#World on fire

[hoosbandewan]

EWAN MITCHELL as TOM BENNETT World on Fire S1E3

[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

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...

Tag list: @venmondiese @diespulcher @izfrogzy @fan-goddess @yyrzmomo @slytherincursebreaker @canpillowscry @mhmhey @meadowscollectivelight @jasminecosmic99 @funnyzgirl @rhaethoughts @rosaness @beautifulballads @ramielll @maplesauce43 @elmageber @gxuxhdjdu @randomstory56 @darylandbethfanforever9 @allthethingsel @kkdragongirl @saintlavie @haleyheart0197 @kind3sstuff @mooneeishorny @hikaerys @swagfancroissantpizza2 @thescooponsof @venmondiese @lovelybruises @sonolynn @pandoras-bussy @babymilkxd @diespulcher @aiyaiy @lovebambon @stapleyourfacebackon @banditlovespunks @gvmmie-bear @airadajascake @anyaisssleeping @liv-cole @hc-geralt-23 @elleinex0x0 @dovesandorchids @gothmuppet92o @meganryannnn @forreadsstuff @baddieduhh2 @sushiapril @mel0man1a @onemillionpeopleinone @hermoonfan @bitchwithlebrains @xxxkat3xxx @ultravxl @zesldl-blog @reeseelise @strangemaximoff @imaginecrushes @anyaskywalker21 @littybeech @achaoticeternal @im-perched-in-the-dark @stcrrjoon @wxnderingthoughts @starkwlord @rhxenyra-txrgxryen @rafanadalgeek888 @summerposie @hederahelix-mj @aegonswife @wwwrafecom @shadowolf993 @kalasyrtiaan @starwarsgirlsimmer1 @maybeijustwanttobeme @violetiss3lfish @ecstaticactus @magicalkidchaos-blog1 @fan-goddess @solairestar @shelby-leah @forbiddengrimoire @magnificentdelusionr @issshhh @luvsfics @rhaenyslay @beautifulmilkshakearbiter @thelastofkryze @slytherincursebreaker @thought--bubble @doll-joh4n @zackyvravageme @youngunicorn16 @jexify @odeioemail @canpillowscry @sinistersnakey49 @osferthswifey

Divider by: @saradika

A part 2 is planned soon!

[barbieaemond]

requested by @hoosbandewan -> Ewan's characters smiling

+ BONUS: unhinged war criminal

[myfandomprompts]

EWAN MITCHELL MOVIES & SERIES BOARD

2017-2024

[theboleyngirlx]

every time ewan shows up it's to prove that he's the hottest man ever 🫠❤️‍🔥

[emilybeemartin]

A whopping, like, 2.6 people have expressed interest in my recent adventures in watching Bean films, which is all the encouragement I need to present to you:

An Incomplete Guide to Sean Bean Roles (Investigation Ongoing)

Our guy has a vast filmography, and I'm not even close to being halfway through it, but I've watched a lot of his significant ones in the past few weeks thanks to a perfect storm of illness, injury, and lapses in client work. Crucially, I have created superlatives for a variety of them and present them here for your benefit. Disclaimer: many of these films are violent! Or have butts and/or tits! Some have dick! Some have dated bits that didn't age well! So, if you have triggers or are watching with young viewers, do your research first! Also, these are just the opinions of one solitary millennial! Nothing is objective! Nothing is real! I care not!

Okay, CYA done, let's begin. I'll get the two most obvious ones out of the way up front, otherwise they'll dominate half the categories:

ACT I

Greatest Bean: Fellowship of the Ring. I've said it before and I'll say it again, he achieved more pathos with Boromir than a lot of his other roles have allowed for, and every note he hits just sings. No debate.

Best Bean for Your Buck: Sharpe. For the best confluence of quantity, quality, physicality, emotion, humor, and action, you can't beat Richard Sharpe.

Favorite Dramatic Bean: Time; he earned that BAFTA fr

Softest Bean: The first date scene in Stormy Monday, where Brendan shyly gets to know Kate, slow dances with her, lends her a shirt and strokes her back after she asks if they can just go to sleep instead of have sex.

Most Dashing Bean: Vronsky in Anna Karenina, that uniform cuts, damn

Swooniest Bean: I know I'm supposed to say Chatterley, and he is undeniably sexy as Mellors, but there are parts where his character is actually kind of off-putting. I'll lay a good chunk of the blame on the weirdly ominous score, the very of-the-time depiction of dubious consent, and Joely Richardson's tendency to look like she's having the worst time of her life while shagging the hot gamekeeper. No, I'm giving this category to Stormy Monday again. He's just so gentle and genuine in this one, without some of the obligatory "heartthrob" overtones of his nineties stuff. He never raises his voice at Kate or manhandles her. He really does feel like some kid who just wants to be sweet to his girlfriend.

Laddiest Bean: When Saturday Comes, specifically the strip club and bathtub scenes.

Favorite Sad Bean: As a collective, he has some great grief scenes in World on Fire, but! The railroad track scene in When Saturday Comes?! That was RAW.

