#robert rosie rosenthal x reader

[sagesolsticewrites]

Take A Break

Rosie runs into a childhood friend at the flak house.

Requested by anon, based on the prompts “I kissed you because I wanted to. Dumbass.” and “You’ve got stars in your eyes.”

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

As you stood on the front steps of Coombe House, you found yourself nervous for the first time since you’d started there.

Lieutenant Robert Rosenthal was the name at the top of the list of the latest group of soldiers assigned to the house, and since you’d been given it, you couldn’t stop thinking about a childhood friend of yours from Brooklyn with the same name.

Don’t be ridiculous, you scold yourself, reminding the sentimental part of you that the odds of it actually being Robbie were astronomical and you shouldn’t get your hopes up.

Pasting on your best smile as the car filled with boisterous soldiers pulls up, you shove those thoughts away.

“Hello gentlemen!” you call, “I’m Y/N. Welcome to Coombe House.”

You lead them around the house, reciting your spiel about the various activities and amenities, and then passing them off to Michael.

A gentleman who had been hanging towards the back of the group during the tour stepped up, calling your name as the rest of the group was led to their rooms.

“Robert Rosenthal,” he said, introducing himself, “I was just wondering--”

“Robbie?” you gasp.

The brightness in them had dimmed the slightest bit, but you'd recognize those kind blue eyes anywhere.

His brow furrows, no doubt baffled at hearing his childhood nickname all the way over in England.

“I’m sorry, how did you— Wait,” he scans your face, recognizing… something, “Y/N… L/N?”

At your answering nod, you’re tackled in a hug, his joyous, disbelieving laugh filling your ears.

“What are you—? How—?”

“I wanted to help out, and I guess the Army figured this is where my skills would be best put to use,” you explain with a laugh, “When I saw your name on the list I wasn’t sure if it was really you, but…”

“Gosh, Y/N, I haven’t seen you in…”

“Nearly 10 years? I know, I tried to keep in touch after we moved…”

You catch up with your friend, responsibilities forgotten — “So… Rosie, huh?” “Hey, you’d be surprised how little control you have over nicknames in the Army!” — until the clock begins to chime and you realize you’ve spent nearly half an hour just standing here talking.

As Robert begins to excuse himself, not wanting to take up any more of your time, you recall the incident that led to this conversation.

“Er, you said you had a question?”

He hums in confusion before remembering “Oh! Yeah, I was just wondering how long I have to be here…?”

“Unfortunately that’s not really up to me,” you reply with an apologetic shrug, “It’s the decision of your CO to send you boys out here, but you’re welcome to chat to Dr. Huston about it.”

“Though while you’re here,” you say as he’s about to walk away, “I’d recommend taking advantage of the baths and hot water. Absolutely life-changing.” You add with a teasing grin.

He lets out a laugh, though not nearly as genuine as you’d hoped. With that, Rosie thanks you and departs with a two-fingered salute

Robert spends the first couple days at the house keeping his distance from his crewmates, his eyes continually on the sky rather than taking part in the sports and activities available to the soldiers. He doesn’t seem like the boy you remember, but… well, there is a war going on. It’s changed everyone it touches.

One night you find yourself wandering the halls, unable to sleep, when you hear music coming from one of the sitting rooms.

“Hello?” You call softly, following the sounds of Duke Ellington to find Robert standing next to the record player, staring out the window at the darkened English countryside, soft curls tinted slightly blue in the moonlight.

He starts, then relaxes once he sees you.

“Hey,” he says, turning down the volume, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you-”

“I was up already,” you assure him, “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I guess I’m having a hard time with,” he gestures to the lavish country house with a shrug, “all this? I mean… all the croquet, badminton, riding with hounds— what even is that, by the way?”

Your lips twitch up into a smile as you move to stand beside him, “Foxhunting.”

“Foxhunting,” he sighs, shaking his head, “That’s exactly what I don’t need right now.”

He turns his gaze to the star-filled night sky, “What I need is to be back in that seat getting this job done.”

He continues, talking to himself almost as much as you, “Sittin’ here doing nothing, when people are bein’ persecuted and— I can’t— I had gotten into a rhythm, you know? Three days, three missions, easy. And now being yanked out of that, it’s like…”

He searches for an analogy, and you can’t help but smile at the one he lands on, recalling his fascination with music back when you were children.

“You don’t yank Gene Krupa out in the middle of a drum solo, and then expect him to pick right back up where he left off two weeks later, you know?”

You nod, understanding where he’s coming from. You recognized that while some jumped at the chance for a distraction, it was a more difficult adjustment for some soldiers to be thrust into this environment after so long in battle.

“Well, Gene Krupa’s not just responsible for his own rhythm, is he?” You say softly, following his analogy, “He’s responsible for the rhythm of the whole band. And if he’s off, then…”

Rosie nods, letting out a soft laugh, “Okay, I see where you’re going with that.”

“Seriously, Robbie,” you say, taking a chance and resting your hand on top of his on the windowsill, his gaze meeting yours at your touch, “If you don’t let yourself take a break, even just for a little while… it’s not gonna be good.”

He’s silent, and for a moment you worry you’ve overstepped.

Until he mumbles, in a voice so soft you’re not even sure you were meant to hear it, “You’ve got stars in your eyes.”

Maybe it’s the soft sounds of Duke Ellington still playing. Maybe it’s the moonlight, the calm silence filling the house.

Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you like you’re the first good thing he’s seen in a long time.

You’re not quite sure what, but something possesses you to surge up onto your toes and press your lips to his.

His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer, before he abruptly pulls away.

“I, ah…” He says, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts, “You didn’t just do that because you felt… sorry for me or somethin’, did you?”

Relief floods through you— he’s concerned with why you kissed him, not the mere fact that you did.

You cup his cheek, and Rosie’s eyes close, leaning into your touch as you say softly, “I kissed you because I wanted to.”

Then, after a moment’s consideration, you add with a smile, “Dumbass.”

His eyes shoot open as he barks out a laugh.

“Oh, that’s how it is, huh?”

Your giggles are swiftly silenced by his lips landing on yours once more, the tension finally leaving his shoulders for the first time in weeks.

The two of you end up on the couch, talking late into the night about what brought you to England, Rosie mostly telling you in hushed tones about the friends he’d made in the 100th— men that were no longer here, but lived on in his memory, and now yours. You fall asleep leaning against each other, still holding hands.

You shift, eyes fluttering open as the gray dawn light filters into the room. It takes you a moment to get your bearings, but you grin seeing Rosie asleep next to you, looking the most relaxed you’ve seen him since he arrived. With a single kiss to his forehead, you slip away to the women’s wing of the house until it’s an appropriate hour for you to stumble upon him in the sitting room.

Armed with a thick blanket and a coffee service, you creep in to see Rosie still sound asleep. Smiling, you gently lay the blanket over him, trying not to wake him. Unfortunately, he stirs the moment the blanket touches him.

He looks around, attempting to orient himself, and relaxes when he sees you.

“Good morning,” you grin, taking in his sleep-mussed curls shining golden in the morning light, “Coffee?”

“Please,” he replies in a voice rough with sleep, mustache twitching up into a smile as he sits up.

“Just don’t tell anyone, alright?” You say coyly as you prepare a cup, “I can’t be bringing all you boys breakfast in bed, now can I?”

“Well, I must be special,” he grins, taking the cup gratefully and adding with a wink, “I’ll take it to the grave.”

You’re glad to see him relax a tiny bit more over the group’s last few days at the house, and the two of you are able to find plenty of stolen moments together once everyone’s gone to bed.

When it’s time for them to return to base, he leaves you with a promise to write and a kiss. He captures your lips tenderly on the front steps, disregarding the whoops and cheers from his crew mates waiting in the Jeep, and you can’t help smiling despite yourself as they drive away, keeping your eyes on him for as long as you can.

[bellewintersroe]

Robert ‘Rosie Rosenthal’ x Reader 18+

Rosie is down badddddd for you, friends to lovers, making out, Rosie lovessss eating u out omg. Premature ejaculation? Rosie’s a respectful mf but gets down and dirty when the time is right aka in the lounge area of the Flak house. Smutty smut smut.

Friends, friends, that’s all you were. You both tried to remind yourself of that when you were, but it was pretty hard with the way you were looking at each other, the way your chest was heaving and falling, the way Rosie’s hand moved up the bare of your thigh. This is all Rosie had sinfully thought about for the past months he’d known you. At first, he tried to repress such thoughts, focusing on flying and flying only. But as you both grew closer and you became more irresistible he found your company addictive. It was only a matter of time before he-

“God, c’mere.” Rosie leant forwards, pulling you into him as your lips collided, moulding perfect against each other’s soft skin, each letting out a moan of relief at the sensation. You’d wanted Rosie badly, in fact you’d yearned for him, now, you were crawling onto his lap, aching to take things as far as Rosie was willing to go.

The noise that escaped Rosie’s throat was foreign to you, but it burned your desire deeper, igniting a fire within your core. His hands pressed to your skin, fingering at your hair, your scalp, your slip dress. It didn’t take long before the two of you were pulling the old, knitted navy jumper you wore, freeing you and exposing the satin dress you’d worn.

Rosie’s bottom lip dropped agape, scanning down your body, stunned at the sight of your body. He’d never seen you like this before, only in his deepest and darkest fantasy’s. Your breasts were full, nipples pert against the baby pink fabric that didn’t do alot to conceal you and your chest expanded with every shaky breath you’d inhale into your lungs.

“Rosie.” You hushed, voice airy and pleading to be touched. Between your legs you were beginning to crave the friction of his touch, your skin burned for his hands. Rosie was in complete awe, your fingers tightening against the curls on his head as he moved forwards, pressing firm yet loving kisses all over your newly exposed skin. He’d kiss every inch of you if he could, if he wasn’t so… impatient. The bulge in Rosie’s trousers grew quicker than he expected, the way your crotch would brush against him made his kisses become faster and faster, more rushed as he slipped off the strap of your slip with a breath of air fanning against your hot skin.

