#tom bennett x female reader

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Promise Woven in Silk

18/12: Letters & Lingerie Kink - Tom Bennett Word Count: 2.1k~ | Warnings: suggestive letters, masturbation (m), p in v sex A/N: thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for checking my Tom Bennett was cunty enough 🤭

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

Tom couldn't wait to be off this fucking boat.

It was a sort of slum in motion, but with the threat of being killed or drowned.

He made his own fun, practically forcing people's hands into betting on the day his canary laid an egg, pissing off the commanding officer and choosing rather colourful language when he was speaking to people of a higher rank than him. Not like he gave a shit.

But he only did those things because he was Tom.

It didn't make him really happy.

The only thing that managed to pull a smile to his face were letters with her handwriting on the front.

It felt wrong to call her a sweetheart so to speak. After all, at first there was no expectation of anything deeper, not wanting to get involved in something so trivial before he decided to disappear abroad. But it was exactly that expectation that drew him to her.

She wasn't desperate and needy. And yes, he'd tease her for it, but she was so fiercely independent, she turned her nose up at how a woman should conventionally act towards someone she liked.

He loved her for that.

He leapt onto the top bunk, checking the room was clear before pulling the sealed letter from his pocket, the paper slightly crumpled with her swirly feminine handwriting decorating the front.

Dearest Tom,

I hope you are settling into navy life well and are not causing too much trouble for the people who have the displeasure of being around you all day and night. 

He smirked. She knew him too well.

As I write this, my stomach flutters at the thought of your upcoming shore leave. I have been entirely too impatient to not tell you that I have concealed a great secret from you, one I should hope you will be pleased to uncover upon your return to me.

Picture me, with delicate lace trimming framing the curves of my body, meant for your eyes only of course. The fabric, as smooth as a moonlit ocean, holds promises of stolen moments where you are once again by my side.

I must confess, once you are back I scarcely think I could ever let you go again. The mere thought of you being here with me has a pleasant, exciting effect on my inhibitions. An effect, I dare say, you are keen to replicate.

I anticipate the shared warmth of our reunion, one I have no doubt you have sorely missed.

Yours in fervent longing…

He swore his mouth was agape, before a sly grin slipped onto his face.

Jesus Christ.

Tom's baby blues flitted over her handwriting, as if needing to commit the words to memory over and over to make certain he was reading the same thing.

His fingers gripped the delicate paper noticeably tighter as his mouth went dry.

Cheeky fucking minx.

Completely naturally, he brought the paper to his face, sighing longingly at the familiar scent of her perfume. She'd no doubt spritzed it a few times before sealing it, intent on torturing him even further as if the words alone had not done so.

Her scent flooded his mind, making way in his brain and pushing all the blood there south, his manhood pulsing almost uncomfortably at the memory of her.

The way he'd left her lingered there.

She had his white shirt around her shoulders and completely nothing else, her breasts peeking teasingly against the thin fabric as if to tempt him to stay when she knew he couldn't.

He'd almost jumped right back on her when she rose to her knees and plucked the post-coital cigarette from his lips to have a sweet, shallow drag of her own, her eyes aglimmer with mischief and sparkled with lust. 

And he's not ashamed to say that the image of her lips around the cigarette had him wishing they were around him instead. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, massaging the length that would not fit in her perfect mouth.

And so here, miles and miles from her, but unable to think of anyone or anything but her, he slipped his hand into his trousers, keeping her letter close to his face and pumped himself needily, imagining it was her grinding her hips atop him, her moist lips parted with those sounds he loved so much slipping forth.

He spilled himself over his knuckles in no time with a choked moan that he had to keep quiet.

It was sweet, sweet torture.

“Cheeky. Fucking. Minx.”

Tom practically skipped through off the train onto the platform, resisting the urge to break into a run as he played the route to her flat in his mind and how to get there the fastest.

It felt like he'd had a perpetual need for her ever since he read her words, which was more akin to pornography than an innocent love letter, having the desired effect of keeping him rock hard, fists clenched and jaw tightened.

God, she'd pay for that.

His boots thumped as he made his way up the back stairs to her flat, fists rapping on the door rapidly and excitedly, his chest feeling all tight and fluttery.

Every second there was no answer, his leg bobbed with anticipation.

Tom's tongue poked his cheek as the door slowly cracked open, a smile working its way to his face.

Her hair was waved over her shoulders, a satin dressing gown around her and tied at the middle, accentuating her waist, with her legs all bare and poking tantalisingly out beneath the rich fabric.

She herself gave a smirk, pulling the cigarette from her lips with two of her manicured fingers.

“Hello, sailor.”

Fuck, her voice.

She squeaked in surprise as Tom's tall form had to twist to force his way in, his bag forgotten to the floor with a thud, finding better purchase on her body as he surged down to meet her lips halfway. She smelled and tasted just as he remembered.

Bodies touching and smirking between fervent kisses, he mumbles between them, “Hello, beautiful.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and equally sank to that spot between her thighs that grew moist, aided by the endless weeks without his presence.

“I can't believe you sent me such racy letters. You just want to get me in trouble, don't you... and believe me you're doing a fantastic job at it.”

She hummed, pulling away to look up at him, smirking as he plucked the cigarette from her to take a drag for himself.

“You've got to have something to look forward to on shore leave, Bennett.”

He grinned with all his perfect teeth, stubbing it out once he was done with it and running his tongue over his lips.

She scrunched her nose, her hands around his shoulders as she craned up to meet his misty gaze, “in any case, I don't know what you mean. My letters were perfectly well-meaning and innocent.”

He scoffed, the smoke leaving between his pink lips, blonde eyebrows raised, “innocent? Those letters could be classified as a war crime.”

Her lips part involuntarily, warmth gathering in her gut as his hands lay flat either side of her waist.

"Now, where's my promised prize? To celebrate my return.”

She bit back a grin, her hands sliding down his chest to the tie at her front, fingers pulling it loosely unbearably slowly.

Tom swore he ascended to heaven once the silk parted to reveal what she'd promised beneath, a delicate lacy number that seemed to drift over every curve and left very little to the imagination.

 “Now that's what I call a greeting and my reward.”

His hands assisted in pushing the silk off her shoulders, leaving her standing in her silk sleepwear, the front dipping right where the shadow of her breasts appeared.

He grinned like a schoolboy, raking in every piece of her he'd been unable to see for weeks. God, maybe even months.

“You know, I almost thought you were lying in your letter and you didn't actually have this... but you surprised me.”

Her eyelashes fluttered as they both leaned in, dragging his nose over her cheekbone and placing several kisses, too chaste for his nature, along her jawline.

“I couldn't possibly do that to you, Tom.”

She giggled girlishly as his hands were now unable to stop their journey around her body, squeezing and moulding the flesh to his palm as he guided her to her bed. He stood, looking down as she lay there waiting for him with that honey-like gaze, biting her lip when she saw him work on his own clothes.

Once he got to his belt, she lifted her hands to the straps of her brassiere, to pull them down, until Tom tutted at her, kneeing her legs apart in reprimand, earning a confused expression.

He loved it when she looked all dumb like that.

He smirked, “Maybe I want you to keep it on. You look good in it.”

At this she lowered her hands, eyes glimmering with mischief as she watched him struggle with his belt.

She smiled smugly, “have you gone soft on me, Tom Bennett?”

“Soft is the opposite of what I am right now, love.”

A soft giggle slides past her lips as Tom looms above her, shoving his trousers past his hips as they snag on nothing, his eyes hardening  the more frustrated he gets. But it quickly dissipates, core clenching around nothing once he pulls himself from his underwear, hardly having to stroke himself to full attention.

His fingers creep along the side of her thigh beneath the delicate lace, swiping the pads of his fingers against her, grinning widely when he finds his words and actions have had the desired effect, her hips twitching upwards at his touch. 

“Oh, love. You’re fucking soaked for me.”

His ministrations become rough almost instantly, tugging the silk to the side and running the fat head of his cock, red and weeping against her womanhood. She watches the way his chest inflates and deflates with heavy breathing, at how the dog tag there glimmering in the low light around his neck, looking down between them, the air feeling hot and only the sounds of pure carnal desire rumbling in their throats. 

“Tom - please -”, she mewled longingly, trying to move her hips to gain friction as he teases her bud with the tip of his length. 

A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest, “God I fucking love it when you beg. What do you think, should I make you do it again?”

She shakes her head quickly, closing her eyes and turning away with a warm face at the intensity of his gaze down at her. 

He huffs another laugh and lays atop her, pushing her leg apart with his knee and pressing a kiss to her temple, “It’s alright, love, too fucking impatient for that.”

Her mouth falls open, warmth flooding her as he pushes into her agonisingly slowly, splitting her apart on his length to slide into her slick walls. Tom can’t help but screw his eyes shut, burying his face in her neck and inhaling her perfume as her warmth squeezes him and her fingernails leave crescent-moon shaped marks on his back.

He barely waits to reach the end of her before he moves, his hips meeting hers softly at first, but increasing in vigour once he hears her tiny little whimpers, and the way she presses her lips together to try and be quiet. 

Ever stubborn. 

Skin meets skin with quiet smacks, neither needing to say anything (except for the occasional ‘fuck’ encompassed by a low moan from Tom) but just basking in this closeness they’d been deprived of in all the time they’d been away. He is sure he could stay between her legs all fucking day, squeezing the flesh of her thighs and tasting her lips on his. 

“Fuck - ‘m gonna-”, he moans lowly, his hand running up the nape of her neck and pulling the strands of her hair through his fingers, not enough to hurt. Her core tightens around him, head thrown back into the mattress, lips parted. 

“oh - fuck, yes-”

With a choked moan, he takes her over the edge with him, holding her so tightly that had he been in his right mind, he’d think he was hurting her. But she doesn’t protest. She only loosens her grip on him when his thrusts falter to a stop, but his length remains tucked inside her, shuddering when he feels her core clenching around him in the aftermath of her peak.

His normal attitude clouded by the haziness sex, he rests on his forearms above her, giving an exhausted smile that she returns. 

“That the greeting you were hoping for?” she asks, her breath coming in short, hot pants.

And just like that, the Tom Bennett grin returns, leaning down to capture her lips again, “Yes, but I’m not done with you yet.”

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[helaelaemond]

To Be Strangers

gif by @barbieaemond

Pairing: Tom Bennett x female reader

Word count: 2.6k

Summary: You're standing on the dock overlooking the ships in the small hours, and a certain new recruit notices you - he can't help it. He charms you - or at least that's what you want him to think - and together you for a memory to keep him warm when the tides take him. Cunnilingus, penetration.

Content warning(s): smoking, public sex

Rating: E

Ao3: here

The stars pop out overhead as the clouds clear above the harbour, and you take in a deep breath. Your coat flaps in the sea breeze, and you pull it tighter around you. It's peaceful here, even with war looming on the horizon. There's a slender figure just ahead of you, and you see the spark of a match. God, you need a fag.

Your heels click on the pavement as you slowly walk towards the stranger. He looks up, and in the light of the yellow streetlamp, you notice his sharp jaw, his sparkling eyes. There's a small grin on his face, and you try not to return it.

"Got a spare?" you ask.

The young man - a boy, really - nods and holds out the packet for you to take one. "No filter in them."

You take one and hold it between your lips. "I don't mind." In your pocket is a little pack of matches, and you strike one to light the cigarette. You take the first draw, and a wave of relief washes over you.

"Bit late for a nice girl like you to be out, in't it? What brings you down to the docks?"

"I like watching the ships." You shrug. You can feel his eyes roaming over you without shame. "And the sailors."

"Why's that then?" He turns slightly to face you and he shifts his weight from one leg to the other, bringing himself closer.

A small breeze rolls in from the sea and you close your eyes, enjoying the coolness of it. You take another drag. "They never stay for long."

That makes him chuckle. "So let me guess; you never found Mister Right?"

"Or maybe I never wanted him. Maybe I only ever wanted Mister Right Now."

His grin is cocky. "I see. You're that sort of girl, then?"

"And what sort of girl is that?"

He takes a long drag on his own fag and lets the smoke pour through his nostrils, his parted lips. "The kind who sees the value in short-lived fun."

You bite your lip and laugh, your gaze never wavering from his. "Maybe. What if I am?"

"Then I think you and me might get on alright." He takes a step closer and leans against the railing next to you, so close that you can feel the warmth rolling off his body. "What's your name, miss?"

"Whatever you want it to be, sailor."

He chuckles and tilts his head to the side. "Want to know my name?"

"I already know your name."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You're Mister Right Now."

His grin widens. "What if I've already got a girl?"

"Have you?"

"Might have."

"Oh, well in that case-" and you turn as if to walk away.

He catches your hand without missing a beat and pulls you back to him. "Hey, where d'you think you're going?"

There are butterflies in your stomach as he towers over you, his young face handsome, sharp shadows thrown across it by the light overhead. "To find someone else."

"You're not going anywhere. I'm the best you'll find."

Instinctively, you rest your hand on his chest, almost like a barrier between you. It doesn't feel like a barrier. "Most cocky, maybe."

"I can't make any promises on that front, but I've never had a complaint."

You bite the inside of your cheeks to try to hide your grin, but it doesn't work. "But have you had anyone come back for more?"

"Once or twice, yeah. I'll have you back for more."

"You've only just met me! You've got an awful lot of confidence."

The way he's looking at you makes you feel naked, as if he's ravishing you right here on the dock. Half of you wants to push him away and into the water. The other half... well, the other half isn't rational and isn't to be listened to. It's the half that wants to pull him close and strip him as bare as he's making you feel.

He leans closer until you can smell the coffee and cigarettes on his breath. "Yeah, and it's all for you."

"You're full of it, sailor boy."

He looks you up and down again, sizing up his prize, before leaning so close his lips graze your ear. "Do you want me to show you how full of it I am?"

"You're not impressing me," you lie, but the whisper against your skin has covered you in goosebumps, sent electricity down your spine. You don't even notice how it's made you bite your lip.

"No? Then why have you stopped breathing?"His long fingers grasp your chin, and he turns your face to look at him. He's so close that your vision of blurry. It makes your eyelids heavy. "C'mon. Why do I have to beg?"

Your hands find their way to his slim waist, and the curl in the fabric of his tunic. "Because there's nothing prettier than a man on his knees."

Mister Right Now looks up the dock one way, and then the other. Still wearing a broad grin, he sinks to his knees in front of you, right there on the concrete. The fag drops from his fingers, and he looks up at you. "Like this?"

You wind your hand into his short, soft hair and drag your nails across his scalp. He closes his eyes in bliss, and it's his turn now to bite his lip. You hear him sigh, and watch as his chest rises and falls with it. Every nerve in you is aflame. "Just like this."

Sure hands find their way up the backs of your calves. He is stroking your skin, and his touch glides up, up beneath your skirt, up your stockings, and before you have time to think, one hand winds to grasp your backside. The other presses firmly between your thighs, and you let out a sigh of your own. "Is this what you want?" he asks.

You open your eyes and see him staring up at you. He's cocky, arrogant - and practically begging. You nod, teeth digging into your lip.

"Right here? Where anyone could see?"

"You'll all be gone by morning. Why should I care?"

He laughs, and leans closer. He presses his face against your skirt, just over your stomach, and you feel him bite. The hand in his hair pushes him away slightly but he surges forward. He grabs the hem of your skirt and lifts it up. You thank God that you're not wearing a tight pencil skirt, and that the soft wool is loose and swinging. He ducks his head under it.

When he disappears from your sight, you can only feel. He tugs at your underwear and without even thinking of resisting, you step wider for him, you let him drag it down, and you relish his mouth upon your thighs. Above you, rain begins to drop slowly and lightly from the sky. The stars have disappeared behind inky clouds. The streetlight had blocked them out before, anyway.

You feel his fingers first. The young sailor glides two up the inside of your thigh, and he runs it slowly along your folds, not yet dipping in. It's obscene, what you're doing, but you're quickly forgetting to care. Anyone could see you, anyone could see the young man under your skirt, but it doesn't matter. He seems to know what he's doing.

"What's your name?" you ask with an unsteady voice when his fingers slip against your cunt.

"Tom." His voice is muffled under your skirt. He presses his lips against the sensitive skin where your thigh meets your hip. "Tom Bennett."

"Alright, Tom Bennett." You grin, and your head drops back. Thank God for the railing behind you - it's the only thing you can cling onto without worrying about falling into the harbour. "Keep going."

You feel him more than you hear him chuckle. His fingers press against your entrance and you bring up a hand to press against your breast, but he doesn't sink them inside. You whine softly in protest, but he drags them up to spread your folds wide, and then he does something that brings you to your toes.

The firmness of his nose touches your cunt first. He runs it along the sensitive skin there, and he breathes through it to both cool and warm you. It must be glistening wet, you think in the back of your mind, for even just talking to Tom Bennett has had you hot and ready. His tongue follows the line his nose makes, and then he presses it against your clit.

"Fuck." You breathe the word lowly, and without realising, you grasp his head through your skirt. "Just there."

As his lips seal around your bundle of nerves, he chuckles again, and the vibrations make the stars reappear in your eyes. He sucks gently at first, but then it gets firmer, harder, and you have to lean more heavily against the railing. He knows what he's doing. God, does he know.

At last his fingers press inside you, and it feels so good, so right. The digits twist and curl in time with his tongue higher up - when his fingers stroke, his tongue stills. When his tongue strokes, his fingers still. But it's so smooth, so practised, that it feels like one long and fluid motion. He dines on you like it's his last meal.

"Tom!" You sigh his name as the tension in your stomach builds. "Yes, don't stop." It's difficult to keep quiet.

In the moments that you climb the precipice, the young sailor stops, and he stands up suddenly. In his eyes is a wildness that you can't escape. He stares into you with an impossible fire, and it's only when you hear the clink of his opening belt that you realise why he stopped.

"You taste like the sea."

You can't help but grab him close. "Show me."

And then he kisses you. One hand fumbles with his trousers, and the other grasps the back of your neck, and he kisses you. It's rough, and he parts your lips without a second thought, and then his tongue is sliding against yours as if he is tasting for the first time. He's right - you do taste like the sea. You can taste yourself on him, and it makes you whine quietly. He grabs your hips and lifts you to sit on the railing, before his hands return to his trousers. They're barely pushed to his knees by the time his grasp is on your hips.

He looks you in the eye again, and his cocky grin is back. All teeth and determination. "You want this?"

You pull at the hair on the back of his head and return his grin. "Yeah. Fuck me, Tom Bennett."

"You don't have to say my whole name every time."

You reach one hand between you and it finds his cock, heavy and leaking. You squeeze gently, and in your grasp you can feel his heartbeat racing. Maybe he felt yours, too, when he pressed his mouth against your cunt. The noise he makes is deep and whining and it rumbles in his chest, and you wish for a fleeting moment that you were looking at his naked body, admiring him in the light of day. But no, this is good, too. On a rainy dock in the middle of the night, where anyone can find you. There's a thrill in that. He wants you so bad.

With your hand guiding him, he slides easily into you. You wrap your legs around his waist, already halfway to bliss, and hang onto the railing for dear life. The sounds of your fucking are obscene - wet and slapping noises echo along the dock and across the water, and you bury your face into his neck to muffle your sounds of delight.

"Shit!" He laughs quietly, his voice punctuated by moans with every breath. "Do you know how good you feel?"

"No!" you laugh in reply. The peals of delight devolve into moans again. "I've never fucked myself."

"You're missing out, then. Hey!" He slaps the hand away that reaches between you, and looks at you in mock indignation. "I'm taking care of you, aren't I?"

Your mouth hangs open in delight when he presses his fingers back against you. They trace just above where his cock slides in and out of you, and then they set a firm and fast rhythm against your clit. It feels better than anything you've had before, you've never had someone take care like this before, it's so good, it's so-

"Oh, Tom!"

"Fuck! Yeah, like that?"

