my name is levi, i’m 19 years old and i'm tryna work on my writing skills a bit by publishing my stuff on here lol.
i have some works on ao3 you can check out!
i mainly wrote cod (simon riley) and vikings on here but i’m tryna mix it up a bit. i have some seal team stuff on here too but i don’t really actively write for it.
i also have tiktok (@justasnappin.aep) and insta (@rosies.aep)!
tumblr masterlist overview (REQUESTS OPEN FOR MASTERS OF THE AIR; still open for other asks tho🫶🏼)
May 8, 1945 marked the end of war in Europe and celebrations broke out across the entire world. But while people flooded the streets, the men of Thorpe Abbott remained on lockdown, unable to join in on the celebration with the locals.
Lt Col Robert ‘Rosie’ Rosenthal was one of the few men lucky enough to be on leave in London on VE Day.
Rosie recalled how he’d “be walking through a throng of people with a pretty girl on my arm and all of a sudden she was gone, replaced by another one. It was a madhouse, a beautiful, beautiful madhouse.”
Summary: James Moriarty x fe!Reader -> When James gets shot, you're there to patch him up. But, during his recovery, you both start to realise maybe you could be friends after all.
Disclaimer: mentions of wounds, reader takes care of James, anxiety over love, forced proximity, yearning in a bathroom, enemies to lovers, domestic fluff towards the end, swearing.
“You’ve gotta be fucking joking.”
For the last four days, you’d been practically confined to the uncomfortable wooden chair in the corner of the room, waiting (and secretly praying) for James to wake up.
But the minute you heard his voice, a small part of you wished he was still sleeping.
“Hello to you, too.”
James looked around himself, trying to figure out where he was and how he’d gotten there. But, as you watched him try to figure it out, the pain in his side reminded him of the moments just before he passed out.
“What happened?”
Laying down the embroidery hoop, you looked at him, mostly fed up. “I would have thought you’d have remembered?”
He glared at you. “I remember being shot and getting to a hospital. What happened after I passed out?”
You sighed, watching as he tried to sit up. So, placing the hoop on the table, you stood and walked over to help him.
“They needed the extra beds and since you were no longer on death’s door, and you’d have access to some pretty good medical care elsewhere, they let us bring you home.”
“What are you doing?” James asked, quickly, with a confused and slightly frightened look on his face.
“If you turn yourself any more, you’re going to rip open your stitches. And I’ve already sewn them back up twice. Did you know you wriggle a lot in your sleep?”
Mostly due to the shock, James stayed still long enough to let you fix his pillows and gently guide him into a comfortable sitting position.
“I have so many questions,” he admitted, still looking at you.
“I’m sure Sherlock can fill you in on most of the information.”
“Where is he, by the way? I thought that wee bastard might have been here when I woke up. I did take a bullet for him, afterall.”
You chuckled, knowing James didn’t really mean his harsh words against Sherlock. “My, my. For a man who’s just been told he’s alive, you certainly do have a rather gloomy disposition.”
“That’s another thing,” James said. “Why are you here?”
“Somebody had to make sure you didn’t die.”
“I would have thought you’d have smothered me in my sleep.”
“Believe me,” you told him. “I did think about it once or twice.”
“Once or twice?” He asked, watching you walk away.
You turned around to look at him. “Okay, maybe three or four times.”
You knew he would never admit to it, but even you had to admit that you’d caught the small smile on his face as he looked at you.
For a moment, the room fell silent. But, it was swiftly broken by James’ next question.
“You stitched me up?”
You nodded. “I did. Twice.”
“I’m assuming you’re not the medical professional that signed off on my home release,” James said. “And knowing Sherlock, he would have called for the local doctor. So would you.”
“Is there a question in there somewhere?”
James nodded. “Why? Why patch me up?”
You shrugged, mentally debating on whether to tell him the full truth.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to. I can see it on your face. Why did you patch me up?”
With a slight smile, you sighed and placed a hand on your hip. “Because I…because I didn’t think the last nurse who sowed you up did a very good job. I don’t blame her, obviously. A hospital is a busy place and she was in a rush and she probably got distracted with…you.”
Feeling yourself blush, you cleared your throat and looked to your feet in fear of James noticing what you were hiding.
“But, if it wasn’t for those reasons then I don’t exactly trust a doctor who hasn’t been a surgeon for many years. So…I did it myself.”
“But they came undone.”
You looked at James, quickly, offended. “Like I said; you wriggle in your sleep. And besides, I don’t exactly hear a thank you.”
James took a breath and laid a hand over his heart. It was rare you got a sincere word from James, directed at you. But this one was.
Even if you were being made acutely aware of the fact he saw your slight embarrassment about being distracted by him.