When his lips came in contact with your nipple, you dropped your head began with a strained moan, your whole body tingling as he divulged in your breasts. His tongue flickered against your sensitive bud, sucking and kissing like his life depended on it. Rosie had always been a boob man, now more so than ever…

After all those months of you bundled up in your nurses uniform, acting all innocent and sweet, Rosie was almost shocked to see you like this. That he would be if he wasn’t acting like a dog in heat, rolling his hips into your own. With every sweet hum and moan Rosie was spurred on further, gripping tighter at your skin, pulling you to lay down below him on the couch.

The lounge of the Flak house was empty beside the two of you. Neither of you considered the possibility of somebody interrupting, everybody was sound asleep whilst the two of you sought for each other’s company. Rosie was grateful he found you down here.

His mouth lowered, pulling at your dress and licking over your hot skin. You were writhing below him, grasping onto his hair, his shoulders, breathing becoming faster as he left kisses closer to your pussy. Rosie had only done this a handful of times, and not with more than two women, but god, he wanted to taste you, he wanted to make you feel good. He was a gentleman. At least if he was going to divulge in you he wanted the pleasure to be on your behalf and not selfishly take that from you.

You were breathing fast, panting out loud and Rosie could feel the tightness of your fingers against his top, spurring him on further. He worried about mistaking your eagerness for nerves, glancing up to meet your eye when he hooked his fingers around your panties.

“Are you sure?” He questioned, feeling nervous yourself. You smiled, nodding with a breath and allowing him to free you completely of your underwear. Propping yourself up, you watched as he discarded your underwear onto the floor beside you, gazing to him in a momentary shock that Rosie was about to go down on you. Both of you were a little confused as to how this had happened so fast, staring back to the person they once called a friend.

Rosie glanced down to your pussy, so inviting, already wet from the intensity of the moment. He attached his lips to you, spreading your legs a little wider so he could comfortably settle, thighs resting on his strong forearms. From the moment his lips touched your heat you were a gonner. Your head dropped back once again to the pillow with a moan that dizzied the man between your legs.

You tasted so good. Rosie wanted to tell you, but despite being between your legs he somehow felt rather nervous to admit it. Instead he groaned, licking up your wetness, over your clit, clearly enjoying himself as he ground himself into the sofa below. Rosie knew immediately he was getting carried away, lost within every sound you made. You reached down, entwining both your fingers with his, meeting his blue eyes once again. You’d never pinned Rosie to be like… this. So skilled and borderline sinful. It was a more than welcomed surprise, but you felt comfortable, trusting the man considering how gentle he was with every single one of his movements.

Rosie thought he could happily be down there for hours, lapping up at your cunt as he pressed his tongue flat to your clit, earning several more high pitched moans to leave your lips. Your whole body was relaxed, melted like putty in the pilots hands. The hair that littered his upper lip was brushing against your pussy lips, but you didn’t care, the burn of it felt good.

“Oh, Rosie, that feels so good.” You sighed, your hand leaving his to snatch onto the pillow behind you. Rosie glanced up to you, humming to indicate he’d listened as he continued the action, feeling your hips becoming more and more tense as they arose from the plush of the sofa below.

Your gentle moans and breaths had slowly become ragged, you struggled to hold them back and you were practically riding Rosenthal’s face. Rosie pushed his hips harder into the couch, eyes scrunching as he let out an inwards moan, lowering his mouth to push his tongue towards your entrance before licking back up to your sensitive bud, just the way you liked.

With his free hand he pushed your leg further up to spread on the side of the couch, completely open for him now as he jumped at the pillow below. Fuck, he thought. This was too good. He wanted to stop himself, reserve his pleasure for a different time, but the way you whined and choked out for him, pleading his name was something Rosie couldn’t control how he felt about.

Your eyes snapped open, staring at the roof above as a familiar heat washed through you, one you hadn’t feel for a long time. You gasped, hand snatching into his hair, gripping him closer to your pussy.

“Oh god, oh my god, don’t stop. Rosie- I- fuck! Oh I’m gonna cum.” Hearing the words even fall from your lips had him panting and groaning, he’d never so much as heard you swear before, let alone hear you like this. Every muscle in your body began tensing, your legs were quivering and you were moaning out loud, cursing out strings of incoherent words and repeating his name like a mantra.

With every angelic cry of his name, Rosie felt his cock beginning to twitch more and more. He’d pulled his hips back abruptly, but it was too late and a coil he didn’t even realise had formed completely snapped and he came with a manly groan, eyes fluttering shut as his lips remained sealed around your clit.

“Oh I’m cumming!” You squealed, your climax following within seconds as the throbs of your ecstasy rattled through your body. Rosie continued to pleasure you, tasting your juices as he panted and groaned against your core, feeling his pants grow wet from where he’d finished.

Your body relaxed and you rested back against with a satisfied moan, fingers caressing through his curls in amazement. Hearing your breaths slow and feeling your legs slowly lax, Rosie kissed at your thighs, pushing himself up slightly so he was rested above you. He was pink in the cheeks, panting with a dazed out expression on his face.

“Jesus you’re so good- what’s wrong?” You’d paused when you pushed your flimsy body up, eyes meeting his. “Nothin’, nothin’. That was so good.” He truthfully spoke, feeling a little embarrassed about how easily he’d busted, and in his trousers. It had been a really long time after all. You tugged the straps of your slip back over your arms, closing your legs and sitting up to be at his height.

Rosie smiled, watching you lean forwards and kiss his wet lips gently, tasting yourself for a moment. “You want me to?” You began, hand prepared to move down and into his trousers. “No, no I uh- I kinda already… finished.” He politely spoke, clearing his throat. “Oh.” You frowned in confusion, pulling your hands back again. “Oh!” Only after did it hit you what he’d ‘finished’.

“That’s okay.” You hushed, reaching out to kiss his cheek as you then noticed the slight wet patch in his trousers. “I like that.” You admitted.

“You like it?” Rosie’s brows furrowed. “Yeah, I like that you enjoyed yourself. I’ve never… finished from that before.” You then admitted, cheeks heating up as Rosie affectionately reached out to smooth your hair back down.

“That makes two of us…”

[i-padfootblack-things]

My Heart is Yours [Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal x reader]

Author's Note: Rosie Rosenthal has my whole heart, and I couldn't find any fics for him, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. This is based on the portrayal of actors in the Masters of the Air series on AppleTV+. I respect the referenced real life stories and people wholeheartedly. This is not meant to offend anyone.

Warnings: Reader is a nurse, Historical Inaccuracies, Injuries.

Hope you enjoy this little fic! My requests are open, so if you have any ideas, don't be shy!

Pilots are known to be cocky- I mean, I get it. They're pretty badass, if I can say so myself. But I have never in my life met such a down to earth pilot. Major Robert Rosenthal was, without exaggeration, perfect.

I was standing by the window, counting the planes that were appearing from the grey clouds, landing from their mission, silently praying Rosie was among them.

I exhaled in relief-- only one plane down from the fifteen that left. My heart was in my throat as I waited for the ambulances to bring in the injured men.

As if on cue, the doors flew open and several men on stretchers were placed on beds, in order of emergency. I went to the man in the worst shape, ensuring his airways were clear and then going over the burns that littered his whole body. It looked bad, and my heart ached for him-- he would never look the same as he did before.

"I can take over, you're needed elsewhere." I nodded as I gave another nurse my forceps. He was stable and I had to move on.

"Have you seen Rosi- Major Rosenthal?" She shook her head, a sad smile casting a shadow on her lips.

"He's not on the list." She said, referring to the list of injured men that had been brought in. I close my eyes, trying to calm myself. It didn't mean he was dead, although that's what it usually meant.

After going over every pilot and ensuring they got the right treatments, I allowed myself a break-- I needed some fresh air. I had no clue if Rosie's plane made it back, none of the pilots that flew with him had come in, and that is rare occurrence.

As I exited the building, leaving behind the pained screams of injured men, I made my way towards the bench Rosie and I always met at, still holding onto a sliver of hope that he was alright and he was going to come back to me. I was walking slower than usual, given how tired I was, taking the time to rub the back of my neck as a way of relieving the tension.

A deep voice called my name, making me freeze-- I could recognize it anytime. I raised my eyes to his face, and my knees couldn't take it anymore.

"Rosie," I whispered, as I fell to the ground. He was there in a second, grabbing me by my forearms and holding me to his chest. I could feel his heartbeat against my own.

"Woah, woah... Are you alright?" I nodded, my eyes going over every inch of his face, making sure he was okay.

"I just--" I couldn't keep calm, my tears spilled out as a sob escaped. "I thought you were gone, I didn't know if your plane made it back..."

"I promised you I'll always come back to you, didn't I?" He had the nerve to smile, as he raised his hands to my cheeks, wiping my tears away. I was still silent, trying to catch my breath. I was still so focused on his perfect face, and how he had not even a cut anywhere, but what brought me back to the moment was the feeling of his finger caressing the spot between my eyebrows.

"Why are you frowning, my love?"

"You're fine." I said it quietly, as if I couldn't believe it, but he was in front of me, fine as if he didn't just drop some bombs over Berlin. "You're fine. You're fine!" I laughed, realizing he was actually standing in front of me. Perfectly fine!

I raised my hands to his face, caressing his jaw, then his cheeks, his nose, and then forehead. I brushed them through his hair, wrapping them around his neck. He was watching me with his beautiful smile lighting his whole face ul.

"I'm fine, my love. See?" He gestured towards his body in a 'ta-da' motion, making me laugh.

He then closed the small distance between us, kissing me on the corner of my mouth.