You nod, and he kisses you deeply again. It's all heavy breaths and strained expressions now, but when your lips part, your foreheads stay pressed together. Sweaty, damp from the drizzle, it doesn't matter. It pushes you higher and higher.

"Tom, yes, yes-! I-!"

"Good girl, keep going, I-! Oh, fuck!"

What little sense remains to you reminds you to stay quiet. When he rips the orgasm from you, only the smallest squeak escapes you, but your eyes roll back into your head as heaven explodes through you. Your thighs, still locked around his narrow hips, tremble and shake.

"I'm gonna-!" He looks at you with wide eyes.

"Inside, Tom!"

His face scrunches up as he follows you over the edge, and his hips stutter while he comes. He buries himself as deep as he can, leaning forward on his toes, knees slightly bent, and you meet him with a few final grinds to release all the pressure. He pants, and rests his forehead against your shoulder. You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close.

Eventually, your legs are too tired to hold him close, and you let them unwind from him. The ground rushes up to meet them, and then you finally land back on Earth. Bliss does not leave you, though.

It seems not to leave him, either, and even when he pulls out, does his trousers and belt back up, he looks satisfied. His grin won't fade. Even when he kisses you again, he is grinning.

"That was alright, weren't it?"

You can't help but laugh quietly. You pull up your underwear and sort out your skirt, and when you look at him, you're pleased to see that he's still looking at you like a prize to be won. "Yeah. Yeah, that was alright, Tom Bennett."

"I already said you don't have to-"

"But how else will I remember, if not by repeating it?"

He steps closer to you again, and he's towering over you again, and he's close enough to kiss again. "You want to repeat that?"

"Maybe. Come back from war alive, and maybe I'll be waiting here for you."

"Nah, not here."

You raise your eyebrow. "Oh?"

He's grinning. "Next time, I wanna fuck you in a proper bed. And next time, I'll be moaning your name."

"You don't want to be strangers next time?" It's a tease, nothing more. All night has been a tease.

"No. Next time, I want you to be mine."

[happilyhertale]

A spark of hope – Tom Bennett x female!reader

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, Misogyny

Author’s note: Your life is always the same - you help your mother out in the pub and earn money from other activities on the side. But at some point, you reach a point where maybe you don't want to do all that anymore.

English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (: Word count: 3.9k

Other stories of mine

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Cigarette smoke envelops you, but you move through it almost elegantly, empty glasses in your hand. Tonight is busy, but that also means there will be a lot of tipping. Music blares from the jukebox as you're back in the safety of your counter. You stand behind it and start cleaning the glasses you just collected. As the door to the pub swings open and more drunk young guys stumble in. They laugh and you don't really understand what they are saying before they burst out laughing again. When the blond one of the guys comes towards you.

"Good evening, milady," he says, visibly drunk. You can already tell how annoyed you are, but you smile nonetheless.

"What can I do for you?" you ask with feigned friendliness.

He grins, "Well... First, I'd settle for a beer," he slurs. You turn away smiling, but sigh as you draw his beer. You ignore his next attempts to make you laugh. Practiced by all the other guys who keep trying to get your attention, you have no problem with it. Besides, your end of the day is approaching and that clearly depresses your mood, but distracts you. Your colleague comes in and you sigh, but you nod at her and smile. Maria walks past tables on her way to the counter, taking away empty glasses as she goes. But before you can have a conversation with her, the door opens again. The blond guy is still watching you. But now you have work to do. You grab your stuff and walk up to the man who has just entered the pub. He puts his arm around your waist almost naturally and leads you out.

He lies on top of you, his hips thrusting into you again and again. His deep moans don't make it any better. But you're moaning too, trying to spur him on so he can finish. When he looks into your face, you close your eyes with passion and moan loudly, showing him how good he is. He moans loudly and grunts as he reaches his climax. He breathes heavily but rolls off you. He lies next to you, his eyes closed as he tries to catch his breath again. Your gaze is fixed on the ceiling, trying to feel a comforting sensation inside you, or at least push away the shame. When you hear a soft snore, you slowly stand up. You don't look back and quickly disappear into the bathroom to freshen up. Even faster you get dressed and take the money from the table. Quietly you leave the flat. You walk through the dark streets. It is warm and a gentle breeze blows around you as you look up. You see individual windows that are brightly lit. The lights have an almost calming effect on you. As you reach your house, you open the door. Your eyes fall into the kitchen, where your mother is sitting at the kitchen table. She is drinking a cup of tea and almost relaxed, smoking a cigarette.

"Oh, you're still awake?" you ask your mother. You put the money on the table.

"Yeah, I couldn't sleep," she says to you. She crosses her legs slightly and lets one leg bob.

"Oh, is that your tip? Keep that to yourself... You earned it," your mom says to you, looking up at you.

You hesitate, but then smile, "Nah, that's the leftover money from babysitting," you lie to your mom.

"Met Paul on the way home and he gave it to me" you say and slowly walk out of the kitchen.

"Oh well... All right... sleep well, little one," your mother calls after you.

You give her a gentle smile before retreating into the cosy confines of your room. As you prepare to lie down in your warm bed, your thoughts inexplicably drift to the memory of the forward and somewhat annoying person you met earlier in the pub. Although you cannot explain why he is so preoccupying you at this moment, you simply roll onto your side and surrender to the soothing call of sleep.

The next evening, you're back in the pub. You hang around for a while and serve the usual guests. But the conversations and loud laughter that fill the pub don't really pull you out of your thoughts.

Until the guy from yesterday enters the pub again and you sigh slightly. He walks up to you and grins.

"Hello my beautiful," he says.

You look at him wordlessly. Out of sheer habit, you try to read from his gaze what he really wants from you. Does he just want to be nice or does he want to become a next customer?

"What can I do for you?" you ask him with feigned friendliness.

"Well, that depends on what ya can give me," he says cheekily. You look at him slightly irritated, but before you can answer, he interrupts you.

"Ah, just give me a Guinness," he says. This clear and unintentional answer leaves you speechless for a moment. But you clear your throat and comply with his request.

„A pint of Guinness? On the way“, you say and turn around.

You serve him a Guinness and watch as he hesitantly clasps the glass with his hand.

"My name's Tom, by the way," he says with a smile.

"Well, hello Tom," you say, watching his face contort as he drinks his Guinness. You have to laugh slightly, "Don't you like Guinness?" you ask.

"Not really," he says and bravely takes another sip

"Then why are you ordering it?" you ask with a laugh, wanting to put him out of his misery. But as you reach for the beer, he playfully pushes your hand away.

"Hands off," he says with a smile.

"This will ensure that I don't finish the beer so quickly and stay sitting here longer," he says with a slight wink.

You blush slightly but laugh lightly anyway.

"You're silly," you say, but have to smile slightly.

"I never said otherwise," Tom says, drinking again with a disgusted look on his face.

You have to laugh again and Tom smiles at you. A hint of joy is written on his face as he hears you laugh.

"Do you have a name too?" he asks you after taking another sip.

You smile at him, "Y/n," you tell him.

"Hello y/n," Tom says, "Have a drink with me," he says.

But you shake your head slightly, "No... Not while I'm working," you say with a smile.

And tonight you have a lot to do. Almost countless guests are pouring into the pub and the prospect of making it alone seems almost impossible. But with unwavering determination, you dance back and forth between the tables, deftly noting the orders and clearing away the empty glasses. In the midst of this hustle and bustle, Tom remains steadfast, his fingers holding the glass of Guinness, and his eyes never taking his eyes off your tireless performance.

As the evening draws to a close and the tide of guests gradually ebbs, a palpable sigh of relief escapes your lips. But just as you toy with the idea of locking up, the door swings open again, announcing the arrival of an unexpected guest. Instinctively, you consider simply saying you were about to close up, but as you turn around, you find yourself frozen in shock for a moment.

‚Not him again...‘ you think.

The guy smiles at you, "Hi sweetie..." he just says and you sigh.

You turn around to Tom, who is still sitting there, and try to smile slightly.

"I have to go, Tom…," you say quietly.

Tom's gaze lingers on you and finally settles on the man who has just entered the pub. But you see Tom nod slightly. But still, you recognize the subtle nuances in Tom's facial expression that betray an unmistakable dislike, a deep lack of trust toward the guy.

Tom rises slowly and leans forward slightly. He presses a tender kiss to your cheek. In that fleeting moment, you feel the gentle caress of his breath, causing a subtle tingling sensation. It's such a tender sensation that you instinctively bite your lip, an intimate reaction hidden from all but the keenest observers.

"Until next time," he says softly.

You nod slightly as he walks past you and the guy and leaves the pub.

The guy grins at you, "Another customer?" he says to you.

"I don't talk about my business," is all you say to him.

You leave the pub and follow the guy to his flat. And again, the time with him is just uncomfortable. He is just disgusting and manages to make you feel disgusted with yourself. He never shows any consideration for you and this time is no different. You lie on the bed and he lies on top of you with his heavy body. He thrusts hard into you and grunts to himself, but not in a way that would increase your arousal. You bite your lip to keep from crying out, but you have a feeling that's exactly what he wants. When he suddenly leans back slightly and looks you in the face, you don't know at first what he wants from you. Until he slaps you across the face and you are sure that is exactly what he wants - to make you scream. You gasp, your face hurts, but you don't give him the satisfaction.

"Don't slap me," you hiss back at him. But he only grabs your throat in response and grunts again. Your eyes grow wide as he squeezes and thrusts into you like crazy. Breathing becomes difficult and you feel panic rising in you, but you can't scream. The hand on your throat makes it impossible for you to let anything but a whimper come out of you. Your hand finally reaches for his, you try to pull it away from your neck. But you seem powerless. Distantly you perceive his light laughter, his thrusts don't let up and you notice how you become sore.

Suddenly you hear him moan loudly and climax. He breathes heavily and you notice how his thrusts subside and his hand around your neck loosens slightly. While he is overwhelmed by his feelings, you don't hesitate for long and push him off you.

"Hey...", he says still breathing heavily. But you hurriedly get dressed as tears come to your eyes. You take the money from the table and leave the flat.

You hurry home and pass your mother without a word. You can't even tell if she spoke to you.

Without a moment's hesitation, you are drawn to the bathroom and the urge for a shower overcomes you. The night hangs on you like a shroud, and you had hoped that the warm stream of water would wash away the burden weighing on your soul. As you surrender to the water's gentle embrace, however, you quickly realize that the longed-for soothing effect fails to materialize. With your eyes closed, you lean against the cool, unyielding tiles of the shower, and your body slowly sinks to the floor. Tears bubble up, mirroring the gentle surge of water that envelops you. At this vulnerable moment, you can no longer bear the weight of your existence and silently plead for release.

The water has grown cold by now, and your tears are also beginning to stop. You muster the strength to reach up and turn off the water. You step out of the shower and wrap your body in the comforting embrace of a soft towel.

As you finally snuggle into the warm sanctuary of your bed, enveloped, your thoughts are still spinning. But the embrace of sleep, hopefully giving you comfort in the quiet of the night, soon envelops you.

The next evening you are again behind the bar of the pub. The absence of Tom casts a shadow over your heart, a faint hint of melancholy. But duty calls, and you resolve to excel once again, if only to escape for a moment the burden of your overwhelming thoughts. Your gaze, however, inevitably wanders to the spot where Tom sat the night before.

As you say goodbye to the last of your guests after hours of work and walk back to the counter, a sigh of relief escapes your lips. You begin to tend to the few remaining glasses, seeking solace in the mundane rhythm. But then the door swings open again, and you instinctively glance over your shoulder. There he stands, the obnoxious guy, and an unsettling sense of panic spreads through you.

"Today I have no time for you," you say immediately, without waiting to see what he even wants.

But he just smiles, "Oh come on... Yesterday was good, wasn’t it? I enjoyed it..," he says.

"And I don't care, I don't have time today," you say simply. You go behind the counter and start washing the glasses.

He comes closer. Very close. "Oh come on... I could tell you liked it," he says quietly, grinning at you with his crooked smile

You look at him angrily, "I don't know what kind of world you live in. But certainly not one where you could say what pleases a woman," you say.

He slaps you again. You gasp as your face flies to the side. The pain from last night is palpable in your face again.

"You like that, don't you, you whore," he just hisses, "You can't do more than spread your thighs."

"Get the fuck out of here, you bastard," you suddenly hear another voice say.

You look at the door, startled, breathing heavily. The pain has brought tears to your eyes. Your vision is blurred, but Tom is standing there and he doesn't look pleased at all.

The guy turns around, "Get out of here, kid. Wait your turn," he just says unimpressed.

"Oh I think it's my turn," Tom says even louder. He walks up to the guy and grabs him by the collar. The guy turns and gives Tom a swinging punch. You gasp and yell out slightly. Tom stumbles back a little, looking even angrier. His nose is bleeding slightly, but he walks back up to the guy and headbutts him. You hear it crack and slap your hand over your mouth.

"Don't ever touch her again," Tom hisses. He rams his knee into his soft parts so that the guy goes down. He only gasps and cries out slightly. He holds his balls and whimpers.

Tom grabs him by the collar and drags him towards the exit. He gives him another kick and thus transports him outside. You hear him breathing heavily and he closes the door.

He turns to you and sees the look on your face.

"Are ya okay?" he asks you. You nod slightly and reply, "I should be asking you that," you whisper. You take a dish towel and walk towards him. Carefully you dab away the blood, he smiles sheepishly.

"It's nothing," he says softly.

You take his hand and lead him behind the counter. He sits down on a chair and lets you treat him. He watches you closely.

"Who was that," he finally asks. You hesitate at first, afraid he'll find out what you're doing. That he might see you through different eyes.

"Just someone I know," you say quietly, avoiding his gaze. He nods, barely noticeable. When the blood is wiped from his face, you look at him. He grins slightly again.

"What is it?" you ask

"Let me take ya out," he says cheekily.

You laugh lightly.

"No Tom. You don't want that," you say to him. You try to avoid his gaze and feel your chest tighten slightly. As his voice rings out, your gaze meets his blue eyes.

"Why wouldn't I want that?" he whispers, sounding curiously.

"Because... that wouldn't work Tom," you simply say and throw the bloody dish towel into the next corner. But you can still feel his gaze on you.

"Well, as long as I don't have to drink any more Guinness, I don't see why it wouldn't work," he says.

You just look at him, but the smile does not disappear from his face, "That would be the least of your problems," you say quietly.

Tom scrutinises your face for a moment. The way you avoid his gaze and your eyebrows draw together slightly for a brief moment and your brow furrows briefly.

He clears his throat slightly.

"You slept with him, didn't you?" he asks quietly, "For money?" he adds quietly, watching your reaction closely. His gaze does not leave you. Your breath catches in your throat, leaving you wordless for a moment. A blush of shame turns your cheeks scarlet.

"What..? Tom... it's not like that" you stammer.

Tom says nothing for a moment and you fear that he is already judging you.

"You don't know what it's like," you say suddenly.

"When my father died and left me and my mother with this pub.... We have trouble paying all the bills and my mom does so much for me... She gave up so much just to be able to give me a good life..." you say justifying

"And so the least I can do is try to give her something back... Earn some money and..." but you can't continue. Tom silences you with his lips.

You are startled at first, but surrender to his soft lips. Suddenly you feel so close to him as he gets up from the chair and wraps his arms around you. The way your mouths meet is electrifying, his tongue touches yours and makes you whimper slightly. You don't want to miss those lips any more.

"It's okay..." he whispers against your lips after some time.

You look him in the eyes and breathe a little heavily. You cannot believe his words. You need a little time to process his words.

"It's okay...?" you say quietly.

He nods, "It's okay..." he says softly.

He gently caresses your cheek, "And to me, you are so much more than a lady who can spread her thighs," he says softly, smiling slightly.

His slight smile is reflected on your lips. Again, he kisses you. His hand slides into your hair, holding your head gently. "So much more..." he whispers against your lips.

You feel his other hand slide to your hip. He presses you against his body. Your arms slide around his neck as his other hand finds your hip as well. With one movement, he sets you on your counter and you gasp slightly.

"Tom," you gasp, but he silences you with his lips again.

You wrap your legs around his waist as his hands slide along your thighs. His fingertips leave a trail of heat on your soft skin. You gasp slightly as his hands slide under your dress. He looks at you, his lips slightly parted, almost as if he is asking your permission. But instead of answering, you let your lips meet his.

Your breathing becomes heavier and suddenly it seems infinitely hot behind the counter. You feel his hand slide to the inside of your thigh and you whimper lightly against his lips. He grips lightly and you feel the pulsation between your legs.

"Tom..." you whimper lightly and you feel a grin forming on his lips. But he doesn't hesitate for long and reaches your wet panties. He presses his fingers against them and you cannot suppress a moan. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to press your hips further against his hand.

"Hmhm, a little needy, eh?" you hear him whisper. A hiss from him follows as you bite his lip lightly.

And suddenly he pushes your panties aside and lets his fingers slide inside you.

"Well, I shouldn't keep ya waiting then," he murmurs as you moan again.

You let your lips collide with his again and your tongues dance wildly around each other. His fingers work their way into you faster as your fingers work their way around his belt. You try to undo his belt, despite the distraction, and finally manage it. Without hesitation you open his trousers and they slide down his legs. A deep rumble rises in his chest as you slide your hand into his pants. You feel his hard member twitch as you embrace it. Your hand slides up and down as if by itself.

His breathing quickens and you feel the precum already gathering at the tip of his cock. You rub it gently and hear him growl again. Your kiss becomes a little more aggressive and he pulls you closer to him. His fingers don't let up in their thrusts and you feel your thighs begin to tremble as his thumb rubs your sensitive pearl.

But then he pulls his fingers out of you and replaces them with his hot length. Slowly he penetrates you and stretches you bit by bit. You press your face into the crook of his neck as the almost painful feeling turns into pure pleasure. You gasp and moan slightly. Your teeth find their way to his neck and you bite lightly.

Tom's hands slide to your bottom, pressing you further against him as his hips slam against yours.

You are completely in sync, the only sound in the pub is your breathing and the sounds you create together. You are both panting now as your movements become faster and more animalistic.

He hits the sweet spot inside your depths and you moan out. You lean back slightly and watch him thrust into you again and again. His face contorts into a mixture of effort and lust. You hear his heavy breathing and grunts leave him.

You hear every sound, every gasp, every slap of your skin against each other. In the depths of this moment, Tom fixes his gaze with yours, an unspoken declaration that in this fleeting moment his entire universe is focused on a single point: you. The woman who embodies his deepest desires - who he wants more than anything.

But this moment is interrupted when his hands suddenly leave your bottom and slide onto your knees. He moves one of your legs to the side while he brings the other to his shoulder.

"God, Tom!" you moan as you feel his thrusts even deeper. But you only hear his grunts, which never fade.

You brace yourself against the counter with your arms as he penetrates you deeper and deeper.

"Fuck, yea," Tom growls as he feels your pussy begin to clench around his cock. You can't help but whimper and moan and give in to the sensation.

You cry out a little as he pushes you over the edge and the warmth floods you. Your torso falls back a little and his hand slides to your back to hold you in place. He fucks you through your orgasm, pursuing his own climax. When suddenly he groans and squints his eyes. His thrusts become more sloppy as he coats your walls with his seed.

He gasps and thrusts as his thrusts slowly subside. You look at each other, heavily atment. Until you giggle lightly. You lean forward again and kiss him, feeling the light film of sweat over his lip.

"You’re so much more to me…", he whispers against your lips as he pulls you closer again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag list:

@aemonds-wifey @hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemonds-eyeball @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @bellaisasleep @snh96 @bcon24 @valeskafics echos-muses

[humanpurposes]

Just for a Moment, part i

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, mentions of war and death, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut

Words: 3800

A/n: Me? Starting another series to avoid updating ongoing fics? No wayyyy. This is going to be a 4 part mini series and their song is When the Sun Hits by Slowdive, just so you know. Also available to read on AO3.

Tom Bennett had always had a talent for getting under people’s skin.

