#robert rosenthal imagines

[bejeweledblondie]

Peggy, The Pin Up

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A/N: I apologize for being MIA I’ve had a lot of very great but time consuming things take over my life! I’ve started a 1940s vintage clothing blog & I’m shocked at how successful it has become. On top of that I’ve got promotions at work & it’s opened so many doors for me. I’m hoping to write a bit more!

Warnings: classic 1940’s sexism, mentions of nudity, female pronouns

Summary: Y/N never expected for her pin up prints to be put out… it causes some disruption on Abbott-Thorpe & one dark curly haired aviator comes to her rescue

It all happened on a Thursday morning at breakfast. Y/N sat there in her crisp white uniform shoveling the chalky yellow substance the army called eggs in her mouth. A dark shadow appeared above her plate & a magazine was plopped down in front of her.

“Don’t even try to deny it, this is you isn’t it?” He asked with a hint of amusement in his voice. Speechless she looked away & noticed that the Army’s shipment of Esquire hit the shelves. “God who knew? We knew you were a tease, but this is just another level.” He started. “Do you know what everyone says about you?” She shook her head shamefully, lying to herself. She had heard rumblings in the sick bay from time to time. Sometimes while fixing a patients IV bag or a even helping move a patient a hemline might rise causing a stir.

Before the pilot could continue his chauvinistic teasing session she immediately grabbed her belongings & swiftly exited. Little did she know a dark curly haired pilot was watching the torment happen. Due to rank he couldn’t intervene but oh he so badly wanted to bury the man six feet under. He had grown fond of the nurse, she was always so kind with his men. Incredibly soft spoken & nurturing when it came to the care she provided. He had walked in on her reading a copy of John Steinbeck’s, “Of Mice & Men” to the wounded pilots one evening. She didn’t have to do that, she could’ve been out dancing at the Officer’s Club. But she voluntarily chose to stay after her shift to read to them. He could tell the men greatly appreciated it too, it gave them a small window of comfort during an incredibly traumatic moment in their lives.

Douglass, also watching the debacle rolled his eyes & sipped his coffee.

“These men act like they’ve never seen tits before it’s insane.” He scoffed. Rosie almost choked on the toast he was eating.

“I mean some are freshly turned eighteen.” Blakely reminded him.

“Still, this is going to cause a huge fucking problem.” He swore. “Rosenthal, you okay?” Rosie had been staring off into the space during the duration of the conversation.

“Go to her,” Douglass sighed. “She may be oblivious but I’m not. You’ll also want to scoop her before someone like Egan does.” With that Rosie excused himself & started to head towards the medical ward. The sterile white environment contrasted heavily from the drab olive green darkness of the mess hall. Injured pilots laid in beds reading the paper, being fed their morning breakfast, or having their vitals taken. Valerie, a nurse he knew was friendly with Y/N was checking the vitals on a young sergeant.

“Val!” He said getting her attention & started over to her. “Have you seen Y/N?” He asked.

“Yeah, she seemed a bit off,” She started. “She begged Major to allow her to just work in supply today. You might wanna try there.”

“Thank you.” Rosie replied & made his way to the supply room. There she stood sniffling & rolling gauze. Her eyes were clouded with a melancholy look as she completed the mundane task. He knocked on the door frame causing her to look up slightly startled.

“Oh Major Rosenthal it’s you,” She said with a slight tremble in her voice. “What can I do for you?” He cringed at her using his rank, usually it would make his blood pressure rise & heart race. But this circumstance was entirely different.

“I saw what happened in the chow hall,” He started. She’s started to wipe away tears. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.” He said wringing anxiously. She sighed deeply & looked away.

“I’ll be alright,” She stated. “I’m just going to lay low for a few weeks.” It broke his heart to see her this way. She was always a little jumpy & anxious to begin with. This situation just poured gasoline on a oil fire.

“No,” Rosie stated. “You shouldn’t let some asshole make you feel uncomfortable.” She stared him with big wide eyes. “If it makes you feel any better I’ll escort you places.” Her eyes softened as she listened to him. A small crimson warmth crept onto her cheeks at the mere mention of him escorting her.

After a few weeks, the heat died out about the pin up nurse. Rosie & Y/N had become closer over the weeks. His protection meant no one would even try to touch a hair on her head. From lingering touches, longing gazes, & of course Rosie sitting on her nightly readings to the wounded pilots. He (like every man on post who took a liking to her) did keep a copy of the pin up photo.

On missions he’d keep the folded piece of paper tucked into the pocket of his sheepskin. A reminder of what he was protecting & fighting for. His calloused thumb would graze over her innocent smile as he admired the image. Even in his bunk, he’d spend some alone time with it after everyone had fallen asleep. During one night after the pin up photo was brought up by a rookie pilot, & in turn making Y/N uncomfortable. Rosie knew he had to make her see what he saw in the photo. After some discussions with Ken Lemmons, he decided to really make sure he was reminded everyday was he was fighting for.

With hands covering her eyes he directed her to the airstrip.

“Rosie I can’t see!” Y/N giggled, tripping over her own feet. He chuckled at her natural clumsiness. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see, you’re so impatient.” He said. He lead her right up the nose to his beloved bomber. “Okay now you can see.” With the removal of his hands & a adjustment to the sunlight she was staring at herself painted on the side of his bomber. The same pin up that graced Esquire months ago that brought them together. She gasped in pure shock at the artwork.

“Oh, Rosie.” She gasped unable to speak. “Did you paint this?”

“With a little help from Lemmons.” He replied. “I want you to see what I see. A beautiful woman. Do you like it?”

“I-wow,” She smiled. “I love it.” She turned around to face him. He was staring down her, admiring the way the sun light reflected off her hair. He brushed stray strands of hair behind her ear. His hand lightly danced across her cheek bone as he stared adoringly into her eyes. He leaned down & placed a tender kiss onto her lips. She reciprocated & kissed back. Her arms wrapped around his neck & his slowly gravitated to her waist pulling her in closer. After pulling a part they rested foreheads against one another.

“God you have no idea how long I’ve always wanted to do that,” He admitted.

[luminouslywriting]

I know you get a million anons for MOTA, but! Do you ahead any headcanons on what the guys would be like in the modern era? What types of jobs they'd have, their taste in movies/music/books/TV shows? Personally I think Gale would listen to a lot of podcasts, and Bucky would somehow know all the Gen Z slang even though he would be firmly a zillennial (I say as a zillennial, with love). Also, Brady would have a dating profile that the guys set up for him without his knowledge, and Rosie would be into country music and think it was a secret, even though everyone knows.

^^Gif is not mine and credit goes to carnevol!^

A/N: Sorry it's been so long since you requested this sweetheart! I'm just getting around to it and these asks have been rotting for a while, so my apologies! But I hope you enjoy! As always, my requests remain open and I don't mind spam!

Gale Cleven:

-For work, I either see him doing some sort of landscaping/construction business or being in teaching at the local college.

