#tom bennett/reader

[fan-goddess]

If he’s a ghost, I can be a phantom

Authors Note: So this has taken way too long for me to write. I hit way too many blocks last year so hopefully i won't have the same with this one. I think though I'll be taking a haitus just to clear my head, as i want to take some space while i focus on other things

Word count: 14.2k words

Taglist: @hoosbandewan @humanpurposes @watercolorskyy @omgbrcat @blue-serendipity @arcielee

Warnings: Heavy sexism, patriarchal views, cheating, angst, sexual tension, does reader come off as i'm not like other girls? kissing, blood, descriptions of bullet wound, talk of one night stands, alcohol, arousal, threats of murder, pervy men (if i miss any which im sure i did let me know so i can add it.)

The mission was not supposed to go like this.

It was supposed to be a quick and easy mission, but you suppose simplicity is not as easy to maintain or even believe to be true, when you’re bleeding with a gunshot wound to your shoulder and at least a litre and a half of blood spilled on a once pristine white carpet.

Tom Bennett is supposedly one of the best of the best. He was recruited when he was still pretty young from the army, and since then, had been trained ruthlessly to know how to shoot and where the places had to be to look like somebody else’s vengeance.

You yourself were similar, but you actually had the smarts going for you rather than the brawn. Soon as you graduated from university with a degree in foreign communications, two men in suits were sitting on your sofa describing what’ll happen and how in very painstakingly detailed ways.

You’d never met Agent Tom Bennett before the mission briefing, but you had certainly heard of him. Son of a pacifist from Manchester, who ironically likes to get into one too many fights that the agency, while not being happy about paying the damages for, does not mention since Bennett does the job needed. What you hear most however from your coworkers, is how he never leaves a mission without a notch in his post, even if it’s from his fellow agent.

So when being told your mission and your partner, your male supervisor gave you a once over and told you to keep your head high and your legs firmly shut. And like the good girl you pretended to be, you just nodded your head so you could work and die someplace better than the dreary country that is mother England.

Even sitting in that briefing room waiting for Agent Bennett to grace you all with his presence you swore you could feel the eyes of every person in that room making bets in their heads whether you’d sleep with him on the mission or not. And by how you analysed everyone watching you, the probability of it being yes was quite frankly staggering.

“Hello hello hello!” A man's voice says, and when you turn to look at the intruder unlike everyone else who simply didn't care enough to turn, you’re met with such a cocky smirk you know exactly who this is.

“And who is this pretty little lady?” Tom says, finally directing his attention to you who just continues to sit there with a blank face.

“It’s Agent to you Agent Bennett.”

“Oh is it now? Well I’m very sorry, agent. I’ll be sure to address you right from now on shan’t I? Though I’m sure with our mission we’ll get on like a house on fire by the end.” Agent Bennett grins, sitting down directly next to you and plopping his arm round your neck. Though to his own amusement only, you immediately shove him off you and move yourself further down the sofa with a huff.

The supervisor overseeing the mission's progress thankfully manages to distract him by beginning the debriefing.

“Agents, we are sending you to France in a few weeks to-“

“Fuck off!” Agent Bennett shouts which even after all your training still manages to make you jump in your seat.

“As I was saying,” The supervisor starts again, glaring hard at Agent Bennett who sulks in his seat like a child on the verge of a tantrum. “You’ll be going to France to infiltrate and retrieve some information from a corrupt politician's estate that he keeps in a hard drive inside of a vault in his office.”

“What’s the security on the estate and vault?” You ask, as Agent Bennett it seems is still acting like a spoiled child after being told he needs to go to France, when already off the top of your head you could list so many other much worse places he could’ve been told he needed to go.

“The usual security protocol. He has security cameras equipped with night vision, guards to patrol the grounds as well as guard dogs trained to attack on site, and sensors in regards to lights, doors and of course the safe, which you two need to get into. We couldn't find anything about it in our extensive research, so you'll both need to use your heads when faced with that later on in the mission.”

“Sounds impossible…” You can’t help but comment.

“Oh come on, love don’t sound so negative!” Bennett grins. You can see him looking at you from the corner of your eye but it appears you’ve already managed to grow tired of his bullshit, so instead you merely look to the supervisor who, like you, appears to be attempting to ignore the guy. “I’m sure we’ll be done before suppers on the table!”

“Sure.” You simply say, rolling your eyes while the supervisor already looks ready to chuck Agent Bennett into the enemies home arse first.

“Now, you two will be our main operatives with the surveillance team being ready to assist whenever they’re needed. It took some work, but we managed to get a good enough alibi to get you both inside as it turns out our politician has a fancy for private masquerade balls.”

As he says this a much younger recruit who looks barely old enough to drink in Europe passes you and Agent Bennett your individual case files, and when you open it to look at your latest identity, you find yourself having to hold in your disgust.

“Mrs Dahlia Carrington?” You can’t help but question out loud, already dreading what Agent Bennett will say.

“Yes wife?” Like clockwork, his annoying voice rings out boiling your blood with every syllable. “As Mr Thomas Carrington, I suppose it is my duty to make sure my beloved is dressed to her best!”

“Never call me that again.”

“Just getting us both into the mood sweetie!”

“Don’t call me that either!” You snap, turning to him with a clenched fist that you oh so desperately want to damage his pretty smirking face with.

“Enough the both of you!” Your supervisor begs, glaring at you and Agent Bennett and making you feel like a child being lectured by their parents. “Agent Bennett, I for one can say have had enough with your playboy nature and how it constantly affects your missions. Will you behave this time, or will I need to prepare another incident report for your arrival with an extra year or two suspended field training?”

And like a child who’s been lectured by a parents, Agent Bennett pouts with a furrowed expression.

“No sir…”

“Good. Now learn your documents and meet with your team. They have the necessary equipment you’ll be needing to get familiar with. Formal wear included.”

You take the supervisor's ending nod as your dismissal and take the file in your hand as you leave. You do not dare look at Agent Bennett, especially as he begins to moan again only this time because he’s been told he has to wear a suit and tie, yet still you manage to get the feeling of goosebumps erupting on your back as you swear you feel his gaze roam your behind.

You cannot be bothered to snap at the man again, so you just sigh loudly to let him know of your annoyance at his actions, and his deep chuckle rings through your mind as you walk away.

As you sit on the stool waiting for your outfit to arrive for you to try it on, you read the file carefully making sure to try and memorise every word possible.

The man whose house you are to sneak into, with help of Agent Bennett as the supervisor had spoken in the debriefing, is a pure French blooded politician whose work slowly turned more and more poisoned against the good of the people. Most recently, he’s gotten access to certain information that could bring about war if placed into the hands of the wrong people, and like the idiot he is, he’s kept it on his computer in his estate.

So what you and Agent Bennett are simply assigned to do, is act like you’re both members of high society to get inside the politician's home and retrieve the information stored most likely on his laptop.

It seems very simple. But then again, all the files of Agent Bennett's other missions seemed simple too, and most of them ended up in millions of pounds in property damage and at least a couple hundred dead bodies needing an explanation only the government could provide.

“Here we are my dear!” The stylist says as he walks through the door with your dress in his hand.

Before you had been given access to missions and was stuck on desk duty, you had never realised that being an agent stylist was an actual job offered here at headquarters. But now that you’ve been upgraded and done a good amount of missions you definitely see why it’s necessary, especially since the bulletproof vest has certainly saved your skin once or twice.

“Oh Stan, it's gorgeous!” You gush as he hangs it on the rack and steps back to allow you to see it in its full glory.

The dress's colour is mainly a deep blue, similar to that of a sapphire, but in the middle where the deep blue fabric separates the fabric is a much lighter shade that you can only describe as being like the cornflowers you see in the fields. The dresses shoulder cuffs are short with a barely noticeable belt keeping the dress firmly fitted. The same sapphire shade continues down the dress till the very end, which happens to be just around your ankles which is the just the way you like your dresses to be.

Overall, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

“I’m glad you think so.” Stan smiles, stepping back towards the dress so he can show you the extra special details not seen by the public. “Now the fabric this is made out of is bullet resistant thread. It’ll stop the bullet going in you, but it’s not perfect. If you’re under fire and hit one too many times it’ll rip and you’ll get shot. Understand?”

“Understood.”

“Good. The dress is tailored for your preference, as I remember you saying you didn’t like too long dresses. Also, it’s not too short so it shows the knife or pistol that you will no doubt have strapped to your thigh. Other than those two things the dress is pretty explanatory and simple. Still, anything you wanna ask about?”

“Why blue?” You can’t help but ask. Usually you’d be asking all about the dynamics and the science behind it. But right now, you can’t help but feel curious when looking at the colour of the dress that you rarely ever see on your other wardrobe items.

“Cause Agent Bennett said it’d bring out your eyes.” Stan simply says, full on cackling with amusement when he sees your face melt into an untimely scowl.

On the day before the mission, the supervisor claimed that to get into a better mindset for the roles you and Agent Bennett needed to play, you both needed to spend a night in a nearby hotel.

Though you should’ve known that bastard was up for something when he smiled whilst he said this, as after speaking to the female receptionist, who seemed all too eager in your opinion in eyeing up your pretend husband, and heading to the room, you discover only one bed. And what’s worse, if it somehow could’ve been, is that it was covered in rose petals.

The supervisor had booked the two of you a honeymoon suit.

It was like he was enticing Agent Bennett to attempt to sleep with you, not that you’d ever let him get near enough though of course.

“Well could’ve been worse I s’pose!” Agent Bennett sniffs as he walks around the room. He opens every cabinet, leaves every door open, chucks his bags and other belongings on the bed until eventually his unique bout of chaos settles and he’s sitting on a sofa chair by the open window with an open bag of peanuts in one hand, a bottle of soda in another, and an old fashioned movie playing in the background.

“What?” He muffles with his mouth full. “If the agency is paying for it all, which I know they are, better make the most of it Mrs!”

“Don’t call me that.” You simply say, refusing to admit he’s actually correct for once in his statement. Instead you just take the time to organise your suitcase and your belongings so everything is where it should be and in a discreet place in case housekeeping decides to visit while you’re away.

This evening, you and your pretend husband were going to go, or rather are being ordered to go, downstairs for dinner to further push this idea that the two of you were just a regular married couple.

So about an hour before the dinner reservation in the hotels restaurant while Agent Bennett was too busy trying to find a channel on the hotels tv that wasn't all in bloody French, you slipped into the bathroom to attempt to slip yourself in a dress suitable enough for an evening meal, but not too revealing as to look like you're trying to be invited to work undercover in the red light district.

You stare at the five differently styled dresses you narrowed your two suitcases to, and can't help but sigh to yourself. How on earth have you managed to get yourself in this particular situation?

"Oi! You gonna be any longer missus? Think I'm gonna piss myself here with how long you've been on the loo for!"

"Piss off the balcony for all I care, I'm changing!" You yell back, not looking away from the line of dresses hung up on the shower curtain line.

"Touchy touchy... well if ya want I could always come in and-"

"Over my dead body!" This time, you sharply turn to the door and glare as you picture Agent Bennett on the other side with his smug smirk and his crossed arms that manage to somehow make his biceps bigger than what they were. Ugh it makes you sick in the stomach just thinking about them.

"For god's sake love open the door and I'll choose the god damn dress so you can quit fussing and I can quit trying not to piss myself over the carpet! I don't wanna barge in cause you're a lady and all that but i'm a desperate man over here!" He says, and you can't help but giggle for a moment as you imagine him hopping about with crossed legs and his arms crossed over his bladder. Still, with a straight face you unlock and open the bathroom door and stand aside as to your amusement, Agent Bennett just as you imagined, shuffles into the room with his legs fused together.

"The red one." He simply says, barely managing to get a look at them all before deciding on one you suspect at random.

"But it's got that massive slit down the side that shows my knee. I want to be formal, not like I'm looking for a good time."

"So go with the yellow." He quickly fires, definitely making eyes at the toilet.

"Washes me out like Edward Cullen."

"He an ex of yours or something? Green looks charming."

"I'm gonna respectfully choose to ignore that statement and accept your apology. Besides, I don't have the shoes to go with it."

"Choose the black one or I'm pissing with or without you in the room. And a word of warning, I think a number two may be coming up on the horizon sweetheart."

"You're disgusting." You snap, grabbing all the dresses from the shower curtain rail and swiftly retreating from the room. You can hear Agent Bennett's unique chuckle echo as you begin shutting the door behind you, and you refuse to believe it's why your heart feels like it's beating a million beats a second hard against your rib cage.

You stare in the mirror as you place the black dress in front of yourself in an attempt to see how it looks, and you can't help but think damn. You look fucking hot.

As you walked beside Agent Bennett arm in arm into the restaurant, you swore you could feel somebody's eyes resting on you. Even after the two of you had sat down and ordered some drinks, the back of your neck felt sweltering from the eyes of another.

“It’s cause of the dress.” Your pretend husband insisted as he sipped on some of the red wine. Apparently ordering a plain old lager wasn’t very upper class of him. “Your tits look really good in it.”

“Don’t look at my breasts agent Bennett!” You scowl, moving your arms to shield his and possibly even the other set of eyes from your slightly revealed skin.

“Maybe don’t call me agent Bennett whilst we’re undercover wifey.” He smirks, choosing to blissfully ignore your previous demand.

“Fine! Husband, do not stare at my breasts in public.”

“So you’re fine with me going it in the privacy of our room? Good to know.”

“If we weren’t in public right now I swear I’d-“

“Are you both ready to order some starters?” A voice interrupts you admittedly with a start. When you turn around a relatively young man possibly even younger than yourself stands there in a fancy suit and a small notebook in hand. He’s got a charming smile you suppose, but the eyes tell an entirely different story as you can see him very clearly taking the opportunity to look down the front of your dress.

“I’ll take the dived scallops with charred leak, onion broth and pink purslane.” You snap the starter menu shut loudly which thankfully draws the attention of the waiter from your breasts. He even seems to be bashful as his face turns a light pink and he coughs a few times as he adjusts himself.

“And you sir?” He finally squeezed, turning to Tom who looked at the man unimpressed as if he wasn’t doing practically the same thing not even five minutes ago.

“I’ll take the same as my wife.” Tom emphasizes those last two words firmly while he glares at the poor boy who begins to stutter out an apology towards you.

"I-I'm sorry ma'am! I'll send someone else over to take the rest of your order!" And like that, the lad runs off with his tail between his legs, leaving you with a distinct yet mixed feeling of both shame and gratitude, while Tom begins to chug the rest of his glass of wine and refills the empty glass with a smile like the cat who ate the canary.

Five minutes go by filled only with the background noise of the restaurant's classical music and the conversations of other hotel guests, and finally another person comes over dressed in the same looking suit.

"Hi my name is Henriette and I shall be taking the rest of your order and helping you with any issues you may or may not face for the rest of the evening. I see my colleague has already taken your starters, but could I please have the rest of your intended food order?" Compared to the other guy, this woman certainly acts like she belongs here.

"I'm afraid to say my dear that my husband is very particular with his food order so I will be deciding for him or else we'll both end up going hungry! I shall have for my main the ratatouille, while he'll have the beef carbonnade. For desserts, me and my husband will each have a chocolate ganache cake with the amarena cherries.”

“Perfect choice Madame!” Henriette smiles as she takes the yours and Tom’s menus before nodding her head to you slightly and walking away.

“I’m very particular with my food?”

“Yes. Like a child who refuses to eat their vegetables because they’re green.”

“I would take offence to that if it wasn’t true.” Tom admits, even shrugging his shoulders while you giggle slightly at his action.

The rest of the evening is filled with chatter and smiles that are not as reluctant as you’d like to admit. That stare you felt at the beginning of the night washes away as you concern yourself with Tom and his antics that leave your cheeks aching from how relaxed you've been with him.

The food soon arrives one after another, and each time a plate is placed in front of Tom he gives you a look of untrustworthiness as he raises his fork and moves to take a bite. Yet every time he does this he gives you a look of satisfying defeat which you always respond with a smile.

By the time the desserts arrive, Tom has eaten every bite of the food you chose for him, and you remember that fact distinctively so you could rub it in his face later on.

"So... how's the food been?" You can't help but ask as you savor the way too overpriced little cake that's about the same size as the distance between your thumb and your palm.

"They've been pretty good." He grunts, eyes focused on the cake he doesn't care about the size of, only the rich taste and the thought of how younger he would've killed for this sort of food.

"Pretty good? If we weren't in public I'd think you were about to lick the goddamn plate."

"Not my fault the portions are small as fuck."

"Tom, don't swear in public, it's unbecoming!"

"Jesus what are you my father now? Or my sister?"

"Tom, what are you talking about?" Your brow furrows in confusion at Tom's sudden change in mood. Where was that person who half an hour ago was joking and riling you up with only the topic of your own boobs for gods sake and who is this moody teenager that replaced him?

"Cause I know you're just putting up with me cause you were assigned to me." he begins, but pauses to refill his glass. That's when you realise exactly why his tongue seems to be so loose and why his mood is so well, moody. Tom Bennett has allowed himself to indulge practically at the very start of the mission and is now sitting in front of you pissed as a sea sailor on bloody red wine of all things. "You're probably thinking about how pathetic I am right now! Oh how pathetic is it that top agent Bennett is getting drunk so early!"

"Jesus Christ Tom, can you keep it together!" You attempt to whisper, but ultimately fail as you see everyone is slowly beginning to turn to look at the two of you including the waitress from earlier.

So in an attempt to halt the damage already made, you grab Tom's arm and try to pull him from his chair so you can drag him back to your room and let him sleep this mood swing off. Though that's about as effective as running through water as he just slumps against you and nearly knocks you straight to the floor, training be damned it seems.

"Do you wish for me to help you Madame? I could get someone at the front desk to help?" The familiar voice of Henriette says.

"No thank you I am perfectly capable Henriette. I am used to dragging my husband away when he's gotten into one of his moods. As much as he denies it every time he has never been very good at holding his alcohol no matter the amount of times he does it." You have to force yourself to act calm and like a true high class lady, but anyone with eyes could see how frustrated you were at that moment as you refrained yourself from whacking Tom over the head and teaching him a lesson.

You somehow manage to get Tom out of the dining hall with the stares of every man and woman in that room no doubt judging your sham of a marriage with their eyes and tongues. Just as you're about to leave though, you suddenly remember the bill and almost go straight back leaving Tom in the middle of the corridor whilst you sort it out, but then with a sigh of utmost gratitude you also remember how it'll be charged at the end of your stay.

“Where are you taking me, wife?” He grumbles, feeling you stop him so suddenly he gets the urge to throw up.

“Back to our room husband. Because of you and your inability to hold your alcohol, our mission may have failed before it even began.”

This time, the hotheaded agent doesn’t have a response to give you. Instead, he just closes his eyes and leans himself against you, allowing himself to be dragged to the room. In the elevator though there is some elderly woman decked to the dimes in diamonds and sapphires who gives the two of you a knowing look from where she stands.

“Long night?” She asks you, staring straight ahead as the doors close behind you.

“Tell me about it…” You laugh, grunting as Tom begins to slip and you’re forced to pull him up further against you. She laughs with you with a look in her eyes as if she’s remembering something long ago, and with that the conversation between you ends.

She gets off on the next floor, and you and Tom manage to make it back to your room giving the impression of a young dutiful wife just taking her drunk husband back to their room.

Soon as you get inside, you chuck Tom off you onto the sofa and chuckle as you imagine him waking up in the middle of the night with a sore back and his evening clothes.

You change into comfy pajamas you packed and get into bed, almost falling straight to sleep with how comfy the bed and pillows are, but not before listening to the sound of Tom's snoring that sends you into a deep sleep.

When you wake on the morning of the mission to the sound of your alarm, you can’t help but allow your eyes to be drawn to the sofa where you expect to see Toms drooped over a wine stinking body. Only there’s no one there.

“Tom?” You call out as you step out the bed and make your way to the bathroom thinking maybe he’s in there throwing up his insides. Only when you hear no response or even any throwing up noises do you enter to find it in the exact same way you left it this morning.

When you touch the sofa you take note of how it’s slightly cold to the touch, and can’t help yourself but think about Tom possibly staggering from his seat late at night whilst you slept and got himself in trouble.

The anxiety gnaws at your mind as the possibilities of what could’ve happened to him keep coming at you.

Where did he go?

What if he went looking for more alcohol in a dingy bar somewhere and got caught?

What if he’s lying somewhere dead?

By the time you come around your nails are half shredded and your legs are shaking slightly from how long you’ve been standing up. And to keep yourself sane for the time being you find yourself for the first time ever texting Agent Tom Bennett.

The agency for every new case assigns the agent a different phone with all the information and numbers needed. You’d been given yours after the debriefing, and yet somehow Tom had already begun to spam you with random texts throughout the day.

What is your favourite food? What's your drink of choice? What’s your favourite colour?

You never answered, partially because leaving him on read was an exhilarating experience. So texting him now felt strange to do.

Where are you?

You texted him that first. But after five minutes of watching the pixilated words be left unanswered and unread you sent him another.

I hope your having the worst hangover of your life. You deserve it after last night and how you acted. Show up to the mission sober if you can go so long without a drink I’m surprised the so great agent Bennett is an alcoholic

You take a break staring in order to take a shower and hopefully clear your thoughts. As you step out the bathroom and begin to towel dry your hair you hear your phone ping with a notification, and it’s as if rocks have been tied to your feet with how heavy they feel walking to your phone.

You open it with a hitched breath, and you almost get the urge to chuck it straight out the balcony doors when you see the message.

Didn’t think you’d have worried about little old me that much Mrs. And don’t worry, my hangover, which I’m sad to report is practically non existant, will probs be gone before the mission even begins. I’ll meet you there when you need me.

And when you think it’s over, he sends another

By the way it’s you’re when speaking bout my headache love, not your ;)

“Bastard.” You groan this time chucking yourself against the bed. Why does he take such pleasure in your annoyance? Why does he seem to enjoy making your life so hard?

In the end in an attempt to take your mind off the hurricane that was Tom Bennett you switch your phone off and spend the whole day in your hotel room fixing yourself up for this evening.

You firstly treat yourself to room service breakfast involving pancakes, croissants, bacon and the whole nine dimes. Then after cleaning yourself up you got onto the actual dressing up aspect.

The dress as soon as you had arrived in the room yesterday was hung up on a hook from within its protective bag in the wardrobe, and when you retrieve it and unravel it you go just as breathless as you were when you first saw it.

The blue is still as breathtaking and the length still as satisfactory. You almost get the girlish urge to put it on now and twirl around like how you did as a child in your Disney princess costume, but stop yourself as you remember Stan warning you not to crease the dress at all, so to be safe you zip the protective cover straight back up and close the wardrobes door firmly to be safe.

So you move on to trying on everything else. The bra you plan to wear isn't too important as the dress will cover up your shoulders so that's out of the way.

The shoes take up some time but in your opinion not long enough. Since practically as soon as the questions come at you their answers come shooting in quick succession behind them. The question on what was nonexistent as since you knew dancing was going to happen whether by the agencies demand or even Toms, heels were out of the question. And since there were few other shoes packed for you in your suitcase you soon found yourself with some dark navy kitten heels that managed to make you feel elegant and safe at the same time.

Makeup though was your biggest time consumer though. You spent hours thinking about what was suitable and what was not with all the products that had been packed all laid out on the dresser table in front of you.

You couldn't put too much on, as then everyone would stare and you might as well cancel the mission before it's even begun. Though you couldn't go without any or be super subtle with it all or else even then you'll get judgemental stares from people. So you spend quite a bit of time in front of the mirror putting various different products on your face and finally after what thankfully feels like forever, you find a style that suits both you and the mission at hand perfectly.

When experimenting, you did debate on possibly wearing something you think would interest the man whose house you're infiltrating, but you soon put that thought to bed when the con list became longer than the pros, not that there was even anything on there in the beginning. You had no idea what he was truly like behind closed doors apart from of course betraying his country and his people that is.

Though the one you wear now, it makes you feel powerful.

It’s a good mixture of subtle yet striking, with the use of eyeliner forcing people to look into your eyes. There’s only a little conditioner and foundation to cover up a few spots and blemishes. The only other thing you decide to use make-up wise is some lipstick that’s a little darker than your natural lip shade.

You decide to take it off as it’s still a while before you need to leave before the ball, so to waste time you do what you never would’ve done before this mission.

You sat on the bed in a complimentary dressing gown, ordered some fancy lunch, and watched reality tv. You watch it all as you eat without any complaints. It feels like you were a teenager all over again without a care in the world.

Though soon the time ticks away and it’s about time for you to get changed into your outfit and prepare your weapons. A small pistol strapped to your thigh. A signet looking ring on your ring finger that when activated, could deliver 50 thousand volts to whoever is unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of it. And your personal favourite, a pepper spray that’s disguised to look like a shade of red lipstick.

When that’s all sorted though and hidden away from the public eye, only then do you dare turn your phone back on. You don’t really know what to expect. Messages from Tom begging for forgiveness? A message from your supervisor saying you’re gonna be extracted as Toms blew the mission?

You will say what you do find when you turn your phone. Nothing. No messages, no notifications, nothing.

It’s a blow to the stomach but you take it on the chin and deal with it, especially when it's Tom you’re dealing with.

Walking down to the lobby to get to the car that’ll bring you to the rich guy's mansion, you can feel the stares of others on your skin as you walk. To keep appearances you simply sway your hips as you pass to show you are unbothered by your past, and smile at yourself like you own the world.

Which you certainly feel like when you realise the car that’ll be dropping you off is a smaller yet still classy limousine, even equipped with an equally handsome man who opens the door for you to get in.

“Good evening Mrs Carrington,” The kind man begins as you slowly sway closer. “My name is Webster, and I shall be your chauffeur for the duration of this service. There are drinks within the back as-well as many small snacks in case you were feeling particularly peckish. Do you have any questions for me?”

“No thank you Webster I believe any I thought of have already been answered.” You just simply say with a smile of gratitude as you duck into the car and let out a sigh you didn’t even realise you were holding as you sat down on the soft leather.

You turn your head slightly to get a look at these drinks and small snacks on offer, and it truly does seem all your questions have been answered as you meet the eyes of your pretend husband for the evening as he drinks at a bottle of unlabelled substance.

“I’d have thought after yesterday you’d avoid alcohol…” You can’t help but snidely comment, watching as he grumbles at it.

“I came back didn’t I? Ain’t that the most important thing?”

“The most important thing Bennett, is you making sure you don’t screw this mission over with your day drinking.” You respond, and in an act of retaliation that shocks even you, you make a grab at the bottle of drink and sniff at the top to try and tell what it is.

Though you suppose it’s even more shocking for you to discover that the bottle doesn’t smell like cheap booze as you thought it was, but actually it was the scentless yet still recognisable scent of water.

“Not had a drop since yesterday.” Tom sneers, grabbing back the bottle to take another swig. "Wouldn't want to embarrass the perfect little agent anymore than I already have."

"Don't call me that Bennett." You snap, looking at him with hate in your eyes as you try to think back to the nice man you talked with yesterday.

"Why not Mrs? Aren't you the one who's got the 100% success rate in all their missions? The one who always catches the bad guy with not a single scratch on her soft delicate skin?" Tom continues to antagonise you and you swear you're this close to yanking that bottle from his hands and whacking him to death with it in this very car.

"Let's just focus on the mission, husband, so then this can all be over and done with and we can go back to never talking too or even better not even seeing each other again. Alright?"

"Fine..." He amusingly grumbles as he slumps further into the seat. "Run the plan by me again Mrs as I'm sure you've memorised it all already."

"I actually have, but if you insist. We get into the venue posing as Mr and Mrs Carrington, then socialise for a bit to appear as the average bourgeoisie couple, maybe even dance a bit if we need to. After that we head to the politician's office to extract the information from the hard drive within the vault. Hopefully we should be out and back in bed before midnight. Any questions?"

Tom, deciding to be the class clown in a car of only three people, raises his hand as if in a classroom. "I've got a question Mrs! Who said anything about dancing?"

"The supervisor did. As according to him we need to fit in as much as possible and that includes dancing whether you like the idea or not. Oh, and one more thing silly old me forgot to mention. Don't flirt with any lonely wives or daughters."

"Oh come on Mrs don't you think I have some self restraint?" He attempts to laugh with a smile on his face that soon much to your own amusement however, is quickly wiped away when he sees the dead seriousness of your expression and voice. "Do you really think that little of me?"

"Well within the first full day of knowing me you got drunk as a sailor after being honest for two seconds with me, then left in the middle of the night to do god knows what in the streets. So yes Agent Bennett, that is what I think of you."

"You remind me of my sister... I don't say that often or with great pleasure..." Tom grumbles while you yourself find yourself acting surprised at his words.

"You've got a sister?" You find yourself asking.

"Yeah. Lois. The brains of the family while I got the looks. Was a singer in a pub before she got the qualifications after having a baby to become a nurse at some great big hospital. Dad's little brainy-box while I'm sitting in a jail cell for another night." This time, you don't say the words that immediately pop into your head. As even as helpful as they will try to sound you know he'll take it as pity whichever way you say it. "Though I suppose I got the looks at least! We can agree on that, can't we missus! What you say after this we go to the pub? My treat!"

And with not even what you could say a snap of the fingers the energetic careful Agent Bennett returns. Along with the urge to smack him round the head with one hand while with the other you call HR.

"And do what? Just drinking?" You find yourself asking.

"Sure! And maybe more if you feel like it. No pressure at all! I do like my ladies, consenting I'll have you know!"

"Oh great you like the basic rules of sex. Good to know..." You grumble, and with your last strand of patience snapping, you find a small bottle of fruity cider you remember drinking back when you were a uni student and taking a swig.

"Now who needs to be told to watch their liquor!" Tom laughs.

"Shut it or I'm throwing you out of the car myself and making you walk."

"But I dunno where I'll be heading sweetheart!"

"Then ask a local for directions."

"But I don't speak french?"

"39% of the French population say they can speak English. With how much of a talker you tend to be, I'm sure you won't have much of an issue finding someone!"

After yours and Tom's little marital spat, as Tom himself called it as he grumbled like a toddler slouching against the seats, the rest of the ride to the estate was filled with silence. Occasionally the sound of a honking car or the regular noises of the bustling city life broke the silence, but apart from that you and Tom made no effort to get along.

You sometimes take a sip of the cider you opened without much thought, and you regret very soon as the taste washes over your tongue. There’s a reason why you drank this at uni. It’s cheap, it’s strong, and after a couple bottles you can’t remember your own name.

“We’re about five minutes from the location Mr and Mrs Carrington,” The driver says through the little intercom. “I suggest you start thawing out before the entrance.”

You and Tom look at each other from the corner of your eyes, and deep down know the man is right. Even if the two of you couldn’t stand each other right now, for the sake of the country as much as Tom claims to hate it you both do not want the innocent people to suffer.

“Fine.” You spit.

“Fine.” Tom grumbles back.

So like the loved-up couple you were both playing to be, with neither knowing who began moving first, yours and Tom's hand found each other and clutched together in a firm embrace.

When the both of you get out of the car at the front of the politician's house, your hands still clutch hard against one another as you both adorn the masks you’ve been given to conceal your identity.

In an almost ironic turn of events, you were given the mark of the devil, and Tom the mask of the angel.

"Looking good Mrs." You hear Tom say.

"Save it!" You simply snap back with your eyes facing straight forward. If he wants to try and make you begin liking him again with simple words, he's gonna have to try much harder than that. Preferably on his knees, but you don't mind as long as he truly shows his regret.

And with how you can practically hear him rolling his eyes at you, you know he'll at this point need to be doing a lot more than getting on his knees for you if you had anything to say to him.

The target as expected wasn't at the door to greet his guests. Instead, he simply walked around the rooms like God's greatest gift and allowed them the honour of approaching.

Only he wasn't going to be the spider standing idly by waiting for the fly to come to him. Tonight, he was the ignorant fly while you and Tom sat perched in your little web, venom ready awaiting the right moment to strike.

"You seen him yet angel?" Tom murmurs against your ear as he leads you into the main ball room with his hand perched firmly on your lower back. You can feel the warmth of his palm alone through the fabric of your clothes, and you hate the way it makes your stomach churn in a way that leaves you craving for more.

"If I saw him, I'd tell you." You just simply say, turning your head away from him as you still feel where his breath had tickled you. Somehow though, you didn't manage to pluck the courage inside you to move from his hand that still firmly imprints itself against you.

You can hear him lightly chuckle beside you, and with a quick yet heavy sip of the complimentary champagne you were offered when you both walked through the door, the mission began.

With every step forward you felt daggers piercing the back of your neck, and with every sudden high pitched laugh belonging to some man's wife you felt the grip on Tom's arm suddenly tighten.

"What you doing that for?!" He suddenly whispers after the fifth time.

"Something doesn't feel right..." You try to reason, resisting every urge to turn around.

"Oh I'm sorry. I guess I didn't realise I was partnered with the bloody girl who saw dead people."

"If we were not in this room full of people I want you to know I would've smacked you round the back of the head for that."

"Careful love. If you do it I may just like it."

"Save it for the gullible women you manage to con into sleeping with you." You attempt to seem disgusted at his actions as you think about how many women seem to be affected by Tom's typical charm, but then you're reminded that you were one of the women who'd fallen victim to his boyish-like smiles and his dopey laugh. You'll never admit this to anyone, but your face may have turned a little pink at the memory.

"Only if that gullible woman is you my sweet." Tom quips right back, smiling at you in such a way it feels like your heart may beat out of your chest. Yet to stop him from charming you anymore, you just roll your eyes and nudge Tom into the direction of the bar.

"Thought you said I wasn't allowed to drink?

"I did. It's just the extra cherry on top of the milkshake being able to drink in front of you. Like eating chocolate in front of a child past its bed time." You grin, ordering a double gin and tonic and finishing that first sip with an exaggerated sigh. "Husband, would you mind paying the bartender for my drink pretty please? I seem to have left my purse at home!"

"Any man that makes his wife pay for her own drinks looking like that in that dress is no man." The bartender comments, looking you up and down as he takes Tom's card and puts it through the machine. While the man's back is turned for a moment you can't help but observe him.

You recognise him from the list of employees you looked at before arriving tonight. His name is Henry Clarkes, a ginger middle aged man from Exeter currently on his 3rd marriage collapse. Though to be fair, that wouldn't have happened if he hadn't gotten another girl even younger than yourself pregnant with his 4th child. Though that's just your opinion...

By your side Tom grumbles something illegible as he stares daggers into the back of the man's head. And to your surprise, he only manages to push out an obviously strained thanks that even the man behind the bar chuckles at. So before Tom takes it upon himself to leap across that bar and beats the man black and blue, you take Tom's hand firmly in your own to squeeze it tight and drag him away from the scene.

"Bet you loved that." He says soon as you're far enough away. "But you would've taken him into our hotel room if I wasn't there!"

"Fucks sake Tom if i'd have known you were just as a dickhead sober I would've gotten you a drink before we came here. Maybe it would've made you more bearable..."

"So you don't deny it!" He growls, pulling you with a yelp as he forces you to a wall at the edge of the party. "You would've fucked him in our bed?"

"Jesus Tom no I would not have fucked that random man in our hotel bed!" You try to whisper, but it's sort of hard too when there's gossipy women practically circling you where you stand. "Unlike you, I don't sleep with random people I've met in the span of less than a minute!"

"I don't do that anymore!" Is that his defence? Really?

"Since when? This morning!?"

"Since I realised I'd be working with you a few weeks ago." It's the way he says it so quickly you suppose is what makes you so flustered. The way he had no hesitation in the words as if he had been waiting to say them all his life.

"Tom... I-"

"My my and who are these two lovebirds tucked away in the corner?" A voice suddenly says, bursting the two of you out of whatever trance you were entrapped in. You both turn to this person, and you have to physically stop yourself from reacting when you recognise them. The exact man whose home and party you just sneaked into, the corrupt french politician.

