#for a month and he fucking chopped it and had it style with gel and i was like 😬 what did you doooooooo

[faunandfloraas]

Okay what is with dudes who have nice curly hair not embracing it </3

[dcbicki]

Do dan/amy with #1

1. Things you said to me at 1AM | Post s-6, in which Amy is eight months pregnant, there's a crib that needs building, and Dan is a complete fucking tool.

(Bitch, I went well over a thousand words with this, so… thanks for that.)

-

Arriving home, she hadn’t expected to see a couple dozen boxes - some smaller, some larger - littering the rooms of the apartment.

“Dan!” She’d called out, hoping to find her roomate-come-baby-daddy-but-definitely-not-partner nearby. He’d called to say he’d be home early. And it’s gone twelve, so where the fuck-

“In the other room.”

She’d found him crouching down on the floor, all jeans and crinkled shirt, holding up two pieces of white wood.

The crib. Right.

She’s been here ever since, in a room bound to become a nursery, watching him toy around with the unassembled pieces of the child’s bed.

“You know, Catherine and Marjorie just ordered theirs. And it came pre-built.” She clicks her tongue, types some shit into her phone, looks over at Dan, “Then again, they aren’t as fucking extra as you.”

“I’m not gonna be fuckin’ upstaged by a sophomore lesbian and her backup sperm donor.”

Amy rolls her eyes, tries to avoid cracking a smile, “At least she chose the baby’s genes.” She doesn’t bring up the fact that Dan was the original donor, “This baby’ll probably come out with a head full of gel, clutching a fucking iPad.”

She holds her phone until her knuckles turn white - nothing new there - as if to demonstrate her point. Then she crosses her legs, and lets it drop (odd) into her lap, keeping a straight face as she watches him.

It’s past midnight, and they’re still no closer to having the fucking crib built.

“Remind me again why you didn’t just let the delivery guy do it instead?”

There’s a hex key, a couple dozen pieces of varnished white wood, and some bits and pieces laid out on the floor. They’ve been there for about an hour and half, and Dan doesn’t seem to have even built one side of the fucking thing.

“I’m not having some white trash truck driver’s grubby hands all over my kid’s bed, alright? Fuck, do you really want those kinda germs hanging around the apartment?” He scowls.

Yeah. Sure. That’s it. He’s such a cheapskate when he wants to be.

“I can build a fuckin’ crib, Amy. Jesus.” He grumbles, tosses down a wrench (she’s pretty sure he doesn’t need a wrench), and rests his hands on his hips, untucking the shirt from his pants. “You wanna give it a shot?”

“Because you can’t?” The blonde raises a brow, smirks, “No. It’s actually kinda fun watching you struggle.” She reasons, crosses her legs comfortably, sitting Indian style.

“Oh, yeah?”

Amy hums, nods her head and leans back in the rocking chair. It’s uncomfortable as all hell, but Sophie suggested they buy one. (And she listened why?)

“Even Mike can handle a little DIY, for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah, well, that neanderthal was around when they were still making tools out of wood so that’s not surprising, Ames.”

She grins, “Hell, I’m sure even Jonah could do it if you gave him a tutorial.”

The daggers he shoots her make her smile widen, and Amy raises both brows at his retort, “Fuck you.”

Dan bites at his bottom lip for a second, wipes the bridge of his nose with his wrist. (As though he’s been working hard. Please.)

There are two slats of wood at his feet, perpendicular and screwed together. It’s the most he’s done so far. (Is that even right?) She could probably have the thing built in ten - no, twenty - minutes or so, but she won’t lend a hand. Fuck no.

He said he could do it. He can prove himself. Besides, it’s really kind of amusing to her to watch him fail miserably. Then again, he hasn’t exactly been trying very hard.

Reaching down, Dan picks up the instruction sheet, balls it up in his fist before tossing it in the box the unbuilt crib arrived in. They had a bunch of furniture unloaded several hours ago, but so far none of it has been constructed.

Luckily she’s only eight months along, and they’ve still got some weeks to go before the little fucker arrives.

“Well, that’s good. Now what are you gonna do?” Amy teases, leans back so the chair sways back and forth, creaking against the hardwood floors of their apartment. Damn him for making her move in with him. “I mean you couldn’t even build it with instructions, so now-”

Dan holds up a finger, lifts both brows confidently. “I’m waiting for a moment of genius.”

“We don’t have all night.”