"I will always, always come back to you, my love. My heart is yours." He whispered, before kissing me deeply.

"And mine is yours, Rosie."

[unhappycylinder]

My Lucky Charm (Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x Reader)

Description: As an aircraft mechanic, it's your job to keep the planes in pristine condition, but Rosie makes your job difficult for more reasons than one

No warnings, just mutual pining and some kissing!

-

It wouldn’t work. No matter how hard you tried, the rudder just simply would not work. The German’s had shot the B-17 to shit just the day before, leaving Rosie and his crew limping home in a plane missing a critical flight control. 

As a flight mechanic, fixing up these planes as quickly and efficiently as possible was your sole responsibility. No matter what condition they were brought back to you in, you had to find a way. 

And boy did these pilots like to bring them back in less than ideal conditions.

It was one of his first missions though, so you had to cut him some slack for completely severing all connection between the rudder and the flight deck. What you would never forgive him for, however, was the endless climbing up, around, over, and through the B-17 that this repair necessitated.

At this particular moment, you found yourself perched on the tail of the plane, one leg on either side of the fuselage, as you were hunched over desperately trying to attach the rudder cable to its hook.

“Seems I left her in pretty bad shape,” the familiar Brooklyn accent chimed from behind you. 

You sighed, stretching your back as you unfurled yourself and turned around to meet Rosie’s gaze, smiling at the lieutenant who stood below you on the tarmac.

“You could say that again,” you joked, smiling down at him as you ran a hand through your hair.

“Need some help?” He asked, taking his hands out of his pockets, “what’s the trouble?”

You hummed, using your wrench to gesture to the tail of the plane, “rudder cable isn’t wanting to attach…and when it does, it won’t take inputs from the yoke”

“Hm,” Rosie squinted, moving to stand alongside the airplane, hands on his hips as his elbows threatened to graze your leg while you both stared at the exposed tail.

You turned back to the plane, fiddling with the cables as Rosie watched from below.

“Oh!” You exclaimed, feeling something snap into place, “oh my god,”

“Did you do it?” Rosie asked excitedly.

“You must be my lucky charm, Rosenthal,” you beamed at him, the relief of finally finishing your repairs for the day washing over you.

“Nah,” Rosie shook his head, blushing at the ground, “you’re just the best mechanic we got around here”

Sliding off the fuselage, you landed mere inches from him on the tarmac.

This proximity was foreign to you and Rosie. Sure, you had exchanged smiles, salutes, and handshakes in between missions and repairs, but you had never been this close to each other, mere inches separating you. Staring up at his blue eyes, you tried your best to keep the blush on your cheeks at bay, but that was a lost cause because Rosie definitely noticed your face turning a little more crimson than it was just a few seconds earlier.

He smiled, blue moons staring down at you with pride, “I think I owe you one after this, Y/N”

“I’ll hold you to that,” you smiled.

-

One day later and you were sat in the truck with Lemmons awaiting the return of the 100th bomb group. The summer sun was beating down on your exposed skin as you reclined in the truck bed, your coveralls tied around your waist, an army-issued tank top covering your chest.

“I hear them” Lemmons perked up, starting the truck engine and waking you up from whatever daze you were in. Shaking yourself awake, you jumped into the passenger seat as Lemmons drove the truck down the tarmac to the runway.

Quickly, smoke and the sound of sputtering engines filled the sky, but only one plane was headed for the runway. Flying a shaky final approach, smoke trailed from almost all of the engines, flak decorating every surface on the warbird.

A sense of panic settled over the entire base as the CO’s scanned the horizon for more planes and every available mechanic rushed to the badly damaged aircraft. As you and Lemmons got closer you recognize the craft, its Rosie, and as much as you hated to admit it, you felt nothing but relief for a brief second.

Cutting through the grass and parking in front of the plane, the mechanics and medics got to work immediately. You ran to the left wing, clamboring on top of it and purging the engines of any oil and fuel which might cause a fire. 

Beneath you, men with missing limbs and gushing wounds were being carried from the plane and carted off to the infirmary. You found yourself distracted from your work, glancing at each of the men and returning dutifully when you didn’t recognize any of them as Rosie. 

Then, hunched over from beneath the wing, he appeared. Rosie’s sweat-covered curls caught the sun as he glanced at the carnage happening around his beloved plane, his shoulders tense and his uniform covered in soot. 

“Rosie” you gasped, sliding off the wing and landing near him. His gaze remained transfixed on the world around him.

You reached up, gently placing a hand on his cheek and turning his face to look at you.

“Rosie,” you whispered, his eyes finally connecting with yours, “are you hurt?”

He shook his head, his normally concentrated and thoughtful eyes darkened with fury and confusion. Still cupping his cheek, you rubbed gentle circles with your thumb, attempting desperately to bring the pilot back down to earth.

“You made it Rosie, you’re okay, your crew is gonna be okay…and you brought her back to me in one piece,” you forced a chuckle, hoping to break him from this trance.

“Yeah,” he nodded frantically, moreso in an attempt to keep himself from breaking than in response to you.

 “Rosie I-” you began, reaching for him with your other hand. Just then, two medics came and swept him away. 

As they walked, his head snapped up and his blue eyes locked with yours. He seemed to send a soft smile your way, but he was tucked into a truck before you could read his expression. 

-

New pilots arrived the very next day, flooding the barracks with their freshly minted canvas bags, neatly pressed uniforms, and unwavering American confidence…and you hated it. 

For five days you had entertained the cockiness of the new blood, putting up with the cat-calls and demeaning comments that flooded your ears whenever they walked by a plane you were working on.

Its not like this wasn’t commonplace…it was how most of the men at Thorpe Abbotts treated you…it just wasn’t how Rosie treated you.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t noticed his absence. He had been sent to a recovery facility, affectionately called the Flak House by everyone on base, and had been AWOL from your life for five days. It was taking a toll on you that you never could have foreseen.

Rosie’s anger in his eyes when he crawled out from under that wing, the potential smile he directed to you as he got into the medic truck, and the proximity you shared when you were fixing his plane the other day all played through your head like scenes in a film that you couldn’t turn off. 

The worst part was, you had no idea when you’d see him again…if you’d see him again…but you just couldn’t get him off your mind. Not only was he the most handsome man on base, he was the only one who treated you with respect, and you’d be an idiot to not have feelings for him.

-

The company band tried their best to play Glen Miller in the dance hall, lively trumpet solos making up for the lack of a clarinet at the base. It was Saturday night, which meant it was alight with chipper airmen and poorly crafted wartime cocktails, and you found yourself at the heart of it.

Pilots, naviagators, bombardiers and the like swarmed the hall in droves, dancing and chatting with the handful of ladies who worked at the base. Seated at a table with one of the other female mechanics, you couldn’t help but laugh at the airmen as they failed to hold their alcohol. 

The new boys came up to your table one after another, seemingly failing to recognize you out of your coveralls, exchanging the cat-calls and insults for flirtations and compliments. Of course, you brushed them off, because even though you’d love to put one of those show-offs in their place and embarrass him on the dance floor, you couldn’t bring yourself to dance with any of the aviators except one. 

You let them buy you drinks and sit at the empty seat at your table, shooting knowing glances at your fellow mechanic each time they said something stupid. And before you knew it, the hall was starting to clear out. All that remained were a few couples on the dance floor, a handful of the new pilots swirling their whiskeys at the bar, and a group of beaten-up Thorpe veterans seated in leather armchairs in the corner. 

Sipping the last of your drink, your eyes drifted to the doorway where a very put together man in slacks and a dark leather jacket was walking in.

The man walked to the group in the leather chairs, squeezing each one on the shoulder as he passed them before making a beeline for your table.

“Y/N,” the other mechanic said, “Rosie’s back”

Her voice faded into the music as your eyes finally focused on the dark-haired man in front of you. His eyes were clear, his mutache neatly trimmed, and an uncontrollable smile stretched across his face, accentuating his smile lines.

You stared up at him, not caring about the deep blush you felt creeping onto your cheeks, or the smile you felt threatening your lips.

“I think I owed you one, Y/L/N,” his voice was music to your ears.

“I think you’re right, Rosenthal,” you smiled.

He offered his hand, helping you stand up before walking you to the bar, his hand moving to gently graze your back as you walked.

Ordering you both a drink, Rosie smiled at you as he leaned against the bar. He opened his mouth to speak when a new song started playing…it was Artie Shaw…and if anyone knows anything about Robert Rosenthal, its that he loves Artie Shaw.

“Dance with me, will ya?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing as he held out a hand.

You nodded, taking his hand once again and following him to the dancefloor. Keeping your hands together, his other hand snaked around your back and rested on your hip. You moved your free hand up his chest and onto his shoulder. 

Rosie blushed, that same smirk forming on his lips.

“Before I left…right after we landed and we were talking under the wing…what were you about to say?” He asked, blue eyes staring down at you.

“Oh…” you blushed, avoididng his gaze.

“Come on Y/N,” he smiled playfully, “tell me”

“I can’t, its embarrassing,” you laughed, afraid to tell him what you had been dying to confess for days.

He got closer to you, his breath tickling your neck as he whispered into your ear, “please, tell me what you were gonna say”

“Rosie,” you turned to look at him, his face mere inches from yours.

“I-” you began, deciding it was now or never, “I was gonna tell you that I was so relieved when you came home safe because…because I was so worried about you, and I didn’t want to lose you before I had the chance to tell you that I-”

Rosie’s eyes stayed transfixed on your lips as you spoke, a smirk returning to his face. 

You struggled to get the words out, completely overwhelmed by Rosie’s intoxicating presence.

“Y/N,” he whispered.

“Hm?” You hummed, staring into his eyes.

“I think you’re my lucky charm too,” he smiled as his hand left yours to cup your cheek.

You blushed, eyes closing as Rosie leaned down and caught your lips in his, capturing you in a gentle kiss that sent your mind reeling with emotion.

