#robert rosenthal x oc

[bloodynereid]

Those Sunlit Kisses

part 2 here ! part 3 here! and part 4 here!

pairing: robert 'rosie' rosenthal x oc (lucy everett)

tw: mentions of war, alcohol drinking, death, mentions of nazis and hitler, domestic fluff, flirting, kissing, angsty ending-ish

description: a young man and woman meet while they're on a forced break and end up spending a weekend together.

a/n: so... this fic has sort of invaded my life these last few days and it's longer than i thought it would be (12k is insane). i've sort of become attached to it in a weird way ??? idk when you write something as a coping mechanism it sticks with you. i sort of have a plan for how this universe will work so there will probably be a few little fics that happen within it, look out for those! also this was lowkey inspired by before sunrise (haven't watched it but i've seen enough edits) and since we know real rosie fell in love and married his wife within like 3 days this is hopefully not all that ooc. ANYWAYS i hope you enjoy this and pls let me know your thoughts or if you want to send in any asks about lucy they are all welcome in my inbox! OH and this isn't about the real rosie, just the fictional character portrayed by nate mann (*swoon*). and to cut off this insanely long author's note, thank you for reading <333

Rosie rested his head against the cool window, the train was hot. It was almost too hot. How Britain had turned from a pea soup to a tropical country is beyond him. He had been forced to take leave… again. So he booked a little place by the beach, far away from basically everything and he felt tentatively excited.

The thin pages of The Great Gatsby turned in his hands, it almost felt too sticky to read but he hadn’t brought anything else with him, and he didn’t feel content by just looking out of the window.

Rosie didn’t like to take breaks but he knew he needed one after the last mission. His new crew was almost too different. He never faulted anyone for not reuping but it was still strange. So after another successful ten missions he was sent off. At least he wasn’t sent to the Flak House again.

The train finally ambled to a stop and Rosie caught a glimpse of the town name, this was his stop. Quickly grabbing the sparse luggage he had brought with him, Rosie walked off the train and onto the tiny platform. The loud whistle made him jump as the train started to move away.

At least he was finally here.

Lucy was daydreaming again. The taste of pencil filled her mouth as she nervously bit down on the wood. She was feeling better, better than she had in a while but she still felt like she was missing, well, everything.

She had just spent the past few weeks researching and slaving over an article on Hitler’s propaganda and it was a good article. Maybe even a great one, but the years spent working on articles about that vile monster were taking their toll on her.

Lucy could distinctly remember when her editor called her into his office after she had snapped at one of the top correspondents who made a comment about women belonging in the kitchen. 

“I can’t have this anymore. Do you understand what I’m risking by even having a woman on my team? You may be good, but you’re not that good. Now take a damn break before I have to bar you from this bloody office!” 

She understood that it was for her own good but his words stung. It irked her that a man was making her take a break when he would let any of her male counterparts strut around doing whatever they pleased and yelling at secretaries.

So Lucy booked a ticket and left on the afternoon train headed for her hometown. A place almost completely untouched by war… at least for now. She had spent the first few days in bed, trying to recover from the complete exhaustion that five years of war had wrought on her. Lucy also spent that time remembering.

Her parents had died a few months before Hitler invaded Poland. They passed away within weeks of each other in the same house that Lucy was in now. She was almost glad that they didn’t have to experience another war, even if she missed them more than she could handle sometimes.

Her father had risen through the ranks in the Great War, eventually becoming a Colonel and earning a few medals for his service. Lucy’s mother was a singer, she had met and fallen in love with John Everett during one of her performances when she caught his eye from across the room. Diana Everett always insisted it was love at first sight.

They were loving parents and did what they could to make Lucy’s childhood a happy one. Always aiding her in any of her hobbies, and allowing her to pursue her dream of becoming a journalist, even at a time when women were expected to go into gentler trades.

Lucy’s father was the one to die first, he had had a bad cough when Lucy first left for London and that quickly evolved into something worse. Lucy was able to make it back for the funeral and she spent the next few weeks watching as her mother became a shell of herself. One day she just found her mother lying in bed clutching a photo of her late husband and no longer breathing.

The doctors said she died of a heart attack but Lucy knew it was from a broken heart. The entire experience nearly shattered Lucy, she barely cried at either funeral and threw herself into her work, slowly getting more and more recognition for her radical articles informing the British people about the Nazis and Hitler.

But during those first few days at her childhood home, Lucy finally allowed herself to crack. She spent hours writing in her personal diary and crying more tears than she thought possible. Until Friday, when she finally made the decision to pull herself together, she still felt lost but at least she was writing something other than distressing poetry.

So now Lucy sat at her desk, the end of a pencil resting on her lips and the start of a rough outline of a story in front of her. It was a new day.

The smell of the sea filled Rosie’s senses, it felt strange to be walking through a town that looked normal, with no gaping wounds left by bombings. It gave him a renewed sense of duty, places like this needed to be kept safe from the monsters.

He had rented a little room in a B&B ten minutes from the beach. It was nestled between two colorful houses, one painted light green and the other white with a wash of blue. He overheard the sounds of jazz echoing from the blue one, and the soft tones of a woman singing along.

Rosie’s face broke out into a smile and he started humming before looking back at the B&B and heading into the cozy atmosphere. An old woman with a cheerful smile greeted him and took one look at his uniform before upgrading him to one of the larger rooms. He thanked her profusely before heading up the creaking staircase and depositing his luggage onto the quilt-covered bed.

After a few hours of work on the short story, Lucy needed a break and the outside was calling to her. Boiling some water in her favorite kettle, she put on a record and started to hum and eventually sing to one of her mum’s favorite songs.

Once the water was boiled, Lucy carefully went through the motions of pouring it over the Earl Gray leaves in the teapot and letting it steep for a while before straining it into a cup and pouring a splash of milk over it. All the while singing just like her mother used to do when she prepared tea for her.

Armed with a book and a steaming cup of tea, Lucy opened the front door of the house and sat on the porch swing. Carefully placing the cup on the side table and opening up the first pages of her book, Lucy looked around at the front garden. She could almost hear the sounds of joyful laughter and screams from her childhood when she used to play with the neighborhood kids on that very lawn. 

With her bare feet up on the porch swing and the milky goodness of tea in her mouth, Lucy started to read the first pages of The Great Gatsby, and settled in for a book she had been waiting too long to read.

Rosie had changed into his civies before grabbing a spare towel and his book. He had to stop the owner for directions to the beach but other than that he was excited to see the ocean, and experience the sun for the first time in a long while.

As he headed down the street he was surprised to find a woman sitting on the porch of the blue house he had seen earlier. Her blonde hair was curled around her face and she was wearing an outfit similar to his own - a blue button down shirt and loose black pants. In her hands was a copy of a book that was identical to one he held in his hand.

All Rosie could think about was that she was beautiful. He was openly gaping in the middle of a sidewalk because a woman he didn’t even know had completely enraptured him. Shaking himself out of his reverie after he realized just how long he had been staring at her, he was almost tempted to say something, anything. Just to have her look at him.

He just couldn’t get his mouth to form the words. Rosie had always been a shy person, especially as a kid but it seemed like all those years of shyness were finally catching up to him. So instead of saying anything, Rosie just turned and walked over to the beach. His knuckles clenched around his own copy of The Great Gatsby, imagining the ways that he could approach the beautiful woman of the blue house and how the conversation would go.

Maybe he could ask her about the book, or the music streaming out of her window. Maybe he could ask her out to dinner or… suddenly Rosie’s thought process stopped short when he had the awful realization that the woman could be married. He hadn’t even realized he had made it to the beach when the sand crunched under foot and he was thrown off balance. Taking a few moments to steady himself he walked along until he found a sand dune that looked nice enough. All the while thinking of all the ways the blonde beauty could reject him.

Rosie had now convinced himself it would be the worst idea on Earth to even approach her, so he settled onto his blanket and cracked open his book. Allowing for the sun to finally seep into his pores and getting lost in the pages of Gatsby’s own romantic woes.

After all the tea was drunk and Lucy had gotten through quite a bit of The Great Gatsby, she decided to get back to writing. Instead of going inside Lucy quickly grabbed a picnic blanket and spread it out in the front lawn. The outline for her short story was coming along nicely and she needed sun after spending the last five years under a constant cover of smog and rain in London. 

She also managed to make a couple of sandwiches to serve as her lunch and spread herself out onto the soft fabric of the blanket. Squinting her eyes in the sun she started to elaborate a bit more on the brother in her story, ruminating about how she would have loved to have siblings.

Once she had completed half of the outline, Lucy’s eyes travelled from the cream page to the sidewalk, where a few mothers were milling around with their children. Pushing them in prams or trying to balance picnic baskets and food as the kids ran circles around them. A warm smile spread itself across Lucy’s face, this town was like her little corner of heaven.

It was mid afternoon when she first spotted him, Lucy had abandoned her writing a while ago in favor of people watching and basking in the rays of sun. She could have gone to the beach, but she couldn’t be bothered to move from her lawn where the sun was hitting just right.

The man looked about her age, he was wearing civilian clothes but he had an air about him that made Lucy think he was at least part of some branch of the military. He had dark curly hair and a mustache and he looked like an angel sent down from heaven. In his hand, Lucy spied a copy of the very book sitting next to her and a towel covered in sand. He must have been at the beach.

Lucy knew she was blatantly staring but he was just so pretty. She was used to the men that made up her London office, balding and sexist, who flirted with her like she was an object to be used. So whenever she ventured out into the real world Lucy was basically set in a tailspin by the array of people that interested her, and for some reason this strange man made her heart skip a beat.

Almost like she had wished it to happen, the man caught her stare and smiled shyly. Bringing up his free hand in an awkward wave. Cute. In return, Lucy beamed at him and waved back, before quickly grabbing her copy of The Great Gatsby and lifting it up.

Rosie headed back from the beach feeling renewed, and he was also hopeful that he might get another glance at the beautiful blonde from the blue house. Ever lost in his thoughts, Rosie didn’t even realize he was on the sidewalk that led to his B&B until he caught the glance of the woman from the porch… except this time she was lying on a blanket in the middle of the yard. 

He smiled at her when he realized she was staring at him, at him! Then he did the stupidest thing he could think of and waved. Rosie started to berate himself for how idiotic he was being when the blonde waved back and smiled at him with a smile that had his breath catching.

A moment later she held up her book, a copy of which he was also carrying, and he smiled even more broadly.

“Good book?” She called out to him with a voice that reminded him of the movies. A crisp British accent laced with laughter.

“It sure is.” Rosie answered, almost feeling slightly ashamed of his American accent which sounded so much more grating in comparison to hers. 

“I’m Lucy!” The woman said, standing up and brushing herself off as she walked over to the whitewashed fence so she was now only a meter away from Rosie. How he wished she was even closer.

“I’m Rosie.”

“Ah, an American. I knew it!” Rosie blushed and ducked his head in embarrassment. “Hey! I never said it was a bad thing. It’s nice to meet you, Rosie. You have a pretty accent.”

“I think that’s the first time one of you Brits has ever said that to me.”

“We haven’t been very welcoming, have we? Well that must be remedied instantly! How have you been enjoying good ol’ Britain?” Rosie felt like he was watching a band play the most incredible set, Lucy talked like she could charm the entire air force in just seconds.

“First time I’ve seen the sun in years.” Rosie said, exaggerating the comment by squinting at her, making Lucy laugh - the sound making a blush spread across Rosie’s face, he wanted to hear that sound for the rest of his life. 

“You and me both. I like to think of it as one of Britain's charms but it does get rather melancholic, don’t you think? Where are you usually stationed, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Thorpe Abbotts, I’m one of the pilots.”

“A fighter pilot?”

“Oh dear God no. I pilot B-17s.”

“Ah the big birds, that suits you better I would say.” Rosie inclined his head in agreement which had Lucy smiling at him. 

“I’m a war correspondent - although I haven’t been on the front lines quite yet. My editor still has rather old-fashioned beliefs about women and war.” Lucy’s eyes dimmed at the last part which had Rosie wincing.

“They should feel lucky to have you, not the other way around.” Blush covered Lucy’s cheeks at his statement and Rosie felt himself smile triumphantly.

“Oh you charmer. Would you like to come in for some tea or water, maybe?”

“That would be wonderful.”

Lucy felt a certain giddiness encasing her body, she never did this. She never invited strange men, albeit handsome strange men, into her home and yet she was doing this. At least he didn’t seem like an axe murderer, and he was an American! Mostly she was just trying to overcome the nerves of having someone she actually liked showing interest in her.

Rosie quickly followed her into the house, helping her carry the picnic blanket she had been using as well as all her writing materials. So he truly was a gentleman after all.

The record had stopped spinning a while ago so when Lucy saw Rosie eying the player she quickly took the blanket and papers out of his hands.

“Why don’t you put on some music? I need to put these things away anyways.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go right ahead.” Rosie smiled gratefully and walked over to the record player, Lucy watched him flick through the various options and let herself smile. She needed some good in her life, she was going to let herself have this, even if it’s only for a few hours.

Turning around, Lucy folded the blanket and set it on one of the wooden chairs by the door, placing the book on top of it before bounding over to the study and placing the sheets of paper into a neat pile next to the typewriter. The sounds of Artie Shaw suddenly filled the atmosphere and Lucy quickly walked back over to the living room, making the creaks of the wooden floor boards alert her presence.

Lucy found Rosie staring out of the window and tapping on the frame in time with the music. He looked completely lost in thought that Lucy almost felt bad disturbing him.

“Rosie?”

“Hmm?”

“Water?”

“I would love some.” Rosie said as he turned from the window and smiled at Lucy, her nerves of bothering him dissipating in an instant when he set his gray eyes on hers. “Do you need any help getting it?”

“No, just keep choosing good music and we should be fine.” Lucy turned to get to the kitchen and grabbed a few glasses as Rosie trailed in behind her. Leaning against the door frame as he watched her move around the kitchen. 

“You have a great collection.”

“That would be my parents’ accomplishment. They drilled good music taste into me.” Lucy said with a sad smile on her face as she poured out some water from one of the pitchers.

“My mom was the same way. The one problem is that I am in no way musically inclined, I just know what sounds good.”

“Have you tried to sing?” Lucy asked with a teasing smile as she passed him the glass.

“Oh I have, you do not want to be there when that happens.”

“How bad?”

“Horrifying. I sound like a dying goat.” They both burst out laughing and Lucy felt a warm feeling spread through her limbs, it almost felt like she was being doused in joy.

“I cannot wait for the day when I hear you sing.”

“Why? So you can ridicule me? That will not be happening in a million years, ma’am.”

“I would never ridicule you! How can you think so lowly of me?”

“I barely even know you-”

“Exactly.” Lucy interrupted with a serious look on her face that had Rosie chuckling again. They quieted down into a comfortable silence as they each took little sips of water every now and then, just watching the way the other person reacted.

“How are you liking the book?” Rosie finally asked.

“I’m enjoying it, it isn’t the kind of book I usually pick up but it’s a nice reminder of a time when war wasn’t a part of daily life. I do have to say though, you Americans are quite strange.”

“I feel like I should rebuke that but it’s the truth. Doesn’t it almost feel like the book was set in a completely different world?”

“Yes!” Lucy fervently agreed as they started to drift back towards the living room, settling into the worn couch.

Over the next few hours, Lucy and Rosie inched closer and closer together on the couch. They talked about everything under the sun; their lives, their favorite books, pictures, music, war and their lives before it all. Lucy let Rosie take charge of the music and their conversation was soundtracked by various jazz hits and whatever obscure artist Rosie seemed to find fascinating in her collection.

Eventually the conversation turned to family and Lucy avidly started to talk about her parents, a subject which she almost never discussed with anyone she had just met.

“So yeah my mum met my dad at one of the pubs she was performing at and the rest is history.”

“Well now I have to get you to sing, it must run in the family! And it’s only fair.”

“Hey! That was a joke.” Lucy screeched, she never liked singing in front of other people she preferred doing it in the comfort of her own home and doing it alone.

“Aha so you do admit you were trying to ridicule me!” Rosie said triumphantly as he pointed at Lucy, making her face twist in complete disbelief.

“That is what you got from that?”

“Well it’s the truth isn’t it?”

“It is not! And I will not sing for you.”

“One day you will.”

“Will not.”

“Will.”

“You stupid, stubborn man.” Lucy said poking at Rosie’s shoulder, making him devolve into hysterics which had Lucy smiling stupidly at the man in front of her. The butterflies in her stomach hadn’t really gone away the entire time she had been talking to him, they had somehow managed to get worse.

That was when she realized how late it had gotten, the sun was just beginning to set and the living room was set alight with the glowing colors of the sky.

“Oh dear, I have kept you too late. You don’t have somewhere to be, do you?” Lucy asked nervously, once Rosie had started to calm down.

“No, no, not at all. I didn’t have much time to make any plans before I came here.”

“Well in that case how would you like to have dinner with me?” Lucy didn’t show it but she was practically buzzing with nerves - hoping and praying that he would say yes.

“Are you kidding?” Rosie was looking at Lucy with a completely gobsmacked expression on his face that had Lucy wondering if he truly thought she was messing with him.

“Not at all.”

“Well, in that case, I would love to have dinner with you.”

“Uh- wonderful. I haven’t cooked anything so you wouldn’t mind going out, do you?”

“Of course not, it would be a good opportunity to explore the town.”

“I’ll just grab my coat and we can go?” Lucy asked tentatively and Rosie nodded before settling back into the couch. Lucy yelled out a quick ‘I’ll be right back’ and disappeared into the hallways of the house.

Rosie felt like he was in paradise. Who would have known that going on mandatory leave would get him this? He wasn’t sure he had ever bonded with someone as quickly as he had bonded with Lucy. It was as if they were twin souls, linked so that it was inevitable that they would meet at one point or another.

The light in the living room changed as the sun started to set, it played with the shadows on the walls and highlighted the framed photographs and art which told a story of a happy childhood and a happy family. It reminded him of his own childhood home. Rosie hadn’t even realized how much he had missed laughing. Something that suddenly just became so easy around Lucy.

Rosie had to give it to his self-restraint, he somehow managed not to kiss Lucy even though many a time in the past few hours he fantasized of brushing his hands through her blonde curls and kissing her like his life depended on it.

“Rosie? Do you want me to find you a coat?” A muffled yell was heard from somewhere upstairs which had him looking up towards the ceiling.

“No, I think I should be fine!” Rosie yelled back.

“Are you sure? I can probably find something that fits you.”

“I’m sure it’s not that cold, Lucy.”

“Okay! Don’t go around blaming me when you’re freezing to death.”

Shaking his head in mock resolution and quietly chuckling, Rosie stood up from his place on the green couch and went to pick up his copy of The Great Gatsby and the towel he had brought with him all those hours ago. But he stopped short when he saw Lucy’s own copy haphazardly strewn on one of the wooden chairs that seemed to be scattered throughout the house. With a sly smile, Rosie left the book and walked towards the front door, empty handed.

“Hi! Sorry that took so long. My hair was a mess, are you ready?” Lucy quickly said as she basically ran down the stairs, a motion that had Rosie’s hair raising in alarm - worried that she would somehow trip and fall to a quick death.

“You’re going to crack your head open one of these days if you keep going down stairs that quickly.” Rosie said when she finally reached the bottom and went to grab her purse from the side table.

“I know those stairs like the back of my hand, Rosie. If I ever trip and fall I’m blaming your handsome face.” Rosie made an expression of mock horror, but inside he felt like a stupid teenager.

“I’m offended by such an allegation. It would be your fault for getting distracted.” Lucy hummed back in mock reply before opening the door and walking out into the brisk night air, which had Rosie quickly following after her.

“Milady.” Rosie said, as he offered his arm to Lucy once she had shut and locked the door. Lucy beamed at him before slipping her arm around his, physically linking them together.

“Alright, I know this little Italian place that a friend’s family owns. How does that sound?”

“Perfect. I’ve been eating army rations for the past few years, anything that isn’t that sounds incredible.”

The pair roamed through the cobbled streets, in search of the little alleyway that housed the restaurant and basking in each other’s presence. When they finally arrived at the quaint little restaurant, Rosie was surprised to see that there were various other couples seated and eating Italian dishes.

“Lucy! You didn’t tell us you were back in town.” Said a voice from behind the counter, it belonged to a tall, brunette woman whose hair was tied back into an elaborate bun. 

“Hi, Renata! Yeah, sorry, this was a last minute thing. How have you been?”

“Good, good. Now who is this handsome man?”

“Major Rosenthal, ma’am.”

“How did you bag this one, Lucy?” The brunette asked, making a blush creep up over both of Lucy and Rosie’s faces. 

“Renata…”

“Fine! I won’t ask anymore questions. A table for two, I presume? We have a nice one close to the back.”

“That sounds great.”

Rosie spent the next hour eating the best spaghetti he had ever eaten and staring at the woman he seemed to be quickly falling in love with. They seemed to never run out of topics of conversation, cycling through enough to fill an entire encyclopedia. Rosie learnt a lot more about the British news field than he had ever thought was possible and in turn Lucy seemed enraptured whenever he talked about flying.

They stayed until it was almost closing time,when Renata basically pushed them out and gave them a complimentary bottle of wine, which had Lucy blushing in embarrassment and Rosie laughing. Somehow the night air was still warm, even though the sun had long set and the world had started to fall asleep.

“I’m glad I met you Rosie.” Lucy finally ventured, after they had been walking for a while in complete silence. Just letting the energy of the day seep in.

“Me too. I never in a million years would have thought I would meet someone like you.”

“You really do have a way with words, Major. Have you ever thought of becoming a poet?”

“I will leave all the writing to you, sweetheart.”

“This is it.” Lucy muttered once they had arrived back at the blue house at the end of the street.

“And that would be me.” Rosie said, pointing at the B&B next to the house.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You can bet on it, Lucy.”

“Great.” Lucy whispered the first word as Rosie started to move closer and closer to her. He felt a wave of dizziness hit him, but he carefully placed both of his hands on her cheeks and stroked the soft skin.

“I’m really glad I met you too, Lucy.” Rosie muttered before surging forward and finally doing what he had been meaning to do for the past few hours. He kissed her with such intensity that it caught Lucy off guard. She stood still for a few moments before kissing him back with the same intensity and love that he was emphasizing in that kiss.

Lucy tangled her hands in his brown curls and felt the world just go still. For the first time in a long while. They stayed like that, kissing and holding each other until they heard the distant sounds of a baby crying.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Rosie asked once they broke apart.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Lucy basically screeched in happiness once she had shut the door behind her. She finally understood what her mum was talking about when she talked about love at first sight. Rosie was her dream man, someone she didn’t even realize she had been looking for.

After carefully putting everything away and changing into her nightgown, Lucy settled into the comfort of her own bed and started to write lines upon lines about Rosie. She had filled up nearly two pages of her diary when her eyelids began to droop. It was almost midnight and she needed to be refreshed for tomorrow so she quickly signed off and pulled the covers over her body - allowing for sleep to pull her into its warm embrace.

The morning sun streamed through her window and softly woke Lucy up. Her relaxed joints groaned as she stretched and enjoyed the feeling of summer and sleep on her skin. Yesterday morning seemed like a distant memory. The darkness that usually invaded her waking hours felt almost less. Lucy had an excited thrill running through her body as she stretched.

Urging herself out of bed, Lucy slipped a robe over her nightgown and tied the sashes together loosely. The stairs creaked as her socked feet went down them and she was reminded of Rosie and his little comment about being careful. It was almost like this house was being reawakened with memories of the living, instead of being haunted by the ghosts of the past.

Once she arrived at the kitchen, Lucy started to go through her morning motions. Brewing a cup of Earl Gray tea, toasting some bread and starting to fry up some eggs. She was in the middle of beating the eggs together when a loud knock echoed through the house.

“There is no way that could be Rosie… could it?” Lucy wondered aloud, as she dried her hands on a tea towel and headed to answer the door. She turned the handle and pulled the door open to find that it was indeed Rosie. He was standing on the porch in civilian clothes again, his hair seemed a little less ordered than it was the day before and the morning sun was carefully lighting his face.

Lucy’s face broke out into a smile and Rosie returned it, before he carefully scanned her up and down and realized she was still in her nightgown. It was a long lacy and cotton thing that was only slightly covered by her robe. A light blush dusted his cheeks as he tried to focus on her face.

“Good morning. I hope I’m not disturbing…”

“Not all! Come, come. I’m just making breakfast.” Lucy stepped from out of the door frame, allowing for Rosie to walk into the house. She smiled and tried to contain her excitement as she focused on closing the door.

“Have you had anything to eat yet?” Lucy asked once she turned around and saw that Rosie was looking at her, he had a twinkle in his eye that wasn’t there a moment before and it made a surge of electricity run up her spine.

“I had some things at the B&B.”

“Alright, can I interest you in a cup of tea then?” 

“Actually…” Rosie took a step closer to Lucy, making her raise her eyebrows in question. “I think I would like to do this first.”

Rosie pushed a stray curl away from her face and tucked it behind her ear before gently pressing his lips to hers. Lucy’s eyelids fell shut and she threw her arms around his neck, allowing herself to be swept away by the sensation. Once they drew apart, Lucy scrunched her nose up and looked at the handsome man in front of her.

“Well aren’t you presumptuous? Coming all the way here in the early morning just to kiss me.”

“I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I met you, I think it was warranted.” Rosie said with a shrug as he looked at Lucy adoringly, stroking his knuckles against the apple of her cheek.

“Flirt.”

“You love it.”

“I’m not gracing that with a response, now come. I don’t want my tea to get cold.” Lucy entwined her hand with his and started to pull Rosie in the direction of the kitchen, he was all too happy to follow her command.

Rosie watched from one of the wooden chairs as Lucy busied herself with making breakfast. She was as graceful as a dancer, she seemed to have the routine nailed down to a ‘T’.

“Here.” Lucy said, as she carefully placed a cup of steaming hot tea in front of Rosie. “Let me know what you think.”

Rosie gingerly rose the mug to his lips and blew on the milky liquid. It smelled incredible, he usually just drank the weak coffee at base but this smelt like something out of a bakery. Then he took a sip and instead of tasting something incredible, it almost tasted flat. In an effort to not disappoint the woman in front of him, Rosie forced a smile and fake hummed in delight.

“You hate it.” Lucy said with a laugh, which instantly had Rosie’s façade falling and he too was laughing.

“I’m an American, what can I say?”

“I’ll excuse it. Here I just finished mine so I can drink the rest. No need for it to go to waste.” Lucy placed her hands over his and Rosie felt the familiar spark in his body that was elicited by being able to touch her. His beautiful Lucy.

“I’m sorry.” Rosie said once Lucy started to take moderated sips of the beverage.

“Don’t apologize, I, for one, hate the taste of coffee so I think we can move on from this.” Rosie’s face turned scandalized for a moment but he quickly schooled his expression and nodded seriously, making Lucy snort and continue drinking her tea before turning to stir the eggs in the frying pan.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

“Yes. Mrs. Sloane gave me plenty.” Rosie distinctly remembered the large feast the owner had prepared, it was almost too much to handle but she had been intent on doing it so he didn’t stop her.

“She’s wonderful, isn’t she? She used to babysit me when I was younger. I was supposedly a very difficult child.” Lucy muttered as she plated her breakfast and sat across from Rosie at the breakfast table.

“I don’t believe that, you seem like an angel.”

“Oh no I was very much a devil child. The amount of times I was lost in the sand dunes is beyond count.” Rosie guffawed and watched Lucy as she scooped up pieces of scrambled eggs with her unbuttered toast.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I did, you?” Lucy asked, after taking a few bites of her toast. Rosie nodded and stretched over the table to tuck an errant curl behind her ear, seeing as a light blush covered Lucy’s face.

“Do you have any plans for today?”

“Nope. I was going to write but I think there is something else I would much rather be doing.”

“And what would that be?” Rosie asked with a smirk starting to spread across his face, he liked getting to tease her. To see what he could say to get Lucy all flustered.

“You’re really going to make me say it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Fine, Major. I want to spend it with you.” Lucy said quickly, relenting under Rosie’s teasing glare.

“Good, because I have no plans.”

“Great.” Lucy nodded resolutely and then stood up to put the dishes in the sink. Rosie watched her as the fabric of her robe swayed around her. He stood up from his seat and walked up behind her, carefully placing his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her head.

“Hello there?”

“You look beautiful.”

“Do I?”

“Hmmm.”

“Rosie, I need to wash the dishes.”

“Just stay with me for a moment, then you can wash the dishes.” Lucy turned around so Rosie was staring into those deep brown eyes he loved.

“What are we doing, Rosie?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean with us. I’m assuming you will have to leave soon and I have to get back to London. I want this to be good but I can’t- I don’t deal well with loss, Rosie.” Lucy muttered, making Rosie’s heart almost break in half. He stood slightly speechless for a few moments as Lucy took to rearranging his hair. Rosie hadn’t even realized that this would all end soon. He didn’t realize he would have to leave her so soon.

“We’ll write and I promise I will do everything in my power to keep coming back. I want whatever this is, Lucy. Darling, I haven’t felt like this ever. I don’t want to lose you, even if I have just met you.”

“So we do this. We promise we will come back to each other.”

“Yes. And I get to call you mine.”

“Rosie, I- alright. Let’s do this. I’m in.”

“Good, because I was all in the moment I saw that beautiful face from across the lawn.” Lucy giggled and suddenly rested her head against his chest. Rosie was sure she could feel the thudding of his heart, so he wrapped her up in his arms and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Lucy’s arms circled his middle and they stayed like that for a few long moments.

“What do you want to do today?” Rosie heard Lucy mutter against the fabric of his shirt, her hot breath making shivers run up his spine.

“Whatever you would like.”

“Does a picnic sound nice?”

“That sounds lovely.” Lucy started to unwind her arms and Rosie already started to miss the weight of her against him.

“I would need to get changed.” Rosie watched Lucy motioned at her clothes and smiled at the devastated expression on his face.

