#cooking and simmering and waltzing and having tea together and

[starpros-sunshine]

"since we make our affairs in the open" they are aware they are very much aware

[rillils]

notes: I’ve been going through a bit of a rough time lately, writer’s block being just one of the issues, so I thought I’d put everything on hold for a little while, grab a prompt from a prompt generator and see what happened. Today’s prompt was: cooking for one another or cooking together. Here goes nothing :3 wordcount: 1137 additional tags: modern setting – no powers AU, pre-serum Steve, fluff fluff fluff, domesticity, they haven’t tied the knot yet but they’ve been practically married since they were 15 pass it on. You can also find this ficlet on AO3!

🍂🍁🍂

November has the crisp sound of crushed leaves, and the color of Bucky’s cheeks stung pink by the wind.

His smile is a soft thing when he reaches his arm out to wrap around Steve’s shoulders, herding him close into his side. “Wanna head back?”

Steve shrugs, “Yeah, if you want,” but his head has already found its natural place in the Steve-shaped slot under Bucky’s chin, where the wool lining of Bucky’s coat collar will tickle his cheek all the way home.

“I’m not cold, though,” Steve wishes to inform him, while Bucky guides them down the street at an easy promenade pace.

“’Course not,” Bucky agrees, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss to the top of Steve’s ruffled head. “Should have worn a hat there, Stevie. Wanna borrow mine? You know I don’t mind.”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“’Kay.” A beat of silence. Two. Three. “Hey, you’ve got your gloves on, right?”

“Sure,” Steve replies, slipping his very much bare hand into the warmth of Bucky’s coat pocket.

“Uh-huh,” Bucky hums against Steve’s temple, absolutely and irrevocably one-hundred-percent fooled. “You know you’ll end up getting frostbite again, don’t ya.”

His voice brushes warmly against Steve’s cold skin, and Steve soaks it up like it’s the last summer sun, ducking his head low so Bucky won’t see him grin. “Yes, Ma.”

If Bucky then chooses crime and deliberately tickles him just under his ribs, over the spot he’s known since 2nd grade will make Steve produce the most embarrassingly high-pitched squeals, then Steve may have, perhaps, had it coming just a little bit.

He catches their reflection in the shop windows as they pass by; there’s Bucky’s grinning profile right there, his bangs mussed by the cold breeze, stirring fuzzily under his beanie; Steve’s own laughing face, the red tip of his nose, and their legs stepping together in perfect sync, one-two, one-two, fluid and easy, like they have a million times before. It fills him with a soft kind of awe, the way they move as one. If life was a poem, Steve is sure their bodies would rhyme.

Bucky’s hand curls snugly around his shoulder, bringing them just that little bit closer. “Let’s make something nice and warm for dinner.”

“Can it have potatoes?”

He doesn’t need to see Bucky’s smile; he can hear it in his voice, soft and amused, half-hidden in the fluff of Steve’s hair.

“Deal.”

*

Steve leans back against the kitchen island, cuddling a steaming cup of tea to his chest, watching the room – watching Bucky – come to life one ingredient at a time.

Bucky throws him a knowing glance, knife in his right hand, the sleeves of his sweater already pulled back to the elbows. “Are you gonna help at all?”

Steve smiles behind the rim of his cup. “Nope.”

“Called it.”

Dinner is a soft, long-rehearsed symphony, and Steve stands close by and listens gratefully, warmth curling like tender fingers in his chest.

The gentle rhythm of Bucky’s knife on the cutting board, chopping carrots into wedges and dicing potatoes into neat little cubes. The silken glide through pork, cut into bite-sized pieces. The languorous sizzle of onion tossed for a sweet little waltz in a drizzle of oil and a scoop of butter, and the splash of wine from the first and only bottle they’ve bought since moving in, and forgot in the back of a cabinet for months. The lazy simmer of the stew muttering quietly on the stove, like the old ladies in the front rows at Mass, with too many tales to tell and not enough time in between Hail Mary’s to spill them all.

Steve gathers every drop of it, of home wrapping her familiar embrace around him, and leans into the sound with his eyes closed, savoring it, Mm.

“You getting sleepy?”

Bucky’s looking at him curiously; Steve allows himself the pleasure of looking back, taking the time to drink him in. The steam from the pot has caused Bucky’s short hair to curl against his brow, and his eyes are smiling even when his mouth is not, and the hoop of Steve’s apron, the one that says Stick a fork in me, I’m done, sits a little too high around his neck. He’s never looked as beautiful, as heartbreakingly sweet as this. The very same thought crosses Steve’s mind spontaneously at least once every day, and every day it feels just as true as the one before.

“No,” he says, closing his eyes again, “I just like watching you.”

He can hear Bucky’s amused snort loud and clear over the bubble-de-bubble of their stew. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a weirdo, honey?”

Steve hums, contentment spreading from the center of his belly to the length of his limbs, reaching down to his fingers and toes.

“All the time, Buck.”

*

Their ankles twine like young roots under the table.

“Here, tell me how it is.”

Bucky feeds him the first spoonful from his own plate, and Steve indulges him, diligently opening up for the spoon.

Flavor unfolds like a many-layered story on his tongue: the sweet tang of rosemary, a whisper of black pepper, the tender bite of pork and the enticing juice of carrot – each voice speaks to him, describing a richness that cannot come from herbs and spices alone.

It’s the measure of everyday devotion; the care that was poured in every gesture, the peeling and the cutting, the stirring and the dishing. The simple pleasure of making something from scratch and saying, without words, For you.

Steve feels the grin bubble up from the well of his chest. The potato’s so soft, it melts like spun sugar on his tongue.

“Well?”

Bucky’s watching him closely; a small, near-shy smile curling his lips.

There’s something in his eyes, in the way they soften like this, in the gleam always kindled within, that Steve has failed to put a name to since he first saw it there.

Perhaps – he thinks, not for the first time – perhaps it needs no name, only a heart to feel it. And he does feel it, every time Bucky looks at him like this. Deep, deep-set here in his heart, in his stomach; in the golden crucible where tenderness is made.

“Come on, don’t leave me hanging,” Bucky prods. “Does it taste okay?”

