Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You are sitting in Roxy’s bath tub. It’s the same as every so often, when your need to be cared for becomes so much that you can’t ignore it. You would feel guilty for coming to Roxy for this if you didn’t do the same for her, every so often.

She built an entire extra room to her house for this. A wide room open to a thick green garden on one side, and shelves full of bath time ecountremon on the opposite side. She always picks out a different combo of soaps and salts and incense for you, but never tells you what they are.

The water is a periwinkle blue, and shimmers with each movement. It smells of the flowers and spices that float sparsely at the top, but as usual, you can’t place it. Incense cones burn in all four corners of the room.

Bath time starts like any other time the two of you hang out at her house. She offers a beverage, sits with you on the couch to shoot the breeze. It’s at the times you really need it that she wipes crumbs from the corner of your mouth, or starts scrubbing a spot on your shirt with her napkin. Even if there’s nothing there. She’ll casually offer for you to get cleaned up, and when you step into the bathing room, you don’t need to pretend to justify it to yourself anymore. You're in the zone.

While the bathtub fills with water, the two of you undress and shower off. Roxy takes her time massaging shampoo into your hair, rubbing your feet with soap, doing the same to the rest of what you’re comfortable with and letting you finish up.

The first time you did this, you thought it would be awkward, seeing her naked. Letting her see you naked. But it wasn’t. Now, you don’t even think about it. You do sometimes think about how much more comfortable you would be living in each other’s bodies, if you hadn't done so much to change them and make them fit you better. But when you feel too short next to her, she bends and crouches to be smaller. When you wish you weren’t so soft around the edges, she shows you that she can be softer.

Like when she leads you into the water by your hands, going slowly to let you adjust to the heat. You don’t need to, your body is used to being pummeled with scalding hot water for hours at a time, but you let her anyway. You let her do it, build the scene, set the stage. You let her do it for you and try not to feel guilty.

You let her work the tension from your neck and shoulders with fragrant oil that smells of chamomile and lavender. You let her work it into your hands and feet, crack all of the joints in your fingers and toes and smile at you fondly. You let her wrap her arms around you from behind and crack your back. The rest of your discomfort about being doted on is released with the air between your discs. She moves on to your ears and your scalp.

Your perception of time, and thus, this moment, is dissolving like the tension in your muscles under the heat. Under Roxy’s hands. She is so strong, and so caring, much more than you ever were or are now-

“Dirk,” Roxy coos. Her middle finger is tapping the space between your eyebrows. You didn’t realize that you’d started to crease them together. “You have that look on your face again. What are you thinking?”

You almost hate how gentle she is. You know that if you avoid the question, like you would usually do, she’ll drop it and move on. But you won’t, because you told her you wouldn’t. You told her that you would be honest and open during these times together. You almost hate that you’re letting yourself be this vulnerable in front of her. Almost.

“You’re so caring and strong. You’re stronger than me,” you tell her. Your voice is just above a whisper, as to not disturb the quiet.

She looks at you fondly, and kisses you on the forehead. She tells you it’s okay, not with words, but with a sush and a stroke of your hair. You let yourself let your insecurities go again.

Roxy sits all the way down in the tub and pulls you into a hug. You go boneless against her. The water level almost comes up to her shoulders when she leans back against the side, which lets you rest with the surface just under your nose. She holds you with one arm and strokes your back with the other hand. You curl your hand into a loose fist and rest it on her chest near your chin.

You don’t think you’d be able to do this with anyone else in the world. You love all of your friends dearly, more than you can ever express, but you can’t bring yourself to trust any of them with your entire soft interior but Roxy. She is your rock, your safe space, your soul sister. You would die for her in a heartbeat.

You stay like this for a while, curled up small in her arms. This close, Roxy’s scent is clear through the other aromas wafting around you. She smells a little like skin, a little like sweat, but a lot like something that’s purely Roxy. Its feminine and comforting, just like she is. She smells like a woman, like the mother you would have had if you had lived a different life. You breathe it in deep and burrow further into her embrace to make up for what you didn’t have growing up. Just for now, it’s enough.