“Do you really?”

“Yes, you menace!” Rosie laughed at the scandalized expression on Lucy’s face.

“Fine, fine. I’ll start on the dishes.”

“Rosie… you don’t have to.”

“I want to. Now shoo, before I don’t let you get dressed.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“Watch me.” Rosie said, ducking his head so he was looking at Lucy through his eyebrows. She just rolled her eyes and pulled herself away from his arms, but not before giving him a quick peck on the cheek. Rosie smiled as he watched her walk away from him, he knew he was beyond smitten.

Lucy was desperately searching for something to wear when the sounds of Ella Fitzgerald filtered in from downstairs. Rosie had put on music, and she could distantly hear him humming to himself over the rush of water.

Staring at the closer, Lucy realized that all her clothes suddenly seemed too ugly to work, she wanted to dress up enough that she looked nice but also didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard. Why is this so complicated?

Huffing, Lucy finally pulled out a dark pink dress she hadn’t worn since before the war. It was made of cotton and she knew it looked good on her… five years ago. There was no fault in trying it on so Lucy quickly changed out of her nightgown and buttoned up the cotton dress up. Fluffing up her curls, Lucy carefully folded the strewn clothes and arranged the closet.

She knew she was probably just trying to procrastinate going downstairs when Lucy started to smooth out the fabric of her dress for the fifth time.

“Deep breaths. It will be fine.” Lucy firmly nodded in resolution before opening the door of her bedroom and walking out.

Rosie was finishing drying the dishes when Lucy walked in, she watched as he stared out of the kitchen window absentmindedly humming to the music and drying one of the mugs.

“How do sandwiches sound?” Lucy finally asked as she pulled the old fridge door open, trying to find if she had enough things to make a suitable lunch.

“That sounds great. You don’t mind that I used the record player?”

“Darling, you are free to use that whenever you please.” Lucy reassured him as she emerged from the fridge holding a parcel of cheese and various pieces of produce. Her heart seemed to stop when she saw how he was looking at her. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No really, why are you staring at me like that?”

“You look like a vision.” Lucy ducked her head to stop Rosie from seeing her cheeks flaming bright red.

“Thank you.” Lucy placed the food on the cutting board and started to cut up the cheese into slices to go on the bread.

“You don’t take compliments well, do you?”

“I’m British, what do you expect?” Lucy said as she looked at Rosie over her shoulder, repeating the same words he had said to her. He had finished drying the dishes a while ago and now he was leaning on the counter with his arms crossed. The morning sun hit his face just right and Lucy was wondering how he had become a pilot when he clearly could have been put into major motion pictures. 

Lucy turned back to the task at hand with a smile on her face, the song on the record player suddenly changed and Lucy started to hum in tune with the music.

She quickly finished making the sandwiches and ordered Rosie to try and find the basket that she had stowed away in the hall closet. When he returned, Rosie was also carrying the picnic blanket from the day before.

“Thought we might need this.”

“Perfect, you can set it- uh Rosie?” Lucy found herself being spun around and into Rosie’s arms. They were swaying in time with the music and she found herself looking at the man in front of her with a questioning look in her eyes.

“This song can’t not be danced to. And you look too beautiful for me not to take this opportunity.” Rosie said as he brought Lucy closer to him, leaning his forehead against hers.

“You need to stop that.”

“What? Saying the truth?”

“Rosie…”

“Nope, not taking requests. You’re stuck with me.”

“Oh God.” Lucy groaned in mock anguish and rested her head on his shoulder, feeling as he tightened his hold on her.

Once everything was packed and ready, Rosie found himself carrying the picnic basket in one hand and holding Lucy’s hand in the other. She truly looked like some kind of angel sent from heaven. Her blonde curls bounced as she walked and excitedly explained random bits of history or childhood stories about different areas of the town.

Supposedly they were on the way to one of the little alcoves that was the perfect picnic spot according to Lucy, but Rosie just felt happy to be around her. He still didn’t truly understand how exactly he had found Lucy. He could clearly imagine what would have happened if he never took leave, he would be going up again and would have never known about the blonde spitfire who hated compliments and lived in a blue house by the beach.

God, he can almost picture Crosby’s face when he tells him that he found a girl while on leave. That is going to be something that he would never want to miss.

“So tell me about you now, I think I’ve rambled on long enough.” Lucy said, as she beamed at Rosie, bumping her shoulder against his.

“You know almost everything about me, darling.”

“There has to be something. A dirty secret, perhaps?”

“No, no. Nothing of the sort.”

“Alright fine, Saint Rosie.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Any dirty secrets.”

“Hmm, a few, but my lips are sealed.”

“Now that’s unfair.”

“It is not!”

They continued on like that for a while longer, until both Rosie and Lucy had started to feel tiny pangs of hunger in their stomachs. The sun was shining brightly as they continued to walk on the beach, Lucy still intent on finding the cove she used to go to.

“Aha! There it is. I told you, my parents used to take me here when I was a kid.”

Lucy unlaced her hand from Rosie’s and he watched her as she ran across the sand, twirling and laughing like she had just won the lottery. A feeling of complete happiness and joy spread through Rosie’s limbs and he carefully placed the picnic basket on the sand, running after Lucy. Once he reached her he pulled her into his arms and twirled her around. Their laughter quickly filled the cove with joy it hadn’t witnessed in a while.

They had calmed down after a while and Rosie quickly helped Lucy set up the picnic. The ginger beer somehow still cool to the touch after being carried under the sun for a while. 

Once everything was ready, Rosie basically inhaled his sandwich, whether that was because of Lucy’s culinary skills or the hunger that had built up in him during the walk he did not know, but Rosie felt calm for the first time in a while.

He was now watching the push and pull of the waves against the sandy beach and stroking a hand through Lucy’s soft curls. With her head resting on his lap she seemed to almost be dozing off, a small content smile adorning her face.

“You know, I’m glad my editor made me take a break.” Lucy’s soft voice carefully broke the comfortable silence, Rosie hummed in appreciation - urging her to go on. “I haven’t stopped working ever since… my parents.”

“It’s almost like you settled into a routine, you thought you were handling it well and then suddenly…” Rosie trailed off as he thought back to his time at the Flak House, he had gotten better at handling missions after that, he felt more human but he knew exactly how hard it felt to just stop sometimes. Because when you stop, you start to feel everything.

“It gets too much…”

“Exactly. I had- have, the same problem.”

“Birds of a feather.”

“Yes.” Rosie murmured, his mind far away in the clouds. He felt so connected to Lucy for some reason. Maybe this is why. They were two sides of the same coin.

“Read to me, Rosie.” Lucy said after a few moments of silence. Rosie looked down to find that Lucy’s brown eyes were fixed on his face.

“You want the silly American to read to you?”

“Rosie… everything about you is beautiful, now, read to me. The silly Brit commands you.”

“Commanding me now, are we?” Rosie teasingly asked, largely ignoring the first part of Lucy’s comment which made him feel like he was floating.

“Rosie.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rosie picked up the copy of The Great Gatsby that Lucy had packed and flicked to a random page, starting to read the tale of some rich fictional idiots who had no care in the world except for the sorrows of love.

Pastels painted the sky as the sun started to set. Lucy was still lying in the same position she had been for the past few hours. Rosie had abandoned reading after a while and they spent that time talking and sitting in comfortable silence.

It was easy just being around Rosie, Lucy felt completely safe in his presence. He had this reassuring air around him which made her sure he was a wonderful Major.

“Sometimes I wish I could paint. I can write about this moment all I want but to create a piece of it would be a completely different experience.”

“Why don’t you start it?”

“What? Painting? No never, you have a better chance of turning me into a singer.” Lucy answered, making the pair laugh.

“Do you think we should head back?”

“Let us stay for a while more, Rosie. It’s too perfect. I want something to remember when we leave.”

“We’ll come back here, Lucy. I swear it.” Lucy smiled up sadly at Rosie, examining the way he looked down at her. She thought he looked earnest enough, but who knew with this war? Who knew if he would ever come back to her?

“I hope we will, Rosie.”

Lucy noticed how much quieter the walk back to her house was, Rosie had slung his arm around her shoulder, tucking her into him and protecting Lucy from the biting night wind that had started to pick up. It was almost as if the realization of leaving was starting to weigh on them. Rosie would be leaving late the next afternoon and Lucy on Monday. Both headed back to their lives and away from the slice of heaven they had been able to cultivate.

“Do you want to come in?” Lucy asked once they arrived at her house. She had already started to move to grab the picnic basket, making up her mind that Rosie wanted to at least spend a meal by himself.

“I would love to.” Lucy smiled and moved back to her original position under Rosie’s arm. “But only if you don’t mind me cooking?”

“You cook?!” Lucy must have realized she looked beyond surprised because she schooled her face a few moments later.

“I do. I haven’t had the chance recently, but my mother taught me well.”

Lucy smiled and quickly pecked Rosie on the cheek before bounding over to the door to unlock it.

“Come on, Rosie. I’m desperate to see what you’ll make.”

Rosie just laughed and picked up his pace until he followed Lucy into the house and shut the door behind him. He placed the picnic basket on the floor and then headed towards the direction of the kitchen.

He passed Lucy, who was quickly flicking through the record collection, intent on finding something to put on while he cooked. Rosie already knew what he was going to make, he just hoped Lucy had the right ingredients for it.

Rosie quickly spent the next hour prepping and cooking his mom’s famous tomato soup. Lucy poured them each large cups of wine and watched him as he cooked. Rosie felt slightly embarrassed by her calculating stare, feeling her eyes on him the entire time he was slicing or stirring, but after a while he realized she was staring at him in admiration. Watching as he fluidly moved through her kitchen and prepared a dinner just for the two of them.

When Rosie was finally ready to plate the food, Lucy offered him two china bowls her mother must have saved for special occasions and Rosie distinctly felt his heart swell. He was rather nervous after they finished serving everything and sat down next to each other at the large dinner table that was usually left unused.

Rosie watched Lucy as dipped her spoon into the tomato soup, raised it to her lips and took a delicate sip. He watched as her face contorted in awe and she quickly took a larger sip.

“Rosie. How? This needs to be in a restaurant. This is incredible!”

“It can’t be that good.”

“Oh it is. You must tell me your secrets.” Rosie laughed, relieved that he was able to please her. He took a sip of his own soup and relished in the familiar taste of home.

After dinner and cleaning up the dishes, Rosie found himself nestled next to Lucy on the couch. She had gotten changed once they had finished drying the dishes and was now wearing the long lacy nightgown he had seen that morning. It seemed that it was tailored to be his own personal torture device.

“Lucy, you really need to stop me, because I really want to kiss you right now.” Rosie finally said, it seemed like the two glasses of wine had given him enough confidence that his brain was no longer filtering his mouth. Lucy turned her head to look at him directly and he watched as a smile blossomed on her face.

“Oh I’m not going to be the one to stop you.”

This kiss felt different from the others. It was as if it was imbued with a special kind of love that came from knowing the other person on a much deeper level. Rosie’s fingers were tangled in Lucy’s silky blonde curls and he could feel as his own curls were being ruffled from where Lucy’s hands had started to tug on them.

When they finally broke apart, both Rosie and Lucy were panting hard. Rosie knew he was looking at Lucy with more admiration than he thought was possible and she was looking at him with the same depth of love in her eyes.

“You are quite a man, Robert Rosenthal.”

“And you are quite a woman, Lucy Everett.” Lucy laughed and she tucked herself close to him once again. Rosie relished in the warmth that her body emanated, how he wished he could stay like this forever.

Little by little, the sound of Bing Crosby started to fade and Rosie felt himself drop into a slow slumber. Lucy’s eyes also began to close and the two lovers drifted off into the sweet escape of sleep.

Only once did one of them wake, Rosie woke up panting after having what seemed like a nightmare. The moon illuminated the living room and he could still hear the distant sounds of a woman screaming. He shook himself out of it and instead focused on the blonde in his arms. He carefully readjusted her and placed a kiss on her cheek before falling back asleep.

Lucy felt a warm solid body pressed against her own. She blearily blinked her eyes open and watched as her living room blossomed around her. Then she remembered where she was, and who she was with.

“You’re finally awake.” Rosie’s voice made Lucy smile contently and she looked up to see Rosie’s intent stare on her face.

“Hmmm, good morning.”

“It is indeed.”

“You stayed.”

“I wouldn’t leave unless I had to, Lucy.” Rosie said with a sad smile, Lucy watched as his eyes dimmed slightly and she quickly nestled closer into him. Sitting up slightly to press a kiss to his jaw, and then his cheek and finally his lips.

“What was that for?”

“I thought you needed it.” Lucy said with a shrug before she was too attacked with kisses. Rosie’s mustache tickled her skin as he placed a flurry of kisses all over her face. She shrieked in delight, making Rosie chuckle against her. “Rosie! Stop! I have to go make breakfast.”

“Nope.” Rosie stopped kissing her for a moment just to respond to her comment and Lucy let out a sigh of relief, which was instantly cut short as he started his assault once again.

“Rosie…”

“Okay, okay fine. Come on. I’ll help you make breakfast.” Rosie said, finally relenting. He stretched out his arms and let out a groan as Lucy also yawned and started to stand up from her place on the couch.

“What are you feeling like?”

“Anything you want, darling. Just none of that tea please.” Lucy narrowed her eyes at him, which had Rosie smiling sheepishly at her.

“Fine, come on.”

Lucy quickly busied herself as she picked out the meager ingredients she had to make eggless pancakes, since she had used up the last of the eggs yesterday. Lucy could feel Rosie’s eyes on her when she started to do her little tea ritual.

“Can you put on some music, honey?” Lucy asked once she had finished pouring herself a cup.

“Of course.”

After the click of the record sounded, Lucy distinctly felt the weight of Rosie behind her as he pulled her towards him and hugged her from behind. Lucy was carefully measuring out the ingredients but she let her head lean against his shoulder.

“Hmmm. I’m going to miss you.” Lucy whispered, Rosie hummed against her head and Lucy felt herself start to sway against him. She felt a slow tear run down the length of her cheek and she allowed herself to just feel for a few moments.

“I may be leaving but I’ll always be in your heart, and you will always be in mine.”

“You’re already making me cry, Rosie, stop saying things like that.” Lucy said with a strained laugh. Looking back at him, Lucy felt her heart both swell and break simultaneously.

“Lucy… I-”

“I love you.” Lucy muttered, interrupting Rosie mid sentence. She watched him as his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“You- you? You love me?”

“I think I’ve loved you since the moment I met you.”

“I love you too. I’ve loved you ever since I saw you sitting outside on your porch swing reading the same book I was. Lucy, darling, I-”

Lucy cut Rosie off again but this time with a kiss. She threw her arms around his shoulders and pulled him towards her. She put everything she had into that kiss and she felt as Rosie responded in turn. His lips cautiously moved against hers and she felt a tingle run over her body by how carefully he cradled her face against his.

“Rosie. I really need to get to those pancakes.” Lucy finally said after a few long minutes of kissing. She muttered her words against his lips, feeling as Rosie chuckled and pulled away from here.

“Nothing is stopping you, milady.” Lucy huffed but turned back around. Savoring the feeling of the man that she loved cradling her as she fixed breakfast and took sips of her tea.

Rosie’s tastebuds ignited when he placed a slice of pancake in his mouth. The day was already starting to shape out to be a good one. He still felt like he was floating after Lucy’s admission only half an hour ago, now he just watched her in awe from across the kitchen table. She was also taking careful bites of her pancakes and stealing glances at him.

They had almost become more bashful than they had ever been, whenever they met eyes either Rosie or Lucy would immediately break eye contact. There was a comfortable tension between them that neither person felt necessary to break.

Once they had both finished their respective breakfasts, Rosie leant over and entwined their hands together. He watched as Lucy smiled adoringly at him and leaned over to peck his lips.

“Rosie… I- do you want to finish The Great Gatsby?” Lucy asked against his lips, staring at him intently. Rosie nodded and they both rose from their seats and walked over to the living room. Leaving the dishes for another time.

The morning was spent in a quiet comfort. Rosie’s voice echoed through the rooms of the house, although he frequently stopped his reading to press languid kisses to Lucy’s lips, or to caress the exposed skin of her arm. At the pace that he ended up going, he finished the book at about midday. When Rosie leaned over to place the book on the coffee table, he felt Lucy stir from his side and start to stretch out.

“I need to get changed, Rosie.”

“Yeah?”

“Hmm. I wanted to walk with you to the station and I can’t do that wearing a nightgown.”

“I wouldn’t be complaining.”

“I know you wouldn’t be, but do you truly want everyone else staring at me.” Rosie blinked up at Lucy from his position on the couch when realization dawned on him. “I thought so. Now busy yourself with something while I get changed.”

“Yes ma’am.” Rosie said with a sarcastic nod which had Lucy shaking her head at him before disappearing out of the door. 

Rosie took to scanning the living room he had basically lived in for the past few days. He wanted to commit it all to memory before he had to leave. At that thought, Rosie dragged a hand over his face - he was leaving in less than two hours and he was leaving her. How he wished he could take her with him and show her the planes that so fascinated her. Most of all he wanted this damned war to end so he could be in her arms for the rest of his life.

His fingers caressed the worn fabric of the couch he was sitting on, he felt more at home here than he had in a while. Rosie didn’t want to leave. He knew his duty and nothing would stop him from that, but how he wished it wasn’t like this. He wished he had met Lucy at a jazz bar, or at a bookstore, when war wasn’t a constant in both of their lives.

He wished the world was different, but unfortunately it wasn’t. All Rosie could do was keep coming back from missions, and now he had another reason to.

“Very well, how do I look?” Lucy’s voice almost made him jump, he had been so lost in his thoughts that Rosie hadn’t heard the creaking of the age old floorboards. He took a few moments to take in his beautiful Lucy. She was wearing a long light yellow dress with black flowers embroidered on the collar.

“You look radiant as always, my dear.” Rosie said, almost breathlessly as he rose from his spot on the sofa and walked over to her. He pressed a kiss to her lips, trying to memorize the feeling of her warm body against his.

“Hmm. Not that this isn’t wonderful, but we need to make lunch. And I wanted to make some sandwiches for your trip back.”

“You really don’t need to do that.” Rosie said as he pulled away from Lucy to look at her in surprise.

“I want to, now come.”

After a quick lunch, Lucy had disappeared into her study to write him a little note - leaving Rosie to do the dishes. She sat down at her desk and stretched her fingers before starting to type.

Dear Rosie,

I know you won’t read this until you get back, but I wanted you to have something to remember me by. I just wanted to say that I love you and I promise to write to you nearly every day and try to call you when I can because I’m not sure I will be able to survive without hearing or reading your words for a day.

You have turned my world into something I never expected. I never expected you, my darling. I wish we could spend more days like this weekend. I will never forget them, I will never forget you. I will always cherish these memories, until we are able to make new ones just like them.

I love you, my dear. Remember that when you’re flying your plane and have your head in the clouds.

All my love,

Lucy

With a final ding of the typewriter, Lucy pulled the paper out and blew a little on the ink before folding it into a neat rectangle. She grabbed Rosie’s copy of The Great Gatsby that had been hanging around the house for the past few days. Opening up the book she slipped the note in between the pages and then picked up her pencil to scribble her name on the inside cover page.

“Now what might you be up to?” Lucy swivelled around to find Rosie leaning on the doorframe. His arms were crossed and he seemed to have been standing there for quite a while.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Oh really? So you didn’t just slip something into my book.”

“Shhh, it’s supposed to be a secret. Be a dear and don’t open it until you get back.” Lucy said as she rose from her seat and placed the book into Rosie’s hands, an easy smile on her face.

“The suspense might kill me but I promise. When do you have to head back to London?”

“Tomorrow. I’m hoping for a new assignment.”

“I’m sure it’s going to be amazing.”

“You better buy a copy of the paper once it’s published.”

“Don’t worry, I will be on the lookout for it.” Rosie’s arms now encircled her waist, and Lucy was sure she was staring at him like a lovesick idiot.

“We better get going if we want to catch your train. You still need to pick up your luggage.”

“I know, but this is much more preferable.”

“Rosie… don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“Alright, alright.” Rosie’s hands rose in a defeated posture, making Lucy choke out a laugh.

“Come on.” 

Lucy followed after Rosie as she went to grab the necessary things for leaving the house. She slipped on her shoes and tied the laces while watching Rosie take in the last details of the hallway before he left. He looked contemplative and Lucy wondered what exactly he was thinking about.

Rosie’s curls were all messed up from a night on the couch and from Lucy’s constant tugging and rearranging of them. Lucy thought he looked ethereal standing there in wrinkled clothes and messy hair. For the billionth time she wished she was a painter so she could capture him just like that.

“Ready?” She finally asked. Lucy’s question made Rosie’s eyes travel to her and he gave her a nod before going to open the door.

It felt final to Lucy, she knew she would see him again but there was always a chance, a high chance, that he wouldn’t come back to her. Even if he had promised he would.

She waited outside of the B&B for Rosie to collect his luggage, she had taken to kicking a pebble on the sidewalk and staring at the cracks in the pavement. Watching as the little weeds crept through the cement.

“Lucy… I have everything.” Rosie’s tentative voice broke her out of her thought spiral, making Lucy look over to him to find that he had changed into his uniform and had tamed his curls. He looked handsome, somehow even more handsome than he had while he wore civies. His hat was under his left arm and he held his luggage in the other.

“Well don’t you look handsome?” Rosie rewarded Lucy with a bashful smile and a blush. “Aww, don’t go getting all shy on me now.” Lucy teased as she came up to him and carefully took the hat from under his arm and placed it slightly lopsided on his head. She wrapped her hand around his now free arm and leaned against his shoulder.

The walk to the train station was filled with easy chatter, Lucy was trying to avoid facing the fact that he was leaving (possibly forever) and that she would have to return to a house that would now be void of Rosie. The small platform greeted the pair all too quickly, the station clock showing that it would only be a few minutes before the train that would take Rosie far, far away from her would arrive.

“Rosie, I- I don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t- Lucy, I don’t want this to be goodbye.”

“But you’re leaving, Rosie.”

“I’ll come back.”

“Oh, Rosie, you can’t promise me that.” She smiled tightly at him, and threw her arms around his shoulder. Feeling as he quickly reciprocated the hug. Hot, burning tears started to race down her face.

“I know, I know I can’t, but I promise that I’ll keep trying to come back. To come back to you.”

“I’m going to miss you so much. I love you.” Lucy whispered against his chest, as she let out a choked sob. She felt droplets of water hit her head and she realized that Rosie was crying too.

“And I’m going to miss you, my dear Lucy. I love you too, so much.” Rosie said as he leaned closer to Lucy.

“Promise me you’ll write.”

“Every day. Here, this is my address at the base and the phone number.” Rosie quickly pulled a piece of paper and pencil from his bag and scribbled a note on there, adding a heart for good measure.

The distant sound of the train whistle had Lucy’s heart clenching. She quickly swept away her tears and took the paper from Rosie’s hands. She pulled him in for one last kiss. Feeling as the top of his hat bumped against her forehead and how his lips pressed against hers.

The train whistle got louder and louder, making the urgency of the kiss increase. It felt like a goodbye kiss. Lucy hoped she would get to experience it again but she also knew this might be the last time, so she memorized the pressure and love that seemed to be behind Rosie’s actions. They finally pulled apart, reluctantly, when the train slowed into the station.

“Goodbye, Lucy Everett. Don’t cry, my darling. I’ll always be here. In our memories and in the love you know I hold for you.” Rosie muttered, Lucy stared deep into his eyes and nodded.

“Goodbye, Rosie. I love you so so much, now go.” Rosie smiled sadly and then pulled away from her. Lucy watched as her dear Major stepped onto the train and turned to wave at her and blow her a kiss one last time. She smiled as tears ran down her cheeks and waved back, making her remember that first wave he had sent her all those days ago.

Rosie was back on the train, except this time it wasn’t boiling hot and he was feeling the deep pangs of an aching heart. He missed her so much already and it had only been two hours. He would be arriving in London soon where he would have to change trains to get back to base, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything except stare at the piece of paper in his hands. He hadn’t opened it yet but he kept stroking the paper as if it would magically make Lucy appear in front of him.

He wanted desperately to ask the train to go back around, to abandon his life so he could run off into the sunset with his sweetheart but he had a job to do. A job which would keep her safe. So he spent the entire time on the train and then the jeep back to base thinking about Lucy’s silky curls and her ringing laughter.

Even Crosby seemed to notice something was up when he was quieter than usual at dinner. He tried to press him about it, but Rosie just brushed him off. Until he realized that Cros was now genuinely looking worried about him. 

“Crosby, I’m fine.”

“What the hell happened during your leave that has suddenly turned you into a grouch?”

“I met someone.”

“You met someone?” Crosby tentatively asked.

“A girl.”

“You met a girl?!”

“Crosby, goddammit, quiet down.”

“Jesus, sorry. So you met a girl?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And what? I met a girl, fell in love and now I’m dealing with the fact I might never get to see her again.”

“Did you give her your address? Wait- fell in love? Rosie, you scoundrel!”

“It isn’t like that, Cros.”

“Sure. But did you?”

“Yes, I gave her my address. I’m sure she’ll write-”

“There! You see, she loves you too right?”

“Yes.”

“Exactly, you need to stop overthinking this and just allow it to happen.”

“Crosby… I just- I promised I’d come back to her.”

“Then you better do it. You’re one of the best god damned pilots I know, Rosie. If anyone could do it, you can. You’ll make it back and you’ll make gorgeous babies with this girl of yours. What’s her name anyways?”

“Lucy Everett.”

part 2 part 3 part 4

so... thoughts? queries?

also here are the moodboards i've made so far: meet the oc lucy's outfits

there will probably be an epilogue of sorts and some little drabbles/fics scattered around the timeline so let me know if you want to be added to the taglist !!

taglist: @justheretoreadthhx @callumsgirl <33

#rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal #robert rosie rosenthal #masters of the air #mota #mota spoilers #mota fanfic #mota oc #masters of the air oc #masters of the air x oc #rosie rosenthal x oc #rosie x oc #robert rosenthal x oc #my ocs <3 #harry crosby #nate mann #maria writes

[liebgottsjumpwings]

AUGUST AFTERNOON | FAYE FISCHER | MASTERS OF THE AIR

Summary: Faye Fischer and her newly acquired friend Ken Lemmons spend a sunny afternoon at Thorpe Abbotts, Faye thinks about the past few years and is then (not so) rudely interrupted by a certain curly haired pilot. Who had managed to make her blush several times some days ago.

Warnings: general war violence, implied minor (and not canon) character death.

Word count: a bit over 2500

Note: this was meant to be a little less than 1k word blurb, turned into way more. I hope it isn't too boring as most of it delves into Faye's experiences before the mota canon. That is also because I use my ocs to study certain historical events, so this really is just self indulgence. Please pretty please let me know what you think of it! (This fic is also posted on AO3)

AUGUST 21, 1943, 16:32 

“What kind of name is ‘Just-a-Snappin’ even?” Faye Fischer wondered out loud, only half expecting an answer from the man in front of her as she came to sit up from her lying position in the grass. She squinted, just about able to make out the text on the B-17 Ken Lemmons was working on. Her squint disappeared as he came into her sight, blocking the warm ray of sunshine she had been enjoying moments prior, her eyebrows furrowed into a frown. “You’re gonna have to ask Blakely that one,” answered the curly haired man standing in her sun. Looking at him, she wondered why he would hide those curls under that beanie. Probably so all that working grease wouldn’t get into it. 

Faye shrugged, letting herself fall back into the grass. “Whenever I ask Blakely a question, the man answers with a goddamn riddle,” she let the end of her sentence continue into a sigh. Ken just laughed, his hands firm on his hips. The sun made the edge of his curls shine, almost like an aureole. Visually, him standing in her sun wasn’t so bad, it looked quite pretty. Her skin was starting to miss the warmth of the sun rays, though. Faye’s fingertips tapped on the cap of her camera lens, the Contax II had been laying on her stomach, under one of Ken’s work rags, to shield it from the sun. “Keep standing like that,” Faye ordered him as she removed the cap from the lens, turning on her camera. 

“Aren’t you only supposed to use that for… you know… work purposes?” she heard him ask as she fiddled with the exposure settings. A scoff escaped past her lips as she lined up the viewfinder with her left eye. “Shut up, they made me pay for my own film rolls when I arrived in England, so they’re mine technically anyway” Faye deadpanned in response, snapping a photo of Ken. “Besides,” she continued, putting her camera back under the rag again, letting her head fall back into the grass, “don’t you think the photo I just took wouldn’t go over well with all those war bond leaflets?” She held up her hands, reading an imaginary leaflet “Purchase a war bond so our curly haired cuties can maintain our bomber planes!” she sarcastically called out. It earned a belly-laugh from Ken, who then turned around, readying himself to get back to his maintenance work as he continued laughing, “I hope to God not.” Faye smiled in response, “Yeah, well, I’ve taken more leisure photos on this camera than the OSS would be comfortable knowing. It is only fair because nearly all film rolls were mine anyway,” she trailed off, closing her eyes again as the warm August sun blanketed her. 

The warmth took her back to August, nearly three years back, 1940. To the emerging hills behind Mulhouse, in the occupied region of the Alsace in France. Back then, she too had snapped a photo that the OSS would turn their noses up at. She couldn’t help it, though, the sleepy little cottage the, back then, above ground resistance she was attached to used as their base of operations was too pretty against the sunny hills. Plus, the whole rule against taking photos that do not directly aid the war effort was bullshit anyway. They increased her morale, no? Surely a heightened sense of morale would aid the war effort. Just like her friend, and resistance member Isidore was aiding the war effort by developing the photos Faye had taken recently. His girlfriend, Julienne, a distant cousin of Faye’s neighbors back in Louisiana, the Klotz family, laid next to her in the grass, yelling at her sweetheart to stop working so hard and join them in the warm sum. She still remembered the minty smell of the Ground Ivy that tickled against her cheeks in the field near the cottage as she watched Isidore exit the cottage, some of the successfully developed photos under his arm, he dropped them above the two women. The photographs whirled softly down onto them, like those propaganda leaflets that had recently been dropping from planes over the region. The association made her chuckle. She much preferred these photographs over those leaflets. 