"I'm Dahlia Carrington monsieur, and this is my husband Thomas! I apologise for our behaviour, we were just having a little argument and-"

"Oh no need to apologise mademoiselle! I myself have at least one argument a day with my own wife!" That's cause you've been cheating on her with the nanny of your four children all under the age of 12. If it wasn't so sad to think about given the age gap, you'd have laughed at the cliche of it all. "Let me guess! She's been hitting the cards and the drinks a little too hard huh?"

Did this man really just manage to call you a gold-digger and some kind of alcoholic all in one insult? You think he did. Tom thinks it too, by the way he seems to glare the same kind of despising glaring at this man just like how he did at the bartender.

"Sure." Tom grits out, his jaw clenched down hard. You look down, and see that even his whole body is reared up.

Yet it seems this man is as dense as his security is, since he just keeps on talking.

"You know what you need to do son? Need to get her on a tighter leash if you ask me!" If Tom doesn't hit him, you definitely will at this point. "Maybe even give her a child! Cause I can tell from her figure alone that she hasn't had any yet! But trust me on this, only have a single son! Cause then you've got the heir, the wife off your back, and a still tight one when you need it! Oh, and by the way mademoiselle, you may want to smile a bit more. Makes you look all wrinkled and old."

How is this man smiling right now at you? He has just told you that you were pretty much just at best, a childbearing sex doll for your husband, and he's just standing there with the biggest fucking grin on his face drinking some million dollar looking champagne. How fucking dare?

"Ooh! I must be off now! There are so many guests to see and so little time... au revoir my good friends!" He smiles, disappearing into the crowd of the bourgeoisie, leaving you and Tom at the edge with anger written clearly on both your faces.

"I'm gonna kill him." You say first.

"Not if I do it first." Tom responds immediately after. "I'll push him down the stairs so everyone will claim it was cause he was drunk."

"I was just gonna shoot him in the head."

"Wouldn't that blow our cover?" Tom curiously asks, turning to you while you look back at him with a unique smile on your face that Tom can't help but cause a shiver to run up his spine.

"Doesn't matter to me. At least I get the satisfaction of knowing I rid the world of another patriarchal dickheaded twat..." You firmly say, watching Tom's mouth slowly turn into an almost impressed smirk.

"Fair enough wife. Fair enough."

Tom takes your hand in his as he slowly directs you through the room till you get to the staircase to the upper floors. Thankfully they haven't been shut off to the public, and instead people are being encouraged to look around and marvel at all the weird and frankly sort of disturbing memorabilia adorning the walls, such as stuffed animals being glass and paintings of worryingly young girls.

"His office is another floor up. If we continue looking like some regular prissy couple then we can get there easy." He says directing you further down the corridor to yet another set of stairs.

"If I knew I'd need to be climbing up so many stairs I'd have requested the costume team to have packed me more comfortable shoes..." You grumble as Tom looks over his shoulder to merely laugh at your pain.

"Awe, is the poor little lady unhappy she has to climb some simple stairs?" He pouts as he tilts his head, laughing loud at how you scowl at him. "I would've thought little miss perfect would've actually looked at the mission plans before this. My my was the mrs slacking?"

"Idiot." You simply sigh, rolling your ankles as soon as you get to the next floor. "I did look at the plans I'll have, you know! It's not my fault that it was never specified the height of the stairs..." You mumble. You can see Tom laugh slightly with a delighted twinkle in his eye as he looks at your pouting lips. He sure loves to see you suffer....

"I mean I could've carried Mrs up if her royal highness had asked me." Tom shrugs, laughing as you take the time to wack him on his upper arm with the back of your hand. "Hey hey hey Mrs don't hit our loving devoted husband! I did offer!"

"Yeah, when we were already up the stairs!"

"At least I offered at all! Besides, the office is just up here. You've stretched your ankle enough." Tom groans, grabbing you by the wrist this time to lead you. You grumble behind him as you look around at the corridor for any cameras and any extra security.

You spot three cameras already by the time you both get to the door, and tap Tom's hand to let him know. Thankfully you can't see anything else that would get in the way of the mission like a keypad or a retinal scanner. If you had to admit, it was sort of basic considering what information the man was storing and with how much money he had.

"You got it?" He pulls you in close to murmur against your ear. To those currently watching, it would've looked like a husband leaning in to whisper some romantic words to his wife.

"Of course." You simply murmur back, fiddling with your earring as you find the tiny switch and press it. It's amazing what kind of technology the intelligence lab can come up with, as to any other person looking at you they may have thought you were wearing simple ordinary earrings. But, in actuality they were specially designed in order to, when having the switch pressed, would expel a small burst of electromagnetic waves that'd disrupt the cameras feed, giving the organisation enough time to replace it with a fake copy. "Should be replaced now."

Usually, the organisation would have people on hand to hack into the cameras and change the feed. But apparently they couldn't do it within the time they got to the secure location and the time you'd be getting to the location. So for the time being, the earrings had to do.

"Then let's get inside. Stupid bastard doesn't even have a lock on the door." He laughs, stepping inside and closing it behind you. "He even left his safe in clear view of the room! What a twat!"

"Careful Tom!" You can't help but say, watching as he strides across the room with no possible caution for danger. "We don't know exactly what sort of security this man has on his safe!"

"Then I suppose we better figure it out then Mrs." He continues to smile, this time walking directly up to the safe as he puts on a pair of gloves you didn't know where he was even hiding them. "Seems pretty simple to me..."

Tom puts his head against the cool material of the box and slowly begins to turn the dial ever so slowly so he can hear the distinct clicks from within. Slowly you walk up behind him and watch him as he works, which gives you a view of something you had no idea you'd be interested in viewing.

From where you stood you could see Tom's long nimble hands work as they touch the dial and in a strange way stroke the surface of the safe as he moves his hand. If you had to be honest with yourself, it's sort of hypnotising.

"You know I can feel you staring at me right Mrs?" Tom's cocky voice suddenly says, breaking you from whatever strange spell Tom's fingers had on you. He even turns to stare at you as he says this, and you can't find yourself even in the position to lie to yourself that Tom's grin doesn't make you feel like you have butterflies swarming right now in your stomach.

"Just open the safe Agent Bennett." You snarl, admittedly the nickname feeling strange against your tongue.

"My my back to the origins are we missus? Then it's a good thing I've got the perfect nickname for you and I'll never be using anything less for my favourite girl!" Tom turns back to the last few digits of the safe, and you're left with a blush you pray this man does not see. He still calls you Mrs after seeing how annoyed it got you. Just how long would it take to shake off the fact you blushed due to his charm?

"Are you almost done?" You ask, attempting to distract yourself and hope it goes down quickly.

"If you let me listen I'd be done quicker." He quips, letting out a loud "Aha!" when the final distinct tick sounds, and he's able to turn the wheel and open the safe door with a self-satisfied smile. "And you thought to doubt me?"

"Shut it." You sigh, stepping out the way as Tom swings the door out towards the two of you, to reveal another door.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Tom groans, the sound of which you ignore as you walk up to it and see what it is you're dealing with. Unlike the security on the last door, this one is equipped with a key pad with numbers zero through nine, and no real indication on how long the sequence needed to be.

Yet that doesn't appear to stop you as you try putting in the birthday of the nanny, to which an annoyingly loud noise sounds out indicating a failed attempt. "Two attempts remain." A male robotic voice says.

"What did you do!?" Tom shouts, forcibly grabbing your upper arm to turn you around and look at him.

"I took my shot." You simply say, taking Tom's arm in your hand and shoving it away so hard he steps back once. "And don't you dare touch me like that again Tom."

To your relief, he doesn't seem in the mood to pick a fight with you as he just grumbles under his breath staring at the door keeping the both of you from your mission.

Admittedly, you both stay where you stand for a few minutes thinking about possible numbers the politician would hold dear to him. Anything to do with his wife is immediately off the table such as anniversaries or her birthday. You'd thought he'd maybe take advantage of the nanny more than he had already, but that seems to be just as effective as the wife. That's when you suddenly get reminded of something he's said to Tom early while he was halfway through a misogynistic ramble he'd been on.

'But trust me on this, only have a single son!'

"Tom," You begin to ask, turning to said man who at the sound of his name looks back at you recognising the thinking expression on your face. "What was that thing the bastard was saying about his son?"

You say this rhetorically as you step closer and closer to the keypad with a grin as you enter the birth date of the politician's only son and youngest child, and are welcomed with the same robotic voice as before. "Welcome monsieur, to the vault." It simply says, before this time Tom's voice breaks through the silence.

"Fucking smarty pants!" He says as he moves in front of you. At first you think this is just another insult, but then you see the way his face is actually lit up in pride and realise quickly he's actually proud of you. "Knew you could do this Mrs!"

"Really?" You can't help but ask, watching as his face quickly turns serious as he looks at you. It's strange.

"Of course. You're smart, you are. More smarter than I could ever be. I mean, you actually listened to the French bastard while he was talking to us."

"You weren't?"

"No. I was just imagining my fists pummelling into his face till he swallows his own teeth and is forced to be put on life support in some shitty hospital that without him knowing bleeds his money dry as he fights for his life." He admits, watching you closely as you blink in surprise at the level of violence this man in front of you is willing to express.

"Damn... he must've pissed you off good Tom." You try to make the mood lighter, but still Tom's face stays oddly serious and calm.

"Of course he did. No one should get to talk about you like that in front of you, or even away from you, and get to smile like that ever again. Now let's get into this vault thing." Fuck. Here comes the blush and the feral butterflies in the stomach. A double whammy...

"Y-yeah lets!" You quickly say, standing close behind Tom as he opens the door and thankfully this time not revealing another door, but instead revealing a large room filled with a variety of things that would no doubt add up to millions, possibly even ranging into a billion pounds.

"Who even needs this?" Tom's voice suddenly rings out. You turn to the direction of where his voice came from, and begin to laugh hard when you see exactly what Tom is so confused by. A large bottle of what looked like it used to hold port, but now holds a deep amber coloured liquid that took you a second to realise what it is as well as some other bits floating about.

Agent Tom Bennett is holding in his hands a witches' bottle. AKA, a bottle filled with some random person's piss, toe nails, hair and other various bodily things.

You must've made him nervous as for the first time you think since the mission started he says your name in a meek manner. "What am I holding..."

"You, you're holding some poor person's piss!" You laugh, practically wheezing with no consideration for noise levels as you watch Tom's face contort into one of pure disgust and horror. He manages to put it down as gently as a man who just discovered he's holding a bottle of piss can be, yet it still manages to make you laugh so hard you almost fall over.

"That's fucking disgusting!" The poor man shouts, staring at the offending item with deeply furrowed eyebrows and hateful eyes. "Why the fuck would anyone want that?!"

"I dunno. People used to make them in order to draw in and trap harmful intentions directed at their owners like evil spirits or counteract witches spells. It's sort of cool, when you get past the fact that it's basically just piss and nails and other bodily stuff in a jar."

"Still fucking disgusting. Let's just find this stupid hard drive..." He grumbles, rubbing the hand that touched the bottle on his suit.

You continue to giggle behind Tom as you follow him through the assortment of items. By the looks of it, basically all of it has been organised into sort of sections, making the look for the area with the electronics much easier for the two of you.

After some time looking through some boxes of various things, you find a hard drive labelled with the dangerous info the politician was storing. You'll be honest, it almost felt too easy finding it.

"That's it?" You hear Tom comment from behind as you turn around to face him with the device within your pointing finger and thumb.

"That's it." You shrug, stepping forward to adjust Tom's suit jacket so you can get to the small inside pocket and place the device inside it. It's a little bigger than what was expected, but it still fits just fine within its containment.

"Are we done now," Tom starts to murmur, making you realise the position you were in. You were standing barely a breath away from him, still holding his jacket lapel with your hands keeping him close. You swear you can feel his breath fan against your face, your own face though being pulled straight out of your lungs when you for certain feel his hands slowly move to touch your waist. "I was beginning to enjoy my time with you. Maybe we can fit in a dance before we leave, huh missus?"

You can barely find yourself able to speak as you're frozen where you stand. You can barely manage to nod as you can only find yourself praying for your life that the blush on your face isn't as noticeable as you feel it being.

"Y-yeah." You finally manage to strain out, not even able to look at him as you try to focus on instead of his face a small stain near his chest pocket. Yet it seems Tom has other plans, as he removes one of the hands from your waist to your chin, which he uses only two of his fingers to gently move your head up and force you to look at him eye to eye.

You feel your eyes drawn upwards to look at his face, yet even that action doesn’t last long as you suddenly find yourself staring at his lips while he moistens them with his tongue. They’re a pretty shade of pink, and under the harsh light overhead you can swear you find them glistening slightly.

You murmur Tom's name under your breath lightly, and your eyes close as you feel his hands curl tightly around your body with a sense of possessiveness you never thought you’d get from him.

As you begin to lean closer, feeling his warm breath slowly cause goosebumps to raise all along the length of your arms, you can feel your eyes slowly close as you begin to wonder how this situation has occurred, and why the hell does it feel so right to do?

That is however, till you hear faint footsteps that sound like they're coming closer.

"Do you hear that?" You murmur as you open your eyes slightly to look at Tom, who to your slight amusement is still stuck within the moment. His eyes are still closed, and his mouth slightly puckered as he still tries to inch himself closer and closer.

"I didn't hear anything." He quickly says, not opening his eyes or anything. "Just get over here so I can-"

"They're over here!" A voice shouts in the distance, finally forcing Tom to accept the moment is over, and open his eyes to see your 'i told you so' expression.

Tom grumbles some incoherent words under his breath as he takes his gun out from his hidden inner pocket before turning to you. "Don't think this is over missus." He simply says, before turning to the direction of where the shouting came from.

You yourself just roll your eyes as you retrieve your own pistol still firmly strapped against your leg, and follow behind Tom as you both try to get some cover underneath all the ornaments and objects placed amongst each other.

There is only one main walkway that is designed to showcase every item as you walk around the room, but that doesn't mean people can't make their paths, as demonstrated when Tom walks head first through a rack of old animal fur coats. As the two of you begin to get closer to the exit, the sound of talking gets louder the more steps you take, and you both duck for cover behind a huge set of antique chests of drawers.

"Do we know how many are here?" You hear one of them say, followed by a symphony of guns being reloaded one after another. By the sounds of the guns alone, there's got to be around an even 10 guards ready to shoot you if given the command.

"The boss says can't be more than two." Another says soon after, most likely the squad leader if he's the one answering the questions. "They can't be too far, so fan out and shoot only to disarm or incapacitate. The boss wants us to question them to find out who they work for."

You and Tom from where you both are hiding look at each other in mutual understanding as the promise makes its way through both your heads at the same time. Don't leave the other behind no matter what.

Even though you had both gone through with missions that slipped last second and been tortured by one too many people, even though you both knew the other could handle it the silent declaration still happened without a shadow of a doubt. Neither Tom nor you could bear to think of the other person being hurt by this French asshole.

"Any idea how to dodge these French pricks?" Tom asks as he turns to you, much to your surprise.

"Huh... and here I thought that you'd be all ready to shoot first escape later. What's changed? Did you hit your head when I wasn't looking? Trip on some old Victorian teddy bear?" You can't help but laugh, watching Tom's face doesn't even turn to a simple smirk as he answers.

"Can't have my missus getting hurt. So have you got a plan or do we need to fall back onto the shoot first plan?"

You hate to admit it, but it's at that moment when you finally realise why it had felt so right to be in his arms. Somehow between the chaos of the mission and the short but sweet moments together, you'd fallen for the man worse than James Bond himself, Agent Tom Bennett.

"I think I can see the entrance door from here. The guards have started fanning out more in the middle of the room, which is their mistake thinking we'd still be cowering in the back corner. If we're silent and don't draw attention, then I think we can get out of the room without gunfire and any unnecessary attention. Got that?" You finally say, turning to him and watching as he nods his head in return to your question.

"Got it missus. Take the lead." He says, gesturing his hand in a random direction. You roll your eyes at the nickname but less due to annoyance, and more due to amusement that he still insists on using it even though by now, the disguises have long since crumpled away.

Still, you say nothing and just gesture for him to follow you, which he does in a heartbeat. You can hear the heavy footsteps of the guards in the distance but to your and Tom's relief they go quieter instead of louder, indicating that the group were still making their way to the back of the room.

You make your way through all manner of objects in an attempt to stay away from the main path that stays primarily visible most of the length of the way. You pass rugs, more furniture similar to those earlier sets of drawers, faberge eggs, and even coincidentally old stuffed toys.

Soon, the view of the office you had passed to sneak in came into view. It was so close. You could not tell if there were any guards on the outside which was good for the both of you, as it seems these guards were dumber than they looked.

You turned around to check that Tom had successfully followed behind you with all the twists and turns through the junk, only as you did so, you managed to catch just in time Toms shoulder banging into wobbly piece of display furniture, causing an expensive yet boring looking vase to come toppling down and smash against the hard floor.

"For fucks sake..." You mumble as shouts go off in the distance in chime with heavy footsteps that inch close and closer towards you both.

"Sorry!" Tom yells at you as he leaps up and begins firing like crazy in an attempt to get these guys before they get either of you. You have to sigh in defeat at the turn of events before you also begin to fire at these men with everything you got while also moving backwards towards the exit.

For a minute, all you could hear was gunshot after gunshot, mixed in with the sounds of the guards screaming in pain when either you or Tom managed to get one. But that all changed when you felt one of the last guards bullets burying itself within your shoulder, bringing you down hard against the floor with a surprised scream.

You can hear Tom yell out your name as the last rounds of gunfire go off. As soon as the sounds stop you feel Tom's arms enveloping you so he can pull you closer and assess the wound.

"Shit shit shit you ok missus? Where'd it hit?" Tom begs, his voice frantic as he sees the hole in you gushing blood by the second. He doesn't know if the bullet has done any more damage other than the initial tissue damage, such as bone fracture or nerve injury. If Tom doesn't get you help soon, there's a chance with those nasty ass bullets you could get an infection within the wound.

"Come on darling let's get you safe." Tom says as he takes off his suit jacket and rips off a large section of the back to create a make-shift sling for you. As soon as he deems it tight enough, Tom pulls you up and places your uninjured arm around his neck so he can support you and make sure you leave this place by his side.

Every few steps Tom takes with you on his arm he is watching the surroundings carefully with his gun in easy reach. The previous gunfire must have alerted someone else about their presence, but to Tom's surprise there was no one. No other guards springing out of walls with their guns ready to blow his and your brains out. No evil bad guy with a pathetic monologue on the tip of his tongue. It's as if they were letting him and you walk out of there free with just the gunshot wound. How the hell could it be that simple?

"You still awake missus?" Tom asks, his lips crooked as he attempts to smile for you to show nothing could be worse, even though it easily most definitely could've been. You manage to groan a small response in return, and even if he couldn't make out a single syllable, he'd recognise that smart mouthed sass of yours anywhere. "Yeah yeah I hear you... There's a car out front we can get away in fitted with medical supplies for yourself. Why we don’t get some small basic med kit to keep on hand in case this shit happens, I've got no clue..."

The mission was not supposed to go like this. It was supposed to end great. With the hard drive in the hands of the supervisor and Tom and you having dinner somewhere. Not with you leaning on him for the support while you practically bled out all because of him.

Tom can hear the blood droplets hitting the once pristine white flooring of the hallway, and each soft individual splatter sends a shiver up his spine. He has no idea why he cares so deeply about you right now, and why even the thought of you being permanently injured sends pure nausea down to his stomach. Yet he pushes the thought process down as he makes sure you don't end up losing consciousness right now. The hallway cameras should still be under the control of the organisations tech people by now, but Tom doesn't want to risk chances by lingering when he could be getting you to safety as quickly as possible.

So while making sure your body is fully supported, Tom leads you down the stairs and the other hallways to a more discreet exit away from the crowds of people still there in the ball. The music from before had been so loud that he doubts they heard anything. Plus, they were no doubt distracted with the copious amounts of alcohol they'd all been ingesting in the last couple hours. 

The camera's tom spots are all pointed away from the two of you as you make your way through the halls. The blood coming from your shoulder has slowly begun to lessen, yet still with the way your shoulder and the surrounding areas were beginning to go numb, you still could feel the faint trails trickling down your legs and hear the odd droplets fall to the floor.

"Almost there missus almost there..." Tom mutters, seeing the last door separating you both to the outside world. When he first tried to get through, the door stayed firmly shut even after Tom attempted to slam his body against it in an attempt to loosen it.

"Fucks sake!" He groans, looking down and seeing the simple key lock needed to escape. "Can afford to purchase all that useless shit and keep it behind an electronic keypad but can't be bothered to purchase an electronic lock for the front door..."

Tom carefully places you upright against the closest wall so he can kneel down and get a closer look at the problem. It's just a simple titan key needed, but seeing at how simple it is and where the door leads, it's probably in the pocket of one of the many waiters walking around, and Tom didn't exactly have the time to ask all of them which person had the key. So he did something he never thought he'd be putting to use in real life. Tom grabbed a bobby pin from within your hair, and stuck it within the key lock.

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to get it right, but eventually after a couple hundred swears and scratches on his fingers, the door opens with a soft click and a small 'hurrah' from Tom himself. He even turns to you with a victorious smirk, which you return with another exhausted groan and even an exaggerated eye roll even though you begin to feel lightheaded with all the blood that's come out of you within the hour.

"Let's get you help missus."Tom grunts as he picks you back up from the floor and directs you to the direction of a car parked not too far from the entrance. It's smaller than the original limousine that brought you to the mission in the first place, but you can't help but faintly smile when you see the familiar face of Webster watching you from the driver's seat.

As soon as Tom sets you down inside the vehicle, you feel your body slump in the most unladylike of ways against the soft exterior of the car's seats and let out a sigh of relief that it's all over.

"I trust you know about removing a bullet Agent Bennett." Webster's voice rings out through the speaker as you feel the engine begin and the car drives off.

"Sarcastic bastard..." Tom murmurs as he swiftly takes the med kit from underneath the seat and opens it to take out the tweezers and the gauze and place them beside you on the seat. Next, he removes the piece of his suit he had used to originally stem the blood flow of the wound and rips your dress slightly so he can see your shoulder better without it interfering. You'll no doubt be pissed later, but he'll just send it to Stan later to get fixed.

With the barrier gone, blood flows more steadily than what it was a few minutes ago, but it doesn't matter right now as much as it does to make sure the bullet comes out fully. "This is going to hurt." Tom simply warns before he picks up the tweezers and begins to poke and prod his way inside of the wound.

It truly breaks his heart to hear your screams of pain, but he needs to persist and find this damn bullet. Thankfully it doesn't take too long, as with the combined layer of your dress and bra it managed to not let it go in as deep as it could've. So soon enough as the pesky bugger is soon plucked out and thrown somewhere within the car space while Tom quickly takes the gauze and wraps the wound tight.

"Feeling better missus?" He asks, forcing you to look at him as your eyes slowly regain a look of focus you minutes ago were losing fast.

"Yeah..." You manage to say, wincing as you move your shoulder slightly. "I'm alright. Thanks, for not leaving me in there."

"I'd never." Tom quickly says, shaking his head and furrowing his brows to further his point. "And besides, now that I know you're ok, I can continue where we left off."

"What do you mea-"

Before you can begin to question what Tom is trying to say, his lips capture yours, and your heart feels as though it stops mid-beat between your chest. You have no thoughts running through your head right now. Your focus being only on the calming warmth of Tom's lips and the faint taste of mint.

His hands cup your waist and face delicately as if you were made of pure glass. Yet as much as you enjoyed his tender touch, you didn't want Tom to think of you as delicate. You wanted him to hold you with the knowledge you could never crumble from him. For him to know he could never hurt you.

You never want this strange feeling of right to end, but when it eventually does, with the two of you both silently attempting to catch your breaths.

"Was that good?" Tom eventually asks, staring at you with hopeful eyes. "If I made you like uncomfortable or anything I'm sorry-"

"You didn't." You say with a smile as you lean forward to peck his lips again in a sweet kiss in reassurance. As you pull away, you can see Tom's lips turned in a bashful smile and his cheeks heat up to a light pink. If you were being honest, it was really fucking adorable. Words you never thought you'd ever say about agent Bennett in your life.

"Good." He simply says, focusing on the curves of your face and trying not to think about how his face is probably bright red due to embarrassment from being so soft with a girl. "Now let's get back to the hotel."

"Why are we going back to the hotel?" You ask, confusion in your voice.

"Cause I want you to get dressed up before I take you out for a date tonight. So shower, take as much time as you need to get ready, cause I want to make this as special for you as I ever could for you. Tell me your favourite food so I can book the best restaurant available for you. I'm sure Webster can deliver the hard drive when he returns the car."

"I can indeed sir." Webster says through the intercom, scaring the two of you as you both jump slightly in your seats. "Just pop it through the slot and I can take it straight to the supervisor no issue."

"Thank you Webster!" Tom grins as he takes the device and puts it through to the other side.

Webster takes it in his hand and places it within his own suit jacket pocket. His eyes are focused on the road, but he can't deny the warmth in his chest when he sees the two of you giggling and smiling between yourself in the backseat like a couple of lovesick teenagers. He drops you and Tom at the hotel as told, but he can't stop himself from watching the two of you enter the hotel together.

As soon as Tom had stepped out before you, he made sure to reach for your hand and help you step out like a proper gentleman, and the entire walk up to the hotel doors none of you made the step to let go.

Webster watched the two of you with a smile, as he thinks to himself, he has never seen a pair of people so in love with each other.

[lola-writes]

Diagnosing Desire

Pairing: Tom Bennett x nurse!reader

Word Count: 5,6k

Themes & Warnings: pov first person, use of Y/N, swearing, fluff, drinking, smoking, eventual smut

Synopsis: Working as a wartime nurse, you’ve been charged with seeing to the physical exams of new recruits. It’s not until Tom Bennett shows up that you realize just how physical the exam can get.

A/N: Not surprised so many people wanted more Tom Bennett. Some inspo taken from Pearl Harbor. Not everything is medically accurate for the sake of the plot. Found this picture (bottom right) of a soldier getting an exam during ww2 that looked just like Ewan from behind!

Song: Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene - Hozier

Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Ao3

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤️

Enjoy the read!

“Efficiency is key,” my uncle declared, rustling through the recruitment papers with a grim determination etching his features. “We need to be swift yet thorough.”

“How about I take the main parameters from the start,” I offered. “Leaving you more time to fill out paperwork. Then, I hand them over to you and fill out their files as you examine?”

A thoughtful crease furrowed his brow. “That might just work,” he said, tapping his finger against his lips in contemplation.

The car rattled upon the cobblestones as we lurched onto Manchester’s main street, shuddering us into silence. Every window, lamp post and building were decorated in posters and placards of soldiers with brandished rifles, blaring red pronouncements reading ‘RECRUIT NOW’, ‘EVERY FIT MAN WANTED’, and ‘RALLY ROUND THE FLAG’. 

Neville Chamberlain’s haunting voice echoed in my head, a remnant of his crackling announcement on the Home Service. 

This country is at war with Germany.

A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. 

I despised war, the very notion of violence solving anything. Yet, here I was, about to be thrust into the heart of its machinery.

But if war was inevitable, I would steel my resolve, seeing to put my expertise to good use. 

Fresh out of basic nursing training at King Edward VII Hospital in Sheffield, I’d been dispatched with my uncle and a contingent of colleagues to Manchester. As an NHS nurse, we were tasked with overseeing and assisting in the physical examinations of the city’s new recruits. My uncle, Dr. Benjamin Clark, a seasoned veteran with ten years under his belt, would lead the examinations, while I served as his right hand.

The car turned a corner, then another, before coming to a grinding halt at the curb. I nudged my uncle, yet engrossed in paperwork. Once he glanced up, a gusty sigh escaped his lips. 

“Plan B then,” he muttered, his voice laced with resignation.

The queue leading into the induction center stretched for what seemed like miles. Tracing its path with a sinking heart, a chilling realization dawned on me and settled in my stomach. 

There was endless work ahead of us.

The induction center hummed with activity and crackled with a nervous energy as we entered. Sunlight streamed through high ceilings, illuminating rows of tall, numbered privacy screens. Each makeshift booth held a white-clad nurse and a trepidatious recruit clutching a folder. 

The Manchester center pulsed with a daily influx of hopeful faces, each ushered through a chaotic dance of physical exams, fingerprints, fitness tests, and dreaded vaccinations. My days blurred into a whirlwind of vision checks, height and weight measurements, and the familiar sting as I administered countless injections.

Most of the men I examined were models of civility, enduring the process with a stoic resolve, a wince of pain at the stick of the needle their only betrayal. Yet a few shattered the façade, their bravado crumbling into crass jokes and unwanted advances. Thankfully though, my uncle was a fortress of composure, and would swiftly shut them down, but each encounter left me with a residue of unease and a tear in my patience.

I wasn’t unused to being flirted with. Now, however, it felt like a relentless barrage, a desperate grasping for normalcy in the face of oblivion. By the end of each day, I felt like I’d fielded more marriage proposals than a fairytale princess. I could hardly blame them, though. These men were teetering on the precipice of war. Desperation hung heavy in the air, clinging to these men about to face the unknown. They would depart with no guarantee of whether they’d ever return. 

While I couldn’t offer them a forever, I could offer a gentle smile and as kind of a rejection as I could muster. A disarming act for some, but for others, it wasn’t enough, their misplaced advances requiring security to escort them out.

“Go on, love, give us a chance,” this one man wheedled at my desk after completing his examinations.

I skimmed his file splayed open before me, everything appearing to be in order. ‘Keith Worsley’, it read. 

What a cruel joke, I thought, as I stamped his papers for approval, plastering on my most saccharine smile. He practically vaulted the desk, arms outstretched like he was about to give it a big hug. 

A firmer approach perhaps, a harsher deflection, would expedite his departure. The insistent line of restless faces behind him fueled my resolve.

“You’ve passed,” I announced, my voice clipped, as I shoved his folder shut, thrusting it towards him. “And there’s a queue.”

He ignored the dismissal, looming closer, his breath a noxious cocktail that I could almost taste on my tongue, threatening to crack my carefully constructed façade.

“You gonna deny a soldier his one shot at happiness?” he pressed, his voice thick with misplaced entitlement. 

I sighed internally, a silent scream trapped in my chest.

Efficiency is key, echoed my uncle’s voice in my head. What a struggle that turned out to align to.

“I might die fighting the Nazis,” he continued. 

I started to think it funny just how common that sentence turned out to be. And how these men begging for my hand, publicly liked to expose just how self-absorbed they really were. Pathos disguised as romance.

“Let’s live life to the fullest tonight, baby,” he drawled, desperation clinging to his words like a bad cologne. The urge to laugh was a battle I nearly lost, but the bile rising in my throat solidified my resolve, and I leaned in closer, a sugary smile plastered across my features.

“I’m afraid I’d rather be fighting the Nazis,” I quipped. 

He clamped onto my arm, a jolt shooting through me.

Perhaps not the best candidate for my newfound ‘ice queen’ persona, I thought. 

“Think you’re clever, hm?” he snarled. 

Before I could respond, or seek refuge beneath my uncle’s wing, a voice sliced through the tension.

“Get yer coat, mucker, it’s not gonna ‘appen,” it drawled, its tone snarky, dripping with playful menace, and with an undertone of complete and utter disregard for law and custom. 

Keith rose from the desk, my hand still hostage in his grip. We saw him simultaneously. 

A tall, wiry figure, all straw-blonde hair and icy blue eyes stood behind him in the queue, a scowl twisting his features as he sized Keith up and down, eyes rimmed with lethal venom.

“The fuck you say?” growled Keith, his grip tightening on my arm.

“Y’ heard me.” The blonde dipped his chin. “Now, let go of the lady’s hand. She’s done nothing but take care of ya.”

Kieth obliged before lumbering towards the blonde, towering over him, fixing him with an unwavering glare. But the thick tension ran thin when the blonde suddenly erupted in laughter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Something funny?” Keith snarled, nostrils flaring.

“Keith? That’s yer name?” the blonde derided, amusement lacing his voice as he nodded at Keith’s dog tag.

A beat of stunned silence followed.

“What about it?” asked Keith hesitantly.

“Well, Keith was always the name of that kid who wore a balaclava till’ April, candle wax snot angin’ from his nose.” The blonde grinned widely. 

My jaw clenched to stifle a snort of laughter. What a cheeky fucker, was all I could think, before Keith’s fist met his face with a resounding blow. The blonde was on the floor before anyone could stop it. 

Security materialized in seconds, hauling both men out the door in a flurry of limbs and shouted obscenities.

I rubbed a hand over my forehead, the day’s stress settling into my bones. I sighed deeply, before waving forward the next recruit. 

_

The next day was no different. Another deluge of recruits. Hundreds lined up to get their vision checked at my desk, their anxious energy buzzing through the air.

Another folder slapped onto my desk as I was finishing up with the one before. The pen slipped around in my clammy hand, still getting used to the rhythm of work. 

I opened the new folder with a practiced flick, my eyes scanning the documents. To service the Royal Navy, HMS Exeter (68). 

“Tom Bennett,” I read aloud, already filling out the form.

“Yes, ma’am,” a voice replied promptly, a hint of salt-laced amusement clinging to the words.

“Read row eight for me, please,” I instructed, pointing at the Snellen’s chart over my shoulder, my focus remaining on the papers.

“D-E-F-P-O-T-E-C,” he declared, rather fast, considering the small size of the letters.

“Steady on, sailor,” I chuckled, glancing up. 

My breath hitched in my throat. 

The tall, straw blonde mischief with the quick wit, a deep purple blooming around his left socket.

“Goodness,” I gasped, my mind scrambling for a more eloquent response.

He flashed his infuriatingly charming grin, pointing at the damage with his thumb. “Y’ should see t’other bloke,” he winked, coaxing a giggle from my lips. 

He towered over the desk, his hands folded in front of him, assuming a casual, almost nonchalant posture that somehow commanded attention. His sharp, protruding chin and aquiline nose dominated his features. 

But it was his lips that truly captivated me. They were set in a sort of perpetual pout, settling him into a curious air of sensuality that contradicted the hint of arrogance in his demeanor.

Suddenly, my mouth felt dry. Words seemed to evaporate as I looked up at him, a nervous flutter awakening in my chest, and a pulse settling in my core.

“Thank you,” I managed, a wave of unexpected gratitude washing over me at the thought of this stranger taking a punch for my dignity. “For yesterday, I mean.”

He dipped his head a fraction. “Come on,” he lulled, wetting his lips. “Who wouldn’t lend a hand to a lady in distress?”

A hesitant smile touched my lips, sweeping a glance around the room before meeting his gaze again. “A lot of people,” I countered.

He scrunched his nose and curled his lips. “Bunch of wankers, the lot of them.”

I offered him an amused smile as his eyes settled on my face, a playful smirk slowly tugging at the corner of his mouth as our gazes lingered a beat too long. The intensity sent a blush creeping up my neck. Flustered, I ducked my head to his file, though the words swam before me, my eyes failing to comprehend regular English.

“No worries like,” he said, pointing at his papers. “I’m mint in my file, healthy as a horse.”

“Right,” I replied, checking off the twenty-twenty vision, hearing, and speech. “Procedure demands a full exam, though,” I said, rising from my chair.

“Ey?” He cocked his eyebrows, his eyes following me towards the privacy screen. “Y’ gonna examine me?” he asked, almost in disbelief.

“Please, step behind here,” I said, gesturing behind the screen.

His eyes sparked with satisfaction as he rounded the desk towards me, his gaze fixed on me with a mischievous glint, his hand brushing me in passing as he slipped around me behind the screen, sending a warm current through my body. I followed suit, my mind suddenly a blur, as I attempted to regain my composure, busying myself with sterilizing equipment, discarding used needles, and filling new syringes with vaccines, all the while feeling his gaze on me.

“Alright, so… how’s this whole exam thing gonna work then?” he asked, restless fingers exploring my equipment. 

I gently swatted his hand away, a wry smile playing on his lips. 

