are outstretched towards the coffee table, feet clad in red fuzzy socks you got him last year. in his left hand is a small book, some stupid small-font history book he’s reading for work; in his right hand a cup of hot chocolate made with hot water, marshmallows floating on top. you sit next to him, hands in lap, legs outstretched across the rest of the couch, eyes closed, only listening to the faux fire sizzling in front of you. “look at you, Mr. Studious Nerd,” you impishly joke, eyes opening to turn and look at his reaction. “shut up or you’ll get coal for christmas.” you pout, “I thought I got a promise ring?” a resolute sigh leaves his lips, eye closing for just a second, “I knew you’d sneak a look at your gift early.” you smile widely, shrugging. smugly, tsukshima goes back to reading, “good thing I got you something else to actually surprise you.” gasping, you latch onto his shoulder, eyes wide. “what?! really? I thought I checked all of the gift-hiding spots, though?” the sound of a page turning followed by a sigh and the closing of a leather-backed book resonates throughout the room. suddenly, you become warmer when a pair of lips brushes against your forehead. an arm wraps around your shoulder to pull you in, closer. a soft, “I love you so much, you dweeb,” rings like merry bells in your ear. under your breath, shy yet curious, you grumble, smile creeping on your face, “you dodged my question, idiot.”

kageyama.

they look like his toned legs extended out on the green couch you bought together, ice packs on each of his thighs and around his shoulders. his sniffle can be heard across the living room, red nose under attack from his cold. you smile, porridge in hand in a little festive bowl that has menorahs painted on the sides. “happy holidays, tobio. hope this helps you feel better.” the black-haired setter scoffs, “the only thing that would make me feel better is for this stupid cold to go away.” “I told you not to practice outside with wet hair. now your muscles hurt and you’re sick. you are simply reaping your consequences,” you reason, snobbish look on your face before it breaks with the roll of his eyes. laughing, you move his legs and sit next to him, spoon in hand. you raise your brows when he pouts and looks away, brows drawn close together. “I know you aren’t acting like a literal toddler right now.” “I don’t need you to feed me!” rolling your eyes, you sigh and place the porridge across the coffee table and stand up. “fine. feed yourself you nimrod.” not even two steps out the room you hear a low grumble come from the couch. turning around, you see kageyama with his head low, mouth barely moving. “can you feed me?” you give him a look, “...please?” smiling, you walk back over. his deep navy blue eyes contrast with the light red of his nose and around his eyes; your heart jumps as you feed him, his eyes trained on you. moments pass, silence covers the room in a safe, secure blanket. when he’s done eating, you place the bowl on the table before shoving kageyama aside to lay next to him. “you’ll get sick,” he says, but his arm is already wrapped around you, “maybe.” another second passes before he speaks again, “I really appreciate you, ya know.” you smile, turning on the tv to the sports channel, “yeah, I know.”

akaashi.

they look like batter-splattered countertops, green and red sprinkles dusting the floor and dangerously close to the stovetop. a warm vanilla scent exudes from the oven, the timer counting down from twelve minutes. akaashi is bent over the burners, stirring beige eggnog with a wooden spoon. unfortunately, it looks lumpy and burned on the edges, somehow. with a sigh of defeat, the wavy-haired man puts a lid on the pot and moves across the galley-way kitchen, leaning on the white counters. you look over from the fridge, amused. “chef’s special doing downhill?” he chuckles weakly, nodding, “you have no idea. I think I burnt it...somehow.” you laugh, closing the refrigerator door with your hip, two glasses of eggnog in your hand, “that’s why I bought these, big man.” he takes the glasses, quirking a brow, “good thinking.” it’s quiet as you lean next to him, both watching the clock tick down closer and closer to zero. in this time you decide to stare at the love of your life, his nose with a slight bump in the middle, his eyelashes grow outward like grass, his tired yet loving eyes, staring straight at you. oh. you blink, turning away. “sorry. got caught in the moment.” akaashi hums from beside you, not missing a beat as his hand comes up, picking something from your hair. he rolls it in his fingers, “looks like dandruff,” he jokes, making you groan and push him away. “I’m just kidding,” you can hear the grin in his voice, you can see it too once he moves to the front line of your sight, forehead coming to rest against yours. gently, he brushes his nose with your own, eyes open only a sliver. “I am so in love with you.” he whispers, voice fragile and warm. heart swelling, you gaze up at him, “I love you, too, keiji.” in the background, the timer beeps thrice, but neither of you really rush to take them out of the oven, you bought extra cookies just in case, anyway.

kenma.

they look like warm fuzzy blankets layered on his full sized bed, the low glow of the led lights on his ceiling shining down on you both. the sound of clicking buttons and occasional ending screen of a failed level play behind you; your own nose buried in your phone, scrolling past posts of friends out and about. kenma’s sock-clad feet rub against each other in lieu of more warmth as his head shrinks back under the protection of the white blanket on top of him. “I’m still cold,” he mutters before scoffing as he fails the same level again for what must be the thousandth time. he tosses the nintendo aside, shifting closer to you. “get another blanket then,” you muse, eyes still trained on your phone. “hmm, don’t wanna,” you feel his cold nose dig into the back of your neck, his arms encircling your waist; a warm breath fans across your nape, and you twitch. laughing, you try to elbow him away, but he whines at your resistance and holds onto you tighter. amused, you click off your phone and shove it under your pillow, turning towards him. you’re met with glowing 24 karat-gold-eyes and messy hair. he stares unblinking at you, and shyness overcomes you as he shamelessly lands his gaze at your lips. nothing can compare to the image of kenma slowly leaning towards you, sunny eyes closing in anticipation of a sweet kiss. a few beats pass with his lips on yours, and he’s in no rush when he pulls away, still staring at you. “you taste like apple fritter.” shy, you place a hand on his chest, “don’t you have a stream in like an hour or something?” “that can wait,” he whispers, body snuggling into yours.

sugawara.

they look like ribbon and tissue paper strewn across the floor of a shared apartment. glitter spilled on the table, scissors open wide in an unsafe position peaking out from under the couch (that has an obscene amount of pillows with different holidays listed on them), tubes of wrapping paper scattered in random corners. you sit opposite of the gray-haired beauty, sticking labels on newly-wrapped presents, each of them addressed to a kid at the orphanage down the street. sugawara’s tongue pokes out of his mouth, nimble thumbs placing tape of the edges of the festive wrapping paper. “you know, koushi, not all of the kids celebrate christmas,” the former setter looks at you quickly, shrugging, “I know! I just wanted to get each of them a gift anyway! wouldn’t you be bummed if I got light up cinderella shoes but you got nothing?” you laugh, shaking your head. it’s silent for a few minutes more, the last few wraps being the most complicated ones, spheres and cylinders. you sit, waiting, gazing at the ugly sweater his kindergarten kids had gotten him (they all chipped in a few dollars (or their parents did)) that was a size too small and incredibly itchy, but he still wore anyway. “hmm, whatcha starin’ at?” his voice broke you from your trance. you stay quiet a few seconds more muttering, “you’ve got such a beautiful heart, koushi.” a blush erupts on your boyfriend’s face, his hands stilling before he smiles softly and continues his job. “only because you’re here by my side. you make me a better person each day.” you bite your lip and play with the nametags in your hand, feeling bad because you know you have the best gift out of all of the kids, and he’s sitting right across from you, failing at wrapping a soccer ball.

tendou.

they look like empty streets in the earliest hours of the morning, a time so early yet late that the birds are asleep, yet twitching in anticipation to be awake. the snow falls gently on the salted sidewalk, fresh and fluffy. a loud laugh breaks through the silence of the neighborhood street, the crunching of snow following suit. red hair dashes from piles of snow to behind lampposts, garbage cans, mailboxes. you wind your arm up, a heftily packed ball of (almost) ice ready in your palm for ammunition. a giggle leaves your lips as tendou grabs his own ball of snow, cheeks bitten pink by the harsh cold. ‘he’s fast, but not fast enough’ you think as you launch the snowball. it flies through the air, hitting the lanky chocolatier in the face with a satisfying crunch. tendou stills, nose red and wet from melted snow as you laugh so hard you almost fall over. a smile slowly climbs his now-numbing face and he walks towards you. your laughter only stops when he’s right in front of you, gazing down at your gleeful figure with love swimming in his eyes like marshmallows in gourmet hot chocolate. the snow rests on top of his buzzed red hair like white icing to red velvet cake. warmth radiates off him, penetrating deep in your heart. “you’re so beautiful,” he mutters, embracing you. you melt in his arms, but the feeling of wet coldness slapping into your back and the sound of crunching snow tell you of his crime. you can only laugh and call his name, “tendou satori, get back here!” and chase his nimble figure down the road back home, where he’ll hug you -- for real, this time.

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let-love-run-red · 3 years

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Back to you

Female reader

Ao3 link

He had stopped in Hateno village to speak with Purah about upgrading his Sheikah slate. It was busy, with children running around, no doubt laughing jouously. He wished he could hear it. That was what he missed the most. The sound of laughter, the sounds of joy. But the shrine had to take something in exchange for the life he was given.

He was riding the large black horse from the Taobab Grasslands through town, he still hadn't thought of a name to register him under at the stables. It wasn't a problem, there was only one like him in Hyrule. Secretly Link had named him Fritter. He was looking to the side at the general store when a pair of children darted between the horses large hooves. The horse jumped backwards, and before Link could react he felt the back of his head connect with somehting hard before he tumbled from the horses back.

It was fuzzy for awhile after that, but the first thing he remembered clearly after that was your face. Your beautiful face, your shining (h/c) hair and your (e/c) eyes looking at him with concern. Your lips were moving but you were speaking too fast, he hadn't mastered lip reading fully yet. He looked at you in confusion, shaking his head. You paused, sitting back on your knees and signing to him.

You signed to him!