You’re almost asleep when she slowly begins to sit back up. She puts her hand to the back of your head to hold you against her as she does so. You blink your eyes half open as she leans away, but she doesn’t remove contact. You’re pretty much in her lap at this point. She reaches back to the lip of the tub to grab a light pink bar of soap. She lathers it in her hands and rubs them over your skin to strip away the excess oil. You close your eyes again.

When she’s done, she gently pushes you under the surface and wipes the soap away from your face and neck. You’re too relaxed to feel nervous at the slight ache in your lungs. After a moment, she lifts you back up. You feel a little bit like a doll, being moved around so easily, but you don't mind. As long as nobody pops your head off or something.

“How do you feel?” Roxy asks you.

“Mm. Good,” you mutter. It takes you a minute to come up with the single word, but Roxy doesn’t seem to mind. She smiles, takes your face in her hands, and kisses your nose and cheeks. You can't help the smile that breaks out over your face, or the way your nose scrunches up and your tongue pokes out between your teeth. She plants quick little pecks over all of the creases and lines that form. You absolutely do not giggle at all.

“You ready to get out?” She asks. You nod.

She takes the stopper out of the tub and takes your hands to help you out. You stand still on your feet while Roxy goes over to rinse off the bath water. You are so zen. The zennest. You stretch your arms out and walk over to the little korean style shower in the corner. You let her lean on you for a moment, letting the cool water wash away the heat and close your pores up.

Just after you turn the water off, Roxy smacks your ass with a towel and darts away before you can get her back. You grab one and manage to get her on the hip before she throws hers over your face. You pull it off just in time to see her clear the doorway, so you dry yourself off with it like a normal person before following her.

Before you get far, she comes back into the room with her arms full of stuff. She motions with her head for you to go over to the open side of the room, so you do. The glass windows set between the load bearing pillars are all swung wide open to let the outside air in. A cool breeze weaves through the big leafy plants outside. You can’t see more than 15 feet ahead of you from how dense the foliage is.

She comes over to your side and dumps everything on the ground. You help her roll out the little rug she brought, and she places two pillows down onto it. She then sets a tri-fold mirror set in dark wood on the floor in front of you. Folded up, it’s small enough to carry under one arm, but when unfolded it’s large enough to see a considerable amount of your reflection.

The last thing she puts on the rug is what looks like a large makeup bag. She unzips it, and pulls out a tube of something with one hand and patting the pillow on the left, the further one, with the other one. You sit on it.

Roxy sits on the other pillow, facing you, and you turn to face her as well. She rubs some nice, floral smelling cream on your face and hands before doing the same to herself. She then pulls out a hair brush and brushes your hair with it. It’s not really necessary, since your hair is so short, but it feels nice all the same.

She doesn’t do anything else to your hair, so you’re leaving it down today, you guess. She pulls out a tube of chapstick, but hesitates.

“Hey, do you wanna take a nap after this, or can I pretty you up a little?” she asks. You can tell that she has something in mind, so you decide to go with it. Not like you’d complain about a little extra tlc.

“I’m kinda sleepy, but you can do whatever. Just don’t make me look like troll britney spears.” This makes Roxy laugh, and she smiles as she bounces up and away to go get some more things. In the meantime, you glance at your reflection. That cream really gave your face a nice glow.

Roxy comes back in with some robes and another, smaller bag. Putting on the robe is like stepping into a cloud. The fabric is soft as hell, and just warm enough to feel cozy without being too hot.

Roxy puts some tinted chapstick that tastes like mint on your lips with her ring finger. She then quickly applies it to herself straight from the tube. She carefully applies a thin, lotiony tinted sunscreen to your face with her fingers, and dries it with a little chinese fan. Damn, she really thought of everything.

The face is finished off with a teensy bit of pink cream patted on the apples of your cheeks, and a few swipes of clear mascara. Roxy looks immensely pleased with herself. Her face has been a nearly pageant level smile for the last few minutes straight.

“Did you make me too beautiful? Am I going to have to beat off the boys with a stick now?” you snark.