“We’ll start off with a quick height and weight measurement,” I explained. Tom nodded and started towards the scale. “Then, you’ll need to undress and I’ll…”

“Whoah…” he countered, stopping in his tracks. “Undress?” he repeated, his voice darkening beneath something amused.

“Well, yes,” I confirmed, raising an eyebrow. “Were you never briefed beforehand, Mr. Bennett?”

Tom curled his lips.

“Did they not tell you what to expect?” I clarified.

“Never stuck ‘round for that long. Just thought it’d be a quick look in me gob and I’d be sorted,” he drawled, a sly grin spreading across his face. “But if y’ want me to get me gear off, just say the word,” he rumbled, looking me up and down.

The audacity of his suggestion both flustered me and strangely titillated me. I fought back a laugh from the utter impertinence of his man, channeling my frustration into professional courtesy.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, Mr. Bennett,” I said, forcing a politeness into my voice, though betrayed by a hint of mirth despite my best efforts. 

“For you,” he said, curling his lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I cleared my throat to steady my beating heart, and began to explain the procedure to him, in the most professional way possible. But as I did, his face grew more and more smug.

“Christ,” he muttered, elation sparking in his eyes. “Least let a bloke buy ya a drink first.”

 “The doctor will be conducting most of the physical examination,” I informed him, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

“That’s a shame,” he droned.

I studied him with disbelief, to which a cheeky smirk curled his lips. 

“Yer hands all over me. Mind ya, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” I said, rolling my eyes as I pulled the latex on my hands.

“Wouldn’t be needing those either,” he said, nodding at my gloves. “Wouldn’t want ya choking your lovely hands on my account.”

“Let’s keep it professional, Mr. Bennett,” I countered, a playful edge to my voice as I slipped on the second glove.

He sniffled. “Mmhm,” he hummed, his lips pursing defiantly. 

“Right,” I said, clicking my pen to the ready. “Let’s get started.”

“Fire away, love,” he drawled, his amusement an inescapable distraction.

I took a deep breath, willing my butterflies to settle.

“Would you mind emptying your pockets and stepping onto the scale for me?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, and began rummaging through his pant pockets, pulling out a metal lighter, a packet of fags, some pounds, and his ID. He placed them in the bowl I held out and hopped onto the scale. I noted down his weight and height. 

“Excellent. Now, please remove your shirt.”

A satisfied glint lit up his eyes. He clicked his teeth and crossed his arms over his stomach. “Quite like bein’ ordered about,” he said, before pulling the shirt over his head.

“I suppose you have to get used to it,” I replied, my eyes flickering over his toned chest, his dog tag nestling between his pectoral muscles. Turning away to grab the measuring tape, I silently berated myself for the warmth blooming up my neck. 

“Wouldn’t be ‘alf as good from anyone else, though,” his voice, a low rumble, sent shivers down my spine. 

When I pivoted back, his height loomed over me, his hands clasped behind his back in a soldierly posture that accentuated his broad shoulders and chest, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

“Would you mind…?” My voice trailed off as I hesitated to make physical contact. Unlike the others I’d processed with practiced efficiency, the thought of touching him set my nerves on fire. “Standing like this for me?” I finally managed, my voice a gentle whisper, my hands reaching out to gently unclasp his from behind his back, raising them straight outward. “Perfect.” 

I drew closer. The scent of him, a mix of clean sweat, tobacco, and bad decisions, filled my senses as I reached around him to fit the measuring tape around his shoulder blades. As I straightened to fix it around his chest, I caught him observing me. The playful glint had softened, replaced by a simmering intensity that sent a warm tremor through me. I half expected him to lay an inappropriate or snarky comment, but a beat of charged silence hung in the air, save his breathing which had gotten slightly labored.

I quickly recorded the measurement and released the tape. “Perfect,” I said, a touch too brightly, charging my voice to attempt to salvage my composure. “You may lower your arms.” Scribbling the numbers in his file, I forced myself to focus on the next task. “I will have a look at your teeth next,” I said, picking up the light source and a wooden spatula.

“Alright,” he said. He dipped his chin for me to reach, his lips pouting with arrogant sensuality, as I approached him. 

His presence consumed me. His scent, the warmth of his body, mere inches from my own, radiated through me like electricity. I hesitated again.

“I don’t bite,” he grinned, to which I rolled my eyes, and placed my hand to his chin in defiance. His timber lowered into a throaty whisper, “Only if ye ask me nicely.”

My breathing shallowed, heat shot through me like licking flames, my heart drumming against my ribs. “Good to know,” I said, attempting to sound unbothered, tilting his head toward me. “Say ‘Ah’.”

“Ahhhhh…”

I depressed his tongue with the spatula and examined his teeth, making a mental note of the slight misalignment of his incisors. “Bite down,” I instructed. Another minor misalignment appeared. “Hmm,” I murmured, and released him, noting it down in his file. 

“Problem?” he asked.

“Did you have braces as a child?” I inquired, setting down the equipment.

He scoffed. “Fuck nah. That gear’s for mugs only.”

His foul mouth was disarming

“I see,” I said, before I turned and started towards him. His eyes had become hooded, the ice melted into a dark sea, holding a challenge I couldn’t quite decipher. His lips inched up into an askew smile that pitted his cheek as I reached for his face again. I felt a prickle of awareness as his gaze flickered down my body, before returning to my face.

I palpated along his jaw, starting below his ears, then down towards his throat. He sighed deeply. His skin was so very warm beneath my fingers.

“Been experiencing any fever or illness of late?” I asked, my fingers continuing the path down his neck. His gaze flicked to my lips.

“No,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

He was extremely warm. Borderline feverish. 

“Currently on any medications?” My fingers continued down his broad neck, down to his collarbones. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and his ‘no’ came out hoarse and shaky. 

I systematically checked the rest of his body for abnormalities, checking for any bruises, hernias, anything deviating. His breath hitched as my fingers grazed his arm, then the other. Then I took a turn about him, checking his neck, shoulders and back. My eyes travelled lower, and something fluttered through my stomach. 

He had a very cute butt. 

He tilted his head to the side when I came around him, a devilish grin on his lips. 

“What d’ya reckon, doc? See somethin’ y’ like?”

“Everything seems to be in order,” I announced, going to stand in front of him, ignoring his blatantly rude comment. “Just like you claimed, healthy as a horse.”

A satisfied grin tugged at his lips, “Told ya.”

“Now for the really tricky part,” I continued, watching Tom’s smug grin slowly fade from his face as my uncle emerged from behind the privacy curtain.

“How are we doing in here then, Y/N?”

“All done, Dr. Clark. He’s all yours,” I confirmed, a hint of amusement dancing in my eyes. Tom’s confusion was a welcome change to his previous arrogance.

Dr. Clark cleared his throat and flipped through the file. “Mr. Bennett,” he addressed and looked up. “For the lower body examination, please remove your trousers,” he said, smacking his gloves into place.

Tom looked to me, a silent plea I readily understood, and I flashed him with a sweet smile.

“Good luck, Mr. Bennett,” I sang, tearing the gloves from my hands.

He turned to my uncle, then hesitated. “Could I…” Then he cleared his throat, his voice lowering to a whisper, though loud enough that I could hear before I vanished behind the screen. “Could I have a moment?”

_

The next day, a familiar name landed on my desk at the vaccination booth.

As I looked up, intense blue eyes met mine.

“Mr. Bennett,” I greeted him professionally, though something stirred within my chest.

“Y/N,” he said with a charming grin which made my heart trip over its next beat.

Fuck. He must’ve heard my name from my uncle yesterday. 

“And please,” he continued. “Call me Tom.”

“Alright, Mr. Bennett. Right this way,” I said, rising from my chair. 

He hesitated at first, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he obliged and rounded the desk, following me behind the screen.

“Pull down your trousers and lean over,” I instructed before he could manage to land some witty remark.

“Actually, I-,” he started.

“Chop chop, sailor,” I interrupted, ushering him to the table. “We haven’t got all day.”

“Right uh… Like this?” he asked, his back turned to me, his cheeks exposed before me.

I looked him over. “That’s right…” I said absently, my eyes travelling.

Focus.

As I readied the vaccine, a beat of awkward silence stretched between us before Tom spoke again, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. 

“So, listen uh…” he began, clearing his throat, an unfamiliar vulnerability lacing his voice that unsettled me. My gaze drifted to the way his jaw clenched, a flicker of some apprehensive in his eyes. Was he scared of needles or something? “I know a lot of these other blokes been causing ye trouble and that, and uh…”

Gosh, he was so fucking cute when he was nervous. 

“I was wonderin’ like…” He rubbed his chin in his hand. “Would you want to like…” His fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on the table, attempting to urge his words forward. “Maybe…” His voice trailed off, searching for the right turn of phrase.

Oh god, he was about to ask me out. 

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I loaded the syringe in a nervous blur, and tapped out the bubbles at the top.

“Like… wanna go out with me – argh!” His whole body cramped up as I stabbed the needle into his butt cheek. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I poke too deep?” I asked with feigned concern.

A throaty groan escaped his lips. “Clattered me bones, I think,” he wheezed, his head bent over the table, swaying slightly as he held onto it for support.

“Go on, sailor. You can take it,” I said gently, patting his back as he pulled his trousers back up, groaning as he went. 

I thought he must’ve forgotten what he was about to say, because he started staggering out of the booth, one hand rubbing his arse.

“Nah, hang on,” he said, turning on his heel, his jaw ticking with determination. “Listen, I really wanna take ya.”

My cheeks flared red. “Excuse me?”

Alarm sparked in his eyes, as if just realizing what he’d said. “Out!” He corrected. “I’d really wanna take y’ out. That weren’t meant to come out like that.”

Suddenly he started acting very strange. It started with staggering. He steadied himself on the IV pole at his side, the metal rattling under his weight.

“Mr. Bennett?” I asked, approaching him slowly, “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head to his senses, “Just gon’ a bit… wobbly, is all.”

Something dawned on me. I snatched his file from the table and opened it. ‘Andrew Howarth’ was hidden beneath a sticker of Tom’s alias.

I slammed it back down on the table, my voice sharpening. “Have you already had this shot?” I demanded, turning back to him, venom lacing my voice.

“Well,” he mumbled, his eyes fluttering. “Just t’ once.” Then his head hit the floor.

_

Exhaustion gnawed as I exited the doors to the induction centre, the hours of work settling heavy on my cognition. The golden glow of lampposts cast long, spidery shadows across the slick cobblestones as I descended the stairs. The memory of Tom swam up before me, his handsome face against the cold floor, concern flooding me after his fainting spell. I recalled him muttering incoherently in my lap as a crowd gathered, my uncle eventually pushing through to help.

A warmth, unexpected and foreign, bloomed in my chest. He’d taken a punch to the face during our very first encounter, then nearly experienced an anaphylactic shock trying to ask me out on a date. Underneath that snarky, arrogant mask, I believed, was something so much deeper. 

My heels clicked against the stone as I approached the car. I opened the door and slid inside, just starting to pull it shut when a voice echoed from outside. 

“Y/N!”

A jolt of adrenaline shot through me as I saw a figure jogging up the street towards me, hands shoved in their jacket pockets. 

A thrill sparked in my chest as they drew closer. I flung the car door open again and stepped out. 

“Hello, Mr. Bennett,” I uttered, attempting to hide the shakiness in my voice as he approached. “How are you feeling?”

“Made up,” he said, flashing a lopsided grin, and I noted that the purple around his eye had deepened somewhat. “You?”

A laugh, tinged with delirious exhaustion, escaped my lips. I shrugged. “Pretty knackered, actually.”

Tom’s grin diluted slightly, as a concerned frown etched his features. “Course y’ are! Made up you’re knackered after all that!” There was a soft concern in his voice that spun in my ears like silk. I smiled at him as a comfortable silence settled between us. But when I turned my heel slightly on the cobble, he spoke up. 

“Listen, uh…” he began, putting honey in his voice. “Before all of that with the fainting,” he said, drawing closer. “I wanted to ask ye out.”

I smiled, nodding. “I know,” I admitted softly. “It was pretty obvious.”

A cheeky grin lit up his features, and he tilted his head. “So…” He pursed his lips. “What d’ya say, doc?” His voice lowered into a gentle caress, and I felt his fingers brush against mine ever so lightly. “I need someone lookin’ after me while I recover,” he winked.

I couldn’t keep from smiling, my gaze drifting down to the cobblestones, as I considered his request.

“I’ll be a good boy, I promise,” he said, grinning, coaxing a laugh from me. 

Exhaustion threatened to pull me under, but a different kind of weight settled in my stomach as I met his gaze. He was off to war, soon to be on a ship across the Atlantic, with no notion of when he’d be back. If he’d ever be back… 

Dread coiled in my stomach. 

If he was going to die, we should at least live tonight. 

I winced internally at the cheesy quote from that Keith bloke. But it was the only thing that seemed to fit the urgency in my heart. 

“Alright,” I heard myself say.

“Yeah?” Tom’s voice dripped with elation, a melody that tugged at my already strained emotions. “C’mon then,” he said, offering me his arm. “Everyone reckons a cold brew sorts ye right out after a dizzy dossin’.”

_

A honeyed glow emanated from The Old Wellington, pulling us like moths to a flame. Inside, a vibrant symphony of voices rose and fell, punctuated by the melodic clinking of glasses. The air thrummed with the mingled aromas of spilled ale, aged leather, and an undercurrent of cigarette smoke. Tom, a whirlwind of charismatic energy, navigated the throng, his smile as familiar as the worn grooves on a favorite record, his banter bouncing off patrons like playful echoes. Their easy camaraderie spoke of a shared history, a hidden world I longed to decipher. Here, in the heart of Manchester, I was an explorer in a land of unknown faces and customs, adrift but not entirely lost. But when he grabbed my hand and pulled us towards the bar, none of it mattered. 

“A pint and a gin martini, if y’ would, Kristina,” he tossed over his shoulder to the bartender.

The cheek of this man. Did he just assume what I’d be drinking?

“A gin martini? Really?” I arched an eyebrow, a playful challenge in my voice. 

He pivoted towards me, a smug pout plastered on his lips, one hand casually tucked in his pant pocket as he leaned against the worn wood.

“Thought y’ might need a touch of sophistication, ya know, a taste of the high life,” he drawled, his eyes twinkling with something akin to a dare. 

And I was up for the challenge. 

I snorted and mirrored his stance, my arms crossing atop the bar in a playful imitation. “Do elaborate,” I replied, my voice laced with amusement.

A genuine grin erupted across his face. “Well, gin martinis are for proper ladies like, the kind with a bit of mystery and that,” he said, his voice dropping a touch lower. “Like yourself,” he finished, wetting his lips as his eyes flicked briefly down my body.

A shiver danced down my spine and vibrated in my stomach.

“So, a woman of intrigue is defined by her choice of beverage?” I countered, cocking my eyebrows in defiance, a playful glint in my eyes.

He shook his head ever so lightly, a flicker of something deeper gracing his features, like I’d totally missed his point. “Nothin’ could ever define ya, love. Y’ more than a drink,” he said, his voice growing suddenly serious. 

A warmth bloomed in my chest. This cocky charmer held an unexpected sweetness beneath the surface, a complexity that piqued my curiosity even further. 

Kristina placed our drinks on the bar and Tom slid a bill across to her. “Cheers, Kristina.”

I nodded at his pint. “So, you’re a lager then,” I joked. 

He tilted his head, a dimple flashing in his cheek. “A simple brew for a simple bloke,” he said, placing the rim to his lips and taking a swig. 

I laughed and shook my head. “You’re anything but simple, Tom.”

 “Seems my theory holds some water, then,” he grinned, mischief glittering in his eyes.

He pulled his packet of fags from his pocket and lit one with a practiced flick, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked in. Smoke curled from his lips in a grey cloud, momentarily obscuring him in a hazy veil. In that moment, a strange desire flickered within me – to be the tobacco stick consumed by his flame. 

“Fancy one?” he offered.

“Why not?” I said, watching him already pull a second one out of the pack, putting it to my lips, the subtle graze of his fingers against me singeing my skin like hot coal. 

“So, what d’ya think of the war then?” he said, flicking the lighter shut. 

I exhaled, tapped the ash, and pursed my lips. “That there must be a better way to solve conflict.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. He pointed at me with the cigarette wedged between his fingers. “You and me dad would get along,” he stated.

Intrigued, I leaned in. “How so?”

He took a blow of his cigarette before he answered. “He’s a conscientious objector,” he said, breathing a plume of smoke.

“You clearly don’t share his sentiment,” I said, stirring my drink with the olive stick.

Tom curled his lips, a furrow etching between his brows, his finger flicking ashes into the ashtray. “Let’s just say it was either this or a stint in Her Majesty’s finest accommodation.” He rubbed his nose, a cocky sniff escaping him, as if the topic was bothersome. “Not exactly dad’s proudest moment.” His voice lowered somewhat, his fingers tapping atop the bar.

My eyes skimmed his fidgeting hands in contemplation. He’d enlisted for redemption, though I wasn’t exactly surprised he was a troublemaker, lacing him with even more intrigue than I had expected. 

The liquor flowed freely as he unraveled his story – his pacifist father, the ache of losing his mother young, his spirited sister who appeared to have stepped into their mother’s shoes. With each revelation, an invisible thread tightened between us, drawing our bodies closer, a silent conversation blooming beneath our skin.

By the time I finished my second martini, a reckless glint danced in my eyes, my fingers feeling daring and loose. They brushed down his arm while he was talking. My gaze flickered to his lips, a silent invitation. Tom, immersed in some topic I’d failed to keep up with, trailed his hand up my side absently, his fingers grazing my hips, up to my waist, his body radiating into me, my mind consumed by his scent as I attempted to focus on his words. 

A husky chuckle grazed my ear. “A bit bevvied, are we?” he whispered into it, his voice laced with amusement.

“Not any more than you,” I countered. 

“Pfft,” he said, frowning theatrically and pursing his lips. “I’m off the wagon.”

His hand drifted down my back, a single finger tracing a tempting path to my tailbone, the motion sending sparks downward. Desire flared within me, a wildfire consuming my inhibitions, fueled by the euphoric buzz of the alcohol. I leaned into him until I could feel his breath mixed with liquor and tobacco upon my lips. My fingers came up to his chest, my lips savoring his every breath like it was life itself. I just needed him to make a move. Close the gap between us. Draw his tongue into my mouth so that I could taste it. But he was still, ragged breaths fanning me, his muscles drawn taut beneath my fingers. 

“Fancy a change of scenery?” I whispered against his mouth. 

“Bet,” he mumbled, his voice thick, before creating distance between us, the electricity cut, sparking like static. His hand in mine, he steered me out of the pub, the night air a stark contrast to the heat that had been building inside me...

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Divider by: @saradika

A part 2 is planned soon!

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Rise in the Heat

Pairing: Tom Bennett x f!reader Warnings: Angst, smut. Word count: ~4.6k

Summary: Tom comes to watch her perform every night while he's on shore leave, and he's a good tipper. When she finally relents and agrees to meet up with him for a drink, she's dismayed when he doesn't show up, and keen to find out why.

Author's note: Based on this request. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

There was something magical about a portside bar. On the nights when the Argentinian heat was so thick in the air it felt as though she could taste it, the cigarette smoke hung around the dingy yellow lamps like tendrils of silk. With the press of bodies all clustered around the stage, sipping sticky glasses of dark rum, it was easy to forget that the world was in the midst of a war. There was freedom in standing in front of a crowd and singing, she didn’t even have a microphone. An upturned soapbox served as her stage, a pint glass by her feet for the punters to throw their loose change into if they felt so inclined. In exchange for working behind the bar four nights a week, the landlord allowed her to take a room above the ramshackle little pub and sing in exchange for tips on the remaining three, if she wanted to. There had yet to be a night when she hadn’t wanted to. Her audience were usually all sailors on shore leave, who hadn’t seen a woman in weeks, and so by the end of each of her three nights off, the tip glass was usually overflowing.

Tonight was the beginning of two evenings off in a row for her. She stepped up onto her makeshift stage, the curls at the nape of her neck already clinging to her skin with a combination of sweat and humidity, and was met by cheers and whistles as she wet her lips, took a breath and then launched into her own rendition of Tar Paper Stomp. Her eyes moved over the crowd of sailors as she sang, some faces more familiar than others, but it was one in particular who stood out to her. He was tall, around six feet, and so easy to pick out of a crush of bodies, with sandy coloured hair and blue eyes that twinkled with mischief whenever he flashed one of his crooked grins. He tipped well – better than anyone, actually – while most of her audience would throw a half penny into her tip glass, occasionally a centavo if they’d received one in their change, this particular naval officer was far more generous. Every night that he had watched her since arriving in port two weeks ago he had dropped an entire shilling into her glass. It was a gesture she appreciated, but she knew better than to believe it was without intent, and he proved her right when he would push to the front at the end of every set he watched to ask to buy her a drink.

“I can buy my own, thank you,” came her curt response each time. He was handsome, but getting involved with someone who was at risk of never returning once they shipped out again was not an emotional investment that she was prepared to make. She had witnessed too much loss already. She simply wanted to sing and allow the world to pass her by in the warm embrace of the South American heat, until the world returned to normal once more. Then she would take the tip money she had saved, return home and buy herself a nice little place in the country. That was the dream.

By the time she finished her set, she noticed that he hadn’t come up to the front as usual to drop a shilling in her glass like he usually did. Perhaps he wasn’t feeling as flush tonight, or had simply given up on the idea of trying to woo her. She pushed the thought from her mind, and stepped down from the soap box, grabbing the pintful of coins, eager to get to the bar for a cool glass of water to relieve her parched throat.

"Oi, wait," he demanded, grasping her wrist as she attempted to work her way through the crowd. The press of bodies blocked her exit, slowing her down, so he was able to halt her progress with ease.

She sighed in exasperation, her eyes looking quickly down in annoyance to where his long fingers were wrapped around her arm, then back up to his face. His blue eyes were wide and imploring, but it wasn't enough to soften her to him. "You haven't tipped tonight," she said, holding up the pint glass of coins and rattling it, "my time's not cheap."

"Thought I'd save my money tonight," he said, raising his voice to be heard above the loud chatter of the other people in the pub, "use it to buy you a drink."

She rolled her eyes, tugging her wrist free of his grasp and pushed once more towards the bar. She didn’t have to look to know he was following her as she spoke. “We’ve had this chat many times before. My answer hasn’t changed.”

“But it could,” he insisted with a cocky smirk, leaning his elbow against the bar, watching as she gratefully accepted a glass of water from the bartender and drank greedily. “Give me a reason why not.”

She sighed, putting down her half empty glass and turned to face him. He really was handsome up close, even with strands of dirty blonde hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He’d taken off his navy blue smock at some point in the evening, tying it by the sleeves around his waist. She watched as a bead of perspiration ran from his collarbone, down the centre of his chest and disappeared beneath the neckline of his white vest. “I don’t go for drinks with dead men,” she finally said, lifting her eyes to meet his and immediately felt herself grow hotter at the appraising look she was met with. He had noticed her looking and that was all the encouragement he needed.

“Pretty sure I’m alive, actually,” he quipped, tipping an appreciative nod to the bartender as he leaned across to top off his glass.

“You serve in the navy though, right?” she asked, not really needing an answer, “you’re putting yourself in danger every day, so you might not be around for much longer. So what’s the point?”

She drained the rest of her water glass and set it down heavily, ready to take her leave, but he reached out quickly, grasping her wrist once more. He grinned as he looked at her and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss or slap the look off his face. It was maddening.

“If I’m gonna get blown to bits by Germans, don’t you think I deserve a proper send off?” he joked.

He had finally worn her down. She wasn’t sure if it was the heat, his persistence or simply how he looked looming over her, broad chested and glistening with humidity, but she found herself nodding. “Fine, but I don’t want a drink from the bar I work in. Take me on a proper date.”

She laughed softly as he raised an eyebrow at her suggestion, and then told him all about a little restaurant a few streets away that served asado and empanadas – it was cheap and cheerful, but would serve as a decent place for a first date, perhaps the only date they would ever have. He nodded, agreeing to meet her there the following evening.

Excitement fizzed restlessly in her lower belly as she waited for him to arrive. In spite of herself, she was looking forward to their date. She had taken the time to carefully curl her hair, and fought against the humidity to ensure that the rouge upon her lips stayed in place. It was early evening, the sun had only just begun its slow dip upon the horizon, streaking amber across a cloudless sky. She sat beneath a red and white striped parasol on the restaurant’s front patio. The paint was chipping away from the uncomfortable metal chairs and tables, the red flaking off to reveal the rust beneath. She didn’t mind; the food was good here – flavourful, if a little spicy, and they served cheap red wine by the glass that made you feel too lightheaded to care how oppressive the heat of the evening was.

Thirty minutes passed, then turned into an hour, and she realised with an unpleasant prickle of humiliation and then anger that she had been stood up. He wasn’t coming. Perhaps she had asked too much in refusing a simple drink and insisting they go for dinner. Cursing him under her breath, she pushed abruptly out of her chair, ignoring the loud scrape of the metal legs against the concrete and stalked back towards the bar, determined to give him a piece of her mind the next time he came in.

There was no next time, however, as a week passed by with no sign of her mystery sailor. Every time the door to the pub swung open with a creak of protest, her head turned reflexively towards it, disappointed anew each time it wasn’t him that stepped through it. It dawned on her that perhaps he hadn’t stood her up, he’d simply been shipped out and hadn’t had the chance to tell her. Another week passed and the news of the attack upon the HMS Exeter by the Admiral Graf Spee reached her. Her heart sank. Though she couldn’t be sure, she had a feeling that the Exeter was the ship that he would have been aboard. She berated herself for calling him a dead man – such a thoughtless thing to say, considering the fate that had likely befallen him. The next time she stepped atop her soap box to sing, she lent her voice to her own rendition of We’ll Meet Again – a fitting tribute to the sailor whose name she’d never known.

Tom came to, his mind feeling foggy and struggling to keep pace with the speed his body seemed to want to move at. He didn’t know where he was or how long he’d been there. Confusion at his surroundings further muddled his thoughts as he slowly took in the bright white walls and pea green linoleum coating the floor. It wasn’t until he turned his head, and saw the unconscious man in the bed next to his – a ginger haired, heavy set man that he had served alongside on the HMS Exeter – that he realised he was in a hospital.

He groaned, attempting to sit up, and a dull ache in his head made the room swim as a wave of nausea filled his mouth with foul tasting saliva. He flopped back down heavily against the pillow, the movement alerting the attention of a doctor, who approached the bed from the far end of the ward, his long white coat billowing behind him with the rapidity of his steps.

“How are you feeling, Private…er–” the doctor paused, looking down at a clipboard he held tightly in his hands, lifted a page on it, then returned his gaze to Tom, “Bennett? I’m Doctor Roberts.”

The doctor had the well spoken southern English accent of someone highly educated, and the tone of someone who seemed irritated by the responsibility that such luxury has thrust upon them. He was a man who ought to be wearing a smoking jacket and drinking French brandy, not elbow deep in blood and sweat.

“Like my head’s been stamped on,” Tom replied, scrubbing a hand over his face and closing his eyes to block out the way the room spun. “How long’ve I been here for?”

“You were admitted last night,” the doctor said, coming to stand at the head of the bed and looking down at Tom, “brought up from the coast. You took quite the nasty blow to the head.”

It was then that Tom remembered. The dull boom that had sounded as though it was both hundreds of miles away and also right by his ear. The floor of the ship had rocked beneath his feet, and he’d struggled to stay upright as he had moved as fast as his legs could carry him on the unsteady surface, making his way down to the missile magazine to help load artillery to defend against the attack they were under. He had slipped, banging his head so hard against the steel wall of the ship that he had felt his teeth rattle. Adrenaline had kept him going through all of the smoking carnage, through the horror of seeing death all around him, and the entire length of the rocky journey in the bed of a truck to the inland hospital – the medical tents that were closer by were too overwhelmed to take anyone not at immediate threat of death. It was upon his arrival that he had finally lost consciousness and awoken in a hospital bed.

“So how long until I can leave?” Tom asked, blinking his eyes slowly open, to take in the olive skin of Dr. Roberts’ face, deeply lined with exhaustion.

“It’ll be around a week,” he said, glancing quickly over his shoulder as a man a few beds down cried out in pain while a nurse attempted to dab iodine onto a wound upon his shoulder, and then looked back at Tom. “You have a concussion, the worst of which you managed to stay awake for, but you’re also severely dehydrated, so we’ll need to give you plenty of fluids.”

Tom scowled, immediately wincing at the pain that it sent spearing through his skull. “A week in hospital for a bump on the head and a few glasses of water?! C’mon, doc, that can’t be right.”

Dr. Roberts sighed, lowering his voice as he leaned conspiratorially down towards him. “We currently do not have the resources to ferry you all back as and when you recover. The truck that brought you all here will take you all back when you have all recovered.”

“Christ, what the fuck am I gonna do in that time?” he complained.

“Well, the nurses are miserably understaffed,” Dr. Roberts offered with a shrug, “perhaps you could lend a hand with sponge baths once you’re feeling up to it?”  

Tom tutted, turning his face away. As Dr. Roberts moved to walk away, he called him back. “D’you think I could send a letter from here?”

The doctor nodded. “I’ll have one of the nurses sort it out for you.”

He wanted to write to her. He didn’t even know her name, and yet she’d frequented his thoughts ever since he’d laid eyes on her in that dingy portside bar. She sang like an angel, but had the look of the devil about her; all blood red lips and glossy black curls. Tom had just wanted to have some fun, and had attempted to sweeten her up by lifting a shilling from the ship’s betting pool, to drop into her tip glass, each time he went to watch her perform. There wasn’t much to do between waiting to ship out, besides play cards, write letters and gamble, so the sailors placed bets on almost everything – the date of their next voyage, who’d be first to catch the clap from a port town whore – the coins were all placed into a canvas bag, and Tom had regularly stolen from it. He wondered where it was now, probably sunk to the bottom of the South Atlantic. He had been digging through his kit bag, trying to find his civvies for his date that evening when the call had come - the Admiral Graf Spee, an enemy boat that had been attacking merchant ships had been spotted not far off the coast. The HMS Exeter was going to pursue and attack it. They had raised the anchor before he’d even had the chance to consider that he was inadvertently leaving her in the lurch. 

Once a nurse had delivered to him the things he needed, Tom leaned on his side, ignoring the way his head throbbed, and began to write.

Hello gorgeous,

Bet you thought I’d stood you up, didn’t ya? I s’pose in a way I did – had a more important date with a war ship. But I’m alive, and still want to take you for that dinner, if you’re not too pissed off. I’m in hospital, it’ll be a week till they let me out, but I’ll come straight to you. Don’t worry, my handsome face is fine, just my head took a bit of a knock, but I don’t use that much anyway. By my count, I must owe you at least four shillings by now, for all of your singing I’ve missed.

See you soon,

Tom.

It wasn’t until he’d folded the page and tucked it inside of the envelope that he realised he didn’t know the address, not even the name of the bar. Angrily, he stuffed the envelope beneath his pillow, flopping back against it with a groan of frustration.

The man in the bed next to his was now awake and looked over at Tom with a playful smirk. “Cheer up, mate, the Nazis scuttled their ship. We won.”

Tom huffed through his nose, eyes fixed firmly upon the bright white ceiling. “Yeah, doesn’t feel like it.”

God, he wanted a smoke.

The day of their departure came, and time seemed to have slowed to an agonising crawl. Tom felt as though he might jump right out of his skin with the impatience of waiting for nurses to put shoulders in slings, and re-dress wounds ready for travel. The pain in his head was gone, and he was left only with a few bruises and scrapes – injuries that would fade until he never remembered they were there. He was lucky, but right now he didn’t feel it. He just wanted to get back to the port, back to her.

By the time the truck rattled back into the little town, the sky was inky black, but the air still hung thick and oppressive, uncomfortably warm even without the sun beating down. He pushed out of the truck bed, not caring to listen to the officer who had climbed out of the passenger seat, ready to give further instructions regarding new ship assignments. Tom didn’t plan on spending the night in a cramped and uncomfortable bunk. He had other plans.

He walked his intended route in long strides, too preoccupied to notice that the physical exertion was making him sweat. He didn’t stop until he reached that dingy, little pub. It was empty of customers, obviously closed for the night, but through the window he could see her. She was standing behind the bar, wiping a glass with a rag. The dull yellow light of the lamps overhead illuminated her features – she was even more beautiful than he remembered. For a moment Tom was frozen to the spot. He didn’t know what to say. What if she was angry with him? What if she didn’t care at all? Maybe he’d imagined their connection as being more significant than it actually was and she’d find it strange that he’d come back for her.

Pushing the thoughts away, he took a deep breath, and tried the door handle. Thankfully, she hadn’t locked it yet and it creaked noisily open. He stood in the doorway as her head snapped up, her eyes settling on his face, and before he had had the chance to say anything, she had run out from behind the bar towards him, throwing her arms around his neck as she crushed her body tightly against his. He staggered backwards at the force of it, before composing himself and wrapping his arms gingerly around her waist, as an involuntary smirk tugged at his lips.

“What’s all this then?” he asked softly, pulling back with a grin, “almost knocked me over.”

There were tears in her eyes as he looked at her, and it made something in his chest twist painfully. He regretted pulling away from her embrace, wanting nothing more than to tug her back against him and make it all better.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “I’m so sorry, I called you a dead man, and then you didn’t come back, and I–I…oh god, I’m just so happy to see you.”

Once Tom had calmed her, stroking her hair soothingly and quietly assuring her he was okay, he ushered her further into the bar, encouraging her to take a seat at a nearby table. He locked the door, before going behind the bar to fetch a bottle of rum and two glasses. He poured them both a generous measure before sitting next to her.

“Thanks,” she said appreciatively once she’d taken a sip, dabbing beneath her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sorry for getting weepy on you. It’s just…I was a nurse before all of this–” she gestured around the bar, “I packed it in. Got tired of seeing all that death. Being here, singing, working behind the bar, it feels like an escape from it all. But then you went missing and it reminded me that I can’t ever really run away from it. You must think I’m such a coward.”

She looked at him with sad, watery eyes and a lump formed in Tom’s throat. He didn’t think she was a coward at all, he had never related to anything more in his life. Thoughts of desertion had crossed his mind continuously during his week in the hospital. He still wasn’t sure he wanted to go back.

“I think you’re really brave, actually,” he told her, reaching across to grasp her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, “it takes courage to admit that. And I found my way back, I had to. Needed to give you this–”

He reached into his back pocket, pulling out the letter he’d written and handed it to her. She took it from him, unfolding it silently before she read it. Her eyes softened, the ghost of a smile upon her ruby lips as she scanned the page. When she finished, she looked up and Tom took the page from her, turning it over and showing her a crudely scrawled pencil tally on its back.

“I kept count of the days I’d missed you singing. Wanted to make sure you knew I still wanted to give you your tips, and that I still wanna take you on that date, maybe we–”

She cut him off as she lunged at him from her seat, grasping him by the collar as she kissed him so hard he could scarcely breath. Tom melted into her touch, cupping her cheek in one hand as his mouth moved eagerly against hers, not caring that he was smearing her lipstick. With his other hand, he pressed against the small of her back, wanting her as close to him as she could physically be. Until this point, Tom had been drowning and hadn’t even realised it – the touch of her lips was like being pulled to the surface and brought to life again.

“We could head upstairs, if you wanted,” she whispered breathlessly, her gaze dark with desire when they finally parted for breath.

The thought of being parted from her, if only to walk upstairs to her room, was excruciating; he was painfully hard already. He shook his head. “Here’s fine. Need you. Now.”

He shifted, lifting her onto the sticky table they were sitting at, sending their glasses crashing to the floor with a tinkle of shattering glass. That would be a problem for later, right now he just wanted to feel her, to remind them both they were still alive, that there was more than war and death, that they could seek pleasure even when the entire world seemed as though it were aflame.

