#📝: firehouse!au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chrollohearttags · 8 months

Text

free smoke • portgas d. ace

content + themes: modern au, black!fem reader (also a firefighter), throat fucking, spit play, hate fucking, breeding, full nelson, spanking, shower sex, backshots, mentions of ovulation and pregnancy, missionary, enemies to lovers-ish, daddy’s used, calls reader a slut, brat taming, squirting

📝: firefighter ace is on my mind so enjoy my depravity until I put a proper fic out. (I’m like a sick dog in heat for this man omg) this is like pure filth, look away if it’s not your thing or if you still have a bedtime. In other words, minors, piss off.

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friends…it’d be the last word you’d ever use to describe the relationship between yourself and Portgas D. Ace. Despite working together day in and day out, fighting side by side to save lives regardless of your own safety and practically living underneath the same roof..you couldn’t stand him! Perhaps, even that was being a bit generous. You hated his guts. Granted, he was the man that you received all of your orders from at Fire Company Eight as he was the Vice Fire Captain and you were merely a rookie firefighter; having only joined the five man crew only a year and a half prior.

“Hey, rookie. Grab those boxes from over there and bring them upstairs.”

oh how you despised the moniker..a reminder of his superiority and ranking over you. Sure, he didn’t purposely wave it over your head like some proverbial flag but he certainly didn’t downplay either. He knew how much it ruffled your feathers so he’d repeat it in hopes of getting you agitated and riled up. Almost like clockwork, it done the trick everytime! “I have a name. Why don’t you try using it, asshole..” Oftentimes scoffing over your shoulder with cut eyes and a nasty glare. Even so, with much vitriol and vengeance in your heart, you’d follow his commands. It was no secret among the entire firehouse that you two were sworn enemies..or rather, he was on the receiving end of a one sided grudge. All beginning when you first started here and he treated you as if you were dumb. And it didn’t help that you were the only woman here. Despite graduating top of your class at fire college. The best scores, highest evaluations…none of it meant a thing to him! Your biggest issue with him was that carefree, lackadaisical attitude. Put simply, he was a jackass! He didn’t care about much including someone’s hurt feelings. Especially when he hadn’t done anything except his job. The way he saw it, until you surpassed him in rank, you could get glad in the same damn drawers you got mad in. “I suggest you watch that fucking mouth if you know what’s good for you..”

a warning you’d certainly heed once the rest of the crew heads out on a grocery run. Knowing that they’d be out for at least two hours, stocking up on food and toiletry items for everyone, that left the vice chief ample time to teach you a lesson. He knew your little charade was nothing more than show for the others because the second they were out that door, leaving you two alone, you were both in the shower..relieving those rising tensions..

“Open…there you go—see, you can follow instructions.”

“Fuck you—“

the words spewing like venom shortly before he gags you get again. The steamy droplets of warm water cascading over your nude bodies as they collide in the stand in bath. Your so called sworn enemy cuffing your wrists with one hand as he slowly thrusts into your mouth. His hard cock sliding between your plump lips and silky jaws, drumming up strings of spit..along with loud gagging sounds. All while his six foot four frame stood above you. Only muted by the downpour from the shower head as you sat fatefully on your knees, being used to his leisure. You may have been pretending to be angry and talking all recklessly but he could tell that you were enjoying this just as much as he was. Ace wasn’t fooled by your tough exterior the way everyone else was. Because he knew the one thing you needed above all else..was a good fuck. To be slutted out beyond comprehension; to have so many orgasms, you won’t even have the energy to be a bitch. And who better than to give you the treatment than your beloved boss? Hell, he had done it before. Many times in fact and although it didn’t shut you up for good, the satisfaction of seeing you sprawled and fucked out with his cum inside of you was enough consolation!

Ooh…fuck. You know something, rookie? I think you should’ve took a career in acting instead. Pretending to hate me in front of everyone else but sucking me off in the shower..you’re a strange girl.”

interrupting his praise to lob more saliva into your mouth in the form of a long string. Only to resume his rapid assault of your throat. Taking it all the way to the base..allowing his balls to slap your chin and his abs to brush your forehead, holding it in place until he saw fit. Taking full advantage of your nonexistent gag reflex. He’d withdraw to be met with your messy face and rewarded you with a kiss amid your heavy gasping. Even after working your mouth over and feeding you a couple faint slaps, you still had plenty to say! “Who said I was pretending? I still can’t stand you.” Which was all fine in theory but again, he wasn’t paying your ass any mind. Rather, he wanted to make use of this free time that you were granted and fuck the shit out of you. Tugging you by your arms, Ace swiftly spun you around so that your thick backside was pressed to his pelvis. He didn’t hesitate to impale you on his cock and begin feeding you deep seeded strokes. Your back bent and frame curved into a S shape as he pulled you back by your wrists..the recoil of your plush flesh bouncing against his own and sounding off. That sopping little cunt seeping with cream and slick each time he pounded into you. Ensuring you couldn’t move unless he granted so.

“You sure about that? Could’ve had me fooled, sweetheart…this pussy’s so wet f’r me, I can barely stay in it..”

drumming up a sheath of sticky membrane and more of your beautiful moans. Even drudging up some of his own. Ace would toss his head back and try not to focus too much on the ripple of your plump ass swallowing him whole. He loved the sound, the contrast..he loved how good you felt for him! “Fuuck! Fuck me…oh my gosh..just keep giving me that dick and shut the hell up.”blurting out and whimpering for him without a single thought. His fingers intertwine and clutch around your throat; bringing you back when you tried to run. Seeing as your hair was covered by the silk bonnet atop to your head. “Shit…ain’t gotta tell me twice….so sexy when you talk to me like that.” Spinning you around to kiss once more. Mirroring that of lovers moreso than a couple of people who were just arguing. The collision of skin and loins making it difficult for either of you to conceal your true feeling. Clawing at the tile walls, (y/n) cried out yet again and begged for him to go deeper. Even holding it open once he freed your hands. “That’s right, spread that ass…let me get in it..” grunting into your shoulder blade before forcing you back down. He wasn’t showing you any mercy. Smacking and spanking your cheeks rigorously..leaving stinging marks. “That feel good? Am I in it?..” “..yes, daddy. In my fucking spot..oh my God!” Bringing forth a hearty laugh and lewd feelings from your vice chief. “Daddy, huh? I was an asshole not too long ago. Wonder what changed.” Either way, he loved hearing it come from your mouth!