Kitty knew it when they were kids, when they’d run around the streets of Longsight and the alleyways behind Slade Grove. He would rile anyone up, regardless if they were older or bigger than him. He didn’t even do it for a reason, he just liked to get a raise out of people.

He used to tease her too, for all sorts of stupid reasons, because she was a year younger than him, because her mother used to dress her in shirts and shorts that used to belong to her older brothers, because when they’d buy bags of Yorkshire mix from the shop, she would only eat the red ones. Every Sunday after Church, they’d sit in the park or on the front step of the Bennetts’ house, and Tom would pick out every sweet he knew she liked, and keep the rest for himself.

When Tom was eleven he moved to the big school, where Kitty’s brothers all went, Eddie, Art and Stevie. Eddie was a prefect. He used to come home with all sorts of stories of Tom Bennett, ‘from over the road’. Tom talked back to his teachers, disrupted assemblies, picked fights with other kids, every offence Kitty’s mind could imagine. 

It only got worse when his mam died.

Thursday 12th July, 1928

Kitty had never been to a funeral before. She had a new dress and a black overcoat for the occasion. It was cold in the church graveyard, overcast and windy. Mam had held her hand so tightly she wondered if she’d ever get it back. 

The Bennetts stood together, on the other side of the grave. Lois’ hair was braided into a messy plait that stuck out on one side, the ribbon at the end tied into a knot rather than a bow. She was trying to hold her father’s shoulder as he cried, but she couldn’t quite reach. Tom stood a little further away from his father. His hair was messy, his knees scabbed and bruised, his shirt skewed and the buttons done in the wrong places.

Kitty kept her eyes on him, all through the service, the burial and the wake back at number 27. Tom didn’t cry once.

That night, when she should have been asleep, she lay awake in her bed, listening to her brothers whispering and in the next room as they always did. Sometimes she felt sad to be left out of their antics, but tonight she was glad to be on her own, in her little box room at the front of the house.

Until she heard a tapping on the window.

She froze between her sheets. Was it too late for it to have been a bird?

And then it came again, tap, tap, tap.

With a determined little huff, she rose from the bed, smoothed her hands down the front of her nightgown and drew back the curtains.

“Tom?” she whispered.

He grinned when he saw her, perched on the windowsill behind the glass. 

Kitty raised the window and before she could invite him in he was crawling through it.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

Tom shrugged and went to sit on the edge of her bed. He glanced around the room, at the little shelf of books, dolls and small wooden animals, the black overcoat hung on the back of the door and the drawings stuck to the wardrobe. He’d been in the Wheelans’ kitchen before, but he’d never been allowed upstairs.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, far too loudly for Kitty’s liking.

She pressed a firm finger against his lips. She held her breath, waiting for one of the lads to notice, but they kept on chatting– whatever it was teenage boys chatted about.

“Keep your voice down,” she said.

Tom smiled against her finger and made a cross over his heart.

She sat beside him, swaying her legs while she tried to think of something to say.

Tom reached for a book on her bedside table and flicked through the pages. When he was bored of that, he grabbed her teddy. He tossed it about in his hands and ran his hands over the ancient and matted fur. It had been Eddie’s, back in the day. Every single one of her brothers had owned it before her.

“I don’t like seeing my dad cry,” Tom said.

Kitty frowned. “Why not?”

“I just don’t like it. He’s always been a bit…”

Dad had often mentioned the case of Douglas Bennett. They had fought in the same regiment in 1914. When Micheal Wheelan came back from war, he returned as a self-proclaimed hero. His boys loved to hear his stories and take turns wearing his medals. Douglas Bennett had returned to Manchester a far more troubled kind of man.

“And with mum he–” but he stopped himself with an irritated grunt. “Can I stay here?”

“What?” 

“Not forever, I just… can I sit here, just for a moment?”

Kitty took the teddy from him and placed her hand firmly in his. “That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?”

From then on, Tom made quite a habit of appearing at the window and hiding in her room whenever he was in trouble.

Saturday 2nd September, 1939

Being up and out before the boys are awake is a strange feeling, it’s the only time the house is so quiet.

It’s just before dawn. The sky is a hazy shade of dark blue but an orange glow is starting to appear over the rooftops. Mr Gregory wants her in the shop early to help with a delivery.

Something draws her eyes from her black leather shoes on the pavement, up to the end of the street. A figure makes his way down Slade Grove. She recognises the sway of his shoulders and the end of a lit cigarette in his mouth.

“Alright, pretty Kitty?” Tom says when they’re in earshot of each other, taking the cigarette between his fingers. “What are you doing up so late?”

“It’s early,” she says. He’s in a jacket and slacks, and he has a dazed sort of look in his eyes. She can guess where he’s been but it doesn’t stop her from asking. “What have you been up to?”

“Don’t give me that look,” he says, taking another drag. He tilts his chin up and exhales the smoke above their heads through pouted lips. “Just been down the pub, nothing scandalous.”

A likely story. She’s seen the police knocking on their front door twice in four weeks.

“How’s your job in the shop going?” he asks.

It was supposed to be temporary, a little money to make ends meet after dad got laid off from the factory. Six months later and she’s still there. 

“Grand,” she says.

“Can you do me mates rates on a packet of Marlboros?”

“Yeah, if you promise to actually buy them.”

He clutches his chest and his face lights up in an ironic expression. “Of course, what sort of man do you take me for?”

The sort who used to sell cigarettes in the schoolyard— God knows how he got his hands on them in the first place. At that age he could talk himself out of anything. That’s what makes Tom Bennett every parent’s worst nightmare, he’s a troublemaker with pretty blue eyes and an infectiously charming smile.

“I should get going,” she says, taking another step until Tom moves in front of her. Her eyes meet with the collar of his jacket and the hollow of his throat. She can smell the musk of the pub on him, the cigarette smoke and the faded scent of his aftershave.

She looks up to his face and his expression has changed, not quite smiling but amused, smug and somewhat severe.

“What?” she says impatiently.

“Nothing,” he says, unphased, “have a good shift.”

The morning drags on at a gruelling pace. Mr Gregory’s getting on a bit now so Kitty has to do a lot of the heavy lifting, piling boxes into the storage room round the back, going through the stock in the shop, filling the shelves, flattening the boxes and bringing them to the bins outside. It feels like hours of work, but when she looks at the clock it’s not even 9. Eight hours until closing. Mr and Mrs Gregory live above the shop, so at least she gets a steady supply of tea, toast and bits of carrot cake.

By the afternoon she feels her eyes start to close. The morning rush is over now and business will dwindle for the rest of the day. She tries to stay awake, fanning herself with her blouse and nibbling on little mouthfuls of cake.

The bell above the door rings. She straightens her spine and smooths down her apron, ready to put on her best customer service voice, only for Tom Bennett to swagger in through the door.

He’s changed his clothes and donned a blue jacket instead of the earthy green she had seen him in earlier.

“Did you get enough sleep?” Kitty asks at the heavy look under his eyes.

He grins it off. “Packet of Marlboros please, Miss Wheelan.”

She fetches them from the cabinet behind the counter and places the packet in front of him. His aftershave smells a little stronger now. “Anything else?”

He drums his fingers against the counter, looking around innocently at the array of chocolate bars and the jars of sweets behind her.

“I’ll have a bag of Yorkshire mix,” he says.

She takes the jar down from the shelf. She can hear him breathing steadily through his nose as she scoops the sweets into a paper bag. When she turns back around he’s watching her.

“Nine pence,” she says, swallowing down a nervous feeling in her throat.

Tom counts through some change from his pocket and drops the coins into her hands, a sixpence and a thruppence. His fingertips brush over her palms and his knuckles are scabbed over. She dreads to think why.

“Nice one,” he says once she puts the payment through the till. “What do you make of this stuff going on in Poland then?” he says, popping a pear drop into his mouth.

She’s only been reading the headlines of the papers when she stocks them in the shop every morning, or hearing snippets from dad’s radio. 

“Since when did you start taking an interest in foreign affairs?” she asks.

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a raspberry. “Been reading the news, haven’t I?” he says, holding it out for her. 

She hesitates for a moment before she takes it. She lets the sugar melt over her tongue. It tastes like summer afternoons after school and weekends in the park, tearing at the grass and watching the boys play football because they’d never let her join in.

“That’s where Harry is, isn’t it?” she says, “Lois must be worried.

Tom tuts and tucks the bag into his pocket. “Posh boys can talk their way out of anything,” he says. “Speaking of, I met Madge’s new man last night.”

“At the pub?”

“Yeah. Right ponce in’t he?”

She purses her lips in irritation. She hates it when he does this, poking fun at others until he feels better about himself. “He’s training to be a barrister.”

“Like I said.”

She shrugs. “I suppose there are worse jobs to have.”

“Is that what you’ll do then? Find some rich boy with a big house and stick up his arse?”

It’s not quite the future she has planned out for herself. Her friend Madge is a secretary in Manchester. There are all sorts of exams she had to pass, but it could be doable. Mam’s always tried to put her off it though. “Parents need their girls,” she says.

“I don't think I’m likely to find any of those in Longsight. Maybe I should ask Lois for advice?” she says, trying not to smile.

“Steady there, Kitty, I didn’t mean to get you all excited,” he says, leaning into the counter. His voice is lower all of a sudden, it sends an odd, jittery feeling though her chest and stomach.

He winks at her before he turns and leaves. The bell rings and the shop is quiet again.

Her feet feel heavy when she walks through the front door. Her bed calls her name but she’s unbearably thirsty. Saturdays are half days and the boys are already home from the factory. Mam’s started on dinner and the others are around the kitchen table. 

Dad waves a blue leaflet at her. “One of Douglas Bennett’s pacifist… things,” he says.

“Do you really think there’ll be a war, dad?” Kitty says, shrugging off her coat.

“If there is, it won’t be long,” he says with a determined nod, “no one wants another war.”

Eddie and Art hum in agreement. The oldest of the four Wheelan siblings, they were born before dad went away to war. Their faces are older and more stern, like they can still remember a time when they didn’t have their father around. They still call Stevie and Kitty “the babies,” which she thinks must make them feel more important.

Stevie’s in good spirits though. “Ran into Lois and Connie on the bus, and Connie personally invited me to their gig tonight!” he says brightly.

“Come off it,” Art grumbles, “she was just being friendly.”

“Kitty!” Stevie sings, waltzing over to her. He takes her coat from her hands and twirls her around the kitchen, to mam’s despair. “Come to the Fiddler’s Bow with me tonight, please.”

“So you can ditch me for Connie once their set’s done?”

“There’ll be other people there,” Stevie says, turning her around to face their brothers, “or ask one of these grumpy bastards to join us.”

“Stephen Wheelan!” their mother chides.

Eddie and Art share a pointed look and shake their heads, already backing away towards the front room.

In the end she decides she’ll just have to brave it. After eating, she changes into a flowy, white blouse and an emerald green skirt, pinning her hair up so it won’t go everywhere as she moves. She hides a tube of lipstick inside her purse. Mam and dad would rather die than let her leave the house with makeup. She only owns a lipstick because Lois Bennett had given her one.

Stevie brushes up well, in a white shirt and freshly shined leather shoes, his hair slicked back with wax. They run into each other on the landing and race downstairs.

Mam gives them the usual instructions. Home by 11 o'clock and not a minute later. One drink each. No smoking. No noise when they get in. 

Stevie’s already pulling a packet of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket when they’re halfway through the front door.

And Kitty’s breath hitches when, for the third time that day, she sees Tom Bennett. He’s hovering in the doorway, putting empty milk bottles out. When he notices them, he smiles. “Off somewhere nice?” he says.

“Fiddler’s Bow,” Stevie calls back, “to see Lois and Connie play.”

“She’s down there already,” Tom says, his eyes flickering to Kitty for only a moment, “left half an hour ago.”

He’s in a white t-shirt now, that’s just a little too tight against his torso.

“Why don’t you join us?” Kitty says without thinking it through. “Stevie’s going for Connie, I’ll need a partner once he ditches me.”

Tom looks down at the pavement. His lips are thin and his hands fidget by his side. “I’ve um… got something else on tonight, ‘m sorry.”

Her heart sinks. Any lighthearted hope she had about enjoying the evening dissolves right in front of her. Right, of course, because why would he actually want to spend more than a few moments with her?

“Movin’ on,” Stevie says, steering Kitty down the road with a brief farewell to Tom. “He’s no good, you know that?” he whispers in her ear. “Eddie says he nicks scrap metal from the yard, sells it to all sorts dodgy fuckers.”

“Yeah, I know,” she breathes. Her chest feels tight and suddenly she feels like she wants to cry.

Stevie has a good time at the gig. Lois and Connie are first in the lineup and once their set is over, Stevie makes a point of cheering the loudest. The four of them spend the rest of the night dancing.

When Stevie and Connie disappear outside for a smoke, Kitty drags Lois to the bar, to catch their breath and down glasses of tonic water. Lois drones on about her Harry issue, but having three older brothers who presume every word they say is profound and worthy of note, Kitty knows where to hum and nod without really listening.

They walk Connie home first before the three of them make their way to Slade Grove. The houses are quiet now, save for a few lights in the windows, creeping through drawn curtains. Two policemen are standing outside number 27.

“Have you seen your brother?” one of them calls to Lois when she reaches the door.

“No,” Lois says, “but if you see him before I do, will you tell him he’s in trouble?”

Kitty meets Stevie’s eyes and he raises his brows.

“Piss off,” she grumbles.

Mam and dad have gone to bed, but Eddie and Art are playing cards in the front room— or they should be. Eddie is standing by the window, peering through the curtains. 

“Who are they after?” Eddie asks.

“Who do you think?” Kitty mutters, but she doesn’t stay to hear another rant about ‘troublesome Tom Bennett’, and slips her shoes off before she makes her way upstairs.

It can’t be said Tom doesn’t make an impression on the people he meets. Mam and dad still have a soft spot for him, though less so since he’s started getting into trouble with the police, and the lads seem to outright despise him.

She’d be lying if she said he didn’t find him irritating, to a certain degree. Maybe it’s because he’s cocky, maybe it’s because he used to be surprisingly sweet, or maybe it’s because nothing seems to phase him, but something about Tom Bennett makes her restless.

She wipes off her lipstick, takes out the pins in her hair and changes into her nightgown. Her eyes feel heavy, but tomorrow is Sunday, which means the shop will be closed and she can have a whole day of ‘freedom’, so long as that includes helping with the laundry and the dinner.

Dad’s snores are evident and the boys are still distracted downstairs, they’ve even put the radio on by the sound of it.

She’s about to turn off the light when she hears three taps on the window.

He knows it’s unlocked. The window slides up and Tom squeezes through it, slipping his boots off so he doesn’t make too much noise when he plants his feet on the floor. He goes straight to the bed, making himself comfortable over the throw with his hands under his head.

“Lois says the police have been round,” he says quietly.

She looks down at her hands, nervously playing with the fabric of her nightgown. “I saw.”

He turns his head to where she stands. The lamp hits his face like sunlight, catching the sharp features of his face, the point of his nose and the curve of his lips. 

She nudges him closer to the wall, making some space for herself beside him. Her body rests against his. He smells like smoke and fresh air.

“What did you do this time?” she asks.

He doesn’t give her an answer. In a way she thinks she’d rather not know.

His arm falls around her and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Nights with him are often like this, quiet, just two people existing in the same space.

He turns on his side to face her. “Can I stay the night?”

“Tom,” she whispers, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Please, or I’ll have to sleep on a couch in the pub.”

“Are you mad? can you imagine what Eddie’ll do if he sees you walking out my bedroom in the morning?”

“Kitty,” he hums. He brings his hand to her face, gently stroking his thumb over her cheek. His eyes are wide and pleading. “Please.”

It’s in moments like this when she hates Tom the most, when her heart thrums in her chest and she wants nothing more than to lose herself in the feeling of his skin against hers. When their heads are so close together, all she sees are two blue eyes.

Each time she thinks she wants to close the distance between them, something stops her.

Neither of them ever dare to move closer than this.

She reaches to turn off the light and turns back to Tom. Her head falls into his chest and her arm settles around his waist. She falls asleep to the pulse of his heartbeat, the sound of his breath and the warmth of his body.

And by the time the sun shines in through the window, he’s gone.

Sunday 3rd September, 1939

She appears in the kitchen just after 11 o’clock. Her body feels heavy and her eyes are still tired. She shouldn’t have gone back to sleep after she woke up the first time.

Dad’s fiddling with the radio, Art’s pouring tea into six cups, and Eddie and mam are listening to Steive’s retelling of the previous night. He seems incredibly proud of himself, despite the fact the closest he came to kissing Connie was lighting her cigarette.

She helps Art with the tea. They all like it the same way. Strong, with one sugar and a little dash of milk. 

It might almost be a perfect morning, if dad were listening to something more uplifting than the news.

“How about some music?” she says as she hands him his cup, but he doesn’t take it. His eyes are fixed on the radio, and his hands are shaking.

“Dad…”

Art appears over her shoulder and turns up the volume. “Quiet,” he says, and the others fall silent.

A voice speaks through the crackles in the transmission, “consequently, this country is at war with Germany.”

Kitty looks at the faces around her, Eddie and Art glaring furiously, Stevie’s wide eyes and his lips fallen like a child’s, mam and dad’s haunted sorrow.

The transmission ends and she wishes it didn’t, it would save her from the grave silence in the house.

She decides to make herself busy. She washes out an empty milk bottle and goes to leave it by the door.

When she opens the door the two policemen are back, only now they’re walking out of the Bennetts’ house.

Her heart sinks. They have Tom in handcuffs.

His eyes meet hers across the road. He doesn’t make a fuss, or try to protest. He hangs his head as they walk him down the street.

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince (comment to be added)

Series taglist: (comment to be added)

[jacevelaryonswife]

Do you need help, neighbor?

Tom Bennett was a problem you should avoid, but why was he everything you thought?

∴pairing: Tom Bennett x Fem!Reader

∴warnings and a note: kissing and flirting, also, english is not my first language. This story is a continuation of “Do you need help, ma’am?”, but I tried to make it understandable without having to read the previous part. 2,8k of words.

part one | other characters from ewanverse

It had been a short time since you moved to Manchester. Your house was nothing chic or modern, but the neighborhood was well located and quiet, everything a young woman needed. You didn’t used to leave the house much besides work and grocery store, worried about not generating rumors about your life to others, especially because you’re a woman who lived alone, without parents, husband and children. What could be worse than becoming a reason for lies and gossip?

There were worse things than that in fact, such as experiencing the war that was currently taking place, it was terribly scary for you to imagine a sudden Nazi invasion, but if it was already horrible just to think about it, imagine being present in all horror? You felt sorry for your neighbor Douglas Bennett for dealing with the constant fear of losing his youngest son to such brutality. He was a good man and a helpful neighbor, as was his daughter Lois, who became a good friend of yours over the weeks. Both facilitated your adaptation in the new home and were so kind.

That's why that day you decided to thank them for such generosity by making a dinner at your house. You knew that their financial condition wasn’t the most favorable, so you insisted that they didn’t worry about taking anything since your salary was enough to cover your expenses. But then, a peculiar event happened earlier, and his name was Tom Bennett.

When your sink had problems a few days ago you thought it would be fleeting, however, the insistence of the small leak in the lower siphon was starting to bother. Accordingly, you decided to turn to Mr. Douglas for help, but to your surprise, in front of his door — next to yours — was another younger Bennett, dressed as a sailor and holding a cage with a small bird. From then on, things became confusing, hot and daring. Tom Bennett not only solved the situation of your sink but also kissed you like no man had done before. He was a total menace!

You knew that this shouldn’t have happened, mainly because you were a respectful and single lady (and especially because you just met him), but all you thought about throughout the day was his lips on yours, hands running your body and sharp words in your ears. Unfortunately, you haven't stopped remembering what happened throughout the day...

