#i am so full of pasta noodle i am so sleepy but oh god i will screw myself over sooooo bad if i dont get at least a scene written today

[hideyseek]

IM WRITING (<- willing it into existence by once more playing Public Accountability With Friends)

[aster-aspera]

One love, one house

CW: food mention, loads of fluff

Relationships: romantic DLAMP

Chapter title is from sweater weather by the neighbourhood

read on ao3

Masterlist for my superhero AU

Patton loved his roommate, he really did, but he was just a little eccentric. Patton could deal with the sneaking in at hellish hours in the early morning, and the mud he tracked into the appartement and the faint smell of antiseptic and blood that was always present in their bathroom.

He could even deal with his roommate occasionally forgetting his tasks or even disappearing for days on end.

But this was just unacceptable. Patton stood in front of a near empty fridge, only a refrigerated tupperware full of noodles and a jar of pickles left.

“Virgil?” He called.

His roommate looked up at him from under his messy bangs, dark circles that seemed to take up half of his face under his eyes. He really should stop sneaking out at night. Patton had hoped he would have gotten more sleep during the holidays, but it seemed his roommate was determined to work himself into an early grave.

“What have you been eating?” He asked, pointing to the fridge.

Virgil gaped at him for a moment as the question made its way into his sleep deprived brain.

“Uhm, noodles?” He said, sounding unsure of himself.

“Just noodles?”

“And pickles, I guess.”

“During the holiday season?”

“Yes?”

Patton sighed. Virgil just continued staring at him, seemingly unaware of why Patton was so upset.

“You did eat something other than noodles on Christmas, right?” He asked, his voice edging on desperation.

“I dunno, when was Christmas?”

Patton snapped.

“Nope, this is unacceptable. I don’t care if you celebrate or not, but you should at least eat something.”

“I ate.” Virgil grumbled.

“Noodles!” Patton interjected.

“And it’s not like I had a lot of time on my hands to cook an elaborate meal.”

“One, it’s not that hard to throw some vegetables into a wok and two, what are you even doing during the holidays, it’s not like we have classes.”

Virgil looked down.

“Studying.” He mumbled.

“More like studying , with the way you look.”

“I don’t look that bad.”

“You look like a corpse, a cute corpse, but still a corpse.”

Virgil flushed and Patton had to fight not to coo. He was just so cute.

“Whatever, are you free tonight?” He continued.

“Uhh, sure? I have something at 11 though.”

“That’s fine, I’m cooking you dinner tonight and we’re going to have a little holiday celebration.”

“Patton, I don’t really celebrate Christmas.”

“It’s not about Christmas. I just want to have a nice night with my friend and while I’m at it, I want to make sure you’re eating something for once.”

“Ok, fine. We’ll have a holiday celebration.” Virgil groaned, but he didn’t seem totally against the idea.

Patton cheered.

“Okay, I’m going to pop over to the store first. We’ll need ingredients.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to bother yourself too much.”

“Nonsense, I love cooking for others. Also, we’re all out of food except noodles, so I’d have to go shopping anyways.”

Virgil had the decency to look mildly guilty at that.

Virgil accompanied him to the store. Which, unlike Patton had expected, did not speed up the shopping process, but only slowed them down as they fooled around.

“Okay, okay. Let's get this done quickly, thyme is money.” Patton said, waggling his eyebrows at Virgil.

“What the hell am I doughing here.” Virgil groaned.

Patton gasped. “You made a pun!” He exclaimed.

“Yeah well, don’t expect too many of those. I wouldn’t want to oatverdo it.”

Patton gasped in delight.

“The s’more puns you make, the s’more i love you.” He proclaimed and Virgil blushed beet red.

Patton giggled as he looked at Virgil having fun. His roommate was usually a lot more reserved and morose. He had no idea what had happened that had put Virgil in such high spirits, but whatever it was, Patton was grateful. The smile that graced Virgil’s face was the most breathtaking thing he had seen all week.

Patton looked away, aware he had been staring just a little too long.

The meal was delicious, if he said so himself, and Virgil seemed to agree. He lounged back in his chair languidly, sleepy from the good food. He looked better than Patton had seen him all month. The colour had returned to his cheeks again and his eyes sparkled.

Patton silently congratulated himself on a job well done.

“That was great, Pat. Seriously.”

“I’m humbled by your compliments.”

Virgil smiled.

“Where did you even learn how to cook like this?”

“My moms taught me. They made sure to teach me all the basic survival skills like cooking, laundry and how to snare and skin rabbits.”

“Snare rabbits?” Virgil laughed.

“I lived in a forest, I had to be able to take care of myself. They taught me all kinds of other cool survival stuff too.”

“Nice, my mom barely taught me how to turn on a stove.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Virgil waved him away. “My parents just had other priorities in my upbringing. Maybe you could teach me to cook something other than pasta?”

“I’d love to.” Getting to cook and spend more time with Virgil? It sounded like heaven to Patton.

Virgil looked at the clock and suddenly shot up.

“Shit, I have to go. I’m sorry. Thanks for the food, Patton.”

“It’s fine. Anytime.” Patton watched him leave with an empty feeling in his stomach.

He didn’t mind his roommate’s odd habits, but sometimes he wished he didn’t always run off.

~

Patton had to be honest, when Virgil had first told him about his boyfriends, he had been quite shocked.

Not because of the boyfriends, plural. Patton was pretty sure he was polyamorous himself.