“Shut up, you were already beautiful. I just made you more beautiful. You’re welcome, by the way.” She sticks her tongue out at you. “But I’m not done yet, stay still.” You feel yourself blush a little bit at that. Stupid face, giving you away.

“Okay,” you say flatly. She wiggles a little in her seat and unzips the smaller bag. You can’t see what she has in her hand before she slides something in your ear. You feel it with your fingers. It’s a small stud earring, sphere shaped and cool to the touch. She puts the other one in and gives it a little flick with her pointer finger. The next thing she puts on you is a short gold chain. It comes down to just a hair above the top of your collarbones. Feeling it tells you that it’s small and flat on the sides.

Roxy leans back and looks at you with a finger on her chin. She reaches into the bag and pulls out a hair barrette with white silk flowers attached. She pins your bangs out of your face with it. You would object if not for the look on her face.

“Okay, you can look now,” she says. She puts a hand on your back as you twist to face the mirror.

You look gorgeous. That’s all there is to say on the matter.

“What do you think?” You don’t reply. Instead, you scoot closer to the mirror and tilt your face this way and that. You take your sweet time admiring yourself. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. It comes out sounding more awed than you intended it to. You don’t even look that different- she barely did anything to you. But the tints, the gold jewelry, and the lighting makes an entire picture. You’d think that Roxy sitting next to you would make you look less good in comparison, but it’s the opposite. She’s fresh out of the bath with nothing on her face but chapstick, but she looks like a movie star. You look like a pair. You love it.

“Thank you.” Your face splits into a dumb smile but it still looks lovely in the mirror. Roxy leans on your shoulder.

“You’re welcome.” Her voice is so soft, and sweet, and happy. In this moment, you don’t care about the family you didn’t have growing up. You don’t care about all the years alone, or the emptiness that losing lil cal left in you, because you have this. You have Roxy, and her love, and literally forever to spend with her and the rest of your family.

“Look at you, so handsome,” Roxy says, so gently. You turn to look at each other, and she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want to go back in the house and get some water?”

“Yeah,” you choke. Your heart is so full it’s trying to come out of your eyes. But it’s okay, because when the tears start to fall, you know that Roxy will be there to wipe them away.

Chapter Text

Your name is Roxy Lalonde and you are very excited for your sleepover with Dirk today. Mostly because you need to chill out after the week you’ve had. Engineering projects with Jade, discussing essentially meaningless business stuff with Jane, meme hunting with Dave. That last one doesn’t take a lot out of you, but you are tired nonetheless. Time to be a kid with nothing to worry about.

You fly over to Dirk’s house via Roxy’s godtier powers with your overnight bag and a smile on your face. When you ring the doorbell, Dirk answers wearing an apron with what you think is a deep fried meme printed on it. You throw your arms around him in a bear hug and feel his breath leave his body under your crushing embrace.

“Hi Dirk!” You say.

“Hey Roxy,” Dirk wheezes. You let him go.

“Did you start baking without me?” You accuse, half-mock and half-real offended.

“Roxy,” he says, in a serious tone. “I would never do that to you. I just wanted to see what you thought of my new kitchen fit.”

“It’s so dumb, I love it. Can I come in?” Dirk replies by stepping aside and gesturing into his home. It’s much cleaner than it was last time you came over. Just like every time you two have a sleepover, you take off your shoes at the door and hand Dirk your backpack. While he goes to the guest bedroom to put your things away, you sit on the couch and watch my little pony.

The My Little Pony part was his idea, of course, but you don’t mind. Watching the show helps you get into the mindset that you want to be in. It’s not the most mentally stimulating show, but it’s engaging enough that you don’t mind the wait or Dirk’s absence while he does what he needs to do. All you have to do is get comfy and chill out.

“Do you want to wear your fuzzy socks?” Dirk calls out from the bedroom.

“Yeah!” You call back. You love wearing your fuzzy socks. They’re super thick and soft, with pink and black stripes and little silicon pads on the bottom for grip. You run around too much to not have the extra traction.

“How about the fairy wings?” Hm, tempting. But you’re wearing Jane’s hoodie, and you don’t really wanna deal with bunched up fabric in your armpits.