“Thank you.”
You nodded. “Well…you’re welcome.”
A few more moments of silence passed over the room so you moved back to freshen up the bowl of water, as well as change out the old clothes for some new ones.
“Out of curiosity,” James said. “How long have you been watching me sleep, exactly?”
“I haven’t been watching you sleep.”
“Based on that terrible embroidery work, I’d have guessed otherwise.”
Looking at the hoop on the table behind you, you sighed, looked at James and then looked back to the task at hand. “I was never any good, even as a child.”
“Clearly practice makes perfect doesn’t apply in this situation.”
“Anyone ever tell you, you have an excellent bedside manner?” You asked, forcing a smile.
“Oh, all the time. So?”
“So…what?”
“How long?”
“Four days,” you told him. “Sherlock stayed with you at the hospital whilst I came here to get everything prepared. By the time I got back into London, you were being discharged so I took over whilst Sherlock went to find his brother.”
“And why did he go to find his brother?”
“Because he believes he knows who shot you. Rather, who was trying to shoot him but shot you instead.”
“And that is?”
You shrugged. “I don’t know. He was in a daze when I saw him last and neither he or his brother has been in touch since. I’ve sent word but I’m yet to have a reply.”
“Should we be worried?”
You shook your head. “Not yet. I’m expecting he’ll turn up, if not tomorrow morning, tomorrow night.”
“And how do you know that, exactly?”
“Just a feeling.”
“Just a feeling?”
You nodded, pretty sure. “Yep.”
“I wasn’t aware we had a fortune teller in our midst.”
“Poke and prod all you like, James. But when you know Sherlock as long as I have, you get used to these things. It’s almost like an internal alarm. I’ll know when to worry. And right now, neither of us have to.”
James nodded, slowly. And then you heard a grunt.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
James swung his legs over the edge of the bed and was readying himself to stand. “If I’ve been laying down for four days, I need to move my legs. I’ll get restless if I don’t.”
Rushing to his side, you took his arm and helped him up. “You’re already restless. I’m pretty sure it’s in your nature.”
“Explains why I move in my sleep.”
You just hummed in agreement. “How do you feel?”
“Like a bird in a gentle breeze.” James said, his voice light. “How do you think I feel? I was shot.”
“You’re the one being sarcastic, not me.”
“Heaven forbid.”
“If you can walk well enough, I can have Mrs Crowle draw you a shallow bath.” Placing your hand on his front, you lifted his shirt a little and took a look at his wound.
It wasn’t infected; rather, it was healing nicely.
Standing in front of the mirror, you lifted his shirt high enough to let him see for himself.
“It’s gonna leave a nasty scar, so.”
You nodded, a slight grimace as you lowered his shirt. “The bullet was still inside. With the amount of blood pouring out of you, they couldn’t find it so they had to guess as best as they could.”
“Just as well,” James sighed. “That shooter was a lousy shot to begin with. Before he got a clear sight of Sherlock, he’d hit several wooden barrels.”
“Think you can walk on your own?”
James nodded. “I think I can manage.”
“Good. I’ll go and ask Mrs Crowle to draw a bath. Don’t go anywhere.”
James chuckled. “I’ll start training for my run back to London, then.”
“Very funny.”
By the time the bath was ready, you waited outside the door for James to be finished just in case something went wrong with his wound or he…passed out or something.
Which was probably a good thing, because as James was finished, he called out for you.
“You’re not dead, are you?”
“Would I be shouting your name if I was dead?”
“You did say you’d haunt me.”
“Just…get in here, please.”
Looking around before opening the door, you entered the room and closed the door behind you quietly. No doubt Mrs Crowle would probably faint at seeing you alone in a room with a man who was, for lack of a better statement; as naked as the day he was born.
Entering, you took in the sight of James Moriarty, sitting on the edge of the bath. His back was turned to you, his shoulders broad but hunched in pain.
Your brain took a mental image before what came next changed the entire atmosphere of the room.
“Jesus Christ,” you swore, seeing the blood running down James’ bare front and onto the towel he’d pulled across his thighs in order to cover himself.
Reaching for a clean flannel that lay on the dresser, you came to his side and pressed it against the wound. He hissed.
“Sorry,” you apologised, your voice soft as you leaned towards him.
You took a seat next to him on the lip of the bath, examining what had happened.
“The bath helped, but I think I moved too quickly.”
You nodded. “It’s alright. We just need to keep a little pressure on it.”
He hissed again as you pressed the flannel back onto his wound.
“Sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
As silence swept over the room, it was becoming harder to ignore the fact that James was still – save for the towel covering him – naked. And you were, for all intents and purposes, an unmarried woman.
“Thank you for helping me.”
