#croz and jean
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It's Been A Long, Long Time
(sage said "imagine this guy meeting his baby son for the first time and I couldn't get it out of my head)
(@sagesolsticewrites @liebgottsjumpwings @trashbag-baby666 @ginabaker1666 @precious-little-scoundrel)
You survey yourself in the mirror for what feels like the one thousandth time, nerves bubbling up from your stomach and reaching your throat, threatening to spill out like fire from a dragon's mouth. You smooth your dress with your hands, a soft rose pink color that compliments your dark hair perfectly. You smile at yourself, the memory of trying it on in front of your husband comes back to you, when he was home on leave all those months ago, and the way his soft brown eyes had lit up the second he'd seen you in it.
“Oh, darling,” he had murmured in your ear as he held you close. “I think this is my new favorite,” his pretty hands suddenly all over your body and his lips upon yours, the touch you'd been craving for years.
You come back to yourself, your knees weak at the memory of that wonderful time, finding your hand clutched to your chest to slow your heartbeat. Tiptoeing quietly about the bedroom, you make it to your dressing table, adding a silver necklace and bracelet set that Harry had gifted you on your wedding day - you'd given him a pair of cufflinks, your initials engraved upon them, him smiling sweetly at you as he'd opened the black box in which they were wrapped. Grinning, you stab an earring into your ear, dropping the back of it as you attempt to move your hair out the way.
“Oh, bother,” you whisper, bending down to retrieve it from where it has dramatically rolled underneath the table. You bend with all your might to grab it, scrambling on the long pile carpet, when suddenly you lose balance, grabbing on to the table to try save yourself. The table slams against the wall, and you brace yourself, lips clamped together, silently hoping that the baby could sleep through it.
A loud, long cry from across the room makes it obvious that the sudden sound was too much, and your son in the crib next to your bed is wailing so hard that his little face is turning beetroot red. You pick him up and attempt to soothe him back to sleep. “Shhh, little man. It's okay,” you coo, kissing his warm face and wiping his tears away. “I'm so sorry. Mama is just a clutz!” You laugh, an attempt to diffuse the tension that's crawling through your body. Seeing the signs that your baby may be gassy, you carefully hold him upright, his body on your chest and his head over your shoulder.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let's get this burp out.” You pat his back 1-2-3, 1-2-3, maintaining a steady rhythm, all while bobbing up and down. A large burp ripples through your infant, shocking him so much that his sweet little head bobs back a little. As if in slow motion, you hear another airy burp leave him - followed by a stream of warm spit up dripping down your shoulder and ruining your dress. You hold the baby out at arms length, inspecting his clothes. He's clean, of course he is. It's just you, the pink material of your dress now spattered with white mottled liquid.
“Darn it!” you whimper, placing the now much happier baby back in his crib, his eyes heavy again from all the excitement. “Little guy,” you say mostly to yourself. “You know this is papa's favorite. Couldn't you have saved all that for the hideous yellow one I wear to church?” You giggle as you catch sight of it, the yellow so bright that it makes you slightly nauseous, not just the smell of your current self causing your nose to wrinkle. With a sigh, you pull off the pretty pink material and unceremoniously try and throw it in the laundry basket. You miss. Of course you do.
Pulling a cornflower blue number over your head and hoping your son keeps the milk to himself this time, you eventually get back to pushing your delicate diamond earrings through your earlobes, taking a deep breath and basking in the success that your outfit is finally complete. Adjusting to being a new mom is hard by itself, but going through the whole experience alone with just letters from your husband was excruciating. The morning sickness with nobody to soothe you and hold you, nobody to place a cool washcloth on your head after you'd been hugging the cold porcelain, your knees red raw and bruised from kneeling over the bowl for what felt like hours. No strong hands being able to rub your tummy, placing one there gently to feel his baby kick. You'd imagined it, though, his doe eyes wide as saucers as he'd stifle his emotion, trying to stop the tears. “Wow,” he'd say, looking at you in amazement. “This is incredible.” You think he'd kiss your growing bump, then kiss you, before placing his head on your chest, his hand remaining on your stomach. The thought of all this lost time is enough for a sob to catch in your throat and cause hot tears to stream down your face. Wiping them away as fast as they come so as not to ruin your makeup, you try and get it together and catch a glimpse at the clock on the wall: 11am.
You run downstairs, hoping for just a few minutes of peace before the baby inevitably wakes up to eat and have a clean diaper again. You want to sit down with a book, but you can't seem to focus, the words all blending together on the page and making your head swim. Trying to shake the nerves, you begin to pace your living room, taking deep breaths every time you reach each end of the room.
You don't know how long you stay like that, basically catatonic as you go back and forth. Feeling like it could be hours, you jump when you hear a loud rap at the door. Rushing toward it, trying your best to smooth every wrinkle from your outfit, you try and compose yourself before opening the door to see your husband for the first time in almost a year. He's in his uniform, the hat slightly bent out of shape at the top. He looks extremely handsome, his pretty mouth spread in a grin at the sight of you. You run towards him, leaping into his arms and wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms wrap around your back, pulling you in as close as he possibly can.
“Darling,” he whispers in your ear. You feel his whole body relax under your hands as you hold him, your hands going up to stroke the back of his neck, your face buried in him to breathe in his delicious scent that you'd missed so terribly. “You look–wow, Jean. So so beautiful,” his eyes softening when he takes you in, just like you knew they would. He leans forward and plants a soft kiss on your lips, his hand cupping your cheek.
“Hi, honey,” you say, as you wipe your tears. “Welcome home. There's someone upstairs you should meet.” The realization dawns on him, and his mouth drops open, nervous. You take his hand and pull him inside, smiling at him all the while. He pauses, gripping your hand a little tighter.
“W-wait, Jean,” he stutters, his eyes downcast and his teeth clamped nervously to his bottom lip. He breathes out, his shoulders sagging slightly. “What if…what if he doesn't like me?”
“Oh, my darling. Don't think like that. He loves you already.” You walk back toward your husband, wrapping him in your arms. “I've shared so many stories with him already, Bing. How we met, how wonderful you always are. Where you've been all this time. The fun times you shared with his Uncle Bubbles…and the newer good times with Uncle Rosie, too,” you pause, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, your hand remaining on his cheek. “And, every time I tell him a story about his Papa, he listens so intently. His eyes are as sweet and pretty as yours, my love, and I see how focused he is on me when I talk of you. He coos whenever anyone says his Papa's name. He looks just like you, Harry.” You pause, surveying the emotion etched on his face. “Please, come and meet your son. He's been kept waiting long enough, darling.” You both giggle at one another, him leaning over and kissing you gently on the cheek.
You lead him from the hallway to the bedroom, the baby cooing, for once wide awake and not crying. You feel your husband take a deep breath, the exhale quivering as he catches sight of the tiny bundle in the crib next to your side of the bed. He walks towards him, instantly scooping him up into his arms.
“Hi, buddy,” he whispers, his lips clamped together to try and stop the tears from pouring out of him. He is, however, unsuccessful, a sob escaping from his mouth as he takes in every feature of his son. “He's so small, honey,” he whimpers, looking between the two of you. You walk over to join them, relieved that your family is now finally together. You hold your husband as he keeps looking at the baby, trying to memorize every part of him. His hand reaches out and strokes the baby's face, the little guy relaxing under his father's touch instantly and his eyes closing, the baby falling asleep without needing extra help for the first time ever.
“Wow,” you blink in amazement. “That usually takes me about an hour. You're magical, my love.” He smiles, planting a kiss on your forehead.
“I'm so happy to be home, Jean. So darn happy to be with you, and our son. Now, let me change and I'll make sure you get some rest. You've been doing this all alone, honey. It's my turn now.”
Soon enough, you're all in your most comfortable clothes and laying on the bed together. Harry had only put the baby down for a moment to change, before scooping him back up in his strong arms, once again cooing at him, already telling him stories of B-17s, airsickness and England. You lay on your pillow, watching your husband with his son and savoring the beautiful moment. You drift off to the sound of his voice, the comfort you've craved for months.
“Wow, buddy,” he exhales, his words shaking slightly. “We sure do have a lot to catch up on! But first, let me start with telling you about your uncle, Bubbles Payne…”
part two
masterlist
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is there anyone out there writing a Buck has two hands fic in regards to the Bucky and Marge situation? Because I've yet to see one and I would in fact like to. Like Bucky and Marge don't necessarily need to be holding hands too (though that would be nice) but like has nobody just taken a look at that and gone Ah! Polyamory.
#Croz also has two hands#and Jean and Bubbles are def holding hands to me#so if yall have those fics too please send them my way#mota#mota fanfic#masters of the air#dana rambles#i just hate a love triangle that's not a genuine triangle#why have drama when you can just have smooches
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youtube
Me to Croz after part 7
#harry crosby#mota#masters of the air#mota spoilers#dude i tried so hard to justify the longing gazes croz held and sandra's looks#like i tried to downplay the chemistry in ep 6#i wanted to believe that harry crosby was a respectful man that was attracted but keeping his distance#AHHHHH#but then ep 7 happened#girl what#sandra knew he had a wife#i had so much respect for them having a close friendship and him being vulnerable to her#like it's fine to be attracted to multiple people#but like dudeeee#Why you gotta#do that to jean#in some way i feel betrayed cuz if i was jean i be so sad#i hope the real harry crosby didn't do that#dude i kept waiting for jean to come to guilt him or for her to write another letter#but it's just brushed over#dude i still haven't finished part 7 cuz I'm shook#idk i still love the character harry croz but this kinda ruined both jean and croz for me a bit#like sandra was such a boss character in ep 6#they had great chemistry and there she was so cool rooming w him without a problem#but now she just reduced to a love interest rip#this how i can tell there isn't female writers doing this#apparently crosby's family was split 50/50 on whether the affair happened#and they agreed to have him portrayed like this#but idk if they were given a specific script cuz.... idk man#i wouldn't want my father/grandfather portrayed as cheating ahhh
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Thinking about that scene in the finale when Rosie invites Croz’s baby to a jazz club like “Take it up with Freddie and in 9 months you can take your own baby to the jazz club, Rosie.”
too true. rosie can’t wait to have a tiny version of him and freddie to cart around with him. that baby is going everywhere with him when he’s not working
#unfortunately they do wait a little while first#but can you imagine the baby fever when they visit croz and jean and the baby?#asks#watm
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Too sweet
John Egan X RedCross! Reader
Summary: When Y/n breaks up with Harry Crosby, Bucky goes to help her...
Warning: Asshole!Harry Crosby/+18/ smut/ riding/ unprotected sex/ p in v/ hickey/ swearing/ kissing/ alcohol/ use of Y/n
Word count: 2.7k
The band was playing as Y/n and Harry Crosby made their way into the room. It was a party for someone’s 25th mission. Y/n was excited to drink what the barman was going to propose, words on the street was that he was good with fruity drinks. It was something new for the base, they usually drank whiskey, rhum and coca cola. ‘’I’ve heard that he makes new drinks, fruitier than your usual whiskey’’ she joked, but Crosby was not laughing. He was growing tired of Y/n’s sunshine personality. He liked her, but he liked her body more. They were just having sex at first, to blow off some steam, but Y/n started to visit him, and Crosby didn’t have to balls to tell her that it was just sex.
‘’He doesn’t deserve her’’ John Egan said to his friend, Buck. ‘’I completely agree with you, he seems tired of her’’ he adds. Ever since she came on the base as a Red Cross volunteer, Bucky was in awe of her. She was so beautiful, and she had this confident attitude that attracted the Major. Bucky kept looking at her from across the room as Crosby dragged her in front of the bar. ‘’You should convince her to, y’a know, leave him’’ Rosie Rosenthal said, taking a sip of his drinks as he joined the conversation. Egan’s head turned to look at Rosie, questioning his motive, but still, John agreed with him. Helen joined the men, with her drink in the hand, she came next to Rosie. ‘’I heard that he’s the missionary king. Kinda boring if you want my opinion’’ she took a sip, smirking. Gale Cleven scoffed before looking at Y/n, the woman looked desperate for someone to save her.
She adjusted her dress, the one she wore for him. It was bright red, the buttons stopped in the middle of her breast, exposing cleavage, the dress stopped mid thigh. It was beautiful, Y/n thought she looked amazing in it; but when Harry Crosby saw her, he just said that she looked nice. It pained her, she put a lot of effort in her look to just be told that she looked nice. ‘’I’ll have a whiskey, neat’’ Crosby ordered. Y/n stuttered a little bit, she didn’t know what to say. She looked at the menu, filled with colorful drinks before choosing one with grenadine and gin. Helen came to her rescue, pulling her away from Crosby as Y/n grabbed her drink. ‘’I’m borrowing her’’ Helen said to Harry. She almost spilled her drink, but when she sat on the table, Helen looked at her. ‘’Him? Y/n you deserve better’’ she stated. ‘’We’re not official, and he’s really tired, his job is hard.’’ she excused him, again. Helen rolled her eyes, before looking at John Egan. ‘’By the look of things, you’ll never be official with him. He looks bored’’ she tries to reason her friend. Y/n fidgeted with her fingers, taking a sip of her drink. It was really tasty! ‘’It’s complicated, he’s still with Jean’’ Y/n whispered. Helen choked on her drink, almost spitting it. ‘’WHAT?!’’ she exclaimed; Y/n looked at the ground.
John Egan was looking at Y/n, that red dress suited her perfectly. She was breathtaking. When they heard Helen exclaim loudly, Buck and Rosie looked at each other. ‘’Holy shit’’ Rosie chuckled as he read Helen’s lips. ‘’What?’’ Bucky asked, looking at Rosie. ‘’If I understand correctly, he’s still with his wife’’ Rosie whispered. Bucky started to laugh. ‘’Harry Crosby, you son of a bitch’’ he mumbled, chuckling. Harry Crosby made his way into the crowd, looking for Y/n, when he got to her, he practically pulled her away from her chair. Y/n walked past Bucky, smiling to him as she was being dragged in the room.
‘’Another whiskey, neat please’’ he ordered the same thing. Y/n tried a lot of things, it was all good, she tried to convince Harry to try other things, but he was sticking with his whiskey neat. ‘’Croz, the Cosmopolitan is really good, I’m sure you’ll like – ‘’ Harry Crosby slammed his hand on the table, not to strong, but loud enough to make the woman flinch. ‘’Goddamnit, Y/n, for the last time. I don’t want to try your fruity drinks! God, how many times do I have to tell you?!’’ he said, aggressively. ‘’I, uh, I’’ she stuttered, in shock of what just happened. ‘’You and your sweet stuff. *scoff*, pathetic. Why can’t you just be like Jean, obedient and silent. No, I have to deal with your sweet and ‘I always see things in a positive way’ bullshit. Your just too sweet for me!’’ he spat. The waiter put his whiskey on the table. Y/n had enough, she took his glass and got up her seat. ‘’You know what? I’d like to see things for your point of view, but I can’t get my head so far up my ass. Fuck you Harry Crosby, we’re done. Go back to your wife, you must miss her after all!’’ she said as she threw his whiskey on him.
That’s my girl! That’s what John Egan thought when he saw Y/n throw whiskey on Harry Crosby. He had it coming for a while now. He was so proud of her; he had a huge grin on his face. ‘’Go after her’’ Helen suggested, and that’s what he did. He saw her going outside, so that’s where he went. ‘’Y/n, wait!’’ he called her out. She had pure anger running through her veins. But she knew that it wasn’t Crosby going after her. She turned around and saw him. ‘’Bucky, hi’’ she cleared her throat. ‘’Are you okay? I, uh, saw the scene’’ he scratched the back of his head. She replaced her hair, looking at Bucky. ‘’Yeah, he's such an asshole’’ she scoffed. John walked closer to her, she wasn’t crying, but she was angry at Crosby. ‘’You want to get out of here?’’ he asked her, she tilted her head in confusion. ‘’Where would we go?’’ she asked. ‘’Not out of the base, but out of this aera, where he could come out’’ he clarified. She nodded as John led her gently to his Jeep.
They entered the woman’s quarters, but they were empty, since everyone was at the party. ‘’By the way, you look astonishing in that dress.’’ He complimented her. Her cheeks grew red as she bit her bottom lip. ‘’Thank you, Bucky, I, uh, you look handsome too’’ she stuttered. ‘’Those drinks looked really good; I wished I tasted one’’ he said. Y/n smiled, truly happy. That’s all he had to do, was it so hard Harry? ‘’Yeah, they were’’ she whispers as she awkwardly looks around the room. ‘’Can I ask you a question?’’ he asked her. She nodded as she sat on her bed. ‘’Why were you with him?’’ he asks. Y/n smiles as she thinks. ‘’Honestly, I thought he was going to be nice and caring. But he wasn’t, and the sex was bad’’ she blurted out the last part, putting her hand in front of her mouth in shock. ‘’God, I’m sorry, please forget I said that’’ she chuckles nervously. ‘’Don’t worry, I already knew that Helen told me’’ he confessed.
