#thanks again to rhysiana for helping me out!!

[likeshipsonthesea]

how you made me feel

...hello. so. remember two months ago when i fulfilled a prompt from a list, “I could never forget you,” and dumped, like, a whole bunch of nurseydex graduation feels on everyone’s laps and just, like,, sprinted away?? well the sequel i promised is now here. (to any who haven’t read the first part, it’s like kind of necessary)

my apologies for the long gap between then and now. i’ve been having weird writer’s block recently, where i can write but then halfway through i get doubts and think the whole thing is shitty and stop.. so i;ve started a whole bunch of things but finished none, and this is the first substantial thing i’ve finished in a while, and while it’s not, like, monumental, it feels like a lot to me right now :)

AND me finishing this was due in no small part to @rhysiana​ who beta’d this and helped me feel confident in writing again.. so thanks :))

no warnings for this (i know, a surprise for me, right?) but thought i’d tell y’all that the title is from a maya angelou quote that i repurposed a little.. now without further ado, here’s the sequel

         It’s not the type of place Dex would pick to spend an afternoon. It’s not even the sort of place Dex would spend a five-minute break, if given the option. Coffee houses make Dex feel on edge. The thick, rich smell makes him nauseous, gives him a headache like long car rides do. He’s always gotten carsick on long drives—that is, if he’s not the one driving. The lack of control makes him sick, he thinks, or that’s how he imagines Nursey would put it, if Dex ever told him about it.

         Dex stares up at the menu board above the counter. The drinks are all named with literature-themed puns and their descriptions—the fancy type of coffee, the origin of each individual bean—doesn’t clarify anything. Dex sways slightly and glances out the window of the shop.

         It’s still pouring. He still doesn’t have an umbrella and his apartment is still too many blocks away to run, risk the wetness seeping through his bag and reaching his laptop. He sighs into the coffee-laden air and swallows, turning back to the counter.

         It’s his turn.

         “Um, hi.” Dex smiles awkwardly at the barista, who smiles back, big and blank. “Do you have, like, regular coffee?”

         The barista winces and tries to stifle it, and Dex opens his mouth to apologize, instinctive, when he hears a heavy, incredulous utterance of his name.

         Dex turns, the chill running through him completely unrelated to his soaking clothes, and—yes. It’s him.

 *~*

           A summer rain in New York is a heady thing.

         The sweet, cool weather smothers the hot asphalt roads in steam that clings, heavy and metallic, on the back of Nursey’s tongue. A rain in the city is an inconvenience—those that walk are forced into cabs, subways, packing everything too full of frustration and humidity. The streets are barer, eerily. Nursey stands in a thundering cityscape, utterly and intoxicatingly alone. There are two things Nursey thinks could clear a city street—rain or the apocalypse.

         The rain around him, then, is to him the reminder that the world has not ended yet. It makes his blood surge in that desperate kind of way, that want to live kind of way. It pushes him, jittery, as he runs down the empty street, feet pounding against the sidewalk in slapping splashes of water. His hair is ruined, a mop of unmanageable curls that drifts into his eyes, sends water cascading down his forehead, lets raindrops cling to his eyelashes, clumping, blinding. The smart button-down stretched across his shoulders is freezing and drenched, tight like a second skin and peeling. His shoes, and the socks inside, squish with each pounding step and he knows—in that inevitable way that tends to send him into anxiety attacks—that he will be unbearably uncomfortable when he reaches the coffee house and he is then the only soaking thing there.

         Even with all that, though, Nursey grins as he sprints.

         What a thing it is to be one with the world around you. The raindrops against his skin, cold and [cloying], are the same ones shuddering all around him, and even as Nursey’s body recoils at the drowning, it knows in that way all natural things do that it is simply returning to something it was, once, or will be, one day. It’s a comfort that does not know its own name—a comfort older than its name, even.

         And for moments, as he runs through the streets on the familiar path to his favorite coffee place, Nursey feels home like he hasn’t since the day he stepped off campus for the last time.

         Even the ache of knowing it is fleeting can’t touch him, now.

 *~*~*

           The coffee cup in his hands burns. Dex juggles it between his left and right, holding it in each until it hurts more than he can handle.

         He could leave. It’s a fleeting, foolish thought. The door is there and his feet work and, yes, even the rain seems to be mellowing in the wake of this monumental shift, but none of that means that Dex can actually walk away. For one, Dex doubts Nursey would let him. For another, it’d been hard enough to do it—to leave Nursey—the first time. Dex doesn’t want to see if he can do it again.

         Nursey orders. Dex watches for a lack of anything else to do. The barista writes Nursey’s name, Derek, on a cup, then works out Nursey’s change. She holds out a few coins and Nursey takes them quickly, dropping two in his rush. He hurries to pick them up and smiles in that charming, self-deprecating way. Dex used to think it was put-on, one of those things rich people learned, like dining etiquette or handshakes, that kept them above the rest, above Dex. He doesn’t remember when he figured out that it was one of Nursey’s more honest reactions, that smile.

         Dex’s fingers twitch against the coffee cup, burning.

 *~*~*

           The coffee shop is warm in a grounding, shocking way. Nursey has come to be familiar with the place, enough that the judging looks he receives from its dry patrons can be interpreted as the confusion of visitors who will be gone soon anyway.