“You don’t need to thank me, James.”
“Why not? It’s not like you’re my actual doctor. Or…I wouldn’t have considered us friends before today, would you?”
You shrugged. “I suppose you have a point.”
“That’s not to say I wouldn’t thank them, too. My mother raised me to have manners.”
You gave a fake but playful gasp. “She did? Jesus, I’d have never guessed.”
“Hey, you can give as good as you get.”
You chuckled, looking away from his gaze and back to his wound. Maybe trying to remember the reason why he’d called you inside would make the whole ‘looking into each other's eyes as you talk’ thing less intimate.
“So just…thank you.”
“Well,” you said, your voice quiet and soft. “You’re welcome.”
Looking at the wound didn’t make the situation feel any less intimate.
Just as your brain started to grasp the concept of ignorance about the current situation you found yourself in; James found your eyeline.
And what followed felt like a lifetime and a few lousy seconds rolled into one; the air became heavy, you felt your chest tighten and your breathing hitching in your chest as your eyes flicked from the colour of his own, to the colour of his lips.
Then his hand touched your own.
Softly, his fingers worked up your wrist and across the back of your hand that held the drying and slightly bloody cloth against him.
For a moment, you felt him lean in.
Or maybe that was you?
Both of you?
Only to have a steady knock on the door become either; your saving grace, or your biggest nuisance – you were unable to tell which.
“James, son! Everything alright in there?!”
Yourself and James sat back from one another quickly. “Uh-” James’ voice broke. “Every-everything’s fine, Mr Crowle. Perfectly fine, thank you!”
“Ah, good lad! Wound isn’t doing any harm is it?”
James looked at you and, secretly reluctant to break eye contact, you both looked down at where your hands met.
“No, no!” James called back. “Practically…fit as a fiddle! Is-is everything okay with you?!”
Behind the door, Mr Crowle nodded. “Oh, yes, yes. It’s just that, well you see, Mr Holmes just sent a telegram. He’s a little caught up in London but has asked you to keep your eye on Miss Y/l/n. He predicts she’s probably ignoring her – oh, what does that say? Oh, her stress…stressor signals!”
James looked at you, at first soft and vulnerable – he didn’t need to be told to keep an eye on you. He didn’t want to take his eyes off you. And then he looked at you knowingly.
Even if you two hadn’t exactly been considered friends, he still saw you. He saw the way you ignored stress; practically barrelled through it and carried the weight of the pain as if it was second nature.
Sometimes he thought you might be like a feral cat, or a wounded horse – or some kind of animal that has been hurt so bad it sees even a helping hand as an attack, so it has no other defence than to attack back.
“I think his point is just to look out for her.”
James swallowed. “I’ll be sure to do that! Have-have you seen Y/n?”
You furrowed your brows quickly as if to say, “What the fuck are you doing?”, but James just held up a patient hand.
“Oh, uh, well, she wasn’t in the hall so I can only guess she’s down by the lake. My wife says she sees her there sometimes.”
“Okay, well, thank you, Mr Crowle.”
“You’re welcome, lad.”
Both yourself and James didn’t move a muscle until Mr Crowle’s footsteps echoed away and down the hall.
“The lake?” He asked you.
You tried to avoid his eyeline. “I go there sometimes.”
“To do what?”
Looking back at his wound, you moved the cloth away. “It’s stopped bleeding. I’ll let you get dressed and-”
James reached out for your hand as you walked away. “To do what?”
Taking in a breath, you let out a sigh. “To..think.”
“Is that where you’ll go now? To think about this?”
You swallowed, hard. “I’ll see you at dinner. Mrs Crowle is making beef stew.”
Quickly leaving before James could ask you anything more, you closed the door behind you and raised a hand to your cheek. You were burning.
Gathering yourself together, you brushed a hand down your skirt before heading down the hallway and around the corner.
By the time you showed up for dinner, Mrs Crowle was plating everything up when she called you in to help James with the bandage around his middle.
“It keeps popping out under his shirt. Can you please help him?”
You made eye contact with James, but said nothing as you slowly approached him. Where he’d usually make a comment, or you would; neither of you spoke above a quiet decibel.
“Lift your shirt?”
He did so, not taking his eyes from your face once. Stripping off the bandage, you pulled it around his back, across his front and so on and so forth until it was tight enough.
“Too tight?”
James shook his head. “No.”
“There,” you said, finishing. “Just tell me if you need any help.”
“I will.”
You made the mistake of locking eyes with him because, in an instant, the memory of the bathtub came back.
“Dinner is served.”
Moving away from one another, yourself and James sat across from one another without another word. Meanwhile, Mrs Crowle shared a look with her husband who just seemed confused but accepting of whatever his wife was trying to tell him.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”
Turning around, you found James standing at the top of the embankment as you kept your feet in the water.