They’ve been talking for a while now; nurses were starting to come back. ‘’You have to go; you’re not supposed to be here’’ Y/n signs. John got up, so did Y/n. ‘’I’m not ready for this night to be over’’ he confesses. She blushes as she looks at him. ‘’Me neither’’ she whispers. Bucky smirks as she takes her hand, leading her outside. They got up in his Jeep as they went inside Bucky’s quarters, since he was important on the base, he had his own room. It was in the building where everyone lived, but still, it gave him a little bit of privacy. ‘’Don’t worry about them’’ he whispered as she saw men on their bed. Some men were already sleeping, others were reading and the ones that looked at her were smiling, because they saw what happened with Crosby.
When they entered his room, she felt a weird sense of déjà vu. She’d been here, in this building multiple times with Crosby, but now, she felt like she was important. When she was here, they would have fast and boring sex, usually in missionary. After sex, Harry would fall asleep, he fell asleep around 3pm, leaving Y/n alone, bored and unsatisfied. ‘’What’s going on in your pretty head?’’ Bucky asked as he closed the door. ‘’Nothing, I’m happy to be here’’ she said, not too loudly. Bucky smiled; she was so beautiful. She got comfortable, taking her shoes off and taking a seat on his bed, where he joined her after taking off his jacket. He was a little bit nervous, only because she was so beautiful. ‘’What did Helen told you, y’a know, about the sex?’’ she asked, smiling. Bucky chuckled and looked at her in the eyes. ‘’That he was the missionary king, and it was boring’’ he explains. ‘’Yeah, uh, she’s right.’’ She laughed nervously. ‘’He was that bad?’’ he asked. Y/n nodded as she blushes. ‘’He was’’ she whispers.
The air in the small room felt hot and thick. They’ve been talking about sex for a while and Y/n was hot, the small room was not helping. ‘’Tell me something true’’ Y/n said. He let out a breath before finding the courage to say what he was about to say. ‘’I really want to kiss you right now’’ he breathed out. Her breath caught in her throat as she blinked and looked at him. ‘’Tell me something true, Y/n.’’ he said seductively. She didn’t even have to think twice. ‘’I really want you to kiss me’’ she breathed out. She looked at his eyes, then his lips and his eyes again. Their face was so close, the air in the room was so heavy. Bucky put his hands on her cheek before pressing his lips on hers. The kiss felt like sunrise, it felt so good. Harry Crosby wasn’t a good kisser, but John Egan was a really good kisser. They pulled away to catch their breaths. ‘’Please… Don’t stop’’ she whispered. ‘’I wasn’t planning on it’’ he smirked. Their lips crashed against the other again, this time, it was more intense. Bucky hands trailed down her body, he laid down on the bed, making Y/n got on his lap.
His hands were getting under her skirt, trailing on her thighs, getting closer to her panties. ‘’That red dress is driving me crazy’’ he mumbled against her lips. Her hips grinned against his lap, she felt him growing hard under her. ‘’At least, someone found it hot’’ she chuckled. ‘’Yeah, more than hot – ‘’ his hips buckled, making her feel his boner. ‘’- Feel that? That’s what that dress does to me’’ he smirked. ‘’Just a dress? It doesn’t take you much’’ she giggles. He scoffed before kissing her neck. ‘’Yeah, just that. You looked like a goddess’’ he sucked the skin on her neck, making a mark. She was out of breath, she wasn’t used to this much foreplay, she felt a little dizzy, but it was in the best way possible. His hands were still on her thighs, playing with her panties, taunting her a little bit. But, even if she loved what was happening, she was frustrated, she needed Bucky right now. ‘’Major, I need you. I love the foreplay and stuff, but please; I need you’’ she breathed out. He smirked as he reached her panties. ‘’Whatever you want, darling’’ he said as he took her panties off. Her hands reached his belt, she unbuckled it as she eagerly watched him. ‘’As long as I love this dress, I want to see you’’ he said, unbuttoning her dress. ‘’Then, let me see you’’ she replied, looking at him.
They quickly undressed before going in the same position they were in before. She was naked, on top of him, Bucky was also naked. She was soaking wet, she wasn’t used to this much attention, so it turned her on a lot. ‘’Ride me, sweetheart, c’mon’’ he encouraged her. She sunk down on him, her breath caught in her throat because of the size of his length. ‘’Holy shit’’ she moaned. ‘’Breath, Y/n, take your, shit, take your time’’ he mumbled. His head was thrown back, she was really tight and felt heavenly. She began grinding on him, slowly, to make sure that it didn’t hurt. ‘’Atta girl’’ he breathed out. As she familiarized herself with his size, Y/n began to move a little faster. Bucky’s hand went on her hips, he wanted to guide her. But she was going to the pace that he was looking for. ‘’You’re so big…’’ she moaned as she leaned to kiss him. He chuckled before kissing her. When she felt one of his hands on her breast, she moaned inside his mouth. He played with her tit, teasing her nipple; he loved watching her body react to him, it felt good, seeing the effect he had on her.
The heavy breathing coming out of their mouth was erotic, the fact that they had to keep quiet was pure torture. As they came closer to their orgasm, it was more difficult to keep quiet. She felt a not in her stomach, her climax was close, but a small part of herself didn’t want it to be over, she was truly enjoying it. ‘’I’m close’’ she managed to whisper. ‘’Me too, cum with me’’ he pleaded. She tried to hold her orgasm, but it was hard. Her thighs were shaking. ‘’Bucky, I need too – ‘’ ‘’Cum, now’’ he ordered. They both reached their climax at the same time, they tried to keep quiet, but the pleasure was too much. Bucky sucked her neck again to keep quiet, marking her again.
Bucky and Y/n had to take a moment to recover from what just happened, it was truly amazing, they couldn’t believe it. ‘’Thank you for this amazing sex’’ she breathed out, smiling. ‘’You’re welcome, and I agree, it was amazing’’ he smiled. She decided to sleep here, postponing her walk of shame tomorrow. She put on one of his shirts as she laid beside him. She felt happy, her stomach had butterflies. When she fell asleep, she didn’t even think about Harry Crosby, she thought about John Egan.
A knock on the door woke them up, it was potentially someone telling Bucky that he was flying today, but when she opened the door, Y/n was surprised to see Harry Crosby. When he saw her, his mouth slightly opened. ‘’Y/n, what are you doing in Bucky’s room?’’ he asked. Bucky walked behind Y/n, she felt like she had a scary dog privilege. ‘’What do you want, Croz?’’ Bucky asked. ‘’You, uh, you’re needed, the, uh, Colonel wants to see you’’ he stuttered, seeing the marks in Y/n’s neck. She looked at her watch, it was almost time for her shift. ‘’Shoot I gotta go, see y’a’’ she kissed Bucky’s neck as she put her dress on, not bothering to button it since she was going to change. Crosby had his jaw on the floor, it wasn’t a walk of shame, it was a walk of power.
She was sitting on a table; it was her break. She’d been giving out coffee for hours, she didn’t want a boring black coffee, she wanted a good coffee, with milk and sugar, sadly milk and sugar was for Majors. ‘’Is there anyone sitting here?’’ Harry Crosby asked, with two cups of coffee in his hands. She didn’t want to talk to him, but he sat down on the table anyway. He pushed one cup in front of her: black coffee. Y/n looked at the cup, then slowly rose her head to look a Crosby. ‘’What do you want?’’ she asked. ‘’I’m so sorry for yesterday, I didn’t know – ‘’ she cut him off with her hand. ‘’Crosby, you came here to get me back?’’ she asked, with a hint of disgust. He nodded. ‘’I don’t want to hear it, you humiliated me, told me I was boring, and you’re married!’’ at the same time, Bucky came to sit next to her, handing her a cup of coffee with milk and sugar. ‘’Milk and sugar, just how you like it’’ he smiled as he sat down. Bucky kissed her cheek before looking at Crosby. ‘’You said it yourself, Harry, I’m too sweet for you’’
#callum turner#callum turner x reader#callum turner imagine#master of the air#master of the air imagine#john egan x reader#major john egan#john egan#gale buck cleven#harry crosby#rosie rosenthal#Spotify
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🍸 Harry Crosby headcanons
18+ -helluva lot of nsfw under the cut but interspersed with a lotta fluff and domesticity…to me that’s the appeal of this man, cannot be separated one from the other: the unassuming sweater wearing vet at the block party is also a man of hidden depths.
Long promised and woefully incomplete, the word count was getting out of hand so I’m tossing it out, there’s more where this came from. Not edited so, apologies
Entirely co-written by myself and my comrogue @crazymadpassionatelove , enhanced and bedazzled by chats with @ab4eva including special additions from other guests who commented under my announcement post, credit is given at each specific point for their contributions
|screencap cred grabbed from: @hawkinsfuller
First off let me say it’s been ages since I read A Wing and A Prayer. I remember loving it, loving him and I cannot stress how much I respect and admire the real Harry Crosby and his Jean, the Missus of our dreams.
This is purely for fun, a heavy mix of both Boyle’s portrayal and a tad of Crosby’s real life vibes as taken from his accounts by me. Sometimes you gotta take historical figures’ virtues in one area -say navigation and math- and translate it to the more suggestive aspects of life -say, how to find a clitori- *gunshot*
Because this man’s biography is the most oral-leaning, drink-your-respect-women-juice book ever. Ok, almost ever. For a wwii book at least. Uhem so -I am prejudiced, sue me.
See, sometimes it’s the quiet, stressed ones with a self consuming desire to please who have the cozy sweaters and the attentive appreciation for your interests and the stubby fat schlongs and the propensity to keep you in suburban comfort all your days
The compulsive drive to call you “button” and be on time for church and thank you for your scrambled eggs each morning with eager kitchen countertop oral before waking you children up with annoyingly soft catchphrases they’ll recite fondly at his funeral: “rise and shine” etc
Also back to the perfectly respectable schlong for just a moment -This is a Thing! Justice for the perfectly adequate plug stoppers, not everyone needs a rolling pin, who can resist giving head when the head is the same gorgeous color as his lips?!
Mr Crosby is skipping off to lecture college kids about literature post-war with a pep in his step that you put there without fail, you can’t help it, it’s as essential as the matching “his and hers” coffee mugs you bought during your honeymoon
Cookies slightly burned cuz you’re busy as bunnies in the bathroom while the kids ride bikes in the cul-de-sac is a Crosby staple
This is a man who as husband keeps you well supplied with mixers and microwaves and cute little nighties and also loves your brain -SCORE.
Loves to gift you with bath oil and fun stuff to smell good. He's into lavender. It benefits him in the end, loves to sit on the edge of the tub and just talk with you for ages
Croz’s go-to distresser is to have Jean sit on his face until his vision spots
She knows as soon as he walks in the door. Fixes him a Shirley Temple, takes him by the hand to the bedroom and …..boom.
De—stressed
As for the ptsd nightmares? He just barely starts to thrash in his sleep and Jean is rolling that man over and taking matters into her own hands
You’re Jean now, you do realize that don’t you? It was never ever going to be anyone but Jean
This man leaves love letters on your pillow, in your apron pocket, in the dash of your car anywhere at all that you’re likely to be. All of this even though he’s gonna be home by six that evening.
Also, hear me out: lots of evenings he just lays down next to you for ages, facing each other on your sides, absentmindedly mapping your body with his calloused palms and fingering you for ages while talking about Persuasion.
Actually gives a shit about your opinions too, and not in the way of wanting to argue them. When you make a good point his eyes get even droopier and he grabs your neck and…
“You're one smart cookie Mrs Crosby”
“My clever, wise, beloved…”
Honestly though, deep connections and the ability to go vulnerable, and if those moments are often concluded with little laughs to shake off the moment -it doesn’t diminish it
Can actually talk about dying to you, not in a morbidly preoccupied way, but he can face it and admit it and be vulnerable enough to acknowledge the likelihood
Then get on with what needs doing
He appreciates how well you grow to know him, and he in turn makes a lifelong study of you
Also, this man is so highly attuned to your well being.
Yes you have to put up with his stress but for you? He will man-up repeatedly and without thought. He doesn’t even think twice about just up and leaving whatever situation is tiring you. did you see him hop up to get the fuck outta that bar fight? Yeah so, you’re bored? Tired? Stressed? It’s not even machismo it’s just a homebody not giving a fuck with the subtext of “my wife and I would like to go home and read and cockwarm”
Often gives the shiftiest excuses to army buddies and coworkers just to go home and hang with you, swears he has to repair that squirrel feeder -or that an alligator is in his swimming pool, “sorry guys maybe drinks next week”
Don’t tell the guys but…HE PAINTS YOUR TOENAILS
Maybe some of your high school friends snickered about Harry Crosby way back when. Making googly eyes at you and barely getting out the most stammered greetings? Bookish and a little clumsy at times?
Ha, you won in the end
He comes home in one piece, that beautiful schlong still intact
you prayed for that ok?
“Lord keep my husband safe -- and his girthy manhood in tact as well” …for the babies you’re hoping for of course...just that… kneeling in silk pajamas each night, adding this addendum with a blush but was always faithful to keep it in your prayers
Sometimes you have that thought in church as well...so you has to take a couple deep breaths and calm yourself...it's because you want children...not because you’re already so sprung off this man's dick after only a couple weeks of married life.
weeks that feels like a lifetime ago now, by the way
Prim and lovely Jean Crosby staring off into stained glass worlds thinking of having her tight little hole tugged open and her guts rearranged, it’s even worse than her thoughts prior to the wedding, because she’s had the experience, then suddenly it was ripped away
And she’s empty and scared to death for him
She gets asked to sing at the funeral of a lieutenant who never even got off the ground during a training flight,
work and church and such are hopeless distractions
Wanders through the department store wondering if every other wife misses this way, does everyone feel the same primal ache?
Dear Jean Crosby terribly worried she’s a freak yet entirely unrepentant for it
But ya know what’s probably funny? Across the ocean Harry Crosby is sometimes so direly missing his wife in the carnal way that he just about spaces out too, and god knows there’s zero privacy anywhere and the showers are the showers but like???? it’s just a no-go most times and everyone gets very confused when he’s in this mood?? Not at all suspecting baser distractions are what’s at play. Somehow someone figured it out, maybe he actually snapped a little about having five seconds to himself while reading a letter and they’re like
OH
And somehow there seems to suddenly be five minutes or so when NO ONE but Crosby is in the showers?!
It only takes him two minutes to get there but he needs to stand there catching his breath and clutching at his heart while he thinks of Jean sprawled beneath him
This is probably Douglass’ doing? Because he’s a good dude, he doesn’t underestimate Croz AND he’s a dirty little bastard himself
“Fellas, the man got himself a wife while half of you guys are virgins? Of course he has urges?”
In a quiet, rare moment, Gale bends his ear -Harry is so modest and low key...unlike some folks *looking at you Bucky*- “So, uh, where'd ya say you and the missus went off to before ya came here?“
Gale’s gotta casually open the door for this conversation “Lots of good sights to see? I, um, haven't done much traveling myself”
It takes Croz a few conversations until he realizes just what Gale means, until then there’s a lot bewildered eyebrows at the inquiry and bashful appreciation for the interest: “Major Cleven I-I already told you, sir, we had a little cabin in the Alleghenies for a week?“
He's been telling Jean about Major Gale Cleven, about how she'd really like him. Gale is a good fella. He tells her about all their "travel talk"
Until one day Jean writes back: “Oh honey, that Cleven of yours is a virgin”
Whether Harry divulges to Gale anything he learned about ladies in that little cabin in the mountains writhing before a fire on a bearskin rug, that first time Harry actually didn’t stop and ask if Jean was dying every time she made a noise but instead, kept going until her cried properly built and she screamed…
well, it was probably an abbreviated account that mostly consisted of “wives are just wonderful people, Major Cleven” with a far off look in his eyes
Gale leaves him to it after all- Harry was married for like 3 seconds before he left, It's literally either playback of the last horrific mission or thinking of the curve of her spine
He gets the dreamiest look on his face, eyes all shiny, mouth a little slack
Somehow these two can be so passionate and yet it’s so wholesome and good and angelic?!!! It’s the allure of them
Because it’s all in these gentle and safe and good boundaries? Like it isn’t complicated and yet it’s not simple and it’s neither settling nor is it turbulent. something to be said for “doing it right”
They genuinely thank God for each other, they’re so sure it was always intended to be just them
I have 1k of headcanons just for the homecoming ok? Y’all will have to request those separate
But once home:
The eye contact they make at social events?? It’s a whole language, the most loving and adorable thing ever
He may not be a real gem of a singer but he’s an excellent hummer. so much gentle humming around the house while he’s fixing the stove light or rocking a baby to sleep or-
You know what I mean don’t you? Some men can just humm and you’re instantly wet? No I don’t mean humming a Billie Holliday tune
I mean humming when you make a new reaction to his incessant fingering while he’s reading, makes him look away from the page and arch a brow, highly inquisitive puppy dog look on his face, reading glasses pulled down.