Oh, how she longed back to be in that sleepy little field just behind Mulhouse. Unknowing and indifferent to what was about to wash over her. Over her dear friends. Over her distant relatives, up north in Sélestat.  How she wished to gain that sense of unknowing and indifference once more. The fleeting feeling of walking back home from the shul on those warm August evenings, taking the train from Mulhouse towards Sélestat, being greeted by her grandmother’s second brother, the one who stayed behind in Alsace. Being taken in to his family, learning about their extensive history and connection to this land. It made her feel proud, like her family here. All of that despite the impending feeling of calamity. That feeling grew more and more with each news item about the Germans inching closer. Forcing themselves back into the territory they’ve claimed as theirs for eras. This time, it came paired with a terrifying venom against a group of people so deeply rooted in this region. 

After the annexation of the Alsace into Nazi-Germany, the resistance group Faye had been attached to by the OSS was forced to go underground. Her work, instead of reporting back to the OSS on current events in the border region between France and Germany, became a high-risk operation that aided the Alsatian resistance in its activities against the Nazi occupier. When it happened, the OSS had forbidden her to associate publicly with her family and the community she had built up. They deemed it ‘too riskful’. And because Faye had no choice, she listened to those orders. And just like that, her growing connection with her ancestral home region, her family, the core of her very identity was snapped away. Just as quick as it had flourished. She watched the treatment of her people become more and more dire every day. She watched and she could do nothing but watch. Nothing outward anyway. In secret, she was doing more than she ever had done. Risking everything to make it harder for the Nazis to spread their hatred and evil. In return, she got the gnarly gift of having to distance herself from the recently cultivating bond with her family that lived halfway across the world from her. 

Yes, she still had Isidore, Julienne and the rest of their group. Though, as they were forced to become underground, a painful strain started to form on their friendship. Understandably so, tensions were high, risks were always there and the imminent feeling of doom never stopped looming over the group. 

Which ended up being for good reason. Come the early February days of 1943, Faye found herself with her left cheek pressed into the cold ground where the minty Ground Ivy once grew. The barrel of a Karabiner 98A straight against her right cheek. She still wasn’t sure who gave up their activities to the SS. She wasn’t sure if she cared enough by then either way. Or now, for that matter. In the two and a half years that spanned from that first summer in Alsace to February of 1943, Faye had grown disillusioned to the point that she wasn’t even sure if she cared about living, or dying. Maybe it was for the better that death seemed so close. That it came to her in the form of a German rifle. 

That was until she remembered why her family decided to migrate to the United States. Back in the late 19th century, the Jews of the Alsace were already facing hardships. And it was those hardships that made her grandparents decide that from there on out, their family line would not suffer under those hardships anymore. So they set sail to Louisiana, because their children, and their children, and their children (and so on), deserved a life of flourishing. So it was there, February 1943, with the cold barrel of a Karabiner 98A pressed to her face, that Faye decided that she would honor that wish. She would not die at the hands of those who wished her dead. 

She wasn’t sure how, but she ran, she ran until her feet gave out and Isidore made them duck into a dense shrub. His face stained with dirt, much like hers. And through the dirt on his face, tears traced their paths. Then it dawned on her that Julienne hadn’t made it out with them. Faye hoped with everything she had in her dear friend wasn’t left out, alone in that cold field. But there wasn’t much time for hoping. They had to make it to safety. To a place where they couldn’t be reached by those who were looking for them. 

Switzerland. Within a few days of frantic fleeing, both of them somehow made it to Basel, just over the border. Isidore’s previously tear-filled eyes had turned empty by then. And Faye feared for him. She feared for everyone they had to leave behind. The fear didn’t leave her when she walked away from the hospital she had helped Isidore to, so his wounds could be looked at. Not caring much for her own, and after the OSS had been made aware of her whereabouts, they had arranged a route to England for her. To ‘escape’ the risk she found herself in, according to the OSS. She still scoffs at the mention of ‘risk’, the OSS would never fully know. And so, after a goodbye ‘for now’ and a promise to keep in touch, she departed for the train station of Basel, on towards Bern, and from there, hopefully England. She watched the fields roll by, they were barren, empty of life. She tried to not let it remind her of Julienne too much. Hoping that her friend had somehow made it to safety, like her sweetheart and Faye.

Her memories were disturbed by the warm sun once again being taken away from her. This time, it wasn’t because a certain crew chief by the name of Ken Lemmons was standing in between her and her blanket of warmth, it was because Faye hadn’t noticed the time pass by and the sun having moved behind the officer’s buildings on the air base. She let out a groan at the feeling of her back cracking as she sat up, her camera falling into her lap. Slowly opening her eyes, to her surprise, ‘Just-a-Snappin’ had been exchanged for a different airplane. Though, her eyes were too blurry from the sun shining onto them, to make out the name. These damn pilots and their airplane names. 

What she did make out was Ken and what seemed to be a pilot, standing by the plane as Ken pointed out several things on the wing. The pilot nodding, seemingly intently listening to Ken. Faye, after rubbing her eyes intensely, was able to make out more of the scene in front of her. Her sight darted towards the plane again, reading. ‘Rosie's Riveters,’ she mouthed the words. Way better name for a plane than whatever Blakely was thinking with his one, Faye thought. Her gaze moved over to Ken and the still unknown pilot again. Squinting, she could make out the brown curls, kept small and neatly arranged on top of his head. The 100th and their tendency to hide their gorgeous curls irrationally annoyed Faye to no end. She eternally cursed Ken for hiding them behind his beanie, too. She looked back to the nose of the plane, ‘Rosie’s Riveters.’ Oh. Robert Rosenthal. The man that had made her blush the other night without even knowing he had. Robert Rosenthal had arrived at Thorpe Abbotts some two weeks after Faye herself did. She had been sitting with Helen and the other women as she watched him come into the officers’ club, his feet carrying him, dancing towards his crewmates. It was his little twist and the way his jacket moved in the air flow created by it; itt had been the first time she smiled that day. And Helen noticed. Sending Faye a teasing look as she dug the nose of her shoe into Faye’s shin. The action made Faye’s cheeks turn bright red, sinking deeper into her seat, disappearing into the shadow of the curved wall as she let out a soft, intoxicated giggle. 

It wasn’t much later, after Nash had successfully achieved a dance from Helen, that Rosenthal’s eyes locked with Faye’s. The same red from before creeping up from her throat to her cheeks as she gave him a shy smile. His returning smile was beaming, like a direct ray of sunlight across the room. She would receive a few more of such smiles from him throughout the night.

Now, with his pilot’s hat snug under his arm, Faye could see him smile at Ken, a thankful smile. And who wouldn’t be thankful for Ken Lemmons. The man worked tirelessly to send them up safely into the air. But, oh she was sure it was Robert Rosenthal standing there, alright. Yeah, that smile, of which she had been on the receiving end several times now, she recognized it. The familiar, uneasy yet welcomed feeling creeped up in her stomach again. She could feel the flush in her throat. Combined with the hours of direct sunlight she had received over the afternoon, remembering their shared looks made her slightly lightheaded as she rose to her feet. Hoping to quietly leave, as to not gain the perception of both men standing some feet away from her. 

Mission unsuccessful, though, damn it. “Fish!” she heard Ken call her. Her arms dropped beside her body as she turned around, her camera swinging with a little delay. She caught it, so it wouldn’t hit her on her stomach. For some stupid reason, her breathing increased in frequency as she watched the two men walk over to her. She had to consciously try to not take a step backward everytime they took one forward. She tried to keep her eyes strictly on Ken.“You think that is a better name for a plane?” he asked, pointing towards the B-17. Her eyes followed his pointing, reading the text on the nose of the plane for a third time. Before she realized, she already voiced her opinion. “I think naming anything but a pet or a human is a weird thing anyway,” she retorted, eyes dead set on Ken. Next to him, she heard a chuckle. “I’m actually quite proud of ‘Rosie’s Riveters’” she heard the curly haired brunette next to Ken say. There was no fighting it anymore, she had to actually look at him now. And she was sure you could compare the color of her cheeks to the apples they served in the breakfast hall, bright red. Still, like she always did, she came up with a retort; “Well, it’s better than Blakely’s, I guess,” she said, a sly, yet slightly shy smile appearing on her lips. The brunette in front of her let out a hearty laugh, his eyes crinkling. It tugged at Faye’s heartstrings, “Yeah, I’ll take that.” he said. And there it was again, that goddamned smile.

#masters of the air #robert rosenthal #ken lemmons #hbo war #oc: faye #masters of the air x oc #rosie rosenthal x oc #robert rosenthal x oc #rosie rosenthal #mota #my writing

[winniemaywebber]

The Apple Tree 🌳 • Part 4

warnings: 18+, teasing, oral (f receiving), sexual intercourse.

taglist: @sagesolsticewrites @ginabaker1666 @scuttle-buttle @ronsenthal @groovin2beats @hellfirequinnie

You've been exchanging flirtatious glances with Rosie all night long from across the room. You, Sally and the rest of your gang were knee deep in the usual Friday gossip session; this time in a different location than the village pub. You and Sally had been invited along to the club on base with your guys, and both of you had insisted that Heather and Violet came along too. After all, you couldn't skip a weekly meeting. It wouldn't be right.

“Hey, Y/N, did you hear about Rita? Well…” your attention on her words trails off when you see Rosie look at you once again, his eyes dragging themselves up and down your body. There's a different look in his eyes tonight, one you hadn't seen before. His pretty blue eyes are still twinkling, but there's something more in them…and you can't wait to find out what it is. You turn your head to the side slightly as he winks at you, you biting your lip subtly in response. Two can play at this game, you think to yourself.

Before long, Heather is asked to dance by a replacement named Fred and the seat beside you is empty. Rosie makes a beeline for it, kissing you on the cheek as he sits down. “Sweetheart,” he says, that twinkle still in his eyes. “You look beautiful this evening.”

“Oh, thank you, my love.” You smile at him, his hand upon your leg.

“Push your chair in a little,” he murmurs. Confused, you do as you're told, seeing that spark in his gaze once again. It seems to be swelling from warm embers to a blazing wildfire as he waits patiently for you to stop scooting your chair. It takes your breath away. The second your legs are under the table, you realize exactly why he wanted you to move your chair.

His big, beautiful hand paws even further up your leg, his fingers toying with the hem of your skirt, pulling it up just slightly. You look at him, wide-eyed, trying to hold in a gasp at his touch, sending shivers down your spine and causing goosebumps to raise up on your exposed limbs. He titters, his hand now on your thigh and stroking the inside of it. As if it's muscle memory, and not quite being able to control yourself, you seem to lower your hips down in the seat so his hand hits your covered core, already a little damp. The gasp comes this time, as his pinkie reaches out and very delicately touches you right where you want him.

“Rosie!” You whisper, giggling under your breath.

“What?” he says, totally calm. “What's up?” You look at him, mouth open. He raises his eyebrows teasingly and shrugs before holding his hands up. “I don't know what you're talking about, pretty girl. Come on,” he holds his hand out. “I need to dance with my girl before I walk her home.”

—

Before you make your way to the small dancefloor, Rosie beckons over a friend. “Y/N, this is Croz. Harry Crosby.” Harry holds out a hand towards you and smiles softly, his kind eyes shining at you. You take his hand and shake it. “Hi, Harry! Good to meet you! Rosie has told me so much about you, and your wonderful wife.”

“Oh, all good I hope! I'm headed to go write her actually, but I just wanted to come and introduce myself and finally meet the girl Rosie will not stop talking about.” He winks towards his friend, who playfully shoves him in response. Downing the last of his drink, he waves goodbye to the both of you.

—

As you dance slowly together, his mouth finds your ear, making your toes curl. “I could just eat you,” his voice barely above a whisper. He plants kisses from your ear all the way down to your now incredibly hot cheek, before giving your jaw a discreet nip as he breaks away. Your head spinning, you cup his chin in your hand. “Take me home, Rosie,” you pause for a second, kissing him just once. “Right now.”

“Yes, ma'am!”

—

Crashing through the door of your cottage, you can barely keep your hands off him. This has happened a few times since he had asked you to be his girl weeks ago, but you'd always seemed to stop yourselves from going too far. He'd always reluctantly pull away, your hands clasped in his and say goodnight with sad eyes. Tonight, though, is different, as he doesn't stop you as you go to unbutton his jacket. He shucks it off at lightning speed, you pulling on his tie to bring him back to you, his hand on your waist to bring your bodies together. He groans into you as you run your hand over the bulge developing in his slacks, his hand getting lower on your body and gently squeezing your behind.

“Come to bed with me,” you ask breathlessly, looking up at him through your lashes. “Please, darling.” He simply nods and lets you lead him up the stairs, his hand in yours. Thanking your lucky stars that you'd decided to tidy up your room this evening, you close the thin curtains before turning to face Rosie. Walking back up to him and gently stroking his cheek, you have him meet your gaze. “Are you sure about this, Rosie?”

“Never been so sure of anything in my life, Y/N.” He begins to fiddle with the buttons of your dress, the feeling of his hands on your exposed skin driving you wild as he pops each button open with painstaking slowness. You slip your dress off, letting it fall by your feet and stepping back slightly. He drinks you in, his mouth open in astonishment.

“Oh, fuck,” he says, the first time you've ever heard him cuss. “You are beautiful.” You giggle at him, before gesturing with your eyes to his clothed body.

“Your turn, Major.” Seeing a mischievous flash in his eyes as you use his rank, he unbuttons his shirt as fast as possible, before pulling off his slacks at the same speed.

He pulls you close to him again, walking you towards the bed and laying you down on the plush duvet when the back of your legs hit the edge. Pulling you up to your pillow, his arms cage you in as he kisses you deeply and furiously, his hands all over you, leaving trails of fire all over your skin. Leaving your mouth, he makes his way down your jaw to your neck, his mustache deliciously tickling your skin causing you to gasp and moan. He shoots up instantly, a concerned look in his eyes. “Is this okay? Are you okay?”

“Baby,” you rise up, kissing him again. “I'm perfect. And are you okay?”

“Never better, angel.” Taking advantage of you sitting up, he unclips your bra in one swift movement. “Oh, honey,” He says, looking you up and down. “You sure are perfect.”

He resumes his position kissing your neck, making his way down your whole body as you feel liquid pooling at your core at the sensation of him kissing your skin, his mustache adding just a little roughness to it. Getting lower, he looks deep into your eyes as he places your nipple in his mouth and sucks, his tongue swirling around your swollen bud. Bucking into him as he switches sides, the sound that leaves you is almost animalistic. You clamp a hand over your mouth, almost in embarrassment. He makes his way down the valley between your breasts, removing your hand from your mouth as he does so.

“Cut that out, honey. I wanna hear you.” You remove your hand as he kisses your hip where your underwear sits, the lacy fabric covering your increasingly damp core. He gently sinks his teeth into your skin to grab the material and begins pulling them down.

“Oh, God,” you moan, almost whimpering as you watch him. Coming back up, he gently runs his fingers through your folds, moaning at the wetness. His finger finds your clit instantly, a direct hit with no guidance needed. You continue moaning softly as he plants kisses on the inside of your thighs, slowly inserting his finger into you, pumping in and out before adding another.

“Rosie…darling…please…” you mewl as he looks up at you with mischief in his eyes. Without a word, he puts his mouth on you, his tongue flat to lap you up.

“Like I said,” he pulls away momentarily. “I could just eat you.” Within seconds, you're a writhing mess in front of him, your hands finding their way into his pretty curls. As he pulls away, you see his hair is incredibly tousled from where your hands had been, the ringlets bordering on being cherub-like.

Both breathless, he climbs off the bed to remove his underwear. They fall to the floor as you sit up, eyes widening as you see him rock hard and ready, such a soft, subtle pink color - he's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

You get up to stand in front of him, both now fully exposed to one another. He kisses you deeply, before sitting on the edge of the bed, beckoning you on top. You straddle him, the feeling of his bare skin on yours almost taking your breath away. He pulls away from the kiss and strokes your face, his eyes softening the way they do every time he looks at you. He smiles with his beautiful teeth and kissed your cheek. “Y/N,” he mutters, nervously. “Y/N, I think I'm falling in love with you.”

“Oh–oh, Rosie,” you reply, stuttering a little. You kiss him, eyes squeezed shut and let him enter you. “I think I'm in love with you, too.” You both groan with relief as you feel his whole length inside you, both giving each other time to adjust, him gently kissing your neck, his lips only just touching your skin. He looks up at you again, and presses his forehead to yours as you begin to move on him, both instantly breathing heavily. He captures your mouth in a deep kiss as you finally, finally, make love to one another.

---

You lay together under your plush duvet, clinging to each other, not bothering to get dressed. His hands all over your skin, tickling your back ever so gently, and yours playing with his hair, his eyes closed, totally relaxed.

“Will you spend the night?” You ask, your hands now stroking his face.

“I wish I could, sweetheart. I have to get back to base.”

“Hmm,” you reply sadly. “At least sleep with me for a few hours. Just for a little bit.”

“Okay,” He whispers, not even hesitating. He wraps himself around you, and falls asleep instantly.

—

You wake up the next morning, alone. Feeling a pang of sadness as you realize, you sit bolt upright. On the pillow he slept on sits a piece of paper.

“Sleep well, darling girl. See you in a couple days. Yours, R.”

As you read it, smiling, you hear the all too familiar rumble of B-17s taking off overhead. Your breath catches in your throat at the sound, sudden nerves bubbling up in your chest as you put a hand to it to settle your quickening heartbeat.

—

A knock at your door makes you jump as you pour your bedtime cup of tea. Thinking it to be Rosie visiting at this late hour, you practically leap right to it. To your surprise you see Sally and James standing there, both shivering in the night air, their expressions forlorn and almost mournful.

“Hey, Sal. James. Come on in, the water is still hot for tea,” you say, as you try to plaster on a smile and guide them into the house. The couple look from each other to you and back again, Sally biting down her lip so hard you can almost see it begin to swell instantly.

“What's going on?” You enquire, the atmosphere suddenly suffocating and tense.

“James…tell her.” He sighs, nodding, his eyes downcast.

“Rosie went up this morning–”

“Yeah, I heard the planes as I woke up, but what–”

“He hasn't come back, Y/N. We don't know where he or the crew are.” You feel the world begin to spin, trying your best to grab on to something, anything to steady you.

---

“Crap!” Sally yelps. “James, catch her!” And everything goes black.

once again, thank you to my two besties that read this over and over @sagesolsticewrites @ginabaker1666 ily!!! <3

#masters of the air #mota #masters of the air fic #mota fic #mota smut #rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal #rosie rosenthal x reader #rosie rosenthal x oc #rosie rosenthal smut #winnie writes #18+ only

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 3

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |-| Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

AO3

Summary: In the wake of a terrible loss, the arrival of a new airman at Thorpe Abbotts promises to change the trajectory of Frankie's life forever

Warnings: Death, grief

Word Count: 3.9k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles

A/N: HE'S HEREEEE 🗣🗣🗣

It was dark in the mechanics' hut, the lights kept off during the day to preserve power, but the overcast nature of the afternoon did nothing to light the space from the outside. Hours had passed since the pilots had left, and although Frankie was never made privy to the specifics of their missions, she could tell by the amount of fuel that had been requested that they were going far, much further than they ever had before. There was not a man among them who hadn't seemed to have a dark cloud over his head as they had prepared to depart that morning.

She and Lemmons sat on the floor together, backs propped up against the wall, both too troubled by worry to work. Frankie had an old fashion magazine in her lap, and they passed the time by flicking through each section and poking fun at a myriad of ugly sweaters and ridiculous hats.

"Those are nice," Ken stated, pointing at a pair of green brogued shoes.

"Seriously? I think they're garish."

He shrugged. "My Fonda has some like it. They look nice on her."

She let out a low whistle, teasingly nudging his side as his face turned bright red, a satisfied smile curling his lips. For a boy as young as he was, he sure loved Fonda. Frankie had noticed the heart-shaped locket that hung from his neck the very first day they'd worked together, but it had taken weeks for him to let her have a look inside. It must have been nice to be loved the way she was.

The magazine was losing its charm. It had been over an hour, and they were running out of pages. With a huff, she tossed it across the room, landing in a heap of crumpled pages underneath the table. Ken looked over at her, raising a brow.

She shrugged. "Bored. Want a cigarette?"

Without waiting for an answer, Frankie dug around in her pocket and produced two loose, slightly bent cigarettes, passing one to Lemmons. She lit hers swiftly, taking in an inhale of smoke. He rolled his between his fingers, never bothering to light it. Sometimes she forgot he didn't smoke.

"I'm gonna take you for a drink tonight. We deserve it."

"I'm nineteen."

Frankie stared at him for a long moment. "...So?"

"So, I can't drink."

"Jesus Christ. Welcome to England mate, you might be the only nineteen-year-old currently in the country who doesn't already have a drinking problem."

He opened his mouth to respond, but before the words could emerge they were interrupted by a rapid knocking at the door. Far from the usual pounding thuds the men usually used, this knock was delicate, polite, but its urgency set Frankie's heart to beating twice as fast.

Scrambling to her feet, she rushed for the door, tossing her cigarette into the ashtray on the table as she passed. Hauling it open, a wave of nausea coursed through her as she saw George standing outside, hair damp from the drizzle, tie pulled loose away from her neck, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

"Wh-" Frankie trailed off as she slammed into her, gripping her in the tightest hug she'd ever felt. As she wrapped her arms around George's back, she could feel her shaking beneath her palms.

George let out one sob after another, face buried in Frankie's shoulder as her tears soaked the fabric of her coveralls. Looking back over at Lemmons, their gazes met in wide-eyed expressions of anxiety, and if George hadn't been crying so loudly Frankie was sure the thumping of her heart would've been audible.

"George- George," She spoke firmly, hands pressed to George's cheeks as she forced her to meet her eye. To be so harsh to a woman who needed nothing but softness ripped a hole through her, the guilt churning her stomach, but she needed to know. "Tell me what happened."

She nodded hurriedly, wiping her tears away with the backs of her hands. "They made it to Africa - we started getting messages through about an hour ago, but, uh..." George's lip trembled, and she sucked in a long, haggard breath. "Curt's dead, Frankie."

Lemmons let out some sort of strangled gasp as Frankie felt all of the blood drain from her face. For a moment she didn't know how to process the words, she just knew she needed to hold George - to hold her tight, tighter than anyone ever had. There was not an inch between them as she stroked a gentle hand through her golden hair, trying with all her might to keep breathing as she felt a warm tear roll down her cheek.

Over George's shoulder, she spied Ken making for the door, a frown casting a shadow over his boyish face. He met her eyes, and she offered him a nod, freeing him from the scene so he could inevitably tell the others.

The two women held each other for a long moment, Frankie's chin burrowed against George's collar. When she finally spoke, it was little more than a hoarse whisper, her throat suddenly dry as a bone.

"...And Bucky?"

Sniffing loudly, George pulled back, shaking her head. "No, no, he's okay. He made it to Algeria." Frankie hadn't released she was holding her breath until she let it escape her, raising a hand to cover her mouth as she nodded.

"Yeah? Yeah. Alright," She could worry about the others later - for now, knowing Egan was alive was enough to settle her drumming heart. "You need to go home, ok? You need to rest."

"My shift's not over, I still have to-"

"I am gonna walk up there myself and tell them you're not coming back today. Not tomorrow, neither. And if they've got a problem with that they can take it up with me - believe me, I don't give a shit if I take an insubordination charge over this."

A tearful smile broke out across George's face, holding onto Frankie's hand as it cupped her cheek. "Tangling with you? I don't fancy their chances."

Frankie chuckled, pulling her into one last hug and pressing her lips firmly to her temple. "Go, go. I'll see you soon, ok?"

"Yeah," She whispered against her neck, reaching out to squeeze her hand as she broke the hug, stepping backwards towards the door and disappearing.

As soon as she was alone, Frankie sucked in a long, laboured breath, collapsing into one of the rickety chairs that surrounded the table in the middle of the room. Doubling forward, she lay her head in her hands, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes as she focused on taking one breath after the next.

Since the war had begun, she had been cycling through phases of fear and calm, letting herself slip into the all too comfortable belief that it couldn't touch her here - couldn't take from her as long as she was home, as long as she was safe.

But God, how the world kept proving her wrong.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Almost a month had passed. Every mission took a toll, but the trip that had killed Curtis Biddick seemed to hang heavier than any other ever had.

Or perhaps it just seemed that way because of George.

Some nights Frankie would stay up late, rubbing exhaustion from her eyes as she fought to stay awake long enough to finish a chapter of her book, lit by the dim bulb of her bedside lamp. And then in the darkness she would hear a rustling, a casting aside of the course, army-issue bedsheets, and feel a weight press into the mattress beside her as George slipped under the covers, silently resting her head against Frankie's shoulder. She liked to listen to her heartbeat on the nights she felt most alone - when she felt the farthest from home, the most separated from the boy she almost loved - it brought her comfort to listen to that telltale sign of life radiating from the person closest to her. She had someone, and that was enough to live with.

Frankie had liked Curt, but she hadn't known him well. Sometimes she wished she had, if only so that she wouldn't feel so guilty, comforting her best friend over a loss she no longer felt so keenly. Instead, all she could do was softly whisper the words she was reading to her, and let her mere presence be the comfort as they both drifted off to sleep.

It had grown warm overnight, and the humidity combined with the heat of George's body burrowed close next to hers left Frankie slick with sweat by the time she woke up, her hair sticking to her neck in damp strands. Peeling the covers away as she clambered out of bed, careful not to disturb her sleeping friend, she made a beeline for the showers, hoping to wash away the unpleasant, sticky sensation that coated her skin. She was used to evening showers after a long day's work, and it felt strange to stare down at the hot water rolling off of her body and see it come away clear, clean, not streaked with the dirt and oil she was often coated with by the time she made it home each night.

Wringing her hair out with a towel as she made her way out of the bathroom, Frankie dodged the other women emerging from their beds as she reached her own area, her coveralls and workboots waiting for her on a nearby chair. George had moved back to her own bed, carefully removing each of the curlers she meticulously applied every night, just like all of the other servicewomen who were afforded the luxury of working indoors, a far cry from Frankie's reality. It wasn't that Frankie didn't like to dress up - she loved the chance to do her hair and makeup, to dress up and feel pretty for once - it just wasn't a practicality her profession afforded. Her hair needed to be out of the way, and it made no sense to waste money on makeup that would be ruined by sweat and grime within the hour.

"If Dye makes it back, there'll be a party tonight," George stated, watching her reflection as she looped her tie into a knot. "You gonna go?"

"Uh," Frankie considered this for a moment, sniffing her coveralls from the previous day and grimacing at the smell, switching them out for a clean pair. "Nah, not tonight, I don't think. I've already got some outstanding stuff from the last few days that needs sorting, it's gonna be a busy one."

"Alright, I'll see if Sandra and Helen are going."

"I'm glad you're going," Frankie smiled.

George's gaze turned to her, and she considered this for a moment before shrugging. "Can't sit here forever."

It was a fact that didn't need dwelling on, and Frankie wouldn't patronise her with praise. This was just the way their lives worked now. One by one, the women in their hut finished getting ready and left for their various jobs until Frankie was the only one left, locking up the front door as she exited. The burn that had scorched her palm had long since healed, leaving a mottled pink scar across her hand, but she could clutch the handlebars of her bike without pain now, so she had returned to her morning ritual of cycling as fast as she physically could to the airstrip, revelling in the feeling of the warm morning air blowing through her hair.

Dye's plane was swooping in as she arrived, and Frankie couldn't help but smile at the chorus of whoops and cheers that pierced the air, flight and ground crews alike lining the runway to await his valiant return. Twenty-five missions. She could barely fathom it. For as long as she could remember, planes like this had been her life, but she'd never flown in one - Dye had done it twenty-five times. The number boggled her, a reality so close to and yet so distinctly separate from her own.

"Frankie!" Lemmons called over from where he was sitting with a few of the local boys. The village kids had taken a shine to the young mechanic, and she found she rather enjoyed their presence, childish wit relieving the strain of their long working hours. She crossed the grass towards them as he spoke up again. "Gonna replace the panelling on the bombers from last week, you in?"

She shook her head, batting a hand dismissively. "Nah, you go enjoy the celebrations with the others, I'll handle it."

He frowned, a crease appearing between his brows. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure, I hardly even know Dye, I'm not missing out. Take the night off, you deserve it."

A smile began to spread across his expression. "Well thanks, Frankie."

"No worries. Hey - did we get that delivery of rivets that was meant to come in?" Lemmons shook his head, and she shrugged. "Don't worry about it, I'll take a list to the boss of everything we need."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was growing dark, a work light on the tarmac illuminating one of the B-17 engines as she worked away at it, a pile of scattered tools littering the ground from where she had tried and failed to toss them back into her toolbox without paying proper attention. She could hear the muffled music far off in the distance, the lights from the party casting a golden reflection against the clouds like a beacon in the night. Tightening one of the bolts, Frankie prayed to herself that George was having fun.

The sound of footsteps approaching from behind alerted her to sudden company, but she was too engrossed in her work to turn. Besides, she could already guess who it was.

"Heya, Frankie," Bucky's voice came, and she suppressed a smirk at the accuracy of her prediction.

"Evenin'."

"We missed you at the party," He stated.

"Busy," She replied, letting out a grunt as she pinched the skin of her thumb with her wrench, flapping her hand for a moment to relieve the pain.

"Just came to see ya 'cause I don't think you've met Rosie yet."