“I came here for some peace and quiet.”
James carefully made his way down to you. You and a very conscious James had been staying in Sherlock’s home, together, without buffers, for almost a week. And every time you seemed to catch yourself in a room together, it felt like the Bathroom Incident all over again.
Only dialed up.
“Oh, there’s plenty of peace and quiet in that house. You came here to get away from me.”
“And yet, you still get closer.”
“I do.” James was standing barely three paces from you. “It is pretty peaceful, I have to say.”
“It’s even more peaceful when you’re not here to talk over the birds.”
“The birds will still be singing their songs tomorrow,” James told you. “For today, they might choose to listen to us.”
“Us? There is no us?”
“Us. A pronoun used to describe the speaker and one or more other persons. Well, the speaker – that’s me, right now. And you’re here, too. So, us.”
“Glad to see you did learn something at Oxford other than Shakespeare quotes,” you mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear.
Which he did, since you heard his chuckle.
“Yes, I suppose the know-it-alls at Oxford do know a thing or two, after all.”
“Why are you here, James? Other than to disrupt my peace?”
“Like I said,” James said, lifting his trousers a little in order to sit down beside you. “To talk.”
“About what?”
“Ohh, I think you know.”
“Really? Haven’t the foggiest,” you answered, quickly, keeping your eyes on the moving water.
You could feel his eyes on the side of your face, waiting for you to break and turn to look at him. But he could also see your determination. To both not look at him, and also try your best to annoy him.
“Why don’t I start, then, hmm?” James braced his arms against his knees as he looked out to the other side of the water. “The bath. Before Mr Crowle knocked on the door. The study, before you practically threw your poetry book at me.”
“I didn’t throw it.”
“I’ve seen people pass hot potatoes slower.”
You grumbled, but he continued.
“The kitchen, before you made an excuse about forgetting to feed the horses. And…just this morning. Before Mrs Crowle knocked on the door with some fresh tea.”
You swallowed but still didn’t look at him.
“Something is changing, Y/n. And I know you’re not blind to it. And neither am I.”
He waited, and still, you didn’t say anything.
“Jesus, if I’d have known feelings would have gotten you to be quiet, I would have developed them a lot sooner. Say something. Please.”
Finally, you looked at him. “What do you want me to say, James? Seriously? Because I have a lot and none of it makes any sense! You and I! We hated each other! We spent more hours in the day than most trying to either avoid one another, or push the other one to their wits end. The only thing we had in common was Sherlock. The only thing. And yes, you got shot. And yes, I was worried. And yes, maybe there is a small part of me that didn’t want to lose you because I’d rather-” You gritted your teeth a little. “Fight with you then talk to some pompous git that doesn’t even know the concept of the written word but will still try and explain what a book is to me.”
You took a breath.
“James. We had practically nothing in common. And we still don’t. Other than being confined to the same house for the last week and me taking care of you whilst you were unconscious…forgive me, but I don’t exactly see the logic in all of this.”
James shrugged. “I suppose you have a point. Mind if I make a counter point?”
You let out a breath. “Would it stop you?”
“No, probably not.”
“Go ahead, then.”
“Whilst you make some excellent points; yes, we didn’t exactly get along. And yes, you’ve taken care of me whilst we’ve been here, together, alone. But, let me ask you this – because I already know my answers. Did you trust me? Before now, before this last week, did you trust me?”
You calmed yourself a little. “Yes.”
“I trusted you, too. And I still do.”
“I still trust you, too,” you nodded.
“Okay. Well, I understand that you think we have nothing in common but; you like to read?”
“Yes.”
“I do, too. Nobody ever has to read the same things in order to get along in life. But, considering you understood who and what I was quoting, I’d say we have at least a little crossover somewhere along the line.”
James continued.
“My point is…maybe blatant logic doesn’t need to be the thing either of us rely on at this point. I don’t have to see the change to know my feelings have changed towards you, Y/n.”
“How do you not know this isn’t just some…soldier falls in love with a nurse…thing?”
“Well, considering both our bedside manners when I woke up…I’d say we’re safe from that territory.”
“Are we?”
“What are you so scared of?”
“What?”
James barely reacted. “What is it that makes you so afraid to tell me the truth? You didn’t have a problem before now. What are you so scared of?”
“I’m not scared.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“I’m not scared,” you grounded out.
Rather than walk away, James simply sat back with a content smile on his face. “Fine. Don’t tell me. We can sit here and soak in the sun, and not say a word to one another.”
This time, it was your turn to watch him.
Although, you were a little more defiant and turned with him, looking out across the water to the other side of the bank.