No, it was the fact that quiet, shy, reserved Virgil, the guy who Patton had never seen interact with anyone except Patton, had somehow gotten himself not one, but two boyfriends.

And yeah, maybe he did feel a sharp stab of jealousy when Virgil first told him. He wondered how his boyfriends had gotten him to realize they wanted to date him. Patton had been trying to make his feelings clear for months now and was almost convinced Virgil was aromantic.

They must have yelled something along the lines of “We have romantic feelings for you” to get through that thick skull of his.

Patton didn’t resent Virgil for dating them, he was happy for him. Virgil really needed something good in his life.

And now, here he was, cooking up an elaborate meal for Virgil’s boyfriends.

When Virgil had told him about his boyfriends and the fact that they had been going steady for a while, Patton had insisted they come over for dinner sometime.

“I have to make sure they’re not going to break my best friend’s heart.” He had argued.

Virgil had complained at that, but his boyfriends had agreed and a date had been fixed.

Patton had maybe gone a little overboard with the meal. Two curries stewed on the stove and he was just about to throw the homemade falafel into the pan. In the oven, naans he had made from scratch were baking.

He hoped they liked Indian.

Virgil let his boyfriends into the appartement and wow, they were hot.

One of them, the shorter of the two, beamed at him, his smile perfectly blinding, and walked over to him.

“Hello, you must be the charming Patton I’ve heard so much about.” He said with a theatrical bow.

The taller one walked over to them with a more reserved smile.

“I’m Logan and this character here is Roman. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Virgil has told us a lot about you.” He stuck out his hand.

“Really, he has?” Patton felt a warm glow at that knowledge.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you too.” He continued.

“So you’re the one who’s been keeping our Virgil alive?” Roman asked him.

“What?” Patton asked.

“V has a lot of skills, basic self care isn’t one of them.” Roman clarified.

“We’re happy he has such a good friend.” Logan added.

“Well, I’m happy to take care of him. But, yeah, self care isn’t one of his skills.”

“As much as I appreciate you guys bonding, I can take care of myself.” Virgil interjected.

“Debatable.” Logan said.

Roman seemed to have noticed the food bubbling on the stove by now.

“Ooh, indian.” He exclaimed.

“It smells good.” Logan complimented.

“Well, it’s nearly done, so get seated and I’ll bring the food over.”

“You guys are in for a treat. Pat’s the best cook I know.” Virgil informed them.

Patton blushed at the high praise.

“I must say I’m intrigued.” Logan said, while taking a seat at the table.

Patton turned off the stove and added a few leaves of coriander before carrying the dishes over to the table.

“Do you need a hand? It looks like a lot.” Roman offered.

Finally, with Roman’s help, the table was set and they all dug in, dipping their naans into the curries Patton had made.

Roman moaned theatrically.

“God, this is just heavenly.” He praised.

“It’s great Patton.” Virgil offered.

“Yes, it is quite splendid. What spices did you use?” Logan asked him.

“Well, this one has chilli powder...”

“I can taste that.” Virgil grumbled.

“Turmeric, cumin and coriander and the other one has bay leaves, cardamom, cinnamon, cloves and more chilli powder.”

“That’s a lot of spices.” Roman said.

“That’s the secret to Indian cooking, the things they can do with spices is just magical.” Patton replied.

They talked more.

Logan told him he was studying theoretical physics at the university where Virgil also studied.

“Wow, theoretical physics. Isn’t that like black holes and stuff?” Patton asked, intrigued.

“Oh boy, don’t get him started.” Virgil muttered.

Logan paid him no mind.

“That’s one aspect but it’s also so much more. It touches on all aspects of our lives.” With that Logan launched into an impassioned speech about all the things theoretical physics touched on and the different aspects of it.

Patton didn’t understand everything he was going on about, physics hadn’t been his best subject in school, but he enjoyed listening to Logan all the same. He had a way of speaking that drew you in. It was clear he really enjoyed the subject he was studying. Patton felt like he could listen to Logan for hours on end. A glance at the others told him they felt the same way, both of them staring at him with fond expressions.

“I apologise. I was rambling again, I have been told I have a tendency to do that.” Logan cut himself off.

“What? There’s nothing to apologize for, it was really fascinating.”

Logan smiled softly but didn’t go on. An awkward silence fell over the table.

“So!” Patton piped up brightly. “What do you do, Roman?”

“I’m studying to become a nurse actually.”

“Really? cool!”

They chatted about all kinds of things. Roman complained about the amount of things he had to learn. Logan told him it was nothing compared to what he had to study. Virgil lamented about annoying professors. And Patton listened, feeling a little like an intruder but a part of it all the same.

They complemented each other perfectly. Patton had no idea how they had met or what made them such a good team, but it must be something wonderful indeed.

In that moment, Patton wished so fervently he could be a part of it. He barely knew Logan and Roman and yet he could feel himself falling for them even now.

They didn’t seem to mind him being there, roping him into the conversation easily.

Logan smiled at him from across the table and Roman slung an arm over his shoulder, laughing at one of his puns.

Virgil was just getting up to refill the water jug, when an alert on his phone went off. All three of them jumped up.

“We have to leave.” Logan said, looking at his phone.

“Shit, I’m so sorry Patton.” Virgil repeated for what seemed like the thousandth time. It felt like whenever Patton was finally making progress in his relationship, something interrupted.

