#the amount of time i spent cutting tiny holes in that thing.... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

charlotte--kensington · 2 years

Text

Oh, look, a Christmas fic in January... Let's act like I was punctual for once in my life.

For four years now Arthur has fallen victim to the recurring trend of his neighbour's overzealous decorating. Year after year the amount of lights and decorations grows, and year after year Arthur cannot help but compete.

This is the story of the year they went overboard.

---

This fic is NSFW near the end, but mostly fluff and humour. You'll see.

---

Snow fell silently onto the roofs of the duplexes that seamed Holyoake Road.

Within a matter of hours the city of Oxford had turned from a sombre, rainy town in Britain into a winter wonderland. Each and every surface was coated in a thick blanket of snow, and though whatever had been on the streets had already begun to turn into nothing but brown sludge, anything out of reach of kids or cars had remained a pristine blanket of fluffy white.

It almost felt like the snow alone had made the world slow down and become calmer, not just because people drove more carefully. Given that they were already past the first advent, it did not surprise Arthur, yet he enjoyed the soft atmosphere of it all.

Almost all of Oxford had become quiet like this. Most students had returned home for the holidays, some earlier, some later. The few that had remained spent their time either holed up in their dorms or apartments with blankets and warm thoughts, or in the campus library as they prepared for their last exams of the year.

Personally, Arthur was part of neither group. He didn't have the option of going home, at least he didn't unless he planned on wasting the train fare and spending his Christmas all alone in his family home. With all four sons spread out across the UK, Mr and Mrs Kirkland had taken the chance to spend December on their first couple's vacation in 30 years - the first time since Arthur's oldest brother, Alistor, had been born.

As for exams, Arthur, being done with his degree by several years, didn't have to worry about that. Not even work required any special effort of him these days. There wasn't much of anything left for him to do, leaving him not only calm for the holidays, but also bored out of his mind.

The presents for his family were currently distributed between Amazon fulfilment centres all over the country, just waiting to be delivered to him only to then be sent away once more. He'd made Christmas cookies, prepared whatever ingredients he already knew he'd need for his Christmas dinner, he'd even gone as far as to develop his annual hatred for Michael Bublé and Mariah Carey a week early. And thus all that was truly left for him to do in preparation for Christmas was the one holiday activity he loathed with all his heart.

Decorating.

Now, no matter how his hatred for certain annually returning artists and all things decorating might make it seem, Arthur did by no means dislike the holidays themselves. Fine, he was the proud owner of a Grinch pullover and he had been compared to the character on numerous occasions, but at the end of the day he loved it as much as anyone. No, it was just the decorating that he despised.

He hated hanging up the lights out in the cold, fiddling with knotted cables as his fingers slowly but surely turned into popsicles. Hated poking himself on holly leaves and other needlessly prickly evergreens in the process of making a wreath for his front door, all because the ones at the store were either too expensive or too flashy for his taste.

The thing Arthur Kirkland hated most of all about decorating, however, was not his electricity bill, the flashiness of it all or even the various cuts all over his hands in the aftermath. No, it was a man - Alfred F. Jones.

Jones inhabited the other half of the duplex Arthur lived in. It should have been simple, a good neighbour relationship, some small-talk across the stupid little fence between their halves of the tiny spot of grass that had been advertised as a garden, and perhaps even sharing recipes for Christmas cookies.

It wasn't simple, though.

Jones, who'd moved to England for reasons unbeknownst to his neighbour, was not only the personification of the stereotypical loudmouthed American, he also loved Christmas decorations with all his heart. And so, the exact same way it had been for the four years they'd spent living in this arrangement, on the first of December he'd pulled out box upon box of lights, inflatables, garlands, wreaths, anything and everything that was even vaguely related to Christmas.

And just like every year since Jones had first moved here four years ago, Arthur had put his hatred for all things tacky and decoration-y aside and decided that, no matter the popsicle fingers and bandaid usage, he couldn't let Jones succeed in making Arthur's half of the duplex seem unfestive, not to mention making the rest of the street think neither of them had class in decorating.

☆ • ☆ • ☆

December 4 - Second Advent

They were only four days into December and Jones was already in full Christmas mode. It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas was blasting from speakers that Arthur would have paid millions to locate, just so he could throw them out of the nearest window. Three more weeks until Christmas, and already Arthur's chronic hate for the voice of a certain Canadian four-time Grammy-winner had resurfaced.

Cheerful, off-key whistling sounded from outside, no matter the fact it was 7 am on a Sunday. Through bleary eyes and half-closed curtains Arthur looked outside, only to find Jones busily hanging all sorts of rainbow lights of the poor shrubbery on his half of the garden. Tiredness be damned, it took Arthur all of four minutes to get dressed and grab his own crate of holiday lights.

Outside he was awaited by frosty air, a grey sky and a neighbour that might as well have been a paid actor to advertise for some string-light company. Arthur had misjudged the amount of work Jones had already done: not only his shrubs but also the wall of his half of the house as well as the fence were decorated with all sorts of lights; a net across the wall, a garland at the edge of the small awning over the door, small light-arches all along the edge of his garden.

"Mornin', Kirkland!" he called. "Finally made it out to decorate? I gotta say, your half's gonna look like the home of the Grinch if you don't do something!"

Arthur didn't reply, simply returned a muttered, "Morning," as he pulled on the end of the first string of lights he could reach. Curse Jones and his stupid, over the top decorations, his loudness, his music, his everything. With furrowed brows and both hands in a huge, tangled ball of cables and lights he glanced out from beneath his messy bangs.

His neighbour was currently bent over some small reindeer figurine, fiddling with cables and antlers and whatever else got in his way. It was almost involuntarily that Arthur let his gaze wander across the other's body - entirely Jones' fault too, how dare he bend over and stick his ass out in Arthur's direction. Clad in only one of what had been proven to be a full collection of ugly Christmas sweaters (this one saying "It's the most wonderful time for a beer") Jones looked like the perfect fusion of a holiday card and a frat boy.

"Need some help back there, Arthur?" he asked at that moment. "I know getting festive is hard for you, considering how much of a Scrooge you are!"

Arthur grit his teeth and tried to keep from replying. If he just ignored Jones and concentrated on his decorations instead, the other might stop bothering him. If he was Scrooge, Jones must have been the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, for he was clearly showing Arthur how he'd suffer for the next 3 weeks.

"Lest you forget, Ebenezer Scrooge is just as festive as anybody else after the arrival of the three ghosts," Arthur retorted. "Then again, Americans aren't exactly known for their literacy, are they?"

The words passed his lips before he could stop himself, and with a small curse Arthur tugged on what had to be the end of a third string of lights, given how he was already holding the ends of two different ones. He knew it was stupid to get into this with Jones, simply because the other was as stubborn as he was prideful as he was loud.

"Pff, so you're telling me all I have to do to get you to be likeable is keep you up all night?" Jones gave him a bright grin and wiggling eyebrows, and as though his violation of Dickens' novel had not been bad enough, the fact that he had somehow managed to turn it into an atrocious pick-up line was somehow far worse.

"I- Uh! I'm gay!" Arthur blurted out, and even Bublé shut up. Mostly because the song was over, but probably also because of how sudden a confession that had been.

Arthur's cheeks were about as red as the stripes on a candy cane, and as George Michael took up the place that had opened up in the absence of Michael Bublé, Arthur decided he'd have to become a hermit somewhere in Antarctica.

Not only could his words not have been any further from the matter at hand - how his sexuality related to Dickens, he'd never know - but also he had just proclaimed his gayness to Alfred Jones of all people.

Jones burst into bright, bell-like laughter, but perhaps that was just the Christmas mood speaking from Arthur's brain.

With a frown Arthur returned his attention to the bundle of cables and small lightbulbs before him, somehow producing yet another end, but still not one string of detangled fairy lights. Had he packed those damn things by cutting them up?

Alfred turned around to face Arthur - a pity, really, his ass had been a welcome view considering how annoying that mouth of his was - and looked at him with a raised brow. "Trust me dude, I know. You're wearing skinny jeans, eyeliner and black nail polish. I know."

"You're confusing punk and gay, Jones," he commented wryly, before focusing on the stupid lights once more. Finally, he produced the end of the first string. With a steady hand and attention to detail, Arthur began wrapping the string all around the two pillars seaming his entryway, making sure the lights were both evenly spaced and well-fixed to the columns.

After about fifteen more minutes of various Christmas songs and even more sleigh bells, Arthur's entryway had begun looking at least partially festive. The only thing missing was the evergreen garland to go around the top and hide any cable mess he might have left behind. He glanced over at the neighbouring garden, coming to find Alfred had placed not one or two, but eleven more reindeer next to and behind the first one.

Of course. In true Jones fashion he wasn't just putting up a single one, but a whole sleigh setup.

"What, jealous of my reindeer, Kirkland?" Alfred asked with a grin, as he connected the individual figures with smaller cables. "I can give you a carrot, too."

"I'm not jealous of anything," Arthur retorted, not even addressing the "joke". Great. All of twenty minutes had passed, and already Jones was belittling him for his sexuality. "And even if I was, it sure as hell wouldn't be some tacky reindeer decorations."

"Oh, you're totally jealous."

Arthur let out a small huff and turned back to his garland, pulling out a small roll of twine. With the plastic greenery looped over his shoulder and the twine in his right hand, he began cutting off small pieces of string, careful to leave them long enough to fix the stupid garland. This would have been easier with a helping hand or two, but not only did Arthur live alone, he'd also rather fall off the chair he was standing on than ask Jones for help.

With the power of spite and a general disdain towards appearing weak, especially in front of Jones, Arthur made it eventually. The garland hung from perfectly spaced hooks in small arcs, little lamps glowing amongst its faux foliage. As it was, only the entrance to his half of the duplex was decorated, not the entirety of the garden and house.

Arthur would yet have to prepare the wreath for his front door, not to mention the various decorations for his windows and front lawn, but at least he'd gotten part of the work done, without injury no less. On the other half of the property, however, it appeared as though Santa Claus himself had thrown up all over the garden.

A small sleigh complete with twelve reindeer and a Santa sat diagonally across the lawn, multicoloured fairy lights wrapped all around shrubs and trees and whatever else Jones had been able to reach. A net of lights hung all along his wall, each and every square inch of surface was adorned with lights and glitter.

"Amazing, isn't it?" His neighbour asked at that moment. "I just can't wait for the other stuff to arrive, this is going to be so cool!"

"The... The other stuff?"

Jones turned to face him, gleaming just as much as his garden. It looked as though he had tried to put up landing lights for Santa - too bad the old man's parking spot was already occupied by the glowing sleigh. At this rate he'd only need to elongate his driveway a little more and he could put Heathrow Airport out of business.

"Of course! Did you seriously think I was done?"

Did Arthur think that? No. Had he hoped? Yes.

Jones began counting on his fingers as he listed off what was apparently missing, as Arthur struggled to imagine even one of the decorations finding a free spot on the lawn. "I'm still waiting for the inflatable Santa, the Santa for the window, the glowing ladder, the third Santa, the 6-foot candy canes, and about 100 more feet of lights! Oh, wait, I forgot about the-"

Arthur slowly tuned out as his mind was instead occupied by the entirely horrific picture of what the house would look like once Jones was done decorating his half. And as Bing Crosby sang about a white Christmas, he began silently making a list of what he'd have to buy by next weekend.

☆ • ☆ • ☆

December 11 - Third Advent

The packages had arrived on time, in both halves of Holyoake Road number 32. The morning of the third out of four advent Sundays began the same way the last had: a Christmas playlist in 32B, a cheerful neighbour, and Arthur almost falling out of his bed to the blared tunes of Bruce Springsteen's Santa Claus Is Coming To Town.

With a rather un-Christmas-like wish to commit homicide, Arthur crawled out of bed and, after a quick wash, began gathering what decorations had amassed over the past week. A whole Saturday's worth of work still sat on his kitchen table - a wreath of holly and noble fir, yet another amazingly prickly evergreen, as Arthur had come to discover.

Hands still covered in bandaids (at least he wouldn't need gloves this week), he tore his coat off the hook on the door and exchanged loafers for some worn out winter boots that had seen better days. Twelve packages and another wave of curses later, Arthur was outside in the biting cold, already regretting his decision of not putting on gloves.

"Hey neighbour! Finally dropped out of bed?"

Jones was already at work, not that Arthur hadn't known that before. The sleigh and reindeer had been joined by a snowman at the centre of what little lawn the suburban home offered. Against what Alfred had previously promised, the snowman was not a product of plastic and air pump, but rather real snow, as attested by the thick covering of white powder snow sticking to Jones' gloves.

"Ain't little Frosty over here amazing? He's almost as cold and grumpy as you!" Jones exclaimed with another wave of bright laughter, only countered with an eye roll from Arthur.

"Little Frosty" was only about fifteen centimetres shorter than Arthur, which was to say he was just under 160 cm tall. The snowman was huge, and the thought of how long it must have taken and, by extension, how early Jones must have gotten up to make it, was horrifying.

"At least he's silent," Arthur retorted as he hung the greenery-turned-murder-instrument from his door. "Can't say that about you."

"Well, he's also not as much of a party-pooper as you, so that's a plus! And he can glow!"

"I... What?"

There was some rummaging and the sound of what had to be Jones digging through some snow, then the other man produced a small remote with a cheerful, “A-Ha!” and yet another one of those one thousand megawatt smiles. With furrowed brows Arthur watched on as Jones pressed a button on the remote and the snowman came to life.

Well, not literally, but all of a sudden the body of the snow-giant began glowing in bright red and green, pulsing to the rhythm of the current song - Jingle Bell Rock. He didn't know whether to be impressed or horrified that Jones had taken such amounts of effort onto himself, all for a craft that would quite literally melt away. In the end Arthur decided on a mix of the two.

"Isn't he cool?" Jones beamed.

Arthur stifled a groan before replying, "That's the way snow is, Alfred. He's cool by definition."

Jones didn't reply and instead picked up what Arthur recognised as a super-sized candy cane only far too late. He hadn't been joking the week before, the damn thing truly was six feet tall. The fact alone that half of his neighbour's decorations were either as tall or taller than him horrified Arthur more than he'd like to admit. Was this how all Americans behaved?

As Arthur busied himself with the strings of lights for the conifer on his front lawn, carefully wrapping the thin cables all around the tree, he watched on from the corner of his eye how Jones put up cane after cane. The sound of his rubber mallet echoed through the street, and Arthur was somewhat impressed that he actually stuck to the beat of the song as he hammered each cane down into the thick blanket of snow.

"Dude, you totally missed a spot!"

The call came from much closer than he'd have liked, and when Arthur turned to see what Jones was talking about now, he found his neighbour leaning on the low fence separating their gardens.

"Are you going to explain where, or is that about as helpful as you're going to be?" Arthur asked, caught by surprise when Jones simply leapt across the fence and came to stand beside him at the bottom of the tree.

He pointed at some area vaguely to Arthur's right. "Over here, look! There's no lights there at all!"

Arthur leant over slightly on his step stool, stretching to reach the area Jones was pointing at. He saw it now, too, but somehow he couldn't quite reach it. With renewed effort he stretched some more as he tried to get the string of lights around one of the empty branches, but he was always a couple of inches short.

That was the moment it went south. Jones reached for the cable that Arthur was still holding on to and simply pulled it over some more. He did get the job done and got lights onto the barren part of the tree, but he also succeeded in making Arthur lose his balance.

With a small yelp Arthur slipped off the edge of his stool, and with his hands still clenched around the fairy lights, he tumbled onto the ground. Or well, he would have, if not for something warm, squishy, and groaning beneath him.

He'd landed right on top of Jones. Lord have mercy.

Arthur struggled to push himself up, however, both because of the arm that had been slung protectively around his waist and because of the way the lights had managed to wrap around them. He'd always thought that was just a trope in Hallmark Christmas movies, but apparently Arthur was just as able as the busy businesswoman coming home to her small town for the holidays. Lucky him.

"Damn, are you ok?" Alfred groaned from somewhere far too close to him. When Arthur finally opened his eyes, which he didn't know he'd clenched shut in the first place, he came to discover just how close they were.

He could have counted Jones' eyelashes, if he felt like it, and even without doing that Arthur was close enough to smell the soft scent of chocolate, peppermint and coffee that surrounded him. As if he hadn't been able to be any more clichéd.

Arthur was probably bright red, but between the cables and Alfred's arm there was little to no room for him to escape. "I, uh... Yes. Are you alright?"

"With you in my arms? Always."

Jones gave him a saucy wink, and though Arthur had to admit he was actually surprisingly comfortable like this (with the thick jacket to cushion him even his neighbour could make for a nice pillow), that single comment was enough to make him renew his efforts to escape their entanglement.

"Stop it," he complained, one arm twisted behind himself in an attempt to undo whatever knot they'd managed to get into the string of lights upon falling. Just like Jones' discovery of the remote before, his success was accompanied by a small, “A-Ha!”

Arthur was quick to jump off of Jones after that, eager to escape his hold. At least the cold gave him plausible deniability as for the bright red flush of his cheeks. "Thank you," he muttered, then he returned his attention to the string of lights, newly tangled and most definitely plotting to make his life worse.

With a chuckle Jones swung a leg back over the fence and returned to his half of the property and the half-erected candy canes. "Well, happy to help! Can't have your tree looking as one-sided as British cuisine, can I?"

"Pretty sure an American shouldn't comment about cuisine, considering you don't have any of your own," Arthur commented wryly. Right back to the usual business, good. Just don’t address what happened just now... "Unless diabetes counts as cuisine now?"

Alfred laughed, but didn't reply.

Arthur was still wrapping the cables-turned-matchmaker/murder-weapon around the rows of branches, careful to weave them so they'd withstand the wind, when Jones pulled out what had to be the twentieth string of fairy lights in his garden alone. In his mind Arthur thanked the Lord that this wasn't his electricity bill to pay.

A new box, a new string of lights, a new decoration, a new power strip.

"Do you just live like the Amish all year so you can afford your electricity bill in December, Jones?" he asked as he hung the first of all too many light brown baubles onto the tree. "Or is there government funding from the American embassy specifically for shenanigans like this?"

He glanced over to the other half of the property, absentmindedly noticing how ten human-sized candy canes now seamed the small path leading up to Jones' porch and front door. Two of the striped pillars were already wrapped in lights, the rest of the string still in his neighbour's hands.

"Man, I wish!" he laughed. "But don't worry, just living as old-timey as you is enough to keep my bills low."

Arthur's expression darkened, but he kept silent as he went on hanging ornaments on the branches of his tree. He remained that way, minding his business in an attempt at ignoring the Christmas faire that was his neighbour's lawn and house, but when Jones opened the last of the packages on his porch - most definitely large enough to fit Arthur - any attempts at goodwill ended.

"You cannot seriously plan to put that up," he said.

"Of course I can, dummy! Why else would I buy it?"

Alfred was as cheerful and innocent as he was grating Arthur's nerves, and for a second the Brit found himself contemplating whether he should just throw down his baubles and pick up snowballs instead. Perhaps some snow to the face would wake Jones up to how obnoxiously flashy and tasteless his half of the duplex looked.

In the end he didn't, but instead watched on in a state of powerlessness as Alfred Jones, menace to polite society and American extraordinaire, pulled a life-sized Santa, complete with a string-ladder and a huge sack of gifts, out of the package.

"You cannot be serious," he repeated, but Jones had already set up a ladder at the edge of his roof.

Three years of this, and each year he was horrified anew by the sheer amount of time and money Alfred was willing to spend on his Christmas decoration. Less than ten percent of the year, and yet he did enough to compete in some entirely unnecessary and likely American-dominated championship over the worst, most over-the-top decorations.

Arthur did not stick around to wait until he had fixed Santa, including his rope ladder, to his roof. Jesus had been crucified just before Easter, he did not need to watch Santa being hanged on Christmas.

☆ • ☆ • ☆

December 18 - Fourth Advent

The fourth advent had proven to be a deviation from the norm Alfred Frighteningly-Festive Jones had established over the past two weeks. Unlike the weekends before, he had not started his routine of decoration, Christmas playlist and bafflingly cheery attitude until late in the afternoon.

Arthur knew the reason for that too - considering how loud his neighbour's Christmas party the night before had been, it wouldn't surprise him if Jones had spent his morning and noon both cleaning and dealing with a splitting headache. He might have felt pity, had his head not also been screaming at him - going by the half empty bottle of scotch on his dining room table Arthur had made an attempt at helping himself fall asleep.

As it was, Bing Crosby only began singing at half past 5, in the light of Christmas decorations as the sun had already gone down - how Arthur hated winter. Headache be damned, he was not ready to give in to the fact he'd had to accustom to every year before this - that Jones had decorated his house more and that, no matter Arthur's classier decorations, the duplex still looked like a mess because of that fact.

Regardless, Arthur still gathered the last of his own decorations. Whether it truly made sense to put up decorations one week before Christmas, well, perhaps not, but he'd be damned if Jones outdid him. He might have done so already, but nonetheless Arthur was more than reluctant to give up. And so he left his part of the house once more, armed with gloves, the last 30 feet of fairy lights, and some small glowing arches to seam his own pathway.

Outside he was welcomed the same way as each of the past weeks. "Hey Arthur, welcome to the land of the living! And here I thought you'd slept in last week, damn!"

He didn't reply and instead crouched down right by his front door, getting out the first of the arches. They were small, and even now Arthur could envision himself kneeling here some time past nine, still hammering in the decorations. The influence Jones had over his actions was equally scary and annoying to Arthur.

Nonetheless he went to work, switching back and forth between red and green arches to place them in an alternating pattern. Whether that was just his own view of things or not, to Arthur it still looked more discreet and tasteful than the rainbow madness that was going on in 32B.

"So, tell me, Jones," he began eventually, figuring that after all the comments his neighbour had made about him in the past weeks, he owed Arthur one. "When are you going to put up the flashing lights warnings? At this point I wouldn't be surprised if your house gave somebody a seizure."

"Depends!" the chipper reply sounded from beyond the fence, where Jones was currently setting up a pile of glowing gifts next to the sleigh from two weeks before. "When are you going to set up the "No fun allowed" sign in front of your house? Wouldn't want your Grinch-complex to ruin too many people's moods, right?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and proceeded to add arch after arch to the melody of Little Saint Nick. Whoever had decided that the Beach Boys of all people should make a Christmas song had not only held too much power, but had also been wrong.

After the lights disaster from the week before, things went surprisingly smoothly this time around. Arthur was reluctant to admit that he still felt the weight of Alfred's arm wrapped around him, if he thought about that moment, but other than that it was almost as if he'd never fallen off that damn stool. A small jab here, a witty remark there, all was back to normal. All was good.

Until Alfred pulled it out.

"It" was a large package, as had been every other thing Jones had pulled out into his garden on the past Sundays. Arthur tried acting as though he was focussing on his own decorations, as he instead watched on in something akin to fear what Jones had ordered this time.

He saw red. Something large and red slowly but surely surfaced from amidst packing peanuts and cardboard, here a bit of white and there a bit of black. Arthur stared from behind the fence, not that Jones would have been able to tell, considering the amount of plastic he was holding.

There was some rummaging, the sound of what had to be the ninetieth plug Alfred had pushed into one or the other socket this month. Once more Arthur wondered just how high his neighbour's electric bill had to be. The sound of a switch, then the roar of a pump.

Oh Lord. Of course. Inflatables.

Thinking nothing more of it, Arthur went back to work by the shine of both of their decorations. One thing he had to admit, Alfred's half of the premise was brighter. Then again, unlike Arthur's side it flickered the entire time as each and every part of the garden flashed or changed colours, one bright, bothersome sludge of rainbow colours.

It was completely dark by the time Arthur had set up the last of his arches. With a small sense of pride he watched the decorations flicker to life upon plugging them in. By now Arthur was shivering. The winter cold had slowly seeped into him from the bottom up, starting at his feet and crawling up until he felt like a living popsicle. And he would have called it a night, he really would.

Had it not been for a certain something to his right, namely a more than life-sized Santa-inflatable. Arthur froze, not because of the cold, but simply because there was no way. He couldn't be serious. No. This was it.

Arthur had endured the sleigh, the candy canes, the window decorations, the miles upon miles of fairy lights, the Santa on the roof, hell, he'd endured Frosty, but this... This was too much.

"You can't... You can't seriously mean to put that up." He struggled finding the words as he stared up, emphasis on up, at the inflatable Father Christmas.

"Of course I can! Why else would I have bought it? It can even play Christmas songs, wait, I'll plug it in-"

"Don't. You. Dare."

Just three words, and yet Arthur swore he caught a challenging glint in Alfred's eyes from across the fence. He stepped a little closer, arms folded across his chest.

"What are you gonna do about it, Mr. Scrooge?" Alfred asked with a grin, plug already in hand. "All it takes is one little push and it'll be done!"

Arthur didn't even think, he simply leapt over the low fence between their gardens. Before he knew what he was doing, he was next to Jones, one hand reaching for the cable of that stupid monument to American hyperbole and hubris, the other clenched into a fist. He darted forward in an attempt to get a hold of the cord. "I swear to God, Jones, I'll-"

Before Arthur could finish that sentence or reach the cable, Alfred dodged to the side. While Arthur stumbled and fell into a pile of snow, he spun around with a smirk. "Well? What're you gonna do, Kirkland?"

Arthur growled, bare hands digging into snow as he pushed himself off the ground to lunge at Jones once more with a hoarse yell. They both fell, limbs tangled as they rolled across frozen ground in the battle for the cable. Arthur found himself clawing at whatever he could reach, clothes, hair, anything, hoping he'd somehow get a hold of the cord.