She gasped as he nipped at the skin of her neck, her flesh salty upon his lips as she arched her body against his. Her hands worked eagerly to unfasten his trousers. He grinned at her boldness, before diving in for another kiss – this one messy, a frenzied clash of teeth and tongues. He groaned, pushing her skirt up her legs, his fingertips grazing the tops of her stockings. The feel of the nylon made him pulse and throb against the confines of his briefs, he hadn’t felt this lightheaded since he’d first awoken in hospital.

“I need to be inside you,” he panted, hooking a finger into the elastic of her knickers and tugging them to one side.

In response, she pushed down his briefs, freeing his cock. That was all the encouragement that Tom needed. He spat into his palm, stroking it along the length of his erection, groaning as the sensation sent white hot flames of pleasure licking along his lower spine. He dragged the residual moisture against her slick folds, an attempt to ease his passage. But even as he pressed against her, her tightness resisted and he hissed through clenched teeth at the mixture of pleasure and pain as she titled her hips, attempting to help him push deeper. He should have taken more time to prepare her, but he was desperate, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been inside of a woman. When he finally sank all the way to the hilt he stilled, his forehead pressed against hers, lips parted as he savoured the feeling of her heat wrapped like a silken fist around him. He also knew he’d find his end all too soon if he got carried away.

She reached down, giving the swell of his backside a playful squeeze, a silent urge for him to move, and he began to thrust – slowly at first, beginning to gradually pick up speed as he rocked into her, his fingers digging tightly into the meat of her thighs. The table rocked beneath them, the rickety wood protesting and threatening to give way beneath the intensity of their movements.

“Let it fucking collapse”, Tom thought, “I’ll just fuck her on the floor.”

There wasn’t a thing that could have stopped him. The entire world had narrowed to the point where they joined together, there was nothing but them and the coil of tension he could feel tightening in his gut as he drove into her. He could feel his balls beginning to draw up tight, and he released one of her legs, snaking a hand between them to rub his thumb insistently at the delicate bundle of nerves at her centre.

She mewled wantonly in response, rippling around him, making his breath hitch. He screwed his eyes shut, fighting against the way his manhood pulsed and throbbed inside of her.

“Christ…please…” he choked out. He needed her to come before he did, but he was close, embarrassingly so.

She shuddered beneath him with a keening cry, spasming around his length as she reached her peak and he pulled out quickly, stroking himself in juddering, jerky movements as he spilled himself across the tops of her stockings. When the final aftershocks had finally subsided, and clarity returned to his mind, he looked at her, spread out on the table, flushed and sweaty, breathlessly debauched, and he huffed a soft laugh as he realised he must look similarly wrecked.

“That was…” she trailed off, a dreamy smile upon her lipstick smeared mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, it was,” he agreed softly.

Leaning forward, he placed a hand around the back of her neck, tugging her to his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. There were so many things he wanted to say to her – “come back with me”, “my sister sings, she could find you work in a pub”, “leave this all behind and we’ll make it work”.

As he twirled the curls at her nape around his fingers, he finally settled on the words he felt were fitting. He’d ask for her name.

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[venmondiese]

BELATED ANNIVERSARY

-ˋˏ| summary: With war going on, Tom forgets about your aniversary, and tries to make it better... in the same day. ✧ | Pairing: Tom Bennett x reader ✧ | word count: 6.3k ✧ | Warnings: 40's mindset, mentions of war..., just fluff and comfort.

✧ | note: this was supposed to be uploaded for valentines... but i didn't finished on time and then things happened, BUT here it is. two months late. Special thanks to the people who gave me suggestions in this post! thanks to @yoursweetheartsrevenge @ladylokianna @slytherincursebreaker love ya!

“What’s that dress all about?”

Vera was a tiny bundle of joy, no doubt, squirmy and she’d let some squeals from time to time. Lois would knit clothes and things from her. Tom still danced around the subject, he didn’t judge Lois and he loved his niece, so he never asked unnecessary questions… yet. 

“We’re going to meet Harry on tomorrow, so you don’t need to babysit” Lois says, as she sits Vera by Tom’s side -he can’t still believe he named her daughter after the fucking canary- “It’s a special day for you, innit?”

“What, it’s my birthday?” Tom asks playfully, smirking as Vera babbles.

Lois looks at him with a raised eyebrow, as she takes out the washed diapers, and she starts folding Vera’s clothes.

“No, it’s your anniversary” Lois says as if amused that he had no idea what day tomorrow was “What, you ain’t taking your darlin’ out?”

“Are you joking?”

Lois was in fact, not joking. His anniversary was, in fact, tomorrow and he had nothing prepared.

He had to have his shit together in less than one day. He tried to get reservations in fancy restaurants to no avail, since everything was full in advance. He tried to get the house alone for you and him, but his father looked at him unimpressed as he could not simply spend all day somewhere else. Fine, let’s have his dad in too. 

He could get a reservation for the new ferris wheel that had been making a fuss in town. It had been from ages now, he supposed that with the war, it was not a priority. He could get one ticket, since he knew you wanted to try it and he thanked God, as much as he wasn’t the most religious bloke, but sometimes he had to thank the Big man. 

And, since Lois was busy with Vera, he took upon the role of cooking sometimes, and he knew how to make spaghetti with meatballs. Nothing fancy, but he could make it work. (And besides he had to make the dish for three, but hopefully he can convince his old man to eat in his room)

Next thing on his list was having his formal attire as clean as possible, so he had someone wash it and iron it for him. Formal attire? His uniform was better anyway, since he was discharged a few weeks ago. He could wash it and look even more formal.

He had the bad habit, at least before the war, to knock on the window of your room, asking to be let in by you. 

“Doll” It’s his voice as he knocks on the window, hoping you’d open up.

It was always a sight to his eyes to see you in your nightgown, ready to get on bed. It was a sight not everyone could get of you.

You appear into his view, with a raised eyebrow and your arms crossed. You open the window, not really welcoming with a kiss and a hug as he is used to. 

“You forgot about our anniversary” it’s the first thing you say to him. He sighs, a lazy smile on his lips as he thinks how to win you over again. 

“How could you think that?” He says, trying to hold your hips, but you weren’t budging. “Look, I might have not remembered, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have anything planned.” 

“It is tomorrow and you just appear now”

“I’ll make it up to you” he promises, leaning to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Will you let me do so?”

Even if you seem reluctant, you nod softly after giving it some thought. You didn’t seem quite confident in his promise, but it was better than being left like a fool. 

He sits on the bed, and shamelessly pats his lap so you can take a seat in there. “Forgive me, doll. How foolish of me, to forget about my darling” he says, caressing your face. “I have a little something prepared, but after lunch, it is.”

“Where are we going, then?”

“That’s the thing with surprises, they are a secret”

“I want to know what to wear” you tell him with a raised eyebrow. “I intend to look pretty”

“Why don’t you model for me, hm?” He asks with a smirk. 

“Do not be crass” You say smiling “I have a few new dresses.”

“And do you have a few kisses to spare for this poor man?”

You roll your eyes amused yet you press a kiss on his lips, which he delights himself in accepting eagerly, kissing your lips and holding your waist to keep you close to him. 

“You only need to look pretty for me, which you always do” He says pressing kisses against your lips, and he separates and adds “And wear something that will drive me crazy”

“You have to ask for my mum’s permission to take me out, you know?” 

“Of course I do know that” he says smirking “And I’ll do so, and then we’ll have a wonderful day together.”

He sees your sweet face, and feels bad to have forgotten such a day, trying to make it up with kisses, and hopefully, a great day tomorrow. 

“You came just to invite me?”

“Mmmm, no. I came to see your face, to have you in my arms… to hear your precious voice…”  

“You are…” you say, rolling your eyes. “You do know that my family is in the next rooms, right?”

“I won’t wake your ma or pa, love”

“You better not, because there is no chance they’ll allow me to be with you if they know you sneak here”

“Why? I am a charmin’ lad, innit?” he says cheekily, making you smile.

“You do have a reputation, love” you remind him. “And I wouldn’t like to stop being your girl”

That has him smiling genuinely, his heart fluttering at your sweet words.

“I don’t want that either” he says softly, kissing your cheek. “I’ll better get going, then. There is a day full o’surprises tomorrow”

“Till tomorrow then…” you whisper, following him to the window.

He turns back to press a gentle kiss on your lips, his tall frame over yours. “Until tomorrow, doll. Just you and me.”

Once he got home, he tried to leave everything ready, but he slept awfully the night before. He was so anxious that you'd kill him. You were the type to resent when people forgot about your birthday, not in an envious jealous way, but in a sad-puppy-face way. And since it was your anniversary?

Even when Vera cried first thing in the morning, which usually woke him up, he was already awake, putting on his suit, and trying to look spotless, and not get too much brylcreem on his hair. He needed to smoke so badly, but he was afraid he would stink to cigarettes when going to your house, and give a bad impression to your mother.

Great heavens, your mother. What will she say when he asks for permission to take you out for Anniversary on the same day? He was so screwed. He always asked with anticipation, much more because he knew you parents valued it. 

He had known your mother a handful of times, was very protective of you and your siblings, and she was not easily impressed. It was as if nothing he ever did was good enough, and that… was an odd feeling. He was always polite, trying to use his best posh accent with her, even offering himself to say grace before eating, but she never seemed quite pleased with him. 

And in honesty, he could see it. You were too good for him, and he always tried his best. He made you laugh, he was a gentleman, he never did something you would despise. 

He knocked rhythmically three times, sighing as he nervously held the flowers. His hair was practically stiff from using too much brylcreem, and his perfume was a bit too much. He could swear he had stung his fingers with the thorn of the roses and he didn’t smoke a single cigarette all morning to avoid smelling bad. 

“Mr. Bennett.” Your mother greets him, and he nods. She opens the main door, and she steps back to allow him to enter. 

“Good morning, Mrs….” He says softly, and he sees you in the back.

He wanted to hold you tightly, kissing your cheeks and calling you his girl… if you were alone, that was.  

“Are those for me?” You ask, moved, with a soft smile turning in your face.

“Eh… no, these are for your mother…” he says a bit awkwardly, and stiffed up before handling the roses to your mother in a chivalry gesture. 

Your mother raises an eyebrow, and takes them, to inspect them. “Put these in water” She says simply, a silent way to tell you to go away. 

You put them in a vase in the kitchen, and you quickly walk to the stairs to see what they are talking about. Your sister, Lydia, was already peeking from there. 

“What are they saying?” you ask her softly, curious to see what they are talking about. You saw your Tom, so self aware and stiff as he tried to make a good impression and take that wayward reputation of his go away. 

“He wanted to ask something important” your sister says softly.

You open your mouth, and say “You think he wants to marry me?” 

“I think he is just a bloody fool who forgot your anniversary” your sister says softly. “He is all shy trying to make it better, it’s too late, it’s past midday”

“Hey, language” you say softly, but it was half true, by the way he nodded when your mother scolded him about asking permission hours before taking you out. “He didn’t forget, he just… he has a lot going on..”

“Yeah, right”

You got ready as fast as a girl could. Pick a nice dress, and your sister did your hair as you applied makeup and lipstick to your face. If you were taking long, whatever, he could wait, after all, he had forgotten partially about it. 

You were distressed about it, yes. Tom and you had been together for a while,. He was your darling and you were his, and an anniversary is quite important for every couple, and everytime you thought he would tell you his plans for it, he never did.

You were a bit shy when your friends reminded you of it, when you had to pray that Tom would invite you to do something exciting soon. You could invite him, but you weren't sure if he would like that. 

Tom had a plan; he had more than one trick under his sleeve. Knowing people in town had its perks when he was this desperate. 

“Look at ya” he says, as you get down stairs with a smile, and your mum waits by his side. “You look absolutely gorgeous love” 

You get by his side, squinting your eyes at him. He knew it would be hard to win your forgiveness, but he was willing to do it. 

“You behave well” your mother says to you, before you two leave the house.

“I’ll bring her before sunset, ma’am” he says, his composure still a bit rigid.

Tom was glad you didn’t scold him in front of your mother, but you waited when you two were alone.

“You really forgot about it?! You said you.. you had things planned” You say as you two walked in the street. 

“I know I fucked up, alright? I should've asked ya to be my valentine.”  he says in self defense.

“you should have! why didn’t you?” 

“Because… I forgot, love, between the bloody war and…” he says, as he stops on his tracks to look at you, he is truly remorseful “It's just been a right mad time lately, y’know…, what with everything going on and all…”  

You look at him, your expression is sympathetic as you knew the war had taken a toll on him. He didn’t speak about it, but you could see it sometimes. He just came different, even if he was the same charming and cheeky man, there was simply something that was different. 

“Give me another chance, yeah? Let me make it up to you.” He says with a huge grin, as he takes your hand to playfully pull you closer to him.

“Mmm, fine, aye, but I am not an easy lass, Tom Bennett. You have to win me” you say looking at him, and you can see his cheeky smirk slowly appearing on his face, yet relief accompanies his expression.

“You ain’t gonna regret it” 

Taking the bus was particularly anticlimactic for an anniversary, but Tom made it all fun. He let you sit by the window, and he started to point and say all kinds of things about the people in the streets, the cats, the dogs, the houses. 

He leans closer to you, whispering all kinds of silly comments, about how a man was ridiculously wearing a jacket made too big for him, a woman wearing something from the past century, and on and on. He tries to make you laugh, and from time to time, he leans to kiss your cheek sweetly.

“And where’s our stop?” You ask him softly. 

“Aye, doll, that’s the secret, innit? I have tons of things planned” he says smugly, as he looks so different with his sailor suit, but he is, after all, still Tommy. 

You really liked that he was still him. You have heard of men after the Great War, coming back different. Surely, they were the same person, they lived in the same houses, had the same families and jobs. Yet there was something off about them, their lives changed, and it was as if there was not a coming back to before.

And you were terrified for Tom. You cried when saying goodbye to him, you begged him not to, all to no avail. He soothed you, but pulled away to take the train and leave for Liverpool, before going on a ship to be part of the War. 

“Mhm” you say, not impressed as you raise an eyebrow with the curves of your mouth turning up in a smile as he leans to leave a little peck on your cheek. 

“come on, doll, trust in this good ol’ sailor” 

He loved when you played hard to get, he had to be honest. He liked the challenge of changing your mind, it was refreshing. And there was always a different way of doing it. 

“Why are you wearing your uniform?” You ask him, as you walk by the center of Manchester. 

“It gets me benefits” he whispers in your ear with a smirk. “In the pubs, I get free drinks”

“Aye, and lasses throwing themselves into your lap” you say stubbornly. 

He chuckles, looking at you as he takes your hand to kiss it gently, almost in a reverent way. “I ain’t have lasses throwing themselves at me” Tom says cheekily “Only one, and she is with me now” 

You roll your eyes, even when your lips curl into a smirk at his comments. He was such a cheeky flirt, and he knew it very well. 

“Look, they are doing a puppeteer show” you say softly to him, which he nods. 

Perfect. He thinks.

“Why don’t ya stay here and watch it while I go to get ya something, eh?”

“Let’s go together” you say softly, looking at him. “I don’t even like it that much…”

“No, no, no, no, doll. I’m spoilin’ ya and makin’ it up to ya, no need to get ya ‘ead in a tizz about it. I’ll just pop out in the front street and come back before ya can even miss me. I’ll buy some things we need for later”

He was playing with fire, he knew it damn well.  He crosses the street, walking towards an Italian store where he knew they sold pretty good pasta to make at home. It took him a few minutes and all, but he finally got the ingredients left. 

With the package in a bag, he walks hurriedly back to you. Leaving you alone was already rude as it sounds, and he certainly doesn’t want to leave you alone, or make it seem as if he was uninterested in you. Lost in his hurried walk, he almost stumbles across a small flower stand. It was perfect for you, you loved roses and plants. 

 He can see you, on the other side of the street getting impatient. He left you watching some puppeteer show as if you were a bloody child, and he knew you’d berate him for it. 

“Hi. What kind of flowers are the prettiest?” He asks the owner of the flower stand, a bit hurried up with this because he wants to take you to the next place quickly, and not to make you too mad thanks to the wait. 

“Ehhhh…” the man says, glazing over at the many flowers he has on display. “All of ‘em are pretty”

“Aye, but I want a proper lush bouquet”

“With what colours?”

“With reet nice colours, bright n’all that, y’know, red, white or blue…” 

“The normal one costs around… 20, and it could be wrapped with ribbons and such…”

“I’ll take that one” he says, taking the money out and giving it quickly, hoping it will be quick.

Tom couldn’t be more exasperated, as the time he was taking in settling a nice bouquet together was awfully long. It was just flowers, and all combinations were nice and pretty. 

“no need for it to be fancy…” he says as he sees the old man picking some flowers almost too carefully to set them together. 

“Yeah, no worries” 

Tom looked at you, arms crossed and annoyed. You were going to kill him. He saw how the man took his time, picking small flowers, and taking some leaves out of the bouquet. 

“Can be quick?”

“Certainly, sir” the man says. “Would you like a small letter to go with it?”

“Aye, sure…” he says absent mindedly, and he frowns slightly when the paper and pen are given to him. “I thought it came with an already written message…”

“It is better to admit your true feelings…”  

Tom sighs, he was losing time over this and it was causing him a headache. 

The paper wasn't that big, it was almost like those business cards, and he tried to be as delicate as possible as he leaned to write on it. As he writes it, he tries to think about his feelings, being concise yet thoughtful. 

After a few moments, he tuckles the card and places it in the bouquet, carefully between the roses. The bouquet was perfect, and he could hopefully earn your forgiveness. He would hate to see your disappointed face all the date, instead of a happy and carefree expression.

“Thank you, this is perfect” he says softly, even if it took the seller an awful long time, but whatever, it was at least nice. 

He feels as if time got wasted and his chances of making it right to you were going awfully wrong. He spent so little time with you the last months, thanks to the war, and he didn’t want the next memories you had of him become bitter and sour because he forgot an important date and everything was going against his plans.

With The bouquet in hand, he crosses the street almost too quickly and imprudently, but he has a charming grin when he gets back to where you are. He might have taken some ten minutes, more or less, to take all of this, but he thinks a romantic gesture never dies. 

“Sorry for keepin’ ya waiting, doll.” He says as you look unimpressed, arms crossed and your expression a bit upset. “I got you, though, a nice somethin’ to remember me…”

Your face lights up considerably upon seeing the pretty bouquet, you loved flowers and plants. He knew all about them thanks to you, because he loves to hear you talk about what you are passionate about, and obviously, feed your hobbies.

“It took longer than I anticipated, didn't mean to leave you here so long, and… and I was so nervous I gave your bouquet of roses to your mom.. and..” he tries to make it better “I wanted somethin’ nice for ya, y’know. I had to make it up for my special girl”

You sigh, rolling your eyes amused. How could you really be mad to this man? 

“It’s fine.” you say softly “Just don’t do it again” you say, seeing the bouquet and seeing the small letter, as you take it in your hand.

“I won’t” he promises, smiling softly as you take the letter tucked into the roses. “Go ahead, read the note”

“My heart is yours, now and forever.” You read the small letter with his messy handwriting, even if he tried his best to make it legible. “You signed off as Thomas?” you ask, the annoyance on your face going away as you smile.

“That’s my name, innit?” You roll your eyes as he grabs your hand to kiss it with a cheeky smirk on his lips. “I guess I went a little too formal, aye. But come on, we still have more to do”

“Good God” you say, as you definitely didn’t wear the right pair of shoes for this. “That’s a lot for a man who forgot–”

“I am making it up to you”  he reassures you, taking your hand in his. “And you’ll see why I am using my sailor suit” he smirks proud of himself as you two walk together in the park. 

It is only when you two reach the end of the Ferris Wheel that he keeps walking with you by his side.

“What do you have planned?” You ask incredulously as he skips the line, going straight up to the man checking the tickets.

“Nothing”

“Thomas, I know you-”

“I am usin’ my… acquaintances' for our lovely date. Do not fuss over it, love” he says shrugging, and he can be so annoying  “People look up to sailors, we are fighting for this bloody country. Might as well shorten the line to take the ferris wheel with ma’ darlin’.” he says with a cheeky smirk. 

“Unbelievable” you say, the curves of your mouth turning into a smile nonetheless. 

You try not to care for looks, Thomas walks confidently as if he had everything sorted out, which is quite horrifying as he has nothing planned by yesterday. 

Tom discreetfully (or maybe not so much) handles a small wad of cash to the man, who he takes it. "Thanks, mate," he whispers, taking his uniform hat off as he glances back at you briefly.

He guides you, your hand interlocked with his as he walks closer to the next gondola. 

“In you go, doll” 

“This is so wrong” you mumble amused, as you enter carefully on the ferris wheel. It was a two-seater, and open in the air. 

Tom settles the security bar in your laps, and he says “Aye, I am doing me best, love” 

“I am not complaining” you say, as the ferris wheel starts to slowly work. You look amazed by the technology of it, as he leans back and takes off his hat. 

“real nice, innit?” 

“it is…” you agree softly, leaning back as you hold the security bar. 

“sorry if it is rushed” he adds, as you two start going up. “I mean it”

You think for a few moments. “It’s fine.” you simply state “I am grateful for the chance of us being together, even if you forgot. War hasn’t been kind to everyone. And I appreciate that… even with all, you still tried to make it a nice day for me”

Tom hums, a slight smirk on his lips as he extends his arm to be around your shoulders, pressing you closer to him. 

“Of course” he murmurs, pressing a kiss on your cheek. 

You two remain silent for a bit, you rest your head on his shoulder as you see the view of the cities of Manchester. He is awfully quiet, knowing how chatty he could be, and you enjoy his presence, as best it might be thanks to the war. 

“It does have a nice view, you know” your tone is soft as you speak, the flowers he gave you on your lap, as you made sure they don’t slip to the ground and get crushed.

“That’s the idea, doll” he replies, his tone soft and intimate. “To get the best view and… Well, maybe sneak one kiss or two one we’re at the top” 

You open your mouth, a chuckle leaves your lips as you lean back to see his face “Thomas!”

“What, you don’t wan’ a kiss or two from your darling?” 

“Well, yes, but…”

“Then it’s settled” he says, moving his face closer to yours to press a small kiss on your lips. “We’ll have tons of kisses”

“Just kisses?” you ask, raising one eyebrow to him.

“Hm” he murmurs amused, his lips curving into a smirk. “I wouldn’t say so, but not in here… we could break this thing”

You roll your eyes playfully at his comment, and you look at him. “I definitely don’t want to fall… you think people have fallen from here?” You ask him, looking slightly down at the ground.

“We are not going to be the first ones, love”

You two enjoy the ride, pointing out things in the ground and how small everything looked from up there. You two nervously laughed when the gondola rocked forward and back, and you two gripped on the security bars and to each other. 

You two giggle as you get down, Thomas extends his hand so you can get down, and you feel a bit dizzy but ultimately very happy at the same time. He looks ultimately handsome when he smiles, more than his sassy smirks, but his truthful, genuine laughs, his happiness reflecting on his face. 

Tom liked to spoil his girl, he liked treating her with gifts and surprises, which was a surprise as to why he had forgotten about this. But again, it was impossible to stay mad at him for long.

“Are ya hungry?” He asks as you two walk towards his house, you know the streets and you have been here a lot of times.

“Mmm, a little” 

“Well, I have a little something left to do.” His tone is overly confident, as he nods. Some of his strand falls over to his face, and he makes sure to follow the role of an utter gentleman. “C’mon doll”

You always liked Tom’s house, it had a homely touch to it. It was never as posh as yours, but it seems slightly more full of life. 

“Ah, hello” Douglas greets you, as he was reading the paper. 

“Hi, Mr. Bennett” you greet him back, politely. “Have you had a good day?”

“Yeah, I went to the cemetery, to give flowers to my wife” 

“That's so sweet” you say smiling, almost turning to see Thomas for his reaction to it.

“Will you cook now, son?” Douglas asks Tom, ruining without knowing his last surprise.

“Dad…” Tom groans, almost grumpy because his last effort had been spoiled, as if almost urging him to go upstairs. 

“Yeah, I’ll go…” 

“Do not worry, Mr. Bennett” you say, as you don’t want to make a fuss. “We can stay in the kitchen, Tommy. There’s no need..” 

“Fine… We’ll be in the kitchen, dad” Tom says, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards his kitchen. 

Thomas was not a man who did the home chores, sometimes he cleaned the living room, or helped Lois rearranging the rooms, moving the heavy furniture.  

“Are you really going to cook?” You ask, your smile almost not believing in it, as Tom helps you sit as gentlemanly as he can. 

“If I don’t burn the damn house down, we’ll be eating in no time”

Tom is rather talented while making pasta. He describes it as an ‘easy work’ as he boils the already made sauce (which you lowkey think that his sister Lois made it for him, but you won’t comment on it)

He looks all cocky when he stirs the spaghetti, explaining it to you as if it was a millennial technique, very secret and obviously as if he was making the most delicious dish ever. 

“I swear that this will be the best plate of spaghetti you will ever have” he says as he prepares the plates for you both. He had forbidden you to help in any way, so you were sat, with a glass of wine and the candles lighten up in the table (which he insisted to, since ti was more romantic)

He stirs the sauce, adding some spices, trying to make it better. It does smells amazing, to his defence, and it definitely made you hungry.

“It smells real good” you agree, as you see how he places the food in front of you. “It seems even better”

“Taste it” he says, sitting in front of you with a smile confident on himself, as he takes his own fork. 

You have a hesitant smile, as you move your fork to take a bite of the spaghetti. They look very good, perhaps the presentation wasn’t very posh, in a way, but you knew that Tom did it with all his love, and that was enough for you. 

You take a bite, and it feels a bit sticky yet good. The sauce has maybe a bit too much spice on it, but Tom looks at you eagerly for your answer.

“It is quite good” You say, covering your mouth with a napkin as you eat. 

It was all he needed to hear, smirking proud of himself before starting to eat. “Aye, I told you…” He says as he takes his own bites. He seems happy as he eats, and then he says “Just good, love? I spent all this time slavering myself over to give to you this plate, I expected some praise, and kisses…”

You chuckle softly, as you take another bite, then you say “It is real good, Tommy. It is yummy” You say as if he didn’t believe you. “And you are just cheekily asking for kisses” 

“Guilty as charged” he says amused, as he takes another bite. “Though, I think this won’t be enough, huh. Perhaps I made too little of it”

“It is perfect, love” You say to him with a soft smile.  

“I am hearing lots of compliments to the food yet none at the chef” he says playfully, which makes you roll your eyes amused. 

You chuckle, covering your mouth as you do so. “Well, the chef is very talented, and charming….”

“Oh yeah? What else?” He asks smirking

“Well, he is very handsome” you add with a smile. “And very dear to me”

His smirk is self-sufficient, as he nods pleased knowing those words are meant for him. 

“I’m glad I could impress you with my cooking skills” he says smugly. 

You decide to wash the dishes, much to Tom’s horror. He tries to dissuade you, but it’s the least you could do. 

The fun thing is that Tom tries to amuse you however he can, trying all sorts of tricks to get you smiling and entertained. 

It’s as if he tries to make up for lost time, between the war and his busy life deploying to the navy.  You do not know how much longer this whole situation will last, but you only hope to be with him at the end

“I still have some minutes left before having to take you back to your house” he says as he leans back on the counter, watching you with a smirk. “C’’mere….” 

‘Tom… your da is here…” you murmur as he takes your hand, pulling you in with a cheeky smile. 

“And?” He says, leaning his face to your neck. He presses some soft kisses there. “He’s not here in the kitchen”

“Thomas” you say amused, feeling his arms around your waist, as he kisses your skin softly.  

“Won’t you give me a kiss, doll? It’s our anniversary…”

You look at him with an unimpressed smile, as he tries to put on his most charming face. “Cheeky” you murmur

“My da won’t bother us” he says “And I want to… use all my time with you, before I have to walk you back to your house, before the sun goes down…” He says, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

Tom’s kisses are soft, and he always kisses you with a mixture of passion and utter tenderness, savouring your taste as if trying to remember it. 

The first time he had to leave you kissed him nonstop, trying to shower him with affection so he doesn’t forget how the feeling of being kissed and being loved feels.

“I never want to stop kissing you” Tom murmurs against your lips. 

“Then don’t”

His kisses grow desperate after a while, pulling you closer against his chest, and his arm wrapping around you in a steady and firm grip, yet it’s still tender. Your hands are on his shoulder, trying to have a hold of him as you can feel his tongue making its way onto the kiss. 

You can feel his hand, wandering it cautiously and slowly towards your body, your waist, innocently enough, moving to your hip and then your ass, gripping it firmly. 

“You’re being lewd” You say between kisses.

“Can you blame me?”

Between kisses, Tom would always let out a little groan before going back for more. As if he couldn’t believe his luck and couldn’t wait for more. It was exciting, since he always had a way to make you feel special. 

His touch becomes increasingly more persistent, as he definitely grows aroused from it. He had been without any action far too long– it isn’t as if you’d allow him many times, since you definitely did not want a pregnancy before being his wife.

“You’ve missed me?” You ask as he starts to kiss your neck, his kisses too passionate. 

“You’ve got no idea, doll” he says as he softly opens the first buttons of your dress, as he takes a peek of your chest. “You’re so perfect” he whispers before pressing his lips to your breastbone, going lower and lower. 

You sigh softly, your lips tugging into a smile as he compliments you, making you feel truly like the only person in the world. 

He kisses the skin of your breasts, moving the fabric down slightly to being able to. He isn’t rough as you thought he’d be, instead he is caring and tender.

“My girl” he muses softly. 

You close your eyes slightly, and you feel his big hands moving along your ribs to your back to take off your bra completely. He had slippery hands, of course he did, and he was a pro at undoing your clothes. 

Even if the little passionate moment was like the cherry on top, you could hear the little gasp of Tom’s sister as she arrived home. 

“Thomas Bennett” She calls him out, and you immediately try to cover up and hide on his chest. Lois had Vera’s eyes covered, as if that would do something.

“Lois” Tom says, not so embarrassed, but he didn’t want their moment interrupted either. 

“Have you got no decency?” She scolds her brother. “You can’t treat your lass like that”

“I’m fine, Lois…” you say weakly as you hide on Tom’s chest, yet Lois was always putting Tom in line when he got careless. 

“You gotta take her home, it’s pretty late already” she says in her thick accent and her scolding tone. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know it. Get ready, doll” Tom murmurs the last part to you as he leans to take his coat. “Couldn’t you get home later?”

“So you’d get in a full mood in the kitchen? You gotta be a gentleman, Tom” she says as Tom stands there like a petulant kid after a mischief. 

You seek your things, a bit ashamed yet you knew Lois didn’t judge, but came to your defense when it came to her brother. You try to get more composed, fixing your lipstick before interrupting the small bickering.

“I’m ready” you muse out as Tom turns to see you, and so does Lois, already on the first step of the stairs.

“Good.” Tom says as he walks to grab your hand on his.

“Bye Lois” you say, before walking towards the main door with Tom.

As he puts on his hat, you help him fix it and get tidier than before. You have to stand on your tippy toes, helping him with a soft smile. 

“I had a great time” you tell him softly. 

“Did ya?” 

“Hmm.” You nod softly, you are grateful for everything, especially that he came back safe and sound from the war. “Though make sure that next time you won’t forget it.” 

Tom smirks slightly and says “I’ll try ma best”

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Postcards

Summary: Tom Bennett is sweet on the Post Office girl, but only dares to approach it just as he's conscripted for war | Word Count: 7.2k~ (oops) | Warnings: ww2, mentions of death, smut, fingering

A/N: A very VERY Happy Birthday to @ewanmitchellcrumbs <3 I hope you enjoy this and have a lovely day! ❤ And thank you so much to @theoneeyedprince for skimming over this 😘

“Get ‘im a cuppa, would ya darlin’!”

Her grandfather’s low baritone seemed to rumble through the floorboards so much so it made her eardrums throb, and she shook her head as she descended the creaky staircase at the back of the store room, running a hand over the collar of her dress to keep it flat.

“Yes, Granda,” she sighed, filling the kettle and placing it on the lit stove. Gone were the days when she was young, afraid of the tiny flame that appeared when her grandfather struck a match to light the gas. He’d always laugh at her concerned expression, chuckling that no grandchild of his was going to be such a ‘scaredy-cat’.

He’d had her lighting matches on the stovetop since she was eleven years old. No exceptions. 

A harsh but fair upbringing, given that she was his only grandchild.

She brushed a wavy lock of hair from her face, her pumps clicking on the floorboards as she let the water boil and joined him at the front of the post office. She rolled her eyes when she saw him struggling with the sack of post, grunting and grumbling to himself as elderly men often do.

“Get off, granda, let me.”

“Cheeky beggar! Can do it on me own, ya pesky-”

“Granda.” 

He finally turned, perhaps recognising the same tone he’d heard in his wife and daughter in years gone, and knew not to argue. She saw that when her grandfather, turned while bent over and withered with his years, with a smattering of white on his chin and waved sparsely on the crown of his head, had a cigarette hanging from his mouth, the end almost chewed right through with the effort he’d used in trying to lift what he easily could have several years ago.

He raised an eyebrow, bringing the cigarette from his age-weathered lips and blowing the smoke out, “Go on then. Tea on?”

“Course, it is,” she sighed, bending to pull the sack of post from the floor and into the corner to be sorted later. “I’ll do that later, you go upstairs”.

“Bollocks, will I. I’m staying ‘ere.”

Her grandfather was stubborn, though it was something they accused each other of being regularly. A family trait, some would say.

The postman, clad in his dark uniform trudged through the front door, ringing the bell with it. His satchel was empty and his cheeks were pink like the wind had been at them.

“The usual route please, darlin’”.

She nodded. “Cuppa first?”

“Yes, ta, milk, one sugar-”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she smirked, “same as every day.”

As the postman settled into the familiar chair, reserved for him if anyone asked, her grandfather gave a low grumble, shifting his weight with the slow deliberation of age. He looked over at his granddaughter, the same stubborn glint in his eye that she mirrored back at him.

"You're not still jawing, are you?" he muttered, taking another drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray like he had done a thousand times before.

The kettle whistled, and she moved with ease, pouring the steaming water over the tea bags, the rich aroma filling the small, worn kitchen. She added the milk and sugar to the postman's cup, stirring it with a practised hand.

"Here you go," she said, placing the cup in front of him. "Warm yourself up."

"Bless you, lass," the postman replied, wrapping his hands around the mug as if to soak in its warmth.

The grandfather watched the scene with a softened expression before he straightened, a hint of urgency in his voice cutting through the usual routine. "Put the sign out, will you, love?"

With a tired sigh, she set her teaspoon down and retrieved the sign her grandfather had already sorted that morning, today’s headline written in white chalk across the blackboard surface. She didn't usually pay it much attention, but as she held the frame in her hands, her eyes were drawn to it. One word stood out like a beacon:

‘Britain Declares War on Germany’

“It’s official now,” her grandfather mused, having clocked her shocked, mildly terrified expression, his voice carrying an air of aged wisdom. He had seen another war before this one after all, even then, he had been too old to actually fight in it.

Her breath caught for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. "Today?"

"Aye, today," he confirmed, as if it made any difference, a solemn nod accompanying his words. "The world’s about to change."

She stepped outside, the gravel crunching under her feet as she made her way to the front of the shop. With a steady hand, she hung the sign where it would be seen by all who passed by. She stepped back as if to make sure the words were true and not a trick of the eye, and couldn't help but feel the gravity of the situation settling in. The world was indeed about to change, and their quiet corner of it would not be spared.

As she stood there, contemplating the significance of the headline, she heard the familiar sound of a bicycle approaching. Douglas pulled up, half-dismounting with a hurried air.

“Y’alright, Douglas?” she greeted him, her voice tinged with curiosity and concern.

Douglas’s eyes flicked to the sign, and he visibly flinched. A deep furrow appeared on his brow, and his jaw tightened, frustration evident in his tense posture.