“No thanks!”

A few minutes later, Dirk comes back into the living room and asks you what you want for dinner. You pretend to really think it over, like you always do, as if you weren’t going to say what you have every time. Dirk does only know one recipe.

“Hmmm… I want,” you tap your finger on your chin. “Pancakes!” You exclaim, as if you’ve made a revelation. Dirk has a proud look on his face.

“Excellent choice. Would you perhaps like… chocolate chips?” He says with a conspiratorial smirk.

“Yeah!” You clap your hands together.

“Maybe some… blueberries?”

“Yeah!” Even though he makes the same thing every time, you never get less excited. Jane taught him how to make pancakes, so of course they’re good- but when Dirk makes them, there's a little extra something there. He didn’t change the recipe-this you know from watching both him and Jane make them countless times. They just have a certain special quality when made by your best bro.

“Alright, pancakes coming right up.” Dirk makes a lovely little smile right then. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it. He thinks he’s all cool and collected, but he has way less control of his emoting than he thinks he does. It’s pretty cute.

Dirk hands you your socks, and you slip them on and wiggle your toes a little. He pinches the pinkie toe on your right foot and shakes it a bit, making you laugh. You follow him into the kitchen where he’d already set out the ingredients for your meal. If you sit at the end of the breakfast bar, you can see the tv and Dirk at the same time, so you do.

It took you awhile to get used to Dirk doing all of the cooking for you when you do this. You’re the one to usually do that- but more often than not, you help each other. You’ve gotten to a point now where if My Little Pony is on and/or you’re wearing your fluffy socks, you ain’t doin shit. Which works out just fine, because the only time both of those things happen is when you come over to Dirk’s house for that very reason.

You appreciate Dirk so much. You had a very similar childhood, and have quite a few of the same problems. Despite that, he still goes out of his way to do this for you. It makes you feel important and precious and cared for, but most importantly- loved. You didn’t have that growing up. You feel lucky that you can have it now.

Dirk mixes things together in a big glass bowl while you both idly watch the show. You start to swing your feet back and forth a little bit. Dirk whistles the tune of ‘cooking by the book’. You hum along for a little bit but trail off as you focus more on the show.

Before you know it, Dirk sets a plate of pancakes in front of you. One is shaped like a horse, and the other is shaped like a lopsided heart. He’s holding a piping bag full of pancake batter in one hand and a spatula in the other. You take a second to wonder why the horse shape came out better than the heart shape. Then you dig in, because it actually doesn’t matter.

“More coming up,” Dirk says, turning back to the stove. Just as you finish your first plate, he sets another plate down on the breakfast bar with a fat stack of pancakes on it. Then he gets a plate for himself and sits kitty-corner from you.

Over the next 10 or so minutes, you gorge yourselves on pancakes so severely that neither of you can barely move. You thank him for the food, and he groans in response. You groan back. He stands up and helps you to your feet, then leads you to the couch.

Dirk pops a CD in the CD player, and the title menu from clueless comes on the screen. Hell yeah, you love this movie. Dirk pulls a small plastic bin out from underneath the coffee table and sets it beside you. You do a little wiggle in your seat in excitement- you know what the bin means.

Dirk grabs a pillow from the couch, puts it on the floor, kneels on it in front of you, and opens the bin.

“Which color would you like?” He asks, holding the bin up to you. You look over your options for a moment.

“Hmm- this one.” You pluck a bottle of lime green nail polish and hand it to Dirk, followed by a bottle of sparkly top coat. Dirk nods in approval and sets the box on the floor next to him. You turn your attention to the television while he prepares his things for your manicure.

This is a usual activity for when you come stay over at Dirk’s house. You always end up with bare nails by the time you come over again. You were never big on always having your nails done, but they usually are, since Dirk likes doing them for you.

He always starts by cleaning your hands. He gets a small bowl and fills it with warm water and soap- with which he lets one hand soak while he massages the other. He keeps a small bottle of massage oil in the nail bin for this purpose. He starts with your fingers, cracking and stretching them. Then he moves up your palms and to your forearms before wiping the excess oil with a towel, and switching hands.