But the longer the silence stretched, the louder it became.
“You really are an arse, you know that.”
James clicked his tongue. “I believe you’ve told me once or twice before.”
Sighing, you felt yourself giving in. Fuck.
“I can’t tell you why I’m scared because…because I’m not sure I know myself. All I do know is…that I don’t work well with feelings. Or people, most of the time.”
“We’ve worked well, so far.”
“Because we haven’t liked each other, James. There was a mutual understanding and it was working just fine.” You told him. “But with feelings come…expectations. Expectations to soften or to…change. And I don’t think I can. And please. Please do not tell me you think you can change that, or that it will change. Because it’s more than just an insecurity.”
Taking a breath, you tried to find the words to best describe what you meant.
“I don’t think I’m capable of being soft. Maybe I was, once. And maybe, one day, I will be again. But I doubt it will be through something like this. I was on my own for a long time before you and Sherlock found me. Independence, barriers, survival instincts – they don’t just disappear, James.”
James nodded. “I know. More than you’d think.”
Neither you or James ever spoke of your histories – with anyone. Sherlock could only guess as to how James had found himself with a scholarship to Oxford. But other than that, he knew nothing of his friend’s past.
He’d asked. But it was rare for James to honestly answer.
And the same went for you.
“And I wouldn’t ask, or even expect you to give up those parts of yourself. I’m asking, and only if you’re willing, to…take a step with me. We’ll take it slow and figure out what exactly it is that has changed?”
“You’ll get bored.”
“You’ve managed to keep me on my toes, so far.” James nudged your shoulder a little. “And, besides,” he stretched his legs back out. “If we can both sit through Sherlock’s three hour lecture about the difference between fertilizer and soil, I think we’ll both be grand.”
It took a while. A long time, really.
But James was the one who turned out to be right.
Despite the fear, insecurities and worries about the change and what it all meant; yourself and James worked out well, in the end.
For most of your life, you’d found the only times you could truly work through something without thinking about it, was when it was in an extreme. Someone was shot, or hurt, or bleeding; you could deal with it, and solve every other minor problem with it.
But left to your own devices, with nothing but time to think, the fear nearly drowned you.
Until James did more than just toss you a rope; he held out his hand.
And you trusted him enough to take it.
Sure, you both pressed each other's buttons from time to time – but it was never in malice. And, sometimes, it even came in handy.
“The brown is gonna make it look too dark.”
“Oh, the brown is too dark, but the orange is an acceptable colour?”
James sighed. “It was just a suggestion. Besides, what’s better; orange or yellow fever?”
In front of you, the witness who thought it was better to run than stop and answer two simple questions, was still kneeling on the ground. “What are you going to do to me?”
Both yourself and James looked at him confused. “Nothing? Why are you kneeling?”
“You’re not going to kill me?”
You looked from the witness, to James and back to the witness. “I’m more likely to kill him if he paints our living room orange.”
James sighed. “It was just a suggestion!”
“So you’re not gonna kill me?”
“No!”
“Oh, thank god.”
“But we do want you to answer a couple of questions.”
“A muted blue or green is what I’ve found best to be. Especially if the room is south facing.”
Both you and James looked at each other. Then shrugged. “He has a point.”
“We’ll think about it, thank you. But those aren’t the questions we’re talking about.”
“Oh.”
After answering your questions, sending both yourself and James on the hunt once more to track down somebody else, it wasn’t long before you were back home.
“Please tell me you’ve decided on a colour?”
James chuckled, “Oh, no, no, no. That decision I am leaving to you.”
You groaned. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
With a slight sigh, you turned a little to look at him. “No, I don’t.”
For a brief moment, James’ lips met with yours.
“But I do hate having to pick colours.”
James sighed with you as you both dropped deeper into the sofa. “Do you think Mrs Holmes might be up for helping?”
You thought about it for a moment. “Maybe. We could always ask.”
James nodded. “Then it’s sorted. We’ll ask her tomorrow.”
“What if she says no?”
“I doubt she will.”
“But she could?”
James gave you a coy smile. “Who could say ‘no’ to me?”
You rolled your eyes a little, laying back down with him on the sofa. “You know, sometimes you’re too smug for your own good, James Moriarty.”
“But you love me anyway?”
You sighed, snuggling closer to him. “Yes. That I do.”
SPOILERS but there's something so funny about Tom Hayward saying he chose to "graciously step aside" so Mary could marry the wealthier Mr Ryder when, in fact, he acted like a miserable, sulking wet cat the entire walk down the mountain.
I wanted to ask if you could write a headcanon for the MOTA boys (specifically John Brady and Rosie) where their wife is pregnant and how they react/act during the pregnancy ☺️
Thank you for your work 🫶🏻
Thank you so much for your request! 🤍
MOTA men during your pregnancy headcanons
Robert ‘Rosie’ Rosenthal:
You already know this guy is over the moon.