“Not seen my boy, Tom, have ya?” he asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

“Fortunately not. Why, is he in trouble?”

Douglas let out a frustrated sigh. “Is he. If you see him, send him back home.”

She nodded, then glanced back at the sign, understanding the unspoken pain in Douglas’s reaction. “I will, Douglas. Take care.”

Douglas gave a curt nod, his eyes lingering on the sign for a moment longer before he mounted his bike again. He gave her a brief, strained smile, the weight of his past experiences clear in his eyes, and pedalled away. She watched him go, feeling the heavy burden of the news. He and Tom were alike in many ways, stubborn mostly though, and set in their ways once their mind was made up. But Douglas was gentler since the first war had changed him, and Tom was never the same after his mother. Turning back to the house, she couldn’t shake the feeling that their small world, like so many others, was on the brink of something monumental. Something far beyond their understanding.

The week passed in a blur of routine tasks and quiet contemplation. She worked diligently, covering the post office as her grandfather went off to the social club, seeking the comfort of familiar faces and shared memories. The steady stream of customers brought a sense of normalcy, yet the weight of the headline hung over her like a shadow, and many others as well.

Each day felt heavier than the last, as the reality of the declaration of war settled in. Conversations with customers often turned to the uncertain future, and the usual gossip was replaced with talk of enlistment and preparations.

As the afternoon sun began to wane one gloomy day, the door to the post office swung open with the chime of the bell. She looked up from the counter, her heart skipping a beat as Tom Bennett walked in. His usual carefree expression was absent, replaced by a seriousness she’d rarely seen before now.

She smiled. “Three guesses who you're skulking away from.”

Tom approached the counter, a faint smirk rose at the corners of his mouth, and his serious depression faltered somewhat. “Box of matches, please.”

She rang him up, the familiar clink of the register grounding her amidst the day's uncertainties. Even from here, behind the counter, she caught the faint scent of cigarettes on his weathered coat, for some reason making her head feel airy. As she handed him the matches, she couldn't help but broach the topic. 

“Heard you signed up,” she said, her voice gentle but curious. “What made you do that?”

Tom’s face hardened slightly. She knew immediately why but dare not say. “Don't carry on, had enough of this off Dad.”

“Not Lois?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tom let out a short, humourless laugh. “Nah. She can’t wait to see me gone.”

“How will she cope?” she smiled, attempting to lighten the mood.

Tom shrugged, pocketing the matches. “She’s tougher than she looks. She’ll be alright, both of ‘em will.”

Granda trudged past the doorway leading to the back room, leaving a large heaved sigh with a cigarette between his weathered lips. Tom nodded up at him, “y’alright, Granda? Keeping steady?”

She couldn't help but smile as she glanced back. Nobody called him by his real name, only ever what she had always nicknamed him, from a time where she was unable to say ‘grandad’. At first it embarrassed her, but now to hear everyone else call him Granda, well, it was endearing.

Her grandfather simply glared with hooded eyes, blowing smoke between his lips and permeating the air with musk, “bugger off, ya bone idle twat-”

He was still muttering things as he walked off and she gave Tom a face that showed she was trying her hardest to remain stoic.

“Your own fault really. Should know better.”

Tom chuckled, “Yeah, I should.”

From the first day she stepped behind the counter, Tom had made it his mission to tease and charm her, testing the waters with playful remarks and lingering glances. He would lean in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, just to watch her cheeks flush a delicate pink. It was a game they played, a dance of words and looks that neither was quite brave enough to escalate.

She found herself looking forward to his visits, the highlight of her day amidst the routine tasks of sorting mail and ringing up customers. Tom seemed to delight in the effect he had on her, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief as he leaned in close. “You’re going to spoil me with all this attention,” he’d say, and she’d laugh, trying to hide how much she enjoyed their playful but enigmatic banter.

Now, as Tom stood before her, the weight of his decision to sign up for the war added a new layer to their unspoken bond. The cheeky glint in his eyes was tempered by a newfound seriousness, and she felt the fragile line between them tighten and shift.

As she handed him the change, their fingers brushed, and she felt a familiar warmth rise to her cheeks. “You know,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, “you’re going to make a right mess of things if you keep winding everyone up.”

Tom leaned on the counter, his smirk widening. “Oh, you like it when I wind you up. Admit it.”

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t suppress her smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Big word for a post office clerk-ow!” he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief, rubbing his shoulder in faux offence when she smacked him lightly. If she were honest with herself, it was just an excuse to touch him.

“One of these days, your cheek will get you into real trouble,” she warned, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

Tom leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Maybe I’m hoping you’ll be the one to give me a proper telling off.”

She rolled her eyes, busying herself with doing a recount of the till, mostly so that she could have something to do with her hands. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Impossible to resist?” he quipped, his grin widening.

“Impossible to deal with,” she corrected, though her cheeks flushed with a hint of colour.

Tom watched her for a moment, his smile softening, blue eyes flickering to the pile of post she still had to sort. “Got anything for me? I'll take it back on my way home.”

She hummed a laugh, shaking her head as she sorted through.. She always sorted the Bennett Household’s post separately, so she’d be prepared for another one of Tom’s spontaneous visits. “To face the wrath of Douglas?”

He scoffed, leaning back against the counter with a mock look of horror. “Don't make me laugh. I can handle my old man.”

“Brave words, Mr. Bennett,” she teased, handing him a small stack of letters. “But I’m not sure anyone can handle Douglas when he’s in a mood.”

Tom took the letters, their fingers brushing for a brief moment. “Guess I’ll find out soon enough,” he said with a wink. “I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

She smiled, feeling the familiar warmth spread through her. “I believe it. Just don’t go getting yourself into too much trouble, alright?”

Tom’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “No promises. Trouble seems to follow me wherever I go.”

As he turned to leave, he glanced back over his shoulder. “And don’t worry, I’ll come back before I ship out. Wouldn’t want to miss another chance to see you blushing for me.”

With that, he straightened and headed for the door, leaving her with a smile and a heart a little lighter despite the day’s heavy news. She watched him go, the weight of their unspoken connection lingering in the air. In her heart she knew she was afraid of truly letting him go, at the prospect of not seeing him walk through those doors every other day. Her heart felt like lead, deep in her chest, wondering if it was already too late, with war reaching their horizons, to admit how she really felt about the man who had just signed up to fight in it.

The days continued to pass in a blur of activity and mounting tension. The declaration of war had cast a long shadow over their small town, and everyone was feeling its effects. Life carried on, but the underlying anxiety was palpable.

A week later, Tom walked into the post office, a different kind of seriousness in his eyes. He held an official-looking envelope in his hand, and she knew immediately what it was.

“Got my papers,” he said, handing her a letter to post. “I’m shipping out in a few days.”

She felt a lump form in her throat but forced a smile. Don’t cry. “So soon?”

He nodded, looking around the familiar space of the post office.

“There’s a…leaving do at the Cross Keys, if you want to come and see me off with the others.”

And why on earth would she have said ‘no’. 

A small gathering was held at the local pub to send off the men who had conscripted to do their bit. It was a tradition of sorts, a way for the community to come together and show their support. Friends and family gathered, raising their glasses to wish him well and offer their prayers for his safe return. It was all bright faces, pink cheeked from ale, clinking glasses and all. And all she could do was watch from her seat. Watch him. As if she wanted to print the very image and soul of him into her mind on the off chance he might not return to her, or if he already had a sweetheart to write to, and wouldn't spare a second glance to her.

The pub was filled with laughter and conversation, but she could see the sadness in everyone’s eyes. As the evening wore on, people began to drift away, leaving behind a quieter, more intimate group.

Tom found her sitting at a corner table, nursing a drink. He slid into the seat next to her, a playful glint in his eyes. “Mind if I join the prettiest girl in the room?”

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile. Tom looked around, then back at her. He was antsy, she could feel his nervous energy a mile away. He was probably annoyed as well. Douglas hadn’t come to the pub that night, and there was always something in Tom that craved his approval. “Got anything you want to say to me before I go, or are you just going to miss me in silence?”

She looked down into her lap, tracing her thumb over the rim of her glass, taking a deep breath before speaking. “I don’t know what to say without sounding like a fool, Tom.”

“Then be a fool. I won’t mind.”

Her chest was all tight with anxiety when she finally had the courage to form the reply, looking up into his blue eyes, “this place just won’t be the same without you.”

She’d always seen Tom a certain way. Sure. Cock of the walk. Ever since his own mother died he’d almost put on this thick outer layer that was impenetrable. But here, sat with half a beer left in his glass, tapping his fingers against it nervously, his eyes gave way to something more vulnerable. They both know he was off to go and do something important, that he needed to feel valuable in some way, and this was his way of proving it. But his expression showed that he was also a young man, like so many others, who was afraid. 

“I won’t miss much about his place.”

Her heart sank a fraction, deep, forming a pit in her stomach. And it seemed Tom sensed it, as he twisted his body to face her, nudging her arm with his elbow to grab her attention again.

 “But I will miss you. Especially you.”

She looked up, meeting his gaze. The pub was nearly empty now, the noise reduced to a low murmur, and she suddenly felt uncomfortable in her chair, fingers twisting the hem of her skirt in a gesture of uncertainty about herself. “Tom, I–”

His lips pressed to hers in a gentle, tentative kiss. It was a moment they had both imagined countless times, but reality was far sweeter and more poignant.

When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers and chuckled softly. “About time we stopped dancing around it, isn’t it?”

She could laugh. Cry even. 

Tom sensed her surprise and something that lingered deeper, but his bravado didn’t allow him to approach it, but it was enough that his thumb brushed a wayward hair from her face. “Had to get that in before I left. Didn’t want to regret missing my chance.”

She let out a relieved, breathy laugh. One that expelled all the tension from her body for a moment. Her eyes never quite left him, as if in wonder. And she was hit with the endless thought that she did not want this moment to end, she didn’t want him to leave. But knew she could never ask that of him.

“Promise me you’ll write,” she said instead.

A classically-Tom Bennett smirk rose to his face. He always did that when he saw the colour rise to her face. “I might.”

They both laughed lightly, with some uncertainty, when she swatted his shoulder. That attitude would get him in trouble, if not with her.

“How about I do you one better,” he started, “I’ll come back, and we’ll have our time.”

She knew then she could ask no more of him. She felt a mixture of hope and fear, knowing how much she was already relying on his return, how much she already craved it. But in response to his weighty promise, she nodded softly, her eyes feeling heavy with tears she did well to keep back.

It almost felt cruel, to have this moment the day before he would leave her for the seas. There had been no time…

Tom’s cheeky grin returned, albeit with a touch of tenderness. “Good. Now, let’s get you home before I change my mind and decide to stay here with you.”

She wished he would. 

It was only when she was at her doorstep, watching him walk away, the darkness gradually enveloping him, that she finally took a deep breath, clutching the memory of his kiss and the promise of his return close to her heart.

The days following Tom’s departure were filled with a bittersweet mixture of hope and anxiety. She busied herself at the post office, trying to keep her mind off the worry gnawing at her. The routine tasks that once felt mundane now served as a distraction from the ever-present uncertainty.

On the morning Tom was scheduled to ship out, she was on shift, sorting through the morning post with a heavy heart. She couldn’t bring herself to go to the docks to see him off, knowing it would be too much to bear. Instead, she stayed at the post office, her mind wandering to thoughts of him, imagining his cheeky grin and the promise in his eyes.

After a fortnight, she was giddy with joy when she was sorting the post and saw her name amongst the pile, she nearly gave herself a papercut in her fervent attempts to open the letter, wanting to see his words, in his hand, it would give her happiness beyond belief.

Little Miss Postie, You wouldn't believe the state of things here. It's a lot different from our quiet little town. The lads are a good bunch, though, mostly, and they’ve already learned to put up with my jokes. They’ve got no choice, really. It’s either that or Hitler and I wouldn’t like those odds. I miss seeing your face every day, the way you blush when I tease you. You remember that night at the pub? I bet you do. I wasn’t joking about regretting not kissing you sooner. Let’s just say I’ve had some pretty vivid dreams since then. Don’t worry, I’m keeping my head down and staying out of trouble. Mostly. But it’s hard not to think about you when I’m supposed to be focusing on training. The open sea allows a man to think a bit too much, and every time I see the stars at night, I think of you. And, well, there’s not much else to do out here except think… and maybe imagine a few things I shouldn’t put in a letter. Write me back soon. Tell me everything. And don’t leave out the parts that make you blush. Yours, Tom

She sat at the counter, Tom’s latest letter in hand, a smile tugging at her lips as she read his words again. The warmth of his cheeky tone and the sincerity of his affection made her heart flutter. She knew she had to reply, but she wanted to make it special.

Rising from her seat, she walked over to the display of postcards near the entrance of the post office. The assortment included scenic views, cheerful illustrations, and wartime propaganda. Her fingers brushed over each one until she found a postcard that seemed perfect—a World War II specific postcard featuring a charming drawing of a sailor in uniform, waving from a ship, with the words “Keep Smiling and Carry On” printed in bold letters.

She took the postcard back to the counter and carefully penned her reply, choosing her words with care and affection. When she finished, she read it over, her cheeks warming at the bolder parts. With a satisfied smile, she addressed the postcard and prepared to send it off.

Dear Tom, I’m glad to hear you’re getting along with the lads and keeping them entertained. The town isn’t the same without you, and I miss your cheeky grin and those comments that always get under my skin—in the best way, of course. I hope you continue to write to your father and Lois, they miss you greatly. I’ve been thinking about that night at the pub too. More often than I should admit. Sometimes I catch myself smiling like a fool. Granda thinks I’ve gone mad. He’s just a few pennies short of putting me away. Since you were so forward in your letter, I suppose I can be a little brave too. I’ve had a few dreams myself, some of them involving a certain navy man and that uniform you hate. I’m looking forward to seeing you out of it as much as in it. Stay safe, Tom. I can’t wait for your next letter. Yours, ‘Little Miss Postie’

Little Miss Postie, I knew there was a reason I liked you. I couldn’t stop smiling when I read your letter. And blushing? Don’t worry, I’ve been doing plenty of that myself. Don’t tell anyone though or I’ll tell everyone you’re lying. I can’t wait to get back and see if those dreams of yours are as good as mine. Maybe we’ll have to find out together. And as for that uniform, well, I’ll make sure to wear it just for you. But you might have to help me out of it later. I promise, I’ll make it worth your while. Training is tough, and they’re keeping us on our toes, but thoughts of you keep me going. The lads are starting to wonder why I’ve got this goofy grin on my face all the time. I’ve been telling them about you—well, only the parts that won’t make them too jealous. They all say hello, by the way. Take care of yourself, love. And keep those letters coming. They’re the best part of my day. Yours, Tom

Her reply was affectionate, written with that telltale blush to her cheeks that Tom would have made fun of her for. Every scratch of the pen on paper, telling him that him blushing at her letter would be their little secret, and that he shouldn’t give the lads too high of expectations of her, made her heart feel as light as air. And as she signed off the letter, urging him to come back to her, she would not let that little whisper of uncertainty grow at the back of her mind. And as she turned over the postcard, appreciating the watercolour design on the front, she thought of his face when, and how she imagined it would light up when he received it. Just as hers does.

She waited for a response. But none came.

She found herself anxious, restless. Had she said something wrong? Gone too far? Scared him off with her incessant affections and flirtations? Surely not, she thought. But the lack of any real response had tensions rising in her gut, and the seed of doubt had long been planted.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, she checked the post every morning with a mix of anticipation and dread. Each time the mail arrived, she sifted through the letters, hoping to find one from Tom. But there was nothing. No letter, no word. Her heart sank a little more with each passing day.

Her grandfather and the regular customers noticed the change in her. She became quieter, more introspective, holding onto the hope that Tom would keep his promise and return. The thought of his words, “I’ll be back, and we’ll have our time,” became her lifeline, the thing that kept her going through the long, uncertain months.

Sometimes, she'd allow herself a trip to the house Tom used to inhabit, remembering the times she'd pass by on her way to the post office and spot him leaning against the doorway, smoke blowing from between his curled lips, amused to see the way she was watching him. 

She'd hand Lois the post, come in for a cuppa, sometimes Douglas would say a quick hello as he was passing through the kitchen. But whenever she saw him, she was reminded very much of Tom, thousands of miles away from her, and the way his eyes crinkled like Douglas’ did when he smiled.

Every morning, she performed her duties with a determined smile, greeting the postman with a hopeful glance, on the off chance that some letter had accidentally ended up at Douglas’ home, only to be met with a sympathetic shake of the head. She would take a deep breath, steel herself, and continue with her day, refusing to let despair take hold. If she ever let it stick, it would swallow her whole.

It was funny how life had a way of testing people in their worst times.

Granda had always been stubborn. So much so that even when she told him she would put out the sign in a moment, he was too impatient. She only found him later, collapsed alongside the sign for that day's news. But no news seemed as important to her as that very minute, knelt beside her dying grandfather and shouting at passerbys for help.

If her little town was good for anything, it was community. Her grandfather left enough to cover the costs for the funeral, but all who remained put in as much as they could so that they could give the very beating heart of their slice of peace a good sendoff. Her grandfather would have hated it, everyone snivelling and crying over him. But it took the edge off her grief to see that he had touched the hearts of so many, despite his grumpy attitude.

At least, she thought, she wouldn't have to let go of the post office and go work in a factory. This small slice of peace was all she had left of her grandfather. And she counted her blessings that he had left her a good amount in his will, and what remained of his savings.

She only hoped that this brief didn't come in pairs. And she couldn't help but think of Tom now she was truly alone, running the post office by herself, her loneliness only exacerbated by the fact she only had herself to make a brew for in the morning now. She has the most vivid nightmares about the day someone would come and break the news that he wouldn't come back.

Then, one crisp morning, as she stood behind the counter, sorting the latest batch of letters, the door to the post office swung open with a familiar chime. She looked up, her breath catching in her throat as Tom Bennett stepped inside, dressed in his navy uniform, looking weary but very much alive.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The weight of all the months of worry and hope melted away as he crossed the room, a tired but genuine smile spreading across his face.

“I told you I’d come back,” he said softly, his voice carrying the same mix of cheekiness and sincerity that she had missed so dearly.

For a moment, she stood frozen, unable to believe her eyes. Then, in a rush of emotion, she ran around the counter and threw herself into his arms. As she hugged him tightly, the dam of her emotions broke and she began to sob uncontrollably. He smelled of cigarettes and the sea, a mix of salt and smoke that was uniquely him. The scent brought a rush of memories and emotions, grounding her in the reality of his presence. His uniform carried the faint tang of saltwater, a reminder of the long months he had spent away from her, battling the elements and the enemy.

Tom hugged her back, a bit confused by the intensity of her reaction. “Hey now, what’s all this? I’m back, aren’t I? In one piece and everything.”

She laughed through her tears, clutching him even tighter. “You look terrible in that uniform,” she said, her voice shaky but filled with affection.

Tom chuckled, a familiar warm feeling pooling in her gut, rubbing her back soothingly. “Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t join the navy for the fashion. Besides, I was hoping you’d be so happy to see me that you wouldn’t notice.”

She wiped her cheek, feeling like air was finally making its way into her lungs. “Y-You didn’t write me back. I thought I'd lost you too.”

“I’m sorry, love. I never meant to leave you in the dark. It was just complicated out there, I–”, Tom furrowed his brows, his head cocking down at her slightly. “Too? I—”

He only had to look around. It was never usually this quiet. And she saw the realisation dawn across his war-hardened face when he spotted the framed picture of Granda on the counter.

“Oh, no,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “When?”

“A few months ago,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “Stroke. The tobacco must have caught up with him.”

Tom’s expression softened, and he pulled her into a tighter embrace. “I’m so sorry, love,” he whispered, resting his cheek on her head, “you're more a soldier, doing all this on your own.”

She held onto him, his presence like a balm for her aching heart, growing stronger every day around the pit that was grief. “I didn't feel very strong.”

Tom didn't reply. He hadn't felt very strong himself either. And she knew from the way his large hand rubbed her back to comfort her, that there was more to his easy-going facade than he wanted to let on. And he knew for her equally, that the months were tough on her own, and that she was still healing.

“Missed you so much,” she confessed, pulling away slightly to look up at his half-worried expression, “it felt like I was losing both of you at the same time.”

Tom sighed, a light, almost pretty sound from his lips, his gaze drifting down slightly to her lips, as if he were just remembering all the details he didn't want to admit he'd forgotten all those months at sea.

“Don't cry.” His thumb lingered, swiping away a tear from her under eye, before he lightened the atmosphere with his smile, “I'd prefer to see you blush again. Suits you better.”

She couldn't help a smile breaking across her face, and the warmth that crept up her neck made her feel like a schoolgirl.

Tom winked. “There it is.”

Before she could respond, he leaned down and kissed her, softly at first, as if testing the waters. Her hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his uniform as she kissed him back, the warmth of his lips against hers sending a shiver down her spine.

She pulled back slightly, a playful protest on her lips. “Tom, we’re still open…”

He gave her a devilish smile, turning around to flip the sign on the door to ‘Closed’ and locking it with a swift motion. “Not anymore, we’re not.”

He wasted no time, pulling her back into his arms, his lips growing more insistent and passionate. His hands roamed her back, finding the familiar curves and contours he had missed so much, but had no time to explore before he’d left. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with desire.

She felt her own longing mirror his, her body responding eagerly to his touch. “Show me,” she whispered, her breath hot against his skin.

Tom’s grin turned wicked as he trailed kisses down her neck, his hands exploring with newfound urgency. “I've been dreaming about this,” he murmured against her skin, his breath hot and tantalising. “Every fucking night.”

She laughed softly, feeling a delightful mix of anticipation and excitement. “Tom Bennett, you are impossible.”

He gave no reply, his fingers already working on the buttons of her blouse. His movements were deft, practised, as if he had imagined this moment a thousand times over. She gasped as his hands brushed her skin, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through her body. 

His lips found hers again, their kiss deepening as he pulled her blouse free, letting it fall to the floor. “Yeah, but I knew you’d come around,” he said with a cheeky grin, his hands sliding to her waist and pulling her closer.

Their kisses grew hungrier, their bodies pressing together with an urgency that had been building for months. She reached for the buttons on his uniform, her fingers trembling slightly in anticipation as she worked to free him from the fabric. He shrugged off his jacket and pulled her into his arms again, his hands caressing her bare skin and breasts through her brassiere, sending waves of heat through her.

She sighed, her head falling back as his lips trailed down her neck, his kisses leaving a path of fire in their wake. “Tom,” she breathed, her hands clutching at him, needing more.

“I know, love,” he whispered, his voice a soothing balm. “I know.”

He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the small sofa in the back of the post office where she sometimes took breaks. Gently, he laid her down, his eyes never leaving hers. Their movements became a dance of passion and longing, each touch, each kiss, a testament to the months they had been apart. Tom’s hands explored her with a reverence that made her feel cherished, loved.

As if by muscle memory from those dreams he would write about, his knee slid between her thighs as his hands roughly bunched up her skirt to her hips, two fingers tucking between them to tease her bud through her knickers.

“Tom,” she gasped, her body arching against his.

“Shh,” he soothed, his lips capturing hers once more. “I’ve got you.”

She was enraptured by the way he nipped at her lips, that she only realised he had pulled the gusset of her underwear aside when he gently, but insistently, pushed two fingers inside her, crooking upwards and finding that rough, sweet spot with unyielding precision.

He swallowed every sound she made, every now and then a grunt of approval slipping past his own lips as he stretched her open on his fingers, his pace teasing. Her fingernails left crescent moon shaped welts in his now bare shoulders, the muscles tensing beneath them.

Tom hummed against her lips, pleased with himself. “Not so shy now, are you?”

His teeth slid across her neck, no doubt marks left behind, but she couldn't even focus on that with the way he was insistent on teasing that wild spot inside her that made her body feel like white, fluttery flames.

“I've missed your reactions…especially this one.”

His thumb joined in his ministrations, applying gentle but firm pressure to her bundle of nerves in tandem with his fingers plunging in and out of her wet heat. And if her face hadn't been buried in his shoulder, she would have cried out, embarrassed at the sounds she and her body was making. Tom however, seemed to revel in it, his hand soaked with her arousal as she teetered on the edge.

The tightness in her gut spiralled as she clutched him tighter, her body aching pleasantly with the force of her peak rushing through her, all while Tom grinned and didn't falter, as if to watch her linger on that border of pain and pleasure.

Before she had even fully come down, his fingers were gone and she felt she was able to fully breathe again. Her flushed expression snapped open to him as he pulled her thighs towards him, on the sofa, and watched as he righted himself and slid his belt through the loops of his trousers, a sound that made her belly flutter.

He raised his eyebrows, pulling his trousers low enough to free himself and leaned over her again. “Missed me that much?”

She laughed, and hid her face, the dull ache still thrumming through her body ignited again as the head of is cock parted her folds and nudged her bud. “Tom-”

Warmth crept to her face again when his hand turned her face towards him again, his pupils near eclipsing the blue with want as he sheathed himself within her, holding her there to watch her expression as her walls stretched to accommodate him.

In any other scenario, she would want to slap that self-impressed look off his face, but not now, not when it felt this good.

His eyebrows barely furrowed, struggling to keep his composure. “Christ, you're so fucking tight—”

His words shot straight to her core, clenching around him and eyes slipping shut as he began a tortuous pace, like he hadn't gotten to this part in his dreams before. His arms wrapped around her like choking ivy, pushing her body to his with every needy thrust, his breath hot against her neck and the metal of his identification tag cold against her chest.

For a few brief moments, the world outside the post office ceased to exist. There were only the two of them, reconnecting in a way that was both familiar and new. Tom's cheeky comments and playful touches had yielded to blend seamlessly with his genuine affection, creating a moment that was perfect in all its imperfections.

She can feel his hips growing tired the closer he gets, and if she is being truthful, the cooling sensation of the buckle of his belt and the friction it gives her is only flinging her to the edge right alongside him. And when he breathes her name all shaky and low like that, she can't help herself, and she lets go again with a choked cry, the second sneaking up on her so quickly it feels like she never really recovered from the first.

With a stuttered groan, mirrored by his own hips, he crushes her in his arms and pushes forward as hard as he can, burying himself as deep as he's able as he comes hard nestled in her silky walls. She held him on top of her, his weight a comforting reminder that he was real, that he was here. Her fingers gently traced the contours of his back, feeling the warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his breath.

Her heart was still racing, but not just from their shared passion. It was the sheer relief, the overwhelming sense of having him back in her arms after so long. Every night of worry, every day of longing, all melted away in this moment.

She buried her face in his hair, inhaling the familiar scent of him, mixed with the faint hint of the sea. Tears of relief welled up in her eyes, but this time they were tears of joy, of profound gratitude. And she wanted to say so much, but whenever she tried, her throat closed up, not wanting to interrupt this quiet, loving slice of peace in her arms. For the first time in months, she felt whole again.

When he finally pulls back, breathless and flushed, Tom rests his forehead against hers, his eyes filled with love and mischief, her his voice low and intimate. He means to say so much more. The depth of his feelings, the fears, and the nights he had spent longing for her, it all threatened to spill out, leaving him vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to. She saw it, though, in the way his eyes darkened with emotion, the unspoken words lingering just beneath the surface.

“I think we might need to close early more often.”

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@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @primonizzutto

@qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

The Lioness

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem!reader

Warning: 1940-1950, slight misogyny, Tom is the perfect husband, fluff, swearing

Summary: To be a woman after the Second World War...

Tom was home early for once. The body shop had been slow today—no new cars or engines to repair.

He was just pulling his work clothes from the washing machine to hang up when he heard the front door open and slam shut.

He raised an eyebrow but shrugged. Bad day at work, maybe, he thought.

But then he heard her angrily toss her keys into the crystal bowl by the door, followed by the loud crash of glass.

“Shit!” she shouted.

Tom sprang into action. Laundry could wait—his wife needed him.

He bolted down from the bathroom and stopped in the foyer, taking in the sight of shattered glass strewn across the floor.

“Don’t move, darlin’. I’ll get the broom.”

He turned and walked into the kitchen to grab the broom, dustpan, and garbage bin before heading back to the entrance.

One look at his wife told him this was more than just a bad day. It was shit. The unshed tears in her eyes were proof enough.

“I got your favorite flowers on my way home,” he mumbled as he carefully swept up the shards. “Nearly nicked my thumb cuttin’ the stems. You gotta show me again how to do it right.”

A small chuckle escaped her lips, making his own lift slightly.

“You shouldn’t have,” she whispered.

“Yes, I do,” he said. “I love you, and I wanted to show you. Also bought everything for dinner. I waited for you. Ya know, ‘cause I keep burnin’ the kitchen down without your supervision.”

More giggles escaped her lips.

He finished cleaning, then grinned as he tossed the awful crystal bowl into the bin.

“You hatin’ it that much?”

She rolled her eyes. “It was from me mom. You know how she gets when we don’t put her stuff up.” He knew all too well. One ugly dust catcher less in their house.

Tom grinned down at her. He set the broom and dustpan aside before stepping closer. His strong, left arm wrapped gently around her waist, and he pressed his nose to her forehead, pulling her into his chest.

“What happened?” he asked simply, holding her closer. Letting her know she was safe and she could cry her heart out to him.

He felt her body tremble. At first, he thought she was cold, but then he felt her fists balled up against his chest—warm, tense. She was furious.

“They’re letting me go,” she whispered, her voice hollow.

Tom stiffened at her words. Letting her go? She was the hardest-working person in that damn office.

“Why, darlin’?”

She let out an angry huff—cute, but now wasn’t the time to think about that. He needed to listen.

“Because I’m married,” she gritted out.

Tom frowned, more confused than ever. “I don’t see the problem. I’m married, and no one bats an eye. What’s so different between the two of us?”

He loosened his hold just enough to look down at her. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and his chest ached at the sight.

“You aren’t expected to care for our future children,” she whispered, gaze dropping to the floor.

Tom took a deep breath, his mind racing. The whole situation made no damn sense.

“But I will be their father,” he mumbled. Then, suddenly, it clicked.

“Bastards,” he scoffed, looking down at her. He gently hooked a finger underneath her chin and lifted her face to look at him. “They want you gone so you stay home and be a good little housewife?”

She nodded.

Tom’s jaw clenched. He knew plenty of women chose to stay home and care for the house and kids. But then there were women like his wife—like his sister Lois—who wanted to work, to contribute, to build something of their own. And now, they were just forcing her out?

Over his dead body. “Not gonna happen while there’s air in my lungs. I’ll go to your office myself and fight for your job.”

But she shook her head. “Don’t. Maybe it’s an opportunity,” she whispered.

He raised a brow. “Oh?”

She nodded. “I was already looking for another job and found one. The head of the office is a woman. And honestly? I hate that job anyway,” she murmured, cuddling closer to him.

He chuckled softly, holding her closer to his chest and wrapping his other arm around her shoulder. He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head.

“You’re too precious for this world, sweetheart,” he mumbled against her hair, breathing in the sweet scent of her soap.

The tranquillity of the moment was interrupted by the low growl of her stomach.

“The lion woke up,” he whispered teasingly, kissing her forehead before looking down at her.

She grinned. “It’s not sleeping tonight.”

He laughed softly, knowing she’d caught onto his little jab.

“Come on, my darling. Let’s feed it before it wakes the goddamn jungle,” he murmured, pulling her along to the kitchen—ready to once again learn to cook from his brilliant wife.

To read more of my work, please take a look at my MASTERLIST.

Don’t want to follow my main? My SIDE BLOG!

[ichorkurt]

ficrecs masterlist ii.

welcome to my second ficrecs masterlist! find my main blog @ichorai. find my own fics here.

below the cut includes jujutsu kaisen, lord of the rings, saltburn, the halcyon, marvel, game of thrones, house of the dragon, prisoners, world on fire, dc, doctor who, scott pilgrim, succession, harry potter, the boys, interview with the vampire, gangsta, arcane, top gun: maverick, and outer range fics!

jujutsu kaisen.

jujutsu kaisen men in the world of work by @drak3n

ೃ⁀➷ naoya zenin.

only a fool for you by @mochimoshis

ೃ⁀➷ satoru gojo.

intertwined, sewn together by @kiwicider

luxury & lingerie by @celestie0

ೃ⁀➷ suguru geto.

the guy i lost my virginity to is stalking me by @gorehsk

lord of the rings.

ೃ⁀➷ legolas.

watcher of wanderers by @entishramblings

saltburn.

ೃ⁀➷ michael gavey.

the golden ratio by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

midpoint by @asumofwords

mine all mine by @humanpurposes

the poetry of logical ideas by @sylasthegrim

stick it out to the end by @aemondsbabe

the halcyon.

ೃ⁀➷ billy taylor.

one more tomorrow by @tomhiddleston

marvel.

ೃ⁀➷ bucky barnes.

nobody's soldier by @im-a-meteorite

ೃ⁀➷ kurt wagner.

bamf babies by @bamfkeeper

for love, we sin the most by @larcenywrites

kurt's instincts are still flaring... you know just how to help by @/bamfkeeper

parents by @/bamfkeeper

untitled by @dinogoofymutated

untitled by @dreaming-tonite

untitled by @kayesfanfics

untitled by @sanguineterrain

ೃ⁀➷ logan howlett.

logan's reaction when you wear one of his shirts by @periprose

ೃ⁀➷ peter parker.

untitled by @forever-rogue

ೃ⁀➷ robert reynolds.

sneaking around by @callsign-swan

yawn by @delopsia

game of thrones / house of the dragon.

pregnancy headcanons by @princessbellecerise

ೃ⁀➷ gwayne hightower.

& now i'm covered in you by @swordgrace

ೃ⁀➷ jacaerys velaryon.

hunger games au by @maidragoste

lotus bloom by @hxtd

ೃ⁀➷ jaime lannister.

the best fit by @casterladyrock

my honor by @daemonbrain

war has changed by @villaingaze

prisoners.

ೃ⁀➷ david loki.

blood bond by @davidlcki

sfw alphabet by @charliehoennam

tall, dark, and handsome by @rebelliousstories

world on fire.

ೃ⁀➷ tom bennett.

best intentions by @/ewanmitchellcrumbs

rocking the boat by @ultraintrovertedgryffindor

dc.

attractive things they do ... without realizing by @ahqkas

ೃ⁀➷ adrian chase.

five times vigilante definitely does not have feelings (and one time he does) by @tropes-and-tales

helluva drug by @lysenfeu

hot venom by @jangofctts

never been kissed by @training4theapocalypse

thirsty by @/training4theapocalypse

ೃ⁀➷ bruce wayne.

clingy mornings by @kurogxrix

wife on repeat by @bat-mom-writer

ೃ⁀➷ dick grayson.

sunset anew by @/sanguineterrain

doctor who.

ೃ⁀➷ eleventh doctor.

cold feet by @undiscovered-horizon

dangerous habits by @social-mockingbird

a day in by @cloginthedrain

my john by @watchoutforthefanfics

safest place in the universe by @holly-the-trash-writer

set things right by @pastanest

ticking love bomb by @/watchoutforthefanfics

scott pilgrim.

ೃ⁀➷ kim pine.

right next door by @writersbarrierblock

ೃ⁀➷ wallace wells.

untitled by @twiixr4kidz

untitled by @/twiixr4kidz

succession.

their marriage proposal by @romeulusroy

ೃ⁀➷ lukas matsson.

normal people by @the-west-meadow

ೃ⁀➷ roman roy.

baby by @richeeduvie

being roman roy's personal assistant (and his obsession) would include... by @senselessviolets

doctor's orders by @strang3lov3

gossamer by @/romeulusroy

i'm annoying by @bowieandqueen11

movie by @eeveebitches

right where you left me by @aurorag98

rivalry by @cum-a-calla

smile like you mean it by @cvrnelians

this hope is trecherous by @aprilthearcher

untitled by @muttsupreme

untitled by @/richeeduvie

untitled by @/richeeduvie

untitled by @/richeeduvie

untitled by @/richeeduvie

untitled by @/richeeduvie

wedding prep by @/richeeduvie

harry potter.