         It is not quite Annie’s, but then again, most things here are not quite Samwell. Even the rain outside, though liberating, is not New England rain. A rain in New England is less heady. It does not distract, fleetingly, but awakens. A New England rain, thick and clean, characterized by dew-drenched grasses and shuddering, screaming trees, it is a wholly sobering thing. Late-spring rains, the ones caught between winter and summer like the unsure smile following silence but before the laughter. Post-playoffs rain, when the seasons were dictated by nature once again, when life stopped happening between game days and practices and plays, when life just started happening, once again. When bare skin in shadowy spring sunshine made the need to touch all that more insistent. When flower petals tucked around edges of yards and landscapes, behind ears for jokes and softness, made for contrasting reminders of the winter preceding it. When possibility was perched on the edge of every blade of grass, twined within the tunes of birds, newly home, all a reminder that things will change, always change, and sometimes that can be good, too.

         This is what Nursey tells himself, has been telling himself, when he steps into the coffee shop, since he came home to this foreign place.

         He takes a deep breath and sighs against the not-quite-right. He steps up to the line, musing to himself over which drink he should order today, when the voice, “Um, hi,” shudders through the world like the right kind of rain and Nursey’s heartbeat—too fast like the endless rush of people through his streets—for a brief moment, settles.

 *~*~*

           Nursey turns from the counter with his drink, still smiling. It’s duller, this smile, more conscious than Dex would prefer. “The good table is open,” he says, gesturing with his cup. Dex follows the direction to a circular two-seater by the window, squished between a bookshelf and a decorative wall. Dex takes a seat in one of the cushy armchairs, lower than he likes, and understands instantly why Nursey deems this table “good.”

         The coffee shop chatter dims the moment they sit, and Nursey’s smile twitches a bit wider, honest, in response.

         “So,” he says, and takes a sip from his drink so he can raise his eyebrows at Dex over the rim. Dex looks away, drumming his fingers on the lid of his own drink. “You’re in New York.”

         Dex wishes they were in a place, still, where he could just nod and Nursey wouldn’t push any more than that. (Quietly, though, he really, really doesn’t.)

         “Yeah, uh. I—I work here.”

         Dex doesn’t look at Nursey’s face, where he knows eyebrows are rising impossibly high.

         “You work here?”

         Nod.

         “How long?”

         Clench jaw.

         “…oh.”

 *~*~*

           It’s difficult, has been difficult, to be himself in this place. In the city, Nursey’s skin is itchy, tight and ill-fitting, and his steps are heavier, like each forward movement simply increases the distance between the safe person he used to be and the stranger he seemingly must become. Calls with the team make it easier. Facetimes with Chowder and Dex as Nursey hangs upside down on his bed, hoping it isn’t too obvious the way his eyes lock onto the screen in spreads of constellation-tan freckles. With the pixelated gaze of his two closest friends focused on him, smiling, even from hundreds of miles away, he felt settled, comfortable. Home.

         Now, with Dex watching, that familiarity returns to his fingertips—if, unfortunately, in the form of his typical clumsiness. He fumbles his coffee order, stuttering, and drops the cold coins the barista hands him, his body suddenly warm from the cold. The raindrops dripping against his skin are hot, confusingly, and he doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that it is Dex’s gaze making them so.

         Dex waits, seemingly patient, and Nursey worries at the change until he notices the way Dex shifts his cup from hand to hand after a handful of blinks, the way his body sways with the movement. As an editor, it’s probably worrying that Dex has been the easiest thing for Nursey to read since he came to this city. Maybe, he thinks, as he collects his drink, it’s the writers’ fault, and not his.

         Then again, he thinks, falling into step behind Dex, an impossible standard is hardly fair.

 *~*~*

           Nursey says nothing for a long while.

         Dex, greedy, grasping, stares unrestrained. He didn’t know how much he missed this, wouldn’t let himself dwell on it, until now. Nursey eyelashes, drying but still glistening, flutter against the dampness of his cheeks. Green, bright eyes, like all the good parts of Maine Dex wants to remember. The softness of his ears, hidden under sodden curls, the hard lines of his neck, his shoulders. He’s been working out since he left, Dex can tell, but nothing like the routines they had at Samwell. And after the heavy playoff season, after the summer sun, Nursey looks smaller, calmer. More at ease.

         This is what I wanted, Dex thinks, breaking. I wanted him to be happy without me.

         Even without speaking the words, the familiar bitter taste of a lie sits heavy on his tongue.

 *~*~*

           Nursey doesn’t know what to do with this.

         With Dex, sitting here all sun-soft and freckly, real and in person and absolutely way too much. With the fact that he’s been here, been within seeing distance, visiting distance, for almost two months, and he said nothing about it. With the part of himself—the aching, lovely, desperate part of himself—that doesn’t even seem to care, wants to reach out and hold and pull comfort from regardless of mistruths or omissions.

         “Why?” he finds himself asking, without quite knowing if he wants the answer.

         Dex’s eyelids flutter momentarily, the way they do when he’s wondering whether or not to be an asshole, and Nursey loves it—missed it too much not too—and wants to curse, yell, something, because Dex didn’t want to see him, has been here in this foreign place and didn’t want Nursey as much as Nursey has wanted him and—and he’s going to be a dick about it?