Favorite Mad Bean: Black Death; there are plenty of movies where he doesn't smile at all, but unlike some others, his grimness and anger felt proportionate to the story, rather than just rage because he's good at rage.

Favorite Bad Bean: There are so many great Bean villains (Goldeneye, obvs), but I think my favorite is Patriot Games. Bonus points for all the different hairstyles he has in this film (long locks-shag-shag ponytail!-buzz-wet spiky buzz). Also HUGH FRASER AAAA

Favorite Dad Bean: Wolfwalkers, where Bill Goodfellowe literally turns his own convictions and beliefs upside-down in order to protect and support his daughter.

INTERMISSION

A note on GoT: I haven't watched it. When season one was first coming out, it was during a time where I really couldn't handle watching any kind of sexual assault onscreen, and while I have a higher tolerance now, I just... don't want to. I like seeing gifs of Ned Stark and appreciate that it's one of his great roles, but I just can't make myself take the plunge.

ilysm you grizzled dead wolf man

ACT II

Favorite Costumed Bean: Odysseus in Troy: curls, leather, thighs.

Favorite Un-Costumed Bean: He strips in quite a lot of his films, so let's give it to Lady Chatterley for sheer screentime, exertion, and the bonus of being naked and wearing a flower crown. Honorable mention to When Saturday Comes for the totally not homoerotic amount of butts and also dick in the locker room bathtub scene.

Hurtin'est Bean: Bravo Two Zero. Oof, don't watch this one if you have an aversion to seeing pain, although---you're a Sean Bean fan, and we all know one of his MOs is being GREAT at pain. This one was directed by Tom Clegg, who directed Sharpe. Also lol at the sickle-shaped wound on his shoulder, which is covering his 100% Blade tattoo (he gets a lot of sickle-shaped wounds on his left shoulder).

Best Inside References: The Frankenstein Chronicles, where he plays a former Peninsular soldier, and every reference to his service is a reference to Sharpe, including shots of his greenjacket, pistol, sword, and flogging scars. Honorable mention to The Martian for the Council of Elrond line.

Most Unsettling Bean: Cleanskin for moral grayness, The Frankenstein Chronicles for body horror

Most Inefficient Use of Bean: Black Beauty. Despite getting high billing he's only onscreen for about two minutes and I'm convinced the long shots are a body double. Criminal.

Biggest Missed Opportunity: We were robbed of a Sean Bean Odyssey. R o b b e d

Funniest Bean: Deploying Bean for comedy is woefully underused, but he made full use of his ~15 seconds in The Vicar of Dibley ("Spring" episode). He's also hilarious in Wasted, though I haven't watched the show, only the clips he's in on YouTube, where he plays a mock version of himself serving as a spirit guide for a stoner. IMO, though, Sharpe gives him the most room for humor.

Favorite Character Quirk: In World on Fire, when Douglas is having WWI flashbacks and really coming apart, he kept putting his hand to his mouth. My modern brain first read this as talking into a phantom radio, but of course that wasn't right, and then I realized--he was reaching for a phantom gas mask. CHILLS. AMAZING. (Honorable mentions to the Mouth Rub and the Tongue Thing [pictured above]).

Most Nostalgic Bean: National Treasure. The concept may be utter silliness, but you have to admit, this is a fun movie to watch.

Best Dismount from a Horse: Henry VIII, he goes pshwing out of the saddle

Best Swordplay: You may think there's no possible answer to this, but there is---two moments, specifically: the preparatory sword-spin he does at Balin's tomb just before the goblin attack in Moria, and the four lunges he does at 1:26:22 of Sharpe's Battle. It's just facts.

Prettiest Bean Film: Wolfwalkers, hands downnnn

Favorite Bean Death: All right, you knew we had to eventually end here. It's Boromir, obviously--- nothing tops that. But if we're looking at other roles, I think Patriot Games is my favorite, followed by Goldeneye.

So! That concludes this installment of Bean films, though I'll be continuing the labor, and I hope you will, too. What are your favorites?

[favxritethings]

World on Fire Season 1 Tom Bennett

[ewanmitchellclub]

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Shipping Out

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Drinking, smoking, public sex, smut. Word count: ~1.5k

Summary: Just trust me on this one, and read all the way to the end.

Author's note: A little birthday treat for @bottlesandbarricades. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

The pub is crowded and noisy, the humidity of the air making her carefully coiffed curls cling to the back of her neck with perspiration. It’s not often that she frequents this side of Manchester, but the change of scenery is a refreshing switch of pace to the monotony of everyday life. Laughter, music and the clinking of glasses is preferable to the whir of the factory sewing machines.

She taps her red lacquered nails against the wood of the bar, wrinkling her nose at the stickiness of the wooden surface beneath her palm. If the frequency with which it’s wiped down is any indication of the attentiveness of the barkeep then she’s in for a long wait for a drink.