“C’mere..grab me.” In a moment of haste, the dark haired, dreamy eyed man would twist the faucet off to cease the shower and instruct you to wrap your limbs around him. Which you did so, seeing as how your legs couldn’t stop trembling. He had already worn a sore spot into the pit of your tummy but he was far from finished. Not when he was still throbbing profusely; leaking from that swollen tip when he pulls out of you. However, that doesn’t last long as he’s got to be one with you yet again. The two of you would shuffle back towards the bunk cabins, where two beds resided on each side; one atop the other. For convenience, he’d take the bottom one but not before pounding you all the way there. Hoisting you up midair and slamming you back down on his cock with sheer strength. Your nails digging ferociously into the giant piece of ink on his back; those clear, manicured nails scraping at his tattoo and he was loving every second. “Right there! Fuck!…gonna come..” whimpering into his ear as your face cradled into the crook of his neck. He knew it was a lot, it always but you took it so well..better than any other girl he’d ever fucked. You wrapped around him as if you never wanted him to let go.

“Damn..you’re close, aren’t you, baby? I can feel it..” whispering into your ear as he placed a kiss to your temple as a means to quell your quivering body. That ecstasy was hitting your body like a freight truck and there was no greater sensation. Bringing you to the mattress, Ace maintained his grip on your legs before standing straight back up and letting another line of spit lubricate your folds already sopping folds. Just to really get you shaking, he’d tap that shaft against them before gliding back in. Something about staring into your eyes whilst deep inside of that heat, was so much more raw and intense. You couldn’t hide or pretend anymore. He saw every emotion all over your face. Especially when those strokes were so rhythmic and beautiful, each one connected to your spot. Stroking that sensitive clit, Ace sucked his teeth and kept pushing forth, prompting you to take over holding your calves so that he could give you the brutal fucking you so desperately craved!

“Yeah..take it. Take this fucking dick..you little slut!” Bearing his entire weight down and through gritted teeth, Ace pounded your pussy until the bed frame underneath you was rocking back and forth. Fucking you with his hands cusping your throat. He knew how much it turned you on; apparent by the rampant twitches against his shaft. You’d claw at his wrists as he kept going…taunting you and talking his shit the entire time. He knew he had you exactly where he wanted and wasn’t going to let up until his abs and the floor was left a soaking mess. That deep voice causing pangs in the bottom of your stomach when he yelled at you. Hastily shoving his tongue back into your mouth, the vice captain kept going..despite running on the last of his energy, he’d find himself balls deep in you; practically hurled into a mating press now. Still, he wasn’t stopping until you emptied that sack for him and took every last bit of his nut. And you weren’t too far behind..delirium and cock drunkenness was setting in pretty heavily and you wanted to come for him so badly. Despite not wanting to cave. Hell, he was ducking you down so good, you were ready live in his skin and cook him breakfast! Repeatedly slamming into that core and making you cream for him immensely. Not to mention how erect your nipples were..you were sensitive and by the tears streaming down your face, that let him know one fact:

“Ooh..somebody must be ovulating. No wonder you’ve been such a mess, rookie. You just needed someone to come take care of you, huh?”

cooing to you in a manner that made it impossible to resist his charm. Sticking a thumb between your lips to pacify you, he’d get inside of your head..playing on your insecurities and talking you through those feelings. He could always tell when you were in that mood and when that time of month was near. Either you’d be in the foulest of moods and no one could bother you or you’d pick a fight with him just so he could give you some dick. It was almost like clockwork but he’d give in every single time. How a man that you despised knew you better than any partner you’d ever had was beyond words. Holding your face close, he’d cradle you in his palms and let your gazes meet one last time. When he saw your eyes, they were welled full of tears and brimming with lust. His theory was absolutely correct!

“I know, I know. Just breathe..” talking you through that inevitable orgasm. He’d calm you with reassuring words, kisses to your forehead and regressed strokes. Slowing down so he could meet you right there and you guys could come together. “Same time, okay? You and me.” He’d bog down and hone in for the last minute or so, knowing his climax was growing near. That tip prodded and swollen beyond relief as it oozed precum. Leaking and begging to burst. His full, heavy balls smacking against your asshole with a layer of sticky liquid between them. Clutching the backs of his thighs, (y/n) held him in place, begging for him to fill you to the brim. “Fuck! Just come in me.” And with that command, for the first time in ever..he’d follow. Releasing his load and lobbing yet another sloppy peck. One that lasted far longer than the rest. That warm seed spilling into you as he attempted to muffle his own cries. This was pure heaven if he’d ever experienced it. Your hands scaling his back and your limbs fully coiled around him as if you never wanted to let go.

“God, I swear you’re nothing but trouble, rookie. What am I gonna do with you?”

heavily huffing whilst examining your face. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Caressing the side of his face with a gentle hand, you’d bat those beautiful eyelashes before bopping his nose with the tip of your finger. “Well you can start by getting me a Plan B, Mr. Weak Ass Pull Out Game.” Immediately sending him into hysterics. “Shut up, like you weren’t begging for it..damn brat.” The two of you would joke around and cackle as if everything was just peachy between the two of you. Knowing you’d go right back to being sworn enemies. Just then, the sound of footsteps and doors unlocking sounded off from downstairs. Maybe one day you’d settle your differences for real. “Our little secret?” “Of course.”

but for now, it was much more fun to pretend!

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@hobiesrockstargf

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anachilles · 24 days

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“So, what’s the prognosis, Doc? Am I gonna live?”

Your firehouse buckies? 😍 or anything else with buck x bucky 💓

omg hi! and please yes give me all the excuses to write my firehouse!au buckies!! (for those who may not be familiar - this is firefighter!bucky and bartender/PhD student!buck) here's a little thing set significantly further along than where we're currently at in the actual fic lol. + shout out to @avonne-writes and their 'who's taking who's surname?' poll and the discourse for inspiring a little part of this lol. currently taking prompts from this list: [ x ]

"So, what's the prognosis, Doc? Am I gonna live?"

His voice hoarse and barely there, trust John to tease him even around the tail end of a thermometer, just as Gale went to pull it from his mouth.

'Suppose he can't be too sick if he still has jokes,' was the first thought that came to Gale's mind. The second thought though, sneaking up hot on the first's heels, was 'John would be cracking jokes on his damn deathbed so that really isn't as much of a reassurance as it should be.'

Gale squinted as he examined the numbers. The light was low in the early winter morning, the sun not having quite fully risen yet. He'd usually have switched even just his own bedside lamp on as he got himself ready to leave for the day, but with John's groan of protest that particular morning, he’d quickly switched off again.

It'd been a restless night, and even though they were both feeling the impact of John's tossing and turning, and the seemingly inability for him to breathe at all through his nose anymore, the man himself just looked downright exhausted with it. He'd eventually managed to fall asleep with his hot, clammy forehead pressed into the back of Gale’s neck, plastered to his back, and Gale hadn’t the heart to try and move him despite how he had then been overheating.

"You know there's another, arguably much more enjoyable way to do that..." John leered, even if half-heartedly, and if only to fill the silence as Gale's eyebrows pinched at whatever he saw on the little digital screen.

See, this is why they'd more or less permanently shacked up at Buck's place rather than his. He had stuff like thermometers lying around. Stuff an actual home has.