He didn’t mind the weird habits, he just wished he would let him in on his secrets. Hadn’t he proved his trustworthiness to Virgil?

They left him with the dishes and an empty feeling in his chest.

~

Roman, Virgil and Logan sat at the dinner table while Patton busied himself in the kitchen, finding comfort in the familiar routine of cooking. A tense silence filled the usually cozy apartment.

“How long have you known?” Logan asked finally.

Patton looked at Virgil when he answered.

“Probably since the first month.”

Virgil stammered. “I thought…”

“You thought what Virgil? That I didn’t notice you sneaking in at five in the morning? That I didn’t notice that whenever you ran off during dinner, Storm was suddenly on the news? That I didn't notice all the cuts and bruises you collected? You thought, what? That I was stupid? Blind? Deaf?” He knew he was being unfair, the others looked tired and miserable and guilty. But all his frustration at being left in the dark for years was bubbling over.

He was so tired of being treated as stupid, of being left behind when the others had to attend to hero bussiness. He was tired of lying awake worrying about them.

Patton returned to chopping the leeks with more force than absolutely necessary.

“We wanted to protect you.” Logan said, guilt colouring his voice.

“I don’t need your protection. I think you saw that tonight.”

“Yes, we were wrong. I realize that now. We apologize”

“I don’t.” Virgil said.

Patton stared at him. “What?”

Virgil stood up and faced him. “I’m sorry about lying to you, but I won’t apologize for trying to protect you. It’s bad enough these two are out on the streets, I don’t need another untrained civilian risking their life.” Virgil gestured at Roman and Logan, who didn’t look happy about being called untrained.

Patton laughed bitterly. “I’m not untrained, that much should be clear. And what makes you so trained then?”

Virgil sighed.

“When I said my parents had other priorities in my upbringing, I meant it. Instead of learning maths and chemistry, I learnt how to fight, how to take down a grown man, how to disappear into the shadows.”

“Why?” Patton asked, he was aware Virgil hadn’t had the most traditional upbringing, but this wasn’t what he had expected.

“I was to be an assassin, but the company we worked for disbanded and my mom decided to give me a normal life.” He explained coldy, it was clear there was more there, but Patton decided now was not the best time to ask.

They were all tired from the events of the evening and Patton really just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep for another week. All his anger at his friends keeping him in the dark had faded, leaving him with just his exhaustion.

He turned back to the quiche he was making, with store bought dough, his mom would be shocked, and slid it into the oven.

“I’m just happy you guys are alright.” He said, extending an olive branch.

“Well, we were lucky our valiant knight in shining armour came to our rescue.” Roman said, his voice lacking his usual flamboyance.

Patton sat down next to Virgil and laid his head on his shoulder. Virgil wrapped his arm around him.

“You guys are lucky I knew where you were.”

“Yeah, how did you do that? Do you have us micro-chipped or something?” Roman questioned.

Patton just smiled mysteriously.

~

Patton popped his head into their bedroom, where Janus was talking into a phone. Patton listened for a moment as Janus talked to someone in rapid fire French, sounding mildly irritated.

He noticed Patton standing in the doorway and held up a hand signaling he would be done soon. He rolled his eyes and mouthed “Grandmother” at him.

Patton stifled a giggle. Janus’s grandmother was notoriously difficult.

“Oui, oui mémé, je promets.”

He put down the phone with a sigh.

“Why is she like this?” He sighed in exasperation.

Patton wrapped his arms around Janus’s waist and nuzzled into his neck.

“It’s ‘cause she loves you, honeybee.”

“Loves to annoy me, more like. Anyways, did you need something, mon cœur ?”

“Yeah, you said you’d help with dinner?”

“Course, give me a minute, I’m coming.”

“I’ll go peel the potatoes.” Patton bounced down the stairs.

On the couch, Logan and Roman were attempting to watch a period drama, keyword, attempting.

They were currently critiquing the costumes in the show, Roman in particular was raving about corsets on bare skin.

Patton smiled, he loved them both very much, but watching a movie or show with them was nearly impossible. They both had trouble keeping their thoughts to themselves.

“Having fun?” He asked as he pressed a kiss to Roman’s forehead.

“Corsets on bare skin, Patton! What is wrong with them?” Roman flung his hands up, nearly knocking Patton’s glasses off.

“Whoops, sorry.” He apologized.

Patton kissed him again and gave Logan a quick side hug.

“You guys enjoy, I’m going to get started on dinner.”

“I highly doubt I will be able to enjoy it, considering all the mistakes in the writing and costuming.” Logan muttered.

Janus joined him in making dinner and together they worked efficiently. Janus was a great cook and a good help in the kitchen. Together, they managed to make something good without getting in each others’ way too much.

Janus put on an old timey jazz song and as the food sizzled on the stove, they slowed gently in the kitchen.

The door opened and Virgil blew in with a gust of cold air. He groaned as he dropped his bag on the floor.

“Everything all right, mon amour?” Janus questioned.

“Just tired, training was hard today.” Virgil sighed.

“Yeah, I see. Go take a shower.” Janus wrinkled his nose.

Virgil made to kiss Janus but he warded him off.

“Go shower first.” He instructed.

“I want a kiss.” Virgil whined.

“I’ll give you a kiss.” Patton said.

“Don’t enable him.” Janus groaned but he pressed a quick kiss to Virgil’s nose.

Patton drew Virgil in for a soft, gentle one and then pushed him in the direction of the shower.