Sighing, she fishes her cigarette case from her handbag, flipping it open and plucking one out. No sooner has she placed it between her lips than a hand is clicking a flame to life before the end of it, turning it a glowing cherry red. She casts her gaze upwards through the steady plume of smoke, met by twinkling blue eyes and a cocky smirk, as the chivalrous stranger deposits his lighter back into his trouser pocket and regards her with a tip of his head.

“Thanks,” she says with an easy smile, taking the smoke between her fingers and exhaling a tight line of vapour up towards the ceiling.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies with a wink. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this then?”

God, that’s a terrible line.

She bites back a laugh, and decides to humour him. “Trying to get a drink, service in here is awful though.”

He purses his lips, eyes raking over her from head to toe, before nodding. “Can’t be having that.” Slapping a hand against the bartop, he calls out, “Oi! My lady friend and I are dying of thirst over here! Anyone serving?”

She raises her eyebrows in disbelief, but doesn’t have to wait long until a middle aged, irritated looking woman makes her way around the corner to the pair of them and grumpily takes their order. She’s long since finished her cigarette by the time the glasses are placed heavily down in front of them.

He doesn’t even ask what she wants to drink; she ends up with a gin and tonic, while he has a pint. It’s what she would have ordered anyway, but the bold presumption unsettles her regardless.

Sipping her drink, she relishes in the way the fizzy bitterness envelopes her tongue as she takes in what he’s wearing; navy blue slacks and a matching long sleeved smock, with a white striped collar.

“Shouldn’t you be on a boat somewhere, sailor?”

He grins, setting his glass down on a dog eared beer mat. “Just so happens I’ve been given a night of shore leave. I ship out again tomorrow.”

“Lucky me,” she says with a coy smile.

“If you play your cards right you might be.”

There’s that smirk again. She watches as he takes out a packet of Lucky Strike, perching one between his lips before offering one to her. She gratefully accepts, and he’s quick to light it for her, before doing the same to his own.

Every table is full, but she doesn’t mind, she’s content just to prop up the bar with him, ignoring the ache of her feet as they lapse into effortless conversation. He’s handsome, if a little overeager and she pays rapt attention as he entertains her with stories of his time aboard the HMS Exeter.

She’s on her third gin and tonic of the evening when he leans in to whisper to her.

“So, I might not see another woman for months after tonight. You gonna help me make it one to remember?”

Feeling her cheeks heat up, she giggles softly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find a way for you to thank me for my loyal service to our country,” he tells her, taking her hand and leading her out of the pub.

Allowing the gin to fuel her confidence, before she can change her mind, she lets him guide her outside. Even met with the sobering chill of the night air, she offers up no protest when he pulls her into the ginnel, the brickwork biting into her back as he pushes her up against the wall and captures her lips with her.

It’s a messy kiss, moist and desperate with need. He tastes of beer and tobacco as she welcomes his tongue against her own with parted lips, her fingertips sliding over the breadth of his shoulders and up into the cropped softness of his sandy coloured hair.

Pressing tighter against her, he groans appreciatively, mouth moving from hers to travel a path across her jaw and down her neck, as his hands find their way up her skirt. One teases the top of her stocking while the other presses against her clothed core, making her gasp.

His touch is hurried, not as thorough as she’d like, yet she feels a growing stickiness between her thighs regardless. The warmth of his fingers and lips against her makes her feel desired, and she is lightheaded, almost giddy, to see the effect she’s having on him.

Instinctively, she parts her legs wider as he dips beneath her knicker elastic, stroking eagerly through her folds.

“Christ, you’re soaked,” he rasps against the shell of her ear, “bet you’d let me fuck you right here, if I wanted, wouldn’t you?”

She bites her bottom lip, stifling her quiet whimper as his strokes against her cause her to throb. “Please…”

“Since you asked nicely…” He pulls back, blue eyes dark with intent as he makes quick work of unbuckling his belt, lowering his trousers and briefs just enough to free his erection.

Even in the darkness of the alleyway she can see that he’s thick and heavy, and he pumps lazily at himself, while his free hand reaches into his pocket.

“Leave that,” she tells him, as she spots the foil of the sheath wrapper.

He raises an eyebrow, pursing his lips as he stares at her. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” she whispers.

That’s all the confirmation he needs, slipping the packet away and surging forward. He pulls her underwear to the side, grasping the base of himself and pushes forcefully into her in one motion.

The movement knocks all the air from her lungs. Though she is wet, the public nature of their tryst leaves little time for him to prepare her fully, the luxury of time is not on their side, but in their desperation neither one of them cares. It stings, the fullness of him pushing against her, but it’s a pleasurable hurt.

Her breaths leave her mouth in shallow pants as he pistons his hips into her, lifting one of her legs to hook her thigh around his hip. She wraps her arms around his neck, clinging to him as he rocks into her, his forehead pushed up against hers.

“Filthy slut,” he grits out, “bet you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yeah…” she whines, feeling his fingers press tighter into the meat of her thigh.

