#firefighter!anakin

you try it all, the floss method, icing your hand, olive oil, hell - you even try using the lube that's been in your drawer for longer than you even remember. but it's 9pm now, and nothing has worked.

fuck! you exclaim when the throbbing and the frustration become too much. after some googling, some texting a friend, and some desperation, you throw on some sweats and a hoodie, and start the walk to the nearest firehouse. it's ten blocks, not bad, and the walking helps blow some steam. it's not a warm night, but you keep a brisk pace to keep your temp up. and with the warmth radiating from your black and blue hand up your arm, you make due.

part of you expects the fire station to be empty, tending to some emergency around the city - or worse, be completely full of people who don't want to help. but instead you find something in between. the big garage door is open, the light is on, and there's just one guy sitting in a plush but ancient leather chair by the door. he's not doing much of anything, just writing in a worn journal, wearing all black, a small fire station logo embroidered on his shirt.

hi, excuse me you say in a small voice, much of your anger gone and replaced with embarrassment. he looks up, startled. his eyes take you by surprise, prettier than you thought, and looking right into yours. you shift back onto your heels, and clasp your hands together behind your back.

hey, what can i do for ya? he asks, standing up and tossing the notebook onto the seat. he has a scar going from his forehead to his cheek, crossing over his eye, and you almost want to ask how he got it, but you keep it to yourself.

so, this is super humiliating. but uh, you bring your left hand in front of you, holding it out to him a little. he takes a step closer, and looks down at it, then back up to you in concern. i can't get my ring off. i googled it, and apparently firefighters can help? but i totally don't want to bother y -

christ, that looks painful. it's no bother, i can help you. he waves off your sheepishness, gently putting his hand under yours, just barely holding it to inspect it further. did you walk here? he asks, as if just realizing you have no car with you.

yeah, i don't live far though you reply, shrugging and dropping your hand. he chuckles and shakes his head a little.

alright, wait here okay? i'll be right back. he instructs, and you obey, rocking back and forth on your feet while he disappears into the building. right when you're about to turn around and go home, not wanting to cause any problems, the man returns with some sort of device.

are you here all alone? you wonder aloud, finding it odd that it's so quiet.

no, two guys are on a call, one is sleeping upstairs. here, let's go back here where it's brighter. the still unnamed man explains, gesturing for you to follow him towards the back of the truck bay.

nice. i'm y/n, by the way you tell him, trying not to get flustered by the fact that you really didn't expect the person who helped you to be this....beautiful.

i'm anakin, nice to meet you. here, you can sit up here if you want he replies. anakin. he taps the countertop, and you hop up, feet dangling above the concrete floor.

is this gonna hurt? you ask, anxiety rising in your chest. your hand already hurts pretty bad, and the thought of it hurting worse, or possibly crying in front of this man is terrifying.

no ma'am, i promise. at the very least, it won't hurt worse than the pain i'm sure you're in already he says, a grimace on his face. honestly, i should tell you to go to the hospital, but i wanna help ya he admits, and you feel butterflies flutter in your stomach - now unable to meet his gaze.

i don't think it's broken you mumble, petulant.

well i do, so promise me you'll go after this. i'll call my ER friends and tell them to expect a pretty girl with a fucked up hand he requests, a mildly cocky look on his face. you open your mouth, then close it again, unsure of what to say, so you just nod your head. he picks up your hand, and you wince a little, both in pain and in fear. the device isn't terribly scary looking, but it is intimidating.

you've done this before? you ask as he gets half of the jaws between your finger and the ring.

tons of times, i promise it's going to be alright he reassures you, taking a moment to look up at you, and the expression in his eyes leaves you no choice but to trust him. one moment the ring is stuck, and the next, he grips your hand with one of his, and clamps down the cutter with the other, and the ring is broken. you exhale, a whole day's worth of tension and frustration leaving you in an instant.

that's so much better, thank you, anakin you breathe out, trying to flex your fingers as you finally feel the blood rushing back to your fingertip. two of your fingers won't bend, and the pain is still bad, but it's better.

no problem at all. i hope the ring wasn't too meaningful to you he says, handing you the broken jewelry.

it wasn't. it's just decorative, not an heirloom or anything. better to have the finger than the ring right you shrug, hopping down from the counter, making the height difference between the two of you much more noticeable.

what did you even do to screw up your hand that much? you don't scream 'wall puncher' to me he asks, leading the way back to the front of the building, where the chair is.

