#Harry Crosby is left handed

[thatsrightice]

TIL Harry Crosby was left-handed.

“Gil decided that the best setting for the painting would be in the nose of " Just-a-Snappin" at the moment we dropped the bombs over Regensburg. One touch of authenticity is that I am writing with my left hand. The plane and equipment are very accurate.”

— Harry Crosby regarding Gil Cohen’s painting, titled "THE REGENSBURG MISSION 17 AUGUST 1943"

[jgracie]

HOW YOU GET THE CURL

masterlist | rules

❝ idk if you’d do percy but with curly blonde hair (like pjo series ver perce) but if you do, i’d love a fic where he teaches y/n how to maintain curly hair (she doesn’t have curly hair) cause he loves the idea of her taking care of him ❞ — anon

in which percy teaches you how to take care of curly hair

pairing percy jackson x fem!reader

warnings none

on the radio . . . romeo & juliet (peter mcpoland), san fransisco (be sure to wear some flowers in your hair) (scott mckenzie), sunflower, vol 6 (harry styles), slow dancing (aly & aj), our house (crosby, stills, nash & young)

an can someone pls tell me the titles sooo smart and funny 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

“Honey, I’m home!” As soon as you heard Percy yell those words from your front door, you left the comfort of the couch and ran into his arms. He immediately put his bags down and picked you up, twirling you around before peppering kisses all over your face.

Life in New Rome couldn’t be any better. After the two of you got into the same university, your parents bought you an apartment to share so you wouldn’t have to be separated in university dorms, knowing all too well how you were attached at the hip. You had cried at the gesture, and Percy held you in his arms as he, too, held back tears.

A wide grin on his face, he asked, “how’s my favourite girl?” As he unpacked everything he’d bought that day, you gave him a rundown of your day. It was pretty mundane - some reading, some studying - but he listened as if you were describing the plot to a sci-fi movie. Your eyes quickly took in everything laid out on the counter, mostly groceries, and landed on one bottle.

You picked it up and read the label while Percy explained what it was, happy you were amused, “that’s a new curl cream. The one I’ve been using’s a little too heavy for my hair, always weighing my curls down. I think I’m gonna try it today, do you wanna do the honours?” 

“Honours of what?” You asked, confused. You didn’t have curly hair, so you didn’t know much about the effort that went into taking care of it, just that it required a lot of different products and was incredibly laborious, according to Percy. His curls were really cute though, so in your opinion, the labour was worth it.

Making his way over to you and wrapping his arms around you, Percy batted his eyelashes, “of trying it on me. I’ve been thinking, babe, you need to know how to do curly hair for when we have kids! Curly hair genes run strong in my family, so I wouldn’t be surprised if our kids inherit them.” 

You felt your face heat up as you thought about having kids with Percy, then smiled fondly when you realised what he was doing. Percy’s always been incredibly shy about wanting to be cared for. No matter how many times you’d tell him you didn’t mind giving him a massage or going over his maths homework, he’d always try to conceal his true intentions with some other lame excuse, like now.

“Okay! Let’s go do it now,” you said, dragging him over to your bathroom. You grabbed a stool for him to sit on and stood between him and the bath, hand-held shower head in hand (I hope this setup makes sense LOL). Making sure the water was the perfect temperature, you began rinsing his hair, careful to make sure no water dripped down his body. While you did so, Percy told you about his day. You always loved his knack for storytelling, your boyfriend never failed to find a way to make anything sound interesting.

Next, you squirted some of his shampoo on your hand and began lathering it in his hair. You felt Percy relax and smiled, glad he was content, “it’s okay to want to be taken care of, Perce. I’ll do it gladly,” you mumbled absentmindedly, to which he simply hummed. As you conditioned his hair, he began to doze off, which made you reconsider using the cream. You didn’t trust yourself to use it without his guidance, but didn’t want to wake him up.

In the end, you decided on disrupting his sleep, since you knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night if he slept now, “how do I do this?”

Percy took your hand and squirted some of the cream into your open palm, “rub it into both hands, then scrunch it into my hair.” You did as you were told, your hands light as too little was better than too much, in case you did something wrong.

When Percy looked into the mirror, he turned to you and smiled, “hey, you’re a natural! You should do this all the time” He asked, his eyes bleary. You would do this a million times if it made him this happy every single one of them.

After the cream came the gel, which was a lot easier since it was the same scrunching motion as before. You were a little apprehensive when Percy told you to put it in, since you didn’t think crunchy curls were the outcome. However, it all made sense during the final stage: the hair oil.

“This, my love, is what stops them from being all crunchy. Just lightly pass it over my hair,” Percy explained, pouring the tiniest amount of oil into your palm. You recognised the scent - it smelled like home, like him. 

You finished and admired your work. Percy was right, you were pretty good at taking care of curly hair. After running his fingers through his hair a couple times to loosen the curls up the way he liked, Percy gave you a hug, kissing your head thousands of times and saying a muffled, “thank you,” into your hair.

Nothing was more blissful than this. Well, until you smelt something burning.

Pulling away from you, Percy asked, “did you make something?” You wracked your brain for an answer then gasped, remembering what it was. Running to the kitchen with Percy behind you, you quickly pulled the cookies you were baking - once blue, now black - out of the oven.

“I wanted to surprise you with these!” You said, disappointed. 

Fighting the urge to cough, Percy picked one up and bit into it, grimacing for a second before smiling and holding a thumbs up, “it’s really unique, I’ve never tasted anything like these. You definitely did surprise me!” He said, sarcasm dripping from his voice Rolling your eyes, you discarded the cookies and replied, “oh, shut up, Perce”

[speirslore]

masters of the air types of kisses hcs

(a/n: if i didn't include your fav just send me an ask and i'll add them! requests are open for bob, tp, and mota. sorry i have been inactive this summer, i was super busy with my internship!)

lmk if you would like to be on my taglist: @ronsparky @bcon24 @blueberry-ovaries @1waveshortofashipwreck @beautifulbluejay

[john egan]

okay... obviously... confident kisses

bucky knows what he's doing

he's also so spurred on by an audience like would he admit that... no. but in front of the other officers that have been eyeing you all night... yeah bucky loves that

always talking into the kisses, always has something to say

and his voice is always very low and hoarse too

kissing you but breaking away to murmur close to your lips, "god i love you, i haven't told you that yet but i do." he can't even try to repress his emotions, they bubble over the surface so easily and he's very honest about his emotions and how he feels

bucky just can't let himself repress anything, he expresses a lot of emotion through physical affection and intimacy

his kisses mean so much more to him than just the act of kissing, it's intimacy, it's knowing you- how you like when he cups your cheek or wraps his hand around your waist, every single kiss is a love confession to bucky

he loves just spending time with you, being around you, being next to you, laying next to you, wrapped around you, yeah he can definitely get a little clingy

a lot of morning, lazy kisses

but he is not a morning person, this is just him in between kisses trying to convince you to stay in bed with him all day

likes draping himself all over you except he's huge, hugging you from behind, chin resting on the top of your head, which means a lot of kissing the crown of your head or forehead <3

[gale cleven]

gale has a lot of self control and he's a private person

especially in regards to you, he's not against pda but he just loves the intimacy of being completely and totally alone with you

especially while being in the military where there's no such thing as actual privacy

so... private kisses

he also lets kisses say a lot, lets them speak for him... like i can't articulate how i feel right now but give me a few more months and it'll slip out eventually but right now please take this as a token of my appreciation and love for you <3

i think he has to feel very safe to truly articulate how he feels, has some left over fear of rejection from childhood

loves domestic, routine quick kisses like greeting you, saying hi or bye

always a quick peck when he's leaving or when he comes back, or when you're cooking in the kitchen

sometimes he'll get brave and might sneak a kiss while dancing in the officer's club

gale can be a little (very) unsure of himself at times

feels inexperienced overthinks it but it's never obvious

big fan of being super close, hand around your waist, your hand in his hair, his thumb running across your cheek to pull you in closer, a leg hooking around his own thigh... very fun

[harry crosby]

nervous kisses are we joking

a hot mess but your mess!

likes holding your hands in principle but is too embarrassed about his sweaty hands, but sometimes he'll pull your interlocked hands up for a kiss

also will opt to keep his hands in your hair when it's really getting heated

when you're first start seeing each other, it's more like quick pecks

he's just reallyyyy overthinking it

once does accidentally headbutt you and gets so red and takes like a month to not be totally mortified about it

but you just think it's cute <3 he's trying!

but the longer you're together, the better and more comfortable he becomes with intimacy

harry really loves slow kisses, taking everything, taking you in

allows him to get more comfortable, to relax and take his time

not constantly rushing, especially after deadline after deadline, you're his escape so taking your time in the moment is crucial to him

and it helps a lot too when he's at first so nervous, he can figure out what you respond to, what you like

which he is incredibly concerned with... and if he's ever unsure it's really stemming from him wanting to make sure you're having fun and you're enjoying it too

so many tired kisses, likes to just fall into your arms or bed after hours of working and straining his eyes staring at so many maps, trying to plan successful routes... he's exhausted

and kisses are definitively the cure!

[rosie rosenthal]

rosie is just the sweetest and he just so happens to also excell at kissing

comforting kisses? encapsulating? dare i say practically perfect?

he just gets to know you so well and is naturally so good at nurturing, leading, and taking care of people

so that definitely applies to his attitude towards physical intimacy

loves when you run your fingers through his hair while kissing, like his curlssss...... guys

maybe a little (or a lot) embarrassing in public like loves swooping you off your feet or when you arm into his arms after he's been flying for hours, giving you a big smooch, or very enthusiastically dancing with you at the officers club (showing off his moves) which you find incredibly charming

but can it really be that embarrassing when he doesn't care about that, about what anyone else thinks of him... it's only you <3

it's always a big event with him, he lovesss a romantic gesture, he's a total romantic

random but absolutely melts whenever you call him robert, especially when you're kissing or cuddling

absolutely a lot of forehead kisses, it's a natural reflex for him at this point

will never run out of ways to say i love you, to show you he loves you

[john brady]

john is no nonsense type of guy like if he wants to kiss you... he kisses you

protective in front of other people, especially at the officers club, his hand is always hovering on the small of you back or holding your hand, he's very touchy

a little possessive, maybe a lot

that can rile him up very easily, and then suddenly you're not on the dance floor anymore, you're in the bathroom with his hand shoved up your dress and your lipstick smudged :/

he's very direct but that doesn't mean he's impersonal, especially in regards to physical affection and intimacy

john definitely has a soft side that you see routinely

so also very tender kisses

loves cupping your jaw, bringing you in closer, loves looking into your eyes, loves tucking your hair behind your ears, loves slow, intentional kisses that could last forever

he absolutely has to have the perfect music for everything so he's hunched over flipping through vinyls while you're lying in bed like... honey come back pls <3

uncharacteristically lacks restraint, usually has a lot of self control but not with kisses

has a very intense kissing style

his eye contact, touch and firm grip, his lowered voice...

john is also very observant so he catches on very quickly to what you like and how you're feeling

[howard hamilton]

okay, hambone is a complicated man, he has many layers

you love the gold teeth, i'm projecting but like objectively they are hot?

little rough sometimes

has bitten your lip, it was on accident but unfortunately (fortunately) you both enjoyed it

at first it definitely felt weird kissing him, warm skin contrasting with the cool metal

is pretty insecure about the scar across his cheek when he returns home

it just makes his cheek and face in general so sensitive

so you're of course very gentle

running your hand very, very carefully over his cheek to cup his jaw

is he super gentle in return?... no

he's just naturally so excited, a little rough, like a puppy who doesn't know his own strength except he does know he's just a tad bit insatiable

but also so surprisingly (unsurprisingly) a gentleman! he's from the south

but he's also always aiming to please (lady in the streets but a freak in the bed, thank you ludacris)

only interested in you and doesn't try to hide it. does he really care about this officers party? absolutely not, he's trying to get you back to barracks better yet

[james douglass]

yes he is upfront very cocky like way too assured for his level of game

approaching you at the officers club like, "i actually love amelia earhart by the way. just so you know," he's an ally <3

yet it works every time so...

he's very expressive and very in tune with what you feel or what sounds you're making

kind of noisy... always humming, very vocal like he's always trying to find someway, somehow to get leave to go to london or anywhere private. day dreaming about privacy so he can be as loud as he wants... james is sick of muffling his moans

grins into kisses constantly, he's just that excited

pulls away a lot to look at you, so tenderly

always has an excuse for why you need to kiss, like, right now

yes he's cocky and self-assured but at his core he's still a huge romantic... shhhh secretly

he loves a sappy sad romance film or book

like that letter he was writing, yes he's an amateur but he has great prose

you do tell him that ofc and hype him up

because him trying to write romantic letters or god forbid poetry is precious to you, just as precious as his flushed cheeks, blushing that he tries to hide

[everett blakely]

he's just so effortless

everything he does just seems so cool including when he's kissing you!

ev makes it seem easy like it comes so naturally to him, he always seems to know exactly how to move his lips to mesh perfectly with your own

he lovessss spontaneous kisses too

just out of nowhere cradling your neck, head in his hand, or suddenly in front of everyone pulling you closer for a kiss

ev has no shame

just casually does things that leave you in shambles

but that feeling is very much mutual

and don't tell anyone but cool, suave blakely is secretly melting on the inside when you kiss him

sometimes you still give him butterflies but he plays it off as always

but when you use his scarf to pull him closer to you, laughing into the kiss... it's harder to hide how flustered he is then

and after he's been flying for hours after a shitty, as per usual, mission, your kisses are so grounding for the both of you

it's all he needs like interrogation needs to end quicker so he can get his kiss it's truly part of his post-flight routine

[benny demarco]

quiet, intimate kisses are his forte

lives those moments private and sweet moments, like laying in bed together with meatball on the floor next to you (actually let's be real benny lets her sleep in the bed)

he is such a cuddler like benny does not play about cuddling, he just loves physical intimacy and being close to you

his cheek smushed against you, feeling his stubble against your cheek, or running his fingers through your hair as you rest your head on his chest

he's just so content laying with you, with the occasional kiss

he can fall into a domestic routine so quickly and he loves it

like you're meatball's designated babysitter while he's up in the air

wlaking meatball together

everyone around the base is very much used to seeing the two of you together, if they see you they know benny's not too far away

[ken lemmons]

oh my god he's so earnest and sweet

you just can feel the love and his intentions through his kisses and how he carefully cups your jaw to pull you closer or wrap a hand carefully around your waist

i mean he wears a locket come on...

and ofc he has a tiny picture of you in it

he's very gentle as well, always so careful

especially at first, he was so nervous about messing up somehow, was genuinely debating asking one of the guys for kissing tips and advice

but he figured it out quickly and now knows you and your body/lips like the back of his hand

whenever you both pull away from a kiss, ken is always smiling

he has a very idealistic but fun and young attitude about love

it's so contagious and just so freeing to be around

and it's evident in how he kisses you, quick and sweet, or sometimes deeply intense and intimate

kissing ken feels like a summer day

he smells vaguely like oil and his hands are rough which always surprises you, his skin is so warm from being out in the sun, and his curls are so close to you

just a great experience overall

he's just young and in love <3

it's very easy to read how he's feeling and he will never run out of ways to compliment you

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

I'll come pick it up after pt.10

John Egan X Female! Reader

Sumarry: When Egan doesn't come back from a mission. His nurse reads the letter he left for her.

Warning: Sadness/ mention of death/ historical inaccuracies/ crying/ Swearing/ use of y/n/

Word count: 980 words.

When she saw that only one plane was coming back, her heart sank. Harry Crosby was next to her; he hadn’t gone up because he got promoted to a desk office. ‘’That’s it?’’ he breathed out. She didn’t respond, she was in shock, where was he? This was the plane of Major Robert Rosenthal, but the guys called him Rosie. Bucky didn’t come home, all the guys except Rosie’s crew didn’t make it. When she saw the look on the boys faces, it said it all. Lemmons was trying to get information. ‘’Anyone else?’’ he asked. Y/n snapped. ‘’Do you see anymore planes Lemmons?!’’ she pointed out, her voice breaking in the process. Luckly, Rosie’s crew only had one man injured, so she could let the girls handle it. While she was going to go get Bucky’s letter.

7 hours earlier

‘’Darling, listen to me, if something goes wrong – ‘’ Y/n cut him off, she didn’t want to hear what he had to say, especially if it concerned his death. She sook her head, tears rising in her eyes. ‘’Don’t say that Bucky, you’ll come back, you always do’’ she said. He took both of her hands and kissed them; it was hard for him too. ‘’Please, listen to me, I know you don’t want to hear what I’ve got to say. Please listen’’ he pleaded. A tear rolled down her face, she knew this mission was going to be different than the others. ‘’If somethings happen to me, I want you to go get the letter that I wrote for you. It’s under my pillow. Read it only if I don’t come back.’’ He was fighting the urge to cry himself, the idea of breaking her heart if he didn’t come back was eating him alive. ‘’Promise me, darling.’’ He said, looking in her eyes. She avoided eye contact, he’d seen her cry before, but it wasn’t because of him. Now, she might lose him, and it was breaking her heart. ‘’I promise, but promise you’ll do everything to get back to me’’ she sobbed. ‘’I promise’’ he said. They hugged for what felt like hours, she sobbed in his arms, he cried in silence.