“Go. Food’s nearly done.”

Right on cue, Roman bounced into the kitchen, Logan trailing behind him.

“Food’s ready?” He asked.

“Not yet. Will you guys set the table?” Patton asked.

As busy clattering filled the kitchen, Patton felt a smile slip onto his lips. Janus noticed and wrapped his arms around him.

“What are you thinking about?” He whispered into his ear.

“Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

“Yeah, we really are.” He sighed.

They smiled as Virgil entered the kitchen and promptly got wrapped up in a hug from Roman.

[loveinthebones]

Not On My Watch

Alrighty! It’s a little late but Merry Christmas, @kthnwss. Christmas is the time for fluff before we jump back in with our project. XD I was originally going to write some more Florist! Phil but decided to change it up once I stumbled across this post and well..

I hope you like it. <3 

Title: Not On My Watch

Rating: T 

Tags: Alternative Universe- Video Game Shop and Suit Shop, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Jealous! Dan {I am weak. Sue me.}

-Not On My Watch-

If you would have asked Philip Lester a couple of months ago about the shop across the way, he would have hummed a noncommittal response before adding, “They seem like nice lads.” with a courteous tooth-bearing smile.

If you would have suggested that he’d be staring out the window of Lion’s Games, chin propped in hand, to wait for the boy with the three-buttoned, fitted silhouette jacket… he probably would have giggled with pink cheeks and a quiet, “Yeah.” However, if you continued on to insist he would see him every day, well… he would have denied it with a hearty laugh and disbelieving, “No way!”

He would have been wrong, of course. (But that’s not a bad thing. Not at all.)

He doesn’t know when it became a thing but Phil was glad that it did, indeed, become routine.

-

It had started with the determined click-click-click of dress shoes clacking against the bright linoleum of the hallway that hadn’t been crossed until that day and really, why would it have been?  

Phil wasn’t a suit guy. He preferred his soft, loose well-loved but zany t-shirts and his faded dark jeans. Somedays, there would be a hint of skin peeking through a hole he had been too unmotivated to fix and on the day, Daniel waltzed into the store…he had been in one of his oldest, hole-ridden pair as he shelved the games a few little ones had scattered about, singing quietly to himself.

“Hello.”

Phil sprang a full foot into the air, slippery cases running through his fingers as if they were water instead of plastic. He groaned lowly but smiled as he turned to face the man with the carefully gelled quiff and tired eyes, putting on his customer service persona with ease. “How may I help you?”

“Uh-well-“ The man stared at his polished shoes, flicking the last button of his jacket nervously. “My boss was wondering if we could use your microwave until ours comes in? It might be a while though…” He reached up before stilling his hand from touching his styled hair, clearing his throat. “And I would like to not starve. That’d be great.”

Phil chuckled at the dry, level delivery of that last sentence and bent to pick up the fallen games when Chris rushed out of their backroom, arm still littered with cellophane and colored stickers with a: “I’ll be back as soon as possible! Pray for safe travels!”

“Safe travels,” Phil replied absently, waving a hand at Chris. “Bring me back some popcorn if you’re going to flirt with that caricature artist again.”

“It’s not my fault the bathroom is on the other side of the world!” Chris hollered, trainers squeaking on the floor outside the shop already. “Sorry, Phil!”

Phil only rolled his eyes with a huff that lacked any true irritation in response, standing with the games shoved into the crook of one elbow. He extended his free hand to the man from the suit shop. “I’m sorry about not introducing myself properly. I’m Phil.”

“Daniel.” Daniel shook his hand briefly and Phil caught the flash of a dimple carved into the apple of his left cheek as he straightened the lapel of his suit exaggeratedly. “Charmed.”

Phil laughed, tongue slipping between his teeth. “Likewise and yes,” Phil spun on his heel, motioning for Daniel to follow him to the back room. “You guys can use our microwave.” A soft whoosh of air left his lungs as a couple wandered into his shop, holding hands. “Too bad you guys don’t have a bathroom. Chris is going to take forever and I can’t man the floor and do inventory.”

“Actually…” Daniel blurted out, eyes sparkling. “We do. Let me talk to Harry. Maybe we can strike up an agreement?”

“Symbiosis,” Phil commented distractedly, hand curving over Daniel’s side as he gently guided him around the boxes strewn across the floor. “Sounds good to me.”

“Y-Yeah,” Dan replied and if Phil didn’t move his hand until they reached the red microwave, well… Phil would neither confirm nor deny anything.

-

“Hey, man,” Harry called out to Phil as soon as he crossed the threshold, glancing up quickly, before gently scolding the small boy with fair hair when he dropped his arms. “No, no. We’re almost done, buddy. Just a few more things, okay?”

“My arms are tired,” The little one whined, sticking out his full lower lip and Phil giggled. The boy narrowed his eyes as did the mum sitting cross-legged in the corner with a jiggling foot but his eyes widened. “Your shirt is so cool! Gengar is my favourite!”

Phil grabbed the hem of his purple shirt to stretch it out, nodding. “Gengar is pretty great. Very troublesome.”

“I know!” The boy squealed, letting Harry raise his arms without a fuss, completely focused on chattering to Phil. “I’ve been working on training my Ghastly but you have to trade to get a Gengar and I don’t have anyone to swap with…”

Phil fought the urge to fidget and ease his full bladder, lamenting sympathetically with the obviously disappointed child. “That’s no good.”