Gale looked up at him then, incredulous. "You're really trying to flirt with me, sitting there with a 101 degree fever?" he said, turning the thermometer as if to prove his point. Incredulous, but not surprised; not really.

"Baby, if I'm ever sick enough that I don't want to flirt with you, make you blush all pretty like you do, that's when you should be worried."

Gale had almost been tempted to smile at that, until John had to cut himself off, a sudden bout of congested coughing rattling from his throat.

Capturing the inner corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, Gale sighed, his long legs unfolding from beneath him and as he got up from where he'd been perching on his side of the bed. He crossed to John's bedside, pulling the covers further up around the other man’s chest.

Gale clicked his tongue slightly, though his expression and voice betrayed him in their co-ordinating softness. "All of this because you just had to be the hero and go jump in the damn lake."

Off to the side of them, Maverick jumped up onto the bed, sleepily curling in at Bucky's side in the warm spot Gale had just vacated. She bumped her head against John's hand, eager and impatient as the day Gale met her. John responded without even having to look away from the conversation, his fingers scritching at the especially soft little spot of fur behind each of her ears.

“Hey, I saved someone's life."

Gale wordlessly took his phone from his pocket, showing him the text he'd already gotten from Benny, "Just FYI - let the record show that the guy knew how to swim and your boy did not have to jump in after him."

Uh, since when did his team all acquire his boyfriend's number just for the purposes of ratting him out?

"Well how was I supposed to know that?! It’s called due diligence."

Either way, he'd ended up with what seemed to either be a wicked cold or the beginnings of the flu for his trouble.

"You make up for your lack of sympathy with your excellent bedside manner, Doctor" John said, talking half to himself as Gale strode out to the kitchen at the sound of the kettle whistling.

He continued as the other man reappeared a minute later, a steaming Fire Department-branded mug in one hand, his own filled travel mug in the other. "Huh, that's kind of funny, seeing as you will be and everything. Dr Cleven."

“Not that kind of doctor,” Gale muttered, and John breathed out a faint laugh. He knew the difference, duh, but it was cute when Gale interpreted things so literally sometimes before he could think about it.

Gale quirked a brow as he set the mug down on John’s bedside table, batting aside lozenge wrappers and tissues with the rim of it to make room.

"Y'know what has an even better ring to it, though? Dr Gale Egan..."

When the idea of marriage came up between them, it was always in an abstract, vague kind of sense, underpinned by off-hand comments and passing jokes relaying the image of some version of their life that lay a safe distance away on the horizon. It wasn't right in front of them yet, but it felt comfortably inevitable, which made talking about it casually not really a big deal. One of the more common jokes being what they do in terms of surnames.

Gale could tell John was sentimental about his father's name in a way he himself wasn't about his own. It was never said so outright, but he got the sense that it was either a matter of hyphenating (even with John's arguments that neither Cleven-Egan or Egan-Cleven 'sounded right'), or Gale taking John's.

When Gale thought about the idea of shedding his father's name, he felt so much nothing it almost pissed him off because shouldn't it evoke something? Is that not the most normal reaction to losing such a defining part of your identity, feeling some sense of sadness? Of loss? It felt more to him like shrugging off a grimy, weather-beaten old coat turned threadbare in the elements, not particularly pleasant but reliably familiar. It was simply what he had.

Looking now, he took in the pallid, rheumy face and contrastingly long, firm lines of a man who loved him like John loved him. Who loved him so unshakeably, proved to him over and over seemingly without even really having to try; who made it look easy. Who loved him in a way he didn't think he ever could be loved, or be prompted himself to love like he loved John back.

"Well, then I guess you have until I finish my PhD to marry me."

There was a weird beat of silence and neither seem to be sure whether they were still joking or not.

“You saying you want to marry me? Is that a proposal? A deathbed proposal?” The look that bloomed on John’s face was as adorable as it was utterly insufferable. It was, however, quickly dispelled however by a sudden sneeze. He reached for more tissues, the groan that followed evidently vexed.

It cut through whatever tension had inadvertently bled into the moment, though, and Gale smiled. “Bless you. Tempting proposition that it is…” Gale finally said, as he checked his watch. When he continued, there was an edge of regret in his voice. “If I want to be Dr Anything I’d better get going.”

A noise echoed from John's throat, half displeased, half mournful.

Gale sighed and leant forward, bringing a gentle hand to John's fever-flushed cheek, his thumb stroking lightly on the sharp angle of his cheekbone. "Now, you get some sleep and drink plenty of water, you hear me? You can have more of these here pills in like a couple more hours. I should be home around 3ish, but text me if you need anything or your temperature gets any higher."

His voice was as even and steady as ever, only John tell he was fretting slightly by how unsettled his hands were, and how they kept touching him, fiddling with the blankets, smoothing things down that were already smoothed down as he spoke.

John reached out and grab Gale's wrist, stilled it, in a odd reversal of their usual roles. "Okay, okay..." he acquiesced lightly, easily, and was immediately rewarded when Gale's fingers laced into the sweat-damp curls that had fallen down into his face, moving them aside so he could press a kiss to his forehead. His lips lingered for an achingly welcome half-beat, before moving to press another to his cheek.

Gale tore himself away then, grabbing his wallet, keys, and the steaming travel mug where he'd abandoned them on the dresser, and tossed his bag over his shoulder. A few second later, he was gone.

“Dr Gale Egan” is all John thinks about for the rest of the day.

In between naps, that is.

#clegan #bucky x buck #john bucky egan #gale buck cleven #masters of the air #all bucky can think about that entire dayquil pickled afternoon: ''did buck just.... give me permission to ask him to marry me.....''#BIG day for the parish. (the parish in question being john egan and his incessant need to wife that man up)#thank you so much for the prompt!!!! i was inspired immediately and had so much fun with it #i may use more prompt request real estate to write more of my firehouse buckies if everyone's amenable lol #my writing #📝: firehouse!au

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anachilles · 16 days

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chapt 5; whiskey neat, coffee black 🥃

“Anyway, regardless of the state of the other teams, I have a proposition for you.” Buck raised a curious eyebrow, willing him onwards. “If we win, you give me your number.” Silence fell between them as Buck appeared to consider the offer, his arms unfurling as he rubbed a hand against his jaw. Bucky couldn’t tell if it he was fucking with him or not. Five seconds suddenly felt like five hours. Eventually, Buck gave a hint of a nod, his expression breaking out in a small, private smile. “Okay, you’re on. You guys win, I’ll give you my number.”