He was doing his best to pin Jones down, but even with all of Arthur's weight on top of him, Alfred began moving once more, dragging himself towards the closest power strip. With a stifled yell Arthur tried once more, finally catching Jones' leg and yanking him back with a harsh pull.

Alfred fell into the snow face first, sputtering and spitting out snow when he resurfaced at last. He was covered in snow from head to toe in much the same way Arthur was.

"It's over, Kirkland!" he exclaimed, and only then did Arthur recognise the power strip in his hand. With a triumphant grin Jones presented the multi socket. "I won!" Alfred yelled with an almost maniacal grin when pushed in the plug, laughing to himself as hundreds of lights flickered to life all at once.

Arthur could only watch on powerlessly as the inflatable came to life, a single glowing spot at the centre of a small front yard in Oxford.

Between the music, the air pump and Jones' laughter, he almost missed it. A brief burst of sorts, a single sound and all of a sudden everything was gone.

Nat King Cole fell mute, the candy canes lost their lustre. The noise from the air pump was gone, the sleigh on the lawn was dark once more. The music, the light, the noise, all was gone. All of a sudden, there was nothing but the dark, quiet cold of winter.

"What... What just happened..?"

Deep down, Arthur wanted to scream. Of course, of course Jones' festive frenzy had resulted in nothing but trouble. In the absence of motion he could feel the cold seep into his skin and bones, burrowing deeper and deeper in his body until he felt like he was about to freeze to death. He was wet and covered in snow all over.

"What do you think just happened?" Arthur snapped, struggling to contain the urge to yell at Jones. "You blew a fuse. We don't have power."

After a brief moment of silence Jones seemed to realise their position. He slowly crawled off of Arthur and got up, dusting himself off. "But we can just put it back in, right?" he asked, almost meekly. Arthur couldn't see his expression, even with the faint glow of the street lights on the other side of the road.

With a groan Arthur rose back to his feet. He could feel the dull ache of the oncoming bruises around his shoulders and hips where he'd hit the ground. And still he was pained more by Jones' sheer endless well of naiveté. Had he not known better, he would have sworn his neighbour was a child.

"We can't," he grit out. Arthur's teeth were chattering. "The fuse box is in the basement, so unless Mrs Smith gave you the key, we can't reach it."

Jones shook his head. Phenomenal.

Somewhere next to him Jones fidgeted. "W-Wait, so we don't have electricity? Like, at all?" Arthur didn't know whether it was just the cold or whether his mind was playing tricks on him, but it seemed like Jones was shaking.

"No," Arthur said curtly. "Now if you'll excuse me, unless you want to spend Christmas this way, I have a phone call to make."

With stiff limbs and numb fingers Arthur returned to the fence, past the torn remnants of a string-light and trampled snow. Now that the adrenaline from before had ebbed off, each and every movement Arthur made felt heavy and sluggish, but perhaps that was just the cold. He struggled getting back across the fence this time.

It was only when Arthur was fiddling with his keys, struggling to find the lock with only the light of his phone flashlight to guide him, that he felt the burn of Jones' stare on the back of his neck.

"What?" The word came out harsher than he'd meant it to, and Arthur could have sworn he caught the other flinching.

"I... Um..." Jones seemed lost, almost intimidated when he replied. He stood in silence, alone in the dark and cold of the last Sunday before Christmas. "Do you have a candle?"

Arthur turned back towards the fence, key stuck in the lock, unturned. "I'm sorry?"

"Do you maybe have a candle I could borrow?" The question felt almost too polite after their struggle in the snow, too silent to fit Jones. "I... Well, I don't have any, and I just really don't like the dark and my phone's almost out of power but I can't go to bed because it's only seven and you know, just..." He trailed off.

Arthur remained quiet for a moment. He already regretted what he was about to say, and yet he couldn't stop himself. "Just... Just come in, Alfred." At last he turned the key, and with a small creak his front door swung open. It took another moment or so, then Alfred began moving again, hurrying over onto Arthur's side and to where he stood.

"Leave your boots by the door," Arthur said. "I don't want melted snow all over my floors."

Guided only by what little light their phones provided, Arthur led Alfred inside. Even after shedding the snow-covered jackets and boots, he felt nothing but cold and wet. Apparently the "100% waterproof" jacket was about as water-resistant as tissue paper. A cold shiver ran down his back, and for a moment Arthur played with the thought of just taking a hot bath - until he remembered Alfred, at least.

He might as well have been glued to Arthur's heels, judging by the way he never left more than four feet between them. Without the thick winter jacket and his boisterous behaviour, he seemed only half as big and imposing as usual. The only thing that didn't fit that image was tonight's ugly Christmas sweater, decorated with the words "Jingle my bells."

For that crime against his eyes alone Arthur should have left him outside.

Nonetheless he guided Alfred into the living room. Arthur quickly began rummaging through one of his cabinets. With his phone in one hand and only one free to actually work through the contents of his drawer, it took Arthur quite a while to find at least one candle. He'd just discovered a second one when Jones bumped into him. With a small sound of surprise from Alfred and a curse from Arthur the candle dropped to the ground.

"Oh shi- I'm sorry Arthur, wait, I'll-"

He crouched down to get the candle, only to hit his head on the drawer on the way back up. With a hand pressed to the back of his head he stood, handing Arthur the candle.

"Are you ok?" Arthur asked, but Alfred only nodded. Well, he moved his head at least, Arthur couldn't see much more. Unless he pointed the flashlight right at him, that vague movement was all he got for a reply.

At last Arthur found a lighter amongst the clutter of his drawer. When the first wick finally caught fire, Alfred relaxed visibly next to him. He handed the other the first candle, already working on lighting a second one for himself.

"Thank you, Arthur," Alfred muttered, his hands clenched tightly around the small jar.

"You're welcome." Another flicker of his lighter, another small flame as Arthur lit the second candle. With another glance at the old, already half-burnt candle in his hand he set some extras out on the side.

He turned Alfred around by his shoulder, carefully directing him in the direction of his living room. Arthur made a point to ignore the way he flinched. This was awkward enough as it was.

"I'll call Mrs Smith, just wait here," he said eventually.

Without another glance Arthur retreated to the kitchen, already dialing his landlady's number.

☆ • ☆ • ☆

"She's in London."

Alfred tore his eyes away from the little flame dancing in the glass. "What was that?" he asked after a moment. "I'm so-sorry, I didn't notice you coming back in."

Arthur let out a small sigh, taking a seat opposite to Alfred at the dining room table. He carefully set down the candle he'd been holding.

"She's in London, visiting her family. With the snow and the traffic jam on the M25 it'll take her a good three hours, at the very least..."

"There's a traff-"

"There's always a traffic jam on the M25."

Even with nothing but the flickering candle flame to illuminate him, Arthur could see the way Alfred's expression fell. The faint light had helped him ease up somewhat, but he was still shivering. He'd wrapped his arms tightly around himself, fingers trembling ever so slightly.

Arthur rose from his seat once more. Even now, back in the comfort of his own home, he was freezing. Arthur was cold enough to freeze to his chair. "Do you want me to light another candle?" he asked gently, hoping to coax some sort of reaction out of the other.

Annoying as he might've been, at that moment Alfred looked like a picture of misery. For a second he felt sorry for yelling at him earlier, but then the second passed and Arthur remembered that they wouldn't be in this situation without Alfred.

As though he'd read his mind Alfred spoke up. "I'm s-sorry, Arthur..." he muttered. "I really fucked up this t-time, huh?" He gave him a weak smile, but somehow that only made him look more pitiful. Somehow Arthur did feel sorry this time.

"You did," he replied eventually, earning him a startled glance from Alfred. "But you didn't mean to, right? I know that d-doesn't change the outcome, but..." He trailed off. But what?

Without the music or the sounds of Alfred working outside like on each of the past Sundays, the wordless silence between them became uncomfortably loud. Without the trouble of climbing ladders and falling off them, without the work of hammering in individual arches and decorating whatever else he could reach, the duplex half that had felt so cosy each of the past days suddenly felt ice cold. There was nothing. Nothing beyond that small island of light surrounding the two candles, just Alfred and him.

"I'll... Go get you something f-fresh to wear," he said eventually. "You're p-probably wet all over, too, right? I'll see whether I can-"

A hand closed around his wrist, gentle but cold. "Plea… Please don't leave me alone, Arthur."

Alfred hadn't turned to look at him, in fact he still stared ahead, at the flickering lights of the candles. For a moment Arthur remained still, unsure what to do. It wasn't fair. When those blue eyes met his own, they were soft and pleading in the way they looked at him.

They shouldn't belong to his neighbour with a love for flashing lights and rainbow colours. They shouldn't belong to somebody so loud, tall, bothersome.

It wasn't fair that Alfred looked at him this way.

"I'm sorry Alfred, but I have to-"

All words were gone. Before Arthur could as much as finish his sentence, it had dissolved in his mind. Everything was gone, as with a rough yank on Arthur's wrist, Alfred pulled him into a gentle kiss. The contact lasted a moment, a moment longer, a moment too long. With a gasp Arthur flinched back, the back of his hand pressed against his mouth as he brought some distance between them.

Alfred's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, I can-"

"How dare you-" The words died on his lips. Lips Alfred had touched. They'd kissed. No, Alfred had kissed him. How could he just-

"Is this because of t-two weeks ago?" Arthur blurted out. "Is this all a joke to you?"

It took a moment until his words sunk in. Alfred stared at him with wide eyes, wide and open and so bright and blue they might have been the sky over Antarctica. He stared at him, as though it had been Arthur who'd kissed him. He stared at him as though he wasn't in the wrong, as though that stare alone was not infuriating in itself.

"I... What?"

"Is this your idea of a joke?" Arthur asked, and what had been shock seconds ago turned into anger, hurt. "Are you trying to make fun of me for being gay? Is that what this is, Jones?"

Alfred looked as though he'd been burnt. He flinched back with each of Arthur's words, mouth agape in wordless silence as he realised what Arthur meant. The way he stared at him was almost one of betrayal, and for just a moment Arthur would have loved nothing more than to wipe that stupid expression off his face.

"What? No! No, I didn't-" Alfred cut himself off. Arthur raised a brow, gesturing for him to proceed. "Look, I- I don't care whether you're gay! F-Fuck, I'm not straight either, ok? It's just-" He wrung his hands, wordless once more.

I'm not straight either.

Arthur shook his head, pushing aside the echo of that sentence. He didn't want to think about what it meant, what it could mean for what had just happened. He didn't want to think about what had happened just now, at all. He was too cold to think.

"T-Take off your sweater," he said eventually. Against his will, his ire had died down as quickly as it had come. He felt no more than resignation and tiredness. Resignation, tiredness, and the cold that had been seeping through his clothes and skin and down into his bones.

It was only when he noticed the way Alfred looked at him, that he realised what he'd just said. There he went again, staring at him with those stupidly innocent eyes, cheeks bright red. With a slight stammer Arthur added, "I- Shit, not like... I just don't want you to catch a cold, ok?"

Though his blush didn't fade, not that it could have this quickly, the baffled expression left Alfred's face. "O-Oh," was all he got out. He rose from his chair and reached for the hem of his jumper, and with Arthur's eyes still on him, he halted, let his arms sink once more.

Arthur raised a brow as he watched on for another moment. Alfred stayed still. "Is something the matter?" he asked at last.

"I... Um... Aren't you going to turn around?" The question was tentative. "I... I don't have anything on beneath the sweater, so- You d-don't have to lend me anything, just like-" That faint red colour had returned to Alfred's face stronger than ever, and this time Arthur was sure it wasn't just the cold.

"Ah, shi- Sorry, I should have thought of that. I'll see whether I can find something for you."

Somehow it felt like he was fleeing, when Arthur left. He knew he wasn't, knew that this was his own home, but the thought proved too persistent to push away just yet.

When he returned at last, armed with an old, positively gigantic hoodie, Arthur was still as cold as he'd been before. He'd changed, too; everything down to his socks had been wet. The fresh clothes were dry, but even with the thick, fluffy jumper and fuzzy socks he was shivering.

Back downstairs, he was awaited by nothing but the lonely flicker of the first candle. That, and the bare back it illuminated. Alfred must have heard him, too, because at that very moment he spun around. Somehow Arthur didn't mind too much, however, not with the way the candle highlighted his bare chest.

He couldn't help but trace along the even plains of Alfred's chest and farther down to his abdomen. With the faint, soft lighting of the candles and what little light streamed in through the cracks in his blinds, it almost seemed as though his chest was glistening. Maybe it was some of the water from his soaked jumper or maybe Arthur was simply starved for a view like this one. 2022 hadn't proven to be all that successful in terms of dating, at least not for him.

Whichever one it was, it took a moment for him to realise that Alfred had caught him staring, then his mind caught up at last. "I, um... I found a hoodie you can wear, I think that should fit. I also have a pair of sweats, but I'm not sure whether those will..." Arthur trailed off, perhaps because of the look Alfred gave him. Shock, yes, but also something that reminded Arthur of how he had to be staring at Alfred just then. "D-Didn't you- I thought you didn't want me to see-"

Somehow words had become hard. At last the tension snapped and Arthur regained control over himself, dropping the clothes and spinning around. This is just a guy's body, nothing you haven't seen before, he told himself, but somehow that proved to be rather uneffective.

There was some rustling, the sound of Alfred's soaked trousers hitting the floor, then more rustling. Another moment passed, then Alfred spoke up from behind him. "You can t-turn around now."

If he was honest, Arthur was almost disappointed when he did. Not only was Alfred’s chest covered once more, the hoodie and sweatpants were also loose enough to leave just about everything to the imagination. He shook his head slightly in an attempt to push that thought aside. What was even going on inside his mind?

At least Alfred saved him from having to say something first, a small comfort. "Damn dude, how c-come your half is so cold?" he asked between shuddering breaths, rubbing his hands together. "Was I the only one to g-g-get a heater?"

Arthur let out a small laugh, tried to behave as though he wasn't freezing his arse off just as much. "S-Sorry, I turned it down to reduce heating costs," he replied. He failed, he was stammering the same way Alfred was. He really should turn up the heat.

"Yeah, you're right, what's a few f-fingers, if you can reduce the c-c-cost..." Alfred replied, but with chattering teeth and trembling fingers the snark of his reply was lost. "J-Just listen to me! C-can't even make a joke effectively in this f-freezer of an apartment!"

"Guess that's a sign you shouldn't c-complain as much," Arthur joked, even as he reached for one of the blankets on his couch. "I've got some blankets, we can't do much like this, anyway."

He was halfway over to the small, two-seater couch at the centre of his living room when he turned around once more. "Oh, and Alfred? Watch out for the coffee-"

There was a thud, then a hissed curse as something dropped to the ground.

"...table." Arthur set his candle down on the offender, coming to find Alfred just behind him, a stream of various, none-too-festive curses on his lips as he clutched his shin. "Are you alright?" he asked, and though he tried, Arthur failed miserably at holding back his laughter.

"C-Can it, Kirkland," Alfred grit out between chattering teeth. "First you try to make me freeze to death, and now you try assassinating me!"

"I'd be a great assassin, wouldn't I," Arthur mused with a grin. "First one to have a confirmed kill with a coffee table."

Cold or not, Alfred made another attempt to glare at him. Too bad he failed in the face of Arthur's amusement, breaking out into bright laughter himself.

"Come here," Arthur said eventually. "Let's make sure I don't freeze you solid by accident."

Alfred grumbled more to himself as he placed his candle next to Arthur's, some muttered words that sounded suspiciously like "Is it really an accident at this point?" He slid into the big, worn out cushions, flinching when he sank into the cool fabric.

"Did you expect me to pre-heat my sofa?" Arthur joked as he shook out the small throw blanket he kept by the sofa. With a last shivering breath he crawled into the spot right next to Alfred, spreading the cuddly fleece blanket right over them.

Almost instantly Alfred scooted over, leaving an inch of distance between them. "Gah, why are you so cold!? Dude, just because I'm freezing doesn't mean you can make me even colder!"

With a rough yank Arthur pulled the blanket back towards himself, stealing back what Alfred had taken and then some. "I might be warmer, if you didn't steal the blanket," he hissed, but even so Arthur found himself inching back towards the other. Annoying or not, Alfred was still warmer than his couch and the blanket combined. After a moment's consideration he pulled his feet up onto the sofa, too, tucking them into the blanket. Way better.

"That doesn't justify stealing it from me!" Alfred whined, but he slid back over, until their hips and shoulders touched. "Stupid tiny blanket..." he muttered.

Arthur raised a brow but said nothing, simply giving the blanket the tiniest bit of slack, so Alfred could have a bit more. That's what he got for being so buff, Arthur thought, more surface area that needed to be covered by the blanket.

Buff or not, Alfred did the same as him and pulled his feet up onto the sofa, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs as they sat there in silence.

Arthur looked over for a moment, finding him watching the flame of his candle, the same way he'd done before. The way the candlelight danced across his face, softly illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw and reflecting in his eyes, it drew him in in a way Arthur had never noticed before. He spotted the soft dusting of pink on Alfred's cheeks, the way the corner of his mouth quirked upwards ever so slightly.

"Are you just going to stare at me until Mrs Smith comes?"

Almost instantly Arthur turned away, but of course it was too late. Alfred had caught him staring, as though being this close wasn't bad enough. He could smell that stupid aroma of chocolate, peppermint and coffee once more; just like last week Alfred smelled of Christmas and comfort and stuff Arthur shouldn't know because he shouldn't know what his neighbour smelled like. But here he was.

Shit.

"Oh, uh, I-"

All his life people had told Arthur how quick-witted he was, but at that moment he was all out of ideas on how to get out of this. His eyes stuck to one of the two candles. That's right. As long as he just looked at the candle, Alfred wouldn't notice, he might even forget that he'd stared at hi-

"You know that's not a reply, right?" Alfred asked, and even without looking Arthur could just see the smirk playing around his lips.

"I was just... Um... Thinking about whether a different position might be warmer..?" Arthur hated the doubt in his voice, but at least he'd finally come up with a reply. A bad one, not to mention an excuse Alfred would never believe, but at least he'd tried.

"Oh?"

Of course he'd ask. Shit.

"Well, you know, if you... If we... cuddled, basically? It would save blanket space and-"

"Just say it, Arthur," Alfred said from somewhere beside him, far too close to him. He had to be smiling like that again, and some part of Arthur, most likely his pride, simply couldn't bear the way he was laughing at him. "You want to spoon, don't you?"

Arthur wanted to slap him, he really did. He would have loved to just spin around and slap him, or at least give him a piece of his mind or something, but no, he remained silent.

With a quick movement the blanket was gone, so was Alfred. He scooted back on the sofa, until his back was pressed against the armrest of the sofa. He spread his legs somewhat, leaving a free spot between them. A free spot for Arthur.

"So, wanna test your theory?" he asked with a grin.

Arthur surely was just as red as the stupid fleece blanket, but nonetheless he slid back on the cushions, until he was nestled in between Alfred's legs, his chest to Arthur's back and his arms around him. Alfred carefully draped the blanket around them once more, creating a fluffy cocoon and simultaneously trapping Arthur.

Awkward or not, he had been right - this was far warmer than it had been before. Nonetheless Arthur's face was burning, and even if Alfred hadn't noticed (yet), the thought that a bit of closeness could make him blush like this was humiliating in its own right. At least he could blame it on the cold.

They sat in silence for a little while. There was something calming about this, the gentle flicker of the candles and the way his body was slowly warming back up after being exposed to the winter cold for so long.

"I'm sorry, Arthur."

The words tore him from his thoughts, entirely out of nowhere. Arthur turned around as best he could with the way they sat, but he could only see part of Alfred's face. If he was honest, he saw even less because of the darkness. Eventually, after accepting that he wouldn't be able to meet Alfred's eyes without also breaking his neck in the process, he replied.

"I already told you, Alfred, you didn't know it would blow the fuse, and it's not like it's unfixable, so-"

"That's not what I meant." He was quiet, barely above a whisper. Alfred had tensed up ever so slightly as he spoke. The thought of being able to feel something as minute as this made some unknown feeling spread inside of Arthur, but nonetheless he was worried.

"What are you talking about, then?" Arthur asked, unsure what type of response he was expecting. What was he even hoping for?

"I'm sorry for kissing you."

Oh.

"I shouldn't have done it so suddenly, and I'm sorry for that. I just... Well..."

Arthur didn't know what to say. On one hand he could feel the anger from before returning, running hot and fast within his veins, but on the other hand the apology left him defenceless all the same.

"I... It's just... I've been crushing on you for a while."

Arthur's thoughts screeched to a grinding halt. "What?"

"I like you, Arthur. I know this sounds stupid, especially after what happened earlier, but-"

"Wait. Just wait a second-" Arthur pulled away the blanket and left his - admittedly very comfortable - spot between Alfred's legs to instead sit opposite of him, finally meeting his eyes. The blanket lay discarded between the both of them, leaving him exposed to the cold once more. But Arthur couldn't think, didn't even notice. He just barely caught the way Alfred reached out, as though to pull him back in, either. "You..." he started. "You like me?"

"I... That's what I'm trying to say, yes." Alfred looked almost apologetic. He looked at him with such gentle eyes, and though Arthur was still trying to gather his thoughts, just trying to regain his ability to think at all, those eyes occupied his mind all the same.

"How can you just... How long?"

Alfred was staring at his hands, almost as though he expected to find the answer to Arthur's question somewhere on the back of them. Maybe he had written it down somewhere on there and Arthur was just underestimating him.

At last Alfred broke the silence. "Just over two years now," he admitted. "I know it sounds stupid, but when I saw you just... mumbling to yourself in that fuzzy Grinch sweater and old man slippers as you put up the garland outside one Christmas, it just clicked I guess."

Arthur wanted to be serious, confused, shocked, all that, but he couldn't help but snort. "Out of all the times we've met," he laughed. "Out of all of that, you fell for me while I was cussing up a storm in an ugly sweater?"

"Not quite Hallmark-worthy, huh?" Alfred asked with a soft smile.

"Well, we did do the stringlight-tango, so if you reveal you're secretly the prince of some unknown magical kingdom in Central Europe we should be fine."

"Does central Virginia count?" Alfred asked, making both of them laugh.

Arthur tilted his head, feigning deep thought. "Well, depends on how you sell it. Maybe if you put on some strange accent..?"

Alfred gave him a gentle nudge, forcing him to focus on the topic once more. "Still," he insisted, "are you not going to, well, reply?" The silence returned, thick enough to cut as Alfred watched his every move. "I... I guess your response after the kiss was clear enough, but... I just want to hear you say it. Is that selfish?"

"Alfred..." The words got caught in Arthur's throat. He could only imagine what he looked like right then. Next to Alfred he had to look small, and with the way he looked at him, pleading almost... Arthur had to look nothing short of miserable. Pitiful.

"I guess that settles it..." Alfred's expression fell. Where Arthur had wondered whether he looked miserable, Alfred truly did. Any brightness from a moment ago was snuffed out like a candle's flame, total darkness in but a breath. "Shit. I really should have waited another two hours to ask, shouldn't I?"

"I just never knew..." Arthur tried once more. It felt like words were running from him, as though with every word he said, the others ran farther, slipping from his grasp and disappearing altogether. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Confusion - the way Alfred looked at him, furrowed brows and tight lips, as though to ask what he meant. "But... I've been trying to do that this whole time? I've been flirting so much over the past weeks! And I've tried to get your attention with the lights every year, and-"

"Oh God..."

The words were less than a whisper, almost inaudible as Arthur realised what Alfred was referring to. The stupid pick-up lines. The looks. The smiles. He'd been so incredibly dense.

"Yeah... I'm sorry, I should have realised you weren't..."

"Oh my God, I'm- I'm so sorry Alfred," Arthur said at last. "I... I thought you were making fun of me, I never- I'm so stupid, how..."

He buried his face in his hands, dropping back onto the sofa as his face burned in shame. Him and his brothers had always been joking about how dense Alistor was when it came to his partner, but it seemed that it ran in the family. Arthur wanted to scream.

"Wait, so you didn't reject me?"

Alfred had perked up almost immediately. He was leaning over Arthur, which was only slightly complicated by the fact that Arthur still had his legs kicked up onto the sofa, meaning he was more or less resting his stomach on Arthur's knees. Somewhere at the back of his mind Arthur noticed how firm his abdomen felt, not that this should have been his main interest just then.

"No," Arthur groaned from behind his hands. How could he ever have been so...? "I can't believe I never noticed..."

"So... What is it? What do you say?" He looked at him with those bright eyes again, excited, but also worried ever so slightly. It seemed like each and every one of Alfred's expressions was mirrored on his face the second he felt them, with no filter whatsoever.

Arthur bit his lip, trying to find the right words. He was interested, yes, but... "I think I'd need to know more about you, to say that," he admitted at last.

Almost instantly that expression of excitement dropped. Arthur hadn't rejected him, but even he knew that what he'd said wasn't much better than that. Still he asked, "What's your favourite Christmas movie?"

"Huh? What are you trying to do?"

"I want to know more about you," Arthur replied. With a small smile he insisted, "So, what is it?"

For a moment Alfred stared at him almost bewilderedly, then he chuckled. "Well, if you ask me like that..." he started. He tilted his head slightly in thought. "I'd have to say The Polar Express."

"Wait, isn't that the one with the strange animation?" Arthur asked between his laughs. "The kids looked so uncanny to me!"

Alfred crossed his arms, and with a small pout he retorted, "It's about the nostalgia, not the quality." He poked Arthur, but only succeeded in making him laugh harder. "If mine's so strange, what's your favourite, hm?" he questioned.