It tastes like so many murmurs of ‘I love you’, is what Steve truly wants to say; but that’s a little secret he’ll keep to himself for now.

He snuggles his sock-clad feet between Bucky’s calves, like he often does on cold nights, when Bucky pulls him back against his chest, and their legs lock together like puzzle pieces under the duvet.

“It’s perfect,” Steve says.

Bucky’s eyes crinkle softly with his smile. Like poetry, Steve tells himself, as he lifts his own spoon.

[mymoonagedaydream]

Domestic Bliss (Part 3)

Summary: No word from Stark, so you and Bucky are left to your own devices playing husband and wife for a while

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x y/n

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: I’m really enjoying writing this story :) hope it isn’t too slow burn

---

'What are you doing?'

You jumped out of your skin- for a metal unit of a man he somehow managed to move without making a sound. He was leaning against the kitchen door frame wearing a tattered t-shirt, with his hands in the pockets of his low-riding sweatpants.

'What does it look like? Making breakfast.' He furrowed his brows, seemingly astonished at the idea of you cooking. 'You want some bacon?'

'Hell yeah.’ He waltzed into the living room, adding sarcastically over his shoulder ‘you keep this up I might even marry you for real.' 

To be honest, breakfast was intended as a sort of peace offering. You'd thought about it some more and he was right, you were being an asshole yesterday. You even decided to give him more bacon than you. Now that’s an apology.

'Have you heard from Stark?' He shook his head, not looking up from the pile of meat he was shovelling into his mouth. 'Me neither. I just figured it would help if we actually knew which house we were monitoring.' 

'Must be one of the other three in this dead end bit, I'll head up and check out all the gear he's left us after breakfast.' 

Not a bad idea, but you'd had one of your own too. 

---

‘Cookies!’ You said excitedly, piling three Tupperware containers into your bag.

‘Yeah I’m not blind, just confused.’

‘This happy husband and wife are going to introduce themselves to the neighbours and these’ you shook the last box of cookies at him ‘will win us favour.’ You ignored his derisive nod.

The first house was next to yours on the left, similar looking on the outside but with two pretty expensive vintage cars parked outside. You pressed the bell and heard movement approaching. Just as the lock clicked on the other side of the door, Bucky quickly snaked his arm around your waist and pulled you into his side.

'Oh, hello.' Standing in front of you was an old lady with a British accent and warm smile.

'Hi- um...' Bucky had completely knocked you for six and, judging by the smug smirk on his face, he knew it.

'We've just moved in next door.' He piped in. 'Thought we'd come by to introduce ourselves. My wife made you some cookies too, you won’t believe how good she is at baking.' 

Well shit, you'd never heard him sound so much like a normal person. He even punctuated his sentence with a polite chuckle. 

'Well aren't you two just lovely.’

You smiled sweetly at her, finally back on your game, and handed over one of the Tupperware boxes. 'I'm Jo and this is Tom- it’s great to meet you.’

You made small talk with your neighbour for a couple minutes, ending with a promise to be back round for tea at your earliest convenience. As soon as the door closed, Bucky's hand dropped from your waist and he headed towards the next house.

'Maybe warn me next time Barnes? Freaked me right out.' You complained, as if that wasn't his intention. 'And if that hand goes any lower I'm taking it off.' 

He stopped and saluted at you sarcastically as you passed him to go towards the next door. 

The other two houses seemed completely inconspicuous too- a middle aged lady with fiery red hair who insisted the two of you join her and her husband (the lawyer) for drinks one night this week, and a couple not much older looking than you and Bucky with two young children and a new-born baby. 

'Well that got us a big fat nothing.' He complained, plonking himself down on the armchair in the living room. 

'You're joking, right?' He looked at you, one eyebrow raised. 'It's our first day here and we can already clearly identify the supposed residents of each house, we've convincingly consolidated our cover with each of them and two of them even invited us over.' 

'Huh, suppose when you put it like that… We can probably just take the rest of the day off then.' 

And he did. You spent hours in the surveillance room typing up a mission report, he watched TV for two hours then slinked off to the mini-gym for the rest of the day. 

Seems he was settling into married life quite well too.

---

The next night, you and Bucky were leaving for drinks with Kate the redhead and her lawyer husband. 

‘I don’t see why we’re doing this.’ He was fidgeting in the shirt that was far too tight over his shoulders. ‘That redhead hardly seems like the boss of an international crime gang.’

‘If criminals seemed like criminals they wouldn’t be very good fucking criminals would they, Barnes. And since Stark has been all-but-ignoring us since we arrived, we’ve got to explore all avenues.’

You were greeted by Kate at the door and she led you through to their house. It was decorated like a hunter’s log cabin, all brown leather and dark wood. In the living room, the lawyer was waiting with two expensive-looking bottles of scotch. Bucky was invited to join him for ‘man time’ while you and Kate were sequestered to the kitchen with a cheap bottle of wine. 

You wouldn’t be coming here again. 

Kate was nice enough but you had very little in common, and you could sense years of simmering resentment between her and her husband. She glared at the door after every obnoxiously loud chortle from the living room, even though you recognised some of them as Bucky, and she kept asking you whether your husband was starting to become emotionally distant yet. The evening didn’t pass nearly fast enough and you actually found yourself wishing that you had listened to your reluctant partner. 

Hours later, when you finally felt you’d got as much as you could out of Kate, you made your excuses and headed to grab Bucky. He was leaning back in the leather armchair, looking different somehow. He gazed at you with a carefree grin, no tension in his shoulders and a look in his eyes you didn’t recognise. 

Was he tipsy? One of the whiskey bottles was empty and they were making good progress on the second. 

‘You ready to go honey?’

‘We’ve got half a bottle of Macallan scotch to drink yet sweetheart, you’re welcome to run along home if you please’ the lawyer piped up. You never bothered asking his real name, didn’t seem worth your time. 

‘Nah, I’m good,' Bucky cut in, 'I think it’s time to take my beautiful wife to bed.’ 

He launched himself off the armchair with great effort and stumbled towards you. You were taken aback by his sudden familiarity but careful not to blow your cover, so you let him pull you in by the waist and plant a few soft kisses on the top of your head. You may even have enjoyed that part, just a bit. That was probably the wine talking though. 