-> read here on AO3! <-

@alienoresimagines ||

@joeyalohadream ||

@imasexypotato ||

@clevenhq ||

@neverfellforyou ||

@buckyclevens ||

@coastiewife465 ||

@shoequeeny ||

@onyxsboxes ||

@thru00thepages22 ||

@doctorstrangeherself ||

@shprka ||

@carnevol ||

#clegan #buck x bucky #gale buck cleven #john bucky egan #masters of the air #buckbucky #OOOOOOO WATCH ME TRY TO NOT WRITE ABOUT AMERICAN FOOTBALL WHILE DESCRIBING A FOOTBALL GAME #basically: mmmm thigh <3 #plus meatball being a terror #my beloved #hope you enjoy!#as always shoot me a mssg if u want to be put on the taglist for future chapters x #📝: firehouse!au

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anachilles · 26 days

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chapt 4; whiskey neat, coffee black 🥃

To his surprise, Buck reached out and gave his arm a gentle, appeasing squeeze. Oh. Oh. It shocked him to immediate attention, and it took everything he had not to visibly react. Buck’s palm was cool and a little dewey from handling the ice cold glasses and bottles, that’s why the sensation against his bare skin just under the hem of his t-shirt sleeve damn near sent a shiver up his spine. It was the first time Buck had physically touched him. Even when he pulled his hand away, Bucky could still feel the imprint of his palm, and he distantly hoped that it would linger a while longer. Maybe also that he’d do it again. The sooner the better, preferably.

-> read here on AO3! <-

tag list!

@alienoresimagines ||

@joeyalohadream ||

@imasexypotato ||

@clevenhq ||

@neverfellforyou ||

@buckyclevens ||

@coastiewife465 ||

@shoequeeny ||

@onyxsboxes ||

@thru00thepages22 ||

@doctorstrangeherself

#clegan #buck x bucky #john bucky egan #gale buck cleven #masters of the air #[fleabag voice] phew... arm touch #hope you guys like this one!!! 🫡#also: the tag list is new! just lmk if you want added for future updates #my writing #📝: firehouse!au

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anachilles · 1 month

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chapt 3 of whiskey neat, coffee black 🥃

Bucky shook his head in disbelief. “So, ‘Maverick’…?” “Courtesy of Harry, actually, when he heard the whole story the next day. For ‘reckless flying’ and ‘ballsy aerial manoeuvres’.” They laughed together for an easy moment, and it felt like the rest of the bar was far away, forgotten, like they were in their own little bubble. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect…”

-> check out on AO3 <-

#clegan #buck x bucky #john bucky egan #gale buck cleven #masters of the air #new chapter just dropped!!! and it’s a lil bit of a beast #i got slightly carried away oopsies #also: new moodboard!#i have a general board on pinterest for this au so expect more with future chapters lol #my writing #📝: firehouse!au

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anachilles · 22 days

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🥃☕️ young!bucky and young!gale from the firehouse!au moodboard.

-> assorted ‘growing up’ headcanons under the cut <-

John:

Has two sisters.

Was sort of at a weird crossroad between being a jock and a bit of a burnout in school. Played ice hockey, mainly. He likes baseball a lot and played as a kid but didn’t keep it up because his school team sucked.

He struggled to function as he “should” in mainstream education settings, from incessant restlessness, hyperactivity/attention problems, organisational issues, seeming inability to translate what educators could see as natural intelligence into test scores that reflected that.

It got to the point where he’d fallen firmly into the “wrong crowd”; was drinking more, cutting class more and more. He was naturally clever, got good enough grades but not stellar, just enough to keep teachers and his mom off his back. Looking back on it as an adult, it was obvious his depressive tendencies had always sort of been there.

His dad died before he ever really knew him; was in the military and was killed in action. His picture still hangs in their living room back home to this day. It resulted in a misplaced idolisation of him and how his mom/family spoke about him maybe went some way to clouding Bucky’s vision around the “glory” of serving, made it an easier option to turn to when he was desperate for a purpose and some way to elevate himself than it should’ve been.

His mom cried and begged him not to when he told her he was enlisting right out of school. Now she says the best day of her life was when he told her he was leaving, that he was coming home.

He’s still in the habit of wearing his watch inside his wrist. Has to catch himself and turn it around more often than he’d like to admit.

Gale:

Grew up an only child.

For as far back as he could remember, his father had had a drinking problem. Gambling too, he realised later, when he was old enough to comprehend what that even was. And when he drank, he often got verbally abusive.

When he was around eight his mom went out of state to take care of her mom who was seriously/terminally ill, but then just… didn’t come back. He realises now that was her opportunity to escape and tries not to hold it against her. Unlike his dad, he does check in with her every handful of months.

There’s layers to how it’s all affected him, but primarily it made him very hyper independent. Like he became aware from a young age that he wasn’t getting out of this situation without pulling himself up and doing it for himself. So he threw himself into academics; math and science especially.

Grew out his hair long and “girly” when he was a teenager as a way to silently/non-combatively piss off his dad. He kept it right through his undergrad and a little bit into his masters before cutting it up short again; was very pretty and kept accidentally getting hit on my queer women.

As hinted at in chapter four, when he and Rosie first met as college freshman, they had an ill-fated, whirlwind five week fling that culminated in the mutual realisation that they’d never work romantically but were suited to be really close friends.

Was never allowed an actual pet, but secretly fed stray cats that hung around the back alley near their house on the sly with whatever he could scrounge from their kitchen.

Finds life easiest to navigate as a series of routines and ideas with fairly rigid borders.

#clegan #john bucky egan #gale buck cleven #buck x bucky #masters of the air #i’ll likely explore these points as themes later in the story so… don’t read if you don’t want spoilers ig???#📝: firehouse!au

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anachilles · 2 months

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whiskey neat, coffee black 🥃 || ch 1.

aka: firefighter!bucky x bartender!buck (chapt 1), as detailed [here]

“Well, Curt? How do I look? Do I look gorgeous tonight?” Bucky asked, popping the collar of his jacket a bit, then scrubbing his fingers through his hair. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure whether exactly he was trying to tame it into submission or zhuzh it up a little. Curt turned a discerning gaze to him, eyes narrowing as he took a draw from his cigarette, and let the smoke blow out slowly into the cool, crisp autumn air. “Well you did take a shower straight after shift, so I guess you have that goin’ for ya.” As much as it was a rib at Bucky’s expense, it was also well known amongst the firefighters based at Station 100 that those showers never ran even so much as lukewarm. So choosing to brave them, for any reason, rather than going home to wash up was actually indeed a sacrifice worthy of commendation, and that any such reason for doing so was held in very high esteem indeed. A cheeky, knowing sort of smile started to curl at Curt’s lips, the fluorescent light from the bar sign growing closer as they walked towards it illuminating his face in an appropriately devilish red tint. “Seriously though, you look good, don’t worry.”

-> read here on AO3 <-

Bringing up the rear, Hambone took the very last drag he could get from what was left of his own cigarette, before flicking the stub to the ground and promptly stamping it out. “Why the hell does it matter what you look like here?”