"Love Actually, always has been," he replied without another thought. Upon seeing Alfred's confused expression he added, "It's a romantic comedy, but it's just really sweet over all. Great actors, too."

"I don't think I know that one," Alfred admitted.

"Guess we'll have to watch it together some time," Arthur smiled. With Alfred back to sitting across from him, he sat back up, and crossed his legs. As he draped the blanket across both their laps once more, he asked: "Okay, next one. What's your favourite genre of music?"

This time Alfred was quicker with his reply, "Good ol' rock for sure. You can't beat Queen, and Led Zeppelin or Guns n' Roses are just classics. And that isn't even mentioning the Ramones!" Alfred seemed to glow when he replied; all of a sudden his excitement was back. It was nice to see him this happy again, after he'd been in various states of worry or doubt for half of the evening. "So? What's Mr "You're-confusing-punk-and-gay" listening to, when he isn't complaining about my choices in Christmas songs?"

"If you answer your own question, what am I meant to say?" Arthur laughed. "I'm into punk and alternative for the most part. The Sex Pistols and The Clash are unbeatable, but I can definitely get behind liking the Ramones. Recently I've been more into Muse though, their new album is simply incredible."

Alfred had been listening attentively, and though Arthur felt his eyes on him, he wasn't staring at him like before. It was gentler now, in a way he couldn't quite put into words. "You know," Alfred mused, "I already knew you like punk stuff, but there's something about you talking about it while wearing some fluffy sweater that's just really funny to me. Like a bunny with a knife."

"Better watch out, I have knives, too," Arthur retorted with furrowed brows, eliciting a wave of laughter from Alfred.

"Pff, if you say so..." he laughed. "Speaking of danger, though... My turn: if you could have any super power, what would you choose?"

Arthur took a moment to consider, one hand beneath his chin as he did. He wasn't into superheroes all that much, if he was honest, so it wasn't something he could answer right off the bat. Nonetheless, if he didn't want to go with some sort of magical power, what was there that he'd pick?

"Probability manipulation," he answered at last.

"What? That's so lame!" Alfred laughed. "Dude, you could pick flight! Or laser vision! Or super strength! I'd totally take super strength, if I had to choose. Way cooler, and I could help people! Save them from getting squished by a bus and stuff!"

There was something cute about Alfred's excitement, but nonetheless Arthur couldn't help but defend himself. "Well, if you think about it, probability manipulation is way stronger though! What's the probability I have super speed? Well, I could tweak it and do a quick trip over to Buckingham Palace!"

Alfred puffed out his cheeks. "That's cheating, though! Where's the limitations on that?" he asked.

Arthur laughed, giving the other a small nudge. With an overly dramatic flailing of his arms Alfred tumbled back into a pile of throw pillows at the corner of the sofa, pulling the blanket along with him.

"I totally thought your power would be invisibility. Or sneaking. Oh, or maybe illusions!" Alfred said as he pushed himself off the pillows to rest against the armrest of the sofa, half-leaning as he watched Arthur.

"Why that?" Arthur asked with furrowed brows.

Alfred gave him a brilliant smile. "Well, you stole my heart, so you have to have some sort of power, right?"

Against his will, Arthur felt his cheeks flush a bright red. He didn't want to admit it, but stupid as it was, the line had done wonders at making his heart stumble in its pace. Stupid sap.

"Idiot," he muttered, but he knew damn well that he couldn't sell the insult. Curses. "New question," Arthur said. "What's your ideal date?"

"You go first," Alfred retorted almost instantly.

Arthur didn't bother questioning him and instead answered his own question. "A trip to the city, walking around together and just talking, before ultimately having tea or dinner together. I want to get to know the other person. What about you, then?"

"My perfect date would be a trip to the city and just spending time with them, walking around and talking, before ultimately having tea or dinner together."

"You know, this isn't an exam, you don't have to copy my answer. You can tell me, if you don't have one," Arthur said with a small roll of his eyes, even as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, but I had an answer!" Alfred defended himself. "My ideal date is whatever you want to do."

Arthur bit his lip, turned away as he tried to ignore just what Alfred's stupidly adorable replies did to his heartbeat. How dare he have such an easy time at making his heart skip?

He wanted payback.

"Alright, last question," Arthur said.

Their eyes met again, and somewhere at the back of his mind Arthur noticed the slight flush on Alfred's face. At least he wasn't entirely unbothered.

"Can I have another kiss?"

"I- uh..."

Got him.

With a soft smile Arthur leant in, and while Alfred still tried to save that almost suave façade he'd put up before, Arthur reached for the collar of his jumper, pulling him in just a little more, until their lips met.

Unlike before it was gentle and slow this time, and though Alfred had stiffened initially, he quickly melted into the touch of Arthur's lips. Strong arms came up to wrap around Arthur's back, keeping him close as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss ever so slightly.

They broke apart breathing heavily, clinging to one another as though only they could ground each other. When their eyes met, it felt almost magical. Alfred's pupils were dilated, his lips parted just barely as he looked at Arthur.

In the soft light of the candles his eyes gleamed like gems; the wetness of his lips glistened enticingly. "Another," Alfred said breathily, and instead of replying Arthur simply pulled him in once more.

He didn't allow for Alfred to kiss him so sweetly again, tilting his head almost immediately and deepening their kiss. Arthur shifted to wrap his arms around Alfred's neck loosely, tangling one hand in his hair as he forced him ever closer. He could feel Alfred's hands at the small of his back, and as their movements grew more eager, more greedy, the heat of his touch slowly burnt Arthur up.

With Alfred's hands to steady him, Arthur straddled him, hovering above his thighs as he pressed a small kiss to his jaw. The blanket they'd shared had long since fallen to the floor, but even without it Arthur felt a steady heat building up just underneath his skin wherever Alfred's skin touched his own.

Arthur smiled when he caught Alfred's eyes closing, leaving another kiss right below his last. Alfred's grip around him tightened just barely, just enough to dig into his skin. He traced a couple more kisses along Alfred's jawline, before ending his path with a small peck on the lips.

"Do you want more?" he whispered against Alfred's lips.

A low growl was all the reply Arthur got, then Alfred caught his chin in a tight grip as he recaptured his lips in a hungry kiss.

"Didn't you say..." Alfred rasped between uneven breaths, "that you wouldn't ask... any more questions?"

With Arthur's arms still around his neck Alfred shifted his focus to Arthur's neck, lavishing him with attention as he left a myriad of nips and bites all across the unblemished skin of his neck and collarbone. His hands roamed freely along Arthur's torso, across his back and along his sides until they finally reached the hem of his jumper.

Gentle fingers snuck underneath the folds of thick fabric, drawing a soft keen from Arthur's lips as they danced across his ribcage and along his spine. Each touch raised goosebumps all over his cold skin as newly warmed fingertips traced every inch of his skin. He could not help the silent moan that escaped him when Alfred's thumb grazed one of his nipples.

At last Alfred pulled off Arthur's jumper, baring him to not only the cool air surrounding them, but also to the burning heat of Alfred's gaze. It felt like cheating, to unwrap his present more than a week before Christmas day. Somehow Arthur didn't mind, though, not when his present was so lovely, so beautiful in every way.

For just a moment they remained like that - with him straddling Alfred, whose eyes raked across his skin as though to memorise each and every square inch. With gentle touches he caressed Arthur's chest, running his fingers down along his breast bone and farther yet, until he reached the hem of Arthur's sweatpants.

Alfred halted for a near eternal second, half-lidded eyes hungering after a half-naked man, tracing Arthur's every part. He felt the burn of those dark blues on his face and his chest, following the curves of his body as the flickering light of the candles outlined them in ever-changing schemes, unsteady spectres for Alfred to discover anew with every passing moment.

With his hands still on the waistband of Arthur's sweats, his lips on a small, sensitive spot just beneath his jaw, Alfred muttered but four words, "Do you want more?"

Arthur held on to Alfred's shoulders and lowered down farther onto his lap, to the point he could feel the bulge in Alfred's pants pressing against his own. With his head thrown back in a breathless moan Arthur ground his hips against Alfred's, as Alfred suckled on the spot he'd just kissed. A sharp hiss escaped the other, and Arthur replied, "No more questions."

His words didn't leave any room for discussion or question, not when he'd finally closed that pesky gap between them, bucking his hips at a fast, uneven pace. Neither of them cared for the lack of a rhythm - not when Alfred's hands tangled in his hair, when Arthur's hands clawed at whatever parts of Alfred's shoulders and back he could reach, when his every move drew a litany of those desperate, pleading sounds from the other.

"Take off your top," he said, ordered, and Alfred complied wordlessly. Neither of them minded the tone, the fire beneath their skin burnt to brightly to spare even a thought. Funny, Arthur thought to himself, first I get him clothes and now I make him undress him all over again.

It didn't matter either way. The instant the fabric fell Arthur's hands were roaming that bare, strong chest he'd only caught glimpses of before, feeling the frantic rise and fall with each deep, gasping breath, the frenzied beat of Alfred's heart, the smoothness of his skin.

Before Alfred could react, Arthur pushed him back onto the pillows with one hand on his chest, the other on Alfred's thigh as he rolled his hips in a particularly slow motion. A low, unconstrained groan broke from Alfred's lips, raw with need, emotion, hunger. "Hold still for me..." Arthur crooned, and as he found Alfred so willingly submitting to him, bare chest beneath his spread fingers, he could see a fraction of what Alfred must have seen staring at him.

Sharply cut muscles and soft, even skin fought a relentless battle across the expanse of his chest, from his sculpted pecs to the plains of his abdomen and farther down yet to the spot where a fine line of hair disappeared beneath the waistband of his underwear. On either side of Arthur's splayed fingers the other's nipples stood hard and sensitive in the cold air, pleading for his touch as much as Alfred himself.

He stared at Arthur with longing eyes, pupils blown wide and lips parted just barely. Sweat beaded on his forehead, condensation fogged up parts of his glasses. Carefully Arthur reached for the obtrusive frame, setting it down on the table beside them before leaning in for another kiss.

"More," Alfred gasped, demanded, and who was Arthur to deny him whatever he wanted? He claimed his lips in a rough kiss, all tongue and teeth and tension. With gentle nips and bites Arthur coaxed ever more of those sweet sounds from Alfred - music much nicer than any Christmas song. The soft whimpers and whines paid him back for every bit of painful pleasure that Arthur lavished upon him, sent spikes of white-hot arousal through his veins and to his groin.

Another languid roll of his hips, and Alfred was gasping for air. Hands grasped at nothing and everything, at skin and at clothing, as Arthur's slow yet rough, gentle yet hungry pace sent them spiralling ever closer to that edge. Each breath was a breath too much, a moment too long spent apart when they could have been kissing, touching, feeling one another.

Only the strength of Alfred's grip around his wrist tore Arthur back out of that haze of heat and hunger. "Arthur-" he gasped in between ragged breaths. "Need you t- Ah! touch me-"

Perhaps Arthur was teasing too much, perhaps his mind had been lost to the sudden delicious desire that filled his every breath, his entire body, his skin and bone. But at that moment, with Alfred so defenceless beneath him, greedy and at his mercy all the same, he only raked his fingers down his chest, trailing red lines in his wake.

Alfred's breath got caught in his throat, but Arthur simply traced his hand lower yet, across his abdomen and beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, and the hitch in his breath became a breathless moan. A single gasp of "Fuck-" passed Alfred's lips, but all words were lost when Arthur curled his fingers around his erection at last.

Alfred's cock burnt against his skin, hot and hard, just as much as him. He gave it a first, slow stroke, and as he swiped his thumb across the head of Alfred's cock Arthur could not help but marvel at the entirely reverent look on his face. Head thrown back in ecstasy and eyes clenched shut, lips parted and neck covered in the marks Arthur had left there.

Nary a thought passed Arthur's mind; the heat smouldering underneath his skin and throughout all of his body had become too much to bear. One hand around Alfred's cock, one on his shoulder, Arthur moved just an inch closer.

They closed that gap one more time, a heated tangle of lips and tongues. With every movement of Arthur's hand around that most sensitive part of Alfred, a new moan spilled from his lips. Arthur built his pace up gradually, coaxing all sorts of sweet sounds from Alfred.

"Beautiful," he muttered in between their kisses, "Just-"

All of a sudden he felt Alfred's hand moving down the front of his own pants. Whatever he'd meant to say turned into a sharp hiss, then a moan. Arthur tried to object, say something about how he wanted to give Alfred a gift first, but Alfred just pulled him closer and wrapped his hands around both of their cocks.

It was hot, tight, and for a moment Arthur couldn't tell whether he was in heaven or hell. The touch of Alfred's hand on his oversensitive flesh was torturous with the way it clenched around both of them, and yet it was so unbearably good, so blissful it made him see stars.

Each movement of Alfred's hand had him spiralling, and soon enough Arthur found himself clinging to the other as he lost himself to that feeling of utter bliss. He was close. The heady scent of sex and sweat filled his nostrils with every laboured breath he took and Arthur felt each frantic beat of his heart all throughout his body, from his chest to his fingertips and down to his feet.

"Alfred, I'm-" he gasped but no more could pass his lips when Alfred sealed them with his own so easily.

With his eyes clenched shut and his hips bucking against the rhythm of Alfred's hand Arthur knelt there, unable to form a coherent thought. His whole body was abuzz with those unbearable sensations, vibrating through his veins until all of him was humming with the electricity of their arousal.

Arthur was on fire as lust swept over him like a tsunami, sparking when all he needed to ground him was the tender feeling of Alfred's lips on his own. One last twist of Alfred's hand, and with a gasp and a soundless scream Arthur came, spilling over Alfred's hands as he followed shortly after.

He was little more than a boneless heap on top of Alfred. Arthur couldn't have cared less about how he was spreading their combined mess all over himself, he was too exhausted to care. His mind was sluggish, and he didn't mind.

After a moment an arm wrapped around him, a comforting weight on his back as Arthur rested against a broad, warm chest. With a small, displeased hum he scooted a tad closer, until he could feel that warmth all around him. Way better.

"You know…" Alfred began after a moment, "I didn't think I'd kiss you, be rejected, confess, kiss and then frot with you, all in that order and in a single day."

"Call it a Christmas miracle," Arthur muttered against his chest, eliciting a small laugh from Alfred. It was nice when he laughed, a soft sound from deep inside his chest. Arthur could feel it from where his head rested.

Another moment passed, and with a hand stroking his back and another carding through his ruffled hair, Arthur might have just fallen asleep, had Alfred not spoken up once more.

"Speaking of Christmas," he said. "I know we're a week early, but… Does this count as a white Christmas, Arthur?"

It took a moment for the question to sink in, another for Arthur to comprehend the sheer idiocy of the pun. He snapped back up, and with a small push against Alfred's chest and loud laughter from the offender, he exclaimed: "You unromantic oaf!"

Too bad that Arthur couldn't help but laugh himself.

Rolling his eyes, he crawled off the sofa and off Alfred. With another look at the various stains on Alfred's and his own (or rather: just his own) clothes he grabbed the discarded hoodies and his own sweatpants, walking back towards the stairs.

"Undress," he said, "You've got stains, too. I'll be right back, I should still have something that fits you."

This time around Arthur took a bit longer to come back downstairs, maybe also because of a rather large stain on his abdomen that he had to clean off, but when he came back at last, he found something was off.

Namely, that Alfred stood by the (sadly fake) fireplace, naked as the day God had created him.

Or well, not naked, that was the issue. He was wearing a stocking, a single, bright green stocking far too large to fit him.

A Christmas stocking.

A stocking that said Arthur on it in elegant cursive.

Arthur's Christmas stocking.

He halted in his tracks.

"What are you doing, Alfred?" he asked, deadpanned, and somehow he found himself reminded of Frosty. This just had to be another stupid idea. He didn't even know the idea yet, but-

"Well, presents go into the stocking, right?" Alfred beamed. "I simply put yours in."

Against his will Arthur flushed, and unfortunately he didn't know whether Alfred had seen or not. His only solace was that the bundle of socks he threw at Alfred did hit its mark.

Served him right.

#writing #usukus #fanfiction #hws america #hws england #hws hetalia #usuk #nsft

2 notes · View notes

boyfrienby · 2 years

Text

we euthanized my cat at home

on my dad's bed.

it started with a single checkup.

cancer, inoperable. causing irreparable pain

it had been causing pain for a while

"cats are so good at hiding pain," see,

and "we don't exactly know what causes this."

when i was a kid, my mom had a cat

the tiniest, meanest cat imaginable.

when she was 4 months old, her leg was shattered.

the fear and pain she went through made her mean.

the cage she had to stay in to heal stunted her growth.

when it happened, my mom had to make a decision;

"we can fix this, for $3000 dollars. we can euthanize her if you can't pay."

my mom had this tiny, breakable thing, in indescribable pain, and had to choose.

$3000 was a heartbreaking amount of money for us at the time. having $3000 at all would have changed our lives.

my grandma paid the bill.

we adopted my girl at 6 weeks old.

she was so tiny, soft, easily damaged.

the first few weeks in her strange new home,

she slunk under the cedar chest in the living room.

there couldn't have been more than an inch of space under there,

watching her shimmy and shift her tiny body under it was incredible.

they say cats can fit into a space no wider than their heads,

it's because of how their collarbones and shoulders are set up.

they're like a liquid,

they fill any shape they want to,

so i guess, likewise,

they absorb any blow with the surface tension of tides at sea.

i had this tiny, breakable thing suddenly.

she was always my sister's cat.

we adopted her alongside her brother.

they were pair bonded, they needed each other,

and when i chose him, the woman who fostered them since birth

became almost to the brink of tears

at the idea that we'd only take him.

they needed each other, we had to take both.

we intended to adopt one for each myself and my sister.

but the woman who had fostered them was so intensely stricken, she cut the adoption fee in half for his sister.

she was the freebie cat, the hideaway, the one who was too afraid to deal with us,

while her brother was the star that shown.

my dad and i spent so much affection on him those first years,

that naturally my sister cared for the one left out.

she ran away a couple of times.

i always went out to find her.

one time she'd gotten outside, and stayed out for six days on her own.

i went out every few hours to look for her.

i finally found her, afraid, cold, hungry,

laying right in the open in our apartment parking lot.

she saw me and ran.

a wild animal, with only instinctual sense of the wild, and not a learned one.

it took ninety minutes of slowly following her,

tempting her with food, treats, companionship,

for her to stop running. she took my food,

and remembered she was home.

she let me scoop her up and take her there.

she didn't run away anymore after that.

in the vet's office, after receiving the bad news,

left alone by the vet who knew we would need time,

discussing options, trying not to sound too heartless in our talks about costs and money,

i told my dad, "call adrianne.

"it's as much her choice as ours. it's her cat."

goddamn this happening two days before thanksgiving,

when the vet would be closed.

it could only be today or tomorrow.

they were about to close for four days.

the vet said,

"we can poke a hole in her abdomen,

to drain the urine,

and send her home for tonight on sedatives.

she'd be pretty loopy,

and you could take her back here tomorrow..."

it wasn't a question of how much time we had left.

it was a question of how much longer we were willing to prolong it.

i told my dad to call adrianne.

when he makes calls, it goes through his hearing aids.

and though i couldn't hear her softly through the other line, i knew she was sobbing.

as the adult son of a father you've spent so much time with,

you don't have to hear the conversation to know when his daughter is sobbing.

i had said, maybe if we bring our girl home tonight,

adrianne can come say goodbye.

i knew it was hollow to say that.

my sister lives 125 miles away now.

i'm glad i didn't have to make that call.

she couldn't come.

i told them i needed some air

i left the clinic, and sat on the curb.

it was closing time, the vets remaining inside

were checking on us between working on paperwork.

i was raised by my dad,

and so we were both apologetic about how long our grief went on.

it's november. it's already fully dark at 6:45.

a vet tech, going home for the day,

one i hadnt seen before at all,

says "i'm very sorry."

i say "thank you."

choosing between the prolonged suffering of a loved one,

and letting them pass on is impossible.

the entire time we went home on the bus,

i wondered if maybe, miraculously, she could just get better.

maybe the cancer in her bladder would suddenly pop out when we got home,

like a cork,

and her suffering would go away,

so we could cancel the euthanasia we scheduled at home.

we just wanted to take her home one last time.

when we got home, i cleaned.

i gave only one of my cats their daily meds. i wanted my girl to enjoy her food without the taste of pills one more time.

she only ate a quarter of her meal, so i gave her her favorite treat.

she ate it halfheartedly,

dripping scraps she wouldn't pick up.

i thought to myself,

"the animal grim reaper is coming to our house."

i cleaned to make us look less like animals ourselves.

i cooked my dad and myself dinner.

i kept thinking, is it awful of me to feel so hungry?

they would be here at 9:30.

they texted me at 8:30, saying they'd be here at 9.

she was allowed in my dad's room for this.

she usually wasn't.

he kicked himself, over and over,

about what an asshole he'd been to deny her being in his room all this time,

because of something she couldn't control.

i don't know if i can tell him that

one of the last experiences i had with her today, pre-vet visit,

was catching her in my room,

and scolding her as i scooped her into my arms,

and set her outside the door that i closed on her.

she was in my dad's bed,

purring in the way she does.

she's always been a motorboat,

or a monster truck engine.

she was so loud, and she'd start up the second you just looked at her.

she was laying with her brother, right next to each other,

no conflict between them,

and she purred the second we came in.

we cooed over her, and held her, and cried.

and he said,

"it's like the animal grim reaper is coming."

the euthanasia nurse got there too fast for us to process.

she was so soft spoken and gentle-voiced,

that my dad couldn't hear a word of it.

even as an adult, i've rarely seen my dad cry. never more than this day.

she explained,

she would inject our cat with a powerful sedative.

it'd hurt for a few seconds.

she'd be shocked by the injection.

she'd go limp within a few minutes.

at that point, she would be alive, but unconscious. unable to feel or experience a thing.

her eyes would still likely be open.

then she would inject the euthanasia.

she would die in seconds.

when she injected the sedative, my girl ran around. she was afraid.

i was crying too hard to handle it.

i held her against the bed. she was so scared.

i felt her start to go limp in my arms and miscalculated.

as soon as i moved away from my grip on her, she ran again.

when she ran away those six days, i was worried sick.

i was terrified for her. she was still the shutaway cat, afraid of people.

i was afraid of her getting hit by a car,

or eaten by coyotes,

or mauled by raccoons.

i went out in the dark more often than the day.

i waved cans of her favorite food,

the stuff she'd devour in seconds.

i knew there were feline personality types:

her type, inquisitive, scared, restless,

was bound to travel the furthest.

but i found her right near home.

she let me take her home again.

and after that, she was less of a shut-away.

she opened up and bloomed.

she became happier and friendlier than ever.

when she ran in my dad's bedroom,

he caught her.

he held her in his arms,

and said all the ways he loved her.

he wasn't trying to hide his sobs at this point

the euthanasia vet stood respectfully in the hall,

which i neglected to clean.

i realized that that was for psychology's sake.

they needed to give us the space of the room to ourselves.

between every monologue about what would happen,

the signing of papers,

the sedation, and then,

the euthanasia itself.

they stood in that hall

to give us the space we needed.

my coworker used to be a vet tech.

he quit because of all the dead bodies.

but he's told me that in veterinary degrees,

you're required to take a course on grief counseling.

crisis management.

psychology.

you can't work with animals without an understanding of those core tenets,

because the animals don't have voices,

the humans do.

my dad held her in his arms and sobbed.

and he apologized,

and he told her how he loved her.

he told her he loved that when he got home from work,

she sat in his lap like a ritual.

no matter what place or how she got to sit there,

she had to, and how it made space in her day for her.

he told her he loved how she always grabbed us from a perch to get petted.

she would reach out her paws no matter what we were doing, guiding us to scratch her.

he held her, sobbing, back turned to me and the outsider, spectre of death in the room,

in a kind of confessional.

between crying, i looked up,

and she was looking at me, head rested on his shoulder,

slowly going dimmer by the second.

i think that's when i actually realized,

she wasn't going to suddenly get better.

i had known she wouldn't for hours at least,

probably weeks,

maybe months, if i'm being honest,

but it's the moment i could fully conceptualize it,

in its true and honest state,

that she was going to die.

as she went limp, my dad said, "i don't want this"

he said "i wish i wasn't the one doing this."

his name was on the consent sheet.

he signed it.

and again, i was glad i wasn't the one

who had to make that call.

even though i had been the one to urge it.

she was asleep. her eyes were open.

she was breathing. the euthanasia nurse held back. we had to tell her what to do next.

she waited.

she was on the bed, the pee-pad under her, in case.

of course, in death you let go of your bladder.

she didn't. she couldn't.

we both finally said it was time.

the nurse injected the euthanasia.

she said, in her softspoken voice,

if we didn't want to look, to look away.

my dad didn't hear her. he watched

i cried, and i refused to see it.

but he watched.

he told me afterward how hard it was to watch.

he told the euthanasia nurse the happy times.

he told her the bad times.

he told her about a lot.

he hugged me while i sobbed.

and i left the room to get tissues.

i met my other cat on the way,

and was fully struck by the fact that,

him, with his separation anxiety,

and inability to conceptualize death,

how on earth he would cope with that loss.

i sat with him a second,

hearing the hum of my dad's voice,

worrying that the nurse

would be late to her next appointment.

i went back to the room,

dead cat on the bed,

and my dad was finally able to decide it was time.

the nurse wasn't going to take her until we had a chance to see her away.

she gently lifted her head and eased her limp body up,

and wrapped her in a baby blanket.

it looked so soft and cozy that she could have been sleeping.

she asked if he wanted to carry her outside.

and he did.

wrapped in that blanket,

and for a split second i saw her eyes.

she always loved to watch the snow.

she was fascinated by it.

she'd stand by the window for hours, and stare.

she didn't get to see the snow this year.

but today, it was foggy all day.