His brow furrows, and he grunts, his pace becoming sloppy and erratic. While the ache builds steadily inside of her, she worries he’ll finish before she does. The thought is fleeting, and as though he’s read her mind, the hand not gripping her thigh slips between them, fingers rubbing tight circles against her bud. She clenches around him, the added stimulation serving to intensify the tightening in her lower belly.

“That’s it,” he mutters, “come on.”

He pulsates inside of her, knocking against a spot that makes her tip over the edge suddenly, and she lets out a choked cry, a rolling wave of weightlessness travelling from her head to her toes. Her walls spasm around him and he pushes himself in to the hilt, a groan of relief escaping him as he spills himself inside of her.

They stay like that for a few moments, both catching their breath as their bodies relax. He grins as he pulls back slightly, before leaning in to pepper her face with soft, playful kisses.

“Tommy!” She huffs a laugh, swatting at his shoulder.

He slips out of her, stepping back to tuck himself away and fasten his belt. “Thought we weren’t supposed to be using our names? Part of the fun was pretending we don’t know each other.”

She scoffs, putting her gusset back into place as she feels his spend start to drip out of her, and smooths her skirt back down. “Think you ruined that when you ordered my drink without asking what I wanted. A stranger wouldn’t know I like gin and tonic!”

Tom rolls his eyes and chuckles, offering his arm for her to take. “Right, right. Well, I’ll remember for next time. Whatever you need for me to fulfill your fantasies.”

“Right now, my only fantasy is being at home in bed. That pub is horrible,” she tells him as they begin to walk down the street arm in arm.

“You wanted the uniform. I wasn’t gonna take us somewhere someone we know would see and take the piss.”

She laughs, gripping his arm tighter as she looks up at him. “Was fun though, wasn’t it?”

He gazes down at her with hooded eyes as they continue to walk. “I’ve had worse nights.”

[targaryen-dynasty]

The character we thought Ewan was the most similar to:

The character he‘s actually similar to:

[hoosbandewan]

Ewan Mitchell + smiling (requested by anon! <3)

[goddessofvalyria]

The sailor and the singer | Tom Bennett x fem!reader

Summary: The sailor Tom Bennet meet his best friend's sister, a singer with angelic voice.

TW and notes: 18+, MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns, sexual tension, oral (f receiving), fingering, SMUT, virginity loss, sex, Tom calls her "Miss", "Good girl", her brother is called William.

English is not my first language, be kind <3

This is my Masterlist

The sound of the ship's engines was a low, constant hum, reverberating through the metal corridors of the HMS Exeter. It was a familiar sound to the men aboard, a comforting background noise as they went about their duties. Tonight, however, there was an air of excitement that buzzed through the ship like an electric current.

Word had spread quickly: the ENSA had sent performers to entertain the crew. It was a rare treat, a chance to forget about the war for a few hours and enjoy some music, laughter, and perhaps even a glimpse of a pretty face.

As the makeshift stage was set up in one of the ship's larger compartments, sailors jostled for the best view, their faces eager and expectant. The room was dimly lit, the overhead lights casting a soft glow over the gathered crowd.

In the corner, Tom Bennett leaned against a bulkhead, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was tall and lean, with a lazy grin that seemed permanently etched onto his face. His blonde short hair was slightly tousled, his uniform slightly less neat than regulation required. He watched the proceedings with a bemused expression, taking a drag from his cigarette and exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"What's got you so interested, Bennett?" one of his mates asked, nudging him with an elbow.

Tom smirked. "Just wondering what kind of show the ENSA has sent us this time. Last one was a bloody disaster."

The sailor laughed. "That was your fault, you know. You made the poor girl forget her lines."

"Not my fault she couldn't handle a bit of charm" Tom replied with a shrug.

The crowd suddenly quieted as a figure stepped onto the small stage. Tom's smirk faded, his attention caught by the sight before him. A young woman stood there, holding a microphone with a confidence that belied her slender frame. She wore a long silk elegant dress, her long hair styled in soft waves that framed her face. Her eyes were bright, her lips were red, her smile warm as she gazed out at the sea of faces before her.

Tom's heart skipped a beat. There was something about her, something familiar.

She took a deep breath, and then she began to sing.

Her voice was clear and sweet, carrying over the noise of the engines, filling the room with a haunting melody that seemed to seep into the very bones of the ship. The sailors were captivated, their usual boisterousness subdued as they listened, enraptured.

Tom found himself staring, unable to look away. He felt a strange pull in his chest, a mixture of longing and recognition. He had seen her before, he was sure of it. But where? He was sure she was from Manchester, his hometown.

When her song ended, there was a moment of stunned silence before the room erupted into applause and cheers. The young woman smiled, a slight blush coloring her cheeks, and gave a small curtsy.

Tom took one last drag of his cigarette and stubbed it out against the bulkhead. He pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes never leaving her as she stepped off the stage and disappeared into the shadows behind it.

He found her standing alone in the small corridor backstage, her back to him as she caught her breath. He approached quietly, his footsteps nearly silent against the metal floor.

"That was quite a performance" he said, his voice low and smooth.

