#new self deprecating habit I’m adding to fics about him

[goodluck-buttercup]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE USED TO PRESS HIS FINGERS TOGETHER LIKE THEY WERE ONE

[hailthegodsong]

LOVE IS OLD, LOVE IS NEW

Two-Shot Part 1 ~ Daniel Wagner / Female Reader 𓅪

Word Count: + 10.6k

AN: This is a comfort fic! Danny is not the cheater! This fic changed a lot from when I started writing it to when it ended, so I hope you enjoy wherever my mind went while I wrote this…

Content Warnings: Hurt/comfort heartbreak, crying, cheating, insecurity, nudity, deprecating thoughts, intense sadness, self-isolation, boner, mentions of sexual situations, lots of skin touching including breasts (but in a non-sexual way), love confessions, mentions of sex, considerate Danny.

𓅪

“You alright?” Danny asked, pausing the movement of his fingers and ripping his intense attention from the melodic chords he had been working on, letting his acoustic guitar falter in his hands.

You looked up from your phone, “What? Oh, yeah, fine.”

You weren’t really fine. It was your boyfriend, Otis’s birthday, and you hadn’t been able to get a hold of him all day. You swiped through your text chain, seeing that your message at 7am wishing him a happy birthday was followed by an embarrassing amount of messages almost once an hour asking what he was doing, how he was doing, and if he was okay.

You had grown unbelievably restless, your anxiety bordering between genuine concern for his well being, and fear that he was shutting you out for some reason.

Though, this wasn’t completely unusual for Otis. He had always been distant, emotionally elusive in a way that left you second guessing your every move. Sometimes, he would go an entire day without a word, shutting down for reasons you could never quite figure out. You attributed it to the way he must’ve been raised, but often, and without warning, he would go into a mood. You had tried to understand, tried to make excuses for it. Maybe he just needed space. Maybe you were overreacting.

It was terribly confusing, but you’d grown used to it, trying your hardest to take note of anything that may be a consistent trigger in his moods.

Danny, who was by far your closest friend, did not approve of his behaviour at all. In fact, he didn’t approve of Otis full stop. You had grown up together, graduated together, and were now splitting the rent of some small, shitty apartment in Nashville together, and it was hard for you to conceal the faults in your relationship when Danny seemed to always be there.

“You sure? You’ve been staring at that phone all afternoon,” he argued pointedly.

You huffed and ran a hand down the side of your face, “It’s just Otis…it’s his birthday but he hasn’t texted me back all day.” You paused, and Danny set his guitar down, its neck leaning against the arm of the couch you were both seated on. “I’m getting kinda worried,” you added.

Danny’s jaw tightened at the mention of Otis, a familiar tension brewing in his stance. You knew what he thought of your boyfriend, he had never been shy about it. As your best friend since childhood, Danny had always been protective of you, and he couldn’t stand how Otis treated you. To Danny, Otis was an undeserving ghost, always there, but never really present.

But it wasn’t as if Otis treated you poorly. No, you wouldn’t be dating him if he was. He just was a bit flaky sometimes- physically and emotionally.

Danny’s brows furrowed, “That is weird. Maybe he’s just busy with friends or something?” he suggested.

You shook your head, “No, he told me he was celebrating with them on the weekend. Told me he would see me today too,” you said anxiously, biting at the corners of your nails.

“Stop that,” Danny warned, pulling your hands away from your mouth.

It was a habit you seemed to have only picked up only recently, and Danny was always quick to stop it as soon as he saw you begin to nibble at the uneven edges of the nail.

“You’re right, ‘s a bit worrying. I would be pretty worried as well. Did he go out last night?” Danny asked.

“No.” You were beginning to feel more and more nervous, anxiety flooding through your body as you wondered what was going on.

You suddenly stood, “I think I’m gonna go over to his place. Maybe he’s just been sleeping all day.”

Danny glanced at his watch and grimaced when he saw that it was 5pm. He refrained from telling you he highly doubted it, not wanting to worry you any further.

“Shit,” you cursed as you looked out the window and saw that it was absolutely pouring with rain. You hurried to your bedroom to find a raincoat.

“Let me drive you,” Danny suggested, his voice now coming from his own room as he grabbed himself a sweater. You both emerged from your rooms and met in the hallway, and before you could protest he added, “Please. I don’t feel good knowing you’re driving in this weather.”

You scoffed, “Underestimating my driving skills, Wagner?” You carried the gifts you had bought Otis, including the bouquet of flowers into the living room with you and placed them on the table next to your handbag.

“Maybe,” Danny teased and you rolled your eyes at him playfully.

It took less than five minutes to gather your things. The bouquet of flowers, a few small wrapped gifts, and your handbag. Once you had hastily gotten your things in order, Danny grabbed his car keys off the table and opened the front door for you.

“Need me to hold anything?” he asked, watching in amusement as you fumbled with the flowers, presents, your bag and your phone.

You laughed, “Yes please.”

He took the flowers and a few gifts from your arms and you both descended the long, winding stairs wordlessly until you were in the shared car park.

“I’m sure it’s all fine,” Danny assured he held the door open for you to get into the car.

“Yeah me too. Just really wanna see him, you know?” You immediately regretted saying it once the words left your mouth.

You usually tried to keep the Otis conversation minimal with Danny, knowing that he didn’t really like him. Danny hummed anyway, despite his disagreement, and started the car before reversing out of the garage. He handed you your favourite Beatles CD for you to put into the stereo while he drove, and you felt overwhelmingly appreciative of his attentiveness.

You wanted to believe that nothing was wrong, and that Otis just hadn't had a chance to look at his phone yet. But with each mile closer to Otis’s apartment, the pit in your stomach grew heavier, and the knot in your chest tighter. Each time you checked your phone, there was no new message. No missed calls. Nothing.

Throughout the drive, it was clear to you that Danny was trying his hardest to keep you from overthinking. You felt like he didn’t stop talking for the majority of the ride, telling you about the latest disagreement between Josh and Jake and how he, like usual, had to save the day with his mediation skills. He managed to make you laugh too, always knowing just what you needed when you weren’t feeling your absolute best.

You had to direct Danny the way there, which was quite difficult thanks to the bucketing rain that restricted visibility of anything twenty metres in front of you. 

Eventually you made it to his apartment, and Danny pulled over on the side of the road to drop you off, seeing as there was no carpark for him to stop in.

“Alright, be safe please. Text if you need anything,” Danny recited, the words he told you each time you parted. It had been that way since you could remember.

“I will! Thanks for the lift!”

Balancing your things in your arms, you quickly jumped out of the car to not hold up and more traffic.

Danny drove off when one of the impatient cars behind him gave him a beep for taking so long. You rushed up to Otis’s apartment building front door, bullets of rain almost soaking you completely as you covered the short distance.

Your shoes splashed heavily on the street which had become one big puddle. You sighed when you finally reached the building, protected from the rain by the large overhang that wrapped around the large building.

As you made your way into the apartment and climbed the levels to his, you glanced at your phone once more to check if he had messaged you, and frowned when there was nothing. A little puffed, you finally reached his unit. Before you knocked, you peeked a glance at the crack at the bottom of the door where a light was beaming through. So he was home.

You bit back a shiver as you raised your hand and pressed the doorbell. You always liked the tune Otis’s doorbell made. It was quite unconventional, not the normal tune they made and not a jarring ring either, but a nice melody all the same.

You hugged yourself tightly in the cold as you awaited a response, and when you didn’t get one, you rang the doorbell again. Finally, the front door swung open, and you were met with Otis, his slim figure on full display as only a pair of white and blue striped boxers hung low on his hips.

You smiled brightly, despite his state of undress and the fact that he had neglected speaking to you all day. “Happy birthday!” you exclaimed.

He shot you a quick, tight smile, before his face turned serious, eyes scanning the scene behind you. “Thank you Baby, but uh… what are you doing here?” he asked.

You faltered, “What do you mean?”

He looked at you as if you had done something ridiculous, “Well we didn’t plan anything. I hadn’t exactly said you could come over.”

You took a step back into the hallway, “Oh, I just thought that…”

You were mortified. But you were also incredibly upset. It was his birthday, but you had still felt some kind of obligation that he at least see you on the special day. He was your boyfriend after all.

“I got worried. You weren’t responding,” you explained, feeling a deep set frown fall to your face.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and you suddenly became very aware of his positioning. He was standing in the doorway, hands on either side of the frame and letting the door hang almost closed behind him while he stepped marginally closer in each moment and effectively backed you further away from the entrance.

“Yeah well, I just got caught up in something.”

Just as you were about to ask what, a slender hand, adorning deep red acrylic nails raked across his bare abdomen.

“Baby, what’s taking you so long?” a sultry voice asked, and you could see longer dark hair peeking behind his body.

Unable to believe your eyes, your mouth parted in silent shock, face dropping in realisation, and you peered over his shoulder to see the most beautiful woman you had ever seen, clad in only her underwear behind him.

Blinking, you watched as his face morphed into course red embarrassment, and his eyes widened in fear.

“Oh,” you stated.

“No Baby, it’s not what it-” he started, moving towards you to take your arm.

“Stop it. Don’t,” you shook his hands off you, “Don’t touch me.”

Tears instantly welled in your eyes and the lump in your throat felt like it was going to choke you.

“Wha- why?” you managed to choke out. He looked at you sympathetically, but before he could open his mouth, the woman behind him appeared at his side.

If you thought her face was gorgeous, her body was bound to make you pass out. Her breasts were full and round, and her slim, toned waist was a beautiful compliment. Her hips widened at just the right spot, and were void of dips or stretch marks, and it suddenly became glaringly obvious to you where everything had gone wrong.

She gave you a harsh look up and down, assessing your clothing and you could only assume your body. Your arms crossed over your front in insecurely, now regretting the old coat, faded jeans and casual shoes you had thrown on in your state of worry and anticipation.

You hiccuped a sob back when she placed a hand on his chest and leaned up to whisper something in his ear. Otis, to his credit, looked wildly uncomfortable by her actions and tried to shrug her off, looking at you pleadingly.

You couldn’t see any more. You couldn’t stand there for another second longer or you were going to explode.

You wished you were more angry. You should have been furious, yelling at him and ripping your keys out to key his car. But instead, you felt a deep pit of sadness in your belly. The type of pit that drags everything down with it. The type of pit that consumes all it can from its host just to continue its relentless torment.

You needed to get the fuck out of there.

Breathing turned shakey, you turned and walked so quickly down the hallway that you thought you were going to pull a hamstring.

Otis called your name from behind you, and you thanked the Gods that he was too naked to follow you. You descended the stairs in a daze, hot tears running down your cheeks, but you were too focused on getting out that you knew you needed to hold them back.

Once you made it to the building's exit, you realised that you were still cradling the birthday presents you had bought him. In an act of anger, you stormed out of the complex and threw them in a heap onto the grass beside the door, letting all the money you had wasted on him get destroyed under the unforgiving downpour of rain.

Then you realised you were also in the rain. And you were getting soaked. You quickly pulled your phone out and pulled up Danny’s contact to call him.

Restricted sobs began to shake your body, and you were having an incredibly hard time maintaining your composure, if you could even call it that anymore.

The phone only rang twice before Danny’s voice spoke through the speakers.

“Hey, what’s up,” he answered casually. You could hear his car keys hitting the little key bowl you had by the front door, indicating he had quite literally just gotten home, making you feel even worse about asking him to come and pick you up.

He called your name in question when you didn’t respond.

“Did you- did you just get home?” you asked, trying feebly to conceal the emotion in your voice, but the sobs and sharp inhales did close to nothing in helping.

“Fuck, are you okay? What’s happened? What’s wrong?” he asked frantically, and you could hear the keys jingle again, accompanied by the front door slamming shut.

“I’m,” you tried to say through broken sobs, “I’m okay. I just need- can you come and pick me up? Ple- please?”

“I’m already on my way.” True to his word, you could hear the engine vibrating in the background of the call. “Please tell me what happened. Are you safe?” he asked frantically.