When you initially tell him he doesn’t stop smiling for- well, you’re not sure how long, but he’s got a permanent grin plastered across his face.
(When he’s allowed lol) he tells everybody he knows that his wife is expecting their first child.
He’s beyond proud of the kid already and when he finds out it’s twins?! Uhhh he’d almost faint.
Unsurprisingly, he’s so supportive of you throughout. From the beginning I think he’d be super protective and make sure you’re not overexerting yourself.
That means no heavy lifting, hardly any housework, he literally thrives off seeing you with your feet up and relaxing lol- you are growing two humans after all.
Curious about your belly and how two babies fit in there.
Rests his head on your chest or your lap and runs his fingers over, drumming gently to see if the baby’s respond.
Rosie’s not a man who doubts or worries, but with you, especially when you’re pregnant I can see him growing a little nervous.
If you’re out he’d always check up on you, “you alright?” “You holdin’ up okay over there?”.
When he’s at work he’s sat thinking about you alllll day, like truthfully he wants to be home with you and your soon to be born babies.
Super domesticated, like he’d LOVE painting the babies bedroom, standing looking all handsome and yum in his clothes he doesn’t mind getting messy in.
Seriously he’s looked forwards to decorating and buying all the baby stuff since you announced the pregnancy.
Would definitely lay in bed next to you at night and conjure up stories of how you guys might live together as a little four.
Very understanding if you’re tired or aggy, mood swings are normal anyway- that’s what he read in the ‘how to be a dad’ manual anyway.
Super patient, super loving, very, very excited.
John Brady:
Just like Rosie, he’s over the moon when you tell him you’re pregnant.
Like he obviously knows you’ve been trying, but the news still stuns him and he’d have to grab onto the wall to stabilise himself before coming to give you the world’s biggest hug.
Johns a very productive man anyway, but knowing you have a baby coming, he wants to make sure everything’s perfect.
Paints the fence until it’s pristine, orders new furniture, makes sure himself that the roof of the house is okay- he’s nesting??
Loves being around his family because it’s just a reminder that he’s gonna have one of his own very, very soon.
Buys mini baseball jerseys for the baby, he’s already prepping your future son/ daughter to come to games with him.
Kisses your stomach whenever he kisses you, presses his ear against it and asks it to hurry up cooking in there lol.
Might worry about his nightmares a little, but I don’t think he’d voice this to you, at least not initially. He wouldn’t want you worried or stressed in the slightest.
If you’re ever upset, whether it be something big or little, he soothes you instantly, not wanting any more pressure on you than there already is.
Johns always been protective, but now he’s even more watchful, he’d keep a hand around you or on you, especially when you’re somewhere busy.
He’s 1000% gearing up to be a super dad, I can just see it.
Fascinated when the baby kids, if you’re out for dinner or at a family’s house, he ignores everybody else and places a hand on your stomach, smiling at you adoringly.
Literally would be the best during pregnancy, even if he is scared of you if you have severe mood swings lol.
In episode three of Masters of the Air, we see that Crosby, Douglass, and Blakely are just as surprised to see they’re going to Africa as all of the other flyboys. In reality, the officers of Just-a-Snappin’ were well aware of their destination.
In early August, two lead crews were chosen from each group and brought to 3rd Air Division Headquarters where they were briefed by Curtis LeMay on what would later be called the “double-strike mission.” They, along with their commanding officer, would be given details so that the lead crews could train and prepare themselves ahead of time.
LeMay: "It's a hard target. Bombardiers and navigators will come [to Elveden Hall] every other day and be briefed for the route and target. It's a dangeous mission, especially for you lead crews. Tomorrow two new planes will arrive at your base, and you get them. No one but your line crews is even to touch them. Certainly no one is to fly them. … This is top secret. Nine people in each group know about it, and no one else. We're redundant on this. We're training two crews for the lead. We will select the one to go on the day of the mission. Pilots will go up every day to simulate as much of the mission as we can. When you aren't here for training, you will all be in the air. When we call the mission, we want you to be ready."
It was Jack Kidd who was picked by higher bomber command to lead the 100th BG on the inevitable mission instead of their commanding officer. Unlike the CO of every other group involved, Colonel Harding was kept in the dark, which Crosby believed was due to him (and the 100th) falling into disfavor due to poor results and their negative reputation.
“No one else knew about our forays and only Jack Kidd and Swartout's crew knew why we weren't flying missions. Major Egan, our Squadron C.O., was told he was not to question us, and Flying Control was told they were to clear any flight plan we requested. Everyone was told to stay away from our plane. We could tell that Egan was steaming, but he never said anything.”