i slammed it in my car door on accident. i don't even know how it happened, i was in a hurry and it was really stupid you admit, figuring you don't have much to lose. there's no fake story for this injury that would make you seem cooler really anyway. he laughs loudly, then stops himself with a hand over his mouth, holding his other one out to you as a silent 'sorry for laughing'

oh jeez, sorry for laughing. i really thought it would be a better story, c'mon girl he says in faux disappointment, making you roll your eyes despite the grin on your face.

no you're right, it's really stupid. well, listen, thank you, seriously. i was extremely fed up trying to get that off at home. you tell him, stepping outside the building, putting another foot between the two of you.

it's all good. go to the emergency room please, that finger is 100% broken. he pleads

fiiiiiine you groan, leaning your head back, and he chuckles. you say one last goodbye, and start your walk home. you make it not even a block before hearing his voice behind you.

y/n! he exclaims, and you turn to see him jogging up to you, a small piece of paper in his hand

yeah?

let me know how the emergency room goes, okay? he smiles, a little bashful even - as he hands over the paper with his name and phone number scrawled onto it. you blush furiously, tucking the paper into your pocket.

living above a firehouse isn’t exactly what you envisioned for yourself. the two story brick building normally would house the bunks, the kitchen, and the living space for the firefighters. but this one went through a remodel, and a strange deal between the local government and a local property owner. it’s noisy, the floor plan is bizarre - but the rent is cheap. and, the eye candy never hurts.

the general rotation of firefighters is ten guys, and shift changes are every 12 hours, with many of them working doubles a couple days a week. because of this, you’ve gotten to know them all decently well over the first four months of your year long lease. they’re mostly polite - the married ones are quiet and don’t make eye contact, and of course there’s one asshole that hits on you a little too much when you walk by. there’s one that’s always caught a little more of your attention though; anakin.

he was silent for the first few weeks, other than introducing himself the first day you went down with warm cookies to introduce yourself as the upstairs neighbor. but you noticed his eyes on you the few times you stopped to chat, and always shot him shy smiles. eventually, he opened up. the stairs up to your unit are upstairs, and slightly steep and rickety. anakin, who makes it a habit to sit on a folding chair outside the station, rushes to help you anytime he’s on the clock and you come home with groceries. this gesture is what cemented him the #1 spot in your eyes.

“who helps you when i’m not on shift?” he asked a couple weeks ago, placing four bags down just inside your door.

“nobody,” you exhale, “but nobody else sits outside like you do” you smile. he frowns.

“from now on, only do trips like this if you know i’m working, i don’t want you carrying all this by yourself” he instructs, and something about his tone leaves no room for argument, so you just nod, and thank him.

one evening, after a long and frustrating day, you absolutely cannot get a jar open. you pride yourself on being an independent woman, but the lid just won’t budge, so after ten minutes of battling it, you begrudgingly pad down the stairs in your slippers and knock on the man-door. anakin answers, knowing if it was someone else, they’d ring the assistance bell.

“what’s up?” he asks, wearing a tight compression shirt and joggers. you open your mouth and look down then up, before quickly snapping back to reality. you meet his smirking expression with a bashful one.

“i can’t open this jar. i’m sorry” you say, holding it towards him. he takes it and opens it immediately, handing it right back to you.

“don’t be sorry, i like doing things for you” he says, his eyes soft and warm. you blush and whisper a thank you - unusually flustered and embarrassed as you scurry off. of course, you bring down a serving of chicken alfredo, knocking on the door again.

“me again, don’t tell the others. i had extra but not enough for everyone” you say, handing him a tupperware container full of the food.

“you are somethin else, thank you sweetheart” he chuckles, shaking his head. “this is not a fair trade, all i did was open a jar”

“it is fair when you factor in how good you looked doing it” you say without thinking, your own eyes going wide at the boldness. his eyes do the same, then he chuckles.

“whatever, you’re the one looking too fucking cute in your pajamas” he teases, blushing intensely. you go to speak. but the alarm starts blaring inside, and the garage door opens.

“fuck” you say, stepping back

“talk later, thank you!” he exclaims, sprinting back inside.

“be safe!” you yell into the door just as it slams shut.

you carry the warm blush of the exchange for the rest of night, after the worry wears off when the truck returns, all of the boys exiting safely.

a couple of nights later, you are all dolled up for a night out with girlfriends. a short black dress, thigh high boots, and a leather jacket. you haven’t felt this hot in a while, and it just so happens that anakin is in his little camping chair outside when you strut down the stairs.