         “Dex.” Nursey swallows, fingers pressing too hard against the paper cup. “Why did you—why didn’t you—”

         “Nursey.” Dex’s lips flatten. He’s decided, it seems, and Nursey exhales, slow, thankful. “I didn’t tell anyone,” he says, and going by how he doesn’t look up from the table, he knows that is a shit excuse. “I—I don’t know how to—it wasn’t you. Well. Sort of. I…”

         Nursey waits. Dex has taught him a kind of patience he didn’t think he could have. A kind where his hands do not shake, his shoulders do not tighten. When the waiting isn’t worrisome, because the result—long-awaited and slow-coming as it is—will be worth it, must be worth it, because Dex does not know how to leave expectations unfulfilled. Good expectations, that is. Dex is the smile at the end of a good play, the laughter after a clever chirp, the summation of four years of growth, both a constant reminder pushing for the best and the monument to the work it took to be better. Dex is what Nursey has learned to wait for, for better or for worse, and he realizes as he waits that this is the thing that’s been missing since he got to New York.

         Someone who knows what he came from, someone who can appreciate the progress, someone who loved all of it and will continue to do so, no matter what.

         “Your life here,” Dex says, and Nursey’s too-quick heart suddenly doesn’t care what he’s about to say. “I don’t fit.”

         “Bullshit.” Nursey’s mama always told him his quick tongue would get him in trouble one day, and that was before he sorted his body out enough for his mouth to work along with his mind. He’s ruined, now, Nursey thinks, watching Dex’s lips part into a pretty pink ‘O’. Dex is in New York, Nursey thinks, delirious. Dex is here.

         “Really,” Dex continues, because he’s nothing if not the stubborn, snarky ginger Nursey met on Taddy Tour, and fuck, Nursey missed him. “You—you’re supposed to be a fancy New York writer, with friends who read, like, interesting novels, and travel to places I don’t even know the names of, and you go to weird hipster places like—like this—” he gestures all about himself, absurdly insistent and frowning all wrinkled up and Nursey can’t help the smile pulling his lips apart, because it’s ridiculous, and Dex is ridiculous, and he’s here— “I feel like you’re not listening to me,” Dex says, mildly deflated, pouting a bit but mostly just annoyed, and the laugh bursts from Nursey’s tongue, sweet.

         “I’m totally not, dude, wow. First of all, this place? Not hipster. You want hipster, go to Totally Caff’d two blocks over. That place is hipster. Second?” The smile feels too wide and Dex is staring at him like he’s crazy and everything feels right in a way that would be worrying if it was their frog year, or Nursey liked himself a little less, or Dex wasn’t the bright ginger ball of change and assurance and perfection that he is now. “Just so we’re clear, my life is always better when you’re in it. And third,” Nursey says, barreling on doggedly even as the lovely pink embarrassment flush floods Dex’s freckle-tan face, “you are the most ridiculous person I have ever met.”

         Dex blinks, sighs, and—after a moment—says, “Frustrating but probably true.”

         “Most def true,” Nursey says, just because it makes Dex’s nose wrinkle the way it always does when Nursey uses bad slang. “Now come on, Dexy-do.” Nursey stands from the table and the coffee-house chatter floods in, but he hardly pays it any mind because Dex stands up without hesitation even with the adorable confusion on his face. “We’re going to go on a walk,” Nursey says, reaching out to take Dex’s hand (prompting a darker, lovelier shade of pink to overtake his face), “and catch up.”

         Dex, delightfully, lets himself be led out of the coffee shop into the freshly washed world. Nursey’s shoes squish, wet, against the sodden sidewalk, and Dex still has this dazed look on his face—though it is distinctly pleased. The air is warm, and damp, and unquestionably, wonderfully new.

[artemisa97]

Okaaaay, for the tropes mashup. Detective/Criminal x the big damn kiss. Petopher, please

Well, I was supposed to post another one first, but this idea really inspired me and I just had to write it. I’m actually going to post this one in ao3, so if you have an account I can gift it to you. Hope you like it!

Thanks to @rhysiana for being my beta, this fic would have been way worst without her, xD

WARNING: There is several references to an abusive relationship, but it doesn’t go in deep and it’s not Petopher.

00

Detective/Criminal + The Big Damn Kiss

Peter Hale is a criminal, and Chris hates him. He’s been hunting the man his whole career, and had been close to taking him down a number of times, only for everything to go to Hell at the last minute. Hale is too cunning, too resourceful, too well-connected. Trapping him is like grabbing a handful of sand: possible, but, at the end of the day, futile.

Today, he has finally taken him down.

And now, talking to his superior, he can feel the sand slipping between his fingers, trickling down his closed fist.

“With all due respect,” he says. “I’ve been hunting Peter Hale for two decades, I know him. He’s a con artist and a thief, he commits several crimes a day, and there is no chance of him ever reforming. We can’t allow him to go free.”

“Maybe,” says Stilinski, tired. “But he has information on the Benefactor, information he won’t share unless we give him a full pardon.”

Chris wants to scream. He doesn’t. The Benefactor, who may not even be one person, runs a powerful network, mercenaries and hitmen ready to murder anyone on their way. It is, of course, a far more important target than a man that steals diamonds and pretty paintings, no matter how infuriating that particular man is. It’s the right thing to do, an amazing deal to make, but Chris is still frustrated. He’ll have to see Peter’s smug face while taking off his handcuffs, silently pointing out that, even in defeat, he has still won.