Ummm the Everett Blakely x nurse headcannons are anything BUT trash, wow I'm obsessed!! Also the yearning from the MotA men when they think you've moved on, I LOVE THEM!!
If you ARE open to requests, no worries if not, for MotA headcannons, the one you suggested in the Everett Blakely one would be amazing, whether it be when they get hard in public lol or seeing you in a swimsuit for the first time. But also, would love to see how they'd react to like a really headstrong, bossy gal, who doesn't need them but wants them, I dunno if that sparks anything, no worries if it doesn't!
Thanks for all your writing!!
Eeeeek tysm!!! I would LOVE to write this- this got me thinking about their reactions to seeing you in a swimsuit for the first time/ probs gonna make it smutty bcs why the hell not lololol- I hope this is ok?? If you still want me to do the second lot of headcanons feel free to send me another inbox so I don't forget, heheheh <3
18+ content below the cut, reader is described as fem and wears a swimsuit, maybe some talks of boobs- also most of the men (all of them) get a boner lol sorry bye.
MOTA headcanons - first time seeing you in a swimsuit.
Everett Blakely:
Ok so I know I already touched on Blakely before (I cant even remember what I wrote LOL, but let's divulge some more.
This man is sooooo respectful, he's not about to GAWK at you- as much as he wants to- his eyes just constantly flicker back to you.
He tries not to stare at your curves and exposed skin, but lawddd he can't help himself, you look too good, and you've been hiding under this uniform all this time.
Gulps bcs he's so nervous/ something awakens inside of him.
When you're playing in the water together he kinda get's a boner, like you brush up a little too close to him (it's definitely intended).
He can't get out when all his buddies are shouting at him to, he just kinda remains staring at the tree's surrounding the river you're all swimming in until the issue has calmed down.
If you're together he's definitely pulling you aside to somewhere private (behind a bush), and getting his hands on you.
''I cant help myself sweetheart you just look too damn good.''
Sooooo flirty like, even if you're not together he'd sneak in a smirk in your direction, but only after he's seen you checking him out first.
''How can I resist you, huh?'' He'd say, words muffled as he pushes his lips upon yours.
Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal:
The king of respectful, but best believe his jaw kinda drops and he goes red in the face.
He's been pining after you all this time of knowing you, and now you're giggling and running around in a swimsuit.
Has to force himself to look away, staring at the ground- legit touching grass to not get too overwhelmed- if yk what I mean.
I think he wouldn't want to make a move on you there and then bcs he's worried it'll come across as disrespectful- low key like pls Rosie do, you've been wanting him for months.
Play fighting in the water, picks you up around the waist and enjoys it when you're touching him in any kind of way.
When it's later and the sun is setting I can picture the two of you sharing a towel or something, resting on the river bank as you lay back with him sat beside you.
''I should put my clothes back on, it's not really professional to be dressed like this around you, Captain.''
''You can wear whatever you want around me.''
The flirting happens unintentionally but he sooooo means it lol.
John 'Bucky' Egan:
''Aw Buck, I want her, like I really really want her.''
''Calm down John or you'll scare the poor girl away.''
Low key, John always comes across so confident, but now he's losing his mind, it makes him a little nervous.
Let's say it's a hot day and a few of you have a weekend pass, you decide to spend it by a local river, dipping into cool off from the midday sun. It's a time to unwind and relax, but John is on high alert, especially when he see's you slipping out of your clothes, revealing your two piece.
Bikini's (obviously not the ones we have today) weren't as popular as one pieces, so seeing you like that does something to his mind.
If you're in the water best believe he's following you in.
''I didn't know you were hiding all that under that uniform.'' He'd swim up next to you.
''Don't be a creep, John.'' You'd play along, but like twenty seconds later you're either making out or heading off somewhere to be alone.
Idk I just think he's sick of waiting around, he's been yearning for you for that long, that this is the catalist and ofc you want him too who wouldnt.
''C'mon let's go some place.'' You'd whisper, arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist as he stands in a shallower end of the water. He'd legit moan at your requests, but uhh- he can't exactly get out rn.
''Slight problem, sweethear'. You're gonna have to give me a minute or so.''
A smile never once leaves his face that day.
Harry Crosby:
Uhhhhhhh loses the ability to speak momentarily.
Slaps Bubbles on the shoulder like are you seeing what I'm seeing.
''Go for it Cros.'' Bubbles would encourage.
You're slipping your dress off, revealing your swimsuit, body literally perfection, exposed and making Crosby swallow hard.
Doesn't want to be a creep or too forwards, so he wouldn't say anything.