Can you hear me? You had asked, in perfect Hylian sign! And you had spoken the words slowly so he could read your lips too. He quickly sat up, signing back in response.

You sign? He signed with excitement, the movements were sloppy and imperfect, he was shocked that someone besides he and the rest of the Sheikah spoke Hylian sign. You had nodded with a grin.

Are you mute? You had asked, speaking the words again, he assumed it was because he hadn't confirmed he was deaf yet.

No, He made the motion. It was one of the first phrases Purah had taught him when she realized. I'm deaf. He touched the base of his ear, then just below his lips. You had nodded, signing back to him.

I'm sorry I didn't realize. You paused, as if thinking about the next signs. Are you ok? You asked him, concern still painting your features. He smiled and nodded. You stood from the ground, offering him your hand. Link took it and you pulled him to his feet.

That's how it had started. He made sure to stop by in Hateno village more often. He told Purah it was because Hateno was the best place to get fresh milk, but she wasn't naïve. She had connected the dots. The innkeepers daughter comes back from traveling the lands, and suddenly the hero of Hyrule spent more and more time in town.

The two of you would have long conversations in sign, signing so fast your hands were a blur and the words bounced off trees and across the fields, he would sit with you all day, watching you speak. He would tell you stories, and oh he had so many! Purah had heard them all, so had Robbie, but you hadn't and he wanted to tell you everything you could physically remember.

He had bought the old house across the bridge. He remembered you saying you didn't want it torn down, so he bought it, and worked to fix it up, and he had to admit it was nice to have a bed of his own. There was even a stable for his horse! It was a little small, but you had helped him fix the stable so it didn't matter.

He had shown you the house proudly when it was finished. You had looked in awe at the house, the paintings, the displays on the walls, the little window upstairs where you could see the big black horse from, reaching over the fence to sneak apples off the tree. You had turned to hug him. He was startled at first. Yes the two of you had hugged each other before, but this somehow felt different. He wrapped his arms around you as you leaned into him, burying your face in his blue shirt. He rested his head against yours, taking in the scent of your shampoo. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest when you pulled away, but why?

Are you staying? You asked him. His face fell. He pursed his lips and cleared his throat, trying to push past the lump that had formed at your question.

I can't. He had signed. Your face fell in response and he signed quickly, trying hopelessly to cheer you up.

But I promise I'll be back! He signed rapidly, large motions that your had to whip your head to follow.

I'll stay when I finish, I promise. He signed again. He tried to continue, but you had gently taken his hands and held them in front of you. He knew this moment was quiet, intimate, looking in your eyes he could feel that.

"Promise?" He read your lips. He nodded intensely. He didn't think there was a force in Hyrule that could keep him from you, not even the calamity.

And he had come back. After the Calamity was defeated he returned to Hateno village, bruised and bloodied on the black horse, crossing the bridge to see you sweeping out the small house. You dropped the broom when you saw him, running towards him with a smile on your face.

That was the moment he knew he loved you. He had felt it before, the twinge in his chest when he saw you, but the moment he slid from the horses back to catch you in his arms, sweeping you off the ground as you jumped for him, was the moment he knew he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life.

It had been ten years since that day. A fact he was painfully reminded of when someone rather small jumped on his back with all 90 pounds of their weight. He let out a huff and a groan, feeling his daughter sit on his back to shove at his shoulder. She reached down and brushed his hair away from his face, signing about three inches in front of his face. He smirked before reaching behind him, placing his hand on her back before rolling over and pulling her into a hug. He felt her small form shake with laughter when he released her.

mom told me to wake you up for breakfast she signed, still a little clumsy with the finer movements. Link nodded, signing back.

So you had to attack me? He signed, with mock hurt on his face. His daughter smiled widely as she nodded, displaying her missing front tooth she'd been so proud of. She lost it when she fell down the hill outside the field. Link smiled back at her, signing again.

Well now I get to attack you too He said, sitting up quickly and pulling her in for another hug, growling playfully as he ruffled her hair. She pushed against his chest before he let her go and she tumbled back on the bed. She looked at him and laughed before jumping off the bed and running back down the stairs to the kitchen.

Link swung his legs over the bed and stretched, letting out a yawn before he stood. He felt his back ache in that familiar, thrown-by-a-lynel-one-too-many-times way and winced. He looked over the railing to the kitchen below, watching you wrangle your daughter into her seat with a laugh. You signed to her as you spoke, as you always did, to teach her the language and so he could understand.

He made his way down the stairs, approaching you from behind and wrapping his arms around your middle. He felt your chest rumble with a light chuckle as he kissed your cheek before sitting in his chair, between you and his daughter. His little family.

Did you sleep well? You signed to him, speaking it for your daughter before taking your own plate and scooping a spoonful of simmered fruits onto it. He nodded with a smile.

Breakfast looks good, thank you. He signed back. He reached to take a few slices of boar bacon and his daughter tapped his arm. Her hand was tiny against his large forearm, and he felt his protective instincts surge when he saw it, the way they usually did around his family. He looked to her to see her signing the same phrase she always did.

Dad can we ride Fritter today? She signed, finger spelling the horse's name. Link smiled, setting his plate down in front of him before signing back.

Did you do your school work? He asked with a raised eyebrow. She rolled her eyes and her body drooped in disappointment. She signed without looking up

Not all of it. The signs were slow, and Link could tell she was disappointed. Link reached over, using his hand to gently lift her face and signing for her,

Ask mom. Her face broke into a grin as she turned to you, mouth moving as she spoke. Link shook his head with a smile. She forgot to sign it sometimes, when speaking to you, but he could usually figure out what she was saying. He didn't have to know what was being said at all times, but, it was nice to understand his family.

If you promise to do it after you're done. You said, mouth moving as you signed. Her little face scrunched up in glee as she swung her feet. Link smiled, taking a bite of the omelet you had made. You tapped the table to get your daughters attention, and signed one more thing.

And don't forget your signs. You said. You daughter nodded, placing her fist against her chest and making two clockwise circles.

Sorry. She signed. Link licked his thumb, reaching over and wiping a smudge from her cheek. She pushed him away with a scowl before signing.

Dad! Her movements were exaggerated to convey her annoyance. Link held his hands up in surrender before taking another bite of his breakfast.

Once everyone was finished eating, your daughter stood from her seat and cleared her plate. She ran to the space under the stairs where the tack was stored, grabbing the large bridle for Fritter. It was all she could lift, it weighed almost half of what she did. She struggled to sign with one hand to Link as she ran out the door.

I'm going to catch him! Before Link could sign back, she was out the door and out to the field. He let out a chuckle, feeling it move through his chest before turning to you. You smiled softly, placing your hands on his shoulders and pulling him in for a kiss. It was soft and tender.

Be careful with her. You signed when you pulled away. He smiled, signing as he walked up the stairs.

I'm always careful with her. He finished the last sign as he reached the top step and glanced out the window to see her standing on the fence, the large horse standing next to the wooden posts with a mouthful of grass and flowers. Link hummed to himself as she laid across his back, taking a fistful of the red mane as she struggled to swing her leg over his back.

Link shook his head as he changed out of his pajama pants and put on an old shirt. Not the champions tunic, the day for that had come and passed. The comfortable tunic you had bought him as a gift for your anniversary. The fabric was soft and light, perfect for the calm weather in Hateno village. He sat on the bed, reaching under the side table and pulling his boots on. When he'd finished lacing them he stood, looking out the window again. Fritter was standing still in the field, no matter how much his daughter tried to get her to move.

Link thanked his stars for that horse, one he could trust his family on, that had brought him back to you safely. He walked down the stairs, kissing your forehead quickly before grabbing the large saddle from under the stairs and walking out the door, into the field to spend time with his daughter.

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wolfvirago · 2 years

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nonverbal rp starters [accepting] [x]

@airxn said: 🐶 on her shoulder c:

🐶 Nuzzle my muse with their nose [specify a location]

Robin laughs at the attention, looking at Airin with a bemused smile spread across her fair face. Her hand reaches out, patting the creature on his soft head, letting him nuzzle against it if he wished.

“You sure you’re not a cat?” The wolf teased, grinning as she watched her fuzzy friend go about his loving.

“Or are you begging for scraps like a dog?” She waves the remains of her apple fritter, keeping it over her plate to catch any spilled powdered sugar.

#airxn #;ic #v; protector (default)#;letters delivered (asks)#food /#;howling at the queue

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cheri-translates · 3 years

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Headcanon - when you need help with your zipper

This work, 当你拉不上衣服的拉链, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

[ VICTOR ]

If Heaven were to give you another chance, you definitely wouldn’t have succumbed to the temptation of eating two puddings.

Pulling a long face, you stare into the mirror. Specifically, at the exposed portion of your back, not knowing what to do.

“Not done yet?” Along with a knock at the door, Victor’s voice drifts through the chink in the door.

Looking at the watch - a matching one with Victor’s - on your left wrist, you realise that there isn’t much time before the dinner party. Left with no choice, you frown while pleading for help. “Victor, erm... could you come in and help with my zipper?”

He responds quickly. “Open the door.”

You pull the bathroom door open slightly, your right hand at the back of your neck as you hold onto the two ends of the zipper. You complain in vexation, “It’s all your fault. If the puddings you made weren’t so delicious, I wouldn’t have eaten so much last night. I can’t even pull up my zipper now!!”

Seeing you fuming, Victor tugs your zipper upwards bit by bit. Teasingly, he says, “You’re blaming me even though you couldn’t control your own mouth? I’ll cancel tonight’s pudding then.”

“No way!!”

Hearing this, you instantly acknowledge your mistake. “I was wrong, I shouldn’t have been greedy. Great CEO Victor, please be magnanimous and don’t cancel my pudding!!” Courageous one second, and alarmed the next.

He doesn’t respond. After helping you with the zipper, he plants a gentle kiss on your back.