Now

Harry Crosby accompanied her to Bucky’s bed; he was kind of a moral support and he had to make sure she knew where his bed was. ‘’Do you want me to leave?’’ he asked her. ‘’No, but can I have privacy?’’ she said, louder than a whisper. He nodded and waited for her outside. She slipped her hand under his pillow and saw the envelope with her name written on in. She took a shaky breath before opening the letter.

My dear Y/n,

If you’re reading this, something went wrong. I’m either dead or a war prisoner. I’m sorry for not coming back, darling, I know I promised you to. I want you to know that I love you more than anything in the world. The second I laid my eyes on you; I knew that I was head over heels in love with you. Meeting you was like listening to a song for the first time, and knowing it was going to be my favorite. It’s not every day you ask your co-pilot to punch you for a girl. I was too scared to tell you that I love you or ask you to be my girl, even though I think it was clear that you were mine. I loved being with you. We had a way of being quiet together, like the silence between us was enough to say everything, like in your office the other day. Y/n, if I’m dead, I want you to know that my last thought was of you, and the beautiful night we spent together, that’s the night I knew that I wanted to have you in my life. If I’m in a prisoner’s camp, trust me, I’m already planning my escape to come back to you. In the envelope, you’ll find my necklace. I want you to have it, it looked better on you anyway, you’ll also find a ring, it was my grandmother’s. She gave it to me one day, saying I should give it to the girl that I’m sure to marry, and that’s you. So, if I come back, we’ll get married, and if I don’t come back, you have the ring anyway, because I want to marry you. Take care of Meatball for me. I love you, darling, you're all I wanted love to be.

Forever yours, John ‘Bucky’ Egan.

Y/n whipped her tears as she folded the letter again, she looked inside the envelope, seeing his necklace and the ring. She put the chain round her neck and the ring on her ring finger. It was a simple gold ring, with a pearl on top of it. It was really pretty, and it fitted her perfectly. In her heart, she hoped he was in a camp, so he could come back to her, her heart couldn’t bear the idea of him dead. Harry Crosby heard her wailing, his heart broke, she was usually a happy person, she was a real sunshine, hearing her cry like this made him sad. When he entered the room, she was lying on her side, hugging his pillow, it smelled like him. She was sobbing till the point that her body started to shake. He sat on the bed in front of her. ‘’I couldn’t tell him that I love him’’ she sobbed. ‘’I’m sure he knew it’’ he whispered.

He was in fucking Germany! Surrounded by water and plants, with two men chasing him with guns. But he must live, for her, he promised her he was going to get back, he will. He has to marry her; he can’t let her alone. That’s what he was telling himself: Get back to Y/n. He had too.

Part 11⬇️

[tetragonia]

Masters of the Air characters as aesthetics

John 'Bucky' Egan

Bucky was a golden hour, warm hues of gold and amber casting a soft, ethereal glow over everything. Giggles and banters over a sip of liquor. He was a low hum in a pub, filled with chatter and joy. Bucky was a worn sheepskin jacket, familiar and comforting. Waves crash against rugged cliffs, vivid colors pop against a backdrop of blue skiess. He was gentle and dominating, yet he asked to be taken care of behind closed doors. Back arching high against the bed sheet, hands pinned and left marks everywhere. He was a smoky jazz club alive with the sound of saxophones and clinking glasses, the sound of people laughing so loud until the stomach hurts. Grass stained knees. Running through the rain without an umbrella. He was classical music blasting from a cheap speaker. He was Apollo playing his instruments.

Gale 'Buck' Cleven

Buck was a calm before a storm. A misty forest enveloped in fog, with towering trees draped in moss and winding paths leading to hidden glens and secret clearings. He was both silent movies and thunderstorms that you'd feel inside your chest. Raised eyebrows and cold hands, pinching the bridge of your nose. Watching a painting a bit too long before the gallery was closed. Long walks to the library. Winter winds and freezing hands, subtle glances across the room. He was soft murmur of reassurance and a gentle touch behind the doors. Consensual and always asked if it's okay. Dark red lipstick, chilled red wine. A quaint cottage nestled in the countryside with a thatched roof and ivy-covered walls, surrounded by a garden bursting with fragrant herbs and vibrant flowers. He was Hestia tending the sacred flames.

Harry 'Croz' Crosby

Harry was the swirling feelings in your stomach night before a trip. A vintage typewriter sitting on a weathered wooden desk, surrounded by stacks of yellowing paper and antique books. The soft autumn sun. He was handwritten letters and cracked statues. Silver waves lapping at the shore and seashells scattered across the sand like scattered jewels. The rattling of rain against the window, messy and needed direction. He was scribbles and ink stains, messy notebooks, and the tea kettle whistling in the silent morning. He was urgent and hurry, but comforting afterwards. He was everything about pleasure behind closed doors. A disheveled bedroom with rumpled sheets and discarded clothing strewn across the floor, with posters peeling off the walls and sunlight filtering through grimy windows. He was Poseidon guarding with his trident.

Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal

Rosie was a vintage record player spinning vinyl records, filling the room with the warm crackle of music. He was sweet smiles and clear eyes. Paper planes. Overgrown rose bushes. That one song you always skipped but ended up loving it. He was tweed jackets and loose blouses. A field of wildflowers stretching out as far as the eye can see, with colorful blooms dancing in the breeze and the scent of earth and pollen filling the air. Gentle and nurturing, caring and soft behind the doors. He was a giver and always maintained satisfaction. He was pink-tinted blush. A pair of combat boots scuffed from countless adventures. Smiling at strangers on the street. He was all kind and modesty, but also Athena leading battles.

[scuttle-buttle]

Co-Pilots

Nobody asked for this. I have the flu. I needed something nice to focus on and apparently this was it. Blame @lorna-d-m my partner in crime :) also kudos to winniemaywebber and sagesolscitcewrites because i def read all their stuff and was vibing it and the pet names and stuff sooo hard

Rated: 18+

Word Count: approx. 3k

Tags: MMF, fluff and reassurance, mentions of wartime ptsd, body confidence issues, mentions of having children, PiV sex, female receiving oral, male receiving oral, voyeurism, no stated use of contraception

A/N: Croz is referred to as Crosby, Harry, and Bing in this (so as not to confuse). And idk what rank Rosie is by this point so were just going with Major

✈️

The bright lights blinded you the first time you walked through New York City; tonight was no different. Flashes of neon whites, golds, blues, reds, lit up your path as you entered the lobby to the Ritz hotel. Your husband had made arrangements for you to meet him in the city much as he had a near 2 years ago during the height of the war. You wanted to meet him at the airport. Crosby insisted he find you at the hotel. And now, with Hitler defeated, he was on his way home. For good. 

His phone call had startled you. Usually, you wrote him weekly, sometimes more if you felt lonesome. Harry’s letters were less frequent, but no less loving. Little Steve kept you more than busy most days, back home safe terrorizing your mother and father while you got some rest and relaxation with your Bing in the big city. The toddler was a shining light in your dark days. He had the same dark curls, the same downturned eyes as his father. A piece of your love that was yours no matter what the war brought - or took.

You’d nearly lost your footing when you heard his voice, gruff and mellow, across the line. Darlin’ it's me, he'd said, I'm coming home but I've got some business to finish in the city, meet me there. I'm bringing Rosie, you remember him yeah? Said he'll take us dancing at the best jazz spots. I love you Mrs. Crosby. See you soon.

Now you wait in the lobby for your love and his friend.

Minutes tick by as you wait. Maybe the plane was late? Maybe they had to meet somewhere after landing to debrief? Maybe there was a problem with the engine? Just as your maybes started to drown out the chatter and bustle around you a voice rang out.

“Well ho-ly mackerel, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes Mrs. Crosby.”

The sight of your husband had you dashing into his waiting arms. Tears streamed down your face as you kissed him senseless over and over and over. Crosby couldn’t contain his laughter at your reaction, nor did he bother hiding it when he wiped his eyes dry. 

“I’ve missed you so much Bing.”

His forehead rested on yours. “God how I’ve missed you too, Darlin’.” 

Over his shoulder you notice a taller man, stylish moustache and curls neatly gelled into place, attempting to avert his eyes and give your reunion privacy. You were struck by how attractive he was. “Bing?”

“Oh!” Harry takes a step back. “Darlin’ this is Robert Rosenthal - or Rosie as us boys like to call him.”

Rosie gives a toothy smile and holds out his hand for a firm shake; “so nice to meet you, Mrs. Crosby. Croz here has told me all about you.”

Giving your husband a raised eyebrow, you ask “all good things I hope?”

Both men chuckle. “Only the best, ma’am.” 

The three of you settled into your rooms before deciding that a celebration was in order. Rosie commandeered the evening, promising only the best jazz New York had to offer. Drinks flowed, the band jived, and couples danced the night away. 

Night after night, Rosie took you somewhere new. You’d split your time whirling the dancefloor between both your husband and his pilot friend, never satisfied until your feet ached. Harry claimed all the slow dances, nestled up close to your body. But Rosie? He got the fast-paced, jumping, hip swaying swing that Crosby claimed he couldn’t keep up with. Two left feet, he’d claim. Each morning after you slept in the plush, luxurious Ritz bed until lunchtime while they attended to their military duties. 

Friday rolled around. It had been a week of this routine. You should’ve been exhausted, you should’ve wanted to slow down - after all you were no spring chicken anymore. Yet, something about being in the arms of your husband and Rosie as you swayed to Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman, and Glen Miller felt so right. 

When the barkeep yelled for “last call” you knew it was time to retire for the evening.

“Say, why don’t you come have a nightcap in our room, Rosie? Crosby asked.

The three of you settle into the living room of the suite assigned to you and your husband. Bing plops into an armchair with a satisfied huff. You join Rosenthal on the loveseat, a respectable distance inbetween. A bottle of whisky sits open on the fireplace mantle. Conversation comes and goes as the trio fall from the high of the night. It’s easy. Almost makes the boys forget the horrors they endured in Europe. 

Around 1am the conversation begins to lull as you finish regaling the group with a story of the shenanigans you and your girlfriends would get up to during university days. “-You think you boys were bad flying all around in your skivvies, but it was nothing compared to us girls that night!” Laughter filled the room until all had let it trickle to a close; the silence was warm like the fireplace embers. Robert sat enraptured by your story, by your beauty, by the thought of you under that blue dress and all your curves. He knew he shouldn’t have noticed…..he was just a man after all. And with the things he’d seen? Could you really blame him?

“How long’s it been Rosie?” The question broke the man’s gaze from you and directed it towards Crosby. He didn’t know it was so obvious. 

Rosie was about to stumble out an answer, an apology for looking at you like that, he doesn’t know, when Croz interrupts again. “When’s the last time you felt the touch of a good woman, Rosie?” Harry waits for an answer. Rosenthal can feel his face heat; he runs his fingers through his hair mussing the curls out of place. This confident Crosby was much bolder than the one he’d met when he first shipped out to the 100th. “Before the war?” There is no judgment in his eyes, no disdain or hesitation towards his comrade as he asks. Rosie shakes his head in affirmation. His glass clinks against the table as he sets it down, whisky unfinished.

Crosby sighs. “Too long.”

“Too damn long…” Rosie agrees in a mumble. 

You sit and watch the boys in rapt attention before meeting Bing's chocolatey eyes. Rosenthal is a good man, a great one from what your husband’s letters proved, and he deserves kindness and softness after all he’s been through. They both do. A delicate hand moves to rest on Rosie’s knee where he sits next to you. His brow furrows. The Major flits his gaze between you and your husband.

In all seriousness Crosby says “It’s alright, I don’t mind.” He tilts his head forward in permission, a silent go ahead. 

The navigator noticed how Rosie looked at you all night, how you returned the glances like a game of chicken. Each admiring but neither willing to do anything about it. How the two of you danced around the club without a care in the world at his insistence. He hadn’t seen Rosie smile like that in ages. He knew you hadn’t laughed like that since before he announced he was heading to the front. You definitely were reveling in the attention of both men tonight. This was never something you had discussed with your husband; somehow you just knew each other well enough even after so long apart to know that it was okay. It was something you both wanted.

Your fingers drifted higher on Rosie’s thigh; not enough to be indecent, but enough to get the message across. His larger palm came to rest atop yours, stopping the movement. “You uh- you’re okay with this?” the Brooklyn native questioned. 

Without hesitation you reassure “I am.” 

In a measured, almost odd approach Rosenthal shifts towards you. His lips hover over your cheek for a moment before the softest kiss brushes your skin. The whiskers of his mustache tickle. You can’t help the grin that threatens to break. He continues to kiss along your cheek, once, twice, thrice, each getting closer to your waiting lips. Finally, his chapped lips meet yours. This kiss is awkward at first as he gathers his bearing, quickly finding a rhythm as if no time had passed since he last kissed a pretty dame.

Crosby sunk deeper into his chair as he watched. He could feel the tell-tale sign of his slacks becoming tighter as he watched his best girl and his best friend. “She loves it when you kiss her neck,” he instructed with that smirk of his. Rosie dragged his lips to your throat. “Little lower-” again he shifted “-right there.” A moan slipped from your parted lips as your body warred with the directions from your husband and the attentions from your lover. 

The room felt stifling. Rosie’s coat, your dress, his shirt, your stockings, his trousers, your brassiere - each fluttered off to the floor one by one. Even Bing had lost his button down. 

The Major guided you onto your back along the couch, trailing open mouthed kisses down your sternum, along your breasts. A moment of clarity passed your mind that your body was different now than the last time you had been made love to, whether by your husband or not, since the baby. Your breasts weren't as pert, your stomach was softer than it used to be. Lips pursed, you let out a small sigh. 

“What’s wrong darlin’?” Bing asked. The navigator leaned towards you, brushing a strand of fallen hair from your face. “You know I can read you better than any map.” Rosie stopped and rested his chin on your abdomen to look up. 

“We can stop,” Rosie offered.

“No, It’s silly…” you tried to brush off.

Both men came to your defense immediately. Looking between the two you finally settle on your husband’s face. “It’s just that… since the last time we saw each other I’m different. My body changed and- I don’t know. I want it to be enough for you. For you both,” you add with a look to Rosie.

Crosby drops from the chair to his knees before you. “My pretty girl.” He kisses you slowly. “We’ve all changed.” From below Rosie adds nothing is the same. “You are still the most beautiful, most incredible, woman I’ve ever seen. Gosh - you’re my wife. Mrs. Crosby! I would fight to the ends of the earth to come home to you.” Softer he adds “I did fight to come home to you… and to bring this flak-happy bastard along too,” he laughed, nudging his elbow at his mate. “Now be a good girl and let us treat you right.” At your nod Rosie resumes his ascent down your waiting body. 

With a flourish your panties are gone, your dripping center exposed to his hungry stare. “What does she like, Croz? Because I'm not stopping until she comes begging all over my tongue.” He licks a deep stripe along your slit. “Sweet as sugar, babydoll.” Gone is the man unsure of himself, and in place is a god amongst men who knows exactly what he wants. It’s all you can do to hold on as Rosie devours you at your husband’s suggestions. Fingers dig into the cushions, tangle into his curls as you writhe under him. 

Rosie puts in his best effort to undo you; your husband saunters up to your face, his pants long forgotten. Cock stiff and ready, dripping with need, he runs the tip of his thumb against your bottom lip. Your teeth nibble at the pad.  “Think you can take me too, darlin’?” A whimpered please is all that comes out.

A cacophony of moans fills the air as your senses are assaulted - Rosie latched to your pussy like a lifeline and your Crosby’s cock deep inside your mouth. “That’s it darlin’, just like that. I bet you missed me, huh? I can tell you did, sweet girl. Fuck I missed you….” 

You gave him everything you had as you licked and sucked at his length. You could have sworn it was bigger than you remembered. He could tell by the look in your eyes you were getting closer, hell he was too. Lord knew he didn’t want to finish like some schoolboy in your lovely mouth. Crosby pulled himself out and you gasped for air. Cheeks flushed and sweat dripping down your temple he turned to his partner. “Use your fingers Rose, drives her wild when you crook them up inside her ‘n don't be afraid to get rough - give her a nip.” He punctuated the end of his command with a nip of his own to your throat. Rosie did exactly as instructed, sending you careening further to the edge and hips bucking.