Frankie let out a sigh, sliding her wrench into her pocket, speaking as she began to turn. "Bucky, if you boys have got yourselves another fucking dog, I swear-"

There was another man there, standing next to Egan, blue eyes watching her as she stumbled over her words, trailing to an awkward stop. She had a smear of oil across her forehead from where she had absent-mindedly wiped the sweat from her brow with a filthy hand, and Bucky pursed his lips tightly as he tried not to laugh.

"Not a dog," Rosie stated, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smile.

"No," She breathed, snapping herself out of her awkwardness. "No, uh, sorry - Frankie, I'm Frankie," Holding out her hand to shake, she noticed its filthiness and grimaced, swiftly retracting it.

"Frankie's one of our mechanics," Egan explained. "She'd be happiest if we fired the rest of the ground crew and let her do the whole thing herself."

"But then who'd clean the dog shit and vomit out for me, eh?" Frankie shrugged, a pink spatter colouring her cheeks. Bucky almost frowned, taken aback by her uncharacteristically awkward demeanour.

"Look, I promised Buck I'd only be gone five minutes, so," He looked down at his watch, shrugging.

"No, no, that's fine, you have a good night," Frankie smiled, wiping her dirty palms on the sides of her trousers.

Bucky turned to leave, pausing for a moment. "Rosenthal?"

"Oh, no, I was gonna head off anyway, thanks Major," Rosie nodded, and they lingered in silence for a moment after Egan left, his silhouette disappearing into the darkness down the runway.

"Sorry I thought you were a dog," She chuckled slightly, breaking the quiet as she rubbed her thumb where she'd pinched the skin, a red mark forming.

"Well," Rosie shrugged, standing with his hands in his pockets. "Been called worse."

Frankie smiled, a flash of teeth in her grin as she glanced back at the engine for a moment, the great thing looming over her in its frame. "And... sorry Bucky dragged you all the way out here, I'm sure the party is much more interesting, and-"

"Hey, you don't have to apologise," He shook his head. With the work light shining on them, it seemed to cast a halo around her head, brown hair running golden along its edges. Even covered in filth, she must've been one of the prettiest girls he'd seen in... well, he couldn't quite recall. "How long have you been out here?"

"Uh, what time is it - eight?"

Rosie let out a laugh. "Gone midnight."

"Jesus Christ," She flashed him a tired grin. "Shit, I missed dinner."

"Well," He shrugged. "I am a Captain. Sure we can find something."

"You're on," Frankie agreed, the empty feeling in her stomach suddenly amplified once she realised how long it had been since she'd eaten. "Although, I'd better clean up first," She noted, wiping her hands on one of the engine rags.

"By the way, you've got a little-" Rosie gestured to his own forehead.

"Oh, shit," Frankie muttered, reaching up with the rag and just managing to miss the oil stain. He let out a chuckle, stepping forward.

"Here, lemme just-" She offered up the rag, and he dabbed at the stain, which less went away than it did smudge even more. He furrowed his brow as he tried to get rid of it, and she couldn't help but let out a laugh at the sheer concentration in his expression, their faces far closer than she would ever usually allow with a man she'd only just met. But there was something endearing in him, something safe. "I think... I think I got it."

"Thanks," Frankie chuckled, taking back the rag and stepping back towards the Nissen hut. "I'm just gonna wheel this engine inside and wash the crap off my hands, then we can go."

"I await your return, milady," Rosie nodded, smile turning to a cringe as she turned away from him. What was that? Don't say that!

She smiled to herself as she entered the hut, her pleased expression turning to a grimace as she got a waft of herself, the twelve-hour shift out in the sun making itself known. Oh shit.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The mess hall was completely deserted, the only light coming from the kitchens as Frankie waited patiently for Rosie to return. He had volunteered to go and scrounge for food, confident that his rank would protect them if they were discovered, and she grinned as he returned, proudly carrying a large tin of peaches and a couple of bars of ration chocolate.

"Oh, perfect. Midnight feast," She beamed, taking a seat on one of the long benches that lined the tables as he sat down opposite, producing a tin opener from his pocket.

"Food fit for kings, I'd say," Rosie agreed, wrestling with the peaches for a moment until he was able to break the lid. Producing two forks, Frankie held one out to him, using her own to skewer a slice of the orange fruit.

"I'd just like to preface this by saying that I don't usually smell like this... actually, I do," She admitted, picking at some dirt stuck beneath her nail.

"Hey, I'm not judging - you wouldn't either once you'd smelled the inside of our flight suits," He shrugged, and she let out a huff of laughter, chewing on her peach slices, a droplet of sweet juice running down her lip. "So... how long've you been a mechanic?"

"Dad's been running an auto repair shop at home since before I was born, I grew up on it," Frankie explained, skewering another slice with one hand as she unwrapped her chocolate bar with the other. "He wanted to go over to France, help fix army jeeps, but he lost his foot in the Great War so they won't take him - I was born when he was away, see, he'd been over there for six months or so when a shell went off and he lost it. So the cars were all we had. I switched to planes when I was about fifteen - bit of an impractical hobby, but I've read every single book on it they had in Stratford library," She chuckled.

"Stratford... Shakespeare, right?"

Her brow raised. "Yeah. Right. Y'know I think the only good thing about this war is that the tourist buses have stopped coming around," She joked, and Rosie laughed, nodding along as he ate. Why was she telling him all this? In the last hour, he'd found out more about her than Bucky or Lemmons had in months. But she found she didn't feel embarrassed telling him any of it, the words just flowed naturally.

They sat there in the dim mess hall eating peaches until they started to feel sick, the hands of Rosie's watch ticking steadily past 1am by the time they left, making sure to hide all evidence of their midnight raid. It had begun to rain by the time they stepped out into the night air, and before Frankie could utter a single word of complaint he had shrugged off his uniform jacket and given it to her to hold over her head, her own makeshift shelter whilst his own curls fell flat, the water leaving dark streaks down his shirt.

"Are you sure about this?" She asked for what must have been the third time as they reached the end of her row of Nissen huts, Rosie's hair soaked and plastered to his forehead, his skin almost visible through the drenched state of his clothes.

"I said stop asking," He assured her, nodding confidently despite the visible trembling in his shoulders.

"I'm just worried I'm gonna ruin your jacket."

"Well, it'd die for a worthy cause."

Frankie grinned, slowing to a stop as she reached the front door of her hut. The lights were all off inside, not a single sign of life as her bunkmates enjoyed their well-earned sleep. When she spoke again, it was in whispers, careful not to wake them even despite the hammering of rain against the metal roof.

"Thank you for dinner, it was... unexpected."

"Very," Rosie nodded in agreement, mirroring her smile. She handed over his jacket, and he folded it, tucking it beneath his arm, already well past its usefulness.

"Tomorrow's gonna be a rough morning."

"Take the day off, have a lie-in, you deserve it."

She raised a brow, and he laughed. "You know I won't."

"I suspected as much," He agreed, nodding firmly. "G'night, Frankie."

"Goodnight."

Frankie slipped carefully inside, cautious not to make a sound as she crept over to her bed, stripping off her wet coveralls as she reached quickly for her nice, warm pyjamas.

When George's whispered voice broke the silence, she swore she almost had a heart attack. "You've been... working?"

"Something like that," Frankie shrugged, taking the fact she was awake as a sign of consent to turn her lamp on, giving her the light she needed to untie her boots. "Have you met the new Captain?"

"Who, Rosenthal? No. Why?"

She didn't answer for a long moment, buttoning up her pyjama shirt before flicking off the lamp, plunging the room into total darkness as she climbed beneath the blankets, letting out a satisfied sigh at the warmth.

"He's nice."

George let the silence simmer for a moment, her tone laced with suspicion. "... Right."

#masters of the air #mota #masters of the air fic #masters of the air oc #rosie rosenthal #rosie rosenthal x oc #john egan #ken lemmons #curtis biddick #oc: frankie #oc: george #fic | i'm your man #robert rosenthal

[precious-little-scoundrel]

|| My fellow Colonel

Y’all asked for it and here it is. Whew, I wrote all of it today so here’s to hoping it is tolerably alright. Also, as an aside, I am just shy of 1k followers and that’s astounding to me. I had to rebuild this blog from scratch in December after two previous deactivations where I lost a similar amount collected over a far longer time. I’m truly so grateful for each of you who take an interest in sharing this little corner of the internet with me. Thank you, thank you!

Warnings: usual universe warnings apply, 18+ with additional chapter warnings for gore and violent character death, brief mention of racial discrimination and a very dark headspace for Ida at times including brief yet crassly recollected sexual assault

April 1945, escape spoilers ahead

“Bitte.” Ida kept her hands placating, outstretched and harmless by her side, the most open expression on her face that she could summon as she stared the woman down, “Bitte nicht!”

For eleven days she and Smith and Cleven had managed to scrounge their way westward, evading recapture or altercation. But eating from the dead horses on the side of the road was out of the question, agricultural fields were churned to sludge by Amtrak’s and the small amount of wheat berries they found in one abandoned supply truck had long since ceased to fuel their weakening bodies.

They had passed by a camp, one that they observed from the shelter of the woods to be abandoned or liquidated, once used for civilian labor, judging by the signs. After a careful reconnaissance it was agreed that Ida should go and act on her hope that the commandant's empty dwelling may not have been completely ransacked. That there might be some leftover provisions either there, or in the homes of the other personnel. She had had no luck at the commandant’s, it had been empty, no luck in the next idyllic little shack either, only the eerie knickknacks of some bygone person whose vocation it was to deal in pure evil.

In the third house she had found jars of spoiled milk, tubers of some sort gone to sprouts but she did not care, she grabbed a ratty towel lying on the floor and made a sling for them. She was in the process of prying a loose floorboard up, anticipating some root cellar below when the whining creak of a sneaking step sounded behind her in the still place.

She whirled around in a crouch, half expecting either one of her companions or else one of the many starving children they encountered on the road. Instead, silhouetted inside the bright doorway there was a woman, in the uniform of a guard and with a Lugar poised at the ready. Ida felt a cold spike of fear at the flashing recollection of her last encounter with such a female, at the horrid misery that was Ravensbruck, the complete and entire lack of respect shown to her or her girls by these indoctrinated tools.

Ida’s grasp of German had been sufficient enough to keep herself and her companions away from suspicion in their occasional interactions with passersby. While she wore the heavy overcoat of a military man, it had no markings, and it was just as likely for some freezing civilian to steal it off a carcass as it was for an American female officer to be on the loose. Ida knew this and she tried to play at being dumb, pointing to the food, explaining in unstudied desperation that she was starving.

The female guard observed her coldly, her impassive face showing a certain lack of curiosity or even remote interest in Ida’s narrative that made her heart quicken with a presentment of a swift and sudden execution. She has seen these guards lift a gun, squeeze the trigger, and move on boredly all in the matter of a second. What about her own features or story were so compelling to prevent it?

“Bitte nicht!” She repeated again, choosing to take a step forward, eyeing the woman’s grip and posture, professional, soldierly, the woman left little opening for Ida to capitalize on, but she would rather get a bullet in the gut while fighting than be shot hunkering over stolen potatoes.

There was a darkening in the doorway, it caught Ida’s eye right before she timed her launch. It was Cleven. His appearance made her hesitate a moment too long. He had his arm barred around the guard’s throat in an instant but the pistol was out of his reach and one stride too far away from Ida’s grasp. Unlike the hapless children in the forest that had attacked them days ago, this officer had bullets. Ida felt the searing tear of its bite smart her shoulder, blurring her vision in pain before she rushed in, clasping her own hands around the pale wrist.

Cleven had the woman’s eyes rolling back with his grip, her grapple at his forearm growing feeble as her oxygen ran low. Another shot rang out, a bullet embedding in the ceiling rafters as Ida managed to wrench it away at last. She turned it on the woman and fired, only to find her luck run out again, as well as the chamber.

There was a knife in the guard's boot, both women seemed to think of it at the same instant as the guard became possessed with a final animated struggle to reach for it, desperate to break out of Cleven’s strangle. But Ida wasn’t about to watch another friend die, or miss her chance to go home, to bear witness to what her girls, her men, her brother were yet enduring, not to spare herself a fleeting moment of misplaced mercy. She dove for the boot, wrenched the knife free from its sheath and drove the blade in under the sternum, carving it upwards as she herself rose to her feet. Her wrist was fully in the chest cavity, arm covered with warm still living blood, by the time she saw the guard’s head loll impassively against Cleven’s chest, the soul finally gone dim behind the eyes.

“Sweet Jesus.” He stepped back from the corpse, letting go. Ida felt the weight of the body in her wrist as her grip on the knife was all that kept it standing. She tore the weapon free with another sickly gush, and blearily observed it crumple to the floor.

“There are spuds.” she told Cleven as she braced her hands on her knees, nodding to her abandoned sack of potatoes. The edges of her vision were blurring from the exertion, her coat sleeve was soaked to the elbow, but she had a weapon now and a dead Nazi at her feet. Both sat well with her.

The potatoes bought them another days walk, with Smith using the ratty towel to wrap Ida’s shoulder, it was only a flesh wound. That evening they had another run in, but this time it was with the friendly faces of gum chewing yanks who were welcoming with their smokes and their K rations. Poor infantry boys, they were bamboozled by the existence of a female officer, the experiment of integration having only added to the flyboys somewhat derisive glamor. But it was mostly awe, and a healthy amount of respect, that they showed for the blood smeared lady Colonel.

“That make you one of Brady’s Banshees?” one bright corporal made conversation with Ida as he allowed her a seat beside himself on the hood of a tank, it was a hitched ride into Belgium.

“She is Brady.” Smith drawled for her, enjoying far more than Ida how gobsmacked the man was to be in the presence of feminine greatness.

They were welcomed warmly everywhere by their fellow allies, ferried like heroes on any conveyance possible. Smith was their cheery intercessor, knowing her superiors were of so torn a spirit and conflicted of conscience as to be half inclined to go back to where they came from. In truth, Ida could hardly bring herself to board the last plane -an unbelievable courtesy taking them from Paris straight to Thorpe- as all she could think on were what repercussions might have been exacted on the others for their escape. And what cruelties she had left her brother to endure without her.

Cleven was not much better; Egan, Maureen, all of them still left behind. As they took their seats on the benches, felt the old nostalgic rumble of the engines, not of a Fort but of a Gooneybird, what should have been a lightening of spirits as they soared over the channel was instead a dismal camaraderie of guilt.

That fateful night when they had all agreed to escape before crossing the Danube, the organization had been infuriatingly chaotic yet the groups were chosen with emphatic pragmatism. The guards were used to watching certain persons in company with their favorite fellows. The Bradys, the Buckys, Smith and Murph, each had some comrade the Germans expected to be their partner in any subversive endeavor. With this in mind, their agreed-upon groups were intentionally fractured to confuse their captors, each hoping to meet up somewhere on the road or in the forest.

Cleven and Ida had waited only a few hundred yards in the tree line for over an hour, hoping to be joined by their fellows. In the end only Smith came, with the word that the gig was up, Egan had been detained, John Brady never even began to saunter off before they closed the perimeter. No more were coming. It took all of Smith’s vicious logic to keep the officers from going back, she had to lean on reminders of reprisals and certain death, how they could in no way alleviate the suffering of the others by rejoining them.

What they could do was carry through, escape, go back to England, spread the word, liberate.

Despite this inner turmoil, Ida felt like kissing the ground when her feet landed on East Anglian soil. Or, rather, the cement of the old familiar runway. Instead she settled for Crosby‘s cheeks, the beaming fellow being so utterly honest in his welcome that some tiny part of her melted in momentary relief at having actually made it. That hadn’t really sunk in, not until there was an English mist pelting her face and Harry’s crinkled cheeks between her hands.

“A major?!” she repeated his rank and felt prouder than his mother in that moment while Harry blushed scarlet under the affirmation.

“A-and a father.” tumbled out of his mouth as a deflection except, that subject made a great hullabaloo too, with even Cleven growing exuberant in his congratulatory shoulder slapping. “What am I doing makin’ you stand out here, get in the jeep sirs, I’ll take you to a hut, or-or the club? Or the doctor?”

Both Ida and Cleven stiffened in their swing into the jeep at the last suggestion, a brittle defensiveness tightening their smiles, “Bed and board are all we need, thanks Crosby.” Gale gave him one of those devastatingly final little nods of his.

They kept him occupied and rambling on the ride, updates on new crews, new buildings, Jeffreys, Meatball, the improvement of rations, tales of bombing Berlin, the prospect of victory within reach. By the time he’d parked outside Cleven’s old barracks, Harry knew next to nothing about their own experiences, and he felt that somehow to have been quite calculated.

“There’s still a ladies sector, Colonel,” Harry assured Ida, much to her confusion as to why there wouldn’t be, “I’ll take you and Smith there.”

The old hut was as she remembered it, same as all the others, curved metal amplifying the patter of rain and the monotonous comfort of Air Force regulated bunking. It hit then, no more wooden combines or roadside shelters. She was really back.

“Where the hell is everyone?” Smith asked, the place eerily quiet, even for midday.

“There at- there at work.” Crosby offered haltingly.

Suspecting something dreadful, or as Bucky liked to say of her instincts -sniffing out bullshit- Ida slowly turned to Crosby and gave him a stare, one she recalled having once effectively shrank the man by a few literal inches. Perhaps because it was remarkably similar to her brother’s. Harry bore up under it better now, oak leaf cluster on his breast or a hard three years adding some spine to him, she didn’t know, but still his expression wavered guiltily.

“At work?” she repeated his phrasing, “That what the kids call war these days?”

“A few, a couple, -some,” he settled on, “are on missions. We’ve been uh, we’ve been running a lot of missions. Picking up prisoners -like you guys.”

“The rest?”

“At work.”

“Where’s this work?”

“Uh, well, various posts, you know how it is-“

“-grounded?” She supplied.

“Well, yeah. Just like Douglass and me and-“

“They badly hurt? Who’re we talking about?”

“Colonel,” Harry begged her, looking mildly close to drowning on dry land and sending a wet eyed sos at Smith, “dozens of them are posted here. Grounded yes, but, in good positions, required positions-“

“Did they get corresponding promotions?” Ida hit back, “Were they grounded because they were too valuable or were they hurt? Or did they just get squirreled away in some cupboard with a typewriter?”

“Look, uh, sir,” Harry chuckled nervously, “a lot of them are on missions, some of them are at their jobs -where I should be right now. But, it’s true, uh, the brass thought that, well they weren’t sure, Ida, when we got word you’d escaped we wanted to welcome you back right and uh, we didn’t know what to expect. We’ve had a lot of reports. Some reassuring and a lot…not. Not reassuring at all. And uh, we didn’t know what to expect, they didn’t know and uh, depending on how you were, it could affect the morale. So they thought, clear the place out a little, yeah? Make sure you were -you were…”

“Didn’t wanna scare the kids.” Ida supplied, tone softened, suspecting she probably did look half witch from all her trials.

“We didn’t know what to expect.” Harry repeated, a significant amount of relief bleeding into his voice, like he was going to get choked up on her mere continued existence.

“Well I need a change of clothes, and I need a shower.” Ida smiled at him until he gave her a fastidious look while glancing at her blood stained coat and she sent him a sour glare in return, “And a nap. And then I dare say nothing about me will be cause for alarm, not even for general LeMay.”

Harry was back to chuckling nervously as he walked his way backwards out the hut. “Of course, yeah, uh, we tried to supply uniforms, laid them out -best we could scrounge, for now.”

“Thanks Croz.” Smith offered, trying to soften the ending of this interaction.

“Before you go,” Ida stalled him, “tell me a little about the new ones? Who should I know? What should I know? Hate to wake up in here and have to start making acquaintances from scratch.”

“Colonel,” Harry answered her in the most mournful voice, “there aren’t any new ones.”

That old whiff of cold dread was back. “Crosby.”

“They uh, after you went down, colonel they, they scrapped the program.”

“You cannot be-“ Ida rubbed at her throat, trying to get it to open up, wondering what the hell it must be like to be Gale Cleven and get to come back to Thorpe Abotts and nothing be different, get to be home and get to find everything where it should be because your own higher ups aren’t fighting against you right along with the bastards with the flak and the barbed wire and the endless taunts about women being made for breeding. “Crosby what do you mean scrapped? They shut it down?” she wished she sounded angry, but she knew it was a cry, and to his credit he looked ready to cry for her.

“Colonel I’m so sorry, the reports were so alarming and the-“ he shook his head, “-they grounded all female servicemen right after. Cut the program, if it wasn’t for Kidd they might’ve sent them all back, discharged or moved to the WASPS. Well, they stayed, but, it’s not- it’s not what it was, colonel.”

Ida bit her lip, that old throbbing pain from the old injury of her cheek bloomed again, it felt like arriving at the stalag in one too many ways. “Y-you said something about, you said some were up on missions.” She wracked her brain for it and found it, that one bit of hope and she clung to it like a woman drowning.

“Yeah!” Crosby was over eager to soothe the pain with the modicum of good news he had, “They are! Rosenthal he uh, he’s over the squadrons now and uh, he’s seen to it they are allowed up. Mostly uh, mercy runs or behind allied lines, they don’t want anyone captured but, they’re up. They’re getting their thirty missions. They’ve uh, they’ve changed the number, since you were here.”

“Thirty.” she repeated numbly.

Harry’s footsteps had long ago receded along the gravel outside by the time Ida allowed herself enough movement to sink atop the pristinely made bed in her filthy clothes and just stare at the opposite bunk of equally pristine sheets and all of it so pristine and so rigorous and so proud and so pristine and so-

The echo of her own scream startled her, banging off the tin walls and circling back to her. Ida felt more than saw the implacable Tallulah Smith jump in fright beside her, but that level headed woman knew better than to soothe her officer. Not after what they’d just learned. She bit her tongue and busied herself sorting amongst the clothes and provisions for towels, combs, soap, toothbrushes. Ida watched this rich display of care on the part of their fellows with a snarl bending her lip, she could taste salt and knew she was also crying and all that she could hear amongst the cacophony in her head was a desperate wail -she didn’t want combs and towels, she wanted her squadron back.

Some aspect of this heartbroken petulance must’ve shown on her face as Smith extended both a comb and towel to her with forceful kindness, “LeMay didn’t lay these out.” was all she commented. “Think of it as Harry’s hospitality. You look a mess, and won’t get any respect for it.”

Smith had some vantage point from which to speak, Ida knew. Native American with bronzed skin just shy of being segregated twice over, getting screwed over was something Smith had made into an art form of cat and mouse. Ida had long admiringly observed it; she never thought she’d need to adopt a similar posture to this degree. Not when she felt like grabbing at the knife still in her trench coat pocket and making a charming scene and all it would get her was confirmation of the reports.

Whatever those were. Alarming reports, apparently. It was so very upper brass of them all to find the enemy’s methods unfortunate and so shoot themselves in the foot like it evened things out.

“I’ll be along in a minute.” Ida insisted to Smith from her bunk, refusing more than the towel and comb.

They’d all been through hell for daring to be combatants. But Ida, at this news of her loss, was beginning to recall particular parts of her own hell she had not dwelt on since they occurred.

Colonel -the way each had called her that, sneering at the mere concept of a colonel with a cunt, an officer so easily breached, a leader made by her Creator to be bent over and taken. She’d had a squadron then, and no amount of scorn or cruelty could take that from her; no, only her friends could take that away.

And they had.

Robert Rosenthal was giving himself a little pump up speech as he stalled outside with his hand on the door knob, knowing he needed to knock first and that knocking would buy him a little more time to ready himself, and so he really should go ahead and knock. The pattering drizzle on his hat brim should have been human incentive enough to get inside already, if duty and honor and admiration weren’t quite cutting it today. But he stalled, even went so far as to cast an indefensibly juvenile and furtive glance over his shoulder at the shrinking form of the accommodating lady who’d passed him on his march here. A Lieutenant Smith, who had told him she was glad to be back and that her famed superior was still inside-

“Angry as God after catching the Israelites worshiping cows at Mount Carmel.”

Rosenthal knew Ida Brady had every reason to be utterly furious, hell -he was furious for her, with her, about her. And he had no right to stand there and wish she wouldn’t take it out on him, to defend himself with shitty excuses like the fact a few of the girls got to see the top of clouds because he had put his shiny and promoted boot down and asked for it. He wasn’t exactly the problem, perhaps, but he was, by sheer implication of it being men like him unable to require better treatment, at fault. And so, Rosie stood in the drizzle and gave himself one last minute to think about Colonel Ida Brady as she had been the last time he’d seen her, terrifyingly formidable and utterly kind.

“It’s no worse than your dread of it, I swear.” she had told him and Nash that night before their first time up, “I was relieved to have seen it.”

What had she seen since? He stared at the little leather binder in his hand and scoffed at the administrative mission that carried him here. To hell with it. He knocked, he waited, he knocked once more, and he went in.

The stipple of rain on the roof of an empty Nissen hut was a calming background noise he himself savored whenever possible. Despite their bare aesthetic and extreme practicality, there was a serenity to them as well, and on spotting a seated figure a few bunks down from the entrance, he felt a pang of empathy for the desire to just decompress.

She looked up at the sound of his footfalls, not startled in the least. Not angry. In fact, she looked utterly dazed, like the men he’d helped out of their forts after a bad run of it. A face he’d seen in the mirror once or twice or a couple dozen. There was a docile listlessness in her gaze that he knew better than to be comforted by, despite the selfish feeling of relief at not immediately being eviscerated about her squadron. She was gaunt, understandably so, her strong jaw so pronounced he could cut his thumb on it, the pallor of her skin jarred unsettlingly with her dark brows, set off in stark relief by her tangled, jet black hair. Her overcoat was half muddy brown, half doleful rust. There was a bloody story there, a recent one, not washed away by a hard rain or bath. Rosenthal didn’t have any doubt how that struggle had ended for her assailant: she was here, wasn’t she?

He’d never seen anything more magnificent in all his life than this battered figure sat on a pristine cot with dawning recognition in her eyes.

“Welcome back, Colonel!” he ventured, keeping his tone soft as befitted the setting, yet unable to keep the creeping happiness at her return from showing in his voice.

“Mm, yes. Rosenthal.” Ida was straightening automatically, rising from her seat, shrugging off her clumsy overcoat and standing near to attention at sight of the brass on his lapel, “I remember you. A Colonel now, I see. Well done.”

Rosie felt his cheeks burn, another juvenile thing, her hand extended itself to his surprise and he clasped it warmly, maybe a little too firmly. “Well that’s kind of you, Ma’am. Very kind. Welcome back, Colonel.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Apologies.” he stumbled, releasing her hand in hopes of regaining his thoughts. She didn’t look angry yet, she looked wary, “Just glad to have you back. There was…a lotta concern.”

“It was touch and go but -here I am.”

“Right.” There was silence after that, it was so thick that the quirk of his kind lips and the gleam of his eager eyes slowly dimmed and fell as no small talk resumed. “Uh, colonel,” he ventured, “due to those aforementioned concerns, uh, I’ve been asked-“

“Aforementioned? What kind of talk is that?”

“Ha, well, lawyerly talk I’m afraid. I need to get a report from you, colonel.”

“For God’s sake man, I just got here, maybe with a shower and a nap and a cup of joe I might have a report for you but- I just got here.”

“Yes.” he refused to wince, he refused to. He was a colonel now, he had to require unpleasant things every day from his friends. Today it was required from a hero. Small difference in a war. “And if it were up to me I’d give you weeks to do all that before asking a thing from you. But I can’t, colonel. They wanted an immediate, preliminary report. It’s -it’s the same as an integration after a mission. Less interaction beforehand, less time to confuse the details- you get my drift.”

“You’re under orders.”

“I am.”

“Why didn’t you say? God’s sake Rosenthal.” she was close to angry now.

“Sorry, ok, Colonel I-“

“Why the whole welcoming committee schtik? Just say what you mean.”

“It’s not a schtick, Ma’am,” he insited, heatedly, “it’s a genuine honor to have you back with us and a relief to see you safe. And yes, I have orders to get a preliminary report.”

“In future you can save us both precious minutes of our lives by being this forthright, please?”

“Understood.”

“Right, well. What’s wanted? What kind of report?” He didn’t fail to notice the sudden and very studied nonchalance that took over her gait, the way she leaned against the railing of her footboard, almost a slouch that made the lean line of her look entirely unperturbed. He wasn’t a good lawyer out of naïveté about such posturing. She was braced like hell for this, probably worse than he was.

“On uh, on your general treatment. Ma’am.” he decided to summarize it thusly.

“Well Colonel,” he had forgotten what a nice voice she had, it wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t gruff, it was simply nice, “if Gale Cleven’s under eyes didn’t tell you the food was meager and hardly nutritious, I’ll go on record to say so. But they did try, I think I can give them that. Looked like everyone was starving by the end.”

“Conduct of your guards?” he had his stupid little leather case open on his forearm and the not quite soggy notepad in it was being dutifully filled with scribbles.

“I’ve little to say against the Luftwaffe, they were honorable for the most part. I think you’ll get that same report from the others. There were a few incidents, but we were enemies. To be expected.”

“Right, uh,” the pencil drug a little “this is a general report so I’ll spare an inquiry into those incidents.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

“Anything else?” Ida tried to smooth her face, she really did.

“Colonel -yes.” she watched him as he deliberated for a moment before seeming to recall her scathing admonition of before, and carried on resolutely in the bluntest manner he could summon, “Regarding your prolonged detention before the stalag. It’s our understanding you were not always under Luftwaffe jurisdiction?”

“That’s correct. Combatant status was not recognized for four and a half weeks.” Ida gave a clipped nod. “We were even briefly detained at a concentration camp.”

“I can’t imagine what you must’ve seen there.”

Ida stared back with some slight emotion flitting over her mask-like face at long last and Rosie felt maybe his own showed it, too, “From what I’ve heard, we may be the only ones to have left alive.” she said at last.

“Your testimony, what you saw there, it could become-“ Rosie drew in breath, “-invaluable.”