“I’ll just treat it as though I’m raising a greedier cat than Yogurt.”

[ GAVIN ]

To the both of you, frittering the weekend away together still counts as an interesting and romantic thing.

Before heading out, you specially decided to change into that pretty dress you bought recently.

But you didn’t expect that after a while of Gavin’s strict supervision in ensuring you take three meals a day, effectively removing your bad habit of skipping meals due to work, you’ve actually put on a little bit of weight. When you try to zip your outfit, you find that it actually requires some effort.

“Gavin, could you come in and pull up the zipper at the back?” Without a choice, you ask Gavin for help.

“Okay.” He sets down your sun hat before knocking on the door. “Could I come in?”

You respond affirmatively, lifting your hair up so that it’d be more convenient for him.

Gavin smoothness the fabric, making sure that the zip wouldn’t hurt your skin. Then, he blushes while hastily pulling it up.

Sensing that the zip has reached the top, you release your hair. A few strands cheekily brush the tip of Gavin’s nose, the slightly ticklish sensation causes him to wrap his arms around your waist, rubbing it against your neck.

“What are you up to? We have to head out soon.” You tousle his fuzzy hair.

“Do you want to change into another outfit? This one’s too short, and it’s easy to catch a cold.” He notes seriously.

“...”

It’s 36 degrees outside. Will you really catch a cold???

[ KIRO ]

Your house is often filled with various kinds of exclamations - Apple Box’s, Cello’s, Kiro’s, and yours. For instance, right now.

“Calling for the superhero!!”

“I’m coming, Miss Chips!!!”

“Bark!!”

“Go away, Apple Box. Miss Chips didn’t call you!”

Are Kiro and Apple Box fighting for your attention again?

You shake your head, paying no attention to such a familiar sight. “Little Sun, hurry up and help me pull up the zipper.”

Hearing your request, Kiro casts Apple Box a glance. “Heheh, are you able to help my Miss Chips with your dog claws?” His tone has an unconcealed smugness. He shuts the door to the bathroom, leaving the despondent Apple Box outside. “I won’t let you look at my Miss Chips.”

“Okay~” Kiro happily responds, wanting to help pull up your zipper. However, it gets stuck halfway.

After some deliberation, he decides to ask, “Miss Chips... did you put on weight recently?”

Kiro has officially stepped onto a landmine.

“Kiro!” You whip your head around, glaring at him fiercely. “Get out!!!”

“I was wrong, I’ll retreat, don’t chase me away QAQ”

[ LUCIEN ]

If it were possible, you really wouldn’t want to trouble Lucien to help you with the zipper. After all, the Big Fox would always say things which leave you crimson-faced and with a quickening heart rate, and tease you till you’re too embarrassed to leave the house.

But the banquet is almost about to begin. Lucien is all ready, and just waiting for you. Left without a choice, you seek his assistance.

“Lucien, help me for a bit. I can’t reach it.” You say softly, walking towards him slowly.

You’re wearing an off-shoulder dress. Because the zipper hasn’t been pulled up, turning around causes a large portion of your skin to enter his vision. Lucien’s eyes darken.

Hurriedly, he reaches out to pull your zipper up. “Is the Little Butterfly wearing this dress to the banquet?”

You lower your head to smoothen out the skirt. “What’s wrong? I think it looks really pretty.” After saying this, you even twirl in front of him a few times. Your skirt flies upwards, revealing your thighs.

“Nothing.” He turns around and goes upstairs. “Hold on. I’ll get a coat.”

You watch him in confusion. It isn’t a cold night, so there’s no need for a coat. Also, he looks good in his current outfit even without pairing it with a coat.

Very quickly, Lucien returns downstairs, draping his suit jacket over your shoulders.

“With such a beautiful Little Butterfly, I think I'd need to announce my claim.”

[ SHAW ]

“Are you done? Why are you so slow?” Shaw knocks on the door impatiently.

Even after you’ve expended all your effort to stretch your arms, you just can’t reach the zip. With Shaw rushing you, you have no choice but to ask for assistance. “Shaw, come in and help me.”

“What is it?” He pushes the door open, strutting in while looking at you with a questioning gaze.

“Help me pull the zipper.” You point at your back.

“Tch. Troublesome.”

You’ve already gotten used to this person’s capriciousness. Not bothering to get enraged, you turn around and lift your hair up. “If you want to head out early, you best hurry up!”

“Tch.” Shaw glances at you, his distaste exhibited clearly in his words and behaviour.

Not backing down, you mirror his expression.

“It’s done.” In a smooth motion, he pulls the zipper up properly. Unexpectedly, he even kindly smoothens the fabric near the shoulder area for you.

Just as you’re about to express your gratitude, what he says next dispels such a thought.

“Next time, don’t buy such clothes. You’re so domineering, fierce, and have short arms. If I’m not around, who will help you with the zipper?”

–

More translated and original works: here

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the author

#mlqc #cheri shortcake

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onebigowlhouseobsession · 2 years

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Two fics in two days? More likely than you think... I've made that joke before.

Anyhow, have a short one-shot about Raz being the grandson-child feat. Cassie and Compton. It's cute, I promise! There's also mentions of clairvoyance.

If you want to read it here, it's under the cut.

There's a lull back at the Questionable Area, with no one to help, so it isn't surprising Raz finds himself in the Gulch once more. Cassie and Compton greet him with their usual enthusiasm.

"Compton made some honey fritters, for you. He'd love it if you sampled a few?" Cassie offers, as she leads him into the library.

"I don't know… okay, but just one."

--------------

"Is it okay if I practice some of my Psychic abilities? I know I'm supposed to be 'taking it easy' but I don't wanna get rusty." He'd been told to lay off, but he figured it would be fine if he had adult supervision (Cassie definitely fit the bill, both as an adult and one of the members of the famous Psychic 7 to boot.)

"By all means. I just hope you aren't planning on using any pyrokinesis?"

"Oh no, ma' am."

"The books, you understand."

"Of course. I promise to only use the non-destructive parts of my skill set!"

Raz starts with time bubble, but instead of casting it over a large area he targets specific objects. He wants to curtail his accuracy, since you never know when you might need to slow down one item in your vicinity, but maybe not everything. Slowing down a whole swath of space might be too conspicuous, so he figures this would be good for subtlety sake too. Mostly he performs it on small, household items, pens he'd dropped a couple feet off the ground, a book cover closing, even a spider he found scuttling across the top of one of the myriad of bookshelves.

Next he practices his telekinesis, and a bit of levitation too.

After that, he takes a crack at clairvoyance. He points his sights toward Cassie, and places his hand to his temple. After a minute or so, he has a visual.

Huh, she sees him as a bee?

He laughed about it, at first, because it was pretty funny. There he was through her eyes, with a fuzzy little bee body and huge round, fractal eyes instead of goggles and a puff of human hair still sticking out of the helmet that always remained regardless.

He laughs, but then he gets to thinking. Why, exactly, was he a bee in her eyes? You could say he was industrious, Raz supposes- he's gotten several comments recently about how enterprising of a young man he was, zipping around the Motherlobe between helping people that he wasn't quite allowed to be helping because he wasn't supposed to be taking on any new official assignments at the moment, but he's sure he doesn't have anything on an actual bee. Bees were impressively hard working. Raz would probably have to give up the couple hours he set aside for browsing through his True Psychic Tales collection if he wanted to compete, and that wasn't a compromise he could imagine taking.

His brow wrinkles as he considers the current question further. He didn't know very much about bees, but he did know they had a hivemind. He doesn't, of course. Oh, unless the collective unconscious counts! ...Except that didn't pertain directly to him, did it?

That's not it.

He considers the fact that bees are pretty small. He's small, too… not bee small, certainly– in fact, he thinks he's of a perfectly average and normal size for a ten year old, he's just waiting for his growth spurt to kick in, any day now–

Raz taps his chin with his index finger, realizing this is going nowhere, and he walks over to Agent O'Pia instead.

"Hey, Cassie?"

"Yes, Razputin?" She looks up from the book she's reading. Compton has at this point returned from… wherever he'd previously been, his menagerie in all likelihood, to sit beside her in the especially large armchair, legs dangling off the armrest with his head leaned affectionately against her side. Compton has a book of his own, a picture book with a well worn cover, worn enough Raz can't quite make out the title, raised high above him with both hands and tilted downward. Cassie shifts her left arm until it's snaking around Compton's middle, utilizing her index finger and thumb to bookmark her current page, before closing the volume. Finally, she turns her full attention to Raz. "Do you need something?"

That explained why she doesn't seem to have noticed his use of clairvoyance, too focused on her reading.

"You see me as a bee? Why is that?" He considers it another moment, head tilting to the side.

The question clearly leaves her surprised. She purses her lips, before answering dubiously. "Well– I'm not sure. Understanding the human mind is by no means an exact science. Yet."

"That isn't what you told Dogen just a few days ago, Cassie."

Cassie looks caught out, as if Compton has betrayed some measure of trust just by mentioning such a thing. She reopens her book, replacing her reading glasses atop the bridge of her nose, and returns to skimming the page as if unmoved. "I don't see how the two instances relate, Boolie."

What do me and Dogen have in common? Raz ponders. We're both short? ...Huh.

"I think the distinction is quite clear," Compton says, more than a little smug. He's smiling.

"Please, Boolie?" Cassie stares at him through her fingers. "Is now really the time for this?"

The two elder psychics exchange a look, long, arduous. When Compton breaks eye contact he puts down his book, and climbs down from the recliner.

"Would you still like those fritters, my boy?" Compton asks, but he's moving to the kitchen before Raz could even hope to answer. Which is fine. Razputin is still pondering, after all.

"Oh no," Raz gasps as a horrifying possibility suddenly strikes him. "Do you think my voice is annoying?"

"What?"

"You know, like the buzzing of a bee? Some people find that sort of thing annoying." He looks awfully disheartened.