#animal death #euthanasia #long ass stream of consciousness poem i wrote about this because i needed to. put it down somewhere

2 notes · View notes

fuckkbrunch · 5 months

Text

We're getting fancy up in here.

This was the recipe that I bought the mandoline for in the first place, but then kept putting it off. The waffle cut was mediocre and inconsistent. Kind of a shitty mandoline, I'm half tempted to return it.

Anyway, fuck my tiny deep fryer. You might recall it from such recipes as the Veal Milanese or Macau Style Pork Chop Sandwich. I don't trust the damn thing, so I used a pot instead. I'm also too cheap to fill a big pot with peanut oil for this, so I worked in tiny batches like an asshole.

Tony suggests buying top quality paddle fish caviar. I suggest, buying whatever black caviar is available to you. This is lump fish caviar. You might recall them from the "very beautiful, very powerful" video circulating the Internet.

My first round had too much of every garnish. He's not very specific on the amounts of garnish. "a proportionate amount of salmon", "a dab of crème fraîche", "a small dab of caviar". Like, come on man, it's a recipe. Give me some solid measurements.

Round two was much better. I added some dill to this round too, I felt it was missing something. Fits the flavour profile well.

The potatoes were just okay. The cut was bad, so they cooked unevenly. They're barely waffled, the holes are mostly just on the edges of the potato.

If I was actually catering a party with these, I would have the crème and the caviar in their own little piping bags for easy portioning and better presentation. They pair well with white wine, we tried it.

| Gaufrette Potato with Smoked Salmon, Crème Fraîche and Caviar |

Taste is a 2.5 out of 5. Enjoyable. Fishy and salty. Very Tony.

Difficulty is a 1.5 out of 5. As long as you're not afraid to deep fry at home, this is pretty easy.

Time was around an hour. All your time is spent prepping and frying the potatoes. The rest is ready to go, straight out of the package.

This could easily be made with sour cream instead of crème fraîche. It's not as fully flavourful as crème fraîche is, but it's much cheaper for very little difference.

Honestly, add the dill. Otherwise it's just fishy and briney, which is fine - but kinda boring. You could even add a single caper, or some red onion, or lemon zest, or all of the above....

#anthony bourdain #appetites a cookbook #cooking #recipe #hors d'oeuvres #caviar #salmon

1 note · View note

ask-the-boogeyman · 2 years

Text

@bastardstandard

🌷🔪 A dangerous kiss.

HE DIDN'T GIVE TOO MANY FUCKS ABOUT VALENTINE'S DAY because it wasn't something he normally celebrated. even now, there was a part of him that didn't give a fuck and he was technically with someone. even if they didn't have a label, whatever, they had was far from romantic. frank spent a good amount of time covered in blood when it came to michael and he wouldn't change it for anything. there were no flowers from frank. no chocolates. and he certainly didn't buy one of those dumbass romantic cards you would have found at the grocery store because face it. even if he could, he wouldn't have. that was too romantic and there wasn't a romantic bone in his tiny fucking body anywhere.

getting into haddonfield was easier when you were fucking the person roaming it. finding michael was always easy because he remained in his childhood home and in a way, frank didn't blame him. he, personally, was always at ormond because it was the only thing from the outside world that brought him comfort along with his friends. the only familiarity that had followed him to this shit hole.

frank wasn't wearing his mask, but he always brought the thing with him. mainly because he never knew what killer he'd be running into as he roamed the fog, but he was getting used to traveling from one realm to another and he hadn't accidentally come across someone else's in quite some time. plus, haddonfield was the only place other than ormond he seemed to find himself in more often than not, which made it easier. it was like his brain was programmed to go a specific direction and not go off course.

since there was no door to push open, he was able to cross the threshold pretty easily. the house was old, however, so his foot steps caused some creeks. normally, he would have said something, but there was a small part of him that wanted to have the upper hand since it was something he rarely got these days. plus, frank had to keep him on his toes. if there was one thing he wasn't, it was boring.

his hunting knife was in his hand as he walked through the house, the blade sliding over the ugly ass wallpaper as he headed up the stairs. he had been in here enough to know he was in one of these empty rooms and since he found him in his childhood room more often than not, that's where he went first.

---

it had been a struggle to pin him against that wall. hell, even he'd admit it. Michael had got him a few times and the blood was still seeping through his clothing, but he didn't mind. valentine's day was all about red, after all. "wanted to do something special for you." or as special as he could. "but special for us is a little violent." he had managed to get Michael's butcher knife through his palm, pinning him to the wall and it seemed like he was staying put because frank knew damn well if he wanted to move, he would have by now. "can you imagine if i had brought you flowers? i think i would have offed myself." it does make him chuckle, though. "guess i could have brought you a survivor, though. but where's the fun in that?"

he knows better than to go for Michael's mask, so honestly, he hasn't. at least not to the point where he's tried to take it off. he had raised it enough to expose his mouth and slam his own hunting knife right through the skin on the side of his cheek. by the time he pulled it free there's blood and an open cut, but Michael is covered in them. adding one more to the long list of scars shouldn't be too much of a problem.

finally, he leaned forward and presses his lips to the older male's. part of him hopes Michael will pull the blade free. hopes he'll return the favor. for frank, he's grown used to the pain, and in a way, he craves it. while most enjoy soft touches, frank enjoys the rougher ones. "happy massacre day, you old fuck." there's a grin on his features as he pulls back, his mouth inching across the bloodied skin. he can taste it on his tongue, drawing him in even closer.

The concept of Valentine's Day, this 'Day of Love' only served to bring confusion. He watches as survivors and killers alike offer their hearts to one another and he does not understand it. He's never experienced this Holiday, not properly, only the cheap sloppy brownie with pink icing being put on his plate could count. The Sanitorium would be filled with chatter, the nurses clucking away about their sweethearts, and the doctors boasting about irrelevant topics of fragile masculinity. None of it resembled genuine emotion, a marked-up Holiday for the masses, similar to every other Holiday. Halloween isn't the exception to that, but he holds it to a much higher degree, the day filled with bloodshed and stained RED.

He isn't sure how long he's been standing in his room now, deciding solitude to be his day's appeal. He's something with Frank, he isn't sure WHAT it is, but he knows they spill blood from one another. They gnash their teeth like feraled beasts, their bodies seeping red and blossoming with bruises all anew. Despite everything, Michael craves it, he craves the feeling that Frank brings to him. Romance isn't something he understands, feelings in general are hard for him to grasp even if he does showcase them from time to time. Always muddled, always a mimicry more than anything, at least in his own perceived mind.

He thinks about if he should do something for the young brat and realizes that he has no idea what he could even do for the other that didn't lead to them covered in blood and another mess. Looking briefly at the room across that was designated to be his parent's room, he is slow to stand and begins to make his way inside. The clucking of the nurses chattering about gifts rings in his head. Gifts were something that others did for this Holiday and while it didn't fit their design with one another... It might be worth doing.

Rummaging through the drawers, he produces a bit of jewelry and tilts his head. Jewelry... The nurses ring in his head about how they loved getting necklaces and rings- This might do. Picking up one of the necklaces that his mother used to wear, he examines the design and runs a thumb over the old, tarnished metal. It was a simple locket, oval, with swirls. Forcing it open with a nail, he notes the photos of his mother and father and frowns. Dropping it back in the drawer, he instead goes for another necklace, one that had a little butterfly on it, and shoves it in his coverall pocket. It's something, more than he figures the other will want but the attempt is there.

It's not as if he knew what he was doing, hell, Michael is far from normality and the traditions others held in such high regard usually flew over his head. But whatever they have? He wants to show something for it.

----

The fact the other has managed to pin his hand is impressive more than anything, the attack had caught him off guard enough to kickstart the aggression. The fact he touched his knife and managed to get it out of his vice grip is another feat in of itself. When he's finally pinned, he takes the time to breathe out, listening to the words as they sink in. Frank is right, they met each other through violence and gore, through death and RED... it's only fitting that it's how most of their interactions focus on this. It's not as if Michael enjoys pain, quite the opposite, but he does enjoy the adrenaline of wrangling the LIFE out of someone.

Grunting, pain blossoms against his cheek as the knife sinks into the soft tissue, digging into the side of his face and tearing through the muscle and clinking against bone. It hurts, much like anything else, much like the wounds he's certain hurt Frank right now. When his lips greet his, there is a low growl of protest, huffing from the fact his cheek is now sore, to the butcher knife in his PALM. Leaning into the kiss eventually, he bites and nips at the young male's lips, before leaning into the other trailing marks being left against his skin. His mask is only partially pulled up, and he is still affected by that damned magic of the Entity- Cursed to look younger but hold the scars he's had since that night.

Still, agitation hangs with teetering indulgence as his other hand moves quickly to RIP his knife out of his hand only to begin grabbing at the other and SLAMMING him into the very same wall and being very precise in drawing the same exact wound on the other's face and cheek. The blade doesn't go all the way through, he doesn't want to kill Frank, but he does make sure it hits deep enough to hurt before ripping it out to return his lips to his.

It's salty, metallic even as blood has pooled in his own mouth from the injury, coating his lips and marring his partner's in the same shade of red. It's at this point that he moves with purpose, keeping himself against the younger man, a knee going between his legs as he stares deeply at Frank, watching him intensely as he finally uses his hand to pull out the necklace from his pocket, wrapping it around the knife, all the while keeping eye contact. He doesn't shove it in the man's face but he certainly DOES go to grab the other's palm to slam it into the wall and impale it much like he did to his...

The necklace will dangle there, stained in fresh red as he keeps himself pressed close. Happy Massacre day, you damned brat. The grin is mimicked and returned as he does so, clearly enjoying this now. They are but rabid hearts with one another after all..

#bastardstandard #[[Clawed Skies of ferality]] [DBDm.v]#[[Rabid hearts]] FrankxMichael [DBDm.v]#Verse;; Spiders web and bloodied fog #blood tw #gore tw #suggestive tw

1 note · View note

ficsforeren · 3 years

Note

BESTIE, YOUR CHAPTERS ARE ALL I LOOK FORWARD TO AT THE END OF EACH WEEK. I'M SO EXCITED AAAAAAAAAAAA. PLS INDULGE US INTO MORE OF THE CRAZY SHENANIGANS EREN HAS DONE INVOLVING HIS CAREER. IMAGINE HIM DOING A BUZZFEED THIRST TWEETS WITH THE REST OF EMPIRE.

DUDE THANK YOU!!!! AND OMG YES THIRST TWEETS!!! Here, I'll share my headcanons

Eren

gets endless amount of thirst tweets every week. every goddamn week. and he doesn't even have a twitter/instagram account.

does not give a single fuck about people thirsting over him

he thinks it's despicable when people appreciate his music because of his looks and not because of his talent

bored ™ 99.9999999% of the time when he reads them

a lot of the thirst tweets he receives are about his abs (from that one time he took off his shirt on the stage jesus fuckin christ), his voice, his jawlines, and, of course, his hair

his thirst tweets are really, really thirsty

they'd be like, "I'll let Eren Jaeger from Empire slit my throat with his jawline every fucking day" or "send Eren Jaeger my fucking way I HAVE HANDS AND I HAVE HOLES AND I AM WILLING TO PUT THEM TO GOOD USE" or "Eren Jaeger can honestly sit on my face, suffocate me with his balls and my ghost will say thank you daddy" or "just spent my evening thinking about softly running my fingers through Eren Jaeger's hair as I ride his fucking tongue"

his response is usually just: takes a deep breath as he runs his eyes quickly through the tweet, stares into the camera and says, "you need help. seriously."

sometimes he doesn't even say anything. he just takes out the tiny paper from the jar, silently reads through it with boredom written on his face, crumples the paper with one hand and tosses it down to the floor

the staff would be like "you're not gonna read it out loud?" and he's like "you don't want me to read that out loud."

if he finds the tweet to be amusing, he'll read it out loud slowly as he faintly smirks to himself but that's just about it

more often than not he just goes "no" *throws paper* "no" *throws paper* "no" *throws paper* until there are no papers left in the jar, then he'll look at the camera, smile cynically and say, "this is why I don't have a twitter account and I'm never gonna make one, thanks guys" (credit to @justasketch for this one)

Jean

fucking loves thirst tweets. eats them as breakfast every morning. it boosts up his self-esteem.

intentionally does dirty things on the stage to get even more thirsty tweets coming his way

takes every thirst tweet like a goddamn compliment

he could get a tweet like "i don't even really like chocolate but god knows i'd lick chocolate off Jean Kirschtein's body any day" and he'd be like, smirking at the camera while saying, "sweetheart, the real question is, what part of the body?"

responds with very dirty words that buzzfeed has to cut off his sentence short. there's this tweet that says "can i just suffocate Jean Kirschtein with my boobs already?" and he'd say shit like "well, baby girl, why don't you suffocate me with your boobs while I stick my fucking coc--" and the camera changes back to eren

is secretly hoping to get the nastiest tweets out there so when he got something like "Jean Kirschtein's personality is so perfect, he can softly punch me in the face with his lips" he'd be "what, that's it??? COME ON, EREN GOT SOMEONE SAYING SHIT ABOUT EATING HIS DICK FOR BREAKFAST AND I GOT COMPLIMENTS ON MY PERSONALITY??? SERIOUSLY???"

didn't get as many tweets as Eren did during their buzzfeed thirst tweets and it pissed him off for days

sometimes when he lies on his bed at night, he can still hear eren's voice when he read his thirst tweets. it just haunts him everyday.

Reiner

does not understand the concept of thirst tweets. he just thinks people are being super weird. or rude.

ones that he does understand, make him blush so hard, he covers his face with both hands

says "oh god" or "dear lord" many times as he reads

gets almost as many thirst tweets as Jean, but they revolve more around his ass. or about him destroying someone's ass.

is not familiar with the dirty slangs

or scientific ones

he could get a tweet like "I want Reiner Braun to wreck my mucous membrane" and he'd be like "what's, uh... what--which--what mucous membrane are we talking about?"

"Reiner Braun always makes me jizz a little bit" and he'd respond with a frown, asking the staff "do women jizz? I don't--I had no idea."

there was this tweet that went "Reiner Braun is the only one I can trust to destroy my bussy" and he was like "what's a bussy?" and when the staff told him "it's their butt" it took him a good ten minutes just staring at the paper to process the thought and contemplate his life choices

gets pretty nasty tweets too, like "I'd lick Reiner Braun's butthole from balls to back every day, anywhere he wants" and he'll look like he's on the verge of throwing up, saying "our Lord does not appreciate this kind of talking"

#this was fun! thanks for submitting this ask anon!#eren smut #jean smut #reiner smut #eren headcanons #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #eren yeager #eren #jean kirschtien #reiner braun #the last song canon

337 notes · View notes

xiaoderys · 4 years

Text

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 (𝐥.𝐣𝐧)

pairing: tutor!jeno x student!reader

warnings: smut, size kink, bulging kink, fem oral receiving, punishment(?)

word count: 2.5K

requested: yes

Jeno poked his tongue in his cheek as he smacked your test papers down on your desk. “Where did I go wrong?” he said, trying to keep his cool but you just sat there, staring at the paper marked with the big ‘F’ in front of you.

He angrily sighed and rubbed his temples “I asked you a question, y/n, don’t tell me you can’t even answer a question as simple as that” his frustration was growing by the second yet you just won’t budge because frankly, he’s done nothing wrong, he fulfilled his duties as your tutor and did his best to make sure you were prepared for your exams but you’re a teenage girl and Jeno is a well-built guy matched with an attractive face, you just couldn’t help but be distracted.

The tension between you two increased “I already said I was sorry!” you blurt out in a high pitched voice and the ever so patient Jeno finally snaps “I spent so long-“ he slams both his hands down your desk and you were now face to face with him “I spent so damn long teaching you this damn biology lesson over and over again, y/n!” he groaned and you refused to make eye contact with him, sitting back in your chair. You dared to look up at him for a quick second and you felt his eyes burning holes right through you so you went back to fumbling with your hands.

“Just give me a good reason why you fucking failed the test we spent weeks studying for” and yet again, you stayed silent and emotionless to which he scoffed “you’re wasting both our times” he gave up and stood up fully, ready to pack his things and go but you couldn’t risk losing Jeno, now out of all times since you were already failing two subjects “wait I- I was distracted okay?!” he rolled his eyes, “really, y/n?” He said with a sarcastic tone, back still facing you “yes! I- I just- I got so distracted and everything just- poof! I forgot everything I learned” you tried to explain frantically and he turned to face you again “And what was this ‘distraction’ that was so much more appealing than passing your exam?” He crossed his arms, waiting for a decent explanation “you” you gathered every bit of courage to say it out loud but you were desperate to make him stay. He arched his brow in response “me?” you nod slightly while looking down as you didn’t want him to see the blood rushing to your cheeks from your growing embarrassment.

Needless to say, Jeno was intrigued by your answer, of course he was still mad about you failing your tests but he wanted to dig deeper into this ‘distraction’ of yours, after all, it was his job to make sure your head was straight and focused on studying.

He walked back up to your desk slowly “and how exactly was I distracting you, Miss y/l/n?” he tilted his head to the side, awaiting your answer “well you’re not exactly what I expected when I was told I was getting a tutor” you murmured and he hummed “how so?” you inhaled heavily, building up the confidence to tell him why exactly he was distracting you even though you both knew he already knows the reason why “well for starters, you’re hotter than 99% of the guys I’ve ever seen in my life..and you always wear that white button up with your sleeves rolled up to your arms. You always leave a few buttons unbuttoned, just enough for people to take a peek of what’s inside yet still leave some things for the imagination...” Jeno wasn’t dumb, he saw the way you would shuffle in your seat and go red whenever he said something particularly flirty. He knows that you wear that agonizingly short skirt and pull it up to your waist so it rides just above your thighs for him. The way you would sway your hips when he’s walking right behind you. How you would ‘accidentally’ let your pen slip from your hand so you could bend down in front of him just to pick it up which was so fucking unnecessary but it got him so worked up anyways. Jeno knew it but he wanted to hear it straight from you. His face didn’t show any emotion while you talked but he was definitely amused by your honesty “And don’t even get me started with your your hands, fuck they’re so veiny and hot, I can’t count the amount of times I’ve imagined them-“ you cleared your throat, stopping yourself from embarrassing yourself any further “hmm?.. why did you stop?” you swallowed thickly “I -uh-“ “you were talking about how you’ve been imagining my hands?”“I was just talking rubbish, never mind that..” he leaned down so he was eye level with you yet again “no, tell me more, I’m your tutor, am I not? It’s only fair for me to know about these distractions so we can find a way to fix them” you tucked your hair behind your ear and you didn’t know where the sudden confidence came from but something pushed you to spit it out “I’ve always imagined them wrapped around my neck” you kept looking down, not daring to look up even for a second “is that all?” you nod and you could not have been any less prepared for what he says next “You don’t imagine my fingers inside your pussy whenever you touch yourself? You don’t imagine yourself, legs spread on my desk while I fuck you into oblivion?” you looked at him and it was like he wasn’t affected by whatever was going on “n-no, I don’t” lies.

Jeno stood up fully again, grabbing the text book from his own desk “come here” he said as he motioned for you to come over with a single wave of his finger and you stood up from your seat, walking over to him.

He grabbed your waist and lifted you up on his desk and you yelped at his sudden action. He opened the text book and of course you were curious ”what are you doing?” “you wanted to work on distractions, right? Then answer my questions while I play with you” you only stared at him with your wide eyes, scared and excited about what’s to come next.

He lowered himself and lift up your skirt "let's start with the basics: what's the powerhouse of the cell?" he asks and your eyes gleamed, you knew this one. “It’s the mi-“ you were cut off when he slowly traced the insides of your thigh “the mi- what?” he taunts, his ego building up, knowing you’re already falling apart just with a simple touch “m-mitochondria” He smiled “very good. what’s the first step in meiosis and cell division?” “Prophase one?” he slowly took off your underwear and you can already imagine how dripping wet you are but your thoughts were focused in answering his questions that you basically ignored your arousal “good girl, now what’s the difference between prokaryotic and eukaryotic cells?” you spent a few seconds rummaging your brain for the answer and your face lit up when you got it “prokaryotic cells are uni-cellular while eukaryotic cells are multi-cellular!” he pushed your legs further apart, your glistening folds now fully exposed to him “mhmm, so tell me why you got all these questions wrong in your test?” he moves closer to your core and he looks up at you, awaiting your answer “I guess I just forgot” you said as you bit your lip innocently “then we’ll have to find a way to make you remember now, don’t we?” you looked straight at him and his eyes were dark with lust. He smiled but it wasn’t his typical ‘it’s okay that you made a mistake, we can fix it’ smile, it’s the type of smile that made it look like he was gonna eat you right then and there.

He licked a strip of your slit and you started to whimper to which Jeno of course, mentally took a note of “aww is my baby sensitive?” you nod frantically and he let out his infamous low chuckle “now, recite all the stages in mitosis, angel”

He was now giving kitten licks to your sensitive bud which left your mind all fuzzy “I-interphase, prophase, telophase-“ he continued to lap up your arousal and stuck his tongue in you which earned him a high pitched whine “metaphase, anaphase!!” you quickly answered in a whiny voice. He removes his mouth off of you and replaces it with his fingers and with the first push of his middle finger inside of you, he immediately tried to find your sweet spot “you wanna try that again, pup?” he was pushing in and out of you all while continuously rubbing circles on your clit, leaving you a whiny and stuttering mess “I-I..ahhh fuck-“ a string of curses and incoherent words left your mouth and Jeno was pleased at how your body was reacting to him but you haven’t answered his question yet “I’m not gonna ask you again. What are the stages in mitosis by order?” He added another finger and curled them both inside you, causing you to arch your back but he used his other hand to hold you in place “Interphase, Prophase— shit!” His fingers were moving faster by the second and you felt like you were gonna explode “Metaphase, Anaphase... FUCK!” you were so so close “is my baby close?” you nodded with an exasperated whine “please..” a reassuring smile was plastered on his face “just one more step and I’ll let you come, angel”

your mind was filling up with nothing but bliss and Jeno’s fingers inside you but you were so desperate to come, you tried to remember everything you learned with all the energy you have left “TELOPHASE!!” tears gathered in your eyes and Jeno was left with a satisfied grin “that’s my girl” and with that he hooked your legs over his shoulders, pulling you closer to him as he ate you out. You tasted so sweet; so heavenly and Jeno swore he just found his new addiction.

He felt your tiny hands gripping his hair and he knew he was doing something right. Seeing Jeno devour your cunt was the most sinful sight yet you have no means of stopping him “Fuck, right there! Shit—ahhh!” your whines only made him prod his tongue inside your hole deeper “g-gonna come!” you squealed and he rubbed your clit while licking you up and down which finally pushed you to the edge.

Jeno cleaned you up with his tongue some more and was ready to pull away. Having only just climaxed, you were sensitive but you wanted more. You wanted him to fill you up and use you to his hearts content “c-cock..” he shot his head up to look at your fucked out expression “hmm? what was that?” he wanted to make sure his ears weren’t deceiving him “I want your cock, please” he definitely heard that one right but he was still worried because he didn’t want to push you over your limit “are you sure you can take it, baby?” you nod your head, desperate to feel him inside you, and that’s all the reassurance Jeno needed before he pushed his pants down and released his thick member.

He was massive and you started to get a little worried if you can take all of him “is it gonna fit?” Jeno cooed at how you looked genuinely worried that his cock wasn’t gonna fit into your tiny little pussy so he held the side of your face, brushing his thumb over your cheeks to wipe off the mascara dripping down so prettily and making you look like a hot mess “oh baby, we’ll make it fit.” He rubbed his length up and down, the tip angry red and leaking with pre-cum. You wanted a taste of it but that just has to wait for another time.

“Are you ready, angel?” You gave him a small nod and he slowly started to push himself in, making sure not to hurt you. “So. Fucking. Tiny.” He could barely fit half of him inside you even when your cunt was already dripping wet from earlier. He had to pull himself all the way back out and push it all the way in again for him to bottom out and you swore you almost passed out. The stretch burned but you tried your best not to move around so much.

It took you a few more thrusts until you could somewhat take all of him in your hole but you still couldn’t get used to it. “J-jeno, you’re so b-big, please slow down!” you sobbed which only drove Jeno mad “What? Am I too big for you? Your tight cunt can’t take every inch of my cock?” you could only respond with sobs and pleas but your walls clenching around him said enough and it only boosted his ego even more “isn’t this what you wanted, baby? For me to fill your tiny hole with my fat cock?” He gets rid of his white button up and looks down at your tiny figure as he fucks into you. He noticed a little bulge forming on your lower abdomen each time he went in and it drove him insane seeing your little tummy take all of him so he smirked and took your hand to guide it on your stomach, feeling his cock hit your deepest parts and poke through you “look at your tummy, angel.. You feel that? That’s the only cock this little pussy will ever need” his filthy words were riling you up even more which you didn’t think was even possible and you were now practically begging him to go faster “so needy and pretty” he chuckled, how could Jeno ever say no to his little baby? He picked up his pace, thrusting into you at an inhumane speed.

