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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year ago

Text

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

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the-dendrophile-bookdragon · 5 months ago

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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.

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#tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett x you #ewan nation #tom bennet x reader #ewan mitchell #world on fire #world on fire fanfiction #the-dendrophile-bookdragon fanfics

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tommbennett · 9 months ago

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Evacuate the soldiers from the beaches of Dunkirk

#tom bennett #Royal Navy #tom bennet x reader #ewan mitchell #world on fire #Ewan Mitchell x reader

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happilyhertale · 6 months ago

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A Christmas Tease – Tom Bennett x female!reader

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem!reader

Summary: You and your boyfriend Tom are decorating the Christmas tree. Tom's enthusiasm is limited – but he knows how to make it interesting.

Warnings: Fluff; some dirty talk

Author’s note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.3k

Other stories of mine

12 Days of Smuffmas

12 Days of Smuff

The cozy little flat is aglow with the warm flicker of candles and the soft hum of the radio. Tom has been looking forward to a quiet evening, just him and you, basking in each other’s company without interruptions. But his sister Lois had other plans.

Lois had swept into the house earlier that day like a whirlwind, carrying a box of Christmas decorations and a cheery resolve that neither you nor Tom could easily argue with. “You can’t just ignore the holiday spirit!” she had declared, dropping the box onto the coffee table with a thud. “I’m working tonight, but you two can do something useful with your time. Decorate the tree!”

Tom had groaned loudly, slumping back on the sofa. “Decorate a tree? Why bother? It’s just going to stand there shedding needles.”

But Lois had turned to you with a persuasive smile. “You’ll help, won’t you? I’d do it myself if I wasn’t stuck at work.”

You hesitated, glancing at Tom. He gave you a pleading look, silently begging you to refuse. But there was something about Lois’s determined grin that made you relent. “Alright,” you agreed.

Tom’s groan grew even louder, but you simply patted his shoulder. “It’ll be fun,” you said.

Now, standing in the living room, Tom eyes the half-assembled Christmas tree with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. You, on the other hand, are happily untangling strings of fairy lights, humming to yourself. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with an expression that is part amusement, part exasperation.

“You know,” he drawles, his voice low and teasing, “we could be doing something a lot more interesting right now.”

You glance up, arching a brow. “Interesting like what? Watching you complain about decorating the tree?”

He smirks, pushing off the wall to step closer. “That’s not what I had in mind.”

Before you can respond, his hands are on your waist, his fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of your dress. You froze for a moment, a shiver running down your spine. “Tom..” you gasp, a blush was already creeping up your cheeks, “…hands off. We have a job to do.”

“Oh, I’m helping,” he say innocently, his lips quirking into a mischievous grin. His hands slide lower, and you swat him away, the blush on your cheeks deepening.

“Stop it” you scold, trying to keep your composure. But he just chuckles, leaning in close to whisper in your ear.

“Why? You don’t seem to mind.” His breath is warm against your skin, and you can feel your resolve wavering.

“Tom Bennett,” you say, doing your best to sound stern. “If you don’t start hanging these ornaments, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” he interrupts, his voice full of mock innocence.

“I’ll make you sleep on the sofa,” you shoot back, holding up a bauble like it is a weapon.

He laughs, a rich, deep sound that makes your heart skip a beat. “Alright, alright,” he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll behave. For now.”

But of course, he doesn’t.

Every few minutes, he finds some excuse to touch you—a hand brushing against yours as you reach for the same ornament, his arm slipping around your waist as he adjusts the lights, his fingers trailing down your back when he thinks you aren’t paying attention.

And then there are the whispers.

Tom has an uncanny ability to find just the right words to make your cheeks burn and your resolve crumble. As you crouch by the box of decorations, untangling a particularly stubborn knot of tinsel, he leans over you, his breath warm against the shell of your ear.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvet-smooth, “if I were that tinsel, I’d wrap myself around you too.”

Your hands still, the comment catching you off guard. You glance up at him, a flush creeping up your neck. “Tom,” you say, though the warning in your tone lacked its bite.

“What?” he asks, grinning. “It’s true. That dress you’re wearing is a bit unfair, isn’t it? How’s a man supposed to think about baubles and lights when you look like that?”

You roll your eyes, attempting to ignore him as you focuse on unraveling the glittering mess in your hands. But then his hand brush lightly against the small of your back.

“I could think of a few better ways to use that tinsel,” he muses, his voice dropping into a husky undertone. “You’d look good all tied up in it… Remember that one time? When you were lying on your belly, unable to move? And I just grabbed your hips and…“

“Tom!” you gasp, spinning to face him, your face now fully aflame.

He laughs, utterly unrepentant, and snatches a length of the tinsel from the box. “Just saying,” he teases, wrapping it loosely around his hands. “It’s versatile stuff. Don’t blame me for having ideas.”