―

Peter Hale is a criminal, and Chris is in love with him. He would love to say that he doesn’t know when or why he fell, but it would be a lie. It happened at a party where Chris was undercover, working on another case. Peter had been there by virtue of his criminal connections and general charm, and most eyes in the room were focused on him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt under the suit jacket and his chest glistened with sweat and alcohol.

Peter had come around and started to talk to him, hands on his arm, eyes shining with mischief, flirtations blatant. He was smart, charming, fascinating, and could make Chris laugh against his will. They only spoke for half an hour or so, but when Chris was about to go do his actual job, Peter had taken a pen out of his pocket and written his number down on Chris’s arm. From his elbow to his wrist, following the vein.

“I won’t leave for hours, come find me when you’re done,” he had said, beautiful smile on his full lips, before kissing his cheek.

Chris’ team had arrested their target an hour later, ruining the party. When he got out of the building, ready to go home, Peter was there, waiting against the wall.

“You have to know I’m a cop now,” he had said, because he had felt Peter’s eyes on him during the arrest, seeing through his cover.

“Now?” Peter had asked, arching an eyebrow. “This is why you’ll never catch me, Christopher, you keep underestimating me.”

Peter knew who he was. He knew Chris was the one chasing him.

“Were you taunting me, then? Laughing at me?”

“No, but I couldn’t miss the chance of actually talking to you,” he had said, smiling and getting closer to him. “It’s not every day you get to flirt with the possibility of your own downfall.”

“It’s not just a possibility. I’ll catch you soon.”

“Perhaps.” And his eyes were shiny and amused, an invigorating challenge. “In the meantime, you have my number. Don’t hesitate to use it.”

Peter Hale was a criminal, and yet he had kissed Chris’s cheek again, close to the corner of his lips, before turning around and disappearing in the streets of New York. He had stolen his heart in the process, but well. He was just that good of a thief.

―

Peter Hale is a criminal, but there are worse monsters out there. That’s why Chris has to pretend to be his partner in crime while meeting with his contact with the Benefactor, as protection. They need him alive for trial and Chris knows he will take a bullet for the thief, as much as it pains him.

“Who’s your friend?” asks the woman. The Desert Wolf, one of the most wanted people in the country, maybe even the world. Peter calls her Corinne.

“My partner in this heist. He’s the one that knows how to break through the security of the museum. You’ll need him to get in and kill the security guard.”

The woman looks at Chris and she’s clearly derisive, huffing and making a gesture he would translate as “really?” She hates him, for some reason. Chris hates her too, for several.

“I thought you would be smart enough not to bring your boy toy to this meeting, darling.”

“I see no boys here,” Peter says, arching an eyebrow. “And don’t jump to conclusions, we’re here on business.”

“Please, I know your type,” she snaps, showing her teeth like a feral animal. Then she turns to Chris, venom dripping from her mouth and eyes, toxic as Chernobyl. “He does love people who can hurt him, so don’t be afraid to make him scream. It’s always so sweet when he does.”

Chris is about to shoot that woman in the face when Peter’s hand closes around his wrist, soft but present.

“Well, what’s the fun in being with people who can’t take you down? I like to be on equal footing, not that you would understand that.”

“We’ve never been on equal footing,” she laughs.

“Your legs made up for your stupidity,” snaps Peter. “Now stop playing around.”

“Come on, Peter,” she says, smile sweet and even more terrifying. “You knew from the beginning I won’t work with you, not after you ran away with my half of the loot.”

“I like to think of that as repayment.”

“I like to think of that as your death sentence,” she says, and shoots Peter in the chest.

Chris isn’t fast enough to do anything about it and his heart is breaking into pieces while he lifts his gun and shoots her. She’s good, fast enough to take cover under the desk, but he hits her in the shoulder and reinforcements are kicking the door down.

Leaving her to them, he drags Peter’s body behind a column and opens his jacket to check the wound.

“You should buy me dinner first,” says Peter, groaning.

Chris doesn’t answer, he’s too relieved at seeing the bulletproof vest.

“Smart,” he says.

“Always,” smiles Peter, letting his head hit the ground. “It still hurts like a bitch, in case you want to kiss it better.”

Chris wants to kiss Peter more than he wants to breathe, but he doesn’t.

“I’m on the clock,” he says, and goes to help the team take down Corinne.

He gets to shoot her in the hip next right before one of his colleagues tackles her to the ground and handcuffs her. It’s very satisfying.

―

Peter Hale is a free man, but Chris knows he’s still a criminal at heart. When he opens the door of his apartment and sees him standing there with a bottle of wine, he shouldn’t be happy.

“You are not on the clock anymore,” says Peter, and his smile is the most beautiful thing Chris has ever seen. He lets him in.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, the trial is finally over,” he says, shamelessly going through Chris’s kitchen cabinets until he finds appropriate wine glasses. “I thought we should toast Corinne’s new short-term address.”

It’s been almost a year since they arrested her, but justice moves slow. Chris hasn’t seen Peter outside of court since that day, and he has missed him like a limb.

“Do you think she’s going to escape?”

“They’ll kill her in prison,” he says, handing him a glass. “She has too many enemies to survive in there.”

“You seem happy about it.”