“goddamn neighbor, who are you all dressed up for?” he asks, standing up when he catches sight of you. it’s dusk, just light enough to still drink each other in with your eyes.

“me, myself, and i” you smile, doing a little twirl to show him the whole outfit.

“you’re a lucky girl then, don’t tell me you’re going on a date?” he asks, his normally cocky demeanor failing for a moment. you giggle and shake your head.

“no sir, no dates for me. just out with the girls. my uber’s almost here” you tell him, glancing down at your phone to see the little car getting closer and closer.

“well, have fun gorgeous. hey, don’t uber home. let me give you my number and just call me when you need a ride” he offers, rocking back on his heels nervously. the proposition surprises you. he pulls out his phone and holds it out to you.

“you want to pick me up, drunk, and bring me home? no strings?” you ask, but take the phone from his hand anyway to type in your number.

“no strings, and if you decide to uber, no hard feelings. i’m off in an hour and i live close by. plus if you call, then i have your number” he smirks. “i wont even go inside your place if you dont want me to” he reassures me.

“i’ll call you” you say, and hand the phone back right as the uber pulls up.

“i look forward to it” he smiles, walking you to the car to open the back door for you. “have fun”

hours later, you are inside the last bar of the night after hopping from place to place. drunk but not sloppy, you hit “call”

“hi there” anakin picks up on the second ring, sounding wide awake thank god. you didn’t want to wake him.

“oh hi handsome” you giggle “does the offer still stand?” you ask, leaning against the wall. the girls are a few feet away in the loud building, standing around a table & finishing the last of the drinks.

“of course it does, where are you?” he asks.

“i’m at tommy’s, is that too far?” you ask, naming the tiny dive bar you have found yourself in.

“not at all, i’ll be there in 10” he answers.

“thank you anakin, see you soooooon!” you drag out, huge smile on your face. he chuckles on the other end.

“see you sooooon!” he mimics, and you hang up.

right on time, he arrives. you wave goodbye to your friends when you get the ‘i’m here’ text, and they all drunkenly coo about what a fun night we had. anakin is waiting outside, and opens the passenger door of his car the second he sees you.

“so chivalrous” you laugh, sitting down & tucking your bare legs inside, thankful for the hot air blasting through the vents.

“for you, yes” he laughs & closes the door.

the curse of drunk yapping hits you the moment he starts driving, and you do not stop talking for the entire 15 minute ride. you talk about the yummy drink at the first bar, about how good the music was at the second, how excited you are to get in bed, how nice it is of him to pick you up, and more. he doesn’t get a word in, just laughs and affirmations that what you’re talking about is cool. you only stop once he parks in front of the firehouse.

“i’m truly sad that drive was so short, i could’ve listened to you talk my ear off all night” he puts the car in park and rotates to look at you. you smile drunkenly at him, reaching and touching his hand on the console.

“thank you for the ride, i apologize for talking your ear off” you say quietly.

“don’t ever apologize to me, i love hearing you talk…. you’re so beautiful” he whispers the last part, reaching his other hand up to touch the ends of my curled but now frizzy hair. you stare at each other for a moment, and you are dying for him to kiss you, but you know he won’t. “let me walk you up, wait there” he says, and you do so he can get out, and walk around to open your door for you.

“you know no one’s ever gotten my car door for me?” you tell him, taking his offered hand to help you up. he looks genuinely shocked.

“seriously? how?” he asks, leading the way towards your stairs.

“i dunno,” you shrug. “one serious relationship, he never did it. just not used to it is all” you tell him, carefully stepping up each stair.

“well get used to it. i’m nowhere near done getting doors for you” he says, stopping at the top of the stairs.

“thank you” you whisper, and he grabs your other hand, facing you.

“can i kiss you?” he asks, moving one hand to my waist, and i reciprocate by stepping closer.

“please do” i answer, and he leans in & presses his lips to mine. gently, and slowly. when he pulls away, you lean in towards his chest and he hugs you tight.

“okay rascal, it’s your bedtime. i’ll text you when i get home” he says, taking the key from your hand & opening the door for you and handing them back to you.

“you don’t want to come in?” you ask, gesturing to the apartment.

“you have no fucking idea how badly i want to. but you’re drunk, and i want to take you on a real date. i will come inside next time” he explains, leaning to kiss my forehead.