“Oh- please Rosie- oh god don’t stop-” tumbles out as you start to fall. You swear you feel him humming against your clit as his fingers burn pleasure into your skin.

“That’s it darlin’, just let go for him. Being such a good girl for us,” croons your Bing.

When it all gets too much you gently push him from you. He goes gracefully, dropping chaste kisses to your thighs and hips. Despite feeling like a bowl of jello you remember your purpose tonight - to give Rosie a proper homecoming. 

Sitting up you demand he rid himself of his trousers. 

He grins. “Yes ma’am.” 

Just as Rosie goes to cover your body again you place your hand on his broad chest, pushing until he is in a sitting position. You quickly seat yourself over his lap, his length resting against you. Grinding down, he grunts. “Let me take care of you Rosie, it’s okay.” Kissing his temple, the corner of his mouth, his Adam's apple, you repeat “I want to take care of you dear, let me.”

With another roll of your hips he enters you. He feels different than your husband, but no less wonderful. Rosie’s hands land firmly on your hips as you rock above him. He knows he won't last long, you feel too good. “God Croz how do you do it? She’s so- ugh fuck” he grunts, head tossed back as you squeeze his length. 

“I know, Rose, I know. Just like heaven.” Your husband rubs your back as you move.

Rosenthal buries his face in the crook of your neck, his whimpers muffled so that only you can hear. There are no words for him to describe this feeling: the feeling of being comforted, the feeling of warmth, the feeling of home inside you, even if just for tonight. He almost feels a tear spring to his eyes. Circling your arms around his shoulders you remind him that you’ve got him, that he’s safe, that you're here. You pick up the pace as you ride him, bringing him closer and closer to his fate. His pelvis bucks up to meet yours with every roll.

“Honey I- I’m getting real close.”

You seal your lips on his; “I’ve got you, Rosie. I want you to come for me dear.”

With a deep groan he lifts you off his cock, his spend covering your stomachs and lap in a sticky mess. You hold him as he comes down from his high. 

“That was wonderful, thank you…just, thank you.” You kiss him once more; he knows he doesn’t have to thank you for anything, but he does because he’s Rosie. He carefully cleans you of his come with his discarded undershirt.

Crosby drops his lips to the crown of your head, beginning to pull the pins out of your carefully styled hair. “Come here, Darlin’.” He helps to lift you from his colleagues’ lap. “I wanna make love to my wife.” 

In seconds you’re on the floor under Crosby, his cock already buried to the hilt within you. Neither of you move as you both enjoy the feel of each other reunited as husband and wife. Whispered streams of I love you and I missed you and fuck you feel so good tumble from your lips, barely an inch apart. Harry would never need a map to know the curves, the sensitive spots, the constellations of beauty marks on your body - he knew it better in his memory than any map he could chart.

Besides you on the couch Rosie has slumped over to lay down, his arm hanging off towards you. Every breath of your husband’s puffs against your neck, every tickle of hair from across his chest reminds you that he’s here and he’s alive and he’s yours. Emotion overwhelmed you; “Bing, love please, I need you.”

Crosby hitches your thigh up and around his hip; “I’m here Darlin’.” With that he starts to thrust within your walls. His lithe body moves with a power you had nearly forgotten. Each roll of his hips he pounds into you harder, faster, with abandon; his dog tags cool against your breasts where they hung. Harry was a gentle man, but held so much emotion inside. He could let go with you. 

Your next orgasm was building, hotter and faster than the first. Nails raking down your husband’s back, you reached out your other to grab hold of Rosie’s outstretched palm. The slap of skin echoed around the room, mixed with the crackle of the fire and the sound of heaving breaths. 

An inferno raged within you. Every touch, every movement atop you sent sparks down every nerve ending. You didn’t know where you stopped and your husband began. “Fuck Bing mmmm- Harry please-” The rug beneath you rubbed your back raw but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as long as he kept going.

Crosby had his thumb rubbing quick circles on your clit in an instant. “Tell me you’re close, I need you to come Darlin’.” You couldn’t catch your breath so you nodded the best you could while squeezing the life out of Rosie’s fingers.  

Another snap of his hips and you’re gone, obliterated. Everything felt euphoric and white-hot. Crosby follows suit, his release filling you and your name on his tongue. Bruises will surely linger on your thighs. 

There you lay, tangled in the afterglow, your loving husband above you stroking his knuckles against your side and your new lover’s hand in yours. No words needed to be spoken. The moment you shared would be seared into your mind forever playing on repeat. God forbid another crisis happened that would ship your boys out and away from you - yet if it did you would hold on to tonight like a talisman. It had been a long four years, and longer so for them. But the war was won, with spoils a plenty. 

Finally. 

Lips meeting your Bing’s sweat-slicked forehead, your grip on Rosenthal tightens. “Welcome home my boys, welcome home.”  

Tags: @sagesolsticewrites @winniemaywebber @sailorscuttle @thirstyvampyr @hellfirequinnie @lorna-d-m

[flawdchaos]

Letters from Home

harry crosby x reader blurb

word count - 469

My dearest Harry,

I dreamt of you again last night. My brain cannot yet comprehend the absence of your presence. it leaves a hollow aching in my chest that doubles in size each day without you here by my side. I feel so utterly selfish for feeling such a way when you are fighting the man’s fight - for my right to sit here at home and write you silly little letters about my sadness. How very thankful I am for you though. My admiration for you only grows each time I get to tell someone that my Harry is up in those skies leading the best boys America has to offer to victory.

The girls at work ask about you frequently. I think they are just as worried about you as I am. Helen’s fiancée Charles just left yesterday for England and I wish I had the right words to help her. He played a song for her the night before telling her no matter what happened, he knew her prayers would keep him safe. Once I heard it, my thoughts wandered to you - ‘Someone to Watch Over Me’. You are in my every thought and prayer, Harry. I don’t even believe I have the right words for myself, let alone Helen during this time.

Speaking of work, I’m developing a new love for it each day. You were right, honey, I love teaching the next generation. Their young minds are so full of interest and appreciation for the simplest of things. The children ask about you, too. We all miss you back home. The church bell has not sounded the same. Every hour is just another reminder that you are not here to listen. The song it chimes has become almost melancholy.

Please come home to me. My love for you is so deep that it leaves a hollow ache in my stomach. You are the bravest man I have ever met, Harry Crosby. I hope to dream of you again tonight, and every night, until the feeling of you in my arms does not just exist in my dreams.

Stay safe up above Mr. Crosby. Tell Bubbles I said hello and to stay on his best behavior.

Yours truly, forever and always.

Mrs. Y/N Crosby

(Mrs. Crosby, I still cannot believe it. Can you?)

The lone tear that caressed down Harry’s cheek landed roughly on the sheet of paper in his hands. A small chuckle left his mouth as he looked up to an awaiting Bubbles.

“I sure hope that’s a good tear, Cros” Bubbles said, sitting up in his bed eyeing the letter clutched in Harry’s hands.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat and fiddled with the silver ring on his left hand. “-yeah. It is. Mrs. Crosby says hello. Can you believe that? Mrs. Crosby.”

Author’s Note - Hi friends, here’s a small blurb I dreamed up. If this blurb is enjoyed, i have opened my ask box and i’d like to attempt to write more little things like this :)

[gay-spock]

here’s a compilation of why rick berman of star trek fame could have ruined the franchise with his bigotry, thanks to @/thisismewhatevs on twitter:

- rick berman is usually cited by writers as the main reason gay characters were not allowed on screen in TNG/VOY/DS9/ENT even though gene roddenberry specifically wanted gay representation in the 1980s

- notably, he is responsible for demanding female actors be "sexed up" in various ways including jeri ryan's catsuit and padding terry farell's breasts

- when terry farell asked for a reduced contract similar to those of her male costars, she was fired, leading to the sudden death of jadzia dax

- with seven of nine's catsuit, not only was it berman's idea to make her "born sexy yesterday" her original costume pinched her neck so much she kept passing out. rather than change it, berman brought in nurses to administer oxygen between takes

- berman would continually comment on the appearance of female actors to the point that marina sirtis developed an eating disorder. sirtis also mentions how tight her corset and how large her breast padding was under her "uniform"

- berman was left in charge of trek because he was in the right place when roddenberry got sick. He had no experience with scifi previously and didn't really believe in roddenberry's vision of the future:

- In addition to being a dick to denise crosby after pushing her out, he's also the reason for wil wheaton was kicked out for similar contact negotiation as terry farrell

- harry kim was never promoted from ensign since berman hated his actor, garrett wang, according to him

- enterprise was a step backwards in a lot of ways because berman had far more creative control (seasons 1-3) and took a much more hands on writing role. here's t'pol actor jolene blalock discussing his sexualization of her

- as DS9 went on, garak and bashir spent less time together and garak was given zyial as an incredibly gross love interest because andy robinson's portrayal as queer coded made berman uncomfortable

- despite the "equality" promoted on the show, berman hired very few female writers, with less than 30% of episodes having even one female writer during his time

- “Rick Berman is not the only asshole to have worked on Star Trek and he is not the reason for every bad choice from TNG-ENT. However HE WAS the executive producers and show runner in charge of production so much of the sins of that time lie at his feet. When people get confused about how some people seem to "misunderstand" the point of Star Trek and don't know how they can watch/enjoy the "progressive" nature of the show and be such vile sexists and racists, this is how. They let a sexist asshole run the show for three decades. On screen representation is important. It's amazing for people to see themselves in such a hopeful future, but the behind the scenes matters just as much if not more than who is in front of the camera. Representation without responsible storytelling is a tragedy.“ -Deep Space Fine on twitter

this is not to say that TNG/DS9/VOY/ENT are bad shows, or that they shouldn’t be watched, or anything else; but that understanding why these awful choices were made behind the scenes in depicting a “progressive” future. rick berman didn’t agree with this future because he didn’t want others who weren’t white, cis, straight men like him to benefit in the ways he did.

[eganeyes]

thinking of vampires and werewolves integraded in the military clegan au im sighing in agony

werewolf!bucky vampire!buck ofc lets fall to the expected norms mainly because i am a dog coded bucky enthusiast and also as much as i think of buck as a doberman he's very much vampire coded

werewolf vampire feud being an actual and expected thing, the 100th being gunned from the beginning of the war as a trial unit to see how humans, vampires, and werewolves are able to work together. most units kind of failing at it because everyones too territorial, too much blood history, too blood-proud, and humans too cautious.

enter the 100th, always the outlier, ever the undisciplined.

officer training begins far before their assignment to the 100th, so the buckies meet each other first. born-werewolf currently lone-wolfing john bucky egan's proverbial but also quiet literal fur bristling when he firsts scents the air of his new base and zeroing on buck cleven, the vampire who's going to sleep on the bunk right next to him. millennia-old ice-cold buck cleven smelling the wet dog fur and hearing the low growls first before looking up from folding his handful of monogrammed kerchiefs to a werewolf standing by the bunk next to him, presumably assigned that bed.

buck promptly ignores the guy, which bucky doesn't take at all very kindly. john still gives the guy his name though, a week down the line, because, well, he's very pretty and very smart and very capable of putting bucky on his back.

werewolves being high in the sky is unheard of. bucky suffers through the 'trying to get closer to the moon?' jokes easily enough. no sun smiting vampires here btw, should i say they glitter like the cullens or nah. just the slightest glitter then, lets say that there's a glow when the sun hits their skin, vampires being the suns favorite child or something and when they die they return as ashes to the sun to give those vampire pilots some fear of flying too close to the sun.

complicated-relationship-with-the-moon werewolf bucky vs complicated-relationship-with-the-sun vampire buck oh the ache

but like more on the other guys because fuck clegan theyve caused me enough grief

werewolf dougie vs human blakely. sooo attached to dougley you don't understand. dougie imprinting on ev like a baby chick, scenting his clothes and his jacket and his pillows etc. blakely being sooo flustered the first time dougie actually greets him like pack—as in dougie touches his nose to the side of ev's nose, runs it to the side just before his ear, and down to his neck—face cherry red and spluttering while dougie just has the most satisfied cat-who-got-the-cream look in his face. maybe after their first successful bomb-drop practice mission? idk just obsessed with the image.

vampire duo crubbles, centuries of being together reflected on the way they're never apart on the ground. croz's diet has to be like incredibly precise and certain blood sits weirdly in his stomach so up in the air paired with the anxiety of being so close to the sun he's puking out anything that's left in his stomach. ms. jean crosby known keeper of both harry crosby and bubbles payne, only woman to keep those two in line, but nobody actually knows what she is.

another werewolf and vampire pair: hammy and brady. hammy being a werewolf disaster duo with dougie, squabbling and rucking up the base like pups, bucky having to snap at them to cut it out when he's also wagging his out-of-sight tail wanting to cause mayhem too but maybe not when some very important general is by the base yeah. brady just brings that vibes of being incredibly old and incredibly stuffy and incredibly stick-in-the-mud at first you know?? hammy first meeting his vampire pilot and scoffing because that's literally the stereotypical vampire he's shit upon pre-army. until he sees brady pilot. until his pilot manages to execute a move so beautiful he doesn't end up as a pile of burnt fur within minutes of a trial flight. until he sees john fucking brady crack a smile at him with the slight glitter of the dying sun caressing his skin. dougie, smelling this shit from literally 4 miles away groans because brother, really?

vampire!kenny stuck in the body of a 19 year old never to grow old, waiting for his passing from the sun whenever that is. very human very warm very kind rosie rosenthal easily grasping at kenny's ice-cold-yet-sun-blessed skin and sparks fly from the flat of the palm meeting rosie's and to the tips of his bronze burnt curls.

fiery human chick harding able to go toe-to-toe with wolves and vampires, mouth stretched wide the first time he has bucky egan sitting on his visitor's chair whose metabolism is working overtime trying to burn the devils piss of a hooch out of his system. meeting born-werewolf jack the next hour who's bucky's only equal in their eclectic werewolf pack—whose fur is clearly bristling from bucky grounding him but he clocks instantly that this were will be the one who will actually snap on his new boys' heels if they ever step out of line.

currently kind of obsessed with this aaaa might come back with other ships (demacon i Will love you into existence) when it hits (hopefully) probably when the bi!buck euphoria melts a bit

[meet-you-at-the-north-star]

Baby, it’s you

Harry Crosby x Red Cross girl reader!

Summary: Harry thinks you’re into a certain handsome pilot, after a mission you get the chance to reassure him

Notes: angsty and fluffy

Word count: 1089

Dedicated to @xxluckystrike 💕

“Hey Bucky” I shot the tall, dark-haired pilot an eloquent look. “Just be careful up there, alright?”

“Don’t you worry sweetheart, I’ll get this plane back to you all in one piece” He answered with a big grin in my direction and winked.

I rolled my eyes, cracking a smile for the first time that morning, as he leaned down to give me a hug. Saying goodbye to the boys before they went flying again was always the toughest part of the job, but I knew I had to be there. It was the least I could for them given everything they were risking.

I swept my gaze over the rest of the group of those who had been chosen for that day’s mission until my eyes found the person they were looking for.

Croz had a strangely gloomy look on his face. He was looking at Bucky and then his eyes darted back to me, like he’d been paying close attention to our quick interaction.

I boiled it down to him being nervous and I tried to smile at him as reassuringly as I could despite the tightness gripping my stomach.

I wanted nothing more than take him by the hand and carry him away, do anything I could to stop him from getting on that damn plane, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I didn’t move a muscle, not even allowing myself to get close to him because I couldn’t bear the thought of what might happen to him.

He smiled back, his entire face lighting up to show the happy, silly looking guy I’d come to know and love for a brief, wonderful moment.

I followed him with my eyes until he disappeared inside the vehicle together with everyone else, and I had to move away from the track to join the small crowd of people gathered to watch.

And then there was nothing left to do but wait. I could have never imagined the kind of experience of being up there, freezing, knowing you could be hit at any moments, but there was also a special kind of pain that came with being forced to sit around and wait.

Minutes would turn into hours, as I tried to keep myself occupied, to have something on my hands at all times. It was the only possible way to avoid driving yourself insane with worry.

So I went back to my everyday mansions, but if my hands were relatively easy to manage, however much I was doing my brain was a whole lot busier and there was no way to keep it empty.

My thoughts lingered on Harry and the last image of him that was burned into my brain: the way he smiled, the wind messing up his wavy hair. But I couldn’t stop thinking about that strange expression a few moments before he got on board: was he mad at me? If that was the last time I saw him, I never would’ve forgiven myself.

Finally we heard the alarm signaling the return of the planes and I held my breath, racing to the nearest window and counting them as they appeared together with everyone else. One, two, three, four, five…fifteen. Half of the original total number.

My heart was pounding in my chest as me and the other girls prepared to welcome the boys who’d made it back relatively unscathed.

I did my best to greet every last one of them with a smile, as they approached, handing them a blanket, a cup of coffee, a glass of water or whatever else they needed. But my eyes kept drifting away in search of the one crew I longed to see the most.