She turned around, startled. Her eyes widened as she saw him, and for a moment, she looked as though she might bolt.

But then she relaxed, her expression softening into a smile. "Thank you" she replied. "I hope it was worth sneaking away from your duties for."

Tom chuckled. "Well, when a bloke hears that an angel's aboard his ship, he's got to come and see for himself, doesn't he?"

She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in her smile. "Is that your usual line, then?"

He grinned. "Only when it's true."

She laughed, a soft, musical sound that sent a shiver down his spine. She introduced herself extending a hand.

He took it, his grip firm but gentle. "Tom Bennett. Pleasure to meet you, miss."

Her smile faltered slightly, and she glanced down, as if gathering her thoughts. "I think you know my brother" she said softly. "William"

Tom's grin faded, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. "Will's your brother?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

She nodded. "He told me about you. Said you are his best friend."

Tom's expression softened, a flicker of sadness in his eyes. "Yeah, Will and I are best friend, your brother is crazy" he said. "I know he's so... stubborn and he talks a lot."

She nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor. "In his letters he don't talk much about the war, but he always speak highly of you. Said you are like a brother to him."

Tom swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. "He is a good man" he said quietly. "The best mate for all the adventures we had in Manchester. It's strange that we've never met"

"I was living in London with an aunt to study music"

For a moment, they stood in silence, the weight of their shared loss hanging between them. Then she looked up, her eyes meeting his.

"Thank you for take care of my brother" she said softly. "I know he isn't happy to see me here, but he's the only piece of my family that remain."

Tom nodded, unable to find the words. He cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. "So, is this that brings you to the HMS Exeter, Miss?" he asked, his usual cocky grin returning. "Surely you didn't come all this way just to serenade a bunch of scruffy sailors."

Eleanor laughed again, the sound like a balm to his soul. "Yes, I joined the ENSA to be closer to him" she admitted. "I wanted to be where he was."

Tom's grin softened into a smile. "Well, I'm glad you did. The boys could use a bit of cheering up."

"And you sailor?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Do you need cheering up, Tom Bennett?"

He smirked, leaning in closer. "Depends" he murmured. "Are you offering?"

She shook her head, but she was smiling. "You really are incorrigible, aren't you?"

"That's what they tell me" he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "But you should know, Miss, I've got a soft spot for beautiful singers with angelic voices."

She blushed, but there was a spark in her eyes now, a challenge. "And I've got a soft spot for cheeky sailors who think they're God's gift to women" she shot back.

Tom laughed, a deep, genuine sound that seemed to echo through the corridor. "I think you and I are going to get along just fine" he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

She smiled, her heart lighter than it had been in a long time. "I think so too" she agreed. "But not underestimate me, I'm quite smart and surely not the good and innocent girl that I seem."

And in that moment, amidst the noise of the ship and the distant rumble of war, they both felt a flicker of hope—a small, bright flame that promised to burn even in the darkest of times.

The week at sea seemed to stretch and blur into a haze of routines and anticipation. Each day, the sailors went about their duties under the relentless sun, and each night, they gathered again for the one moment of reprieve they had come to cherish: the singer performances. The small makeshift stage had become a beacon of light amid the vast expanse of the ocean, and her voice, like a siren’s call, brought comfort to the weary men aboard the HMS Exeter.

Tom Bennett was always there, leaning casually against the back wall, his sharp eyes following her every move. He watched as she commanded the small crowd with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, her voice weaving a spell that wrapped around him tighter with each passing night.

Will, her brother, began to notice Tom’s presence more acutely. During the day, he would catch Tom glancing in the direction of the ENSA quarters, or hear him asking the others if they were going to watch the performance that evening. At first, Will found it amusing. But as the nights went on, he couldn’t ignore the growing suspicion gnawing at him.

“Enjoying the shows, are you?” Will asked casually one evening, as he and Tom shared a cigarette on the deck.

Tom grinned, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette. “I’d be daft not to, wouldn’t I? It’s not every day you get to hear a voice like that.”

Will’s eyes narrowed slightly, searching Tom’s face. “It’s just her voice, then?”

Tom shrugged, his expression neutral but his eyes twinkling with mischief. “What else would it be?”

Will smirked, shaking his head. “You’d better not be getting any ideas, Bennett. She’s my sister, and she’s here to do a job, not to get tangled up with some sailor and especially not you, I know the type of man you are...”

Tom raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just there for the music, mate.”

Will nodded, but the look he gave Tom was skeptical, his protective instincts clearly on high alert.

That night, her performance was more captivating than ever. Her voice seemed to float above the gathered men like a soft breeze, carrying with it a sense of longing and hope that tugged at Tom’s heart. He watched her intently, his eyes tracing the curve of her lips as she sang, the way her fingers brushed against the microphone stand.

When the performance ended, the sailors erupted into applause, their cheers filling the room. The singer gave a small bow, her cheeks flushed with pleasure and exhaustion. She stepped off the stage and slipped into the shadows, as she always did, to return to her cabin.