*a new spot? After all this time? Must investigate further*
This man, when in his element, is a goddamn tease, he’s impossible, he’s goofy, he makes sex the joyous sacrament its supposed to be every damn time and he ain’t shy to remain stark naked for ages
Praise kink for miles in that, once you’ve praised him, he will keep doing whatever earned it for the next two hours. Brace yourself
He can recite your favorite literature passages (he knows them and took pains to memorize them by your tenth anniversary) when he’s gently plowing you from the back with his hand on your neck and your ear lob in between his teeth
He’s a biter my friends -gotta keep quiet somehow, can’t scar the passel of children y’all made, after all
So many excuses given to kids about “mama and I need to talk about the mortgage” -very rarely is mortgage even thought of once the door is closed and locked
But that brings us back to the early days, it’s one thing to know someone so well after all those years but the early days?
Two Virgins named Jean and Harry went straight from the chapel to fucking like Bunnies before he went to war
Harry had done his research tho. All that reading…
Harry Crosby totally ate his wife out on their wedding night.
even though he’d never really seen a full vagina before
he’s a bit methodical, yeah? At first? with a hint of overly flustered and terribly delighted
So I’m just picturing him like hunkering down there, tentative but firm hands on your thighs: “to get my bearings, honey pie” as he takes in the lay of the land
because there’s a lot happening down there on a lady, ok? -there’s petals and more petals and slippery slopes and little buttons and a tiny hole that has to be for pee, no way he’s supposed to go in that one?! but, but she doesn’t have another? Well the backdoo- no can’t even think of that. Oh god ok, ok, vaginal opening, -I guess that’s a vaginal opening?! and due north, a little button that makes her squeak when I touch it. ok ok, might as well start there…
I can see him with a metaphorical pencil behind his ear, ready to jot down notes
Jeanie finally sighs and grips him by the ears and hauls him up for a kiss and just grinds against him and insists it’s lovely
“just kiss me, silly.” she says to him after awhile.
“Mmm, I do like kissing you, Jean” he grins back
he’s naturally kissing his way to her boobs and staying there a lovely long time but she starts pushing at his dark head, *hint hint* lower down her belly and lower, and lower and he’s so caught up he doesn’t even realize it until there’s a sweet little patch of curls under his chin and he looks up with the oddest expression of curiosity and doubt on his face only to be met with Jean’s expectant eyebrow
She wouldn’t want me to?—-*ah, she just face planted me in pussy, ok then*
Lapping at it with the biggest grin, there may or may not have been some noise complaints
the whole apartment complex just knows he’s a good husband, never would peg him as a stud if you met him in the hallway but, Jean sure takes forever to say goodbye to him in the mornings so he must do something right
All the neighbors just can't help but be happy for those two kids
They cook them food and leave the casserole dishes on the landing so they can savor each other for as long as possible before he leaves
Next Sunday they show up at church like dutiful little Americans and they’ve got hickies everywhere and his cheeks are a permanent pink, Her knees are red and raw under her church dress
I feel like maybe they get a little adventurous as their time together draws to a close? Maybe they break a dining room chair? She's too mortified to put it out on the curb
*saves it for 50 years*
Some of those wedding china ends up in pieces on the floor. Can't explain to her aunts why they don't have a full set all of a sudden
i really hope he never loses that occasional hair trigger premature ejaculation tendency.
Sometimes it even shocks him, “O-Oh...shoot”
The last day together is a dismal and precious night
The poor man probably laid there on her sweaty boobs after blowing his last load with the saddest *fml* face on as he processed it being, indeed, his last
But HOMECOMING!
and now the war is over they can set up house and make babies
A small breeding kink, after all, these men marched home from war and basically were told "get a job and let's repopulate for all the boys we lost!"
It’s so damn primal when you think about it but under the veneer of the starched and polished 50’s
Croz can't think straight in that tight little hole, let alone think of the ramifications of another baby
“Give it to me, give me another, come on Harry, we've got an empty space in the Christmas card anyway, think of it!! fill me up baby oh godddd Jesus bless your pretty dick-*
it’s the most mundane reasons and he still busts a nut like she’s some filthy vixen and not his sweet and slightly too optimistic wife
frantic love making with a sweater and socks still on, too
Jean is a writher because the longer they are married the longer he lasts and soon she’s come and he just keeps going and she cannot keep quiet then and he’s too big to ignore or calm down between, just thick enough to always be tugging just right and she fully sobs from it sometimes
Often she’s trying to cup herself?!? Fully spasming and shaking and curling in but his strong forearm is over her belly and his lips on her ear
This man is a god at spooning sex
she is so cock feral when she falls pregnant it almost alarms him
The books didn't say anything about this?! He's exhausted and dehydrated and his classes are suffering as a result
Wants to ask Egan if he encountered this phenomenon
His war buddies become a new father support group
"Hang in there pal, only three more months"
They’ll be in the kitchen just chatting before dinner, she wants to tease him. Scoops a little cherry pie filling onto her finger. He licks it and sucks it off -- bites the finger too, in the background dogs are barking and kids are running amuck
As the Crosbys you’re in for a life of very benign but nauseatingly idyllic Christmas parties.
Snow globes, y’all
Sweaters, spiked eggnog and very well thought out gifts
Harry is the sort to carry Jean's purse when they are out shopping and she is trying on clothes. He also has no problem going and buying her sanitary napkins at the drugstore when she's on her period, because it's completely normal and there's nothing for anyone to be embarrassed about. Basically, he is just stupidly in love with her. He's like a puppy who will always follow, but she doesn't take advantage of that fact (credit to:@noneedtoamputate)
He is Harry “Have You Met My Wife?” Crosby back home, too, it’s even worse when he gets tipsy and his confidence grows and good luck shutting him up about how beautiful she is
This is the sorta man whose kids only learn Daddy was a goddamn boss during the war when they’re outta college, a very casual “oh yeah, that was sort of a thing, pass the salt.”
It’s canon this man cut his own son’s hair all his little life, propped him up on a little stool in the back yard and got to trimming -some of the only times the boy ever heard of those devastating missions
Imagine? Same man who used to take you out on the porch into the night air and rock against his sweater when you were a baby and wouldn’t settle is the same man who bombed the hell outta Fortress Europe
He’s the kind of man whose kids are so enamored over how both sides of the coin could settle in the same man, they end up making a documentary about him
Now I also need you to think of this man at bath time in the early 50’s -Shirt sleeves rolled up, top two buttons on his pristine white button up shirt popped with a peak of chest hair showing through, his curls getting steamed by his kids bubble baths
He’s got the prettiest slightly hairy forearms, y’all -according to Jean at least
Gives himself a bubble beard to make his kids laugh, will stay on his knees watching them play for ages, fully participating
His white shirt gets fully transparent with all this splashing and Jean has to really keep her mind on what’s next when she can so easily see his hair and pretty little nipples pebbled in a chill under them. Stops her whining about water on the floor in seconds.
Harry’s already hushing her and mopping it up with a towel anyway
The Crosby kids will have memories of their idiotically in love and enthralled parents who loved being parents, wrapping their baby selves snuggly into towels and setting them on the counter and just cracking up over how cute they looked with their chubby and shiny widdle faces poking out of terry cloth
Jean and Harry spend a lotta time doing that, they just love their kids, ok?
Brushing their cute little Croz curls
Jean can’t say no to a single one with their sad puppy eyes their daddy gave them
Sometimes they sit the kids in front of the fireplace (they obviously needed a house with a fireplace after that honeymoon) and line them up. Talk about them as if they aren't sitting right there. "Honey, look at those gorgeous eyes -- and his smile! Oh my, who do these cuties belong to?"
But it’s not all placid domesticity. Picture this:
Crosby with a mega phone, organizes a neighborhood Easter egg hunt. He's in charge, his aviators on, taking this so seriously
There are maps, he’s planned this for weeks, some of those traits and skills he picked up during the war come back at the oddest times
this gets even more intense if any of the war buddies are there
Harry writes letters to them strategizing, they all come and bring their own kids
It makes the local paper for being one of the biggest Easter egg hunts the state has ever seen
Night falls, children fall asleep and there are still some eggs left. Armed with booze and flashlights, the boys go out to collect the rest
Harry and Jean don't collect any though, they end up in a bush necking somewhere
Bucky gets very adamant about finding them and Brady is just as adamantly begging him not to
But Major Egan cannot be stopped, he rallies his men, hopping on the kids’ bikes and scooters
Everyone heckling each other in the dark suburban neighborhood
"Ya lost your touch Buck, keep up will ya?"
They all end up in a schnapps induced heap in the Crosby's backyard, long limbs all folded up on too small equipment
Jean and Harry leisurely stroll back up the street under lamp glow to their house where everyone is feral and collapsed and calling loudly for their hosts
Sharing soft little smiles and picking twigs out of each others hair
They tuck these idiot men in on the couches and floor, blankets, sleeping bags and dogs
Hear me out: Jean is the only human able to talk a belligerent Bucky out of his thirtieth beer
She has that sweet way about her that makes every person wanna be a better man for her
When he finally gives in and throws his arm over her little shoulders and swears she’s a good woman, Harry is there with the pan and the aspirin and the blanket
She makes them all the most perfect hangover breakfast the next morning, gingham checked apron stretched over swollen belly
Harry nuzzles her belly when she stops at his plate to dish up the eggs
Everyone wants to gag over how perfectly content these two are but that would be a waste of the best breakfast in the USA
And if Jean happens to make the best baked goods on the block - Croz is making sure everyone knows just who’s muffins those are on the bake sale table. Or if she wants to pursue a career or education? Harry is her biggest cheerleader, doing anything and everything to support her and being sure that everyone knows how incredible she is at what she does. (Credit @blurredcolour)
They may be the sweater wearing, block party and Sunday school couple but don’t think anybody gets away with being snide to Mrs. Jean Crosby -there will be comeuppance, even if it’s just an exquisitely literate verbal evisceration.
There's even more often a roaming band of local kids who kick the shins of everyone who's mean to Mrs. Crosby, because she gives them sweets and feeds them when they're hungry and cleans up their scrapes when play gets too rough and -if Mr. Crosby hands out a comic or two to the boys that "accidentally" tripped some bloke who was harassing his wife, well. All is fair in love and war. (Credit to @promptedwordsmith)
When in the summer of 49 the Crosbies get a swimming pool dug? It might as well be considered public property.
not just the kids who are attached to the crosbies, though. your home is a constant revolving door of visitors - including a bunch of ex-servicemen. if it's not bucky lounging in the pool, or rosie painting the fence in his shirtsleeves because he wanted to be helpful, then douglass is smoking a cigarette in the yard while trying to make you laugh. ev is asking harry to show him how to read this goddamn map bc they're supposed to be taking a trip to the grand canyon in a month, and bubbles is over for dinner every other night. even brady sometimes shows his face, if only to carp at harry for getting them lost over france that one time while working the barbecue because you asked him to. when you and harry bought the house with an extra room you weren't sure you would ever use, you didn't expect it to be occupied as often as a popular hotel. if anyone ever had any bad intentions toward the crosbies, they're definitely rethinking it. those that don't...well. being in the air corps teaches one all sorts of creative ways of getting back at people. (Credit to @fidelias)
Imagine all the different skills the Crosby kids (_and their neighbor friends who never seem to leave_) learn from these guys?
“Oh yeah, Bucky Egan taught me how to swim while wearing his aviators…”
In other words:
Harry Crosby went home and built himself a little Norman Rockwell Camelot and then opened the doors of the kingdom to his buddies and -that’s as it should be.
And that’s not even mentioning how the Air Force and the CIA walked up to his front porch and interrupted a backyard ballgame to ask him for his help
It sucks to be super smart and needed when all ya wanna do is teach literature, go camping and help keep the church life going
But still
Jean sure looked good in Pakistan, the kids enjoyed a new culture and Harry likes to say he may have done some good
#mota fanfic#masters of the air#harry crosby#Harry Crosby fanfic#Harry Crosby x reader#mota headcanons#masters of the air fanfiction#anthony boyle#hbo war fanfic
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thinking of vampires and werewolves integraded in the military clegan au im sighing in agony
werewolf!bucky vampire!buck ofc lets fall to the expected norms mainly because i am a dog coded bucky enthusiast and also as much as i think of buck as a doberman he's very much vampire coded
werewolf vampire feud being an actual and expected thing, the 100th being gunned from the beginning of the war as a trial unit to see how humans, vampires, and werewolves are able to work together. most units kind of failing at it because everyones too territorial, too much blood history, too blood-proud, and humans too cautious.
enter the 100th, always the outlier, ever the undisciplined.
officer training begins far before their assignment to the 100th, so the buckies meet each other first. born-werewolf currently lone-wolfing john bucky egan's proverbial but also quiet literal fur bristling when he firsts scents the air of his new base and zeroing on buck cleven, the vampire who's going to sleep on the bunk right next to him. millennia-old ice-cold buck cleven smelling the wet dog fur and hearing the low growls first before looking up from folding his handful of monogrammed kerchiefs to a werewolf standing by the bunk next to him, presumably assigned that bed.
buck promptly ignores the guy, which bucky doesn't take at all very kindly. john still gives the guy his name though, a week down the line, because, well, he's very pretty and very smart and very capable of putting bucky on his back.
werewolves being high in the sky is unheard of. bucky suffers through the 'trying to get closer to the moon?' jokes easily enough. no sun smiting vampires here btw, should i say they glitter like the cullens or nah. just the slightest glitter then, lets say that there's a glow when the sun hits their skin, vampires being the suns favorite child or something and when they die they return as ashes to the sun to give those vampire pilots some fear of flying too close to the sun.
complicated-relationship-with-the-moon werewolf bucky vs complicated-relationship-with-the-sun vampire buck oh the ache
but like more on the other guys because fuck clegan theyve caused me enough grief
werewolf dougie vs human blakely. sooo attached to dougley you don't understand. dougie imprinting on ev like a baby chick, scenting his clothes and his jacket and his pillows etc. blakely being sooo flustered the first time dougie actually greets him like pack—as in dougie touches his nose to the side of ev's nose, runs it to the side just before his ear, and down to his neck—face cherry red and spluttering while dougie just has the most satisfied cat-who-got-the-cream look in his face. maybe after their first successful bomb-drop practice mission? idk just obsessed with the image.
vampire duo crubbles, centuries of being together reflected on the way they're never apart on the ground. croz's diet has to be like incredibly precise and certain blood sits weirdly in his stomach so up in the air paired with the anxiety of being so close to the sun he's puking out anything that's left in his stomach. ms. jean crosby known keeper of both harry crosby and bubbles payne, only woman to keep those two in line, but nobody actually knows what she is.
another werewolf and vampire pair: hammy and brady. hammy being a werewolf disaster duo with dougie, squabbling and rucking up the base like pups, bucky having to snap at them to cut it out when he's also wagging his out-of-sight tail wanting to cause mayhem too but maybe not when some very important general is by the base yeah. brady just brings that vibes of being incredibly old and incredibly stuffy and incredibly stick-in-the-mud at first you know?? hammy first meeting his vampire pilot and scoffing because that's literally the stereotypical vampire he's shit upon pre-army. until he sees brady pilot. until his pilot manages to execute a move so beautiful he doesn't end up as a pile of burnt fur within minutes of a trial flight. until he sees john fucking brady crack a smile at him with the slight glitter of the dying sun caressing his skin. dougie, smelling this shit from literally 4 miles away groans because brother, really?
vampire!kenny stuck in the body of a 19 year old never to grow old, waiting for his passing from the sun whenever that is. very human very warm very kind rosie rosenthal easily grasping at kenny's ice-cold-yet-sun-blessed skin and sparks fly from the flat of the palm meeting rosie's and to the tips of his bronze burnt curls.
fiery human chick harding able to go toe-to-toe with wolves and vampires, mouth stretched wide the first time he has bucky egan sitting on his visitor's chair whose metabolism is working overtime trying to burn the devils piss of a hooch out of his system. meeting born-werewolf jack the next hour who's bucky's only equal in their eclectic werewolf pack—whose fur is clearly bristling from bucky grounding him but he clocks instantly that this were will be the one who will actually snap on his new boys' heels if they ever step out of line.