As I was leaning down to fetch other glasses, I heard a familiar sardonic voice: “Hello again, sweetheart”.

My face shot up: “Bucky! You’re alright!” I yelled. “Is he…?” I couldn’t even finish the question, my eyes searching his blue ones for the answer, he knew who I was talking about.

“Your navigator’s fine too” He said in a more confidential tone, smirking as said navigator finally appeared in my line of sight.

Heart racing, I scanned Harry up and down, he looked a little banged up but mostly intact. He cracked a half-hearted smile and before I knew it, I was running towards him and hugging him tighly.

He froze for a moment, taken aback, then his arms closed around my waist somewhat hesitantly.

“You’re not hurt, right?” I asked looking everywhere and fumbling with his clothes, suddenly concerned that I’d been too exhuberant. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m okay, really” He kept following my ministrations with his eyes as if I was some kind of desert mirage.

“Well it was about time” said Bucky looking at the two of us with a knowing smirk and a usual talent for ruining the moment.

Croz frowned, looking at me in search of an explanation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I gave a small chuckle, then gently took his hands in mine and secured them back around my waist, mine traveling up to his shoulders, holding eye contact. “What do you think it means?”

He blinked once, then twice as the realization slowly washed over him. “But I thought you…” His eyes drifted between the pilot and me and I finally understood.

That’s what that look was about?

“Me and Bucky?” I asked like it was the most ridiculous idea in the world. “Oh, you know the guy, he’s just a huge flirt. Nothing going on there”

“Oh” was all he could muster. It looked like the biggest weight had just been lifted from his shoulders.

I took a small step back, reluctantly releasing myself from our embrace. “I have to get back to work and you have to go relax. I’ll meet you later” I promised and leaned on my tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek, before slowly backing away still smiling at him.

“Later” Croz stood there stunned for a few seconds, raising his fingers to where my lips had touched him, until Bucky said something to him that my ears could no longer hear, but it made him burst into a laugh, a soft pink shade coloring his cheeks.

He was about to follow the pilot but then stopped again, turning in my direction. He smiled, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t believe what just happened. He waved goodbye at me and finally made up his mind and joined the rest of his group.

[blakelysco-pilot]

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

[thatsrightice]

Ok but when Buck and Bucky and Crankshaft and Brady and Murphy and all of the flyboys who were in the POW camp return to Thorpe Abbotts they’re first greeted by familiar faces from the ground echelon. There’s laughing and hugging (and maybe some crying). Of the flying echelon, they only recognize a select few.

But everyone’s in awe because they were members of the original crews. Their escapades, both on base shenanigans and bombing missions, are legendary. They look at them in awe like they can’t believe that the myths and stories they’ve been told by those that remained were true. One of them makes an off hand comment that there’s only one of the ‘originals’ left on base.

Major Harry Crosby, also known as Ol’ Croz, was the Lead Navigator of the 100th Bomb Group.

Though he was still scrawny, maybe even skinnier than he had been with how hard he’d been working himself, he no longer lacked confidence and was this prominent figure on base. He was often surrounded by his four Assistant Navigators (all Captains) and his four Lead Navigators for each squadron. He was always calm and collected, happily talking to anyone regardless of rank and seemingly ignorant of the amount of attention he received.

This Crosby they watch from afar is entirely different from the Crosby most of them had last seen two years prior.

[beingalive1]

Bibi And Her Blue-Eyed Baby ⎯ Pt. 2

Rosie Rosenthal x Oc [Batya Bernstein]

Part 1: Here

Summary: Coerced by Harry Crosby to sing at Captain Dye's 25th mission celebration, Batya spends her evening crooning on stage. Her dulcet tones enchanting everyone around her. Finally calling it a night Batya runs into someone unexpected as she breaks for the door, her toe almost breaking in the process...At least her attacker sounds rather guilty.

Author's Note: Ok so I sad a couple of days - I lied. I'm a woman obsessed so here is another chapter! Hope you enjoy x

September 20th, 1943

The evening had come too quickly. Frozen fingers gripping the singular telephone belonging to the entirety of the female officer dorms – manicured red fingernails shining as she gripped the cord with a newfound sense of cold. Even inside the confines of her dorm she couldn’t feel her ears, the scarf tightly wrapped around her face doing nothing to quell the icy breeze of the English air. Nights like these made her miss New York and her apartment’s central heating.

Her father’s voice transcended through the earpiece; it was too late to be listening to such loud exclamations. How stupid she was for leaving home and joining the war effort. How disappointed he was. How the Rabbi was no longer joining them for breaking of the fast on Yom Kippur due to her terrible behaviour. How he would most definitely have to build a second structural addition to the synagogue in order to make up for such a blunder. He briefly had mentioned her mother: how her mama had not stopped crying in multiple rooms of their apartment staining his new white fringe carpets. Batya assumed she had about ten more minutes of him shouting about shame and the rabbi before he eventually gave up trying to convince her to jump on the next boat back home and ask her what she was having for dinner. She’d tell him she was having whatever the cooks at the mess hall were making, he’d get upset again and rant for another ten minutes.

She’d been dealing with the same scenario for the last year. 

Holding the telephone in her left hand and a cigarette in her right, Batya balanced the earpiece of the phone precariously between her ear and the dirty white dorm room wall. Her eyes drifted around the metal tin box she had called home since she had been shipped over to Thorpe Abbots in the winter months of early 1942. It was unnaturally quiet without the poignant rush of the other girls. Her fellow officers most likely dancing the evening away in their sensible heels down at the officer’s club. She longed to be there. Her father’s speech of shame continued on in her ear. 

Abandoning her park avenue apartment and condemning her parents to a never-ending cycle of shame within the community, Batya had joined the war effort with a smile upon her red-rimmed lips. She was an Air-traffic operator and a damn good one at that. Her dulcet tones no longer crooning across a jazz club in downtown New York, but guiding her many pilots through take-offs and landings onto the cold tarmac of Thorpe Abbots air base. She leaned on the dorm room wall; hair tucked up into what her mother would surely dub as an “unflattering” bun. Her khaki dress uniform tight upon her figure. Thanks to good old President Roosevelt she had finally been granted a rank along with a pretty little badge upon the lapel of her uniform jacket. Second Lieutenant Bernstein. She thought it sounded pretentious, but it gave her first dibs on the red-cross donuts ahead of the other girls every morning, so she didn’t mind it too much. Helen, one of the red cross girls, had told Batya she looked professional with her bronze badge. Batya figured Helen just wanted a friend with a higher ranking than most of the male officers. 

Perks of the job.  

Her father’s time spent raving about her choices in life had finally come to an end. Batya had briefly said goodbye with horribly pathetic kissing noises and a poignant slam of the telephone onto its hook. She had places to be. A crowd to impress. Stepping out of the freezing interior of her dorm and into the even cooler exterior of Thorpe Abbots air base, Batya made her way to the officer’s club with a brisk pace. Her hands stuffed so deeply within her pockets she could feel the rough stitching of her dress jacket. She silently cursed whoever had made it compulsory for female officers to wear a sensible skirt and stockings with their dress jackets in favour of her comfortable tweed work trousers.  It must have been a man, only a man would think woman would prefer to freeze their assess off in the icy tundra that is the English Countryside. 

She heard him before she saw him.

The faint sound of his atrocious voice paired with the crushing noise of gravel under rubber tyres echoed through her ears. She continued on walking. Maybe if she pretended to ignore him, he’d drive past her. She heard the sound of the vehicle coming to a halt. Her eyes meeting his cheeky grin with a slight turn of her head. She was never so lucky. ‘Songbird.’ He greeted cheerfully, his tone dripping with excitement. She briefly wondered what he would do if she stopped and lay down in the path of his jeep’s tyres. Hopefully drive. 

Deciding that taking a ride in his jeep would get her to the officer’s club and out of the cold much quicker than walking in her uncomfortable heels, she climbed carefully into the passenger’s seat. He took off without haste. A cloud of dust formed in their wake. They drove swiftly across base, headlights illuminating the greenery of the surrounding English farmland. He lent across from his seat and reached towards the console placed in front of her person: two cigarettes. He held his face towards her as she lit the one placed within his mouth. ‘So,’ he began, his eyes stilling upon her figure before drifting back to the road. ‘heard you singing tonight.’

Her fingers found their place wrapped around her cigarette. The warm smoke emulating from her mouth a small aid in her fight against the cold. Her scarf blowing in the breeze behind her. If she were with anyone else it would seem almost romantic, an evening drive around the countryside, but she was with him. He wouldn’t know romance if it hit him in the face. ‘Yeah,’ she replied coyly, ‘you jealous?’ 

He laughed, a rough sound breaking through the stillness of their surroundings. ‘No’ he exclaimed, his chuckle still resounding through his words, ‘excited to hear you is all. Crosby’s been raving about you for a week now.’ 

Harry Crosby. The unlucky navigator had been in charge of the decorating committee for the little soiree they were on their way to. Celebrating Captain Glenn Dye completing his 25th mission. Hearing rumours about her enchanting voice from the red cross girls: Crosby had asked her to sing. She would have been ecstatic to preform again if it was for anyone else; but Captain Dye had given her dormmate Susan the clap and she was secretly hoping he’d be medically prevented from flying for weeks now. No such luck. The bastard came back unscathed. ‘Well,’ She sighed her eyes drifting to the officer’s club as it flew into view, ‘hope it lives up to your expectations Major.’ 

They screeched to a halt, her feet already on the ground by the time he had ran around the jeep to help her out. Major John Egan shook his head at her with a smile. ‘You, Bernie, never fail to make a gentleman feel small.’ It was said as a compliment, but the use of her nickname made her roll her eyes in frustration. She grabbed his arm roughly, he chuckled. Bernie. A new nickname given to her by one of her many pilots. They had been rather shocked at the realisation that their flight operator was a woman, but had quickly warmed up to her brash and sarcastic commentary. She had a sneaky suspicion it had to do with the pilot whose arm she held at this very moment. He had always seemed rather forward thinking. She might’ve even had found him chivalrous - if he wasn’t so downright annoying.  

Her red fingernails tapped his cheek in farewell, ‘See you later Johnny boy.’  A smile breaking out upon her face as she entered the warmth of the club. Removing her scarf, she placed it on the overrun hatstand by the club’s entrance door. The stand tilting slightly due to the sheer number of coats upon its hooks. He hated being called Johnny, but she figured it was a fair trade for the hideous name he and his crewmates had given her. Colonel Harding had been extremely confused as to why they were calling her by a man’s name; it had taken two meetings and five cups of coffee to reassure the Colonel that it was merely a nickname and that no man named Bernie was helping her in the radio tower. 

She almost killed Egan.

Her eyes caught the group of women she had been looking for: khaki uniforms of her fellow officers and the blue tint of red cross badges shining brightly in the warm light of the club. They cheered as she caught their eye; her girls welcoming her with a pat on her back and a cold iced martini thrusted into the palm of her hand. She sipped it slowly, the bitter taste bright upon her tongue. 

‘So’ began Helen, her face flushed due to the heat of the room and most definitely a few gin and tonics, ‘How was your talk with your dad?’ Helen’s voice, tinted with warmth and interest, was loud throughout the rush of the room. The small woman definitely succeeding in being heard despite the chaos of the club. 

Batya sighed as she swirled her drink. Ice tinkling against the sides of her glass as she thought back to her previous conversation. ‘Same old same old.’ She started, her finger immediately cooled as it entered her drink and fished out its olive garnish. ‘My mother is moments away from a self-inflicted stroke. The rabbi still hasn’t forgiven them. I’m a disappointment to my family. Normal father-daughter conversation.’ She popped the garnish into her mouth, the bitterness of her drink mixed with the tarte of the olive set her tastebuds alight.

Helen nodded in recognition. She was far from unaware of Batya’s status as the black sheep of the Bernstein family. Her eyes drifted around the room. ‘Well you didn’t miss much.’ She sighed airily, her hand gesturing vaguely to a group of men across the room. Batya didn’t bother turning to look. ‘We were only scoping out the new replacements that arrived this morning. There was this dancer guy that we thought you might’ve liked. Absolute twinkle toes. He looked Jewish, think his name was Ros-‘ Her sentence was cut off by a new arrival at their table. 

He looked flushed. His hair in disarray as he smiled widely at them. ‘Ladies,’ he greeted, his eyes jumping immediately towards Batya’s figure. ‘Bat.’ His head tilted awkwardly towards the stage. She briefly thought he resembled a cartoon character, his face screwed up into an expression she could only describe as mild guilt. She nodded in defeat. The blaring melody of the band tittering to a close as they made their way towards the wooden stage. The palm of his hand wrapped around hers as he led her up the stairs, her red lips drifting towards his ear. ‘You owe me for this Cros.’ He only nodded in resignation, his eyes easily conveying his day-old promise of buying her a drink after her performance.

She’d force him to buy her multiple. 

He swiftly made his way back down the stairs resembling that of a man fleeing a burning building. Her hand wrapped around the base of the microphone. A few of her pilots whistled, she smirked wildly as her eyes met Captain Dye’s across the room. ‘Before I begin, I just want to say congratulations to Captain Dye for achieving his 25th successful mission.’ Her voice echoed over the cheers. ‘Hope everyone clapped when your plane landed safely.’ Clapped. Even from across the hall she could see the burning of the Captain’s ears. Only a few people in this room would understand her peculiar choice of diction. Somewhere within the crowd Major Egan laughed loudly. She adjusted herself on stage, clearing her throat, ‘this one goes out to all of you lover boys out there searching for someone to spend your Saturday nights with. It’s a little song I wrote myself called "Bibi and her blue-eyed baby". Hope you all enjoy.’ The sound of trumpets burst through the air. The crowd roared with a fury.

She sang five songs before calling it a night. The incessant whines of the crowd only increasing when she happily told them that Major Egan would be taking her place on stage. It had made her laugh, a rare smile perched upon her lips as the sound of Blue Skies began to swirl through the room. She minced her way to the bar, the grin remaining upon her face as Crosby handed her a martini. He seemed relieved, the apparent stress of organising such a party and entertainment seemingly melting off of him as he leaned against the wooden counter.  

They spoke for about an hour, her eyes eventually drifting away from the bar and onto the now almost deserted dance floor. Helen seemed to be dancing with a handsome soldier whom Batya had not seen before; must have been a replacement. The smile upon the red cross woman’s face enough for Batya to decide against asking Helen to join her on her walk home. Batya instead headed towards the club’s entrance on her lonesome. Crosby’s promise of buying her another drink tomorrow evening wafting over her ears as she reached for the club’s brass doorhandles. The cool metal of the handle felt icy against the palm of her hand. 

The door opened from the outside swiftly, the wooden frame colliding briefly with her left toe as she stumbled backwards to avoid it. She cursed under her breath. Her head faced downwards towards her now most definitely blackened toe. Pain radiating up her shin as she willed herself not to hop on one foot like a child. ‘Oh god! I am so so sorry!’ A hand reached out and gently perched upon her elbow. The voice of her attacker rambling on as he helped her into the nearest chair he could find. ‘I don’t know why I was in such a rush. First night on base and I’m already injuring pretty officers. These doors should never open both ways I mean that’s just dangerous. You could sue. I would know I’m a lawyer, or I was one before the war –‘ She looked up at him, his ramblings coming to a swift halt at the sight of her face. 

 Through the haze of martinis and aching pain her mind vaguely registered a khaki uniform and a pilot’s badge upon his jacket. Her gaze drifting up and up until she met a pair of eyes. Her entire body froze. 

Two years later. 

Thousands of miles away from New York. 

Here he was, wearing a uniform of a pilot and slamming a door into her toe. 

Her Blue-eyed baby. 

Hashem help her. 

Yiddish/Jewish terms dictionary: • 'Yom Kippur' - incredibly high holy day. The day of fasting and asking G-d for repentance and forgiveness for any wrongdoings you have committed in the past year. Breaking of the fast is a huge deal - inviting the rabbi and him showing up is basically the jewish equivalent of winning an Oscar. • 'Hashem' - word for G-d meaning 'the name.' [If there are any parts of yiddish/jewish diction you are ever mildly confused about - never be afraid to ask! Happy to explain x ]

Authors note: thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! This is also posted on my AO3 if any of you prefer reading there: username is All_the_small_things. Link is here. [If you would like to be tagged in any future chapters - drop a note in the comments xx]

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Chapter one: The Day the Americans Came

Harry Crosby x Maggie Reid / Ken Lemmons x Maggie Reid

Series Masterlist

This story is based on on the fictional portrayal of these men from the MOTA to series.

Summary: Maggie has never been one for love and romance, choosing to concentrate on the job at hand and to play her part in the war effort. When the Americans descend on Thorpe Abbotts Maggie and the Lancaster bomber crews are less than pleased, until she meets a Navigator and a Flight Chief.