-He's still an old-fashioned sorta guy, even today—so that means that he isn't big on social media

-He loves audiobooks and podcasts, especially ones on mental health and history

-He definitely doesn't really get into sports, but he religiously watches the Olympics each year and that's his roman empire

-Could spout off the most random of historical facts all while on a date

-Definitely bisexual, but only his closest friends know that

Bucky Egan:

-ZILLENIAL FOR LIFE

-He's always trying to keep up with the slang because he's not necessarily still in the age group that's making the slang, but bless his heart, tiktok teaches him what he lacks

-Speaking of tiktok, he runs a random prank account (that mostly details his pranks on the rest of his friends)

-In a non basic way, he loves starbucks and going to the gym every morning....and yes, he probably posts about it on his story

-A sweet pansexual who just wants some attention

-Probably also the type of person who randomly decides he's gonna do some good deeds and pay things forward while at the grocery store

-For sure listens to Dua Lipa haha

Robert Rosenthal:

-Claims that he loves jazz and old music but secretly listens to country music and Taylor Swift when he's alone

-Probably some sort of professional athlete who has a successful podcast where he talks about music and books

-He's a well rounded man who likes to kick back and enjoy nature

-So he'll randomly go live when he's in the middle of a hike and no one understands what he's saying

-Still gives off grandpa energy--but mostly because he cannot understand GEN Z slang to save his life (though Bucky does try to educate him)

-Definitely the type of person to highlight different charities and causes in person and online to try and help others

John Brady:

-Has a music tiktok where he promotes his own creations, both instrumental and vocally

-Definitely has a dating account that he doesn't know about and gets sent on these dates ALL of the time without knowing it

-Also solidly a Zillenial, leaning more towards Gen Z—he really likes doing morning meditations on his account, but knows way too much about the Area 51 Raid for no reason

-For work, I definitely see him doing something sensible while he's working on his music career; so maybe he's a barista or doing accounting while he's trying to get things to take off

-Misses the college days because life was easier

-Definitely the one who organizes the social events for the boys in the Hundredth (right under Bucky's watchful eye haha)

[flawdchaos]

Opposites Do Attract

Gale ‘Buck’ Cleven x Reader

Word Count - 915

Based off of this request - Can I request a Buck x reader, where the reader is very extroverted, maybe even the opposite of Buck, but they fit so well together. They could be going out for drinks or her meeting the boys or something similar.

Anyone who met Buck Cleven and Y/N Y/L/N at Thorpe Abbotts shared a common thought - they were an unexpected pair. It had become all too common for the newcomers to assume Y/N was with Bucky with her loud, bubbly energy and it almost seemed brash for cool, calm, collected Buck to be with Ken Lemmons loudest female mechanic but damn, did it work. They had met one morning as Y/N was going over some last minute inspections on Buck’s plane for his daily missions.

“How’s she looking, ma’am?” his voice startled her, her head hitting against the plane’s metal.

“Good lord!” she exclaimed. “Give a girl a warning before you sneak up like that.” she complained, rubbing the back of her head. She fully stepped from under the plane's wings and caught a glimpse of the man behind the voice. Her eyes widened once she noticed a Major was standing before her awaiting her response. “Major Cleven” right hand flying to her forehead to salute “Plane is all ready, sir.”

“No need to salute, ma’am. Thank you for taking such good care of her. I put her through hell.” Buck spoke as he opened the plane’s hatch to stow his bag and she couldn’t stop the scoff that left her mouth. “I think that’s an understatement, sir.”

Most of the guys probably wouldn’t have taken this kind of attitude, per se, from a mechanic - let alone a woman- but he couldn’t care less. The sight of her almost made him want to laugh. There she stood, hip jutted out and hand secured atop it, eyes squinting up at him most likely awaiting some sort of angry remark but all he could do was shuffle the toothpick around in his mouth and nod in agreement. “I’ll be waiting to fix her right back up for ya later, Major.”

The couple had been sealed since. When Buck finally caved and spilled the beans about a woman to Bucky, he thought John was going to have a medical emergency right there in the mess hall.

“You have a woman and you just now think to bring it up?” Bucky said, astonished. “I didn’t want you to scare her away.” Buck quipped. If he only knew.

“Well.” Bucky clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. “When am I gonna meet this mysterious young lady?” he urged, squeezing his hands down before an idea crossed his mind “Bring her to the pub tomorrow!”

______

If Buck could have taken a picture of the looks on the boys’ faces when he walked in with Y/N on his arm, he would have framed it and taken it with him on every flight he ventured out on. “Well I’ll be damned, Buck.” Bucky uttered, for once in his life he was almost speechless. Almost.

“I’d suggest you pick your jaw up off the floor, Major. I’d sure hate for you to swallow a bug.” She teased and the entire table erupted in laughter. Buck couldn’t help the small smile that broke out on his own face, a sense of pride soaring through his body. Bucky took a long swig of his drink before retorting. “Seems you’ve got yourself a jokester, Buck.” He nodded. “She’s a little more than that.”

“Wait, ain’t you the girl who works with Lemmons?” Blakely spoke, realization washing over the faces of a few of the men. “Yeah! You’re the girl who fixed my landing gear the other day.” Brady sat up, pointing at the girl standing firm besides Buck.

“You’re welcome by the way.” she waved her hand towards him. “Actually, everyone is welcome. You can thank me for getting you up in the air in the first place. Now I’m getting a drink. Keep the gossip to a minimum while I’m gone, now.” She turned, patting Buck on the chest. “You want something, baby?” looking up at her doe eyed boyfriend. “Just a Coke for me, honey.” She jokingly saluted, walking off towards the bar.

____

Buck had full confidence Y/N would fit in with his crew of men. Whether most of them had realized it before or not, she was the sole reason they were able to make it off the ground in the first place. He couldn’t help but say it almost made his heart swell with pride watching her interact with his friends. “Should I sing?” Bucky’s voice broke through his train of thought, hands tapping against his arm chair. There wasn’t time for him to protest before Y/N jumped up from her place on his lap. “Let’s go, Bucky!” Y/N’s laughed.

He couldn’t explain the feeling that was coursing through his body but as he watched his best friend - more so a brother at this point - and his newfound love sharing a laugh together over the less than perfect singing, he only grew more confident in his relationship. Many would describe Buck Cleven as a many of very little words but if anyone asked about Y/N, his Y/N, he didn’t think there were enough words in the dictionary to explain just how he felt.

Once the song stopped and the singing duo had left the stage, Buck watched as Y/N headed to the bar and Bucky made his way back to him.

“Buck, I gotta say -“ pausing to take a drink of his whisky. “You’ve found yourself a keeper. You two couldn’t be any more opposite but man, does it work.”

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Therapist

Rosie Rosenthal X Therapist! Reader

Summary: Rosie needs to stop controlling everything; maybe his therapist can help...

Warning: +18/ sub!Rosie/ softdom!reader/ riding/ oral sex (f and m)/ forbidden relationship/ mention of death/ swearing/ praise/ use of Y/n/ fingering/

Word count: 3.0k

Her official job title was military surgeon, but since the soldiers needed someone to talk to, Y/n became their confident and gave them advice, she heard a lot of things every day, but today, her newest patient was Robert ‘Rosie’ Rosenthal. A few weeks ago, he was the only plane back from a mission, he saw everyone go down, word on the base was that he was closing to everyone, he didn’t talk about it with anyone, he shut down and acted like nothing happened. As she got ready to see him, she looked at his file, and she looked at his pictures, he was good looking, but she had to stay professional. She saw man like him all the time, not wanting to show any emotions, acting tough but if she said the right things, she could crack this wall he built up.

When he knocked at her door, he was kind of nervous, he didn’t like to talk about what was happening in the air, not with his colleagues and certainly not with a random person. Y/n opened the door, looking at the pilot in front of her, she told him to come inside as she closed the door behind him. ‘’Major Rosenthal, pleasure to meet you, I’m Dr. Mitchell’’ she introduced herself as she sat on a couch in front of him. ‘’Please, call me Rosie’’ he said, sitting down. ‘’Rosie how are you feeling?’’ she shyly smiled, she saw men all the time, but Rosie was really handsome. She had to supress the thoughts she had, they weren’t professional. ‘’Don’t take it personally, Doc, but I don’t know what I’m doing here’’ he started, anger could be heard in his voice. ‘’I understand your frustration, Rosie, but you did fly the mission with the most casualties’’ she delicately commented.