Half of your attention is on the movie, and half is on Dirk. He sprays cuticle softener on your fingers, then begins trimming and filing and buffing. You always get a twinge of nervousness from sharp
objects being used near your delicate skin, but you’re used to ignoring it by now.

You barely notice that he’s finished with your hands until he pulls your socks off of your feet, and begins the process with them. You and Dirk have done a lot of tweaking on foot massage technique, because you’re incredibly ticklish. One wayward touch with the wrong amount of pressure risks a swift kick to the face. Sometimes Dirk tickles you on purpose just to mess with you. Sick bastard.

When he finishes, you examine your nails. They are immaculate, like always.

“Thank you!” You tell him between blowing on your nails.

“My pleasure.” Dirk begins packing up the supplies. “Would the lady like to help me make some cookies, perhaps?”

“Yes, I would.” You let Dirk hoist you to your feet, being careful of your nails, and make your way to the kitchen.

While Dirk gets out igredients, you open up your cookbook that Jane gave you. You decide to go with good ole’ chocolate chip. How this usually goes is as follows:

-Dirk gathers way too many unneeded ingredients and sets them on the counter. Their purpose is to take up space and make everything more fustrating, but Dirk doesn’t seem to know this.

-You read off the instructions from your seat at the breakfast bar.

-Dirk does all of the actual manual work, since your nails are still sticky.

-You both end up making a royal mess of the kitchen, leaving the cleanup for the next day. The issue with this is that you both are always too lazy to do it in the morning, and you end up ordering delivery for breakfast.

-You end up with a half decent batch of cookies and no leftover cookie dough because you ate the rest of it.

This time goes no different. You end up with a stomachache, tooth pain, and chocolate on your chin. But it was so worth it.

You almost eat another one before you think better of it and leave it on the plate. Dirk looks at the remaining cookies forlornly, and you have a spiritual connection right then. You feel the same way. The disappointment of wanting to eat good food but can’t because you already gorged yourself, idiot.

“I’m thinking it’s about time to get ready for bed. What do you think?” Dirk says. Something about him taking the lead in your activities but still verbally giving you the room for choice makes you feel warm inside. Its all the benefits of following someone else and deciding for yourself with none of the downsides.

“Sounds good, broski.” Dirk, once again, helps you from your seat. When you actually think about it, it’s kind of funny, since you’re taller and stronger than he is. But you guess it doesn’t matter. You’re not one to complain about chivalry or theatrics.

Dirk leads you to the guest bathroom so you can both brush your teeth and wash your faces. Then you get changed into your pajamas. Dirk just wears a pair of long pajama pants, but you go all out. You break out the silk pajama set, shorts and a short sleeve button down. It’s a lisa frank-esque cat print, trimmed with short pink lace, and the buttons on your shirt sparkle. You feel so in your element.

Dirk turns the light off just as you finish tying your hair into a little ponytail. He takes your hand as you walk to the bed, mostly so you don’t accidentally bump into each other before your eyes adjust to the darkness. You crawl in the blankets first and hold them open for him.

Instead of letting him hold you, you koala bear hug him to your heart’s content. In the beginning, this was a bit of a challenge. Physical contact was something that you both wanted, but weren’t used to. Dirk got a head start on you with Jake during your session, but you’d say you handled the adjustment just as well when the two of you started to spend more time together.

Your mutual clinginess was something that had to be wrestled down in order to be functional human beings. It was hard to be alone even for a little while after you met your friends in person. All you wanted to do was spend time with them, watch their faces as you spoke with each other, and hold them to feel how real they were. Dirk was much the same way, which is probably why you ended up staying so close.

As time went on, you both got more used to having alone time and not being glued to someone else’s hip 24/7. But it’s still nice to be able to do this together, remind each other that youre there and real and love the other.

You settle into a position where you’re lying on your back and Dirk is draped over you with your arms around each other. You rub his back with lazy, light strokes of your hand over his skin. You fall asleep feeling warm and peaceful.