“You got a better idea, Mom of the Year?”

“Yeah. You could call the store, and they’d send someone out to do it.”

“It’s one in the fuckin’ morning. What kinda service do you think they’re providing, Amy? Fuck.”

“Not right now, you fuckwit.” Amy frowns, rolls her eyes and head back so she’s staring at the ceiling. How did that mark get- “I’ll call them first thing in the morning.”

“No.” He damn near cuts her off, walking over until he’s stood in front of her, resting both hands on the sides of the chair. “No, you won’t. Because I’m gonna get this thing done, even if it kills me.”

“Wow, you really don’t like sucking at stuff, do you?”

“Don’t act so surprised. You knew that already.”

“True.” She agrees, lowers her gaze to meet his, but she keeps her head titled back, hands running along the armrests of the chair, carefully avoiding touching his hands, “I don’t want you to overexert yourself to death, though. I mean, you didsay you’d help out with the kid. And you did promise that I could be the one to kill you when you’re ninety if you haven’t already died of natural causes.”

“Well, Amy, this is me helping out with the kid.”

She snorts back a laugh, “Really? Because it looks like this is just you trying to prove yourself. No need to compensate for anything, Dan. I’ve already seen your dick. It just about does the trick.”

“Just about?” He stands up straight, traces of a smirk beginning to form on his face.

Ah, yes. One of his three facial expressions. Disgust, confidence, terror. She likes imaging which face he’ll make when she gives birth.

Amy shoots him a look à la ‘Shut the fuck up and get on with it’. Looking up through long lashes, she notes how he hasn’t moved, is still towering over her. “Are you going to fucking build it or not, asshole?”

“Are you gonna fuck me if I do?”

“God, you’re a child.”

“No, Amy. I’m a man who would like some recognition for his hard work.”

Wait. Did he- That fuck weasel.

“Have you been screwing me this whole time?”

Dan smirks, wider than before, and he shrugs, nonchalant, “Maybe. That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’m gonna ignore the fact that you’ve wasted over an hour of my life by pretending to be bad at something you can apparently do, because it was kind of fun to witness your would-be emasculation anyway. But, no. I’m not going to fuck you. Jesus Christ, you were just playing me like one of your little college bimbos.”

���Ames, you know I gave up sleeping with other women for you.” He tilts his head to the side, all proud and smug, like it’s a massive accomplishment. She wouldn’t believe him if it weren’t for the fact that she threatened to chop his dick off, and she knew just how much he treasured King Danny - God, that name - and he knew just how serious she was with her threat.

“But I still don’t wanna be upstaged by Catherine and her side-bitches.” His eyes crinkle then - is that a fucking smile? - and Amy can only frown. “I guess I just have more interest in getting our new bed up and ready instead.”

They don’t even have a new bed to build, so what the fuck is he getting it ready for-

“Oh, fuck, no.”

She pulls a face, shakes her head, stands up and goes to walk off all in the flash of a second - because fuck him - until his hand catches her elbow. It’s gentle, and she kind of hates him for it. Then again, she’s eight fucking months pregnant and he’s not a complete animal.

“Amy.”

“Fuck, Dan. I can’t believe you ever roped me into this in the first place.”

“Into fucking?”

“Into moving in with you, you goddamn unflushable turd.”

“You love it.” He smirks - because of course he does - and Amy hates herself for smiling back.

“I don’t love you, though.”

“You like me more than you like anybody else.” He reasons, steps closer until she’s flush against him, all bump and breasts. Fuck.

“Yeah, well, I’m the only person that you like, so-”

“Yeah. You are.”

It’s one o'clock in the fucking morning, which means they should be sleeping, not having a heart to heart. Or, well, a… discussion pertaining to matters of the heart had either of them possessed a heart?

“I do like you, Amy.” He grins, reaches for her chin.

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you love me.”

“Fuck you.” She steps back, wills herself to ignore his lingering gaze, “Build the fucking crib, asshole.”

“Are you going to bed?”

“Yeah. You’re not welcome to join.”

“After I build this fuckin’ IKEA piece of crap?”

She comes back into the room to pick up her abandoned phone, shoots him a brief look before spinning back around, knowingly letting his eyes dance along her back and ass, “If you can build it in the next twenty, no… ten minutes.”

“I can do it in five.”

Amy rolls her eyes down the hallway, waves a hand behind her, rests her free hand on her stomach, “Your dad’s a fucking moron.”