“I’d do anything to see justice done, Major.” she agreed, “Sometimes I think I dreamed such mass cruelty. Seems too large to be real, too awful to be abetted for so long by so many.”

“I saw what was left of one of the smaller camps. In Poland.”

“Mm, so you can imagine.” she retorted, but it was a kind retort.

“I don’t see much else when I close my eyes.”

“Mm.”

“Right, back to this uh, report, the question is, how were you treated before civilian status was adhered to?”

“Is this a personal report or a general one?” Ida inquired suddenly.

“The assignment was to ask about your own observations as senior officer of the female contingent of-“

“-then in that case, the treatment was barbaric, Major Rosenthal.” Ida informed him forcefully, “The Luftwaffe used plenty of rough tactics and one officer was particularly cruel to Cleven. I was informed my brother was dying and that my obstinance in denying giving them information was prolonging his torment. All of that I was prepared for, it was one soldier’s attempt to break another. The gestapo, on the other hand, were beasts. And the SS -sadists. They dealt in cruelty for the pleasure of it and my girls went through hell. Once in the stalag there was a reprieve. Then the Luftwaffe were relieved of command and it began again- if you expect details, come back with a larger notepad.”

Rosie gave a curt nod of his own in understanding, his brow creased at the implication.

“No one wants to see justice done for them more than I.” Ida went on, “But they’re still out there, and I’m here. And I-I don’t know that those are my stories to tell, Colonel. What I saw is plenty enough to hang a village. And it wasn’t just toward my girls.”

“At…at a later point, you’d be willing then?” he ventured, softly, no longer professional, “To tell me what you saw?”

“Larger notebook, Rosenthal.”

“Yes ma’am.” he knew a dismissal when he heard one, he even felt a brief and heinous relief at the prospect of slipping away on a high note. The dreaded scrapping of the program still undiscussed. “I’ll uh, leave ya to that shower.”

“It’s good to be back, Colonel.” she called to him while he was still maneuvering through a somewhat meandering exit, she called out this concession as if it were meant only in regards to him, “Like what you’ve done with the place.”

Well now that was -that was kind and that was unexpected and Colonel Robert Rosenthal may have let the door hit him on the way out.

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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#masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #mota oc #mota imagine #those who can #integrated au #Rosie x ida #mota fanfiction #Rosie Rosenthal #Robert Rosenthal #Nate mama #rosie rosenthal x oc #Rosie Rosenthal fanfic

[wexhappyxfew]

you, me, and the stars

(a/n): judy x rosie girlies, this is for you!! this is for all the ones who have never been in love, who are trying to protect the last parts of themselves in the face of others, and for the ones deserving of love!! these two represent all those awkward, newly-found emotions and feelings, that surprise even themselves, so please enjoy! :)

Judy had dwindled into down to just this; home was more of a feeling, not entirely a place.

The flak house was beautiful, an escape, somewhere to get one's mind off of the mental torment that was the God-forsaken war they all seemed stuck in.

But, it wasn't Thorpe Abbotts; with its metallic scent of air, voices and grinding machine parts echoing at all hours of the day, the marching, the footsteps, the way the air danced through the tree leaves. The flak house was quiet, save for the occasional flight path overtop. Thorpe Abbotts was loud and enough to make you feel like your brain was being knocked about inside, but it was home in a way the flak house wasn't.

The thing that made Thorpe Abbotts feel like home was especially the people. All the men in the 100th, their leaders both lost and MIA, and the women of Silver Bullets.

It was just like her home, in North Carolina. With Ma and Pa, that large house on the river, big meals to feed all six kids, making sure the lambs, chickens and cows were kept up with, that laundry was hung, crops harvested, plates and bowls washed in the river.

They didn't have much, but they had each other.

And even across the ocean they still did - in more ways than one.

Now, Judy felt them even in the women beside her. Strong and courageous, putting on their brave faces against the waging war of the world. Something her family had done ever since they'd come to America.

"The stars are so bright out here," Bessie said from Judy, their arms interlinked, sat side by side on the steps in front of the flak house, the light dripping out from the main door where cool, night air rushed in,

"I almost wish Tommy could see it." Judy looked towards her with a small smile.

"He does," Judy whispered quietly, reaching a hand forward to gently brush her hand over Bessie's calloused palm, "where ever he is right now. He sees it. Maybe not this instance, but he does." She watched Bessie smile, the corners of her lips turning upward, before she glanced over at Judy, a big grin on her face, her eyes glowing, the softest they'd been in days, the least stressed Judy had seen the navigator.

"You know, when we were kids," Bessie started, "we sat in his parents' apartment, right by one of the windows and watched the stars one night, all night practically, side by side. Not only was it my first kiss, but…he also told me he'd name a star after me. I think he named it 'Bee'….something or other." Judy giggled into Bessie's side and clasped a hand over her mouth with a gleeful smile.

"You two were meant to be," Judy whispered quietly, "everything you say, about him, about you, about the two of you together. God, you'll make the cutest babies, Bessie, I'll tell ya." Now, it was Bessie's turn to laugh and shook her head.

"You know he told me one time that if he had a daughter, he'd name her Charlotte," Bessie said, "he thought the nickname, Charlie, would be cute."

"Taste." Judy said with a laugh, nudging Bessie's side, "Charlotte McKenzie has a ring to it."

"And so does Bessie McKenzie." Bessie said back, sending the two of them into a fit of chuckles under the moving dusk. They fell quiet for a beat and then Bessie sighed and wrapped an arm around Judy's side, giving her a tight squeeze and rubbing her shoulder.

"Well, I'm heading up, going to get some rest and enjoy waking up and drinking coffee without having to hear a bunch of bullshit from Blakely," Bessie said with a chuckle, "you good out here? Staying up a bit?" Judy smiled and wrapped her arms around her sides and nodded.

"Yeah, just a bit more," Judy said, "you go though, I'll be up in a bit. And…Bessie?" Bessie watched her as she stood and sent her a smile.

"Just...give Lieutenant Bradshaw an extra hug for me," Judy said sadly, "her eyes looked like she'd been crying all night. About Captain Brady, so….incase I get in late, just do that for me, please?" Bessie smiled at her and nodded.

"You think she loves him?" Bessie asked Judy. Judy stilled.

"I don't know a whole lot about love, but I know he looks at her like she's the only woman in the room," Judy said softly, "and she gets all blushy around him, all soft and sweet. I like to think the universe doesn't just do things for the hell of it." Ripping them from each other, Judy thought to herself. Bessie grinned and then looked at her sadly.

"Try and get some rest," Bessie said, "don't stay up too late, okay? You need to keep yourself well-rested. Goodnight, honey."

"Night, Bes." Judy called after her, watching Bessie offer her a smile and then disappear inside. Judy smiled softly, looking forward again towards the oncoming darkness and comfort of nightfall, the singing birds and bugs all around and sighed.

Lieutenant Bradshaw's eyes looked sadder more often than not, but she was trying and that's all the credit a person like Annie Bradshaw needed - that she was being seen.

To be seen, was to be loved.

"Hey," Judy looked over her shoulder and was almost surprised to see Rosie Rosenthal there, coming towards her from the doorway, hands in his pant pockets, his A-2 jacket over his shoulders and a soft smile on his face, "mind if I join you?" Judy watched him for a moment - he looked so….different, a nice different. A different that made her think they weren't in war for a second.

"Of course, sir," Judy said, watching as he came forward and settled down on the step beside her where Bessie had been, "come to watch the stars?" Rosie let out a chuckle and then glanced towards her, his face bathed in blues and purples from the night, his eyes like a doe's as he watched her.

"You could say that." he said, then he grinned, nodding at her,

"How've you been?" Judy watched him, unable to contain the grin wanting to grow on her face and then chuckled lightly.

"Good," she said, and then smiled nervously, "sir, uh, good, being away from base, it's been….a breath of fresh air, I'll admit. Just, not having to get those planes going in the morning, get in the ball turret and shoot, over and over. It's nice to just….." she watched as he watched her, "be."

"Good," Rosie said, his voice light, "good, good, I'm glad. Really. You've all been putting out the last few months. I know that - Pappy's been talking Kennedy's ear off and well…."

"Collateral damage." Judy supplied and Rosie nodded with a small chuckle, looking down at his hands in his lap.

"Exactly, exactly," Rosie said and then glanced up at her, "I'm just glad the Silver Bullets crew is getting some deserved rest. All of you."

"Thank you, sir." Judy said, her voice tender, watching him in a moment of seriousness that was different than a few seconds previous.

He watched her for a moment, just taking in the feeling it seemed, the same she was allowing herself to feel in her heart. They both seemed to come to at the same time and smiled, laughs leaving both their lips as Judy shyly looked away and crossed her arms.

"I'm sorry, Judy, are you, uh, cold?" Rosie asked leaning forward a bit, and placing a hand on her shoulder, "October's never been a great month for short sleeves." Judy watched him, looking between his face, his hand and him. Short sleeves, right, she was in that right now. And freezing; he was right. How'd he know? She glanced down at her short sleeves, her right side hidden beneath his hand and then looked to him, his face full of worry and seriousness. And then she let out a shy laugh and blushed quickly and then nodded.

"A bit, but," she shook her head, "I was planning to go upstairs in a bit anyway, so, it's okay."

"Here," Rosie said quickly, shrugging himself out of his A-2 and then leaning to his side to lay it over her shoulders, "just to warm up." And warm up she did in fact do; to the point, she was blushing all over and inhaling the scent from his jacket and him beside her and suddenly very overwhelmed with his presence. Alright, so it was a stupid feeling she had been trying to hide, but it was a feeling she had never felt all too well. And in a war, she wasn't sure what to even feel. But right now, with this jacket and him beside her, she wasn't as eager to head up to bed anymore.

"Thank you," she said softly, grasping the edges and then looking at him, "I appreciate it really." Rosie watched her with that tender gaze of his again before leaning back a bit and looking up.

"You can really see the stars from here," he said, his voice a small bit of astonishment and adornment for the world above them, glowing with the life of the night, shining little orbs so far away they'd never be able to actually grasp them, "they're beautiful."

"Yeah," Judy said, her eyes traveling back up to the night sky above them, "sitting in the darkness, on the ground, staring at the stars? It's almost like home." She could feel Rosie staring now, and glanced his way. Something so harrowing, yet nostalgic in a way. A mixture of feelings lingering between them at her simple statement - thoughts of home, seemingly so far away now, a place that'd be changed in a thousand different ways by the time they did actually got home - if they got home.

"Where is home?" he asked quietly, leaning to his side to bump her shoulder. She laughed quietly.

"North Carolina." she said, glancing at him in the quiet - she could practically hear him breathing. It was so … comforting.

"A tiny town," she admitted, "nothing big, a river, a general market, a wood mill, friends here and there down the road. But it was home." Judy looked over slowly towards Rosie beside her and quirked out a smile as she saw him sitting there, grinning.

"What?" she said grinning, "Where you from?"

"Brooklyn." he said, looking at her. Judy's face hurt from smiling, but it was okay because it was Rosie.

"Brooklyn," Judy said with a soft smile, "never really been in one of those big cities."

"You'd like it," Rosie said, looking out towards the darkness, "you'd fit right in. Bright lights, the people, the music. All of it." He looked at her. Judy smiled and pulled her knees to her chest, and glanced towards him again.

"Music, huh?" she asked him and he looked at her with a smile.

"Yeah, can't sing real well, but my mom, my sisters, they're pretty good. Far better than me," he said with a nod, and then grinned, "still love music though. You can never go wrong with Artie Shaw." Judy smiled, her thoughts consumed with the idea of what a younger version of this Rosie could've been, home with his family, dancing and attempting to sing. Far away from war and fear and grief. She liked the thought of that at some point, they were all like that. Young, youthful and free.

"Did you do a lot of music and dancing before the war then?" Judy asked him quietly, with a hopeful smile, watching as he comprehended her sentence and then let out a small smile. He shook his head and then leaned forward on his bent knees.

"I was a lawyer before the war actually," Rosie said and Judy's eye widened in near amazement, "yeah, was doing that and then the war broke out. Couldn't just sit back and do nothing." His face grew serious at that last statement and then melted as he looked at her.

"What about you? What was the thing Judy Rybinski was doing before this whole thing started?" he asked, leaning forward, with genuine curiosity and she watched him before letting out a laugh and shaking her head.

"I'm afraid nothing as cool as being a lawyer," she admitted and she watched Rosie's face soften as he tilted his head towards her, "but I was 3 years removed from high school, didn't have money for college so….I worked in the local mechanics, fixing cars, boats, anything and everything. Learning what I could. Made some good money, too." Judy watched him and sighed.

"But….I always dreamed of getting to go to college, continue to learn, allow myself to grow," she said, her thoughts swimming back to that time her parents told her they didn't have enough to help get her through schooling and Judy had cried herself to sleep and then gathered herself together and gone to the mechanic to start learning some trade, "maybe get a job teaching. Maybe geography or something of that sort….I don't know. One day, that's the goal." Rosie stayed watching her, his eyes holding her gaze as she looked at him.

"You should go for it," Rosie told her, "when the war is over, I mean. You'd be a great teacher, great with kids, getting to teach, you just…." Rosie cut himself off for a moment and then smiled at her, suddenly looking more shy and unsure of himself than in recent minutes. Judy watched him, her cheeks warming slightly at his encouragement and genuine thought. It made her stomach twist pleasingly. Rosie let out a nervous laugh and then looked at her, crossing his arms and leaning against his upbent knees.

"You're just someone I like being around," Rosie admitted quickly, running a hand behind his neck and then glancing at her, "and I think you'd be someone good at teaching kids. And being a teacher so….I think you should go for it." Judy was watching him, her cheeks all crimson and her heart racing and for a moment, she caught his gaze and she saw things that made her heart race faster.

Rosie Rosenthal was equally someone she liked being around, but the thought of telling him that made her sweaty and panicky and she figured she'd embarrass herself, so instead, she blushed further and smiled.

"Thank you, sir," she said quietly, and then let out a small laugh, "sorry, it's just….I haven't really told many people that, so…it just means a lot - the support I mean." Rosie smiled at her and nodded.

"You deserve good things after this war, Judy," Rosie said and then swallowed, "all of us do." Judy watched him, this urge to reach out and brush her palm against his cheek inviting her closer, a wish to curl up beside him and let the stars stare down at them, the need for human touch, to be looked at and loved.

By Rosie.

"You too, sir," she said quietly, her smile soft, "only the best." This staring, these lingering glances, they seemed to be whatever they couldn't say and just that look in his eyes made her blush further. Judy tried to control her racing heart, and her breath, and then cleared her throat.

"I think I'll be heading up now," Judy said, and pressed her palms against her cheeks and then sighed and looked to him, "Bessie said she'd braid my hair and I don't want to keep her up."

"Of course," Rosie said, standing to his feet and then offering his own hand towards her, which she took rather quickly, and then stood there, staring up at him like a goof, "try and get some rest tonight, alright?"

"You too," she said, and then chuckled, "sorry, Lieutenant Bradshaw said she couldn't sleep last night and it ended up being the two of you down here, with Doc, unable to fall asleep, just talking and stuff. So….yeah, just, you too, sir." Rosie laughed at her words and then schooled his facial expressions again.

"Thanks, Judy."

Staring at him, she couldn't constrain what she felt and stood on her tiptoes, before placing a small kiss to his cheek, and then turned and walked away, as fast as her feet could carry her and up the stairs, towards the room she was sharing with Bessie. Her mind raced, her thoughts knocking at the edges of her brain as she hurried in, shut the door, and let out a sigh, before turning to the two beds, where Bessie was sat up in one, reading a book and staring at her, confused.

"Since when did you get a jacket….like that?" Bessie said, raising a brow, "And that, large?" Judy blushed and then tried to speak and choked on her air a bit before clearing herself up.

"It's just Lieutenant Rosenthal's," she said, stepping forward and settling on the side of her bed to take her shoes off, "he saw me outside, gave it to me because he said I looked cold."

"Judith Rybinski," Bessie, sitting up and then practically launching out of the bed to sit beside her, "you're blushing like a loon! What happened?" Judy looked at Bessie, her heart pounding, her thoughts racing, emotions running high in far too many wacky ways. Bessie watched her excitedly, but then slowly let her face fall and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"I think he's just being nice," Judy whispered quietly and then shook her head, "and then I gave him a kiss on the cheek because I wasn't thinking-"

"-a kiss? On the cheek?"

"Yes, yes, a kiss on the cheek, it was stupid, he was just trying to be nice-"

"Giving you his jacket in this cold is never just him being nice, Judy-"

"It's a part of it-"

"But not all of it!" Bessie said and looked at her, and smirked, "He probably wants to you know….get to know you more." Judy stared at her and then let her shoulders fall and shook her head.

"No….I don't think so," Judy said and then crossed her arms and bit back her lip, "and plus, did you know he was a lawyer before the war? Bes, he's probably, I don't know, someone from some sort of money to do that sort of thing, ya know? My family comes from people who've lived on the streets, we showered once a week as kids. What am I thinking?" Judy ran her hands over her face and sighed, before squeezing her eyes shut.

"It's stupid," Judy said quietly, "it's just a stupid crush, it'll go away. He's just being nice, and I latched onto that because a nice guy, is a nice guy. But that's it. And….it's fine. I'll be fine." She grew quiet and watched as Bessie stared at her, eyes full of that lingering worry.

"It's not a stupid crush, alright?" Bessie told her, "You're allowed to feel that and if someone's ever told you otherwise, they're the stupid ones. He clearly is someone who is interested, too, Judy. Don't discredit that about yourself. You're one of the sweetest peaches I've ever met. And someone like that? You deserve that." Judy looked over at Bessie and then offered a small smile.

"Thank you, Bessie," Judy said, leaning to her side to pull Bessie into a hug, "you're too nice to me." Bessie chuckled into the hug and patted her back.

"You deserve it, Judy." Bessie said, "A whole lot of things, but sweetness is one of the many."

#screaming crying sobbing #judy you deserved to be loved !!!! #don't forget that girl #judy rybinski can just be so personal to someone ya know? like girl I GET IT!!!! #the art of wondering if you should allow yourself to be loved #like good lord #judy just gets it #and bessie my sweet darling angel - u deserve the best #the annie shout out tho (sobs) #ANYWAY #masters of the air #mota #mota writings #silver bullets #judy rybinski #rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal #rosie rosenthal x oc #judy x rosie #bessie carlisle #annie bradshaw #<- mentioned #ENJOY!!!!! (bc i am emotional over these two and could write an essay haha plz ask about them if you wish <333)

[ginabaker1666]

You Belong To Me

From the Love Letter Series

Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal x Josephine Harris (OFC)

The revelation that Robert Rosenthal does in fact love his best friend, Josephine Harris, comes too little too late as he’s getting ready to ship out to England. With a promise to write exchanged on the train platform, and an even bigger pinky promise that he come home to her, Rosie and Jo forge a romance detailed in their letters. Now that he’s returned home, he intends to make good on his promises.

“I’d better see you at Minton’s…”

He remembered the good natured teasing in his own voice as he began his semi-goodbye to Crosby on the hardstand the day they left Thorpe Abbotts. Croz had chuckled and promised he’d see him there; a sense of familiarity between the two as they felt their lives back home creeping upon them.

Now… well, now he was standing in front of the bar at Minton’s, fingers tapping idly on the short rocks glass in his hand, eyes sweeping over the sea of people. Men in their dress uniforms, pressed sharp; women wearing their favorite red lipstick and best stockings, all crowded together on the dance floor while the band played on.

New York was still swept up in the victory of the war; sweethearts who couldn’t get enough of dancing with their soldier who had just come home. Men looking to meet someone, to quell the ache of the last few years with a female companion.

Bringing the glass to his lips, Rosie let the familiar taste of the scotch soothe him, as he continued his people watching. Thinking back on it, sure, he had told Crosby that in no uncertain terms he’d be at Minton’s upon getting home; but it was a sentence almost identical to the one he had spoken moments before he shipped out, that resonated with him like the aftershocks of ringing a bell.

He couldn’t help but conjure up his own vision of red lips, smooth skin and a bright smile; the piece of home he had taken with him to East Anglia, and carried close to his heart (in the breast pocket of his uniform) on every single mission.

Josephine.

They had been childhood friends who grew up on the same block. Their moms were almost always having coffee together or, if the weather was nice, out on the stoop of their homes while Robert and Josephine played on the sidewalk. As kids, he had called her Jo, and she affectionately called him Robbie; and his Ma, well, his Ma would just shake her head with a fond smile and chuckle, muttering about how one day he would see it.

He’s twenty-eight now and he finally sees it, though, he supposes he saw it long before he shipped out. He had wanted to run down the block, knock on her door until her mother answered with a scowl on her face at all the noise, but something had stopped him. His Ma had said he thinks too much, but the laundry list of what-if’s had violently plagued him before deciding no, on his behalf. How could he drop that revelation on her, and then leave for god knows how long? His Ma had taught him better than that.

What he had asked her instead, was if he could write to her; but when the words tumbled forth past his lips, one or two getting tangled in his wiry mustache, she was already asking him the same thing.

“Would it be alright if I wrote to you?”

The pair both fell silent, before a soft laugh escaped Jo’s lips, and he knew he would be counting the days until he was able to hear it again.

“Should have known you’d beat me to the punch.” He grinned, head shaking in jest.

Jo just smiled and threw her arms around him, holding him close for as many minutes as she could before the conductor at Grand Central Station called for the ‘All Aboard.”

“Robbie…” She had looked up at him, big brown eyes filled with unshed tears for him; for this war, and if he had to guess, herself.

“I’ll meet you at Minton’s as soon as I’m back.” He had assured her, thumb swiping under her cheek to catch the first tear.

“You promise?”

He hated to make promises when the future was so uncertain for them, but, this was Josephine and he would be damned if he didn’t attempt to make her smile one more time before he got on that train.

“I’ll do you one better,” He grinned, holding out his right hand. “I pinky promise you, I’ll be at Minton’s, waiting for you.”

It was as close as he could get to saying ‘I Love You’.

Jo grinned, hooking the pinky of her own hand with his, just as the conductor yelled the last call for passengers.

“I’ll be waiting for your letters…” he had whispered, pulling her close once more. “With bated breath, Jo.”

“Not nearly as much as I’ll be waiting for yours,” She sniffled softly before leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Come home to me in one piece, Robbie, please.”

That had been then. Before Thorpe Abbotts, Rosie's Riveters, twenty-five successful missions and reupping for a second tour. Before he had bailed out over Russia, before the horrors of Nuremberg and a hell of a journey back to base. He often thought back to that night after he had returned to East Anglia, sitting in the Officers Club with Croz, wondering if they were becoming the monsters they had been sent to fight.

No, they hadn’t become the monsters, but he had felt that the longer he was away from home the more he lost bits and pieces of himself from the ‘before’ and had to learn to live with the Robert Rosenthal of ‘after’. Would she like the ‘after’. The thought entered his mind so quickly, he almost missed it. Hell, he was still processing it all, and as he turned back to face the bar for a refill, his gaze caught on the entrance of the club.

There she was, his Jo, purse clutched in her hands as she looked around the crowded room for a familiar face. Dark brown eyes scanning over the bodies packed in like sardines, brown curls immaculately pinned up, bright red lips pursed in concentration. Abandoning his empty glass, he smoothed a hand over his curls, straightened his jacket, and pushed off the bar. Weaving his way through the throngs of people, he kept his gaze locked on her, as his feet carried him across the floor.

Rosie felt everything around him fade into a dull buzz as soon as her eyes found his. He pushed his way to the edge of the crowd, finally coming to a stop in front of her. Now, face to face, Rosie and Jo could do nothing more than stare at each other. Neither wanted to be the first to speak, to break the bubble around them, but both felt compelled to do something.

“I promised, didn’t I?” Rosie broke the silence with a smile.

He just barely made out his name falling from her lips before she was in his arms. He caught her with ease and held on tight. It was proof that she was real, that he was home, and there was nothing to fear as they stood at the entrance to Minton’s. Nobody spared them a glance as they sidestepped the couple, a sort of mutual understanding as so many others reunited under the same roof.

“Let me look at you,” Jo had pulled away first, but only letting go of him enough to let her hands slide down his arms to take his. “Home in one piece I see.

“As requested,” Rosie grinned, giving her delicate hands a squeeze. “And as promised.”

“You know better than anyone, that to break a pinky promise is as good as treason, Robert Rosenthal.”

“And you should know that I don’t make pinky promises with just anyone, Josephine Harris.”

“Well, now that we’ve settled that…” she trailed off, a teasing grin on her lips as Rosie began to guide her towards where he had spotted an empty table near the back. Close enough to get to the dance floor when they were ready, but far enough back that they could talk and still hear each other over the din of music and other patrons.

“Are dirty martinis still your poison, or did that change while I was gone?”

“Nothing’s changed,” she looked up at him as if to reassure him that it wasn’t just her cocktail order that remained the same, but the sentiments they exchanged in their numerous letters while he had been over in England. “Everything is exactly as you left it.”

In lieu of a response, he pulled out the chair for her, holding it steady as she slid gracefully into the offered seat, before moving to the chair across from hers.

Instead of sitting, Rosie moved the empty chair next to the one Jo was currently occupying, so that he could sit closer to her, as opposed to having the table between them. Once he was happy with the placement, he lowered himself into the vacant space, body turned at an angle so he could face his companion. He just barely caught a waiter moving in their direction, and flagged the gentleman down, promptly ordering Jo her aforementioned martini, and another scotch for himself. Once the waiter was gone, Rosie’s warm, much larger hand, covered Jo’s, his palms still rough from countless hours behind the yolk, causing him to internally wince as he felt her soft skin against his. The thought was quickly snuffed out as her hand turned upward to his, their palms meeting before her fingers intertwined with his on the table top.

“I missed you,” Jo spoke first this time, breaking the silence. “So much, Robbie.”

“I missed you too. Like you wouldn’t believe,” He admitted. “Your letters, they were the only thing I looked forward to. Just don’t tell my Ma that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, Major.” She teased.

Rosie made a show of wiping the back of his hand across his forehead, mustache twitching upward as he smiled at Jo, stopping only when the waiter returned with their drinks. He watched as she lifted the martini glass to her lips; delicate fingers holding the top of the glass, nails painted a bright red, her eyes watching him over the rim as she took her first sip. He felt parched, regardless of the drink in front of him, as he watched her move with such precision and grace. Something he had missed sorely over the last few years, and fully intended on appreciating now that he could.

“Did they make it right?” He asked.

“Perfect,” She nodded, placing the glass back on the table. “Just as good as I remember.”

“It can’t have been that long since the last time you were here.” Rosie spoke, lifting his own glass to his lips.

“I haven’t been since… well, since the night before you left.”

“Minton’s is your favorite place! You mean to tell me you haven’t been here since–”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Jo finished for him.

Her confession hung in the air, Rosie both shocked but warmed at the thought that she hadn’t been here without him and that the last time she was here had been with him. That she reserved this place as something that belonged to just them. He felt there was no better time than to drop his own truth bomb; he only hoped it didn’t send her running back out the door.

“Since we’re confessing things,” He started carefully. “I uh.. I want you to know that I carried your picture with me while I was gone.”

“…you did?”

“Every day,” he nodded. “I took you on every mission with me.”

He wasn’t sure what to expect after confessing all of that to her, but the glistening of her own eyes as she looked back at him wasn’t it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what… I didn’t mean to make you cry, Jo.”

“Shush,” She spoke quickly, one finger over his lips. “You wonderful, handsome man.”

His eyebrow quirked in response. It was all he could do given that her finger was still over his lips, and she had asked him to stop talking. But he wanted to do more than just keep talking. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her silly, and then take her on the dance floor and spin her around until they were both giddy and dizzy and drunk on each other. And then he wanted to kiss her some more. All too gently, he took her hand in his, moved it away from his lips, and carefully tugged her towards him until she was close enough for him to wrap her up in his arms.

“I should have kissed you that day at the train station,” Rosie started. “I was convinced you wouldn’t want me the same way I wanted you, and there were so many what-if’s, and then I was leaving. Truth be told, I should have kissed you long before the train station.”

“I’ve always been yours, Robbie,” She smiled. “We just took the scenic route.”

And then there was silence, save for the gasp that Jo let loose as Rosie’s lips finally descended on hers. Firm, yet gentle, and with the slight tickle of his mustache, he poured every ounce of himself into making sure she knew just how much he loved her without words. Because the words had been written in many letters over the course of years; phrased with care and longing for each other, a desire that grew much like stoking the flames of a campfire until it reached the point of blazing uncontrollably and there was no turning back. For Rosie and Jo, the fire burned and neither cared to put it out, or attempt to quell the flames.

When they finally pulled apart, the need for oxygen too great to withstand, neither could stop their smiles from growing. There it was. Their love for the ages, that they had planted, grown and nurtured during the days of war, was finally seen blooming under the dim lighting of Minton’s Jazz Club.

“I love you, Jo.”

“I love you too,” She grinned. “More than I could have ever said in any letter.”

“Yet somehow, I always knew. I wonder how that happened.” He teased her, leaning forward to press his lips to hers again.

The smart remark she had been ready to dish his way died on her lips as the band began playing a song that had Rosie tapping out a beat, eyes widening with mirth as he grabbed Jo’s hand and stood, pulling her up with him.

“Come on, pretty girl, let's dance!”

He led them through the crowd of people until they reached the dance floor, and then he found them a spot where he could hold her close and spin her in his arms until his heart's content. The band played on, an Artie Shaw tune that had Rosie laughing to himself as he thought back to the sound of his crew imitating him as they sat around the poker table at the Flak House, way back when. It was a story he had only briefly shared in a letter that he had written from Coombe House during a night he couldn’t find sleep. But now, the sounds of Artie Shaw brought him a smile, as the woman in his arms smiled back at him.