You didn’t enjoy, however, having to all-but-carry him for the short walk back to your house. He weighed a fuck-tonne. 

The two of you spilled through the front door and into the living room, Bucky collapsing onto the armchair with all the grace of a newborn horse. 

'That guy was an asshole, man.' He had his head back and his eyes closed, so you had a bit of difficulty deciding whether he was speaking to you or himself. 

'Yeah? How so?'

'Just a stuck up rich guy y'know, plus the way he spoke to you was out of order. Give me the word next time and I'll bust his ass.'

'I appreciate the sentiment Barnes' you chuckled,  'but I can look after myself just fine.'

Content that he'd survive the night with nothing more than a throbbing headache, you started walking past him towards the stairs. As you got to his side he reached out, grabbing you by the wrist softly, but with enough force that you stopped dead and looked over at him. His eyes were open now, he was staring at you earnestly. 

'I'm serious y/n. No-one speaks to my wife like that.' 

---

‘What the HELL?’ 

You jolted awake. Turning your head, you looked at the time. 3am? What in Christ's name is he shouting for? 

Oh fuck, you’d forgotten. 

You were pissed off at Bucky earlier for leaving all his dirty plates in the sink, so you’d put them in his bed. Petty, yes. But your point was a fair one. 

You’d left him on the armchair, he must’ve slept there for a few hours then woken up and decided to go to bed. He stormed into your room. 

‘Why the FUCK are there plates in my bed?’

‘Oh gosh, I���m not sure. Maybe the dish fairy, you know the one who puts your dishes in the washer after you leave them all over the place, put them there?’

Swaying slightly and clenching his teeth, you guessed he was probably too drunk and sleepy for a proper argument. 

‘Right.’ He pulled his shirt off.

‘Whoa Barnes, the fuck are you playing at?’ Bucky was undoing his belt and in a matter of seconds was standing in your room in just his underwear. 

‘Move over.’

‘Instinct says... no.’

With a slightly jarring look of determination, Bucky clambered over you to the far side of the bed and pulled the covers over himself. For a second you were silent with shock. You and Bucky were in bed together, both just wearing underwear.

His thigh brushed against yours and sent an electric sensation up your side. 

Granted, it would be a hell of a lot easier to just accept this and go to sleep, but you had to be seen to make some kind of protest. You half-heartedly grabbed his arm, trying to yank him towards the edge of the bed- a pointless endeavour. 

‘This is not happening.’

‘Go sleep in the ketchup bed then.’

‘You’re an ass.’

He let out a deep chuckle before turning his back to you and getting comfortable. After firing an irritated groan at the back of his neck, you flicked the lamp off and turned your back in kind. 

Before falling asleep, you and Bucky shared a thought. You tried not to over-analyse it, but it made Bucky grin to himself.

You could easily have gone to sleep on the sofa. 

---

Part Four

---

@billy-jeans23

---

[embaasan-blog]

Skin Ch. 4 - Rust and Stardust (Sousuke/Kouhai Fanfic)

Fandom: Notice Me Senpai Rating: Mature Summary: Sousuke and Hinata have always been inseparable - as two halves to a whole, they have shared everything - from the grief at their mother’s disappearance to the face that belongs to them both. But the two of them are starved for attention and when their elite school opens its gates to the first female student in its history, the two of them are drawn in by her girlish charm. Now piqued against each other, Sousuke is left tormented and grappling with promises he can no longer keep, while Hinata’s virtuous facade is slipping, to reveal an increasingly warped mind. Notes: It was at this point I realized that by writing this, I had forever changed the way I look at Hinata when he arrives in my café... I swear the twins are my favourite senpai. The fifth chapter is in the queue but if you wanna skip ahead, you can find the rest here at AO3.

| Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four |

Warning: There are some potentially triggering themes in this chapter so I’d recommend you steer clear if themes of domestic violence or violence in general have an impact on your mental well-being! Look after yourselves!

Sousuke spent that night at his cousin’s house, dutifully helping his capacious aunt grate the winter radishes while Soujiro fried pieces of shrimp. The atmosphere in the kitchen was unexpectedly jovial, despite the two boys silently stewing in the knowledge what Hinata had done that day. They glanced towards each other across the kitchen with disconcerted expressions; out the window, the maple tree arched its branch accusingly in the direction of Sousuke’s own home, where the sound of chopsticks would be drowning out any meager attempts at conversation. Sousuke had swiftly removed himself from the picture, vaguely aware that there was an element of blame-dodging, of responsibility-shirking, to it. As Hinata’s twin brother - as the person who had vowed to protect him and shield him from harm - Sousuke was a failure. But Soujiro’s home was lively and loving by comparison - how could Sousuke resist?

Over the sound of sesame oil sizzling and spitting on the hob, Soujiro’s mother relayed all of the tiny melodramas that had presented itself throughout her day - how she pricked her finger while sewing an intricate pattern on a baby’s blanket and how the leaves of the maple tree had become a veritable tripping hazard on her veranda where she liked to relax. She was a seamstress by day and had a steady influx of customers who ambled into the compound, astonished at its grandeur and impressed by Soujiro’s calligraphy, which adorned every wall in the house. Conveying their bemusement to her family over dinner was one of her favourite past-times and she was delighted to have Sousuke in her audience. Despite the uneasiness that was wrecking havoc on his insides, giving him psychosomatic nausea, Sousuke laughed heartily and the hours passed uneventfully in a steady, focused stream.

Eventually, Sousuke and Soujiro descended the steps leading into the courtyard and made their way towards Sousuke’s home. His father was perched on the top step, billowing cigarette smoke into the night and surrounded by a herd of loutish middle-aged men. They were all dressed informally in yukatas, fanning themselves on the veranda and clutching cans of beer, relishing the phantom summer that had disrupted the flow of October. Drunkenly, they called out to the boys as they approached and Sousuke could have sworn he saw a glint of approval in his father’s ordinarily damning eyes at the sight of Soujiro, who, for the most part, was the pride of the compound.