He pulled your body up and you immediately hooked your arms around him, clawing your nails at his back “God, right there Jeno, fuck!” you were holding onto him for dear life and was uncontrollably clenching around his length “so fucking tight, angel. How are you even taking my cock?” you brought one of your hands to grip the back of his head and pulled him in for a hot make out session. He was catching all your moans and whines in his mouth and soon enough, the knot in your stomach started to form again and Jeno could tell you were close by the way your grip on his hair tightened and your walls contracted so much around him that he couldn’t even move properly.

He started to rub circles on your clit to aid you in reaching your climax and your whines became so needy and loud “Come for me me, angel. I wanna feel you all over my cock” and with just those magical words, you reached your second mind-blowing orgasm of the day and he slowly lied you back down as he thrusts into you a few more times, chasing his own high, leaving you shaking and whimpering from overstimulation “I got you, baby” he reassures, moving the strands of hair covering your face to give you a soft kiss on the lips “such a pretty angel”.

#jeno smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #jeno x reader #nct x reader #nct 00 line #jeno #nct au #jeno au #00 line smut #nct dream 00 line #nct dream scenarios #nct scenarios #kpop smut #nct #nct dream

3K notes · View notes

mieohmy · 3 years

Text

𝖢𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝟣𝟢𝟣 | 𝖫𝖾𝖾 𝖩𝖾𝗇𝗈

PAIRING: lee jeno x reader

GENRE: angst, fluff, humor, comfort, established relationship au, college au, this rly is just a self indulgent fic kjasdfk

WC: 2.1k

NOTES: slight argument/fighting ?? , cursing

SUMMARY: jeno wants your attention, your comforting presence, your love- he simply wants you.

for the bday boy that i treasure sm! happy birthday to puppy jeno <333

ღ

The phone next to you lies untouched, and practically has been for days- or has it been a week already? I mean, it wasn’t your fault that upcoming finals had been taking you to the depths of hell, and you had no choice but to lock yourself at home to study for a week on end.

Which brings you to day 7? 8? of being holed up in your room all day, memorizing a bazillion tiny printed words and trying to cram as much information as possible in that overworked brain of yours. Getting about 4-5 hours of sleep a day, you couldn’t remember anymore- or even care to remember. Not to mention the added stress that came along with being any normal college student. Wasn’t life just wonderful?

You feel bad for everyone that has tried to contact you over this stressful period in your life (since you completely turned your phone off to eliminate all distractions), but the urge to stop studying completely and just check up on the real world and all its happenings grows stronger. You breathe in -out, constantly chanting ‘self-control’ over and over again in your head. Then your eyes slowly open, and you slap yourself one last time as if to say ‘get it together' before diving back into the books.

Just two more days. Two more days and you can finish and not have to stress about finals until results come out.

At this point, you were surviving off of coffee, tea, random stolen snacks that your boyfriend would bring over from his dorm.

Damn, when’s the last time you had a proper meal? Monday?

And then you frown. What day even is it today? You glance at your calendar and-

Goodness grief, it’s Sunday already.

You almost have a midlife crisis over wasting basically a week doing nothing but sitting at your desk and looking at words, but then again at this point- you’re just over it and want to be done as soon as possible.

But soon, a weird feeling arises after you recall today’s date- like you were forgetting something. You place a hand over your forehead. Was there something important today?

And as if the universe read your mind, the doorbell rings.

A giant wave of confusion washes over you. Was someone supposed to come over today?

-and you just completely wiped it from your mind?

You’re still running through your memories as you walk to the door. No, it's not Chae since she has finals too...

Opening it, you’re not at all expecting who was behind it.

“Jeno-?”

He blinks back at your wide eyes, expression turning concerned, and you rub your temples in exasperation and defeat.

“Oh, did we have a date today or something? I’m so sorry- I totally forgot.”

His eyebrows furrow. “No, I was just supposed to come over to hang out with you....”

“It’s been so long since we last talked, baby. You haven’t responded to any of my texts. What’s going on?” He promptly adds, staring intently at you.

You let out a sigh, and jeno notices your tense shoulders and dark under-eye circles. “I thought you knew. Finals are coming up so I’ve been stuck at home cramming for about a week now actually.”

His frown deepens. “I did know. And still, y/n..” he says in a warning tone.

You know what his voice implies, you’ve heard it plenty of times at this point, but right now you don’t have to energy to listen to his nagging. “ I know, I know. Just- come in, I guess.....”

To be completely honest, you wanted to send jeno back home- there was still a lot more information left to cover and you obviously weren’t in your best condition, but he was the one who actually remembered your ‘date’ and drove to your place, so you would feel even worse making him go all the way back to his dorm.

Jeno easily follows you in, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back any comments while examining your place even though barely anything has changed since he last visited- mostly because there was nothing to change when you were in your room all day.

You walk to the kitchen, getting your boyfriend some water while yawning. Meanwhile, your mind is drifting away, thinking about what topics are left that you have to go over later. “What are we even doing today?”

Jeno plops on your couch, arms behind his head. “I don’t know. A movie?”

You hide your grimace, immediately thinking of how much time would be wasted watching one, or possibly even more if jeno was feeling it. In the one to two hours of a movie, you could be done with chapter two and three-

“Y/n??”

Your head snaps up. “Yes?”

“Are you gonna come over here or just stand there in the kitchen all day?” he teases.

You shake your head to clear the fog and join jeno on the couch. Scrolling through the options, you automatically snuggle up next to him, eyes blearily watching the moving tv screen.

He decides on this one animated film, and you’re too drained to pay attention so you simply nod and let the movie begin. But even though you try your best to focus on the storyline and what’s currently going on, your mind keeps wandering off to other, more boring things- your studies, obviously.

The number of chapters you covered, the slight of chapters you have left, how long you would have to stay up to finish going through your planned amount of information -all the stressful thoughts swirling in your head, and it only exhausts you more.

You let out a sigh, and jeno turns to you. “Are you okay? You’ve been sighing nonstop since we started the movie.”

You clear your throat, biting back a yawn. “Oh- yeah, sorry. I won’t do it anymore.”

Your boyfriend stiffens but doesn’t say anything, attention returning to the flashing screen in front of him.

You did try. You really did. But your eyelids keep drifting shut and your head keeps slowly lolling forward and snapping back up -it’s not until your forehead accidentally knocks against jeno’s chest that he finally speaks up again.

“Y/n. You need to take a break and get some sleep. Now.” His tone is sharp and commanding.

You snap your eyes back open, vision blurry. “No- it’s fine. I’m good, let’s keep watching.”

The immediate switch in the air is scary, jeno swiftly reaching for the remote and pausing the movie to look at you dead straight in the eyes before setting it back down with a loud, clattering noise. “You need to rest. I can tell from how tired you look, and I know you’ve been studying for so long, so why is it that hard to just relax for a little?”

You groan, distress breaking through. “I can’t, okay? You already understand how stressful school is and how important my upcoming tests are. I know you’re just trying to be kind and thoughtful but-“

“But what?” He cuts you off, the frustration he’s been hiding for a while finally revealing itself. “Taking a rest from burning your brain out isn’t going to kill you, y/n.”

Your hands at your side clench and unclench, a wave of emotions overcoming you. “I know that. But I can’t afford to have a break now.” Everything suddenly feels overwhelming, and your voice comes out strained and uncontrolled.

“I’m almost there, jeno. It’s so close, and if I stop now, I’ll feel like a failure.”

He laughs a short and echoing bark. “How do you think I feel? I was trying to brush everything aside and act like it was all fine, but it’s certainly not when you’re like this.”

You falter.

Jeno gets up, making direct eye contact with you even though his body is trembling and his voice is shaky.

“I spent the past week just lying in bed and worrying about you- if you were eating okay and getting enough sleep. I was constantly texting you reminders to take care of yourself, only to find out from your friend that you turned your phone completely off. Do you know how shitty of a person I was feeling? I didn’t want to be a distraction to you because I know how much you care about your grades, but it’s killing me, y/n. I want to be there for you, but instead, I end up feeling like the worst boyfriend in the world.”

He shudders before continuing,

“And then I come here, brushing off all my worries since I was super excited to finally be with you after so long, and then I have to see you in such a bad condition. Barely taking care of yourself, barely even surviving on your own just so you can pass your exams that I know you’ll already do well on no matter what. As your boyfriend who wants to help and be here for you, do you know how much my heart hurts?”

He finishes, but not before wiping away the frustrated tears that appeared in his angry rant.

It takes one beat -two beats, before you immediately spring up, rushing towards jeno and throwing your arms around him.

He accepts it, burying his face into your shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around your waist.

The guilt courses through your body, and you understand. The consequences of your actions hit you, hard, and you know you deserve it all. Jeno just wants to know that you’re here. You’re here with him.

“I’m really sorry,” you murmur into his hair, “I’m really, really sorry, jeno.”

You hate the fact that you can still feel the slight wetness of his tears soaking through your-technically his- shirt. You pull back, looking straight into his eyes to make sure he knows you’re being genuine.

“I promise to pay more attention to myself, and I promise I won’t ever let it happen again. I won’t shut you out anymore... and you can come over to take care of me whenever you want, okay?”

Jeno slowly nods, and you softly wipe away the corners of his red eyes of any wetness.

He pulls you closer to him again, inhaling your scent one more time, and you finally let yourself go.

After about a minute of just enjoying each other’s warm embrace - one that you feel like you haven’t felt in so long- you allow yourself to smile and pull back just enough to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Was my baby just lonely and missed me too much?” you sing in a soft voice. He lets out a disgruntled noise in response, shaking his head against your body.

But you both know what the answer is.

“C’mon, let’s go to bed.” You tug his arm easily to your room, putting off your studies, at least for today.

“You’re really gonna take a break this time?” Jeno asks, eyeing you carefully.

You grin. “Yes? Besides, I know you’re always down for cuddles.”

You drag him to the bed, taking his arms and wrapping them around your body as exhaustion quickly fills you.

You fight yourself to stay awake as long as you can to enjoy jeno’s presence, but he notices and hugs you even closer if possible, whispering softly, “Go to sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And before you finally drift off, you sleepily murmur, “I love you, jeno. Like, a lot.”

Even after you fall asleep in his embrace, he stares down at you, softly kissing your forehead.

I love you too.

bonus bc i adore jeno too much :

“Jeno- for the last time, you’re not a bad boyfriend.”

“I know.... but-“

You shut him up with a quick kiss.

“You’re the sweetest.”

Another kiss.

“Funniest.”

Peck.

“Handsomest.”

His ever so growing smile freezes. Jeno looks at you, a surprisingly solemn look on his face.

You raise an eyebrow, confused.

“......even more than Nam joo hyuk?”

Ah. He had to go for the favorite actor.

You swallow, battling an intense internal war before begrudgingly nodding. “Okayyy...fine. You are.”

He crosses his arms. “I’m what?”

You roll your eyes, whining. “I already said it!”

Jeno shakes his head firmly. “Say the whole thing.”

You take a deep breath in, internally apologizing to your beloved actor. “......you, lee -verymuchanannoyingbaby- jeno, are more handsome than Nam joo hyuk.” Your sentence is finished swiftly in one breath, words slurring together. It actually pains you to say that. But it’s good enough for your boyfriend.

Jeno delights in the squeal you let out when he picks you up in his arms to spin you around.

“Fuck yeah- take that, nam joo hyuk!”

ღ

a/n: anyways im going to go hide away and cry over jeno now ^^

#cznnet #kpopscape #nct #nct dream #jeno #nct jeno #jeno x reader #lee jeno x reader #jeno scenarios #jeno imagines #nct dream x reader #nct dream smut #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream fluff #lee jeno imagines #jeno fluff

443 notes · View notes

breathings-of-the-heart · 4 years

Text

Stuck on You (Levi Ackerman x Childhood Friend! Reader)

A/N: Hi, guys! I just want to preface by saying that this is a TWO (maybe a three if i decide to write an epilogue drabble) PART SERIES, and I have just a few more scenes to write before I can post it! I don’t expect this one to do so well, to be honest, but it’s been so long since I’ve written anything I’m proud of and I think I’m happy with how this turned out. So yes, stay tuned for part 2 which i will link at the end once it is posted. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Angst, season one/no regrets ova spoilers

Word Count: 3.5k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5 years ago

“Why is it that you always seem to be on my case the most?” Your frustration was obvious and your patience dissipated, feet shuffling in their spot as you finally turned to face him. “You never nag Isabel this much.”

For a moment, Levi didn’t respond, scanning your body for injuries. After asserting that you were indeed okay, he stepped over the unconscious man who laid on the ground, jaw set in anger as he walked forwards until he was so close you had to tilt your head slightly to keep eye contact.

Your snappy behavior was uncharacteristic. It only fueled his temper. The raven shook his head in disapproval, trying to keep his anger in check as you glared at him defiantly.

“Isabel doesn’t make such careless mistakes,” he pointed out coldly. “You almost got yourself hurt, (Y/N)! What would you have done if I hadn’t shown up to cover your ass?”

The both of you stood there in silence for several minutes, gazing at each other and listening to your uneven breathing. His face, unlike so many others, never really did reveal everything he was thinking. Feeling. You were dared to search for something else in his steady gaze besides disappointment, but for once, you could not tell what you saw. It was infuriating, humiliating, and hurtful.

“Sometimes I wonder if there’s even a brain inside your thick fucking skull.”

His harsh words didn’t normally cut you, but this time you flinched, looking away from Levi as all the fight drained out of you.

 Wearing your jewelry out at night was a careless mistake, that you could admit. What was hard to swallow was the fact that you had just been mugged, and nearly assaulted, yet all Levi could do was find the time to scold you, not seeming to care at all if you were shaken up by what happened.

It didn’t scare you that the other man’s hands found their way onto your skin. It didn’t scare you that something bad could have happened had Levi not knocked him out. You weren’t afraid of any of it; you were afraid that all the raven-haired man could see you for were your mistakes.

“So you think I’m a burden then?” you asked, choking up.

Your change in tone caught Levi’s attention. You suddenly looked smaller, and more vulnerable than the last time he looked at you. He sighed again, shaking his head softly. It took all your strength not to shy away from his fingers as they threaded through your hair, stopping on your shoulder and tugging you against him. You let Levi do it nonetheless, knowing this was his way of saying sorry; knowing this was his way of saying: “I’m tough on you because I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

You pressed your ear against his beating heart, letting the sound soothe you.

“No, brat. I don’t think that. Let’s just go home, and forget about it,” his voice was more gentle this time.

You sniffled and nodded, chest bursting as Levi placed a feather light kiss on the top of your head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You never thought you’d miss the Underground. Especially when taking into consideration the miserable days after Levi, Isabel, and Farlan took that fateful deal, and were forced to leave you behind.

Your feelings on the matter were conflicted, of course, but you were relieved and happy that the people who mattered most had such a big opportunity. They didn’t need to see you crying, nor hear about how scared you were to be by yourself. Each one deserved better than that, so you put on a brave face as they reassured you over and over that they’d come back. You beamed as brightly as you could, sending them off with words of encouragement as you continued fighting off the lingering feeling of dread as they left.

You didn’t want to be a nuisance. Never wanted to be the reason they’d hold themselves back.

Although he didn’t show it, Levi took it the hardest. He implored you to stay alive, in a scolding tone that he only ever used when he was worried. You could hold your own, but weren’t a fighter like the other three. The stern male had only ever been thankful of your gentle nature in the past, surprised to be cursing it now that he couldn’t protect you. But for him, you’d try your hardest, knowing that with a little faith and patience, you could be reunited in the future.

The goodbye had been bittersweet, your lips slotting against his for the very first time. In a way, the way he kissed you seemed more like a promise than a farewell. His arms were wrapped around you all night, warmth lulling you to a sleep that otherwise, would never have been able to claim you.

Parting afterwards the following morning became all the more difficult because of it.

When Levi pulled a few strings with his newfound respected status and got the military to sponsor your citizenship, you were over the moon. Becoming a soldier was the last thing you expected out of your life, but wherever Levi and the others went, you would gladly follow. You felt at home again, throwing your arms around the man for the first time in months and giggling at the fact that while he accepted the gesture and patted your head awkwardly, his lack of affection never changed.

But you were quickly learning that the ideological existence that lived right above your head was just an illusion. You came only to find your friends dead, and Levi more closed off to you than he’d ever been before. Up here, things were far from perfect, and as time went on, you instead yearned for the past if only to appreciate it better a second time around. And although things slowly got better, life was not yet finished throwing its hardships your way.

The last person you had left slowly became out of reach, as time apart inevitably distanced the two of you and gave someone else the opportunity to fill that hole in his heart.  

Reality, you found, was much crueler under the blue of the sky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You don’t have to deny it, Levi. I know you better than anyone. I see the way you look at her,” you whispered, wringing your hands together in a feeble attempt to rid of the painful churn in your stomach. “I see it because you used to look at me that way.”  

It was admirable, at least, the effort you put in to keep your voice even. But the silence that followed those broken words was pitiful. The silence made it even more difficult to meet the gaze of the man in front of you. Levi had every opportunity to deny the truth of your burning statement; to bring you back into his arms and reaffirm his love like he used to. Like he would if maybe things were different.

You knew, he had no desire to do that now. Instead, the Captain’s eyes screwed shut and a light sigh escaped his perfect lips, the warmth of it tingling your skin. It was nostalgic, almost, being alone with Levi like this. His face was nearer to yours then it had been in months, enough so that you could make out every tiny detail. The irony of it seemed mocking: for once, you couldn’t bear to look at him. Not that you needed to, with every feature of his sure to forever haunt your memory.

But now all you could see were the interactions they had. Your vision consisted of watching as their bond and understanding grew. It was created in such a short amount of time, but hardly unpredictable with the amount of time Levi and Petra spent together. Even if Levi himself had not realized it, for you, it was plain as day. You knew him better than anyone. Could see that there was no pain in Levi’s eyes when he looked at her. Afterall, unlike you, Petra wasn’t a painful reminder of the past.

Despite his physical closeness, this was the most detached you’ve ever felt from the male. The space between you was strange and unfamiliar. Lonely and cold.

At your words, he exhaled through his nostrils.  

“I would never be unfaithful, (Y/N). I never have been,” he spoke firmly, in that certain tone of speaking only he could manage. “I promised I would never leave you.”

A tear spilled down your cheek, despite your best brave face. It was too much to handle, even for a calloused girl like you. Because despite everything, Levi had always been there. It seemed scary to have life any other way.

Said man took your hand gently, handling it like porcelain. It wasn’t until his skin touched yours that you realized your fingers were shaking, and your facade was crumbling. His gesture was another reminder of what once was. The familiarity of his skin a testament to all the time spent simply existing with one another.

How did it come to this?

“A lot has changed since then, it seems,” you laughed softly, for once pulling away from his touch. “I bet you can’t even look at me without thinking about those two, huh?”

You never once thought it was his fault. Even if you told him that, you knew Levi would always take accountability. Knew he would blame himself for taking Isabel and Farlan away from you. You should have seen this coming. It was inevitable that your love would be tainted, and that he’d find it somewhere else, even if it was unintentional.

“(Y/N), wait—“ there was a small panic that awoke in the raven’s steely eyes that only those who truly knew him would be able to detect.  

“—You know how I feel about you, don't you? I want to be the one who you'd wake up next to every morning. The person you'd trust enough to spill all your secrets to, the one you want to hold close, the one who would make it hurt too much to ever let go. I want to be the person who can make you smile, or laugh until you can't breathe. Your first and last thought of the day, and the one you wonder about even when they’re not around.”

You swallowed a whimper, fists clenched at your sides as your restraint came undone. It was all you’d ever wanted since you were small and starving and Levi was all you had to hold onto.

"But more than anything I want you to be happy. You deserve it.”

And because that’s how much I love you.

“I’d spent the rest of my life with you, if you asked me to,” the stoic Captain stated, as simply and mindlessly as if reciting the weather.

You knew it was true. You also knew better than to let your mind wander to that fantasy, or to let a world come into fruition in which you stopped Levi from pursuing his happiness; held back simply because his loyalty knew no bounds. You refused to be that selfish. You’d rather die a miserable death, a thousand times over. Rather endure this anguish for as long as it resided in your heart then watch his indifference turn to hatred as years of a one-sided relationship droned on and on.

He doesn’t want you anymore.

“I know, Levi.” You paused for a long moment. “Petra's wonderful. I don't hate either of you, I want you to remember that."

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying desperately to forget the feeling of Levi’s lips on your skin, your face against his chest. The warmth between your ribs or the butterflies in your stomach, or the fireworks of passion that only he could make you feel. Tried to forget the rare but special, secret words of affirmation only your ears got to hear, and the goosebumps they’d send across your skin.

You wanted to erase it all, if only to make it easier to walk away with the knowledge you’d never feel any of that again.

It was pathetic.

There wasn’t anything left to be said. So with the task near impossible, looked at your lover, your best friend, your rock, your Levi, and turned away.

You only managed three steps before a voice followed you and a hand closed around your wrist.

“Is this what you want?” He sounded apathetic, but you knew better. His underlying worry only made the pain feel worse.

“I don’t know.” At the very least, you were honest.

"Will I see you again?"

As adaptable as he was, Levi was never a fan of the unconventionality that was “change.” He was never surprised, quick to go with the flow, even if he preferred certainty and steadiness.

This conversation, though, was one he never expected.

"Of course," you forced a tiny smile, knowing it was more convincing than it felt. "I just need a breather. I'll be back for dinner." The words tasted bitter in your mouth.

That was the first and only lie you'd ever tell Levi Ackerman, having handed in your resignation papers to Erwin just yesterday.

Forgive me, Levi.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Snow fluttered down from the sky, coating the local shops and roofs of buildings with a thick, white blanket. Merchants and store owners alike grumbled their disapproval, bustling to sweep the front of their shops. The air was crisp and biting, yet you relished in the feeling and absorbed the atmosphere. Drunk garrison soldiers loitered around merrily, cheeks flushed from alcohol, catching the flakes in their hair and occasionally slipping on hidden ice in their drunken stupor. It made you chuckle softly, the residences of Wall Roses’ inconvenience the source of your contentment-- this was your first time seeing snow, the real thing a thousand times better than anything you read about in any book.

You strolled through the marketplace, a basket holding bread, dried meats, cheese, and several fruits resting in the crook of your elbow. Your coin purse felt lighter than it had that morning, yet you carried on nonetheless, curious as to what Wall Rose had to offer. Children ran past you, throwing snowballs at each other and nearly running into you because of their haste. The sight made you grin as one of them bumped into one of the street market’s booths, knocking over a few items as he went.

The woman behind the counter chastised them, her shouts growing louder when they barely spared her a glance and blended into the crowd of shoppers. Nick nacks and books were left scattered in their wake, askew on the cobblestone ground.

“Need help, ma’am?,” you asked her, picking up the objects from the ground.

“Thank you, dearie,” she sighed gratefully, taking them from your hands. “Kids these days, so reckless and always in such a hurry.”

You laughed airily, mirth swimming in your eyes.

“You’re just lucky they didn’t steal anything,” you joked, reminiscing about your own thieving past. Your attention turned towards the noting the soldiers now dozing off on top of their card table nearby, tutting their behavior lightheartedly. “Levi, if only the police were like that back when we--”

Out of habit, you turned around to meet his gaze, heart clenching when you remembered he wasn’t there. Your fists clenched to prevent you from smacking yourself at your carelessness. He’s not here, dumbass.

“What was that, hun?” the woman behind the counter inquired, preoccupied in sorting her things.

You put on your best smile, shaking your head before your thoughts could fill with images of a certain raven-haired, steele-eyed, heart-stopping male. The back of your eyes stung, the momentary joy of your first real winter quickly fading away.

“Nothing important.”

This is for the best, (Y/N). You’ve only ever gotten in the way, his whole life. Let the man be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a few years since that last encounter with him. Part of you still wondered if Levi tried looking for you after realizing your true intentions of never coming back. You hoped he didn't, imagining instead that he'd made the most of the opportunity you'd given him. Prayed that it wasn't all for naught and he instead pursued what (or who) truly made him happy, instead of worrying about other people. In truth, you became content with life, learning to look back on memories fondly and being thankful for their existence.

Residing above ground was enough reason to be grateful in itself, and you did your best to make the most of it. Your days were now spent in ways that paid tribute to your humble beginnings: individuals from the underground who managed to secure citizenship to the surface were put into your care. You helped men, women, and children alike assimilate into living on the surface, which included introducing the area, and assisting in finding housing and jobs. It was rewarding work, but more than anything, reminiscent to be able to see the wonder when their eyes meet the clouds for the very first time. The flickers of hope from your clients were things you carried with you every day. Your chosen profession left plenty of free time, however, as it was relatively rare for individuals to pay the hefty toll of climbing up those stairs.

Your life was average, and for the most part, uneventful. The quietness that accompanied mediocrity proved to be comforting, however. It was a far cry from the days of constantly looking over your shoulder and needing to carry a knife in your boot, just in case.

At first, it was difficult not to cry at the thought of the stoic, raven-haired Ackerman. The heartache weighed down in your chest for a good amount of time. The simplest things reminded you of Levi, but after a while, instances where he’d cross your mind became fewer and further between. With a nicer home than anything you previously owned, a livable income, and an overall peaceful existence, you didn’t have any regrets.

At least, that was what you told yourself until you heard the news.

On off days you worked as a waitress at one of the many taverns within Wall Rose. Large tips were one of the many perks that drew you in originally. The chatter of the customers and frequent bar-goers was a welcome ambience, and an opportunity for you to combat the occasional feeling of loneliness.