“Well, she did shoot me twice.”

“Twice?” he asks, and has to stop himself from going after her and shooting her again. In the head.

“If you’re really, really good, I’ll let you see the scar,” says Peter, eyes shining with mischief.

Chris has no answer for that; he has no answer for anything at all, since his throat has dried like an old bone. He sips the wine. It’s excellent. Peter wouldn’t buy anything but the best.

“So what’s in your future now? Going back to a life of crime?”

Peter laughs at that, shaking his head fondly.

“Come on, Christopher. I publicly went up against the Benefactor and collaborated with the police, no one in the criminal world will want anything to do with me. No, I’m going straight. As much as I could ever be straight, naturally,” he smirks, touching Chris’s shoulder with intent. “I already have offers from several insurance companies that know how good I am at what I do. And a book deal, of course.”

“A book deal?” askes Chris, and he doesn’t know why on Earth he’s surprised. God, Peter is just… so fucking Peter.

“Don’t worry, I’ll change your name. I was thinking of Alistair Cross.”

“Don’t dare you.”

“I mean, you could always convince me otherwise,” he says, lips brushing the shell of Chris’s ear.

“Could I?

“If you want to… and I’m pretty sure you do.”

“You’re a criminal,” he says, but without fighting Peter’s soft touch.

“And you’re a cop. It’s a bit kinky, but then again, so am I.”

“You are?” he asks, drinking more wine. His ears are blushing, he can feel them radiating heat.

“Of course. And you, Christopher, play my competence kink like a fiddle.”

He coughs. The apartment is too hot, all of the sudden.

“It took me decades to catch you.”

“I know,” moans Peter, lips brushing against the heated skin, voice a whisper. “And every second of it was thrilling.”

“Was it, now?” he asks, from very far away. Chris doesn’t know how it is possible, because he’s pretty sure his brain just shut down indefinitely.

“I told you, I like to be on equal footing. And you, Christopher, kept me on my toes at every turn. You don’t know how hot it is, knowing that you’re good enough to bring me down.”

“That is kinky.”

Peter laughs. Chris melts against him, because he’s only human.

“I like to look at it this way: you can bring me down and I can bring you down; but if we don’t, if we have the power to do so and choose not to just because being together is more fun…” He trails off, biting Chris’ earlobe. “Well, you can’t tell me that it isn’t hot as fuck.”

Chris kisses him. Grabs him by the neck and kisses him like it’s a battle, like he’s starving. Chris has spent years dreaming about how good it would be and yet his imagination pales in comparison with real deal, with the ambrosia that is Peter’s smart mouth.

They’re breathless when they separate, and Peter has a look between shocked and blissed out that immediately becomes Chris favorite thing in the world. He wants to dedicate every second of the rest of his life to making that expression appear.

“Stealing kisses, Christopher?” Peter asks, laughing against his throat, nibbling at his jaw.

“You must be rubbing off on me,” jokes Chris, his hand pulling Peter’s hair to get their mouths close again.

“Sounds like a plan,” Peter smirks, and kisses him.

Peter Hale will always be criminal, in a way, as he is a lot of things. But to Chris, Peter is more than that: he’s everything.

[bittysvalentines]

from @parrishsrubberplant to @rhysiana Happy belated Valentine's Day!

The man’s plain white t-shirt does wonderful things for his chest. And arms. And abs.

“Wow,” Brittany whispers to Jen.

Brittany says ‘wow’ about a customer eleven times a day. Jen is a good friend who looks every time.

“Wow,” Jen dutifully agrees. She can’t argue with Brittany about men. She’s a lesbian so Brittany automatically disregards her opinion. But her vision is fine, and this dude is jacked. He’s at least six feet tall, with a swoop of perfectly styled brown hair and sky-blue eyes.

She expects him to walk on by, to menswear or shoes or whatever. Then Jen will listen to twenty minutes of Brittany sighing over him.

Instead, Tall and Handsome stops. He hesitates and then heads over to the makeup counter.

Brittany blushes under her makeup and shoots Jen a look that is equal parts panic and glee. Jen rolls her eyes.

“Hi,” Jen says. “Can we help you?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “I’m looking for eyeliner?”

He doesn’t look like the type of guy who would wear guyliner. Eyeliner, Jen corrects herself. If he wanted guyliner, he would have asked for guyliner. Don’t make assumptions about people.

“Any particular brand?” Jen can hear Brittany having a heart attack behind her.

“Um.” He reaches into the back pocket of his tight jeans, and hands her a tube. “Something like this?”

The black tube has worn silver lettering. Jen turns the tube in her hands, looking at the faded hieroglyphs that might have once been a ‘W’ and an ‘S’.

“It’s discontinued,” he says. “I was hoping you might have some left.”

Brittany finally recovers. “Um, that’s the WorldStar Mega Vanta, right?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. She’s never wrong about brands. It’s like her secret super power.

“I can check in the back, but I don’t think we have any.” Brittany looks at Jen. “Or, Jen can.” She smiles at him.

Tall and Handsome tips his head down, and angles his chin, his blue eyes disappointed. He angles his body towards her, cutting Brittany out of the conversation. If she were straight, she’d swoon.

“Do you know of anything like it?” He says.

Brittany folds her arms and leaves to check the back, her shoulders held in a stiff line.