currently kind of obsessed with this aaaa might come back with other ships (demacon i Will love you into existence) when it hits (hopefully) probably when the bi!buck euphoria melts a bit
#mota#mota hcs#clegan#dougley#rosielemmons#hambrady#i don't actually know their shipname :((#mota vampwere au
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What was the wedding like? I bet Curt was Bucky's best man? Was the bachelor party messy? Meatball was ring bearer??? LOL
#young vets au
first of all s/o to @swifty-fox who came up with a good chunk of these. i've been so focused on poor bucky's mental breakdown that quite honestly a part of the "they get married on paper and say they'll have a wedding...eventually" was me putting off figuring out that lore LOL. but here thee go.
they start planning it after bucky is out of the hospital and doing better. gale brings it up first- and bucky is so 🥺. obviously gale never asked for a divorce but, he still feels a little insecure about things/how much he put him through. so knowing gale *does* still want to marry him good and proper makes him a lil emotional. sweet boy.
they try to surprise each other with engagement rings and end up clashing with each others surprises bahaha. me thinks gale gets bucky a celtic eternity knot ring. bucky gets gale something like this.
big crowds/travel is still a bit of a rough spot for bucky, so it's in wyoming. in my mind they have a hugeee backyard. so cutesie homey backyard wedding it is.
curt is 1000% bucky's best man. that's his best friend and curt (this hasn't really been explored a great deal yet but it will be) quite frankly did about as much for him during his big ol breakdown spiral as gale did.
hmm idk who gale's is. choose your own adventure, its whoever you want it to be.
wearing their air force dress uniforms comes up briefly but bucky hates it so it’s tabled. gale asks the guys not to wear theirs either.
all the guys come into town, of course they do. they're *so excited* not just because it's their buddies getting married but bc this is the first time all of them except for curt and kenny have seen bucky in person since his attempt. so seeing him so happy and doing better makes them happy.
demarco does indeed bring meatball.
i think since they essentially share all the same friends they have a joint pre-party a few days before. maybe the first night everyone is in town. a reunion party of sorts.
i need to do a hc list explaining all the curt/kenny lore as it exists in my head but this is maybeee the first time everyone is seeing the two of them since they aren't (badly) trying to keep that they're involved on the downlow. which everyone gets a kick out of just as much as they do bucky and gale.
both of them cry during their vows.
and, my favorite thing @swifty-fox and iame up with last night:
i know its hinted at in a few of the phone povs about bucky wanting to get sober but in my mind that's closer to when they have josie. so when they get married there is alcohol abound (lol). and gale, because hey it's his fucking wedding after all- partakes this time.
he sees bucky playing with croz's kids in the yard and gets so emotional because he just loves him so much, wants that with him and now they *can* have that together even after everything they've been though.
curt sees this and is like awww, i see that look buck! and sweet drunk gale just starts blabbering about how he's gonna put babies in him- he's gonna figure it out, JSTOR hasn't failed him yet.
to demarco, who is running around with his camera, this is the best moment of his life.
asks gale to run that by him one more time with the camera in his face.
"i said, you see my husband over there?" gale says seriously into the camera, holding himself up on curt with one arm around his waist and gesturing to where bucky is deep in drunk conversation with kenny "'m gonna figure out how to put babies in him. JSTOR hasn't- hasn't failed me yet. gonna figure that shit out and we're gonna have more kids than- than croz n' jean."
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Sundress (Anthony Boyle x Reader)
In which date night takes a turn when Anthony sees the outfit you’ve chosen
Special thanks to my bestie @winniemaywebber for this idea and for being my spicy Anto/Croz hypewoman <3 ily girlieeeee 👏👏 👏
content warnings: mature content (thigh riding, oral (f receiving), PinV penetration), slight dom/sub dynamics if you squint, praise kink, swearing, Anthony Boyle being entirely too sweet and sexy for this world 🥴 (again: this is for mature audiences only!! 18+!!)
word count: 2.7k (ANTHONY BOYLE WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME 😩)
Masterlist
You stand in front of your closet, fighting off a grin of anticipation.
The press tours for Masters of the Air and Manhunt had finally come to a close, and you had a few days of respite before your boyfriend went off to his next project.
Of course, with Anthony, this meant date night.
You linger near your reliable jeans-and-a-nice-top combos for a moment before the sundresses hanging near the back catch your eye.
The weather has been getting warmer, you think, and it’s been a while since I’ve gotten to wear these…
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you snag one of your favorites off the hanger and change into it, twirling to see every angle in front of the mirror.
It complements your curves perfectly, hanging at just the right length that won’t make you nervous about walking up any stairs but isn’t too modest.
You make quick work of your makeup and jewelry, making sure to include the delicate necklace that Anthony gifted you for your first anniversary together, and before too long there’s a knock at the door.
Your boyfriend, fresh from some last-minute press responsibilities, was right on time.
You rush towards the door, the clacking of your heels on the floor surely announcing your excitement to Anthony as you fling it open.
“Hi,” you say, barely able to speak around your grin.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, pulling you in for a swift kiss— the first you’ve shared in weeks. Reluctantly, the two of you eventually pull away for air and he steps inside, eyes raking over your figure, “You look… absolutely fantastic.”
“Well, thank you,” you say, twirling so he can see how the dress fans out around you. “You don’t look too bad, yourself.” You add, eyeing the rolled-up sleeves of his white button down revealing entirely too attractive forearms and the patch of chest hair just visible underneath the effortlessly unbuttoned top buttons — bless his stylist, who had clearly attended the Austin Butler School of Buttoning Shirts — all complemented perfectly with sleek black pants.
“Thank you, my love. I’m, uh…” he trails off as he watches your dress settle around you, then seems to jolt back to himself after barely a second, “I’m just gonna go grab a jacket and then we’ll head out, alright?”
He returns soon, now armed with a black suit jacket, and you glance down at the sundress that now seems a bit too casual for what he’s wearing.
However, when you ask if you should change, his answer is a swift, decisive, “No.”
“You look stunning just as you are, darling,” he amends his sharp response, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before escorting you out the door.
Anthony is his usual gentlemanly self while you’re out: he pulls your seat out and waits for you to sit down first when you arrive at your favorite Italian restaurant, happily splits a dessert with you (though if you happened to end up with the bigger half, despite your insistence that you split it equally, well… it wasn’t a crime to treat his girl, was it?), and when Frank Sinatra starts playing on the speakers overhead, he jumps to his feet and extends his hand to you, twirling you around the floor with not a single care for the eyes watching when you gladly accept and pulling you in for a sweet kiss as the song ends, his hand tangling in your hair as he pulls you close.
“So… ready to head home, sweetheart?” He asks as the two of you return to your seats.
“I— yes, I guess so?” You reply, slightly confused. Normally Anto loved to keep you out with him for as long as possible; returning home directly after dessert was a rarity.
He scrambles to assure you that he would be more than happy to stay out if you want, but something about the way his fingertips dance over your knee under the table, toying with the lace edging of your dress, makes you agree that it’s time to call it a night.
The air between the two of you as you head home is thick and hot, the anticipation of something building.
And that anticipation comes to a head as you enter the privacy of your home, finding yourself pinned to the inside of the door as soon as it closes.
“Sweetheart,” Anthony nearly growls against your lips, hands firm on your waist as his voice grows increasingly more strangled, “Are you trying to kill me?”
“I don’t—” You just barely choke back a moan. You haven’t the faintest idea what he’s talking about, but if it’s getting him to manhandle you like this after so long away…
“This dress,” he groans, bunching the flimsy fabric in his fists, “I’ve been gone for weeks, and the first thing I see is you in this little thing—” he moves as he speaks, from murmuring against your own lips to traveling down back to your ear and along your neck, “— and I take you out to dinner, and dessert, and dancing—” he punctuates each item with a light nip to your skin, making you jolt.
“—when all I really want to do,” he returns to speaking directly in your ear, his voice a soft growl that does startling things to your heart rate, “is see how pretty you look in this dress when I fuck you in it.”
Your entire body turns to jello, and the only thing keeping you upright is Anthony’s hands on your hips and his leg wedged in between yours. You can’t help but let out a sharp gasp when your core comes into contact with his leg, and his already dilated eyes turn almost entirely black at the sound.
“C’mere, baby,” he whispers, pulling you along to the bedroom, discarding his jacket somewhere in the house as he does.
You scramble to kick off your heels as you enter the dimly-lit room, your boyfriend wasting no time in untucking and unbuttoning his shirt from his perch on the edge of the bed.
“No,” he says sharply when your fingers move to the straps of your dress, “Keep it on.”
Your breath catches, biting your lip to stifle a moan as you realize he was serious.
He wordlessly beckons you closer, and you step forward obediently, standing between his spread legs. Pinching your chin, he tugs you down for a gentle kiss that’s fairly at odds with his dominating persona at the moment.
“This okay?” he murmurs softly against your lips, and somehow the gentle check-in combined with the events happening now are enough to make you even wetter than you already are.
You nod, adding a soft “Yes” when you remember he won’t do anything unless you’ve given a verbal okay.
That settled, he captures your lips in a decidedly more heated kiss, hands moving down to grip your hips as he adjusts so you’re straddling his thigh.
You meet his scorching gaze, practically feeling yourself melting as you realize what he intends to do.
“Noticed you seemed to like this earlier, my love,” he murmurs against your lips, smirking.
You quickly move to clutch at his shoulders as he drags your clothed core along his quadricep, mouth opening in a silent moan.
He huffs out a laugh, nudging your nose with his own as he bunches up the soft fabric of your dress.
“I was right, you do look very pretty like that,” he mumbles, “but I don’t even get to hear your pretty noises? C’mon, honey…”
He flexes his thigh, the new angle making you jump as you gasp, “Anthony, oh my god—”
“Just like that, sweet girl,” he growls into your mouth, scattering kisses all down your neck and chest as your pace speeds up.
A familiar tension builds just below your belly as you clutch yourself against him, throwing your head back and rolling your hips against his still-clothed thigh faster, faster, faster, Anthony murmuring soft praise and encouragement all the while.
“Anthony,” you gasp into his mouth, one hand clutching at his shoulder while the other buries itself in his dark curls as you feel yourself teetering on the precipice of your release, “‘M gonna—”
Your warning is cut off by a sharp, keening whine when Anthony grips your hips firmly, stopping their motion just before you tip over the edge.
“No, Ant—” you whine, struggling against his grip as your almost-orgasm fades, “Please, I was so close…”
“‘Msorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your skin, rising with you as you stand on wobbly legs, “I promise I’ll make this next part worth it,” He murmurs teasingly as he gently lays you back on the bed.
He shucks off his shirt before climbing on top of you, giving you a knowing smirk as you eye the exposed skin, your gaze lingering on the fully-revealed chest hair and the wet patch just barely visible on his thigh. The bed dips with his weight as his limbs cage you in, one hand delicately tracing the curves and lines of your body, making you shiver.
He captures your lips in a searing kiss, your hands eagerly traveling along his skin.
“If you’re gonna cum, sweetheart,” he breathes in a low, gravelly tone that sends heat straight to your core, “it’s gonna be on my mouth before anything else.”
You’re fairly certain you’ve truly actually turned to liquid, especially if the increasing wetness between your thighs is any indication, but your boyfriend proves you’re still deliciously solid, his lips tracing a path down your neck to where the tops of your breasts are just barely exposed by your dress.
Your fingers creep up to pull your dress down, to fully expose your chest so he can scatter kisses over every inch of you, but Anthony stops you.
His pretty brown eyes, molten with heat, meet yours as he stops you from tugging desperately at your dress.
“I told you, baby,” he says, keeping eye contact as he drags his lips over your clothed chest, paying special attention to your quickly hardening nipples peeking through the fabric before moving lower.
“Keep. It. On.”
You throw your head back, gasping softly as his lips travel down, down, down, along your stomach and hips down to your thighs.
He carefully slides the now irreparably wrinkled fabric up, flipping up the hem to reveal your hips and thighs and the lacy fabric covering your core.
He wastes no time in pressing kisses to you over your underwear, your hips bucking up into him as you chase the feeling of his mouth on you.
Little tease that he is, he keeps his mouth just out of reach as he peels off the soaked lace fabric
“Oh sweetheart,” he breathes, your own breath catching as he drags his fingertips through your folds and they come away dripping, “All this for me?”
You can only whine, having long ago lost the ability to form words.
He prolongs your torment by kissing a slow, torturous path up the inside of each of your thighs before finally — finally — diving into you, eagerly licking into your folds.
You let out a choked gasp as he licks a thick, fat stripe up your center, gathering the moisture collected there before darting up to flick at your clit, an action that has you gripping the sheets like a lifeline, a stuttering moan that sounds vaguely like your boyfriend’s name escaping from your lips. His arms hook around your thighs, pulling you close in an attempt to keep your hips grounded, and he continues a few more passes of the same lick, flick pattern until you’re a writhing mess underneath him.
“Fuck, darlin’,” he groans against you, his voice sending vibrations through your core, “Taste even better than I remembered.”
“A-Ant—“ you stutter out a warning, that familiar tension building once again.
You feel him grin against you, and lord if that doesn’t send all kinds of sparks racing through your body, a feeling that only intensifies as his thumb comes up to circle your clit, a litany of praise and encouragement falling from his lips.
“‘M not gonna stop you this time, sweetheart, just let go,” he murmurs against you, fingers and tongue working overtime on your core, “C’mon baby, please, wanna taste you—”
You cry out as your orgasm rips through you, Anthony dutifully guiding you through your climax.
You come back to yourself, shuddering, as your boyfriend pulls away to brush a gentle kiss to your hipbone, mouth glistening and eyes nearly black with desire.
“You’re fucking perfect, sweetheart,” he groans, trailing back up to capture your lips with his.
You moan into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue.
The two of you stay like that for a while, Ant letting you recover, until the bulge pressing into your thigh becomes too much to ignore.
He gasps into your mouth as your hand moves down to palm at him through his slacks.
“Darlin’— shit, you’re ready for me already?”
As if your furious nodding wasn’t enough of an answer, you move your hand more insistently against him.
“Fuck, fuck, okay—” he hisses, moving off of you to rid himself of his his pants and boxers.
You watch, bottom lip caught between your teeth, as his length springs free from his underwear, tip already leaking.
He returns to hover over you, brushing kisses all over your face and neck as he strokes himself a few times.
You can’t resist touching him, and your fingertips grazing along his length has his eyes fluttering shut.
“Not gonna last long if you keep doin’ that, sweetheart,” he warns with a gasp, breath hot against your cheek.
You reluctantly retract your fingers, barely stifling a moan when his tip brushes against you as he positions himself at your entrance.
His eyes lock on yours, watching your face contort in pleasure as he slowly, slowly, enters you.
“You ready, darlin’?” He breathes against your lips after a moment to let you adjust.
The frantic “yes” that escapes you isn’t so much a word as a gasp, and your thoughts turn to static as he begins to thrust into you with slow, languid strokes.
Your breaths mingle, his exhales becoming your inhales, the thin fabric of your sundress providing a delicious friction as you feel every inch of him pressed against you.
“You’re so tight,” he gasps, increasing his pace as your breathing becomes heavier, “Fuck, I missed this, I missed you.”
“Missed you, too,” you whine into his mouth, your hand fisting his soft dark curls, “Missed you so much, Ant—”
His mouth closes the millimeters of distance between the two of you, crashing onto yours in a fierce, heated kiss.
You let out a muffled moan as his hips grind against yours faster and faster, feeling your second orgasm of the night building.
“I’m close, sweetheart,” Anthony groans, hips stuttering, letting out a soft “fuck” when you tell him you’re almost there, too.
“C’mon, come for me darlin’” he grinds out against your mouth, “‘M right behind you, please, please, come for me, honey…”
You reach your second climax with a cry, Anthony muffling his own in your neck as he spills into you, thrusting slowly until he’s spent.
The two of you stay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath, until Anthony lifts his head to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“So,” he says breathlessly, toying with the hopelessly wrinkled fabric of your dress, “You’ll be wearing these more often, yeah?”
You huff out a laugh. “If you promise not to ruin them, absolutely.”
“Sweetheart,” he says, “I’ll buy you a thousand more of these. Whatever you want. As long as I know there’s at least one in your closet for me to enjoy.”
He murmurs the last sentence against your lips, punctuating it with a long, slow kiss that has you grinning against him.
You bump your nose against his as he pulls away, your thumb stroking his cheek.
“Welcome home, honey.”