You nodded, before realising that he couldn’t actually see you, “I’m- I’m okay. Just cold,” you began scanning the area, looking for a spot you could stand that was concealed from the rain.

There was no way you were going back inside the complex building, and you quickly realised that your best bet was a tree nearby. You hastily made your way over, sneakers getting ruined in the dirt, each step accompanied by a squelch. The rain wasn’t as relentless under the cover in the tree, but thick drops still fell and coated your skin, hair and clothes. You were shivering violently now, wondering why on earth you hadn’t brought an umbrella.

"Where are you?" Danny's voice was soft but laced with concern.

"Same place you dropped me off," you muttered, feeling the hot flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. It wasn't hard to guess that Danny probably knew something had gone wrong with Otis. But you could bet he'd never imagine the full extent of it.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and you could sense Danny was biting his tongue, holding back from asking the questions swirling in his mind. He knew better than to press you when you were like this, though. Whatever had happened, it wasn't good. That much was obvious.

"Okay, honey, I’m nearly there. Can you try taking some deep breaths while you wait for me, please?" His voice was steady, trying to ground you through the phone. It was only then that you became aware of the sound of your own ragged, gasping sobs.

"Ye-yes... okay." You forced yourself to breathe deeply, letting the air fill your lungs, but each inhale felt heavy, the weight of your chest pressing down harder with every beat of your racing heart. You tried to follow Danny's request, but every time your pulse began to slow, your mind betrayed you. You couldn't stop the image from flashing in your head, those sharp red acrylic nails raking across his chest.

Your stomach churned, nausea rising as you cursed your vivid imagination. What would those hands look like wrapped around his neck, or worse, holding his hand? What would those nails look like tracing against his skin, trailing down his back in the heat of the moment as she whispered his name in his ear? The thought made your blood run cold, and tears welled up in your eyes once again.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the thoughts to vanish. But they clung to you, persistent and cruel, reminding you of everything you were afraid to face. It wasn’t just the physical imagery, either. It was the emotional betrayal of the way his eyes might soften when he looked at her, the way he might laugh at her jokes. She probably made him feel something you couldn’t. And he had probably been slipping away for quite some time.

A broken sob escaped your lips, and you clenched your fists at your sides, wishing you could stop thinking about it, wishing you could stop hurting. You knew Danny was close, but the minutes felt like hours. You hated how powerless you felt, sitting there, cold and waiting, suffocated by your own thoughts.

“It’s okay. Whatever it is it’s okay it’ll be okay. I’m nearly there, just hang on a little longer for me, okay?” Danny repeated, hearing your breathing pick up again.

You crouched on the dirt to hug some warmth into you, humming in response to his question. “Danny, can you- can you put the heat on in the car… please. I’m really cold,” you asked and you immediately heard him shuffle with the knobs on the dashboard.

“Are you- are you in the rain?” he asked with urgency.

“I was… I’m standing under a tree now.”

He sighed, “Okay I’m rounding the corner now, can you see me?” he asked and you looked up at the road. True to his word, you could see his black car nearing you as it sped down the road.

“Yes.” You got up and quickly walked to the edge of the street. The rain soaked you again, and you abandoned even attempting to cover your head from its assault.

He pulled up to you at record breaking speed, and breaked harshly beside you on the road. You swung the door open and practically fell into the passenger seat, being immediately engulfed by the warmth of the car.

You slammed the door shut, and muttered a small ‘sorry’ through your shudders as you did up your seat belt.

Being a busy street, Danny had to take off as soon as you were buckled up, and you looked down at the water dripping off your shoes into the car.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he commented, as you tried to take off your top jacket to avoid completely soaking his seats. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologised, trying to keep your back from the seat to not soak the interior of his car. He had already given you a lift to and from Otis’s house, and the least you could do was not ruin his car in the process. You were trying your hardest to withhold the sobs, but hot tears mixed with the wetness of your face as the lump in your throat began to burn.

“Honey…” Danny comforted when he saw your emotional state. He found the closest quiet street and pulled over on the side of the road. 

As soon as the handbrake was on and the car was in neutral, Danny turned to you, clipping off his seatbelt to reach you better. He reached to unclip your seatbelt too, and without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms. 

Though it had been steadily trickling since you left Otis’s house, the dam completely broke when you felt the familiar and comforting embrace of Danny. He rubbed soothing strokes up and down your soaked back with a soft flat palm, his hand shuddering against each shaky breath you took. 

“Are you hurt? I need to know you’re okay, physically,” he asked, still keeping you tight in his arms. 

“I’m not hurt. I’m okay,” you sobbed, clutching at his shirt behind his back. 

“Shhh,” he cooed as your sobs continued, “What’s going on? What happened?”

You pulled away from him, slipping back into your seat and wiping furiously at your red and wet eyes. “There was,” you shuddered, “There was a woman,” you explained, eyes now trained on the window wipers that feebly tried to push away the waves of water that fell from the sky, “They were both naked.”

“What?” The volume of his voice was jarring in the otherwise silence of the car. You dared not speak, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. Danny had warned you that Otis wasn’t a good person, but you had ignored him, and you were now putting the weighted burden of your mistake on his shoulders. 

Danny ran a frustrated hand through his hair and you kept your eyes before you, silent tears now running down your cheeks. 

“She’s really pretty,” you added, and Danny eyed you carefully. He stared at you for a long time, as if trying to see through your skin and into your brain to read every thought that was running through your mind. When he couldn't find anything other than self-loathing and depreciation, he ran a hand through his hair. 

“I- fuck I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry.” 

You shook in the cold as you stared out the window, unspeaking as silent tears rolled down your cheeks. When he realised you weren’t going to respond, he turned in his seat again and popped the car back into gear before he continued the drive home. He was watching your body shake violently from the cold and knew that as much as he wanted to hold you until you were better, you needed to get out of your wet clothes and into something warm and dry.

“Don't do that,” Danny said, pulling your thumb away from your mouth as you attacked the skin around it. 

“‘M sorry,” you muttered with a sniffle, pulling your hands to your lap and fiddling with your fingers instead. 

“Don’t need to apologise.”

You were quiet for the rest of the ride. You replayed the moment over and over in your mind, looking back on how he had blatantly told you that he didn't want you there, that you weren’t invited. All because there was another woman. Had she always been there? Was she just a one night stand or had he been cheating on you for longer?

Danny bit his cheek each time he heard you sniffle, every small sound cutting through him like a knife. He glanced over at you, watching as you hastily wiped your eyes, your fingers trembling with the effort of holding yourself together. The sight of you in pain made his chest ache, and every time your hand darted up to your face, he wished he could reach out, pull you close, and wipe your tears away for you. But he didn’t want to push, didn’t want to smother you when you were clearly teetering on the edge.

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel as he navigated the darkening streets, the quiet hum of the car engine doing nothing to soothe the thick tension in the air. You sat next to him, staring out the window, barely moving, but he could see the steady stream of tears that continued to roll down your cheeks. They glistened in the streetlights as you passed them, and he wanted to say something, anything, but he knew no words could fix what you were feeling.

The ride home felt agonisingly long, each second dragging on as Danny tried to focus on the road and not the heart-wrenching sight of you unravelling beside him. He kept biting his cheek, hard enough to taste blood now, but he couldn’t stop himself from glancing over at you every few seconds, praying you’d somehow find a little bit of peace before they made it home.

When Danny finally rolled into the parking spot, the familiarity of your apartment complex looming ahead caused the tears that had slowed for a brief moment on the drive started to pour again, the sight of home making everything worse. The thought of being so close to your bed, to the space where you could collapse and let yourself fully break was overwhelming.

Your breath hitched, and you hugged your arms around yourself, trying to stop the shivering that had taken over your body. The cold had seeped into your bones, making you shake uncontrollably, but you couldn’t tell if it was from the freezing rain that had soaked through your clothes or the sadness that seemed to settle deep in your chest.

Danny killed the engine and turned to you, eyes soft and full of worry. “Let’s get you inside, okay?” His voice was gentle, but the concern was clear. He didn’t wait for you to respond, opening his door quickly and jogging around to your side, pulling open the passenger door.

“Come on, I’ve got you,” he murmured, offering his hand to help you out of the car. You hesitated for just a second, but the exhaustion in your body won out, and you took his hand, letting him guide you. As you stepped out, your legs wobbled beneath you, and without a second thought, Danny wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his side.

You leaned against him, your sobs becoming louder now that you were out of the confined space of the car. His warmth was comforting, but it wasn’t enough to stop the tidal wave of emotion that had hit you. As he helped you up the steps to the apartment, you clung to his sweater, your cold fingers digging into the fabric as if you could hold onto him and stop yourself from spiralling.

Each step felt heavy, the weight of your sadness pressing down on you like a physical force, and you stumbled a little as you climbed. Danny tightened his grip on you, steadying you with every step, whispering quiet reassurances even though he wasn’t sure you could hear them over the sound of your own sobbing.

You weren’t crying for any reason now, yet it felt like your emotional capacity was a heavy ball that had been pushed off a hill. Once it started rolling, you couldn't stop. 

Once inside, the warmth of the apartment hit you, but it did nothing to thaw the ice in your bones. You barely registered Danny closing the door behind you, his arm still around your shoulders as he led you deeper into your apartment. Despite his support, your mind had already begun its familiar descent into destructive thoughts. If Otis didn’t want you, then who would? The rejection felt like a punch to the gut, and the more you thought about it, the more it hurt.

Without a word, you pulled away from Danny, feeling the loss of his warmth immediately but ignoring it as you left him standing in the middle of the living room alone. You made a beeline for your bedroom, your body moving on autopilot. The door clicked shut behind you, and even though there wasn’t a lock, you knew Danny wouldn’t come in. He respected your space, your boundaries, but that knowledge only made the ache in your chest deepen. The loneliness pressed in harder, suffocating.

Inside the sanctuary of your room, you didn’t care that you were drenched to the bone, or that your clothes clinging to your body uncomfortably. The cold had long since numbed your skin, and now it was creeping into your muscles, making your limbs ache with a dull, persistent throb. You shivered violently, your teeth chattering so hard they ached, but it was a distant sensation compared to the emotional storm raging inside you.

You toed off your soaked shoes, not even bothering to untie them properly. Normally, the thought of tracking dirt or water onto your bed would have horrified you as your bed was your sacred space, always spotless, always prepared for sleep in clean pyjamas after a long shower. But tonight, none of that mattered. Your mind was too far gone, too consumed by the thoughts that swirled around relentlessly.

You crawled onto the bed without a second thought, the damp sheets immediately sticking to your wet clothes. The fabric clung to your skin, cold and uncomfortable, but it didn’t register. All you could think about was curling into the tightest ball possible, as if making yourself small enough would somehow make the pain disappear.

The sobs wracked your body violently, each one more painful than the last. You pressed your face into the pillow, muffling the sound, but it didn’t stop the flood of tears from soaking the fabric. Your whole body trembled, not just from the cold, but from the anguish that had taken over.

And still, despite the physical discomfort, despite the relentless sobbing, your mind couldn’t stop fixating on Otis. You kept replaying every word he’d said, every look, every action that made you feel like you weren’t enough. You kept thinking about how he didn’t want you, how he didn’t choose you. That gut wrenching feeling of rejection echoed through you like a broken record, and no matter how much you tried to push it away, it lingered.

But it wasn't the loss of Otis that hurt you so much as the feeling of being left behind for someone better. Your self esteem had plummeted, all feelings of security and trust torn apart with no remorse. 

Minutes passed, maybe longer, until you were dimly aware of the soft knock on your door, Danny’s voice drifting through the wood gently.

"Hey… I'm just gonna leave some dry clothes outside your door, okay?" he said, his voice calm but clearly worried. You didn’t respond, too lost in the flood of emotions, but you heard him shuffle around outside before retreating.

A little while later, Danny returned, seeing the pile of clothes left outside untouched. He called your name gently with a brush of his knuckles against the wood, “Can I come in?” he asked cautiously. 

“No,” you called out, muffled in the pillows your face was buried in. 