It had been 45 minutes since the session started and Rosie was impatient, he shouldn’t be here and as beautiful as Dr. Mitchell was, he wanted to get out of her office. ‘’Can I ask you one last question, Rosie?’’ she asked, looking at him. He bobbed his head, slowly, before taking a deep breath. ‘’Do you like being in control?’’ she simply asked. He didn’t understand the question. ‘’In control of what?’’ he spat, frustrated. ‘’Things in your life, the time you get up, what you eat, where you go and in control in aspect of your life, like friendships or sexual intercourse’’ she coughed at the end of her sentence. Her cheeks were becoming red and the air in the room felt heavy. ‘’Yeah, I like to control my own life, and sometimes, uh, yes, I’m, uh in control in the- the- bedroom, why do you ask?’’ he stuttered. He tried to not show how nervous he was. ‘’Because that’s why you’re angry of being here, not having control. I’m going to free you from this session’’ he walked towards the door. ‘’Major, we see each other in a week, during this time, can you try to do something that needs you to not be in control.’’ She blurts out. ‘’Like what?’’ he asks, because nothing comes in his mind. ‘’Ask a friend to set up your alarm, let someone organize something, and if you find a woman, let her be in charge’’ she blushed, again. ‘’Of the date or something.’’ She babbled, trying to not sound like she was encouraging him to have sex with someone. ‘’I’ll try, Doc’’ he said before leaving the room.

She couldn’t sleep, too many sinful thoughts were in her mind. It wasn’t professional to think about a patient that way. What was she thinking, suggesting him to have sex and not being in control?! That night, she tossed and turned, thinking about Major Rosenthal in an incriminating way, good news was, she had one week before seeing him again. Bad news was, she had one week before seeing him again.

He really fucking tried, he let his friend set his alarm, he almost did everything she asked him to, but he didn’t see how it helped him. Plus, he had wet dreams about her all week. He kept thinking about having sex with her, how she would moan his name, how her innocent gaze would be when she sucked him off. He was nervous before his appointment. He didn’t know how his body was going to react when he sees her. Nonetheless, he entered her office, smelling her perfume as he pushed the doors. There she was, wearing a white blouse with a beige skirt. When she turned to face him, he thought he was going to faint, since when did she wore glasses? They were transparent, but still it gave her this innocent look that drove him mad.

‘’Major, how have you been?’’ she smiles as she looks at him. He plays with his fingers a little bit, before sitting down in front of her. ‘’Frustrated, Doc, I’ve tried to give up control, but it’s hard’’ he said. That and the fact that he kept thinking about having sex with her didn’t help. ‘’And what did you try to do?’’ she bit her lips as she wrote what he was saying. The air was hot in the room, Rosie was practically boiling alive. ‘’Everything, except things that involved a woman’’ he admitted. Y/n bit the inside of her cheek to supress a grin on her face. She looked at his lips, God she wanted to kiss him right now. She cleared her throat as she pushed her thoughts far away, at least she tried. ‘’And how did it go?’’ she asked. ‘’Like shit, I don’t understand how this is going to help me getting back in the plane’’ he confesses. ‘’Rosie, the urge you feel, of getting back in the plane. That’s because you feel guilty of being alive. You don’t understand why them and not you.’’ She blurts out. ‘’Can I sit next to you’’ he asks, before getting up. Y/n nods and bites her lips again. He was listening to her psychoanalysis of him, watching her face, seeing how she blushed her she caught him looking at her. ‘’But maybe I’m wrong’’ she whispered, looking at him. ‘’Do you have problems with proximity?’’ she asks him. She watches as he shakes his head. ‘’So, you don’t think that everyone around you is going to die?’’ she clarifies. ‘’Why all these questions, Doc?’’ his voice was low, making her shiver.

‘’I’m just trying to understand your mind’’ she breaths out. He noticed how her breathing got quicker and her pupils were dilated. ‘’I just think we would have a clearer idea of what’s rushing you back if you opened up to me’’ she stated, avoiding eye contact, he was so damn beautiful, Y/n thought that if their eyes met, she was going to be as red as a tomato. The tension in the air was dangerously close to burst. He moved his leg ‘accidentally’ touching hers, he watched as she hissed, but she wasn’t scared, she was in the same state as him; desperate. ‘’You’re right, Doc, I feel guilty for being alive, so I try to control everything around me, but this week as been torture. I kept thinking about you’’ he admitted, he wanted to see if she was bold enough to flirt back. Y/n blushed even harder as she took her glasses off, putting them on the side table. She looked at Rosie. ‘’What were you thinking about’’ she tried to stay professional, but it was hanging by a thread. She moved her leg so their leg would touch. He looked at their legs and looked back up to her. ‘’Testing your theory with you, Doc’’ he admitted. Y/n blinked multiple times before biting her lips, again. ‘’Really?’’ she flirted, still not daring to look at him in the eyes. ‘’Dead serious, you’re all I’ve been thinking about all week’’ he leans closer to her face, he could hear her heart beating really fast. ‘’And what are you going to do about it?’’ she breathed out as her eyes trailed all over his body. He smirked; she was flirting back. ‘’I can think of a few things, but again, I’m not good at letting someone else be in control’’ he teased. ‘’I can teach you how’’ she said, against his lips. They took one last look at the other before breaking the rules and kissing each other.

He made clear that he was going to be the dominant one, but Y/n had to remind him. ‘’I’m in control, remember Rosie’’ she grins as she kisses his neck. ‘’Then show me -ah- show me how to let go’’ he breathed out. She smiled as she pushed herself on top of him, as she began to grind her hips, his hands found their way on her thighs. ‘’Let me take care of you, Rosie’’ she whispered in his ears. Y/n felt his erection on her covered core, she wanted him so much. They were both breathing heavily, he watched her breast move as she breathed. He began unbuttoning her blouse, she looked at his fingers with a smirk on her face. She kept moving her hips to a slow, sensual pace, it drove him crazy, he needed her to do something else. His knuckles were turning white, he was gripping the couch too tightly. ‘’Use your words, Major. You want me to do something, you ask’’ she breathed out, kissing his neck. He threw her blouse on the ground and kissed her collarbones. ‘’Please, Doc, ah, please do something’’ he whimpered. Y/n grins before sliding off his lap to kneel in front of him.

‘’You touch me, and I stop, got it?’’ she looked at him in the eyes. His chest was rising with pleasure, how he wanted to take control. He quickly nodded before unbuckling his belt. He let the woman take his pants and boxer off. She was surprised by his length, he was big. She licked her lips before pressing small kisses on the top. Y/n could see Rosie struggling to keep his hands to himself. He threw his head back and his pulse quickened. Y/n kept kissing the top on his length, then she brought one hand at the base of his cock and started to slowly, stoke it. She saw goosebumps on his thighs. ‘’Words, Major’’ she reminded him. ‘’I need you to suck me off, please, Doc, plea’’ his word got lost in throat when she fully took him in her mouth. He moaned in surprise, causing the woman to giggle, sending vibration on his cock. He couldn’t help it, one of his hands went in her hair, she moved her head back, taking his length out of her mouth, making Rosie whimper. ‘’No hands’’ she smirked.

Rosie wanted to say fuck those rules so bad, but he thought that she was so hot, taking control and taking care of him like that. So, he took his hand off and she resumed what she was doing. She never could’ve guessed how vocal Rosie was, whimpers, breathy moans, small growls and shaky breath, that man wasn’t afraid of making sure she knew she pleasured him. Y/n felt his length throb in her mouth, she looked up and it was a sight for sore eyes. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing his abs, his head was thrown back and his Adam apple kept bobbing. Then, when she felt him getting close, she stopped everything. ‘’No’’ he whined. Y/n smiled and got up in front of him, stripping from her skirt. ‘’I didn’t even touch you’’ he tried to plead his case. ‘’I need to come, please, Doc, let me come’’ he begged. He looked so good like this, begging and submissive. His cheeks were red, he looked sweaty but in a hot way. ‘’You want to come, Major’’ she teased in a sensual voice. He nodded, swallowing hard. ‘’Please’’ he whispered. She got rid of her panties, he wanted to touch her so bad, so he swallowed his pride and decided to fully give her control. ‘’Can I touch you, Y/n?’’ her name rolled off his tongue like a prayer. She looked at him, smiling as she sat on the couch in front of him, she spread her legs and looked at him. He got off the couch and crawled to her, he was like a starved man. She had to stay strong, because the look he gave her as he crawled to her was enough for her to throw every ounce of feminism out the window. His eyes were dark, his mouth slightly opened, and his curls were messy. When he reached her, he trailed his hands on her bare thighs, before pulling her closer to him by the back of her thighs. She yelped, surprised by his move. ‘’Can I, please, eat you out?’’ he pleaded, looking at her in the eyes. ‘’Yes, Major’’ she breathed out. He sunk between her thighs and pressed small kisses to her inner thigh before kissing her exposed flesh.