Pulling away, you beamed at each other as Rosie spoke, “I’ve been dying to do that”

“Rosie,” you raised your eyebrows, “you and me both”

Tucking your head into his chest, you and Rosie swayed until the band stopped playing and the hall closed down for the night. This was going to make work a lot more complicated.

-

[mads198-9]

But if you send for me you, know I’ll come

And if you call for me you know I’ll run

I’ll run to you, I’ll run to you

I’ll run

run

run

[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.’’

[zevred]

Good Friends

pining and in denial rosie is doing something to my brain chemistry

rosie rosenthal x gn!reader

wc; 699

Rosie likes to think he’s friends with everyone at Thorpe Abbott. He’s been with his crew for years and he makes an effort to befriend the new guys when they come in, even if they won’t be around for long. Even John Brady’s stopped making snide remarks, and Rosie swears the band has started playing more of the songs he likes.

He’s definitely friends with you. That’s what he says when Pappy elbows him in the ribs, grinning, and when Crosby wags his eyebrows over the rim of his glass. It’s just that you like to dance and Rosie’s usually the one to indulge you. He can’t control when the music slows down and he can’t help but pull you close because he’d never ruin the last song of the night for you.

Maybe he’s given you a ride or two on the handlebars of his bike, or when he’s conveniently forgotten his bike at home, he takes the time to walk you across base. He likes hearing your laugh and even during those late nights, your smile is radiant under the moonlight. He’s chased you through the rain and let you muss his water-logged curls. Rosie’s hands tense at his sides when he sees the hair plastered to your neck. He tells himself he’d do the same for any of his friends and brushes the wayward tendrils into place. He says goodnight but Rosie knows you’ll haunt his dreams. The curl of your lips is superimposed on the inside of his eyelids. Your whispered taunts linger, brushing up against the shell of his ear. Even the smell of you is stuck on his skin.

He does his best to scrub himself of you before each mission. Rosie knows there’s a job to be done and he hates that the thought of you might distract him. So, he uses extra aftershave the morning he flies and slicks his curls into submission. He doesn’t have time to think about his friends flying in other forts, certainly not enough time to think of you. There’s only him, his crew, and the mission. There’s no room in the plane for the ghost of you.

When he lands and interrogation is over, Crosby tells him you’ve been a live wire, on edge for hours up in Air Exec. Rosie aches to know you’ve been fretting, but when he sees you, he plasters on a cocky smile—the one that always has you rolling your eyes—and asks if you’ve been missing him.

You always look a little shaken, a little like a ghost when you see him again, but without fail you scoff and turn to walk away from him, allowing him to sling an arm around your shoulders and haul you into his side. You walk like that, hip to hip, and Rosie can almost feel your ribs folding, making room to interlace with his.

You stop outside the gear room, and the rest of Rosie’s crew is already inside, stripping out of their flysuits. It’s the two of you alone in the hallway and his name is a hoarse whisper on your lips. Rosie. He’s never Captain Rosenthal when it’s just the two of you. You called him Robert once, to accuse him of cheating in cards, and the aghast look on his face sent you into such a fit of laughter, the game of cards was abandoned. But when you say his name like that…

Rosie.

Your bodies are pressed close, near enough to share breath. You’re looking up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, cheeks flushed and—he shouldn’t notice but he does—your lips are bitten-red. He doesn’t need to hear your question to know he’ll say yes. You could ask him to fish down the moon and he’d steal it from the sky. Usually, you’re asking to see his plane or to swap sides at meals. There are some things, some things that make his breathing hitch, that Rosie wonders if you’ll ever ask. He could ask, step just an inch closer, but the question tangles in his throat and he repeats the same mantra he’s been saying for months.

You’re just friends. Good friends.

[luminouslywriting]

what do you think would be the reactions of the different men when they’re falling for a single mum? I think going with the time it’s more likely a young widow than a girl with a kid out of wedlock but who knows maybe John Brady just feels the desire to make an honest woman out of a poor girl at church who’s man ran off or Bucky takes to teaching his neighbors kid baseball because he sees their mom is stressed… just whatever guys you think would fit this

Nonny, this gave me actual brainrot so I hope you enjoy this so much 🥰🤍 as always, my requests are open and I don’t mind spam haha! More under the cut, cut for length, light spice sprinkled in:

Bucky Egan: (I had to run with the baseball idea haha)

-Absolutely the type of man who does not care about the past sexual history or life of a partner....and he's kinda looking for someone to date at the moment??

-But there's this kid on his block who's about six and he watches this kid attempt to throw a baseball every day and it just pains his soul because the form is awful and where is this kid's dad??

-So one day, he rolls on over to the yard of said kid and just starts offering pointers—he always wanted to be a baseball coach in his free-time and he just hasn't gotten around to it yet

-This sweet little boy makes him a deal that if Bucky comes over and teaches him how to throw a ball, lemonade will be made and given by you (his mom) and he will help Bucky paint his fence

-Bucky thinks it's a swell idea and it's at this surprising point to you that your son brings in the attractive war hero Bucky Egan straight to the kitchen and demands lemonade

-Well you and Bucky get to talking and you tell him that your husband died in the Pacific pretty early on in the war and your son has never really known a father

-That being said, it's a slow burn. He really enjoys getting to spend time with you and your son and he's afraid that he'll mess things up. But then your kid is inviting Bucky to dinner and you're telling him that it's no problem and you usually make too much food anyway.

-And somewhere along the way, he starts thinking of your house as more of a home to him than his own lonely home that he purchased. So naturally, this man panICS and has to call Gale and ask what he should do because he doesn't want to spook you or ruin the nice thing you've got going on.

-Gale definitely has to reassure him that if you both clearly want him there, then he should just go for it; Bucky deserves to be happy too.

-But he DRAGS his feet in the process....right up until your son accidentally calls him dad after hitting the ball with the baseball bat

-And then there's actual panic between you and Bucky and he's trying to apologize because clearly he's overstepped

-It would be at this point that you have to tell him that it's quite alright and you'd really like to get to know him more...because you like having him around and clearly your son adores him

-CUE THE FIRST KISS (first of many, might I add)

-It's the most darling domestic thing and he absolutely views your son as his son and he's never been so happy in his life

Gale Cleven:

-I think the most logical move here is that he finds you after Marge's passing. It was a short and love-filled marriage for them, but it was gone so quickly.

-He's devastated, naturally. And he doesn't really have anything left in Wyoming, so he sets out for Wisconsin.

-Now the thing about this is that John Egan has married Josephine Pitz—and Josephine Pitz's best friend is you. Your husband was a Marine during the war and died in action, leaving you with two little kids.

-You're doing your best but it's hard being a working single mom during the early 1950s.

-Cut to Josie and John setting this up just so

-Bucky makes the point that your car needs some work and you're a good friend of Josie's

-So this is how Gale Cleven is introduced to you—matchmaking via car-service haha

-Your two boys? Absolutely just wanna watch him work and wanna hear about everything that he's doing to the car

-But you're no fool and you know that Josie and Bucky are trying to set this up for the two of you

-So you just flat-out confront him about it and tell him that they're trying to be sneaky and that you're sorry he got caught up in their schemes

-But the thing is?? He's perfectly happy and used to their schemes. There's also the fact that this is the safest and calmest he's felt since Marge died.

-So he admits that he'd be willing to give this thing a chance if you are

-So it's a slow-burn for the two of you as you're trying to navigate around the fact that you've both already lost a partner and the fact that you have kids

-But he's so good with them and helps with the homework and genuinely just tries his best

-It's not a surprise to anyone when you're married a year later

Robert Rosenthal:

-On his way to the Nuremberg Trials, he meets you—a young lawyer who has recently just found out that you're pregnant (not that you're telling anyone that).

-You two become fast friends and he finds out that your husband was a British RAF Pilot who died. He's entirely sympathetic and sweet about the situation.

-The pair of you team up for the trials and it's amidst the preparations for the Trials that he finds you doubled over with morning sickness. This man assumes that it's the flu. Babe, it is not the flu.

-So a few weeks into you being sick and dealing with the trials, he's getting real concerned and you just have to spill the tea that you're pregnant.

-Not gonna lie, Rosie's heart shatters a little bit for you. It's not as if you want to leave the Trials to deal with pregnancy but you're also a whole ocean away and who do you have to rely on?

-Well he makes a promise that he's gonna help you through it

-And along the way, he's absolutely falling in love with you—with your dedication and kindness, the way that you're soft about the baby and continue to focus on work, and the way in which you're so determined to do everything entirely on your own

-He definitely very quickly makes you an offer that you're a little befuddled by

-The offer is marriage—and the thing is?? It's a damn good offer. You're a recent widow trying to do her job at the Nuremberg Trials, just found out you're pregnant, away from home, and have no support system

-So naturally you accept and this is a marriage born out of convenience and kindness to you....but there is so much affection and care.

-He's had feelings for you for a while and he's perfectly happy taking his time in the relationship and understands that you might not reciprocate the feelings in the same way.

-If nothing else, at least you'll be provided for, your child will have a father, and you'll always have a friend by your side

-It's at this point that your feelings start to develop because he's just such a good person and treats you so well and so clearly loves you

-The two of you are icons during the trials (Mr. and Mrs. Rosenthal), and he comes back from Europe with a wife and daughter on his arm....and no, he didn't tell anyone so it was quite a shock to everyone.

John Brady: (Also decided to run with it haha)

-Listen, this man has a picture perfect plan for what he wants to have happen when he gets home from the war and that's all fine and dandy, but this man was NOT planning on you haha

-You faithfully attend the same church as he does and it's pretty obvious that you're pregnant.....

-But man the gossip is bad. And he's not one to listen to idle gossip and just believe what people say. But evidently your fianceé had run off when he found out you were pregnant and had taken any chance of a reputable life. It's ROUGH, okay??