His gaze softens, pulling you in for another brief, gentle kiss.
“Thank you, my love.”
#winnie said one (1) thing about thigh riding anthony in a dress and the hornybrain took it and RAN fjskfj#hope y’all liked it ☺️#my writing#anthony boyle#anthony boyle x reader#anthony boyle smut#masters of the air#masters of the air cast#anthony boyle fic#anthony boyle imagine
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Blondes Have More Fun
Anyways, this is probably the closest I'll ever get to writing Crack fic for this fandom, so enjoy Blond!Bucky and his ability to drive Buck and the entirety of the 100th wild with his smile and hair! Also personally I think Callum looks like a 24 year old when blond, so imagine handsome charming, nearly thirty Bucky Egan running around looking like a baby faced newbie then you'll be half a bowled over as the 100th.
It is a truth universally acknowledged at Thorpe Abbotts that Major John "Bucky" Egan can be talked into anything. Anything. So long as you were convincing and Buck wasn't around to drag him away from the dumber ideas, Bucky was down to play ball.
Curt had once talked him into using a British accent for a whole week, even in meetings with the CO. Bucky hadn't even blinked before adopting an uncannily perfect London accent. It was so convincing that some of the newer replacements had asked if the man was British.
Another time, he got into a howl off with Meatball after Hambone said he didn't know which one was worse. The pair were so loud that no one could actually tell who won. Most were too busy covering their ears. The few that weren't couldn't decide. It was officially settled as a draw, but Benny still refuses to accept that Bucky would ever beat his precious boy Meatball in anything.
There were countless tales of Bucky getting into trouble simply because someone had said within his earshot the six words needed to wreck Jack Kidd's night.
"You know what would be fun?"
The magic words. That or a dare would send Bucky careening into trouble with half the 100th behind him to watch the fireworks. Honestly, most of the time, Bucky was already getting up to his own antics, so convincing him to do something else wasn't exactly hard.
It was one such utterance of the phrase that sparked a wildfire within the 100th Bomber Group that threatened to tear them asunder and send one Major Gale "Buck" Cleven to an early grave. Or prison.
The night was like any other Friday night. Bucky had gone out with Curt and Bubbles. Buck had chosen to stay in for the night reading, and Harry had done much the same. Kidd, the minder of the entire 100th, had gone to the officer's club while the trio had gone to a local pub in the town just off base. So the usual minders of this trio of mad men were missing, and as the saying goes, while the cats are away, the mice will play.
It started as Bubbles's idea.
At least that's what they think it started as. A few too many drinks had left the evening a blur for Curt and Bubbles and a blank for Bucky. That last fact will be important later.
"You know what would be fun?" Bubbles said, or perhaps it was Curt. Or maybe it was Bucky. But it was probably Bubbles. The man was quite the troublemaker, he just hid it better behind soft smiles and manners.
"What?" Bucky leaned against the bar to grin at Bubbles. Well perhaps a more accurate word would be slumped, he'd spent half the night playing some weird darts game that required shots for every bull's eye Tommy made. It was safe to say that the man was on the downhill slide to wasted. Curt kept an ear on the pair as he flirted with a pretty blonde next to them at the bar.
"Being blonde." Bubbles sighed. "All the movies make it seem fun, don't they? And Major Cleven sure is pretty with his blond hair. I bet it'd look really pretty as well on your curls Bucky."
"Sorry, sweetheart, one moment," Curt turned his head to stare at Bubbles. "You think Buck's pretty?"
"And you don't?"
"I do!"
"We know you do, Bucky," Curt sighed and leaned further onto the bar to make eye contact with Bubbles. "I mean, sure, objectively, you could say he is, but I thought you were wrapped up with Croz and Jean?"
"I am, but I still got eyes don't I? 'Sides ain't there something fun about being blonde?" Bubbles leaned against his cupped hand on the bar. "Can't a mind wonder?"
"Yeah Curt," Bucky rose in defense of his friend slinging an arm around Bubble's neck. The move was so uncoordinated that the pair were nearly sent to the floor. "Why can't Bubbles wonder? I wanna go blond, too!"
Curt rolled his eyes at them, but an idea was taking root in his head. An amazing idea.
"Well," Curt grinned. "Why wonder when you can do?"
"You boys aren't thinking about bleaching your friend's hair on your own are you?" A voice cut through the trio's conversation. It seemed the blonde woman from before had been listening in and was rightly amused by the drunk airmen's conversation.
"Cause you'll fry his whole head off in the state you're in, and the world would mourn those curls." She lifted a hand to tug gently on one of Bucky's loose wavy curls. He smiled at her, loose and happy. Usually, only Buck plays with his hair, but Bucky doesn't mind when anyone else does. Buck does though, which Bucky still hasn't figured out.
"Well, how do you suppose we save his curls then," Curt paused searching for the woman's name, "Nora."
"Good job, I half thought you were too drunk to remember my name handsome." Curt smiled, and Nora kept talking
"There's a drugstore down the way. Stocks up on anything a girl, or flyboy in need, could ever need. I'll help you boys out." Nora laughed. "You'll look mighty pretty dyeing those curls blond Major. I wanna see 'em first."
With Nora leading the way, the trio tripped over themselves into chaos. Bucky laughed as Bubbles rambled on about how pretty he'll look as a blond. Curt butting in to say that he'll need to either shave his mustache or bleach it too.
On base, Buck felt a shiver run down his spine as he laid down to sleep. Writing it off as just a chill from the cold British air, the man fell asleep.
Bucky groaned as he woke up. Voices drifted around him. His head felt like it'd be screwed off and used as a bowling ball all night, and as desperately as he wanted to go back to sleep, he knew that now that the sun was up, he was up.
"Curt, if that's you snoring on my legs, I'm gonna kick you off." Bucky pulled his pillow further over his head, trying to block out said snores.
"Fuck off," Came the grumbled reply. An elbow dug into the back of his knee.
"Get off," John whined. Curt huffed shifting just enough to let Bucky free his legs. "Why didn't you go to your own bed?"
"Yours is comfier." Bubbles murmured next to the pair, and Bucky really was starting to wonder what the hell they all drank the night before.
"It's the same cot as everybody else." Bucky grumbled, finally sitting up. Bubbles and Curt immediately swooped onto the space he abandoned. "Rude. You just want me for my bed."
"But it's such a lovely bed, sweetheart," Curt buried his face in Bucky's pillow, not even glancing at the man he was stealing from. Bubbles seemed to have immediately fallen back to sleep.
"I'm getting breakfast," Bucky yawned, stretching his arms above his head. "Meet me there when you idiots wake up. I'll sneak you in."
"Sir, yes, sir." Curt's hand flopped into a mock salute that had Bucky rolling his eyes.
First things first, breakfast. Or at least coffee for his hangover.
Getting dressed as quickly as he could, Bucky didn't even waste time checking how he looked in a mirror. He went to smooth down his mustache only to curse when he found it missing. Thinking Curt must have shaved it off as a joke, Bucky groaned but moved on. He didn't even touch his hair after that, just walked right out of his barracks. The only thing that mattered to him was coffee and how he'd get his hands on a gallon of it. It wouldn't be the first time he ran around base with his hair going every which way. No one would bat an eye.
Had he known what kind of chaos he was about to wreck upon the poor, unsuspecting airmen of Thorpes Abbotts, Bucky would have at least styled it a bit. You know, just to ensure maximum chaos.
The bike ride to the mess wasn't awful. The fresh air helped at least. With his sunglasses on, his head felt less like it was going to split open and more human. What was weird was how everyone stopped in their tracks to watch him ride past.
"Is that-?"
"No way!"
"Someone get Kidd!"
"Holy shit!"
"Major Cleven is going to lose his mind!"
"Do you think he has a twin?"
"Hell if I know, I can't believe Major Cleven let him out of the barracks like that."
"Lord help us if there's another Egan running around."
Bucky ignored them. He was way too hungover to parse through what nonsense the boys were going on about, and he simply pedaled faster to get to the officer's mess. He just wanted his coffee.
"Major Egan, sir!"
Bucky glances up from securing his bike and meets the eye of one of the newer boys. Kid barely looks old enough to have enlisted.
"Uh," Bucky searches his memory for this kid's name. Bucky tried to know some of the newbies names, but it was harder than he'd ever admit. "Monroe, right?
"Yes, sir!" The kid squeaked, a bright tomato blush spreading across his cheeks. Bucky winced, the sound drilling right into his brain. "I wanted to say you look nice today, sir. Your, your hair is real nice!"
"Thanks, Monroe," Bucky smiled, thrown by how Monroe managed to grow even redder. He reaches out to clasp the kid on the shoulder. "You alright there? You look like you're gonna faint. Had any breakfast yet?"
"I-I'm fine, sir, thank you!" Monroe was stock still under Bucky's hand, but he wrote it off as nerves. Some of the boys got nervous around the older pilots, especially if they were officers. "I'll be going now! Have a good day, sir!"
In a flash, the blushing replacement ducked under Bucky's arm and ran as fast as he could down the lane. Bucky watched him go, head tilted not sure what the hell just happened to him. He heard a few shrieks behind him but wrote it off as typical background noise. There was always something going on.
"Weird kid." Bucky turned to walk into the officer's mess. He'd have to tell Buck about it when he saw him next. Maybe he'd understand what just happened.
Speaking of, Buck had better have saved him a seat for breakfast. Bucky was not going to battle the morning rush as well as his hangover just to find out he had nowhere to sit.
On the way inside, Bucky ran into Veal. As in, he literally ran into the man because he'd stopped dead in his tracks staring at him. Bucky hadn't even seen the other before he practically bowled him over.
"Veal, what the hell?" Bucky groaned.
"You," Veal stared at him wide-eyed. If Bucky were less hungover, he'd get quite a kick out of this. "You, you?"
"Shaved, I know," Bucky gestured to his face. He turned to keep walking into the officer's mess. "Yeah, Curt had some fun last night."
"Wait, no! Bucky-!" Veal went to grab him, but Bucky just swerved out of the way. Nothing was getting in his way in his quest for coffee. "Bucky! Stop! Don't go in there!"
"Yeah, yeah, Veal," Bucky waved a hand behind him. "I get you're shocked, but come on, man. It's not the first time any of you've seen me without it!"
Bucky rushed in, not paying anymore attention to Veal. He walked with one purpose. Coffee. He didn't care if the other officers stopped and stared at him slackjawed as he walked past. He was a man on a mission.
"Hey, coffee, please? Whole pot if you could," Bucky smiled at the attendant, who blushed scarlet before running off. Thrown but not deterred, Bucky just shrugged and turned to find Buck. Maybe he'd be able to steal Buck's coffee.
He found Buck seated near one of the windows with his back facing Bucky. Jack was at his table, but otherwise, it was empty. Bucky started over.
Jack saw him first and choked on his grapefruit juice.
"Oh shit," Jack choked out. Buck leaned over to check on him.
"Alright, Jack?" Bucky grabbed the seat next to Buck. Jack just stared at him, eyes wide. Bucky tilts his head confused. "Buck, what's with him?"
Buck turns and freezes. Bucky stares at him. Buck stares back.
"Buck?" Bucky reaches out to shake him.
"You," Buck starts but doesn't finish. His wide blues eyes stare at Bucky's face.
"Coffee, sir!"
The attendant from before arrives with Bucky's requested pot of coffee and a cup.
"Thanks!" Bucky smiles up at the other. The attendant trips backward. Buck turns and glares at the other man. He flees.
"Buck, what the hell?" Bucky nudges Buck. "Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"
Buck turns to stare at Bucky again, a clench to his jaw that Bucky's knows means he's holding something back. Jack seems to have started breathing normally again.
"Your hair!" Jack says. Bucky reaches up to touch his hair. Sure, he didn't style it this morning, but was it so bad? Monroe said it looked good!
Speaking of, why was everyone focusing on his hair today?
"What about it?" Bucky's genuinely curious now. Buck's still staring at him, eyes bright, and now Jack seems to be wishing for death.
"Its-!"
"Pretty."
Bucky turns to Buck. It's his turn to stare wide-eyed at the other. A blush rises up to his cheeks. Buck's not one to mince his words, and a compliment from him feels akin to a hundred.
The entire mess hall goes quiet as Buck stares at him. Bucky smiles at him. Buck goes rigid, and Jack chokes on his juice next to them. Again.
"Bucky!" Curt slammed his hand against the window, happy as a clam and utterly sober. Bucky hates that Irish constitution of his. "Let us in!"
Bucky stands up to hoist open the window. Jack's still too busy choking on his juice to stop him, and Buck seems to have frozen solid. Bubbles and Curt fall through seconds later. The pair immediately start talking over each other happily, and Bucky is starting to wonder if he was the only one who woke up with a hangover.
"God, you should hear the scuttlebutt going round!" Curt cackles as he launches himself into the seat across from Bucky. Bubbles nods next to him, already munching on a piece of toast Bucky thinks used to be Jack's.
"Anything fun?" Bucky dumps creamer into his coffee. He moans as he takes a sip of it. God, coffee really was the best hangover cure. Bucky doesn't notice how quiet the mess hall got until Bubbles finally answers his question a minute later. Odd.
"Just how pretty your hair looks now Major," Bubbles smiled at him. Bucky reached for his hair again.
"Is it really so different?" He asks. Buck makes a noise next to him like a dying chicken, and Curt cackles.
"Blond really is your color, Bucky! You look like one of those pin up posters running around like that!" Curt reaches across the table to tug on one of his curls, drawing it down into his eyesite. Buck bangs his knee against the table with a swear. Bucky would fuss over him, but he's reevaluating his whole morning with this new information.
"Oh!" Bucky gasps. Now he feels silly. "That's why Monroe complimented me outside?"
"Pardon?" Buck's voice comes out strangled. Bucky swings his gaze back to him. Buck's blue eyes are nearly electric, and Bucky gulps.
"Monroe? Cute kid? Brunette replacement with a billion freckles that disappear when he blushes?" Bucky rambles. Curt cackles again as Jack buries his face into his hands. Bubbles grabs a slice of Buck's toast this time.
"And he stopped you?" Buck's jaw was doing the thing Bucky knows only happens when he's pissed. But why would he be mad? Bucky tilts his head to stare at Buck, curls flopping down into his eyes now that Curt's untucked them from behind his ears.
Buck clenches his fist.
"Yeah, he and Veal both stopped me before I walked in." Bucky reaches over to grab Buck's hand. "You okay?"
"I'm fine John," Buck reaches up to tuck his loose curls back behind his ear. His hand lingers, and Bucky fights the urge to press his cheek into Buck's hand. "You look real pretty."
"Yeah?" Bucky sits up straighter, leaning into Buck's space. "How pretty?"
"Like a daydream." Buck whispers, voice low. His blue eyes won't stop staring, and Bucky can tell his blush is spreading by the volume of Curt's laugh.
Oh, Bucky could just kiss the other.
"Yeah, Nora did a nice job on your hair!" Bubbles pipes up having polished off Buck's toast. "We should write her a thank you card!"
"Nora?" Buck twitches.
"The girl who dyed Bucky's hair, of course!" Curt chimed in reaching for Bucky's coffee. Bucky batted his hands away, holding desperately onto his cup. "Pretty girl too! Kept running her hands through Bucky's hair saying how nice it was."
"I think nows a good time to stop that." Jack shoved his last slice of toast in Curt's mouth.
Buck's hand was still hovering over Bucky's cheek.
"Oh, now I remember!" Bucky leaned towards Curt and Bubbles with a bright smile. "She kissed me on the cheek before we left, right?"
Buck pushed his chair away from the table with a screech. Jack turned back to his grapefruit juice with a sigh.
Buck stormed out of the building, and it was through the combined efforts of Curt and Bubbles that Bucky didn't run after him. They could hear yelling through the still open window.
"Oh shit!"
"Everybody run! Major Cleven's pissed!"
"Who flirted with Bucky this time?!"
"Buck calm down, whoever it was they probably didn't mean anything by it!"
"Outta my way Crank."
"Buck, c'mon if you go to jail, who'll stay by Bucky's side?"
"Only gotta go to prison if I get caught."
"That's right-wait, Buck, no!"
Bucky sipped at his coffee. Jack sighed and turned to Bucky.
"Would you please go stop him? I'm not explaining to Harding why one of the 100th murdered a civilian, a fellow Major, and a replacement."
"Buck wouldn't do that," Bucky rolled his eyes.
Jack stared at him, judgement clear in his eyes. Bucky shifted under his gaze.
"Fine," Bucky groaned and pushed away from the table. He refilled his cup of coffee. "He wouldn't, but I'll go stop him."