The band moved into a slower song, and Rosie pulled Jo closer, pressing their bodies together as they moved together, cheek to cheek.

“You really took my picture with you on every flight?” She spoke quietly, her voice for his ears only.

“I did,” Rosie nodded. “I kept it in my jacket, close to me. Except for that one time.”

“You know… when your mother got that telegram from the War Department that you had gone down, she ran down the block to our house so I could read it.”

“Oh honey…”

“I refused to believe you had left me without a proper chance at us. Selfish as it may seem, I couldn’t picture my life without you.”

“You won’t have to; not now, or ever. I promise, I’m not going anywhere ever again where you can’t go too.”

“Pinky promise?”

“More than that,” He grinned, before pressing his lips to her own. When they pulled apart they couldn’t help the smiles that took hold. “We can seal this one with a kiss.”

Read Part 2 Here

A/N: Thanks for reading! This series will continue for Rosie & Jo, so if you enjoyed this, please like, comment, reblog- whichever is your poison. Feedback is always welcome & my ask box is always open. If you want to be added to my tag list, or removed, let me know!

Tag List:

@winniemaywebber @rosiesriveter @bobparkhurst @victoryrollsandredlips @bcolfanfic @rowdy-redhead @sagesolsticewrites @major-mads @footprintsinthesxnd

#rosie rosenthal x oc #robert rosie rosenthal #masters of the air fic #Robert Rosie Rosenthal x ofc #Gina baker writes #mota fic #Nate Mann

[claireelizabeth85]

Come Home To Me - Chapter 6

John Egan x OC Female!Reader

Summary: When the idea of a past life turns out it isn't just an idea or a dream.

Warning: angst

AN: This is a work of fiction and is based on the TV characters from the Apple TV series. No disrespect is intended towards the real men of the 100th BG.

All previous chapters can be found here

---------------------------------------------------------

Lizzy's hands shook slightly as she clutched her coffee cup, taking a slow drag from her cigarette. Sitting outside the pub in the early morning quiet, she felt every rustle of the wind and distant murmur stir up echoes of her past life. Around her, the village was waking up; shadows stretched across the cobblestones, morphing into haunting memories she couldn’t escape. Each sound, rather than soothing, seemed to whisper back stories she wished she could forget. Pulling her jacket tighter around her, she exhaled a cloud of smoke and tried to push away the ghosts that lingered a little too close. Stubbing out her smoke, she made her way indoors, taking a seat opposite Sarah as they settled down to eat. 

“I want to go home, Sarah. I can't stand being haunted by these memories anymore,” Lizzy muttered, her voice a fragile thread amidst the clatter of morning utensils.

Sarah leaned in, her eyes burning with a mix of concern and determination. “What? Are you sure? We’re on the brink of understanding why these memories are resurfacing now.”

Lizzy’s weary eyes met Sarah's. “What does it matter? It’s all past, isn’t it?”

“It’s never just the past with us, Lizzy. Remember your flight to Berlin in February ’45?” Sarah’s voice steadied, heavy with implication. She leaned in closer, her tone conveying the weight of her findings. “I've been digging through the archives, and I found the weather reports prepared on the day of your mission. They noted an unusual cloud bank, described in terms stupidly similar to other incidents years later."

She paused, letting the information sink in before continuing. “But it’s not just the weather reports—there’s more. I've also gone through the after-action reports from the crews who made it back. They spoke of disorientations and malfunctions that seemed to centre around that same cloud bank. It's been mentioned repeatedly, across decades, in different contexts. This isn’t just regular weather; it’s something else, something anomalous.”

Sarah pulled out a folder, stuffed with copies of the documents, and spread them out on the table. “These aren’t coincidences, Lizzy. There’s a pattern here that we can’t ignore. This cloud didn’t just appear in 1945—it’s been a recurring anomaly, linked with multiple unexplained phenomena and disappearances. And I think it’s linked to your memories.”

Lizzy’s fork hovered in mid-air, her appetite lost. “You think a cloud formation is the reason I’m reliving this….nightmare?” Sarah sighed exasperated. “It’s a theory, yes.” 

Reluctantly, Lizzy glanced at the documents strewn across the table.  They seemed to pulse with a foreboding energy, each page a reminder of her last moments in the skies over Berlin. “And you believe diving back into that” she pointed at the weather report with her fork, “will change what’s already done?”

“Yes,” Sarah countered sharply, her voice slicing through the quiet. “Because I can’t stand to see my best friend dissolve into shadows and whiskey. Maybe, just maybe, confronting this can bring you peace. I don’t know, maybe it’ll take you back to John.”

Lizzy's emotions flickered across her face—hope warring with fear. Before she could formulate a response, Sarah’s focus shifted abruptly to the entrance of the bar where Abigail had just entered followed by a man that was not her husband. 

Rising abruptly, Sarah’s chair scraped back loudly against the floor. She approached the couple with a determined stride, her tone polite yet firm. Abigail, who Sarah had seen the day before at the museum, was now accompanied by a different man. He was tall with dark hair, cut into a neat, short back and sides but with enough length on top to style it.  Sarah could hear their conversation and given his tone, the man was unimpressed. 

“You’ve dragged me halfway across the world, to the middle of nowhere, on the word of an old lady. And for what? A pub breakfast?” Abigail frowned, equally unimpressed by his complaining. “If Nana believed her, then we should too. She wouldn’t send us on a wild goose chase without a reason. There’s more at stake here than you realise.”

Sarah coughed lightly to gain their attention. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she began, holding up the photograph that had unexpectedly altered the course of her investigation. “I know you mentioned yesterday that your identity wasn’t of concern, but I need to understand who you are and where you got this photograph from.”

The tall, dark-haired man took the photograph with a furrowed brow. His initial confusion soon gave way to irritation. “Abigail, what the hell are you playing at?” His voice was tinged with frustration.  Beside him, Abigail remained calm, her expression serene yet confident. She glanced at Sarah, her smile faint but reassuring.  “Like I said, I believed her. There are bigger things at stake, one of them is that photograph.”

Sarah’s own confusion mounted. “So, you recognise the picture? Can you tell me when it was taken?” The man who had not been introduced looked over it and then looked back at Sarah. He shot a look of surprise at his sister before exhaling sharply. “Holy shit,” he muttered, the realisation hitting him. “I hate to admit it, but you were right, Abby.”

As he spoke, Abigail’s gaze was drawn to the table where Lizzy’s distant figure sat hunched over her plate, the man following her gaze. “Is that?” Abigail held his arm “Don’t say anything. She can’t know we’re here. She mustn’t know about us.”

He sighed, the fight going out of him as he stood still, the photograph in his hand. He glanced at it once more, a mixture of awe and resignation washing over him. “Alright, Abby. Let’s see where this goes. But if you’re wrong, you owe me more than just breakfast.”

Abigail nodded, her smile returning as she looked back at Sarah. “We’re here to help, however we can. What do you need to know?”

Sarah turned back to face the woman, her voice a mix of frustration and curiosity. "Why can't Lizzy know about you? What are you to her, and why this secrecy?"

The man accompanying Abigail, now clearly annoyed by the complexity of the situation, threw up his hands. "You have the answers, you explain it. I'm off to get some breakfast." He walked away, leaving the women to their tense exchange.

Abigail motioned for Sarah to sit back down, her expression solemn but with a hint of an authoritative tone. "Ignore him; he’s my older brother and he's always reminding me when I’ve overstepped. But he’s right about one thing—I did start this.” She gestured between herself and Sarah, linking them in the unfolding mystery. “And you're right, you know. You're on the right track."

She paused, her gaze intense and searching. "The key to all of this is Lizzy. She needs to fly again. That's the only way we can begin to untangle this mess."

Sarah scoffed, her scepticism evident. "And how do you propose we manage that? It’s not exactly easy to just hop into a B-17 these days."

Without missing a beat, Abigail slid a flyer across the table from her bag. "I can’t divulge too much about who I am—only that I’m…family. Someone very wise instructed me to come here at this precise moment, hand you that photograph, and ensure that we don’t repeat the mistakes of the past."

As Sarah examined the flyer—a promotional piece for an upcoming air show featuring a fully operational B-17—her mind raced. The plan was audacious, bordering on the insane, yet the urgency in Abigail's voice made it impossible to dismiss outright.

Abigail tapped the photo gently, her voice lowering to a near whisper, compelling and earnest. "And it’s not just Lizzy who needs to fly; you need to be there with her. This is about closing a loop, about healing wounds you both don't fully understand yet."

The enormity of the task weighed heavily on Sarah as she picked up the flyer. Just then, the man returned from the bar, his meal in tow, breaking the intensity of their discussion. As he sat, Sarah stood, clutching the photo and the flyer.

"One last question— who took this photograph?" she asked, needing some tangible connection to anchor the surreal task ahead.

Abigail's face softened, her eyes shimmering with a blend of pride and deep personal connection. "My maternal grandfather. He was there, right in the midst of it all, just like you are now."

With that connection made, Sarah felt a shift in her perspective. This was no longer just about diving into history or helping her best friend—it was personal. It linked them to a family story that spanned generations, wrapping Lizzy and her into a narrative bigger than they had imagined. She looked over at Lizzy, determination setting in. They had a plane to catch, and some history of their own to make.

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

Sarah and Lizzy were in the museum office, enveloped by the soft murmur of activity as Fred sorted through what they dubbed "donations" from Abigail, organising them into meticulously arranged piles. Despite the normalcy of the scene, Sarah’s mind was elsewhere, wrestling with information she wasn’t yet ready to share. With a casual air that belied her internal tension, she glanced over at Geoff and Fred.

"You wouldn’t happen to know who owns the bomber featured at this weekend’s air show, would you? Any chance we could get Lizzy on board?" she asked, her voice casual but tinged with an undercurrent of urgency.

Geoff and Fred exchanged a look of uncertainty. "We might be able to pull some strings," Fred replied, scratching his head thoughtfully.

"Could those strings possibly extend to Liz flying it?" Sarah probed further, the urgency now barely masked by her nonchalant stance.

The room was suddenly filled with a cacophony of concerns. Lizzy, typically more outspoken, only managed a half-hearted jest, "I haven’t flown in years!" Geoff, more grounded, pointed out, "She's been nearly drunk nonstop for a week; she'd need to sober up first." Fred, ever the sceptic, added, "Plus, her pilot’s licence isn’t even current."

Sarah raised her hands, silencing the room with a firm gesture. "This is about more than just licences or sobriety. Lizzy and I need to be on that plane, and we need to fly it to Germany. It’s our only shot at making things right."

Lizzy laughed, more out of disbelief than amusement. "You want to steal a B-17?"

Sarah's composure momentarily faltered, and she let loose a passionate outburst. "I’ve been buried in archives for days, uncovering everything about this damn bomb group and the hell they went through—the very hell you lived through! I can’t—and won’t—stand by and watch you disintegrate under the weight of haunting memories and a lost love so profound I can literally see it breaking your heart." Her voice softened as her eyes locked with Lizzy’s. "Getting on that plane might be our only chance to end these nightmares."

Lizzy’s scepticism, however, remained steadfast. "And what happens when we hit that cloud bank over Berlin? We just dive right into the middle of a war and hope for the best? I tried that once, remember? Look where it got me."

Sarah’s eyes hardened with resolve, her tone steely. "No more self-pity, Lizzy. And no more whiskey. You're going to get sober whether you like it or not, and you're getting ready to fly. Lieutenant,” she used Lizzy’s rank to underscore her point, causing Lizzy to straighten her posture, “you need to clean yourself up. Check if your flying overalls still fit and remember how to do your hair up properly because you’re going to look the part, even if I have to dress you myself. Understood?"

Lizzy put her glass down, mumbling a resigned “Yes, ma’am,” acknowledging Sarah’s uncompromising stance.

"The nightmares those men endured now plague me too," Sarah continued, her voice unwavering. "And I’ll be damned if we don’t at least try to see if flying through that cloud again can put an end to all this."

Turning back to Geoff and Fred with a determined yet composed look, Sarah requested, "Please, make the call. Let's see if we can list her as a pilot. I'm really counting on this to help her." She paused, her tone softening further, "And could we find a flying jacket that fits? you know how pilots are about the cold.”

Taglist:

@victoryrollsandredlips @bobparkhurst @prettyinlimegreenboots @ginabaker1666 @thedeviltohisangel

#John Egan x Lizzy Waterfield #Masters of the Air #Major John Egan #Lizzy Waterfield #Major Gale Cleven #Major Harry Crosby #Major Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal #Mota #mastersoftheair #mota fanfiction #sarah taylor (oc) #come home to me

[cetaitlaverite]

Why All This Music?

Masters of the Air - Rosie Rosenthal x OC

link to the masterlist is here <3

07. Out of Luck

There was something off about this mission. Whatever had been discussed in the briefing evidently didn’t bode well.

Freddie tried not to think about it as she sat in the tower and watched out the window as the various crews prepared to climb into the B-17s. 

Most of the crews were in borrowed planes since the mechanics hadn’t had the time to properly repair their usual ones after the consecutive missions of the last few days. Freddie didn’t consider herself hugely superstitious anymore but she didn’t like the fact of this. Rosie was supposed to be flying Rosie’s Riveters. That was his plane, it was named for him. That was the plane which had brought him back every time he’d gone out.

Today, he was flying Royal Flush. Stupid name. Freddie stared at this plane with a scowl. She didn’t know an awful lot about B-17s but she didn’t like this one. Who named a bomber plane Royal Flush anyway?

The plane Bubbles was navigating for was called She’s Gonna, which Freddie reluctantly admitted was kind of a good name for a bomber plane. But the other names were all stupid.

Millie was beside Freddie, gazing out the window. She was gnawing on her lip, wringing her hands. She always got nervous for the boys before they flew.

“Seats,” demanded their squadron officer, whose name was Mary but who everyone referred to by her last name, Jones, as she marched into the room.

Hastily, all of the wireless operators scrambled and threw themselves into their respective chairs.

Waiting for wheels up was excruciating with nothing to do but stew. Freddie could still see out the window from her chair but only just, if she sat up as straight as she could and tilted her head back, and she tried not to make it obvious that she was tracking Rosie as best she could amongst the crowds. He hadn’t looked nervous when she’d spoken to him this morning but did he feel it now? Was he also superstitious about flying a plane which wasn’t his own?

Freddie shook her buzzing thoughts from her head and focused on her wireless. Wheels up would be soon and she’d need to be ready. She wasn’t sure why she was secretly, traitorously hoping she’d find herself tuned into Rosie’s radio, not when she’d explicitly called everything off between them this morning - not that there had been much to call off, in all fairness. She supposed she was just anxious to hear his voice. Just in case. Just wanted to hear for herself that he was okay, wasn’t nervous, was feeling comfortable in the unfamiliar plane and ready to do what needed to be done.

Freddie didn’t get Rosie on the radio. She got Brady, who had Bucky flying beside him, back early from leave to avenge Buck. She gave them their instructions, listened to them conduct their pre-flight checks, and chatted to them while they taxied.

“Alright,” Brady said as he turned onto the runway. “Preparing for take off.”

“Understood. It’s all yours, Brady.”

“Thanks, Fred.”

“Have a good flight, boys,” Freddie told them against her better judgement. She just hadn’t been able to help it. “Come back to us in one piece, okay?”

“We’ll give ‘em hell, Fred, don’t you worry,” Bucky replied.

Freddie frowned. “That wasn’t what I asked of you, Bucky.”

“But it’s what we’re gonna do, ain’t that right, Brady?”

“Sure is.”

Freddie sighed. “Be safe. Come back.”

“I’ll do my best, Fred,” Brady assured her. “You just keep an eye on Millie until we’re back, like I know you always do. And tell her she looks more beautiful today than anything I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“You sweet on my best friend, Brady?” Freddie asked with a grin, glancing back at Millie as she spoke to whichever pilot she was speaking to.

“Just do what I asked, alright, Fred?” She could hear the answering smile in Brady’s voice.

“Of course,” Freddie replied, laughing quietly. “You know I will.”

“See you soon, Fred,” Brady answered her. “Wheels are up.”

Freddie nodded to herself, watching their plane rise into the clouds out the window. “See you soon,” she replied.

Waiting for the boys to return was torture. It always was, but the sick feeling in her stomach seemed not to be unique to Freddie. Jem was jigging her leg relentlessly, her fingernails tapping a rapid, steady rhythm against her desk. Millie was chewing on her lip and staring out the window, as if waiting to see one of them appear prematurely. Paddy and Amy were tossing a screwed up ball of paper between them, trying to distract themselves. Emma was sitting with some of the other newer girls, repeatedly rearranging the supplies on her desk.

Freddie sat staring up at the ceiling, counting dark marks. She thought about this morning, wondered whether she’d been right to push Rosie away like that. It was an instinct she found almost impossible to ignore, pushing men away. Sometimes she thought it was just as much to protect herself from further heartbreak as it was out of loyalty to Daniel. If she met a man who wasn’t in the line of fire, she wondered, whether it be because he was 4-F, as the Yanks called it, or assigned to intelligence work or something else, might she be more willing to love him? If she had met Rosie and found him a man stuck behind a desk, making flight plans perhaps, might she find it easier to let him in?

But there was something in it, wasn’t there? In that heroism they all possessed, all the men who went out and got their hands dirty and got the job done themselves. She couldn’t have loved Daniel if he hadn’t been a pilot because if he hadn’t been a pilot then he wouldn’t have been Daniel. He’d needed to do something, to make a difference, to fight for the life he felt everyone had a right to. He wouldn’t have been the man she loved without that instinct to protect, that determination to make things right. And Rosie wouldn’t have been Rosie either.

It was a long, long time before any of the planes came back. Longer than usual. Longer than expected.

And then: “I’ve got one of them!” It was Jem who was bent over her radio, listening intently. 

She gave the pilot landing instructions with shaking hands. Everyone else was glued to their radios, headphones stuck to their ears, waiting for a spark of life to tell them another crew was safe.

Nothing.

Jem’s headphones met her desk with a clatter. “It’s not one of ours,” she announced.

They all turned, watched as a plane from a different regiment landed according to Jem’s instructions, all squinting into the sky behind it, searching for their boys.

And then one more. One lone plane emerging from the clouds. One and no sign of any others behind it, just the smoke it trailed in its wake.

Emma had them on the radio. They all listened intently as she gave the pilot his landing instructions. All waited with bated breath to find out which crew it was, and which crews it wasn’t, and who they were about to start mourning.

“Freddie,” Emma called as soon as the pilot had received his instructions, “it’s Rosie!”

Freddie’s heart gave a start. It was pounding hard and fast in her chest. In spite of Jones’ voice, insistent that everyone stay at their own desks, Freddie tore off her headphones and assumed the seat Emma had vacated for her, pulled on the headphones she was offering. “Rosie?” She could hear her blood rushing in her ears, wondered if he and Pappy could hear it too.

“Hi, Freddie,” he answered her, breathing heavily.

“Are you okay? Should we send an ambulance?”

“I’m fine. Emma’s got it covered.” She did. She was calling for the emergency medical crew right now.

“Where’s everyone else?”

Rosie sucked in a sharp breath. “I gotta wait until interrogation -”

“Where is everyone else?” she demanded.

Rosie paused. “Gone,” he answered eventually. “Some were ‘chutes. Some are just - gone.”

“Brady?” she asked. “Bucky?”

“I’m not sure.”

Freddie lifted a hand to try to still the quivering of her bottom lip. Any second now big, childlike tears were about to come pouring down her cheeks. She shut her eyes tight. “You came back,” she whispered.

He seemed to understand the weight of what she was saying, understand that she was saying it more for herself than for him. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “I came back.” He wanted to promise that he always would, make sure she knew that she didn’t need to worry about the same thing which had happened to her boyfriend happening to him, but didn’t think it was the right moment. Every pilot thought they were the best, you couldn’t do the job and survive if you didn’t, but Freddie didn’t need to hear just then that he thought the reason he’d made it back and the others hadn’t was talent or skill. She just needed to hear that he was there.

“Come see me after interrogation?” she requested quietly. She knew Emma was listening in but trusted she would keep her secret. Pappy too. But she didn’t want the other w/op girls overhearing. This was between her and Rosie, no one else.

Rosie let out a long breath of relief. “Of course.”

She handed the headphones back to Emma so she could guide Rosie through the landing, dragging herself back to her own desk with feet made of concrete. Millie looked forlorn, staring out the window with beads of blood blooming where her teeth were stuck in her lip, desperately begging with her eyes for anyone else to return.

Freddie knew then who she was searching for, recognised that look in her eyes. 

When it became abundantly clear that no one else was coming, that Rosie had been right and no one else had made it, Millie threw down her headphones and turned to Freddie with glistening eyes. “Fred,” she croaked.

Freddie was there in an instant, waiting to catch her as she fell. “I know,” Freddie whispered to her, her lips in her hair.

“I know you do,” Millie assured her, her voice wobbly and broken. “It hurts.”

“I know,” Freddie assured her, closing her eyes to will the stinging away. What would you have wanted to hear? she asked herself, forcing herself to remember those first few god awful moments after she’d been told Daniel had gone down. If someone had been there to catch you, what would you have wanted them to say?

“He told me to tell you,” Freddie started quietly, forcing some semblance of strength into her voice. Millie didn’t need her to be weepy right now, she needed her to be strong, “that you look more beautiful today than anything he’s ever seen in his entire life.”

“He did?” Millie gasped, clearly fighting to hold in sobs.

“Yes,” Freddie confirmed quietly. “As he was taxiing. Right before wheels up his last thoughts were of you.”

“Tell me he’s alive, Fred.”

Freddie shut her eyes tighter, swallowed hard against the aching in her throat. She wanted more than anything to be able to give her that. Wanted so desperately to rewrite the story now that Millie was the main character. “I can’t,” she whispered, devastated.

“Rosie’ll know,” Millie asserted, pulling out of Freddie’s embrace and wiping resolutely at her eyes. The attempt to clear the tears was fruitless; they just kept on coming, freshly destroying her newly blank canvas. “After interrogation Rosie’ll tell me. Or Pappy. Someone will have watched for ‘chutes.”

Freddie nodded. It was all she could do.

“He’ll come back to me,” Millie declared, determined. There was fire in her eyes - anger, resentment. “He knows I’ll kill him if he doesn’t.”

There was little to do in the tower once it became clear there were only the two planes to account for, and one of which wasn’t even their own. Jones let most of them go early. Freddie and Jem carted Millie back to their hut, each with an arm curled protectively around her shoulders, and saw her first into a shower, then into her night dress, and then into her bed. It was early evening, dinner wasn’t for another hour, but that mattered very, very little. Freddie was something of an expert on the matter.

When she slipped away, Millie was asleep. She was curled up in a ball, both of her arms thrown over her head as though in an attempt to fight off the nightmares Freddie knew were inevitable. Jem was sitting on the floor right beside her, a book in her lap which she was using as a surface to lean on and write a letter home. She’d taken one look at Freddie glancing repeatedly and what she’d thought was subtly at the door and hid a smile behind a fake cough. “Go,” she’d said. “I’ll stay with her the entire time.”

So Freddie trekked back to the tower, far as it was from her hut, because she knew that’s where Rosie would be waiting for her. And, sure enough, there he was, a lingering flush in his cheeks and his hands buried in the pockets of his sheepskin, his service cap in his hand as he gazed across the airfield. He was looking, she realised, at its emptiness, at all the empty bays where B-17s should have been. He was so deep in thought he didn’t notice her until she hesitantly stepped into his embrace, just to feel him, to make sure he was real.

“You came back,” she said again, even knowing she’d said it on the radio earlier, when he wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest. Her voice emerged muffled, directed largely into his jacket.

“Couldn’t leave you behind,” he replied, dropping his hat to the ground so he could run soothing hands up and down her back, “could I?”

Freddie sighed and shut her eyes tight. She pressed herself closer to him. He could be cocky now - for all intents and purposes he deserved to be, the only pilot to get his crew back safely - but he couldn’t make her any promises. Daniel hadn’t been shot down because he hadn’t wanted to return to her, or because he’d been untalented. He’d been shot down because he’d run out of luck.

“Millie’s torn up about Brady,” Freddie said, instead of worrying him with any of this. He needed his confidence, she knew, otherwise there was no chance he’d ever be able to make good on his unspoken promises. “Did anyone see any ‘chutes?”

“Bailey said he saw ten ‘chutes from their stick,” Rosie answered her, speaking into the top of her head. “Means someone didn’t make it out. I can’t promise who.”

Freddie nodded. “Unlikely to be the pilot,” she reasoned.

“Yeah,” Rosie agreed. “I’ll bet he made it down.”

“I don’t even want to think about how they’ll fare on the ground.” Freddie pressed herself impossibly tighter against Rosie. She hadn’t felt comfort like this in years. She had Millie, of course, and Jem and the others too, and they were all looking after her, but this was different. This was safe. Nothing was safe anymore but this was safe. Warm, secure, reassuring, constant, the beat of his heart beneath her cheek as sure and certain as the sun rising in the morning and setting at night. She needed his comfort more than she’d realised, had needed someone to hold her after this horrible, horrible day, knowing as she did that she’d spend many more days after this doing the holding.

Rosie accepted her willingly, helping to bring her closer though it was hardly possible. He lifted one of his hands from her back to press against her head and she snuggled closer, tighter. He needed to shower but she didn’t mind. She just wanted to hold on. 

“They’ll make it,” Rosie reassured her. “They’re tough, those guys. Never met any tougher, and I’m from Brooklyn.”

He said it with such pride that Freddie had to crack a smile. “That means nothing to me,” she admitted.

He chuckled lightly, the vibrations of his chest filling her from head to toe. “Us Brooklyn boys are made of steel,” he informed her matter-of-factly. “You gotta be, to grow up there.”

Freddie laughed softly into his chest. “Oh, I’m sure,” she teased, playing along. “Because you are so very scary, Rosie.”

He laughed a little bit louder. “That’s what I’m told.”

Freddie stayed where she was, trying to commit the feeling of his arms to memory, for a moment longer, then sighed as she withdrew. She’d already been clinging onto him for too long to be deemed appropriate. Besides, she had something to set right.

“What I said this morning -” she began.

Rosie cut her off. “Hey, no, it’s okay. I -”

“No,” Freddie cut him off in turn. “I shouldn’t have behaved like that. It wasn’t kind.”

“You were scared,” Rosie reasoned with her.

“I was rude,” Freddie corrected him. “And I’m sorry. That’s not how I treat my friends.”

Rosie watched her closely, his eyes searching her own for something she couldn’t guess at. After a few moments his posture deflated. He offered her a tight smile before looking past her at the field empty of planes. “Maybe sometime you’d like to tell me about your pilot,” he said quietly. “Daniel, you said?”

“Yes,” Freddie breathed. “Daniel.”

“I’d like to know about him,” Rosie continued. He glanced at her only briefly before looking away again. “If you’d be comfortable.”

Freddie nodded in spite of the fact he wasn’t looking at her. Her heart was racing again, she wasn’t particularly sure why. “Yes,” she said, but her voice emerged shaky. “Yes,” she repeated, louder, more certain. “I’d really like that. I don’t talk about him often but he - he deserves to be known.”

Rosie nodded, offering a shy smile.

“You would’ve liked him,” Freddie told him with a shy smile of her own.

“I’m sure I would,” he assured her. If he’d loved her, how could he not have?

“Maybe tonight?” Freddie suggested, playing with her skirt. She wasn’t sure why she felt bashful all of a sudden. “I don’t know if you and the Riveters will be going out, but we won’t be. I’ll be staying in with Millie, but maybe if you met me outside..?”

Rosie nodded, bending down to retrieve his hat. “I’ll meet you there,” he assured her.

“Okay.” Freddie mustered a smile. “Tonight then.”

“Tonight,” Rosie agreed.

#my writing #watm #mota #hbo war #masters of the air #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction #hbo war x oc #rosie rosenthal #rosie rosenthal x oc #rosie rosenthal fanfic #rosie rosenthal fanfiction #robert rosie rosenthal

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 2 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Anna knows her new coworkers want her to meet their friend Bob. But she's too hesitant, afraid to get herself in a situation where she's pining after someone new. During a spur of the moment shopping trip, Bob is delighted to bump into a woman he can only describe as adorable. Too bad he's never been great at the follow through.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, eventually 18+

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

By the end of her first week teaching, Anna had learned many things, almost like she was a student herself. That nice, secluded ladies' restroom she found was secluded because one of the toilets regularly overflowed. The coffee in the teacher's lounge was actually disgusting, but the donuts were available every day. And Dr. Pham from the sociology department asked her out three times on Thursday, apparently because she wore her hair in two braids like Princess Anna from Frozen, a mistake she wouldn't be making again.

And she was so tired. She started to lose her voice on Friday morning from how much she had to talk in her lectures. She took the wrong notes to class with her and had to improvise an hour long class on Emily Dickinson, because she was too afraid to give one of her students the keys to her office door. So she sweated it out, but managed to sound somewhat coherent as she dismissed her class at noon.

She pressed her lips together. If she ran to get her sandwich and peanuts really quickly, she could join her new friends by the weird tree. After two days of joining them for lunch, she really liked both of them. She just didn't want to get their hopes up about their friend Bob whom she was supposedly perfect for.

Anna wasn't perfect for anybody. And frankly this Bob guy sounded like a dreamboat, which just made it worse. He'd probably laugh after taking one look at her, and if she opened her mouth and tried to talk to him, he'd run away scared. She already turned down their invitation to go to the Navy hangout bar on Saturday night, citing that she was too exhausted. But it was really because she needed to stand firm with herself and do everything she could to protect her feelings from now on. 

After another few seconds of contemplation, she went to her office and got her lunch before heading to the quad. But today it was just Jessica there eating lasagna and garlic bread from a plastic container while Anna's stomach growled in jealousy. 

"Hi," she greeted after she chewed up a bite of her perfect looking lunch. "It's just us today. Dr. Rosenthal apparently had a bunch of questions about the math curriculum and took Advanced Calculus out for a long working lunch at Covewood."