He hesitated in the silence. “I don’t— I think you need to get out of your wet clothes,” he commented, voice still quiet behind the door. “You might get sick.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. I’m an adult, I’ll do what I want,” you snapped. 

You had no idea where that outburst had come from. You immediately felt guilty as you imagined how Danny would have recoiled at your words and tone of voice. It was glaringly obvious to both you and Danny that you were only acting hostile as a way to protect yourself. Protect the fragile feeling of trust you had so carefully maintained throughout your life.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that… you can come in,” you said so quietly, that Danny may not have even heard you. 

Though with heavy caution, Danny reached down to twist the handle. He knew you didn't mean what you were saying. You were hurt, and had been betrayed in arguably the worst way someone could be. He knew you just needed someone to be in your corner. 

You didn't dare look behind you at Danny as he entered your room, and instead kept your head buried in your pillows. 

“Hey,” he whispered, and you felt the edge of your bed dip as he sat down. He reached out hesitantly, and put his warm palm on your bare arm. He flinched the feeling of your skin, chilled from your still soaked clothes. “Shit, you’re freezing,” he commented. 

With your back still turned, you stared blankly into the plush pillows in front of you, your eyes fixated on the growing wet stain spreading across the fabric. You couldn’t distinguish if it was from your soaked hair or the relentless flow of tears that you had cried. Your pillowcase, usually soft and comforting, now felt cold and uninviting, just another reminder of the misery that clung to you like the dampness in your clothes.

Your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, each one laboured as you tried to suppress the sobs that threatened to rise again. The wet patch in front of you seemed to expand with every tear, but you couldn’t muster the energy to wipe your face or even shift positions. 

Everything felt heavy. Your body, your heart, your thoughts. It was as though the weight of everything Otis had said, everything you felt, was sinking into that single spot on the pillow, and no matter how long you stared, it wouldn’t disappear.

“Hey,” he carefully pulled you away from your thoughts. Sniffling, you rolled over to face him, and his heart ached at the sight of you. Eyes and lips swollen, red and raw from your crying, and incessant rubbing. 

“Will you please change into something warmer?” he asked, eyes soft and genuine as he stared at you, his thumb stroking against the cold skin of your arm, “I can help you if you need,” he added. You sighed, hard and long before pushing yourself up from your bed into a sitting position. 

“Fuckkk,” you groaned, letting your head fall into your hands as you groaned, “This is such a mess.”

You looked back up again, assessing the damage you had done to your bed, which carried the consequences of you collapsing in it while still wet. Danny got up quickly, taking the clothes he had left for you outside of your bedroom door and bringing them to you at the bed. 

“I think a warm shower would do you good,” he suggested, “It’ll help you warm up quicker.” The thought of the warm water pouring over your tired and cold muscles seemed like heaven, but now that he was here, you didn't want Danny to leave. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” you agreed, moving to get up from your bed. Danny rushed out of your bedroom and searched through your shared hallway cupboard for the softest towel he could find. 

He watched as you slowly emerged from your bedroom, posture slumped and insecure, arms wrapped securely around your body. Your jeans and top clung to your body tightly from the slick, and your hair left a wet residue on your neck. 

“I can put the towel in the dryer for you while you shower. That way when you get out it’ll be nice and warm,” he suggested. His attention to detail made you smile. 

Though his offer was kind, you knew what you wanted more than a warm towel. The thought that came into your mind was absurd, and could very possibly make Danny uncomfortable by crossing the boundaries of your friendship that you had both treaded in all those years. But you didn’t want— you couldn’t be left alone, or you feared you would curl up onto the cold tile floors and cry until you died. 

“What's up?” he asked, hand raising to the side of your face to thumb away the remaining tears left on your cheeks. You glanced up at him shyly, trying to reign the confidence to ask him the question.

He frowned at the look of conflict on your face as you debated with yourself, “Hey. Whatever it is, you can tell me. You can tell me anything, you know that,” he offered with a kind smile. That same smile that had dried your tears too many times over the years, “‘S only me.”

You took a deep breath, “I just… I don’t know how to say this. I don’t want you to leave me alone. I want— I’m scared of being left alone again,” you admitted though still skirting around the truth of your sudden discomfort. 

“I won't ever leave you alone, you know that. I’m always here for you,” he comforted, stroking your wet hair away from your face in a way that felt so intimate, so domestic, that you nearly began to cry again. 

“That’s not… that’s not what I mean.” You took a deep, steadying breath, “Will— um, will you come with me?” you added in a mumble, cheeks heating at your question. 

He cocked his head in confusion, “Come with you where?” 

You swallowed thickly in embarrassment, physically unable to say the words. You were ready to dismiss it, and tell him it didn't matter when realisation struck his face. 

“You mean… come with you to shower?” he asked quietly, surprise reigning his features at your admittance. 

You were a fool. You had just ruined the relationship you had with your boyfriend, and you were already on track to do the same with your best friend.

“I— I’m so sorry. I don’t even know why I suggested that, seriously, just forget it, I—”

“No, no, stop. I… I’m happy to… if uh, if that’s what you need,” Danny answered, his heart thumping in his chest at your suggestion. This was a boundary that neither of you had ever crossed. Sure you had seen each other close to nakedness before, but only by pure accident or in the form of skimpy swimwear. 

Both of you knew that doing this was different. Even suggesting it had changed something between the two of you, and it had brought to life the truth that you had both been hiding beneath platonic smiles for your whole lives.

You couldn't look at him, and instead looked at the towel he held tightly in his hands, “Are you sure?” you asked quietly. 

Jaw tight and eyes cautious, he nodded silently. “You go and get started, and I’ll uh, join you in a minute, okay?” he suggested and you tucked a tuft of hair behind your ear. 

“Okay,” you whispered. As you turned to walk away, nerves swelling in your stomach at your decision, Danny cleared his throat again. 

"Are you... do you want me to keep my... um, boxers on?" Danny’s voice was as gentle as ever, like slow dripping honey that coated each word with the tenderness you had come to depend on. It was just Danny, always so considerate, always thinking of how to make you feel comfortable, especially in moments as vulnerable as this.

The question, though spoken with the utmost care, still startled you. Your heart skipped, and you felt a small flutter of uncertainty rise in your chest. You feared that whatever answer you gave might lead to discomfort, but there was a deep, aching need inside you to be close to him. Closer than you had ever been before. Something unspoken tugged at you, a silent yearning to connect with him in a way that transcended the physical.

"If you want. But I don't mind if you don't," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended, as if afraid the wrong words might break the fragile atmosphere.

Before he could respond, you turned and made your way down the hallway to the bathroom, the soft patter of your footsteps against the floor the only sound echoing in the quiet apartment. You gently swung the bathroom door shut, leaving it ajar just enough to let him know that he was welcome. You twisted the shower tap, letting the heavy stream of hot water fill the shower, the sound of it pounding against the tile, a soothing background hum that drowned out the noise in your mind.

Your clothes clung stubbornly to your body as you peeled them off, each article of fabric a reminder of the evening's cold and the emotions that had seeped into your bones. The chill in the air bit at your exposed skin, and a violent shiver wracked your body, leaving you trembling as you stood naked in the dim bathroom. You barely spared a glance in the mirror, catching only a fleeting, distorted reflection of yourself, a body that tonight, felt uglier than it ever had. The blotchy redness from your sobs clashed with the paleness of your cold skin, and you looked away quickly, unable to face the image.

Stepping into the shower, you sighed deeply as the hot water cascaded over your head, the sensation washing away the lingering chill. It was a simple pleasure, the heat sinking into your scalp, down your neck, and through your entire body. You tipped your head back, allowing the water to flow over your face, burning just enough to be distracting, before it slid down your shoulders and over the curve of your breasts. For a brief, blissful moment, you forgot about Otis, the heartbreak, the insecurity, everything.

Danny's soft footsteps padding into the bathroom snapped you back to reality, and your heart gave a nervous flutter as you saw his silhouette through the thin shower curtain. You turned your back to him, yet could still feel his presence as he shuffled with his things by the countertop, your senses heightened by the silence in the room. As he approached, the shower curtain shifted slightly, letting in a sliver of cool air that made you shiver again, but this time not entirely from the cold.

Wordlessly, you stepped forward, making room for him under the stream of water, and you heard his deep, contented exhale as the warmth enveloped him. You felt a shy smile tug at your lips, though you didn’t dare turn around. The thought of exposing yourself fully to him was daunting, even though you had never felt safer with anyone else.

Reaching up, you grabbed the bottle of vanilla shampoo, your fingers trembling slightly as you struggled to maintain your composure. But before you could open the bottle, you felt Danny’s warmth behind you, not close enough to touch, but enough for you to feel his steady, comforting force and hot, heavy breath by your ear. He reached over your shoulder, his hand brushing yours as he gently took the bottle from you. The touch was brief, but electric, sending a ripple of warmth through your chest.

"Let me," he offered, his breath tickling the skin beside your ear. The shampoo bottle clicked open, the scent of vanilla filling the air as Danny lathered up the shampoo by rubbing it between his large hands.

You stood still, your heart pounding in your chest as his hands moved to your head, slowly threading into your locks and pressing to your scalp. His fingers were strong but somehow gentle as ever, working the shampoo into your scalp in slow, deliberate motions, in a way that made your knees weak. You let out a whispered groan, the sound escaping before you could stop it as your body relaxed under his touch.

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch as he continued to wash your hair. His fingers traced soothing patterns against your scalp, moving with such care that you felt your chest ache with emotion. This wasn’t just an act of kindness. It was love. Pure, unspoken, and unconditional.

This was no longer just about getting clean either, you realised; this was something else entirely. The both of you, stood there, completely exposed, completely vulnerable, and yet there was no awkwardness and no sense of pressure or expectation. It wasn’t sexual, but it wasn’t entirely platonic either. It was something deeper, something built on years of quiet affection, of love that had been waiting patiently for the right moment to reveal itself.

He soon rinsed his hands under the water, and touched your shoulder gently as he pulled you back under the stream. He aided with washing the shampoo out of your hair with his hands, running through your scalp and squeezing at your hair as the soapy suds travelled down your hair and down to his feet. 

You had completely forgotten about Otis, you realised, as Danny reached up to grab the bottle of conditioner, doing the same as before but only raking the product through the ends of your hair. 

Your breathing was heavy, and you suddenly felt the urge to cry again, but not out of sadness this time. You turned around to face him, feeling no insecurity over the exposure of your bare body when his burning gaze remained on your face. 

“Danny…” you started, frowning at the overwhelming feeling of your new realisation. Your face told him everything he needed to know, eyebrows pinched in desperation, and tears brimming at your eyes.

To your lack of knowledge, Danny had always felt a way for you that he shouldn’t have, loving you silently in the shadows under platonic guise. After years of yearning, only now did he see that you could finally feel it too. Be it only an inkling of affection, it was enough to make his heart skip.

He reached up and cupped your cheek, “I know, sweet girl.” He nodded, his thumb stroking the apple of your cheek lovingly, and you leaned into his touch. When he let go, you dropped your head, hanging it low between your bodies, your eyes closed in exhaustion. 

Danny stepped forward slowly, his feet splashing against the pool of water at your feet, and he engulfed you in the embrace of his long arms. Your head fell into the spot between his arm and chest, and that same arm came up to cradle your head. You could feel his other bare arm on your back, your breasts pressed against his chest and you flushed at the proximity. 

You desperately tried to hold him too, arms wrapped around his abdomen and folded up to hook your hands over his shoulders. You didn't notice the tears that flowed from your eyes, as they became one with the water that flowed between you both. 

“Danny,” you whispered. He nuzzled into your hair, a comforting gesture that made your heart race. 

“Hmm?” he replied softly, encouraging you to continue. The moment hung heavy in the air, filled with unspoken feelings. 

The feeling was so overwhelming, that you realised you could no longer pretend to be just friends, as the desire to love him loudly completely consumed you. 

Finally, you spoke, your confession bursting forth like a long held secret, “I think I love you.” The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, a rush of emotion that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. 