Curt’s smirk only widened. “It’s a Thursday night, isn’t it?” It was the sort of smile from his best friend that Bucky’s own lips couldn’t help but mimic, regardless of it being at his own expense.

Confusion lingered on Hambone’s face for a moment before realisation visibly dawned, leaving behind a teasing smirk of his own as he jogged to catch up with the other two men. “Aw, Bucky , you’re still stuck on this?” he goaded, sticking his elbow out to nudge him. “C’mon man, he’s never gonna fuck y-” He didn’t get to finish his point though, when after an extended moment of dangerous stillness, Bucky lunged, getting his arm around Howard’s neck in a light, good-natured headlock.

Some may say he had a point at this stage, but did he really , if he couldn’t even finish it?

Curt whooped with laughter, finally abandoning his own cigarette to the pavement below, running along beside the two of them like he was watching a boxing match, having to take two strides just to match one of Bucky’s own. “No, man! C’mon. Don’t talk about his husband like that! Be respectful, be respectful…”

“Some husband who’s name you don’t even goddamn kn- ” Already slightly breathless as he scrambled to fight back, the rest of his sentence was strangled from his throat as Bucky momentarily tightened his hold. His own smile only grew as Hambone struggled along beside him. With the door finally within touching distance though, he took mercy and released him.

Aptly named by whatever genius had acquired the bar last, The Firehouse had, for time immemorial, been the regular haunt for firefighters based at the local fire station a few blocks over. For all that the guys loved it, were devoted to it, the place was admittedly a bit of a dive. With sticky floors you almost felt bad subjecting the soles of your shoes to, ancient, tattered pool tables that were probably in existence before the fall of the Berlin Wall, and a mere two single-person bathrooms tucked away at the back that ensured massive lines on any busy Friday or Saturday night, it was easy to see why the clientele they did get tended to be the ol’ faithfuls that had been coming for years.

But at the same time, they offered dirt cheap drinks, specials hand-written on the wall that could only have been made so skillfully by cool, but generally part-time, staff who had much more going on in life to give a shit about than their side gig bar job, in an opportune location. There was something comforting about that kind of ambience; a little rough and ready but full of heart and soul underneath the scuff marks. So at the end of the day, it was actually Bucky’s kind of place. None of that really mattered, though, because as soon as he saw him , regardless of how badly the place probably needed a lick of paint, The Firehouse may have found a life-long patron in him.

“It’s called playing the long game, Hambone. And I got plenty of time,” Bucky said as he pushed open the front door, letting the other two men in behind him.

It was odd, the conviction with which he said that. He’d been told enough times in his life, whether by teachers at school, any number of CO’s and higher ups in the Air Force, or even his goddamn parents, that, despite his wide-ranging natural abilities, he was also an impulsively headstrong, trigger-happy son of a bitch. Any such assessments, phrased in any such language, tactful or brutally honest, he’d accepted. Understood it, even, and taken it on the chin. He was a guy who knew his own shortcomings. An inability to wait for what he genuinely, truly wanted however just wasn’t one of them.

“The only thing you’re playing the long-game with is your right hand,” Hambone chipped in once they were inside, all three now enveloped in contrasting warmth from the chill outside and the dim glow of the table-lamps. It was still relatively early and they wouldn’t have been long open, so there weren’t too many people around yet. Hambone smacked Bucky playfully on the arm then, almost in commiseration, his distinctive gold tooth glinting as he asked. “What d’ya want? It’s my round.”

Bucky wasn’t looking at him, though; hadn’t been since the second they stepped through the door. Eyes dead set on the bar, he said “I got this one, guys,” shooing them away to go find a table without even having to say it.

Behind his back, Curt and Hambone glanced at each other, exchanging a quick look of affectionate mocking, before making themselves scarce.

He assumed it would abate by now, if even just a little bit. The velocity of the swoop in his chest to just walking in and seeing him standing there, like he's in the pilot's seat again and his plane's just taken a nosedive. Approaching the otherwise empty stretch of bar, Bucky parked himself directly in front of him, leaning down on the bar top on crossed arms. Behind the bar, he was busying himself counting change from the drawer of the cash register, eyes cast downwards as long elegant fingers work quickly flipping through the crinkly bills, plump lips moving silently, counting in his head.

God, those lips are downright sinful.

He could see him, Bucky knew he could. Waiting patiently, he watched as he finished counting one stack, dropped the pile onto the counter beneath him and fixed them neatly into formation. He slotted them back in the drawer, paused… then started another stack . Bucky’s small, fledgling smile only bloomed further.

He shifted his gaze then, the movement edged with only a hint of reluctance, fixing on the dark-haired man crouched down behind the bar, restocking the fridges.

“Hey, Croz. How’s it going?” Bucky greeted him, the other man’s head snapping round at the sound of his voice. His smile was quick, easy, and he nodded in acknowledgement. The firefighters’ patronage, of which Bucky’d been a part of for just coming up to a year now, was so serious they tended to know all the bartenders by name. Mostly .

“Bucky! Hey, not too bad, actually,” He rushed a little to finish the row of Blue Moon bottles he was on, before fully turning towards him. “Another night in here, so y’know. Same old, same old.”

“How’s Joe?”

Harry, predictably, lit up a little at the mention of Joe, his boyfriend who he’d notoriously never fail to drop into nearly every conversation you had with him, no matter what it was about. From what Bucky had heard of the story, they’d been high school sweethearts and all, then followed each other to college thereafter. It was sweet, he supposed. Not only the idea of finding ‘ your person ’, a concept that had itself long been alien to him, intangible and abstract like the blurry shape of a ship out at sea on a perpetually foggy day, but find that person as young as they had. Of being so sure right off the bat, no more searching required. Sweet, but wholly unrealistic. If it was true and possible for anyone though, it’d be for people like Croz and his Joe.

Knowing the bartenders at their local was one thing, knowing about their partners, their dogs, and their personal lives was another, and wasn’t something Bucky was necessarily accustomed to. On reflection, it wasn’t unwelcome, though now that it had happened.

“He’s great! Yeah, we just found out he actually got into that masters program he applied for, so…” he beamed, before trailing off, like he was almost willing himself to shut up. Bucky was sure then that he wasn't nearly the first person he’d told, probably even today. The pride shone so clearly in his face, Bucky couldn’t help but smile too.

“That’s awesome, Croz. Congrats. Be sure to give him my best.”

Comfortable silence fell between them as Harry half-turned back to continue his work. It turned expectant, though, when it started to occur to him that he hadn’t stopped counting change to take Bucky’s order. “Buck, do you mind? I’m kinda-”

In contrast to his demeanour thus far, his head turned immediately, acknowledging his co-worker with a nod. Like everything around him had been on mute and then someone just suddenly turned up the volume. “Yep, of course.”