Anna had barely been in the city for more than two weeks, but even she had heard of Covewood. "That's a five star restaurant. A romantic date night hot spot."

"Mmhmm," Jessica agreed as she sunk her perfect teeth into the garlic bread.

Anna realized her own experience was fueling her next sentences, but she said them anyway. "Isn't she married? Her husband is okay with that?" she asked softly.

Advanced Physics burst into laughter. "Bradley loves Dr. Rosenthal. He's in his seventies, and he's one of the sweetest people at the school. They have him over for dinner sometimes. He actually did my tenure review."

"Oh," Anna replied, embarrassed that she could hardly relate to someone who trusted their spouse. "That actually sounds really nice."

"Hey, are you sure you don't want to come out tomorrow night? No pressure. I just think you'd have a fun time. The guys are all sweethearts."

Anna looked down at herself and her sad sandwich. She didn't even have money to spare for a beer that she would probably drink half of before she wanted to leave. And it didn't matter if the guys were sweet, she knew her two new friends would be champing at the bit to see how she and this Bob person interacted. "Not this weekend," she replied. "Maybe another night."

Instead of socializing, she spent her Saturday window shopping in North Park. She had a budget of exactly zero dollars, but she could entertain herself for hours this way. She gasped when she found a two story bookshop that claimed it contained new and used and rare finds, and she ran across the street to get to it. 

It was darker and quieter inside than the sunlit, traffic filled streets, and when Anna took a deep breath, it reminded her of a cozy library. The clerk behind the register waved instead of speaking, so really, it just kept getting better. When she noticed the wooden sign on the wall informing her that The Classics were upstairs, she made her way up the creaky steps to a loft area with row after row of tall shelves. 

"Perfect," she muttered, walking to the end of the open space and turning down the last tight row of bookshelves. She wasn't alone, but the only other occupant was a tall, slim man with broad shoulders and tidy, sandy colored hair. He seemed to be so absorbed by what he was reading, he didn't look up when Anna reached for an enormous copy of Shakespeare plays.

She almost moaned out loud; it was annotated and contained every play she had to teach in her Thursday morning English 300 class. It was well worn, and the cover felt nice in her hands. Shit. Of course it was seventy bucks. That was more than she spent on groceries last week. Maybe she could expense it to the department? She should probably know how to do that. Maybe she could text one of her new friends and ask if that was allowed. 

But she slid the book back into place as a Vonnegut she didn't yet own caught her eye. She reached out for it with a steady hand, but as soon as her fingertips met the spine, a much larger hand, complete with graceful yet calloused fingers, wrapped around hers. Everything suddenly smelled clean like soap and also intriguingly like tea leaves. And then she heard a voice next to her ear that made her bite down on her lip as a ripple of pleasure teased her spine. 

"Oh. I'm so sorry."

--------------------------

Bob had never been to this store before, and he wasn't really planning on stopping by today, but Mickey dragged him in and then ditched him for the children's section at the back of the store. Bob looked around downstairs, but as a poetry fan, he found that section to be seriously lacking, so he headed up to the loft instead.

He considered himself well-read until he realized how many classic novels he'd never even heard of before. And they all sounded really depressing. Which was kind of the point, he supposed, but if he was going to get something new to read, he was in the mood for a more upbeat story. Maybe a romance or a European adventure he could get lost in. Maybe a sweeping, romantic tale where the nice guy gets the girl for once. 

After several tries, he still wasn't finding anything close to what he was hoping for. As he re-shevled The Bell Jar, he decided to just reach for a book at random. Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut? Maybe that would be more his speed. But when he reached for it, his fingers wrapped around a soft hand complete with glossy, burgundy fingernails instead of the actual book. He jumped an inch in the air, because he hadn't even been aware anyone else was in the aisle with him, let alone a woman who smelled like sweet perfume.

"Oh. I'm so sorry," he stammered, already mortified. Then she turned to look at him over her shoulder, and he wanted to jump off the loft railing and run out the shop door. There was only one word to accurately describe her: adorable. She had dark red hair done up in a messy braid, big brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose. "Oh."

"It's okay," she replied softly as she tried to hand him the book. "You can have it."

He shook his head, completely distracted, as he kept finding more things about her face that he liked. A grin curled along his lips as he said, "No, it's all yours. Really. I was just looking for something new to read."

She glanced down at the cover and then back at his face, and maybe he was imagining things, but it looked like she was blushing a bit. "Wow. I wasn't really expecting anyone else to be interested in reading a sarcastic take on global destruction on a sunny Saturday afternoon."

His eyebrows shot up. "Is that what it's about?"

Her laughter was also adorable. "Yeah, I mean... it's Vonnegut," she said with a bit of an eye roll. Oh no. She knew what she was talking about, and he kind of didn't. He was probably about to sound like an idiot. 

Bob cleared his throat and pointed at a random spine to buy himself time. "What's this one about?"

She cocked her head slightly to the side and said, "Two murders and a kidnapping."

"Oh," he said with a little laugh. "No thanks. How about this one?"

He wasn't even looking at the books now at all, preferring to watch her facial expression change as she checked another title. "Oh, that one's good. Also about murder."

He chuckled and pointed at another. "This one?"

She smirked and looked up at him. "Jealousy, rage, hatred, and also a lot of murder."

"Wow," Bob replied with what he was sure was a stupid looking smile. "I was hoping for something a little tamer? Perhaps less murder-y? Maybe I should go down and look in the children's section?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and listened to her laugh again.

"I could recommend a few books with little to no murder. Maybe even a happy ending," she told him, and he watched as she pushed her braid over her shoulder. 

"I'll believe it when I see it," he said as he crossed his arms over his chest. To his shock and amazement, her gaze followed his movement, and her blush returned.

When her tongue darted out between her lips, Bob could feel his heart beating in his temples. Her brown eyes drifted back up to his face, and he wondered if this was how Jake or Bradley used to feel when girls paid attention to them at the bar. It was decidedly really exciting. 

He was going to be bold like his friends. He was going to ask her for her number. Maybe he'd see if she wanted to help him shop for some books, and he could buy her that horrible Vonnegut that she wanted, and then he'd ask her very nicely for her number. 

"Floyd!"

Bob watched you jump as Mickey's voice echoed through the store.

"Floyd! Let's go!"

"S-Sorry," Bob muttered, stepping past her and heading for the loft railing. "Just... hang on for one second?"

As soon as Mickey looked up and saw him, he said, "We gotta go, man. I got some books for my nephews, but we'll be late to grab a drink before D&D if we don't leave now. You know how she gets when we're late." He was shaking a bag of books and heading for the door.

Bob did know for a fact that Jessica got annoyed when they showed up late because they got hungry or distracted on the way to The Hard Deck. "Just give me a minute," he told Mickey, but he was already outside. 

He swiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and turned around to find the aisle empty. Oh no. He checked the next row of shelves, and the next, and the next, until he got all the way to the stairs, but the adorable redhead was nowhere to be found. And he had no idea what her name was. 

"Hello?" he called out softly, checking each aisle again until he was back where he started. Bob might have believed that he imagined the whole entire exchange with an attractive woman, except that there was one book propped up against the others right where he and she had been standing. 

"A Room With a View by E. M. Forster," he mumbled as he picked it up and turned it over in his hands. He glanced around again, but she was well and truly gone, leaving nothing except for what seemed like a book recommendation. 

"Floyd!"

Bob sighed and tipped his head back in frustration. "Coming!"

He descended the stairs slowly, head swiveling in every direction, searching for brown eyes and a braid while he held the book. Gone. He paid for A Room With a View and headed outside to find Mickey looking quite annoyed. What he didn't see was the mystery girl watching him from the far end of the loft.

-----------------------

"She was real," Bob insisted as he held his glass of ginger ale a little tighter. "Just because you were too busy yelling doesn't mean I made her up in my mind. She had red hair and brown eyes."

Mickey gave him a skeptical look. "That's actually a really rare combination. And I know for a fact you happen to have an excellent imagination, my friend."

Bob cradled his forehead in his hand. "Why didn't I ask for her name and number?" Then he paused. "You know what? It doesn't even matter. There's no way she would have agreed to give it to me." 

He thought about the book he bought sitting on the front seat of his truck next to his dice bag and character sheet, and he considered just going home for the night. Maybe he could start to read the book. Maybe he'd feel like writing.

Then he felt an arm slip around his waist. "Hi, Jessica," he said as he blushed when he looked down at Jake's petite girlfriend. A second later, Bradley's wife was next to him as well, and Bob realized they were wearing matching smirks.

"Hey, Bob," Jessica replied, giving him a little squeeze. "We were just wondering if you happened to like redheads."

Mickey snickered before he tipped his beer bottle back and finished the drink. "He loves them. Daydreams about them."

Bob shot him a withering look. "She was real."

"Who was real?" Bradley's wife asked as her husband came up behind her and set his chin on her shoulder. Great, now he was going to have a full audience of people informed about his embarrassing afternoon of not even knowing how to ask a woman what her name was.

"There was a cute girl at the bookstore in North Park earlier," he muttered. "She had red hair, and I fumbled the ball."

Bradley chuckled. "You know what your problem is, right? You're too nice. Sugar met me when I was an absolute fuckboy, and she fell hard."

"I've been having a decade long lapse of judgement," she replied, and Bradley kissed her neck. "Don't listen to him, Bob. Girls love nice guys."

But Bob knew they didn't. Even the woman from the bookstore dodged him after approximately five minutes of flirting. If you could even call that flirting. He finished his ginger ale, and said, "We need to go. It's almost time for D&D. I'll drive."

Mickey nodded and said, "I'm ready." He could probably tell Bob had reached his limit with this conversation. His friend may be an extrovert to the extreme, but he was good at recognizing when Bob needed a break.

Jessica nodded as well and patted him on the chest before she pranced off into Jake's open arms. They shared the most adorable looking kisses before Jake straightened out her glasses and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Have her home by midnight, Bob!" he called as he released her. 

Bob nodded wishing there was someone besides the elderly woman who lived in the duplex next to him that cared if he was out past midnight or not. Even though he always looked forward to playing Dungeons & Dragons, he kind of wanted to head home and call it an early night. Nothing sounded as good as sending an email to Nat before reading his new book. But he would wait until later, and maybe he would even be in the mood to get his laptop out.

-----------------------

Anna went back to her studio apartment empty handed. Well, that wasn't quite true. She didn't buy any books, but she did splurge on a six dollar bottle of wine which would probably taste disgusting. She just hoped it would help her sleep through the night after reading some sad poetry and eating a piece of toast for dinner. 

That guy from the bookstore was going to linger in her mind for a long time whether she wanted him to or not. She was more attracted to him after five minutes in his presence than she was to Kevin at any point in the past five years. And if she was going to start thinking about Kevin, she was probably going to cry. 

The toast was good, but the wine was bad. And she did cry a little bit. She was never going to get attached to the idea of being in a relationship ever again. She was never going to have herself that level of intimacy just to have it ripped away. She wouldn't allow it. Relying on herself would have to be enough. Handsome strangers with muscular, veiny arms and cute glasses who made her laugh were not part of the plan. That's why she ducked behind the end cap after she left him a book she thought he might like. She watched him buy it for himself, which left her almost breathless. If she allowed herself to, she could picture him sitting in a coffee shop sipping some tea and reading that book.

"Enough," she whispered, vision a little sloppy from the wine. She opened up the website called PoetsAmongUs, read a bookmarked collection about how good it would feel to be loved completely, and passed out. 

The realization that she was going to have to spend all of Sunday afternoon getting ready for the week was made slightly easier by the fact that she only had four hundred square feet of space to clean. And then she thought about the beautiful home she once had in New Jersey, and she had to finish the bottle of wine to help her get through her notes on The Great Gatsby.

She was still thinking about that hot guy with the glasses on Monday when she grabbed a donut from the teacher's lounge. Indulging in a little fantasy here and there about being loved and cared for wouldn't be so bad. And putting his face to it just made it even sexier. When she wasn't teaching, she let her mind wander to some possibilities that would never happen again. Pretty eyes, lean muscles, soft looking hair, pink cheeks. He probably had nice friends, too. He probably never cheated on anything in his life.

"Hey, Anna? Are you alright?"

She looked up from her bag of peanuts and realized she'd been so deep in thought, she wasn't paying attention to the lunch conversation. "I'm sorry," she replied, fighting the urge to groan. She wasn't very good at this stuff and should have probably just eaten lunch in her office like she did the past few days. The fact that it was Wednesday and she was still distracted was concerning to her. 

"Don't apologize. You just seem lost in thought," said Jessica as she ate another perfect looking lunch. 

"Do you want some chips and hummus? Bradley packed me too much food today," her other friend said. And of course he did, because he sounded like a damn dream.

Anna ate a few chips and sighed. "Have either of you ever had your heart smashed to bits?" She didn't really mean to say that out loud, but now that she had, she was met with an awkward silence that she wanted to run away from. 

"Yeah," Advanced Calculus replied softly. "And I did it to myself."

"Not my heart as much as my hopes and dreams," Advanced Physics added. "But for me, I think that was much worse."

Now the silence that followed wasn't quite as painful, but Anna was still a little embarrassed. "Yeah. All of the above." She cleared her throat and tried to think of something else to talk about, but her mind was still on the bookstore. "Hey, why didn't you tell me that San Diego is full of hot guys? They are literally everywhere. I went window shopping in North Park and got sucked into a bookstore, and I bumped into a guy with glasses who smelled so nice."

"Ohhh, what did he look like?"

Anna sighed. "You know how you can just tell a guy is really strong even though he doesn't have bulging muscles?"

"Mmhmm."

"He was like that." Anna bit into her sandwich and chewed it slowly. "Pretty eyes, kind of the color of a lake. Sandy hair. Wire glasses. Soft spoken. He smelled like a cup of tea." 

A few seconds later, she was snapped back from her drifting thoughts as Advanced Calculus asked, "Did you say this was at a bookstore in North Park?"

"Yes," Anna replied with a nod. 

"Did you get his name?" Advanced Physics asked. 

"No," she answered, still embarrassed over the fact that she hid from him.

And then she thought she was going to get whiplash again.

"Was he about six feet tall?"

"Was he slim but not skinny?"

"Did he blush when he smiled?"

"Will you please come to the Hard Deck this weekend?"

--------------------------

Bradley is so proud of the fact that Sugar fell for him when they were in college. Beer Boy just gets better with age. This little Bob and Anna meet cute might spell disaster when they figure it all out! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 3

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#bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x oc #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd fic #robert floyd #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #covering the classics

[flawdchaos]

Cold Shoulder

Robert Rosenthal x Reader

Word Count - 1273

Based off of this request:

Hello! First and foremost ,I would like to tell you that I really enjoyed reading Spilled Drink and I would love to read the third part of the story. I was wondering if you could write a Rosie story, where he flirts with the oc but she is giving him the coldest shoulder ( something that he didn’t expect) . So he makes it his mission to make her like him. Thank you 😊

small authors note, it isn’t exactly like the request but i wrote this on my lunch break today and tried my best with the hour i had 🫠 i hope you still enjoy it

Rosie had never been so lost for words in his life. He had never been so blatantly ignored and he couldn’t figure out what he had done to deserve it. His entire flow felt off. He had seen her around Thorpe Abbotts for a while now, sharing glances and half hearted smiles but now - absolutely nothing. A cold shoulder couldn’t even explain her reaction towards him.

After being the only plane to return from their mission, Rosie and his crew were sent to the Coombe house to get some R & R and despite his best efforts to leave, he was made to stay. When he returned to base a week later, everything felt wrong - including her.

He was still frozen in disbelief, hard grip on his glass, when Harry’s hand slapped down on his shoulder. “Tough crowd, Rose?” Rosie let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and nodded. “You have no idea, Cros. I don’t know what in the hell I did. I asked her for a dance and she all but ran away from me.” Harry turned his friend to face him. “Maybe she’s got a lover out there somewhere, fighting just like us.” The idea had crossed his mind but he couldn’t just ignore the smiles and eye contact they had shared for weeks before. It was possible he had read too far into her actions. ‘Maybe she was just being nice’ he thought, shaking his head and trying to take his mind off of the rejection. Clearing his throat he responded “Yeah, Cros, you’re probably right.” When his head hit his pillow that night the scene replayed over and over in mind, embarrassment coursing through his body.

Two days had passed since Rosie’s run-in at the bar and he would be lying if he said the memories of that night weren’t ingrained in his brain. He was pulled back to reality when the Colonel stepped into the hallway, beckoning him into his office. “How have you been, Captain Rosenthal?”

“Fine, sir.” he said. “I hope the flak house treated you and your men well?” All he could do was meet the question with a curt nod. It honestly hadn’t been what he wanted. He left when everything and everyone needed him and returned to the little semblance he had turned up on its head. The rest of the meeting eluded his mind, putting his brain and responses on auto pilot. Excusing himself and saluting the Colonel, he stepped out of the hut and urged his feet to lead him to the chow hall. All he wanted at that moment was a cup of coffee and a moment to clear his brain. A few steps distanced himself from the building before he caught a glimpse of her, leaning up against the women’s barracks with a cigarette loosely hanging from her lips, her hands busy repinning the fallen curls framing her face. He couldn’t see his own reaction but he knew he looked like he had seen a ghost. He stood, feet planted on the gravel for a good minute - debating his next action. He could continue to chow with his pride intact or take one more chance at catching the girls attention. ‘C’mon Robert. You fly damn planes into warzones. She’s just a girl.’ Fuck it.

He stopped in front of her, her gaze still on the ground kicking around the loose gravels.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Rosie softly spoke, lightly clearing his throat. Her eyes slowly raked up the body standing in front of her. Her mouth slightly fell open and the cigarette threatened to fall from her lips. She remained silent although her eyes were darting around.

“I know, uh, I know I spoke to you the other night at the bar. I didn’t mean to overstep. It’s just -” he took a deep breath before continuing. “It’s just, I’ve seen you around for weeks now and I’ve meant to say hello or wave - or something - but I don’t know. Would it be stupid to say I was nervous?’ she still didn’t speak but a small shake of her head to signal ‘no’ was enough for Rosie to keep rambling. “I know it probably sounds stupid. I go thousands of feet in the area in a big metal box and fly through battlefields but I can’t even speak to a pretty girl.” He shook his head, letting out a small laugh.

“You think I’m pretty?” his heart almost jumped out his chest as her timid voice broke through the silence. He could feel the heat rising to his face.

“Uh,” he laughed awkwardly ,”Yes ma’am, yes I do.”

They still hadn’t made direct eye contact yet but her feet had stopped scuffing at the patch of grass growing by the side of the barrack building. A hand appeared in her vision, waiting for hers to connect. “I’m Robert Rosenthal but please, call me Rosie. Everyone else on this base does.” Their hands intertwined and he took control of lightly shaking them up and down.

“Y/N Y/L/N but everyone just calls me Y/N.” For the first time in this whole interaction Rosie watched as a small smile had slowly worked its way onto her face.

“Well, just Y/N, I’m on a mission for a hot cup of coffee. Would you like to make the hike with me?” A slight nod of her head had his feet moving once again. He was dying to ask more questions, to pry into her life and truly get to know the girl walking beside him but the last thing he wanted to do was scare her away.

“Can I admit something to you, Rosie?” Her voice breaking the silence almost made his entire body freeze. “Of course, Y/N.”

She took a breath before stopping dead in her tracks, Rosie doing the same but a few steps up ahead. ‘Oh God, this is it.’ is all he could think. He hung his head preparing himself for the blow of disappointment he was suspecting.

“I got worried about you. Last week, you know?” she admitted, sheepishly. “Everyone saw you land, including me. I was selfishly happy it was you. I wanted to tell you that when I saw you next but the next day on my walk to work, I didn’t pass you like I usually do. I didn’t see you the whole week and I think, in my mind, I kinda expected the worst. Seeing you in that bar last weekend I,” she took a moment, seeming to try and collect her thoughts “it was like seeing a ghost.” It was her turn for the heat to rise to his cheeks.

Rosie didn’t know what to say. He was at a loss for words. In all of the scenarios he had dreamed up in his mind that was never one of them.

“You thought I died?” he asked, dumbfounded. She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly.

“I didn’t know your name. You and your whole crew disappeared. I thought asking people about you would be a sore spot.” she admitted. “So, you don’t hate my guts and never want to speak to me again?” For the first time ever, Rosie heard her laugh. Like a true, doubled over belly laugh.

“Hate you? God no. I guess I was just waiting for the right moment to talk to you. I thought I had waited too long.” He shook his head at the girl. “You didn’t.” he said. “It seems like we have some catching up to do.” she nodded in agreement before he spoke again. “You still wanna get that coffee?”

Author’s note: Hi friends, another Rosie fic for y’all ♥️ I hope you enjoy this. It hasn’t been proofread/double checked at all so pleas disregard all of the little mishaps here and there.

#masters of the air #masters of the air x reader #anthony boyle #anthony boyle imagine #gale cleven #john egan #masters of the air imagines #robert rosenthal #rosie rosenthal #rosie rosenthal imagines

[bloodynereid]

Interlaced

part 3 of Those Sunlit Kisses! you can find part 1 here, part 2 here and part 4 here.

pairing: robert 'rosie' rosenthal x fem! oc (lucy everett)

warnings: mentions of war, kissing, alcohol drinking, literal sleeping together, some allusions to sex (but it's very minor!), very fluffy

description: when lucy and rosie are finally reunited.

a/n: so... part 3 yay! once again i STRONGLY encourage you to read part 1 and 2 first because you will be very lost without those. i loved getting to explore this little universe i've created and i hope you all enjoy it. ALSO this is about the show's characters and not the real people.

look at that beautiful man ahhhh

Lucy was tapping away at the window frame as the countryside rushed past her. She could barely contain her excitement. It may only be for two days but Lucy couldn’t wait to see her beloved Rosie again.

A stupid grin encapsulated her face and she tried to suppress it so the woman in front of her didn’t think she was absolutely insane.

The entire ride there Lucy was thinking about those damn curls, that mustache and Rosie’s accent. It had been too long since she had seen him and now that it was finally happening all she could feel was pure joy.

Lucy started to feel the train slow down and houses appeared lining the tracks. The name of the town flashed by her and she quickly focused on any of the signs that might appear. Diss read one of them and Lucy almost let out a squeal of happiness. She quickly closed her book and stuffed it into her carpet bag, closing the clasps just as the train eased into the station.

The cool breeze greeted Lucy once she had stepped off the train, looking around at the throngs of people at the station. Realistically she knew that Rosie might not be able to pick her up, but at least he would have sent someone.

“Lucy!” A voice came from somewhere on her right causing Lucy to twirl around and come face to face with the man she loved.

“Rosie!” She squealed and quickly ran over to him, she heard him laugh when she threw her arms around his shoulders, her bag abandoned at her feet and energy coursing her body. The feeling of his arms around her brought a wider smile to her face and Lucy turned her head so she could press a kiss to his temple, shrieking as Rosie picked her up and twirled her around.

“I’m so happy to see you, darling.” Rosie muttered into her hair, easing her down to the concrete. Lucy pulled away momentarily to look at her beautiful man before cautiously pressing her lips to his.

It felt like coming home. Lucy felt Rosie press her closer to him as the kiss turned sweeter and sweeter. The feeling of his hand coming to cup her cheek almost had Lucy combusting.

“Rosie.” She breathed out once they separated, Lucy stared deep into his beautiful blue eyes and a wave of calm encased her body.

“Lucy.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Not possible.”

“Uh sir? You said you wanted to get back in time for the-” An officer’s voice interrupted their moment and Lucy quickly stepped away from Rosie, feeling as a blush quickly overcame her cheeks. Coughing slightly she bent down to pick up her bag and met Rosie’s eyes as she stood back up.

“The briefing right.”

“Are you going up again?” Lucy asked as she watched her Rosie turn into Major Rosenthal, he still had that sweet smile for her but his demeanor had instantly transformed when the officer appeared.

“Not today, sweetheart.”

“Right.”

“Here let me take that. Gates here is going to drive us over to your place.” Rosie said as he leaned over and pulled the bag away from Lucy’s grasp. She smiled and nodded as he put an arm around her shoulders.

“Hi, I’m Lucy Everett.” Lucy said as she offered her hand to the blonde haired officer who smiled and shook it.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Lieutenant Richard Gates.”

“Ready to go?” Rosie asked from next to her.

“Yes, sir. The Jeep is just outside the station.”

“Perfect, you ready?” Lucy nodded against Rosie’s shoulder and followed behind Richard as they weaved through the crowd.

The entire ride to her place Lucy spent stealing glances at Rosie who was detailing things about Thorpe Abbotts and the upcoming plans for the weekend. She felt a flutter of butterflies as she watched him get all excited about the fact there was a shipment of new jazz records just a few days ago. He was hers and she couldn’t believe it.

The Jeep finally ambled to a stop in front of a small house on the outskirts of town, it had a bright red door and was covered in so much ivy that it seemed ready to swallow the house whole.

“Alright, Crosby said that you need this key for the front door and there’s some food in the kitchen. I wish I could stay longer but-” Rosie said as he pulled out a key from his pocket and helped her out of the car.

“Hey, Rosie, don’t worry about it. Go get your job done and come see me up later, yeah? I’m going to be fine.” Lucy said as she carefully cupped his face and placed a featherlight kiss to his lips.

“You sure?”

“Yes, darling. Now go. I think I know how to open a door.”

“Alright, I’ll see you in a bit.” Rosie said as he pulled away from her and Lucy watched as he eased himself into the front seat. Richard had averted his eyes to the whole exchange but Lucy could see he was smiling to himself.

“You better, bye Major Rosenthal.” Lucy said with a chuckle, Rosie rolled his eyes at her but smiled, waving as the Jeep started and went down the road.

The house, well cottage, was nice. Lucy had wandered down the narrow halls lined with bright green wallpaper, looking for the bedroom. She found a double bed already made up where she quickly deposited her luggage. How the hell Crosby had managed to find this place was beyond her.

For the rest of the afternoon, Lucy ate some snacks and read her book next to the front window. She almost felt slightly stupid waiting for him by the window like some cliche but it was Rosie. So what did it matter if she was a cliche.

When the sun started to set and Lucy had gotten through yet another chapter of The Grapes of Wrath, a loud knock resounded through the house. The sound of distant talking greeted her once she had put down the book and made her way to the front door.

Turning the key in the lock and pulling the door open, Lucy found Rosie leaning against the door frame and another man was across from him. He seemed to be talking about some new training maneuver, but he promptly stopped speaking when he realized Lucy had opened the door.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Rosie. I’m assuming you’re Crosby right?”

“Yes, hi, pleasure to meet you ma’am.”

“Rosie has told a lot about you, it’s nice to finally meet you too.”

“I’m hoping it was all good things.”

“I assure you it was not.” Rosie said, making Lucy turn to him to find that he had a teasing smirk on his face. Crosby proceeded to slap him on the shoulder which had Rosie trying to shield himself and laughing, Lucy just watching on in amusement.

“You’re embarrassing me in front of the lady! Your lady, you idiot. Ms. Everett I can assure you he was telling blatant lies.” At that Lucy burst out laughing and she felt Rosie’s arm coming to circle her middle.

“Please just call me Lucy or literally anything else. Here, come in! I was just about to put on some tea.”

“Oh God, no.” Rosie muttered.

“I would love some.”

“Croz you don’t even like tea.”

“I’m trying to get on your sweetheart’s good side! Stop ruining my plan.”

“If you’re both so against tea, I do have something stronger.” Lucy said once they had all moved to the living room.

“I think I would remember if I stocked this place with alcohol.” Crosby mused, Lucy only cryptically smiled and pulled herself away from Rosie’s embrace. Quickly walking out of the room and bounding up the stairs to the bedroom, where she knew that she had some whiskey stowed.

She overheard the low murmurs and teasing as she walked back down the stairs, now holding a bottle of the amber liquid.

“Rosie, you really lucked out. How does a beautiful woman like that go for you?”

“Oh shut up. I still don’t know how you managed to get Jean to marry you.”

“Yeah, I don’t know either sometimes.”

“Hopefully I’m not interrupting but look what I found.” Lucy said as she walked into the living room, waving the bottle around with a smile on her face.

“How the hell-” Rosie started to ask, but was interrupted when Lucy pecked him on the lips and went to grab some cups from the kitchen.

“Thank my editor and that article.” Lucy called out from the kitchen, quickly walking back to give each of the men one of the glasses.

“It did well?”

“Beyond well.”

“I’m so proud of you sweetheart.” Rosie said, as he pulled Lucy into a kiss. She was leaning over him but quickly maneuvered herself to sit on the sofa to deepen the kiss.

“Oh please stop. Remember there is another person here.”

“Sorry, Harry.” Lucy said with a laugh as she pulled away from her Rosie. Instead she leaned her head on his shoulder and uncorked the whiskey, pouring quite a bit into each of the respective glasses.

The night was filled with laughter, stories and lots of whiskey. Lucy was cocooned in Rosie’s hold and constantly felt kisses being pressed into her hair while Crosby spoke animatedly in one of the armchairs.

“So you’re telling me Rosie, Major Robert Rosenthal, didn’t know how to ride a bike? And- and he had to use his life-” Lucy burst into giggles at the same time as Crosby did, Rosie groaned behind her and just pulled her into him more, trying to stop her from laughing.

“It was a low point.” Rosie added and Lucy could feel him shaking his head behind her and taking a sip of his glass.

“Can you at least ride a bike now?”

“Yes, in fact I can. Rather well I would say. Now that we have had enough of Crosby embarrassing me, has he told you the story about how he was so airsick that he nearly sent his plane to France?”

“Rosie…” Crosby groaned out, making Lucy perk up and look between the two men in interest.

“No, no, I got humiliated. Now it’s your turn.”

It was well past midnight and everyone was thoroughly drunk when Crosby called it a night.