-And the thing is, John Brady is out here just trying to do his Christian duty by seeing if you need any help over at your house....because he also passes it on the way to Church and YIKES, your yard is going through it

-It's the first time that someone just offers to do something nice for you??? You're so thrilled about it

-So he comes over that summer and does your yard work for you and you make little sandwiches and he gets to have lunch with you

-The thing is, you two get to talking and he finds out that you weren't even planning on having kids for a while anyway and it was YOUR former man who wanted to do the deed and refused to help out in any way. This is entirely a man's folly and has ruined things for you.

-Now he feels bad, he does....

-But he's not trying to make a move or anything. At the moment anyway haha. Instead, he invites you to spend some time with his sisters because you need friends anyway and they all have kids so they can help you know what to expect for pregnancy.

-Well it's all going great and he's pretty happy with the fact that you now have a support system and he's starting to make some waves in work. And then the yard is done and finished.

-And for some reason he's offering to help with the plumbing and the inside work too? It's definitely not because he's worried about you and it's definitely not because he's very very attracted to you in any way shape or form lol.

-I don't think anything actually happens until you're right ready to pop....at which case YOU kiss HIM because you're just real impatient

-And he doesn't get to respond to anything because your water breaks and he's taking you to the hospital

-So while you're in labor, this man is processing the fact that he MAYBE really really likes you and has already planned out the rest of your lives together, but that's BESIDES the point

-He still feels like he's taking advantage here....right up until you have a son and you name him Johnny because Brady was the only person that was kind to you during pregnancy and this man just melts on the spot, professes love to you—and tells you that he wants to take care of you for the rest of your life.

-Chef's kiss tbh

[suraemoon]

Rosie Rosenthal Headcanons

~Mr. and Mrs. Rosenthal Edition ~

🌹: Hi, Mrs. Rosenthal. Hope you’re doing well. How’s the hubby? These are some Rosie x Reader cute and domestic headcanons that cover some tiny details that make married life even more special

♥️: Fluffy fluff. If you’re feeling horny, stay to the end and I’ll help you, doll. Thats really it. Hope u enjoy.

Humming. He hums softly during the most comfortable silences, making them even more cozy. You could be reading a book on a quiet May afternoon, watching him work at his desk on a cold January night, holding hands while watching the August sunset from your balcony.

Whenever you’re singing a tune, he’s going to hum along with you

Can’t remember the name of that one Ella Fitzgerald song for the life of you? Hum it together until a namesake lyric pops into one of your brilliant minds. Followed by a “Ohhhh, you’re right. It is that one!”

A comfortable hum during the times when you’re crying on his shoulder, his hand rubbing your back in small circles, your cheek against the fabric of his grandpa sweater

Rosie’s blue eyes have always been one of your favorite features of his.

They are as vibrant as technicolor, always displaying so much emotion.

Looking into Rosie’s eyes is a constant reminder that as long as you have him, life will never again be sepia toned.

Rosie spoils you in the most nonchalant ways. Buying his wife a gift is never made into its own big event.

He notices how you eye a certain sparkling necklace while walking hand in hand by the jewelry store window? The next day, those same diamonds are lying on your vanity, waiting to be worn.

For some reason the flowers in the vase on the dining room table never seem to die? Hmm I wonder why.

Little do you know, those roses were replaced with fresh ones last night

Rosie buys beautiful bouquets of flowers as pink as his wife’s cheeks on a chilly day

Hides them in places you’d never look until the sun goes down to rest for the night and you are securely fast asleep next to him

As soft light floods through the windows in the morning, the glass of the vase creates a rainbow and the flowers sitting delicately on display look new as ever

Another small detail that your home would like an incomplete puzzle without?

Him and Hers plaid robes hang gently on delicate hooks behind the bathroom door

Technically, both robes were bought and owned by Rosie before he even met you

But they’re so damn comfy that they’ve become happily coparented between the two of you

Whenever your choice of robe starts to lose the distinct and comforting scent of your beloved husband, the two of you switch in order to replenish

A constant cycle of robe wearing

The record player is the most used and well loved item in the household

Soft jazz fills warmly lit rooms

Not much of a dancer are you? Rosie insists that the two of you slow dance to his favorite love song anyway

Don’t worry, it is not a game of skill. Maybe he hits a silly dance move now and then to distract you from the worry of accidentally stepping on his feet.

He spins you around like Prince Charming does Cinderella until both the rotating and romance makes you a little lightheaded.

He also loves a good candle. (Don’t we all?)

Not only for when he is trying to set the right mood for homemade dates at the kitchen table and nights full of lovemaking in your bedroom

but also to further enhance the warm and comforting atmosphere that fills any room that his love steps into

Cuddling in eachother’s warmth where the cold evening air of the bustling city outside cannot touch you

What else sometimes happens while you two lying in bed on a weeknight? Gossip.

It’s a safe space to talk about anyone or anything

When your little ones start school and the two of you join the PTA, the reason being not because you want to but instead having the “new parent” fear you were the only ones not in it. Do you regret it? No. The tea is unexpectedly piping hot.

“Remember how late we stayed up making those cookies after finding that bake sale flier at the bottom of her bookbag? Today, the Joneses went on and on about how they had a family recipe. Guess what?…their brownie container had a price tag, Rosie.”

Maybe a family member said something utterly ridiculous at the family reunion that you aren’t able to talk about until you’re in the comfort of your own walls

Something that even has Rosie uttering “Now if I was his wife…” or “I don’t know about his mother but if my mother caught me doing that…”

A lot of “I can’t believe that happened” head shakes

A lot of “You were right about that, honey” nods in agreement

Rosie also takes the time to tell you about his cases. Him and his co-workers always act so professional but sometimes you need an outside opinion to confirm how ridiculous some people are.

That outside opinion is Mrs. Rosenthal sitting on the bed stirring a cup of cocoa

Speaking of drinks, Rosie likes his coffee black

You learn that the morning after you spend your first night at his

What else do you learn after that riveting first night? Your man fancies a bath. A warm bath after sex is only part of his phenomenal aftercare routine.

He puts oils into the water, massages your sore thighs, and wraps you in a comfy soft robe when you get out

You two don’t argue often but when you do? You hate to admit it but Rosie is usually right

Even when he isn’t right, he has you second guessing yourself because…he’s a lawyer and being a good arguer is part of the job description

He’s a “I need to get the last word in” kind of person, even if it’s just a snarky or sarcastic comment

You two always make up though!

Make up, makeout, and make love is always the order

My last thot for today…dad jokes

If Rosie is going to do one thing, it’s make you laugh

He’s goes out of his way to see your pretty smile as much as he can

Your sweet giggles can easily compete and win against the sparkling sound of wind chimes

Your laugh is as melodic as his favorite song. It *is* his favorite song.

He’s so good at dad jokes, you have to make him a father. That’s good logic, hm? I definitely think so.

They’re purposefully bad and cheesy. So unfunny that they’re funny and trying to hold in the laugh always fails.

Your husband’s a dork and you love him that way

————————————————————————

Thanks for reading! If you’re like “Excuse me ma’am, wheres the smut?” I know where to redirect you. All my dirty thots went towards my friend Marina’s (@precious-little-scoundrel) lovely post about Rosie. It’s so chef’s kiss. 110% recommend. xxxx 💋

[scuttle-buttle]

Co-Pilots

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

Rated: 18+

Word Count: approx. 3k

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

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

✈️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve missed you so much Bing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crosby sighs. “Too long.”

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

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

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

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

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

Without hesitation you reassure “I am.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“We can stop,” Rosie offered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sitting up you demand he rid himself of his trousers. 

He grins. “Yes ma’am.” 

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

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

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

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

“Honey I- I’m getting real close.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally. 

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

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

[sagesolsticewrites]

Masters of the Air Masterlist

Major Gale “Buck” Cleven

Kiss It Better? 💋 - my very first MOTA drabble based on the prompts “boo boo kisses” & “ pet names” (base nurse!reader)

Kiss It Better pt 2 💋 - That lipstick mark leads to a surprising turn of events 👀

Major John “Bucky” Egan

Oblivious - Bucky’s been trying to get your attention for months now, but you continue to misinterpret his romantic advances as friendship. Everyone else on base is tired of seeing you two dance around each other, and they decide to take matters into their own hands.

Homecoming - John finally returns home to his girl (based on the prompt “carrying the other one in their arms”)

requests are open!

Lt. Harry Crosby

Just Say Yes - Tooth-rotting fluff based on the prompt “If you asked me to marry you tomorrow, I’d say yes.” “What about today?”

Harry Crosby Certified Wife Guy™️ - minific about Croz being head over heels for his wife and the entire 100th knows it

Dear… - A series of letters from one Lt. Harry Crosby to his wife 🤍 (a sort-of continuation of Just Say Yes, but can be read as a standalone!)

A Little Fire - In which Harry Crosby shows his wife exactly how much he appreciates her 😏 (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Heat Wave - It’s the hottest summer Iowa’s had in a while. Your husband wears shorts. It gets even hotter (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

In My Arms - Sometimes your husband just needs to be held. (lots and lots of fluff) (coauthored with Winnie!)

Yes, Major - … I mean. Do I even need to say it? 👀 Dom!Croz (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

requests are open!

Sgt. Ken “Kenny” Lemmons

• requests are open!

Lt. Curtis “Curt” Biddick

To The Rescue - in which your friends drag you out to a bar against your will, but you meet a certain soldier that makes it worth it

requests are open!

Major Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal

Take A Break - Rosie runs into a childhood friend at the flak house

Welcome Home - Rosie finally returns home after his second tour, and you take the opportunity to show him exactly how much you missed him 🫠 (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

It’s Been A Long, Long Time series:

Kiss Me Once - The moment you’ve been anxiously awaiting is finally here — your boyfriend Rosie Rosenthal finally arrives home

Kiss Me Twice - You and Rosie finally have a “proper reunion” 😏😉 (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Kiss Me Once Again - Rosie takes you to his apartment for a proper date night away from his family 😏 (18+ minors dni!)

requests are open!