You felt his stomach tighten at your words, and he pulled back slightly to gaze down at you. You raised your head from his chest to meet his eyes to see them pleading in wonder. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. For so long, he had admired the beauty of your soul in silence, waited in suppressed agony, fearing that revealing his feelings would push you away. Your company was always enough for him to keep his feelings hidden, as just being near you to hear your laughter, your mind and your soul, had been more than enough. 

But now, you were uttering the words he had dreamt of telling you for what felt like his whole life. 

“Always,” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. His sincerity washed over you like a warm embrace. He tucked your wet hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing your skin gently. “I always have.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief, searching his for confirmation. “What?” you managed to ask, your voice breaking. Instead of answering, Danny leaned down, closing the distance between you, and held his face close to yours. He lingered for a moment, as if giving you time to pull away, before he brought his lips to yours in a gentle caress.

His lips were soft and slow against yours, hesitant and testing at the new sensation. Neither of you could believe what was happening, and you marvelled at the intimacy of the moment, the tenderness. Never would you have thought this would be how you ended up, and now that it was happening, there was no going back. 

Danny's hands rested hesitantly beside you, ghosting your skin as he resisted the urge to touch you, as he was painfully aware of your state of undress and didn't want to cross any boundaries. You took them into your own hands, and pulled them to rest on the sides of your waist. He gripped the skin softly at the sensation. 

Your mouths explored each other, and you reached your hands up to tangle in his hair as you revelled in the new feeling. It felt as if you had searched every corner of Danny, as your years of friendship had taught you things about him even his family didn't know, yet this was unexplored territory. 

Danny pulled away with a deep inhale, and he took in the sight of your flushed face, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide. A small smile crept onto his face at his realisation of what had just happened. 

“You’re so beautiful, d’ you know that?” he whispered, hand gliding up and down the curve of your waist. You looked down shyly, at both the compliment and your own understanding of what had just happened.

“You are too,” you mumbled quietly, a blush tinting your cheeks. You could no longer look at Danny without your heart exploding, and when he smiled a bit wider at your words, you turned back around, reaching for the body wash and fiddling with the cap. 

Danny was more hesitant to offer helping you clean your body than he was your hair, ever considerate of your boundaries. You had both taken huge steps in mere minutes, and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel rushed. 

You of course knew this, and decided that your bold streak hadn’t ended yet. “Would you… help me with this one too?” you asked quietly, turning to look up at Danny through your lashes.

“Anything,” he answered with a nod, taking the bottle from your hands gently and pouring the soapy substance over his hands. You could tell he was still hesitant, the act of touching you was clearly daunting for him, and you tried your best to show him you were okay. You nodded at him to go ahead, and he gingerly reached his hands to your shoulders, massaging the product over them, pulling your arms out horizontally so that he could lather it across them too. 

Avoiding the obvious, his hands dragged back up your arms and to your back. You turned for him, letting his strong fingers knead into your muscles, making you hum in approval, head dropping forward at the feeling. He tucked your hair over your right shoulder to move it out of his way. His hands travelled over the expanse of your back, fingers dipping into your dimples of venus, but not treading any further before he pulled them back up, running long stripes either side of your spine.

His hands travelled around your waist then, and you turned again for him as the warmth of his hands spread over your stomach, sides and ribs, hesitating just below your breasts. 

Your stomach flipped as you became aware now that his gaze was not holding its respectful attachment to your face, and was now all over your chest, trying to touch you anywhere but there. 

You bit your cheek, and slowly reached up to take his hand that was settled on your ribs into yours. His eyes zoned in on your own as you dragged his hand up your body and rested it on your breast. 

“It’s okay,” you told him. To say that these moments were not entirely sexual anymore would be untrue. And you’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t caught glimpses of his situation down below, despite your efforts to keep your gaze above his waist.

Breath heavy, and feeling like he would pass out any moment, Danny tenderly ran his hands over your breasts, rounding at the swell and dipping in the valley as he lathered them in the soap. He wasn't hasty to move on, but he didn’t linger for too long, letting you know that he did not expect anything sexual from you. As he washed your upper half, you scrubbed at your bottom, running the soap in your hands over your legs and behind, to speed up the process. 

Danny pulled you back under the stream, and quickly rejected your offer to wash him the same. 

“You’re exhausted, and I’m worried if you spend another minute in the steam you’ll pass out,” he said with a teasing smile, half joking. You frowned at his words. 

“I’m not exhausted, I can do it.”

“Honey…” he started, lifting your arm and showcasing your hands which were trembling without support.

You huffed at his consideration. “Okay, fine… if you’re sure.”

He smiled at you, his hand on your hip squeezing gently, “I am.” He dipped down and gave you a quick peck on the lips, the act startling you, as you had almost forgotten the events that just occurred between the two of you. As if you weren't just guiding his hand to your breasts. As if he weren’t standing before you in those moments, with an obviously painful erection.

You gave him one last smile before you pulled the shower curtain open and stepped out. The cold slapped you in the face and you were quick to shut the curtain behind you to keep Danny warm. Picking up your towel and wrapping it around your body was a beautiful reprieve from the biting cold, and when you looked out of the fogged glass of the bathroom window, you could tell that the rain outside was just as relentless as it was before. 

You listened to foamy soap hit the floor as Danny washed through his own hair while you collected your hairbrush and other essentials, before you silently slipped out of the bathroom door, not bothering to close it all the way behind you. 

Your mood now soaring at heights unimaginable, you padded to your bedroom, a small smile on your face as you thought back on the intimacy of the moments you had just shared. When you stepped into your bedroom though, you were reminded of the mess that was your life. 

Your bed was soaked, sheets and pillows bore big wet patches and you were sure the moisture had soaked through to your mattress too. You shut your eyes and took a deep breath, before deciding what to do. You shuffled through your pyjama drawers and picked out some long plaid pants along with a white singlet and a hoodie. You changed quickly, not wanting the warmth of your body to succumb to the cold again, and once you were changed, you walked back out of your room and into the living room, where you set up camp on the couch. 

Meanwhile, Danny was running his hands through his wet locks, the water cascading down his face as he replayed those moments over and over again in his mind. He had waited for you for so long. Loved you in silence for so long. And it was all worth it. 

Once he left the shower he wrapped the last towel around his waist, squeezing the wetness out of his hair and leaving it otherwise to air dry. 

As he left the bathroom, he could hear you humming softly in the living room, and he passed his room to see you again. Danny watched in admiration at you, dressed comfortably while you typed and scrolled on your phone, cross legged on the couch, Your wet hair hung down your back, but your sweater protected you from the cold this time. 

He frowned when he saw the couch, set up in a way he could only assume was your attempt to sleep on it. 

The sound of his arrival got your attention, “Hey, I’m ordering Thai delivery,” you said, eyes still trained on your phone as you typed in your card details.

Danny smiled warmly at you, “Great, thanks… um, what’s all this?” he asked, hands gesturing to the makeshift bed you had set up on the couch. Although just seeing him completely naked, and having that naked body pressed against your own, you stifled at the sight of him with only a towel around his waist.

You cleared your throat and averted your gaze, “Oh, my bed is really wet from… you know, lying on it earlier.”

He shook his head, “No, you aren’t sleeping on the couch. I have a double, you can sleep with me.” He immediately blushed at the alternate innuendo his words held, “Not like sleep together, just, you know, go to sleep,” he tripped over his words anxiously, making you force back a smile. 

“Are you sure? I’m fine to—” 

“Yes I’m sure. One hundred percent,” he assured quickly before he reached up to scratch the back of his neck, “I mean, we did just shower together.”

Now it was your turn to blush, and you looked back to your phone to hide your face, agreeing quietly. 

Danny retreated to his room to get into his pyjamas, and quickly tidied the space up, feeling self conscious at the state his room was in, shoving his clothes into his drawers haphazardly, and others he took to the laundry basket. Once he was satisfied, he returned to the living room. 

He sat down beside you, his thigh brushing yours and you suddenly became insecure of where you both stood. Usually, it would be normal to sit so close together, laughing and chatting through movies, but now, things were different. You didn't want to come across as pushy and rushed, but similarly didn't want to do the opposite, act cold or distant after the moments you had shared. 

If Danny was having the same fears, he didn’t let it show, as he wrapped his arm around you and tugged you closer to him while he leaned over to reach for the TV remote with a grunt. 

“Watcha wanna watch?” 

You and Danny settled on the first movie you could, only pausing to get your takeout delivery from the door, before you returned to your position, which seemed to be steadily moving closer to Danny with each reposition or shuffle. 

By the time the film was over and your bellies were full, you were exhausted. You had been emotionally wrecked throughout the day, ranging from betrayal and heartbreak, to renewal and love. 

Danny steadied you by your elbow as you stood, helping you gather your things to take to his room. You were too sleepy to feel nervous. 

“Which side do you sleep on?” you asked as you stood by the doorway. 

Danny scratched the back of his head, “Usually the right, but I don't mind. I move around a lot when I sleep anyway.” Truth be told, Danny rathered that you slept on his side, as he knew that his pillow would smell like you by morning.

It apparently didn't matter though, as when you slipped under the covers of the left side of the bed beside him, his senses were overwhelmed with you. Your smell, your energy and your heat. It also wasn’t long before the two of you closed the distance between you, arms and legs tangled in your attempts to be impossibly closer to one another, your fronts pressed together just like the moments you shared in the shower. 

It all felt so normal. You attributed it to being friends for your whole lives, giving you the ability to close emotional distance without second thought, but it was still startling nonetheless. 

“Thanks again for letting me sleep here, it’s definitely more comfortable than the couch,” you whispered, and he reached behind him to turn off the bedside lamp.

Now cloaked in darkness, you relied only on your hearing to navigate Danny beside you. The rain was still pouring outside the window, and in a way, it felt fitting as a reminder of your day. While a disastrous storm brewed outside, you were safe and warm with Danny at home. 

“Maybe… maybe we could make it a regular thing?” Danny asked nervously. “You know, since you love me and all that,” he teased, trying to ease the tension of his suggestion. You groaned in embarrassment and buried your head into his chest, hearing his chuckles vibrate in his chest. 

“I would like that very much, thank you.”

“Don't thank me. You have no idea how happy I am to have you with me like this.”

You sighed deeply, and decided it was your turn to tease. “And just how long have you felt this way for me, hm?” 

Danny chuckled dryly but swallowed, hesitating to tell you in case it made things weird. He didn’t want you to feel that his friendship had ever been false, or as a ruse to gain your attention in that way. 

His nose brushed against your forehead, “I’ve known for sure since eighth grade.” His statement was heavy, yet honest, and it hung in the air wearily as he waited for you to respond. 

You pulled your head away from him, “Eighth grade?! Danny… what— why didn’t you say anything?”

He sighed, “I didn’t want to ruin what we had.” 

You understood, but wished he had told you sooner, as though you hadn’t ever realised it was quite love, you knew that you never would have turned away the idea of being with Danny like that. 

“We wasted so much time,” you sighed. 

“What? You mean you felt the same?” he asked, shock lacing his words as his hand tightened around your frame. 

You nodded, “You’ve always treated me better than any boy I ever went out with. I just didn't think that— I didn't think that this was a possibility. I thought you were too good for that. Too—”

“Too good for what?” 

“You know, like with your band and stuff. I don't know, I guess I thought you had more important people to see than me. I didn’t ever think you would— could actually see me like that,” you tried to explain. 

Danny groaned, “Oh God. I’m never gonna live this down.”

Your brow creased in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“Sammy knew I liked you before I even did, used to tease me about it all the time. The three of them have watched me act like an idiot around you for years. I can't believe you thought that I was ‘too cool’ for you.” He chuckled, though regret laced the dry laugh. 

You felt mild embarrassment at the thought that the boys, who you’d become close with the years that you knew Danny, were keeping the secret from you that would ultimately change your life indefinitely. 

He whispered your name, pulling you from your thoughts, “I have always loved you. Nothing will ever change that.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, the words feeling new and foreign on your lips, yet somehow just right. You clutched his shirt in your hands and shuffled incredibly closer to him. He smelt like Danny, the comfort you had grown to turn to after many years of safekeeping your heart. 