“No, it isn’t!” The boy agreed instantly, squeaking in surprise when he wobbled unsteadily. “Ah-“

“It’s alright, buddy,” Harry reassured as he steadied the boy. “I got you.” He peeked at Phil from his peripherals with a small nod and Phil dipped his head in acknowledgement.

“It was nice talking to you.”

“You too, mister!” The boy beamed at him, showing the gap where a tooth was missing.

Phil weaved through the racks of carefully positioned jackets and pressed pants rapidly, feeling that uncomfortable pressure in his mid-section that told him he had waited a tad too long.

“Never seen you run so fast,” Dan’s sardonic and amused observation dampened as he sped past him and without a second thought, Phil raised a hand to wiggle his fingers…taking care to draw attention to the middle one.

Dan’s laugh echoed behind him, obnoxious and riddled with snorts, and Phil couldn’t help but think to himself that he wouldn’t mind hearing it more often.

-

“Philly!” Dan slanted into the corner of the bright purple couch, laying the galaxy pillow across his lap. He held the instant cup of ramen between both palms and inhaled deeply, eyelashes brushing his skin as his eyes closed. His pushed back hair had fallen into a slightly curled fringe and Phil’s fingers twitched with the desire to stroke it. “Steaming silk is just- put me out of my misery.”

Phil watched as Dan stabbed at his noodles with his fork, letting the pasta slip from the tines. He waited for Dan to take a bite but he didn’t, stirring the juice as he complained: “It’s just…there’s so much you have to do to make sure the material doesn’t have even the faintest crease. I swear, there’s always a fucking crease.” Phil watched as the noodles splattered into the broth again. “Nothing can be touching it on either side and-“

“Dan,” Phil interrupted, warmth curling in his chest like a sleepy cat soaking contentedly in a ray of sun at the exasperated venting of the tired brunette. “Are you alright?”

“Yes?” Dan answered, raising an eyebrow at Phil’s unexpected question. “I’m just having an off day.”

“I have those, too,” Phil nodded compassionately before scooting to the edge of the stool he was perched on, ghosting the very tip of his index finger under the slight purple tint under Dan’s eyes. “Are you not feeling well?” He laid the back of his hand against Dan’s forehead.

“Phi-“ Dan tried, cheeks darkening to resemble a freshly bloomed rose. “Y-you spork. I’m fine- I just haven’t been sleeping well. I’ll be fine once I get over it.” The last part was garbled with the slight slurring of words that Dan was doing.

He must really be tired.

“Get over what?” Phil wondered out loud, hand still resting against Dan’s skin. Dan reached up with a puff, wrapping his fingers around Phil’s wrist to pull it away before playfully swatting at him.

“Nothing,” Dan dismissed before disarming Phil with a small but genuine smile, “What is one of your favourite games?”

Phil’s eyes instantly lit up and he jumped to his feet excitedly, “What consoles do you have?”

-

Spending snippets of time every day with Dan and Harry must have rubbed off on him because when the man with steely grey eyes sauntered into his shop, Phil’s eyes catalouged the nearly unnoticeable but off-putting fit of the man’s navy suit- the way it sagged sloppily off his shoulder line and the fact that the lower of his two buttons was fastened.

“Oh my god,” Dan gasped and Phil could practically hear his teeth protesting from the subtle grinding he was surely doing. “He can’t be serious.”

“Bear,” Phil said pointedly, utilizing the nickname like a weapon, and Dan’s pupils flicked to him immediately. “Be nice.”

Dan stared at him with a jutted jaw and wide incredulous eyes for a second before he composed himself- the strained, gentlemanly show of teeth reserved for customers coming into play as the man drifted closer.

“Hello. I’m the manager for the jewelry shop that just opened up,” The man dipped his head at them before raking his eyes slowly down Phil’s form and back up to his face again. “I was wondering if the manager was in? I would like to meet him.”

Phil forced his shoulders to stay loose, widening his stance behind the counter unconsciously, while he struggled to mirror the man’s polite tone sincerely. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Phil,” He reached for the man’s hand, relishing in the flash of surprise that crossed his face. “Looks like we’re neighbors.”

Dan squirmed restlessly on the solitary black stool Phil had in the store (that Dan had drug behind the register so he could sit beside him while they talked) and Phil adjusted his weight to his left leg so he bumped Dan with his thigh, warningly.

Dan kept quiet (if only just barely by the shifting of his lower jaw) and if his knee bumped Phil’s hip from his perch, he didn’t react to the touch.

“I’m Richard,” The guy introduced as he accepted Phil’s handshake then continued: “I’m sorry.” His scrutinized Phil’s outfit. Phil tugged on the pocket on the front of his bright yellow Jake hoodie to pull the hem a bit lower over his tight skinny jeans, an unpleasant writhing feeling creeping up the notches of his spine. “You look quite young to be a manager.”

Phil managed to fake a laugh as Dan cut in smoothly, “Phil is young. He’s only twenty-four but he has some of the best sales in the shopping center.”

Phil gaped at Dan, taken aback by his adamant words. He had no clue if the information was accurate but he wasn’t about to correct him while Richard attempted to pin Dan under his stern stare. 

“Is that right?”