Captain John Brady

Brady’s Smash Wagon - Your boyfriend (Captain John Brady) takes you (his Red Cross girlfriend) to see his Flying Fortress. Shenanigans ensue 👀 (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Love’s Light Wings - John Brady x Juliet Thompson (OFC)

requests are open!

Captain Bernard “Benny” DeMarco

Pyaar Dosti Hai - Benny DeMarco x Ruthvika Patel (OFC)

requests are open!

Anthony Boyle

Sundress - in which date night takes a turn when Anthony sees the outfit you’ve chosen (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Lipstick Kisses - the sweetest, spiciest Anthony fic y’all ever saw (feat… uh, Things Happening in cars 👀) written by my bestie Winnie!!! (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Pillow Talk - Anthony is in desperate need of rest & relaxation when he returns home from his latest project, and you’re more than happy to provide it. (coauthored with Winnie!!!)

Come and Kiss Me - Anto takes you as his date to the Oscars. Things get very soft and veryyyy spicy (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

The Stache Fic - Anto grows a mustache. You like it… a lot. (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Better Kind of Best Friend - Anthony, your friend-with-benefits, stops by for an impromptu visit after an interview. (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

No Rush - just a soft lil makeout blurb <3

Freckle Kisses - very short very sweet lazy morning blurb

Waking Up Next to You - soft lazy morning smut <3 (spicy!! 18+!! Minors begone!!)

i thought we had no chance (and that’s romance) - You resolve to tell Anthony about your feelings— with surprising results. (Part Two to Better Kind of Best Friend) (spicy!! 18+!! Minors begone!!)

[bellewintersroe]

I realllyyyy want to start writing for Masters of the air- that show was too good omfg. I feel like I don’t know enough details/ characters yet so I’ll have to go back and watch it through but if anybody has requests, angst, smut, fluff I can attempt 😇

[blurredcolour]

What If We Just Fall?

Oh my goodness @supervalcsi this has been the hardest secret to keep! 'Tis I, your summer exchange gift writer! Thank you for all your hard work as the moderator of HBO War Daily, we deeply appreciate you!! It's been a pleasure getting to know you and I hope you enjoy your summer as well as this lovely interlude with sweet Rosie!!!

Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal x ATA!Female Reader

Flying with the Air Transport Auxiliary has taught you many lessons – including the importance of guarding your heart carefully. It seems fate, however, has much more to teach you when you are forced to make an emergency landing in East Anglia.

Warnings: Language, Era Typical Sexism, Fear, Crying, Kissing, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - T.

Author's note: No descriptions of reader other than the fact that she is not British. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5729

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

October 1944

Meeting a man like Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal was not something you had expected when you volunteered for the Air Transport Auxiliary. In fact, you were not even supposed to land at Thorpe Abbotts Airfield until fate, or more accurately faulty wiring, intervened. Ferrying a Wellington bomber from its repair depot back to the RAF in Norfolk for use in their nighttime bombing runs, you were piloting the five-man aircraft alone – standard practice in the ATA. There was no radio, no navigator, and most definitely no guns. You were a civilian non-combatant and if any Luftwaffe fighter pilots happened to get onto your tail, you simply had to outfly them.

This was not your first Wellington, not by a long stretch, and while you preferred Spitfires for their speed and manoeuverability, these mid-sized bombers were usually fairly docile once they got off the ground. This particular aircraft, however, had been displaying a bad attitude from the moment it took to the air. How it had passed quality control inspection was beyond you. The wonders the mechanics were able to work in short turn arounds were usually feats of precision and skill, but almost immediately you noticed the rudder seemed reluctant to obey your steering commands.

A cascade of instrumentation issues followed before the left engine quit. There was a reason, however, that the ‘Wimpy’ as it was affectionately called by the boys who took the aircraft into combat, was still relied upon by the RAF despite the arrival of four-engine heavies like the Halifax and Lancaster. The Wellington could take a great deal of punishment; lose great chunks of its aluminium and linen airframe, be down one engine, and still get the crew to its destination. It was this reputation you were banking on as you pressed forward to your assigned airfield, hoping the ground crew there would treat this plane better than whomever had done it such a disservice at the repair depot.

You were, by your best guess of the landscape and quick glance at your maps, roughly twenty minutes out when the right engine began to choke and sputter.

“Shit.” You hissed under your breath, pleased no one could overhear you, and dropped your altitude to scan for a safe place to land.

During your pre-flight preparations, you had noted this area was dotted with American airfields as well as RAF; surely you could find a stretch of tarmac to keep both you and this precious piece of war material in one piece. The telltale ‘V’ of concrete, surrounded by still-lush grass waving in the autumn breeze, could not have come into view at a better time. Exhaling in relief as the indicator lights confirmed the wheels had descended at your command, you checked visually that the left was down and had to trust the right and rear were also – with no co-pilot to look for you, there was most definitely no way you could release the yoke and glance out the window yourself.

Hoping the allies would recognize you for a friendly, you lined up to make your landing, the right engine quitting on you as you decreased your speed. Holding your eyes open wide with focus, you leaned forward in your seat, gripping the yoke almost painfully, willing the aircraft to stay aloft to meet the first few inches of runway. The silence in the cockpit was agonizing, a tense ringing in your ears replacing the normal, companionable thrum of the engines, sweat stinging at your eyes and prickling in your armpits. Seconds drew out into hours until at last your tires – all three of them – bumped down to land on the runway.

With a sigh of relief, you quickly pulled up on the flaps, frowning deeply as, with no engines to throw into reverse, the large object in motion seemed reluctant to come to a stop. Mortifyingly, you overshot the end of the runway, skidding to a halt some one hundred meters in the grass like a wet-behind-the-ears trainee, and yet…and yet both you and the plane that you had been charged with delivering were still in one piece. Not at all where you were intended to be, but landed safely, for now.

The sound of several vehicles approaching from down the runway refocused your attention and you pulled off your leather flying helmet, smoothing your hair before gathering your things into your flight bag. Climbing from the dead aircraft, you were greeted by a host of astonished male faces.

“Jesus Christ, she’s a dame!” One of the younger men exclaimed, not so quietly, from the back of the crowd and you did your best to keep a straight face.

“I’m so sorry to intrude on your airfield, gentlemen, ran into a little trouble during my flight. I appreciated the safe place to land.”

Several eyebrows shot up at your distinct lack of British accent, at least one astute gaze dropping to the gold wire weave badge bearing the name of your home country just below your shoulders.

“Well, we’re just glad you’re alright, ma’am. We got very nervous when we couldn’t raise you on the radio.” The owner of said astute, piercing blue gaze spoke, a hint of…New York, was it?...colouring his tone.

“Ah, of course, we aren’t connected to radio in the Air Transport Auxiliary, sorry for the confusion that must have caused.” Stepping forward you offered your hand as you introduced yourself. “Second Officer, ATA.”

“Robert Rosental, Major, United States Army Air Force. What happened up there?”

It took a moment to register that he had asked you a question, the feel of his palm pressing against yours as he shook your hand in greeting more than a little distracting. Inhaling sharply, you turned back to look at the troublesome aircraft.

“Rudder was slow to respond, then I started losing my instruments one-by-one before the left engine cut out. I was hoping to make it on the right, but when it started to go, I knew I had no choice to put it down as soon as possible.”

“You flew that all by yourself?” Another member of the crowd piped up and you nodded patiently.

“Standard practice in the ATA, just me.”

“Maybe that was the real problem.” It was hard to tell where exactly the snide comment, spoken under some ignorant boy’s breath, had originated from.

You noted a flash of anger in Major Rosenthal’s eyes before he started to scan the crowd for the source of it, but this sort of response was something you had certainly encountered before.

“I’m sorry I didn’t quite catch that, could whoever said that please repeat it? I’d really appreciate the opportunity to improve on the over seven hundred ferry flights I’ve made since 1941, including one hundred with this very type of plane, so please, speak up.” A sort of stunned silence overtook the group, several of the men wearing bemused smiles, others a look of shock, while the rest shuffled their feet awkwardly in the grass. “Hn. My loss, I suppose.”

“I’m assuming you’re a long ways from where you ought to be?” Major Rosenthal chimed in, the luscious thatch of hair of his upper lip highlighting the way his mouth hitched up at the corner in amusement.

“You would be correct, Major, might I impose upon you for the use of a telephone?”

Some directions were shouted to tow your aircraft to a spare hardstand as it seemed there were replacements planes of their own expected in a few hours and you turned to address the same man Rosenthal was giving orders to – Lemmons, you believed.

“Please be careful, its not a metal skin, it’s linen.”

The look of shock on the boy’s cherubic face framed by copious curls spilling from beneath his knit cap finally broke your control, a small grin sneaking onto your lips as Major Rosenthal led you over to his jeep. Unclipping your parachute from your waist, you tossed it and your flight bag into the back, sliding into your passenger’s seat and finally feeling the ability to relax somewhat.

“Over seven hundred flights?” He glanced at you as he drove, and you nodded softly.

“There are a lot of planes needing to be moved around this island.”

“And here I thought my boys had it rough needing to hit thirty…” He shook his head, driving past the control toward a sea of the all-too-familiar Nissen huts that populated every airfield you had ever visited.

“Ferry flights and combat missions are in no way comparable, Major, the worst thing I face up there is usually English weather.”

The pair of you shared a laugh as he pulled up in front of a long row of buildings. “My CO will want to talk with you, unexpected guest and all.”

“Of course, caused quite the ruckus didn’t I.” You laughed ruefully, sliding from the jeep to collect your gear, startled as he beat you to it.