“Stop being ridiculous and hang it on the tree,” you order, your voice cracking slightly as you try to maintain your composure.

“Hang it on the tree?” he repeats, tilting his head as though considering the suggestion. Then, with a wicked grin, he drapes the tinsel across your shoulders instead, letting the silvery strands shimmer against your skin.

“There,” he says, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Perfect. Tree’s done.”

“Tom Bennett,” you say, grabbing the tinsel and throwing it back at him, though you can’t help the laugh that bubbled up.

He catches your wrist before you can pull away, tugging you closer. “You’re blushing,” he notes, his tone both smug and tender.

“No, I’m not..” you retort, though your voice waveres under his intense gaze.

“Liar,” he whispers, his fingers trailing up your arm as he lets the tinsel slip through his other hand, the glittering strands brushing against your skin like a feather.

You shiver, swallowing hard as you struggle to hold his gaze. “The tree,” you manage to stammer, motioning weakly toward the half-decorated branches.

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten about the tree,” he murmurs, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “But I think it can wait a few minutes. Don’t you?”

Your breath catches as he tugs the tinsel taut between his hands, his smirk deepening. “Besides,” he continues, his voice dripping with mock innocence, “Lois said we should make it festive, didn’t she? I’d say this qualifies.”

“Tom!“

Your protests fell on deaf ears as he loops the tinsel over your head like a garland, letting it cascade down your shoulders. You swat at him, trying to hide your laughter, but he only grins, the glint in his eye unmistakable.

You sigh after he reaches into the box again to take a bauble and ‘accidentally’ runs his hand a little too far up your thigh.

“Focus”, you say, but you can’t suppress a smile.

“I am focusing,” he says, smirking as he took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Just not on the tree.”

You roll your eyes, still trying to fight back that smile. “If Lois knew how useless you’re being right now, she’d kill you.”

“Good thing she’s not here, then,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to that low, suggestive tone that makes your knees weak.

“Tom,” you warn, though your resolve is faltering.

“Yes, love?”

“Hang. The. Ornaments.”

“Fine,” he says with an exaggerated sigh, grabbing a bauble and hanging it on the nearest branch. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” you reply, though the flush on your cheeks betrays you.

Despite his constant teasing, the tree eventually starts to come together. By the time the star is perchs on top, you have to admit it looks pretty good—though you’d never let Tom take the credit.

As you stand back to admire your handiwork, Tom slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “See?” he says, his voice soft now. “Told you we could make it fun.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help smiling. “Merry Christmas, Tom.”

He leans down, brushing his lips against yours. “Merry Christmas, love.”

#12daysofsmuff #12 days of smuff #tom bennett #tom bennett x you #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #tom bennett smut #tom bennett fluff #world on fire #ewan mitchell #tom bennett x reader #12daysofsmuffmas #12 days of smuffmas #tom bennett world on fire #tom bennet x reader

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achaoticeternal · 2 years ago

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i love being fed crumbs

#ewan mitchell #saltburn #osferth #aemond targaryen #tom bennett #michael gavey #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #tom bennet x reader #osferth x reader

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ihrturguts · 1 year ago

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⌗ TOM BENNETT! DIVINE RIVALS AU ; "Me? I'm just a bloody nuisance."

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icarusignite · 10 months ago

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For Whom the Bell Tolls Masterlist

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Strong! Reader

Tropes: World War 2 HOTD AU, nurse x soldier, trauma bonding, childhood sweethearts, star-crossed lovers

Wattpad / AO3

Summary:

"The tragic hero is complete. You can call him unhappy (miserable, utterly broken) even before he is dead. For an instant, he is something divine, and then he dies, because there's nothing else left to do. The center of every tragedy is the image of a human being who has already died but keeps talking, someone whose face is a mask."

In the years preceding the inferno of the Second World War, the world dances precariously on the edge of destruction, teetering between disintegrating old empires and the looming dawn of new ones. In the heart of this volatile era, the Targaryen family rises to power through the might of their ironclad empire, the Targaryen Ammunitions Conglomerate. The story is set against a backdrop of a world torn between tradition and modernity, where the echoes of old wars linger in the corridors of power, and the spectre of new conflicts casts long shadows across the lives of those entangled in its web.

Viserys Targaryen, the Chief Executive Officer of Targaryen Ammunitions, is a man haunted by the ghosts of his past. Decades before the world would be set ablaze, he cements his legacy, but at the cost of his own soul. The death of his first wife leaves him shattered, clinging to the last vestiges of humanity through the love he bears for his only daughter, Rhaenyra, his chosen heir.