Hinata was inside, in a trance-like state, completely absorbed by the steam rising from the chamomile tea he held. Untouched homework lay on the desk the boys shared. He blanched when he saw his brother enter the bedroom, and hugged the mug closer to his chest, averting his gaze towards the window. Far from hatred at this point, Sousuke felt enough pity to swallow him whole at the sight of his brother’s palpable fear. Wordlessly, he packed an overnight bag and exited the house without looking back. Soujiro was still stood, surrounded by the drunk, yukata clad men on the veranda, talking about an upcoming exhibition he was to be featured in.

While Sousuke waited for Soujiro to end the conversation, he thought about Kouhai-chan, trembling at the school gates, and consciously tried to divert the flow of sympathy he was feeling for Hinata as it began trickling back into his brain. Obsessing over someone was one thing, but spiking them was beyond redemption, he thought to himself, logically. He was so horrified by the thought of Hinata with fists full of capsules or baggies of powder, hovering above the simmering tea like an ominous cloud, that he hadn’t even considered what Hinata’s endgame might have been.

“Did he say anything?” Soujiro asked, grimacing as they walked away.

“No,” Sousuke responded honestly, shifting the bag from one shoulder to the other, “he didn’t even look at me.”

Hinata wasn’t at the café the next morning. The heat still prickled at Sousuke’s skin and even though the weather had cooled off significantly, it had still cost him another night of sleep. Despite battling drooping lids, he and Soujiro had agreed to keep an eye on the girl as she busied herself with the morning crowd, avoiding their gaze as she did so. When her customers began filtering out and she finally removed her cotton apron, twisting the sign on the door to signal the café’s closure, the pair stood up and attentively offered to walk her to her first class. She accepted, with some trepidation, and the three of them descended to the first floor where the first years took their classes.

“Thank you,” she said breathlessly, toying with her red tie as she stood at the entrance of the classroom.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think he’ll try anything with so many people about,” Sousuke said softly, “but we want you to know that we’re taking this seriously.”

Soujiro’s eyes glistened with unspoken devotion as he nodded in agreement. She gave them both a grateful look but her gaze lingered on Sousuke’s stoic features just a little longer, before she tenderly took his hand and squeezed it. The two boys stood there, dumbly enraptured by her gentleness and in awe of her sincerity. The feelings they knowingly shared clamped around them even tighter, unfaltering bonds that they couldn’t snake out of. Sousuke couldn’t remember if the hand that had touched him so intimately in his fantasy was as tender as the one that she extended to him now.

When his classes had ended for the day, Sousuke’s classmates stood in clusters, babbling senselessly to each other about this or that, while he gathered his things and moved stealthily towards the third year café. Sousuke was by no means isolated by his peers; he tended to stick with his own relatives for the sake of convenience, but no one clocked his swift entrance out of the doors, nor did anyone notice him trail off in the opposite direction of the archery range. This worked for him. His priorities had surpassed the act of fixing his teammate’s sloppy postures. Attendance was only mandatory on select days, so his absence was excusable albeit notable, for he was usually there every single day without fail. His father certainly wouldn't approve of him skipping, especially now that Sousuke's weekends were dedicated to vigorous studying for college entrance exams, but how would he even know?

He took what was now his usual seat in the corner of the room, which gave him the optimum view of the café floor. He knew exactly who was about to waltz in, as he was positioned directly across from the door, which had a glass frame looking out into the corridor. The only downside was that it slightly obscured his view of the girl, who stood behind the counter, absently flexing her fingers, with a gaze concentrated on the influx of customers as she waited for Hinata to emerge.

Plenty of students reluctantly took takeaway coffees and headed to their individual club meetings while the others buzzed around her like flies. Her façade was beginning to slip slightly, he noticed, as she seemed to resent the attention and brushed most of the students off with a half-smile. Her eyes were perennially glued to the door, and even as she steamed the milk, he knew she was looking over her shoulder to see who was entering and who was leaving.

For the second day in a row, he walked her home, after helping her flip the chairs over and onto the tables while she swept the floor around him. Crisp autumn leaves carried by a gentle breeze peppered the pavement where they walked parallel to each other in silence; she had her arms folded beneath her chest as always, while he left his hands in his pockets. The clouds rolled across the lilac sky in shades of dusky pink, only disrupted by a flock of unidentified birds. She watched them with faraway eyes.

“You should talk to someone if the attention bothers you,” he said, wincing as the voice that emerged from his mouth was condescending at best.

She shook her head sadly. “I just wish my grandma was still here.”

That evening, Sousuke and Hinata cooked together as usual, communicating as little as possible while their father poured over his notes on the family history. He intended to write a book on the subject, but whether or not this was feasible with his destructive appreciation for Japanese whiskies, Sousuke was unsure. He rolled up his sleeves, and began plating up the meal, trying to remember if his father had ever finished anything. His marriage had ended, he had more-or-less given up on fatherhood, and had never kept a job for very long, either. As the twins took their seats and their father began putting away the notes, Sousuke felt like he had just had an epiphany as to why his father was so adamant that he should continue with archery.

“So,” their father began, casting a critical eye over the meal he had been presented, “how was your day?”

“It was okay,” Sousuke responded noncommittally.

“Mm,” Hinata murmured, picking at his food.

“It’s your day off tomorrow so I’d like to see you boys out raking the leaves if you find the time. They’re becoming a nuisance.”

Sousuke nodded without eagerness. “I’ll tell Soujiro.”

Sousuke knew his standing with his father was flimsy at best. Although he was undoubtedly the favourite between himself and Hinata, he knew he was far from being ideal. His appearance, like Hinata’s, lacked the masculine bravado of his father’s stalwart build. The boys were cursed with grace - slender and pale like women, although Sousuke had the slightly more athletic edge. Both struggled to grow facial hair and instead had smooth, chiseled faces, translucent and sharp like moonbeams. To add insult to injury, the boys and their father existed on separate spheres: where their father demanded, the boys asked politely, and while their father blustered and roared, they were composed. While their father historically held no disdain for men like them, the betrayal of his wife made it so he criticised them more harshly, lest they turn out like her.

“How was your training today, Sousuke?” his father continued.

Sousuke paused. His lie was already calculated, he just wanted to appear natural. “It was fine. Some of the first-years are getting really good. They could be competing soon enough.”