Tom was quick to follow. He moved through the crowd with practiced ease, his steps silent against the metal floor. He kept his distance, watching as she turned down a narrow corridor that led to the cabins assigned to the ENSA performers. She walked with a graceful stride, her head held high, but he could see the slight tension in her shoulders, the way she glanced around as if sensing his presence.

When she reached her cabin door, she paused. Her hand hovered over the handle, and then she turned, her eyes narrowing as they met his in the dim light.

“What do you think you’re doing, Tom?” she whispered, her voice low but not unkind.

Tom stopped, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Just making sure our angel gets back to her cloud safely.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a spark of amusement in them. “You’re going to attract attention if you keep following me like this.”

“Then let me in” he murmured, taking a step closer. “Unless you want the whole ship to start talking.”

She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat. She glanced down the corridor, then back at him. “Fine. But just for a minute.”

She opened the door and slipped inside, and Tom followed, closing it quietly behind him. The cabin was small, barely large enough for the narrow bed and the little table beside it. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a soft, warm light over the room.

Eleanor leaned back against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest, watching him with a wary expression. “What do you want, Tom?”

He took a step toward her, his eyes locked on hers. “You know what I want” he said softly, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine.

She swallowed, her heart racing. “And what is that?”

He closed the distance between them in one smooth, fluid motion, his hands coming to rest on either side of her against the wall. He leaned in close, his breath warm against her cheek. “You” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.”

Her s breath hitched. She could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint scent of tobacco and the sea on his skin. Her mind was spinning, a thousand thoughts racing through her head, but none of them made sense. All she could think about was the way he was looking at her, the intensity in his eyes, the way his lips were so close to hers.

“Tom…” she began, but her voice trailed off, her resolve crumbling under his gaze.

He didn’t wait for her to finish. His lips were on hers in an instant, capturing her in a kiss that was fierce and hungry, filled with a fire that had been smoldering for days. She gasped against his mouth, her hands instinctively reaching up to clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer.

The world outside the cabin seemed to disappear, the noise of the ship and the ocean fading into nothing. All that existed was the heat of his mouth on hers, the press of his body against hers, the way his hands moved to her waist, pulling her even closer.

Tom kissed her with a passion that left her breathless, his lips moving against hers with a hunger that bordered on desperation. She could feel the thud of his heart against her chest, the way his fingers dug into her hips, anchoring her to him as if he were afraid she might disappear.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other. Eleanor’s eyes fluttered open, and she found herself staring into his, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

“Tom, Tommy” she whispered, her voice shaky. "If my brother see us...”

He shook his head, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “I know,” he murmured. “But damn it, I can’t help myself.”

She bit her lip, torn between the intoxicating pull of his touch and the voice in her head telling her this was a bad idea. “What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice barely more than a breath.

He smiled, a slow, wicked grin that made her heart skip a beat. “I want you” he said again, his voice rough with desire. “All of you”

She closed her eyes, a thousand emotions crashing over her like waves against the hull of the ship. She knew this was reckless, that it would only lead to heartache. But the feel of his lips on hers, the way his hands held her like she was something precious, something he didn’t want to let go of… it was more than she could resist.

“All right” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Just… just for tonight.”

Tom’s smile widened, and he kissed her again, softer this time, but with no less intensity. As his lips moved against hers, she felt herself melting into him, the last of her reservations slipping away like sand through her fingers.

Tom’s lips moved over hers with a fervor that left her breathless, his hands skimming over the fabric of her dress, feeling the delicate curve of her waist beneath. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, her body responding instinctively to his touch. She’d never felt like this before—never felt her blood race so fast, her skin burn so hot, her heart pound so wildly in her chest.

He pulled away slightly, his breath ragged, his forehead resting against hers. “Tell me to stop” he murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with a mix of need and restraint. “Tell me to leave, and I will.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. She could feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained desire in his touch. And yet, beneath it all, there was something else—a tenderness, a carefulness that surprised her. She could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he was holding himself back, waiting for her to decide.

But her body had already made the decision for her. She shook her head slowly, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t stop” she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. “Please, Tom… don’t stop.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and he kissed her again, more urgently this time, his hands moving to the buttons of her dress. Her heart raced as he undid them one by one, his fingers brushing against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. She knew she should feel embarrassed, exposed—but all she felt was a heady rush of anticipation, a desperate need for his touch.

As the dress slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet, Tom stepped back for a moment, his eyes dark with desire as he took her in. She stood there in the dim light, her skin glowing softly, her breath coming in short, shaky gasps. He reached out, his fingers trailing down her arm, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“You’re… you’re beautiful.”

Her cheeks flushed, her eyes dropping to the floor. “I… I’ve never…” she began, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Tom’s gaze softened, his hand lifting to cup her cheek. “I know” he said gently, his thumb brushing over her skin. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

She shook her head, her eyes meeting his again, filled with a mix of fear and longing. “No… I want to” she whispered. “I want this. I want… you, Tommy.”