Jen frowns. “I really don’t. That was the brand that was like, a liquid marker but it applied like a pencil, right? It sucks they stopped making it.”

He nods. “I’ve got one more tube left. I’m hoping maybe I can try some stuff and find something like it.”

“Excuse me?”

Jen freezes. Goth Girl steps out from behind Tall and Handsome.

Where is Brittany when Jen needs her?

Goth Girl is adorable, and she comes to the makeup counter every week. Jen’s tiny gay heart cannot handle the glory that is Goth Girl. She’s short, with curly black hair and perfect makeup. The wings of her eyeliner end in points sharp enough to stab. Today, she’s wearing a lacy black shirt and combat boots. Jen cannot.

Tall and Handsome--Jen almost thinks she recognizes him--shifts to include Goth Girl in their conversation.

“You were talking about WorldStar Mega, right?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says.

“I have a friend who makes stuff,” Goth Girl says. “They have an Etsy store. If you wanted, I could give you their store name. It isn’t a perfect match, but their black eyeliner is a lot like the Vanta if you just make a thick enough line.”

He already has his phone out. “Could you? That would be amazing.”

Goth Girl tells him the name, and Jen writes it down for herself on the back of a discarded receipt. She likes the WorldStar eyeliners too. Tall and Handsome has good taste.

“Thank you,” he says, and holds his hand out to Goth Girl. “I’m Gabriel.”

Goth Girl takes his hand. “Julissa.”

She looks like she has a firm handshake.

He turns, smiling, to Jen. “Gabriel.”

She gestures to her nametag and waves awkwardly. “I’m Jen.”  Lovesick Jen, trying desperately not to stare at Julissa.

Julissa walks away to look at the display of lotions on sale.

Gabriel smiles at Jen. He’s missing a front tooth. “Do you work on commision?” he says. “I’d feel bad if I don’t at least buy something from you.”

“That’s...really sweet of you,” Jen says. She’s never had a customer ask that before. “We don’t.”

“Well, you’ve been really nice and helpful,” he says. “I should buy something.”

“Well, do you have a girlfriend?” Jen asks. She thinks of Brittany, who hasn’t come back yet. She may have just decided to take her break early. Or she’s still dying of embarrassment. Jen knows Goth Girl’s name now; she can do Brittany a solid.

He shakes his head. “My tea--my friends’ partners are really into these travel eyeshadow pallets?”

She takes him to a display of dull gold-colored eyeshadow cases. “These?”

He checks the name. “Yeah.” He peers at the descriptions. “Martine has...light brown skin, so this one would probably look best with her. And Yudita is very pale, so I think this one, and…”

He picks out eye shadow for at least six different women. Jen tries not to let her eyes bug out. This brand of eyeshadow is not cheap. She carries the pile to the register.

“Your buddies aren’t going to care that you bought their partners stuff?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. And--hey, I just thought of this. Can you ring them up separate? That way I can include the receipts so they can return them if they want to.”

What, Jen thinks. I’ve fallen through a portal to another dimension and not realized it. Or another planet. Who is this man?

She rings him up six times. Tall and Handsome smiles one last time at her and leaves. Jen wishes she did work on commission. She would have just made a killing.

And now Julissa is standing at the register.

“Hey,” Jen says. Her voice creaks.

Julissa smiles. She looks down at the counter, then back up at Jen. She looks shy. Her eyes dart to the back door where Brittany disappeared, over to a display of lip glosses, and back to Jen.

“Just this,” Julissa says. It’s a tube of berry purple lipstick, made by one of the brands that lasts forever and stays on through any kind of mischief.

After Julissa signs her receipt she hesitates. “Can I give you my number?”

Jen goes red. “Yeah.”

The corner of Julissa’s mouth curls up in a wicked grin. She pushes the receipt back towards Jen. Below her signature is ten digits. Jen catches herself smiling back.

*           *           *

Ari does not understand.

They fell asleep yesterday after spending hours packing orders, receipts, business cards, and sparkly star stickers into envelopes. They were really looking forward to taking day off. Maybe going for a walk in the park, feeling the sunlight on their skin. Something like that.

Instead, their inbox appears to have exploded.

They stare at the computer screen in disbelief. They have forty-five new orders.

“I need coffee,” Ari tells their cat. Marmot blinks slowly. Ari blinks slowly back.

They fill the electric kettle, spoon coffee grounds into the French press, and stare blankly at their phone. They have a lot of text messages.

Ari sends a quick text to Julissa. I think I might not be able to meet up today. Sorry. They pour the hot water into the French press and set the timer for three minutes. Then they turn to their messages.

They open the thread from Julissa and scroll back. I’m so sorry, Julissa wrote. I think this is my fault. I told someone about your eyeliner and… There’s a link to an instagram page. Ari opens the link.

It’s the Insta of someone named Gabriel “Snowy” Snöröken, who is dark-haired and Nordic and beautiful--and an NHL goalie for the Providence Falconers.

Okay, Ari thinks, but what does this have to do with me?

Ari finds the answer as he scrolls through ‘Snowy’s’ posts. One post is a selfie. Snowy focuses on the upper part of his face, head tipped forward. His eyes appear closed. He sports thick lines of black eyeliner.

Goalie superstitions! The caption reads. I freaked out when WorldStar stopped making Mega Vanta. But I think I found something better. Shutout last night. Thanks, @AriSparkles!