Sit's down besides you and you can tell immediately why he's all red in the cheeks.
Never stops blushing I swear.
You're kinda somewhere between friends and something more, so when you roll onto his lap, arms resting over his thighs and head in his lap his eye's widen a little.
''Why're you blushing so much, Harry?''
''I'm just sunburnt.'' Liar liar.
Don't start a playfight with him or sit in his lap bcs he most definitely will get a boner.
Let's say you do sit in his lap, the minute you go to stand up his hands kinda resist and pull you back down.
''Just- give me like- stay like that for two minutes.''
''Why Harry?'' Ofc you know why, don't make him sweat even more.
Then when you purposefully fidget, he's gripping onto hips trying to do his utter most to still you bcs he legit feels like he's gonna explode lololololololol.
Curt Biddick:
''Are my eyes foolin' me right now or am I in heaven?''
Not even close to concealing how he feels. You're already flirty as hell, so similar to Bucky, this is just a catalyst that you both need to make your relationship go somewhere.
I feel like it would go from 0 to 100 real quick and he's pulling out his best lines to make you blush even more.
If anybody else tries to make a move on you tho? Nuh uh, you're not to be gawked at, he picks up the towel and throws it at the guy. You don't need to hide away, but if the dude doesn't move in 0.1 seconds Curt will throw hands for you- kinda wants to show off too lol.
All jokes aside, he's utterly intoxicated by you, like he'd have gooey eyes and look at you with so much adoration, constantly play's with your hair or draws on your skin even if you're still pretending to each other that you just wanna be friends.
The day would end with you semi rolling around in the grass together- probs doing the dirty down some hidden pathway.
John Brady:
Why do I feel like when it comes to the ladies he's kinda shy despite looking that good.
Like he doesn't know how attractive he is, obviously he's there in his skivvies or whatever swimming shorts and you're already laughing and amused by the other men, I feel it's kinda angsty.
But when you look in his direction and it's obvious that you're checking him out, he's kinda like oh fuck really? me?
Doesn't believe it at first, like I think he'd need a bit of a pep talk.
But you're stood on the edge of the banking together, water around your waists, leaving plenty to meet the eye as John legit stares back into your eyes and nowhere else.
He isn't about to fuck you with his eyes ok, sorry, he's just very respectful and I think he would give it a bit of time before doing that hahahha.
But ughhhh you look so good he unintentionally kinda just looks for a little too long and fuck- why is he hard?
Starts fidgeting and moving deeper in the water, staring up to the sky.
''Are you alright?'' You'd be grinning, watching back to him as he's acting all funny and squirming.
''Yeah, yeah. All good.''
''You don't look it, you look... nervous.''
He's thinking no shit I am fucking nervous.
Please flirt with him and then he can take the hint.
Super angsty, lots of yearning and built up tension, if you touch his arm when you leave the water and give him even the smallest of smiles he feels like he's gonna fall at your feet, pupils morphing into heart shapes.
Main Theme: aka a friends to lovers, pain-sharing Soulmate AU fanfic ft. Harry Crosby/Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal
Summary:
Rosie and the Pathfinder crew go down somewhere over France on their way back from Nuremberg. It isn’t a coincidence that Crosby collapses around the same time Rosie was reportedly last seen with the formation, afflicted with pain that doesn’t quite feel like his own.
thinking of mary and tom and how giddy they probably were after the confession, excited to return to the gardiners to share the happy news. im sure they also couldn't help but hold each other's hand the entire way :(((
i just know that when mr. hayward asks mary to read to him on the boat, he is, in his mind, just kicking his feet and imagining mary reading to him in the future in the comfort of their home together alone
sorry, i'm not done talking about thomas hayward. tom, the youngest child and second son, who had to move to london—far away from his family—if he was going to have a career other than the army or the clergy. tom, who believes so powerfully in the value of emotion that he loves poetry despite his naturally steady nature. tom, who sees a kindred spirit in this shy young woman and wants to see her blossom. tom, who never cuts mary off, who never talks down to her. tom, who sees miss mary bennet as an equal, and not a thing to possess or provide entertainment. tom, whose job is to argue, but who can't seem to bring himself to offer his love up with words, too afraid it will shatter beyond repair. tom, who works night and day to provide a steady future for her, yet loves her so much that he will snap his own heart in two if it means she will be happier. tom, who teaches mary how to embrace feeling—and in return learns how to be courageous.
Tom Hayward trying to read between the lines just like he does with the poems he loves and coming to the conclusion that Mary Bennet doesn't love him and Mr. Ryder is a better match for her anyway.
Mary Bennet, who started to appreciate poetry only recently, has to punch him because she knows sometimes the curtains are just blue and the text clearly shows that she loves him very much.