Occasionally, Scout Regiment gossip would filter through, especially about Humanity’s Strongest and the new titan shifter Eren Jeager. Updates were nice, knowing Levi was safe and thriving in what he did best. But as you placed a pint of beer on one of the tables and overheard a heavy set man babble loudly to his comrade, dread splashed over you in waves.

“The Captain was the only survivor in his squad. He wasn’t even with them when it happened, poor guy. He must feel terribly guilty.”

Your vision became hazy as you tried not to panic; of all the rumours that filtered through the drunk mouths of customers, you had never heard bad news like this before. The last you’d heard, human kind was given a beacon of hope, and things were looking up after Eren Jaeger managed to plug up the hole in Trost.

“Excuse me, but which squad did you say this happened to?” you heard your voice say.  

Across the table, the other man took a swig of his drink, and grunted indignantly.

“Levi Squad, the best in the military I heard. A shame, but I suppose even the top in the Survey Corps are still just suicidal maniacs when it comes down to it.”

No, no, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen!

After that, everything became white noise. You could only register every third movement, heart thundering in your ears. The tray you’d been holding to carry the drinks clattered as it fell to the ground, causing a few gasps and strange looks to be thrown in your direction. In your horrified state, dread weighed down like lead in your body. You rushed to the back room, tears clouding your vision as you tried not to stumble.

You gripped the edges of the washroom sink, dizzy with this newfound information.

Levi has now lost more people that he loved, and was probably experiencing the same survivor’s guilt as he did with Isabel and Farlan. He was most likely suffering alone right now, never having been one to let people see his vulnerability so easily.

You did not witness first hand what your friends’ deaths meant to him. When the Captain waited for you at the top of the staircase, his expression never seemed out of the ordinary. Levi was kind enough to let you enjoy your first few days up with him simply enjoying the newfound freedom. He made the excuse that your two other comrades were out on business somewhere, and would be back to see you soon. Maybe, at the time, your excitement blinded you from the deeper emotions hidden in his voice.

When you found out the truth, their passing broke you. The fact that Levi shouldered any blame, however, is what twisted the knife. He had been grieving by himself; feeling that pain without anyone to comfort him. He had to put on a brave face just to see you; secretly spending that last month alone, probably relaying over and over how he would break the news to you.

Your remorse increased tenfold when it was him who held you, and him who put you back together, just like he had to for himself. And now he was by himself all over again.

I have to do something.

Splashing water on your face, you straightened up and looked in the mirror, a sudden surge of guilt coursing through your veins.