“Follow me.” He nodded warmly, holding open the door to lead you inside.

After a brief meeting with a very busy Colonel Jeffrey where he put ‘Rosie’ at your disposal, you were ushered into an empty office to use the telephone and contact your superiors. Providing a detailed report of your flight, you were instructed to sit tight pending further directions – most likely an RAF repair crew would be dispatched to try and get the plane operational, but they were also loathe to keep you grounded and out of the rotation for too long. Providing them with Jeffrey’s secretary’s number as the point of contact, you stepped out of the office to find Major Rosenthal waiting patiently in the hallway.

“You must be starving…”

“I would not say no to some food, by any means.” You smirked and followed him back out to the jeep for the short drive to the officer’s mess. “You sure its alright for me to eat in here? RAF doesn’t usually…”

“I insist.” He nodded and opened the door for you once more.

With a grateful nod, you stepped into the space flooded with natural light where row on row of tables covered in crisp white linens stood empty. Given that it was an odd hour for a meal, somewhere between breakfast and lunch, it was no surprise that you were practically alone in there. A server in a white coat quickly approached and Major Rosenthal looked to you to place your order from the choices on offer before requesting just a coffee for himself, pulling out a chair for you to sit before setting your kit in the empty chair beside you.

“This is really quite civilized, thank you again. I apologize that I’m not really dressed for the occasion…”

He chuckled warmly and shook his head. “You look prettier than me after I fly, though I’m quite confident you start out that way, too.” He winked and you smiled shyly, busying yourself with laying your napkin across your lap.

Major Rosenthal was not the first handsome airman to cross your path in your line of work, there had been countless men who had either jeered or flattered you. But after opening your heart to several early on and promptly losing them to a ruthless enemy, you had learned better than to let yourself fall for such girlish stupidity again.

“Having a second breakfast Rosie? Oh…oh I’m sorry I didn’t see you were entertaining…”

“No apologies Croz, one of the lovely ladies of the Air Transport Auxiliary dropped in for a visit.” He grinned and introduced you properly to his friend and Group Navigator Harry Crosby who was apparently only finishing his breakfast now.

“A pleasure, well I’ll leave you two to it. Make sure Rosie tells you about his love of jazz.” His knowing grin at his friend drew an exasperated exhale from Rosenthal, but before he could protest, the server was returning with food and hot beverages that were fit to make your mouth water and Crosby had disappeared.

“I don’t think I realized quite how hungry I was…” You murmured, fixing your drink to your liking before seizing your utensils to dive in.

“Well then, please, enjoy.” He leaned back, cradling his cup in his hands to allow you to enjoy your meal.

After a few bites, once you were feeling somewhat less ravenous, you tilted your head. “Artie Shaw or Benny Goodman?”

He raised an eyebrow slowly before huffing an incredulous laugh. “Artie Shaw, if I must.”

You nodded thoughtfully as you took a deep sip of your beverage.

“What other planes have you flown in your seven hundred ferry flights?” He parried with a question of his own.

“Oh, all sorts - Tiger Moths, Hurricanes, Mosquitos, Spitfires.”

He nodded thoughtfully, smoothing the edge of his moustache with his forefinger. “Favorite plane to fly?” He inquired.

“To fly? Spitfire, without a doubt.” You answered easily, licking a bit of food from your upper lip. “That plane knows what I want it to do before I even think it. Landing however…one the test pilots famously said, ‘she’s a lady in the air but a bi–’” you quickly cut yourself off with a rueful twist of your lips “she’s something else ‘on the ground.’” You finished the quote with more appropriate language inserted.

Rosenthal’s eyes danced with mirth as he enjoyed a hearty laugh at that and you could not help but notice the reddish hue to the whiskers on his upper lip, highlighted by the sunlight streaming in the windows. You wondered if that was where he had gotten the nickname ‘Rosie.’ Jarring yourself from such dangerous thoughts, you quickly turned back to your meal and peppered him with more questions about American jazz greats, enjoying the way he enthusiastically and engagingly spoke about the various band leaders he preferred and why before turning back to you with further questions about your service in the ATA and life before that. Conversation came dangerously easy between the two of you, an undeniable overlap of interests and motivation to contribute.

You were admittedly attracted to the man as well, but for the sake of your sanity, that was something you were going to have to set aside for as long as he continued his brave yet perilous missions over enemy territory. The mess gradually began to fill as true lunch time arrived, your meal and his coffee long finished, and you were about to get up and find somewhere else to wait out the repair crew when one of the servers approached with a message that they had already arrived and were looking for you.

A short drive to the hardstand revealed the four RAF men hard at work on the Wellington under the curious eye of Lemmons and others who were occasionally drifting by.

“When I get my hands on whatever git did this to this poor Wimpy…” You could hear the threats and grumblings emanating from inside the fuselage and pressed your lips together, hoping it was the previous repairperson they had it out for and not you.

“Gentlemen?” You popped your head into the bomber and were greeted by several flustered men.

“Ah there you are Ma’am, how on earth did you keep this lobotomized plane in the air for so long?!”

“Well you know, a good old Wimpy can always get you home…or at least a friendly field.”

“We’ve got…a good few hours ahead of us but then I think you’ll be able to finish the last leg of the journey.”

“Thank you very much, I’m sorry to take you away from your more pressing work. Can I get you anything?”

“Crew Chief Lemmons has been very helpful, Ma’am, but thank you.”

You offered the young man a smile of thanks over your shoulder before shuffling over to set your belongings on the grass. The afternoon was fair, the weather still warm, so you figured it was as good a place as any to wait it out. To your surprise and pleasure, Rosenthal settled onto the ground beside you, picking up your conversation right where you left off as you listened to the men work through the thin skin of the aircraft, watching the sun make its way to the western sky to sink toward the horizon.

“You know, Major, you really ought to come visit London some time. We may not have Artie Shaw or Benny Goodman live in concert but there’s still a great deal of jazz to be enjoyed.”

“Please, you can call me Rosie if you’d like.” He smiled softly and you nodded in response, not wanting to have been so bold without his permission. “You stationed that close that you can just pop into the jazz clubs?”

You nodded quickly. “White Waltham, near Windsor Castle. Very short train ride. Used to fly with the Spitfire girls out of Southampton but I wanted a chance to fly the twin engines…maybe even someday I’ll get inside a Halifax or a Lanc…but that was definitely not going to happen in a ferry pool right next to the Spitfire factory flying only short-range flights.”

“These four engine beasts are definitely a whole other ball game,” He gestured with a thumb over his shoulder towards a B-17 looming behind him, dwarfing the Wellington with is height and breadth “would you still be alone?”

“ATA sends a flight engineer on four engine flights, but no co-pilot.”

He nodded thoughtfully, looking about to add something when the RAF repair crew suddenly emerged, grinning in satisfaction.

“Should be all set Ma’am, care to give it a whirl?”

Nodding quickly, you looked to your companion softly. “Thank you very much for an unexpectedly pleasant standby, Rosie.”

“My pleasure.” He responded with a grin, sliding to his feet and holding out his hand to pull you to yours.

Clipping your parachute in place on the back of your thighs, you slid on your helmet before climbing into the aircraft to try starting the engines. Running through an extended pre-flight check with one of the maintenance crew, they cleared you for take off, Rosie waving to you before driving off in the direction of the control tower. Beginning to taxi out, you could not help the grin as he returned to guide you down the runway, pulling off into the grass and waving once again from where he stood in the driver’s seat of his jeep.

Opening the cockpit window you shouted down to him, “See you in London, Rosie!” before taking off to the sound of his laughter.

To your delight, Rosie heeded your suggestion and made the trip to London – several times in fact, over the course of the winter, otherwise keeping in touch with you via letter. Despite the logical, cautious part of your brain demanding that you keep your feelings for him at bay, feelings that constantly threatened to swell and overwhelm you with each passing meeting and letter, you still found yourself constantly fretting for his safety. Awaiting his next contact, the next proof of life, with bated breath and firmly denied distraction whenever a friend or colleague would tease you about it.

How utterly rude it was of fate to throw such a perfect specimen in your path. Particularly one that could so very easily be taken away with the same rapidity. For not only was he breathtakingly handsome, but his understated confidence and capability in all things so far encountered simply made you yearn to discover his more hidden talents. To have survived so long in an occupation where the life expectancy was six-weeks, just forty-two days, and then sign up for a second tour after meeting his mission quota – yes, he’d had luck on his side thus far, but you had seen luck abandon far too many in the last few years.

The driving pace of your own worked helped distract you, undertaking training in the four engine Halifax bomber in December before the calendar turned to January 1945, and then onto February. Your commanding officer soon indicated you had nearly accumulated enough hours to begin flying Lancasters – much to your delight and eager anticipation. The pace of the production and demand on the frontlines required more ferry pilots for the British answer to the B-17 and you were more than ready to meet the challenge head on.

Not far into the month, however, you found yourself stranded near Diss on a weather delay, unable to fly back to White Waltham. With no trains until the next morning, you decided to hitch a ride to Thorpe Abbotts to take Rosie up on his standing offer to ‘drop by anytime.’ What greeted you, however, was a very concerned looking Crosby and no Rosie in sight. Sitting you down in the same spare office you had used to call in your emergency landing last October, the obviously under-slept man seemed to be having some difficulty getting down to the point.

“Major Crosby, I can assure you I am no stranger to the variety of outcomes of aerial combat, would you mind telling me as much as you are able before you asphyxiate from lack of oxygen?” You coaxed firmly, quite certain he had not taken a breath in over a minute as he paced anxiously in front of you.

His head jerked up at the sound of your voice and he nodded once before sinking heavily into the chair opposite you before taking a deep breath, to your minor relief, and beginning to speak.

“Rosie went up on a mission on the 3rd and we’ve had no news of him since he dropped out of formation.”