Curt and Bubbles chirped their goodbyes as they waved down an attendant. Bucky mourned his pot of coffee as he glanced back and saw Curt gleefully pouring it into a cup.
Stepping put in the sunshine, Bucky reached for his sunglasses. Finding Buck would be easy. He simply turned in the direction of the yelling and started walking.
He ignored the boys all watching him and whispering. Now that he was walking, he could see his reflection in the windows of the buildings he passed. His normally brown locks were now a bright blond. He felt a bit foolish for not seeing it earlier, but hangovers tended to narrow one's field of vision to only what's necessary.
"DeMarcooo!" Bucky called out when he saw the other walking Meatball. "You seen Buck anywhere?"
"Just missed him," Benny yelled back. He pointed to the left of the barracks. "Went that way!"
"Thanks!" Bucky called back with a smile. A few of the boys around him erupted in whispers.
"Nice hair!" Benny yelled with a grin. Bucky rolled his eyes and kept walking. Buck couldn't have gone too far, right?
He found Buck only a few minutes later outside of one of the barracks the replacements were quartered. He was leaning against a wall talking to someone.
"Buck!" Bucky jogged over. As he got closer, he realized that the person Buck was talking to was the kid from earlier. "Monroe! Good to see you again so soon!"
"Major!" Monroe squeaked, eyes bouncing from Buck to Bucky. "Major Cleven was just reminding me about a few chores that I forgot about! I'll get going! Sirs!"
The kid ran off before Bucky could stop him. Buck watched with a satisfied gleam in his eyes, and Bucky huffed out a laugh.
"You know, you don't have to act all jealous to get my attention," Bucky pulled Buck to him by wrapping an arm around his waist. "I'll still only ever look at you."
"Just making sure everyone else knows that." Buck replied, voice low and serious.
Bucky reached up his free hand to drag him down into a kiss. Buck melted into his touch. Bucky laughed into he kiss as he tried to keep his coffee from spilling all over the two of them. He pecks the corner of Buck's mouth and pulls away.
"So you like the hair?" Bucky scrunches his nose into a shit eating grin.
Buck wiped that grin off his face with another kiss. Not that Bucky was complaining, of course.
Later that night, after making sure Buck didn't actually murder anyone, Bucky found himself in front of a vaguely familiar drug store.
"Well Major, I take it your boy liked the blond?" Nora grinned, pink lips spread into a devilish smile. She leaned one hip against the drug store counter. "Surprised you made it back here. You boys weren't exactly stone cold sober when you left."
"I always remember my bets, darling. I'll forget a lot but never those." Bucky laughed and set his hat down on the counter next to her. A single blond curl fell down into his eyes. "Now, what's this about makeup?"
"Oh, Major, you'll look lovely in something peachy."
#please ignore the fact that a small country town in England during ww2 had the necessary products for this during rationing#nora is an oc that exists solely because i have heard horror stories about people not knowing how to use hair bleach#and knew these three fools would burn Bucky's hair off if left unattended so thus NORA#everyone falls in love with Bucky#and blond Bucky is a bombshell no one survives#curt is only surviving because he thrives off of the chaos#internally he is also screaming about how pretty bucky is caude im a curtbucky stan as well#mota#masters of the air#buck x bucky#clegan#john bucky egan#gale buck cleven#bucky egan#john egan#gale cleven#buckbucky#my writing
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This Is Always
From the Love Letter Series
Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal x Josephine Harris (OFC)
The holidays are usually a time to be spent together, cold noses warmed by the fire, and joyful cheers as the New Year approaches. This year, Rosie is struggling with being away from Jo, and acknowledging the future that he dreams of sharing with her. A heart to heart with Crosby helps put things into perspective for both of them.
Read Part 3 Here
Follow along with the Love Letters Playlist
January 1944
My Dearest Jo,
Happy New Year, honey pie! It’s just after midnight here, and though I wanted to be the first person to wish you a Happy New Year, I know that by the time you get this, it will be after the fact. I guess by writing this now, while it’s still ‘43 back home, I’m letting myself be greedy in being the first to send you those wishes. I hope you’re doing something fun tonight, and getting all dolled up to paint the town red. Your last letter came just after Christmas, but I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you just how happy it made me to hear that you were still doing all of your usual Christmas favorites, even if I’m not home to carry all your shopping bags back to Brooklyn after a full day in the city. Believe me, I even miss doing that, no matter how heavy some of them are.
I got Ma’s last letter just a few days before yours arrived, and she mentioned that you went by the house to celebrate Hanukkah with her and Jeanie. I know that made her really happy, and I can’t thank you enough for keeping an extra eye on both of them for me while I’m stuck over here. My sister would argue that she doesn’t need anyone keeping an eye on her, but I’m sure she appreciates your company, and will rub it in my face after the fact that she got to spend so much time with you. That’s what little sisters do, isn’t it?
We had a small thing in the Officers Club for the holidays; nothing too fancy, but there was music, and some good liquor that someone managed to scrounge up for the occasion. The Red Cross Clubmobile girls pulled some resources and, even with rationing, managed to bake a few cookies for us. They were good, but they couldn't hold a candle to yours.
I have never wanted one of your Christmas cookies more than after reading your letter, and to know that Jean Crosby took over as the official taste tester this year; oh it broke my heart darling. But, I’m glad to know that you two girls are keeping each other company, and I know that Croz is happy knowing that she’s not alone. I do hope you two aren’t causing too much trouble while we’re away. Knowing you the way that I do, I know that’s a bit of a pipe dream, but one of the reasons I adore you the way that I do.
At the risk of sounding melancholy, I’ve spent most of today wishing I could take you dancing; spin you around until we’re both dizzy, until finally we can ring in the new year with champagne. Crowded on the dance floor at Minton’s, wrapped up in each other. Maybe it’s bold of me to ask, or maybe it’s the whiskey, but would you have allowed me a midnight kiss, Jo? I can’t picture kissing anyone else as the clock strikes twelve, nor do I want to, on this holiday or any other day. I hope that by next year, we'll be able to spend the evening together, and not have to send holiday wishes in letters that take too long to get there.
I dream of you every night, sweetheart, and every night these sweet dreams end with a kiss before I’m pulled back to reality. I’ve been dreaming of the future, and if the real thing is anything like my dreams, I can’t wait for those days to begin. I wonder,do you dream of those days too? Of building a home together, a life that’s just ours. Living in the city, maybe somewhere near Harry and Jean. We could go to the pictures on Friday nights, and sleep in on Saturday’s, warm under the blankets until we peel ourselves from the sheets only because we need to make coffee. I’d spin you around the kitchen while we made breakfast, a record on the Victrola, the two of us tangled together while the eggs burned. The more I think about it, the more it all sounds like a dream come true.
Maybe it is the whiskey talking, but it’s getting late here. Or early depending on how you look at it, and even though we aren’t flying tomorrow, I’m sure the rest of the fellas will be returning from the Officers Club soon enough. I’ll be dreaming of you tonight, sweetheart, and counting the days until we’re together again.
Sending you millions of hugs and kisses, and all of my love.
Yours for always
Robbie
Rosie took a deep breath, and without giving himself a chance to second guess anything in his letter, folded it up and slid it inside the envelope. He’d address it in the morning and drop it off at APO so that it went out with the next mail call; tonight it would remain on the nightstand next to his bed, with Jo’s photo. He was still in his uniform, not having bothered changing after he returned to the Officer’s hut, and was about to take advantage of the empty shower stall, when the door swung open and Harry walked in.
“Thought I’d find you in here.” Harry spoke, hand coming up to loosen his tie.
“Yea, I uh, wanted to get a letter out to Jo,” Rosie signed, dragging his hand down his face. ‘Or at the very least, written.”
“It’s rough around the holidays isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. Harry knew as well as he did, and he knew his friend was giving him an opening to get his feelings off his chest.
“Probably the most difficult part of all this. We’ve spent every Christmas and Hanukkah together since we met.”
“She celebrates Hanukkah with you and your mom?”
“Jo is the best gift giver in our family, according to my sister.” Rosie grinned.
“Sounds like your sister will be the disappointed one if you don’t put a ring on Jo’s finger when we get home.” Harry chuckled, dropping down onto his own bed, across from Rosie’s.
“She’d have to fight my Ma for the top spot, if I don’t marry Jo.”
The two shared a quiet moment as their thoughts drifted to a place far from England. Far from flak and casualties and torn fuselages. No thoughts of missing friends, mission counts or that damned red light never blinking off.
Rosie knew that Harry understood better than anyone; how it felt to be so devoted to someone, and yet, he felt compelled to ask the one question that, if he had to wager, everyone asks at some point.
“How’d you know Jean was the one?” He asked after a moment, gaze turned upward to meet that of his friend.
“She wanted nothing to do with me when we met,” Harry balked so loudly that it seemed to echo off the walls of the Nissen Hut. “But I knew. I didn’t want to spend another day without her.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Oh yeah, you just know,” Harry nodded. “When did you know Jo was the one? And don’t tell me you didn’t…”
“Let’s just say I should have opened my mouth a long time ago.”
“Well, better late than never.”
“What if I was too late, Croz?”
Harry stood from his bed, moving around the front to lean himself against the footboard. With a determined gaze, he made sure he had Rosie’s full attention before saying what was on his mind.
“You can’t think like that. You need to believe you’re going home to her, that you two will have a life after all this.”
“God, I hope so.”
“I don’t know Jo as well as you do,” He started. “I only know what Jean tells me in her letters, but it sounds to me like she’s really something. And I’m not just saying that because she went out of her way to befriend my wife.”
“I told her I want a life with her, a future, our own place, Saturday mornings in bed, lazy days…”
“You want the dream.” Harry nodded in understanding.
“Told her maybe we’d move to the city, leave Brooklyn, get a place near you and Jean.”
“Sounds like we’ll be in trouble if that happens, Jo and Jean a stone's throw away from each other?”
“I think the two of us are going to have our hands full when we get home, Croz.”
“I bet they’re saying the same thing about us,” Harry laughed. “And I wouldn’t blame Jean. I’ve been a real handful as of late.”
“Oh yea, you’re causing lots of trouble all the way over here.” Rosie chuckled, propping his legs up on the bed, feet hanging off the edge so as to not dirty the sheets. He didn’t miss the slight look of distress that flashed across his friend's face.
He regarded him carefully; he looked like he had something on the tip of his tongue. His face looked worried, like he had something weighing him down exponentially, and Rosie would allow his friend the moment if he needed it. After all, it was the holiday’s and they were the best source of camaraderie that they had; friends should be there for each other. No one understood that better than he did.
“No, I’ve been a handful…” Harry finally continued.
“Croz?”
“Remember after Munster? When Harding sent me to Oxford?”
“Yea…”
“They double you up when you’re at those conferences, and my roommate, she-”
“Ah jeez, Croz…”
Harry sighed, dropping his head, too ashamed to look his friend in the eye. The moment had turned in the blink of an eye, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it, or get his friend through it. But he’d be damned if he didn’t try.
“I don’t know how to tell Jean.”
“Is this why you kept disappearing up to London? To see her?”
“How do I tell my wife that I slept with another woman?”
“You just do, Croz.”
“That’s the worst possible thing to write in a letter. ‘Honey, I miss you terribly, by the way…’”
“Alright, I see your point. But you need to tell her.”
“This fucking war,” Harry sighed. “I swear, it peels the humanity right from your bones.”
“Then you fight it.”
“More than we already have? More than what we’ve given and lost?”
Rosie knew he was referring to Bubbles, and for a moment he let his mind wander to Nash, and that first mission to Bremen. It would be easy to fold; to pack it up and let the fight take from you more and more. But he would be damned if he’d let it take more from him, and if he had to fight a little extra to make sure it didn’t take any more from his friend, he’d do that too.
“You’re not fighting it alone, Croz.”
“Feels like it most of the time.”
“And you’re fighting for something back home, even if you feel like you don’t deserve it at the moment.”
“I don't deserve her.”
“Yea, you do. And you’ll tell her everything, whether you write it, or tell her when we get home. And Jo and I will be there for you both.”
Harry looked like he was about to respond when the door to the Officers Hut swung open. He turned, half expecting a replacement officer, but was surprised to see Blakely and Douglass, the former with a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and Douglass swinging a bottle of something in his left hand.
“Nightcap, fellas?” Douglass lifted the bottle, and Rosie could just make out the label. Vat 69.
“Where the hell did you get that, Dougie?” Harry’s eyes went wide at the familiar label from back home. A very expensive label.
“Been saving it, so come on, let’s have a drink.”
“No, seriously, who’d you steal that from?” Rosie asked, watching as Blakely gathered four of the glasses the boys kept on their side tables for brushing their teeth.
“I won it in a bet, if you must know.” Douglass grinned, pulling the wax seal from the neck of the bottle before pulling the cork out.
“The details are not of importance,” Blakely chimed in, swatting Rosie’s legs off the bed to take up the space next to him. “What is important is that we’re here, and alive, so stop asking questions and have a drink would ya?”
Douglass poured for the four of them, dropping himself down on the bed next to Rosie’s, while waiting for Harry to join them.
“Any day now, Croz…” he groaned, glass between two fingers as he held it out for the navigator. “It’ll be ‘45 by the time you move.”
“Dougie… fuck off.” Harry stood with a laugh, brushing off his slacks before snatching the glass and taking the seat next to him. “And anyway, we’d all better be home by ‘45.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Blakely nodded, holding his glass up to cheers his friends, the only ones left that weren’t replacement crews, or trapped somewhere in the Stalag.
The foursome sat silently as they sipped their prize whiskey, thoughts turned presumably to home and memories of Christmas and New Years’ spent with people they loved and missed.
“Alright, what would you be doing if you were home right now?” Ev broke the silence, leaning his elbows on his knees, gaze landing on Harry.
“His wife, dumbass.” Douglass chuckled.
“Woah hey, none of that.” Rosie looked between the two, the rules immediately being put into place without having to say them.
They didn’t talk like that, but he assumed it had been a bit too much whiskey already for Douglass, and with there no mission on the horizon for tomorrow, their guards were all down a bit.
“Right, right, sorry Croz,” Douglass held his hands up in apology. “For real, what would you and Jean be doing if you were home?”
“We’d go out for dinner, but I think we’d probably be home for the bells,” he closed his eyes wistfully, and Rosie knew his friend was simply hoping that he’d be able to do that next year. “Dance in the living room, and yea, off to bed.”
Blakely nodded, reaching across to drop his hand to Crosby’s knee in a gesture of good faith, that he felt for him in a way, and was hoping he’d get that moment sooner rather than later.
“What about you?” Ev turned to his right, finding Rosie sitting quietly.
“What about me?” Rosie brought the glass to his lips, taking a small sip and letting the taste linger on his tongue a moment.
“Would you and Josephine be out on the town?” Douglass asked, gesturing to the photo on Rosie’s side table.
“Oh yea, we’d be at Minton’s, dancing until they kicked us out I’m sure.” Rosie laughed.
“Together at the club then?”
“Every year we go dancing on New Years,” Rosie started. “Christmas and Hanukkah are for family, New Years is for friends.”
“She’s more than a friend.” Harry looked at him pointedly.
“She is, and a fella can dream that she’ll say yes when I get home.”
Blakely, who had been pulling the cigarette from behind his ear to light it, fumbled, dropping it to the ground at Rosie’s confession.
“You got a ring?!”
“No, but, that’s my second order of business once I’m back stateside.”
“And the first?”
“To kiss the hell out of her.” Rosie confessed.
“Good man.” Blakely slapped him on the shoulder, a smile on his face.
It was absolutely the whiskey talking this time, but he was among friends. The trust was insurmountable. Between the confessions that had taken place before Ev and Dougie had joined them, and the warmth flowing through his veins, Rosie lifted the glass to his lips to drain it, before standing from his place on the bed. Swiping the envelope from earlier, and a clean sheet of paper from the table, he glanced at his friends with a grin, and offered a two fingered salute.
“Gentlemen, I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going! We still have more whiskey!” Douglass hollered after him.
“Save it for another occasion!” Rosie called back as he pushed through the doors and out into the chilly January air.
He walked until he found a spot under one of the lamp posts, the bench undoubtedly cold as he sat down, but he wouldn’t be out here for long. Just enough time, and privacy, to get the thoughts swarming around in his head out on the page before he lost his nerve.
Pulling his pen from his breast pocket, he carefully let the paper rest on his thigh before he began scrawling his extra note.
Hi Sweetheart,
I know this is coming with no context but, I want you to know how much I adore you. I know I’ve said it in different ways, and a few times by now, but, I mean it. Truly, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m sorry it took me so long to say it. And to say it from thousands of miles away, with a war on no less. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to hit me once I’m back home.