His mouth felt so good, his mustache was adding something else, it was itching, but it felt so good. She threw her head back as her hands found his curls. He thought about playing with the same rules as hers, but she was in control. He was humming around her clit, sending vibrations that drove her mad. One of Rosie’s hands snuck up to play with her breast. She put one of her hands on top of his, she squeezed it to show him how he made her feel. Y/n arched her back as she moaned his name. But Rosie’s other hand pressed down on her stomach, adding pressure. ‘’Oh shit, Rosie, I’m close’’ she breathed out. He hummed to show her that he heard her, then decided to stop playing with her breast, he inserted one finger inside of her. ‘’Holy fuck, you’re soaking wet. Is that because you like to be in control? Uh, you like to be in charge’’ He grins, she felt hot around his finger. ‘’Yeah, right there’’ she breathed out. He looked at her, she looked like a goddess, her hair messy, her skin glowing with the coat of sweat, he could’ve come just with this sight. As he added another finger, he felt her clench around him. ‘’That’s right, come for me, pretty girl’’ he praised her. That was enough to send her over the edge, she arched her back as she was sent into pure extasy.

It took her a few minutes to recover, but when she did, she slid down the couch, to reach Rosie. He was seated against the other couch; she got on top of him. His arms were laid on the couch, he looked so ridable. ‘’Ready, Major?’’ she asked against his lips. ‘’Please, ride me’’ he sighed. Y/n positioned herself on top of him, their lips were touching, but they weren’t kissing. She sunk down on him, they both breathed out, shakily as Y/n took the time to adjust to him. ‘’Fuck’’ he moaned. He kissed her neck, to distract her from the uncomfortable stretching. When she felt ready, she began rocking her hips. ‘’Can I touch you?’’ he moaned. ‘’Yes’’ she whimpered. He places his hands on her hips, to try and guide her to a faster pace, but she denied him. She shook her head as she slowed down the rhythm. ‘’Nah, I’m still in control’’ she smirked. He pushed his tongue on his cheek as he caressed her hips. The smell of sex in the room was intoxicating. She began to rock her hips faster, because it was torture for her too. She arched her back as she kissed him sloppily. The pleasure was too much, she bit down his bottom lip, not too hard, but hard enough to send shivers down his spine. He decided that he wanted more intimacy, so he put his hands on her back and came closer to her body, he was hugging her, but the proximity allowed his pelvic bone to touch her clit and add stimulation. She put her hands in his back, scratching him in the process. The pace was fast, raw, sensual, almost animalistic. They both needed a release. ‘’I’m close, please let me come’’ he moaned in her ear. ‘’Please, please, please’’ he kept begging. Y/n’s brain started to form a sentence. ‘’Come with me, at the same time’’ she ordered. Since he was close, he decided to drop one of his hands and stimulate her clit with his fingers. Right now, she couldn’t care less about him asking permission to finger her, she was close, and he was helping her get there.

Rosie felt Y/n clench around his dick, her thighs started to shake from all this stimulation, he sucked on her neck. ‘’I’m gonna cum, c’mon pretty boy, cum with me!’’ she whined. ‘’You’re doing so good’’ she praised him. It was enough to trigger both their climax, they were a moaning mess as their body shook from pleasure. Y/n could feel his hot release throbbing inside of her and slipping on her inner thigh. They were both out of breath and glistening with sweat.

It took a minute for the both of them to come down from Nirvana. ‘’That was’’ he started, out of words to describe what just happened. ‘’See, letting someone else in charge can be fun’’ she chucked. He rolled his eyes as be playfully hit her ass. She yelped in surprise but smiled. Y/n got up first, even though she didn’t trust her legs, she got her panties back on as she sat on the couch. Rosie got up too, putting his boxers back on and sitting next to her. ‘’Thank you, Y/n, for everything’’ he said, kissing the top of her head. She smiled at the small display of affection. ‘’It was my pleasure.’’ She teased. They both laugh and look at each other. ‘’Do you think you could move my next appointment to earlier in the week?’’ he asked, making her laugh. ‘’Why?’’ she asked. ‘’Because I’m a hard learner and I’ll have to give you control again.’’

[majoregan]

[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.

[speirslore]

domestic headcanons- rosie rosenthal

(a/n: requested! hope you enjoy <3 requests are open for bob, mota, and tp, as always)

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

rosie is naturally nurturing so he's very openly and unabashedly the biggest romantic

is very excited to get married and to have some stability after the war and trials in germany

but your wedding is small, only with your close family and friends

lovesss house hunting with you when you're still in an apartment in the city

he's a great partner, very responsible and reassuring, his presence is naturally calming for you

problem-solver, if something's bothering you he wants to fix it immediately. it doesn't matter how big or small, if it's upsetting you, he wants to make it better

you trust him and his decision making 100%

have a great foundation to have a life together, you got through a literal war together and that definitely strengthens a relationship

rosie prides himself on how well he knows you

to be loved is to be known and that is very relevant here

he also feels so loved and special when you remember little details about him

loves being spontaneous

he's so dependable

a great gift giver, will retain you offhandedly mentioning you like this certain purse or lipstick and boom six months later it's wrapped up for your birthday

he loves cooking and is ridiculously good at it

you learn that rosie can really do anything he sets his mind to including cooking stupidly complicated recipes

anniversaries? forget about it, he out does himself every single year

rosie remembers every single one, not just when you first started dating or eventually your marriage anniversary. first kiss, first everything

rosie loves a romantic gesture, does not care about public embarrassment or judgement at all

twirling you and dipping you around the dance floor

would loveee to do a big public proposal

but that being said isn't huge into pda like making out in public is not his style

but holding hands, hand on the small of your back, or just physical proximity?

oh absolutely loves pet names, especially honey and darling

but totally melts when you call him robert! he doesn't know why it just gets him...

loves it when you read to him, will very timidly request it

some nights will read to you as well, you guys take turns picking out books

one of those couples that lowkey does everything together but not co-dependent or in a bad way?

he just genuinely enjoys spending time with you. you never run out of things to talk or laugh about

rosie is great at having a routine down, he's so busy but gets everything done

so supportive of you and your career, whatever you want that to be

he loves hosting a neighbor or block party at your house, again with never being embarrassed: will get on the grill and wear your floral apron with no shame

he lovesss writing letters, it's so romantic to him

you save all of your letters written back and forth to each other in a (now very big) box under your bed

will leave little notes around the house too like if he leaves in the morning before you wake up or if he's gone for the weekend on a business trip- he'll leave a bunch of notes around the house for you to find

the most attentive dad

has art work from your kids on the fridge and all over his office

music!!!!