His father nodded approvingly and began shoveling food into his mouth, but before Sousuke could breath a sigh of relief, he noticed Hinata staring at him across the table.

“You weren’t at archery practice today,” he said, solemnly.

“What?” Sousuke asked dumbly. “Yes I was.”

Hinata shook his head. “I waited for you. You weren’t there. You were with her.”

Sousuke could feel the blood draining from his face. He couldn’t look at his father; he just continued peering across the table at Hinata, whose face was mask-like and eerie. How did he know he was with her?

“Is this true, Sousuke?” his father grunted.

Sousuke put his hands on the table and looked down at them. Even when his father repeated his name, getting progressively more irate, he couldn’t bring himself to answer. How had he known? It was easy enough to gauge that he hadn’t been at training but as far as he was aware, Hinata had been at his own club meeting and nowhere near the third year café.

“Sousuke!”

Suddenly, Sousuke felt someone lift him out of his chair by the scruff of his shirt and he hit the walls of the kitchen with an almighty thud. The framed picture above him clattered noisily. Dazed, Sousuke worried that it would fall onto him and he would have to find the energy to catch it. It was one of Soujiro’s works, commissioned by the boys’ mothers when they were all in elementary school, although you could easily mistake it for something made by an adult. It simply read “prosperity”. He closed his eyes and slumped, when his father grabbed him again, this time by the collar.

“Have you been skipping archery practice?” he asked, quietly, grinding his teeth menacingly only inches away from Sousuke’s face.

Sousuke looked up with bleary, unfocused eyes. All he could do was stare ruefully into his father’s baleful, monstrous countenance and move his lips without making a sound. He must have hit his head when he was thrown. He knew that if he really attempted to vocalize, he would start coughing and spluttering. The pain in his back was beginning to fade after the collision, but he could still barely stand and was hoping to stall with a remorseful look before he needed to begin explaining himself.

That was when his father flung him back, tired of his silence. Almost as soon as he hit the floor, Sousuke’s father began pummeling him with violent kicks. And all Sousuke could think about was that damn picture on the wall, still swinging violently. With each hate-filled blow, he bit back the hapless moans that were forming in his throat. And then he heard something snap. Pain seared through his body. He couldn’t breathe. As he blacked out, he saw Hinata, pressed against the wall at the other side of the room. His eyes were frantic and he was as white as a sheet.

The world was tinged sea-green. Sousuke felt like he was underwater.

Everything was murky and grimy like the entire compound was a shipwreck. He kept rubbing his eyes to correct his vision, but the problem wasn’t his: the dream landscape was flawed and nightmarish. It wouldn’t fix itself until he woke up.

Sousuke’s fear was not because of the uncanny tranquility of the scene; he knew there was nothing lurking in the shadows, because the true horror was right in front of him. Hinata’s face was warped and distorted - hardly a face at all. He was ripping flowers from the ground at their stems and fixing them together to make a flower crown. Spread out on a picnic blanket, beneath the maple tree, were all the utensils of his twisted tea party. His guests were trembling.

At the base of the tree, to Sousuke’s right, was Kouhai-chan. Her face was so pallid that it became phosphorescent, illuminated by the dirty emerald water. When Hinata gestured to her, she bowed her head hesitantly and he placed his finished crown on top of her chestnut curls. To Sousuke’s right sat Soujiro, whose face lacked any expression but whose eyes, locked on Hinata’s contorted figure, blazed with contempt.

Hinata reached out for a teapot and poured wet sludge out into four cups. All three guests stared at the muddy concoction, paralyzed with fear. The tea ceremony had barely begun.

Sousuke was bedridden for a week and was unable to return to school for a further two more. He barely slept, either gasping for breath or writhing in pain throughout the long, agonizing nights. Whenever he did manage to catch an hour, he dreamt of that sickening underwater scene, although he was never asleep for long enough to taste the slimy substance in the teacups, which was both a blessing and a curse.

“Kyouya-sensei is driving her home after school,” Soujiro said, when he arrived home on Monday afternoon. “He doesn’t know the full story apparently but the teachers aren’t blind. They know she’s vulnerable to that sort of attention.”

The cousins were now living together. Soujiro’s mother heard the commotion as she sat on the veranda, finishing up her sewing for the day. Owing to how contained the family was, the manner was handled privately and swiftly. Sousuke was quickly removed from the household, and Hinata almost was too until Soujiro revealed everything to his parents while Sousuke rested.

His ribs were yet to fully heal by the time he returned to school, but Sousuke was adamant that he needed to return to his normal daily life if he was ever going to get out of the hole he had been flung into. His time in recovery had been mind-numbingly dull and his brain nagged him for stimulation. He had taken to sitting outside with his aunt as she sewed, but when the weather took a drastic turn for the worse, he was stuck indoors once again, watching the rain pummel the glass panels. The only times he didn’t think of the girl was when he had to focus in order to steady his breathing, which gradually became less haggard and painful as the weeks passed.

He saw her as he was putting away his shoes that morning, descending the staircase having just closed the café for the morning. She shot him a curious look and he raised his hand to wave. He half-smile he gave her was tinged with shame and his heart began throbbing painfully in his chest. The marks on his face had healed but he still felt like an open book. She looked like she was about to approach him, with her brows knotted in concern, but her own classmates hurried her onward to their classroom and she moved off, turning her head one last time as if to assure herself that he was back.

He didn’t go to the café that lunchtime, nor did he go after school, instead spending the afternoon as a spectator for the archery club.

Despite abstaining from club activities himself, Sousuke was still the last person at the archery range, polishing the school’s lackluster bows as the day faded. Streaks of orange and pink lined the sky above him with the onset of twilight. He was struggling to see what he was doing. Sighing deeply, he began putting the bows back in their respective bags and hauled them over to the storage shed, wondering what things would be like once he got back to the compound.

When he exited the shed, he found himself stealing an involuntary glance towards the third year café. Golden light emanated from the windows, creating a stark contrast with the rapidly darkening sky. That’s strange, he thought to himself, glancing at his phone to gauge the time. It was too late for the café to be open. He glanced back up at the window. It was like a beacon, calling to him. Maybe she was doing a stock check or putting away a delivery? Maybe she was behind with the cleaning up? Maybe… she was too afraid to leave?