He includes a link to Ari’s Etsy store.

Oh.

Ari barely hears the timer going off. They pour coffee, add creamer, take sip. It’s just on the right side of too bitter. Marmot brushes against their ankles, making them jump. Ari bends down and scratches Marmot behind the ear. The cat purrs.

“What am I going to do?” Ari asks Marmot. They don’t expect the cat to answer.

What Ari wants to do is yell at Snowy to take the post down. Ari does not need this stress in their life. Not when they’re navigating  suppliers, making sure all the ingredients are certified cruelty-free, and packaging and mailing everything themselves.

Marmot is absolutely wonderful, the best cat in the word, but Marmot doesn’t have opposable thumbs.

Ari drinks more coffee and checks their inbox again. They’ve gotten three more orders.

Without thinking much about it, they post a quick update on Insta. Thanks ‘Snowy’ for the shout-out! Glad you like our eyeliner. Friends, it’s just me here and with the recent spate of orders things may be a little slower than normal. Thanks for your patience and your business!

Ari’s hands are shaking as they put down the phone. They text Julissa: Help.

Even with Julissa pinch-hitting, it takes Ari almost all day to make it through the recent orders. And that’s just printing labels, sorting products, and counting out the sparkly stickers.

“Hey,” Julissa says.

It takes Ari too long to look up.

“Yeah?”

“Have you thought of just asking Snowy to take down the link?”

Ari grabs Marmot and pulls the cat onto their lap. “No.”

“Why not?” Julissa grabs the two empty mugs and heads for the kitchen. She comes back with a mug full of cold water for Ari.

“I couldn’t,” Ari says. “He’d think I’m an ungrateful brat.”

“Well, then,” Julissa says, and pulls out her phone.

“What are you doing--no, don’t!” Ari lunges. Julissa leans back, pulling the phone out of their reach. “C’mon, Juli, please--” Ari gets their hands on Julissa’s phone and pulls it away from her.

Ari looks at the phone and laughs. “Oooh, Mall Girl. You’ve been texting Mall Girl?”

Julissa hits them. “Why are you like this?”

“You love me,” Ari says. “But seriously, Mall Girl? If you have her number, don’t you know her name?”

“Jen,” Julissa mutters. Ari’s distracted by laughing again, and Julissa takes advantage of their distraction to pull the phone out of their hands. “I’m doing it,” she says.

 “No,” Ari whines.

 “Bro,” Julissa says. “ It has been one day. You are super stressed, and you are only going to get more stressed, and then the semester is going to start. I would rather you feel temporarily embarrassed than be in trouble a month out.”

Ari covers their face with their hands.

“I’ll send it from my Insta,” Julissa says. “Since I actually met him.”

Ari groans incoherently.

“Done,” Julissa says a minute later.

“It went through?”

“No, it sent as a request.”

“Bro,” Ari groans. “He probably gets like, hundreds of requests a day. I have looked at his Insta. He’s a professional athlete with the body of a god.”

“So we’ll make scrambled eggs, and watch terrible TV, and wait,” Julissa says.

“And you’ll tell me what’s going on with Jen,” Ari says. “I mean, Mall Girl.”

Julissa smacks them.

*           *           *

Julissa left an hour ago. Ari checks their phone one last time before bed.

They have a DM from Snowy. Hello! Julissa says I stressed you out. Sorry!

Ari resists the urge to roll over and scream into their cat. No worries, Ari writes back. No worries, ha, Ari is literally full of worries.

Can I make it up to you? Are you a hockey fan?

Ari looks around for Marmot. The cat perches on the arm of the sofa, front paws tucked under her. “What do you think?” Ari asks their cat. Marmot blinks.

Yes, Ari writes back.

I really like your store, Snowy says. How did you start doing that?

It’s kind of a long story. Ari thinks about suggesting it’s a story better told in person, but they aren’t a puck bunny.

Ari puts the phone down and scritches the top of Marmot’s head. When they pick the phone back up there’s one more message: I’d love to hear it, if you’re free some time.

[likeshipsonthesea]

Trope mash-up: 56 + 60, ship of your choice

56. Awful First Meeting & 60. Poorly Timed Confession

idk what it is– probably the word “meeting”– but i’m thinking, like, nurseydex coworkers who HATE each other because the first time they met, nursey spilled coffee on dex and dex (who was havin’ a bit of a stressful day, some kind of IT deadline or higher up getting tech-frustrated) just kind of went off on nursey for being a clumsy idiot and then dex tried to apologize but nursey was still a little salty and dex took it as condescension and yeah

the feud begins

now, dex works in the IT department, meaning he answers a lot of calls about printers not working and “i can’t find this file” and a lot of bullshit things, so instead of having dex go up and down the building every time a ceo can’t work excel, he takes calls and has them share their screens

(I think i read a beautiful ficlet thing on tumblr once where dex was IT and nursey would call him a bunch and they talked about video games? idk it was great, link me if you know it! edit: thanks to @rhysiana for sending me  the link! it’s on ao3 and it’s beautiful, enjoy!)