music is a huge deal in the rosenthal household. a record is always playing. you have a piano in the living room and your children are all in music lessons, start learning an instrument from a young age

your son loves the piano and your daughter absolutely is amazing at the violin

speaking of concerts, rosie is present at every single one and is sooo proud

the one thing he hates about his job is it can be long hours as an attorney... he hates being away from his family

documents everything about your children, like buys the baby books and takes so many pictures it's so endearing

in awe of your baby like she's so precious and rosie can't get over her chubby cheeks or squealing laughter... she's his weakness

of course he reads to the kids too and tucks them in at night

you do have to force him to relax sometimes and take a breather, it can be very hard for him to let himself relax and chill

he's gotten better since the war but still... he can very easily throw himself into his work and overwork himself

so busy taking care of everyone else that he's not taking care of himself

you can always get him to take a break when you suggest a bath together

his kryptonite...

you love taking a bath with him, a bunch of bubbles, and laying against his chest... perfection

loves being hands on with the kids

will somehow teach himself how to build things like your daughter wants a dollhouse? of course rosie can do it... why couldn't he

loves cuddling and spooning

like laying on the couch together, legs entangled, his hand on your waist, just reading or working on different things in silence, just the physical touch and intimacy is so nice for him

loves watching the kids play outside, reading the newspaper or a book he's been meaning to read, your hands loosely interlocked, sitting on the chair next to him, yeah this is paradise!

always has his robe on in the morning like a cup of coffee, a newspaper, the robe, and slippers... he's a vision

always wants you to sit in his lap or the arm of the chair

will beg you to indulge in slow dancing in the kitchen in said robe to artie shaw

will stop by the market on the way home from work to buy a fresh bouqet of flowers routinely

your kids are in awe of your love for each other and his love for you!

[rosienthal]

"I told you that I don't want to talk about that, but yet you keep insisting," even when he's mad, he never raises his voice. Not once. He just sounds really upset and you want to hug him so much.

"That's because I care about you, Rob!" you unable to hide your sobs. You both are tired and vulnerable.

Rosie sighs and looks at you with a pair of his tired blue eyes, "Well, if you do then you wouldn't force me to talk it out like right now."

[therealslimshakespeare]

|| My fellow Colonel

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

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

April 1945, escape spoilers ahead

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The rest?”

“At work.”

“Where’s this work?”

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

“-grounded?” She supplied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thirty.” she repeated numbly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they had.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve said that already.”

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

“It was touch and go but -here I am.”

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

“Aforementioned? What kind of talk is that?”

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

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

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

“You’re under orders.”

“I am.”

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

“Sorry, ok, Colonel I-“

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

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

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

“Understood.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Larger notebook, Rosenthal.”

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

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

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

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

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[cosmicoatlatte]

────── ☆ kinktober 2024

preferences - marking

characters: john 'bucky' egan, gale 'buck' cleven, marjorie 'marge' spencer, curtis 'curt' biddick, robert 'rosie' rosenthal, harry crosby, joseph 'bubbles' payne, james douglass, everett blakely, howard 'hambone' hamilton, john brady, ken lemmons, bernard 'benny' demarco, charles 'crank' cruikshank

☆ — John 'Bucky' Egan

Leave marks. Oh please please mark him up. Just give him something that proves it’s real. Bite the soft inside of his thighs until he’s whimpering. Bruise his ribs with your knees. Kiss him until his lips are swollen. Dig your nails into his skin. He wants to be claimed so desperately. It’s a thing of pride for him when others see the marks so he’s not going to hide them but if he’s feeling humble he won’t purposefully brag about them to the guys. Did get in trouble for visible hickeys before. Will get in trouble for visible hickeys again. 

John is a biter. He needs to keep his mouth busy and what better way to do that then to taste your skin. He’s gentle until you tell him otherwise. The amount of hickeys on your neck and chest is just obscene. 

100% a boob sucker. That doesn’t have anything to do with marking you up. It just needed to be said.

 

☆ — Gale 'Buck' Cleven

He is a straightforward guy when it comes to leaving marks on you. On the rare occasion that he wants to stake a claim, a singular, well placed love bite, just light enough not to be obvious unless you're looking, graces your skin. Almost discreet. Almost able to pass as a mistake. But Gale knows better and truthfully so do you. 

Gale's not one to parade around his private matters especially when it comes to intimate details but some small marks can pass under his watchful eye. Love bites show so easily on his alabaster skin but you might get away with some neat nail marks across his back or bold lipstick smudges. If you place them carefully enough.

☆ — Marjorie 'Marge' Spencer

Marge thinks she’s being sneaky when she leaves lipstick marks on your skin or clothes but it happens far too often for it to be simply accidental. Compared to those rather tame public marks, things like deep scratches from her nails or hickeys are rare because she's careful not to leave any.

Similarly Marge isn't big on marks on herself. She prefers subtle signs of your love, but if you're sweet she’ll let you get away with a few. Somewhere she can hide them. The side of her chest or the inside of a thigh, somewhere only she can see them.

☆ — Curtis 'Curt' Biddick

Oh he is just begging for you to rake your nail down his back, bite his shoulder, suck deep purple bruises into his skin. Curt loves showing off, his skills and bed and the fact that he has you. There's some limits, knowing the boys could see them. Nothing too close to the belt because you’re a respectable lady, they don't need to know how much you enjoy sucking his dick.

When Curt marks you up it's subtle. Surprisingly. A faint love bite or some hand shaped bruises on the meat of your hips where he held onto you. Even though you have to beg for the latter, plead for him to be rough. Can't have anybody thinking he’d lay hands on his woman, you know?

☆ — Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal

Rosie isn't too bad when it comes to leaving marks on you. He's not possessive but things happen and sometimes you'll end up with a love bite or two. Circular, where the curve of your neck meets your shoulder. Easily hidden by the neckline of a blouse. Nothing scandalous. If he's feeling like he needs to stake a claim he'd rather offer you his jacket or stay physically close to you.

On himself though? Oh boy, does he love it. The guys might tease him for the scratches on his back or the marks on his neck but he feels nothing but pride at the thought of being claimed by you. (He is being claimed. This man is a total catch and you need to make sure everybody knows that he is taken and off limits.) Touches them throughout the day as a reminder that they’re there. Maybe smiles to himself a little.

☆ — Harry Crosby

Your Harry’s a little shy when it comes to the marks you leave on him. Hiding them away and blushing in a beautiful deep red whenever somebody points them out. But his bashfulness just makes you want to leave them even more. As his confidence grows so does his pride at being marked. He treats his girl well and gets rewarded for it, nothing special. He still spends time looking at the reminders of your love on his skin in mirrors whenever he has the chance.

When it comes to leaving his mark on you he’s rather careful though. It's one thing to come across your soft skin (and really, such a shame he didn't finish inside of you) but the thought of sending you out into the world all visibly loved up gives him an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

☆ — Joseph 'Bubbles' Payne

It doesn’t even matter if you want to mark Bubbles up or not. Your sweet man bruises like a peach so even the softest nibble is going to leave a spot. Not that he minds at all. There’s nothing but pride in his heart at the thought of carrying around your affection and showing it off. Okay yeah maybe there’s some vanity involved but who wouldn’t feel good about being visibly being claimed. The guys don’t even tease him about it anymore because they know it’ll only make him smile harder.

He can be cheeky when it comes to marking you up in return. Bubbles like to keep it to your neck even though they’ll be the most obvious there. Maybe he’ll be nice and leave them closer to the top where you could hide them with your hair and not down by your clavicles.

☆ — James Douglass

James is always so careful with you. Love bites and hickeys are light little things, easy to cover but present enough to send heat rushing through your body at the thought of them. If he gets carried away they’re never somewhere easily visible. Instead he loses himself between your thighs, loving on the soft flesh until you pull him back to where you need him the most. Or with his face pressed into your chest, sucking left and right until it’s all nice and evenly marked up.

Even though he’s respectfully hiding marks you left on him —those are for his eyes only, thank you very much— those that aren’t as visible tend to be forgotten about and show. Which is how he gets a plethora of questions about the claw marks on his back.