Collab with @georgieluz

Maggie Reid Archie Sullivan

June 27th 1943, 11:00, Thorpe Abbotts AAF base

Looking down at her left hand, Maggie sighed. Another letter had arrived from her mother asking when she was finally going to give up this ‘folly’ and go home to get married. For some reason her mother didn’t agree with her participation in the war effort, and despite her endless lectures on how proud she was of Maggie’s sister for joining the Army Nursing Corps, joining the Woman’s Auxiliary Air Force and working predominantly as ground crew wasn’t good enough. ‘It’s not women’s work,’ was her main retaliating comment.

While her sister's ring finger adorned a silver ring, an oval cut diamond that caught the light perfectly, and with a Major on her arm to suit her perfect lifestyle, Maggie did not. Her left hand was currently wrapped in a bandage to cover the large gash she had earned yesterday whilst trying to rivet a new sheet onto the damaged Lancaster Bomber.

Grumbling, she climbed down the ladder, placing her hammer into the toolbox on the floor and wiping her brow with her red handkerchief. June, her little spaniel, was tucked up asleep by the wheels, snoozing contently in the warm, summer sun. Every now and again she would whimper, her legs twitching and Maggie hoped she was dreaming of chasing rabbits.

Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie caught a blue figure striding towards her, and the skip in his step indicated that it was none other than the bane of her existence and one of her best friend, Archie Sullivan.

“Good morning Love, and how are we doing on this fine morning?”

Maggie huffed, “Just fine, no thanks to you and your flying antics. How is it you manage to damage this plane every time she leaves my sight?”

Archie looked up, cocking his left eyebrow at her, “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to darling June here, wasn’t I girl?” The blue roan cocker spaniel quickly emerged from beneath the plane, her tail wagging frantically as she jumped onto the pilots lap, licking under his chin in an affectionate greeting.

Of course he was talking to the dog. Nearly every man in his squadron knew June, but very few even acknowledge Maggie’s existence.

“But on that note, how are you?” Archie stood, brushing his uniform off from the marks that June’s paws had left. He had his signature cocky grin on his lips and Maggie had to fight the urge not to punch him in his ridiculously handsome face on a daily basis. There was just something infuriating about his cockiness which was actually how they became friends in the first place when they’d first met at Duxford over a year ago.

“I’m fine,” she nodded curtly, picking up her toolbox and marching away from the plane, June running along at her heels.

“I take it you got another letter from your mother then,” Archie responded, he sauntered after her, catching up with her easily, only to receive a glare in response.

“How did you guess?” She was partly annoyed that he could read her so well, but thankful that she had someone to talk to. Someone who understood.

“Well, for a start you’re in a foul mood this morning, and you have this little scrunched line on your forehead that you get whenever something has upset you,” Archie noted, giving Maggie a sideways glance and accepting that she wasn’t ready to talk about it. “So… have you got your eyes on any of the new Americans on base?”

Maggie snorted, “They've only been here a few weeks. As if I'd have time for romance when I spend all my time repairing your plane. You’re lucky I like you Archie.”

“It’s not just my plane you’re fixing, there are others too. Eddie and Tom’s plane was in far worse shape last week,” Archie screwed up his face and stuck his tongue out at her, earning a small chuckle. “Well there are plenty of young eligible ground crew now the Yanks have turned up, not to mention pilots and navigators and…”

“Archie, give it a rest will you. God, you sound like my mother.” She stopped herself. Why had she given it away so easily? She didn’t want to talk about her mothers letter and yet somehow she always managed to open up to Archie.

“I see,” Archie rubbed his chin for a moment, his eyes glazed as he debated his next sentence. “How about we head out to Dickleburgh one evening? You could be my wingman.”

Maggie sniggered, “And what does that role entail? I’m not volunteering for anything that hasn’t been fully explained to me.”

Archie rolled his eyes, “It’s very simple. You just have to big me up to any attractive men and help me get in their good books, I can do the rest.”

Maggie thought for a moment, “Well that’s going to be difficult, there’s nothing good to say about you.” Archie shoved her gently and she mocked falling dramatically.

“Pushing a woman, whatever next Archie Sullivan. I’ll have you written up,” she jested playfully, rubbing her arm.

“Yeah, yeah sure you will. Seriously though, please will you come out with me, please,” he begged, clasping his hands together, his bottom lip stuck out.

Sighing Maggie relented, “Okay fine, but only if we can get a lift in a jeep, I’m not walking again.”

“Absolutely, definitely can do that, I promise,” Archie gave her a quick hug, kissing her cheek before hurrying back towards the officers Nissen huts. “You won’t regret this, Maggie. I promise.”

Maggie laughed, “I’m sure I will. Hey, wait a sec. Have you seen my wrench, I can’t find it anywhere?”

Archie shrugged, “Sorry, I haven’t seen it. Maybe try the Yanks, I’m sure they have lots of spare tools.” He waved goodbye quickly, striding back towards his hut where Maggie’s wrench happened to be hidden under his bunk. It was all in good sport, she just needed a gentle nudge sometimes.

June 27th 1943, 16:00, Thorpe Abbotts AAF base

“Hello, I was sent over here to see if you have a wrench I can borrow, mine has wandered off and otherwise I have to go all the way back across base to the store room,” Maggie shielded her eyes from the late afternoon sun, shouting to the seemingly empty Flying Fortress, when several heads appeared out of the windows.

One of the young men was hanging upside down out of the bomb bay doors, a cheeky grin on his face. “Well, hello there ma’am. How can I be of assistance?”

Maggie found herself turning her head sideways as she spoke, “Could I please borrow a wrench?”

The young engineer cocked his eyebrow, blinked a few times before disappearing back into the Fort and jumping down onto the tarmac.

“A wrench you say? I don't know if we have a spare one I’m afraid. Your best bet would probably be to check the store room.”

The young engineer slung the piece of cloth he’d been wiping his hands over his shoulder with a smirk, as he bent down to pat June on the head. The spaniel wagged its tail enthusiastically, jumping to lick the young man’s face. “What does a pretty lady such as yourself need a wrench for anyway?”

Maggie huffed, she should have gone there first rather than tracking across the base and then having to walk back anyway. This was all Archie’s idea, this was the last time she'd be taking any of his advice.

“I'm an engineer with the WAAF. Those Lancasters over there are my babies,” she pointed across the airfield to the dark specs in the distance which resembled the planes.

The young man nodded, an impressed grin on his lips, “Sorry I couldn't be of more help. I can walk across to the store if you’d like, I know it's a fair walk?”

Maggie thought over his offer for a moment. She guessed it would be nice to have some company, although looking at the state of the Fort behind him he was clearly needed here more. It was a nice gesture though and Maggie wiped her hands down her overalls before raising one to greet him. “No, that’s okay. I could use the walk. Thank you…?”

“Oh,” he shook her hand in return, “Sergeant Ken Lemmons, I'm the Flight Chief for the Forts,” he gestured behind him with a proud smile., his wavy locks bouncing as he turned his head.

“I’d never have guessed,” Maggie laughed, amused by their awkward encounter. “I’m Sergeant Maggie Reid. It’s nice to meet you, Sergeant Lemmons, but I should probably start heading back, the long walk and all.”

“Sure thing, it was nice to meet you, Sergeant Reid,” Ken waved her off as she began her long walk back across the base. She waved back halfheartedly, chuckling as the other engineers dropped down from the Fort and began rigging Ken about a girl visiting him. A small smile creeped across her lips as a thought crossed her mind, maybe she would have to visit the American ground crew more often.

June 27th 1943, 17:00, Thorpe Abbotts AAF base

When she finally reached the building on the other side of the base, Maggie hurried down the corridor to the storeroom, hoping that she could get back out to the Lancaster before it got too dark. The corridor was narrow and she took a sharp turn, away from the briefing rooms that were buzzing with life behind her.

She often wondered what it would have been like to be an ‘ops room girl’, wearing her RAF blues every day, her hair curled and pinned neatly and not to constantly smell of engine oil.

Her mind began wandering to the cheeky smile Ken Lemmons had sent her way, when a body flew into the side of her causing her to collide against the wall and fall against the hard, wooden floor.

“I am so sorry miss, are you alright?” A worried face appeared above her, his forehead creased with concern. He was clad in a leather flying jacket and Mae West, with several maps rolled up under his arm, and his brown locks falling onto his forehead as he bent forward.

“Yeah I’m fine, no thanks to you,” she snapped, taking his outstretched hand and pulling herself up. “You dropped this.” She thrust the fallen snow globe into his palm with a weak smile.

“Oh thank God. Bubbles would have killed me if it had smashed,” he clutched the globe against his chest with a sigh, the small pieces of artificial snow drifting down to the flamingos inside once more.

Maggie looked at him quizzically, “Bubbles? What kind of a name is that?” She’d heard of some funny nicknames from the RAF pilots but ‘Bubbles’ was something else.

The young man smiled, looking down at the snow globe in his hand with a chuckle, “No, his real name is Joseph. Bubbles is just his nickname.”

Maggie rolled her eyes with a smile, “Well I’d hoped that wasn’t the name his mother gave him.”

The pair chuckled and the young man stretched out his hand, “Harry Crosby, I’m a navigator with the 100th.”

Maggie took Harry’s hand, shaking it slowly, “Crosby huh? Like Bing?” Harry just laughed, shaking her hand. “Well Harry, I hope you navigate the Forts better than you navigate these corridors.”

Harry nodded sheepishly, “I endeavor to try.”

Maggie nodded slowly, “Maggie Reid, I’m with the WAAF, I’m an engineer for the Lancaster Bomber.”

Harry smiled in response, “Well, it was really nice to meet you, Maggie. I’m in a hell of a hurry but I hope to see you around base sometime,” bundling his papers under his arm clumsily.

Maggie waved Harry off as he began hurrying along the corridor, almost dropping his maps again and he turned, embarrassed to see she was still watching him.

“Sure thing, Harry. Good luck.” Smiling to herself, she picked up her tool belt that had fallen to the ground when she had. Harry Crosby, she had a feeling, was going to be a name that she knew quite well. A loud crash from down the corridor caused her to chuckle. Harry Crosby sure was accident prone.

July 2nd 1943, 18:00, Dicklesburgh

“I can’t believe you’re making me cycle, Archie. You promised me a jeep,” Maggie whined, untangling her dress from the bike chain for the third time in the short ride to Dickleburgh.

“I know I did, but I couldn’t get one. I’m sorry Mags. I’ll do better next time, I promise,” he grinned cheekily over his shoulder at her as she huffed, straightening out her dress. She so rarely wore dresses and the light blue one fitted her perfectly and was her favourite. It now had three black, oily stains up the side of it which she could only pray would come out when she washed it.

The ride to Dickleburgh wasn’t long and they soon came to a halt beside the thatch-roofed pub, propping their bikes against the small, stone wall before following the pathway towards the pub door. Archie pushed the large wooden door inwards, bowing elaborately as he let Maggie go through first. She snorted at his chivalry, it was something that he only seemed to do for her, he was charming but obnoxious and annoying at times, yet Maggie couldn’t imagine her life without him.

Stepping into the bar, the familiar hum of chattering people met them, while a radio played comfortingly in the background. Making their way to their usual table, Maggie flopped down in one of the hard, wooden chairs, a sigh leaving her lips as her exhausted limbs ached.

Archie grinned, “You want your usual?” He already knew what he answer was going to be but he humoured her in case she decided on something different.

“Yes please,” she smiled sweetly at him and he rolled his eyes in return, their normal behaviour towards each other.

“One ginger beer coming up,” Archie sauntered towards the bar, grinning widely at the barmaid who battered her eyelashes at him. It always made Maggie laugh at the way women behaved towards Archie, when he had absolutely no intention in following through with his flirting.

Maggie couldn’t contain the giggle that escaped her as Archie rolled his eyes at the barmaid's comment, returning with a ginger beer and a pint in his hands. “Well, that was… interesting,” Archie took a sip from his pint, ignoring the foam moustache that appeared on his top lip.

“You should just tell her that you’re not interested. The poor girl’s been after you for weeks,” Maggie raised an eyebrow at her friend's antics.

“But this way it keeps all the other ladies off my back. You ladies have a code, don’t you? While she’s pursuing me none of the others will bother me.” She had to admit that Archie had a good theory going but sooner or later the poor girl would realise the whole thing was a game, and she wasn’t sure how welcome they would be after that.

The door flying open alerted the pair to the group of Americans who strolled in, their heads held high like they owned the establishment and running their mouths in their usual, less than charming way. She recognised a lot of them, having seen them around base but none of them would know her, no one noticed ground crew, especially not a female one.

A familiar, smiling face caught her eye as she realised that none other than Harry Crosby was with the pilots. Well he is their navigator after all. And another person, who she could only assume was Bubbles, stood beside him. A hard jab in her ribs caused her to turn, glaring at Archie would just glared back at her.

“Who are you starting at? Did you hear anything I just said?”

She’d like to admit that she had heard every word in great detail, but she couldn’t lie as her eyes once again drifted over to Harry.

“Hey Maggie, I’m over here love,” Archie waved his hand over her face and she smacked him away.

“What? What do you want?”

“Nothing,” he sniggered, “You’re just funny when you’re mad.” Maggie huffed, squinting her eyes and her lips set in a thin line. Sometimes she wasn’t sure how she put up with his antics.

As the evening drew on Maggie loosened up, having stolen a few sips from Archie’s beer and denying all evidence. She wasn’t really one for alcohol but occasionally she needed liquid courage, even if she didn’t intend to talk to any of the other pilots.

“I need another drink,” Archie groaned, standing and stretching with elaborate effort before he once more sauntered towards the bar. Maggie shook her head, staring into her ginger beer thoughtfully.

A light tap on her shoulder caused her to jump, elbowing the other person in the ribs. She only realised who it was when the pained face of Harry Crosby was beside her, his hands clutching his ribs.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry,” she jumped up from her seat but Harry just waved her off.

“Don’t worry about it,” he wheezed, “If that's what your elbow can do, I’d hate to see what your left hook is like.” The pair laughed and Maggie encouraged Harry to join her table, having a niggling feeling that Archie would be stuck at the bar for a while.

“So what brings you to Dickleburgh?” Harry asked, adopting Archie’s seat opposite her, a wide smile forming on his handsome features, and Maggie couldn’t help but notice the way his lips turned up at the corners, dimples appearing on his cheeks.

“Oh, Archie and I come here all the time,” she motioned towards the RAF pilot at the bar, who was currently in deep conversation with one of the other American pilots.

Harry looked over at Archie, nodding solomley, “Then I shall leave you to enjoy the evening with your beau.” Harry pushed his chair away quickly, cringing as it scraped across the cobbled floor.

“No, wait!” Maggie stood quickly, grasping Harry’s arm, “He’s not my beau, I don’t have a beau. We’re just good friends. He flies one of the Lancasters I look after, I’ve known him for a while.”

Maggie noticed the relieved sigh that left Harry’s lips, but she chose not to mention it, relishing in his company and the two of them easily fell back into conversation.

“Tell me about yourself, Harry Crosby. What’s it like being a navigator?” Maggie smiled at him, watching as Harry’s cheeks blushed a light shade of pink.

“Well, it’s a lot of responsibility. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the right man for the job. I… well I umm suffer from terrible air sickness. I’m not sure how I got through training to be honest. I’m normally okay but then sometimes I get in the air and my stomach flips and up it comes.” They both cringe as poor Harry relived his embarrassment. Maggie realised that Harry was the navigator that her friend Madison, who was a nurse at the base infirmary, was telling her about last week.

“I said too much, I’m sorry,” Harry flapped, his nose growing pinker by the second. He could barely look Maggie in the eye, instead staring daggers at his empty pint glass.

“Please don’t apologise. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’d probably have motion sickness too, I’ve just never been in a plane,” she reached across the table and squeezed Harry’s hand, to which he returned the sentiment.

“I just don’t want to let anyone down,” he mumbled, meeting her eyes. The way he looked at her then reminded Maggie of how June sometimes looked at her when she was waiting for a treat, large brown eyes looking so sorrowful.

“You haven’t let anyone down Harry, in fact I’ve heard you’re the best navigator in the 100th,” Maggie assured him, sending him a winning smile causing his heart to flutter.

“I don’t know about that. Now Bubbles he’s an amazing navigator. He’s one of the best,” he smiled fondly thinking of his best friend.

“I definitely need to meet this infamous ‘Bubbles’. He sounds like a very good friend.” Harry nodded, grinning back at her.

“He’s the best friend a guy could have.”

The pair quickly found common ground, discussing their lives at Thorpe Abbott when a hand suddenly appearing on her shoulder caused Maggie to jump as Archie’s smiling face appeared beside her.