Oh, to heck with subtlety.

"Absolutely not," Cassie sighs gently. "I've never been an expert in clairvoyance, sometimes the abstract meanings completely allude me... but if I had to surmise why, it would be because I'm fond of you."

That caught Raz by surprise. "Oh… really?"

"Yes," The answer comes easily, and she feels little need to elaborate. Cassie stands up from her chair, smiling gently, and reaches her hand out to Raz. "Would you like to go check up on Boolie in the kitchen?"

Raz bounces on his heels, and grins happily. "Yes!"

#psychonauts 2 #psychonauts 2 spoilers #psychonauts #cassie o’pia #razputin aquato #compton boole #psychonauts fanfiction #my writing #OBOHO writes

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demonsofdevildom · 2 years

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I honestly find it hard to believe that fellow beans call me talented though, like wut wut? Who speakth of the shy pup cryptid this manner? All humor aside I’m just all BAH!! from the soft fuzzies you beans are saying and such at the moment, like aw fritters though. Don’t mind me smiling like a doof right now.

#out of grimm and dp

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t-underneaththeradardancing · 3 years

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imma feel fuzzy and fried around the edges crispy - a fritter duz sounds tasty but ur jest thinking bout urself - u think that deep fry don’t hurt - t - pleez- ur not anthropomorphic r u - an artifact and monet paints the sky - its a demi eve moon not a day

less sleepless than - its morning awaiting - someones voice - when they r not awake unfiltered but expected and frisson of joy heard - i go outside and make a fool of myself - sometimes the neighbors watch and listen - as i good morning my murder and it is mid week - a pair feeding now and birdsong wafts - a kitty a good one watching - a message of deep sad - life on lifes terms includes death - tears as well as hallelujah

thatz my morning so far love

#poetry i guess #sacred art productions #midweek murder

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starlitskvaderart · 3 years

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So hey! This is a Write, not a Draw, but it IS something for a zine I worked on last year - the Stay Home With Sonic fanzine benefitting Doctors Without Borders!

Definitely check out the link - there’s a lot of great work by a lot of great people! My entry is below the cut here!

“Looks like they’re just about done,” Bunnie said as she crouched in front of the oven, peering at the orderly little pan of pastries within. Behind her she could hear a soft rustling as Antoine shifted; she moved aside to give him a clear look at the oven, smoothing the pink and white ‘Embrasse le Chef’ apron she was wearing as she stood.

“Good, good,” Antoine said warmly. “The first you have made on your own, yes? Have pride!”

“Had you to walk me through,” Bunnie said. “We’ll see how I did soon enough.” She twitched her ears as the oven beeped, and opened the door to a rush of warm, fragrant air. So far so good - nothing burned, at the very least. “Right now in fact.”

“Yes, Now - do not forget the mitt!”

Bunnie laughed at that, peeking over her shoulder at Antoine with a grin and then peeling off the glove meant to keep flour and other debris out of her robotic arm, using the metal hand to remove the pan sans mitt as Antoine sputtered out frantic admonishments.

“You were sayin’?” she asked as she settled the pan on the counter, winking as she wiggled unblemished metal fingers.

“Well,” Antoine said after a moment. “That is fine also, I am supposing. So - let us see your creations!”

The tea cakes were certainly pretty - delicately shell-shaped, lightly crisped at the edges - and Bunnie carefully leveraged one out of the pan and set it on a plate.

“Well,” she said, “sure does look like they do when you make ‘em.”

“Go on and try, then,” Antoine urged. “Remember! They are best warm.”

“Right.” Bunnie nodded, gingerly picking the teacake up and bringing it to her mouth, the fresh pastry flooding her nostrils with warmth and sweet buttery scent; encouraged, she took a large bite, chewed twice, and nearly choked, spluttering against the dense, nigh-unchewable teacake.

“Bunnie?” Antoine’s voice went slightly tinny as he called to her. “Mon choux, what is being the matter?”

Bunnie managed to swallow the teacake and took a gulp of water, shaking her head as she eyed the teacakes still left.

“Well… somethin’ sure ain’t right. These little cakes are tough as frozen rubber!” She sighed, looking wistfully at the teacake; it had turned out so dense and tough that not so much as a crumb had fallen from the bitten section. “Thought this was an easy one… this never happens when you make ‘em.”

“Soon, I will be making all the teacakes you wish for,” Antoine said soothingly. Bunnie turned, smiling at her tablet where Antoine was displayed in the Talktime video window, slightly fuzzy and slightly lagging but smiling at her from where he was quarantined across the city. It had been nearly three months since she’d seen her husband on anything but this slightly out-of-focus little screen; when the bioagent began to rage through the populace and the quarantine order had been issued, Antoine had been out on a mission with Sally while Bunnie and Sonic awaited their return, and consequently Antoine had been quarantined with the princess rather than permitted to come home. Since then, daily calls had become routine, and when Bunnie idly mentioned missing Antoine’s cooking he had leaped at the chance to teach her a few of their favored dishes.

It was a treasured point of contact, even from afar - enough that, even with the awful choking texture of the teacakes fresh in her mind Bunnie was eager to try again.

“All right, Sugar-Twan. Tell me what went wrong.”

“Hm. Perhaps this time, I shall create them as well,” Antoine said. He left the camera’s range a moment; Bunnie could hear clinking as he opened the refrigerator on his end and gathered ingredients, and a moment later the picture on the tablet shifted entirely as he positioned his to look over the counter and stove. “You melted the butter?”

“Uh… no,” she admitted. “It makes a difference?”

“With baking, it can,” he said, taking out a small pan as she watched. “Ordinarily, cooking is an art of improvisation. Which you are very much skilled in! But baking - this is the art of precision, everything in its time and place and exactly as it must be.”

“And that’s your department.” Bunnie nodded, taking out a pan of her own to mimic Antoine as he melted the butter.

“Indeed, it is so.” Antoine sighed; even in the grainy picture, Bunnie could see how his brow furrowed as he worked. “It is… a comfort. In times such as these, a thing as it should be….”

He trailed off, voice lilting up into a troubled note. Bunnie hummed under her breath, watching the butter melt and ooze across the pan.

“Well… we’re all feelin’ healthy over here, Sugar-Twan,” she said gently. “So that’s all workin’ as it should be, ain’t it?”

“This is so,” he said slowly. “And… it is as well as it can be over here also. But still… with every bit of news it only seems to fall more apart. And whenever I am not speaking to you, seeing you… I remember past troubles, and it seems much the same.”

Bunnie inhaled softly, eyes half-closed as she recalled General D’Coolette’s long illness. In the video feed Antoine was stirring his melting butter with a slow, mechanical motion, a miserable set to his mouth and brow, and Bunnie reached out to lightly touch the screen as she spoke.

“Oh, honey. That… that ain’t what’s gonna happen here - we’re bein’ safe as anyone could. You know that, doncha?”

“I… yes.” Antoine ran a hand over his face and smiled weakly. “I know. But still… it is….”

“I know.” Bunnie took the pan of melted butter from the heat. “So… we’ll talk whenever you need. Much as you need. Ain’t gonna be forever, Sugar-Twan, an’ you’ll come home before you know it.”

“Yes. So!”

He turned fully to the camera, giving her a wide (if brittle) smile. “While the butter cools a bit, we will now work with dry ingredients!”

“All right then.” Bunnie smiled, reaching for the flour. “Could it go wrong there too?”

“Hm, well - it is best to weigh ingredients, rather than scooping, for the very best precision. But! I cannot believe this, but the Princess: she has no kitchen scale! Are you able to believe it?”

“Can’t imagine it,” Bunnie said, stifling a giggle. “Don’t worrry, honey. I’ll use yours, and this’ll be the most precise batter this kitchen ever saw!”

Antoine laughed, nodding his approval; with the rhythm of baking taking hold the bravado he’d been attempting bloomed into genuine cheer as he called out measurements and steps in a singsong rhythm and playfully scolded her for overworking the batter (“we do not literally beat it, mon coeur”). By the time they were seated in front of their respective tablets with plates of fresh teacakes (hers shell-shaped, his round as to his immense disapproval Sally also lacked a proper scalloped pan) they were both in high spirits, and he lifted a mug in a toast (Sally did, it seemed, at least own proper coffee paraphernalia) that Bunnie eagerly echoed before taking a bite of pastry.

Perfect this time - light and airy, the teacake crumbled pleasantly as she bit down, and Bunnie closed her eyes in pleasure as she ate.

“You see?” Antoine smiled, chin resting in his hand as he watched her. “Precise, and thus as perfect as its maker.”

“Precise teacher helps too,” Bunnie said. She sighed, glancing at the clock in the corner of the tablet screen. “But… I should get goin’. Got some things to take care of, but… tonight?”

“Tonight,” Antoine agreed, “and this time, you shall be the teacher? Perhaps you will teach me to make… euh… critters?”

“Fritters.”

“Yes. Fritters.” He nodded, still smiling. “You will teach me the fritters?”

“You got it, Sugar-Twan. Tonight.”

She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to the camera; on his end, Antoine did the same.

“Tonight,” he echoed. And then, more softly: “Soon.”

“Soon,” Bunnie said, nodding.

The video ended, and Bunnie gazed at the blank screen a long moment.

Then she got to her feet, nibbling one of Antoine’s teacakes as she got to work cleaning up the kitchen.

Soon.

#stay home with sonic #archie sonic #sonic fan fiction #buntoine

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hddnone · 4 years

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Rain

For the @buckybarnesbingo fluffathon day 1

James Barnes didn’t like the rain.

He hated it almost as much as he hated his first name James.

Rain meant mud, which James was perfectly fine with, but his mother wasn’t. She’d glare at him if he even had the thought of going outside, much less if he took a step toward the door. No, James didn’t want to get sick and no, he didn’t want to get his sister sick and no, he didn’t want to track mud all over the house, but he did want to go outside and play.