☆ — Everett Blakely

Deep down Everett knows he can get a little possessive but he tries his hardest not to be. You chose him. He chose you. No need to get weird about it… except when he does get weird about it. He likes to leave little reminders for you, not visible for others, just for you to see and think of him. It’s sweet in a way. Him coming across your body, seeing the temporary but definitive claim of your lovemaking, is just for him. Because you let him. It’s a hot memory for cold nights when he’s not with you. Nothing he does is for other people.

Now if you decide to leave very obvious marks on him that broadcast to everyone that he is off the market then that is none of his business. He doesn’t have a monopoly on feeling possessive. Afterall Everett is a beautiful man, a heroic pilot… and he’s yours and you’re not sharing.

☆ — Howard 'Hambone' Hamilton

Oh Hambone just loves marking you up all over and he’s not ashamed of it one tiny bit. He’s not really picky, any mark is a good mark as long as you’re okay with them and he’s always so proud of them. Pressing little kisses to them after, all giggly. Part of him wishes he could take pictures of them just so that he could always look at them. Just imagine how the bite marks would look like with his gold teeth… Pull his hair while he smiles against your skin. But Hambone isn’t just mouthy during sex, sometimes he’ll just pull you into a random corner for a little kiss and you leave with some new hickeys.

You have pretty much free reign to do whatever you want to him. He’ll end up with bite marks on his shoulders just because they’re very biteable when you’re trying to muffle your moans from him fucking you roughly. Claw at his back or bruise up his skin, he’s all for it. The biggest softie when you leave a bright red lipsticky kiss mark on his cheek. He’ll leave it on all day.

☆ — John Brady

Is there any better way to truly claim you and show everybody that you are very taken than putting a baby in you? Aside from your wedding ring and his protective arm around you that never really leaves? John is definitely the type of guy that's mutually possessive. You're his, he's yours. But he also has some couth. There's no need to put love bites anywhere somebody else can see. Besides, they’d fade. At least the bump will stick around for a while.

He doesn't encourage you to leave marks but if you do leave any on him John will look at them as often as he can, sometimes poking them through clothing just as a reminder they're there.

☆ — Ken Lemmons

One hot day in summer sweet lil innocent Kenny Lemmons will pause the repair work on a machine to unzip the top part of his coverally, stripping out of the heavy material and tying the arms around his waist to reveal the upper body of a man that has been thoroughly mauled and enjoyed each and every second of it. Bite marks and hickeys all worked down his chest in an unmistakable trail and stretch marks criss-crossing the expanse of his back. He is well taken care of. This incident leaves 2 dead, 15 injured, and 1 turned on.

While you won't be taking your clothes off anytime soon, it doesn't take a genius to guess that beneath your modest dress a similar scene would present itself.

☆ — Bernard 'Benny' DeMarco

One prominent hickey on his neck? He can handle that. Two hickeys side by side because you couldn’t help yourself? Hey, he's a gentleman. He doesn't kiss and tell (although the stories he could tell…) But his entire back scratched up worse than that one time Meatball chased after a squirrel and dragged Benny through a thorn bush? Nobody needs to see that. He is keeping his shirt on, thank you very much.

While he's not against leaving marks on you it rarely happens. His nails don't scratch and he is not a biter. Benny's grip is light and loving, not hard enough to bruise. When he leaves a hickey it's well-placed. For you to know about, not for others to see. But while those hickeys might be for your eyes only the visual of his come painted across your body is for Benny alone.

☆ — Charles 'Crank' Cruikshank

Oh sweet sweet Crank. He’s not one to think about marking you up. It happens, occasionally, but never with any real intent behind it. He might just get a little carried away because you’re just too beautiful and he got distracted but when it comes to marking you up he never goes beyond a little love bite or two. Usually pretty hidden as well. Crank loves you but he’s not about to show everybody what goes on behind closed doors. 

If you end up leaving marks on him he gets really shy about it. Crank looks cute all bashful and blushy, and sometimes you just need to stake a visible claim. Not that he could ever be mad at you when you look so proud of your work.

He’s the type of man that really loves just a good necking. 

[thatsrightice]

I just learned that sometimes the replacements would call Crosby and the other more experienced guys on base “old”, like Crosby is called “Old Croz”, And that just confirms for me that Crosby and Rosie are like the unofficial-official parents of the 100th bomb group flyboys.

Crosby is Mom or Ma, not like they’d ever intentionally call him that to his face. It probably started as a joke after one of the many times he blew up on a senior ranking official in defense of one of his boys, but the traits have always been there like:

Sees one of the boys getting sick and just walks up to them and puts a hand on their forehead to feel for a fever. If someone notices their friend is ill, they’ll immediately go get Croz and he’ll persuade them to sit the mission out. In fact, for most issues they’ll go to Croz because he’s smart and (usually) calm and always knows what to do

Knows everyone’s name but sometimes he’ll have to cycle through a couple before he gets the right one. If he’s super tired he’ll just be like: “whatever-your-name-is”

Visits the sick or wounded in the hospital no matter how minor the reason and he won’t shy away from holding their hand while they set bones and stuff. Sometimes he’ll bring a book and quietly read to a them

Works tirelessly planning the safest routes possible and briefs the navigators and bombardiers as thoroughly as he can

Rosie is obviously Dad, they probably call him Pa or Pops.

He’s the fun parent, leaving Croz to do a lot of the parenting. He just finds it hard to stay mad at them and often times lets them get away with nothing more than a warning

Where some of the guys in Group Ops try to distance themselves and not get too attached he fully commits himself to earning their trust. He wants to make sure they trust him both on the ground and in the air so that he knows they’ll follow him if he needs to make any last-minute decisions in the air

When one of the boys comes up to him asking for help shaving because they’d never had to back home, he gladly teaches them.

He is always reminding them to make good choices and it helps decrease accidents on base, just a little, because no one wants to disappoint him

Rosie is there by their side for just about every mission, especially the particularly difficult ones. Crosby will sometimes fly too, but if he’s not you can be assured that he’ll always be standing there on the control tower balcony anxiously waiting for his boys to return.

[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]

[luminouslywriting]

Infertility anon back; thank you for your kind words! And your headcanons were, as always, so lovely and spot-on. I am here to shamelessly request a part two, if you have time: the guys' reactions to their partner finally getting pregnant after struggling with infertility. ❤️

^^Gif does not belong to me, it belongs to rcbertleckie^^

A/N: Hi sweetheart! I'm sorry it's been so long since you sent this! I hope this is everything you wanted and more :)

Warnings: Sensitive topics below, infertility mentioned, paragraph format

Bucky Egan:

I know that his initial reaction is just whooping and laughing for joy. He's utterly happy and so so proud of you and knows how big this is for you, just as much as he's happy about it himself. He's definitely going to sweep you up into his arms and kiss you senseless.

He'll immediately want to head to the store and get stuff for a nursery and starts asking the most random of questions. "What can you eat/not eat?" "Are we still able to have sex?" "What does it mean if you're nauseous?"

Either way, he's a doting husband who is more than thrilled to have this opportunity with you. He doesn't really care if it's a boy or a girl, he just wants the baby to be healthy and for the two of you to be happy. He's definitely obsessed with the baby bump and super overprotective of you. Prepare to be pampered for nine months straight.

A side note: You could decide to paint the house the ugliest shade of puke green during this time or tell him that he can't watch baseball a single time during your pregnancy and he'd go along with it haha.

Gale Cleven:

Definitely someone who plays more on the shock reaction, at least at first. He's so pleased and happy for you and for him—but also feeling a lot of emotions given his own upbringing. Be prepared for a surprised hug and some gentle kisses, but not so many words.

He may take some time to express it—but listen close when you're falling asleep. He'll be talkin' to that baby bump for hours about how he's gonna protect the baby and how much he loves you and is grateful for you.

Also someone who isn't 100% sure on certain things, but he's very logical. He knows that he's going to need to invest in some baby blankets and clothes. He's absolutely convinced he can build a crib without instructions. And he's ready to help you in whatever way you need.