Bucky shook his head. ‘Buck’ wasn’t the guy’s real name, evidently, that would’ve just been divine coincidence. He liked to think the whole charade of the ‘refusing to tell Bucky his name’ thing was more a running joke at this point than anything else, but regardless, needs must. For logistical reasons, he simply couldn’t carry on being “Smokeshow Firehouse Bartender” in Bucky’s head, like a dodgy Tinder hookup's contact in his phone, for the rest of the days that they continued encountering each other. And, well, if he wasn’t going to tell him his name, then they might as well share his.

Setting his latest stack back in the register and pushing the door closed, ‘Buck’ finally looked up at Bucky for the first time that night. He wasn’t technically smiling, but his steely blue eyes were alight with a mirth that had pretty much the same effect as if he was.

“You didn’t see me, here? Or hear me?” Bucky chanced, the corner of his lip quirking, like he was laying down a challenge.

Unfortunately, Buck didn’t take the bait. “What’re you having, Bucky?”

Bucky exhaled slowly, taking a moment to once again savour the way the other man’s deep, drawling timbre stretched around the syllables of his name, powerless but to bank yet another superfluous version that’ll inevitably turn up in ongoing late-night fantasies.

“Three PBR’s and three shots of Jameson.”

Buck nodded, whistling low as he moved to set out three pint glasses beside the tap, and got to work pouring the first. “You mean business, tonight.”

“Oh, I always mean business, honey.”

Buck’s eyebrows jumped as he finished one pint, reaching for the next empty glass. “Oh, I’m your honey tonight, am I? What happened to ‘doll’?”

Bucky smirked. That had been the teasing pet name du jour last week, one he’d only had the courage to deploy after a couple of (well, maybe a few) stiff drinks leading up to it. He wasn’t sure if the way Buck’s dutifully placid expression momentarily cracked at the time was more in the realm of scandalised shock, or verging closer to much preferable affectionately exasperated surprise; the edges of his vision had been starting to blur a little by that stage too much to know for sure.

Not blurred enough, however, to miss the delightful pink hue that bled into the other man’s cheeks after he said it. It was exactly what Bucky either needed, or very much didn’t, unwitting or not. Encouragement .

“Oh, you like that one? ‘Doll'?” He paused, giving Buck a chance to jump in, but once again he didn’t bite. Shame. In the end, Bucky easily filled the gap himself, the boldness of the sentiment tempered with casualness. “You know you can be whatever of mine you want to be.”

It was a hard-won, but now easy-as-breathing rhythm they’d settled into, the mindless flirting, the teasing banter, the sort of cat-and-mouse dynamic. It was fun, and they both seemed to enjoy it. He’d even go so far as to call it a friendship of sorts.

Sighing, but visually giving nothing away, Buck flicked his tongue against the trusty, ever-present toothpick resting in the corner of his mouth, avoiding Bucky’s eye as he murmured a seemingly distracted ‘Noted.’ Because he’s a weak, weak man Bucky couldn’t help but follow the movement of his tongue, eyes flicking down and then quickly back up again.

Buck set all three filled pint glasses up onto the bar, and got to work on the shots.

Fingers closing around the neck of the Jameson bottle, he only spoke again as he tipped it up towards the glass. “Hard day, then?”

The question felt like a sharp pivot, and it succeeded in pulling Bucky out of the sort of heady state of mind he’d let himself meander into with the flirting, and the pet names, and the inability for him to look away from his goddamn lips. It somehow didn’t feel like a distraction tactic, though. He asked it quite often; nearly every time he was in, in fact. It was like he genuinely wanted to know, every time he did ask. Suppose that’s why Bucky actually tended to tell him.

He must have paused a beat too long in answering, as that was when Buck’s piercing gaze rose to meet his own. Turns out, he didn’t even really need to properly look at the shot glasses anymore to judge an accurate pour. His eyes, steely blue like a storm at sea, were searching, but his look tinged with a hint of something else uninterpretable.

Well, Bucky’s an open book, and had never been good at beating around the bush. “A whole lot of nothing for the first few hours, but then a couple of RTCs later on. The second one was pretty gnarly; involved a bit of a difficult extraction for one of the passengers. Had to do some unorthodox manoeuvring just to get her out.”

Buck’s face twitched with genuine sympathy, finally finishing up with the drinks. “I’m sorry. Is she going to be okay?”

“I think so. Last we heard she was stable, but in serious condition.” He tried to hold the words at arms length away from himself, though even from there they threatened to weigh on him as he said them. He shook his head against the drag, as if he could shake the weight of the concern off. She was only 17 years old. Physically shrugging, Bucky said, “We got her out of the pretzel the car had been turned into, though, apparently without exacerbating her injuries. So we did our part.”

It could have come off sounding callous to some, he guessed, especially with the slightly forced levity inflected in how he said it, but Buck’s face remained unchanged. Solemn in not quite understanding, but something close. Whatever it was, Bucky felt lighter for being on the receiving end of it; for even being asked about what had gone on at all, even. Which was weird, when he hadn’t even realised he was holding onto anything from earlier in the first place.

“Is it just you and those two out tonight, then?” Buck asked then, after letting them sit in a moment of easy silence, crossing his arms and resting his weight down onto the bar top. So effortlessly cool; so casual. Bucky, on the other hand, felt decidedly less so with those couple extra inches closer Buck’s face now was to his own, leant forward as he was, across the lines of demarcation the line of glasses were serving as. That fuckin’ aftershave…

Trying for somewhere between ‘cool’ and ‘casual’ himself, despite the other man’s signature scent teasingly lingering at the back of his palate, Bucky shrugged. “For now, yeah, we just got off. Douglass might join later, though, I think.”

“Ah…” Buck said, suddenly biting back a smirk. “Everett’s coming in in a couple of hours, on the closing shift.”

Ah , indeed. Because if having one firefighter pathetically lovesick over a bartender at their favourite local place wasn’t enough, their team would have to go and have two, right? The drunken fog-shrouded voice of Chick Harding echoed somewhere in the back of his head then, warning the whole lot of them to 'not shit where you eat’ , or something like that.

Honestly though, Bucky wasn’t overly sure it was definitely love between them, anyway, Dougie and Everett, more than it was flirting by proximity, reinforced by audacious horniness on Doug’s part and a bit of ‘opposites attract’, ‘Lady and the Tramp’ magnetism. See, from what Bucky had gathered, whether through gossip, or stories, or even just in the man’s eloquently rounded syllables, Everett Blakely came from the nice side of town. And, well… he loved the guy dearly, often trusted him with his life, but regardless of what side of the tracks he was from, Dougie could be a bit of a dog. Coming from Bucky , too, that’s saying something. But there was definitely something , and the more Everett gave Douglass the run around, held him off before reeling him back in again, the more obsessed he seemed to get. It was kind of fascinating to watch.

Not that Bucky could relate, or anything.