“Yes,” Dan drug out the ‘s’ for a second too long and his knee jammed itself even more into the flesh covering Phil’s hipbone. “The casual atmosphere of his shop and his friendly, approachable presentation draws people in. He should really get some more help and he’s a bit stubborn but,” That last line was fired at Phil, dripping with fond annoyance but still saturated with respect for his business choices, and Phil scoffed habitually. “He has a knack for business.”

“I see,” Richard’s eyes darted between them. “Are you his partner then?”

“Oh, no.” Dan clicked his tongue as he swiveled his head. “I’m Harry’s problem, fortunately for him.” Dan lowered his legs to the floor and stood. “I should get back actually.”

He clapped a palm on Phil’s shoulder, pausing briefly, then retrieved his jacket from where it was hanging from the only wired shelving unit neatly.

“Tell Harry to let you measure this time!” Phil teased as Dan made his way out, ignoring the pang in his chest. Dan froze in his tracks, swaying from foot to foot uncertainly, before making a purposeful beeline for Phil.

Phil’s breath stuttered as Dan cupped his cheeks, thumbs caressing the sharp arc of his cheekbones. His tongue darted out to lick his lips as his eyes drifted to Dan’s own, heart drumming a staccato rhythm against his ribs painfully.

“Teal is a horrible color,” Dan whispered as he gently turned Phil’s face to kiss him feather-light on his cheek. “If he’s going to be condescending, he needs to learn how to be in season.”

Phil could only grin, love drunk and dopey, as Dan patted his cheek with an audible, “I’ll see you later, dear. Let me know about dinner tonight, yeah?”

-

Later (when they have shoved their too tall legs underneath the cramped space of a table in the mall’s food court), Phil stroked Dan’s cheek softly with a low, “What was that?”

“He was a prick with a bad suit,” Dan grumbled, leaning into Phil’s chilly palm. “I couldn’t let him try and bring you down. Not on my watch.” A hot gush of breath drifted around Phil’s thumb as Dan nuzzled into his hand, fringe flopping into his face.

He’s trying to hide.

“Never on my watch.” Dan confessed finally when Phil combed the strands back into their usual position.

“Why’s that?” Phil coaxed, skimming his fingers over Dan’s lips.

“I like you, duh.” Dan deadpanned, that rosy glow staining his cheeks like diluted watercolour on a canvas. “I have for a while. I never got over it.”

“That’s what you were trying to get over!” Phil burst out, giggling. “You are an absolute idiot!”

“Hey!” Dan protested half-heartedly and Phil leaned forward, ignoring their second rate but yummy mall Chinese food to press his nose to Dan’s.

“Can I kiss you?”

Dan bit his lip, nodding and Phil connected their lips. 

Dan’s lips were rough and the chapped pieces slid against Phil’s own but he didn’t mind. It was a pleasant sensation that had butterflies whirring crazily in his stomach.

His heart fluttered erratically as they kissed unhurriedly and Dan reached out to curl his fingers in the strands of hair at the nape of Phil’s neck.

Phil slowly pulled away to sit in his seat once more, tongue smoothing over his lower lip in a daze. “Want to go on a date?”

Dan snorted, red-faced. “Is that even a question?”

-

Richard and Dan are civil to one another but there’s always an undercurrent of well-worded snark. It’s just another thing that has become routine and Phil only questions his boyfriend when Dan has decided to lean against his back, heavy and heated. His own personal blanket.

“Why is whatever there is between you and Richard…there?” Phil tilted his head back to rub the back of it against the top of Dan’s. Dan gave a derisive snort as answer, pulling away a centimeter. “Seriously, love. I don’t get it.”

“Besides the fact that he has a high horse so tall that aliens are using it as a landing pad?”

Phil vibrated with the effort it took to reign in mirth he was containing. “Besides that.”

“And the fact that he can’t wear a suit to save his life?”

“You’ve already told me many, many times that he is an uprofessional slob,” Phil jostled Dan as he fought to slice open the box he was trying to unpack. Dan took the bright orange tool from him and with a deft jerk of his wrist, the flaps popped up. “How do you do that?”

“Magic,” Dan joked, laying the cutter carefully on another box. He drummed his fingers on the carboard before tapping a single finger in the center of Phil’s scalp. “He wanted you, you know.”

“What?” Phil exclaimed, jerking his head up.

“Richard. It just…rubbed me the wrong way.” Dan’s gaze darted everywhere but Phil as his thumb traced the curved of his nails. “It still does. The way he looks at you sometimes- it’s just- ugh.” Dan scrunched his nose for emphasis and Phil instinctively tugged lightly on Dan’s shirt so he would hunch down to Phil’s level. “It doesn’t matt-“

Phil silenced him with a messy, heated kiss, yanking Dan’s shirt from his pants, as they crashed to the floor unceremoniously.

(Dan was right. It didn’t matter...Not when Dan was gripping his hair and a high pitched note of need skittered across Phil’s mouth, causing his nerve endings to tingle.

No. It didn’t matter at all.)

[mercedesbarnes]

Some Enchanted Morning

Summary: You find love at first sight with Steve.  

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Word Count:  2,308

Warnings: none

A/N: this is for @bladebarnes‘ 2k Writing Challenge! My theme was ‘love at first sight’ and I ended up exploring a spin on it...hope you enjoy :) 

Friday, 7:15 pm

Everyone prays.  Everyone has their reasons, too: wanting to be closer to a religious figure, for protection, hope, or the last slice of pizza. Whether they know it or not, they pray.

Including you, devoutly, for the L train to hurry its metal butt up.  