A side note: He didn't think he could fall more in love with you but as the pregnancy glow appears, he decides that he's never been more in love and clearly this is a sign that you should have more kids haha.

Robert Rosenthal:

He's honestly so excited and views this as a result of working hard to figure out ways to increase fertility tbh. Logically, it all just makes sense. But he does also attribute some of it to being a miracle. Either way, he gets this grin on his face and immediately starts kissing you and kissing your stomach.

Definitely the type to call all of his family to immediately tell them the news and is so excited about the entire thing. He's gonna bring you home little presents just because and is so patient during the entire thing. He treats you like you're literally royalty.

Isn't too worried about getting everything done and bought already. He's very attentive to the things that you want to get done though. He wants you to prioritize your health and taking care of yourself and the baby, so that's his number 1 thing at the moment.

A side note: You can do no wrong during this time in your life and he's already imagining the future children down the line.

John Brady:

Immediately starts crying? I'm sorry, there's just no other way that I see this going. He's so thrilled and emotional about the entire thing, you'd think that HE'S the one pregnant, rather than you, but I digress. He's definitely going to say a few prayers of gratitude and he's going to shower you in attention and praise.

You thought he was bad before? Skipping work to spend time with you? Now he's leaving work early because he saw an ad for a baby carriage that you just need to have or he knows that there's a sale for maternity clothes and you'll just look divine. He's the sweetest and most attentive husband, and someone who really just wants a healthy baby.

His entire family will rally around you to help with literally anything you need. At the drop of a hat, you can have several in-laws over to move the couch or to reach something that's too high for you.

A side note: Brady definitely samples the baby food beforehand and decides that it's just not very good. So yes, he's making his own baby food for his child.

[flawdchaos]

Spilled Drinks

Robert Rosenthal x Reader

Word Count - 1,735

authors note : hello friends, i have never written anything like this before and posted it. i had some free time today and an idea and dreamt this up. it is far from perfect but i hope you enjoy it, nonetheless. thank you!

The muffled yelling of multiple voices was enough to drag Y/N out of the daze she had fallen into. Her workday had started early and ended late leaving her feet and head throbbing - a shower and her bed, more of a cot really, were calling her name. Her venture to the communal showers she shared with her fellow nursing staff was quickly interrupted as Violet and Helen crossed her path.

With a tilt of her head Violet spoke up. “And where do you think you are rushing off to?”

“To shower and get some sleep.” As soon as the final word fell from Y/N’s lips her two friends were quickly shaking their heads in protest.

“You promised! You always say a person is just as good as their word. It will just be for a drink or two and then you can come and get as much sleep as your heart desires. I swear to you.” Violet said, wagging her finger in front of Y/N, like a mother would do a troubled child.

After a brief glare between the two women, Y/N sighed, hung her in defeat, and turned back in the direction of her bunk.

“I don’t even know what to wear to an army base bar. Those men already don’t take us seriously and you think this is gonna make it any better?”

“The more you fight it, the worse it’s gonna be Y/N. Just for once stop living and breathing being a nurse and just be a girl surrounded by a bunch of good looking men.” Hazel spoke up for the first time that night before being met with another glare from Y/N’s direction.

Y/N knew both her friends had a solid point. In the ten months she had been working at Thorpe Abbotts she had never allowed herself a break. She did her best to maintain a positive reputation among the men she treated but her friends, and now even herself, had noticed that the weight of the job had begun to take its toll. A night away from the blood, cries, and medicine couldn’t be all too bad - for her sake.

The August heat was enough to force a light sweat upon the girls as they journeyed from their bunks to the bar. As they stepped inside the building, Hazel quickly pulled her powder from her purse and turned to Y/N blotting away at certain areas of her face.

“You have to talk to at least one man tonight. One. And not someone you’ve treated.” Violet stated and lightly shoved Y/N forward to the bar, shooing with her hand. “Get a drink, enjoy the night.’

“One cosmopolitan, please” Y/N stated after reaching the bar, flashing a smile. She hoped and prayed, as the guy poured away, that the alcohol would be enough to calm the nerves she felt bubbling in her stomach. They only increased as she looked around and spotted Colonels, Captains and Majors. Leaned against the other side of the bar were the now infamous friends, Buck and Bucky. Gale Cleven was nothing but kind and a gentleman but Y/N had overheard talk of a girlfriend back home and John Egan, well, he was John Egan. There was nothing else to say. A few months prior, during a training exercise he wound up hurt and sitting in front of her in the infirmary bay, clutching his elbow with a shit eating grin plastered to his face as she wrapped his arm. Conversation flowed easily with the major but Violet had urged her to speak to someone new.

The bartender brought her from her daze as he placed the drink in front of her and she quickly took a sip. As she pushed back from the bar, she ran directly into a tall frame that had tried to squeeze in beside her, red juice spilling on both of their newly starched clothes.

Before an apology could tumble from her mouth, the man was already grasping her arm to steady her and ushering for his friends to grab a towel from the bar.

“I am so sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t watching where I was going and I ju-” she cut his rambling off

“No, that was all my fault. I was lost in thought and then - oh my god” taking a quick glance down to the tan and brown jacket, her eyes shot open even wider, “your uniform. I can’t believe I got that all over your dress jacket.”

An arm reached between the two of them holding a towel that Y/N quickly grabbed and started dabbing along the man’s chest, steadying herself by grabbing onto his arm.

“This is the first night I ever came out and I just ruined someone’s jacket, oh my god.”

A large hand landed on top of hers, stopping her from continuing her attempts at cleaning up the mess she, well both of them, had made.

“I promise you, ma’am, it was my doing. Let me order you another drink. This ones on me.”

For the first time during this whole encounter, she looked up to the man she had lost her Cosmopolitan to. She was silent as she stood with his hand still over hers, quickly losing her will to deny the drink once her eyes locked with his blue ones, a small smile adorning his face. All she could do was nod. He took a step forward, placing his hand on the small of her back to turn her with him towards the bar.

“A cosmo, right?” he questioned and a small nod was directed his way. “Another cosmo for the lady and whisky, neat, for me please?” The bartender quickly got to work leaving the two strangers standing closely together in silence. The man quietly cleared his throat and stuck out his hand.

“Robert Rosenthal, but most of the guys call me Rosie.” Y/N took his outstretched hand and lightly shook it up and down.

“Y/N Y/L/N”

Robert grabbed the drinks the bartender sat before him and motioned his head towards an empty table across the dance floor.

“Would you like to grab a seat? I think you owe me at least a conversation after this.” he said, looking down at the tan shirt that was now stained slightly pink. A small smile made its way across Y/N’s face.

“It’s the least I could do.”

Robert led the way to the table, nestled in the corner and sat the drinks down. In a swift motion he pulled a seat out and ushered Y/N to take it. As soon as he sat down, a wave of confidence overtook Y/N’s once anxious mind.

“So, Rosie, what is it that you do?” she asked, raising the glass to her lips. She had some worry that the appearance of a woman drinking alcohol would be ‘unladylike’ but all of her care went out the window when she realized with everything she had seen and done, it was the smallest token of appreciation.

“I’m a pilot. I’ve been flying for a while now.”

“Are you any good?” she teased.

“I sure hope. I have learned the hard way making impressions isn't all too easy here. I just embarrassed myself in front of those two majors.” He said, moving his head to the right.

“Buck and Bucky?” he answered with a small nod. “Don’t sweat it, Buck is too nice to make fun of you and Bucky will forget about it in about two hours when the whisky finally hits and his favorite song comes on.” Rosie cracked a smile at her, shaking his head at the thought of the once intimidating major belting out show tunes.

“Thank you, that makes me feel better.”

“Anytime.”

Rosie took a large gulp of his drink and leaned forward on his forearms.