He dodged the janitor, who was absently mopping up the hallways in time to the music emanating from his earphones, and slipped up the stairs until he reached the third floor. He chest was hurting again and a cold sweat broke out across his whole body as he approached the door. Yes: the lights were still on - Sousuke could see that same golden hue caressing the hallway through the window on the door. He was nervous and reminded of every thought he had ever had along the spectrum of the innocent and sexual, and found himself debating whether or not to approach. His father was right about him - Sousuke had no backbone. At least Hinata was trying.

Sousuke became faintly annoyed at himself. If he turned away now, it would be a missed opportunity. She would never ask him to walk her home again after his mysterious absence. She had a teacher on her side now, and they were infinitely powerful. He craved this girl, more than he had craved any film star or girl in the street, but he wanted to know her too.

Tentatively, he reached out and grasped the doorknob, but before his mind could catch up, he had moved it away in such a violent, quick motion that he felt the air swish around him. The image in front of him through the window of the third year café would become seared into the back of his eyelids but in that moment he couldn't make sense of it.

Sat up on the counter, where she was usually stood making coffees, was the girl, her feet dangling down and her head thrust upwards. Stood between her parted legs, with one hand holding her face and his lips moving up her neck, was none other than Kyouya-sensei, instantly recognizable in his dark suit. The embrace was intimate and sensual. He could hear her faint gasps and moans through the door and he watched her eyelashes flutter on her cheeks in unabashed pleasure. She had a hand on his shoulder, urgently digging her nails into him. Sousuke backed away against the wall.

Thank god, he found himself thinking, thank god Hinata isn't here to see this.

He dashed down the corridor, praying that his hurried steps wouldn't be noticed by the pair locked in their embrace in the third year café; praying that when he returned home he could reassemble his nerves and appear somewhat normal. Hinata’s face flashed in his mind, over and over again, distorted and warped, as in the underwater dream. Thank god, he repeated to himself, like a mantra, drowning out the thoughts of what Hinata might have done if he had witnessed the scene instead of Sousuke. Thank god.

[cosmic-coyote7]

Marichat May 2020

Prompt 1: Witch AU

"Familiar"

Summary: Marinette has been trying for months to summon her own familiar without much luck. She's not ready to give up, and a certain cat is about to waltz his way into her kitchen.

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The loud bubbling and hissing of her cooking pot (or cauldron depending on who you asked) filled the kitchen as Marinette paced about. The jars along the walls placed neatly on shelves contained everything from dried herbs to pickled animal eyes. Those were mostly being ignored apart from an opened jar containing mint now resting on the overcrowded table in the center of the room.

At least a dozen books were laid out all over the wooden kitchen table and looked a little worse for ware from being turned violently over and over again. The witch in training generally didn't like to react so forcefully with her reading material, but she was the tiniest bit frustrated.

See, it had been just over a month since Marinette turned sixteen. In her mother's coven, that was when her fellow witches started seeing her as less of a child and more of a witch in training. Her mother had been more involved with her teaching and lessons now that she was old enough. Her magical abilities were showing more strongly after first appearing nearly a decade before. Back then, she had been too young to control her abilities. Magic sprang out of her and tended to knock things over and send random objects around the room. Their magic was meant to be focused on vessels (such as a wand or jar) to channel their powers safely instead of exploding out of them.

As she grew older, Marinette was able to control her abilities. She mostly focused on basic spells and potions with minimal consequence if done incorrectly. Now, she was ready for the next level of magical studies.

One of the most powerful creatures a witch could ally herself with was a familiar. Familiars looked like regular animals at times, but they were shape-shifters that had the ability to channel witch magic safely and strengthen it. Marinette had wanted her own familiar ever since she met her mother's.

Her mom had a familiar that preferred the form of a Red Panda. Tikki was sweet and gentle but also protective - just like Sabine. She enjoyed riding on her mother's shoulders and observing everything that went on. She even helped her mother perfume magical tasks. Marinette's mother was a renowned potion maker and was able to concoct extraordinary magical remedies while lacing them into treats. For example, her fever reducing potion tasted exactly like lemonade or orange juice. It let the medicine go down more easily since it was pleasant tasting.

Sabine also giggled like a school girl when she told Marinette about a time she had mixed love potion into macarons and made one of her old crushes swoon in her presence for hours. Jokes aside, her mother was great at what she did.

Marinette preferred to design dresses, robes, and even boots and hats, but she enjoyed making potions, too. Coloring potions were fun for her because they acted like human dye but held color a lot longer and could even be stain resistant! Those particular mixtures were exciting to read about and try out... even if she had ruined multiple pieces in the process. One memorable incident was with a white shirt she had been trying to make multiple different colors. However, the shirt ended up looking like she had pinned it to the wall and chucked overly ripe fruits of various colors at it full force. She kept it as a reminder that mistakes would happen, but she could learn from them. It only took her what felt like a hundred more tries before getting the desired colors.

Speaking of trying and failing...

Marinette had been attempting to summon a familiar for herself. The relationship her mother had with Tikki was special and deep because Tikki had been with her mother since she was younger than Marinette. She wanted a familiar of her own: a companion, a vessel for magic, and even a protector.

Familiars could get aggressive when it came to protecting their masters. Tikki may normally look like a Red Panda, but she had another form Marinette had seen: a petite but intimidating woman who looked to be in her late twenties with fiery red curls and piercing indigo eyes. She moved like a dancer with her agile and fluid motions. She had fought off some minor demons that had wondered onto their property. Sabine had used her own magic to blast them, but Tikki used her fists and feet to teach the demons a lesson in trespassing.

Afterwards when the surviving demons ran off yelping, Tikki had changed back into her Red Panda form and slept for most of the rest of the day. Taking on a human-like form and channeling magic costed Tikki a lot of energy, but she had told them later it was her duty to protect Sabine and her family. Sabine had tended to her familiar and assured her familiar in turn that she was part of the family. The two shared many fond memories together.

Marinette wanted that same thing: that bond and trust.