For a moment, Tom just stared at her, his eyes searching hers as if looking for any sign of hesitation. But all he saw was determination, a resolve that took his breath away. He leaned in, capturing her lips in another deep, searing kiss, his hands moving over her body with a gentleness that belied the hunger in his touch.

Slowly, carefully, he guided her toward the narrow bed, his lips never leaving hers. They stumbled slightly, their movements awkward in the confined space, but neither of them cared. All that mattered was the feel of each other, the desperate need to be closer, to feel skin against skin, heart against heart.

Tom’s hands moved with a practiced ease, slipping beneath the thin straps of her undergarments, peeling them away until there was nothing between them but the heat of their bodies. She gasped, her skin prickling with goosebumps as he traced a path down her spine, his lips following the trail of his fingers.

"Lean back against the pillow" he whispered as he drove. "Open your legs for me" their lips touched. She nodded and responded with a kiss, Tom's fingers caressing her warm skin and soon disappeared into her cunt. She caressed his bare chest, tracing with his fingers the naked skin, the outline of the toned and defined muscles, the veins of her arms. He continued to kiss her, making her melt as his fingers caressed her wet slit.

"Open your eyes" he whispered with a sweetness that had never belonged to him. He caressed her slit starting to play with her wet folds, she found herself panting on Tom's lips when two fingers opened her. "Look at you, you're beautiful" he whispered penetrating her with his middle finger and ring finger.

"Tommy" she pressed herself against him who in response began to tease her clit with slow circles. "My good girl" he praised her admiring her naked body: so beautiful, so… angelic. He continued to move his fingers, preparing her for what would come next. He saw his singer lost in the most absolute pleasure and slowly began to kiss her on her naked breast, sucking on her nipple and slowly moving his lips down her body, causing her to shiver and tremble.

"Look at me" Tom looked at her from under his lashes, his hands parted her thighs and he brought one of her legs to his shoulder. Lying on the bed, despite the little space, Tom was between her legs, his lips depositing hot and humid kisses on her womanhood and then with his tongue he grazed her sensitive clit, she gasped and slipped her hands into his blond hair.

A smirk formed on Tom's face, he began to pleasure her with his tongue, licking her between her soaking folds, torturing her clit and then invading her slit and making her feel such a strong sensation of pleasure that she arched her back. "Tommy…" she whispered panting. "Tommy, Tommy, Oh god!" her sounds of pleasure were like music to her ears, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard.

Tom continued to lick her again and again until his beautiful singer found herself panting with a hand over her lips so as not to be discovered. Tom grinned, got up on his knees and finished undressing. She was reduced to a mess, shaking and so aroused. Her hair was loose, spread over her body she looked like in a painting.

"Tom…" she whispered when she saw him take his cock in his hand. "It won't fit" she murmured nervously. "You're…" "Big?" he said with a proud and cheeky smile.

His breath caught, his eyes meeting hers with a fierce intensity. “I won’t hurt you,” he promised, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I swear to you… I’ll be gentle.”

She nodded, her fingers curling into his shoulders as he lowered her onto the bed, his body pressing against hers. The room seemed to close in around them, the air thick with heat and the scent of the sea. She felt every inch of him, every muscle, every breath, and she knew there was no turning back.

He moved with a slow, careful precision, his touch light and soothing as he guided her through the unfamiliar sensations. She gasped, her body tensing at the unfamiliar intrusion, but he murmured soft reassurances, his lips brushing against her ear, her neck, her collarbone. Tom pushed himself inside her, his cock invading her thightm wet and soaking pussy. "

Tommy" she moaned quiet.

“It’s okay” he whispered, his voice a low, calming murmur. “Just breathe… I’ve got you.”

She nodded, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts as she tried to relax, to focus on the feel of him, the warmth of his skin, the steady rhythm of his heart against hers. Slowly, the tension began to ease, her body softening beneath him, her mind drifting in a haze of sensation.

Tom iniziò a muoversi dentro di lei, his hips rocking gently against hers, his breath hot and ragged against her cheek. She gasped, her fingers digging into his back, her body arching instinctively to meet his. There was a brief moment of discomfort, a sharp sting of pain that made her wince. "It's all okay" he reassured her, but then it was gone, replaced by a warmth that spread through her like wildfire, igniting every nerve, every cell, every part of her.

Tom groaned, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate, as he felt her body respond to his. He kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding against hers, his hands roaming over her body, exploring every inch of her with a reverence that made her heart ache. She could feel the fire building inside her, a slow, steady burn that grew hotter with every thrust, every touch, every whispered word.

And then, all at once, it was too much. "Tommy" she cried out, her body tensing, her nails digging into his skin as the heat inside her exploded, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her. "Cum for me, my good girl" he whispered still moving inside her. She was so sensible, her clit was again pinched in his fingers and he cummed over all his coock while kissing him in a desperate, hot and messy kiss with tongue. "My goog girl" Tom followed soon after, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips as he found his release between her thights but not inside, his body shuddering against hers.