ೃ⁀➷ cormac mclaggen.

finders keepers by @/training4theapocalypse

ೃ⁀➷ fred weasley.

anything by @ibbythebee

beloved, besotted, betrothed by @emeritusemeritus

the boys.

ೃ⁀➷ black noir.

i want to f**k you like an animal by @dollerinna

interview with the vampire.

dating headcanons by @tomriddleslovergirl

untitled by @steph-speaks

ೃ⁀➷ lestat de lioncourt.

gold, and gold again by @theawfuledges

gangsta.

initiation by @imperatorkhaleesi

ೃ⁀➷ nicolas brown.

untitled by @dollwrites

arcane.

ೃ⁀➷ viktor.

my atlantis, we fall by @strangefilms

top gun: maverick.

ೃ⁀➷ robert "bob" floyd.

cliche by @scarletmika

the plan by @geminiwritten

outer range.

ೃ⁀➷ rhett abbott.

house in nebraska by @mustyrosewater

midnight sky by @/mustyrosewater

odds are stacked by @sunlightmurdock

[thought--bubble]

Good Ol' Sailor Boy

Tom Bennett X Wife Reader

Word Count: 1,044

For the 12 days of smuffmas (Prompts by @ewanmitchellcrumbs)

December 13th - presents and praise kink (A day late lol)

Smuffmas Masterlist

Tom Bennett Master List

Full Masterlist

Warnings: Very Sweet Tom, Mentions of infertility, Oral (Female Receiving), Praise and fluff.

You flick on the tableside lamp next to your sofa and allow yourself to fall comfortably onto the plush cushion. Your feet and back ache from the thorough cleaning you did on your home today. You wanted the house to be spotless for when your sister-in-law arrived.

Lois had been through an incredibly difficult time. Being a single mother around here was no easy task, and come the following week, she and her young daughter would become homeless.

Tom had been nervous to ask you if they could stay at your home. He knew you had been having a hard time trying to get pregnant; you and Tom had been trying for months. He feared that Lois and her baby could upset you, but like the wonderful woman he knew you were, you immediately agreed to have them stay. You even chastised him for worrying.

“She is your sister, Tom! Which means she is MY sister now, and MY sister will never be on the streets.” It seemed so obvious to you, but to Tom, it was everything.

You close your eyes for what feels like a second when you hear the front door open quietly, followed by a crash and Tom's voice spouting expletives.

You chuckle to yourself, get off the sofa, and walk toward the front door. “You alright, Tom?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine and all that,” he mumbles, moving some of the boxes he dropped further into the door with his foot.

Your eyes are drawn to the packages, each one wrapped in colorful paper—some small, some larger, some with a bow on top.

“Tom... what is all this? I thought we agreed to keep things small this year?” You bend down to help clean up the boxes, but Tom swats your hand away.

“‘Hands off!” he chuckles, gathering up the gifts. “Don't want you shaking them trying to find out what's inside.”

You smile at him and shake your head. “Then I just won't touch the one that's for me.”

Tom smiles while sliding his body between you and the gifts. “Then you won't be touching any of them.”

Your jaw drops. “Tom! You couldn't possibly mean these are all for me!” You stand back slightly with your hands on your hips. “That had to be... expensive.”

“Don't you go worrying about that, love.” He finally gathers the gifts and strolls down the small hallway of your quaint home toward the cute little makeshift tree you created.

“I will, in fact, worry about that! Things are going to be tight, Tom. Your sister? The baby? We need to make sure we have enough to keep them comfortable... maybe I should go back to work.” You step back and try to gauge his reaction. The deal you made was for you to stop working, focus on getting pregnant, and Tom would support the home. You wanted so badly to be a mother, and Tom would move heaven and earth to make that a reality for you.

“No. No, you won't do that.” After setting the gifts up, he turns to you and gathers you in his arms, gently swaying with you as if you were dancing at your wedding.

“You are gonna be a mum, love. I promise you that. My sister coming here changes nothing.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your sweet scent. “Did you bake today? You smell delicious.”

You giggle. “I did.”

“Mmmm, my perfect wife.” Tom kisses up the side of your neck and along the curve of your jaw.

“Hardly perfect,” you chuckle, lifting your chin to grant Tom greater access to your neck.

He grabs both your cheeks and pulls you in to face him. “You are.”

He walks you backward toward the sofa, “perfect, beautiful.”

You giggle as he gently pushes you down into a sitting position by pressing on your shoulders and then kneeling before you.

“Tom...” He pushes up your dress to your knees and starts to kiss and nip up the inside of your leg, starting from your ankle.

“Hmmm?” He continues his journey up your leg, reaching your upper thigh.

“I need to start dinner...” Tom smirks against your thigh and takes a playful bite of your soft flesh.

“Ahh, love, my dinner is right—” He pushes your dress up to your hips, eliciting a startled gasp from you. “Here.” He nuzzles your heated core over your panties.

“Tom!” You playfully scold him yet make no move to stop him, instead parting your legs slightly wider.

He looks up at you with his signature Tom smirk while gripping the elastic of your panties and sliding them down your legs.

“What? Can a man not celebrate his wife? His perfect wife?” Before you can think of a response, Tom has your panties off and his head buried deep between your thighs.

“Oh, Tom...” You involuntarily grip his hair, holding him in place.

His tongue circles your engorged nub while he continues to spout off everything he thinks of you. “Perfect,” he huffs against your heat, making your back arch up off the sofa. “Delicious.”

Your hands find his on your thighs, and you dig your fingernails into his skin, trying anything to ground yourself.

“So very beautiful,” he continues, in between sucks and licks. Your head leans back against the sofa, your body taking the shape of an arch bridge.

“Tom, ah, Tom!” You clench your thighs tightly around his head, unable to stop yourself from tumbling over that edge, a loud gasp escaping your lips.

“Good girl,” Tom purrs between your thighs, still flicking at your clit, causing your legs to twitch at the overstimulating contact.

You pant, attempting to recollect yourself as Tom looks up at you and wipes his chin with the back of his hand.

“Come on now, my perfect wife.” He scuttles in closer between your thighs and wraps his arms around your waist. “Let's go upstairs,” he coos softly against your neck.

“Let's go make you a mum.” You smile up at him, dazed, as he lifts himself back to his feet and reaches a hand out to you.

A hand you will always take, no matter where it leads you. The hand of your good ol’ sailor boy.

[happilyhertale]

Snowbound Warmth – Tom Bennett x female!reader

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem!reader

Summary: You and your boyfriend Tom had actually planned an evening at the pub. Meeting friends and spending a nice time together. But a snowstorm threw a spanner in the works. But that's just how Tom is: he doesn't let it spoil your evening.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, blowjob

Author’s note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.7k

Other stories of mine

12 Days of Smuffmas

12 Days of Smuff

The snowstorm has descended on Manchester with a ferocity that neither Tom nor you had anticipated. By the time the first flakes started to fall, Tom had been pacing about his room, eager to take you to his favorite pub, a snug little spot tucked into a side street. It was the kind of place where the laughter of patrons mixed with the clink of glasses and the occasional strains of a piano. He’d planned to get you both a few drinks, maybe even dance if the mood struck him.

But now, the world outside his window is nothing but a swirling blur of white. The snow comes down so heavily it obliterates the view of the cobblestone streets and gas lamps he loves. It frustrates him; plans dashed by something as uncontrollable as weather.

He lets out a low sigh, exhaling smoke from the cigarette perched between his fingers. The warmth of the room contrastes starkly with the winter’s chill seeping through the cracks in the old building. His gaze shifts from the window to you, sitting cross-legged on his bed, casually flipping through a magazine. You look so at ease, lost in the glossy pages, and it brings a soft smirk to his lips.

“Y’know,” he says, his tone teasing as he flicks ash into a tray, “I was really hopin’ to show off my fancy moves at the pub tonight.” He turns fully to face you, leaning against the windowsill, the cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers. “Turns out, Mother Nature’s got other ideas.”

You don‘t look up immediately, still engrossed in an article, but you hum in acknowledgment. That only spurs him on.

“Oi,” he says, stepping closer, his cheeky grin growing. “Don’t go ignorin’ me now. It’s bad enough the weather’s givin’ me the cold shoulder.”

Finally, you glance up, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sulking, Tom?”

“I’m just sayin’—seems like a shame for two good-lookin’ people like us to waste a night doin’ nothin’.”

You close the magazine and set it aside. “Well, what do you suggest? Unless you’ve got a snowplow hidden somewhere, we’re not getting out of here anytime soon.”

Tom takes a long drag of his cigarette, his eyes narrowing playfully as he considers his options. He blows out the smoke slowly, then stubbs out the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table. “Well,” he starts, his voice dropping into that familiar, mischievous lilt, “if we’re stuck here, we might as well make it… interesting.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “Interesting how?”

“Oh, I dunno,” he says, sitting down beside you on the bed, his knee brushing yours. “Thought maybe we could find a way to keep warm. You know, since the snow’s got it freezing in here.”

You laugh softly, but his tone wasn’t entirely unserious. He leans back on his elbows, watching you with a glint in his eye, the kind that always spells trouble—or fun, depending on your perspective.

“You’re terrible,” you say, shaking your head.

“And you love it,” he shoots back, grinning. “Come on, what else are we gonna do? Sit here and stare at the walls? Nah, I reckon we make the most of it. Could even have our own little dance—no pub required.”

He pushes himself upright again, extending a hand toward you. “What d’you say? Give us a twirl, eh?”

You laugh again but take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. There isn‘t much space in his modest room, but Tom doesn‘t care. He starts humming a tune, spinning you around with a surprising amount of grace.

It doesn‘t take long for his lack of rhythm to become glaringly obvious. His steps are clumsy, a bit too eager, and he nearly trips over his own feet as he spins you around. You can’t help it—you burst into laughter, doubling over as he fumbles to regain his footing.

“Oi, what’s so funny?” he protests, though his grin is wide. He catches your hands to steady himself, his eyes twinkling with playful defiance. “I’m a bloody brilliant dancer, I’ll have you know.”

“Brilliant?” you repeat through giggles. “You’re all left feet, Tom!”

He gasps in mock outrage as if you’d just wounded his pride. “That’s rich, comin’ from someone who hasn’t danced a single proper step tonight!”

“I can’t when you’re stepping all over me,” you tease, dodging his attempt to pull you closer.

“Alright, alright,” he says, raising his hands in surrender, though the smirk on his face tells you he isn‘t done. “If dancing isn’t your thing, maybe we ought to try somethin’ else.”

You narrow your eyes, wary but amused. “Like what?”

He doesn‘t answer immediately, letting the question hang in the air as he wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you close again. His other hand rests lightly on your hip, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your skirt. The touch is casual enough to feign innocence, but the cheeky glint in his eyes betrays him.

“Oh, I dunno,” he says after a beat, his voice dropping an octave. “Reckon I’ve got a few ideas.”

“You always have ideas, Tom. Doesn’t mean they’re good ones.”

His hand on your waist tighten just slightly, pulling you even closer. “I’ll have you know, my ideas are bloody brilliant. Genius, even.”

“Right,” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Let me guess—this one involves me doing all the work while you sit back and enjoy yourself?”

“Now you’re catchin’ on,” he quips, his grin widening. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “What d’you say, love? Thought you might fancy makin’ me feel better after all this weather ruined our plans.”

You shov him playfully, laughing as he tumbles back onto the bed. “You’re ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head.

Tom props himself up on his elbows, watching you with that same cheeky smirk. “Ridiculously charming, maybe. Go on, admit it—you love me for it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrays you. Snowstorm or not, Tom knows exactly how to keep things interesting—and keep you laughing, even as his hands wandered in hopes of turning the evening decidedly in his favor.

When you finally collaps back onto the bed, Tom props himself up beside you, his face inches from yours. “See?” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “Told you we’d find a way to pass the time.”

“Still terrible,” you tease. He leans in just slightly, his nose brushing against yours. “And still irresistible,” he whispers.

You giggle slightly, “Go on, tell yourself that,” you whisper teasingly and he growls slightly while his hand moves up your thigh. He kisses the tip of your nose, almost a gentle gesture if you didn't feel him gently pressing his growing hardness against you. You giggle again, “Somehow I think I know what you have in mind for how we can pass the time,” you whisper, and he pretends to be clueless. “I dunno what you mean...“ he mumbles with his typical grin. ”Ah... okay...“ you say and straighten up to slide off the bed. Tom watches you and raises his eyebrows slightly. ”Mhm... I think I like the way you think,” Tom says, leaning back relaxed, his arms behind his head, watching you.

You kneel between his legs, your hands gliding up his thighs, and you know how his cock is throbbing with desire in his pants. You bite your lip slightly, your hands sliding higher. Tom responds with a small growl as he watches your fingers play with the button of his pants. You slowly unbutton them, his hardness obviously pressing against the fabric of his pants.

Slowly, you push down his trousers, his length springs free. You reach for it, your teeth still not releasing your lower lip. You let your thumb slide over the tip of his cock, smearing the precum. Your eyes focus on Tom's face as his cock twitches in your hand. His eyes are closed and he moans slightly. You love these moments when his cheeky nature fades into the background and you just see pure emotion flowing through him.

Slowly, you lean forward and your lips close around the tip of his cock. “Fuck,” Tom growls, his hips twitching involuntarily as you gently suck. The salty taste of his precum spreads across your tongue. He slides one hand into your hair, gripping it lightly, while you try to take in as much of his length as you possible.

Your teeth slide gently over his skin and he grunts softly. Your muffled moans fill the room as more precum fills your mouth. His hips thrust up slightly, but this time deliberately, and you gag slightly. Your throat tightens around the tip of his cock and Tom groans.

Your mouth slides up and down, trying to get all of his length into your mouth. You try to breathe relaxed through your nose, but the thrusting of his hips prevents you from doing so. The hand in your hair pushes you down slightly and you moan again, feeling the throbbing between your thighs intensify. Your head bobs, lewd, wet sounds fill the small space you both occupy, accompanied by Tom's grunts.

“Yeah, babe... take me deeper in your mouth...” he grunts and you let your lips slide up and down faster. The thrusting of his hips becomes sloppy, his cock twitches violently in your mouth, almost impatiently. You continue to suck his twitching cock, swirling your tongue around the slick head, while your one hand starts pumping his length and then you hear the moan.

Tom’s legs tensed, driving himself deep into your salviating mouth once more, hot cum spilling down your throat as you eagerly swallow his cum. He is panting and gruntin while his cum is filling your mouth. His hand clenches in your hair and you moan, trying to swallow all his cum. When his cock stops twitching and you have swallowed everything he has given you, you release his cock from your mouth with a pop and wipe your mouth clean.

You look up at him and smile. He is breathing heavily, his eyes closed, a slight smile on his lips. You slowly get up and crawl back onto the bed. Even before his eyes open, you gently kiss his lips.

He hums contentedly, his breathing still heavy.

“Have you thought of something like that?“ you whisper and you feel him smile slightly.

“This is pretty close...” he mutters and suddenly grabs you. You squeal slightly, but giggle as he pushes you onto the bed and rolls on top of you.

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Love thy neighbour ⭑

Masterlist

A/N: First Tom Bennett fic team, now why is he so fucking hot!!!

Pairing: Tom Bennett x Neighbour!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ mdni, dirty talk, kissing/making out, dry humping, Tom hitting from behind, fingering, p in v sex, Tom being a charming bastard.

Summary: Tom needed to hide from his dad after an evening at the pub, surely his pretty neighbour would let him in?

Word count: 3k

The cold draft sweeping through your bedroom kept you awake once again, pulling your sheets up as far as you could didn’t do much either. You cursed the single paned windows for keeping you from your dreams for the third time this week, you had work at the beauty shop as a countergirl tomorrow and you couldn’t afford having no energy. 

It was all smiles and a happy, energised voice while assisting the ladies with any makeup or perfume. It fit you well but it did take a lot out of you, hence why sleeping well was quite important. Then your mind drifted off, a certain blonde haired man clouding your mind. Your neighbours, the Bennetts, were a nice family and you would sometimes even hang out with Lois. 

Lois was one of your good friends and since the two of you lived so close, them living right across the narrow street, you would often spend time with her. She would most of the time talk about Harry, a man you could tell just from Lois’ stories wasn’t quite great but you let her do her thing. 

You had met him once or twice and wasn’t quite impressed. And when you voiced your opinion to your friend she simply stated it was because you just like blonder men. She knew of your crush on her brother and found it quite adorable. 

You were somewhat embarrassed, you were pretty certain he saw you as a friend and as Lois’ friend so you kept it to yourself. However you knew him pretty well and you had been to his rescue a couple of times when the police came down the road, hiding in your house until they left. 

After your dad left to join the army when the war started it had been you and your mum, since she now was the sole income for the family, you decided to get a job as well. So your cousin gave you a recommendation at the beauty shop, hence getting you a job. Which of course you were very thankful for.  

His footsteps were the only sound that echoed through the empty dark street. Everyone was asleep by now, which was obvious as it was the middle of the night. Tom had spent the evening at the pub and even though he wasn’t drunk, he still knew he would be in trouble once he got home.

So he had a choice to make, his feet came to a halt at his front door. Blowing out some smoke from the cigarette he was puffing on before glancing to your window. Your bedroom was at the front of the house, just like his and Lois’ bedroom. 

Would you still be awake? Would you even let him in? And if you did, he would have to be careful not to wake your mum up. Even though the woman liked him, as he was very charming and handsome, your father did not. Of course he wasn’t home now but if he knew he had been in his daughters bedroom, there would be hell to pay.

He had never actually been in your bedroom, just hid in the closet downstairs when the police showed up at his door. He stood there for a minute taking a last drag of his now short cigarette, before stomping it out on the floor. His eyes shifted from his door to your window, he really didn’t want to deal with his nagging dad right now.

Your window it is. He crossed the street and noticed the tiny pebbles on the sidewalk. Picking them up he carefully threw one at your window, he couldn’t be too loud. If his dad heard him inside the house or your mum in yours, he would be in such deep shit.

The tick against the window made you sit up in bed, did you hear that right? Tick...Tick. Now there were two, you definitely heard that right. Throwing the sheets of your body, you got out of bed. Clad in your thin long nightshift, it was new, a gift from Lios for your birthday that was a couple of weeks ago.

As you made your way to your window, you wrapped your arms around yourself to fight the cold. When you peered out, a crooked smile met your eyes. You rolled them at him and he put his hands together in a begging motion as he got on his knees. You stifled a laugh at his stupid gesture and opened your window. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” You whisper yelled at him. “Well I was hopin’ you would rescue me, and here you are.” He whisper yelled back, now getting back on his feet. “Oh really, and how would I do that?” You teased, you knew he wanted to just get inside but why not pester him a bit?

“Please beautiful, can you let me in? I promise I won’t wake up your mum.” His words made your face turn about a hundred shades of red and you contemplated his question. You let out a sigh and fully opened your window. Tom smiled at you and used your, luckily strongly built, drain pipe to get up the wall and into your bedroom. 

He almost tripped and fell into your bedroom when his foot got stuck on the windowsill but you managed to catch him. The pair of you had to keep your laughs in as your mum only slept two rooms down the hall. 

When you let go of him he sneakily glanced at your thinly covered breasts before taking in your small but cosy bedroom. You blushed hard when you caught him staring but sat back down on your bed as he looked around, the moonlight illuminating the room. Then you noticed your pebbled nipples were quite visible through your gown.

You paid it no mind and slightly covered yourself with your arms. “So...your room is nice, I imagined it would be like this. All, well flowery and stuff.” You quirked a brow at him. “You imagined what my bedroom would look like?” He snorted at that and just shrugged. “Dunno just thought it would look like this, can smell your perfume. It’s nice.” 

His charming personality and butterfly inducing words made you completely forget about a very important matter, where would he sleep? “Should I uh… sleep on the ground or?” You smiled softly, “Or?” He scratched the back of his neck and looked around awkwardly. “Or...maybe you wouldn’t mind sharing with me?” 

His words made your face burn and the thought heated your belly. Sleeping next to Tom? In your bed? So incredibly close? Your bed was quite small, since it was just you, so it would be a tight fit. “I don’t know Tom, it’s a very small bed.” He nodded at your words and lowered to the ground, at least the floor was carpeted. 

You sighed, he couldn’t sleep on the ground. There was even less room on the floor and it was incredibly cold with the draft. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to share with him? “Get up.” He smiled and got off the floor waiting for you to get under the sheets so he could join you. But then he started to take off his coat, then his shoes, then his sweater. 

He looked at you hesitantly, “You mind if I take off me pants? They’re not comfortable to sleep in.” He smiled a bit sheepishly. You bit your lip softly and nodded, moving a bit more to the side so he could join you once he was left in his briefs. 

You closed your eyes to give him some privacy and a moment later you felt the mattress dip and his legs brushed yours as he climbed next to you. “You can look y’know?” You softly opened your eyes and was met with his cute smile again. “Did I wake you up?” He whispered. 

You shook your head, “No, the cold was keeping me up so you didn’t.” He nodded and made himself a bit more comfortable. “So you workin tomorrow then?” It was now you who nodded, “Yeah, too bad I won’t have slept much though.” He smiled again at your words and mumbled a sorry.

“It’s fine, cold would’ve kept me up anyway.” He seemed to think for a moment. “If you turn around, I could lie closer to you, keep us both warm.” He once again made your cheeks turn red, but agreed anyway. You turned around, now faced with your flower wallpaper as you felt him inch closer to you.

His front was now pressed to your back and it felt awfully intimate. You could smell the cigarettes he smoked on him and the delicious musk that always clung to him, a mixture of beer, cologne and sweat. Suddenly you felt the draft sweep through the room again and you shivered.

Tom didn’t fail to notice and now wrapped his arm around your waist, the sudden touch making you jolt a bit. “You okay?” He whispered, so close to your ear, his warm breath made you shudder once more. “Y-yeah, it’s warmer this way.” His warm body against yours was the best feeling you had felt in your life.

After a while he shifted again and seemed to cuddle up to you a bit. The sensation made heat pool in your belly again and you could feel yourself throbbing a bit below. The way that this man made you feel was dangerous, and something no other man could make you feel. 

Not much time had gone by when you awoke again but this time it wasn’t because of the draft. Tom shifted again, now seemingly in his sleep. Then you felt it, something hard poking your ass. You weren’t stupid, you knew he was hard. 

You had sex before, mediocre at most but you couldn’t help imagine what it would be like if Tom woke up and just fucked you right on your tiny bed. Your leg started to cramp a bit and this time you moved a bit, getting more comfortable. The movement made your ass graze his covered erection, was it a trick on your ears or did you hear a quiet moan? 

The noise made your core throb harder and so did the feeling of his cock pressing against your ass. He was probably asleep and you wanted to know if you really had this effect on him, so you grinded a bit harder against him this time, under the ruse of getting more comfortable.

“Do that again darling and you would have to do something about it.” The warm whisper against your ear made you gasp. He was awake, fuck. “Or maybe you are doing it on purpose. Maybe you want to do something about it. Hm?” His low voice made the wetness in your underwear worse and all you could do was nod.

“Say it.” You whimpered at his command. “Go on. Tell me what you want.” His hand started to caress your hip. “W-want, want you.” He chuckled. “Yeah? You want me baby? Or my cock?” His words and now tighter grip on your hip made you moan softly. “Both- P-please,  Tommy I need you.” You whined.

You could hear him groan behind you as his hand snaked down to your covered wetness. Two of his fingers carefully caressed the soaked fabric, right on your covered clit. The gentle touch was enough to set your body on fire. 

You pushed your ass against his crotch again and he grunted out a quiet fuck. Before rolling his hips against you in a rougher movement. The action made the both of you moan quietly as your mother was still sleeping in the same house. His hand then skimmed a bit higher against the edge of the fabric. 

His fingers then moved your underwear down, and he started to kiss and lick your neck, earning whimpers from you. The moment he touched your now bare clit, made you moan a bit too loud, stilling both your movements as your eyes widened in fear. But for moments nothing happened and he continued his movements, but not before warning you.

“Be quiet beautiful, don’t want your mother finding your neighbour's fingers deep in your cunt would you?” You gasped once again, words were dangerous coming out of his mouth. The effect he had on you was insane. 

He resumed, his thick fingers circling your clit. Then he also started to hump your ass again from behind. His own soft groans and moans mixed with yours. “You turn me into an animal baby, bet you could make me cum by just letting me grind against your ass.” The words spurred you on even more and you could feel yourself getting close.

The way his fingers perfectly stimulated your clit made you tremble beneath his touch. Sighs and pants left your lips as he rolled his hips against your ass in a stronger rhythm now, his fingers worked faster too, as he listened to your dizzying responses. 

Soon you were clutching his arm, holding your breath as you were so incredibly close. “Tommy- I’m so close- please-” He sucked and kissed your neck once more and sped up his fingers a bit, the way you gripped his arm was starting to hurt but he fucking loved it.

Then with a louder gasp and whine, your entire body spasmed and contracted, waves of ecstasy crashing through your body. Tom’s hand was stuck between your thighs but he wanted nothing more, the fact he did that to you made his cock twitch in his briefs. 

He had edged himself the whole time while pleasuring you, hoping he would be allowed to fuck you as well. Once you seemed to calm from your high, your body relaxed and Tom could move his hand again, but he wasn’t done. 

“Gonna let me fuck your tight cunt baby? Oh, please let me, need you so bad.” He groaned in your ear, showing you how much he needed you with a harsh pump of his hips. You breathed a yes and hiked up your nightgown yourself, tits on display for him. 

He immediately took advantage of it and massaged them with his freed hand, before tugging off his briefs, now fully naked as well. He took both of your clothes and threw them on the ground next to the bed. Then he caressed your skin again.

Kissing your shoulder and neck, and then he turned your head. Kissing your lips fiercely before stroking his cock a bit. “Do you have a condom pretty?” You nodded and gestured to your nightstand, the condoms still in there from when your ex used to visit. He quickly opened the drawer and pulled one out.

Never had you seen a man rip open and put on a condom so fast, it made you giggle a bit. He smiled at you and lovingly kissed your lips before you turned back so he could move his cock over your glistening folds. His tip caught over your hole and he gasped, “Can I?” You nodded again and he carefully slid his tip inside.

He almost fully entered you with how slick you were and the added lube on the condom. But he made sure to treat you delicately, so he slowly buried himself inside. Cursing under his breath at your warm walls hugging his cock. Once he got to the hilt, he let you get used to his size.

You breathed a please, and he got the hint to start moving. He rolled into you from behind and the small old bed started to creak a bit with his movements, somehow making the whole ordeal more intoxicating. “So fucking good baby, your tight little cunt feels so good, might get me addicted.” He grunted from behind. 

You could barely think as his cock pounded into you, mind blank as pleasure consumed you. Then you felt his fingers on your clit again, trying to sloppily match it up to his thrusts. The bed creaked louder when he drove into you harder, skin on skin slapping now also filling the room.

All attempts to be as quiet as possible flew out the window and now you just hoped you were both quiet enough. Each pound into you drew a moan from your lips, his own groans muffled by your neck he was nuzzled against. “Fuck baby, yes, yes, yes- feels so good, my little slut- fuck-” Your cunt squeezed him at his words making him groan even more.

Your cunt started to contract more and more around him, along with your breathless gasps it was a sign for him that you were close. So his fingers now found a good rhythm over your clit and along with his noises, the bed, your colliding skin and his thrusts, euphoria found you again. Your back arched against him and his hand was once again trapped in his favourite place. You twitched against him and your walls contracted around his cock tightly. 

“Yeah- yeah- baby- come for me. You gonna make me cum- you want that? You want me to fuck my cum inside you?” A moan was the only response he needed and he spilled his spend all inside the condom, moans and gasps left his lips as well, as he thrusted a couple more times inside you. 

Curses left his lips as he made sure he completely emptied himself in the condom, pretending he was filling up your pretty cunt instead. His movements stilled as he held onto you. Both of your heavy breaths filled the room, now quite hot enough. 

After a while he carefully slipped his soft cock out of you and removed the condom. Tying it up before leaving you to throw it in your trashcan. He then picked up your nightgown and underwear and gave it to you with a smirk, before pulling on his own briefs again.

He slipped back next to you and you had now turned to face him, an uncontrollable smile on your face. He pecked your lips before doing it again and again, earning a laugh from you. He wrapped his arms protectively around you and then kissed your cheek. 

And so you fell asleep in his arms and when morning came, you were late for work and had a lot of explaining to do to your mother. Who screamed as she entered your room that morning.

[thekinslayed]

Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered

summary | Tom Bennett doesn't go the jazz hall, not really, but a pretty little bird might change his mind. (based on this request.)

pairing | tom bennett x singer!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! oral (m), unprotected sex, switch!tom, switch!reader, kinda ooc for tom, fluffy ending! (not proofread)

wordcount | 4.2k

song rec | Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered - Doris Day

note | dialogue might be ooc for tom bc genuinely how tf do british ppl speak 😭 fics might become few and far in between as i'm back in college, but i'll always try to write!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

I’m wild again, beguiled again

A simpering, whimpering child again

Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I

This was not Tom’s scene. He wasn’t one to go dancing, nor to clubs with those frilly cocktails and fancy scotch. He liked rowdy pubs, with their sticky floors, and cheap pints. Granted, this place wasn’t top of the line either, but it was a step above what Manchester considered typical. He wasn’t here for a fun night out; he had come here for a reason. 

That posh boy had done something to his sister again, he was sure of it. Lois had come home in tears, the third occurrence this month, silently sniffling up the stairs while Tom could only sigh in frustration as he sat by the radio. Douglas’ boy never thought Harry to be decent, but with much placating from his baby sister, he’d reluctantly let them be. But the other night was his last straw, and if Lois was reluctant to put her foot down, her brother would gladly do it for her. He wouldn’t confront him in broad daylight. No, Tom had done enough of scrapping and petty fights to do that, especially with a mummy’s boy like Harry. Better to blame it on the ghosts of the night, the shadow lurking in the corner. That was why he was here.

Alas, whatever plan he conjured in his prickly head flew out the window at the sight of the fine-looking bird in a slinky red dress taking center stage. The dreamy tunes of Doris Day filled the space, beckoning all the lovers to find their way to the dance floor in the middle. It seemed everyone had come with a partner tonight, leaving a lonely soul like Tom watching helplessly from the sidelines. He watched them dance all pressed up against each other, he watched you.

He wasn’t interested in all of this, he really wasn’t.

Your eyes closed with the slow lilt of the song, brows slightly furrowing with passion as the tunes took you in. You were graceful, even just standing there. Tom’s eyes followed the way your fingertips trailed the slim length of the microphone stand, before grasping the silver equipment with a gentle hand. It pulled something in his chest, a subtle twinge that had his back straightening and the hairs on his arms standing in attention.

Your eyes opened to trail over the waltzing pairs in front of you, sweeping over the audience with lifted lips. It soon found the dirty blonde standing by himself. Tom swore your smile lifted higher when your eyes met his, but it must have been someone else; it had to be. Your attention had him stuck to his feet, unnoticing the arrival of a Harry Chase right behind him. His sister’s posh boy, in his crisp attire and swept-back curls, passed the Bennett boy on his path to the dressing rooms, disappearing through a velvet curtain.

Then love came and told me I shouldn’t sleep

Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I

How in the world did he never know of you? Their town wasn’t a big one. Everyone knew everyone, and any new face would soon turn familiar before the season turned. He was sure he would have heard of you, or met you, especially with a face and a voice like that. Tom hadn’t shown great interest in Lois’ singing, much absorbed in his own endeavors to find himself at the local jazz hall on a Friday night. It was evident he was missing out on much. He couldn’t help but clap along with the crowd as you finished up the song, anticipating the next.

Three songs later, and a pint finished in three big gulps, Tom watched as you bowed to your audience, walking off stage with a wave and a smile on your rouge-painted lips. Staring at an empty stage, he blinked, having completely forgotten what he was there for. It was the sight of Lois stepping onto the mic that knocked him out of his stupor, reminding him of his mission of finding Harry. Once more, his bright blue eyes searched for the man in the crowd.

“Looking for somebody?”

He whipped around in surprise, turning to the voice behind him. There you were, in your slinky red dress, and rouge-painted lips. His throat ran dry, words unfounded as you stared at him with a sweet smile.

“H-hi,” he stammered, internally giving himself a good knock on the head at how pathetic he sounded. Pull it together, Bennett.

“Hi,” you responded, pearly teeth shining as you grinned. Tom had met a lot of girls. He had kissed many of them and had done even more with some. He’d like to think himself suave when a pretty bird was in front of him, but all the birds he’d met hadn’t reduced him to a stammering mess like you did. You eyed the empty glass in his hand, tilting your head to the bar. “Care for a drink with me?”

A martini immediately welcomed you at the bar, along with another pint for Tom from the bartender. His hands felt clammy, he had no idea why the hell he was so nervous with you. From the distance between you on stage and him in the crowd, you almost felt untouchable, unreal. Yet, the heat of your arm pressed against his at the busy bar kept him in the moment, focusing on nothing else but the pretty lass before him.

“You’ve got quite the voice on ya,” he spoke up, subtly leaning into your ear through the bustling noise. You smiled at him in thanks, taking a sip of your drink. He stared at the mark your lipstick left on the clear glass, a ruby-red sketch of those pretty lips. 

“Thanks, Bennett,” you responded, earning a raise of the brow from the dirty blonde. Your own raised at him, lips sputtering into a chuckle. He wasn’t aware you knew him, through Lois perhaps? But Tom had never met any of his sister’s friends, save for Connie, and he was sure he would remember a face like yours. “I had a feeling you didn’t remember me,” you smiled, running a finger around the rim of your glass. It was as if a light bulb had blazed and broken in his brain when you uttered your name in his ear, the familiarity in your gaze finally clicking in his memory.

“With the…?” he asked, gesturing to the top of his head and earning another laugh from you. He remembered you now, with the pink bows you always seem to have in your hair in school. An all-too-goody, quiet girl he’d never paid much attention to, except for when he pulled on your bows when he kicked you off the swing set. “Wha– I didn’t recognize you!” 

“Well, I recognize you, Tommy. You’re a bit hard to forget when you poured milk down my shirt that one time,” you teased. Tom groaned in embarrassment, running a hand down his face as you giggled at him. He was a bit of a rascal back in school, no surprise there, always so disorderly and uncouth that it was almost routine to have poor Douglas Bennett called in because of his son’s manners. 

“Christ, I was an ass, wasn’t I?” he cringed, earning a dismissive wave from you. There seemed to be no grudges held on your part, thankfully enough. Your eyes dazzled at him under the warm lights of the jazz club, amusement swimming in those wide orbs as they stared at him. “I never knew you could sing,” he said, turning his body to face your seat. Your knees subtly touched as you did the same, leaning on your arm against the wood.  

“Never really had the guts to do it back then,” you shrugged. “I could hardly speak in front of a class, let alone sing. But I grew out of it… and the bows.” You shared a mirrored smile at your words. Tom turned back to follow your gaze when it drifted to the stage, where his sister was singing a lively song that had the crowd grooving along in tune. Lois didn’t seem to notice his presence, nor the fact that he was sitting with you. “Beautiful singer, your sister,” you complimented, leaning into his ear. He turned back to look at you, finding your face much closer than it had been. If he was surprised, he made no show of it, save for his hand clenching his glass a little tighter and the flush on the tip of his ears. 

“That, she is,” he agreed. Tom’s eyes drifted to look back at his sister, an undeniable swarming pride spreading in his chest at the sight of her quite enjoying herself. His smile dissolved into a scowl when he met the eye of Harry Chase, who nodded at him with a polite smile, all dimples and no backbone. Prick. He took a big swig of his ale, letting out a deep breath through his nose.

The shift in his demeanor did not go unnoticed by you, perceptive as you were. You leaned to peek at what had made him frown, finding Lois’ man off to the sidelines. “Big brother doesn’t approve, eh?’ you teased, earning an unamused scoff from the man sitting before you. “He wasn’t so bad when I met him,” you mentioned lightheartedly.