But even Viserys cannot escape the machinations of those around him. Drawn into a marriage with Alicent Hightower, his daughter's former college classmate, he finds himself ensnared in a web of deceit spun by her father. Otto Hightower's ambitions reach far beyond the bounds of mere familial ties; he seeks to control the empire itself, and the Targaryen family, once bound by blood and loyalty, begins to fracture as ambition and betrayal take root.

Rhaenyra, a woman of fierce independence and unyielding spirit, is forced into a life she never wanted. Pressured by her father and the demands of his legacy, she is coerced into a marriage of convenience with Laenor Velaryon, a man whose own struggles mirror her own. Their union is one of necessity, where neither partner truly belongs to the other, yet, in their shared discomfort and understanding, they find solace, forging a partnership that defies the world's expectations. Laenor, hiding his true nature in a society that would cast him out, finds safety in the match, while she, in turn, secures the power and stability she needs to maintain her position as her father's heir.

Years pass, and the couple's inability to have children leads them down a different path—a path that brings them to the doors of Harrenhall, where the recently deceased Harwin Strong leaves behind four orphaned children who have been disowned by his brother Larys in his greed for their fortune. Rhaenyra, with a heart as relentless as it is kind, cannot bring herself to separate the siblings, despite the dangers it may pose to her own ambitions. She adopts them all, bringing the Strong children into the fold of the Targaryen family.

As the eldest of these children, you are burdened by the weight of the world. At just ten years old, you have been forced to grow up far too quickly, stepping into the role of mother and protector to your younger siblings in the absence of your own. Your heart is a fortress, built stone by stone, your mistrust of the world as deep as the abyss. When you and your brothers are taken in by the Targaryens, your siblings find joy in the luxuries and love showered upon them by their new family, but you cannot let yourself believe in the comfort being offered, waiting for the moment when it will all be torn away.

Your fears are only compounded by the cold reception you receive from Rhaenyra's half-siblings, the children of Alicent Hightower. The second of these, Aemond Targaryen, is a boy who has grown up in the long shadow cast by his half-sister. Neglected by his father, who lavishes affection upon his new adoptive grandchildren, he harbours a deep resentment toward the Strong siblings. In his eyes, you are all usurpers, interlopers who have stolen all that should have been his and his alone.

Nevertheless, the two of you find an unlikely ally in each other. Aemond, who despises the hollow privilege of his lineage, finds in you a kindred spirit, someone who understands the bitterness that festers in his heart. You, in turn, see in him a mirror of your own disillusionment, a boy lost in a world that seems intent on breaking him.

As the world outside your gilded cage hurtles toward cataclysm, your connection blossoms into something deeper, something tender, but just as your hearts begin to entwine, calamity, as it always does, intervenes.

Tragedy strikes the family, one blow after another, as the winds of war begin to howl across the continent. The fragile alliances that Rhaenyra has built start to crumble, and as Viserys struggles to hold his empire together, the rifts within his own family threaten to destroy everything he has worked for.

It is all made worse when a terrible accident steals away two precious loved ones, and in the aftermath, guilt weaves its thorny tendrils around Aemond's heart. At the tender age of eighteen, burdened by the weight of his own self-reproach, he severs all ties with his family, abandoning the name that has become a symbol of his anguish. He takes up his mother's maiden name, hoping to cast off the shackles of his past and live free from the burdens that have haunted him.

But in his flight from the wraiths of his former life, he leaves behind the only person who has ever understood him, to pick up the fractured remnants of their family. You are left all alone, as you have been for so much of your life, to mourn in silence, and the grief that once bound the two of you together now festers into a simmering resentment. Aemond does not write, nor does he respond to the countless letters you send, each one a plea for reconciliation, a desperate attempt to reach him across the chasm that has opened between you.

Eventually, you receive word that he has been drafted into the conflict. The news shatters the fragile remnants of your dreams, the ambitions you once held of becoming a historian now buried beneath the rubble of a world on fire. You abandon everything and follow him into the inferno, earning the nursing certifications that place you at the very heart of the battlefield, where life and death are decided with every breath.

In this vast and chaotic landscape, the young lovers keep missing each other, like ships passing in the night, always just out of reach. Time and again, they come within moments of reunion, but never actually do. Until, at last, they are thrown together once more when a severely wounded and half-blind Aemond Hightower is brought into the makeshift clinic where you have been stationed.

The reunion is a storm of tears and apologies, a raw and unfiltered outpouring of the pain that has been carried for so long. For a few precious months, you have each other once more, as you tend to his injuries, nursing him back to some semblance of health. In those fleeting moments, the two of you cling to each other like drowning souls.

But fate is a fickle mistress, and there is nothing she loves more than to slit the throats of young lovers, and you are not spared the annihilation that has been written for you in the very stars, centuries before you were even born, a destiny that neither of you can escape, no matter how hard you try.