“Goodnight, sweet girl.” You felt him kiss the top of your head, followed by the feeling of his nose nuzzling into your hair and sighing deeply. 

“Goodnight Danny.”

As you welcomed the blankets of exhaustion over your spent body, Danny began to hum a familiar tune, his voice sounding distant in your haze of sleep. Soon, the song became unmistakably recognisable. 

Because, by The Beatles. Your favourite song.

𓅪

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Part 2

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

I was browsing your blog and I saw an anon mention "sick of losleep" (but in a joking way) my gay ass saw losleep sick, as in a sick fic, and i proceeded to scroll hoping to find said losleep sicfick, lol there was non and that is a crime XD. Would you write (or do you have any HC's) for like Sick Remy and Lo taking care of him?😎

This is WAY late and I apologize for that anon but I’m here now so!! enjoy!!

Ao3Warnings: This is a sickfic so lots of sicky stuff (cough, sneezing, fever actually happen; nausea mentioned), sleep-deprivation (Remy’s a double-threat), minor self-deprecation from both Logan and Remy for different reasons, Logan calling Remy names but in a worried loving way

“You’re sick.”

“Nope.”

“Whether or not you are willing to accept it does not alter the state of your condition.”

“Yeah. And my condition is completely amazing and awesome. Not sick.”

Logan frowned when this rather cocky pronunciation was followed by a round of rough coughing from his boyfriend. “Attempting to ignore your illness will only worsen it. Something it seems you have already done. How long have you been sick?”

“Never.” Remy replied, too confidentially given he looked ready to collapse if a light breeze blew against him. He coughed again, wincing a bit before he added defensively, “Though I might have gotten a bad headache on Monday.”

“Monday?!” Logan repeated, giving up his pretense of only being vaguely annoyed. “You’ve been suffering with this for four days?! With, what, your average seven hours of sleep each night?”

“...Seven might be a little high.”

Logan only blinked at Remy, the other boy awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck. Logan was spurred back into action when Remy sneezed and immediately went back to coughing, moving forward so he could grab Remy’s arm, fairly certain the other really would collapse otherwise.

“Bed. Now.” Logan said, tugging firmly at Remy, towards their apartment’s bedroom.

“Hun, really, I’ll be fi-” Remy started, pulling his arm out of Logan’s grip. The moment he did, however, his feet caught up around each other, both illness and his much too common habit of not sleeping nearly enough stealing his balance from him as he tripped backwards.

Logan had already seen something of the sort happening, catching Remy before he had a chance to actually hit the ground. Lowering the two of them to the ground from there, Logan sighed when he realized that, as well as physically fallen, Remy had also fallen unconscious.

“An idiot.” Logan muttered to himself as he took the opportunity to rest his hand on Remy’s forehead, feeling much too hot. Fever. “I’m in love with an idiot, an utter idiot, a fool.”

Though maybe the blame didn’t fall solely on Remy this time. After all, only a moron would miss the paler-than-average skin, the way Remy had been hugging his jacket closer around him while constantly taking advil, the fact that he had been coughing so much for so long.

What could he say? Remy wasn’t exactly the role model of ‘living healthy.’ Him acting weird was normal.

But still. Logan should have noticed sooner.

Sighing, Logan removed Remy’s sunglasses as well, wincing at how badly the bruise-like bags under his eyes stood out against his sick pallor. Sick or no, it was most certainly bedtime for Remy.

~~

The first thing Remy registered as he woke up was that he felt like hell. Which wasn’t exactly anything new- his head really had been pounding since Monday, and every day that followed had only added to his roster of symptoms: coughing, sneezing, chills, nausea. The works.

He knew he should have taken time off sooner, but he and Logan needed the money, and he had never been one to admit defeat- especially not to a stupid cold!

Remy wasn’t one hundred percent sure what the last thing that happened was, but he was pretty sure it was the ‘stupid’ cold punching him right in the gut and then laughing for a while.

So why, along with all the pain, did he feel... slightly okay?

Remy blinked open his eyes, glaring at the light that immediately assaulted them and forcing them shut again. Memories, albeit fuzzy, of his last waking interactions came with the too bright light, though they ended with what Remy was pretty sure him falling on the floor.

Did the ground always feel this soft?

Remy risked opening his eyes again, the light more manageable this time, frowning as he pressed his hands down and found them meeting strong, but not complete, resistance from whatever he was laying on, and something on top of them moved.

Oh. He was in a bed.

Remy’s frown deepened. He couldn’t be in bed! He had to get to work! He probably hadn’t even collapsed at all, just dreamed it up, stupid weak body trying to trick him into sleeping in. Well it wasn’t going to work, Remy vowed as he started to sit up, ignoring both the way his stomach flipped and his head pounded at the movement. That wasn’t going to stop him!

What was going to stop him, however, was the sudden weight that pressed against his chest, pushing him back down onto the bed. A blur of very familiar colours appeared in his line of sight, then, leaning over him while they spoke, saying something Remy couldn't completely hear but was rather sure was some form of a lecture on his lack of personal health care.

“-a reckless fool, pretending you’re not sick, not telling me; your heroic wannabe of a brother is a horrible influence on you-”

Remy fought the urge to chuckle only because he knew it would turn into a cough. Logan kept speaking, still in the descriptive nicknames part of his rant as he pressed something cool to Remy’s forehead. Even as Remy suppressed another shiver, he sighed at the relief of what he assumed to be a cold, damp rag brought to what he was finally willing to admit was his fever.

Logan stopped talking at this, just sighing as well and resting his hand on Remy’s cheek, stroking his thumb slowly across Remy’s face.

“You worried me.”

Remy pressed his cheek closer to Logan’s hand. “Sorr’babes.” He slurred.

“It’s... it’s alright, Remy, I just want to know what possessed you to make such a foolish decision.”

“’Don’t need to be sic’ to make foolish decisions.”

“More foolish than usual then.” Logan amended, and Remy snorted, immediately regretting it when the pounding in his head increased with the action. Logan paused in moving his thumb for a moment, continuing when Remy had once more settled down.

“I didn’t think t’was that bad.” Remy said quietly after a moment had passed. “Thought it was justa lil cold.”

“I know.” Logan responded. “But still. You’re my boyfriend. A particularly self-neglectful one at that. If you get sick, I want to know. Even if you think it’s nothing, or just a head cold, or anything else. It’s important to me that I can take care of you when you’re not feeling well.”

Remy didn’t say anything immediately afterwards, instead just looking at the mostly-focused blur that was his boyfriend and trying to ignore the fact that his eyes were suddenly stinging. He refused to cry over something as silly as affection, especially when it was as simple as ‘it’s important to me that I can take care of you when you’re not feeling well.’ He didn’t roll like that.

“Aw, you care.” He finally said, cooing as he smiled loopily at Logan. Logan just rolled his eyes fondly.

“For your sake, you are very lucky that I do.”

“Of course, hun.” Remy said, tone slightly more serious, though he was still too tired for much emotion outside of ‘sleepy’ and ‘sappy.’  “A’ways lucky to’ave you.”

“That you are.” Logan confirmed with a smile. The silence stretched for a few more moments before Logan murmured, “You should get some more rest.”

“Mmhmmm.” Remy hummed. More rest sounded good. It sounded very good. And so tempting to just close his eyes and let himself drift away…

Realizing that Remy was fading fast, Logan stilled his hand on Remy’s cheek, leaning in a bit so he could press a small kiss to his forehead. Remy made a small happy noise at that, and Logan patted his cheek in response. After the pat, however, Logan started to pull his hand away, mumbling quietly about starting up some soup.

Remy struggled to get his eyes open again, able to catch (to his immense disappointment) the sight of Logan shifting to stand up and head towards the kitchen. “Wait.”

Logan stopped, turning back to Remy, brow creased in concern. “Yes?”

“I-” Remy cut himself off, frowning. He looked away from his boyfriend, glanced back, looked away again. “Nevermind.”

Logan’s frown deepened as he came back over to the edge of the bed, sitting back down and brushing stray hair out of Remy’s eyes as he watched him, looking for an explanation. “What is it, darling?”

Remy shook his head, just barely. “Nothin’. Go do your thing.”

“It’s not nothing.” Logan corrected gently. “I wasn’t joking when I said I wanted to take care of you. What do you need?”

“...You’ll get sick.” Remy said, slowly, hunching his shoulders a little bit in an attempt to curl into himself without moving too much.

“I’ve been with you since you got sick, sharing an apartment with you, I carried you in here after you went and collapsed, and I just kissed you.” Logan listed off. “Don’t worry about me; I’m already doomed. Right now, I’m worried about you.”

Remy finally looked back at Logan, finding his boyfriend still frowning at him, still concerned. He really didn’t deserve him.

“Stay with me?” He finally asked, voice quieter than it had been since he woke up, feeling more than a little abashed at asking. He wasn’t a clingy boyfriend, in general. He preferred the aloof angle, preferred acting like the reason he sprawled across the whole couch was to be annoying, not to ensure Logan would have to sit near to him, and the like. He didn’t ask for stupid sappy things like ‘stay with me.’

But right then and there he was sick, he was tired, and he felt as if he was positively going to die if Logan left and took all his soft warmth with him.

Logan’s frown was quickly replaced by a gentle smile at Remy’s request.

“Of course I’ll stay.” He promised easily, his hand sliding down from Remy’s hair to once more cup Remy’s cheek. “Can I at least start the soup first? I’ll be very fast, I promise.”

“Do you have to?” Remy asked, voice even quieter, almost a whimper. He didn’t know why it mattered so much to him. It would just be a minute or two. But he didn’t want Logan to go at all, even for a second.

“I don’t.” Logan soothed, his other hand moving to rub Remy’s arm. “I’ll stay right here with you, alright?”

Remy nodded his head, already feeling his eyes start to slip shut, unworried about having to stop Logan from leaving again. He vaguely recognized Logan shifting onto the bed, pulling Remy’s head into his lap, once more combing through his hair with one hand and still running a hand over Remy’s arm.

“M’sorry for bein’ so needy.” Remy slurred, quickly losing the battle against remaining conscious and not minding that much. Logan just shushed him and continued petting his arm and hair, beckoning Remy to fall asleep even faster.

“You’re tired and weakened by your illness.” Logan said factually. “It’s normal. It’s alright. Get some rest. It’ll be okay.”

Remy nodded once as he pressed his head closer to Logan’s thigh. Logan was warm and soft, and Remy felt safe with his head nestled in his lap and held close to his boyfriend. Eyes completely shut and any reason to remain awake completely eliminated, he drifted off within a minute, feeling secure and loved.

Maybe, just maybe, the next time Remy got sick, he’d let Logan know.

[zutaraangtastic]

I have a prompt idea! This idea fits into more of an Aged up Zukataang headcanon. Drunk!Katara preferably interacting with both Zuko and Aang. On the Fluffy side. I think it would be amusing and cute.

hi! if you're still doing prompts, may I offer "little spoon zuko" ?

Combined these two prompts, accidentally went overboard and wrote more like a whole fic than a drabble! (Can be read without context, but for the best experience, read as a missing scene from ch. 10 of Heartlines by kuchi/Mod K.) - Mod J

There’s always been casual touch between them and Zuko: Katara’s instinctive hand holding, borne of navigating her village with her family during fierce white-out blizzards; Aang’s penchant for hugging him like a panda on a tree, which became all the more comically ridiculous when he outgrew Zuko. 

But it had taken Zuko time to adjust to those habits, even when they meant only friendship. Katara knows to expect some hesitation, now that they’re adding another layer of love to their actions. They’ve agreed to take this slow, ease into the newness of being able to show their full affection.

It’s a good thing, too, because he seems almost overwhelmed just by this, sitting with them in the near-dark as they take turns playing with his hair, leaning into his shoulder, kissing him. 

When Katara breaks their latest, lingering kiss and looks up at Zuko, his pupils are wide, shaken, though she’s already lost track of how many times she’s done this. How many times Aang has. They’ve been in too good a mood for any lingering nerves to interfere. With Zuko’s enthusiastic—if stumbling—assent, it’s hard not to kiss him, and hard not to do more.