“Yeah, when he’s not driving Lois insane with his little games, that is,” Tom grumbled. He had no heart for these rich ninnies, who think they can go around messing up the lives of people like Tom and you for a spin and suffer no consequences. He had no idea what made the girls so crazy about boys like Harry. When did women think less of the working man? He eyed you curiously, voicing out his question. “You into posh boys yourself?”

“God, no. Most of them already annoy me enough, even worse when they got a nice little jacket on from mummy.” Your words earned a snort from the blond, who cocked his head in agreement.

“You like ‘em a little rugged then?” he asked, flashing you a crooked grin.

“Sure, I don’t mind a little rough edge here and there,” you quirked, shifting your weight on your hands settled on the edge of your seat to lean closer to his ear. You had crossed your legs, one on top of the other, taking up the space in between his spread thighs. Tom willed himself to ignore the way your heel-clad foot was leaning on his leg, the contact sending a buzzing warmth through his trousers. If Tom thought himself forward in his advances toward women, his natural sureness paled in comparison to the confidence you exuded. “How about you, Tommy? You don’t seem like the type to pass up a classy lady.”

His face scrunched up in disagreement, making you laugh again. “I like a girl who knows her way around this town,” he said, thin lips lifting into a smirk. He could feel your foot brush against his leg as you shifted in your seat once more, the soft leather of your shoe rubbing on his calf. Your conversation continued, though with much struggle from Tom, with your breath fanning over the side of his face. His ears ran hot the more he grew flustered, taking sips of his beer in hopes of the alcohol dampening his nerves. Tom couldn’t recall a time when he had gotten so worked up by a girl the way he was now, all from the simplest touch too! He must be losing it, he really must be. 

It was getting harder to ignore every little detail about you. With your perfectly coifed hair, your red dress showing off the nice dip in your waist, and your breasts pushed forward from the way you were leaning. He felt hot in his clothes, and the back of his neck started to dampen with sweat. It was easy to blame it on the ruckus of the hall, but the gradual hardening in between his thighs begged a different story. 

“You alright, Tommy?” you asked, tilting your head in concern. He waved his hand nonchalantly, dismissing it to the warm lights overhead bothering him. The later the hour turned, the more people seemed to have found their way into the jazz hall. Everyone seemed to be in a state of inebriation to various degrees, the crowd bustling even more than it already did. It was growing harder to hear each other, having to start to yell in the other’s ear. The proximity didn’t help the bothersome tightening in Tom’s pants, aggravated further when you placed a gentle hand on his thigh to speak into his ear. “Do you want to go someplace else?”

“Where would we go?” he replied, grasping your arm protectively when an overly eager young man elbowed his way to get to the bartender. You offered him no response, merely taking his larger palm into yours with a smile that beckoned him to let you take him wherever you wanted. Tom let you guide him through the bustling crowd, escaping through the velvet curtain that led backstage. His eyes stayed trained on the back of your head, running over your pushed-back shoulders, and the gentle sway of your hips with every step, totally missing the incredulous look on his sister’s face as she spotted the familiar head of sandy blonde hair in the crowd.

The hallway served as a tunnel away from the chaos, taking him into the solace of the quiet, spacious dressing room all performers occupied. No one else was present in the late hour, with everyone already having found their way into the dance floor after their own sets. It was rather dark, save for the amber glow of the lights lining the wide vanity. “Much better,” you sighed, turning to face him the moment the door closed. Here, the music was reduced to nothing but a subtle thump in the walls, untouched by the chaos of the crowd. Tom fidgeted where he stood, anxiously stuffing his hands into his pockets. With no soul to interrupt, the silence seemed more deafening than the loud saxophone on stage. “Are you sure you’re okay, Tommy? You’ve gone all red,” you pouted, dainty hands cupping his flushed ears. Your palms were cool on his skin, a nice reprieve from the steady warming of the blood rushing to his ears.

He was starting to feel like a total fool, having gone all flushed like a pubescent boy in front of a proper girl like you. “M’fine. J-just not used to a place like this,” he stammered.

Fucking hell, one coherent sentence from him would save his dignity from embarrassing himself further. Just one! Yet, you didn’t seem to mind the way he was making himself look like an absolute half-wit, casually lowering your hands to intertwine in the back of his neck.

You hummed in understanding, taking a subtle step to press your chest against his. “Mm, s’not for everyone, don’t worry about it. I’m really happy you're here though, Tommy. It’s so nice to see you,” you said, eyes trailing all over his face. With your face so close to his, it was a miracle his knees didn’t buckle the moment you smiled up at him. The usually sure Bennett boy visibly gulped, following your gaze as your eyes lowered. “You do sure seem to be quite happy to see me.”

The pit of his stomach dropped to the abyss at the realization, embarrassment coloring him into a deeper shade of red. “Ah, fuck!” he groaned, dropping his head onto your shoulder to hide his face. Of course, he just had to make his arousal known with his bulge pressing ever so conveniently into your hip. “M’sorry, shit, I’m sorry!”

Great going, Bennett, what a charmer you sure are.

You could only laugh as his lips spilled strings of apology. Tom tried to pull himself away to save himself from further humiliation, but your arms stayed wrapped around his neck. With every step he took backward, you took one forward, keeping yourself in his space. “Don’t be sorry! I’m flattered, really!” you exclaimed, giggles bubbling out of your ruby lips when he groaned again. When your laughter died down, your cheeks stayed lifted as you smiled cheek to cheek at him. 

“Should we take care of it?” you asked, eyeing the bump in his trousers.

“Y-You don’t have to, love, I–”

“But I want to.”

He’s gone mad, hasn’t he? Tom could only stare at the hopeful glint in your eye, and before he knew it, you were lowering to your knees, looking up at him with your lower lip stuck between your teeth. Your hand smoothed down his hardness, rubbing him over his trousers. Tom started to doubt this was all real when you nuzzled your face into his clothed cock, placing a small kiss on his length. Deft fingers made quick work of unzipping his trousers, pulling his shaft free and into your soft palm. You tested its weight in your hand, warm and hefty with his cockhead weeping tears of arousal.

“It’s so pretty, Tommy,” you praised, beaming up at him with a hungry glaze. His chest was growing heaved with every labored breath, eager anticipation prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. His cock twitched in your hold with each kiss you peppered down his length, mushroomed head stroked by your hand.

“You’re going to drive me fuckin’ insane, darling,” Tom groaned, throwing his head back when you licked a stripe under his shaft. You would grant him reprieve from his agony when you finally took him into your mouth, length steadily disappearing through those red lips until your nose hit his base. The man above you placed a hand over your head gently, not pushing but only smoothing out your hair as you started to bob your head in and out. 

His free hand clenched into a fist to control his urges as he felt your tongue pressed onto the underside of his cock, cheeks hollowing and sucking him in further. If he were a lesser man, he would have forgone the languid place you set and used your mouth recklessly, but he was at your mercy. If your mouth felt this good, Tom could only imagine how your cunny would feel. He imagined it would taste sweet, and would moisten up nicely if he touched you in the right places. As he closed his eyes, he could see it, your blissed-out face as he fucked you however you liked. Hell, he could almost feel it, with the warm cavern of your mouth enclosing his length. 

It seemed you managed to read his mind, felt his urges with the jumping of his cock in your mouth. You pulled off with a pop, returning to your feet and capturing his lips in a kiss. Tom could taste the salty tang on your tongue, though he didn’t find it in himself to be irked. Tongues slithered and slipped, teeth clashing as he walked you backward. Leaning against the vanity, you made space for him between your thighs. Warm, calloused hands traveled down, and down, caressing your curves through the silky fabric of your dress. Your skirt rode higher up your thighs with the spreading of your legs, exposing your undergarments. They were a pretty tea rose-colored silk adorned with lace, with a white garter peeking through. Tom took your face, your pretty face, into his hands, thumbs rubbing your cheeks as he leaned his forehead against yours. “Is this alright?” he asked, breathless. You nodded, sweet breath mingling with his.

“I want you, Tommy,” you sighed dreamily, nose nuzzling into his cheek. He let you take his hand, guiding it to cup your breast. “Touch me, please.”

It was soft underneath his palm, despite still being covered by your clothing. You moaned softly with a squeeze, hips squirming on the worn vanity. Your hand returned to Tom’s still weeping cock, stroking him softly as his lips devoured yours. 

Tom would say he had quite a firm grip on reality. He wasn’t one to drift off into a cloud of daydreaming, he liked to keep his head level with his feet planted firmly on the ground. But now, with his hand disappearing up your skirt and his hips subtly thrusting into your hand, time felt slower, and the top of his head felt lighter. This felt all too good to be true, and he wouldn’t put it past his luck if he somehow suddenly found himself in the back of the pub, awakened from a cheap scotch-induced haze. Yet, this was all real. You were real. It was evident in the warmth of your body pressed against his, and the delicious waft of your perfumed skin. 

Your panties dropped to the ground with one swift tug, exposing your cunt to Tom’s hungry gaze. Rightfully wet. Flushed pink flesh as you split your folds with two fingers. The blonde gave into his urges, swiping your slit to gather your slick before taking his finger into his mouth to get a taste. Sweet as a cherry, even more delectable than he imagined.

“You are a dream,” Tom grunted in delight, fingers lowering more to caress your slit. You mewled when his fingers dipped into your walls, prodding into your tightness. “How am I supposed to resist you, hm?” 

“Don’t,” you whispered against his lips. “Just take me, all of me. Devour me whole, Tommy.” 

With your hand guiding his length, Tom breached your walls with a hiss. Gripping your thighs in either hand, he set a steady pace. Your walls swallowed him with a grip tight enough that it made him wonder how many guys have been lucky enough to have a taste of you, and if they had treated you the way you deserved. With an eagerness to please, Tom’s hips snapped into yours quick and sharp, earning a chorus of moans in his ear. “S’good, Tom, god! You make me feel so good,” you cried out, babbling outcries of pleasure against his skin. With a hand on the table, you lifted your hips to meet his every thrust, eager and urgent. The pair of you didn’t have the luxury of time, and he would be damned if his sister caught him balls-deep in between your thighs when she returned to the dressing room. 

His confidence grew with your every praise, evident in his thrusts that turned harsher and faster. You liked it this way, he realized. “Such a tight fucking cunt. Got you this wet, huh?” Tom grunted, his signature cockiness making itself known. You nodded at him eagerly, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him back into your lips. The ruby red rouge was now smudged past the corners of your lips, with some surely on his pale skin. Your perfectly styled hair grew messy, pins falling off from every jolt. Your chest was speckled with a flush, skin sheened with a light layer of sweat.

A warm lick at the bottom of his spine indicated the beginning of his end. He was close. You were too, with your walls tightening around his cock. Tom’s thumb found your pearl, rubbing frantic circles on your clit to spur you to your end first. “I’m gonna come, Tommy!” you mewled, falling apart with a cry. Your cunt tightened like a noose to the point it almost trapped his cock in its hold. Tom pulled himself free just in the nick of time, spilling his pearly spend all over your tummy with a moan of your name. 

Taking a moment to regain his bearings, Tom nuzzled into the crook of your neck, placing a kiss on your skin that held the promise of something good. As he pulled away, he smiled as you chuckled at him. “You got a little…” you said, rubbing the smeared lipstick on his cheeks. He watched as you cleaned him up with an adoring look on your face, mirroring the same glint in his icy blues. After making yourself presentable again, the pair of you walked out of the dressing room hand in hand with giddy smiles, eager for one last drink. The aftermath of your bliss was quite short-lived, as Tom was met with the stunned look on his sister’s face in the hall.

“Tom? What are you doin’ here?” Lois asked, confusion clearly written on her face.

“Lois, I, uh..” Tom stuttered.

“Great set, Lois!” you interjected, wrapping yourself under Tom’s arm to smile at her. His sister greeted you happily, not without shooting him a knowing look and an amused smile on her face. Tom could only respond with a crooked grin and a shrug, looking down at the girl on his arm with a look his sister had never seen before.

It was safe to say his night had taken a curious turn, though surely a good one. Tom would find himself back at the jazz club in the nights to come, with a newfound appreciation for Doris Day and even going so far as having a civil drink with a certain Harry Chase as he looked on to his pretty little performer.

[fan-goddess]

Authors Note: Here’s the final one of your requests sweet anon! I literally started this yesterday so I’m happy with how quick I wrote this! I’ve separated your requests into 3 separate pieces just so it’s easier! Hope that’s okay and I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Certainly went more goofy than usual with the tags that’s for sure…

Warnings: P in v sex, public sex, Toms got a hell of a mouth, dirty talk, teasing, unprotected sex, he’s just oozing dominance, overstimulation, he’s cocky as hell, but he gets strangely bashful at the end, he’s gotta low-key breeding kink, and it’s successful, thumb sucking but not your own, degrading I think, praising also, (if I’ve missed any which I don’t doubt I have, then let me know in a way you’re comfortable with)

Taglist: @sofiyathecunt, @marvelgirl123, @sylasthegrim, @mochi-rose, @valeskafics, @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @blue-serendipity, @omgbrcat

The bar was crowded and noisy, as sailors from all ranks spread themselves all throughout the room looking for their next ‘catch of the day’.

You yourself was sitting idly by the bar, sipping your daiquirí whilst your supposed best friend was chatting up some ginger haired sailor with spectacles the size of oranges with vigour. You loved her, you really did, but she really had some unique tastes…

“And what’s a gal like you sitting all by herself in a place like this now?” A voice said, bringing you from your depressive thoughts.

When you turn to him, you’re actually surprised to see a handsome man in-front of you, dressed in his sailors uniform, with a matching hat and a cocky grin painted on his lips to match.

“Well sailor, my mates currently chatting up one of your own. And I’ve been left all on my own…” It’s amusing to you how when you mockingly pout in annoyance for a little added affect, the sailors eyes can’t stop themselves from staring at them, desire clearly swirling within them.

“Well we can’t have that can we now! A beautiful woman should never be without company I believe!” He grins, slyly touching hands with your own so his little finger can caresses your warm skin.

You choose not to answer his statement right away, instead watching with hooded eyes as his own stare pure liquid heat into your whole body, merely at the sight of your lips pursed around the straw of your drink whilst you give a small hum of amusement.

“And what are you going to do about my lack of company sailor?” You grin, placing down your now empty glass to look at him with full attention, resting your head on your hand for that extra effect.

“Well, I’ll be keeping the lady company. In any way she so pleases…” He grins, coming closer to you under the pretence of wiping something away from the corner of your mouth. Only his own mouth opens slightly in surprise and arousal, when your lips move to wrap around his thumb and bite down slightly, before removing it with a slightly wet pop and a cheeky grin.

“Well then, it’s a good thing I know exactly how you’ll be keeping me company, isn’t it sailor boy?” The cheeky carefree grin still drawn on your face.

“Yes pretty woman, it is indeed…”

It’s surprising how calm and aroused you are about fucking an absolute stranger in an abandoned and slightly dirty alleyway behind the bar. But hey, the big wars going on and you have no idea if you may die the next day. Gotta make the most of it right?

“Fuck… such a tight pussy…” The sailor boy groans, the sound alone going straight to your cunt that clenches desperately around his cock.

You have no idea his name, but that strangely makes that it all the more thrilling.

“Oh! So good!” You whine. The grip your nails have on his arms tightening as his teeth sink almost desperately into the skin of your neck. Wanton you cannot control ripping straight from your throat as he does so.

It only gets worse when that same thumb you playfully bit down earlier comes to your mouth once more to collect some of your built up saliva, and skilfully trace circles with it on your swollen clit.

You’ve got to admit, your sailor is nothing but skillful when it’s comes to a woman’s body. Not that you’re complaining of course….

“Can already feel your walls clenching down on me. You want my cum that badly inside you huh?” He huffs, grinning into the skin of your neck as he sucks dark marks you know’ll show up the next morning. It almost makes you forgive the cocky undertones that so clearly shines through.

“It’s okay love, I know you can’t help it when you’ve got a cock this big in your tight little pussy huh? Come on love, fucking cum for me already!”

You didn’t even realise how close you were until he told you. As the moment he said those words with that almost annoyingly deep seductive voice of his, your walls began to clench and your whines become muffled as you try to quieten them down by keeping your head in the curve of his neck.

Yet as you felt the euphoric feeling calm down, you realised he hasn’t even cum yet, and he was still thrusting deep inside of you like it was his last time on earth. Which to be honest, when you thought of this moment later that evening, to a man like him, it very well may have been.

“Awe it’s okay love! You can give me another one can’t you? Let’s see if we can give you another before I cum deep inside you shall we?” The sailor gives you another cocky smirk whilst his thumb still continues to draw small shapes on your clit, and all you can do to respond is whimper slightly whilst nodding your head sluggishly.

The strange buzz you begin to feel throughout your whole body is slightly painful, and yet that feeling mixed with the once again building of pleasure is something you can’t help but find almost annoyingly addictive.

So additive in fact, you can’t help but clamp your teeth tightly onto the plump skin of your lips to keep that delicious mix of pain and pleasure pumping through you.

“Awe, have I fucked my pretty girl dumb? That’s such a shame… still. I gotta tell you this is by far, the best fucking cunt in England” He emphasises his praise with a sharp thrust between each word, and you can’t stop yourself anymore from releasing your lips and beginning to desperately gasp for breath as his cock makes you feel practically breathless as he bullies you with it.

And It’s only worse for you when his cock begins to bully your sweet spot harshly and accurately.

“Fuck fuck fuck I’m gonna cum again!” You whine, your eyes screwing shut as you barely manage to get the words out.

“Hey! Eyes on me love!” His hand suddenly withdraws itself from your clits with a slight gasp you realise he’s grabbed your jaw tightly to force your eyes to look into his own, and his thumb covered in your juices is pushed into your own mouth, where you suck almost wantonly at the soaked digit with a whine.

“Yeah, that’s a good girl! Gonna cum deep inside you… and who knows. Maybe I’ll leave you with a going away present!” He chuckles, before his face screws up slightly as you feel yourself cumming around his cock, bringing him to his own orgasm with a deep erotic groan.

The two of you don’t speak for a few moments. Allowing only the sounds of your mixed heavy breaths do the talking as he releases you from his hold and the two of you begin to make yourselves presentable.

Sailor boy only needing to pull up his trousers and redo his belt, whilst you yourself pull up your underwear and adjust the shoulder straps of your dress before wiping away the slight wet trails around your mouth with your sleeves.

You look at him almost shyly as the sudden soberness hits you, whilst his own eyes hold slight sympathy when he looks over the state of your neck. No doubt already bruised and marked for all to see on the way back home.

“My names Tom by the way. Tom Bennett.” He says, finally breaking the sudden build of ice.

You shyly say your own, and a slight blush takes over your face when he repeats it back to you under his breath with a small half smile. As if to test it.

“I’m shipping off next week. Did you uhm, did you wanna maybe go somewhere to eat tomorrow night maybe for dinner? I’d ask if you wanted to go now, but now that I’m looking at you, I was wondering if you wanted to maybe go and rest back at your place first before we did anything…” It’s strange to see your sailor boy, or Tom you suppose, so shy all of a sudden. But still you can’t help yourself from smiling slightly as his much more innocent proposition than the one he gave you back in the bar.

“I’d love to do it tomorrow! I think you’re right. I may need some rest before we go somewhere… still, did you have anywhere in mind to eat?” You ask, preening slightly as he smoothly places him arm over your shoulder almost possessively and leads you out of the alley with a small smile, insisting he walks you to your home.

Whatever you do, no matter how many times you’re asked, you never tell your children this is how you met their father. Nor tell your eldest son this is how he got brought into the world…

[adragonprinceswhore]

Tell Me You Missed Me

Tom Bennett x Reader

Summary: Word around the street is that you went on a date with someone else? Tom Bennet, fresh of the navy vessel, is not happy to hear that.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, dirty talk, degradation, fingering, P in V, orgasm denial, excessive teasing

Word Count: 3000

A/N: From my old blog, a request by @humanpurposes! ILY Gee 🫶

———

The smooth tones of Duke Ellington echo through the narrow alley leading to your house. 

Tom knows what that means.

You’re alone.

Your parents despise jazz, leaving you no choice but to play the two records you’d worked all summer to afford in solitude. 

He grins to himself, stopping right by the front door to run two hands over his sailor suit, smoothing out any possible wrinkles. 

“Fuck, didn’t bring any flowers or nothin’”, Tom curses himself inwardly as he brings one hand up to knock on the crummy door of your family home. Impatient as always, he doesn’t wait for you to answer before he pushes the door open with one hand. 

“Oi, could you keep it down, miss?”, he half-shouts as he enters your house, grinning widely as his eyes immediately find you, seated at the dining table only a few paces from the entrance. 

Your eyes go wide as you take him in. 

He’s back. 

The cigarette that’s been dangling between your red-painted lips falls down to the table as your mouth opens in surprise. 

He’s alive. 

“Tom”, you breathe out, voice no louder than a whisper. 

When he left to join the Navy, you were sure that he’d never come back. Yet here he is, in your house, smiling just as brightly as before he left. The sparkle in his eye is there too. 

Just like you remember him. 

He steps forward, kicking the door closed behind him before taking two long strides towards you. He reaches down to pick up the still glowing cigarette on the table, taking a deep drag. 

“Take it you didn’t miss me then?”, he teases as he looks down at you, his broad-shouldered frame towering over your seat. 

“I didn’t think you’d come back”, you reply honestly, eyes still wide with disbelief as you look up at him. 

It was easier to assume that any young lad being sent away would never come back. Then the inevitable heartache wouldn’t hurt as much. 

“That why you went dancing with Mike Jones?”, he asks. The glimmer of mischief in his eyes seems to disappear as they narrow in accusation. 

“How’d you know about that?”, you answer, unable to shake the surprise from his sudden visit. Still wearing his uniform and hair neatly combed to the side, you’d guess he came straight from shore. 

“Word goes ‘round, y’know”, Tom states with a shrug, an attempted display of indifference, eyes trailing from your dumbfounded expression down your body. You suddenly feel like the form fitting everyday dress you’d thrown on in a haste earlier today was far too revealing, making heat crawl up your chest, neck and onto your cheeks. 

“Well, I’m here now. Dance with me”, he requests, a large hand reaching for yours resting on the table. 

“Tom, I-“, you stutter as you pull your hands away from him. 

How long will he be back for? 

How has life been at sea?

Did he miss you? 

“H-, how long are you back for?”, you stand up as you ask, one of your hands coming up to briefly touch his cheek. 

To make sure it’s really him. 

That he’s real. 

His expression looks sterner, jaw tightening as he snatches the hand you touched his cheek with, pulling you closer to him. 

“Dance with me”, he repeats, this time as a demand. 

You let him lead you, the hand not holding yours settling comfortably on your waist as both of your bodies sway slightly to the fast tones coming from the gramophone. 

“Suddenly you’re a dancer?”, you inquire playfully as you look up at his face through your lashes. He isn’t really; his pace does not match the rhythm of the song in the slightest and he barely lifts his feet as he sways in place with you in his arms. 

“Apparently”, he answers with another shrug of his shoulders. Your eyes flicker down to take him in once more. You’ve never seen him this dapper before; uniform highlighting the broadness of his shoulders, blue collar matching his eyes, and not a hair out of place. 

“An awful one”, you continue to tease him as the hand you’ve placed on his shoulder squeezes him softly. 

He hums humourlessly at your jab, the hand placed on your waist slowly travelling down your side, squeezing your hip and stroking your thigh over the fabric of your dress. 

Just as you're about to grab his hand and tell him to behave, he moves it under your skirt in one swift, quick motion; letting his palm roam across the soft skin. 

“Tom!”, you yelp as you try to push him away, stepping back quickly so that his hand can’t slide up further. 

“You liked that stuff before”, he says indifferently, grip on your hand still tight so that you can’t back away further. “Or is it Mikey Jones that touches you like that now?”

His tone is much harsher than before; his attempts at remaining carefree failing as cracks start to appear in the nonchalant mask he’d put on. 

“Tom, I was lonely and didn’t think you’d come back.. He took me dancing once, nothing more”, you try to reassure him. 

There’s so much you want to know; to ask him. How’s life in the navy? Is he eating well? Can he sleep? Does he get seasick? Has he received your letters? 

But all Tom seems capable of is obsessing over the fact that you took pity on Mike Jones from down the street and let him take you out. 

It’s your turn to take command, stepping forward to rest both of your arms around his neck as you look up to meet his stern glare.  

“Did you get my letters?”, you attempt to change the subject, fingers playing with the short, sandy hairs at the base of his neck. 

He hums again, reluctant to properly answer you though he pulls you closer to hold you in his arms. 

“I thought about you all the time, Tommy”, you say before getting on your toes to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. 

He pulls you even closer, mouth meeting yours in a sudden, passionate kiss that almost takes your breath away. He presses his tongue between your lips, demanding entrance to deepen the kiss, practically bending you backwards as he devours you. 

The act is incredibly dizzying; it leaves you breathless, exhausted and in the need for more. 

This time, when his hand moves to squeeze the soft meat of your inner thigh, you don’t step back. Instead, you push your body closer to his; your soft curves pressing into his sturdy chest. 

His impatient fingers soon move inside the fabric of your underwear, stroking your folds experimentally before letting two fingers part them. 

“Already wet?”, he grins as the tip of his fingers finds your bundle of nerves, drawing quick circles. The calluses on his work-worn hands scratch slightly against your sensitive skin and the sting of pain somehow amplifies the pleasure he’s giving you. 

Tom remembers exactly which kind of touch you like; how to make you putty in his hands. His tall frame still looms over you as he speeds up the pace of his hand, eyes watching your reaction intently.  

Your legs tremble as pleasure fills your being, peak hurtling towards where you stand in Tom’s embrace. One strong arm around you, keeping you in place, as his fingers move in and out, palm repeatedly pushing at your pearl. If not for the hold he has on you, you’re sure you’d be on the floor by now, legs almost unable to stand by themselves. 

“This what you thought of?”, he asks, eyes narrowing when they meet yours, fingers continuously working you towards release. You're standing so close together that your noses touch, breathing in and exhaling each other's air. 

You moan in reply, holding onto his shoulders like they’re your only anchor in a sea of all-consuming pleasure. With the last bit of strength you have left, you tilt your head up to ask him for another kiss. To your surprise, he denies you by moving his head to the side, mischief once again dancing in his eyes. 

Just as you’re about to peak, Tom stills, hand inside your knickers but unmoving. You whine in protest, glassy eyes looking up at him pleadingly. 

“What do you want?”, he questions with a wink, clearly pleased at how incredibly fast he’d reduced you to a trembling mess. 

“Make me feel good Tommy”, you request breathlessly, sounding way more desperate than you’d like. His lips stretch out into a wide grin, revealing his dimples. 

“Don’t know what that means, love”, he retorts, amused voice matching the cheeky curve of his lips. 

His smug demeanour is entirely infuriating, knowing that he’s already got you wrapped around his finger. It was always like this with him; he’d offer you bliss but only on his conditions. 

“Please make me peak”, you mumble, humiliation making you feel even hotter. He knows how embarrassed you get from your sporadic trysts, preferring to revel in how good he makes you feel than to think about the true nature of your filthy encounters. Your lover’s different, however. 

Tom chuckles at your plea, lowering his face to place a wet kiss on your cheek. 

“Nah, you’re not gonna get off on my fingers”, he says contemplatively, pouting mockingly at your tearful expression. “I want to feel you squeeze my cock when you do that”, he concludes and you wince at his crude language. He was so crass sometimes, it sent anxious waves of embarrassment through your stomach. 

You wish he could be like the romantic lead in one of the American pictures screening in town, full of promises of eternal love while placing lingering kisses on his lover's hands. But your Tommy wasn’t. 

The ache between your legs makes you lose all composure, so when he leads you to the dinner table, seating you upon it, you don’t protest. 

He stands between your legs, the skirt of your dress bunched up around your waist as his hands move to drag your underwear down your legs. When you see him pocket them, you reach for his hand in a feeble attempt to take them back, but he just clicks his tongue as he swats your hand away. “These stay with me”, he grins as he pats the pocket of his trousers twice. 

He steps forward, standing so close to you your noses knock together, his lips ghosting over yours as his warm hands once again slide up your things. One of his fingers slips under the buckle of the garter belt you’re still wearing and playfully snaps the band against the meat of your inner thigh. 

Your lips part as you gasp at the sting and Tom takes the opportunity to kiss you, tongue coming out to lick your bottom lip slowly. His kisses before he left for the Navy were always hurried; quick and aggressive. But the way he kisses you tonight makes your knees weak; slow and sensual, one strong hand coming up to hold the back of your neck to secure you against him. It leaves you feeling dizzy; mind foggy from the want you feel for him. His lips travel from your mouth to your cheek, jaw, and neck, smearing saliva all over your heated skin. 

As his hands push your thighs further apart and he begins to undo his trousers, he whispers against your skin, “This the table you have tea at? With your mum and dad?” 

You feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, so caught off guard you almost push him away. But you don’t.

“I don’t want to think about that now, Tom”, you reply sourly, though your voice sounds breathless, too filled with desire. 

“But I do. What would they say if they knew what their little girl was up to now? With the neighbourhood’s nuisance at that”, he says and you can feel him smile against the delicate skin of your neck. 

As you're trying to come up with a coherent reply, he starts to suck on the spot right below your ear and the retort at the tip of your tongue is replaced by the loud moan you let out. 

You feel him take a step backward, though his face stays hidden against your neck. You angle your hips slightly so that he can enter you easier, all you want is for him to finish what he started with his fingers. 

“Fucking her on their table”, he groans out as he pushes inside you in one swift motion. 

The sudden stretch and sense of fullness feel so overpowering you moan out again, longing for him to continue to work you towards the release you so desperately crave. 

As he snaps his hips against yours, his pelvis makes contact with your swollen pearl and you throw your head back in pleasure at the stimulation. 

Pushing your palms into the wooden surface underneath you, you bring your hips up slightly to meet each of Tom’s thrusts. He curses under his breath, gripping your hips tightly as he drags his length through your slick walls. 

It’s been so long. 

You’ve missed him so much. 

The sudden realisation that he's actually back, that you’re together again, paired with the familiar tightening as pleasure ascends inside of you, makes you clench down on him harshly, causing you both to moan in unison.

Tears of relief well up in the corners of your eyes as the climax you were previously robbed off seeks you out again. 

Tom continuously rolls his hips to meet yours, his length finding that spot inside you that makes you feel like you're floating. You wonder if all men are capable of this; of making young, sharp women into whining tarts. Or if it's just him. 

He once again slows his pace as your walls clamp down on him in a staggering rhythm, denying you the pleasure you so yearned for. 

“Tommy, please! I need release”, you sob, one frustrated tear falling down your flustered cheek. 

“You don’t need anything”, he scolds you, though he still has that cocksure smirk hiding behind the stern tone. “You just want a quick shag and for me to be on my way, s’that it?”

“No, no”, you shake your head in denial. 

“Then fuckin’ enjoy it”, he chides, ducking his head down to offer you another slow, breathstealing kiss. 

You want to enjoy it; enjoy being with him once again, but you can’t stop the ache between your thighs from consuming your senses.

Tom, knowing you better than you know yourself in this state, takes advantage of your dwindling gumption. 

“What do you want”, he asks again, one large, heated hand coming up to grab your chin. 

“I want you to make me peak”, you repeat, this time with a bit more confidence. You’ll play his silly little games, you don’t care about sounding vulgar anymore. 

Tom nods in understanding, feigning contemplation as he cocks his head at you. 

“You want me to fuck you?”, he clarifies and you immediately winch at his choice of words. 

Wasn’t he already?

You stay silent, shame, arousal and want making your inner monologue incoherent. 

“Tell me what you want. You want me to stretch out this tight cunt of yours?”, he inquires as he once again rolls his hips against you, causing his length to hit that spot that makes you weak. 

“Yes”, you whisper in defeat, nodding slightly in confirmation. The fingers holding your chin press into your skin harshly, “I can’t fuckin’ hear you”, Tom bites back. 

“Yes, I want you to fuck me”, you repeat, voice still low and filled with shame. He’s gotten what he wanted; he’s won once again. 

“Such an indecent little thing”, he muses as another boyish grin appears on his face. Feeling high on the rush of victory, Tom takes pity on your miserable state.

“Hold on to my shoulders”, he instructs as he picks up the pace once again. You follow his directive mindlessly, sweaty palms grabbing the fabric of his uniform harshly, surely ruining the crisp attire representing His Majesty's Servicemen. 

Tom’s lips find yours again, kissing you softly while the movement of his hips are anything but. He pushes you down onto the table, and you wrap your tired, shaking legs around his waist with the last strength you can muster. The new position allows him to enter you deeper as he consumes you fully, making the table underneath the two of you creak loudly with every slam of Tom’s hips. 

You feel the wetness between your thighs trail down your buttocks, dripping onto your family’s dining table. The thought makes you clench around Tom’s length again, aroused by the depravity he’s led you into. 

One of his hands moves down your stomach, lowering to swipe his thumb against your bundle of nerves. You whine at the brief contact, desperate for more. You’re so close now, you can feel your peak approaching again.

“Who’s the only bloke that gets to fuck you?”, he asks, thumb resting on your mound, waiting for your reply. 

“You, Tommy”, you answer instantly, voice whiny and shrill from despair. If he denies you release again you’ll surely combust from the tension restricted inside of you. 

“That’s what I thought”, he triumphs, thumb awarding your submission by granting your pearl stimulation. 

You peak within seconds, the tension inside of you erupting in an internal explosion of bliss, causing your hands to curl into fist, legs shake and breath get caught in your throat. Tom, seeing your face scrunch in pleasure as your walls tighten around him, climaxes with a loud grunt on top of you, body stretching taunt in pleasure before his arms give in, body sinking down to heavily rest on top of yours. 

You're still breathing heavily when he pushes himself up on both arms again to lock eyes with you. “Tell me you missed me”, he commands quietly, making it sound far less patronising than his previous demands.

You lift your head up to kiss him again. “I missed you”, you reassure him, smiling at his fleeting display of insecurity. 

How could you not? 

———

Thank you for reading! 🩵

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Sunk Cost

Pairing: Tom Bennett x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of blood, death and injury. Mild angst and mentions of PTSD. Smut. Word count: ~4.8k

Summary: Following the Battle of the River Plate, she is deployed to the Falkland Islands to tend to the survivors of the HMS Exeter. Some of the naval officers are in better shape than others, and when one in particular makes it his mission to bed her before shipping back home, she decides to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Author's note: Based on this request. No tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. "Conchies" is slang for conscientious objector.

She had travelled aboard the SS Lafonia to the Falklands, accompanied by two doctors and eleven other nurses to treat the injured of the HMS Exeter following the battle of the River Plate.

Having qualified as a nurse almost five years ago, she was experienced in dealing with blood and injury and, in the days spent sailing across the South Atlantic Ocean, she had been steeling herself for the inevitable carnage she would be witness to.

Nothing, however, could have prepared her for the utter devastation she was met with upon arrival. Pulling back the canvas flap of the medical tent, the smell was the first thing to hit her, pushing her backwards like an invisible, oppressive force; burned flesh and the rancid, yet somehow sickly sweet scent of decay.

Everything from minor burns to missing limbs needed to be treated, but those sailors were the fortunate ones, they still drew breath. Seventy two British sailors had lost their lives defending against German forces.

It would be two weeks until a boat arrived to collect those fit enough to travel back to England, so those able bodied enough to do so assisted with dressing wounds and changing bed pans. She was grateful for the help as, despite there being fourteen medical staff to attend to their patients, it was overwhelming and she was tired, so tired.

She had smiled, though it had not quite reached her eyes, as she’d been introduced to the private that would be assisting her on her rounds.

“Name’s Tom, Tom Bennett,” he’d greeted her with an incline of his head and a lopsided smirk. 