"A pretty thing like you don't have a ring on your finger, were you waiting for me, ma'am?" he smiled maliciously.

While going to the local grocery store to buy some ingredients that were missing for dinner.

"What kind of thanks would you like to receive, Mr. Bennett?"

His smile wideened as he leaned his hand on the table behind you, very close to your waist. "One that only a man and a woman could do."

While cutting the onions and cooking the potatoes.

"This was surprising, miss, I didn't know you had all this," he provoked with his little side smile, hands, which were previously fixed on your hips now circled patterns around your waist. "But I would love to know more where this came from," he whispered close to his lips, returning the tightness in his body.

While going to the bathroom to pee (yes, you read this).

In fact, Tom Bennett was a problem you should avoid, but why was he everything you thought?

Fortunately Lois interrupted what could happen earlier, luckily for you Tom cooperated in the situation. If she suspected something she didn’t let it appear on her smiling face, but previously, in one of the many gossips in your kitchen, Lois commented on the reputation of her younger and rebellious brother, he was a problem boy with a good heart. And great lips and big hands too...

God, you were in trouble!

However, just as there was a chance of him appearing the opposite was also possible, and you counted on it, because it would be easier to pretend that nothing happened without him being present with that little shitty smile. You left the bread in the oven to keep it warmer while organizing some things in the living room and went up to take a relaxing bath on your day off. You put on a beautiful and modest blue dress with a pair of pearl earrings that matched your necklace, in addition to applying a little makeup to highlight your beauty (and for him to appreciate if he accompanied his family, which you hated!).

One wave of nervousness flooded your body after going down the stairs and sitting on the couch, waiting for them while pinching some cookies before dinner. Intentionally your mind wandered and began to imagine him on top of you right there, exchanging scorching kisses with each other.

Your thighs tightened for a second before the touches came from the door. It was them. You almost jumped off the couch and adjusted your dress before taking a deep breath and looking through the crack of the window to see if...

The bastard came! And I still had that damn smile!

How handsome he was... damn it!

You opened the door with a discreet smile, looking naturally at all three at the same time.

“Oh, hi! Lois, you didn't have to bother!" You said when you saw the medium lane she was holding, making room for the Bennetts to enter.

“I know, I know, but we didn't want to come with nothing and it's just a simple pie,” she smiled openly at you.

“Mr. Bennett, good night,” you greeted him with a handshake, then looking at the tallest (and most beautiful) Bennett without knowing how to greet him. Would Tom be too informal? Would Mr. Bennett be repetitive? You didn't know, so you decided to be simpler: "Hi, welcome."

“Thank you, miss,” he smirk with pout.

"Where do I leave that?" Lois asked, attracting your attention from the piece of bad path in front of you.

"In the kitchen," your voice failed a little, in the fortunately they didn’t seem to notice. You smoothed the dress before guiding them to the dining table, keeping yourself in front of and away from the sailor (who wore a gray sweater and pants in the same tone).

“The smell is amazing! Did you make bread?" She asked excitedly.

"Yes I did, I hope you like it." You put the soup pot in the center of the table along with the bread pan, without realizing that the moment you bowed over the stove your rebellious neighbor looked at your ass covered by the dress. A lovely and seductive little thing, according to him.

“It's nothing compared to what you did for me at that time, but thank you,” you looked between Douglas and Lois, sitting at the table after distributing the dishes and cutlery.

"Oh, it's not for that much!" She said before guiding you in a quick prayer. “Amen,” he echoed in unison.

And then, you felt a soft smoothing on your leg with a firm material like a shoe. On the other side of the table, right in front of you, he was with a cheeky and discreet smile. Bloody hell! Would be a long night.

“So, you have already met,” Douglas said to you and your son with a pleasant face.

Before Tom could reveal anything, you anticipated his answer. "Yes, he fixed my sink earlier, he was very kind."

“I'm sure so,” the eldest replied as he looked at his son, seeing his fun feature. So far the most feared Bennett was in a comfortable silence, but he decided to change things (to your concern).

“It's a sin to deny help to a beautiful lady,” he brushed your leg again under the table.

“Oh!” That's all you sketched in false animation.

"Don't mind him, Tom is very talkative, I don't know how you didn't get tired," Lois said, "and by the way, the soup is delicious."

Your response and that of the sailor were synchronized:

“Thank you!”

“Hm, I think she appreciated my company much more than you think,” he smirk.

You wanted to melt into the chair with what Douglas and Lois could think about the statement, so you pushed his leg away when he tried to reach yours again and countered: "he's pretty funny," you kicked him lightly.

Luckily for you, the silence that followed while you ate was quite comfortable, but not long lasting. A few minutes later Lois was responsible for being the magnet that brought things together. “So, how is the job with Mrs. William?”

“Good, it's close to home and the payment is good,” you replied.

“Do you work there? With the father or the son?" Tom asked, obviously curious.

It was a small accounting office run by a family, fortunately they needed extra help and ended up hiring you, but that was before you moved, which made it easier for you to get around.

“With both of them, actually, and Lisa,” you replied.

Taking advantage of the brief distraction of his family, Tom moved his lips in a dirty phrase without sound towards you: "naughty girl,"

When did your kitchen get so hot?

You hated being affected so easily by him, but how to resist those blue eyes and perfectly outlined pink mouth? What about his beautiful face and thin arms and attractive height? And the most aggravating thing: that damn uniform of before.

Another comfortable silence was established, luckily for you. Douglas and Lois spoke a few words about the bread and soup before starting a pleasant conversation about general matters. It was good to get together and entertain yourself with them — something that was needed when living alone.

Until a question made everything change.

“May I use the bathroom?” Tom asked.

"Of course, it's upstairs, but there's a problem with the door and sometimes it ends up getting stuck, if you need help just call," you said.

“Oh he knows, we were talking about the time I got stuck here the week before last,” Lois commented casually, being more revealing than Tom and you could expect.

It went unnoticed at the moment, but when a call upstairs was heard following a "I'm stuck", you were forced to go to it.

"Don't worry, I'll go there."

Poor summer child.

Going up the stairs and stopping in front of the door, you thought how comical it was for him to need your help and decided to play a little about it. “Do you need help, neighbor?”

"I think so, "He replied and you almost swore to see his little smile through the door. "Are you alone?" He asked.

“Yes?”

And so, the door magically opened, just so that your body was pulled into the small and humid room by Tom. An almost scream escaped from your throat when because of the action, your eyes more open. "What are you doing?"

"Is this all for me, miss? I liked it a lot," he smirk seductively, holding your hips and holding you against the door.

"No!" You lied out of breath, holding his shoulders. Ugh, he was so tall and handsome!

"And who is it for? My father? Aren't you too young for him? It will be strange to call you stepmother,” he provoked, making his brow frown with the thought.

"This is not funny! Let me go! Your family is below us,” you tried to keep your voice down.

But the bastard hadn't finished with you yet. The thought of being stuck against the door with his big hands on your hips was dangerous and exciting, and totally welcome at another time, but not now.

"I know, but I couldn't stop thinking about you all day, about your smell, your pretty face, your soft mouth. I know you feel the same way, doll."

He came even closer to you, hovering over your lips with your confident and attractive posture.

“You’re quite convinced, Mr. Bennett,” you murmured, determined to contradict him (well, only vocally).

"And you like that," and then he kissed you sensually, without haste or speed, containing his hands from going down to your ass. Obviously you melted in his arms and returned the slow and demanding movement of the lips, holding around his neck. You wanted this so much. You loved to hate the confidence that Tom exhaled, but what if he was like that with everyone? He had just returned from a horror show, what if he regretted it? What if he didn't want anything serious? You didn't want to be used or badly spoken!

“Stop! We can't do that!" You pushed him away scared and almost ran out of the bathroom, thinking you had left him behind.

"Why? What happened? Didn't you like it?" He murmured right behind you. "Do you have anyone?"

"No!" Before he could ask more, you anticipated back to the table.

Fortunately, your breathing more accelerated than normal went unnoticed by your neighbors who dined calmly. Tom didn't bother you again, but he was restless about what could have happened, it was noticeable. When the pie was broken, you praised Lois' culinary skills and she just said she was the family's favorite, especially Tom's. You asked for the damn recipe — not because of him, but in case things went forward...

And yes, he wasn’t a man who gave up easily, especially a pretty little thing like you, so after his sister and you washed the dishes and everyone got together to talk on the couch, he made a point of sitting next to you. He wanted to be seen by you. It was inevitable that the matter was directed to war, since not only him but Lois was in direct (in the case of himself) and indirect contact with the conflict. He didn't want to keep reliving that in his mind, he just needed a good moment of comfort in the arms of a beautiful woman. You weren't married and certainly found him attractive, so what was the problem?

Tom would do everything to find out why; so, late at night when his father and sister were further ahead on the sidewalk, he touched his pocket and pretended to miss the lighter he was carrying with him.

“I can look for it,” you calmly suggested.

To his surprise, Lois' attitude was favorable to the situation, however, it made him wonder if she would be suspicious of something. “Let's go in dad, it's cold out here,” she said, opening the door of the house next door, their house.

And then, you allowed him to enter again, but remained on your back all the time. There were two options he could venture into, the first: circle your hip and flirt with you until he was embarrassed and shy, which was a delicious sight. The second, a more mature attitude than he used to have, was properly chosen.

“I would like to apologize for what happened before, if I did something you didn't like or wanted, it wasn't my intention,” he said carefully.

“Thank you.”

"... I just wanted to know what happened in the bathroom. Do you have someone or just didn't like the kiss?" He insisted.

"It's not that," you turned to face him, "I'm a single woman, Tom, without a husband or relatives, and I'm new here! I don't need people to say things about me."

"Who cares what the others will say?" He asked.

“I do! I care about it and I don't want a reputation that doesn't fit me. It's not appropriate, and we just got to know each other." You justified it. "You're very handsome and confident, annoyingly confident, but we can't do that, I don't want to have my feelings hurt."

"Do you think I would tell someone?" He asked even more seriously than before.

"I don't know, I don't know you."

"What if you know it? What if I am nothing less than a gentleman who will invite you to dinner without ulterior motives? What if I want to meet my beautiful neighbor properly?"

Your surprised look was quite expressive when you heard his question, breathing a little deeper than before. Would you believe his intentions?

"Do you want to get to know me or is it just a way to make me give in?" You asked.

"You’re tough in the fall, I truly appreciate it in a woman," he joked, sending a look full of flirtation (it was inevitable). "Let's do the following, go meet me and draw your conclusions, nothing will happen as long as you don't want to and I promise that whoever says something about your reputation will take some soups. What do you say?"

And then his mouth opened before closing again. "Only if you behave properly."

Oh boy, you wouldn't regret it. "It's a deal, miss."

═════════════════════

I’m thinking of doing another part of this.

for this story: @inechoingsilence @bellaisasleep

general taglist: @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @kravitzwhore @partypoison00

ewanverse taglist: @aemonds-fire @partypoison00 @schniiipsel @fan-goddess

[evita-shelby]

No substitute for experience

My first Tom Bennett x milf!reader smut (some slight Tom Bennett x reader's daughter sprinkled there)

If its a little wonky please remember i am asexual and writing this was already a feat in itself.

For @hoosbandewan and @elizarbell , who convinced me to do it

Cw: sex, power play, boss/employee dynamic, erotic asphyxiation, infidelity, younger man/older woman

Internet cookie to those who figure out who is the reader's husband.

Gif by @violaobanion

You are old enough to be his mother and yet that’s no issue for him.

He'd gotten a gig as your chauffeur and for the first time in his life he'd been eager to work. Before the first week had ended you’d given him a raise for his great service.

Tom’s been with plenty of girls, but now as he was shown how great sex was with an experienced woman, there was no way he was missing a single day of work.

The fine Bentley is the most common setting for your escapades, but the two of you have grown bold enough to fuck in the car garage, the stables where your husband kept his prized thoroughbreds and even the bed the two of you shared when he wasn’t away in London or your country estate in Birmingham.

Tom knew this was just a fling and would end once your business in Manchester ended, but there was something about you that drove him wild.

“You wished to speak to me, ma’am?” He plays the employee when he is ordered to your office by the housekeeper who does a great job of pretending she doesn’t know why you go through chauffeurs like he goes through packs of cigarettes.

You do not give anything away, dressed to kill and lips red as a bombshell as you play the stern lady of the house. You wear a tight number, something that put your best assets on display.

No one could touch you and live to tell the story, every one knew what your husband did besides politics.

He was playing with fire, but oh how good it felt even of it burned.

“I have had reports of your behavior with the maids, Bennett.” You try not to smirk and yet your eyes betray you as his do. You have the riding crop across your lap and the blonde miscreant knows he’s going to enjoy the punishment you dole out.

You like control, you have your husband wrapped around your finger and put the fear of god into anyone who dared to stand in your way.

If they put you in a room with Hitler, you’d put a stop to his nonsense with look.

“Just being friendly with Sarah and Alice, nothing serious.” He shrugs and adds, “Are you jealous, Y/N?”

You don’t know yet that he’s also been fooling around with your daughter, but for know he keeps his mouth shut. Tom didn’t want to lose the only job he's ever liked yet.

“Mrs. L/N.” you correct. You are Mrs. L/N when you play the boss and the chauffeur with him, but he’s come to enjoy going off script and making you lose your patience.

He knows he’s in for a spanking anyways, why not remind you he’s not one to keep his head down and bite his tongue?

You like his fire, you’ve told him yourself when he’d ravaged you after a visit from your husband.

Bet he can’t go on and on like this anymore, he’d said making use of his youthful vigor.

Oh, silly boy, there’s no substitute for experience, you’d said bopping his nose as of he were one of your children.

“How will you punish me, Mrs. L/N?” he asks taunting you with your own name and keeping himself defiant. “Will you spank me like a kid again?”

The fucking is always better when he provokes you.

“God, no, I’d hate to be predictable, Tommy.” You then asked him to join you on the fancy couches he’ll never afford in this lifetime.

You sit on his lap revealing nothing underneath your skirt, but you don’t let him touch you or even unbuckle his own belt.

“Only good boys get to touch me.” You playfully removed his hands from your waist before springing his cock free from its confines. “I have to teach you to obey, sweet boy.”

He doesn’t need much to be ready for you just as you were already fired up and ready to fuck before he even came into the room. You feel good, so good he thinks you aren’t going to punish him further.

“This doesn’t feel like a punishment, Y/N.” Tom groans lowly as you begin to ride him. He can’t touch you, but really its no hardship.

Your hands roam up his torso and settle on his neck. “Not yet, sweetheart.”

You have a wild and occasionally sadistic side to you, beside control you like inflicting pain onto your toys. Tom was no different and he bets every man and woman before him didn’t give a shit either.

“There is a Siberian prayer called Khlysty, where a priest would place their hands on your neck and give you the most wonderful ecstasy via strangulation.” You begin and waits for him to agree or refuse.

You only go as far as he allows and while the idea frightened him, he knows you wouldn’t hurt him or worse kill him.

He's in safe hands, literally.

“Russians always know where the fun is, don’t they?” Tom relaxed under her touch as the hands around his neck grew tighter.

But you don’t stop fucking yourself with him as if he were a toy and he fights the urge to touch you and return fire.

Feels damnably good. Better than anything so far.

And when he feels he can’t breathe anymore, when it begins to hurt despite the fact that he’s about to cum, you bring your lips to his ear and whisper the last thing he expected.

“Can my little girl make you cum like this, Bennett?” You let go and Tom unraveled in ways he’d never done before.

He's barely regained his ability to speak when he answers, “No substitute for experience, ma’am.”

[multific]

Genuine

Tom Bennett x Reader

Summary: Tom has something to prove to his father.

"And I'm not genuine? You don't think I'm genuine?"

"Are you, son?"

"I can be."

Tom stared at his father, not believing his words. He didn't know what he had been through. And Tom certainly will never tell him.

"Can you prove that?" his father asked as Tom shifted a little in his chair. "You came back from the war, but you never did anything with your life. No wife or children, do you even work?" Tom's eyes flicked up to his father's.

Tom was working yes, he worked at a local workshop fixing whatever engine was brought in.

His father knew nothing.

"I have a house."

"You were given that for your service. You never worked for it." Tom nodded. Almost three years since he was back and every time he saw his father, this was his reaction.

"You should come by this weekend," Tom said.

"You never invited me before."

"I'm putting an end to this. Come by whenever you wish, Father." Tom stood up and with that, he was off.

---

Douglas let out a long sigh as he stood on the porch of his son's home. Truth be told he never visited him before, and never got invited either so to have Tom invite him over, was a surprise.

Mr Bennett knocked on the door and he heard a soft voice from inside, definitely not his son.

You opened the door as you looked at the man.

"How may I help?" you smiled at the stranger.

"Oh-Uh. I'm- Douglas Bennett."

"Oh, right, Mr Bennett! Tom did mention you might come over! Please come in! Tommy's still at work but he should be home soon, can I offer you a drink?" you invited Tom's father in and soon he was sitting in the kitchen by the table. You joined him with a cup of tea for him.

"May I ask... who are you? Are you perhaps a nurse?"

"Nurse?"

"Yes, soldiers sometimes need help after..."

"Oh, no, I'm not a nurse. I'm actually- I'm your daughter-in-law." Douglas' eyes nearly fell out of his skull.

"Beg your pardon?" he was glad he was not drinking at that moment.

"Tommy said you... We got married last year, I have known him for five years now, we met during the war."

"Why didn't he tell me anything about this? He is married?!"

"To be honest Mr Bennett, I told him many many times to tell you. I told him to invite you over or at least to the wedding, but he is stubborn."

"You even had a wedding?"

"I would rather call it a small ceremony? I had a small cheap dress and it was done in like five minutes. It wasn't about the ceremony, but rather about us."

"You love my son?" to your surprise the man in front of you looked shocked.

"I really do, Mr Bennett. I truly admire him. I wish you would have seen him, he was always so brave, even when they got hit. He is a very brave and kind man."

Douglas looked into your eyes.

"Is this some sort of set-up?"

"Sorry?" you looked at him shocked.

"Are you faking this? My son is not married, he is not that kind of a man. The next thing you will tell me is that you are pregnant." he laughed but as he watched your face fall and you got very quiet, his laugh was cut short.

"I wish you could see him the way I do. He is kind and he takes good care of me. Upon hearing the news about the baby, he told me to stop working and stay home, he promised he will care for me."

"This is..." Douglas stood up. "HOW DARE YOU LIE TO ME? How dare Thomas lie!"

"Please calm down Mr Bennett, there is absolutely no need to yell. I'm not lying." Douglas' eye was caught by the ring on your finger, he took a deep breath. "I understand this is difficult to believe, Tommy said he doesn't want to tell you because you see him as a child and he hates that. That he used to behave like a child but not anymore."

Douglas nodded and sat back down.

"Darling?" came a voice from the front door. "You won't believe it, but I got the raise! Jeff said I deserve it. Where are you, Love?"

"Kitchen." you replied as Tom soon entered. He saw his father and you by the table. "So you got the promotion? Amazing news! I made your favourite, we can all celebrate."

Tom barely heard you, his eyes focused on his father.

This wasn't Tom's plan. He wanted to be home when his father arrived. Tom searched his father's eyes but couldn't read him.

"You should have told me." Douglas spoke up.

"I wanted to."

"When? When my grandchild is running around?"

"No, possibly on your deathbed," Tom replied as Douglas scoffed.

"I have a right to know that my son is married and is about to have a child."

"Oh, your non-genuine son?" Douglas pounded his fist on the table and that really got to Tom. "Don't threaten me in my own home! You are scaring my wife, yelling in front of her. Now you know, you can leave."

"Thomas, this is not okay. You going behind my back and not involving me in your life. I wasn't that bad of a father to you." You could only look between the two. You wanted to think of a way to defuse the tension.