“Ah…” he mimicked Buck’s tone, eyes narrowed in knowing, pulling on the thread of the other man’s amusement, desperate to see it unravel further. “And what exactly has that got to do with anything?”

Buck shrugged, holding his hands up, as if protesting his innocence. “Just making conversation.” He smiled at him then like they were conspiring, eyes alight with a glint of mischief, and Bucky felt success warm in the pit of his stomach like a downed whiskey shot. “...but you didn’t hear it from me.”

Wrenching his attention from the man in front of him, Bucky pulled out his phone. In a rather uncharacteristic turn of events, Douglass had seemed to be on the fence about coming out to meet them in his last message to the station group chat, causing genuine worry among the ranks that he was seriously ill. Or abducted. Or both.

Bucky 🔥 : ‘We’re at FH now. Top secret intel says Everett’s working the closer’ was all Bucky had to say, not even trying to pretend he wasn’t obviously meddling, followed not 30 seconds later by a ringing chime and Douglass’s reply. Dougie: ‘Give me 30 mins’ Benny 🐺 : ‘This is what it looks like to have 0 dignity, btw’ Hambone: 🐕🚶 Benny 🐺 : ‘I wonder who’s who’

Bucky scoffed out a laugh, turning his phone to show Buck the chat log, and the other man rolled his eyes through the remnants of a smile.

“Knew that’d get him off his ass…” Bucky trailed off, his focus stolen momentarily by the open chat as he turned his phone back around, just in the nick of time, as a new message pinged through.

Veal: ‘Isn’t Thursday supposed to be Buck’s night closing? Surprised you’re not off sulking in a corner somewhere @Bucky’

And then another.

Benny 🐺: ‘Tell me you boys have at least bought the man a drink to drown his sorrows in @Curtyyy @Hambone’

And then …

Curtyyy 😝 : ‘he’s been up at the bar for 15 minutes now and this place is a ghost town. you do the math on whether buck’s here or not’ Curtyyy 😝 : ‘we’re thiiiiirsty’

Confronted with the reminder that he had actually come here for some other purpose than to stand at the bar and flirt with Buck, the conspiratorial intimacy of the moment started to dissipate into the air around them with each jibe, remiss as Bucky was to let it go. Even more so when Curt materialised as if from nowhere by his side, summoned solely from Bucky’s acknowledgement of his text, silent and unannounced as the goddamn grim reaper. Had he always been that light-footed?

“Don’t mind me, fellas, if I can just… take these off your hands…” Curt said, leaning impatiently around Bucky and, rather skilfully, managing to pick up two of the pints and two of the shots all in the one claw-like grip. It was actually rather impressive, clearly the result of extensive practice. Even Buck looked impressed with the manoeuvre. Not even slightly bashful, Curt smiled up at him.

“Thank you, Bucky, ‘ppreciate it. And don’t worry, I’ve been keeping your seat warm for ya, for whenever you decide to use it.”

He should’ve probably had the decency to look abashed, it pointed out just how long he was very clearly deliberately taking, but couldn’t quite manage it. With a roguish smirk, he let his eyes flick from Curt’s retreating form to Buck’s gaze, holding it steadily.

“Suppose I should let you get back to whatever you were doing,” he acceded, a whisper of a challenge, or maybe an appeal, to give him a reason to stay. It didn’t come, though, and all he got was a nod from the other man as he pushed himself back up off the bar, just that little bit extra further away once more.

After a beat, and a sigh steeped in playful resignation, Bucky downed his shot, then picked up the remaining pint. The trail of fire the whiskey mapped out from his throat all the way down to his stomach was familiarly pleasant, and he took a moment to savour the burn. Let it give him the tailwind to convey his thanks, and turn to follow Curt back to their table.

“Hey, John,” Buck’s voice carried from behind him, probably as raised from its mellow tone as he’d ever heard it, emanating from the backdrop of some pretentious indie playlist Bucky would bet any money is Buck’s own, and the dull chatter of the sparse crop of patrons around them. His head snapped around embarrassingly quick, to find the other man with his toothpick now in hand, biting the inner corner of his lip against a smile.

“You forget something?”

Bucky’s eyebrows pinched in confusion.

“Look, I know you boys are regulars, and we trust y’all, but I do have to insist you at least open a tab.”

Fuck . He’d been jonesing so damn hard for that conversation, had let himself get so caught up in the current of it, that he’d tried to rob the place. Turning swiftly back, already his wallet half-pulled out by the time he got to the bar, now he did at least have the humility to look apologetic. Buck was trying to look stern, head tilted and his pretty features all set and serious, and the urge to giggle tickled at the bottom of Bucky’s chest.

Shit, he’d always had a bad habit of laughing when he got in trouble and was having to face the music. Whether that was staring in the faces of unimpressed school teachers, disapproving parents, or stringent superiors who maybe (definitely) either didn’t get, or just straight up didn’t appreciate his sense of humour much. He couldn’t help it, he’d always giggle, even when he actually gave a shit about what he’d done wrong.

Cheeks flushed, he handed over his card to start a tab, before dipping back into his wallet for a couple of spare bills, holding them aloft for Buck to take as a tip.

Examining them in his hand, the joviality hardened in Buck’s expression. “This is too much. Take one of these back,” he insisted, holding it out, but Bucky had already sprang back a couple of steps. Well out of reach, but nearly tripping over a nearby chair in the process.

“No! No, I tried to stiff you, so fair’s fair,” he laughed, even more so at Buck’s silently protracted, long-suffering look. Truly only he could manage to have a stick up his ass about someone trying to give him money, which he was still holding like it was going to grow sentience and take a bite out of his hand any minute.

“Anyway,” Bucky continued, “Consider it partly for that tip about Everett earlier, for helping us get Douglass out. A tip for a tip, if you will.”

"Who’s tip for what tip?”

Both of them whipped round in the direction of the voice, timed perfectly in the sudden silence between songs so it broadcasted crystal clear to everyone in the joint. Crosby wore an innocent enough look, hands full with a box of lemons ready to be sliced.

Not so innocent were those of Curt and Howard over in the corner, both with eyes like saucers, who’d overheard the whole thing.

“Who’s tip are we talkin’ about?!”