and so nursey keeps having issues with his computer (it’s a dell, he’s used to mac, but it’s a company computer and he’s not allowed to use his own for work stuff) and so he’s calling the IT hotline on a daily basis talking to “dex”, mysterious nerd with the pretty voice who huffs silent laughter whenever nursey makes a tech pun but pretends like he doesn’t

and okay, maybe nursey has a teensy tiny crush on dex on the phone, it isn’t a problem, though, okay, it’s not like he’s calling in fake issues just to talk to dex. often. okay they’re not fake but they are also things nursey could google with ease and maybe he just wants to talk to dex. it’s not weird. it’s not weird right?

meanwhile dex– who had to look up nursey’s office to go and apologize to him– knows exactly who he’s talking to, but he’s professional, so he helps nursey without complaint. maybe he’s a bit snarky (unfortunately nursey seems to like that) but after a while (and a lot of calls) he slowly starts developing… an affection?

it’s not a crush. he is a grown ass man with a job and an apartment. he does not have “crushes”. but, like. derek nurse (nursey, dex got from HR when he asked them about finding nursey’s office and apologizing) is objectively attractive (subjectively, really fucking hot) and he has the stupidest puns just apparently on hand (he doesn’t google them beforehand right?) and he is the sweetest person when talking to dex on the phone– sort of. he says thank you and please and he’s kind in the way you OUGHT TO BE to people doing their job, but he also teases dex, asks him what he looks like while he works, asks him out for coffee.

“you don’t even know me,” dex says, as he reconnects nursey’s printer for the third time this month. he doesn’t know why it keeps breaking. if he didn’t know better, he’d think nursey was disconnecting it himself.

“of course i know you,” nursey responds, whenever dex says this. “i talk to you more than anyone else in this place. we’re friends.”

dex smothers a smile into the phone, at that. then the pit of lead in his stomach reminds him that if nursey knew who he was– that asshole that exploded on him for accidentally spilling coffee– he definitely wouldn’t think they were friends anymore.

of course, this goes on for a while, nursey awkwardly pining because he doesn’t want to ask dex out when he’s working (uncool man) but he doesn’t know what he looks like to find him when they’re off the clock, and dex furiously avoids nursey in the elevator to avoid his own shame.

then things come to a head when there’s a company-wide meeting and the heads of the department have to attend. dex is the head of the it department (which is really just like six guys in a room of computers) and nursey, while not the head, is the assistant to the head, who is out on vacation during the meeting.

nursey and dex are– obviously, for maximum dramatic purposes– sitting right across from one another during the meeting. nursey alternates between smirking meanly and feigning indifference at the adorable asshole across from him, and dex switches between focusing really hard on the guy leading the meeting and staring at the desk as if it’s very confusing piece of code.

there’s a break in the middle of the meeting– idk it’s a Very Important meeting that runs very long and needs breaks– and when they’re all about ready to get back in their seats, the leader of the meeting says, “Dex, could I talk to you for a second,” and Nursey’s jaw drops

dex shuffles over, knowing that he’s been found out and ready to just crawl into his button-up like a dejected turtle, meanwhile nursey is trying to reconcile the asshole who yelled at him with the dex who laughs at his puns about computers getting drunk and–

okay it doesn’t take long for nursey to be Fully On Board. He only met the asshole dex that one time, and he did seem very apologetic about it the next day (even though nursey was too pissed to recognize it at the time) and, like. dex is really hot. like, amnesia-inducing levels of hot.

so now they’re both sitting there, in the Incredibly Big Important Meeting Thing, nursey plotting on how to accost dex after the meeting and ask him out, and dex considering all the different ways he can barricade himself in the IT room so he’ll never have to see nursey again.

neither of them are really listening, so when the leader of the meeting says something with the vague intonation of a conclusion, both nursey and dex shoot out of their chairs and into the hall.

“dex!” nursey calls after dex’s quickly retreating back. “wait up!”

dex would typically say he wasn’t a coward. today, fuck it. he jabs at he elevator button in the hopes it’ll bring it to the floor faster.

“dex.” nursey stops, having jogged to catch up with dex. dex looks up, wincing preemptively. nursey’s grinning. “i can’t believe you’re dex.”

“what?” dex grumbles. “disappointed?”

nursey laughs. dex loves it. he hates that he loves it. he sighs.

“dude, no. you’re, like, hella cute.” nursey lists forwards. dex stares resolutely at the ground, pinking up steadily. nursey falters. he’ll need a new plan. “hey,” he decides quickly, “you know, I never really apologized for spilling coffee all over you.”

dex glances up, frowning. “yeah, because i was yelling at you, like an ass.”

nursey waves his hand, dismissive. “whatever. i still should apologize.” he smiles his most charming smile. “let me buy you dinner.”

dex lifts his head so it isn’t completely parallel to the floor. he stares at nursey with slowly-widening eyes. “really?”

nursey’s grin is unmanageable. “of course. i’ve been wanting to ask you out for, like, months, man.”

“oh.” dex’s cheeks are a soft pink. nursey wants to touch it. he’s thinking of doing something along those lines when;

“Nurse, Poindexter,” the leader of the meeting is yelling down the hall. “Come back here! We didn’t finish!”

Dex and Nursey exchange an “oh shit” glance. Their dinner, unfortunately, is postponed until tomorrow, as apparently they left when the leader asked for volunteers for a fundraiser they’re having tonight, and because of their preemptive escape, Nursey and Dex apparently volunteered themselves.

It’s still alright, though. they’re together :)