Talk has dwindled, but they’ve been here for hours and said all they possibly could. About their feelings, about their future, about everything. It’s a relief to finally let loose after the whirlwind the past few months have been.

The sweet palm wine helps, leaving Katara pleasantly fuzzy-headed. She’s come to suspect Aang doesn’t mind the secondhand taste of it on her tongue, or Zuko’s, nearly as much as he pretends. And she doesn’t mind watching them, feeling the bloom of nervous warmth in her gut, almost like the old eagerness of first-time teenage exploration with Aang.

The lantern’s firelight blurs a fraction when she tilts her head, gaining sharpness only in the twin reflections between Zuko’s and Aang’s eyes, which flicker open as Aang pulls back to let Zuko catch his breath. Katara notices the subtle tell of Zuko about to flip the script, the stubborn squint a moment before he takes the back of Aang’s neck and yanks him in, harder this time. Aang makes a muffled, surprised sound. The warmth in Katara’s stomach drops into a tense thrill, like when Appa plummets suddenly during flight.

Aang is the one left breathless this time, and it’s more than a little impressive, considering he’s an airbender. After a moment, the fierceness in Zuko’s posture eases, and the delightful tension fades. His voice is raspy when he murmurs, glancing to Katara, “Stay. It’s gotten late.”

It wasn’t initially part of their plan, but Katara nods, smiling over the rim of her glass. She’s game if they are, trusts that they can all handle themselves—it’s wonderful that Zuko thinks so too. They’ve shared beds as pairs before, though that was without this passion simmering so openly between them.

“Is that your way of saying you’re ready to take us to bed?” Aang asks, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. Katara might have to think twice about it, in that case, because he’s the only one who hasn’t been drinking, and poor Zuko’s gone strawberry-red.

“Not like that, I’m not – I mean, no pressure, only if you want—”

Nothing will come of it yet, rationally speaking; Aang’s a flirt, but when she thinks back on it, he said things like that to Zuko even before confessing his undying love for him, so Zuko must know better than to take him seriously.

Then again, nothing feels serious right now, everything perfectly light and crystalline and dreamy, all the weight of secrecy lifted from her heart. She can’t help but laugh. It infects Zuko, too, his embarrassed glower slipping and lips twitching into a smile as he shakes his head at Katara.

“So much for waiting for our honeymoon at the palace,” she says, leaning across him to poke Aang accusingly in the chest.

“Okay, okay,” Aang says, glancing at Katara as he nuzzles into the crook of Zuko’s neck with playful smugness. In return, Katara sticks her tongue out at him as she wraps herself around Zuko’s arm. “Maybe His Royal Hotness just doesn’t want to admit he’s getting sleepy.”

Zuko rolls his eyes, but he makes no move to escape them. “I changed my mind. I’m kicking you both out.”

“Too late!” With a huff of air, Aang sends himself flying backwards and lands sprawled on the nearby mattress, making himself at home.

Katara’s laughter keeps bubbling up like a running stream, trickling off only when she curves her arm around Zuko’s head and pulls him into another kiss of her own. When she stands, she’s only a little unsteady on her feet, and takes hold of both of Zuko’s hands to pull him with her. He goes to snuff out the lantern, while Katara sits on the edge of the bed and starts to let down her hair for the night. 

Aang helps without being asked, taking extra care to disentangle the ties painlessly. Katara closes her eyes with a pleased hum, enjoying his familiar hands massaging her scalp.

Yawning, she cracks her eyes open again to find Zuko still crouched by the lantern, watching her and Aang with something inscrutable in his expression, something both fragile and ardent. The low-burning light casts half his face in a mellow orange glow, until he shakes himself from his reverie and puts out the candle’s flame.

“Come on, I promise I won’t let my husband jump you,” she says, patting the space beside her.

“Hey, I’m not planning to do anything indecent!” Aang protests. Katara glances over her shoulder to find him pouting and giving Zuko his best innocent Appa eyes. “I am staying in the middle, though. Unless you want to?”

Zuko shakes his head, drifting closer but still hesitating. “No, it’s just – three’s a crowd, right? I can take the sofa, and you two can have the bed, if it’s easier.”

There’s a point to that—this bed is probably meant to comfortably accommodate two at most, and Aang might as well be a person and a half, all lanky arms and legs everywhere, but Katara’s not about to let that stop them. “Zuko,” she says, with the specific kind of misplaced authority she gets only around the time that tiredness overtakes tipsiness for her. “After everything we’ve said, you really think we’d even think of stealing your bed without you?”

Zuko opens his mouth, closes it again, and eventually says, smiling, “That barely makes sense.”

“C’mere,” Aang says, and finally, Zuko does. 

He’s still awkward when he sits next to Katara, still stiff and uncertain when Aang wraps his arms around them both. She doesn’t know whether to call it silly or sad, that Zuko has such trouble letting his guard down, letting himself accept their love, even after admitting he’s wanted this for a long time. That he never thought he would have it. Maybe that he never thought he deserved it?

She’s reached the point where she wants to cry a little bit, but she doesn’t, just presses her forehead together against his and Aang’s and lingers in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Everything she wants is right here in this room.

Eventually, Aang reaches for Zuko’s casual evening robes, with a gentle “Can I?” As he helps Zuko out of his clothes, Katara unwinds the ribbon securing Zuko’s topknot and adds it to the pile of her hair bands on the bedside table. She smooths out his hair before shrugging out of her own outer layers, down to sarashi. Normally, she likes the freedom of sleeping without the wrappings, but she figures they’re trying to maintain some propriety for Zuko’s sake, both he and Aang keeping their loose pants on.

Katara runs her hands lightly over Zuko’s bare shoulders, presses a kiss to his collarbone and then his cheek. “I’m glad we’re here with you,” she says sincerely, raising her hands to cup his face. “Earlier, I thought, we could be ruining our friendship, that we’d be forcing our feelings on you. And if you ever don’t feel what we feel, we can always stop, or—”

“Katara, please,” he whispers, and it’s a genuine entreaty, his lips ghosting against the side of her thumb. “It’s not – it’s just me, I’m not…good. At any of this. But it’s not that you’re forcing anything, I promise.”

“Hey, you are good,” Aang says, taking both of Zuko’s hands in his. “You’re amazing, in fact. You’ve changed our lives in so many ways.”

Zuko exhales a shaky breath, a hint of a self-deprecating laugh. “Not always for the better.” He pauses, looking everywhere except for them. Katara and Aang exchange a stricken look; it’s always heart-wrenching, to hear the way he mistrusts himself. “I just worry I’ll…what if I mess it up? Everything you have, it’s already perfect, and I don’t want you to have to sacrifice that for me. What if it’s not worth it, what if I’m…not?”

Wordlessly, Aang pulls him into a tighter hug. Zuko makes a slightly distressed sound, but holds on when Aang starts to let go in confusion and worry. With his nails digging into Aang’s arm, Katara can’t help but think he looks almost like a scared animal, utterly incongruous with the Fire Lord she knows, the image of confident power he projects. In a way, she’s always known it to be a projection, at least in part—that beneath the surface, there’s still the old volatility, like a riptide beneath a calm stretch in the waves. 

He’s grown so much, but there’s still something lost about him, something hunted. As if he still doesn’t think he’s earned his peace, and makes himself restless with doubt in recompense.

Katara’s throat closes up, and she blinks through the wateriness in her eyes as she twines her fingers with Zuko’s. He squeezes her hand so tightly it trembles.

“Listen,” she says with difficulty, “I’d gladly sacrifice plenty of things for you, I know we both would. But it is so much more than that, it’s – it’s hoping, and it’s knowing you better every day, and knowing Aang better through you, and seeing you both in everything I do for the rest of my life. You’re not taking anything away from us.”

“You’re giving us so much,” Aang finishes the thought for her, perfectly on the same wavelength. “We’re figuring this out together, all three of us. Maybe it won’t always be the easiest thing, but it is the most freeing. It already makes me so happy, just being able to be close to you. And if this makes you happy, too, then it’s so worth it. You’ve just gotta let yourself trust in it. Do you trust us?”

Zuko nods slowly, but unhesitatingly, and the nervous hunch of his shoulders starts to relax. He loosens his grip on Aang and Katara with an apologetic glance. Noticing her tears, he reaches up to brush them away, and when he meets Aang’s eyes, Katara can tell Zuko’s really seeing him again. He kisses Aang’s knuckles, then hers, softly. 

“We all have to leave in the morning, don’t we?” he says. “It’s probably time to sleep.”

Katara sighs and sinks back into the mattress, and Aang follows, pulling Zuko with him. “I wish we had more time,” she murmurs, resting her forehead against Aang’s back. 

“Someday we’ll have all the time in the world,” Aang says, and he sounds so assured that Katara almost finds it easy to believe the same.

“Maybe when we’re retired,” Zuko says with a small snort.

“Hey, lucky you, you get to retire! ‘Avatar’ is a lifelong job title, Mr. Fire Lord.”

Zuko musters a chuckle, and Katara props herself up with one arm beneath her head, so she can look at him over Aang’s shoulder. He’s lying on his side, facing her and Aang, bathed in the moonlight pooling in through the window.

It’s not the first time she’s noticed their matching lightning scars, the wounds she healed for each of them. These days Zuko is only shirtless during sparring matches with Aang, though, and those are always a blur of acrobatics and heat—not that she ever complains, when she gets the chance to watch. But it’s rare to observe them both so still together. Katara can trace around the familiar, messy red sprawl midway down Aang’s spine that interrupts the line of his tattoo, and almost be able to reach out and touch Zuko’s, sharper and neater on the edges, maybe from his partial redirection back then.

She resists the urge, not wanting to dwell more on the turmoil of the past when they’ve worked so hard to focus tonight on the shining bright future ahead of them. For now, she can content herself with knowing that they’re both safe, here with her.

Aang’s breathing is deepening into near-sleep, one hand extended and tangled with Zuko’s. Katara stretches her arm to join the hand pile, though Aang’s is inconveniently longer and in the way. Zuko scoots closer to accommodate, offering up his other hand to her. His long lashes sweep in a slow blink, but he’s still awake. For the first time, she notices those are mismatched in the same way as his eyebrow, never regrown on the burned side.

“You know, you have to actually close your eyes to sleep,” she says softly.

Zuko gives her a faint smile. “Yeah. I just don’t want to open them again, and find out I’ve been dreaming.”

“Aww, you’d—” Aang interrupts himself with a wide yawn “—you’d dream about us?”

“Hah, you have no idea.”

Aang laughs, and Katara raises an eyebrow with interest. But again, they’ll have to leave that for another time.

“It might help if you get comfortable,” she says, before Aang can tease Zuko further. “Turn over.” After a moment, Zuko complies, but just stays there, facing away. “Not like – I meant, turn over, and come closer, too.”

“Like spoons,” Aang adds helpfully, as Zuko shuffles into cuddling range, his back close to Aang’s chest.

Katara curls her arm across them both. “There. Now, relax. We’ve got you.”

It takes several minutes of hesitant shuffling, tiny adjustments, tensed muscles beneath her palm. While Aang’s hand rests automatically around Zuko’s middle, Katara moves hers up, reaching for his hair to thread her fingers through it, trying to soothe him. Surprisingly, it seems to help. Zuko leans his head into her touch, eases back against Aang, and breathes out a sigh that sounds…relieved.

“Love you,” Aang mumbles, almost asleep for real now. Katara knows he doesn’t intend it just for her, but she kisses his forehead, making him hum pleasantly and tangle one ankle with hers as he secures his gentle hold on Zuko.

As she’s drifting off, she hears Zuko murmur, “I –” and hesitate, his quiet swallow audible in the stillness of the night. “I’ll be better at this next time,” he says eventually. “I promise.”

Katara lays her hand over his heart. It’s still beating too fast for him to be totally at rest, but slowing, little by little. “I love you too, Zuko.”