The rain meant he couldn’t, and so James didn’t like the rain.

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes didn’t mind the rain.

His mother didn’t much like it, for all the same reasons as before, but Bucky was allowed to quickly dash over to Steve Rogers’ house. He was given a bundle of fritters, wrapped in cloth, to tuck under his shirt and save from the wet so he’d have something to give to Mrs. Rogers in apology for the mess of puddles and mud.

Then, Bucky and Steve could hang out all day. Steve was much more fun to be trapped in a house with than his sister, and Bucky felt he was needed to keep Steve from heading out into the rain. It was much more important that Steve didn’t get sick, or else Steve could be stuck inside for weeks recovering which ruined the days with sunshine.

Bucky didn’t mind the rain, because the weather made no difference to his hanging out with Steve.

The Winter Soldier ignored the rain.

The rain had no impact on his orders. The rain had no impact on him. The rain had no impact on his mission.

The Winter Soldier ignored the rain, because the Winter Soldier did not have preferences.

He didn’t know if he liked the rain.

He didn’t know who he was. He was trying to find out though, and the rain had a tendency of leaking through into the spaces he’d managed to tuck himself, and the water would blurr the words of what he thought were his memories as he wrote them in his journal.

But the rain also made it difficult for any other operatives to track him.

He didn’t know if he liked the rain, and he didn’t know if that was something he would discover in the pages of his memories.

Bucky, ex-Winter Soldier and Steve’s best friend, liked the rain.

When it rained, water speckled the windows of the Avengers Tower and obscured the city on the outside. Everything felt muted, even inside the Tower which was never quiet. The world, both inside and outside, seemed to pause while it rained.

It was enough to take the edge off Bucky’s anxiety. The questions that continued to dog his footsteps - who he was before, what he did then, who he was becoming now - melted away as he watched the raindrops fall.

And, when the rain fell -

Natasha would curl up on a chair in the common room with a book to read and fuzzy socks on her feet. Clint would dig up every blanket in the Tower and buried himself under the pile on the floor. Sam would make hot chocolate, and Tony would bring the whiskey to add. Steve would sit on the couch and pretend to sketch, but mostly he would be thinking of the old memories of being trapped inside and playing as kids and the new memories of staying inside and relaxing as a team.

And Bucky, Bucky would talk to Natasha in murmured Russian about how she liked her book. Bucky would wrap himself up in one of Clint’s blankets and stare out the window in quiet reflection. Bucky would grab a cup of hot chocolate from Sam, add a dash of whiskey from Tony, and then settle next to Steve and relax into a dose as Steve slowly scratched out a drawing.

Bucky liked the rain, and he liked the people he was surrounded by when it was raining.

#bucky barnes #in his many personas!#gen fic #fluff #buckybarnesbingo #fluffathon #megan writes things

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khudaal · 3 years

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Khudaal’s Layers

LAYER ONE : THE OUTSIDE

Name: Khudaal Silverbelt

Eye Color: Ice Blue Lichfire, occasionally Blood Red Lichfire

Hair Style/Color: Blood Red, worn in a short ponytail, and loose around the face

Height: 5′

Clothing Style: Leather and mail, dyed red and gold. Lots of pockets and utility loops. Lots of straps. Almost exclusively utilitarian, with very little ornamentation.

Best Physical Feature: His beard - combed and braided into a smooth, shiny mane every morning.

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Your Fears: “Th’ loss of Self, I suppose.”

Your Guilty Pleasure: “Strong Liquor. Lots o’ it.”

Your Biggest Pet Peeve: “Folks seein’ a monster instead o’ th’ dwarf inside.”

Your Ambition for the Future: “Finally restorin’ me name, an’ findin’ me fate.”

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

Your First Thoughts Waking Up: “I don’ sleep no more, but I usually think ‘bout watchin’ th’ sunrise in th’ mornin’.”

What You Think About the Most: Khudaal smirks. “Nae gonna tell yeh tha’ one.”

What You Think About Before Bed: “Since I don’ sleep, I usually think ‘bout where I’m gonna patrol when night falls.”

You Think Your Best Quality Is: “Don’ have many redeemin’ qualities, I’m afraid, but I’m told I make a good burger.”

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates: “Ne’er been one fer talkin’ about me feelin’s. If I’m gonna do it, I’m only doin’ it front o’ one person, not a group.”

To be Loved or Respected: “I got respect aplenty. May not be wot I wanna be respected fer, but folks do respect me all th’ same. I think I’d try ter find someone wot actually enjoys bein’ around me, since I have respect.”

Beauty or Brains: “Don’ suppose a dead man ken really be too picky ‘bout looks, eh? Always liked smart lasses anyway, thought they made life more interestin’ than someone wot didn’t know anything, even if they didn’t have perfect hair.”

Dogs or Cats: “I got a bear. ‘S sorta like a dog, innit?”

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie: “I’ve always thought it best tae tell th’ truth when asked questions about meself.” Nods.

Believe in Yourself: “Been on me own since I wos eighteen. Yeh learn pretty quickly tae rely on yerself, since few others ken be trusted.”

Believe in Love: “I once knew wot love felt like, a long time ago. I daresay I ken find it again, given enough time.”

Want Someone: Khudaal raises his eyebrows. “I got someone in mind, sure. But I ain’t spillin’ no names, so don’ hold yer breath.”

LAYER SIX: EVER?

Been on Stage: “I been in cooking competitions, usually place among the finalists. Does tha’ count?”

Done Drugs: “Who hasn’t?”

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: “Again, who hasn’t?”

LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES

Favorite Color: “Green. Like, a dark pine needle green”

Favorite Animal: “Gotta be bears. Fuzzy little fuckers are just so damn charmin’.”

Favorite Movie: “Ne’er actually been tae th’ pictures. Don’ get a lotta free time ter fritter away at things like tha’.”

Favorite Game: “Yeh’ll ne’er beat me in a game o’ darts. Been playin’ the dartboard fer years.”

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

Day Your Next Birthday Will Be: “January Tenth. Bein’ so close tae th’ holidays, it’s sorta like an extension o’ th’ festive time o’ year.”

How Old Will You Be: “ I’ll be thirty-four. Do Undead still count birthdays? I dunno. I guess I will, even if others don’t. ”

Age You Lost Your Virginity: “I wos seventeen. We were set tae be married in th’ spring, but things went... south.”

Does Age Matter: “Yeh mean am I gonna go try an’ start shite with a kid? I’ll take yer eyes out if yeh even suggest it. But among adults, I don’ think it’s weird fer a young dwarf like me tae date around with an elf or a draenei wot’s been alive fer a few thousand years.”

LAYER NINE: IN A BOY OR GIRL

Best Personality: “Erm. I suppose it don’ really matter, so long as they’re kind, an’ we get along, right?”

Best Eye Color: “Green. Beautiful green eyes, shinin’ like emeralds. But it don’ really matter”

Best Hair Color: “Red. But again, it don’ really matter.”

Best thing to do with a Partner: "Is tha’ supposed tae bait me int’ givin’ yeh a juicy answer? Lemme disappoint yeh and tell th’ truth. I like cuddling. Yeh ask me th’ best thing tae do with a partner? I think getting comfy in a nice squashy armchair an’ havin’ a mug o’ tea while being curled taegether is prolly th’ nicest thing I ken think of.”

LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I love: “Th’ forest. I’s beautiful.”

I feel: “Nothin’. An’ Everythin. Nothin’ an’ everythin’, so deeply, all th’ time.”

I hide: “My past.”

I miss: "My mother.”

I wish: “Things were different.”

Tagged by: @irielle-firine

Tagging: @magistrixvoidchaser @belillinafireseeker @aerdendios @turning-through-the-never @irishmoo @mountain-dwellerr @veladrinevelvetstalker

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magickastiel · 4 years

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F!Amell/Sten - The Drowning Man

The Warden was far too trusting, far too generous and far too chatty.

Sten spent the day stomping after her, watching her fritter away her money and time on humans who were mostly useless. And not only did he have to contend with her foolish ways, she had also asked the slippery blonde elf and the older mage to accompany them into the town. He didn’t like being in such a busy place with such inept company. Redcliffe was slowly rebuilding after the darkspawn attack and many of the villagers had rushed to the Warden, eager to thank her for her efforts.

He sneered at them. The Warden had done her duty and he failed to see why that was worthy of congratulation. But congratulate her they did, offering her trinkets and flowers and other pieces of frippery that would only weigh them down. Mercifully, she refused most of them, insisting they keep what little possessions they still had. Despite the kind rejections of their gifts, they kept coming and Sten found himself lingering closer to the Warden than usual. Apparently, he was the only one of their group that remembered there were assassins after her and this mob of adoring peasants would be an excellent place to hide.

He told her so but she waved him off. “Oh, it’ll be fine. Besides, isn’t that why you’re here?”

“I am here on behalf of the Arishok, not to follow you around like some hired bodyguard.”

She just smiled sweetly at him before half disappearing into another crowd, forcing him to rush after her once again. The elf and the mage followed behind slowly as though they were fat nobles enjoying market day. He bristled with annoyance and glared at them over his shoulder.

“You look like thunder, my large friend.” The elf practically purred, weaving between villagers as though he was made of smoke.

“Have we done something to upset you, Sten?” The mage said, at least having the decency to appear slightly concerned.

“Am I the only one who recalls the threat to the Warden’s life? I am sure I cannot be – one of us had a very active role in it.”

The elf didn’t even look embarrassed. “But she is well now, is she not? She is among people who love her.”

“You are...concerned for her?” The mage eyed him with interest and Sten immediately wished he hadn’t spoken at all.

“I am concerned our mission will not be complete. Without the Warden we are leaderless and therefore directionless.”