“So, Miss Y/N, how did you wind up here in paradise?”

“I’m a nurse. I’ve been here almost a year. I still don’t know what I'm meant for.” She admitted, lifting her glass to her mouth to slightly hide her face.

“How do you mean?” he quipped.

She took an inhale, taking a moment to carefully collect her words.

“It’s not easy. A lot of these guys come here, make friends with their crewmates and drink and sleep their feelings away. I can’t really blame them. They’re fighting a war for Christ's sake. But, us women, see what comes back. The trauma, the injuries - all of it - and we get sideways looks for drinking a shitty cosmopolitan every once and a while.” she laughed sarcastically as she finished the rest of her drink. “I love helping people but it gets hard.” He nodded, looking down at his own drink and giving it a swirl.

“I never thought of it that way. You ladies get the best and worst of us.”

She sat for a moment, looking at her hands folded in her lap.

“Do you see those two girls over there?”

“By the bar?”

“Mhm. Those are my friends. They have spent the entire ten months we have been here urging me to come out, get away from the bubble I've made for myself and I fought against it until tonight. I thought it would be a disaster. Then I got here and got a drink and told myself it would be fine, only to spill it all over you.”

“Y/N, it's really no bother.”

“I know, because as crazy as it sounds - I am so glad that I did.”

A small crept across Rosie’s face as he sat back in his seat, downing the rest of his whisky.

“And why’s that?”

“Because, it gave me the perfect excuse to talk to you Mr. Rosenthal.” cheeks turning bright red as she directed her eye contact towards him.

“Well then, I’d be a fool not to ask for a dance Mrs. Y/L/N.” standing from his seat and outstretching a hand, which Y/N gladly took.

Together, hand in hand, they walked to the dance floor where Rosie pulled her close. Y/N settled her head on his chest, watching as their feet moved in harmony.

“Oh, and Y/N,” he spoke up with a small smile perched on his lips, leaving her to tilt her head up towards the pilot “, the next round is on you.”

[folkloresthings]

Hello there!

A very new reader here!

I saw your post about Masters of the Air. I would like to make a request 😊.

Could you please write a prompt or drabble—whatever you feel like—about Rosie Rosenthal falling in love at first sight with an OC, but the OC doesn't really pay attention to him at first? The OC is a client of the law firm he works for. She is very educated, has a well-paying job, and is not really looking for a relationship right now until Rosie turns everything upside down.

Thank you very much 😊

anon welcome to the family! very happy to have you here 🫶 i tweaked a few little details but nothing major

A NEW BEGINNING. ❨ robert rosenthal x reader ❩

after the war, romance was the last thing on your mind. five years of your life had been taken up by working for the war effort, doing all you could to help. now that it had been won and there was a chance to actually live again, there was so much you wanted to do. the second you got home you had applied to college, and as soon as the acceptance from columbia university came through you were packing up your belongings and moving to new york city.

now in the second year of your college education, affording an apartment in the city was getting harder and harder. the advert for a secretary at the law firm had been advertised in the student newsletter and, thanks to your experience in offices during the war, the job was all yours.

most of firm’s lawyers were older men, always kind to her, but left her to her own devices. other than in passing, she didn’t speak much to them. except for one.

robert rosenthal was the youngest lawyer there. he had flown for the air force during the war, famously completing over fifty missions. and he was, admittedly, very handsome. you saw him every morning, when he called by your desk on his way from the staff kitchen to his office with a cup of coffee for you. he would ask you about your weekend, always lingering with paperwork he needed you to sign.

robert flirted with you every single day — and he didn’t understand how you didn’t notice. he had fallen head over heels for you the first day you had walked through the office doors and asked to borrow a pen from him. there hadn’t been a day gone past since then that he hadn’t thought about you. since the war, ladies had loved him. well, they loved his medals and uniform and war stories. but why didn’t you?

“would you like to have lunch with me today?” rosie would dare ask every so often, after gathering up the courage for an hour in his office beforehand. every time, he’d been met with disappointment.

“oh, i’m actually meeting a friend today.”

“i’m sorry robert, i’ve brought some with me from home.”

“my brother is in town and taking me out.”

every time robert felt like giving up, you would walk into the room and knock all of the breath from his chest again. you were the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen in his life — restoring his belief in beauty, after all the horrors he’d seen during the war. he would toss and turn at night, lose hours at his desk, all because the image of you was clouding his mind.

frankly, you hadn’t thought of robert like that. partly because of your determination to focus on your education, and partly because you were sure a man as handsome as him would surely have a girlfriend or wife already. but you couldn’t ignore the twist you felt in your stomach every time he walked into the room, or the skip of your heartbeat when he smiled at you.

but no, you had no time for romance. you had a plan and you had to stick to it.

it was a friday afternoon when robert stuck his head through the door, smiling sweetly and asking you to post a letter for a client of his. the sun was peeking through the window to bathe you in a golden hue, your hair twisted back with a pencil and your glasses sitting low on your nose. you looked heavenly, making him falter for a moment in the doorway.

“what are your plans for the weekend?” he began some small talk, watching as you began searching for some stamps.

“not a lot,” you hummed, shrugging a little. “my roommate is out of town so i’m going to enjoy the peace and quiet of the apartment.”

rosie chuckles quietly, leaning against your desk as he wonders how much conversation he can make before he has to bite the bullet. “so, you aren’t busy tonight?”

you shake your head, sticking the first class stamp to the envelope. looking up at him, your brows furrow. “no, why?”

rosie swallows dryly, wringing his hands together. “there’s a new restaurant in soho that looks nice. i was wondering if, maybe, you would like to go. with me — both of us. together.”

a light pink tint creeps onto his cheeks, forcing his mouth shut before he can stumble over any more words. your own cheeks warm a little, a shy smile pulling at your lips when you feel your heart pick up its pace.

“wouldn’t you rather go with your friends? or maybe peter from accounting —” you begin, a little confused as to why he would want to have dinner with you. he can’t help but laugh at your obliviousness, shaking his head while he steps around the desk to take your hand.

“god, don’t you know?” he exhales, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, giving him a better view of your adorably surprised features. “i’m crazy for you, sweetheart. have been since the first time i saw you. why did you think i kept asking you to lunch? or accidentally misplacing files so i could come down here and talk to you?”

blinking up at him, your lips part but nothing comes out. your principles about relationships tried to creep through, to argue against his confession, but they fizzled away as soon as he looked down at you with those big brown eyes.

“you — you like me?” you murmur, bashfully. rosie chuckles airily, taking your soft cheeks in his hands.

“like you?” rosie scoffs softly. “i’m in love with you, doll.”

your heart leaps from your chest, knees going weak underneath you. surely you would have crumpled had it not been for robert’s arms snaking around you, lips inching closer and closer to your own, adoring eyes awaiting your response.

“so, what do you say? dinner tonight?” he smirks, raising his brows. you grin, reaching up on your tiptoes to press your soft lips to his, melting into his hold. he kisses you then with everything in him, months of hidden feelings flooding out of him. breaking from your lips, be it reluctantly, rosie smiles brightly down at you.

“is that a yes?” he asks, tongue just a little sarcastic.

“yes,” you breathe out. all of the things you had avoided for so long, all of the things you had missed out on — in robert’s arms, you don’t know how you could have thought it. “a million times yes.”

[rosiesriiveters]

okay but do u ever think about rosie’s crew hearing about him re-upping? do you think he tells them before he asks his CO? do you think they saw it coming? even if they did, did it still scare them? that their dear friend could still die? did they beg him to just go home? to come with them? when they were back home, i wonder how often they thought about him… did they read the newspaper hoping that they wouldn’t find out their fearless leader had died when they should have just dragged him home with them? did their hearts sink when they learned that rosie was shot down in east berlin? they must have truly thought it was over. i hope rosie tracked them down after the war to visit them