All you wanted was to get home to Brooklyn, and as that wouldn’t happen without having faith in the being that controlled the rails, you urged the oil gods to make the rails smooth and quick and whatever else the metal butt needed to move fast.  You had to take the L train, but if you could help it, you didn’t want to take the L.  Here’s to hoping your prayers convinced it to come on time. 

Your week had gone terribly. Today worst of all. A stockbroker on Wall Street, you had a high-stress job to begin with, and then add in the impatient dealers and buyers wanting to get their trades in before the long weekend and it became almost unbearable.  You’d never been so happy to yell TGIF to your coworkers the second the clock struck seven and you could leave.  

“Finally,” you mumbled as the L train glided into the station, two minutes behind schedule, better than usual. Few people joined you on the train so it was easy to fall into the seat of your choice. You debated resting your overworked head against the grimy window but decided against it. Of course, to add on to the week, you had forgotten your headphones, so daydreaming would have to pass the forty-five minute commute.

You couldn’t deny New York was a pretty fantastic city, its transit system notwithstanding; the view while crossing the bridge into Brooklyn was stellar. However, the further the train got away from the city of bright lights and no sleep the more you could feel yourself relaxing, a smile even appearing for the first time in hours.  That smile stayed on while you stepped over the threshold of your apartment, inhaling the scent of home that you missed so terribly.  You felt better, but not quite good enough, so you texted your boyfriend seeing if he wanted to come over for a late dinner.

Spaghetti was boiling on the stove when Steve let himself in, whistling.  Your face lit up when you noticed him toe off his shoes and approach you for a much-needed hug.

Another prayer of yours: that he never runs out of hugs. Somehow they make everything better.

“Hi honey.” Steve pulled you into his side while you stirred the pasta and he pecked your forehead. “How was your day?”

You groaned in answer.

“That bad, huh?”

“So bad...I’ve never been happier to be home. Rumlow was breathing over my shoulder all day about the new account I picked up, and he only stopped after I threatened to staple his tie to the desk.  God,” you exhaled, going over to the sink to drain the pasta, “please give me the strength to do it one day.”

Steve’s chuckle echoed as he moved to the next room to set the table. “I don’t know why he’s the favourite in your office, he sounds like a jerk.”

“He is. Please ask my boss that at the next holiday party, if you do I’ll do anything you want.”

Steve poked his head through the kitchen doorway to look at you with a goofy expression. “Anything?”

“Mind out of the gutter, Rogers!”

“You said it, not me,” he winked, his playful grin disappearing.  Once they were cool, you scooped up the noodles and poured tomato sauce over them. You handed Steve a plate when you sat down at the table, him picking up his fork and twirling the spaghetti immediately.  Looking up, he laughed when you tossed your napkin at him.

“I meant going to see the exhibit at the Smithsonian you’ve been talking about!”

“Are you sure?”

You tried to look away to stop a laugh from bubbling up except he was so cute you couldn’t help but tug at his arm for a kiss. It was one way of not having to fully answer what he asked, plus he missed your lips before. Steve had been here fifteen minutes and you already felt a thousand times better, an effect you always appreciated about his presence. You hoped you did the same for him in his times of hardship.

“Yes. How are you?”

“I’m good! I had a lunch meeting today at the best coffee shop, I have to take you, you’d love it.  The guy I met was from Redwing Designs and he was very interested in working with us…”

He launched into the details of his firm’s upcoming building deal and you listened intently.  Architecture was a fascinating topic when Steve talked about it; his whole face lit up and his eyes sparkled when you asked follow-up questions about a particular topic.

You talked happily through dinner and the clean-up, before settling in to watch the show you’d started together. You snuggled up to his side and watched him flick through the Netflix guide. Season 4 had promised to be even more dramatic than the previous ones and you both were excited to see it play out.

“Oh, Y/N, about the Smithsonian: I do have a couple free passes...wanna go?”

“Now?” you asked, taking hold of Steve’s arm and squeezing it.  “It's closed, hon.”

“Not now,” he confirmed, resting his hand on your hip to bring you more into him. “It’s up to you, but tomorrow works.”

“It does for me too, let's go!”

“But we should be there early.”

“Okay.”

“So you’ll get up?”

“Definitely. I bought a loud alarm clock.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“...what time does it open?”

Being cute must be a gift for him, for he was even when bashful. “Six thirty.”

You blinked.

“I know, I know, but it gets busy,” Steve said, pressing a quick kiss to your lips to prevent you from reaching for your phone and checking the opening times to see if he was serious. “It’s a really popular exhibit.”

“Not a problem, Stevie, we’ll go before the crowds.” Your hand rested on his chest to trace random patterns, knowing how much it would mean to him if he was the first one in line. The exhibit was right up his alley.

“It’s a date.”

His fingers ran through the strands of your hair and he started the show. You watched many episodes, possibly too many, since both of you began drifting off in the middle of particularly drama-filled scenes. You’d have to rewind, but Steve was so comfortable and he’d have to move to get the remote. Not an option if you could help it.

“Y/N, hon. It’s late, I should get home,” Steve murmured, shaking you oh so gently. You stopped his sleepy limbs from leaving and looked at him through half-lidded eyes. “Stay the night, please?”

He nodded, a smile stretching from ear to ear, one so bright it beat the television. “Okay.  Let’s go to bed, we might get sore necks here.”