"You're going to die in your best friend's arms. And you play along because it's funny, because it's written down, you've memorized it, it's all you know."

CHAPTERS: (coming soon)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter3

Chapter 4

A/N: This isn't going to be a full-length fic. It's going to be a collection of one-shots almost, or snippets jumping around the timeline to tell the most important parts of the story, so maybe 10-12 chapters at most. This way I won't bore yall with unnecessary filler chapters and still get to tell the story I want. The summary is about as much as you'll on the background tbh, this is meant to be an AemondxReader centric story. It's inspired by Atonement and every other WW2 movie I've ever watched.

Comment to lemme know if this is something you would be interested in and if you'd like to be added to the taglist.

Alternatively, add yourself to the taglist!

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thought--bubble · 1 year ago

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Like A Dream

Tom Bennett X (Pregnant Wife Reader)

Warnings Below

Word Count: 1,954

Tom Bennett Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Based on THIS request

Banners by @arcielee

A/N: Writing this came so naturally to me. I had my daughter young and was looking my best right before I got pregnant, so I used personal experience for this one 🥰 also I did an abnormal amount of research regarding the rarity of grapes during this time period and how special it would be for someone to find them available for purchase 🤣🤣

Warnings:: Body Dysmorphia, pregnancy, minor depression,smut, oral sex (F receiving)

"You alright love?" Your husband asks from his place on the sofa as you walk through the front door.

You sigh. "Yes, Tom," you carry the few bags with food you picked up from the market and place them on the kitchen counter.

Ever since Tom found out you were pregnant, he fawns over you. He hates the idea of you lifting a finger in your delicate condition. The problem? You are a very independent person and like your freedom.

"Not too convincing." he rises from the couch and goes to the counter, peeking through the bags to see what you bought.

"Mmmm, they had grapes!" He plucks a grape off the vine and pops it into his mouth.

"Tom!" You playfully hit his arm."They should be washed first! You don't know who had their hands all over em before I bought em!"

"I survived war, love." He leans his back against the counter. "Don't think a grape is gonna do me in when bombs couldn't"

"Yeah, well, they can still make ya sick, and I'm already sick every morning. Can't have the two of us going. " You huff and sit down in one of the old creaky wooden chairs that sit around the scuffed up second-hand table you successfully purchased off a neighbor about a year ago.

"Hey...." He leans down towards you and pushes your hair back. "You're tired and stressed, darlin. Let me take care of this, yeah?"

"I can do it." You grumble, annoyed, and try to pull yourself from the seat, but your near end of term pregnancy belly made standing an incredibly challenging endeavor.

Tom gives you a stern look. "More stubborn than I am." He gives you that cheeky smile, and you playfully roll your eyes.

"That's not possible" Tom is the most stubborn person on the planet as far as you were concerned and you know for a fact that even on your worst day you couldn't possibly be more stubborn than the man you married.

"Ah! I always knew ya married me for my looks." He wiggles his eyebrows at you as he unloads the groceries.

"What can I say? You got me with those blue eyes, and that smile." You look at him lovingly. You married him for a million reasons. He had pursued you relentlessly for weeks before you finally caved and went out with him. You didn't have any reason you made him wait other than thoroughly enjoying watching him try to convince you of something you already wanted desperately.

"Thank God for my parents! They gave me the good stuff!" He chuckles loudly, and you watch him in awe. Tom had this aura about him. He exudes confidence. Tom is handsome. He knows it, and he embraces it. You hardly ever see him without a smile on his face, and he takes almost nothing seriously.

You sigh to yourself as you move to try and pull yourself out of the chair again. Pregnancy is a magical thing. You know this. You feel it, yet you can't help the way it has you feeling about the body it leaves behind.

Your face is fuller. Something people have been complimenting you on, yet you hate it. Your hips are wider, and your already plump thighs have somehow grown bigger.

The discomfort with the changes in your body started gradually, but as you near the end of your pregnancy, less and less do you like what stares back at you in the mirror.

The tears start to well up in your eyes as you fight a losing battle to hold them back.

"Hey..hey! What is going on, love?" Tom crouches before you cupping your cheeks on either side of your face. He furrows his brows in obvious concern. "Talk to me," he gently rubs his thumb against your cheekbone. His heart breaks a little as he looks into your tear filled eyes. Upset with himself that you are this sad, and he didn't notice until now.

You take in a shakey breath and look at him with despair. "I'm a terrible mum, and the baby isn't even here yet." The flood gates break open, and tears finally start to pour down your face.

"W-why... why would you say that?" He scootches closer to you, placing his hands on either side of your thighs and rubbing his hands up and down.

"I should be happy! A good mother would be happy, but..." The tears are pouring out of your face now, the sadness, guilt, and shame bubbling over and making you feel like you have lost complete control over your emotional state.