Just know that I’ll always, always, carry your heart with the most careful of hands. I’ll keep you safe, and treasure every moment we have together. Anything you want, it’s yours, Jo. A quiet life together, or a herd of children that jump on the bed on Sunday mornings. I’ll make sure you have it honey.
Just know, I’m yours for however long you’ll have me, Josephine. I’m hoping for forever, but that’s a question for another day.
I love you,
Robbie
Read part 5 Here
A/N: Thanks for reading! This series will continue for Rosie & Jo, so if you enjoyed this, please like, comment, reblog- whichever is your poison. Feedback is always welcome & my ask box is always open. If you want to be added to my tag list, or removed, let me know!
Tag List: @rowdy-redhead @winniemaywebber @sagesolsticewrites @rosiesriveter @bobparkhurst @victoryrollsandredlips @bcolfanfic @major-mads @footprintsinthesxnd @basilone @roosevelt-stalin-cocacola @justheretoreadthxxs @claireelizabeth85 @hephaestn @ktredshoes @barrykeoghussy @peachessndreamss @hellfirequinnie
#masters of the air#love letters: rosie & jo#mota fanfic#rosie rosenthal x ofc#rosie rosenthal fic#robert rosenthal x ofc#rosie rosenthal x oc#nate mann#hbo war#gina baker writes
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It's Been A Long, Long Time • Part 2
💕 Jean 💕
read previous chapter here
warnings: 18+, oral (f receiving), mention of sexual intercourse.
taglist: @sagesolsticewrites @ginabaker1666 @agir1ukn0w @precious-little-scoundrel
Putting the finishing touches to your famous cherry pie, you remove your apron and walk into the living room, trying your best to swipe flour off your dress as you enter.
“Pie is done, Binger,” you say quietly so as not to wake the baby in his arms. Yours and Harry's son had taken to mixing up his days and nights. Not a wink of sleep from midnight - what Bing liked to call his witching hour - until at least 5am. It had started to take its toll on the pair of you, the both of you sleeping in shifts for the most of a fortnight. You missed your husband dearly, despite being back in the same house. There was just something about savoring his arms around you, his nose snuffling into your neck as he slept, the comfort you'd been craving for years. You knew it was hard for him too: waking alone from a horrific nightmare, your soft hands not there to soothe him back to sleep and reassure him he's home and safe.
Placing the baby in his bassinet, Harry gets up from the couch and stretches, yawning heavily before walking into the kitchen.
“It looks wonderful, my love. He'll love it.”
“Are you sure?” you question, eyebrow raised a little. “You're sure he said that was his favorite?”
“Yes, Mrs Crosby,” he laughs, kissing your forehead. “I like to think I'd remember these little things about my friends. Don't worry yourself so.” He pulls you into his arms and strokes your back, his nose falling into the crook of your neck. You feel yourself purr into him at the sensation of him tickling and kissing your neck, gasping a little.
“He's asleep,” your husband murmurs. “Come to bed with me, darling.”
“But Rosie will be here any moment and…ahhh–” You can barely piece the rest of your thought together because of Harry putting his mouth on yours, his tongue entering soon after.
“Fine, we won't go to bed,” he murmurs, pushing you against the counter. “Here is more than fine.” With that, his strong, pretty hands are lifting up the skirt of your dress and gripping your legs, lifting you slightly to get you to sit on the counter.
“Harry…” you groan as you watch him kneel down in front of you, pulling your underwear to the side.
“What, my little wife? Do you want me to stop?” he questions, those brown, puppy dog eyes looking up at you as he begins to plant soft kisses on your the inside of your thighs, getting closer to your core with each one.
“N-no,” you finally stutter out. “It-its just…oh, my gosh.” You're cut off by your husband's tongue taking you apart in seconds. He pulls away, gently pushing a finger inside you.
"It's just what, darling? Tell me. Tell your Bing just what it is.”
You can't seem to formulate words due to the pleasure fogging your brain, so you just shake your head, breath ragged.
“That's what I thought,” he murmurs, returning his face to in between your legs, throwing your leg over his shoulder. “Now, let me make my wife feel good.”
You're a mess, moments later, Bing mumbling filthy praise as you writhe in front of him. “Wow…you needed that, huh?” He stands up, wiping his mouth and kissing you, you moaning at the taste of yourself on his tongue.
“Mhm,” you reply, your mouth still on his. “I always need you.”
“Good,” he grins. He plants a sweet kiss on your nose, winking at you. “We'd better go clean up.”
---
It's just as Harry's spitting toothpaste into the sink that you hear the doorbell ring. You both look at each other, wincing and waiting for the inevitable screech that strangely, doesn't come. You take a final look at yourself in the bathroom mirror before running to the door, Harry following close behind you, his hands squeezing your butt as you turn away.
“Hey!” you squeal, playfully swatting at him. He chuckles, pulling you towards him again for a quick kiss.
The doorbell rings again, and Harry goes to open the door. “Here he is!” he shouts, pulling his friend into a hug. “Robbie Rosenthal!”
“Croz, how are ya?” he responds, slapping him on the back. He makes eye contact with you stood behind the pair of them, giving them time to greet one another after so long.
“Jeez, Croz,” He pulls away, smiling at you. “Wonderful to see ya. And this must be the Mrs Jean Crosby.”
“Hi, Rosie. A pleasure, finally!” You go to shake his hand, but he pulls you into a huge bear hug.
“So, so, good to finally meet you.”
He follows you and Harry into the house, placing his bag by the door.
“How was your journey, bud?” Harry asks, placing a cold beer in front of him.
“Ah, not so bad,” he responds, taking a sip. “Jo says she's sorry she couldn't be here.” With that, he glances over at you, and you share a sad glance.
“Oh, my sweet Jo,” you respond wistfully. Jo had been part of the team of ladies keeping you upright in many ways during the time Harry was away. She was always there with a listening ear, a kind heart and a shoulder to cry on when things got especially tough. Because of that, she is now one of your most treasured friends, and holds such a special place in your heart. “I miss her terribly. How is she? Of course, we write weekly but it's not the same as being around her.”
“I know, Jean. She's doing great, beautiful as ever. We've been fixing up a little house to move into after we're married. You guys are gonna come, right?”
“You think we'd miss that, Rose? Come on, man, you know me better than that!” The men laugh, clinking beer bottles as you're pulling vanilla ice cream from the freezer to serve with the pie when a soft cry pours through from the living room into the kitchen. You nod apologetically towards the men and go retrieve the baby.
“Hi, sunshine,” you murmur, picking him up. “That was a good nap, huh? Good boy, I'm sure you feel much better now. Guess who's here?” You lay him down on the changing mat to change his diaper, cooing all the while. “That's right, my boy! Uncle Rosie. Uncle Rosie's here to see you!”
You feel the presence of someone in the doorway, and look up to see Harry, his arms crossed, smiling at you and the baby.
“What, darling?” You say, buttoning the baby's romper.
“That never gets old, sweetheart. You and him, me being here to see it. I love it.” He walks over and takes the baby from you, kissing his chubby cheeks before kissing yours. “I love you, Mrs Crosby.”
“I love you more, Bing.”
Rosie gasps as Croz brings the baby into the kitchen, his eyes lighting up and softening at the same time. He stands up, the chair squeaking on the kitchen floor as he reaches his hands out, holding the baby to his body.
“Hi, buddy!” He chirps, smiling down at him. “How's it goin’? Huh? You running mom and dad ragged? Yeah? That's what I thought, little guy. Good job!” He carries on like this, rambling in a voice that's several octaves higher than you just heard, the baby gurgling in response.
“Oh, you guys,” he says, back to his normal husky tone, his eyes shining. “He's beautiful.”
---
The rest of the day passes quickly, both men rushing around you and switching the baby between them, so you can sit down and rest. Thankful for the extra pair of hands, you take the opportunity to take a long, hot bath and relax, your Bing coming in for just a moment to sit on the edge of the tub, telling you a story from their time in England that he'd just remembered thanks to Rosie and that he just had to tell you immediately, all while rubbing lavender soap into your legs.
While you're getting ready for bed, you reread Jo's latest letter, which you plan to reply to in the morning.
Darling Jean,
How are you? Good, I hope. I'm so sorry to read that the little guy isn't sleeping well. I imagine that can be so exhausting.
I'm glad Robbie will be there in a few days. That extra pair of hands around so you can relax will be welcome, I'm sure. I'm just so sorry I cannot be there too, to be with you while the boys share their anecdotes. While our men may have lost so much in the years they were away from us, I'm glad it gave us something: each other. You are one of my dearest friends and I am forever glad and grateful that your Harry and my Robert became friends, thus putting us together. I wouldn't know how to live without you now.
Back to not being able to join Robbie on this trip: tell him to hurry up and marry me so I'm able to come see you and the baby. Start dropping hints now, lady! I'm dying to see you and my beloved nephew.
Goodbye for now, my dear. All my love, always.
Your friend,
Jo
You smile, placing the letter back on your nightstand, sniffling a little. She is right; the men losing so much, yet you both gaining this friendship is bittersweet. Her being there for you when Harry came home on leave, your nerves wrecked after not seeing your husband for years. She was one of the first people you told when you found out you were pregnant, both of you weeping with joy and hugging. Wiping your present tears away, you run downstairs to take the baby so that Bing can take the first sleep shift.
“Harry, darling,” you coo. “You'd better sleep if you want to take Rosie golfing tomorrow morning!”
“Oh, thanks, honey,” he says, clumsily standing from the couch so as not to disturb the dozing baby in his arms. “Here ya go, buddy,” he says, placing the baby in your waiting arms. “Go to mama. Goodnight, my son.” He kisses him on the head, then it's your turn, placing a deep kiss on your mouth.
“Hold on, you guys,” Rosie starts, placing his whiskey glass on the table in front of him. “You aren't going to bed together?”
“We can't right now, Rosie,” you say, sadly. “Little guy here wakes at all hours, so we take it in turns right now.”
“I'm not having that!” he says, shocked. “Go to bed together, I'm here for a reason. Uncle Rosie and his new best buddy can have a few hours to get to know one another a bit better. You've got jazz, a record player and I've got arms that aren't exhausted to be able to hold him all hours.”
“Are you sure, bud?” Harry says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.
“Yes, Croz. Go curl up with your wife. I'll be here.”
“Thanks, doll,” you say, a grateful smile on your face. “Come wake us if there's any trouble, okay?” You place the dozing baby in his bassinet next to the armchair Rosie is sitting in, and gently pat his shoulder in thanks.
“I wouldn't dream of it. Goodnight, you two!”
---
You and Harry ascend the stairs together, breathing a sigh of grateful relief. Pulling his shirt off, your Bing walks towards you, his hands finding their way up your night dress. “How's about we pick up where we left off earlier?” he winks, his hands getting further up your bare skin.
“Hmm, yes please.”
“Good,” he murmurs, kissing you deeply. “Just be quiet, Mrs Crosby. We don't want the cops called on us.”
masterlist
part three
#masters of the air#mota#masters of the air fic#mota fic#croz x jean#croz x rosie#it's been a long long time#mota smut#winnie writes
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points on a map.
this is... [loud kazoo] rather late but oh well! better late than never. related to this piece, this next one is plucking from the prompt crew and, as you can expect: is an introduction to the rest of Viv and Willie's crew! It was fun to write though, so I hope you enjoy it (will these make it onto ao3? maybe. no it is not proofread, sue me) Meet Inez Eckley, our very lovely navigator. All of these OCs will be on the carrd very soon!
—
It takes ten people to fly a B-17.
Not ten men, or ten boys — ten people. That was it. Really early on there used to be a joke, the setup was always the same: how many girls does it take to fly a plane? To no one’s surprise: Inez never found it funny, no matter how many times the punchline changed. It takes ten of me just like it takes ten of you.
She’d never said that, never had much of the courage to open her mouth about it. Luckily, the other navigators she knew either didn’t have the same sentiments or just kept them to themselves — Inez optimistically hopes for the second.
i.
“So we’re just… puttin’ pins in it?” Inez asks, turning to Croz and Bubbles. Croz nods, gives her a bit of a sheepish smile and Inez tries not to squint at the now blurry map in front of her — her glasses feeling like a cross where they hide under her jacket beneath her shirt.
“Pretty much. It’s a tradition.” He affirms.
“Gotta know where everyone’s from.” Bubbles tacks on immediately after — his smile is a little brighter. It doesn’t surprise her: Inez is fairly certain Bubbles was the one who was gonna run around and shoving red thumb tacks in people’s faces. Inez nods once, slow and pensive, before reaching for one of them.
“Ladies first, then?” She wants it to be a statement — but she can’t help but ask. As if they’d have her set up the map on the wall for a boys only activity.
She catches a glimpse of Harrie Morgan over in the corner, trying to nudge one of the guys out of the way so she could listen to the fight on the radio, and assumes that her worry isn’t a crazy assumption to make.
“So y’don’t forget about us,” Inez tacks it on at the end, a bit sheepish, fixing her gaze now on the plastic between her fingers. When she looks back up — Bubbles is still smiling brightly.
“Sure thing. You can do the honors.” He encourages, and that much makes her smile a little bit as she nods once to herself then takes a couple steps forward. She squints a bit, trying to will the text into becoming more solid, trying to recall the maps she’d pour over during practice missions over the States. Inez hesitates a moment, settles on the spot and hopes that she’s hit her target. Turning her head, Bubbles and Crosby are both looking over at where she’s placed it.
“Nashville, huh? That makes us neighbors,” Bubbles puts his own above hers. “Louisville.”
“Guess you’ll have to visit then. We’ll make a day out of it. Hit all the real touristy spots.” Inez offers. There’s a vision there that has her smiling to herself — one where her mother overfeeds them because they’re “too skinny to be Army,” and Croz, polite as ever, doesn’t know how to say no to her. “You too, Bing. And it’s your turn.” Crosby seems to perk up a little bit, takes his pin and tacks it right onto Iowa. Bubbles chuckles to himself, arms crossing over his chest.
“Yeah, you gotta visit. Th’hell’s back in Iowa.” He teases, and Inez can’t help the quiet laugh that escapes her. By the time they got back from this, Iowa would have Mrs. Jean Crosby again, who’s letter was probably sitting comfortably in Croz’s jacket pocket right about now.
“Don’t get him started, we’ll be here all day.”
ii.
Harriet Morgan, their ball gunner, has successfully stolen the seat closest to the radio. Carrie Hughes, one of their waist gunners, is standing awkwardly to her left when Inez tracks them down. Harrie’s leant forward on her elbows, the guy next to her, Roy Clayton, gives her a questioning look, expression twisted into one of mild annoyance as Amison messes with the knobs of the radio.
“You even got money on this, Morgan?”
“No, but ma’ pa might!” The expression on her face is bright, and she flashes him a sunny-side up grin — all crooked teeth and crinkled eyes. Carrie says nothing, but her cheeks flush in that mildly embarrassed way that they always do when Harrie’s garnering a bit of attention for herself. Sometimes, Inez is marveled by the fact that Carrie continues to follow her around in spite of her own introversion — but the world was full of mysteries and Inez figured this one would just have to go unsolved.
Harrie, as usual, is none the wiser.
Inez clears her throat on her approach, drops a hand on Carrie’s shoulder to squeeze it and give her a half-smile.
“Got a second to spare? Wouldn’t want you losin’ your seat, after all,” Harrie’s grin turns a little mischievous, and she waves her hand flippantly as she jumps up to her feet.
“Roy gon’ watch ma seat for me, ain’t that right?” Roy makes a face, a mix of shock and protest that falters almost immediately upon Harrie holding his stare for another second or two. Harrie claps him on the shoulder. “‘Preciate it, pal,” before clapping her hands together and jumping up to her feet. Inez thinks she hears Carrie mutter a sorry Roy under her breath. Inez can’t help the small laugh that leaves her as she guides the two of them towards the map.
“Shouldn’t take more than a minute.” Inez offers, but Harrie whizzes by her like a dog catching a scent, sidling up immediately at the work-in-progress amalgamation of push-pins.
“Well what’s all this then?” Her question is as bright as the rest of her and Inez only wonders momentarily how it is that she can treat every minor occurrence as though she’d just found a winning lottery ticket. Carrie’s interest, although more subdued, is still piqued — Inez can tell by the way those big brown eyes of hers light up in curiosity. June had made a couple jokes about the girl being the baby deer of the group: the nineteen-year-old was really living up to it now.
“Croz and Bubbles say it’s a tradition. Gotta put a pin where everybody in the group’s from.” Carrie tilts her head, brows furrowed — although Harrie wastes no time in taking one from the table and smacking it onto the map. Somewhere South, but that part was obvious.