His words did nothing to dissuade the mage. In fact, the elf also began peering at him with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “But surely that would make little difference to you, no? After all, you are merely here to report your findings back to your Arishok. Are you sure you do not worry for the Warden herself?”

Sten fought the urge to barge past them both and march back to camp alone. “I am merely speaking on this savage country’s behalf: it is folly to consider failing when you are already this far. And when the Qunari come, we would rather fight you than a country full of beasts.”

“Ah.” The mage looked unconvinced. “Of course, Sten.”

“But look! Is that an assassin there? One of my fellow Crows perhaps?”

Sten pulled his borrowed sword from its scabbard before he had fully turned around. His eyes found the Warden immediately and he had only made two steps toward her when he heard a titter behind him. The elf was laughing at him and the mage was barely concealing her amusement.

Hot shame coursed through him as he hilted his blade. “You are fools!” He barked. “Next time I shall not be so quick to believe you and you shall find steel in your throat instead of lies.”

“Sten?” The Warden had made her way back through the crowd with concern on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I will not remain here to be mocked. Stay here with your elf and your mage if you wish – it is your life to gamble with.” And with that, he cut through the crowd and stalked back to camp.

They returned some hours later when dusk had laid a veil over the camp. Sten had already bathed and was cleaning his armour in angry silence. The bard was quietly strumming a lute and the other Warden was stirring a stew bubbling over the fire. The companionable silence was broken when the elf began loudly singing a bawdy ballad from his homeland to the bard’s tune. Infuriatingly, everyone seemed to think it was amusing and the whole camp gathered around to warm themselves before their supper.

The Warden sat opposite him, the fire between them making her pale hair look like sunshine. Their eyes briefly met before he looked away again, focussing on his armour. But he felt her gaze on him still. He continued with his work as his companions began chattering about any small thing that came into their heads.

“I heard the Orlesian fashion may be turning towards smooth skirts now.”

“That seems very unlikely.”

“Don’t they normally have those...big puffy ones?”

“Oh, well observed, Alistair. Nobles will be flocking to you for sartorial advice soon, I have no doubt.”

“Ha ha.”

“Smooth skirts? Excellent if you would like to admire some bottoms at court but very difficult to conceal weapons.”

“Ah, nobles have a good life! All that drink and food and now bottoms at court - s’not fair.”

Sten harrumphed at his armour.

“Problem, Sten?”

The Warden was staring at him again and the whole camp had gone quiet, watching them.

He threw his armour down. “This day has been a waste of time.”

The Warden, usually light-hearted and easygoing, narrowed her eyes. “In what way?”

“You spend the day in the village to be fawned over and applauded when the job is not yet done. And then you return to eat and talk nonsense over the fire as though you need some sort of reward for a hard day.”

Several of their companions cried out in outrage on her behalf. The Warden just stared at him, her face unreadable. Her silence went on a beat too long and, to his surprise, Sten felt his palms sweat slightly.

“I went to the village for supplies. While we were there, I wanted to see how the villagers were coping since the attack. I didn’t know they were going to flock to us like they did but it was good to see how happy they were because of something we did. What we do is for the greater good - for everyone. The nobles, the peasants, the merchants, the craftsfolk – they are all the same to the darkspawn and what we are doing is to save them all. Isn’t that what you say the Qun is all about? Work for the greater good? And I won’t apologise for taking a day off the fighting and the killing. You say you have been born and bred for it, Sten, but the rest of us have not. We are all just people, like those villagers, and we just want our home to be safe again. We’re not machines...sometimes we just want to be happy for a few hours.”

The silence rang louder than a Chantry bell. The fire crackled and popped between them, threatening to rise too high and scald the food. Alistair quickly removed the pot and began quietly serving the stew.

It took a long time for someone to speak.

“I...think it may rain tonight.” Wynne said, peering up at the darkening clouds.

“Yes, you know I think it might.” Alistair spoke with far too much enthusiasm for the subject.

“Then perhaps we should eat and retire to bed early tonight.” Leliana suggested.

“Yes, yes, that sounds sensible.”

Normal conversation resumed as they ate. Sten ate his stew slowly, carefully avoiding the Warden’s eyes. He was unsure how to proceed. Truthfully, he still thought he was right. But he was surprised to find he was uncomfortable at the Warden’s displeasure with him. When they first met, he said whatever he thought without any concern and she had accepted it. She just quietly disagreed with him, sometimes so politely he hadn’t realised their opinions were different until he thought about it later. He wasn’t sure what to do with this new anger.

“I wonder how the Circle is recovering.” The elder mage said, sighing. “I hope they are coping as well as the people of Redcliffe.”

“I am sure they are, my dear Wynne...but perhaps they are struggling without your wonderful...presence.”

“Oh, Zevran, you are dreadful!”

“Alas, I cannot help it! I was born this way! Some are born with magic, others with deadly charm...ah, but imagine a being with both. Two gifts in one body.”

The Warden spoke then. “You think magic is a gift, Zevran?”

“Of course!” The elf cried, almost spilling his stew in his excitement. “Magic is a wonderful thing to behold. Those born with it suffer, unnecessarily, but they are blessed with a true gift: natural power.”

“Thank you.” The Warden said quietly, sounding almost moved.

“We were told that it’s dangerous but I think it’s mostly because mages don’t get taught properly.” Alistair said between mouthfuls of food. “The Circle’s hardly the most nurturing environment.”

“True.” The Warden said. Then she paused, set her spoon down in her bowl and asked, “Sten, why do the qunari sew their mages’ mouths shut?”

A collective groan came from everyone around the fire.

“Dear, this will only upset you.” Wynne said softly, placing a hand on the Warden’s arm.

Sten stared her down across the campfire. She was watching him with those bright blue eyes, waiting calmly for a response. But there was tension in her jaw and her knuckles had turned white around her bowl. He barely resisted the urge to fling his own supper into the flames.

“Parshaara, woman! We have already spoken on this!”

“But that was so long ago and the details are fuzzy. Wasn’t it something about mages being no better than beasts?”

“I do not wish to speak about this with you!” He threw down his bowl, seized his sword and stalked off towards the trees.

His heart pumped hot blood to his ears, almost drowning out the sound of the Warden’s footsteps hurrying along behind his.

“Leave me!” He bellowed to her without looking behind him.

He weaved through the trees, hoping to shake her off. He knew what was coming and he knew he didn’t want to answer her question. He had no desire to think about it. But still, she followed.

“Come now, Sten! You told me of qunari mages with such pride when we first met!”

“I did not!” He swung his sword at the nearest tree, splitting the bark with a tremendous crack.

“You used to be fine talking about it.” She persisted, following him around the tree. “But now you don’t want to. Why?”

“Leave me, woman!” He swung his sword again.

“If I went to your homeland, they would sew my mouth shut.”

His sword missed its mark and scuffed the ground. He stood still for a moment, panting and sweating even in the cold night air. She leaned against the battered tree trunk and her face softened into the mage he recognised. “They would, wouldn’t they?”

“I...do not know.”

She sighed and crossed her arms. “We have known each other for quite a while now, Sten.”

“Yes.” He was unsure where the conversation was going but he doubted it would be somewhere he found comfortable.

“Do you think they would be right to sew my mouth? Do you think I am little more than a beast – untrustworthy and pitiful?”

“...no.” The image of her collared and silenced made him feel ill. To not hear her laughter, to not see the delicate dip above her collarbone, to not see the optimistic light in her eyes...

Re-education. The thought slogged into him like a punch to the gut. It was what awaited him if he continued down this path. He gripped the sword in his hand and remembered his duty. But then she placed her hand on his bicep and gazed up at him with those endless blue eyes.

“Thank you, Sten. I know that must be difficult for you to say.”

He should have shaken her off but he didn’t.

“You are...worthy of your praise, Warden. Even if I do not understand your methods.”

“I just need you to trust me.” She said, squeezing his arm a little. “I know you think we should just tackle the archdemon now but this quest is more than that. It may take us to some unexpected places. And we may even have the occasional quiet day like today. It’s important that we enjoy them – they may be the last we ever have.”

“I am sure they will not be.” He found himself saying.

“Optimism? You are getting used to us, Sten.”

Before he could say anything, an arrow buried itself into the tree between them. Both of them whipped around, eyes desperate in the dark. Before he could ask, the Warden summoned a glowing orb from nothing and sent it soaring a few feet above them, lighting the whole area. For a moment, he could only hear their breathing.

Then five men burst into the clearing and they sprang into action.

The first man raced forwards and the Warden immediately cast a barrier behind him, keeping the other four away. They started hammering on it, making her wince a little. Sten met the man head on, hoping to rush through the fight and help the Warden but he was quicker on his feet than he expected.

He whirled around Sten with two daggers and all the qunari could do was quickly deflect each blow with his sword. Perhaps the elf was correct in his earlier jest – they may be some of his fellow Crows. After the initial flurry of attacks, Sten settled into the pace somewhat. The assassin liked to step a certain way, allowing Sten to start pre-empting his next move. On his next strike, he was there to meet him and on the next, he was able to knock one of the daggers out of his hand.

With one final swing, the man’s head left his body.

Satisfied, he turned to assist the Warden with the remaining assassins but found he couldn’t move. He looked down to see the other dagger buried to the hilt in his abdomen and blinked several times. He recalled, far too late, his armour sat warming itself by the campfire.

He stumbled back, falling over a tree root.

The Warden saw him then and cried out. “Sten?!”

He clutched at his stomach but it was bleeding too profusely for him to comprehend. He had moments left, maybe a minute or two if could calm his thundering heart. But he could not. Panic set in – panic that his mission wasn’t complete, panic that he was to die without finding his sword, panic that he was leaving the Warden alone...

Then the whole clearing lit up and the Warden screamed. Lightning stronger and brighter than he had ever seen ripped through the night air from one assassin to the next, frying them in their armour. One by one they fell and Sten watched, choking on his own blood, thinking he would at least die witnessing one of the most remarkable displays of power he had ever seen.