"But what, sweetheart?" He drops down to his knees, pushing himself between your legs while he continues to caress your thighs. "You can talk to me, oh darlin, please talk to me."

"I ... I ... I ... I hate it!" You start to sob your face in your hands. "I'm tired, everything aches, it's difficult to move, and all that would be bearable if .... if i didn't look so disgusting now"

"Disgusting??" Tom balks at the statement. "Someone say something to you?" His face contorts in anger. "Was that Mike arse three doors down, wasn't it?" Tom nearly growls. "That's about how much he hates me nothing to do with you, darlin. I'll go sort him." Tom shoots up quickly, tossing on his jacket.

"TOM!" You screech just as he is about to fly out the front door, most likely to rearrange Mike's face. Mike and Tom do not like each other it is certainly not a secret in your neighborhood. Yet Mike has never been anything but pleasant to you. After all, his issue was with Tom, and he wasn't going to take that out on you for simply being Tom's wife.

"No one said anything to me, I have eyes! And a mirror! I can see it clearly for myself!" His heart shatters completely when he hears the crack in your voice, his jaw drops, and he wants to retort but quickly stops himself. The priority is you. He needs to take care of you, so as aggravated as he is, he softens his features and turns back to you.

He drops his jacket on the back of one of the other kitchen chairs and takes your hand. "Let's get you into bed, you need rest" You sniffle and nod as he places your hand in his, while gently holding your lower back with the other making sure to get you out of the chair in the most comfortable way possible.

Once you're up and walking, he wraps an arm around you, gently leading you up the stairs and into the bedroom . He helps you get into the bed, raising your legs and sliding them in before crawling in next to you, his face directly across from yours as you both lay on your side facing each other.

"Thank you," your whisper is gentle with a hint of lingering sadness as he reaches over and caresses right under your eye with his thumb.

"You. are. beautiful." He moves closer to you and puts his forehead against yours "Always".

You chuckle slightly. "You are a good husband, Tom Bennett." You lean forward and kiss him gently.

He pulls back from you, cupping your face in his hands. "Look at me"

You look him directly in the eyes. Yours are still a bit watery, so you try to blink back the tears.

"You. are. beautiful." He repeats."You are always beautiful, don't you ever forget that. Big, pregnant, bald even, you are always beautiful"

You giggle and sigh. "You're too good to me"

"Aven't been good enough love. Or you wouldn't feel like this. " He kisses you softly but deeply while gently rolling you onto your back.

"Been neglectin' ya. Work and allat." He kisses down your neck."I'll make it up."

You hum contentedly and place your hand on the back of his head. Arousal builds up in your core, but you're so tired you don't know if you have it in you right now.

"Don't know if I have the energy for this right now." You chuckle as you close your eyes, just enjoying the feeling of him on your neck.

"Just lie back and relax. This is all about you"

He moves down your body, placing a delicate kiss to your belly before pushing your dress up around your hips.

"Oh Tom, you don't have to do this." You say as he pulls your knickers down your legs.

" I wish I did have to do it. Wish it was an everyday requirement, but I guess I have to settle for doing it when you'll let me. " He brings his hands to your heat, pushing your legs out wider.

"Stunning site, really,"

"Tom!" You chuckle and reach down to give him a whack, but he catches your hand and holds it.

He licks a stripe straight up your center. Your hand squeezes his tight, letting him know the pleasure that is building up.

He gently flicks your bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue, bringing his free hand to your hip and rubbing circles there with his thumb.

You involuntarily move your hips, desperate for more friction. "You're supposed to be relaxin," he taunts

He returns to your clit swallowing it whole and sucking on it harshly while rolling his tongue over it.

"Oh god, Tom!" You can't help but yell out, your hips taking on a mind of their own as you move against his face.

He smiles against you as he releases your clit nudging it with his nose as he travels lower lapping up your juices before sticking his tongue inside.

Your eyes fly open as you look at the ceiling above you, panting harshly. If someone asked you your name right now, you wouldn't even know the answer. Your head is completely empty of everything, save for the pleasure you are experiencing.

His brings his hand off your hip, the other still grasping your hand tightly. He rubs at your clit with his thumb as he fucks you with his tongue.

"Ahhh. Ahh!" You squeeze his hand tightly as you writhe against his face, getting closer and closer to sweet release.

His hand and tongue switch places as he slides two fingers into you while sucking on your engorged nerve.

"Oh my god, Tom, I can't. I can't!" You don't know what you can't do. You just know that you can't.

He pulls back momentarily. " Oh yes, you can love, and ya will"

He brings his face back to your heat moving it from side to side over your clit while he increases the speed of his fingers.

Everything that happens now is automatic. Your legs lift up and squeeze his head as you arch your back and gasp for air as a title wave of pleasure washes over you.