Your spine went completely rigid, snapping you almost painfully upright in your chair as you nodded in a cool, detached manner at the news. This. This was precisely the reason why you had been guarding your heart and fighting your feelings and putting every moment of wonderment and each smile of adoration you felt for the man in a small internal box for safe keeping. Because this very situation had seemed so very inevitable.

So why did it still hurt so damn much.

“No news is, is usually good news in these cases but it takes a while for us to hear…. well anything.”

You gulped once, twice in rapid succession as you nodded again before clearing your throat forcefully. “Well, Major, I have to go but,” grabbing a piece of paper from the desk, you scrawled the contact number for Ferry Pool No. 1, rapidly blinking as your eyes threatened to cloud over with tears “will you call if you hear anything? That you can share of course.”

“Of course I will, did you need a ride somewhere?”

You shook your head almost violently, looking forward to the walk to the pub in Diss, a good roadside cry would fix everything surely, before you had to show your face in public. Practically dashing out of there and off the base, you barely made it out of earshot of the gatehouse before your tears bubbled over. Fine lot of good all your cautious and careful planning had done you – you had been half a person in Rosie’s presence only to have the very emotions you willfully denied snap back at you tenfold now that he might very well be…and you never once got to see how his eyes might light up if you had told him how you really felt. Feel.

All the logic in the world could not save you now as you blindly sobbed your way towards town, stubbornly wiping at your nose with your handkerchief. If you had really lost him, a very real possibility that twisted your gut painfully and drew an extremely dramatic series of hitching sobs from your breast, he had deserved better. He had deserved to know that he was cherished and admired rather than just a friend to you, and on that front, you had failed so miserably you just might never forgive yourself.

The weeks of watchful waiting were long and painful. No news came, no messages awaited you at Pool Headquarters, no gossip on the bases you visited. Until the morning of the 26th when, to your great relief, and amusement, you learned that the man was alive and well, enjoying a hero’s stay in Moscow, of all places. The newspaper article quoting the absurd volume of vodka he had endured consuming brought a long-absent smile to your face and lightness to your chest, the news beating Major Crosby’s phone call by, at most, thirty minutes. All as you were on your way with your flight engineer to your first routine Lancaster ferry flight.

Climbing into the cockpit, you took the brief moment of solitude to close your eyes, inhaling deeply as you whispered words of gratitude to whatever higher entities had clearly been watching over him. Perhaps luck was never going to run out for Robert Rosenthal. Clearly you were a fool for thinking that was the eventuality here.

“Ma’am?” The timid voice of your flight engineer, Naylor – though everyone called him Tiny Tim for the young man hardly ever spoke above a whisper, pierced through your thoughts and you jolted back to reality quickly, offering him a reassuring smile.

“Let’s pop over to Wales and deliver this bird, shall we?” You did your best to display nothing but confidence in the task before you.

He smiled back with a nod, just as eager as you to get this great beast of a plane into the air. To say that heavies became the primary planes on your delivery roster would have been an overstatement, but they were most definitely a constant. As was the ever-present thought that someday soon you would find yourself face-to-face with Rosie once again and just how to handle that day of reckoning was certainly something you found impossible to decide upon.

Should you confess and apologize on sight? Wait for a few weeks for him to settle back into life on base before unloading your feelings onto him? Or continue on as you had before? The way your stomach plummeted like a wounded bird at the last option was a clear illustration of how impossible it would be to pretend you simply regarded him as a friend. But there was a growing fear as well. For all of your focus on concealing and compartmentalizing your own feelings, you had not once allowed yourself to consider how he might feel for you. Aside from some flattering comments that may have been construed as flirtatious, he had never displayed anything but the highest calibre of warmth and social graces towards you. But you found yourself constantly pondering just how Rosie might react to a confession of what had flickered into an irrepressible blaze in your chest.

In the end, you spent more time sitting with those concerns than those for his very well being, the unseasonable warmth of February continuing on into March, with more sunny days than you had grown accustomed to after living in England for so long. April was only a few days away on the calendar when your next ferry run took to you St. Mawgan to deliver a Lancaster to the RAF Overseas Aircraft Despatch Unit. Where exactly the aircraft’s journey would end was a point of mystery and you were admittedly envious of the pilot who would sit in the lefthand seat next and take it beyond the relative safety of England’s shores – territory that was strictly off limits to you as both a civilian and especially as a woman.

Parting with your flight Engineer Martens in the all-female WAAF mess, the girl avidly ensconced in a conversation comparing beaus with the girls stationed in Cornwall, you headed back out to pick up a damaged Spitfire that had just arrived from France, desperately in need of a visit to the repair depot. In the process of inspecting the aircraft, to ensure you knew precisely what damage you would be needing to overcome, a remarkably familiar voice broke through your concentration.

“She certainly still looks like a lady on the ground…rather mistreated, but definitely a lady nonetheless.”

Straightening and turning far too quickly, you cracked your head on the underside of the fuselage, earning a look of sympathy as his hands cupped your shoulders to pull you closer, out of danger of inflicting further harm to yourself.

“Rosie…” You whispered, staring at him, unable to stop your fingers from reaching out to brush his cheek, to confirm he was real.

The muscles of his face crinkled beneath your touch as he broke out into a smile, an expression you immediately echoed despite the unbidden prick of tears in the corners of your eyes.

“Hi there.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed sharply, face growing slightly solemn as he lay his hand atop yours, pressing your palm fully against his warm skin. “I’ve been a complete fool, and I’m not sure if you can forgive me.” You tilted your head, brows furrowing in bewilderment. “The world out there is dead set on tearing itself apart and I…” His tongue darted out to wet his lips nervously, an emotion you were quite confident you had never seen overcome him before. “The entire time I was struggling to get back here just to tell you. To tell you how much I care for you. You are much more than just a friend to me, and I was an idiot to think I was okay with putting this off until the war was over.”

Eyes widening as the man seemed to be stealing the very thoughts from your head and putting them into words before you even had the chance, you sniffled playful and wiped at a stray tear that had managed to sneak down your cheek. “Don’t you go taking all the credit now, Robert.” You chided warmly, earning a stunned look from him in return. “It has taken two complete fools to deny what we’ve become, wouldn’t you say?”

Huffing a soft laugh, Rosie conceded your point with a nod as he grasped the unbuckled ends of your leather flying helmet, tugging your face closer. “I love you, you incredible woman.”

Taking a notably shaky inhale, you nodded quickly, a few more tears spilling over. “I love you, too, Rosie.” You struggled to speak around the knot of emotions in your throat, fully intending to reciprocate with some sweet term of endearment, not quite certain you could manage.

Mercifully, his lips had the grace to press against yours and save you from trying to say anything more. Grasping the fleece collar of his bomber jacket, you pressed closer in the shadow of the plane you ought to be inspecting, but the Spitfire was doing a fine job of shielding you from prying eyes and five more minutes in the arms of the man you loved – yes, it was love – and had been separated from could easily be made up courtesy of the stiff tail wind you expected on your flight to Southampton.

The rasp of his facial hair made you shiver at the slightly ticklish sensation as he maintained a firm grip on your straps, delivering kiss after kiss as if to make up for lost time. An uncontrollable grin stretched across your lips, making it nearly impossible for him to continue and so he shifted to focus on erasing any trace of tears from your cheeks, only encouraging your grin to curl wider until you were simultaneously giggling and trembling at the feel of his moustache against your jaw.

“Someday, we’ll have a lot more time, and I’m going to spend every second of it kissing you…” His eyes were filled with a fiery intensity that made it awfully difficult to draw breath and you shifted forward to press your lips to his flushed cheek in turn.

“I’m going to hold you to that, Robert Rosenthal.” You nodded firmly as you pulled back, arching sharply as his hands slid to rest against your shoulder blades, his mouth landing on yours fiercely.

“First Officer, are you quite ready?!” The shrill bark of an encroaching member of St. Mawgan’s ground crew wrenched the pair of you apart as effectively as a physical intervention, a shared look of reluctance passing between you as you quickly straightened your clothing.

You noticed his eyes flick to your shoulders to admire your new rank badges.

“You’ve been busy.” He murmured and you smiled with quiet pride.

“Fly Lancasters now, too.” You nodded and pointed over his shoulder to the plane you had flown in that morning before turning to address your intruder as he called your name once more. “Nearly ready, thank you so much for your patience!” You poured on the sweetness in your tone, noting the way Rosie’s eyes narrowed slightly as they returned to your face.

Biting back a giggle you blew him a kiss before emerging around the nose to greet the harried RAF man. “Major Rosenthal of the USAAF has never seen a Spitfire before, he asked me to show him around.”

“Thank you again for your indulgence, Ma’am, they are definitely fine planes. But I will let you get on with it.” Rosie played his part admirably, the set of the intruder’s shoulders easing somewhat.

“Yes, yes, well we need you out of here in five.” He turned to look at the clipboard in his hand and your gaze met Rosie’s once more.

“It was my pleasure, Major. I’d best be off.”

“Of course.” He nodded firmly, eyes remaining locked on yours as he mouthed ‘love you’ making your heart lurch erratically for a few beats as you mouthed it back. “Safe flight.” You spoke aloud.

“You as well.”

Noting the RAF man was once again paying attention to his surroundings, you turned to finish your quick once over of the plane before stepping up onto the wing and slotting into the narrow cockpit before pulling the side flap closed and starting the engine. Once the coast was clear, you blew one last kiss to Rosie, laughing brightly as he made quite a show of catching it and tucking it into his pocket.

“Until next time!” He shouted and you nodded brightly, pulling the canopy closed.

Because there most definitely would be a next time for you and your man of endless luck, and that was something that you no longer wished to deny.

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

Masters of the Air Masterlist

Postscript - thank you ever so much to @precious-little-scoundrel for proofreading this for me!!

[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!

[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.”