"Maybe not, maybe you weren't that terrible, but you sure took every opportunity to make me feel like shit. I didn't tell you about Y/N because I fear you would do the same to her or the child." there it was, Tom's heart on the table right in front of his father, you reached out and grabbed his hand from the table. Offering him a kind smile when he looked at you.

"We can fix this. I know we can, Tom. I do see now that you are not a child, you have a house and a wife, and you will soon be a father. And I would like to be involved in your life, if you will allow me."

"We could visit you Mr Bennett, weekly and go from there." you suggested and both nodded.

"Then, I will take my leave, we should all think and rest up." said Douglas as he stood up.

"One moment." you said quickly getting up and rushing to another room.

Douglas looked at his son, Tom's eyes followed you until you left his sight, this was no fake marriage, no fake relationship, he could see it in his son's eyes. Tom was in love.

"Here." you soon came back to the kitchen and handed a piece of paper to Douglas. "Congratulations, Mr Bennett. You will be a grandfather." you said with a smile as Douglas looked at the photo in his hand, an ultrasound photo of a small baby could be seen and Douglas nodded.

"Thank you, and congratulations to you two."

Soon after, Douglas left your house and you set the table for dinner, Tom ate like he didn't have food for weeks.

"Your father took the news well." you said and he nodded.

"It's because you are an angel. I assumed he yelled at you, assuming this was all faked before he settled." you nodded as well. "We will get used to it."

"What made you invite him over?"

"I wanted to be here when he arrived, he said I'm not genuine, that I only have this house because it was given to me, as if I had done nothing and earned nothing."

"He sees it now. You can't fully blame him, you were a terrible child back then." you laughed a little as Tom finished eating. "He will be a great grandfather for our child."

"You really are amazing, Love." Tom said as he watched you get up and do the dishes.

"I know I am." you smiled as you soon joined him, sitting on his lap as he kissed your lips.

His arms secure around you, one on your back the other over your belly.

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~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

             DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

[in-a-mountain-pool]

Playing House CH1

pronouns: she/her (afab)

warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort,

summary: A childhood friend and neighbour of the Bennett family, Y/N fights the war on the Homefront, and looks back on her life and *almost* love with a certain Sailor.

pairings: Tom Bennett x reader

wordcount: 1018

The nights were long during the first few months of the war. You'd desperately wanted to do your bit from the start, what with losing a father to the first great war. The war to end all wars, they had called it. You'd wanted to be a nurse just like your mum and make her and your dad proud. But after the selection process they'd decided you were too 'gentle' for a war hospital environment, and supposedly had a knack for maths and electronics. Before you knew it, you'd been taken on as a switch board operator at the war office sending messages across the country, often times the bearer of bad news more than good. This evening you'd pulled a gruelling shift and things were apparently only going to get worse as word came in there had been a particularly nasty battle out in the Java Sea. Whilst you'd avoided the sight of the bloodshed, being the first to know it had happened was almost even worse. Having to tell the poor sod on the other line that their squadron were not coming back was heart-breaking and never got any easier. There was no good way to tell anyone the sort of news which had become common place to you.

Your mind was working on autopilot, the 8-hour day soon turning to 14 hours, with hardly the time for even a tea break and a biscuit, or even a smoke. As your hands started to shake changing wires in the dim light of the room, a voice shakes you from your deep concentration, and gentle manicured hands take the wire from your grip softly.

"Y/N, girl, you've got to stop, alright? You'll waste away if you keep this up. Go home, yeah? We can take it from here. Your mum will be beside herself with worry."

Betty, your best mate at work had already brought you your coat and you were so tired you let her stand you up as she placed it on your shoulders and hooked your gas mask over your shoulder.

"Churchill would be proud of you today, love. Your finest hour indeed. But you've gotta take care of yourself, eh? Can’t fight the Germans without fuel and a good night’s rest."

The older woman gave me a warm knowing look and sent me on my way, and I walked down the streets of Manchester briskly in the dark of the night.

As I approached my childhood street and our small, terraced house, it was deadly quiet and crisp outside in the night that even the jangle of my housekeys seem disruptive. Not a soul was out, not even the patrons of local pub were kicking up a fuss, not even on a Friday night. It was hard not to feel a sense of discomfort, like the calm before the storm. I push the front door open quietly, Mum was almost definitely in bed at this hour and I didn’t want to risk waking her when she had a long shift ahead of her at the hospital in the morning... but then out of the corner of my eyes, I see a small rectangle of light peeking out from beneath the door to the living room. She never waited up for me. Not even when I went out with the girls at work for drinks. Tired and dejected, I decide to leave her be and deal with her dramas in the morning, and I start to climb the staircase slowly, until a soft creak gives me away.

"Y/N, is that you? Come in, I need to talk with you."

My hand grips the rail tighter, as a wave of discomfort washes over me, and my stomach turns. Mum appears in the hall, wrapped up tight in her dressing gown, bathed in the warm light of the fireplace.

"Darlin' come on, I just made a cuppa, come and sit with me alright?"

She gently coaxed me out of my coat and sat me down, placing a small plate of supper she'd obviously kept for me, and a warm cup of earl grey in my hands. She came to sit down opposite me at the dining room table and started staring at me expectantly, taking my hand in hers tightly. Why on earth was she being so careful with me? She was treating me like I was made of glass, and soon worrying thoughts started to race through my head as she began to speak.

"So... Did you hear the news...at the office today?"

My green eyes search hers cautiously as I take a sip of the warm tea and reply in a tired voice.

"When I was leaving, we'd just got news about a battle in the Indonesian Sea... but Betty insisted I come home, 'was getting the shakes and all that. No time for lunch when Jerry is wreaking havoc out there."

At this she grips my hand a little tighter and my heart gets colder as she quietly prods me on.

“So, you… you do know then?"

…

The pause goes on for a long moment, like she's waiting for me to crack or something, looking at me like whatever she was going to say might break me. I'm so knackered and aching from the day that my patience is worn thin, and my reply comes out as a harsh snap.

"Oh hell, Mother, do I know what? Please just tell me whatever has happened, alright? You're frightening me."

Her face drops, and I can see her start biting her lip, and it’s only then that I really look at her in the darkened room and I can see her eyes are swollen and pink from crying, with a worrisome look etched across her face.

"Love, the battle today against the Graf Spree... well, the HMS Exeter was there... and she's been sunk. Mr Bennett, he came by to see me all in a panic and-"

My whole world crashes down as I hear about Douglas, and the only thing I can picture is *his* face. Blue eyes flash in my memory, the smell of spring, the feeling of his hand in mine… and all of a sudden, I feel like I can hardly breath. I gasp harshly, only one word, one name, leaves my lips.

"Tommy."

[lynnbeth5172]

Bittersweet Goodbye (small preview)

“I’m serious…just want something before I leave.” She felt her throat develop a lump, she wanted to do what he wished. To tell him a story of him surviving but another part told her not to.

“Tom I’m not giving you false hope, saying something that won’t happen is cruel for you.” She looked down and was about to put her nail to her mouth before his hand was on her wrist, gently moving it away from her mouth and holding onto it. Making her feel oddly warm.

“Just tell me a story…make it up like you do with the characters you write about.” He offers a small grin and she found herself giving a small shy smile back.

::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: :::

👍

Taglist: @bellaisasleep @arcielee @sepherinaspoppies @prettymuchteddy @aemondtarqaryens @knewwaver @fan-goddess @synkverv

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

'Til the Sky Burns

21/12: Sunset & Orgasm Control - Tom Bennett Word Count: 1.9k~ | Warnings: p in v sex, edging, fingering, orgasm control, Tom being a bit of a prick (what's new) A/N: sorry this is kinda similar to the last one oops sue me

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

She's quiet, he notes, and fiddling with her hands like she's nervous. Her pumps click rhythmically with each step, the biting, winter cold slipping beneath their clothes. 

Tom is cocky, mean sometimes, but never usually cruel, like he is being now.

But he figures he should make her sweat a bit, wondering why he's acting the twat that he is, while her pretty little head whirs around with possibilities at why he might be angry with her.

Even he can admit to himself, it's a silly reason.

He'd been looking forward to seeing her for weeks. With every letter exchanged, every glance at her photo from the pocket of his uniform, he couldn't wait to touch her again, to breathe in her perfume and feel her warm body against his.

He'd remembered his words to her before left.

"I could stay here, between your pretty thighs, all day love."

She had rolled her eyes, and told him that she was more than willing to let him try.

And after hours of grueling travel, crossing waters and land to see her, the first thing he saw when he stepped off the train to the platform was her talking to someone else.

To the twat down the road no less, who for one couldn't take no for an answer, and secondly, had been discharged from service on bullshit medical grounds, in reality too much of a coward to face real war.

Not that Tom could compare, he'd picked the Navy as a way of distancing himself as much as possible. But he didn't say he was perfect.

He remembered watching her for a good few seconds. It was midday, but she'd made the effort and dressed up all pretty, done her hair, to make herself look good to meet him off the train.

And he had to admit, she did look absolutely gorgeous, just as he'd remembered.

But there was a rancid taste in his mouth left over as he narrowed his eyes at them as they talked. She was clearly uncomfortable, but forced a smile to her face out of sheer politeness. And everytime he reached out to touch her arm, she took a baby step back.

Even that wasn't enough to pull him out of his now foul mood.

She smiled and nodded, grimacing as she stepped away from him and turned suddenly to see Tom, the man she had come to see, a smile lifting to her face in relief.

To be met with Tom's expression, stoic and seething, had her face fall. 

She knew that look well enough.

So he walked with her silently to her flat on the edge of town, the usual few minutes stretching into an eternity. She's stuffed her hands in her pockets, eyes downcast, as if she was wondering what she'd done to upset him but dare not ask yet.

At least until they were in the comfort of her flat.

The warm wall hit Tom as he entered her living room with a deep sigh. Through his annoyance, the familiar smell of her had his chest all tight, but was much too proud to even break his mood.

He shucked his bag onto the floor, bending to sit at the dining table, his hat scrunched tight in one fist.

Tom watched her as she pulled her coat off, able now to see the dress she'd picked. His favourite one of hers. 

It almost made him feel bad, being this much of a twat when he saw how much effort she'd put into looking nice for him so eagerly.

“Tea?” She asks, raising her gaze briefly to him. And when all he gives is a curt nod, she sighs softly and puts the kettle on the stove, lighting the gas and waiting.

Any second now, he thinks, his finger tapping on the wood surface of the table, leg bouncing impatiently.

“Have I done something?” She asks, so quietly and kindly that it nearly, nearly breaks him. Makes him want to rip all her clothes off and let her know who she belongs to, after all his time at sea, the idea is all the more tempting.

His jaw tightens, “Don't know what you mean.”

“I think you do, Tom. You've not said a word to me. Come on, please.”

He sighs. It's a mistake looking at her. She gives him those eyes.

When he stands, she is reminded of his sheer size, his height, the broadness of his shoulders all but accentuated by the boxy uniform he wears. The early afternoon sun pours through the single glazing onto one side of his face, in such an amber glow that one might expect it to be setting already. 

The winter sun looked good on Tom Bennett’s lazy stubble that coated his chiselled jawline.

She swallowed over the lump in her throat as he leaned over her, using his arms either side of her to cage her in against the kitchen counter. His usual mischief in his blue eyes is all but gone, and he bites his lip in annoyance, making the muscle of his jaw twitch.

“You get all nice and dressed up for him, hm?”

Her wide-eyed, terrified expression was too fucking adorable, he nearly let a smirk slip by.

“Who?”

He scoffed quietly, “That prick on the platform you were talking to so eagerly.”

He knew it was a lie, but it was too tempting to tease her. Knowing she’d flounder.

“What on earth are you-”

“Trying to impress him, are ya?” Tom was only human, and at the thought he was flustering her, he grinned.

“Tom, I was just being nice!”

He scoffed, showing his teeth as he smiled, “bit over the top though, wasn't it love?”

“What do you want me to do? Bat away every man who speaks to me?”

“That'd be a start, yeah.”

“See, now you're just being-” she started, but was swiftly interrupted with Tom surging forwards to her, his chest bumping against hers, his lips parting hers with ease and sliding his tongue against hers. 

His motions were quick and calculated, one hand grabbing her waist, while the other worked swiftly to pull the hem of her dress up, his two long, slender fingers stealing between her thighs to feel how aroused she was.

He was pleased at what he found.

“Miss me, did ya?”

He saw her grip on the counter behind her tighten as he teased her through the thin fabric that separated their flesh.

Months and months of separation was pouring out of him into his actions on her.

She shook her head at him with a smile, breathing elevating by the second as his deft fingers slid down the front of her underwear, “you're such a-”

“Hm?” He smirked, sinking two of his fingers into her warm agonisingly slowly, curving upwards towards the top of her walls to massage that spot he knew so well.

He didn't need her to finish the sentence. He knew he was a cheeky bastard.

Tom was never one for soft touches, gentle kisses or words of utter devotion. Usually, anyway. He was much too proud for that. 

He showed his possessiveness over her in many different ways. With a quirk of his lips, the grip of his fingers on her thigh and with incessant and brutal lovemaking.

Time slid by slowly after they'd returned to her flat, all of their actions drunkenly merging into one long moment of heavy breaths and their skin pressing against each other hotly.

Tom was quite impressed he'd managed to stay between her legs for hours, all without giving her the luxury of an orgasm.

It felt cruel doing it. But he was, in his own way, punishing her.

He held his hands against either side of her waist, shallowly pushing his hips against her backside with a lazy, languid pace. Hitting her sweet spot, but at the same time, lacking the intensity for it to really build into anything.

Her curls had fallen into waves with the exertion of the past few hours, and she was tired, her cheeks all flushed both with exhaustion, and all's frustration at being denied what she really wanted.

Her grip was tight on the windowsill in front of her, the winter sun almost touching the horizon.

“Christ, if anyone walked by right now, love.” He smirked, his thumbs sitting in the dimples above her backside, looking down between them at the way his length was slick with her arousal between rapid thrusts.

He nearly lost it when her walls fluttered around him, nearly sending him over the edge as well. The idea of anyone walking by the window, despite being on the first floor, was still exciting.

“Tom, please…” 

“Ah, you'd like that, would ya?” He asked lowly, leaning over her and whispering against the shell of her ear, “who knew you were such a dirty girl, hm?”

He heard and felt the telltale signs she was close again. She inadvertently tightened around him, her breaths coming all quick and her voice strained.

“Tommy…” she whimpered, turning slightly to try and capture his lips, groaning in frustration as he pulled away with a smug smile.

“Stop whinging, now. Sun's not set yet.”

She opened her bleary eyes to the horizon. The sun, annoyingly, had only just touched the skyline. And the repeated feeling of Tom stretching and filling her impossibly was beginning to crest without effort.

She moaned as Tom's full lips parted and bit at her neck, “If he could see you now. Fucking soaked and eager for me.”

Humiliation burned in her blood with every word he said, his pace never faltering even once. She wondered, briefly, how Tom was able to go on this long. But he was pent up and enjoying watching her teeter on the precipice of falling apart.

And it was just too tempting for him to even think about stopping.

Tom glanced up though, and saw the sun was slowly beginning to set, agonisingly slow, and a smirk split across his face.

His hand made its way around her face, gently pulling her face up to the amber glow of the sunset, “come on then, love. Let go for me.”

Tom delighted in the reaction he got from her, her whole body wracked with pleasure. All at once, heat flooded her limbs, making them tremble, and the sheer sound she lets out is enough in itself to make Tom fall apart right after her. 

But it's her tightening around him that gets him in the end.

His face contorts as the pleasure burns in his veins, pulling out of her quickly, his dog tag necklace feels cool to the touch against his bare chest as he breathes, fisting his length and letting a shuddered groan slip as he paints the soft skin of her backside with his release.

If it feels like this for him, having been close to orgasm for hours, he can't imagine how it feels for her.

He pulls her up against his chest, his lips leaving lazy, open-mouthed kisses on her neck as their breaths and hearts slowly return to normal.

“You're not angry?...”, she managed between laboured breaths.

Tom chuckled lightly, his breath running hot over her neck, “Don't fret, love. I was only pulling ya leg.”

She smacked his arm playfully, both of them looking out onto the sky as the setting sun set it alight briefly before the darkness chased it away.

“You're a cheeky bastard, Tom Bennett.” She mused softly, in a way which made it clear she was smiling.

He tightened his arms around her, resting his chin on the crown of her head, “tell me something I don't know, darlin’.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

[happilyhertale]

Tom Bennett

Finding the courage – Tom Bennett x female!reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

You spent a sheltered childhood in Brighton. Until the time when your father died. Your mother is overwhelmed with the role of caring mother, which eventually leads you to leave home and seek happiness elsewhere. But you have not in the least anticipated what or who awaits you in your new adopted home.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Life anchor – Tom Bennett x female!reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Ever since your father announced that you were to marry an older, influential man, your fate seemed sealed. The days go by one after the other until one day a blonde sailor catches your attention.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A simple desire – Tom Bennett x female!reader - NSFW, Fingering

A spark of hope – Tom Bennett x female!reader - NSFW, Fingering, sex (p in v)

12 Days of Smuff

12 Days of Smuffmas

[humanpurposes]

Just for a Moment, part ii

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, smut, Tom Bennett's daddy issues, mentions of war and death

Words: 5000

A/n: Also available to read on AO3.

Monday 18th September, 1939

He can’t count the time as he waits but it feels like hours, leaning against the wooden gate, fiddling with his release papers. He’s still in the same jumper he was wearing two weeks ago when those coppers came for him, and he smells like a wet dog.

He supposes he should count himself lucky, all things considered. It’s not the first time he’s been arrested, and it’s not the first time he’s been threatened with jail time. Everything had caught up to him, but he’d found an escape, like he always does.

He still can’t get the look of disappointment in Kitty’s face out of his head.

Something’s clawing at his mind, a restless feeling, like there’s something he’s forgotten but he can’t put his finger on it.

Finally he spots Lois and his dad. He starts to pull the jumper over his head. “Either of you started to smoke? I’m dying for a fag.”

Lois holds out a clean shirt for him.

“Didn’t bring my overcoat then?”

His sister glowers.

“I’m joking,” he draws out, tossing the jumper into her arms. He slips the shirt over his head and walks on. If either of them want to ask him about his little sabbatical, he’d rather it be a short and sweet conversation.

“When are you in court then?” Douglas asks, he and Lois walking a pace or so behind him.

“I’m not.”

“You’ve been on remand for two weeks, they must have charged you with something.”

“They were going to,” Tom says, bringing his arms through the sleeves and doing up the buttons on the front of the shirt, “but I said I’d join up.”

He knows why his dad hesitates. “You’d be better off in there,” he says.

“I won’t actually be joining up, dad. I’m a conscientious objector.” He knows he’s far too smug about the whole thing, it seems to irritate people, and he thinks maybe that’s why acts the way he does. 

“Since when?” Lois says.

Tom turns his head over his shoulder and grins. “About half an hour ago?”

The bus to Longsight stops just outside Gregory’s shop. He spots Kitty behind the counter through the glass. She doesn’t see him though, she’s writing something down. He asks Lois for some change and says he’ll see her and dad at home.

He takes a deep breath before he pushes on the door handle. The bell doesn’t distract Kitty from what she’s doing, but it gives him a few moments to admire the sight of her in deep concentration. She frowns rather sternly, pressing, pouting and biting her lips while she tries to think. Then with a frustrated huff she sets her pencil down and looks up.

She looks stunned at the sight of him. “Afternoon,” she says.

“Afternoon.”

“Not in prison anymore?”

He shrugs casually. “Didn’t get charged with anything.”

The edge of her mouth quirks. “And that makes it alright then?” 

He stops himself from rolling his eyes. Kitty has a remarkable talent for disguising her anger as passivity, but he knows better than to ignore it.

“Not charged on account of me joining up– for the war, like.”

“Oh right,” she says, folding her arms. “What did you come here for, toy gun and a uniform?”

“No,” he says, placing sixpenny on the counter, “usual.”