Tom gives you a few more kitten licks as you ride out your high and stops when you start to twitch.

he crawls back up next to you and flops on his back, panting. "You're. .....beautiful.... don't.... ever... doubt .... that" he rolls onto his side and gazes at your face. "Promise me"

"I promise I'll try Tom." He knows that is the best answer he is going to get out of you so he just smiles.

"While we're talking about promises, I need you to make just one more tiny promise," he grins at you cheekily, sliding his body over so he is right up against yours.

"What?"

He takes your hand and places it over the massive bulge in his trousers

"That you'll help me with this"

To be added to taglist click here

#tom bennett x reader #tom bennett #tom bennet x reader #tom bennet fanfic #tom bennet fanfiction #ewan mitchell verse #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #ewanverse #tom bennett x you #tom bennett smut #jess fics #my cunty bf

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subliminalvamps · 1 year ago

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Tom Bennett fanart :3

#world on fire #fanart #digital art #illustrator #ewan mitchell #tom bennett #Tom Bennett fanart #world on fire fanart #ewan mitchell fanart #tom bennet x reader

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ewanmitchellconnoisseur · 1 year ago

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"Mɪᴛᴄʜᴇʟʟ Esᴛᴀᴛᴇs" - Mᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

Divders (In each Chapter) by @firefly-graphics & @cafekitsune

Hello! This is the Masterlist page for my 17-part Ewanverse Series titled: Mitchell Apartments! This series includes 11 of Ewan's most prominent characters and does take place in the modern world!

Summary: You manage to finally get an apartment, the rent isn't cheap and you know you'll have to overwork yourself to afford it but you have no other choice. You can't go home and you can't afford to go anywhere else. It's quiet and lonely in the beginning but you soon make some connections with the other tenants, and you manage to get yourself into some trouble too.

Can you survive living in this new area? Or will you be packing up and moving before the year's up? What could go wrong? They just want to be friendly.

Fandom(s): House of The Dragon, Salad Days, Grantchester, The Halycon, Fire, World on Fire, Saltburn, The Las Kingdom, Trigger Point, High Life, and Doctors

Warnings: These fics will include dubcon, manipulation, & violence More specific warnings will be added to individual chapters! 18+ only fic!

If you wish to be added to the taglist please comment on this!

Chapter 1: "Moving In"

Chapter 2: "Bitter" (Will x Reader)

Chapter 3: "Babysitter" (03/16)

Chapter 4: "Gentle" (Jack x Reader) (TBD)

Chapter 5: "Confident" (Billy Washington x Reader) (TBD)

Chapter 6: "Trouble in Paradise" (TBD)

Chapter 7: "Filthy" (Abraham x Reader) (TBD)

Chapter 8: "Good Boy" (Osferth x Reader) (TBD)

Chapter 9: "New Beginning" (TBD)

Chapter 10: "Date Night" (Tom Bennett x Reader) (TBD)

Chapter 11: "Good Neighbor" (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) (TBD)

Chapter 12: "Pop Quiz" (TBD)

Chapter 13: "Flustered" (Billy Taylor x Reader) (TBD)

Chapter 14: "Nerd" (Micheal Gavey x Reader) (TBD)

Chapter 15: "Laundry" (TBD)

Chapter 16: "Easy Money" (Genyen x Reader) (TBD)

Chapter 17: "Rent" (Ettore x Reader) (TBD)

A/N: If not mentioned in chapters I wish to reiterate something. All characters that partake in any sexual content (even fluff) are 18+. No one is underage. If you as a reader are underage I beg of you to not read this! If I knew how to sniff you guys out and block you I would.

If you decide to not listen to me please understand you are responsible for your own consumption. No Parents should be attempting to get my account taken down because of your choices!

PLEASE READ: I would also like to say. These stories are not meant to be taken any specific way. I say this because I worry how people will react to her sleeping with ALL of her neighbors. This was honestly just for funsies and if I see any serious slut shaming comments you're getting blocked.

Honourable Mentions: @thought--bubble Jess is honestly the whole reason I started writing in the first place! Her Kitty Cat Series inspired me to write my own Ettore fic which has led me here today. Thank you Jess for feeding my delusions and being a source of inspiration!

MaximumWill (NSFW! LINKS) Patreon & Soundgasm You guys may think this is odd...but I gotta credit him. I do not believe he has Tumblr but I have linked to his patreon. He is an 18+ audio maker...(if you know what I mean 😏🍆) He is the inspiration for the Micheal Chapter with this audio & the inspiration for this ENTIRE series + the Ettore chapter with this audio. (Please do not judge me...Im already ashamed🫠🫣)

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 6 months ago

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False Pretences

19/12: Holly and Hair Pulling - Tom Bennett Word Count: 2k~ | Warnings: hair pulling, fingering, allusions to p in v, ww2 talk and mentions of hitler

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

It was as clear as fog, what her role was here.