Sten was surprised when she left one alive. Instead of killing him, she seized him by his steel chestpiece and hauled him back towards Sten. The assassin wept and begged for his life even as the Warden threw him to the ground. She paid him no mind as she was too busy sobbing herself, clutching at Sten’s useless shirt with shaking hands.

“Can you hear me?”

He nodded as best as he could. If he was to die in a foreign land by an assassin’s blade, let the last words he heard be hers.

“I don’t know if this will work...” She was determined, even with her face wet with tears. She pulled the dagger out of his stomach and took hold of his hand. Through the pain, he wondered if she would try and heal him. He was too far gone, she must have known that...

But then she grabbed the last assassin’s arm, gripping tightly as he had been trying to crawl away unnoticed. For a moment, Sten thought she was just watching him as he died because she was so still and silent. But then he felt a sensation in his stomach. It was hot, almost like a fever, but there was movement too. His flesh felt like it was bubbling and twisting around his wound. He heard a shout and he thought it was his own. But then he saw the assassin, frozen where she held him, and his face was...Sten wasn’t quite sure what it was. He looked like he was decaying, like his flesh was wasting away and his skin was shrivelling tight to his skull. His eyes went blank, then withered away and his bones began to weaken and crack.

Sten looked back at the Warden and saw her beam. “It’s working!” She said, but her voice was soft, as though she was far away. Her face was still wet with tears but there was blood now, coming from her nose and even her eyes.

He seized her in terror. “Stop now! I am well...see, Warden? I am well, I am well!”

She let go of the assassin but held on to Sten. “You are well.” She said, before her eyes rolled back and she collapsed. Sten caught her just before she hit the ground and the orb of light she had summoned above them died. He scrambled to his feet with the Warden in his arms. He stepped over the destroyed remains of the assassin and rushed through the trees back to camp.

Even in his haste, he carried her with astonishing delicacy, like he hardly thought himself worthy of touching her.

“Fear not, Warden.” He found himself saying to her unconscious form. “I have you.”

Their camp lit up in the distance and he could see the remains of a battle. They had obviously had their own assassins to deal with but they were all present and unharmed.

“Help!” He bellowed to them once they were in earshot. “The Warden is injured! HELP!”

They rushed her inside her tent and Sten lay the Warden down on her bedroll. Wynne was beside her immediately, brushing back her golden hair. Her hand faltered when she saw the blood. She turned to Sten with wide eyes.

“What did she do?”

“I...do not know.” He gestured awkwardly to his torn, bloodied shirt and touched where the dagger had been inside him. “I was nearly dead and then...it looked like she took another’s life to save mine.”

Thankfully, the mage seemed to understand. “Then she has overextended herself as I thought. There is little I can do for her.” She noticed Sten’s expression and quickly added, “She will recover. But she will need plenty of rest and at least one dose of lyrium when she wakes.”

He nodded and hovered next to the unconscious Warden.

“I will clean her face - ”

“I will do it.” Sten said abruptly.

She nodded, handing him a bowl of water and some cloth. She turned to leave but halted in the doorway.

“The spell she performed...it is not easy. And it is not without great personal risk.” Her eyes flickered between the qunari and the Warden. “She must have been very desperate to do it.”

Sten spent the night next to the Warden, waiting for her eyes to open, waiting for the curl of a finger or the flutter of an eyelash. Nothing came. She remained motionless, flat on her back, her chest steadily rising and falling. He worried for hours, knowing if anything happened to her it was his fault. He should have worn his armour, he should have been able to protect her. Instead, he was foolish and she paid the price for him.

He lay down next to her, head propped up only on his arms. He had given her all the pillows. His eyes traced the line of her profile over and over again until finally, when dawn had nearly arrived, his heavy eyes shut.

He awoke to the sound of birds, to soft morning light and a pair of blue eyes on him.

“Good morning.” Her voice sounded like it hadn’t been used for weeks but she was smiling, dopey with sleep and body exhaustion.

He sat up quickly, feeling like he had somehow been caught red-handed. “You are awake.”

She laughed quietly. “Yes, it appears so.” She struggled to sit up but managed it without his help. He watched, dumb with surprise and relief, as she reached forward and pulled aside the tent flap. “It is a beautiful morning.”

“It is.” He said, without looking outside.

“I want to go for a walk.”

“Warden, you should not. The mage said you would need to rest and take a lyrium draught.”

“I will do that when I come back.” She clambered to her feet and he reached out to steady her, his large hand resting, just for a moment, on her soft hip. She was looking outside as though she had never seen anything beyond this tent. “Come with me?”

“It is the least I can do.” He said and meant it.

She smiled and took his arm, elegant hand tucked against his bicep as they stepped outside. Alistair was already up, staring blearily at the dying fire. He jumped to his feet when he saw them.

“Oh, thank the Maker!” He rushed forward and embraced the Warden clumsily, making her stumble slightly.

“Take care!” Sten growled and he apologised profusely.

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” The Warden waved it off, smiling at Alistair warmly. “We are going for a walk.”

“Are you sure? Wynne said you’d need rest - ”

“And a lyrium draught, yes. I won’t go far. And Sten will be with me, so nothing bad can happen.”

It did last night, Sten thought and suspected Alistair thought the same. But neither of them argued with their leader.

Dog came with them too, snuffling along the path in front of them with interest.

Sten walked slowly, the Warden close at his side with her arm linked through his. He secretly delighted in making her laugh when he threw sticks for Dog, the mabari scurrying after them with endless enthusiasm.

They came to a fallen tree and she gently led them to it, sitting down carefully. Dog led on the grass in front of them, merrily ripping apart the sticks he had so bravely retrieved. The birds sang sweet songs for their mates high in the trees above them as the sun slowly warmed the cold wood, waking up all the creatures with a gentle whisper.

Sten sighed and saw his breath cloud the air in front of his face.

The Qun said that duty was peace. To know your place in the world was to have true understanding of the self and that was the only way to be at peace. He did not understand how Southerners ever thought they were at peace. They were fools to think they could have positions and power they were not born for. The idea of not understanding your role in society made Sten uncomfortable.

And yet...

The Warden had been born to an upper class family but here she was, an outcast leading a band of people thrown together by circumstance. She was a woman and a mage. But still she led them.

“I have not thanked you for saving my life.”

He felt her eyes on his face. “No, you have not.”

He paused, considering his words but she laughed before he could speak. “Was that meant to be a thank you? You know, you don’t have to say it. I suppose it must be hard for you, being saved by a mage – a female mage too. In your country the spell I cast would probably - ”

“Thank you, Warden.”

She smiled and her hand, next to his on the tree trunk, briefly touched his. “You are welcome, Sten.”

They fell into comfortable silence again. If duty truly was peace, Sten did not understand the feeling inside him now. He did not understand the calm he felt when the Warden smiled at him, the warmth her brief touches left on his skin, his desire to put his arm around her waist whenever she dozed in front of the fire. He did feel at peace with her. Even if she infuriated him by being too generous, too trusting, too uncaring of her own safety. Moments like these where they sat together, bodies almost touching, made him think about life outside the Qun.

The Warden shifted next to him, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder. His arm moved behind her, almost settling around her waist, but he let it drop before he touched her. He swallowed and saw in the distance that their companions were all gathering around the fire for breakfast.

“We should return to camp, Honora.”

He felt her smile against his arm. He knew why and hoped she would not bring it up.

“Just a little longer.”

So they sat together among the trees and the birds and, for a while, Sten forgot about duty.

ao3 link

#dragon age: origins #sten of the beresaad #sten x warden #sten x amell #female amell #warden amell #mine #sten #da #da:o #dragon age fic

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wickedsingularity · 4 years

Text

Mistletoe Thieves [one-shot]

wickedsingularity’s Christmas Stories 2019 Masterlist

Fandom: Star Trek Pairings/characters: Jim Kirk x reader (but not really), OFC (Lieutenant Tanager), Montgomery Scott, Nyota Uhura, Hikaru Sulu ++ Words: 2439 Warnings: Alcohol consumption, jealousy, insecurities, kissing

Summary: (Based on the prompt: we get drunk at the Christmas party and steal the mistletoe so no one else can kiss) At a Starfleet Christmas party, someone realises they don't like mistletoes very much.

For the past year, the Federation had made a big deal out of honouring and showing off all the traditions and customs and holidays of the different member species and nations. It was a way for everyone to get to know and respect each other's cultures and it had opened a lot of outsiders' eyes to what the Federation was. It was a great publicity stunt. And a lot of fun for us on the Enterprise.

The year was almost over, so it was time for a Human Christmas. So as to not distract from work completely, the Humans had turned only the mess hall and recreation areas into truly festive areas, full of Christmas spirit halfway through December. Lights and poinsettias and small trees. The chef prepared all of Earth's traditional Christmas foods and the replicators could produce most of them too. A few of our Ensigns – lead by Chekov – had also put up mistletoes all over the ship.

I wasn't too much of a fan of the mistletoes, but I was still hoping Jim would catch me under one. We'd been dancing around each other for far too long. We were both clear on what we wanted, having had our relationship grow naturally from fellow students to colleagues to friends to friends wanting more. But for some reason, neither one of us took that next step. Why I didn't do it, I wasn't entirely sure, but I was starting to think he took some perverse pleasure in watching me sweat and squirm. But I kind of loved making him sweat and squirm too, so that made it bearable.

So far, I hadn't even seen Jim when I had been near a mistletoe. Everyone had put them to good use and I had even caught a kiss on the cheek from a blushing Ensign, from Nyota, and one of Bones' nurses. It wasn't until Christmas Eve that I got close. That morning, I had stopped to have a quick chat with Lieutenant Tanager from the biology department on my way out of the mess hall after breakfast. Scotty had appeared and surprised me with a kiss on the cheek, I hadn't even realised I was under a mistletoe. Jim had wandered in after my boss, but he had just smiled at me and gone straight for the replicator. I had blinked in surprise, said goodbye to Lieutenant Tanager and left for Engineering to start my shift.