“Sounds good,” you yawned while standing and pulling Steve to his feet. He enveloped you in a great big bear hug and you stayed like that a minute, using each other as a headrest until you felt yourselves about to fall asleep standing up.

”Let’s not fall over...that might make us more sore.”

You made a noise of agreement and let go.

Steve had clothes and a toothbrush at your place so your night routines were quick and simple.  While brushing your teeth you poked your head into your bedroom, where he was settling under the sheets. You observed while he fluffed with the pillows, making a face as he fiddled; after a few moments he switched the one on his side for the one on yours.  

You knew your bed. He had just made sure you got the fluffier pillow.

If it was possible to melt like an ice cube, you would have been a puddle on the floor. How did you get so lucky to be dating him? He even let your wear his sweater to sleep, even though he might not get it back right away. 

Since you weren’t made of ice, you melted into his embrace instead, nuzzling your face into his shirt and grasping at his back to get him closer.  

“Thank you for dinner,” he said in a whisper close to your ear.

“Thanks for coming. You always make everything better.”

“Anytime, Y/N, I’m always here for you.”

“And me, you.”

After you adjusted the blankets so he wouldn't get cold you both said your goodnights and immediately fell asleep, curled into each other.  

Saturday, 5:36 am

There should be other methods for waking up. Alarm clocks were rude and persistent, two qualities that your least favourite colleague possessed and that you couldn’t stand as a duo.  Therefore, alarm clocks were almost as bad as Brock Rumlow. They only won because you could press a button to make them be quiet, a luxury you were not afforded when dealing with the human counterpart.

You felt around the bed for Steve, the result being warm sheets and no body. Frowning at the air temperature when you sat up and put your feet on the floor, you pulled the hood of Steve’s sweater over your head and opened your bedroom door, eyes still closed.  A promise was a promise. Meaning you needed to get ready for the museum and by extension it meant getting up.

There was a benefit to sleeping at your apartment: you’d mastered the art of walking from your bed to the coffeemaker without having to see.  Your mental map allowed you to do this without bumping into furniture, so you didn’t slow until you heard the music that grew louder as you approached the kitchen, music that you were pretty sure was 2000s-era Shakira. Yes, it was ‘Hips Don’t Lie’.

Opening your eyes, you were greeted to your very first sight of the morning, of Steve meandering around your kitchen, a whisk in one hand and a bowl in the other while he stirred pancake mix and mouthed the words of the song. His hair was sticking up in all directions and he was in a t-shirt and boxers and he was dancing.

All you could think was:

I love him so much.

You leaned against the doorway, hands in sweater pockets and amused eyes on your boyfriend.  At the chorus he turned to the pan and poured the mix, the whole time swinging his hips; it was a movement that did everything to accentuate his booty-fullness, if that was even a word. If not then Steve was the new definition. A sweater paw had to cover your mouth when he threw his head back to hit a perfect high note after he flipped the pancake.

The longer you were the audience to this one-man performance the bigger your smile became, and the bigger the realization of how in love with him you were, until you couldn't help but pad over and slide your arms around his waist.  

“Who the--? Y/N?”

“Morning, Steve.”

“H-how long have you been up?”

Somewhat reluctantly he put the spatula down and turned so he was leaning against the counter. You stepped between his legs so he wouldn't wiggle away and ran your hands down his sides.  

“Long enough to see you moving your hips like Shakira.”

His face reddened and oh my, did you love him. “I thought you were asleep. You weren't supposed to see, I was making breakfast...” A finger pointed between a vague direction of your bedroom and a pile of fresh pancakes, yet now his mouth didn't seem to want to work. It was opening and closing without any sound coming out.

“Hey,” you said softly. To get his magnificent blue eyes to meet yours you ran a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. You loved him deeper than the cracks in your ceiling, more than morning coffee, and you thought you would burst if you kept those feelings inside. No matter that you hadn't said the words to each other yet. Right now you were so full of love for Steve Rogers that you almost didn't care if he didn't say it back.  “I love you.” 

His mouth did the thing again and with a sheepish half-smile, “Even after that show?”

You nodded, grinning. “Hips don’t lie, and yours told a story I’d like to be part of.”

“Your chapter is the best one,” he whispered, a full smile decorating his face as he brought you chest to chest. “I love you too, Y/N.”   

Both of you said it a couple more times, trying out the words that tasted so sweet on the tongue. You felt so giddy you could fly to the Smithsonian, and it was all because of the man in front of you, who you loved and who loved you.

Steve reached over and turned off the stove so the last pancakes wouldn't burn, and then said he loved you. You added them to the heaping plate, said you loved him.

Personally, you thought the pancakes wouldn't need syrup--the three words would be sweet enough.

Shakira looped again, and you burst into giggles; the song must've been playing for quite a while before you got up.  Steve quickly joined in when you asked him if this was true.

“Yeah. I’m a dork.”

“You're my dork, and I’m yours.”

“Awww.”

He pushed off the counter and took your hands to start dancing again, in which you eagerly took part. The performance definitely wasn’t as good as Shakira herself, but hey, it was early and fun. All good.

So maybe love at first sight does exist. But it doesn't have to be the moment you meet a blind date, or meet someone you’ll see at work. It doesn't even have to be the moment you lock eyes with a stranger across the room.

For you, it was at 5:45 on a sleepy Saturday morning where the very first picture of your day was Steve dancing and singing around in your kitchen. He was love at first sight. And that was much, much better.

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