#clegan #buck x bucky #john bucky egan #gale buck cleven #masters of the air #AH I WROTE IT #and i have a lot planned so yay!#my roman empire atm #my writing #📝: firehouse!au

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anachilles · 2 months

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whiskey neat, coffee black 🥃 || ch 2.

aka: firefighter!bucky x bartender!buck (chapt 2), as detailed [here]

“Hey, man. Another round?” His voice came out pitched low, in a way that went straight to Bucky’s stomach, inclining his head towards the firefighters’ table just as Curt slammed a fist on the table, clearly making a very animated point, and Harding barked out a laugh that carried all the way over. Up close. Oh yeah, fuck, he was right in front of him now. While his face remained placidly detached, when he’d spoken the words were clipped, an edge of vexation managing to sneak in. For what reason, Bucky wasn’t sure. He hadn’t even opened his mouth yet. Making an effort to right himself, Bucky leaned one arm on the bar in what he hoped was an altogether casual-looking stance, and took a shallow breath with an iron-clad will to make his voice as even and steady as he possibly could. Please, God, if he’s ever needed to sound sober now is that time . With how hot it had gotten in the room and with all their exuberance, he could feel sweat gathered in his hairline, and an errant curl had fallen loose from the hold of the product in his hair and flopped over his eye. He jerked his forehead trying to dispel it, but it immediately fell right back into misplace. “Well, what would you recommend?” He was pretty sure the boys (read: Curt and Douglass) had raised the idea of some form of shot for this next round, leaving it to Bucky to choose which. He knew his liquor and he knew what he liked, but the temptation to bait this guy into an actual conversation was just too much to resist.

-> read here on AO3! <-

#clegan #masters of the air #john bucky egan #gale buck cleven #buck x bucky #hashtag reigniting bucky's thing for james dean he didn't even know he had #highlighting the meet cute and the christening of 'buck'#i had a lot of fun with this one! hope you guys like <3 #my writing #📝: firehouse!au

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anachilles · 2 months

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doing some essential research (watching 911)

#i’m on ep 3 and every second of this show is wild lmao #abbie.txt #📝: firehouse!AU

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anachilles · 1 month

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me, a numerically illiterate arts and humanities girlie down to my core trying to research aerospace engineering when it’s time to talk about buck’s PhD:

#📝: firehouse!au #abbie.txt

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anachilles · 5 days

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Prompt: “Your hair keeps falling into your eyes, do you know that? Here, lemme just—”

Pairing: Crosby x Bubbles

hi, friend! thanks so much for the prompt! i've come back to this one sitting in my inbox after a couple days now of just thinking these guys are the cutest, amidst my most recent rewatch of the series lol. little slice of life tidbit from my 🚒🥃 firehouse!au, hope that's okay! 🫶

It was just gone 10:30pm when the key started jiggling in the lock.

Joe turned to the door immediately from where he was perched in semi-darkness at the dining table, laptop open at his left hand, a worn-down pencil in his right, with a sketchbook just beyond it.

Turns out, if he actually wanted to do some of the kind of art that had led him down this particular career path in the first place, around the hours he was putting into this internship he was on, then he'd have to carve it out for himself.

He watched in silent amusement as Harry seamlessly navigated the same routine he trod through every night he had a bar shift, so practiced at this stage he could likely do it in his sleep.

He had done once and all, when he'd misread a bottle of Nyquil and ended up doing three times the recommended dose before conking out.

In through the front door, lock it, keys in the bowl by the door so he always knew where they were if they weren't in his pocket. A deep, exaggerated exhale before shucking off his bag and outer layers. Toe off his shoes, shove them in the shoe rack, pad one, two, three, four, five over to the kitchen space...

Their place was tiny (cozy and intimate, they preferred), so the fact that Harry hadn't clocked Joe sitting there made the whole thing even more funny.

It hadn't been intentional, but just as Crosby unfurled a half-empty bag of mini-pretzel sticks he'd scavenged from the cupboard, Joe loudly, pointedly cleared his throat. The other man jumped nearly half a foot in the air, pretzel pieces scattering across the countertop that separated them.

"Snacks before dinner, Harry Crosby?" Joe exclaimed, in his best 'nagging housewife' impression, though even then couldn't keep the playful smirk off his face. "After I slave away over a hot stove so you have a nice, home-cooked meal to come back to?"

"Jesus Christ! Where did you come from?" Harry said, breathless, before picking up one of the wasted pretzels and popping it in his mouth. He shrugged, "An appetiser, obviously."

Joe turned back round to the table, though he could see Harry's reflection in the black, slumbering laptop screen. "It’s only spaghetti; in the fridge for whenever you want it," he said, but could already see Harry abandoning the kitchen altogether and making his way over to him.

Smiling a little to himself, he welcomed Harry's arms as they slid down either side of his neck, and instinctively tilted his head upwards to accept the kiss he knew from said well-practiced routine was coming. The other man's lips were cold from braving the elements outside, as was the tip of his nose where it pressed into his cheek with the extra kiss he snuck in there before tucking his chin into the crook of Joe's neck.

"What're you still doing up? Don't you have work in the morning?" Harry asked.

Joe's hand snaked round to hold the nape of Harry's neck, fingertips scritching lightly into the raven-coloured hair at the base. "Eh, it's not too late. Didn't see you before you left this morning, figured since it was a Thursday you'd be first cut at the bar. Wanted to wait up for you."

Harry's eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "'...since it was a Thursday...'?"

"Ain't that the night you work with Gale? Everett too, a lot of the time?"

"Yeah?"

Joe scoffed out a laugh. "Where they 'let' you take first cut so they get a couple extra hours to moon at those firefighters?"

There was a beat of silence as Harry seemed to consider such an idea, and while he was pondering, Joe moved forward a little bit so he was leant over his sketchpad again, bringing Harry with him. He jerked his head a little as his bangs threatened to fall into his eyesight from both sides.

“Huh," Harry breathed. Putting two and two together.

“Not that I can imagine what Gale ‘mooning’ would look like…” Joe said, pencil scratching the paper as he added a couple more lines, and used his other hand to pull back his bangs from his face.

Only for them to flop right back down again.

Harry shrugged. He'd known Gale a couple of years now, and liked him a lot; respected him a hell of a lot. But... “Subtler than most, for sure, but definitely there. In his own way." He paused, smiling to himself as he quipped, like he was reciting from a book of poetry. "Like a solid old Oak tree."

Joe snorted with laughter, having to flick his hair out of his eyes again. "Hope you're not moonin' at no firefighters..."

Harry looked scandalised for a moment. "Me? Never," he said, tightening his hold around Joe's shoulders. "Although... there is one of them. Blond, with big long 90's boyband bangs that are always falling in his face." He raked his fingers through Joe's own with the remark, pulling the hair up out of his face for him. "So I guess you never know."

Joe tilted his head back in the direction his hair was being pulled, to find Harry looking back at him with fond eyes, all big and dark and doe-like, despite his smirk, and affection curled warm in his chest.

"Yeah, well whoever he is he's welcome to you," Joe shot back just as Harry was about to kiss his cheek again. He pushed him away with a gentle little shove against his mouth, shrieking a little when Harry swooped back in with a playful, retaliatory little nibble instead.

"No he's not!"

"Yes, he is!"

#crubbles #harry crosby #joseph payne #joe bubbles payne #harry crosby x joseph payne #masters of the air #my writing #i loved writing this for them ngl lmao #cuties!#📝: firehouse!au

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