She looks at the coin, and then at him, before she turns to the shelf to get him the cigarettes and places the packet on the counter.

He’s never minded silences with Kitty before, they both seem to be able to sit in them, not having to needlessly fill the spaces. There’s nothing comfortable or familiar about this. He can see the rise and fall of her chest and her nostrils flaring when she puts the money through the till. The change rattles inside the draw as she slams it shut. 

“Cheers,” he mutters. He opens the packet and slips out a cigarette, only to realise they’d taken his lighter off him when he was arrested.

He taps it against the counter and Kitty just watches him. He has the feeling she might want him to leave.

“I’m not really joining up,” he says, “I’m gonna be a pacifist.”

“Tom Bennett the conchie?” she smirks.

Seeing her smile is like watching the sunrise, one of life’s little triumphs. He hopes he’s managed to break through the cold exterior.

“Dad’s giving me some leaflets and all,” he adds with a grin.

“You’re really committing then?” she asks, but there’s something sharp about her tone.

He feels his face soften. “What’s that mean?”

She huffs through her nose and turns her head away for a moment. “Well it’s obvious you’re only doing it because it gets you out of something you don’t want to do.”

“That’s sort of the point of pacifism, isn’t it?”

“Not in your case, no. You’re doing this to avoid going to prison.”

He scoffs, but he knows she’s right. Perfect Kitty Wheelan, she’s always right about everything.

“Would you rather that then?” he says, grimly.

“No! For Christ’s sake, of course I’m glad you’re not in prison!”

“So what’s your problem then?” he exclaims. “Because the only alternative is getting shipped off to die in some stupid war!”

He’s gone too far, he can see it in her eyes, they way they go wide and glassy. She takes a few moments to catch her breath, and when she blinks a tear rolls from each of her eyes.

“They’ve already gone, Eddie and Art. They’ve been sent to Belgium. Stevie’s not signed up yet, but he wants to.”

Two weeks. He’s been gone for two weeks and the war is already pressing on.

“Kitty…” he says softly, placing his hands on the counter, but she doesn’t reach for him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.”

She takes a slow breath. When she looks up at him his heart stops for a moment. She’s so beautiful, even when she cries.

“Tom,” she says softly, “if you’re going to do something, do it for the right reasons. Do it because you believe in it.”

His hands twitch on the counter. He looks at her with the face that she usually finds convincing, hoping somehow she’ll understand how desperate he feels, how much he wants her to just take his hand.

“Alright, Kitty!” calls the voice of Mr Gregory, appearing from the storeroom. “That’s you done for the day—” he freezes when he sees Tom.

“Thanks, Mr Gregory,” Kitty says, quickly wiping her cheeks and undoing her apron. “Are you sure you don’t want help closing?”

“I’ll be alright, lass,” the man insists, “you deserve a few hours off.”

She won’t look at him, but Tom waits for her to get her coat and her bag, and follows her out the door as she leaves.

He fiddles with one of the cigarettes he can’t light, walking beside her towards Slade Grove. His arm brushes against her shoulder every so often.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “for shouting, it was uncalled for.”

“Yes it was,” Kitty says.

“It’s just, you know, criminal charges’ll stick with me for life, and if I die as a soldier, then what was the point in signing up in the first place?”

He watches her face wince at the mere thought, but she keeps her head up and her shoulders strong. She doesn’t say another word to him. 

An odd feeling of panic settles in his stomach. He tries to think of all the things he could say to make things right, to get her to at least look at him. The panic only mounts as they get closer to the Wheelans’ front door. 

“Kitty,” he says as she reaches into her handbag for her keys.

Her eyes slowly come to him, with a sad but expectant look.

His heart could burst. There’s so much he could say but no words come to mind, like his eyes just see her and accept the sight completely. 

“Kitty I—”

Suddenly the door swings open. Nancy Wheelan looks like she’s ready to go somewhere by the green coat and the brown leather handbag on her arm.

“Oh,” she says, looking between the two of them. “Is the shop still open?”

“Mr Gregory’s closing. If you want something you should get there quick,” Kitty says.

“No matter, I can wait until tomorrow,” Nancy says, before she turns her eyes to Tom.

“Mrs Wheelan,” he says, as inoffensively as he can.

Kitty shifts her weight on her feet.

“Tom,” the woman replies, curtly. Your father tells me you’ve been on remand.” Like mother like daughter, never ones to avoid stating the obvious.

“Oh, um, yeah,” Tom says, tucking the cigarette behind his ear. He’s hardly going to get invited in for tea by the stern look on Nancy’s face. “I’d better be off,” he says, and turns to Kitty one last time. “I’ll see you around.”

Kitty nods and quickly follows her mother inside the house. He can’t help but feel the slam of their front door is deliberate.

Douglas leaves some pamphlets out for him on the kitchen table, along with a spare lighter. He sits with his feet on the table, eyes skimming over the words, flicking the lighter open and shut. No matter how hard he tries to concentrate, his mind always seems to wander to Kitty.

When Lois comes back from her gig, torn between delight and despair at Harry’s return to Manchester, Tom sits on the windowsill in their bedroom, blowing smoke through the open window. Across the road, Kitty’s bedroom light is on, the curtains wide open.

He wonders if it’s an invitation.

“He said he loved you, didn’t he?”

Lois is tucked into her bed on the other side of the curtain that divides the room, the duvet up to her chin. “That was before he went away,” she says groggily.

“Yeah and a bloke isn’t going to say it more than once,” he says, tapping the ash from the cigarette, “not unless he’s feeling guilty.”

“It wasn’t like before,” Lois says, “he said things were different…”

“He’d just be nervous,” Tom muses. “He didn’t write, temper on you, bloody hell who wouldn't be, eh?”

There’s a flicker of a shadow in Kitty’s window.

“Why are you sticking up for him?” Lois giggles from her bed. “You don’t even like him.”

A figure blocks out the light and then she’s there. 

Look at me.

She slides the window closed and turns the lock. 

Come on, look at me.

She reaches up for the curtains and before she draws them, she turns her head to their house. He lowers his cigarette. She’s looking at him, dead in the eyes, he’s sure of it, even if his face will be hard to see.

She closes the curtains and the light switches off soon after that.

He huffs through his nose and collapses onto his front on the bed. “I’m sticking up for you,” he says, taking another drag, “couldn’t cope for a minute if you went wobbly. Neither could dad.”

“Of course you could, you’d look after each other.”

He doubts that. He’s always been one to disappear when dad has one of his episodes, or sits in his bedroom, crying into mum’s old cardigans because the smell of her is starting to fade. It’s too much. It’s frustrating. It makes him want to shout and scream because why can’t dad just pull himself together? Instead he slips out the backdoor, smokes in the alleyway behind the houses, hunches himself over a pint in the pub, or finds himself in Kitty’s bedroom, just for a few moments of peace.

“You’re the one he needs, Lois. Me…” He pouts his lips as he takes another drag and inhales the smoke into his chest. It burns a little until he breathes it out. 

Kitty doesn’t let him smoke in her bedroom, in case her parents or one of the lads found out, but she says she likes the smell of it. She muttered it once, about a year ago, when he’d shown up at her window with a flask of whisky he’d filled from dad’s stash under his bed. They drank while her parents were at the pub and the boys were having some kind of party downstairs, until all they could manage were giggles that left them scarce for air as they tried to stay quiet. She curled into his arms that night and nuzzled into his neck, pulling herself into him with every breath she took.

“Because you smell like you,” she’d said in an airy voice, “Like fags and sweat and sweets.”

He kissed her temple, then her cheek, then her neck, but she was already falling asleep by the time his lips grazed the corner of her mouth. 

If she remembers that night, she never mentions it, and she’s never tried to kiss him back. He doesn’t blame her.

“... I’m just a bloody nuisance.” 

Tuesday 19th September, 1939

He comes back from the recruitment office with his hands in his pockets. Some pacifist he makes, almost starting a fight in the queue. He can’t even laugh at himself. He heard the word “coward” and he knew he couldn’t go through with it.

As he walks past the Wheelan’s house, he sees the light in the front room isn’t on. Usually that’s where the boys all sit, but with Eddie and Art gone the house must be quiet these days. He wonders what Kitty will make of the recruitment papers in his back pocket.

When he makes his way into the kitchen, Lois is busy with ironing, and his dad is looking at the papers through his spectacles. 

“Kałuszyn’s a German victory,” Douglas mutters as Tom drapes his jacket over the opposite seat. “Only took a day.”

“How was the recruitment office?” Lois asks.

Tom exhales through his mouth and places the papers in front of his dad, new but already folden and crinkled.

Once Douglas has read what he needs to, he lowers his spectacles.

“The navy? The blood navy? You can’t even steer a pedalo.”

“At least it’s not the army,” Tom says with a shrug, “and I’m not going to prison, so…”

“I must be stupid,” Douglas says, “I thought you’d actually become a pacifist, really believed in it.”

“I don’t really believe in anything for long, dad,” Tom says, curling his fist on the table in front of him. “At least I’m fighting on the right side, at least give me that!”

“Everybody thinks that, every war that’s ever been fought,” Douglas says.

“Yeah well this one’s different.”

“Every war’s different!” Douglas bellows, tossing his spectacles onto the table. “Until it’s the same.”

Tom hangs his head. He knows he’s not a coward, and yet he’d still found himself switching to a different line once it had all calmed down. He knew he was stubborn, but this, signing up for a war to prove a point to a stranger… the worst part is he’s stubborn enough to go through with it.

“Lois, talk some sense into him!” their father says.

Lois can be so quick to anger, but with dad she always manages to stay perfectly calm. “I can’t do that dad. I think he’s right to join up.”

Tom can’t bring himself to look up, even when he hears his dad scoff at her.

“At least he’s getting out in the world,” she says. 

“Yeah, to get shot or blown up!”

Tom snatches up the recruitment papers as he stands, reaching for his jacket on the back of the chair. Lois’s eyes are a silent plea begging him to stay but he knows if he’ll just make things worse.

As he slams the kitchen door his dad shouts after him, “and do the same to lads no older than him, who have no more idea why they’re fighting either!”

He walks to the end of the red brick wall, where the alleyway leads to the main street. With his back against the wall and his head thrown back, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and lights a cigarette. 

It’s all bollocks, he concludes. The war, the signups, the idyllics and the madmen signing their own death warrants. He’s no righteous pacifist, but he’s not exactly a hero either. There’s no right side for him, not really.

He rattles some change in his pocket; he could use a pint, but he thinks there’s somewhere else he’d rather be. So he waits at the end of the alley, until the street is silent and he’s sure most of the residents will have gone to bed.

When he walks out onto the street he looks up at Kitty’s window. The curtains are closed but the window is open and the lights are on.

He’s well used to climbing up there by now. He avoids the view from the window to the lounge and pulls himself up the drainpipe and bay window. For the last little bit he has to slot his feet between the bricks, put his hands on the ledge below Kitty’s window and lift himself onto it. 

There are two voices on the other side of the curtains. He holds his breath and awkwardly looks around the street, but thankfully there’s no one around to spot him.

“I thought you were going to wait a bit longer,” Kitty says.

“I can’t keep putting it off,” Stevie replies, “not while Eddie and Art are out there risking their lives. Even Connie says she and Lois are auditioning for ENSA. We’ve all got to do our bit.”

“But we need you here, too,” Kitty says.

“I’m not having this conversation with you again.” The door handle rattles as someone reaches to open it.

There’s a pause, then Stevie sighs. “I’ll stop by the shop on my way home.”

She doesn’t reply.

“Night, Kitty,” Stevie says.

She grumbles back, “night.”

The door closes. Kitty releases a shaky breath that makes his heart ache. Her footsteps move across the floor towards the bed. He hears her sheets rustle and the light switch off. Surely she realises she’s left the window open?

He cautiously pushes the curtains back with a slight scraping noise of the rings against the curtain frame. He swings his legs inside and ducks his head under, kicking off his boots before he moves towards the bed, careful to avoid the floorboards he knows are creaky.

Kitty lies facing the wall and close to it, leaving a small amount of space on the mattress beside her.

He takes off his jacket, belt and jumper, leaving on his slacks and shirt, and lifts a corner of her duvet, slotting in against her back. He places the hand that isn’t underneath him on her arm, tracing up and down, along the texture of her skin.

Kitty hums dreamily. She takes his hand and clutches it against her stomach, so his arm falls around her waist. He holds her tighter, bringing her further into him until he can feel the curve of her spine against his shirt.

“I’m sorry I was such an arse to you earlier,” she mutters. 

He brushes the hair from her neck, his eyes inches from her bare skin. Her nightgown is starting to slip down her shoulder too. She smells sweet, like red sweets and vanilla perfume. 

“It’s my own stupid fault,” he says, softly, but they’re so close she’ll hear every word. “Besides, didn’t even go through on the pacifist thing. I signed up for the navy this morning.”

Her hair flicks in his face as she turns to her other side. His arm settles back on her waist and the tip of her nose barely brushes his own.

“You did what?”

“Signed up for the navy,” he says.

“You did not,” she breathes.

He swallows his disappointment. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? For him to find a principle, to do something for the right reasons?

“What are you so upset for?” he says, “I’m the one who has to go, not you.”

She nods, but he can see the tears welling in her eyes.

“And Stevie’s signing up too,” he realises.

She huffs, the way she usually does when she’s upset but she pretends not to be. “That’s it then, once you and him are gone, I’ll have no one.”

He takes her hand and brings it between their chests, clasping it tightly. “Oh my pretty Kitty,” he grins, knowing how much she hates it when he calls her that, “you’ve got your mum and dad, you’ve got mates. Dad and Lois adore you. You’ve got your job, you’ve got a life here.”

“You’re a part of my life too,” she says.

It knocks the breath from his lungs.

“I’ve signed up now. Couldn’t take it back even if I wanted to.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Kitty says.

His chest feels like it might crush under the weight of it all. “But you said—”

“I know what I said, just… why’d you have to get yourself caught up in all these messes?”

He sees it in the way she looks at him, not exasperated or angry just, sad. He’s never really understood why she seems to take his mistakes so personally.

He turns his head further into the pillow and moves his tongue over his teeth. “Some bloke at the recruitment office said I was a coward for queuing up with the conchies.”

Kitty’s lip trembles. “So what?” she whispers.

“Squared up to him, didn’t I? But when it came to putting my name down… I don’t know, I just couldn’t do it. See the grief dad gets for his paper, what would people think of me if I stayed home while men are laying down their lives?”

Her chest rises and falls as she sighs, slowly, deeply. 

“Maybe it’s me,” he says. “Maybe I’m a bad person.”

“You’re not a bad person,” she says, placing her hand on his jaw, fingertips stoking lightly over his neck. “You’re just…”

“Just what?”

She smiles sadly. “You’re just stupid.”

He smiles back, and nudges his forehead against hers. The rest of the house is so quiet he worries he’s breathing too loudly.

“Kitty,” he whispers, sliding his hand along her waist and into her back, pulling her closer, closer.

“Yes?” 

His palm maps every curve and detail along her body, her back, her hips, her rear, her thighs, the feeling of her skin and the way she shudders at his touches. 

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

Her smile is wide and unashamed. She puts her arms over his shoulders and gently presses her lips to his. 

They had kissed before, once or twice when they were kids. Back then they thought it was hilarious, another secret they could keep with each other, and they felt so grown up at even just the briefest peck of their lips.

Kissing Kitty now is unlike anything he’s done before. It’s slow and steady, and he savours every moment of it, the softness of her mouth, her hands in his hair, the little hum she gives when he kisses her neck and the way she arches her back when he slips his thigh between her legs.

She follows his lead at first, but finds her stride soon enough, kissing him deeper, holding him closer as she slowly starts to rut her hips against him, grinding into his thigh.

He whispers her name into her mouth, desperately squeezing her waist through her nightgown as he feels himself becoming hard against her stomach. And it hurts. Everything about her consumes him, sets him on edge and lulls him into a calm and assured warmth.

Her hands slip between them, unsure but determined fingers undoing the buttons on his shirt. He catches on and quickly has it over his head, leaving it forgotten on the floor.

She pauses, her eyes, palms and fingertips running over the bare skin revealed to her, the light patch of hair on his chest, the lines of his muscles, the small moles running down his torso and the scar on his bicep where he’d broken his arm years ago. 

She slips further, brushing over the bulge in his slacks. Tom clenches his teeth and places a hand over hers, bucking under her touch. 

“Can you take these off?” she says, and with that doe-eyed look, how could he ever refuse her?

He lifts his hips and shuffles his slacks past his ankles, and soon those are on the floor too. He looks back to Kitty, with a pleased grin.

She teases her fingers over the fabric of his boxers. “Those too?”

He removes the final layer, smiling at Kitty’s apparent fascination. She cautiously feels along his naval and his hips, until she comes to his cock. She traces her fingertips over it, already half-hard.

He positions her hand around it and guides her to stroke up and down. Their eyes meet. Even through the low light and the dreamy haze of his own want, she’s beautiful, lips parted, brows in a wanting frown, and the corners of her mouth curling up. When she brushes her thumb over the tip, he thinks he might come there and then.

He leans up, kisses her cheek and whispers in her ear. “I want to see you too.”

She comes to her knees and lifts her nightgown over her head. He leans his head against the headboard, a contented sigh leaving his lips at the sight of her. She’s perfect. How could she be anything less? 

He reaches for her hips, bringing her to straddle him. Never parting from her body, his hand slides along her waist to one of her breasts, squeezing gently and dragging his thumb over her perked nipple. He starts to guide her with his other hand, rocking her hips back and forth, dragging her wet centre along his cock. He bites down on his lip to stop himself from groaning at the little whimper that catches in her throat, and the feeling of her gliding against him, so warm and practically soaked. 

She braces herself against his chest. “Tom,” she whines, though it’s barely above a breath. He can feel her trying to move faster, desperate for friction. “I want more, please…”

He hushes her, placing a finger to her lips. He turns his head to the floor, impressed with himself that his slacks are just within reach. He takes a packet from one of the pockets and tears it open with his teeth, sliding the condom along his length.

He leans up again and catches her lips in a gentle kiss. “Are you alright with this?” he says, “we don’t have to.”

Kitty holds his face in her hands as she lifts her hips. “I want to,” she utters.

Tom positions his tip to her entrance and holds her as she slowly starts to sink down. He can’t help the low groan that sounds in his throat no matter how much he tries to resist, but she’s so tight, so perfect.

She gasps and clenches her hands in his hair, but is determined to keep taking him, until their hips meet and he bottoms out. They stay like that for as long as she needs, catching her breath, getting used to the feeling of him inside her.

“Good girl,” he hums, tracing his thumbs over her stomach. “How do you feel?”

Kitty’s eyes flutter and she nods. “It hurts a little, but it feels good.”

“This should help,” he says, circling his thumb over her pearl.

She clasps a hand over her mouth as she lets out a short gasp and braces herself against him again. 

“Fuck, does that feel nice, pretty Kitty?” he grins.

Her moans are starting to make too much noise. If they go any further they might wake up her whole family. Not fancying having to explain a black eye or any broken limbs to his dad or commanding officer, he takes Kitty in his arms and brings her to lie down beside him again, keeping his cock nestled inside her.

He brings her head close to his shoulder. “I’m going to start moving, tell me if you want to stop.”

She nods, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"And I know it feels good but you need to be quiet too, yeah?"

"Yes," she utters, "please, just..."

He starts to fuck her slowly, finding a rhythm that ensures the bed doesn’t make any noise as it rocks. He draws her pleasure from her gradually, his cock dragging through her and his fingers circling over her pearl. He can feel it when she starts to clench around him, her hips moving against him to match his thrusts. 

They fall apart together, silencing their moans into each other’s necks.

The quiet of the night feels precious; two people existing in the same space, breathing the same air, sharing the same heat, clinging to each other like they’ve always done. 