You refused to let Levi be alone this time around, no matter how he might feel about you now.

~~~~~~~

Part Two!

#snk levi #levi #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman gif #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #AoT #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #snk fic #aot fic #levi x reader

1K notes · View notes

daisybeewrites · 3 years

Text

July — d.j.

for @dreamcxtcherr ‘s 3k writing challenge. congrats lena!!

word count: 1.8k

warnings: mention of car crash/death, mention of alcohol consumption, daisy cries, i think thats it lmk if not!!

ship: R x daisy johnson

okay y’all… first ever anggstttttt!!! i’m way too excited about it. if you want a fully immersive experience, i recommend listening to july by noah cyrus slowed + reverb

(gif uncredited on pinterest (ugh, i hate that. credit a gif if you use it!! im trying to find the owner)) update — found owner

It was another mission. Another nightmarish fire-fight where you almost lost a limb, almost lost a friend, almost lost your life. Twenty-four hours later and you’re back home, safe.

Well, as safe as you can be when your engagement is on the verge of breaking off.

You stare at the simple ring on your left hand. White gold band, a tiny amethyst set to the left of a diamond. There was a nearly identical one lying next to the sink, the only difference being the switched places of the glittering gems.

You know she didn’t do it purposefully. You had both been exhausted after what was supposed to be an in-and-out mission turned into a hostage situation. Daisy did what she always did as soon as you were home — take off her gauntlets, wash her hands in the sink, grab a snack, and hop into a steaming shower.

But you still can’t stop yourself from staring at it, eyes fixed, hands shaking, breath held and mind racing.

You used to join her. You would wash each other’s hair, ease each other’s sore muscles with delicate touches on tender purple-black bruises. She would lean into you, letting you braid her hair and falling asleep in your arms, drifting into a deep slumber. It was intimate, lovely; it was normal and perfect.

Taking a sip of your room-temperature beer, you slide off the cool granite of the kitchen island. You had a new routine after missions now, you just had to get used to it.

You hear the shower shut off, bare feet pad into your cosy bedroom, and the door shut with a loud creak. The minute squeak of the mattress tells you that Daisy flopped into bed.

A ghost of a smile lights your face. It looks more like a grimace, you think, as you check your distorted reflection in the green glass of your beer bottle. Chucking the empty bottle in the recycling, you run a hand through your dirty, salty hair. The comfy sweats you changed into an hour ago would need to be washed, the dirt still adorning your skin rubbing off on the black material. You exhale before heading down the hall towards the bathroom.

The tiled room is filled with steam, the mirror fogged up so that only a blurry outline of your silhouette could be seen. You are unrecognizable.

How fitting.

The quick, cold shower you take does nothing to ease your mind or body. You wipe the mirror in a circle, taking out a first aid kit.

With all your cuts bandaged and the proper creams Jemma had snuck to you and Daisy applied to your fresh bruises, you headed into the hallway in your towel.

Daisy is standing in the kitchen, lilac lounge shorts you bought her last Christmas showing off her tanned and scarred legs. She looks warm and soft, a very different Daisy than the superhero who had broken a mob boss’ legs just hours before. Her hair is wet and in braids. You frown. You always braid her hair.

If she hears you, she doesn’t turn around, so you take a moment to admire her. Ten seconds, that’s all you give yourself. It was a stressful mission, if you stare too long she might snap. From the back, you can’t see the dark circles you know are there, but you can see the tension in her shoulders and the slight tilt of her head as she ponders what to eat.

You say nothing as you go to the bedroom to change. You find a black pair of SHIELD sweats and an old, holey t-shirt you vaguely remember stealing from Fitz. A presence at the doorway catches your attention.

“Hi,” Daisy says tentatively. Your breath caught in your throat, your lungs holding the air captive until Daisy spoke again.

“I missed you.”

Your eyes widened. Maybe tonight wouldn’t end with one of you on the couch, clutching a six pack while the other cried as quietly as possible, tucked into cold, lonely sheets.

“Braiding my hair, I mean,” She clarified. Her fingers twisted together, rigid posture giving away her nerves.

The air felt humid, as if the open window had suddenly sucked all the AC out and let the mid-summer heat in. Your memory flashes to the last time you and Daisy had a normal, happy conversation.

The edges are fuzzy, but the pure joy in Daisy’s chocolate eyes is clear. Fairy lights strung haphazardly around the living room, a movie playing in the background, your lips on hers. Blankets make a ceiling over your head that shut out the rest of the world, this moment was only for you two. You played with the thin metal band on her ring finger, she ran her hands through her hair. Her matching ring scratched your scalp lightly. You both smile as you pull away. You whisper childhood stories, laugh at the funny parts and offer melancholic smiles at the not-so-lighthearted parts. You were happy.

That night you got the call — Lincoln Campbell, yours and Daisy’s best friend, had wrapped his car around a telephone pole coming off of a long shift at the hospital. His blood alcohol was almost .40.

Eggshells littered the house from the time you got back from the funeral. One wrong word, Daisy would snap and spend hours punching a bag until her fingers bled. You would fill those hours with whatever was closer — wine or your car keys. You pulled yourself out of your head, realizing you should answer her.

“I missed it, too,” You breathed.

Daisy made a small, unintelligible noise before collapsing against the door frame. You froze for only a second, your mind racing through possibilities. Was she bleeding internally? Was it her back again? Did she get shot and not notice until now?

You leap over to her, catching her as she crumbles to the hardwood floor.

A quiet sob wracks her chest. Your hands hover over her slouched back, unsure how to comfort her. At this moment, Daisy feels foreign. Her sudden vulnerability alerts you to how she’s been holding her emotions in for god knows how long.

“Daisy…” You start, hesitantly.

Daisy hiccups loudly, another wave of tears washing over her.

“Tell me to leave, I’ll pack my bags,” Daisy cried, “But I don’t, I-I don’t want to lose you!”

Burning tears gather on your lash line, threatening to fall at her words. You never could stand to see Daisy cry.

Your brows furrow slightly in confusion before you realize what Daisy is talking about. After Lincoln’s death, you two had fought increasingly more often until Daisy locked herself away or spent the night at May’s, and you went for drives until your car ran on empty. On those nights, bottles of wine disappeared from the cabinet without a trace.

Daisy sits up, stamping down her sobs, seemingly resigning herself to the fact that you aren’t going to say anything. Her trembling lip and red eyes pierce your heart. The astronomical distance between you two seems atomic now. You reach out quicker than lightning, shushing her cries and rubbing her back.

“Do you want to go?” You asked after a while. Your knees dig uncomfortably into the floor, your shoulder hurts from the ridges in the doorframe.

Daisy sniffles, her hair falling into her face as she looks away. You crane your neck down, carefully tucking her hair behind her ear.

“You know I’m afraid of change, I guess that’s why we’ve stayed the same,” You sigh, your chest constricting and squeezing the broken glass pieces of your heart.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself to continue, “But if you want to find a new life, someone who loves you better than I do, darling, I understand.”

Daisy is still frozen, stare burning holes in the floor. You’re glad that the two of you are at home, the poly-tectic adaptive materials hidden between the walls keeping the house from collapsing. By the slight groan of the foundation, you can imagine Daisy could bring down a mountain with the amount of pain she’s in.

Which can only mean one thing.

“I’m not enough,” You stated. It wasn’t a question. You glance down, a glint in the low light cast from the lamp on the bedside table catching your eye. She has her ring on…

Daisy finally, finally shakes her head ‘no’. You let go of a breath, guilt building every second that passes. She isn’t happy. You shouldn’t be happy that she’s staying.

“Feels like a lifetime, we’ve been trying to get by while we’re dying inside,” You say, gently.

Daisy snaps her eyes to yours, a desperation in them you recognize as grief.

“So much of the past year has been consumed by grief. We never took time off, we never talked about it. I’ve done a lot of things wrong, loving you being one,” She whispers.

You nod, there is no denying that you each had a part in getting to where you are now. Delicately, you grab her hand. She squeezes it, a rush of small vibrations traveling up your arm. Your chest flutters at the familiar affection.

“So have I,” You assure her. She gradually falls towards you, exhausted. You let her rest her head on your shoulder, her breath evening out as her arms wrap around you. You feel hot tears flow down your face, fall onto her hair. Slowly, you pull Daisy closer to you.

Hours later, the sun peeks over the top of the mountain range in the distance. You had adjusted the two of you sometime around two a.m., no longer able to feel your legs from how the floor cut off your circulation.

Sometime around three, you had gathered the courage to move Daisy to the bed, trying hard not to wake her. She had only turned over and not let go of your hand.

You haven’t slept at all tonight, thoughts spinning until you force yourself to pause and count to ten, only to repeat the pattern.

You know what you have to do. You know what’s best for the both of you. You’ll leave, pack your bags and find a place to stay until you can scrape up enough money to rent an apartment. You’ll go to therapy, learn to live without Lincoln, without Daisy. Eventually, Daisy will heal, too. You both have the team at your backs, no matter what happens. She would be okay.

But you know you won’t. The fear of losing Daisy, of losing your life, your home, yourself stops you. You can’t move on. You can’t move forward.

You know that the big changes it takes to heal could cost you Daisy. So, you stay the same. You give into fear. You’ll never be enough, never love Daisy right, never quite heal fully — and neither will Daisy. But you still stay.

You’ll always stay the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ahhhh how was it? did you love it? any feedback? want more? put any thoughts/feelings/questions/concerns in the comments or my ask box!! i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoyed reading it even more!!

<<3

#daisy johnson x y/n #daisy johnson x reader #marvels aos #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d.#angst #fic #quake #ashby writes #dousy #lincoln cambell x daisy johnson #lincoln cambell x reader #mcu #bioquake #jemma simmons #gn!reader

65 notes · View notes

sugarandspace · 3 years

Text

In Their Own Bubble (Buddie)

Summary: The well rescue left Eddie uncomfortable with small spaces and absolutely hating the idea of being stuck somewhere. Things go south when Buck and Eddie get trapped in a small elevator while they are working.

Warnings: claustrophobia, panicking, vague mentions of being buried alive and nearly drowning

A/N: I found this tiny elevator (picture if someone wants to see how tiny it is) while working, and now literally every time I use that elevator I think of this fic idea. Shoutout to my friend Em (thatnerdemryn/@thatnerdemryn) who took this fic to a whole new level by saying that Eddie could be claustrophobic!

AO3

“... I’m going to take the stairs.”

“Don’t be silly,” Buck says and pulls Eddie into the elevator with him. It’s a tight fit, especially with the bag of gear they have with them, but they both get crammed in. “It’s a short ride to the roof, we’ll manage.”

Then when the doors slide closed and they are alone, Buck adds with a quieter tone and a wiggle of his eyebrows, “Gives me an excuse to be close to you.”

And close they are. With Buck leaning on the wall opposite to the buttons, Eddie has to lean to the mirror at the back of the elevator so as not to accidentally touch them. Buck looks at the floor and wonders if their boots would touch if they tried to stand on opposite sides of the elevator. It’s very clear that the elevator was added after the building was built and they had to make do with the space they had. Buck is just glad they aren’t wearing their turnout gear, even in their regular uniforms their arms are touching despite them almost being at opposite corners.

“We’re at work,” Eddie says with a pointed look as if to remind Buck.

Their relationship is still fairly new, and they had agreed early on that they would give the department zero reasons to separate them. They both love the team they have and like being able to have each other’s backs while on call. They both know not to risk it for a few stolen kisses during a shift. They spent months pining after each other without knowing that the other felt the same, waiting until the shift is over to kiss the other might feel like torture sometimes, but it’s nothing compared to that. They can wait.

Plus, neither of them is really ready for all the teasing that would come if their team knew that they were together, so it’s better to keep it between them (and Christopher, of course) for now.

“Is this elevator even meant to carry this much weight?” Eddie asks, and Buck can see that his boyfriend looks visibly uncomfortable. He pushes away the joke that’s ready on his tongue and answers honestly.

“Even when we count both of us and the gear we’re carrying, there’s still a long way to the maximum weight this elevator allows,” he assures Eddie and leans towards him to affectionately bump shoulders. “It’s going to be fine.”

As if on cue, the elevator makes a loud noise and stops abruptly, making both of them jolt forward a little. Buck glances at the screen showing where they are and sees that they are currently stuck on the seventh floor.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says, a hundred percent sure his words combined with his shitty luck are the reason they are currently stuck in an elevator.

Eddie doesn’t respond, and Buck watches as he frantically tries to push the buttons on the elevator, trying to make it work.

“This can’t be happening,” he mutters to himself and moves to the doors, trying to pry them open with his hands, but the doors don’t move.

“Eds?” Buck asks, getting worried. Eddie doesn’t panic, like, ever, and seeing him like this is really making Buck worry.

“We have to get out,” Eddie says, and for the first time since the elevator stopped, he looks at Buck. Buck can see that he’s starting to sweat and his eyes don’t stay on Buck for long, desperately looking for another way out.

“We will,” Buck says. “It’s going to be okay.”

Buck presses on the button of his radio and speaks to it, “Hey Cap? Eddie and I won’t be able to make it to the roof. The elevator is stuck on the seventh floor.”

“Copy that,” Bobby replies. “We’ll get to you as soon as we’ve helped the victim.”

Bobby is talking about the man they were supposed to be helping, a man who had gotten his head stuck on a small window as he had tried to stick his head out of it to get some fresh air. The man was on a top floor where their ladder wasn’t going to reach, so Buck and Eddie were supposed to go to the roof where one of them could have been lowered down to help the man from the outside.

Their gear bag sits with them in the elevator, but Buck knows they have more in the truck. The team will be okay without them, it’s just going to take a while longer for them to help the man. Luckily the situation isn’t dire, the man isn’t in pain or in danger and he can wait a little longer.

Eddie, however? Buck’s not sure if he can wait.

“Copy that,” Buck replies to Bobby and then turns his attention to Eddie. His breathing is turning more panicked and he’s running his hand through his hair, obviously nervous. Buck’s been in an elevator with Eddie before, and the man has never expressed being afraid of them so it leaves Buck a little confused.

“Eddie?” He asks. “What’s going on?”

“We should be helping that man,” Eddie says, “Instead of being able to do our job we are stuck here.”

It’s not the real reason, but Buck doesn’t push.

“The team will help us,” Buck says and sits down. There’s not enough room for him to straighten his legs, so he sits cross-legged. It makes his knees hit the sides of the elevator and leaves Eddie even less room to stand.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, looking at Buck like he grew a second head.

“I’m sitting down,” Buck says. “There’s nothing we can do other than wait.”

Eddie doesn’t respond. He goes back to pressing the buttons and Buck can see that his hands are trembling. He reaches up to hold one of them, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“We’re safe here,” Buck says gently. “The elevators have a ton of safety measures that prevent them from falling. It’s not uncommon that they stop, but it’s very very rare that they fall. We’ll be okay until our team gets to us. After that, I’m sure they have a joke or two about having to save us but I think we’ll survive those too.”

Buck’s attempt at lightening the situation doesn’t help Eddie, it almost looks like he doesn’t even hear Buck’s words, and Buck wonders where his head has gone. He wants to help but he has no idea how.

“Talk to me Eddie,” he says, his voice gentle. He brushes his thumb across Eddie’s knuckles and squeezes, getting a strong grip in response.

“I don’t like being stuck,” Eddie says, and his voice comes out strained like he’s forcing the words out through gritted teeth. “When I was in the well I-”

Eddie’s words get cut off by a strangled gasp and suddenly Buck knows exactly why Eddie is reacting so strongly to this.

“Hey,” Buck says and pulls on Eddie’s hand, trying to urge him down with him. Because of the tight fit, Eddie ends up in Buck’s lap and Buck helps him get comfortable so that Eddie is straddling Buck and they are chest to chest, forehead to forehead

Buck knows that they wouldn’t want to be seen like this on the job, that if their coworkers were to see them now they would get exactly the type of teasing they are trying to avoid, but the need for comfort and the need to comfort override that. Buck can’t just stand there when Eddie is struggling, and if someone tries to make fun of them Buck will have a word or two to tell them. And their team are good people, Buck knows that they wouldn’t actually make fun of them if they saw how Eddie was feeling, and by now it would be clear to everyone, not just for Buck’s practiced eye.

“You are not there,” Buck says softly. He doesn’t need to talk loudly because Eddie has his face close, his forehead against Buck’s, and Buck wants Eddie to focus on his voice, wants to create a bubble around them that’s safe and calming. “You're not alone. We are getting out of here. The team knows that we’re here and they know exactly where we are. They are coming, all we need to do is wait.”

Buck has heard enough about how Eddie felt in the well - whispered conversations after a nightmare or on a particularly rainy day that makes Eddie space out in front of the window - to know exactly what boxes to tick while listing differences.

“It’s warm here,” Buck says and moves his hands up and down Eddie’s back, both to provide more warmth and to remind him that he’s not alone. “I’m here.”

Eddie’s hold on the back of Buck’s shirt gets tighter.

“I know that,” Eddie says, his voice scratchy. “Intellectually I know that I’m not there but-”

Eddie trails off and Buck finishes for him, “But sometimes it’s a little harder to make your brain believe it.”

He feels Eddie nod against his forehead.

Buck is familiar with the feeling. Gets that sometimes when they are spending time near the pier, or when they are on the street and there’s a sudden loud noise.

“Well, I’m going to remind it as many times as it needs,” Buck says. “But I need you to take a deep breath first.”

Eddie’s breaths are too shallow and too quick. Buck doesn’t know if it is because he’s panicking, or if he’s reminded of being underground in a hole that had a limited amount of oxygen, or underwater where all he had was what little he had in his lungs.

Buck leans up to kiss Eddie’s forehead before returning to their previous position, their foreheads against each other’s.

“Take a deep breath in,” Buck says and brushes his hand up Eddie’s back. When he feels the back move under his hand, he brushes it back down. “And breathe out.”

They follow the pattern until Eddie’s breaths get steadier and longer and when his breathing is calmer and he no longer seems to be panicking, Buck brushes his hand up into Eddie’s hair and guides his head to Buck’s shoulder so that they can share a proper hug. Eddie no longer has a death grip on the back of Buck’s uniform shirt, but his arms are sure around Buck’s back. Buck keeps his hand on the back of Eddie’s head while the other is around his waist, keeping him steady on his lap.

Eddie hides his face in the space between Buck’s neck and shoulder and Buck starts brushing his hand through the hair, hoping it brings Eddie comfort, that it reminds him that he’s not alone. For the same reason, Buck keeps talking.

“What do you want to have for dinner today?” Buck asks, his voice still gentle.

“You want to talk about dinner plans?” Eddie asks and Buck is happy to hear some lightness return to his voice, even if he stays hiding in the crook of Buck’s neck. “Now?”

“I want to give your brain something else to think about,” Buck says and turns his head a fraction to kiss the side of Eddie’s head. “So, what do you want for dinner?”

They stay like that, talking about dinner and Christopher and the plans they have for their next day off. Buck’s bad leg starts to ache at some point because it’s been in the same position for a while and Eddie is kind of heavy, but Buck doesn’t mention it. Eddie seems comfortable hiding like this, and Buck doesn’t want to disturb the calm bubble they have.

What does burst their bubble is the crackle of the radio, and Bobby’s voice that follows.

“We are at the elevator now,” he says. “We’re going to open the doors. The elevator is halfway to the seventh floor so you’ll have to climb out.”

“Copy that,” Buck replies. Then, to Eddie, “I guess that’s our sign to move.”

Eddie nods, pulling back from Buck, but only enough so he can leave a soft kiss on his lips.

“Thank you.”

Buck smiles in reply, “Anytime.”

Eddie gets up first, and Buck tries to follow. He can’t hide the grimace as he tries to put weight on his leg, and Eddie notices.

“Your leg,” he says as he helps Buck up. “It’s hurting?”

“It’s no big deal,” Buck says. “It was just in the same position for too long.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Eddie asks, his brows furrowed.

“I had more important things to focus on,” Buck says gently, to which Eddie replies with a fond look followed by a roll of eyes.

“Idiot,” he says lovingly.

Buck doesn’t have time to reply before there’s a loud noise and the doors are being pried open.

“The rescue is here,” Chimney says as soon as they can see him. “I thought you guys were supposed to be working, not give us more work?”

“We didn’t exactly plan this,” Buck replies.

“You sure?” Hen asks, and when Buck looks at her he notices that she’s looking between them, to where they are still holding hands. Buck looks up at Eddie and the first thing he pays attention to is Eddie’s messy hair.

He knows what this looks like and knows it’s not the truth, but he’s not going to tell them the actual truth either. It’s for Eddie to share if he wants to. He just gives Hen a shrug and pushes Eddie towards the doors, letting him get out first.

When Eddie is out, Buck lifts the gear bag out of the elevator and follows suit. Getting out is easy, it only requires a little upper body strength, but getting up to standing proves to be a little more difficult because of his leg. Eddie is by his side immediately, helping him up.

“You two okay?” Bobby asks. “Did you get hurt when the elevator stopped?”

“No,” Eddie says. “But Buck’s leg is hurting.”

Buck gives Eddie a betrayed look but Eddie replies with a raise of his eyebrows that either says ‘do you really think they didn’t notice’ or ‘do you really think I’d let you hide an injury’, Buck’s not sure which.

“It’s fine,” Buck says. “It was just a little tight fit in that elevator. It will be fine once I get to stretch it.”

“How awful to be stuck in such a tight space,” Hen says as they start walking to their truck, the others leading the way as Buck and Eddie walk behind them. “Having to be so close. How did you pass all that time?”

Buck knows what she’s trying to imply, but even though it feels tempting to tell them that they don’t need to speculate about when they will get together since they already are, it’s more rewarding to know it’s a secret. Something just for them.

Buck looks at Eddie where he’s walking beside him, biting his lip and looking troubled. He’s probably thinking about what actually happened in the elevator, and knowing Eddie he doesn’t like the vulnerability he showed while stuck there. He’s getting more comfortable with being more open with Buck, but the idea of the team finding out probably sounds awful to him.

Buck catches his eye and gives him a comforting smile and once he sees Eddie return the smile, he gives him a wink, a reminder of their not-so-little secret.

“Actually,” Buck starts. “We made plans for what to eat for dinner.”

Buck keeps talking all the way to the truck, telling the team about this new pasta recipe he tried over the weekend and how it was the best thing he’s ever eaten (not counting Bobby’s meals, of course), and it’s like any other call they’ve been to. Just before they get in the truck, Eddie reaches over to give his hand a quick squeeze, a silent thank you.

Buck smiles at him and gets to the truck, eagerly waiting for their shift to end.

Most days, keeping their relationship a secret at work is easy. On some, like today, it’s a little harder to keep the touches casual and to keep the affectionate words unsaid. But at the end of the day, it’s worth it so they get to be in their own bubble for a while longer.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #9-1-1 #my writing #guys that elevator!!#ah #what a wonderful little thing #anyways it's past 6am as i'm posting this so please be kind and ignore the mistakes

76 notes · View notes

peninkwrites · 3 years

Note

What scars do you picture tddd Tommy to have/how do you think scars form in the dsmp universe? I gotta know for fanart reasons 👀

Oooh this is such an interesting subject! :D Scars and healing in the Dream SMP, much to consider. I also have thoughts on mechanics n such, if you want to skip to where I'll take inventory of what scars I think tddd!Tommy would have, I'm going to put that under a read more– THIS WILL GO INTO DETAIL ABOUT INJURIES! Any level of gore found in the fic, expect a vaguer overview of that! I was probably more thorough than I needed to be lol

My personal take on scar mechanics is health potions make scar tissue worse, as it doesn't have a natural time to heal, so the cost of a quick fix healing method is gnarly scars, but in emergencies, sometimes scars are worth it y'know. As for resurrection, I think revival is not a generous thing. It knows its job is to bring the person back to life, and that's all. It won't restore someone to their state before injuries, it brings someone back with their scars and all, that's why limbs don't regrow! If the body were to naturally heal a severed limb, it wouldn't regrow it, but other things like stab wounds, they would get scar tissue. And some folks were thinking Wilbur wouldn't be resurrected because his body was damaged beyond healing, but the revive book would have done whatever it takes to bring someone back to life, but nothing more.

Okay. Let's take a very sad and very thorough inventory! I will bold scars I consider to be 'important' because there are just so many, drawing them all sounds daunting, at least to me, I wholeheartedly invite folks to do so!

Tommy would have a big, jagged scar on his left leg from breaking it repeatedly, especially because it broke enough that he could see bone, as well as a messy scar on his arm from it getting torn open by zombies, an arrow wound into his shoulder from that as well. Next would be an arrow wound under his ribs on the left side, as well as a slice in his right ear from an arrow grazing it, think like a cat that got in an alley fight. Then, the arrow wound through his throat, from almost directly behind him, straight through the front so the arrow would've poked out right through his throat, I'd imagine it wouldn't be an especially big scar, arrow exit wounds usually aren't, maybe the size of a quarter. His hands would be shredded, little scars around his fingernails from clawing at the walls as well as from trying to pick up broken glass and vinyl (these aren't especially Big I just think about them, but they're also very tiny details). Followed by the infamous knife to the back. It would be directly in his spine between his shoulder blades, not super big either, as it was a knife not a sword. Next wound is a sword through his chest, almost right in the middle, to the right of his heart. Then, pickaxe to the skull, most likely would be hidden by his hair. Which I will confirm his hair has a white streak in the front. But the amount of white hair is based on time spent dead, not amount of times killed, so it would probably be a slightly thinner strip than Wilbur's. This is where it gets... interesting? Can I call this interesting? So, his resurrection from rot. You, uh, you know like wormy apples? I can't figure out how scars would work from the decay alone, but from bugs and things, I'd imagine it's almost like a mixture of little holes and lines sort of like roots spread sporadically through his body. (Those are also what I'd consider small details, that could be patchy rather than everywhere or not visible at all.) Next, is the missing finger. The one missing is his left index finger, the entire thing cut cleanly across. What follows, the 'off-screen' violence, I left ambiguous deliberately. So. I elect to ignore or decide whatever scars that might have caused. Same with the pool of lava as his body had to entirely regrow around his bones, but if I had to choose an interpretation of that, I'd imagine scarring that looks the way light makes a pattern when it refracts in water, or like the pattern of lava itself in minecraft just less block-y.

That's it, I think! I know that's a whole lot lol, sorry to throw all that at you! Feel free to take liberties, pick and choose what you feel like, even with the bolded stuff, if it doesn't suit your design, ignore it! Some other little things off the top of my head, he's got dark circles under his eyes like he hasn't slept in a year, he's super scrawny, and his hair is not as long as you might think! Malnourished people's hair doesn't grow as well. All of this stuff is just my interpretation, I know I'm the author, but I like seeing varied designs for tddd characters! :D

#I apologize for the novel about character scars lol #I've been THINKING about this #thank you sm for the ask! :D #asks #fandomgodmother420 #tddd

17 notes · View notes

calebdumes · 3 years

Text

gather ye rosebuds - chapter four

fandom: star wars rebels

relationship: kanan jarrus/hera syndulla

word count: 10k

rating: T

summary: Welcome to Kanan’s no good, very bad, horrible day starring his stubborn Mandalorian partner, a rogue Force sensitive kid, a murderous droid, and oh yeah, Hera kiffing Syndulla.

author’s note: sorry this is late y’all, real life obligations got in the way but happy rosebuds day!! thank you to all who have taken the time to read my fic, I appreciate you more than you know!!

HUGE thank you to my amazing beta and wonderful friend, @eleni-syndulla! This would not be possible without you!

any and all likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated and don’t forget to…

Read on AO3

|| CHAPTER ONE || CHAPTER TWO || CHAPTER THREE || CHAPTER FOUR || CHAPTER FIVE || CHAPTER SIX || CHAPTER SEVEN || CHAPTER EIGHT || CHAPTER NINE || CHAPTER NINE || CHAPTER TEN || CHAPTER 11 || EPILOGUE

Slinking through the rundown streets of Lothal on the run from Imperials was not how Kanan planned on spending his Empire Day. He would have preferred to have spent it like he usually did, passed out in a drunken haze or knee deep in a bar fight – not running for his life with Hera kriffing Syndulla. But things like this tended to happen when he took jobs from Maz Katana. They always went to shit.

Always.

Kanan followed behind the green-skinned Twi’lek and her homicidal droid as she weaved through the abandoned streets, trying to keep his irritation under control. Pressure was starting to build behind his eyes from how hard he was clenching his jaw. There was an undercurrent of fear to his frustration; there always was when he was dealing with the Empire ,but the pain building in his mind was more than just stress-induced. He could feel something else flowing around him like tiny shards of ice pricking his skin. It made his hands flex uncomfortably for the scope case clipped to the back of his belt, but reaching for that would only add to his growing list of problems.

Right now he needed to shake Hera, find his partner, and get the hell off this rock.

Up ahead there was a stormtrooper patrol scanning the area. They took up the width of the street, the white of their plasteel armor glowing in the dim light cast by the street lamps. A trooper with an orange officer’s pauldron was marching ahead of the squad and with a point of their finger, troopers would break off from the main group to head down side streets to knock on doors.

Kanan cursed to himself. No amount of money was worth all this, but he was in too deep now to cut and run – even though stars did he want to. This job stunk. Literally. He smelled to the high heavens and it was only making the persistent pounding in his head worse.

Hera took a sharp turn down a darkened alley and cut through an abandoned market square, coming to a stop in front of a rundown building with an Imperial warning painted on its decayed façade.

She rapped sharply on the metal blast doors and hissed, “Zeb, open up. It’s me.”

The doors opened with a low groan, grinding to a halt half way. Big purple hands gripped the stalled doors and pushed them open, revealing the rest of a hairy humanoid with sharp green eyes and large digitigrade feet.

“Who the hell is that?” the Lasat asked, moving aside to let them enter the ransacked structure.

Kanan ignored Hera's rebel friend as his eyes quickly darted around the ransacked room, taking in the upturned furniture and faded paint chipping from the walls. Some of the tightness in his jaw eased when his gaze fell on his young partner crouched near a suspicious-looking hole in the floor, a young boy with dark hair standing nearby. It eased even further when he spotted her bag of explosives slung across her chest.

But it wasn’t gone; not by a long shot. Now that he had his partner in his sight, the pull to get the hell off the planet was stronger than ever, though only slightly stronger than the echoes of the Force that had been ringing in his head since the second he had stepped on Lothal soil.

Kanan had traversed the galaxy a thousand times over in his years as a bounty hunter, and he had only felt the Force radiate this strongly from a planet once. This was nothing like what he felt the day Sabine came crashing into his life. That had been a warning, a brief spike in the ordinary rhythm to spur Kanan into action before Sabine could meet her fate in a fiery death ball.

What he was feeling now… It felt like the Temple. Like home.

The Force resonated strongly on this planet, so strong that it felt like his very bones were vibrating under his skin. It pressed down around him and filled every breath, every heartbeat with its presence. After spending so much of his life detached from the mystical energy, it felt like he was being pulled apart, piece by piece.

It made him want to leave Lothal and never come back, or drown himself in stiff drink until he couldn’t feel anything.

“That,” Hera snapped as her purple companion forced the doors closed behind them, drawing his attention back to her, “is the bounty-hunting schutta that tried to steal our mission!”

Kanan huffed. Right, her mission. It was always Hera Syndulla and her mission.

“Oh I didn’t try, darlin’.” He smiled bitterly. “I did.”

Kanan’s head snapped back violently as Hera’s gloved fist connected solidly with his nose with a mighty crack. He stumbled backwards as pain blossomed across his face, hot blood dripping down over this top lip.

“Well I’m definitely not giving you the tape now,” Kanan said thickly.

“I thought I had to pay for it?” Hera sniped, shaking out her hand.

“I changed my mind; I’m not sellin’ to you either.” He wiped his arm across his face, smearing his dark green sleeve red. He flapped a hand in Sabine’s direction, motioning her to stow the weapons she had drawn and pointed at Hera and her crew. “Let’s go, I think we’ve outstayed our welcome here.”

“Hold on.” Hera reached out and grabbed a fist full of Kanan’s tunic. “I’m not letting you leave without giving me that tape.”

“And I told you,” Kanan grabbed hold of her slender wrist, prying her hand away, “that’s not going to happen. So why don’t you tell the big guy over there to lower his weapon, my partner and I will be on our way, and we can forget this ever happened.”

A flash of fire burned deep in Hera’s green eyes, her pulse quickening beneath his fingers.

“Uh,” Sabine interrupted, cocking her head to the side as if listening in on a transmission. “I hate to break up whatever this is, but we’ve got troopers incoming. So if we want to stay alive, I suggest we stop arguing and take cover down here.” She pointed down to the hole in the floor.

She didn’t wait for a response before jumping down into the darkness below. The young boy scrambled down after her, his electric blue eyes watching Kanan with unguarded curiosity.

It made Kanan’s skin itch.

“Hera?” the Lasat growled, holstering his weapon behind his back. Hera wrenched her hand free from Kanan’s grip and nodded.

“Chopper, keep watch,” she ordered her droid before following the big guy down the opening.

Kanan touched his nose, hissing at the spark of pain it caused. It wasn’t broken and the bleeding was starting to slow but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like a son of a bantha.

Hera’s droid grumbled at him, waving his manipulator arms around his dome. He didn’t have to understand binary to know what he was saying.

“Yeah, yeah I’m going,” Kanan responded. He gave the floor opening a dubious look but slid down the ladder before the droid could push him. Below was a cramped bunker, untouched from the destruction upstairs. The walls were lined with workbenches and a pile of crates were stacked up in the free corner. A holo disc player sat near the entrance where Sabine was hovering over it curiously.

The ransacked house, the secret floor bunker, the Imperial warnings outside – whoever lived here was clearly no friend of the Empire. It made sense that a rebel like Hera would use it as a safe house, but it only made Kanan’s urge to leave Lothal grow.

He couldn’t walk into the bunker without rubbing elbows with Hera and her crew so Kanan leaned against the archway, crossing his arms over his chest and willing the pounding in his head to go away.

“You okay?” Sabine asked, sidling up to him, her voice slightly distorted from her helmet.

Kanan took a measured breath through his mouth as he thought of a response. The truth? No, he was decidedly not alright. In fact, there wasn’t much going right for him at the moment. But he lied and said, “I’m fine.”

Sabine studied him, her expression hidden beneath the protection of her helmet, but he got the distinct feeling that she didn’t believe him. It made his spine tingle uncomfortably.

“How’d you end up with them?” He gestured over to where Hera stood with her rebels, forcing her gaze off him.

“They had the same plan we did, so I let them tag along,” she explained with an unsettling air of nonchalance. “And they offered a place to lay low in exchange for the help. How’d you end up with her?”

“Like you said, she had the same plan as us.” He tugged on his blood stained sleeve in irritation. “Only our party was crashed by stormtroopers.”

“Did you get the intel?”

“I did.” He patted the pocket that held the datatape. “And the second we get the chance, I want to leave this rock. Being attached to rebels is bad for business.”

“You know, working with them isn’t a half bad idea.” Sabine hedged.

Kanan suppressed a groan. Sabine had issues with the Empire a parsec wide and while it was admirable for her to want to fight back, it was a deadly dream. For both of them.

“No way.” He shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”

“C’mon, they want to take down the Empire just as bad as we do. Having them on our side could be a game changer.”

“There is no game,” he hissed. “We are bounty hunters, not freedom fighters.”

“Well, maybe we should be,” Sabine said coolly.

Kanan was really, really, really not in the mood for that argument.

“I said no,” he said, his tone harboring no room for a rebuttal. There was one coming, he knew, but Sabine had enough sense to wait until they were away from prying ears to have it.

And speaking of prying ears, Hera had turned her attention to him.

“I have a proposition for you.” she said walking the few short steps that separated them. Her jaw was set and her shoulders painfully squared. Kanan had a bad feeling about this.

“Are you going to punch me again?” he asked, scowling.

“Not unless you give me reason to.”

Kanan’s scowl deepened. “I don’t recall giving you a reason in the first place.”

“Do you want to hear what I have to say or not, Kanan?” Hera asked with an exasperated roll of her eyes.

Beside him, he could feel Sabine stiffen in surprise. One of their unspoken rules was to always use code names on missions. The less people knew about them, the safer they were. Kanan had laid into Sabine more than once for letting her guard down like that. He could tell by the tense set of her shoulders that she was adding that particular slip-up to the disapproving rant she was composing behind that helmet of hers.

“What is it?” he sighed.

“I propose a trade of sorts,” Hera began. “My crew and I get you off-world, and in exchange you allow us to copy the information you collected on the datatape.”

“Who says we need help getting off-planet?”

“I do,” Sabine supplied unhelpfully. “The spaceports are locked down. Imperial protocol dictates that any unregistered shuttles are searched and compounded. Guess what type of shuttle you and I took to get here?”

Kanan gaped at her. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?!”

“You had one of your ‘feelings’ so I figured you knew what you were doing.”

Kanan fought the urge to rub his pounding temples.

No matter how successful he was at cutting the Force from his life, it still sprang up at random moments, sometimes without him even knowing it was there. Hitting an impossible shot from a great distance, dodging an unseen punch in one of his many cantina brawls, having a ‘feeling’ that he shouldn’t take his ship on a mission and packing two relics from his past even though their presence would get him killed – the Force pushed itself into his life in such small ways that Kanan didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late.