“Nice to meet you, Private Bennett,” she’d replied as politely as she could, discreetly taking him in.

He stood around six feet tall, a mop of sandy coloured hair atop his head. He was classically handsome with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose, and carried himself with a self assured swagger that emphasised the fact that he knew he was good looking. She could have overlooked his vanity, were it not for the fact he was apparently cocky in every other respect too.

Her exhaustion had worn her patience thin, however, she was certain that the sailor assigned to helping her with her rounds would have grated upon her nerves even with a full night’s rest. She found his unwavering smirk and continual stream of flirtatious remarks wholly inappropriate, considering the situation they found themselves in. There was no doubt in her mind that he had fought bravely and his service upon the Admiral Graf Spee was to be highly commended, but it didn’t mean she had to enjoy his company, she merely endured it.

“Private Bennett, I need to give this patient a sponge bath, can you please dispose of these dressings?” She asked, keeping her tone curt as she seated herself beside a cot.

“My turn next, yeah?” He quipped cheekily, causing her to press her lips into a tight line to suppress the urge to sigh.

She lifted her eyes to meet his, her stern gaze wholly unaffected by the way the blue of his sparkled with mischief. “The dressings, Private Bennett.”

“You can call me Tom, y’know,” he said airily, the smirk on his face never faltering as he snatched up the dirty bandages and turned to walk away.

“I’d rather not,” she muttered wearily to his retreating form, turning her attention back to the sailor laid dozing in the cot beside her.

All of her rounds were much the same; Tom trailed behind her, flirting shamelessly, and every remark made her blood boil. For the patients yet to regain consciousness, she could mercifully ignore him. However, for the sake of maintaining a pleasant bedside manner for those who were lucid, she had to smile, laugh and remain polite.

As the days dragged on, she found herself wishing the boat coming to ferry Tom Bennett back to England would arrive sooner. Attempting to keep her temper in check and not give him a well deserved telling off in front of everyone was becoming as exhausting an effort as it was caring for the wounded. He was a pain in the arse.

It had been a particularly demanding day - several of the patients being treated for severe burns had developed infections - by the time the next nurse arrived to relieve her of her duties, she was desperate to be off of her aching feet. Sitting down heavily upon a bench in the rest area, she fished her cigarette case from her apron pocket, flipping it open and placing one delicately between her lips. Before her hand could reach for her matchbook, a flash of flint followed by flame ignited in front of her, illuminating the end of her cigarette into a bright, cherry red glow.

She blew out a tight line of smoke, her eyes narrowed in displeasure as she looked up at the smug face of Tom Bennett. The sight of him was enough to spoil the pleasant taste of tobacco that she usually revelled in upon her first drag. The corners of his mouth were upturned into a self satisfied smile, his eyes crinkled in quiet amusement as he looked down at her. He always looked like he was entertained by a joke that only he was privy to, it drove her crazy.

“Thanks,” she said curtly, taking another drag.

“Anything for you, gorgeous,” he winked, seating himself beside her and lighting up a smoke of his own.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she muttered darkly, gazing off into the distance, her lips pursed.

“Do what?” He mumbled around his cigarette, keeping it perched at the corner of his mouth.

She sighed, pressing at the point between her eyebrows with the thumb of her free hand, an absentminded gesture of exasperation. “Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it?”

Tom snatched his cigarette from between his lips, holding it between the forefingers of his right hand as he raised his palms in a defensive gesture. “Enough misery ‘round ‘ere, ‘int there? Jus’ tryna make you smile.”

“Well, you’re not,” she spat, taking a quick puff, savouring the short burst of lightheadedness that the nicotine rush afforded her.

He gave an easy shrug, fixing her with a dopey grin. “Well, I don’t see anywhere ‘round ‘ere where I can buy you flowers, so my witty charm will have to do.”

She scoffed, flicking away her butt, and rose to her feet, storming off.

“See you tomorra, yeah?” he called after her, “unless you want someone to help warm your cot tonight?”

Fucking prick.

Sleep evaded her that night. Tom had gotten under her skin. It made her furious that with so many men injured and dying around them, he failed to see the gravity of their situation. How could he be cracking jokes and making clumsy attempts to seduce her in the midst of a war? He needed to be taught a lesson, to be taken down a peg or two, and she decided she was the person to do it. Perhaps if the tables were turned on him, then he’d realise just how inappropriate his behaviour was and feel rightfully ashamed of himself.

The following day, as Tom accompanied her on her rounds, she laughed heartily at his flippant remarks, allowed her fingers to linger against his as he passed her bandages, and stared deep into his eyes every time she addressed him.

“Lucky sod,” he’d jested as she’d dabbed gently at the burns on a patient’s chest.

“You’ll get your turn later,” she’d quipped back with a wink, causing his jaw to fall agape. He’d been quick to close his mouth again, averting his attention to the floor as his cheeks had turned crimson.

It was obvious her being receptive to his advances was having an effect on him. All day she saw the way his eyes widened in disbelief, the slight blush that crept into his cheeks when she returned his flirty banter. He was uncomfortable with not being given the brush off, and she was enjoying every second of it.

“What are you playing at?” His voice came from behind her, as she was rifling through the medicine cabinet, searching for a bottle of iodine. It was a quiet corner of the medical tent, partitioned off from the sick beds for medical personnel to replenish supplies and dose out medicine.

“What do you mean?” She asked casually, not turning around as her hands continued to move aside brown bottles. She hoped the clink of the glass was enough to disguise the hint of amusement in her voice, and if not, at least he couldn’t see her smiling.

“You’re flirting with me,” he stated simply, though his voice didn’t carry its usual confidence.

“Am I?” She replied with faux innocence, casting him a glance over her shoulder.

He wasn’t standing as straight as he usually did, his brow was furrowed and he had his hands clasped in front of him. He was nervous.

Good, she thought.

“I–I think so, yeah…”

She rounded on him, closing the distance between them, delighting in the way his posture visibly stiffened as she pressed close, placing her palms against the broadness of his shoulders.

“I guess I finally figured there’s no use in denying what’s between us,” she cooed, “can’t fight it any longer.”

“Yeah..?” He asked, blinking rapidly, lips parted as he stared down at her with wide eyes.

“Absolutely. You deserve a reward, Private Bennett,” she said, reaching up to card her fingers through the softness of his hair. “You fought so bravely, it would be an honour for me to give myself to you. You’re a war hero.”

His face blanched, and for the first time since she’d met him, she saw the corners of his mouth turn downwards, a flicker between anger and sadness causing his brow to furrow and his gaze to dull. He grasped her wrists gently, moving her hands back to her sides, before quickly walking away.

She had expected to feel triumphant in managing to fluster him enough to get him to back down, but she didn’t. It was wholly unsatisfying, a heavy feeling of guilt sat like a stone upon her chest. There was something in her words that had utterly knocked the wind out of Tom’s sails, she had pushed too far. She hadn’t embarrassed him, she’d crushed him, and the worst part was she wasn’t entirely sure what she had said that had caused such an unexpected reaction.

He was quiet for the rest of her rounds, silently following orders, not meeting her eye when he spoke or was spoken to. It was as though all the light had gone out of him. He didn’t hang around for a smoke once she was relieved of her duties, so she was forced to follow after him as he strode back to the sleeping quarters reserved for uninjured naval officers.

“Hey, wait!” She called out, her feet hurrying to keep up with his longer gait, finally falling in step beside him. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

He stopped, huffing out a sigh as he turned his face upwards, briefly closing his eyes, before looking back down at her. “Forget about it,” he muttered, “message received loud and clear. I won’t hassle you no more.”

She was left standing there as he walked off, leaving her alone. Despite what he said, she knew forgetting about it was the very last thing that she would be able to do.

Her rounds were miserable over the days that followed. Tom didn’t laugh, he didn’t smile, he didn’t even speak unless spoken to. As reluctant as she was to admit it, she missed his jokey flirting. Whatever this was, the silence and sadness that hung between them, she hated it. She couldn’t question it in front of patients, and as soon as his obligation to her was fulfilled for the day, he hurried back to the naval quarters, making it clear he had no desire to speak to her.

Even the patients had started to notice it - of course they had - the stony silence that the pair worked in was a stark contrast to Tom’s usual annoyingly proud and jovial demeanour.

“Lover’s quarrel?” A private with a head injury asked playfully, as she pulled away his dressings to check on the wound.

Tom spoke before she had the opportunity to respond, his tone arrogant and steeped in annoyance. “Nope, just focusing on the job, mate. Got a ship coming to take me away from here tomorra, and the quicker I’m on it the better.”

She felt her heart lurch at his words. So preoccupied with the fact that Tom was refusing to speak to her, she had completely forgotten that he’d be leaving soon. Now his departure loomed imminently and the thought of it made her chest tighten uncomfortably. He couldn’t just leave and never speak to her again without giving her the chance to make amends, or to help her understand what she’d done wrong in the first place; that wasn’t fair.

He didn’t even look at her as she turned to him, instead he handed her the clean set of bandages he’d been holding and walked away, leaving her to finish up with her patient alone.

“Must be nice,” the injured private remarked, as she pressed the clean dressing to his wound and bandaged it up. “Wish I was leaving.”

“Me too,” she uttered softly, a sombre feeling settling over her as she realised she was talking as much about herself as she was the patient she was treating.

Tom was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the day, and she was left to complete her rounds by herself. She supposed she would grow used to it once he left. The strain they were under would be lessened by those fit enough to travel on the boat tomorrow being removed from their care. However, she felt like she was missing a part of herself without him at her side; like looking at the wall and not being able to see her shadow cast upon it. The weight of his absence would fade, but the hurt and uncertainty wrought from his disdain would not. She needed to put things right before he sailed away from her tomorrow, or she would forever live with the guilt of it.

She waited impatiently for the rest of the day for nightfall, deciding that if this was a conversation she was going to pursue then it was better to do so without witnesses - or at least when those witnesses were asleep - the canvas confines of both the medical bay and sleeping quarters provided very little privacy.

Once it was suitably dark, she made her way to the large tent that housed the cots of the naval officers. The humidity made the night air sticky and it clung to her skin, feeling as thick as the inky blackness of the sky above her.  A wave of nervous apprehension washed over her as she reached for the canvas flap - what if Tom was already asleep, or refused to speak to her? What if other sailors were awake and questioned her reason for being there?

A simple white lie of delivering pain relief could deal with the latter of those problems, but she had no idea how to deal with the former. Before her pounding heart and trembling hands could convince her otherwise, she pulled back the partition, greeted by darkness and the gentle snores of those who were asleep. A few kerosene lamps were lit by the beds of those who were still awake, their dull glow illuminated the men that were sitting up reading, smoking or playing solitaire with playing cards spread out across their blankets.

Her eyes searched the gloom for Tom, half expecting him to be fast asleep. Finally, she spotted him, and her stomach erupted into nervous flutters as she saw that he was still awake. She felt as if she was intruding upon something far too intimate, seeing him in the tight white t-shirt and briefs of his underclothes. He laid upon his front, the legs of his tall frame almost hanging off the edge of the cot as they crossed over at the ankle. The low lighting that glowed across the sharpness of his features cast long shadows across his corner of the tent, however, it was not dark enough to hide the yellow canary that fluttered around the small cage that he had balanced upon his pillow. His attention was so focused upon the bird and its shrill twittering that he didn’t even notice her as she stepped carefully towards him.

“Who’s this then?” She asked quietly, once she was a few paces away from Tom’s cot.

His head snapped up quickly, brows raising in surprise as he took in the sight of her, almost as if he couldn’t believe she was standing in front of him. He cleared his throat, shifting onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow before responding. “Her name’s Vera.”

“Vera…that’s a pretty name,” she said, offering him a soft smile as she fidgeted awkwardly with her fingers, forgetting everything she had wanted to say to him.

He lifted the cage, placing it gently on the floor between his cot and the tent wall, then looked back at her. “So what brings you ‘ere then?”

“You won’t speak to me,” she replied. Her voice sounded small, sad and vulnerable to her ears, and she loathed it. She had come here to apologise and then leave, not get upset.

“Usually, people take a hint when that happens, they don’t barge in on them when they’re going to bed.”

His reply hit her like a physical blow, and he must have seen the way her face fell, as he was quick to follow it up with; “But I guess I can’t blame ya for wantin’ a peek at me in me undercrackers.”

She felt instantly lighter as she saw the playful grin spread across his face, turning hers away as she felt her skin grow hot.

Silence fell between them once more and she drew in a steadying breath before lifting her gaze to his again. “I couldn’t let you leave without knowing how sorry I am,” she stepped closer, “I don’t know what I said that ticked you off exactly, but what I did I did with the intent to teach you a lesson, to humiliate you, and that was wrong. I was sick of your flirting, but I realise now that after all you’ve been through that you were just trying to make a horrible situation a lighter one. You’re so brave, and–”

“I’m not fucking brave,” he snapped, making her jump.

“What?” She moved to stand directly beside his cot, her head tilted slightly in confusion.

“I’m not brave,” he repeats, his voice turning to the hushed tone he’d used previously. He scrubbed a hand across his face and fixed her with a tired stare. “I’m not a war hero.”

She blinked rapidly, furrowing her brow as she perched upon the edge of his makeshift bed. “Is that what got you upset? Because I called you a war hero?”

“Do you know why I joined the Navy?” He asked, shuffling back to make more room for her to sit within the narrow space.

She shook her head, allowing him to continue speaking.

“Was avoiding the nick,” he uttered, sniffing. “I’m not a hero, I’m a coward dodging a stretch in prison.”

She was surprised by this, but not repelled. He was hardly the first man to join up to the draft to avoid the authorities, and he would be the last. She sighed softly, looking him in the eye. “That doesn’t change any of what you’ve been through, or how bravely you fought aboard that warship. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Well, I’m not,” he said sullenly, “I’m not going back. The minute I get back home that’s it, I’m done with this bloody war.”

“You can’t do that,” she told him softly, suddenly feeling afraid for him.

“Why not? It’s not my fight. I saw people fucking die. I don’t wanna give my life for something I don’t believe in.”

“You could be hanged for desertion,” she argued, a hint of desperation in her voice. Before she had time to think about it, her hand reached for his, grasping his fingers with her own.

“Dad’s a conchie,” he said, intertwining his fingers with hers, “I could be too.”

She glanced down to where their hands were joined, almost wanting to scream in frustration. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Well, what am I s’posed to do?” he seethed, snatching his hand back, leaving her to silently mourn the loss of the contact.

“I can’t convince you to do anything, Tom, but please talk to your dad before you make a decision you can’t take back.”

“Y’know, that’s the first time you’ve called me that,” he said, his expression softening.

“What?”

“My name. It’s usually always Private Bennett. I like it when you call me Tom.”

She averted her gaze, feeling her skin blaze with embarrassment once more. “I guess I should get going. Us talking’s probably keeping people awake.”

His hand shot out, grasping hers once more as she rose to leave, making her freeze in place.

“Stay,” came his softly uttered plea.

“There’s all these other people,” she protested in a quiet voice, though she sat back down.

“I just want you to lay next to me. We probably won’t see each other again after tomorrow, and I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

“I dunno…”

“No funny business, I promise,” he said with a smirk that immediately crumbled her resolve. “I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Alright…”

Tom laid out straight and pulled the blankets up around himself, holding one side up in silent invitation for her to join him. She slid underneath, not realising quite how tight the confines of the single cot were until her body was pressed right up against his.

Wordlessly, he leaned over to turn out the lamp, then turned to face her, slinging an arm over her waist and closing his eyes.

She laid there with her eyes open, just about able to make out his features in the darkness. The humidity combined with the heat of Tom’s body and the blankets thrown over them made it uncomfortably warm, and it was an effort not to squirm. But that wasn’t her only means of discomfort. It was difficult to keep her breathing steady and her body from trembling in spite of the heat; she hadn’t anticipated being in such close proximity to Tom to have such an effect on her. The feeling of the long, lithe muscle of his body pressed against hers made her pulse race and her core throb with desire, though the sensation was intermingled with pangs of guilt. He was seeking comfort in her, and here she was lusting after him when she’d spent the last two weeks berating him for doing the same to her.

His breaths fanned softly across her face, and she was convinced that he had fallen asleep, until his grasp on her waist tightened slightly, his fingers digging into her flesh. She froze at the intimacy of it, ashamed of the way desire pooled between her thighs at the gesture, until he ducked his head to bury it into the crook of her neck.

“Help me,” he whispered against her skin, a desperate plea for something, anything to make him feel better.

She reached up tentatively in the darkness, her fingers stroking through the silkiness of his hair. He sighed contentedly in response, and the sensation made her shiver, causing an involuntary tug at his tresses, making him groan and grip her tighter.

“Please,” he murmured into her neck. His hips began to grind against hers, the evidence that he was just was affected by her as she was him more than apparent as it pressed repeatedly against her.

Before she had time to consider the absurdity of it all, she hooked her thigh over him, prompting him to roll onto his back as she straddled him. Her chest rose and fell erratically as she stared down at him. He looked back with wide, imploring eyes, his fingers flexing firmly against the swell of her hips, urging her into action.

The touch was enough to ground her, to give her pause to realise they were in a tent full of sleeping sailors, that she’d rebuffed all of Tom’s previous advances, that come tomorrow she’d never see him again.

She swallowed thickly, trying to move off of him. “We shouldn’t.”

“Please,” he repeated with more urgency, his grip upon her tightening, stilling her and preventing her from moving away.

It was the begging of a desperate man, a man who had seen awful things, who was afraid to die, who was sailing away tomorrow into uncertainty. How could she say no? And how could she deny herself? Over the last two weeks she had seen unimaginable horrors, worked tirelessly, didn't she deserve a little fun?

She allowed the throbbing between her thighs to guide her actions as she reached beneath her skirt of her uniform, tugging her knickers to one side. Tom’s breaths grew unsteady as his eyes watched her in the darkness, his own hands moving to push down his briefs.

As the swollen head of him pressed against her entrance she felt that she was aroused, though not wet enough to make his passage an easy one. She had to rise and sink down repeatedly against the upward thrusts of his pelvis before the tight muscles of her heat finally yielded to him.

Sinking all the way in to the hilt, Tom hissed loudly, earning himself a quiet scolding from her. “Quiet, or you’ll wake people up.”

He bit his lip as she rocked her hips gently, allowing herself to adjust to the intrusion. It had been a while since she’d been with anyone this intimately, and it stung slightly, though the pain was not unpleasant.

She gazed down at him, seeing the crease between his eyebrows as they furrowed against the intensity of his pleasure and the effort to stay quiet. Seeing his face contorted into such a state, even though the darkness prevented her from seeing him clearly, was enough to have her sensitive walls clenching with desire, and she took that as her prompt to begin moving in a steady rhythm, lifting up as she rocked forward, then down as she pulled back.

“Fuck…” Tom murmured under his breath, his fingers leaving indentations in the flesh of her hips.

“Does that feel good?” She asked, her voice breathless with exertion.

“Y–yeah…don’t stop.”

In that moment, none of it mattered; the sheen of sweat upon her skin, the other people asleep around them, it all faded to nothing. Her only focus became the man beneath her begging for more and the exhilarating ache each time the head of him brushed against a sensitive spot deep inside of her.

“You’re so brave, Tom, and you’re doing so well, making me feel wonderful,” she breathed, as she moved atop him.

His expression was one of utter submission and pure adoration, his eyes were glossy with pleasure, his full lips were parted. He clung to her as though he was a drowning man and she was his lifeline, and she supposed she was in a way. She served as a much needed moment of respite when all around him was fear and uncertainty.

She could feel her peak beginning to crest alongside his, his cock pulsed inside of her with each spasm of her core. She pulled off of him as white hot waves of pleasure crashed over her, stifling his groan of satisfaction with a hot, messy kiss - the first they’d shared - as she tightened repeatedly around nothing and he spilled himself across his lower abdomen.

He laid against her chest afterwards, once he’d cleaned himself up, and she cradled him to her breasts, gently ruffling his hair. A satisfied ache had settled between her thighs, and her eyelids felt heavy with tiredness.

“Will you write to me?” He asked quietly.

“If you keep your promise, Tom, then I might not know where to write to.”

He hummed quietly before falling silent.

“You will keep your promise, won’t you? You’ll speak to your dad?”

“Yeah,” he whispered back, almost thoughtfully, “I promise.”

Tom left the next day, and she didn’t see him again, though he often crossed her mind. Six months later, when she was stationed in a hospital in Paris, her heart stuttered in her chest as she looked upon the familiar, yet bruised face of a man laying unconscious in the ward she was working in. She smiled as she approached the bed and looked upon the sleeping form of Tom Bennett. He’d kept his promise. He was a hero after all.

Read on AO3

More Tom fics

[eepwtf]

UPCOMING BOTS / BOT DUMP!!

i’m a sucker for the fall season, every and any season CANNOT top the fall season at all. which is why i’m making (some) horror/halloween inspired bots—even if there’s like 70 something days till halloween. along with a few random bots i've done and going to do.

tvdu ☆彡

Kai Parker: 𓏲ּ ghostface au! 𓂃

after you caught his eyes, he had an inexplicable curiosity over you. every step you took, every conversation you had with other people, he was there, watching you from afar. of course, that didn’t sedate his curiosity over you. so, when someone in your orbit ventured a little too close, he took matters into his own hands—quite literally. he gutted the perceived threat, the world around him narrowing into a singular focus: you. to him, it wasn’t just a crime; it was an artistic expression, a violent confession of his feelings woven into a tapestry of blood and chaos. He crafted his work with meticulous care, each stroke of the blade a declaration of his affection. yet, in the heat of his actions, a twist of fate caught him off guard—there you were, witnessing it all. Elena Gilbert: 𓏲ּ halloween costumes 𓂃

caroline's halloween party loomed on the horizon, a spectral deadline that demanded perfection. every cobweb, jack-o'-lantern, and plastic skeleton needed to be meticulously placed. the entire event had to be flawless, a masterpiece of festive horror. you, however, felt a different kind of dread. social gatherings weren't your forte, and the thought of navigating a sea of costumed strangers made your stomach churn. but elena, with her infectious enthusiasm, had other plans. she'd already amassed an army of costumes for you to try on, each one more outrageous than the last. as she twirled before you in a dizzying parade of personas—from sultry vampire to whimsical fairy—her eyes sparkled with anticipation, silently demanding your opinion on each piece of clothing she’d modeled on herself. Elena Gilbert: 𓏲ּ cookies and kisses 𓂃

elena passion for baking was palpable, even if she wasn't a seasoned expert. what truly brought her joy was your presence in the kitchen, your willingness to join her culinary adventures. she cherished those moments when you'd sample her latest creations, those little baking treats she'd present with such enthusiasm. as you took that first bite, elena's eyes would light up, watching intently for your reaction. the moment you'd let out a contented groan of approval, a proud smile would bloom across her face, warming her from within. in those sweet instances, she felt a sense of accomplishment that went beyond the mere act of baking—it was about the connection, the shared experience, and the simple pleasure of making someone she cared for happy through her heartfelt efforts. Bonnie Bennett: 𓏲ּ season of the witch ( witch!user ) 𓂃

bonnie had gone to your place for witchcraft lessons, bringing some herbs you had specifically asked for, and of course, she brought the most important thing she needed for the lessons. herself. she knew that the lessons you were teaching her were more advanced, and that she needed to pay attention but as you began to explain the complex theories and gestures, she found her concentration wavering. your shoulder pressed against hers as you demonstrated a particularly intricate hand movement, the warmth of your body so close to hers, the subtle scent of herbs that clung to your skin, the intensity in your eyes as you spoke of each spell - it all combined to make her head spin.

Damon Salvatore: 𓏲ּ lost in your iris 𓂃

damon tried to fight his feelings for you, but you were his weakness. he sees you completely, and he’d do anything to have you near him. every glance you exchanged pulled him deeper into a world only you inhabited, where his heart raced and his resolve faltered. he yearned to lose himself in those captivating eyes, longing to feel the gentle spark of your existence beside him. Klaus Mikaelson: 𓏲ּ so confusing 𓂃

klaus wrestled with uncertainty, his feelings for you a tangled web of emotions. some days, he was convinced you harbored a deep-seated dislike for him, your every glance and gesture seeming to confirm his fears. other times, he caught himself nurturing a grudging resentment towards you, though he couldn't quite pinpoint its origin. despite all of that, he persistently suggested grabbing drinks. it had become his go-to solution, a way to bridge the gap between you two–or perhaps to blur the lines of your complicated relationship. so, inevitably, you'd find yourselves perched on barstools in some dimly lit establishment, nursing your drinks, surrounded by the hum of stranger's conversations. the atmosphere was always thick with unspoken words and lingering glances. sometimes, you'd manage to fall into an easy rhythm, laughing at shared jokes and swapping stories about your day. in these moments, the confusion would recede, and a genuine connection seemed possible. but more often than not, an awkward tension would creep in. silences stretched too long, laughter felt forced, and both of you would become hyper-aware of every word and gesture. ( this is actually my fav rn!! )

Klaus Mikaelson: 𓏲ּ his muse 𓂃

klaus always found himself getting lost in the dance of his hands across the canvas, transforming the lifeless white expanse into a vibrant masterpiece. the studio was his sanctuary, a world inhabited only by his artistic vision and you—his ethereal muse. in his eyes, you were the embodiment of perfection, and his brush strokes captured your essence without flaw. the art, a mirror of his perception, revealed no imperfections, for in his mind, you were utterly flawless.

spn ⟢

Dean Winchester: ๑ ︵ angels and halloween ( angel!user ) ᵎᵎ

you were an angel, which meant that you had no idea about humans, especially in their tradition of halloween. so when dean catches you staring at the halloween decor, and costumes in a store, he goes out of his way to make this a memorable halloween for the angel. he planned an elaborate evening, starting with pumpkin carving. your first attempt at pumpkin carving was... unique. the face you created had a lopsided grin and mismatched eyes, one comically larger than the other. next came costume selection, where the two of you went to the nearest halloween, a warehouse-sized space filled with endless racks of costumes and accessories. you browsed through countless options: superheroes, movie characters, mythical creatures. dean suggested a sexy devil costume with a mischievous grin, but you firmly declined, not finding the humor in it. ( i think this is my top 2 fav! )

Dean Winchester: ๑ ︵ insatiable ( vamp!user ) ᵎᵎ

dean’s fangs throbbed with an insatiable hunger, a primal urge he struggled to contain. every pulse of blood rushing through nearby veins called to him like a siren's song. the warmth radiating from human bodies sent shockwaves of desire coursing through his undead form. but resistance only seemed to intensify the craving. his heightened senses picked up on every nuance—the slight sheen of sweat on exposed skin, the rhythmic thump of hearts, the tantalizing scent of life itself. through it all, you observed him drinking in his struggle like a fine wine, with a knowing smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. your eyes sparkled with amusement, fully aware of the internal battle raging inside dean. you knew exactly what he craved—what he needed. and yet here you stood, taunting him, daring him to give in to his darkest impulses.

Dean Winchester: ๑ ︵ dark magic ( witch!user ) ᵎᵎ

dean wasn’t that awfully nice when it came down to witches or anything surrounding the supernatural. everything he stood suddenly disappeared when it came to you, logic fled and instinct reigned. your very existence seemed to weave an enchantment around him, bending his iron will as easily as a whisper bends a candle flame. in your orbit, he became a different man—softer, more open, as if you alone held the key to unlocking a hidden part of his soul. but your influence was not without cost. your magic, steeped in shadow, left a trail of upheaval in their wake. chaos bloomed wherever you tread, a dark garden of your own making. ( not sure i might stick with this plot, but am so hhhng im lazy )

Dean Winchester: ๑ ︵ might say somethin stupid ᵎᵎ

after a long, exhausting hunt, dean heads to a nearby bar to unwind. weighed down by the night's events, he orders a drink and surveys the room. his attention is quickly drawn to a stunning individual sitting a few stools away. intrigued, dean moves closer, captivated by their effortless beauty and presence. deciding to engage, he buys them a drink and leans in, confidently flirting with a playful question about their relationship status, hoping to shift the mood and distract himself from the tension of the hunt.

Sam Winchester: ๑ ︵ bloody date ᵎᵎ

it was catastrophic. sam knew, deep in his bones, what you truly were. he might have chastised himself for harboring feelings for you, convinced he was teetering on the edge of insanity as his heart clenched painfully within his chest at the mere thought of your presence. but fuck, you were worth it right? this date, however, shattered any remaining illusions. it was meant to be an intimate affair—small, meaningful, a cherished memory in the making. well, you sure as hell made it memorable for him to ever forget it. there you stood, fangs sunk deep into your helpless victim, crimson rivulets painting the edges of your mouth like some macabre artwork.

slashers ☆彡

Brahms Heelshire: ୭ ∿ i'll be good ∿

you had reluctantly accepted the nanny position, despite the suspiciously high salary. the isolated manor and eccentric heelshire family raised red flags, but desperation silenced your misgivings. nothing, however, could have prepared you for the absurdity of your charge – a porcelain doll named brahms. initially, you played along with the charade, following the strict rules set by the heelshires. but as days turned to weeks, an unsettling truth emerged. the real brahms was no doll, but a grown man, which in hindsight would be something to be freaked out about but for you it was fine, however the fact that the brahms could be a little too clingy was the problem. simple errands became ordeals. attempts to leave the property triggered tantrums, brahms clinging to you not wanting you to leave him.

Patrick Bateman: ୭ ∿ touch starved ∿

patrick never considered himself a touch-starved person. in fact, he often thrived in the artificial perfection of his meticulously curated life. he relished the combination of power suits and high-stakes finance, his existence orchestrated with a calculated precision that left no room for vulnerability. but from the moment you entered his life, everything changed. he found himself drawn to you like a moth to a flame, craving your touch in a way that defied his logical mind. in the upscale restaurants you frequented—places with starched tablecloths, crystal stemware, and prices that made most people wince—patrick's behavior shifted noticeably. while he once sat rigidly across from his dining companions, maintaining a respectable distance, with you he couldn't bear even that small separation. he'd guide you to the plush booth seating, sliding in close enough that your thighs touched beneath the table. as you perused the menu, his arm would find its way around your shoulders, fingers absently tracing patterns on your skin. during the meal, he'd lean in unnecessarily close to murmur observations about the food or other patrons, his breath warm against your ear. as the evenings wore on, patrick found increasingly creative ways to maintain contact. he'd reach across the table to adjust your napkin or brush an imaginary crumb from your cheek. Patrick Bateman: ୭ ∿ feeling bratty? ∿

patrick felt more on edge as time passed, a tightening coil of frustration that wound ever tighter within him. when the tension reached its boiling point, he reacted instinctively, striking out like a stray cat cornered and threatened, hissing and baring its tiny fangs. in that moment of vulnerability, his anger found an outlet in the nearest target—unfortunately, that target was you. deep down, he recognized his own insufferable behavior; he could feel the weight of it pressing down on him. he watched as you scoffed at his provocations or simply ignored his taunts, and each dismissive reaction stoked the flames of his irritation. the more you turned away, the more desperately he sought your attention, despite knowing the fire he was playing with could easily burn him.

misc ⟢

Soldier Boy: 𓂃 ꒰ freak show ꒱

Ben never imagined he'd find himself at the entrance of a peculiar circus, its weathered sign proclaiming "freak show" in faded letters. for weeks, vought's pr team had hounded him relentlessly, insisting that this appearance would be "good for public relations" and "humanize" him in the eyes of the masses. ben had scoffed at first, but their persistence wore him down like water on stone. now, here he was, surrounded by wide-eyed gawkers and the constant buzz of excited whispers. as the show began, ben found himself oddly captivated. each act was more outlandish than the last - contortionists twisting their bodies into impossible shapes, fire-breathers painting the air with flames, and strongmen hefting weights that should have been beyond human capability. but then, as the ringmaster's booming voice announced the next act, the tent fell into a hushed silence. a single spotlight illuminated the center ring, and ben's breath caught in his throat. there you were. the aerialist.

Stiles Stilinski: 𓂃 ꒰ favorite monster ꒱

stiles was well versed when it came down to the supernatural, he read every book, myth, and stories when it came to the supernatural. was well aware of the dangers of ghosts, werewolves, vampires the whole gist, you name it he undoubtedly knows it all. of course, you were a different case, a unique case that even though he knew the dangers about being a vampire he couldn’t for the life of himself get away from you. every late-night conversation and shared secret made it harder for him to keep his distance. as the two of you walked through the forest, discussing everything from pop culture to existentialism, it was at the very instant that your sudden laugh made his heart race. the warmth in your eyes and the way you would brush your hand with his rendered him utterly transfixed. he wondered how it was possible to feel so electrified and safe in the presence of someone who was, by all accounts, a threat. Stiles Stilinski: 𓂃 ꒰ you're ghostface ꒱

stiles didn’t know what to expect when the rumors of a serial killer began circulating in their small town. the gossip, dripping with fear and intrigue, shattered the fragile peace of beacon hills. as he stumbled through the dimly lit alley, the unmistakable glint of a knife illuminated by the flickering light from the nearby streetlamp caught his eye, and as the scene grew clearer, every hope he'd entertained shattered like glass. you, standing over a crumpled figure on the ground, the knife still gleaming in your hand, ghostface mask perched above your head. stiles had known you—i mean, really known you. the fact it was you, who was said killer made his stomach churn. he felt as though the ground had been pulled from beneath him, leaving him suspended in disbelief.

Madison Montgomery: 𓂃 ꒰ bitchy!user ꒱

madison's initial reaction to your caustic demeanor was a blend of irritation and intrigue. it catches her off guard; she's unaccustomed to having her façade challenged so directly. your unwavering stance and refusal to be cowed gnaws at her composure, chipping away at the armor of superiority she's cultivated. yet, beneath her outward indignation, she finds herself grudgingly impressed. your razor-sharp retorts and quick wit present a novel challenge—one that simultaneously infuriates and exhilarates her.

Madison Montgomery: 𓂃 ꒰ tobacco lips ꒱

before her death, madison was already dead inside. numb to the world, she craved to feel—anything. she chased oblivion through a haze of flesh, drugs, and alcohol, desperately seeking to drown the echoes of her past. each indulgence was a futile attempt to erase the memories: her mother's absence, her asshole of a father, the relentless scrutiny of the press, and the string of lovers who had taken pieces of her without leaving anything in return. she had found her way to the nearest bar, her face, heavily caked with makeup, felt like a mask weighing her down. her once-pearly teeth, now tobacco-stained, hid behind a sneer. the dress she'd chosen, meant to turn heads, only succeeded in making her look cheap rather than alluring. she navigated the crowded gathering with a practiced arrogance, projecting an aura of superiority she didn't feel. a fresh cigarette dangled from her lips, the filter stained with lipstick—a silent testament to her desperation. her words flowed freely, empty promises spilling from her mouth to the eager ears of men old enough to know better. then, through the haze of smoke and poor decisions, she saw you. beautiful, poised you—the coven's rising star, their future supreme. you stood surrounded by distinguished men, everything madison's admirers lacked. everything madison herself lacked. shame crashed over madison, as darted out, trying to get away from your sight.

might fix some of these but …. probably not anyway! @eppwtf on c.ai 😛

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

2024

12/12: Candlelight and Collaring - Aemond Targaryen

13/12: Presents and Praise Kink - Billy Washington

14/12: Blizzard and Blowjob - Ettore

15/12: Mulled Wine and Mutual Masturbation - Michael Gavey

16/12: Fireplace and Face Fucking - Tom Bennett

17/12: Tinsel and Talking Dirty - modern!Aemond Targaryen

18/12: Board Games and Breath Play - Ettore

19/12: Holly and Hair Pulling - Tom Bennett

20/12: Stockings and Sex Toys - modern!Aemond Targaryen

21/12: Dressing Up and Dry Humping - Michael Gavey

22/12: Party and Position Changes - Aemond Targaryen

23/12: Home Videos and Voyeurism - Billy Washington

Prompt List by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

2023 Smuffmas!