Her mother and herself were generally on their own - only meeting with their coven once a month or so. The young witch was lonely, but this was their way of life. Normally, witches in their coven would also live with aunts and female cousins, but none of her aunts tolerated her mother after marrying a mortal man and siring Marinette. Their coven was less traditional and, luckily, more accepting, but that left Marinette with just her mother family-wise.

She wanted a friend to talk to and have adventures with just like Sabine had with Tikki for many years now.

However, Marinette was struggling with the spell. Her blood mixed with a certain assortment of herbs and other ingredients was supposed to summon her own familiar. Another problem was she could only try to summon them during a full moon, so she only got maybe three tries each time per month since the brew took a few hours to make. She lost count of her attempts, but it had been close to a year.

Her mother had assured her that familiars came when both they and their new master were ready to accept them, but Marinette wasn't always one for patience.

"It took me a half a year to meet Tikki," her mother had told her after her tenth failed summons. She had made Marinette calming herbal tea and assured her that she would get a familiar; she just needed to keep trying.

And try she has.

Marinette rubbed at her eyes. She was up late, and this would be her last chance this cycle to brew the summoning draft. The moon would disappear, and she would need to wait for the next completed cycle. The brew needed to simmer for four hours and then have a sage stick composed of herbs burned along with it.

She sleepily walked over to the shelf and fumbled before grabbing the last herb she needed. It was a mint herb that gave off a strong smell that familiars were drawn to. She laid it in the paper then rolled it into a stick. She then poured her finished potion into a bowl. It was bubbling and looked as if someone had liquefied old brownies, but she knew she could change that.

Slowly, Marinette drew a dagger from her table and held her hand over the potion. She carefully began to chant, the words coming naturally and easily after so many failures. She then sliced her palm and let the blood she drew dribble into the potion. The brew hissed and steamed as it turned a periwinkle color - a much more pleasant sight as far as she was concerned.

Then she twirled the herbal stick over the potion and said another enchantment. The air around her seemed to shift as her words were released into the air. The wind outside seemed to pick up in intensity, and the air sizzled with energy.

Marinette frowned. That had never happened before. The book didn't mention the atmospheric change. She swallowed then held up the stick as the end suddenly ignited, the purple-colored flames momentarily burning into her eyes before sizzling down to a smoking end. The smoke swirled out delicately, and Marinette began to chant as she waved the stick around.

The smoke enveloped the room and filled her senses. She grimaced at the sharp tang, but she ignored it and allowed the incense to fill her. She felt as if her blood was simmering like the potion before her.

She finished the incantation. At once, the fire in the grate behind her blew out along with the various candles scattered throughout the room and plunged her into total darkness.

Real fear creeped up her spine as she looked around - the only light coming through the window from the moon. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs like a frantic bird trying to escape its cage. She felt as if she was being watched...

Watched. Or being stalked.

And that was a pleasant thought.

She hastily felt around for she had dropped the burning stick in her panic. Before she could locate it, a low rumble like thunder could be heard from the general direction of the window. Marinette swallowed, not remembering seeing heavy clouds in the sky that evening. A storm is just what she needed.

Marinette gulped when the rumble didn't stop as was normal for thunder. Come to think of it, she hadn't seen a flash of lightning either. A weird prickling sensation had the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up, and she turned around to stare out the window.

The trouble was, there was no way she could look outside because someone was currently crouching on her windowsill.

Marinette gripped the kitchen table behind her as her back hit it with a soft BOOM! Her eyes were glued to the figure silhouetted against the moonlight as her heart continued to insist on beating a permanent bruise against her sternum.

The figure was humanoid in shape, but the legs and arms were bent into a shape that resembled that of a crouching animal instead of a human sitting. Vivid green eyes glowed in the darkness, and they were locked onto hers with an intensity that did nothing to calm her frantic heart.

"He-Hello?" Marinette stammered.

The rumbling continued as the figure slowly lowered its legs to the flower but remained sitting on the windowsill.

Marinette grabbed up her largest candle and cupped her hand around the wick which lit after a whispered word. The flame blared to life and illuminated the figure's face.

The intruder was a young man around her age. He wore a black leather jacket and matching jeans and boots. On top of his head was a pair of.... cat ears? Over his vivid green eyes, he wore a mask that outlined his glowing irises and slit pupils. He was smiling at her like a cat that had just cornered a mouse.

Fear made her gulp, but there was an opposing feeling that was warming her stomach. The young man appeared muscled, and if she wasn't mistaken, sharp claws adorned his gloved hands that looked more than capable of shredding flesh. However, as intense as his gaze was, instinct told her he would not harm her. It was just a feeling she had and could no sooner explain that feeling than how he had somehow made it onto her windowsill without her hearing him.

"Hello yourself," murmured the stranger.

Marinette gulped. His voice was pleasant, and the warmth in her stomach intensified.

"Who... who are you?" Marinette asked nervously. "What are you doing here?"

He chuckled and leaned against the side of her window, drawing his leg up to rest his foot on the sill and put his arm around his knee. He picked casually at his claws then shifted his weight.

"To answer your questions: my name is Chat Noir, and I'm here," he lifted his eyes from his dagger-like nails to stare into hers once more. "Because you summoned me, of course."

Something moved behind him, and Marinette's eyes were pulled from his for the first time since she caught sight of him. The movement was a rhythmic swishing that had her momentarily hypnotized. It was a tail!

Her eyes widened in wonder, and she spluttered, "But- I summoned a familiar! I mean..." she gulped. "You have ears and a tail, but your still a-... a boy."

Chat Noir threw back his head and barked a laugh. The sound had her chest warming now at the oddly comforting sound. Her heart began to slow down and steady as the seconds ticked by.

"Begging your pardons... Princess," he murmured, taking in her long-sleeved dress that admittedly was based on older designs. "But I am a familiar." He gestured at his cat ears that poked out of his blond hair. As she watched, they rotated as if he heard something interesting. His tail, which was jet black like his clothing and moved apparently independently of the rest of him, wiggled lazily behind him.

"But..." Marinette summoned her courage as she relaxed a little more and became more indignant because this... anthropomorphic creature didn't look a thing like Tikki in her human shape, and she could only maintain that form for so long. "You don't look like... one."