“Well?” Hera prodded with her hands on her hips. Behind her, her crew looked on with blank faces. Seeing no other option, Kanan relented.

“Fine. What’s your plan?”

Hera looked over at Sabine with a curious brightness in her eyes. “I was hoping Mando here would help with that. If she’s willing?”

Sabine reached up and pulled her helmet off, her deep blue and aqua hair spilling out around her young face.

“Call me Sabine.” She smiled sweetly at Kanan before asking, “what do you need to know?”

“You seem to know a lot about Imperial procedure. That trooper patrol that just went by – how long until they come back?”

Sabine bit at her bottom lip before activating a holographic map of the city from her vambrace. “My best guess is we’ve got about a fifteen-minute window. Maybe less depending on the size of the patrol sector.”

“That gonna give us enough time?” the Lasat asked in a gruff voice.

“Enough time for what?” Kanan raised his eyebrows, the motion pulling at the tender skin around his eyes.

“To make it back to the sewer tunnel,” Hera replied. “There’s a pipe that will take us out of the city.”

“The Empire will be searching those,” Sabine pointed out.

“Could we make it if we leave now?”

Sabine nodded. “They’ll sweep the city before they head to the ventilation and sewer systems. But the sooner we leave the better.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” the kid said, jumping down from the crates he had perched himself on. “Let’s go.”

Hera turned to her purple friend and said, “Zeb, you and Ezra go first. Sabine and Chopper will follow behind and Kanan and I will bring up the rear. Once we clear the tunnel, make for the Phantom as fast as you can. Understood?”

Hera’s crew nodded eagerly. Kanan rolled his eyes.

He moved out of the way as the Lasat took to the ladder. It caused him to brush up against the kid, the sleeve of his shirt glancing off the boy’s shoulder. As he did, a flash of heat seared across his vision, a faint echo ringing in his ears.

You okay, Master?

Kanan blinked at the sudden flair of the Force, stumbling into Sabine who gripped his arms to steady him.

“Whoa, Kanan,” she said right by his ear. “Are you okay?”

You okay, Master?

He shuddered. The boy had paused with one hand on the ladder, watching him with wide eyes. And he wasn’t the only one. Hera had her green eyes pinned on him, a knowing look gleaming in their depths.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, shaking Sabine’s hands off.

The expression on her face made it clear that she didn’t believe him but she let it drop, shoving her helmet onto her head and following the kid up the ladder, leaving Kanan alone with Hera in the bunker. She was still watching him closely.

“After you,” he said in a rough voice, ignoring the question that hung in the air. He knew what she wanted to ask. It was the same question that she had never voiced on the Forager. He had been grateful then that she let it slide, but he wouldn’t get that lucky twice. Sooner or later she’d ask it, and Kanan wasn’t sure he was ready to give the answer.

And right now, with the Force still ringing in his ears and every nerve feeling as if it had been scraped raw, he definitely knew he wasn’t ready.

Her lekku slumped in disappointment but she gripped the metal rungs and pulled herself up to join the others. Kanan pinched the bridge of his nose and hissed at the shock of pain that raced across his face. He shook it off and climbed the ladder, breaching the upper level just as the Lasat and the kid disappeared through the metal doors.

“Chopper, you go with Sabine.” Hera crouched down in front of her droid, a gentle hand on his dome. “Please don’t argue. Just take her to the sewer and get out of the city. Quietly.”

Chopper swung his optical receptors on his partner, sizing her up before grumbling again. Hera sighed and gave Sabine an apologetic look.

“Don’t worry.” Sabine shrugged. “I work with him after all.” She jerked her thumb over to where Kanan stood by the hole in the floor. The droid chortled. “We’ll be fine.”

Hera nodded. She took a half step outside, her lekku falling over her shoulder as she leaned out.

“Alright, you’re good to go," she said, waving them on.

Kanan grabbed Sabine’s arm before she could leave.

“Be careful,” he whispered. “If you need to, shake ‘em. We’ll find another way.”

“Relax, Kanan.” She patted his hand. “We’ll be fine.”

Sabine stepped away from him with a jaunty salute. A pit formed in Kanan’s stomach as she slipped out into the night with Hera’s droid close behind her. The Twi’lek smiled as she passed, then those green eyes found Kanan again, making his stomach tense.

Hera gave him an unimpressed look before giving her head a little shake. “Let’s get a move on.”

Kanan followed her out of the ransacked house, pausing only to force the metal doors shut. This time they crept through the streets at a slower but purposeful pace. The stormtrooper patrol was nowhere in sight, but Kanan didn’t see that as a comfort. In his experience, a threat you could see was a threat you could beat. His tension had moved down his jaw to sit heavy on his shoulders as they backtracked to the sewer hatch, spreading down his arms and back until he felt like his whole body would snap at any given moment.

Kanan jumped at the sound of marching feet. It was still too far off for a normal human to hear, but the Force shot out a warning that sent his heart thumping in his chest. His eyes darted around the empty street looking for a place to hide. Spotting a doorway that was shrouded in darkness, he grabbed Hera by the arm and pulled her off of the street.

Hera started to protest but Kanan slapped one of his hands over her mouth. He winced at her narrowed eyes but didn’t remove his hand.

Moments later, a squad of troopers rounded the corner.

The doorway was narrow, forcing their bodies together in a tight press. He stood motionless, waiting for the troopers to pass, Hera’s chest rising and falling against his. Memories of that last time they were this close raced across his mind, tangled up in each other, trading soft kisses and hushed laughter. Heat flooded his cheeks but thankfully Hera was too busy watching the troopers pass to notice.

Kanan slowly removed his hand and allowed himself the opportunity to study her. It had been nearly six years and Hera was still just as beautiful as ever. He let his eyes wander, tracing over her slender brow, down the gentle slope of her nose, the swell of her lips, to the delicate point of her chin.

Hera, the rebel with a silver tongue and a golden heart. She shone like a supernova against the drab backdrop Gorse and she'd had him hooked from the moment he first heard her beautiful voice that night in Asteroid Belt. That was all it took to have him wanting to follow her just about anywhere.

But she knew who he was – or, more importantly, what he was – and she was too dedicated to her cause to want anything other than a Jedi. She didn’t understand what bringing a Jedi into her life really meant. Kanan wouldn’t bring that curse down on her, so he did what he did best. He left, even when he wanted more than anything to stay.

He couldn’t be what Hera wanted.

Hera’s eyes flicked to his, her mouth turning down when she caught the direction of his gaze. “They’re gone," she said coolly. “Let’s move.”

Kanan let her leave first, ignoring the swoop in his stomach as she brushed past. He let his head hit the rough stone of the doorway, watching as she slipped down another alleyway. He could just let her go, turn around and find his own way off Lothal. He could leave right now and never have to see her again.

Kanan pushed himself off the wall with a groan and took off at a light jog, the heavy press of the Force following him like a dark shadow. Hera was in the process of punching in the code to open the sewer grate when he caught up. He waited until the top of her head was no longer visible before climbing down the ladder, disabling the control pad after closing the grate behind him.

The trek through the sewer tunnel wasn’t as tense this time around, but it still lasted far too long for Kanan’s comfort. By the time the tunnel started to slope downwards, his leg muscles were starting to ache with exhaustion, the pounding in his head taking on a sharp edge behind his eyes.

There was a small prick of light growing in the distance, a metal grate that had been cut away and left open to the outside. The tunnel ended in a sharp drop down into a dried-up pond surrounded by the small conical rocks that dotted Lothal’s surface. Even in the darkness of the night he could see Sabine up ahead in the tall grass, running towards a communications tower off in the distance.

Kanan’s muscles screamed in protest as he jumped down from the tunnel after Hera and began running into the Lothal wilderness. Outside of the city walls the Force thrummed against his skin, raking painfully against his mental shields, begging to be let in. Kanan fought it back. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out forever, not while he was on a planet that resonated so strongly with the Force. He just needed to get off of Lothal, then his problems would start to disappear..

He pushed ahead, the two of them slowly eating up the miles between Capital City and Hera’s ship. Kanan finally slowed his pace when he rounded the wide base of a defunct communications tower, where a small excursion shuttle sat with its back hatch open wide. Hera darted forward with Kanan close on her heels.

The inside of the shuttle was cramped, with Hera’s crew and Sabine already sitting in the jump seats. Hera vaulted over their legs and climbed into the pilot’s chair, flicking switches and bringing the engines to life. Kanan glanced around the small interior and suppressed a shudder at the eyes that landed on him.

He gripped the overhanging rack as the ship rose from the ground and shot off across the endless plains. Hera kept the shuttle low to the ground to stay out of range of the Imperial scanners.

They couldn’t have been flying longer than ten minutes before the glowing lights of a new city spread out across the small viewport. Hera veered away from the welcoming lights and continued on into the plains before slowing the shuttle’s speed. Ahead was the familiar shape of her modified VCX-100 light freighter.

Her crew was already moving as she deftly maneuvered the shuttle into the pocket, flinging open the bottom hatch and descending into the belly of the ship. Kanan followed them down into what he assumed was the ship’s common room. A communication station sat off to the left while a curved acceleration couch complete with a checkered dejarik table was bolted to the floor on the right. The space was clearly well lived in, and had a homely feel that neither the Escape nor his loft on Takodana had ever had.

A pair of doors opened behind him, leading to the front of the ship. Kanan passed through them, his eyes tracing over the crew cabins before he entered the cockpit. He'd been impressed the first time he had seen the Ghost fly past the Expedient back on Gorse, and he still harbored a little regret for never getting the chance to step foot on Hera’s ship before things had fallen apart. Being on it now had him itching to explore.

“Zeb, I need you on the turret gun in case things go sideways,” Hera called from the helm, her hands flying over the dashboard with practiced ease. “Ezra, you man the nose gun.”

“You got it, boss,” the Lasat said. He got up from the co-pilot’s seat and brushed past Kanan as he moved to the back of the ship, the kid trailing behind him. Kanan moved out of the way so the boy couldn’t make contact with him again. The action got him a confused look in response.

“How do you plan on getting past the Imperial blockade?” Sabine asked, taking the newly vacant seat next to Hera and leaving Kanan to plop down in one of the passenger seats.

“The Ghost can mask its signature,” Hera explained. “There's a factory in Kothal that has regular shipments off-world, so I've copied one of their supply ships' transponders – the Empire won’t have a clue.”

Kanan had his doubts. “Are you sure that’s going to work?”

“You have a better plan?” Hera shot over her shoulder. Instead of answering he just leaned back in his seat as Hera fired up the engines.

“Don’t worry,” the kid’s voice shouted from the nose gun below. “We do this all the time.”

The ship lifted from the ground, gathering speed as it made way for the upper atmosphere.

“Yeah, somehow that doesn’t bring me much comfort,” Kanan mumbled as the clouds gave way to the star-speckled stretch of space. Two Star Destroyers loomed in the distance, the sight of them making Kanan’s back teeth grind together.

His hands gripped the arm rests, making the synth-leather creak under the pressure. No-one moved in the cockpit as the Star Destroyers grew closer and closer. Kanan only jumped a little when the comm unit crackled to life and a thick, Core-accented voice filled the cabin.

“Transport Ship Tontine, this is Admiral Konstantine of the Relentless. You are in direct violation of the planetary-wide lockdown. Return to port or be destroyed.”

“No can do, Admiral Konstantine,” Hera said smoothly as if speaking to an Imperial officer was something she did regularly. Kanan wouldn’t be surprised if it was a common occurrence for her. “I’ve got a shipment for the Imperial base on Boz Pity that’s already late.”

The voice on the other end paused. “I have no record of a scheduled shipment to Boz Pity.”

“Not my problem,” Hera replied. “I’ve got orders to take this shipment of doonium in a big hurry. I can turn around if you’d like but I’ll be letting the sector commander of Boz Pity know it was you who stopped this shipment, Admiral.”

Kanan couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. Hera was infuriating, but she knew how to play the game and she could play it well. Admiral Konstantine never stood a chance. There was a moment of silence before the comm crackled back to life.

“Permission to travel from Lothal to Boz Pity granted, Tontine.”

“Thank you kindly Admiral,” Hera said, right before she pushed down on the hyperspace lever. The stars elongated into thin strips before the hypnotic blue tunnel of hyperspace took over.

“Do they even have doonium mines on Lothal?” Kanan asked, his shoulders relaxing now that the pull of Lothal was slowly loosening. He could still feel the Force on the frayed edges of his mind, humming with anticipation. Kanan just hoped that whatever it had planned, it would wait until he was alone. The last thing he needed was to have Sabine and a bunch of revolutionaries in on his little secret.

Just the thought made the back of his neck break out in a cold sweat.

“Not anymore, but by the time Konstantine figures that out, we’ll be long gone.” Hera smiled as she turned her seat around.

Sabine had removed her helmet and was looking at Hera with an uncomfortable amount of adoration.

“That was amazing!” she gushed. Kanan bit his cheek in an effort to stop the comment that was on the tip of his tongue.

He could feel his consciousness sway, his mental shields starting to fold from the exhaustion holding off the Force for the better part of the day. This wasn’t the worst Empire Day he had to live through, but it was certainly near the top of the list.

Thankfully Hera got to her feet and said, “It’s going to be a few hours before we reach Safe Haven.” Her cheeks were rosy from Sabine’s praise. “I’ll show you to a cabin where you can get some rest.”

She led them out into the hallway and stopped at one of the first cabins outside of the cockpit. The door opened with a quiet whoosh before revealing a dark room with two bunks. “The galley and ‘fresher are down that way.” Hera pointed to the opposite end of the hallway. “I’ll come get you once we make it to the rendezvous so you can let me copy that datatape.”

“Oh, right.” Kanan folded his arm across his chest. “I’m supposed to let you do that after the mess you got me in.”

“It was part of the deal.”

“So it was.” Kanan followed Sabine into the cabin and let the doors slide shut on Hera’s stony face.

In the quiet of the cabin, Kanan let his aching head hang. Now that they were off of Lothal and it’s unusual Force presences, he was faced with his next problem: finding a way back to Takodana so they could at least get paid for this hellish job. That is, if Hera would let him leave. He was intimately aware of the importance the Twi’lek placed on her mission. She wasn’t the type to just let things go if she had it in her grasp.

Getting off the Ghost was his next problem, but it certainly wasn’t his last. He still had the epic lecture from Sabine to look forward to and there was something about that kid that didn’t sit right with him, and for some kriffing reason, the Force didn’t seem to be done with him yet.

Pain flared behind his eyes.

Sabine tossed her helmet onto the lower bunk and dropped her explosives bag to the floor with a clunk. Kanan winced at the sound.

She pointed at him. “Spill it.”

Kanan had no intention of spilling anything. The less Sabine knew about him and the people of his past the better, but he knew how persistent his young partner was. She’d get to the truth one way or another and he’d rather she hear it from him and not the beautiful revolutionary who would like nothing better than to string him up by his toes.

“Spill what?”

“The Twi’lek. She knew your name and I know you’re not stupid enough to tell her, so she must have known you before. I want to know how you two met and why she looks to be seconds away from murdering you.”

Kanan let his head hit the smooth wall of the cabin. The cool metal offered the briefest moment of relief, giving him time to think of the best way to explain things with the least amount of details.

“I met Hera a few years back, working a job on Gorse. It didn’t end well,” he said finally.

“Is that why you don’t want to be working with her?” Sabine asked. Her voice had lost the hard edge it'd had before, when she was brimming with her self-righteous anger. It was too soft and too all-knowing for his taste. “Us, I mean. After this job is over? Because Kanan, I really think we could do some good if we team up with them.”

“No. I don’t want to be working with them because they’re rebels.” Kanan leveled her with a glare that he hoped would bring an end to the conversation. In hindsight, he should have known better than that.

A storm cloud formed over Sabine’s face. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is a bad thing, Sabine!” He pushed himself off of the cabin wall. “Do you know what happens when the Empire catches someone they think is a rebel? Let alone actual rebels? I do, and I can tell you, it ain’t pretty.” The pain in his head spiked sharply.

She was just like Hera with her head stuck in the stars, too blinded by the idealistic daydreams of the Grand Republic, a bygone era where the galaxy was at peace and people were happy. Kanan had lived in that so-called golden age. He had believed, just as they did now, that the galaxy was a good place worth saving. But it had all been a lie. The insidious figure of the Empire had been looming in the shadows all along, hiding behind the corruption of the Senate, waiting for the right time to strike. And when the time came, all it took was one simple order and the illusion of peace and prosperity was wiped away.

There was no fighting the Empire. There was only surviving it.

“It doesn’t matter how much you hate the Empire or how much you want to prove yourself," he told her. "Dying for a lost cause won’t make the change you think it will.” Because it wouldn't; not even Sabine’s fierceness or Hera’s goodness would be enough. Even the Jedi had tried to stop it – and failed.

“How can you say that?” Her voice cracked in distress but she didn’t back down. “How can you be okay with all of this? How can you just look the other way when you know what’s happening out there? How can you be so numb to millions of innocent people suffering?”

“Because I know what happens to those who stand up and fight back!” he roared, his temper flaring. “They die! They think they can make a difference and then they die, and the only thing they’ve managed to change in this kriffing galaxy is the population count! That’s what you don’t seem to understand! You can’t fight the Empire, and it’s about time you got that in your head!”

He was panting, his chest rising and falling in rapid jerks as the sound of blaster fire echoed in his ears. He could almost taste the bitter tang of the campfires on his tongue. Behind Sabine, the rocky hillside of Kaller glowed with impending doom. He could see it clearly, he and his master, surrounded by clone troopers, unaware of the danger about to strike.

That’s what Sabine didn’t understand. Sure, Mandalore had suffered under the Empire’s rule, but Mandalore was still there. Ryloth was still there. They still had their people. Kanan had nothing, because the Jedi tried to do the right thing. And what did they get in return? Total annihilation. But these rebels, they couldn’t see that. They could only see what they could do and didn’t give a flying kriff about the consequences.

It was better to just keep your head down like everyone else. That way at least you’d still be alive.

“You can’t fight something like the Empire," he said again, softer this time. “Not without losing everything.”

A delicate flush had bloomed on her face, her paint splattered gloves fisted at her sides.

“You’re a coward, Kanan Jarrus," she spat. She stormed from the cabin, leaving Kanan alone in the dim light.

He heaved a sigh and pulled the tie from his hair, shaking it loose around his face. He snapped the band around his wrist and fell heavily onto the bottom bunk. Sabine’s helmet was still sitting innocently on the cushioned surface.

He picked it up, tracing a finger over the stylized avian design painted in shades of maroon, orange, and pink. Kanan glanced at his haggard reflection in the gleaming T visor. He looked about as good as he felt, the dark shadows under his eyes melding with the bruises courtesy of Hera’s mean right hook. Dried blood still caked his upper lip, making the skin itch uncomfortably.

A coward. That wasn’t the first time those words had been flung his way. Hell, he had called himself that more times than he could count. But coming from Sabine, it stung more than usual. It had been nearly two years since the Force had unceremoniously dumped her on his doorstep and for some kriffing reason, she had never left. Kanan’s time with Sabine was the longest he had gone being around someone other than himself since he was fourteen. Maybe it was time to move on, go back to the way things used to be.

Sabine could stay on with Hera and become the rebel she so desperately wanted to be. And he – well, he’d just keep doing the same thing until his luck finally ran out.

He set Sabine’s helmet down on the floor and rolled onto his back, staring up at the unbroken grey surface of the top bunk. She’d fit in better here anyway. Better than she did with him. He could be alone again, he’d adjust. If his life had taught him anything, it was that he was good at adjusting.

Kanan closed his eyes and let his mind wander. Lothal had to be parsecs away by now, but in the stillness of the cabin he could feel the Force moving all around him. His mind ached in more ways than one. The push and pull of the planet had left his normally strong shields flopping around like flimsiplast. He needed sleep to repair them but he wasn’t willing to give into the call of unconsciousness until he was far, far away from Hera and her crew.

He lay there and let his heartbeat match the pulsating rhythm in his brain until it slowly faded into white noise. A vision of green skin danced behind his eyelids as the memory of the night he met Hera came into focus.

It had been a horrible day, not for any reason in particular other than the general horribleness that came with a planet like Gorse, and Kanan had been ready to be done with it. He had been deciding whether or not to leave Okadiah to deal with the drunken masses by himself when Hera had arrived. She had been cloaked, the dark fabric obscuring her face, and she had wasted little time in finding her way to the bar. Kanan had tried his best to charm her, laying it on thick, pleasantly surprised when she'd seemed receptive to it. He had been even more surprised when she'd followed him up to his room later that night.

He had quickly learned that Hera was something special. She was sharp, quick-witted, and knew how to hold her own in a fight. She knew when to play it cool, and Kanan found her to be inescapably intoxicating. Being around her made him feel alive in ways he hadn’t felt in a long time. When he had been helping her save Cynda, sneaking aboard the Forager, it had felt right. Not only because he was actually doing something with his life – but because he was doing it with her.

Kanan had fallen for her hard and fast, not giving it a second thought until it was too late.

A soft knock on the cabin door pulled him none too gently from the memory.

“Kanan?” Hera’s melodic voice was muffled by the closed doors but it still made his heart a puddle of warmth. He pushed himself off the bunk and crossed the short distance to the door control.

Hera stood out in the hallway with a cloth and jar of bacta cream in one hand. Her eyes went wide when she saw his face.

“I, uh, got you these.” She held out the items to him. “For your face. And I wanted to let you know that my contact is within transmitting distance.”

Kanan nodded, wordlessly taking the cloth and the jar.

“Are you feeling okay, Kanan?” she asked.

The softness in her voice had his knees going weak in a way he didn’t want to think about. He needed to get off this boat and away from her as soon as possible, because he knew it wouldn’t be long before he began sliding down the slippery slope that was Hera Syndulla.

“I’m fine," he replied shortly.

“Right.” The soft look on her face hardened into an unreadable mask. “If you wouldn’t mind handing over the tape now?”

He dug into his pocket to pull the datatape out, tossing it to her. She barely caught it with the tips of fingers.

“Thanks," she replied, not sounding thankful at all.

Hera turned on her heel and marched down the hallway into the lounge. Kanan looked down at the items in his hands and sighed. The pain in his face was manageable but his skin was starting to itch where the blood had dried.

As Hera had indicated when they'd first come aboard, the refresher was just outside of the lounge, the muted voices of Hera’s crew and Sabine barely audible through the thick durasteel doors. He ducked into the tiny space and set the bacta jar down on the counter, the overhead light flickering into existence.

He looked like he had lost one too many bar fights, the bruises and dried blood on his face stark in the harsh lighting. He felt like it too. Kanan turned on the water, soaking the cloth before wiping it under his nose. He repeated the action until all of the dried blood was gone and the cloth was more rust colored than white. The bacta cream was cold against his fingers as he dipped into it, smearing it liberally across his nose and cheeks, hissing as he aggravated the sore tissue.

Kanan hung his head over the sink, his knuckles white from his grip on the counter. He didn’t want to be here and he sure as kriff didn’t want to walk into that room with Hera’s crew but there was no way around it. He could hijack the excursion shuttle but Kanan had a feeling that would only add to his problems, not fix them. So he gathered up the loose strands of his hair and stepped out of the ‘fresher.

Kanan’s stomach churned unpleasantly as he entered the lounge. The air was heavy with anticipation as the rebels all crowded around Hera’s droid, waiting for their contact. His eyes snagged on the glare Sabine sent him from where she reclined in a large wooden chair bolted to the floor. He didn’t bother glaring back.

Hera’s droid sat in the middle of the room, his white antenna dish spinning as it waited for an incoming transmission. The datatape hit him squarely on the chest as he leaned up against the bulkhead. Kanan flicked a brow in Hera’s direction but she was too busy smoothing down her flight suit to see it. There was a shrill ping, followed by a grumbling of binary that caused Hera to stiffen.

“Put him through, Chop,” she told the droid. With a whirr of his circuits a holographic image of a man in his middle forties with graying hair sprang to life

“Commander Sato, it’s good to see you,” Hera said, standing before the hologram with her arms folded behind her back.

“Likewise, Captain Syndulla," the man replied. “Congratulations on a successful mission.”

“Thank you, sir.” A faint trace of a smile danced across Hera’s face. “Did you receive the data?”

Sato nodded. “Our analysts are going over it now. I would like to hear the details of your success while we wait.”

“Of course, sir,” Hera said before launching into her version of events.

Apparently she'd had the whole operation planned down to the very last detail, a far cry from what he and Sabine had done. When it came to jobs like this, they just tended to wing it and hope for the best. Although maybe if they put in a little more effort, situations like the one they were currently stuck in could have been avoided. But then again, Kanan didn’t plan on taking jobs like this ever again. He had learned his lesson and hopefully Sabine had too. Judging by her stoney expression though, Kanan didn’t think she had reached the same conclusion.

He tried to tune Hera out as she continued her mission report, the formality of the conversation bringing up memories of his past he’d like to forget. The coziness of the Ghost’s lounge started to blur into the open space of a Star Destoryer’s bridge, Hera’s melodic voice morphing into the familiar tones of a clone.

Kanan shook his head, a shudder rolling down his spine.

“I see you’ve acquired some new faces,” Commander Sato noted, his eyes darting around the room.

“This is Kanan and Sabine.” Hera said, nodding to each of them. “They were hired to steal the same information. They were kind enough to help us out on our mission.”

Kanan snorted loudly. Help, that was one way to put it. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything out loud. I shouldn’t be here – the thought had been beating a steady mantra painfully into the back of his skull since he'd followed Hera down the garbage chute. This was rebel business, and he could feel what little control he had on his emotions starting to slip. He had barely managed to hold onto it during his conversation with Sabine, but now his grip was faltering.

The emotions radiating off of the others were stifling, ripping past his weak shields like a blaster bolt. He could feel Sabine’s burning disappointment in him, the Lasat’s unsteady caution, and Hera’s cold anger just simmering below the surface. More importantly, he could feel the Force rolling off the kid in choppy waves.

Back at the safe house Kanan could have written it off as a fluke, the Force butting in when it wasn’t wanted, but he couldn’t deny it now. Not when he could feel the strength living inside the boy with the dark hair and blue eyes.

The Force was with him, and he was strong with it. Jedi strong.

“I assume you work out of the Takodana sector then, Mr…?” Sato asked Kanan directly.

“Kanan’s fine,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Why do you ask?”

“I was the one who gave this job to an old friend as an added insurance in case Captain Syndulla was unsuccessful. Was Maz Katana the one who hired you?”

Maz Katana. Well, that explained it. Suffice to say he was never, ever, ever taking another job from her.

Ever.

“Unfortunately, yes, she was.”

“Then I thank you for your assistance as well, Kanan.” Sato then paused as another figure came into view. The comm cut out as they spoke for a moment, the new arrival handing over a datapad that Sato read with interest. They exchanged a few more words before the man disappeared and the comm came back online.

“Since you worked so well with Captain Syndulla on this mission, I wonder if you would be willing to do it once more?”

“Sir, I don’t think Kanan and his partner are interested in working with us any further,” Hera interjected. Her lekku were tight as were the fists she had balled up against her back. “They’ve fulfilled their end of our agreement.”

“Be that as it may, Fulcrum has detected something of interest in the data you stole. The rebellion would be grateful if you assisted us one last time.”

“I don’t think so,” Kanan said, moving closer to the hologram. “Like the good captain said, we’ve fulfilled our end of the deal. I just want to get paid and go home.”

“I will double your usual fee,” Sato bargained. Kanan paused, thinking.

They weren’t hurting for credits, but… I would be a good payday, even if it did involve working with rebels. He’d have to be a fool to pass something like this up. With those extra credits, they could move into an actual house that had more than one bed. Or Sabine could finally make those modifications she’d been longing to do on the Escape.

But the money wasn’t the only thing that was giving him pause. The Force was back to pulling at him, begging him to say yes.

He looked around the room as Sato waited for his response. The Lasat's face was impassive but Kanan could tell by the shape of his ears he wasn’t happy about this arrangement, and neither was Hera if her lekku were anything to go by. Sabine, of course, looked ecstatic. The kid sitting next to the Lasat just twitched nervously from the growing tension building in the room.

Pinching the bridge of his tender nose, Kanan surrendered.

“Fine,” he grumbled, ignoring the cold look Hera shot his way. “What’s the job?”

Sato smiled looking pleased. “Fulcrum has yet to fully delve into the data you recovered, but they did uncover an encrypted file that looks to be updating regularly.”

“Files on that terminal are archived,” Hera pointed out, her brows pinching together in confusion. “Why would one of them be updating?”

“That is precisely what we want you to find out.” Sato explained. “The file is protected by an encryption key making it impossible for us to investigate it further. We need you and your team to get the key and investigate the material. It could hold vital information that the rebellion could use in taking down the Empire.”

“We won’t let you down, sir,” Hera said in a clipped voice.

“Very good. Until we meet again, Captain Syndulla.” Sato nodded before his hologram blinked out.

The common room was thrust into tense silence. He could feel the rage simmering inside of Hera and the hurt she felt at Sato’s words as if it was his own. Any shielding he had left was ripped away, leaving him at the mercy of the Force. Her anger was bleeding into his frustration at being backed into a corner and it was reaching its boiling point.

“What in the seven hells was that?” she hissed, low and deadly. On the couch, the boy flinched at the tone of her voice.

“I believe that was a job offer,” Kanan pointed out, all notions of self-preservation flying out the airlock.

Several emotions raged across Hera’s face before she took a calming breath, her expression shuttering.

“Consider the offer rescinded. My crew and I can handle this job without you. I’ll transfer you the funds for the data on the tape once the mission is complete.”

“Oh I don’t think so, sweetheart.” Kanan took a step forward. “Sato gave me this job, not you. That means you can’t pull me off of it.”

“This is my ship and my mission. I get final say in who goes and who doesn’t – not Sato.”

“I don’t think your commanding officer would agree with that statement, Captain Syndulla.” He sneered at the title. “This is an organized rebellion, right? It would be a shame for you to lose what little power you had just because you disobeyed a direct order.”

Hera was glaring at him with fire in her eyes. Her fury was singing in the Force, white hot and deadly but she didn’t act on it, not like he was.

“Fine,” she said, the muscles in her jaw working. “But you are not in charge here, do you understand? This is my ship; you follow my orders at all times.”

“And what if I don’t?” He took another step, a humorless smile plastered on his face. “What are you going to do? Throw me out the airlock?”

Her nose was just inches from his. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” The Lasat’s rough voice broke between them. “I think we all need a minute to cool off.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Kanan said, taking a step back. His blood was pounding furiously in his ears, his hands shaking at his sides.

Hera was breathing heavily, her nostrils flaring. “Once this job is over, I want you off my ship.”

“Trust me sweetheart, I will be.”

Behind them, the kid coughed. “So, uh, what do we do now?”

Hera turned to face the concerned faces of her crew.

“It looks like we’re headed back to Lothal," she told them before storming off to the cockpit.

“Well, I’m just gonna go somewhere… That’s not here," the kid said, sliding off the acceleration couch and darting past Kanan.

“Hey, Mando,” the Lasat called over to Sabine. “You hungry?”

Sabine nodded. “Yeah, I could eat.”

Together they disappeared into the galley, leaving Kanan alone with Hera’s homicidal droid. Chopper grumbled at him threateningly, to which Kanan raised a middle finger.

Just as quickly as his anger grew, it deflated, leaving the sharp sting of shame in its wake. Kanan collapsed into the big wooden chair that Sabine had vacated, splaying his long legs out in front of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had lost control of his emotions like that. He had to have been a youngling, still being taught by the crèche masters.

You must rule your emotions lest they rule you. That was one of the first things all the younglings in the temple were taught. A Jedi without control of their emotions was a danger to themselves and those around them. And acting out of emotion, especially acting out of anger, paved the way to something far more sinister. Kanan had not been a youngling – or a Jedi, for that matter – in a long, long time. He knew better than to give into his emotions like that. Shame flared hot and wild in his chest.

It would be easy to blame his outburst on stress or the botched job, but he’d had jobs go south before, worse than this one. He'd never once lost his cool the way he did just moments ago. He could even try and pin it on the sudden and vicious reappearance of the Force, but that was still just another excuse.

It was Hera. It had always been Hera. Kanan didn’t know how to act around her. She took everything he thought he knew and turned it upside down. When he was around her everything was brighter, stronger, and more intense than ever – the good and the bad. She did something to him that no other being had ever done and nothing, not even the Force, could stop it.

When it came to Hera Syndulla, Kanan was helpless.

The Jedi Order never taught him how to deal with being in love.

From the other side of the lounge, the droid edged forward on his mismatched struts with his manipulator arms at the ready. Kanan vaulted to his feet and out of the droid’s path before his metal pincers could make contact with his legs.

Kanan trudged back to his assigned cabin, his shoulders drooping as the doors slid shut. He felt wrung out and conflicted about everything. Sabine. Taking on this job. The Force-sensitive kid. Hera – especially Hera. It was all jumbled up in his ragged mind, bouncing off his abused grey matter. Unvoiced questions raged at him as he stood alone in the room.

In the past, when his mind moved too fast, his master would tell him to breathe, to calm his thoughts and focus on the Force. Of all the things to focus on, the Force was the one last on his list – right below Hera and the kid. But he couldn’t deny the memory of his master.

Kanan reached behind his back and pulled the scope case off his belt. He flipped it open to reveal his lightsaber, the crystal hidden inside the hilt singing a melody just for him. From Sabine’s bag tossed haphazardly on the floor, his holocron matched its pitch. The two items began resonating so strongly in the Force Kanan could almost see it shimmer in the air around him.

The Force is everywhere, in everything. Words from his past sprang to the forefront of his mind. It is in me and it most certainly strong in you.

Kanan closed his eyes, knowing what he had to do. When he opened them again, his jaw was set in firm determination and his stomach twisted in fear.

There was a cushioned seat that protruded from the cabin floor. Kanan eyed it warily before sitting down on his knees. He spread his clammy hands out on his thighs and rolled his shoulders back. A chill ran down his spine, causing the little hairs on his neck to stand on end.

Kanan closed his eyes once more and, for the first time in nearly seven years, he gave himself over to the Force.

It hit him like a durasteel wall, the complete and utter emptiness. All around him there was a deep, vast, painful nothingness that echoed with the death of his people. Where there had once been the bright, burning impressions of thousands upon thousands of Jedi, there was nothing but muted silence that chilled him to the core.

In the stillness he heard himself gasp, raw and desperate. His hands were claws on his thighs, his blunt nails digging into the tender flesh as his mind reached for purchase. He was sinking, the abyss closing in around him, wrapping around his throat like a vice and pulling him down. The empty silence needled him with pain, unending sorrow scraping at his skin, fear eating at his soul.

Kanan panicked as he struggled to pull himself free from the pit of despair the Force had thrown him into. His consciousness reached out for something, anything to hold onto but there was nothing… Nothing.

Then a voice called out to him, warm and familiar, shaking the cold from his bones. “Remember the basics, Caleb Dume.”

Kanan clung to the voice of his Master, her warmth washing away the tendrils of fear that had taken hold of his mind.

“Form follows function. Function may be found in form.”

He repeated the mantra until the empty void shrunk to nothing but a painful bruise in his mind.

“Remember the basics.”

Relaxing his hands, Kanan took a deep breath and imagined a dry river bed. From the dirt grew a sudden wellspring of water: the Force. It was just a small trickle, but for his out-of-practice mind it soon began to flow around him like rapids, the empty void rising once more. Kanan gritted his teeth in concentration. He solidified himself like a stone in the current until the waves became a small stream, the Force parting around him in peaceful eddies.

Unbroken and always moving.

Kanan let it wash over him, feeling his very soul react to the light of the Force. He could feel the others on the ship around him burning vividly with life. He focused on that as he repaired his mental shields that Lothal had torn apart.

Form follows function. Function may be found in form.

You must not grow too attached, too fond, too in love with life as it is now.

Cold.

Frosted plains, white with a fresh coat of snow.

Fear. Pain. Suffering.

A crystal. Bleeding.

Agony.

Power. Madness.

The power.

Need.

Hope.

Ice.

Warmth.

The Force.

The universe is far from static…a Jedi’s role in it must -

Kanan ripped himself from his meditation falling off the cushion onto all fours. His breath tore through his chest in sharp staccato pants. All around him the Force quaked. He gasped, trying to think beyond the blood rushing in his ears and the vision still screaming in his mind.

A choked off cry broke from his lips as he pitched forward, his head hitting the deck. There was a sharp flare of pain, then nothing.

#kanera #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #swr fanfic #star wars rebels #star wars #star wars: rebels #pretchatta #opalknight #anoray #eries45 #ailtara #gather ye rosebuds tag #shleby writes

29 notes · View notes