[sp4c3-0ddity]

“We could get struck by lightning, but you want to kiss in the rain.” “You’re never this quiet, what’s wrong? (Both scream good Plance and I couldn’t decide which one. You can just use one if you’d like. My only other request is for some Sam Holt involvement. In universe- either expand on that post war fic or shenanigans still on the Castle.)

kinda sorta an intraquel (if there’s a such thing) to ‘In the Making’. Sam is there at the end. ~1900 words. hope you like it!!

also sorry i couldn’t give you your meteorology fix; next time lol

(99) “You’re never this quiet, what’s wrong?”

Pidgemanaged to make it to her bedroom door without stumbling, but once there, hersluggish, sleep-deprived body – for all that she spent the last eight vargassleeping off a head injury in a healing pod – failed her.

She kepther balance though, albeit with the help of the wall, leaning against it beforethe Castle’s artificial gravity could drag her to the floor. Her head spun,vision blurring, and the only thing that felt real in that moment was the hardwall pressing into her shoulder – and Lance’s fingers wrapped almost too tightaround her upper arm.

Actually,there was an excellent chance that she hadn’t fallen because Lance held her upright.

“Ow,”she said, more on reflex rather than because his grip hurt.

“Sorry,”he said. He let go but hovered, frowning at her as she put a hand to her head. “Doyou need—”

“I don’tneed you to carry me,” she grumbled, not for the first time. “It’s just a dizzyspell.” She straightened, keeping one hand planted on the wall as she carefullymoved away from it.

Thebedroom door slid open when her fingers finally brushed the doorframe, and shewalked over the threshold without any more difficulty. Without bothering tochange her clothes, she face-planted onto her bed, burying her face into thepillow and sighing in relief.

“Uh…”

Oh,Pidge had almost forgotten Lance. “Thank you, Lance,” she said, turning herhead to glance towards the door.

“You…needanything else?” he asked her, tone cautious.

Pidgeshook her head. “I just need sleep,” she admitted.

“Okay,”he said, lowering his voice. “Sleep tight, Pidge.” The door slid shut behindhim.

Pidgerolled onto her side, facing the wall, after Lance left. Oddly fascinating, theplain white wall seemed then. She held her arms close to her chest, seeking acomfortable position, right before reconsidering and grabbing a fallen blanketoff the floor to cover up.

Herfather slept in a room just a few doors down the hallway, and that thought alonepreoccupied her mind, kept her from succumbing to the exhaustion that sat inher body. So instead she stared wide-eyed at the wall and bided her time tillthe lights in the hallway would turn on.

A softknock sounded from the door what felt like only a few doboshes later. Pidgebolted upright and swung her legs out of bed, wondering if the day cycle had alreadybegun. “Who is it?” she called.

“It’s meagain,” Lance’s voice called, quietly enough he wouldn’t disturb the rest ofthe Castle’s residents.

“Ithought you went to bed,” Pidge said, frowning at the door. She froze fromwhere she groped from her slippers, then asked, “Are you all right?”

“Oh, I’mgreat,” Lance said. “But, you can’t sleep, can you?”

Pidgegaped at the door. “H-how the quiznak did you know that?”

“Call itintuition, I guess. I figured you’re still worried about your dad.”

“What’syour excuse then?” she wondered. She tapped her fingers on her wrinkledbedspread, heart pounding fast with anxiety or excitement or both.

“We’ve onlygot a couple more vargas until we have to be up,” Lance explained. “Not reallya point in sleeping, is there?”

Pidgesnorted and said, “Is it worth missing even a little beauty sleep for you?”

“Youmake it worthwhile,” Lance said.

Herbreath caught, and she covered her face as it warmed. But before she couldthink of anything to say, he added:

“Besides,I’m plenty beautiful anyway!”

“Ofcourse,” Pidge muttered. She glanced up at the door and said, “You can come in,if you want.”

The dooropened to admit him, and as he walked in, arms extended over his head in aluxurious stretch, he remarked, “Oh, I thought you were going to make me stand outthere for the rest of the night.”

“I’donly do that if I thought I could sleep,” she said, shrugging as he stood infront of her. When he didn’t respond immediately, simply eyed her, she frowned,quirking an eyebrow at him and reaching out with a foot to nudge his shin. “You’realmost never this quiet, Lance. What’s wrong?”

“It’snot even been that long since I said anything,” Lance said, rolling his eyes.

“Even afew tics is plenty long for you.” Pidge patted the spot beside her and smiled. “Atleast sit?”

“Fine,” Lance said as he sat where sheindicated, his shoulder brushing hers.

Ratherthan lean into him like was her first inclination, she shifted backwards untilher back was to the wall, her feet not quite long enough to hang off the edgeof the bed. Lance followed suit, sitting close enough to share warmth.

“So what’reyou thinking about?” Lance asked, elbowing her in the side.

Pidgesighed and pulled her feet towards herself. “Just that I barely saw my dadbefore I passed out.” Her memory of the mission right before sustaining the injurywas hazy, but she could recall the eerie sticky dampness in her hair while herfather and Keith held her upright between them.

“Why the quiznak did you delay?” Keith had demanded.

“Stay awake, Katie,” Sam had said, sterner and calmer than Keith.

“Quiznak,I’m an awful daughter,” she realized. Her heart sank as the words escaped herlips without her permission, and she turned and pressed her forehead into Lance’sshoulder.

“Uh…whatgave you that idea?” Lance said.

“Ishould’ve taken him to safety immediately,” she said, wringing the edge of thebedspread with both hands. “I shouldn’t have delayed just for some data wemight not need.” She bit her lip and rubbed an itchy eye, swallowing againstthe unwelcome lump in her throat. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Pidge,”Lance said. He poked her in the cheek, repeatedly until she swatted at him andglanced up to see him frowning at her. “He’s not going to blame you for gettinghurt; he’s going to thank you for rescuing him.”

“I-Iknow,” she admitted. She wiped an unwelcome tear from her cheek and scowled. “ButI’ll know, even if he won’t sayanything, and—”

“You’llsee that it won’t be so bad,” Lance interrupted again. When she opened hermouth to contradict him – or scold him for cutting her off her self-deprecation– he added, “He wanted to stay up and wait for you too.”

Pidgehugged her legs to her chest. “I know,” she said, “but I can’t help worrying. Idon’t want to disappoint him.”

“You won’t,”Lance reassured her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling hercloser. “He’ll be proud of you.”

Pidge smiledvery slightly, remembering her father’s promise before he left on his ill-fatedmission. “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure this wasn’twhat he had in mind when he said the whole universe would take notice of me.”

Lance,after a brief, confused hesitation, laughed, his body rumbling pleasantlyagainst hers. “That’s so…prophetic of him,” he quipped.

“I know,right?” Pidge chuckled, amused more by Lance’s reaction than by the memory; she’ddwelled on its irony enough in the last few years. “What were you thinking then?”

Lanceshrugged, jostling her a bit. “Just about you, I guess.”

“About me?”

Heglanced sideways at her. “Yeah, why not? You kind of worried me for a bitthere, in case it wasn’t obvious.”

Pidgeraised an eyebrow at him. “I’m fine now,” she said.

“Yeah, now.” Lance rolled his eyes, and for amoment, when he didn’t elaborate and simply let Pidge be confused and not alittle flustered, she thought that was the end of it, but then he surprised herby enveloping her in a hug, both of his arms fitting snugly around her.

“Again?”she said, sinking into him but also awkwardly rubbing his back.

“I likehugs,” he grumbled, “and I know you do too.”

Pidge’slips twitched into an involuntary smile. “That’s fair,” she conceded. He might’vetaken her off-guard with the embrace, but she still allowed herself to bask inthe warmth.

Pidge openedher eyes to a bedroom only illuminated by the display in her wall, comfortablysnuggled against…a warm body.

Lance.

Alltraces of exhaustion fled Pidge as she stiffened, but his breathing – low anddeep – calmed the sudden spiking of her heartbeat. She relaxed back into hisarms, more than willing to test how long she could get away with letting himhold her, at least until she glanced at the time displaying from the wall.

“Quiznak,”she hissed. Carefully, she tried to extricate herself from Lance’s hold, but hemuttered something under his breath and pulled her closer. “Lance,” she saidsoftly, “we overslept.”

“Fivemore minutes,” he said, his voice muffled by her hair.

Pidgerolled her eyes and said, “Lance, my dad’s awakeby now.”

As ifcalled, someone knocked on her door, followed up with a single quiet word in afamiliar voice.

“Katie.”

Holy quiznak. “Lance, do you want my dad to find us in bed together?”

“Allright, I’m awake.” Lance disentangled their limbs and sat up, yawning widelyand rubbing his eyes.

Pidgeshoved the blanket off and walked to the door, but she didn’t give it a chanceto open completely before she launched herself into her father’s arms. “Dad!”she said as he caught her against him with a soft oof. “How long have you been awake?” She pulled away to look athim, smiling so widely her cheeks would likely be sore later.

“Only acouple…vargas?” he said, frowning as he puzzled through the new terminology.

Pidgelaughed and said, “Why didn’t you wake up earlier?”

“I spokewith that ginger fellow,” Sam explained, “and he said you didn’t get to bed fora while.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Your habits haven’t changed much evenin space then?”

Pidgesnorted but her grin didn’t falter. As she grabbed her robe from a pile ofhopefully clean laundry on the floor, she admitted, “If anything, they’re worsenow.”

Samglanced critically around her room. “I can see that.” He sighed, but then hesmiled as she took his hand in both of hers. “You really worried me before.”

“I know,”Pidge said, eyes swiveling towards the ground. Her palms sweated, but she didn’tlet go of her father’s hand, fearing he’d disappear again if she did. “I…can’treally promise it won’t happen again.”

“I know.”Sam tugged her closer again, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Thank you,Katie.”

“I’d doit again in a heartbeat,” she swore.

“I’m sure.”He smiled at her.

Pidgegrinned and said, “I already gave Matt a tour of the Castle, so it’s your turnnow.”

“Oh, Iwould love one!” Her father brightened as she pulled him away from her room anddown the hall.

Pidgeopened her mouth, a speech about the Castle’s layout and features alreadyprepared, but then Sam glanced sideways at her with a concerned frown andasked, “By the way, Katie, who was that in your bed?”

Pidgenearly lost her balance again as she tripped over her own feet, only her father’shold on her hand steadying her.

Lance pushedthe blanket away from his face and sat back up after the door closed behindPidge and her father. “This is fine,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Just forgetme here, why don’t you?”

He stillsmiled, pleased and warm, committing the look on Pidge’s face to memory, andsaid, “Told you so.”

Then helay back down – Pidge’s bed suited him just fine – and tugged the blanket backover him, deciding to catch up on his beauty sleep after all.

[the-awkward-writer]

Raw Talent

Pairings: Jensen x wife!Reader, Jared x sister!Reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Swearing. it’s kind of a weird fic, but I had this cute idea and I wanted to make it happen.

A/N: This is really just a crack!fic. I’m not sorry. This one actually kind of sucks. This is also one of my four entries for SPN Family Love and Acceptance Day! I told you it would get better as the day wore on! Enjoy!

You looked off to the side of the stage, the lights blinding you slightly, making you put your arm up to shield your eyes.

The fan standing there holding a microphone seemed to be quaking in her shoes.

“Hi,” she breathed, making you chuckle slightly.

“Hey there, sweetie,” you tried to calm her nerves.

She took a deep breath before asking her question, “So I’m sure you get this question a lot, but what is it like working with your husband and brother?”

“I actually don’t get that question as much as you think I do,” you chuckled as you thought about her question.

You were currently on stage by yourself doing your first ever solo panel per request of the fans. It was intimidating, but as soon as you climbed up into the stage, you felt at ease.

“It has it’s pros and cons,” you said. “I mean, Jared is my baby brother. I grew up with the kid, so naturally we have pretty good chemistry. We get along well, yet we fight like siblings, which is a total bonus when I have to fight with him in the show,” that earned a slight laugh from the crowd.

“And then there’s Jensen,” you said slowly.