At this, Chat Noir's ears went flat and his tail began to twitch irritably. "I assure you, little lady, I am a familiar." He scowled at her then began to pout as he lowered his eyes down to his lap and lounged on his perch. His confidence seemed to have been sucked out of him like a vacuum. He huffed and gripped his knees up to his chest.

"I... I'm sorry. I'm probably not what you expected." He sounded so defeated, Marinette couldn't help but feel bad for him. She approached the sad cat boy and stuffed away her discomfort in order to reach up. Instinct, like when she was convinced before that she just knew he wouldn't harm her, drove her to gently run her fingers through his hair.

He stiffened then slowly began relaxing into her touch. She rubbed one of his cat ears, and the rumbling she had heard earlier reached her ears once more.

She hadn't heard thunder before; he had been purring!

Shivering, Chat Noir's eyes opened at half mast, looking at her with reverence. His purr continued to reverberate in his chest so intensely, she felt it through touching his ears.

Marinette giggled because he looked just like a lazy house cat getting pets. She gently scratched behind his adorable cat ears for another moment before dropping her hand. "Don't apologize. I just.. was expecting like... an animal." The moment her fingers parted company with his hair, the purring ceased.

Chat Noir snorted and stretched. "If that's all it was..." He flexed his shoulders, and Marinette gasped and stepped back as black smoke billowed from his body. It engulfed him completely for a moment then dissolved. As it faded, the boy was gone and replaced by a long-haired black cat with gleaming green eyes.

He meowed and licked his paw delicately before rubbing it behind his pointed ears. "See, I can be a cat."

Marinette giggled then, in a rush of excitement, she scooped up her new familiar and swung him around. She ignored his indignant yowls as she danced around the kitchen with a screaming cat in her arms. She only stopped when he cried out, "HEY! I'M GONNA BE SICK ALL OVER YOU IF YOU DON'T STOOOOP!" he wailed.

The young witch faltered and stared down at the wide-eyed feline in her arms. "Oh! S-Sorry. I got... carried away."

His eyes were crossed as he recovered from the sudden spinning and looking like a cat getting off of an out of control marry-go-round. He blinked rapidly then shook his head to clear it. "S'okay," he slurred as he recovered.

Marinette smiled and cradled him lovingly, affection for him swelling in her heart as he blinked up at her. She scratched him gently under his chin with her finger, and he closed his eyes. His purr was just as deafening in this form as his humanoid one.

"Wanna stay, Chaton?" the young witch asked as she rubbed his ears and coaxed more rumblings from him.

His ears twitched and his purr sputtered. "Can I make... conditions?" he asked timidly.

She blinked, not expecting him to ask that but going along with it anyway. "Sure, minou. Like what?"

He shifted nervously in her arms and looked off to the side. "I know the relationship is supposed to be... a master and familiar, but it seems... demeaning to me. It's almost like my freedom would be taken away."

"Oh," Marinette said quietly. She hadn't thought of it that way. Tikki and her mom seemed more like friends than a master and servant or... pet, she guessed. She frowned and tapped her chin, thinking it through for a bit. Familiars and witches worked together: witches unleashing their magic while familiars channeled and strengthened the spell to make it more powerful. Her mother's potions lasted longer or worked more quickly when Tikki helped her, she noticed. They worked more like companions... like partners.

"That's it!" she said out loud, and Chat winced, his hair a little on end from her sudden rise in volume. "We'll be partners! How does that sound, Chaton? Wanna be partners?" She rubbed his head again.

"Absolutely!" Chat Noir leaned into her hand, his green eyes twinkling up at her. "Consider me yours, Princess!"

She smiled and massaged his cheeks before placing a warm kiss on his forehead.

"So," Marinette said as she put him down gently on her kitchen table. "If you don't mind me asking... what made you pick me?"

Chat Noir flicked a pointed ear and tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"I've... I've been trying for months to summon a familiar to see if we could bond." She fidgeted with the sleeve of her dress. "I was almost starting to believe... I didn't have one."

Chat showed his sharp fangs in a grin. "Your energy felt... different than others. You're not the only witch trying to get her familiar, ya know." He lifted a paw and licked it delicately before rubbing it over his whiskered cheeks. "But what sealed the deal for me was the delightful herb you used in your incense stick." He looked around then spotted the object in question before pawing it, now just smoking faintly near one of her many spell books.

"But it's just a regular burning stick." Marinette frowned as she sniffed at it. "We have sage ones for expelling bad energy, and others like this one with mint attract-"

"Wait." Chat rolled onto his back and batted at the pages of the nearest book. He was pretty cute, she had to admit. "Did you say 'mint'?"

"Yeah." Marinette lit a few more candles so she could see the books. "It's a refreshing herb."

"Um, I hate to taint the reputation of your... refreshing herb, but that's not mint." The black cat wiggled on his back and stretched with a lazy yawn.

"Then... what is it?" Marinette asked, picking up the stick and taking a sniff. She frantically looked at the jar she had pulled from the shelf, and her heart dropped as she realized, in her tired state, she had grabbed the wrong dried leaves.

Chat Noir snickered and pawed at the smoking object in her hand. "It's catnip."

The witch in training laughed at the weirdness of it all. So, she messed up the summoning ritual, but she had gotten her familiar, anyway.

Her new familiar chuckled as well and jumped up to rest comfortably on her shoulder. He laid down behind her neck and stretched as if he had always belonged there. His warmth was comforting and felt... right.

"I hope we have a lot of adventures!" he said eagerly, his fluffy tail swishing excitedly.

"Sure, minou," she murmured. "When I'm older and a fully trained witch, we will. But for now," she gestured at the books, "it'll be mostly studying and failed spells at home."

Chat huffed. "I guess we have to start somewhere." He was purring again, and she felt a fresh wave of energy as she rides her euphoria of finally having a familiar.

"Then let me show you how I make color-changing potions for my clothes, Chaton!" she said eagerly as she gathered her ingredients.

He chuckled. "Sure. Just don't get any of that potion on me." He groomed his face with his paws again lazily. "I am a very handsome cat, but I don't look so hot in pink."

Marinette laughed as she started putting together her potion, thinking this would be the start of a beautiful partnership.