She kisses him again, messily, like she’s drunk. Somewhere in it she loses her focus, her mouth slides along his jaw and she giggles into his neck.

“Are you tired?” he says.

“I think so,” she mumbles.

“Come here then.” He slides slowly out of her and turns onto his back, one arm draped over her shoulders. She leans into him, keeping a hand against his skin, over his heart.

Kitty snores softly in her sleep but he doesn’t mind it. 

He visits her every night for the next week, until he’ll have to leave for his training. He waits until all the lights in the Wheelans’ house are off, then sneaks in through the window and discards his clothes before he climbs into her bed. They kiss and fuck as quietly as they can, until they’re both breathless and too tired to stay awake.

On his last night in Longsight, once Kitty is fast asleep, her breath fluttering against his chest and his fingers stroking over her hair, it occurs to him that he might love her. But he’s seen what a mess Harry and Lois made, saying stupid things like that before one of them went away. So he lets her sleep, and stay in blissful ignorance. 

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

Series taglist: @hanula18 @azxulaa

[scribendis]

𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐃𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞

Tom Bennett x female reader (third person perspective) ❖ childhood friends to lovers

Warnings: angst, period-typical sexism, Tom being a jerk, profanity, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, loss of virginity, creampie, slight possessiveness?

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: 5,200+

Summary: She and Tom Bennett have been next-door neighbors and friends since they were children, but she's been waiting for years for their relationship to develop into something more romantic. Following an argument they have one night, Tom finds a way to make things right with her.

A/N: First fic on my new writing blog, yay! Hope you all enjoy :)

Dividers by @saradika | Ao3 link | Wattpad link

“Sit still.”

Tom squirms beneath her gentle touch regardless, the sting of the alcohol against his bleeding wound nearly unbearable. He swats her hand away and she sits back in her chair with a heavy sigh. 

“Fucking hurts, alright?” he grumbles and wipes his left eye as blood begins to trickle from the sizable gash across his eyebrow. The way he pouts his lips would normally send a warm flutter through her stomach, but not this time.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby.” She leans in again, delicately dabbing at the wound despite him trying to jerk away from her touch. Her own brow is furrowed and her lips drawn into a thin line. 

How many times have they sat in this exact spot across from one another in his family’s kitchen? How many nights has he come home from the pub and dragged his feet past his own front door to stand below her window, throwing stones until she appears? Ever his guardian angel, she’s spent every one of those nights tiptoeing down the stairs, avoiding each spot that creaks, and taking a deep breath before throwing open the door to see what sort of trouble he’s gotten himself into this time. 

She’s bandaged knuckles, fetched ice for black eyes, and cleaned enough cuts for a lifetime.

And tonight she’s had enough.

“What have you got your knickers in a twist for?” Tom asks bitingly. “You’re not the one who looks like they’re crying blood right now.”

She sighs. “I just… wish you’d grow up already, Tom.”

Not Tommy, like she’s called him since the day they met when they were four years old. No. It’s Tom whenever she’s cross with him.

She can’t remember a time before Tom was in her life. One of her earliest memories is of her scraping her knee in the back garden and him struggling to carry her inside to her mum. They’ve been almost inseparable ever since. Even as they’ve grown and their interests have diverged. Even as he’s struggled with the loss of his mum. Even as he’s become a bit of a tearaway and the police have come to his door more and more frequently. 

It’s always been her and Tom.

Except in the ways that it hasn’t.

As he has developed from a little boy to a gawky adolescent to a handsome young man, her love for him has grown beyond mere friendship. When her girlfriends all started getting asked out on weekends - to the cinema, to the pub, to the dance hall - she held out hope that she would hear the same from Tom. But she never did.

He’s gone round with girls sometimes, flirting and taking one or two on a proper date. Nothing’s ever stuck and he has never had anything serious, but, each time, it’s chipped away at her heart all the same.

Perhaps she isn’t pretty enough, she’s wondered. No other boys have ever shown an interest in her. Or, perhaps they’ve all thought that she and Tom are something that they aren’t. He’s got something of a reputation among the local boys for his temper, after all. Too many of them have already felt the sting of his punches to play with fire by asking out his girl.

Because she’s always been his girl.

Tom has said so ever since they were six. “You’re my girl. You know that?” he said to her one day as they sat together in a tree eating ice lollies he’d nicked from the corner shop. And that nickname for her had stuck over the years. It’s one she’s heard every time she opens the front door and sees him leaning against the brick wall joining their two houses. When he beckons her to break her curfew and join him for a walk around town in the middle of the night. When he gets in trouble and he needs her.

She may be his girl, but she isn’t his.

“Grow up?” Tom repeats.

“Yeah. Grow up,” she sighs. “I can’t keep doing this with you if you’re gonna keep going ‘round winding people up and getting into trouble. You know I’d do anything for you, but… I’m not gonna be your babysitter forever.”

Tom pulls away from her, yanking the bloody washcloth out of her hand, which hovers in the air for a few moments before it settles in her lap. 

“Is that you talking? Or your mum and dad?” His tone becomes particularly nasty upon mentioning her parents. They used to dote on him when the two of them were little, like he was the son they’d never had. But they’ve come to despise him. They think he’s a bad influence. Unfit to be her friend, let alone anything else. She’s spent the last few years defending him until she’s turned blue in the face.

“I can speak for myself, you know.” She stands, pushing in the wooden chair back so that it scrapes loudly against the floor. “And I’m sure as shit more grown up than you.”

He’s sitting with his head tilted back in a pose that exposes his neck. The soft, flickering fire dances off of his skin and profile in a way that she could have stared at for hours if she wasn’t so bloody frustrated with him. Swallowing hard, she turns to the sink to wash her hands furiously.

“Oh, yeah?” he starts, clearly annoyed, and she braces herself for the cutting words to come. She knows she’s exhausted the little bit of his already short temper that remained after his altercation at the pub. “Let’s see. Twenty-three year old girl. Still lives with her parents and shares a room with her little kid sisters. Works in the family shop stocking oranges, shilling newspapers, and selling lollipops to snot-nosed kids.” 

“Tom…” She’s heard enough. She throws him a look that tells him to stop, but he’s still draped backwards in his chair with the washcloth over his eyes. 

“She spends her days doing exactly what mummy and daddy tell her like a good girl should instead of ever thinking for her bloody self. And she can keep on pretending she’s a kid so she doesn’t have to face what goes on in the real world. Did I miss anything?”

“And what do you know about the real world?” she snaps. She would have laughed if she didn’t have tears in her eyes. “At least I have a job. Unlike one of us who’s spent more time in a jail cell these past few months than out of one. I’m helping my family. Supporting my family. That’s one hell of a lot more grown up than whatever the fuck it is you’re doing with your life.” 

In the firelight, she sees Tom’s jaw clench and unclench in the way it does when he’s getting truly stroppy. It’s a cue she’s learned to notice over the years, just as she’s learned to drag him - sometimes physically - away from certain situations before he can get into trouble. But his irritability has never been directed at her before. Not like this.

“Ah, yes, the spinster daughter helping out her parents.” A vindictive smirk begins to spread across his lips. “How noble of you.” 

She opens her mouth to say something, anything, in response but the painful lump that rises in her throat stifles her. Perhaps if he could see the look on her face, he’d know he’s gone too far. But with the crimson-stained washcloth shielding his view, he can’t see the way her entire body has stiffened like a prey animal that’s been cornered.

“Must feel good to know that you’re toiling away at the shop while every single one of your girlfriends is married with a family of their own. And how, soon, there won’t be anything left of you for a man to want. But at least you’re helping your family.”

A hand flies to her face to cover her mouth as a sob bubbles up from inside her chest. It’s the final confirmation she’s needed to know, once and for all, that Tom has never seen her as an object of his desire. That her love for him will always be unrequited and that, maybe, no man will ever want her. If only he could know how much it hurts her to know that. 

She waits for another scathing remark from him but she reckons he’s gotten in every insulting word he’s wanted to when he falls silent.

“Be a darling and fetch us a bandage?” Tom eventually asks in a tone that’s far too casual for the tense atmosphere in the room. He’s never been one to say ‘please,’ but he doesn’t even pull the washcloth away from his face to look at her when he asks. And there is certainly no apology for the hurtful things he’s said. 

Still in tears, she scoffs and grabs the roll of gauze she found in the first aid kit earlier. Instead of bringing it to him, she lobs it at him from across the kitchen. “You don’t always have to be such an arse,” she chokes out.

It’s nights like these when she wonders why she puts up with him… aside from the fact that she is so hopelessly, unequivocally, and completely in love with him. Even though it’s crystal clear to her, now, that he doesn’t feel the same. 

“Bandage yourself up, Tom.” 

When she storms out of the kitchen and toward the front door, he jerks forward in his chair in shock but doesn’t try to stop her. And that makes her feel the worst of all.

She is exhausted the following day when she is tending her family’s shop, the humble general store that everyone on their street shops at. She spent most of the night crying into her pillow, angry and hurt and conflicted as she was over everything that had happened in the Bennetts’ kitchen. 

She is the only member of her family left to man the store by late afternoon, once her mum leaves with her sisters to begin preparing dinner and her dad has to start his evening shift at the factory. As closing time approaches, there’s only a mother and her young son left in the store. She is busy sweeping behind the counter as she listens to the boy beg his mother to buy him a packet of boiled sweets that’s caught his eye.

She has her back turned when she hears the telltale jingle of the bell above the door, signaling the entry of another customer. She sighs, hoping that whoever it is won’t take too long. If she’s lucky, they’ll have their shopping done before the mother manages to pull her son away from the candies and make her own purchases. 

But when she hears a basket being placed on the counter behind her and turns to see the woman, she finally notices the other patron and her heart sinks.

Tom is milling about the store with his hands in his pockets, whistling softly to himself. Of course he knows that she’ll see him. But she prickles at the mere sight of him and almost forgets to ring up the woman’s groceries. As she punches the totals for each item into the till, she notices out of the corner of her eye that Tom keeps glancing at her. She hates that she can feel her cheeks grow redder each time he does. 

“Thank you, missus. Come again,” she says with a tight smile once the woman pays. But her paltry attempt at a smile fades quickly as Tom steps up to the counter and places a can of peaches in front of her. She only looks at him for long enough to flash him a dirty look before she turns away to resume sweeping. 

“Hey, you not gonna help me? I’m a paying customer.”

Cheeky arsehole. 

“You’re allergic to peaches, Tom,” she says, barely glancing over her shoulder at him. 

But she sees him extend a hand to slide the can a little bit closer using his fingertips. Scowling, she quickly rings up the purchase. No eye contact. No smile. The sooner she gets him out of here, the better. 

“That’ll be 30p.” She speaks flatly above the ding of the till. “Would you like a bag?”

Tom’s eyes narrow and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Ooh, the service here isn’t very friendly, is it? Think I’m gonna have to speak to the owner.”

Usually, she would play along with this type of banter, but she isn’t in the mood for it today. She takes the money from him and gives him a receipt. “He isn’t here,” she says as she slams the till shut again. 

“Good.” Tom leans on the counter with a wink and a smug grin that fails to elicit her usual giggle. 

“We’re closed,” she says, taking her apron off and hanging it beside the others on the wall. “Thank you for your purchase, sir.”

“Sir?” Grinning crookedly, he raises his eyebrows and winces. Clearly the cut to his left brow is still painful. At least he’s made an attempt to bandage it himself after she stormed out last night. Though, maybe he got Lois to do it for him, since he can’t seem to do bloody anything for himself. She reckons he probably has a massive headache, too, though you’d never know it by the way he tends to mask his pain beneath his cheeky attitude. 

Tom starts rolling the can of peaches back and forth across the counter, clearly uninterested in leaving. But there’s an air of discomfort emanating off of him. He glances down at his hands. His lips purse. He taps his foot on the laminate floor. 

“Tom, I have to close the shop and get home for dinner,” she eventually says, stepping from behind the counter to tend to her remaining cleaning duties. She’s too busy and has too much to do for his nonsense tonight.

“Why do you think I came by now instead of earlier?”

“Because you sleep all day?”

The sound of the can rolling behind her stops. “I wanted to talk to you… and I knew you’d be here alone.”

“Well, congratulations. You’ve talked to me. You can go home now. Or to the pub or wherever else,” she says bitterly as she starts wiping down the counter beside him.

Tom’s hand catches hers, his long, slender fingers wrapping around it tightly. She looks down and sees the cuts on his knuckles from his pub fight and all the hurt of their argument the night before comes flooding back to her. But he doesn’t let her pull away.

“Please.”

Her lips part in surprise. She’s still upset with him. But that one word - the one she’s never heard him utter - sends the walls she’s built up crashing down. 

“I’m sorry,” Tom continues, leaning in so his face is close enough for her to feel his breath on her cheek. “About what I said last night. How I treated you. I was completely out of order.”

She can tell that he’s just smoked a cigarette before entering the shop, likely to calm his nerves. She’s never been allowed to smoke and never dared, even when they’re alone. But it means that she associates the smell with him. That, and the aftershave he uses. The one he’s never been able to afford and always nicks from the chemist.

“I… said some unkind things, too...” she admits softly. Despite his own hurtful remarks, she knows that she let her own anger and frustration get the better of her. But Tom shakes his head. He won’t let her apologize.

“Nah, you were just fed up with me. And how can I blame you?” His gaze falls. “Even I wouldn’t put up with me. But you? You’re heaven sent.”

She feels her heart flutter in her chest. It’s things like this that he says to her that always gets her hopes up, only to send her crashing down to earth again. But it’s so easy to fall for him… even if it hurts.

“You’re more mature than I’ll ever be,” Tom continues, looking almost guilty about it. It’s something else she’s never seen from him. Maybe Lois knocked some sense into him last night after hearing their row from upstairs. “I’ve never deserved you. And I especially don’t, now.” 

His hand in the small of her back pulls her even closer despite his words.

“But I… just couldn’t go on, knowing I’d upset my girl.”

My girl. There it is again.

She turns her head away with a sigh. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that any more,” she grumbles.

“Why not?” He looks at her, confused.

She shrugs sadly, still avoiding his gaze. “Cause we aren’t kids any more and… I’m not your girl.” 

Tom takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger to make her look at him again, his touch surprisingly gentle. “But you are my girl.” His thumb sweeps across her bottom lip. “Always have been… and always will be.”

She thinks she must be dreaming when he presses his lips to hers. It’s her first kiss. She knows he knows it is. It’s something he’s teased her about before, even offering to “borrow” the classroom rabbit to give her someone to kiss when they were about ten. 

He’s gentle at first, but soon his tongue demands entry into her mouth as his arms wrap around her. Through her blouse, she can feel the warmth of his hands in the small of her back. She melts into him, embracing every millisecond of the kiss she’s waited so long for.

His hands move lower and she gasps against his lips. But before she can protest, he seamlessly lifts her by her bum and places her on the counter beside the till so they’re at eye level with one another. It feels such a delightfully forbidden, wicked thing to be here in this passionate embrace with him. Here, on this counter where she just sold apples and butter and flour to that young mother. Where her dad set the daily bunch of newspapers early this morning. Where she stands, day in and day out, serving customers with a sweet smile. 

She’s dazed by the time Tom pulls back to let her breathe and, judging by the sly grin on his lips, he knows exactly what he’s done to her. 

“Why do you think I’ve scared off any bloke who’s ever shown an interest in you?” he asks as his eyes study her lips, enjoying the way they look, kiss swollen and coated in his saliva. “Couldn’t have my girl dating anyone else.”

She blinks a few times while her brain struggles to formulate some kind of response. “Wh-- Then… why have you never asked me yourself?” 

“It’s like I said.” He lifts a hand and tucks her hair behind her ear in an intimate, affectionate gesture. “I’ve never deserved you.”

She takes his hand in hers as his touch lingers at her cheek, pulling it to her lips to kiss his palm. “That’s not true, Tommy.” 

Tom clicks his tongue, frowning. “Yeah... it is. But maybe I could. One day.”

He leans in to capture her lips once again and hers meet his as if drawn to him magnetically. They kiss again and again, hungrily, after being starved of one another for so many years. It’s head-dizzyingly wonderful and far surpasses anything she could have ever imagined. 

“I wanna be better for you,” he murmurs, a promise breathed against her lips between kisses. “I’m sorry I haven’t been. I’ll try. I’ll really try.”

“Tommy…” She doesn’t want to hear any more of that, not right now. Right now, the hammering of her heart in her chest and the heat pooling between her legs tell her that all she wants is him. 

The heaving of her chest only quickens as she feels his hands slowly move up her thighs, taking the hem of her pale blue skirt with them. Their eyes meet and, in his, she can see him wonder if she’d like him to stop. How could she, when she’s daydreamed about this exact moment? Touched herself more than a few times and pictured his face when she fell over the edge?

“Please, Tommy,” she whispers before claiming his lips once more.

His fingers find the waistband of her sheer tights and hook beneath it to slide them down along with her knickers. He goes painfully slowly, letting his fingertips enjoy the softness of her skin for the first time. The moment he finally rids her of the garments, he steps back in between her legs and buries a hand in her hair to hold her lips to his. The other finds its way beneath her skirt once again and his fingers soon run through the wetness between her legs.

Tom smiles against her lips and she feels her skin prickle.

“Bloody soaking…” he mumbles in amusement. But his fingers continue upward, knowing that they’ve found her bud when she lets out a stuttering gasp against his lips. He doesn’t tease her for long - only until she begins to whimper and squirm beneath his touch. 

She’s left gasping when he pulls away entirely, suddenly feeling cold in the absence of his body pressed against hers. But she watches him drop to his knees in front of her and dip his head forward to begin lapping at her bud. She’s in shock at first as he pleasures her with his tongue, but soon a delicious warmth begins to build inside her. 

She doesn’t even care that, given how expertly his tongue teases her, he’s probably done this to more than one girl before. Because he’s doing it to her. Right here. Right now. And she could die happy like this, with his head buried between her legs. 

Tom grants her a momentary reprieve from the intensity of his attention at her bud when his head bobs forward and she feels him drag his tongue along her slick folds. Even better, she feels the soft hum that leaves him as he tastes her for the first time, a sound full of such wanton satisfaction that she knows she must taste like heaven to him.

But when his lips move upward again to close around her bud, suckling eagerly at it, she can no longer contain the moans she’s been choking back. Her hands grasp the edge of the counter tightly and her head falls back, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath she takes. Her back arches, seeking more of him - and Tom is eager to give. 

The feeling of him pressing two fingers inside her is the beginning of her undoing. He curls them into her in rhythm with the movements of his lips and tongue, causing her body to tense and tremble as he sends her hurtling toward her peak. She feels her insides tighten unbearably before finally giving way, sending warmth tingling through her core and into every limb. His firm touch at her hips is the only thing tethering her to this earth. It allows her to fully let go. She melts into him and the unimaginably exquisite pleasure he has wrung from her. 

And it’s his name that falls from her lips as she comes down again.

Tom stands, studying her carefully in the wake of her climax. Her knuckles are still white from gripping so desperately onto the counter. Her chest is rising and falling as she fights to catch her breath. Her body slowly relaxes again and her eyes open, only to see him watching her with a look of smug satisfaction glimmering in his eyes. 

Grinning crookedly, he wipes his mouth on his sleeve. Cheeky arsehole, she thinks yet again. She might make that his new nickname from now on.

“Christ,” he says in a low, husky tone. His hands return to her thighs, slipping beneath her skirt once again to push it back up toward her hips. “You’re so beautiful when you cum.”

She feels her lower stomach flutter again. There is no response that she can form on her tongue after what he’s just done to her. She’s basking in a warm haze following her peak, like she’s been submerged into a hot spring in the valleys of paradise itself.  

“But I’m not done apologizing yet.” Tom leans in and kisses her like she’s the only woman on Earth. She feels him smirk against her lips. “Unless you’ve forgiven me already and I can get out of your hair. Leave you to your chores.”