Since war had broken out in Europe, listening to whatever dire news filled those who listened with fear and anticipation, all the keywords present to stir up panic in every household, she knew she could not merely stand idly by on the shores of England, and do nothing.

It was either overalls and dirty, grotty factories, or the Women’s Royal Naval Service.

She couldn’t deny herself, one sounded better than the other.

Of course her family had attempted to deter her from leaving England altogether, waving her off from the front step as if she were slinging a gun over her shoulder herself and facing Hitler head on. Her mother sobbed, but she did not miss the gleaming pride in her father’s eyes. Her own brother had already gone off to fight, so he’d be left with no children at home, and yet he did not complain, did not forbid her from going. He knew the honest truth, that she would have found a way anyway, stubborn as she was.

Usually, people like her, or women, more so, were not allowed aboard naval ships. Especially hunt-class destroyers. It was far too dangerous, or rather in their words, unsuitable for female company. God, if her parents knew where she stood right at this moment her mother would surely throw a fit until she was red in the face.

Better for them to not know at all, she reasons, sat at her desk, tapping the end of her pencil against her notepad. It was only temporary, they’d told her, a quick posting to fill an urgent need. But that hardly felt reassuring now, deep in the belly of HMS Keith with the sound of waves pounding against the hull and the faint but ever-present vibration of the engines beneath her feet.

The ship shuddered as it cut through another swell, and she reached out instinctively to steady the pencil rolling across her desk. She could hear the men outside, shouting and belly-laughing, no doubt taking some much needed time off their duties to celebrate what they thought was as close to Christmas cheer as they were likely to get. Who knew if it was even Christmas Day?

Her pencil hovered above paper, listening to the constant hum of static that she had come to know so well. These last few hours were quiet, luckily. She supposed the people of Europe celebrated Christmas too. In fact, she’d wager that most of the enemy were doing the very same thing this crew were doing right now, drinking, laughing and card games. Perhaps they were not so dissimilar after all.

A small knock came at her door, and she considered ignoring it, wondering if she had somehow misheard through her headset. But then it came again, more firm, and she rolled her eyes and stood, straightening her uniform to see who was so insistent on seeing her this late hour.

She raised an eyebrow as a man stood there, tall, leaning confidently against the doorframe as the ship swayed slightly. He was young, perhaps somewhere near her age, if she had to guess. His sandy, blonde hair was pulled from his face, sides shaven and short, as was the style of young men.

“Evening,” he said, his tone so breezy it might have been mistaken for confidence. Overconfidence perhaps. “Thought I’d pop by and spread a bit of cheer.”

She crossed her arms. “Cheer?”

He held up the sprig of green, holly, she realised, though the leaves looked rather battered. He propped it in the middle of the doorway. “You know what they say.”

Her lips twitched, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. “That’s not mistletoe.”

“You’re smarter than I hoped.”

“Smarter than you, evidently.” She raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, just checking on our mysterious new arrival,” he said, leaning a little closer as if they were acquainted. “Word travels fast, you know. ‘Unmarked door near the comms room.’ Had to see it for myself.”

She smiled, though she willed herself not to. “And?”

“And here you are. Bit of a shock, I’ll admit. Women on a ship, it’s bad luck, you know.”

She snorted slightly, her cheeks warming in embarrassment at her behaviour. “Didn’t take you to be superstitious. Anyway, shouldn’t you be at your post?”

Tom chuckled, the sound warm and unbothered. “Probably. But this seemed more interesting.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. I’m just here to work, same as you.”

“Right. Decoding top-secret messages, I suppose. Life or death stuff, like when Hitler breaks wind or when Goebbels has food poisoning.”

Surprised you know who they even are, she thinks to herself.

She snorted despite herself, quickly masking it with a cough. “Something like that,” she said, turning back toward her desk.

It was her way of dismissing him, but he didn’t take the hint, as men with his confidence rarely did. She busied herself with the papers scattered across her workspace, shuffling them into neat piles that didn’t actually need straightening. She didn’t want to encourage him, but at the same time, she didn’t really want him to go, either.

Behind her, she heard the faint scuff of his boots on the floor. She paused for a moment, a smile rising to her lips when she felt his presence so close behind her. “I do hope you can tell the difference between holly and mistletoe, Mr…?”

“Tom, just Tom,” he answered quietly. “Can’t blame a bloke for wanting a kiss from a pretty girl, can you?”

She turned slightly to look at him over her shoulder, blue eyes almost clear in this low, amber light that felt tighter as time passed. “I suppose it is Christmas, after all, isn’t it?” she smiled.