Insecurities grew in me as the day wore on. Especially after seeing Jim kiss the top of Nyota's head as I grabbed a satsuma on the way to my quarters to change after my shift. Not feeling very much like dinner with everyone anymore, I replicated some toast and started packing for a couple of days of shore leave the next day.

Starfleet had invited their senior officers to an informal Christmas party on Deep Space Station K-7 and we were scheduled to arrive bright and early on Christmas Day. Jim was taking all of his senior bridge crew, and chiefs and assistant chiefs of all the ship's departments and divisions. I was looking forward to some change of scenery and real alcohol. Sometimes synthehol just didn't cut it.

Deep Space Station K-7 had a few restaurants, a couple of bars, one giant mess hall, a few observation decks, but small quarters. It wasn't designed for having guests staying long, as it was right beside the Klingon border. But it was enough for two days and one night. Jim would never have us stay longer – he wasn't exactly a fan of being this close to the Klingon Empire.

The party would be on the observation deck, the mess hall and the closest bar. I decided to start in the mess hall, where most of the food would be. Classical Christmas music could be heard down the hall and I felt the spirit of it all sneak into me a bit, the music was catchy. The mess hall was beautifully decorated, elegant and classy and wondrous, but also infested with those wretched mistletoes. They were above doorways and snack tables. I was careful not to linger in the doorway too long, and thankfully Tanager and Nyota hailed me the moment I stepped inside.

"These cheese fritters are delicious!" Tanager announced, leaning back against a tall round table, holding up a small plate with several round golden balls on it, a couple of different dipping sauces on the side.

I snatched one off her plate and ate it before she knew what happened. "So they are." I grinned and went to grab some, careful not to stay near a mistletoe for more than a quarter of a second. I also found the drinks table and got the strongest one I could recognize.

"Trying to forget something?" Uhura asked, one eyebrow raised, nodding at the glass in my hand.

I took a large gulp of the drink, emptying almost half the glass in one go and shuddered at the burning in my throat. "Just in a drinking mood," I replied with a shrug.

The three of us chatted for a while, getting through a bunch more cheese fritters, pork ribs, fruit cake, borscht, prawns and cookies. Not to mention I had two more of those drinks, and not even all that food could soak up enough of the booze flowing through my veins. I was well and truly tipsy already.

After a while, both Nyota and Tanager headed off to check out the observation deck, and I was left with my third drink. That's when Jim came in. The new female personnel officer we picked up at har last starbase pit stop halted him by the door, right under the mistletoe. Even from across the room, I could see her flirting shamelessly with him, her hand on his arm, batting her eyelashes and giggling. I rolled my eyes and made a face as if I had tasted something disgusting. Some goddamn personnel officer. When Jim bent down and kissed her on the cheek, I turned around and downed what was left of the drink Nyota had left behind and went to refill both her glass and mine.

"Too damn close to Klingon borders," someone muttered on my left. I looked around and saw Jim, looking handsome in civvies, dark jeans, black t-shirt and leather jacket, quite a long way from his Starfleet issued trousers and golden shirt. "Hi," he said and gently bumped his shoulder into mine.

"Hello," I said, pursing my lips. I corked the bottle and lifted both glasses.

"You here with someone?" Jim asked, eyeing the two drinks.

"Nope. Both mine."

He chuckled and poured one for himself. "Thirsty?"

"You could say that." Without another word, I turned around and started towards my table again, but it was now occupied by none other than that personnel officer and her friends. "Well fuck."

Jim turned around and followed my gaze. "Your table?"

"Yep."

We were silent for a few moments and I downed half of one of the drinks while glaring at my occupied table, before Jim bumped into my shoulder again and leaned in. "You okay? I've barely seen you for the past few days. I miss you."

I tried not to let the obvious worry in his voice get to me. "I'm fine. Just been busy getting into the Christmas spirit." Before he could dig further, my comm went off and Tanager called me over to the observation deck. I downed the rest of the glass and set it down. "See you later, Jim," I said with a smile and hurried off with the full glass.

This time, I wasn't quick enough to duck away from the mistletoe by the door, and a Chief Engineering officer I recognized from my Academy days who had tried to chat me up back then, cornered me. The alcohol had clouded my judgement, and before he had time to say anything else than "hi", I dragged him down by the collar of his shirt and planted my lips on his. He only took a split second to kiss me back, but when he tried to slip his tongue into my mouth, I pulled back and pushed him gently away. Then I winked and disappeared from the mess hall.

By the time I got to the observation deck, Tanager was gone and Uhura was nowhere to be seen either. But I didn't mind, as I found a makeshift bar and ordered two more drinks since the one I had brought with me was empty already. I grabbed one in each hand and found a comfortable seat overlooking the stars outside.

All the drinks had made my mind pleasantly fuzzy and gooey. Soon, I realised I was sitting directly below a mistletoe as someone kissed my cheeks. I snapped my head around and the room spun for a moment, but thankfully it was just Scotty again. He and a few of our senior Engineering officers joined me and we had a fun time embarrassing each other with stories from work and Scotty was kind enough to fetch me one more drink. Once that was gone, the stars in the window seemed to be blinking and moving and were making me dizzy. Some rational part of my brain that had somehow managed to not have drowned in alcohol figured it was best to call it a night.

I said my goodbyes and stumble towards the door and curse loudly when someone knocked into me right in the doorway. "Not another fucking mistletoe," I whined.

"Shhhhh," someone said and dragged me away. I stumbled after the person and only when they stopped, did I see that it was Jim, and he had his hands full of mistletoes. "Help me hide these," he slurred while looking down at the green branches and red bows.

"Did you take down all of them?"

"I think so. Can we hide them in your room? I can't be seen with them."

"Sure," I said and staggered towards the turbolift. It was already there and we got in, Jim leaning back against the wall, holding the mistletoes up to his chest. It took me a moment to remember the number of the deck my room was on, and I hoped it was right when the turbolift took off. "Why'd you take them?"

Jim frowned down at the branches, looking at them as if they'd insulted his entire family. "Don't like 'em."

Something pricked at my cheek and woke me up the next morning. I frowned and groaned and moved my head, but the pricking feeling didn't quite go away. I opened my eyes but shut them quickly at the too bright light in the room. I must have forgotten to turn them down before I fell asleep.

"Computer, lights down to 10 %." Behind my eyelids, I saw the light dim and dared to open my eyes again. Then I felt around my face for whatever was pricking me. I pulled something from my hair and held it up, staring at, feeling very confused. It was mistletoe. I tossed it to the floor and when my arm fell down on the mattress, I noticed there was more there. I sat up and looked around.

There were mistletoes everywhere on my bed. And that's when it came back to me. Jim had stolen all the mistletoes around the Christmas party and we had staggered into my room and he had dropped them on the bed. He had hugged me goodnight, stumbling a little and then left. In my drunken and dazed state, I had collapsed onto the bed and slept in the mistletoes.

I didn't have the energy to deal with them just then. My stomach growled like a bear and I saw it was around the time we had agreed to meet for breakfast. I changed my clothes, splashed cold water onto my face, brushed my teeth, hurriedly pulled my fingers through my hair and headed out. Something fatty and salty for breakfast, and then I would grab a shower and a bath before we went back to the Enterprise.

Out in the hall, Jim, Nyota, Scotty, Tanager, Bones and Sulu were also coming out of their rooms. They all looked just as terrible as I felt. I caught up with them, falling into step next to Jim.

"Morning," he said with a smile.

"Good morning." I was still feeling a little insecure from everything that had happened the last few days, so different from how he had been the last few months.

As we rounded the corner to the stairs, Sulu cleared his throat behind us. "It appears you have branches in your hair, Lieutenant," he said amusedly.

I stopped and felt the back of my head, finding nothing, looking questioningly at Sulu. Jim had paused to look too. He chuckled and pulled away a mistletoe.

Chekov cleared his throat and looked amused and Nyota smirked. I felt myself blush.

"So that's what happened to all the mistletoes," Tanager said. "Did you two have sex on them or something?"

I blushed even harder and shook my head. "I don't know how that got there."

"Sure." She raised her eyebrows and looked up before she and Sulu walked past us.

I looked up and Jim was holding the mistletoe above my head. Then I looked at him, his blue eyes sparkling in an otherwise pale and tired face, staring at me. Then he too looked up, before turning back to me with a wink. I rolled my eyes, it was so cheesy. But I remembered how he said he had missed me yesterday and I had to kiss him at least once in my life, so I slipped one hand behind his neck, the other grabbing his collar and pulled him down. Our lips met and the others whistled and laughed.

Jim threw the mistletoe away and slipped his arms around my waist, pushing us back around the corner, away from everyone. As soon as we were out of sight, his lips were on mine again. I pressed myself against him, months of frustrations needing a release. His tongue pushed against mine and he tasted like minty toothpaste. I was close to jumping up to straddle his waist right there in the hall when my stomach roared like an animal again.

I pulled away with a breathy chuckle. Jim leant his forehead against mine, breathing hard. "Replicator breakfast?" I asked.

"Replicator breakfast."

I grabbed his hand and pulled him towards my room, deciding we ought to have some fun with the rest of the mistletoes.

#wickedsingularity's christmas stories 2019 #jim kirk imagine #jim kirk x reader #jim kirk smut #jim kirk fluff #jim kirk #jim kirk x oc #jim kirk x you #jim kirk fanfiction #chris pine #chris pine x reader #chris pine x oc #chris pine x you #chris pine fanfiction #chris pine imagine #chris pine fluff #chris pine smut #star trek imagine #my gif

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