The sound that leaves her throat is somewhere between a laugh and a whimper. “Don’t go,” she begs, perhaps too enthusiastically. “I mean… you aren’t forgiven yet, Tom Bennett. You’re not going anywhere.”

His hands disappear from her hips. “Good.” She hears the clinking of his belt being undone and the zip of his trousers. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

“Me, too,” she breathes.

His eyes, with irises that are nearly black with desire, trace her every feature. This is far, far more than an apology; it is a culmination of years of unspoken attraction and longing and love. And it is love. He’s loved her all this time and she never saw it. Perhaps he’s felt the same. Left wondering and hoping that, maybe, she could love him, too. How naive they’ve both been.

“I’ll be gentle,” Tom whispers as the clefted tip of his nose brushes against hers. She’s so brimming with need for him that a helpless little whine leaves her at the feeling of his fingertips trailing up her thigh once again. “Couldn’t bear the thought of hurting my girl.” 

His head dips into the crook of her neck and suddenly his mouth is ghosting over her skin, his nostrils taking in the smell of her. All that’s there is the powdery smell of her soap. She hasn’t worn any perfume today; she doesn’t even own any. Perfume is for young women who go dancing on the weekends and ladies of leisure who drive by in their fancy cars and wives who want to excite their husbands. 

His lips finally find purchase on the delicate spot just below her jaw, where they can feel the soft fluttering of her pulse. It’s where he stays as she feels him brush the head of his exposed cock against her wet entrance before pushing inside. The sharp, initially painful stretch of his entry draws a squeak from her, but he is sure to go slowly for her. She squirms, so his hand moves past her hip to settle against the little dimples in her lower back, holding them together as he nestles completely inside her.  

They still for a moment, the quiet calm of the empty shop disturbed only by their shared panting. Her, from the fullness she suddenly feels and him, from the tightness and heat that envelop his cock. She is unsure of when she had raised her hands to his shirt and balled the fabric in her fists, but she is certain that she’s ruined the perfectly crisp, clean ironing job that Lois did on it this morning. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Tom pants, his breath hot on her skin. 

“You, too.” Her own voice stutters across his temple. 

The feeling of him beginning to move his hips against hers, of his cock sliding in and out of her, is so foreign to her. And yet, as Tom settles into a steady, gentle rhythm, she knows that this is how it should be. He is the only one she ever wants to feel like this, rocking into her with his arms enveloping her and his lips kissing her neck with lecherous hunger. 

Through the shop windows, she sees people walking by on their way home for the night. If even one of them dared to look through the glass, they would see the two of them entwined in their passionate dance. The shop owner’s daughter and the neighborhood delinquent. What juicy gossip that would make.

She begins to meet each one of his thrusts with ragged, needy gasps, her hand snaking around his shoulder until it comes to rest at the nape of his neck. Her fingers dig into his skin and she feels him groan roughly against her throat in between his desperate pants and soft grunts of effort. He’s hitting that spot inside her that his fingers had curled against moments ago, but with the force of his hips driving into hers, it elicits a feeling that is entirely more exquisite. 

“Tommy–” she sighs, her thighs beginning to tremble as warm pleasure begins to build inside her. “Tommy, kiss me.” 

Not a single second passes before he follows her command, his lips crashing against hers like he will never kiss her again. If possible, they hold one another tighter as their ascent begins. His hand at her lower back tightens almost painfully against her skin. She’s thankful that it’s a spot that will be covered by her clothing come tomorrow. The spots on her neck that he has kissed and sucked at will be a different story. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” Tom breathes against her lips, his voice strained with effort. “Say it.”

It’s then that she knows she’s found heaven with him. At first, all that comes from her is a soft, impassioned moan that hums against his lips. But as that moan gives way to more desperate sounds of pleasure, rising and rising and rising in pitch as his thrusts continue to bring her closer to the edge, she manages to utter the two words he wants to hear most.

“I’m yours.”

His movements speed up as they begin to crest that hill together, her soft assurance all he needed to reach his peak with her. As his breathing grows heavier and his body begins to stiffen against her, she feels the wave of pleasure crash over her. It sweeps her away, causing her walls to flutter and clench around his cock just as they had around his fingers earlier. And he finds his own release, spilling himself inside her with one final thrust of his hips.

The air around them fills with their muffled, broken moans and heavy panting as the last bits of pleasure dissipate and they are left, arms still wrapped around one another with little intention of letting go. And once the sounds of their coupling die down once again, the silence of the shop is interrupted only by the occasional blaring of car horns outside.

Her nose nuzzles against his cheek, feeling the soft warmth of his skin. She feels his eyelashes brush against her brow as his eyes open once again, his gaze entirely different than it had been mere moments ago. And it’s one she’s never seen from him otherwise.

His eyes, now back to their usual blue, hold in them tenderness, vulnerability, devotion. It’s a look she’s seen the couples in romance films give one another when they’re just about to profess their love for one another. Love. 

Tom kisses her one more time, not out of desire or passion, but with such affection that she feels her head spin. And her smile is all he needs to know that all is forgiven.

“My girl,” he whispers.

[evita-shelby]

Gratefulness

My first Tom Bennett x reader yay.

Some spoilers for season 2, some feelings of inadequacy and mentions of ptsd symptoms

He hadn’t expected you to keep the promise the two of you made before he left.

You had taken his bed and cared for his father and sister, helped with the bills, with Lois’ appointments with the midwives with the patience of a saint.

Then you had done more than he ever deserved, after the house he was born and raised in was blown up with his father inside, you and Lois pooled your money together and got a modest two room flat.

The two of you were engaged only in name because Tom couldn’t even afford a wedding ring when he got his post on the HMS Exeter.

After Dunkirk and Paris, he had enough to buy something modest and even marry you if you still want to.

Didn’t feel enough, you deserved something grand, something better, someone better.

Your dad was right that he wasn’t good enough for you. Had he been in your shoes, he isn’t sure he’d gone above and beyond like you had done.

“What are you thinking, love?” you ask with a soft and sleepy smile.

Tom slept better with you, the nightmares had eased up a little and just knowing he was safe and loved and with you was enough to ground him here.

“About how grateful I am to have you in my life and my mum’s ring not being enough to show you.” A thing war had done was that it made him want to speak things he’d felt were too unmanly to say. Well, just for you and only about the depth of his feelings. Tom doesn’t want to die with regrets, especially those regarding you.

“Hmm, Tommy, I don’t need a diamond ring to know that. Your mum’s ring is perfect, you are perfect.”

[multific]

The New Girl

Tom Bennett x Reader

Warnings: smut

Summary: Recently moving to a new place and starting a job at a bar, you expected people to get interested in you. Many of them asked questions and rumours started to spread about the orphan working at the bar down the street. But, you never expected a handsome stranger to save you one night.

Tom sat down with his friends in their usual place. The bar was packed.

"She is the one I told you about." said one of his friends, he was unsure who as all of them looked at the woman behind the bar.

She did look just as beautiful as the rumours said.

Apparently, she just moved to London and started to work at this bar. Some were speaking about her being an orphan and living alone. Some said they have seen her in a very bad part of town. Some were convinced she was a prostitute, some said she was an innocent little flower. She was beautiful, which made more and more customers come to the bar.

The rumours were true as Tom concluded. He lit a cigarette as she made her way over to their table.

"What can I get for you, gentleman?" she asked, her accent was different, Tom never heard something like that but he did like it very much.

"Beers for all of us." one of his friends spoke as she nodded before walking back to the bar, pouring the beer.

"I'll get her." said another friend and it made everyone chuckle.

"No way, Mate. No one was able to bed her before."

"Until today." Well, confidence was important, but as she walked back and gave all of them the beers no one said a thing.

---

You hated closing up the bar alone.

It was late, dark and while no one was around you never truly felt alone. You often joked with your co-workers that there was a ghost at the bar.

And although you didn't believe in ghosts, you still didn't like closing up.

Men were drunk as you walked home and you feared that one might follow you. You didn't live in the best neighbourhood either. It was all you could afford.

You locked the door and as you turned, you saw a man standing behind you.

"Hello, beautiful." he smirked. You felt your heartbeat pick up as you recognized him. He was at the bar earlier, alone, just sitting in the corner. You did find it strange but you figured he was more of a lonely wolf. When in reality he was a fucking creep.

"We are closed for the night." you said as you tried to get around him but he was quicker.

"Oh, I know. I was thinking we could go to mine and have some fun."

"No, thank you." you said quickly as you tried to move around him again but he grabbed you this time, putting his head to your neck and trying to kiss you as his hand grabbed your waist. You tried to push him away, flinched away but he didn't budge. "Let me go please!" you said rather loudly but no one was around you sadly. "Let me go!"

Then suddenly one shift movement the man was torn away from you as he fell to the ground. You watched as another man kicked him in the stomach.

"You disgusting fucking pig! How dare you!" the man had no chance of fighting back as you could only watch. 

Soon your attacker got up and ran away while your saviour yelled after him something.

"Are you okay?" he asked turning to you as you recognized him as well, he was with a group earlier. "I'm not here to hurt you, I was on my way home when I saw that dickhead attack you. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"O-Oh, no he didn't. Thank you. I'm fine." you said as you took deep breaths, trying to calm you. He leaned down and picked up something from the ground, a set of keys. The keys to the bar which you didn't even notice you dropped. He handed them to you and you nodded, silently thanking him again.

"Let me walk you home, it's quite late."

"Look, I-I appreciate you helping me, I honestly do, but your reputation exceeds you, Mr Bennett."

"Oh, so you have heard of me?"

"The ladies in the bar talk. Drunk women talk more."

"Oh."

"But I would like for you to walk me home please, there is a creep going around my home during the evenings, I have heard him yelling before."

"If you are so afraid, why work the night shift?" he asked as you two started walking, a cigarette in his mouth.

"It wasn't my choice. The girl who used to is pregnant and she quit." you soon arrived in front of your apartment complex. It was not really on the safe side as tom concluded. "Thank you for walking me." you said offering him a smile. "Goodnight." you said as you turned.

"From now on, I will walk you every night." his voice made you stop and turn around. You looked at him questioningly. "I saw way too many strange people on our way here. This is not a safe place to walk through at night, especially for a Lady." he said. "See you tomorrow." he simply said before turning and leaving you. You opened your mouth to say something but he was long gone, only the smell of smoke reminding you that he was once there.

You made your way into your apartment, locking the door. 

---

You honestly didn't expect Tom to stay true to his words.

You honestly thought he just said that to make you feel safe.

But no, as you locked up the bar, he was waiting for you at the front, smoking as usual. That devilish smile on his face as he looked at you and called you all kinds of nicknames.

‘Doll’, ‘Babe’, ‘Sweetheart’ and the one that you liked the most ‘Beautiful’.

It became a strange habit, but you were still glad for his help. He was there, every single night when you had a shift.

You suspected he would try something but he never did. He always asked you how your day was, he was always kind.

Not the flirty asshole you heard he was, but a genuinely kind man.

And of course, you fell in love with him. Slowly and surely, his kindness reached your heart as you found yourself waiting for the time he would meet you so you could see him. You found yourself smiling more and more at him.

You loved him.

---

One evening, it was the usual.

You locked the door, only to find him there. 

"You are quiet today. Did something happen?" you knew that it was only a matter of time until the world's problems would reach you.

"I joined the navy." you felt all of your blood freeze as your heart fell. "I won't be able to walk you home from tomorrow, Doll." 

You arrived in front of your home as you turned to him, trying to find the right words.

You reached around your neck as you pulled your necklace off of your neck. You grabbed his wrist and placed the gold into his hand.

"This was my mother's cross. Or at least that's what they told me at the orphanage. It kept me safe for so long. Take it with you." you looked up into his eyes.

"I didn't know you were religious, Doll."

"I'm not. But I will pray every night for you to come home safe." he too seemed to realize the seriousness of your words as he nodded.

"Pray?"

"What else can I do?" and he nodded once more, knowing you were right.

"Thank you, Y/N. You should also stay safe."

"I will wait for you." as you said that he suddenly pulled you in for a hug. His hold was tight but you didn't care. 

His warmth filled you as you knew you would remember this moment for a very long time. You tried to memorise his smell. The smoke and his perfume.

You loved him.

"I will come back, Beautiful. I promise you."

You both knew this might be a promise he couldn't keep, but you didn't care. For just a moment you allowed yourself to pretend. 

And that was enough.

---

For months you prayed, as you promised. You prayed to whoever might hear it. You prayed for him and his safety. You prayed for his health and for him to come back.

Every night as you closed the door, you turned and he wasn't there it was like a punch to the gut. During the first week, you even waited for a couple of minutes outside the building but he never arrived. 

You had to realize that he was gone and all you could do was pray and hope.

It was pure hell.

You refused to read the news, you didn't want to know. You would hold on as long as you could. 

You had one of the worst nights, everyone in the bar seem to have a taste for fights that evening. Everyone was so drunk and you were over it. 

Thankfully, when it all ended, you locked the door. Making sure it was closed before turning.

You nearly fell over. You were sure it was a dream.

"Hi, Beautiful." you were frozen in one place, not daring to move. You were sure this was one of those cruel dreams that kept plaguing your mind. Then he did something that he never did in any of your dreams before. "Darling?" he took a step.

And you ran into his arms. Dream or not. He smelled the same, looked the same.

"Am I dreaming?" you asked as you looked up at him, his smile was so beautiful.

"Nope."

"I dreamt so much about you coming back to me, Tom. Please tell me this isn't another one."

"I'm really here, I promise." you felt like crying but instead you stood onto your tippy toes and pulled him down to meet you. You placed your lips on his as his arms moved around you, holding you steady as he deepened the kiss.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too, Y/N. Your hair is longer. I like it." he put a strand in between his fingers, feeling how soft it was as you moved your head into his chest. " Took everything in me not to barge into this shithole all day.”

"You are so dramatic. Of course, you wanted a big entrance." you laughed.

"Exactly." 

"Let's go." you pulled away from him, holding his hand you pulled him with you.

He followed you as if he was a lost puppy. And possibly, he was. 

You pulled him with you into the building and into your tiny little home. Tom noticed just how terrible the building was, and he thought it looked bad from the outside.

You locked the door as his eyes followed your every move.

"It isn't much. But it's home."

"Do you even have heating?"

"Oh? I turn it off when I leave." you said as you turned it back on. "Will take about an hour or so to fully turn on."

He knew you were poor but this was another level. He walked into your living room, which was also your kitchen and bedroom, he looked around, it did look cosy if he was honest. Then he noticed the mattress on the floor. He pointed at it as you opened your cupboard and pulled a glass out. 

"That's my bed."

He watched you as you turn on the faucet, at first the water was dirty, but after a while, it turned clear as you filled it and handed him the glass. He raised his brows.

"What? Oh. I drink it all the time, there is nothing wrong with it."

Now that worried him even more. You drink that water?! 

He let out a sigh before sitting down on your mattress. He ended up taking the glass as you walked into your small bathroom and he heard the water running.

You needed to take a couple deep breaths before exiting and sitting next to him.

"I love you, Tom. I have loved you for a long time now. And-And I-"

"I love you too. I'm not going to lie at first I got interested because everyone was talking about you, the new girl. But then we started speaking and I soon realized this was more. And then I had to leave. I could see how it broke your heart and mine broke with it."

"But, you came back. You are here now and that is all that matters." you smiled as he leaned over, kissing you.

You got fully lost in the kiss so much that you didn't even realize his hands started to wonder and remove your clothes slowly. 

By the time you realized what was happening you were fully wet as his fingers worked in and out of you.

You felt dizzy.

You could only moan his name as he kept on kissing you and your neck. You were sure you will be filled with hickeys tomorrow, but you didn't care. His fingers and mouth were doing their magic, you even forgot that he was still fully dressed. Your hand moved up to his shirt as you started to unbutton and pull it down his shoulders. He helped you and soon slipped out of his pants too.

This is when you noticed he was wearing the gold cross you gave him. Your eyes met his and all you saw in them were adoration, love and lust.

"I love you." he said and it made you dizzy.

"I love you too, Tommy. But I have never done this before, please be gentle."

"I know, you were so tight around my fingers, I will be gentle." he promised before you pulled him in once more.

His tongue danced with yours as he pushed his cock into you.

It did hurt.

“You good?” he asked and your response was only a loud moan. It made his smirk as he knew the answer.

But he was also very distracting with his mouth on your neck.

His grunts and moans also proved to be a good distraction from your pain.

Knowing that he was enjoying it, that you made him feel this amazing, it was worth any pain.

"I'm close." he whispered into your ear and you felt yourself melting. Your hands reached his back as your nails ran down his skin.

How truly beautiful he was.

You couldn't help but admire him for a moment as he hovered above you. He was watching himself disappear into you and you watched him. 

"Fuck. So good, Darling." he moved, his arms next to you as he buried his face into your neck. He started to thrust rather rapidly and out of sync. His thrusts were deeper than ever before. You swore you could feel him in your belly as you moaned and moaned with each movement.

Soon, you started shaking as you came undone under him. He managed to pull out just in time as if out of instinct you reached between your bodies and you started to move your hand up and down his cock. He came all over your stomach with low and deep grunts.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." his deep accent next to your ear, you could never get tired of it. "Darling." your hand stopped as he moved his head and was now looking into your eyes. Your hand moved and ran up his back, sending a shiver down his spine as you felt him shutter a little. 

"I love you, Tommy."

"Please never stop saying that. You sound so sweet."

"I love you." you said again as you smiled at him and he smiled at you. He put his forehead against yours.

"I love you too, Doll. Now, let's get some sleep, then tomorrow, we will look for an apartment of our own, I cannot have you living here." he said as he got up. "Umm...towel?" 

"Under the sink." you watched as his bare ass walked into the bathroom, he arrived back with a wet cloth and cleaned you up. Once he was done, he went to lay down when you realized.

"I only have one blanket." you whispered as you looked at him. "And one pillow."

He blinked once, twice.

"We will share, Love." he moved pulling half of the blanket onto him as he moved his head on the pillow, you used him as your pillow.

"If this is a dream and tomorrow you are not here... I don't want to wake up."

"This is not a dream, Doll. I'm back, I'm here and I love you." you placed a kiss on his chest, kissing his scar.

"I love you too." you also noticed that he didn't smoke a single cigarette since he came back. Back before he left, he always or rather often had a stick in between his lips or fingers. 

You looked up at him as you placed a kiss on his jawline. 

You didn't want to close your eyes, you didn't dare to sleep. Not now that he was finally back.

You played with the cross around his neck as you heard him softly snore.

You smiled to yourself, you had him back and you had him. You knew, not even the world will be able to pull the two of you apart ever again.

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~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, PLAGIARIZE, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[lola-writes]

Diagnosing Desire

Pairing: Tom Bennett x nurse!reader

Word Count: 5,6k

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

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

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

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

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤️

Enjoy the read!

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

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

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

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

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

This country is at war with Germany.

A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was endless work ahead of us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Something funny?” Keith snarled, nostrils flaring.

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

A beat of stunned silence followed.

“What about it?” asked Keith hesitantly.

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

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

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

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

_

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My breath hitched in my throat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom curled his lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s a shame,” he droned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excellent. Now, please remove your shirt.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ahhhhh…”

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

“Problem?” he asked.

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

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

His foul mouth was disarming

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

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

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

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

He was extremely warm. Borderline feverish. 

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

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

He had a very cute butt. 

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

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

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

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

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

“How are we doing in here then, Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

_

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

As I looked up, intense blue eyes met mine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Actually, I-,” he started.

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

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

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

Focus.

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

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

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

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

Oh god, he was about to ask me out. 

My heart hammered against my ribs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My cheeks flared red. “Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dread coiled in my stomach. 

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

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

“Alright,” I heard myself say.

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

_

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I was up for the challenge. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fancy one?” he offered.

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

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

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

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

Intrigued, I leaned in. “How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not any more than you,” I countered. 

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

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

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

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

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Divider by: @saradika

A part 2 is planned soon!