The entire crowd laughed, some even whistled cat-calls. “I mean, we’re married, so I would say we also have a pretty good chemistry, “ you reasoned. “Although the dude can never keep his hands to himself,” you muttered the last part, but the fans were able to decipher it quickly, only adding to their previous antics.

You chuckled, “And the cons.”

You tapped the microphone against your chin for a moment, “Hmm,” you hummed softly, “Well there’s really only one,” you finally found the answer you were looking for, “They are both super intimidating actors.”

The crowd stayed silent for a moment as you thought about your next words. “Jared and Jensen are extremely talented actors. You have all seen it, I mean, Jensen in Regarding Dean?”

The crowd cheered, proving their knowledge.

“Yeah, I didn’t just cry, I bawled from Jensen’s performance. And Jared can make me cry too. Like when Sam was going through all the shit with Lucifer and the demon blood and stuff, they were pretty far apart, but I watched all of them, and I was just reduced to tears.”

You took a deep breath, you had to tread carefully with your next words, “I had to work really hard to get where I am today. Meanwhile, Jensen and Jared just have this raw talent that I get really jealous of sometimes. They both fall into their characters so easily, and they just know what they’re doing at the drop of a hat. Like last week, Jay and I will both got our scripts for a new episode, he he read through it once and knew exactly what to do. I had to spend the entire fucking weekend just staring at these words, trying to find a way to get my feelings across.”

“So yeah,” you concluded, “There’s good and bad things about working with them.”

“Well if it’s any consolation, you do a pretty bang up job,” a very familiar voice echoed through the convention hall.

You spun around as the crowd cheered wildly at the arrival of your husband and brother.

“Look at what the cat dragged in,” you commented into the mic as Jensen kissed your temple.

“Aww shut up, you love me,” he said with a smirk.

“Hey, no flirting with the brother in the room!” Jared protested to your right.

The crowd laughed heartily at Jared’s statement.

You reached out with your left hand and punched him in the gut, “Jerk.”

Jensen lifted the microphone to his lips. You could practically see the word forming on his tongue, proving it to be a habit now. “Call me a bitch and you get the couch tonight,” you cut him off from uttering the next syllable.

Jensen quickly dropped the microphone to his side and scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment as the fans laughed yet again.

An expression you could only describe as purely Sam took over Jared’s face as he cocked his head to the side, “Call my sister a bitch and I will kill you.”

Jensen’s eyes grew wide, “I’m feeling very attacked right now,” he put his arms up in mock surrender.

You laughed slightly at the bewildered expression that stretched itself across Jensen’s face.

Deciding to take the spotlight off of your husband, you spoke up, “Why are you guys here?”

He recognized your attempt at changing the subject and gladly took advantage of it. He lifted the mic to his lips, “You see, Y/N,” he said, “The whole self deprecation thing is Dean’s thing.” Jensen looked at you through his eye lashes, “Don’t steal my things,” his voice changed to a lower tone, sounding more like Dean’s.

“I can do what ever I want.”

Jared brought the microphone up to his lips, “Yeah, Jensen, Y/N doesn’t need you to boss her around. My sister is a very independent woman.”

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, “Jared...”

Sensing your annoyance, Jared practically giggled and kissed your cheek, “We just came out to let you know that you are a very talented actress, and we love you very much.”

You could feel your entire face heat up, “Well thank you for the reassurance, boys.”

Jared kissed your cheek again, “We’re leaving now. Love you,” he said to you as he waved a farewell to the fans.

“Hey dude, I love her more,” Jensen protested from a few feet away.

Jared seemed to take offense, “She’s my sister. I’ve known her my whole life,” Jared said as if that information was supposed to prove his point.

“So?” Jensen said, the word sounding very much like something Dean would say, “I married her!”

You sighed heavily, “The things I put up with, I swear.”

“I’ll take your place!” a fan yelled from the crowd.

You snorted, “Please do.”

The boys continued to bicker as they finally walked off stage, leaving you to continue answering questions and interacting with the fans.

[pinksnowboots]

Smooth Me Down (Victuuri Week Day 3, Yuuri Prompt: Reassurance/Doubt)

Title: Smooth Me Down

Author: pinksnowboots (fic blog)/@yuroshka (main blog)

Warnings: Discussions of skin picking and anxiety, very brief mention of blood

Summary: Yuuri picks at his fingernails, picks at his loose skin, picks at every flaw, mental and physical, leaving his fingers a mess of hangnails and rough edges.

Victor is not afraid of his rough edges.

Written for Day 3 of @victuuri-week for the Yuuri prompt: Reassurance/Doubt. 

Link to AO3

Yuuri picks at the skin just under the edges of his fingernails. It’s the one part of his body that is never smooth, no matter how much weight he gains, softening the rest of his hard edges. His fingertips are always rough, perhaps because his nails bite into the tender skin that they’re supposed to protect when he clenches his fists. And he clenches his fists often, the same way he grinds his teeth at night-unconsciously, too often, and much too hard, as if trying to grind out his insecurities, to gird himself against his anxieties.

It does not work, and Yuuri finds his self-deprecating thoughts breaking through his teeth whenever someone compliments him, leaving his jaw and his heart sore.

It is a good thing that the audience cannot see figure skaters’ hands up close because his are a mess, cuticles ragged and nails uneven lengths because every time one of them grows long he has to peel it off. He uses the nails of his thumb and index fingers and between those, he can easily get eight of the fingernails, all but the thumbnails, picked down flush to the soft skin underneath.

His habit leaves him with eight short and jagged and two unpleasantly long nails, and constant hangnails. The hangnails are painful, but they also give him something to pick at, something to do with his hand when he doesn’t know what to think of say; when he doesn’t have any he picks at his scabs, at the loose skin on the soles of his feet, or at the edges of his fingers until new hangnails appears.

Regardless of the state his body is in, he always picks at himself mentally, zeroing in on every flaw in his personality and performances. He has a lot of flaws, so it never gets old.

Everyone has to have a hobby, he figures.

Victor, whose nails are perfectly manicured and whose hands are perfectly smooth, despairs of his habits.

“Presentation is everything,” he lectures. “As a performer, you must pay as much attention to your appearance as you do to your skating.”

Victor buys him fingernail files and nail clippers, and Yuuri loses every single one, letting them fall into the crack between his bed and the wall or dropping them into Makkachin’s overflowing box of toys. Yuuri seems to be guileless but he must know that Victor cannot be mad at him when he’s so endearingly contrite.

Eventually Victor tries a different strategy, lending Yuuri his own nail file. It works, but only halfway; Yuuri does not lose it, but he also does not use it, and if Victor were less vain about his hair he would tear it out in frustration.

Even later, much much later, when they have transcended the boundaries of coach and skater, of idol and fan, of mere friendship, Victor maintains his fascination with Yuuri’s hands.

Once, when they are lying in bed together, Yuuri half asleep as Victor plays with his fingers, Victor remarks casually, “You know, I don’t remember your hands being so rough when we first met at the Gala.”

Yuuri is just tired enough to be totally honest without worrying about the consequences.

“That’s because Celestino had me get a manicure before the competition. He claimed it would help my presentation and maybe my confidence.”

“Did it?” Victor asks, curious.

“No.” Yuuri replies. “I felt so uncomfortable having nice nails, even if it was only clear paint. I spent so much time worrying that I was going to ruin them by accident that after my free skate, I broke a nail and ruined them on purpose, just to get it over with.”

Victor says nothing in response to that, just pulls Yuuri closer.

Yuuri rarely picks at himself enough that he bleeds, but it happens sometimes, when he’s picking at his nails unconsciously while thinking about something else, rather than picking at them intentionally in order to avoid thinking about anything.

It happens once when he’s sitting with Victor, listening to Victor’s critiques and suggestions about his routine and taking every word as a direct affirmation that every negative thing he’s said about himself is true. Yuuri fiddles with the hangnail on his left pinky, pulls the skin off the wrong way until the hangnail is gone, but in its place is a small drop of blood.

He clasps his hands together quickly and tries not to look at the blood, but Victor sees anyway. Without missing a beat in his sentence, Victor unwinds Yuuri’s hands from where they’re clasped nervously in his lap and takes them in his own, keeping them still and safe, unable to do any more damage.

“Victor, I’m sorry-” Yuuri tries to apologize because a tiny bit of his blood is on Victor’s hands and he cannot believe that he got blood on The Victor Nikiforov, even more than he cannot believe that The Victor Nikiforov is here coaching him.

“What are you apologizing for?” Victor cuts off any further apology.

“For...I...there’s blood on your hands.” Yuuri finally manages.

Victor looks at him in a way that Yuuri’s beginning to recognize, like he’s just been handed a new puzzle piece and he’s trying to figure out exactly where it fits.

“Oh, you don’t need to apologize for that.” Victor replies, voice far more breezy than his gaze. “Although it would make me feel better if you didn’t make yourself bleed on a regular basis.”

Yuuri nods, unwilling to promise anything verbally, unwilling to lie to Victor.

For whatever reason, it’s easier to listen to critiques and easier to take compliments when Victor’s holding his hand. The warmth of Victor’s hand on his own distracts him from the fact that he can’t keep fiddling with his nails, and the anxiety...well, it’s still there, but it’s about his palms getting sweaty and this not being regular behavior for a skater and a coach. At this point, novel sources of anxiety are a welcome break from the constant mantra of You’re not good enough that is always playing in his head.

If this were a movie, Yuuri would stop picking at himself for Victor, because Victor cares about him and doesn’t like to see Yuuri hurting himself. In a movie, Victor swooping into his life would cure his anxiety rather than simply confusing it so it goes away for a while, then sneaks up on him in new ways that he’s never experienced before and therefore can’t guard against.

Yuuri doesn’t stop picking at himself because Victor doesn’t like it; in fact, he does it more because it makes Victor worry and fuss over him and Yuuri has been taken care of so rarely in the past five years that he craves it, from Victor especially.

Victor takes Yuuri’s personal hand care routine into his own hands, literally. Every night he brings Yuuri into his room and trims and files his nails, pushes back his cuticles, clips off any hangnails, and rubs soft, expensive lotion into his skin.

It’s embarrassing for Yuuri to have his coach, idol, friend, and more focusing on him so intently, and he finds it hard not to fidget and squirm under Victor’s ministrations. It is almost surreal, the way that Victor treats his hands gently, almost reverently, and Yuuri wonders more than once how and why Victor came into his life, and how long he’s intending to stay.

Yuuri’s hands are in the best shape they have ever been; his skin is soft and his nails are even, but every day he still picks away at the skin around his nails, undoing all of Victor’s hard work. He feels bad, but it means that Victor has to keep doing it, so he can’t bring himself to stop.

Yuuri has so many feelings that swell in his chest whenever Victor takes his hands. He wants desperately to express them, but whenever he tries, all that he can manage is a soft, breathy, “Thank you.” Victor takes care of his hands like he’s maintaining a holy relic and his bathroom is a place of worship, and Yuuri does not want to defile it with loud voices or clumsy words that can’t come close to approximating what it is that he feels.

Victor squeezes his hands, admiring his work, and then suddenly pulls Yuuri into his arms. Yuuri can feel Victor’s breath on his neck and wonder’s if Victor can feel his suddenly-rapid heartbeat.

“You’re more than welcome.” Victor breathes into his ear, but does not let him go.

Yuuri swears that he hears a soft voice, Victor’s voice, adding, “For you, anything.” But he hears it in the same way that you hear an echo, or a whisper, or a voice in a dream, and he’s not sure at all that he didn’t just imagine it.

There is no word that Yuuri knows of to describe the area around his fingernails that he just cannot leave be. He could spend time describing the area, but then he would have to show people his damaged fingers and explain his little tics and well, it’s just not worth it.

There is no word for that, and there is no word for what Yuuri feels towards Victor-for the warmth that rises up in his chest when he remembers that Victor is not going to leave him anytime soon, for the rush of pride that he feels when he hears Victor praise him, for the way that Victor's touch helps him breathe just a little bit easier. There is no word, in Japanese or English, that accurately captures the full experience how he feels about Victor, what Victor means to him, so he decides to call it love.