“Hello, hello. Who do we have here?” Archie dropped down in the chair between Maggie and Harry, looking between them quickly, grinning like a madman. “You must be Harry Crosby,” he thrust his hand towards Harry who shook it quickly.

“I’m Archie, Archie Sullivan. Lancaster bomber pilot.”

Harry nodded, “Yes I’m Harry Crosby. Umm… navigator, 100th bomb group.”

Maggie watched in disbelief as Archie struck up a conversation with Harry who kept looking awkwardly between Maggie and Archie.

What was Archie playing at?

“Well isn’t this nice and cosy,” Archie remarked, knocking his knee into Maggie’s and winking at her. She just glared back at him, watching as Harry nervously chewed his bottom lip.

“So Harry Crosby, what part of the States are you from?” Archie asked, leaning across towards Harry expectantly.

“Oh umm…” Harry stumbled, “I’m from Iowa. It’s a midwestern state between Missouri and Mississippi. The capital is Des Moines, which is where I’m from.” He finished his ramble, picking up his glass and taking a long, disdainful swig from his warm pint of beer.

“Alright Harry, I didn’t ask for your life history,” Archie joked, earning a sharp kick in the shin from Maggie that had him withering beneath the table.

“So what are your intentions with young Maggie over here?” Archie blurted out, earning another wide-eyed glare from Maggie.

"I'm kidding, I’m kidding. I’m not that bad, I swear,” Archie laughed quietly, taking a sip from his half empty pint. “I’m not Maggie’s keeper.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing and her eyes drifted across the pub to where she noticed the rest of her ground crew were standing. She caught James’ eye and he waved her over.

“I’ll be back,” she promised Harry, sending him a sympathetic smile to which his dark eyes pleaded with her not to leave him alone with Archie. It was alright though, she knew Archie had good intentions and just wanted what was best for her, even if that meant embarrassing her in front of a rather charming American.

She made her way over to the group of her fellow ground crew members, being met with a few cheerful hellos. James, more affectionately known as Jimmy, draped his arm over her shoulder. He was a tall, dark-haired man with a dashing smile, who Maggie had instantly warmed too.

“Who’s the Yank?” He pointed towards Harry who was cringing under Archie’s scrutiny.

Maggie laughed, “He’s a navigator with the 100th. I ran into him earlier and we got talking, now Archie’s giving him the twenty questions.”

“Poor fella,” Jimmy mused, turning his attention back to the other mechanics who were playing darts.

It was strange really how they’d accepted her as one of their own. She was actually higher ranking than all of them and thus they treated her with the utmost respect, unlike some of the pilots. The Lancaster ground crew were a tightly knit group of six people including Maggie who worked tirelessly to keep the planes spick and span and most importantly airworthy.

George tapped Maggie’s shoulder, “Ya fancy a go?” He pointed towards the darts board. George was just nineteen, with all his life ahead of him. He was local to Thorpe Abbott and his family often visited the base, bringing along with them the odd cakes for the rest of his crew.

“Nah,” Maggie shook her head, “Should probably rescue poor Harry from Archie’s interrogation.”

“First name basis with this navigator are we,” Jimmy jested, nudging her side.

“Oh piss off,” she laughed, shoving him in return. Maggie had grown to love the sibling comradery she shared with her fellow mechanics, always enjoying the crude jests and jokes they played on each other.

She made her way back across the pub, following the long wooden beams around to where Harry and Archie were seated and caught the end of their conversation.

“But I’m warning you, Harry. You do anything to hurt her, and I mean anything, and you and I will have a problem. She deserves to be happy and I’m not having some Yank come over here and break her heart.”

Harry nodded slowly, his eyes darting nervously between Archie and the door as if he was keeping his escape route clear.

“I like you Crosby, but she’s my best friend and I’ll always protect her.”

“I admire your devotion to her and I swear that my intentions are pure. I’m no threat and I mean no harm,” Harry quickly assured him, catching Maggie’s eye over Archie’s shoulder and smiling.

“Well then you and I should get on fine,” Archie stood, sending Maggie a winning smile when he noticed her presence. “Don’t worry, Mags, this one’s a keeper.”

Maggie’s face heated up and she sent Harry an apologetic smile, taking the seat Archie had previously occupied. “I’m so sorry about it that…” she began but Harry cut her off.

“You don’t have to apologise, you’re friend’s a nice guy and he’s just looking out for you. I admire your friendship, you both sound a lot like Bubbles and I.”

Maggie grinned back at him, Archie’s friendship truly did mean everything to her, without him her time at Thorpe Abbott would have been more hellish than she could ever know.

“He means well, although he gets on my nerves sometimes,” Maggie rolled her eyes dramatically and Harry laughed, throwing his head back a little. He looked so carefree compared with how distressed he’d looked when she’d first run into him.

The conversation continued to flow easily, Maggie told him about the latest flak damage one of the Lancasters had received while he told her of damage his plane had received on his first combat mission.

Maggie had never heard someone talk so descriptively and vividly about flak fire, of course, she knew what it was but she’d never experienced it herself. She found herself almost becoming emotional at the thought of all those young men under fire. She’d heard the stories from the Battle of Britain in the papers and on the radio, but to hear a first-hand account was so much worse.

“I’m sorry you didn’t need to know all that,” Harry sighed sadly. She wasn’t sure why he felt the need to keep apologising when he hadn’t said too much at all.

“No, no it’s okay. Don’t apologise, Harry, you never have to apologies for talking about things like this. It’s good to get it off your chest,” Maggie reached out, picking up Harry’s hand. “My mother always told me that a problem shared is a problem halved, so if you ever want to talk about it I’m always hear to listen.”

He nodded slowly, a faint smile appearing on his lips. He went to say something else when Archie and an American pilot appeared beside them.

“Hello love birds, how’s your evening going?”

Maggie sighed disdainfully, “It’s going well no thanks to your interruptions Archie.”

He gasped in mock hurt, “I’m so offended. You were meant to be my wingman too and instead, I had to do all the work myself.”

Maggie laughed, her eyes moving to look up at the pilot beside him. He wore a cocky smile, his black moustache twitching as his lips formed a smile. His hands rested on his hips and he gave her his hand.

“Major John Egan, ma’am.”

Maggie shook his hand reluctantly, her eyes leaving Harry’s for only a second, “Maggie Reid, it’s nice to meet you, Sir.”

“Call me John, please,” he assured her before Archie interrupted.

“We’re heading off now, Mags, are you coming? You can bring Harry along too.”

Harry stood from the table quickly, “I should be going anyway. May I walk back with you?”

Maggie’s heart raced a little faster as she nodded quickly, linking her arm through Harry’s, and ignoring the low whistle from Archie behind her.

The small group left the pub, following their way down the dimly lit path and back past the stone wall onto the road. Very little traffic could be found around here at night, the most being the Lancasters on their night missions overhead, and with very few civilians owning cars the roads were dead at night.

Maggie grabbed hold of her bike, pushing it along as she walked beside Harry, Archie and John Egan trailed behind them, engrossed in their own conversation.

Harry was commenting on how bright the stars were above them, there was no cloud cover tonight and they could be seen so brightly against the black backdrop.

“Yeah, they’re real beautiful,” Maggie agreed, “Back ‘ome in Dorset… home,” Maggie corrected herself. She always tried her hardest not to let her accent slip through but she still occasionally dropped her h’s still.

Harry just smiled at her, “You have an unusual accent.”

Maggie shook her head, “Nothin’ unusual about it really. I try not to let it slip too often.” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to hide her accent, but when she was surrounded by well spoken RAF pilots and Americans it seemed like she was ‘common’ in some way.

“I like it,” Harry admitted, “It makes you different.”

Harry was the first man to ever like her accent. She’d had plenty of people comment on it before, the RAF pilots in Duxford where she’d been posted before Thorpe Abbott had often come up with choice names for her.

They fell into comfortable silence, arms swinging by their sides and their fingers occasionally touching, brushing against each other but neither wanted to make the first move.

“Why don’t you just do us all a favour and hold hands,” John Egan remarked from behind them, making both of them blush furiously at the Major's words.

Harry fixed his gaze on her, his dark eyes silently asking for permission, to which Maggie nodded and his hand slipped into hers. The action felt safe and familiar, like they’d been holding hands all their lives. Harry’s hand was much larger than hers, enveloping it, as if he meant to protect her from some unknown force.

Archie cleared his throat behind them, Maggie swung around to look at him.

“There’s something I want to show, John,” he motioned to Major Egan beside him, “So we’re going to walk a different way back to base. Harry, be a good chap and walk Maggie home for me would you?”

Maggie resisted the urge to smack Archie, she hated it when people talked about her rather than addressing her. She was quite capable of walking back to base herself, but from the look of Harry’s eager smile she could tell that he also didn’t want the evening to end.

“Of course, it would be my pleasure, Sir.”

Archie nodded, clearly pleased that his evening was going to plan, “Well Mags, I’ll see you in the morning alright. Here let me take the bikes, John can ride yours back to base.”

Maggie passed the bike over to Major Egan who took it gratefully, “I promise you’ll have it back in one piece,” he assured her, although Maggie wasn’t inclined to believe him.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Mags,” Archie added, laughing heartily as he turned away from her.

She went to protest but he was already in deep conversation with Major Egan, pushing the bikes in the opposite direction. She wondered what he so desperately needed to show the Major but with Harry’s hand in hers she barely spared them another thought as they continued down the road back to base.

She wondered what would come of her bicycle in the hands of the infamous John Egan but that would be Archie's problem. He would just owe her a new one.

“So, what’s your family like? Do you have any siblings?” Harry asked, his brown eyes shining in the moonlight, making them look lighter than normal. Maggie felt herself staring at him, admiring the light blush that spread across his pale features under her gaze, the way one loose dark curl fell across his forehead. He was an attractive man and Maggie suddenly felt very aware of their close proximity. She stepped back, pulling Harry along the road.

“My family isn't that interesting really,” Maggie began, hoping that Harry would just ask her another question, but his eyes remained on her and so she continued. “I’m from Poole, it’s a coastal town in Dorset, in the South of England.”

Harry nodded along as she talked. He seemed genuinely interested in what she was saying. No man had ever been this interested other than Archie. She’d had plenty of pilots walk her back to Thorpe Abbott but none of them cared what she had to say. Most only wanted one thing and when they realised they weren't going to get it they lost interest.

“My father is a sheep farmer and my mother is a seamstress. My sister, Daphne, became a nurse to help the war effort. She’s currently stationed in Africa which is where she met her fiancé, he’s some Major or something.”

Maggie wished she could be pleased for her sister but Daphne had always been the wild one. No doubt that this engagement would end in tears. “My parents are very proud of her, me on the other ‘and, well they just don't understand how I've worked with all these pilots and ‘aven't got a ring on my finger.”

She sighed, glancing at Harry who was now staring straight ahead, “Sorry, I’ve said too much.” She ducked her head in embarrassment. Why did she just tell him all that? Harry seemed like a nice young man and she just went blabbing about how no man seemed to want her. ‘Well done Maggie’, she berated herself but Harry just shook his head smiling.

“You didn't say too much, Maggie. I like hearing about your family.” His smile was genuine, he meant what he said and Maggie found herself smiling back at him.

“Now it's your turn,” she laughed, “Tell me all about the Crosby’s.”

“All right,” Harry laughed.

The conversation continued, both of them comparing their families and laughing all the way back to Thorpe Abbott. Maggie found herself wishing the walk was longer, something about talking with Harry Crosby made her feel more alive than she had felt in a long time. Life at Thorpe Abbott had all blurred into one and Maggie found herself going through the motions every day without truly feeling anything. Harry felt like a burst of light, breaking through the dark colds and actually noticing her.

As they neared the Nissen Hut where Maggie was stationed with the other women on base she felt disappointed. Who knew whether Harry would want to see her again after tonight? She hated to think that this would just be one night that she would hold close to her heart every time things got tough.

“This is me,” she motioned to the hut to the left. “I had a real nice time with you, Harry.”

Maggie felt her hand slipping from his and suddenly she felt cold and alone. Harry reached back, taking her hand in his and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

“I had a great time too, Maggie. I'd love to do it again, if you'd like to of course,” his cheeks were dusted red before he finished his sentence, his eyes looking down at his shoes.

“I’d like that very much,” with a sudden minute of courage she leant forward, pressing her lips to Harry’s cheek. “Good night, Harry.” The young navigator blushed furiously in the darkness and Maggie’s heart swelled at the shy smile he sent her way.

“Goodnight Maggie.”

From the step of the Nissen hut, Maggie watched as Harry disappeared into the darkness, turning the corner and vanishing from view as if he'd never been there in the first place. However, the feeling of his hand in hers remained, reminding her that it had all been real.

Ken Lemmons watched the whole scene unfold, jealousy biting at his heart as he watched Maggie smile fondly at Harry. Of all people, it had to be Harry. He didn't have a bad bone in his body and he was the most genuine, and kind man Ken had ever met. How could he ever compete with that?

Maggie noticed the lit end of a cigarette glowing orange in the darkness, she couldn't see the figure it belonged to but she knew they were there. She had felt their eyes on her earlier, but she couldn't pinpoint who it was. She opened the door of the hut, letting June out to do her business before bed.

June’s nose was instantly in the air, sniffing around until she bounded across to the stranger. A rather embarrassed Ken Lemmons stumbled into view with the little spaniel attached to his leg.

“You can’t hide from June,” Maggie mused, moving down the steps to greet Ken. “What are you doing lurking in the darkness and with a bunch of flowers no doubt?”

Ken blushed even more, shoving the now wilting flowers behind his back, clearing his throat. “I was waiting for someone.”

“Oh really. Well, Helen, Tatty and Mads are asleep so you've got yourself a long wait, Ken,” Maggie turned around, her bed was calling her now and she had an early start in the morning.

Ken cleared his throat behind her, “I wasn't waiting for any of the other girls. I was waiting for you, I just didn't expect you to come back with Crosby. Thought you'd be with your RAF friend.”

Maggie could hear the disappointment in his voice and turned back to look at him, “You were waiting for me? Why?”

Ken toed the earth with his boot. How was he supposed to explain himself when the likes of Crosby had caught her eye? He was nothing more than a Sergeant and ground crew at that, even though they were the same rank he knew Maggie could do better.

“I saw these flowers and I thought you might like them. I also wanted to make sure you found yourself a wrench because I've got a spare you could have.” He produced the wrench and the drooping flowers from behind his back, watching sadly as one of the heads fell from the flowers.

Something was endearing about the way he stood, his eyes trained on the ground as he offered up the wrench and flowers. It was strange really but it was the grandest gesture a man had ever done for her. Ken shook his head, his curls falling across his forehead.

“This was silly, I'm sure you found a wrench,” he turned away, wandering back towards the direction he’d come from. “Goodnight Maggie,” he bent down, scratching the spaniel's head, “Night June.”

“Wait!” Maggie hurried after him, catching his arm. Ken found his eyes trained on her hand on his arm, his breath hitched as their eyes met.

“There's nothin’ wrong with ‘aving a spare wrench, right?” Her hand reached out, wrapping around the tool and allowing their fingers to brush. “And I do like primroses, they're my favourites actually.” She smiled gently at the young Seargent. “Thank you, Ken.”

Ken thanked his lucky stars that Archie’s information had been correct. He’d have to thank the pilot when he next saw him.

“You're very welcome, Ma’am,” he bowed elaborately and Maggie chuckled.

“Call me Maggie, please.”

“Goodnight Maggie.”

“Night Ken.” She watched in amusement as Ken walked off into the darkness, a newfound skip in his step as he whistled a tune. She hurried back to her hut, June at her heels. She closed the door quietly, turning to see two sets of eyes watching her.

“Did I just see you with Crosby and Lemmons?” Mads blurted out immediately, waggling her finger at Maggie. Mad’s had been one of Maggie’s first friends at Thorpe Abbotts. She was an American nurse from North Caroline with a big personality who took the shy English mechanic under her wing. “I can't believe it's taken you this long to find yourself a man and now you have two.”

Helen agreed, “I didn't even know you were going out with Harry.”

“I wasn't,” Maggie corrected her, “I was out with Archie but he met someone and so Harry offered to walk me home. He was being a gentleman, that’s all.”

Tatty laughed, “A gentleman you say? Well, young Seargent Lemmons has been sitting out there all night waiting to see you. He knocked on our door about 6 O'Clock asking for you. Told him you'd be back late and he chose to wait.”

Maggie blinked, she couldn't quite comprehend what she was being told. “Why on earth would Ken be waiting all that time for me?”

“First name basis are you,” Mads laughed, “I think you'll find that Ken Lemmons has a little soft spot for you Maggie. No man would wait in the dark for five hours if he didn't like you.”

Maggie shook her head, placing the droopy primroses in a glass of water, hoping to revive them as the guilty feeling that she kept him waiting ate away at her. The thought crossed her mind that she’d never mentioned liking Primroses when they had last met, it must have been a lucky guess.