“We get to…” Carrie’s voice trails off, but Inez knows how that question was going to finish, so she nods.
“All thirty of us. I went first,” That makes Carrie smile, and Inez pats her back before gently pushing her towards the map, before sidling up on its opposing side to squint at where Harrie found her mark. Montgomery, Alabama. Carrie, however, is more subdued about it — she simply points and voices it, as opposed to doing it herself.
“Denver,” Carrie offers and Bubbles puts the pin in.
“Ever been to the Rockies?” He asks with a bit of a tease. Carrie lets out a small huff.
“Do I look like a mountain climber to you, sir?” And now it’s Inez’s turn to snort at the barely there bite of Carrie’s remark — one that has Harrie laughing loud and unapologetic. Silently, Inez just hopes Carrie keeps sharpening that edge of hers’ until it gleams, if only for her own sake.
iii.
Inez knows that when their radio op smiles at her and promises she just needs to finish up this last game, that it is the beginning of a doom-coming.
Not for Fern, of course. Never for Fern — Inez was fairly sure she could talk Eisenhower himself into giving her a brand new fort for free. The doom-coming being for the wallet of whoever Fern has successfully deceived into thinking she was actually bad at darts: this time, it seems to be Quinn and Blakely — Hinton being her newfound accomplice. Inez doesn’t know how they haven’t been made aware of Fern’s goal to sucker at least half the 100th before they reach England, but that’s none of her business.
“No shame in callin’ it quits now, Carmine. I’ll even halve the winnings for ya,” Bailey drawls, and Fern scoffs lightheartedly. She puts her hands on her hips, cocking a brow and tucking a loose strand of shiny auburn hair behind her ear. There’s a slight pout to her lips. Hook, line…
“Don’t tell me you’re calling me a quitter, Bailey. Matter of fact, I hit this double eight and we double it. Two bucks each.”
Sinker. Quinn looks reluctant, but Bailey agrees — so they all cough up another bill to make it eight on the table. Fern takes her last dart and passes Hinton one of those award-winning smiles of hers, and Inez is reminded briefly of how they had her posing up by the plane for pictures back in Sioux City. And how a passing remark about how she should’ve been painted on the plane, not flying ‘em had earned the offender a fist to the teeth from June.
She lines up the shot, takes in a deep breath and then…
“Boop!” Fern declares as the dart finds its target, to the collective groaning of both Quinn and Bailey. “Thaaank you! And thank you!” She swipes the cash from the table, hands four to Hinton and then pockets the other four, before turning to Inez. “Heard something about a map, is that it?” Fern is looping their arms, her cheek brushing against the side of Inez’s head.
“Four whole dollars. You’re really stretchin’ that Mouse Hole piggy bank,” Inez remarks, and it makes Fern laugh a little with a shake of her head.
“Once we hit England it’ll burst all on its own,” She declares, definitively, then listens intently as Inez explains exactly what it was they were doing. The map’s got a few more pins — from Brady and Blakely and their crews. By the time they hit it, Fern’s already opening her mouth and unlooping their arms, pointing at the spot on the map in one fluid motion. “Racine, Wisconsin, boys, riiiiight there.”
iv.
Josephine Alden was always good at not taking up too much room — with Lorraine next to her, they would have the quietest corner of the bar were it not for Lena Connolly filling it with her own storytelling of tales from home. Jo seems more intent to listen than Lorraine, who’s eyes have fallen decidedly further down the bar, towards some back-and-forth occurring between June and Douglass. For a moment, Inez idles behind Lena, trying to figure out the best way to worm herself in.
Noticing this, Josephine gives her one of those warm and acknowledging smiles of hers.
“Did you need something, Inez?” she asks, shifting the attention towards her. Well, Lena’s attention at least. Lorraine still seems preoccupied.
Inez smiles, rubs the nape of her neck.
“Bubbles, Croz, and I are wranglin’ people to tell us where they’re from. Keep track of location and stuff. There’s a map for people to put pins in their hometown. I just wanted to make sure we all got ours,” she explains, looking over the three of them. Lena nods slowly, and Josephine is already straightening out to get up and head over.
Lorraine’s lips tug into a frown, dark eyes flitting from her back to the scene she was watching unfold in front of her.
“Do I have to?” And, despite knowing her, the question still manages to knock some of the wind out of Inez all the same. It’s not posed with a whine, but that sort of indifference that she takes towards most things that didn’t pique her immediate interest. Inez has shared a bunkhouse with the woman for the better part of a full year, but sometimes she still has to remind herself that it’s rarely ever personal; that it’s just Lorraine. Slow to convince, slow to bite down on anything without an incentive.
Sensing Inez’s own faltering, Lena taps in — a clap on Lorraine’s shoulder and a smile up at her.
“Haven’t seen Pasadena Nena touch down yet,” she casts a look to Josephine sliding off the bar stool, “Or Sparky.” Josephine perks up, an animated full-body thing so unlike her typical reservations that it even catches Inez offguard.
“That’d make us first, wouldn’t it?” Josephine points out. “First of the girls, at least,” She looks to Inez for confirmation, and it dawns on her all at once — so she nods almost too quickly in confirmation.
“Uh huh. Croz and Bubbles even let me put the first pin in it,” Inez admits. Lorraine’s brows raise just enough for her to notice, and there’s a twitch of Lena’s lip in knowing they’ve thoroughly incentivized her into something else.
Lorraine Ivanova didn’t care for much — but she did like to be first to things.
“Alright,” she assents, and Inez smiles a little more genuine, guiding the trio back towards the map. Josephine lets the other two walk in front of her, whipping around to raise her hand in greeting. Inez looks back to see who it is — only to realize all at once that she doesn’t know who it is that Josephine’s waving to. A member of Brady’s crew, maybe. By the time Inez is turning back around, Lorraine is taking one of the push pins to jam into the map wordlessly.
“Brooklyn,” Josephine murmurs quietly to Inez, as Lena mimics it, her own pin nearly on top of Lorraine’s. “And the Bronx.” She knew the two were from New York — but the differences between all those little neighborhoods made her head spin on a better day. Inez gives Josephine an appreciative smile that the girl returns, patting the spot between Inez’s shoulder blades before stepping towards the map and pointing.
“New Englander, huh?” Bubbles points out as Croz presses the pin into its spot.
“Same as Crank,” She nods, stepping back, before giving Inez a curious look. “Did you get Juney yet?”
v.
She had not, in fact, gotten Juney yet.
And their bombardier looked like she was about to bite Howard Hamilton’s head off — but Hambone just looked amused with his ability to successfully get a rise out of her. To be entirely fair, it wasn’t hard. And it also wasn’t worth the smack in the mouth he’d be getting if he kept poking her as though she were a sleeping bear; Inez walks a little quicker, Josephine keeping step. Douglass, who’d also been participating in the conversation, catches them first with that pearly-white smile of his.
“Ladies,” it’s an easy greeting, and Inez fixes him with a nod.
June Cielinski looks back at them now, blue eyes lit up, argument on her tongue and jaw clenched. She fixes her gaze on Inez and Inez feels her stomach drop almost instinctually. She’s like a horse being wrangled straight into a pen she wants no part of, because whatever conversation that was just transpiring would be far too much for her to keep up with.
“Eckley, would you tell Hamilton that—”
“We need you for somethin’,” Inez blurts abruptly. She then fixes her look back to the two men behind her and lets out a soft puff of breath. “I’m borrowin’ her.” Josephine slides seamlessly into the conversation with a heard you had a rough landing! that’s laced with all the concern of a mother checking on her kids after a long school day. June, however, is muttering what Inez can only assume are obscenities under her breath. Inez doesn’t speak a lick of polish — her cheeks flush anyway.
“What was that all about?” Inez asks after a moment, and June scoffs.
“Dougie wants to make a pass at Fern so I told him to piss off about it. Hamilton thought it was pretty funny,” June seethes, and Inez knows her immediate piece of advice wouldn’t be much help. Don’t feed into it was like asking June to hold her breath for an entire flight exercise.
She also knows it was less about the prospect of Douglass and Fern, of all people, and more about what lies beneath it — the principle of it. They’d all been sat down and had the fraternization policy nailed into their skulls. Inez figures that it’s hard to take a rule seriously when you’ve never seen the consequences of breaking it. So the guys found it funny, even if, like most things, the consequences felt very, very real for the woman. And most girls understood how words could be dangerous in a way that guys didn’t.
June was always going to be the first one to bat for them. That’s just how it was.
“Should only take a minute, then you can go back to uh… fightin’ the good fight, I guess,” June snorts, unapologetic in the way she rolls her eyes, but Inez knows it isn’t malicious. Her lips curl on something between a smirk and a smile and her physical being seems to loosen up a bit more. That makes Inez relax a bit, letting out a soft breath as they reach the map. “They’ve just gotta know where you’re from. Put a pin in it.” June’s lips pull into a small pout, a nod of understanding.
“Hope you boys don’t need me to point you in the direction of Chicago,” She raises a brow at the two other navigators. Bubbles just laughs, but Croz seems to flush a bit — meek in the presence of June’s sharp remarks as he goes to put the pin in its place.
vi.
“You get lost or something, Cleven?”
It’s never been hard to find her pilot, Captain Savorre’s made a spot for herself by the door just as Major Cleven comes in with a gust of wind. Inez watches Cleven take Savorre’s hand and shake it, and they give each other a smile — Cleven’s is barely perceptible, Savorre’s is mostly teeth. Whatever Cleven says in response, Inez doesn’t pick up on, but Savorre turns her head and Inez follows it.
Inez doesn’t get how she didn’t notice that the horn above the mantle was split in two. Savorre says something else Inez can’t hear, and claps him on the shoulder twice before he walks past. The two of them look like something out of the movies they’d play on base, if she was being completely honest with herself. Tall, confident, attractive. Cleven presses forward, nodding towards those who catch his eye, greeting those he knows.
She didn’t know the commander of the 350th well, but the general consensus of her and most of the girls was that he was quite alright. Harrie had gushed about how pretty his girlfriend was when they saw her once at the bar — all Veronica Lake waves and friendly smiles. Inez was too shy to talk to her then. Still, Captain Savorre and Lieutenant Neumann seemed to like him well enough — that was as much of an assurance as any. Sometimes it was hard to discern who their allies were in a group of hundreds of people.
Inez presses forward once she realizes Savorre is no longer preoccupied, clearing her throat as she approaches.
“Captain?” Savorre’s face lights up in another smile.
“Eckley.” Inez looks to the left, to Buck over by the map, then clears her throat.
“Me and uh… the other navigators were just gettin’ everyone to put a pin where they’re from up on the board. I pretty much got everybody but you and Lieutenant Neumann.” Captain Savorre had an air about her that was somehow both comfortable and intimidating. Inez always chalked it up to her having a good four inches of height on her. But the smile she maintains is a comfort as she straightens out a bit.
“Look at you, making friends,” There’s something about the way she says it that reminds Inez vaguely of her older cousins asking about her social life back in high school. It’s almost sisterly. When Savorre starts walking, Inez is quick to follow. “How’re those glasses working out for you?” she inquires. Inez feels her face flush. The cold metal frames hanging on the inside of her shirt feel heavier.
Savorre picked up on Inez’s habitual squinting pretty quickly. She said nothing of it, but Inez did find a pair of readers on the pillow of her rack in Wendover. She’d thanked the woman at least five times; Savorre just laughed it off, telling her her secret’s safe with her.
“Just fine, thanks,” Savorre nods, satisfied. Then, Inez lets her curiosity get the best of her as they pass by Cleven again in conversation with the Sergeant at the bar. “Everything okay? With the Major?”
Savorre’s mouth curls on a grin, directed ahead of her as opposed to in response to Inez’s question. Inez watches as Savorre drapes an arm around Neumann’s shoulders. She’d been in some kind of conversation with Lieutenant Brady. There’s a quick exchange there: an I’ve gotta steal her from Savorre, a small eyeroll from Neumann and then a small, surrendering nod from Brady that ends with Savorre turning on her heel.
It’s then that the Captain seems to remember Inez’s question.
“Our Air Exec just knows how to make an impression, is all,” is Savorre’s breezy reply, arm still draped around Neumann’s shoulders, who’s giving her an equally questioning look, but saying nothing. “Lead the way, Eckley.”
And so she does: back to the table, with its awaiting map with an ever-growing collection of red pins in places all dotting the U.S. Croz introduces himself all over again and handshakes are exchanged, Inez taking a step back to admire their work. There was something about being unable to distinguish any of them from one another that made her happy. Ten men in a bomber, ten women in a bomber, ten people to fly a B-17, ten pins on a map.
Bubbles puts the one for Neumann somewhere in Pennsylvania that Inez has never heard of. Then Savorre takes one for herself, looks over her shoulder and casts a smile pointedly at Inez as it finds its mark. Like she’s letting Inez in on a secret.
“Motor City,” is all she says as she puts it, presumably, on Detroit — it only then occurs to Inez that their pilot didn’t talk much about where she was from.
Before Inez can ask anymore questions, the door opens once more and Savorre heads off, curious as ever, to see who’s walked in. Neumann’s already ducked back to her prior conversation, and Inez falls into a contemplative, but satisfied silence as Bubbles goes to wave down another pilot. Indiscernable points on a big, big map.
#*poet writes#masters of the air fic#masters of the air OC#mota oc#hbo war fic#hbo war oc#hboww2rewatch
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from this post: do you have some hc's about some hbowar characters? can you tell me more about them?
Oh this is fun, I don't have a ton. But I will share what I have.
This is more general than character specific, but all the Easy Co boys share books they've got. If one person gets their hands on a book it's gonna make its way through the company.
Snafu is absolutely the kind of guy who doodles all the time and often in the worst places. oh that was important? well now it's got silly little drawings in the margins.
Burgie has 100% scruffed Snafu like a cat
Chuckler is the kind of guy who will reign himself in until he's close friends with someone but the second they're close he's constantly all over them. he's resting his arms on shoulders, he'll take a nap on them, he's sharing his clothes. Anything to show that his friend and to just be near them in general bc he's a touchy feely guy
Hoosier can in fact nap standing up, something that horrifies the other guys in H Company bc it's bad enough when he gets horizontal but now he can do it standing up?? he just doesn't let himself do it often bc there's a war on after all
Liebgott not only loves comics but he actually wanted to illustrate them as a kid, he just was never quite good enough to think it viable and now it's just a rare hobby
Curt is in fact Bucky's big spoon, he's just also little spoon to Buck
Cosby and Bubbles don't have to speak in full sentences, they know each other too well.
they also have a running joke about Bubbles running off with Jean (which Croz is not actually opposed to as long as he's being run off with as well) and Crosby would actually prefer if he didn't make it home that Bubbles did and he and Jean got to be happy together because he loves them both so much he just wants them happy
Demarco brushed out Meatball ONE time in the barracks before being banned from ever doing that inside again and now he has to find a spot downwind from any planes being worked on to avoid getting the fur anywhere it shouldn't be
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Rosie/Croz friendship headcanons:
When Rosie returned to Thorpe Abbots after he was shot down and presumed MIA, Col Jeffrey sent him to the flak house for a weekend. Croz got himself a weekend pass, and visited Rosie, who opened up about what he saw in the camps -- and Croz waited by Rosie's bedside as he slept, as a way to return a favour.
Croz read Native Son (because Sandra gave it to him), which is a different copy from Rosie's -- and they discussed the themes of the novel together. Croz might even ask Rosie about the depiction of the Jewish-American lawyer in the book, because Rosie is a Jewish-American lawyer too.
After the war, Rosie visits Croz and Jean and spends a few nights at their home, and she actually welcomed Rosie with open arms because Rosie is one of the few people that Croz can talk to about the horrors of war. Croz has nightmares/PTSD, and often stays up. Rosie and Croz will stay up together listening to jazz records, and Rosie will put over a blanket over Croz when he sleeps in the chair, the way Francie did in ep 6 for Rosie.
Rosie might even help out with Croz's kids, humming jazzy tunes as lullabies to help them go to bed.
Croz will ask Rosie about Nuremberg, about Goering, and asks Rosie how it feels to be able to hunt down and punish the monsters (while not becoming a monster himself)
i have more but i can't put them into words right now
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again but. do you ever think that jean would write a seperate, secret letter to bubbles to tell him to take care of croz because she knows he deeply care for croz and would do anything for him.
#im sorry i just cant#mota#masters of the air#help#harry crosby#bubbles payne#like#she knows how clumsy and selfless her husband is#and she also knows that bubbles has been the one taking care of him from time to time#and he is the only person she can trust to let him take care of croz#croz & bubbles
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