“Alright, I’m going to head back to base.” He said, slurring his words slightly, making Lucy and Rosie giggle.

“Harry, it’s fine. You can stay in the guest bedroom.”

“What about- ohhhh, yup sure.” Crosby said with a knowing smile, which had Lucy giggling again and Rosie blushing.

“You know where it is?”

“Yup. I’ll leave you two love birds to it. Oh and Lucy, it was really nice to meet you.”

“You too, Harry. Have a good sleep.” Crosby nodded and walked out of the living room, bumping into several things and cursing.

“Hmmm, I’m so glad you’re here, Rosie.” Lucy said as she snuggled into him more.

“Me too, darling. Ready to go to bed?”

“Yes.” Lucy muttered as she pulled away from him and placed a long kiss on his lips. Rosie’s mustache slightly tickled her skin making her giggle in her drunken state.

Once they finally made it into bed, after taking multiple breaks to just kiss and enjoy the other’s presence, Lucy felt a thrill shot through her body.

Even if they were both too drunk to do anything it still felt incredible to have clean sheets around her and to be encased in the man she loved. Sharing breaths and body heat under the covers.

Rosie woke up with the sun shining brightly in his eyes and the feeling of a warm body next to his. A pang of pain went through his skull and he immediately regretted how much he drank last night, that was until he heard muffled groaning from next to him and he remembered exactly whose blonde curls were currently lying against his chest.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Too early, Rosie. Shhh.” Rosie laughed for a few moments but that movement immediately started to hurt his head so he stopped and instead started to push Lucy’s hair out of her face.

“You look so beautiful.”

“Rosie, I swear if you say another word I will murder you.” Lucy mumbled against him but nevertheless he could feel her smile.

“Alright, alright.” Rosie carefully leaned down and stared at Lucy’s scrunched up eyes before placing delicate kisses over her eyelids and then on the tip of her nose.

“I would love to wake up like this every morning, Rosie.”

“Me too, sweetheart. It will happen soon, I promise.”

Once Lucy had finally detached herself from him, Rosie threw on his shirt from last night and followed her down to the kitchen. Croz was still nowhere to be seen and Rosie honestly assumed that the man was probably trying to sleep off how much he drank last night.

“Hmmm, it seems we have some alone time, Ms. Everett.” Rosie said once he saw the coast was clear. He pulled Lucy away from the pan where she was making some sort of egg dish and twirled her around so he was now directly staring at her admonishing look.

“We had plenty of time for that upstairs, Mr. Rosenthal- Oh.” Rosie interrupted her by placing his lips at the juncture of her neck. Placing little nibbles and featherlight kisses along the length of her neck.

“Oh God my eyes. Fucking hell. This is a public space.” Rosie quickly stopped and whipped around where he was greeted by Croz’s mildly disgusted face.

“Rosie! I told you!” Lucy shrieked at him while slapping him with a tea towel.

“You weren’t complaining a second ago!”

“Oh God, Harry, do you want some breakfast?”

“That and some bleach for my eyes would be wonderful.”

During breakfast the mood was teasing, Rosie kept shooting glances at Lucy who was avidly telling stories about her time in London. The three of them were still trying to recover from hangovers but unfortunately Croz was due back soon since he still had to plan out some routes.

“Hey I’ll see you later, alright? It was truly a pleasure to meet you, Lucy. You’ll have to visit again soon.”

“Will do, Harry. Oh and remember to give me Jean’s address in Rosie’s next letter.”

“Right, I will. Bye!”

“Bye, Croz. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Rosie kept his arm around Lucy as they watched Crosby walk over to the bike he had brought with him last night.

“So do you have any plans for today?”

“I thought we could go for a walk?”

“Sounds wonderful, but first I need to get changed.” Lucy said as she quickly pecked his cheek and disappeared into the house. Rosie smiled and closed the door before heading into the living room.

He found a copy of one of Steinbeck’s books on one of the side tables and promptly picked up The Grapes of Wrath. Settling onto one of the armchairs he was careful to leave the marked page alone and turned back to the first page.

“I see you’re already stealing my books?” Lucy’s voice interrupted his reading several minutes later, he looked up from the printed pages to find her looking absolutely resplendent in the morning light. How did he get so lucky?

“Nah, I just wanted something to preoccupy me. How are you liking it?”

“The book? Oh it’s fine.”

“Have you read any other work of his?”

“I think I read Of Mice and Men a bit ago.” Rosie was instantly reminded of that sunny afternoon at the flak house where he had read that same book.

“Come here, you.” Rosie said as he smiled as he put down the book and reached out his arms, which were quickly filled with Lucy a few moments later.

“Hmm? Don’t we need to go on that walk?”

“I would much rather just look at you.”

“You can’t do that for the rest of the day.”

“Watch me.”

Lucy blushed and smiled down at him, leaning to place a kiss on his lips. She pulled away for only a fraction of a second and Rosie found her staring at his lips before she started to kiss him once more.

“Not that I don’t love this but we’re going to be here forever if we don’t leave now.”

“Fine.” Rosie felt himself pout, which caused Lucy to start laughing at him before flitting out of the room.

-

The countryside of Diss was beautiful, especially in the summer. The sun shined down on the couple as they walked with interlaced fingers through the wild grasses. Rosie was carrying a basket filled with some water and fruit that Lucy had insisted on. And as the bright summer sun beat down on them Rosie was glad that she had persuaded him to bring it.

They found a nice little spot under a tree and proceeded to eat the berries that Crosby had probably somehow found in the market.

“Rosie, thanks for letting me come here.”

“What? Of course, I would always have you here if I could.” Rosie said as he watched Lucy spread out on the grass, leaning her head against his thigh.

“Good, because I never want to leave.”

“That reminds me… when is your train tomorrow?”

“Early, Johnson wants me back to get an assignment bright and early Monday morning, and there are no later trains.”

“Well that’s an inconvenience.”

“I know, love. I’m sorry, I wish I could stay here with you forever but my job…”

“Lu, it’s alright. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m beyond proud of what you’re accomplishing. I just wish we had more time.”

“We’ll have more time after the war. We just need to get through it first.”

“And we will.” Rosie said, firmly and looked at Lucy with a serious look on his face which she mirrored.

“I know we will.”

Lucy felt free. She was standing next to Rosie, making dinner, and it was as if all the worries had drifted away. Lucy had realized that that sort of thing happened only when she was around him, it was as if there was this calming energy just surrounding him like some sort of blanket.

She didn’t want to leave. She knew it was the same old story she had been telling herself when he first left all those weeks ago but now she was the one leaving and it hurt. But she was adamant that she would savor this moment, because Rosie was making his mother’s famous tomato soup again.

“Lucy, here.”

“What? Oh!” Rosie held up the spoon for her to try the soup, Lucy put down the bread she was cutting as carefully sipped the red liquid.

“Rosie, this is incredible, again- You need to give me that recipe.”

“Nope. My ma said we can only give it to family so unless you’re considering becoming a Rosenthal then I’m afraid I can’t.”

“And what if I wanted that to happen?” Lucy said, confidence moving through her like a bolt of lightning. She watched as Rosie nearly dropped the spoon that he was holding and widened his eyes almost comically.

“You mean- I- So if I proposed right here and now, you would say yes?”

“Yes, but I don’t think you have a ring. So wait until the war has ended and then get down on one knee, hmm?”

“You really want to marry me?”

“More than anything.”

“Well then I’ll ask you again when this is all over.”

“You better, Mr. Rosenthal.” Lucy said with a smile so wide that it was starting to hurt her cheeks. Rosie quickly placed the spoon back into the pot before pulling Lucy towards him by the waist and kissing her deeply and passionately and so full of love.

Lucy responded in turn and they spent what felt like forever entwined together, hands tangled in each other’s hair and passionately kissing.

“Rosie… Rosie… we need to eat.”

“Right yeah. Okay.” He quickly said before Lucy felt his lips press against hers once again.

“Rosie. Darling.”

“Okay. Yeah. Food.” Lucy hummed with a smile on her face as Rosie pulled away and started to quickly serve the soup into bowls.

The dinner was laced with tension, Lucy’s knees kept knocking against Rosie’s and they barely uttered a word as they just stared at each other.

“Rosie, let me clean up.”

“You sure?”

“Of course, you cooked. It’s only fair.” Rosie nodded and helped her carry the dishes to the sink. Lucy quickly washed them all the while feeling Rosie’s eyes on her.

“Ready for bed?”

“Hmm, I need to change first.”

“Into that nightgown?”

“Yes, Rosie. Into that nightgown. Just so you know though, we aren’t doing that tonight.”

“Oh I know. I want to save that until we have our own home and a proper bed that doesn’t creak with every movement.”

“Rosie!”

“What?”

Half an hour later, Lucy found herself once again cuddled up against Rosie’s chest. Her fingers were intertwined with the chain that held his dog tags and she could feel him placing soft kisses on her head.

“Good night, my love.” Lucy mumbled as she felt sleep overtake her, pulling her into dreams filled with the man next to her.

“Good night. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Rosie woke up the next morning in a similar way he had the day before. He was holding Lucy in his arms but the English weather decided to take a turn for the worse. The sounds of rain against the windows had Lucy stirring against him. He still couldn’t believe what happened last night actually happened. She said she would marry him. Him!

Butterflies seemed to angrily beat their wings in his stomach when he felt Lucy place a delicate kiss over his heart.

“Hi darling.”

“Hi. Do you know what time it is?”

“Uh- around 830 hours.”

“Good, we can stay here for a while then.”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

So the couple laid in between white sheets and just held each other for a few more minutes. They were desperate to cling onto the shreds of time that they had left before they would have to leave each other again.

Lucy felt that time slip away when she started to assemble her clothes back into her suitcase. She could hear Rosie humming and making breakfast downstairs and that familiar pang in her heart reappeared.

What she wouldn’t do so she could stay with him for just a few more hours… but the clock read 9am and her train would leave in an hour, with or without her.

“Breakfast is ready! I even made your tea.” 

Lucy laughed as she grabbed the handles of her carpet bag and quickly went down the stairs, depositing her luggage next to her shoes and walking over to the kitchen. Rosie dramatically presented her with a mug that had what looked like tea in it.

She pressed the side to her lips and took a sip of the liquid, surprisingly enough he didn’t mess it up. The milky goodness slid past her taste buds and she let out a groan of satisfaction.

“Thanks Rosie. What did you make?”

“Just toast, I know we need to leave soon.”

“Thanks, darling. I’m all packed and ready.” Lucy said as she accepted the plate with a single piece of toast and some fruit on it.

“Great. Are you excited for the new assignment?”

“Yeah, yeah I am. He mentioned I would get to do some more interviews, which is something I love more than research so hopefully it’s a good one.”

“Everything you write is already incredible.”

“Yeah I’m not so sure about that but thank you.”

“Lucy…”

“What? You get all clammed up when I talk about how incredible you are at flying so don’t think this is all me.” Lucy said, making her point by waving the piece of toast around and pointing at Rosie.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop. When do you want to head out?”

“When we finish this? I want to get the dishes all clean for Croz and then we can walk.”

“Actually I was thinking we could just take my bike.”

“Do you think that’s safe?” Lucy said, raising her eyebrows teasingly.

“Hey! That was a one-time thing. I’m a master now.”

“Sureee.”

“Stop teasing me or else you’ll be walking all the way there while I cruise by next to you.”

“How exactly are you planning on carrying both of us on that thing?”

“You just need to sit on the handle bars.”

“Yeah, no, not happening.”

Minutes later after the house had been checked over Lucy found herself balancing on the handles of the bicycle with her bag on her lap. She was feeling bouts of nervous energy running through her body and she cursed at Rosie the entire way to the train station.

When it finally came into view, Lucy quickly jumped off the bike and took a long deep breath of fresh air. Wobbling slightly on her legs she heard Rosie laugh as he dismounted the bike and leaned it against the brick wall.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Oh Major Rosenthal you don’t want to know.”

“Would a kiss make it up to you?”

“It would be a start.” Rosie chuckled and then pulled Lucy closer to him, placing a kiss on her cheek and then on her lips.

“I almost forgot!” Lucy suddenly exclaimed and then bent down to pull out a book from her bag. “Something to remember me by.”

“Lucy… I don’t think there’s a chance I will ever forget you.”

“I hope so, but you seemed interested and I have one too many books at home anyways. Just make sure to give it back to me, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The sounds of a coming train suddenly resounded and Lucy reluctantly let go of the book. 

“I have to go.”

“I know.”

“I love you so much, Rosie. Remember what I told you last night.”

“You’ll be waiting?”

“Always.” The couple turned at the sound of the train pulling into the station, and in a parallel to all those weeks ago when one of them left the other on the train platform; Lucy stepped onto the train and waved. She watched as he waved back and quickly blew him a kiss before disappearing to find her seat.

“I better go buy a ring.” Rosie muttered to himself when the train started to pull away from the station.

just apologizing in advance for the next chapter which although unwritten is going to be A LOT.

taglist: @callumsgirl @justheretoreadthxxs <333

part 4

#rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal #robert rosie rosenthal #masters of the air #mota #mota spoilers #mota fanfic #mota oc #masters of the air oc #masters of the air x oc #rosie rosenthal x oc #rosie x oc #robert rosenthal x oc #my ocs <3 #harry crosby #nate mann #maria writes

[liebgottsjumpwings]

"The drum you stroke. Damn that beat so old. In the ground it grows there. To damn the sun. Gates of gold. In your head you hold, a kingdom molten. May the gods be on your side"

FAYE "FISH" FISCHER | MASTERS OF THE AIR

It made her squint, the way the sun reflected off the water in the stately looking pond across the street. It was early in the evening and the setting sun had been hanging low in the sky. Casting a golden glow onto the peaceful park she overlooked. Faye’s forehead was pressed against the sun-warmed glass. Her view of the park became blurry as the glass began to fog from Faye’s breathing. Rough shapes and colours were what remained of the scene across the street. Golden and green, sun, grass and trees. The same elements that made up the view from her childhood home back in Louisiana. It was also the last she had seen of the Alsatian town of Mulhouse as the train carried her westward. She had closed her eyes as it did, trying to keep the golden and green view in her mind for as long as possible. 

“Fischer? Are you even listening?” she heard the OSS officer in front of her ask. “Your cover was about to be blown, we couldn’t just let you keep working in Mulhouse, I’m sure you’re also happy you’re not in the middle of it anymore,” the officer continued. Faye just nodded. He would never know what it was like to be in the heart of it. To have to hide the core elements of your identity. To witness the atrocities. To have to stand and watch, unable to do anything because if you did, you would risk the same fate, while also jeopardizing the OSS’s operation. He would never know, or understand. So she just nodded, her thumb and index finger pressing into the small, silver Magen David that hung from her necklace. “Considering the Krauts are onto you now, we’ve transferred you to a different position. One that doesn’t require you to drop into occupied Europe.” The golden and green outside became even more blurred, and then they disappeared as Faye closed her eyes in anticipation. “The unit is moving you to Thorpe Abbotts, there’s an Air Force base there and they want you to capture and archive their missions-” Faye sat up, interrupting the officer; "why on earth do they need those recorded?” her eyebrows raised. “On paper, it’s something about morale, something they can show back home,” Morale. She huffed, if only they knew.

"They also want photographic evidence of their hit targets, so I guess you're also supposed to do that." the officer continued. This made her move up from her chair, both of her hands leaning onto the desk. "You're gonna make me go up in those planes?!"

BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

Name: Faye Geneva Fischer

Age: 23 (as of September 1943)

Date of birth: November 10, 1920 at 20:08

Place of birth: Plaquemine, Iberville Parish, Louisiana, United States

Hometown: New Orleans, Orleans Parish, Louisiana, United States

Occupation:  OSS Combat Photographer

Affiliation: Office of Strategic Services; Photographic Unit & Eight Air Force; 100th Bombardment Group

PLAYLIST | PINTEREST

#masters of the air #masters of the air x oc #hbo war #i've paired her with rosie #oc: faye #rosie rosenthal #mota oc #mota #masters of the air one shot #robert rosenthal

[softspeirs]

The Major and the Nurse (3): Rosie Rosenthal x OC

A/N: I just can’t stop myself from imagining what it was like after the first mission for the Riveters when they get back from the flak house. So here we are. Our friend Grace Fleming is back. This technically takes place after this fic, but you can read them separately from each other.

three - don't break my heart (no promises).

He’s standing outside the officer’s hut, wondering what he’s supposed to do now. He doesn’t want to go inside.

Today’s mission went well, but it doesn’t change the mood that’s hovered over him since his forced break the week before.

He had hesitated at the hatch, that morning. His fingers drumming out a rhythm on the plane, he had shut his eyes, and had to force himself inside.

Hand on his hips, he shakes his head, frustrated with his inability to control his emotions and do his job.

That’s where she finds him.

“Captain Rosenthal?” Her voice cuts through the white noise in his head, jolts him back to the present. He shuts his eyes for a half second, making sure that when he faces her again, his smile is present and accounted for.

He is happy to see her; he doesn’t have to pretend, not really.

“Lieutenant Fleming. Heading home?”

The women’s huts aren’t anywhere near here. He knows that. Knows it means she’s gone out of her way to seek him out, and while that would normally make him grin and arch a playful eyebrow at her until she blushes in that way he’s learning he really enjoys, he can’t find it in him this evening.

She tilts her head. “No. Can’t sleep.”

“The matron’s gonna have your head.”

Can she hear it, he wonders? The way he’s fighting with his own voice not to crack, the way he’s desperately trying to have a casual conversation despite the fact that he knows why she’s here?

She rolls her eyes, takes a step closer to him. “She’s all bark, no bite. Besides, she wouldn't mind that I'm checking on you. Not after--" She stops herself.

It lands between them like an anvil, the elephant in the room they’re both trying to pretend isn’t there.

“You don’t have to check on me.” He says after a few minutes.

“I know. Still wanted to.”

His breath catches in his throat at the sincerity in her voice. Whatever this is between the two of them, he’s both terrified to let her in and fighting the urge to close the distance between them every second they spend together.

It’s just — the last two weeks have been absolute hell, and what kind of ending is he writing for her by letting this thing between them happen? If he gives in to their easy conversation, her gentle smiles and kind eyes… what sort of fate does that leave her with? Another day watching a plane not come back? How could he do that to her?

And that's assuming he's not imagining all the little moments that have stacked up since he got to Thorpe Abbotts - the softly exchanged words, the smiles and the reassurances, the way he can't take his eyes off her when she's in the same room.

“I can hear the gears turning up there.” She says softly. “Are you... are you okay, Rosie?"

He nods. "I'll be fine. It was just tough, getting back in the saddle today. But I'm fine."

“Captain—“

“And I really, really don’t want to talk about it. Please, Grace. I can’t… I have to just go to sleep, put today out of my mind, and try to figure out how the hell I’m going to do this again tomorrow.” Her name escapes him without his permission.

Her eyes widen slightly, but then the look on her face changes. It seems to say two can play this game. “Robert.” She says firmly, eyes narrowing. Something in his chest tightens at the sound of his name in her mouth. “If you keep everything inside, you’re going to break down eventually.”

He knows she’s right, but there’s a part of him itching for a fight. “You don’t understand what it’s like up there, Lieutenant.”

She flinches a little at his tone. He feels guilty for a split second, but he can’t stop himself.

“I never thought twice about doing my job until I got sent away, and I know everyone thinks it was for our own good, but that's not the way I like to do things. I don't like things being left unfinished."

Her gaze is pensive, thoughtful. "It makes sense that you're angry."

“You’re damned right I’m angry. I’m not supposed to be one of the only pilots here. We aren’t supposed to be the only original crews left. But I don't want to sit around and talk about it. If I talk about it, I won’t be able to get back in the plane the next time, and there isn’t anyone left, Grace.” He’s heaving great, shaky breaths by the time he’s finished. He can’t look at her.

“Do you feel better now?” Her voice is surprisingly calm. He expects her to get angry with him right back, or to get upset. He expects her to walk away from him, like he knows she should.

He doesn’t expect her hand, a light touch on his arm. “You’re right, Captain.” She says. “I don’t know what it’s like up there. I don’t know what you’re feeling now and I’ll never be able to fully understand. But those were my friends too, and you're not the only one trying to put before out of your mind.”

He looks up, sees a unique type of hurt in her eyes. Remembers the cackle of Bucky Egan’s laughter at a dry comment she makes to him while he sits on the edge of the table in the pub, letting her worry over a still-too-red cut above his eye.

Remembers her crouching down to ruffle Meatball’s fur, rolling her eyes at DeMarco as he brags about what a good copilot the dog is.

“And I know you have to bury some of it so you can get back in the plane,” she continues, taking a step even closer. “But just promise me that when you do need to talk, you’ll talk to someone. Even if it isn’t me. Because if you don’t, if it gets to you… you might make a mistake up there.”

He opens his mouth automatically to contradict her, but she reaches out to straighten the knot of his scarf before he can speak, continuing, “And if one day that plane doesn’t come back… well, that would well and truly break my heart, Rosie.”

His heart begins to beat again at the combination of her words, her proximity, and the feeling of her hands, her hands that save lives and are so sure and confident, lingering there on his chest.

He’s sure she can feel the rapid pounding of his heart beneath his flight suit.

“I won’t break your heart, Grace.” He says. His voice is like gravel.

He doesn’t promise. She doesn’t ask him to. They both know it’s impossible.

#this is whew angsty #i didn’t mean it!!! #but also i kind of did #rosie rosenthal x oc #softspeirs mota fanfiction #masters of the air fanfiction #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfic #oc: grace fleming

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

hesbuckcompton-baby's Masterlist

OC Masterlist

Just Come Home - Ronald Speirs x OFC (Completed)

AO3 Introduction || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 When You Know, You Know (Additional oneshot) Ron x Val Medieval AU

Old Money New World - Eugene Roe x OFC (Discontinued)

Introduction || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9

Band of Brothers - The Terror AU

I Stayed There - Eugene Sledge x OFC (Completed)

AO3 Introduction || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10

Damage Gets Done - SAS: Rogue Heroes x OFC (Ongoing)

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OC (Ongoing)

AO3 Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 Additional oneshot // Playlist 1 // Playlist 2

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OC (Ongoing)

AO3 Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 Playlist

#band of brothers #hbo war #band of brothers fic #band of brothers oc #hbo war fic #eugene roe x ofc #eugene roe x oc #eugene roe x reader #ronald speirs x oc #ronald speirs x ofc #ronald speirs x reader #the pacific #the pacific fic #eugene sledge #eugene sledge x oc #eugene sledge x ofc #eugene sledge x reader #the pacific oc #sas rogue heroes #sas: rogue heroes #sas rogue heroes oc #sas: rogue heroes fic #masters of the air #masters of the air oc #rosie rosenthal x oc

[bloodynereid]

Correspondence

part 2 of Those Sunlit Kisses ! read part 1 here, part 3 here & part 4 here

pairing: robert 'rosie' rosenthal x oc (lucy everett)

tw: mentions of war, bomb bunkers, love letters, general fluff, mentions of kissing

description: the love letters between a young couple eager to see each other again.

a/n: whooo part 2!! this part was always in the works ever since i wrote part 1 and even if it's wayyy shorter than the first one i'm still proud of it. ALSO i would strongly recommend you read part 1 before starting this or else you will probably understand nothing that is going on. i hope you enjoy and lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

My dearest Rosie,

I realized you didn’t get my address the moment your train was pulling out of the station, and so I hope this letter reaches you safe and sound. I already miss you more than I thought was possible. What have you done to me, Rosie? 

The sun is setting and that Artie Shaw record you love is playing and my thoughts are just filled with you. I finished packing a few minutes ago, I’m all ready to leave for London in the morning. And I seem to already be regretting my decision to leave this place. I feel such apprehension towards my job and my life there. 

One small consolation is that you, my dear, will be closer to me. I eagerly await your response and remember you will always have a place in my heart. I love you.

Yours,

Lucy XXXXX

My darling Lucy,

You cannot imagine the joy that went through my body when I received your letter. Oh my dear how I miss you so. I want to go back to those days on the beach.

The summer sun here is almost stifling, it makes the oil pungent and the heat seems to be strangling me. I am currently hiding away in my bunk, trying to read your letter in peace but Croz keeps sending me these glances. It’s like he knows I’m writing to you and not my Ma, but that might be because of the stupid grin that appears on my face whenever I think of you. You are also plaguing me in every way.

I imagine that you are in London now, just hours away from me… I could easily just hop on a train and go see your beautiful face again. Or maybe you can come here soon. Just say the word, my love.

Tell me all about work and your new article! I searched for your paper this morning and imagine my surprise to find your name inscribed there in neat ink. They just published that article you were telling me about a week ago. It was truly incredible, darling.

I can hear Crosby calling, so with lingering thoughts of you I sign off.

All my love,

Rosie XXXXX

P.S. - Crosby says hi!

Dear Major Rosenthal,

Well isn’t that an official way to start my letter to you. Don’t worry you’re still my Rosie ♥. I’m sorry the heat is horrid over there, if it makes you feel any better I have to sleep with all my windows open because I feel like I’m about to collapse whenever a new gust of heat hits me.

It is dreadfully late to be writing to you but I am too excited to wait until tomorrow. It was wonderful to get your letter as well, my dear. You have been on my mind a lot today, what’s new about that? 

I was sitting on my little kitchen table while the sun was starting to rise and it felt like your arms were around me once more. Maybe I am becoming delirious with my yearning for you or it may just be the heat, but oh I miss you so much, my darling.

I do not know when your next mission is but know you’re in my thoughts and be sure to come back to me.

I am so very glad you read my article, and enjoyed it. I am also grateful you didn’t sing my praises too much, I truly do hate compliments as you know. My next assignment is very exciting. I feel like an actual journalist for once! I’ll be getting to do some field work and interviews so I’m very much hoping that this signifies some kind of turning point.

I wish I could go visit you and see that beautiful plane you were telling me about. When do you have leave again? Or maybe I’ll just take some time off to see you one weekend. Let us meet soon, my darling. Thoughts of seeing you again have me going all giddy inside.

Tell Crosby I say hello! I’m glad you have someone there for you, my darling, when I can’t be. I hope I can meet him soon! I sign off with a kiss and will now go to sleep, awaiting dreams filled with you.

Only yours,

Lucy XXXXX

Dearest love,

Hello my darling. It truly feels like an eternity since we last saw each other, that house by the beach seems so far away. If you’re becoming delirious with thoughts of me then I’m inclined to say that I’m feeling the same way about you. I have just gotten back from a mission and foregoing any details, it did not go well.

However, I did seem to feel your presence surrounding me while I was up there. Maybe it was because I was so close to death a few too many times and you steered me away from the edge. It was as if you were next to me and whispering sweet things in my ear. 

Oh I am so proud of you, my dear. And I will now sing more praises about you because you deserve them and more. I will be eagerly awaiting your article and I hope you aren’t overworking yourself.

My next leave is in about two weeks and then I have a few sparse weekend passes. Things are amping up over here… I can’t say much more but it’s going to be an important day. I would love it if you came up here but only if it works for you. I am sure I can find some halfway decent jazz clubs in London, so don’t worry yourself too much about that. I just want to see you again.

Crosby read the last part of your last letter and now has been harassing me to meet you. Apparently I look like a love sick idiot while reading your letters and I do have to admit that’s probably true.

I cannot wait for your next letter, sweetheart. I hope you slept well and know you have been in my dreams since the first night we met.

Always and forever,

Your Rosie XXXX

My dear Rosie, 

I am beyond glad and grateful that you are safe, at least for now. This may be short as I’m in one of the bomb shelters at the moment and there is limited light, but I wanted to reply to you as soon as possible.

I am sure that I can get some time off to see you in the next few weeks. I finished my article and it’s currently being revised, which is exciting. Would next weekend work for you? I could come down there and you can show me around the town, I’ll need to find some place to stay but other than that I am beyond ready to see you.

Do tell Crosby to stop harassing you since I will most likely be there soon to meet him. And do let him know that he is welcome to come to London with you at any time as I have a spare room which I’m sure you wouldn’t be using if you ever came to visit. I love you and I miss you.

Eternally yours,

Lucy XXXXX

Darling Lucy,

I hope you’re alright and this letter finds you safely. Next weekend would be perfect, Crosby somehow made arrangements so you have a place close to the base to stay at! He seems more excited to finally meet you than I thought was possible. Of course, I am beyond happy to finally see you again.

It has been a long few weeks without getting to see your face, my dear. I don’t know if I could survive another month without kissing you and running my hands through your hair. I go up again in a few hours and wanted to write this before I left. You should know that the note you gave me before I left on that Sunday afternoon has become my good luck charm. It sits in the pocket of my jacket as of this moment.

Maybe sometime soon I can go to London and drag Croz along with me. And that bed sounds more inviting than my bunk…

I love you my darling, and I cannot wait to see you.

Sending you all my love,

Rosie XXXX

BOARDING TRAIN. ON MY WAY. SEE YOU SOON. LOVE. LUCY.

part 3

so... little notes about this part: i actually wrote all of the letters except the last one by hand in one of my notebooks before transcribing them and changing a few details. i just felt like it would make them more real idk, if anyone wants to see pictures just like lmk haha.

a few other details of the letters: i have a book of like a collection of letters from wwi and i used some of those as a reference point. i also looked up a bunch of stuff which was actually a really nice self indulgent research project.

crosby was always meant to make an appearance but i ended up toning it down from the original plan.

next part will be the reunion fic and then there's going to be a time jump which will be fun. i'm really just playing with the timeline at this point don't think too hard about it.

taglist: @justheretoreadthxxs @callumsgirl <333

#rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal #robert rosie rosenthal #masters of the air #mota #mota spoilers #mota fanfic #mota oc #masters of the air oc #masters of the air x oc #rosie rosenthal x oc #rosie x oc #robert rosenthal x oc #my ocs <3 #harry crosby #nate mann #maria writes