“I’ve only met him once and I don’t think I made that much of an impression.”

“Well, you obviously made some kind of impression, and on Harry Crosby too. Whatever next Maggie, you’ll have a name for yourself,” Mads jested, leaning back against her pillows with a devilish grin.

Maggie sighed, unpinning her hair and stripping off to change for bed. The image of Ken sitting out there all that time waiting for her broke her heart, but the image of his sad face broke it even more.

As she lay in bed thinking of Ken, his face soon morphed into the face of a smiling Harry, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he grinned back at her. She huffed rolling onto her side as Harry’s face morphed into Ken’s, the young Seargent grinned cheekily at her. She rolled over onto her other side and Ken morphed back into Harry Crosby.

Groaning, Maggie sat up in bed, trying not to wake her sleeping friends.

Who would have thought that in one day her life could become so complicated?

She met these men twice yet they seemed to haunt her waking and sleeping thoughts.

What was she supposed to do?

As sleep overtook her mind Maggie relaxed, finally falling into a dreamless sleep where she could escape the confusing feelings of her heart until the morning.

July 3rd 1943, 10:00, Thorpe Abbotts AAF base

Maggie watched as June picked up the pace, hurrying towards the B17 on the handstand in front of them, her little legs carrying her along.

A figure jumped down from the fort, throwing his arms wide as the little spaniel threw herself into him, “Hey June,” he just managed to say as June's tongue came into contact with his face, making him squirm as she washed him.

“That’s how you know she likes you,” Maggie called out and Ken’s head shot up, smiling brightly at her.

“Well I hope all the English girls greet me like this!” He exclaimed, hurrying over to her with June still cradled in his arms.

“Not quite,” she laughed.

“It’s good to see you, I was kind of worried you’d be avoiding me after last night.” Ken’s cheeks blushed a deep red as he remembered the fact that he’d been hidden outside her hut in the dark for hours.

Maggie shook her head, “Not a chance. You’d have to do a lot worse to scare me away, Ken Lemmons.”

Ken chuckled, placing June back on the ground and she hurried off towards where two young boys were sitting by the B17 with a husky.

“Well, that sure is good to know.” Ken’s eyes found hers and the pair instantly looked away, suddenly all too aware of each other's presence.

Maggie wasn’t sure why but any time she was under Ken’s gaze she felt her heart race a little faster. Clearing her throat she looked up, “Who are the two young boys, they look too young to be pilots?”

Ken laughed, enjoying her sarcastic comment, “That’s Billy and Sammy, they live nearby but they spend most of their time on base. They like to help me out with the planes.”

“Two willing workers huh? You can send them my way when you're done with them, those Lancasters could always use an extra pair of hands,” Maggie joked, following Kenny as they began their walk back towards the Fort.

The two boys were sitting on the ground, one with June sitting in his lap while the other stroked the large husky.

“I’ll be sure to tell them that,” Ken grabbed her hand suddenly, causing Maggie to jump. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Maggie followed willingly, enjoying the feeling of her hand clutching Ken’s, “Boys, I’ve got someone I want you to meet. Maggie, this is Sammy, Billy and Meatball the husky.”

Ken pointed at the two boys who looked up quickly, identical smiles on their faces.

“This here is Maggie,” Ken gestured to Maggie and the two boys looked at her suspiciously.

“So you’re Maggie…” one of them began before the other interrupted.

“Are you Ken’s girlfriend?”

Ken’s eyes went wide as he stared at the boys in utter horror but Maggie just laughed, crouching down in front of the boys.

“Not quite,” she glanced back at Ken who looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him, “He’s a good lookin’ guy though, right?” She jested and the two boys nodded in agreement, only for Ken’s cheeks to blush even darker.

“Well…” Ken cleared his throat, “I, umm… I should probably get back to work,” he mumbled, picking up his toolbox and trailing off behind the Fort.

Maggie winked at the two boys, before standing up, brushing off her overalls. She walked around the Fort, trailing her fingers along the riveted metal body.

Kenny was fiddling with one of the magnetos, his back turned to Maggie as she approached him.

“I hope I didn’t offend you in any way,” she spoke softly, resting her hand cautiously on his shoulder. He jumped lightly before turning to face her, shaking his head.

“You didn’t say anything wrong, I’m just not who you think I am…” he trailed off with a sigh.

“What do you mean?” Maggie plonked herself down on the frame behind her, observing Kenny as he exhaled slowly. His forehead creased and in that moment Maggie saw he looked far older than his years.

“Maggie,” he began, taking his hands in hers, “I’m not some hotshot pilot, I’ve not got an important job navigating like Harry, I’m not special and I just don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

“Wrong impression about what, Ken? We barely know each other, how could I get the wrong impression of you? You seem like a sweet man, I’d really like to get to know you better,” Maggie paused, squeezing his hand, “And as for the pilot thing, they aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, trust me.”

Ken chuckled, looking up and finally meeting Maggie’s eyes, “So don’t doubt yourself, Ken. I’m ground crew too, and if anything it means that we can spend more time together when the crews are out.”

Ken grinned, “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

“Exactly, you can see I’m the brains of the operation between Archie and me.”

“Well I’d say you have the brains and the beauty,” Ken replied shyly, biting his lips a little and causing Maggie’s heart to race faster.

“You’re not like other men, Ken Lemmons, and that’s a good thing,” she hopped on the frame, grabbing Ken’s hand, “Come on, we shouldn’t keep your friends waiting.”

As they rounded the nose of the Fort the two boys were wearing expectantly, the two dogs at their sides.

“Are you his girlfriend now?” Sammy asked, grinning widely and pointing at their joined hands.

Ken laughed heartily, “Sammy, the second I get a girlfriend you will be the first to know, I promise.”

This answer seemed to satisfy the young boy who returned to his spot on the grass beside Meatball.

Maggie peeked at Ken, catching his eye with a small smirk. It occurred to Maggie then that maybe this was the start of a beautiful friendship, but as her mind drifted to a certain clumsy navigator with a charming smile she realised things may be more complicated than she first thought.

Tags: @georgieluz @docroesmorphine @major-mads @violetdaze25 @bcofl0ve @precious-little-scoundrel @blurredcolour @artlover8992 @b00ks1ut @xxluckystrike @hockeyboysarehot @groovin2beats @kmc1989 @ginabaker1666 @hesbuckcompton-baby @blueberry-ovaries @vera-keller

[lemoncrushh]

Wild Horses - One

Summary: Amber Crosby didn’t end up with the life she’d expected, but that didn’t keep her from following her dream. A young, up and coming country recording artist, she and her band set out to do just that. Trying to leave her past behind, it wasn’t until meeting Harry Styles that she realized just how her life could take a turn and alter her future forever.

A/N: Please note all portions in italics are meant to be flashbacks :).

STORY PAGE

Chapter One Word Count: 4.3k+

“Are you sick and tired of being sick and tired…” - Daughtry; Witness

“Are you sure this is what you wanna do?” Pauline asked, lifting her coffee mug to her lips.

Amber let out a breath and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, Mom, it is.”

Pauline swallowed as she looked out the window to the backyard. The swing set was old and rusted, the sandbox her children had once played in now overgrown with weeds. Her daughter was nearing twenty. It was time to let her go and earn her wings.

“Then I think you should go for it,” she said with a sweet smile.

Relief spread over Amber as she rose from her chair to give her mother a hug.

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll make you proud, I promise.”

“You already do, sweetheart,” whispered Pauline as she patted Amber’s hand, a tear trickling out of the corner of her eye. “Now you go follow your dream. Laci and I will be just fine.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. She’s a wild one, keeps me on my toes. Just like you.”

Amber caught the loving admiration underneath Pauline’s joking tone.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too. Now stop making me teary-eyed and go pack.”

Amber grinned as she bound for her bedroom. She was gonna be okay. She could feel it.

The restaurant was freezing. Actually, to say it was a restaurant was like calling that motel they’d stayed in the night before the Ritz. It was a dang Waffle House, but at least it was cheap. Amber had managed to save up some money on this short road tour, but she wasn’t about to splurge on a real restaurant, even if that sign she’d seen for that Mexican place had looked appealing. Still, it was so freaking cold in this joint, her nipples could’ve broken glass.

“And what can I get you, hon?” asked the blond middle-aged waitress.

Amber faked a smile as she rubbed her arms. “Eggs over easy with grits and bacon please.”

The waitress nodded and penciled in her order before addressing Carter who sat beside her. He ordered his usual - three waffles. Nothing else. Of course he would smother them later with butter and maple syrup. Amber watched him sip on his Coke when the waitress walked away and wondered how on earth he was able to carry all the band equipment day after day when he was loaded up on so much sugar. She never once saw him come down from his high and fall flat on his ass, but she waited for the day she would.

“How many more miles til Nashville?” groaned Brendan, running his palm down his face, his eyes weary.

“About eighty or so,” replied Johnny, smoothing out the road map in front of him. “Not much longer.”

“Good, cause I need a real bed. Alone.”

Amber smiled meekly at her bass player. Brendan had taken the wheel early that morning after they’d left Charlotte. The boys were getting a bit restless and annoyed with having to share a motel room, one of them usually opting for the floor or the van so they wouldn’t have to share a bed. Occasionally if Amber got a double room, Carter would convince her to let him take the other bed. Sometimes in the beginning he’d even slip himself into her single bed, and she wouldn’t kick him out if she was drunk enough. But those days were over, she’d told him.

Nashville would be a different situation. The band was scheduled to play a festival, billed as one of the opening acts. It would be excellent exposure for them, and in return they got free accomodations at the Hilton. It was a sacrifice Amber was willing to make to get the recognition. She’d just decided not to tell the boys until after the show that they weren’t getting paid.

The waitress brought their food and other than the sounds of chewing and swallowing, the occasional burp, the four sat in silence. Amber continued to rub her arms when she could, the coffee doing little to warm her up. She’d wished she’d brought her hoodie, but since it was damn near a hundred degrees outside, she hadn’t even bothered to pull it out of her duffle bag. Suddenly, she felt another set of hands on her skin, and she looked up to see Carter, a small grin on his face as he rubbed her naked arms.

“Cold?” he raised a brow.

“Yeah,” she sighed, allowing his long arms to envelop her as she scooted closer to him.

Her stomach did one of those flip-floppy things that she didn’t like. Okay, maybe she liked it, but she didn’t want to. She’d been firm with Carter that they were not a couple, and he wasn’t supposed to act like they were. He’d reluctantly agreed, what with being in a band together and all. But sometimes he could be really sweet. Sometimes he…

“Can I get you anything else, hon?” the waitress asked.

“I don’t think so,” replied Carter, giving her his best smile as he squeezed Amber tighter with one hand and patted his stomach with the other. “That was great.”

The blond winked at him and set the check beside him before twisting her hips and strutting to the next table. Johnny and Brendan began to pull out their wallets until Amber stopped them.

“I got this one, guys,” she explained, giving Carter a nudge so he’d slide out of the booth.

Brendan shrugged, returning his wallet to his back pocket. Johnny dropped a few ones on the table and folded up the road map. As Amber paid the bill at the counter, Carter slid a hand across her butt and whispered in her ear.

“Meet you in the van.”

Amber nodded. “Be there in a minute. I gotta use the bathroom.”

“Ooh, honey, he’s a cutie,” Amber heard the waitress say when the boys were out of ear-shot. She scoffed.

“He your boyfriend?” the blond continued.

“No,” Amber shook her head as she took her change. “Just my drummer.”

“Yes!” exclaimed Brendan when he opened his hotel room door. “At last! My own room!”

Amber chuckled in the hallway, her duffle bag over her shoulder as she made her way to her room. The door clicked shut behind Brendan, but she could still hear him shouting something about ‘getting used to this’. Johnny’s room was across from Brendan’s, Amber’s next to it.

“I’m so ready for a nap,” she remarked, her card key in the door.

“Now? I thought...maybe we could hang out for a while. In mine.” Carter pointed across the hall.

“I’m exhausted, Carter.”

“I know, but…” he paused, his lips quivering into a suggestive grin, “can’t you be exhausted in here? With me?”

“Ugh...Carter…” Amber groaned. Here we go again, she thought.

“I give great back rubs.”

“I know you do,” she nodded with disinterest. “But I’m not feeling that great. I don’t think that Waffle House agreed with me.”

Amber heard the click of the lock and pushed her door open.

“Amber…”

“Carter,” she rolled her eyes, dropping her bag on the floor next to the bathroom. “I’m going to sleep. See you at dinner.”

Pauline held up the phone so Amber could see Laci dance around the living room in her tutu. Amber beamed and giggled as Laci did the same, twirling like a ballerina.

“Yay!” Amber clapped when Laci was finished. “Good job!”

Laci continued to giggle, her brown curls bouncing as she fell over on the couch, her head in Pauline’s lap.

“She’s been practicing,” Amber’s mom announced.

“I can tell! How’s school?”

“It’s going great. Her teacher says she’s always excited to come and never wants to leave.”

“Aw, I’m glad,” said Amber.

A knock sounded on her door so she rose from the bed to answer it. Carter stood on the other side, his hands in his pockets. Amber lifted a finger and pointed to her cell phone to indicate she was talking on it. Carter nodded and followed her into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey, Mom, I gotta go. We’re about to go to dinner.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Pauline nodded. “Have fun in Nashville!”

“I will. Bye Laci!” she waved into the phone. The little girl’s head popped into the screen she blew kisses.

“Love youuuuu!”

“I love you too, baby girl.”

Hanging up the call, Amber shoved her phone into her back pocket and looked up at Carter. He’d apparently had a shower, his caramel hair combed back, his clean t-shirt stretching across his broad shoulders.

“Ready?” she breathed, hoping he hadn’t noticed how it caught in her throat.

“Yeah, Johnny and Brendan are downstairs.”

“Okay.” Amber stepped into her sandals and walked around him to the door.

“Um...Amber?”

“Yeah?” she stopped.

Carter scratched his stubbled chin before shoving his hand back in his pocket.

“Sorry about...before,” he offered.

Amber chewed her cheek and shrugged. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I know but…” he hesitated, then looked down at his feet. “Hey, I know how you feel about us-”

Amber held up a hand. “There is no us, Carter. We’re friends. Bandmates. That’s all.”

His jaw set so hard he could cut through steel, Carter nodded. “Got it.”

Amber sighed. “Carter…”

Stepping closer to her, he put his hands on her waist.

“We got something, Amber. You might not see it yet, but I do. All those times you cried on my shoulder til four in the morning. Those nights in your bed-”

“It’s over, Carter,” she pushed his hands away.

“But I don’t want it to be.”

Amber swallowed hard as she looked down. “It needs to be,” she whispered.

“But why?”

“Because...that was the old me.”

Amber felt Carter sigh more than heard it. She watched his feet as he stepped around her to open the door.

“You’ll want me again, Amber. Maybe not tonight. But one day you will.”

Amber glared at him as he held the door. Maybe he was right.

Harry didn’t usually stay with his band. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, and it wasn’t an ego thing. It was more of a safety thing. If fans got wind of where Mitch, Sarah, Adam or Clare were, nine times out of ten they figured Harry was somewhere near. They would bombard the hotel just to get a glimpse of him, and sometimes things could get out of hand. And Harry didn’t want his band to feel like they couldn’t get out and see the city if they wanted to. So early on Jeffrey Azoff, his friend and manager, had talked him into staying at a different hotel from theirs. And so far it had worked.

Today, however, Harry decided to join his band in the hotel restaurant - the Hilton where the rest of the band members were staying. He reckoned no one would suspect he would be there, so he could slip in and take a seat with the gang and enjoy a private meal. But he’d thought wrong.

He wasn’t sure if it was the girl who nearly fainted in the lobby, or if there had been paps or someone else outside who’d recognized him, but by the time he made it around the corner near the elevators, just outside the restaurant, he was surrounded. Cursing under his breath, he put on a brave face and greeted the mob of fans.

Fans. That was actually too kind of a word. He knew who his true fans were. They were the ones who bought his album and tickets to his shows. They were outside waiting in a queue for hours so they’d get a good spot in the general admission section. They had websites and blogs and wrote fanfiction and made their own merch. They weren’t waiting outside of hotel restaurants hoping to get a selfie with someone they may or may not actually had heard of, let alone sang along to in the car. But being the Harry Styles that he was, he knew it wasn’t fair to pick and choose. Treat people with kindness, that was his motto. He lived by the golden rule, even when all he wanted to do was get a bloody meal with his friends.

When the last girl had left, a squeak in her voice as she snapped one last photo, Harry strolled into the restaurant, waving at his bandmates who sat in the corner of the nearly empty room. Immediately a waiter came by, setting a glass of water in front of him.

“Evening,” nodded the waiter in a monotone.