For a long moment, they lay there, their bodies entwined, their breaths mingling in the still, heavy air. Her heart was racing, her mind spinning, her body tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure. She felt Tom’s weight on top of her, solid and reassuring, and she realized with a start that she felt… safe. Safe and whole in a way she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Tom slowly lifted his head, his eyes searching hers, his expression soft and tender. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’m… I’m more than all right” she said softly, her fingers brushing against his cheek. “That was… that was perfect.”

He smiled, a slow, satisfied grin that made her heart skip a beat. “You were” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

They lay there in the dim light, their bodies tangled together, their hearts still racing. The cabin was warm, the air thick with the scent of salt and sweat and something else—something sweet and intoxicating that seemed to linger in the space between them.

As the minutes passed, a soft, golden light began to filter through the small window of the cabin. She turned her head, her eyes widening as she saw the first rays of dawn breaking over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange and gold.

“Look” she whispered, her voice filled with awe. “The sun… it’s rising.”

Tom turned his head, his breath catching as he saw the beauty outside the window. “It’s beautiful but not beautiful as you” he murmured, his arm tightening around her waist, pulling her closer.

The soft light of dawn cast a golden glow over the small cabin, wrapping Tom and her in its warm embrace. They lay in silence, watching the sunrise through the tiny window, the world outside coming to life as the darkness of night gave way to the vibrant colors of the morning. Tom’s heart was still racing from the intensity of their sex, his body humming with the afterglow, but there was something else too—something deeper, a feeling he couldn’t quite name.

He turned his head to look at his singer, her face illuminated by the soft morning light. She looked peaceful, her eyes half-closed, her lips slightly parted in a soft smile. He could feel the steady rise and fall of her chest against his, the warmth of her body pressed against his own, and for a moment, he felt a strange, unexpected sense of contentment wash over him.

But then, like a shadow passing over the sun, a flicker of doubt crept into his mind. This was all so new, so unexpected. And once they were back home, away from the endless sea and the isolated reality of the ship, what would happen to them? Would this fleeting moment of passion simply fade away, or could it turn into something more?

He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at her more closely. “When we get back home… would you—would you go out with me? On a date?” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence.

She turned her head to look at him, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. “A date?” she echoed, a smile tugging at her lips. “You mean… like a proper date... you with me?”

Tom nodded, his expression serious. “Yeah, a proper date. Dinner, maybe a dance… something normal. Something… real.”

Her smile widened, a soft, warm laugh escaping her lips. “I’d love that, Tom” she said, her voice filled with genuine happiness. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

Relief washed over him, and he found himself smiling back at her. But then, as quickly as it came, a wave of worry followed, tightening his chest. “But what if…” he started, his brow furrowing. “What if things change when we’re back? What if you realize this was just a moment, just… just the sea and the stars playing tricks on us?”

She reached up, her hand gently cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. “Tommy” she whispered, her eyes searching his. “What happened between us wasn’t just a moment. It was real for me. And whatever happens when we get back, I want to find out what this could be. With you.”

He gazed at her, the sincerity in her eyes making his heart swell. “But what if... you know the war, your brother, fuck, he's gonna fucking kill me—”

She silenced him with a kiss, her lips soft and warm against his. It wasn’t like their earlier kisses, filled with fiery passion and desperate need. This one was slow, tender, filled with a love and reassurance that went deeper than words could express. She poured everything into that kiss, all her hopes, her fears, her longing for something more.

Tom felt something shift inside him, a warmth spreading through his chest, right over his heart. It was a strange, almost overwhelming sensation, like a tight knot loosening, a door opening. He’d always been good at keeping his guard up, at hiding behind his cocky smile and his easy charm. But with her, he felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been in a very long time.

When she finally pulled back, he was breathless, his eyes searching hers. “I… I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what I’m feeling, but—” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

She pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him again. “You don’t have to know” she whispered, her eyes soft and understanding. “We don’t have to have all the answers right now. All I know is that I want to be with you, Tom. And whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

He stared at her, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the sincerity in her words, the quiet strength in her gaze, and he knew then that this was different. She was different. And maybe—just maybe—he was different, too.

“Okay” he said finally, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Together.”

She smiled, a beautiful, radiant smile that seemed to light up the entire cabin. “Together,” she agreed, and then she kissed him again, her lips soft and warm against his.

Tom felt that strange, wonderful sensation in his chest again, a feeling that made his heart swell with something he hadn’t felt in years. He didn’t know what the future held, or what would happen when they finally returned to shore. But in that moment, with her in his arms and the sun rising over the endless expanse of the sea, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: hope.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

He only cared for her singer and she only cared for his sailor.

[barbieaemond]

EWAN MITCHELL as TOM BENNETT World on Fire

[myfandomprompts]

The beauty of EWAN MITCHELL

[theboleyngirlx]

SAVE ME EWAN MITCHELL PLEASE SAVE ME

[ewanmitchelldaily]

EWAN MITCHELL as TOM BENNETT WORLD ON FIRE SEASON 1