Tom didn’t wait for a clearer invitation. He stepped closer, his hands brushing her waist as if testing her reaction. When she didn’t pull away, he tilted his head, meeting her halfway. The kiss started soft, tentative, but the heat rose quickly, fuelled by the unspoken urgency of two people who had been too long without touch. Tom cupped her cheek with one hand, the other slipping to her hip.

She turned fully now, her back pressing against the edge of the desk as her hands found their way to his chest. His uniform was coarse beneath her fingers, and she could feel the hard muscle beneath it, the warmth of him seeping through the layers.

She felt the low hum through his chest as he pressed his hips closer, easing her back against the desk, his hand slipping into her hair up the nape of her neck, tightening a fist around her glossy strands as if for leverage to pry her lips open for his access.

She hummed in amusement, prompting him to part with ragged breath, “been around men for too long?”

“Too bloody long,” he confessed, his voice rough as he let out a shaky laugh.

She smiled, but her eyes looked over as if she were analysing him, her hand sliding from his chest over his belt, her small, soft hand drifting over the evident hardness straining in his uniform trousers.

“I can tell,” she muses quietly.

He let out a shaky exhale, flustered either by her behaviour or slight embarrassment at being so called out for it. But it was clear he wasn't the type of man to like small jokes at his expense, and she let out a breathy whine as his fingers tightened in her hair. Keeping her where she stood, and tilting her face up towards him.

“Are you always like this?” He asked.

“Only to the ones that deserve it.”

He huffed, pulling her up by her hips to set her down on the desk, papers and pencils scattered to the floor under his hasty palm. Her legs parted around his instinctively, letting him step between them, his hands dropping then to her thighs.

His breath was hot on her neck as he placed open-mouthed, nearly desperate kisses there. His hand brushed beneath the hem of her skirt, as if testing the waters, pausing only to pull back to speak.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, though his hand didn't move.

“I wouldn't dare.”

Her breath hitched as her hand drifted higher, teasing the gusset of her knickers, sending a sharp, white spark of pleasure up her spine. Her hands gripped his shoulders, shuddering despite herself, he was certainly in no rush.

“You’re soaked,” he said, his voice laced with both surprise and satisfaction. “God, I’ve barely touched you.”

Her face burned with embarrassment, but instead of chastising him, she tugged him back to her lips. He groaned, his fingers exploring the growing wetness and heat forming between her legs. For a moment there was no more, not even a ship. Just his long, thick fingers against her heat, wanting more.

“Tell me what you want, love,” he murmured against her lips, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric now, skin against skin.

She shuddered, parting her legs wider for ease of access and wrapping them around his hips, “just don't stop.”

The sound his fingers made as he explored through her wetness was nothing short of lewd, her back arched slightly into him, wanting to feel the girth of them inside her, and quick.

“Christ,” he murmured, almost to himself, as two fingers slipped inside her, drawing a soft gasp from her lips.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, and her head fell back slightly. “Tom—” she breathed, her voice breaking.

“That’s it,” he muttered, his tone somewhere between curious and wicked as his fingers curled inside her, finding the spot that made her whole body tense and then melt in the same breath.

She bit her lip to stifle a moan, but he wasn’t having it. His hand moved faster, more confident now, his thumb pressing firmly against the sensitive bundle of nerves that had her hips bucking against him.

“Let them hear you, love,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her jaw as his fingers curled just right inside her.

Her body trembled, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped, a cry spilling from her lips as pleasure surged through her like a tidal wave. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his uniform as her thighs clenched around him, holding him in place as her body shuddered with each wave of her release.

Once it subsided, the feeling of how tight his fist was holding her hair became apparent but not unpleasant. She sighed, the tension leaving her body slowly, easing her into lulling waves of warmth.

He withdrew his hand slowly, his fingers slick and glistening, and stepped back slightly, though the smirk on his face suggested he wasn’t quite ready to let go of the moment.

“Worth the trouble of knocking, I'd say,” he quipped with a wink, infuriatingly wiping the moisture on his fingers against her bare thigh.

She glanced up at him through her lashes, her smile some kind of soft but amused warning. Her hand shot out to his belt, and his eyebrows shot so high to his forehead she was sure he'd seen God for a moment as her hands worked quickly to undo the buckle and then the buttons.

“Christ, love. Didn’t think you’d still have the energy.”

“Maybe next time, bring actual mistletoe,” she said, her voice dry but laced with heat.

“Next time?” he repeated, his grin turning wicked as he leaned down, his lips brushing against hers, a full body shudder running through him as she took him into her palm, hard and thick, giving a few languid strokes before sliding her other hand up his neck.

“Oh, love, you’re going to ruin me.”

General Taglist:

@1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics

@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

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fan-goddess · 2 years ago

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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…

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