“We already ordered for you,” said Clare.

“Oh. Thanks,” Harry grinned, setting his napkin in his lap.

“Guess, this isn’t happening again,” remarked Mitch.

“What isn’t?”

“This,” Mitch gestured. “Dinner at our hotel. You were mobbed.”

Harry shrugged with a sigh. “Yeah. It wasn’t too bad. Coulda been worse.”

Sarah and Mitch glared at him before lifting their glasses simultaneously. The waiter came with their food then, and the mood was lightened with idle chatter. Halfway through his salad, however, Harry could feel eyes upon him. He had a gift, he did. He could always tell when he was being watched. Usually it involved a camera, but when he lifted his gaze to browse the room, he only found a pair of pretty blue eyes. They belonged to a young woman sat at the table across the room, one of only two others occupied in the restaurant presently. She was joined by three other lads, who all seemed to be doing their best to pay attention to themselves and each other, and certainly not to her.

He had no idea how or why. She was cute. She had pouty red lips and a heart-shaped face. And there was no way he could ignore the way she tried to look away when he caught her looking at him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Yeah, he would definitely be paying attention to her.

Actually, come to think of it, she looked right familiar to him. Biting his lip, he tried to place her.

A burst of laughter broke his thoughts and he turned his head to see Adam showing the other three a video of his kid on his phone.

“How adorable!” exclaimed Clare.

As Adam scrolled to find another funny video, Harry leaned toward Mitch.

“Hey mate, who’s that?” he pointed to the girl across the room. “Do you know her?”

Mitch shrugged just as Sarah said, “That’s Amber Crosby.”

“Who?” Mitch and Harry asked in unison.

“Amber Crosby? She’s part of the festival tomorrow?” Sarah rolled her eyes. “That’s her and her band.”

“Ohh,” sounded Harry. Amber Crosby, that’s right. He’d heard her single a few times. She was good.

“How do you know this?” inquired Mitch.

“Because I make it a point to keep up with what’s going on,” remarked Sarah, pursing her lips. Mitch mocked her with a face which earned him a pinch.

Harry watched Amber sit with her band, though she might as well had been sat there alone. She reached for her glass of water, taking a sip through a straw before her eyes wandered up and locked with Harry’s again. He caught the slight blush in her cheeks as she quickly averted her gaze and set her glass back down.

“Hey, Harry, are y-” he heard Mitch begin, but he didn’t stay to listen to the rest of the sentence. Instead, he rose from his chair and crossed the room to where Amber sat.

“Hello,” he greeted when he reached her table. “Amber Crosby, right?”

Once again, he didn’t miss the rosiness of her cheeks as she lifted her head.

“Yes,” she smiled up at him.

“I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Harry Styles.”

Amber beamed wider, taking Harry’s outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

“I saw that you’re playing tomorrow,” he half lied.

“Yeah,” Amber made a face. Harry wasn’t sure if it was one of embarrassment or annoyance. But either way, he liked how her nose crinkled when she did it. “I think we’re like second or third. So we’ll be out of here by sundown.”

Harry feigned shock, placing his hand on his chest. “And miss my set?”

Amber giggled. “Well, I don’t want to, but you know…”

“Hey, man,” uttered the straight-nosed guy sat next to Amber. If he hadn’t extended his hand, Harry might have thought he was about to threaten him.

“Oh, sorry!” Amber sat up, addressing the three men at the table. “Harry, this is Carter, Brendan and Johnny. My band. Guys, this is Ha-”

“Harry Styles, man, nice to meet ya!” Carter nearly slapped his hand against Harry’s, making Amber grimace. But Harry was gracious, shaking each man’s hand and making them feel important.

“I’ve heard your song,” said Harry, “it’s really good.”

It was Amber’s turn to cover her heart. “Oh, thank you.”

“Yeah, I’m anxious to hear more.”

His eyes met Amber’s then, making her smile. He didn’t miss Carter’s arm, however, that suddenly stretched across the back of her chair.

“Will you be there tomorrow?” asked Amber. “I mean, as early as we’ll be playing?”

“Yeah, I should be. I’ll be popping in off and on throughout the day.”

“What time are you on?” piped up one of the other lads. Damn, Harry had forgotten their names. Brandon? Brennan?

“We’re on at eight,” replied Harry.

“Oh. We might be gone by then,” Carter declared, his fingers playing on Amber’s shoulder. “We have another gig to get to the next day.”

“Oh, too bad,” Harry frowned, not missing the maneuver Amber pulled to get her shoulder out of Carter’s reach. “Well, just wanted to say hello, and um...best of luck tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Amber and her band sang.

Harry gave a small wave as he turned back for his table, rejoining his own band.

“What d’you think?” Sarah raised a brow.

“She seems lovely.”

Just then Amber and her band rose from their table, heading for the exit.

“I think I’ll try to introduce myself tomorrow,” said Sarah. “I definitely wanna catch their set.”

But Harry was barely listening. He watched Amber follow the men out of the restaurant, turning around once to wave at him. He smiled and waved back.

He definitely wanted to catch their set too.

Carter thought he heard something. It was a cheap motel, and the walls were very thin. But did he detect the sound of someone crying? Amber’s room was next door. Could it be…

He waited a few more minutes, just to be sure. Then swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat up and walked to the door, hesitating only for a split second before stepping outside.

He knocked gently at first, then thought that was ridiculous and knocked louder. She didn’t answer right away, though that didn’t surprise him. Again, he knocked, this time calling her name.

“Amber! Amber, are you in there?” He knew his question was pointless; of course she was in there. And she was hurting.

He heard the click of the lock before the door opened, just enough to reveal half of her tear-stained face.

“Are you okay?” Another stupid question. Of course she wasn’t okay.

She shook her head, her hair falling over her eyes. Carter let out a deep breath.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Amber looked down and shook her head again. “Not really.”

Carter nodded. He wasn’t going to push her.

“Can I...come in?”

Swallowing hard, Amber stepped back, her head still bowed. When Carter shut the door behind him, she finally looked up at him.

“Oh!”

It was only then that it dawned on Carter that he was shirtless. He’d been lying on his bed after returning to his room, still in his jeans, his sweaty t-shirt and shoes discarded across the room in a pile. His mind on getting to Amber, he hadn’t bothered to put on a clean shirt.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

With a sharp turn, Amber ran to the bed, planting herself on it face down.

“Hey,” Carter whispered as he sat down next to her. He watched her back tremble and shake as she cried into her pillow. “Amber…”

When she didn’t reply, he looked around the tiny room. On the nightstand sat a half-empty bottle of whisky. It wasn’t open, but he picked up the empty glass next to it and sniffed it. He made a face as he wondered if she’d already drunk that much tonight.

“Amber,” he said again.

Just as he reached for her, she sat up and wrapped her arms around him. He’d let her cry as much as she wanted; he was willing to wait all night if he needed to. Finally, she lifted her head, wiped her eyes and sniffled.

“I hate my life,” she admitted.

“What?”

“I’m so tired, Carter,” she cried. “So very tired. Of everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sick of trying so hard...when it doesn’t get me anywhere.”

Pushing a strand of her brown hair from her wet, sticky cheek, Carter assumed she meant the band, her music. But then she dropped the bomb.

“I just want someone to love me,” she whined, her big brown eyes searching his face. “Why is that so hard?”

“Amber…”

“Am I unlovable?” she asked.

“What? No!” Carter knew that wasn’t true. Okay, maybe he wasn’t in love with her. But he’d definitely had feelings since they’d met. He knew she’d had a hard life and kept her guard up, but he’d never gotten the whole story. He’d always hoped one day she’d tell him.

“Sometimes…” she hesitated, “sometimes I just wanna end it.”

“End what?” Damn, he was full of dumb questions tonight. He knew the answer. He just hoped he was wrong.

“My life.”

He took her face in his hands then. He wanted to yell at her, shake her into reality. 

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Amber,” he said firmly.

“Don’t I?” she rolled her eyes. “No one gives a shit about me.”

“I do. I care.”

“You do?” Though her eyelids were heavy, she fluttered her lashes.

Carter could smell the liquor on her breath before he kissed her. He didn’t care. He wanted her to know she was wanted.

She hadn’t asked him to stay that night, but he had anyway. He wanted to make sure she was okay. And when she’d gotten up to puke, he’d held back her hair.

Carter sort of made a habit of staying in Amber’s room after that. About a month or so later, after they shared an entire bottle of whisky, she told him her story.

“Ten minutes,” the stage assistant announced, sending nervous tingles down Amber’s spine.

“Okay, okay,” she breathed, shaking her limbs and fingers. “Let’s do this.”

Just then she heard a voice behind her, one that she recognized from the night before. She turned to see Harry Styles chatting with Brendan along with his bandmates Sarah and Mitch whom she’d met an hour ago. When their eyes met, he smiled widely and stepped toward her.

“Hi, Amber,” he greeted. “Promised I’d make it to see you, and here I am.”

Amber returned his smile, her insides giggling with glee. He hadn’t actually promised that, not in so many words, but she thought it was a nice gesture.

“Good to see you, Harry,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t crack before she even made it to the stage.

“You’ve met Sarah and Mitch,” he confirmed in part question.

“Yes, I did. They’re so nice.”

“I have a great band,” Harry nodded.

“You definitely do. They all seem very fond of you. As they should.”

“Five minutes!”

“I’m on next,” Amber voiced with wide eyes.

“Best of luck to you,” Harry grinned. “You’ll be great.”

“Hope so,” she breathed. She looked around to see her band members coming toward her. For some reason she got more nervous when she made eye contact with Carter.

“Hey, man,” he said as he approached Harry, giving him a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Glad you could make it.”

“Yeah, good luck, mate,” Harry reached out his hand to tap Carter’s arm.

“Places people!” the stage hand called.

Amber shrieked, trying to let her body release the last of its nerves. She caught the tiny giggle coming from Harry and gave him a shrug.

“Always nervous,” she muttered.

She hadn’t expected Harry to take her hand then. And she hadn’t expected to feel the electricity that charged through her skin from his touch. And she hadn’t expected the look in his eyes to take all her nerves away and make her feel calm.

“Let’s go!” Carter shouted, his hand on her back as he pushed her onto the stage.

Harry watched Amber Crosby’s short set from backstage. She was good. Better than good, she was fantastic. He loved the tone of her voice, both warm and clear. She had a youthful quality about her while also being very sensual, like some of the classic country females whom he enjoyed. Though he was familiar with the radio hit, he liked her other songs just as much, if not more. He wondered if she wrote them all, and he made it a point to ask her when he got the chance. If he got the chance. He was disappointed that she and her band would be leaving after their set. There was something about her… he didn’t know what exactly, but he wanted to find out.

The crowd cheered after their last song, making Harry smile. He hardly knew this girl, but he was already feeling a sense of pride for her. His own hands clapping eagerly, he watched as the band took a bow together and turned to exit the stage. He felt the presence of two bodies stepping to either side of him, joining him in his applause.

“So what do you think?” asked Sarah.

“I think I just found my new opening act,” Harry replied.

As always feedback is appreciated (even if it is an old fic lol).

[softspeirs]

for the prompt: stress or caffeine ~or both~

A/N: Friend, you asked for this so long ago. I'm so sorry! You also asked for Crosby - this is my first time writing for him and it's a platonic relationship, I hope that's okay.

"Will you check on Croz?" Jack Kidd catches Grace Fleming in the infirmary before her shift is over.

"I'm a little busy, Major, but I'll see if I can track him down. Any idea where he might be?"

"He's still in his office."

That gives Grace pause. "Still?"

Kidd's hands are on his hips and he gives her a look as if to say see what I'm saying? Jack gives Croz a hard time, but the two of them have been here together since the beginning, and she knows they have a bond that's hard to find anymore.

"I'll see what I can do." Grace concedes, smiling at the worried Major.

"He hasn't been sleeping. I just--" He runs a hand through his hair, "He's putting too much pressure on himself."

Grace finds Crosby at his desk, a steaming cup of coffee next to him. She doesn't have much reason to worry yet, but she knocks on the doorframe to get his attention anyway.

He looks up, startled. "Lieutenant." He says, an exhausted smile on his face. "Almost gave me a fright."

"That's Captain to you, now." She says, a little haughtily, her own grin overtaking her features.

"I'll be damned. Congratulations, Grace."

"Thank you, Harry." She takes a few steps closer, and sits in the spare chair next to his desk without asking. "I've been hearing some rumblings." She says, gauging his reaction.

"Oh?" He's back at his maps, pencil tucked behind his left ear. "Anything useful?"

"More worried chatter about everyone running themselves into the ground before the next big one." She says it as if the "b" and "o" are capitalized. He raises his eyebrow - probably suspects some of the rumblings she's been hearing are from Rosie, and that she shouldn't really know anything about it.

"Between you and me, Captain, this is a big one. Everyone's working hard."

Grace hums. She wonders if she should even be in here, though who's she going to tell, anyway? Even so, something in her keeps her from glancing too hard at his maps to figure anything out. "Any advice for the stress?"

He chuckles. "Seems people should be asking you that, Gracie. Not me." He straightens, stretching his arms overhead. "I'd tell them to take a break so their minds are right. It's too important."

Grace nods slowly, eyes back on the heavy bags underneath Crosby's eyes. "Don't suppose you'd take your own advice?"

He freezes, meeting her gaze with wary suspicion. "Starting to think someone put you up to this visit, Captain."

Grace shrugs.

She's seen Harry Crosby evolve over the last few months, and she has no desire to put him on bedrest or anything else drastic, but she has worried about him. Ever since Bubbles Payne-- well, ever since all of it, really, he's been throwing himself into his work more than anyone.

He sits back so the chair tilts dangerously. He wipes a hand over his face. "I'm fine, Grace."

"You know, everyone always tells me that."

"Then it must be true."

"Or everyone around here has gotten really good at lying." She scoots a little closer. "I worry you're not getting enough rest. I know you're busy, but you have to take care of yourself."

"I'm fine." He says firmly. His eyes are dark and wide, begging him to believe her.

Something tells her that every working moment for him for months has been to try, somehow, to make up for all the losses. He thinks that if he works himself to death, he can at least keep everyone else alive.

"Fine." Grace concedes. "If you need something to help you sleep rather than keep you awake--" He at least has the decency to look sheepish, at that, "-- let me know."

She's halfway out the door when she hears his voice, uncharacteristically quiet. "Thank you, Grace."

.

When Harry wakes up days after the landings have already happened, his first instinct is to panic, and then he feels the frustration and disappointment all at once at the thought that he just slept through the biggest invasion the world has ever seen.

When Rosie is finished laughing at him, Harry sits heavily down at the edge of his cot.

"Did we-- did it--"

"Yeah, Croz. They did it."

Harry lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I can't believe I slept through it."

"You passed out, literally."

"But why didn't anyone just let me get a few winks and then wake me? I had so much to do!"

"You did it all, Croz. I've never seen anyone more prepared than you were for that mission."

Harry shakes his head. "This was Grace, wasn't it? Her orders-- she--"

Rosie's eyes have gone a little flinty, and he shakes his head slowly. "Easy, Harry."

Rosie, ever jovial and friendly with Harry, doesn't give anything away, but Harry realizes his mistake and treads lightly.

"I just-- she came to see me a few days before. Tried to convince me to take a break."

Rosie is still giving him a wary look, arms crossed over his chest. "Seems she was right."

"I better go grovel."

Harry finds her in the hospital, a clipboard in one hand as she talks with three other nurses. She sees him out of the corner of her eye, and excuses herself.

"What are you doing out of bed?"

"Jeez, Captain. Give me a second before I get in trouble again?" He smiles, trying to let her know he's alright. "I owe you an apology, Grace."

She rolls her eyes. Gesturing for him to follow her outside, away from prying ears and eyes. They sit on a bench nearby, and she straightens her skirt. "Go on with that apology..." She says, looking out onto the airfield.

"I didn't mean to..." Harry says, trailing off, unsure of himself.

"To... ignore my advice? To take so many pills you didn't sleep for three nights? To keel over in the middle of the day and almost crack open that thick skull of yours?"

They're both quiet for so long, Grace starts to worry that she's actually overstepped.

Then he starts to laugh. It's the first real laugh she's heard out of him, out of anyone in... weeks? Months?

"Now I know you've lost it." Grace mutters, but she can't help her grin either, a giggle escaping her.

He leans towards her, bumping their shoulders together. "Thank you, Grace. I think I need some tough love once in awhile."

Grace makes a sound of agreement. "Next time I won't be so nice about it, Croz." She turns to face him. "You're one of our best. We can't afford to have you out of action. Not when our boys are going up."

She thinks of Rosie, still flying missions far past his twenty-fifth. Her heart clenches, but she forces it down.

He's one of the best, and so is Harry Crosby. As long as The 100th has them, they'll live to see the end of this war.

She's sure of it.