#tom bennett angst

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Best Intentions - Chapter One

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x femme Warnings: Angst. Smut. Mentions of shell shock and trauma. Word count: ~4.3k

Summary: An overview of how Tom and her came to be friends, and the set up for the story now that he's returned to Longsight. Series masterlist.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

The imposing red brick building of Plymouth Grove Primary School is gigantic and intimidating to her as she enters through the gates to the playground, the thought of being left here for the entire day makes her clutch at her mum’s hand with tight desperation.

Her first day of school is one she’ll never forget, forever imprinted in her mind, owing to a big pair of blue eyes filled with mischief, and a grin with a pair of front teeth that remind her of a rabbit’s.

It’s morning break as she surveys the playground nervously, trying to decide if she feels brave enough to join in on a nearby game of hopscotch. It’s then that she feels a warm puff of air ruffle the back of her hair, and she spins around to see a sandy haired boy running back towards a group of laughing lads.

“I did it! I gobbed in her hair!” He shouts.

Humiliation warms her skin as tears prickle her eyes, and she hurries inside to the girls’ toilets to unsuccessfully try to locate where the offending spittle has landed, all the while sniffling back sobs.

It’s when dinnertime comes and she sits unhappily sipping her milk that she sees him again. He sidles up to her, alone this time, a sheepish look on his face.

“I didn’t really,” he shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, “Gob in your hair, I mean. I was dared to, so I pretended,”

“Oh,” is all she’s able to manage, not sure of what else to say.

“I’m Tom. Mates, yeah?” He says with his bunny toothed grin, and she can’t help but smile back.

He sits himself next to her, opening his own milk and they spend the remainder of the hour getting to know each other.

She’s surprised to learn that it’s his first day too, she had assumed from his confidence that he would be a couple of years above her. He lives with his dad, Douglas, who works as a bus conductor, his mum - Josie, and his sister, Lois, who is a couple of years above them.

He learns all about how she lives with her mum, and it’s just the two of them as her dad had passed away when she was a baby. Her mum runs the shop off of Stamford Road with her uncle, who lives in the flat above it.

Tom’s eyes light up at the mention of this. “The one with the jars of sherbet straws?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, “And treacle toffees!”

By half past three that afternoon, as the children file back out of the school gates, her and Tom are firm friends.

Her mum and Josie stand waiting to collect them, and they discover that they live only a few streets apart, so the four of them and Lois walk home together, chattering excitedly about her and Tom’s first day of school.

From that day forward, the thought of being at school for the entire day fills her with excitement. Tom makes it a less scary place to be, and is quick to defend her if ever anyone tries to give her trouble.

Their friendship remains solid as the years pass, as does Tom’s compulsion for finding trouble. He adores showing off and being the centre of attention, but it’s always her he runs to when it’s time to face the consequences. She is a privy to a side of him that nobody else is, she has seen his fear, his sadness and his doubt.

They sit on the wall adjacent to her mum’s shop, a paper bag rustling between them as they help themselves to sherbet straws. Tom and Lois had walked home with her and her mum. Josie hadn’t been there to pick them up, she hadn’t been for a few days now.

“Should probably go home soon,” she slurs around a mouthful of sweets, “Need to do my homework.”

Tom nods slowly, moving his own sweet around in his mouth. “D’you…d’you think you could help me with mine?”

“Why?” She chides, “‘Cause you spent all lesson mucking about?”

“Come on,” he pleads, “Me mam’s not well, last thing she needs is me getting into trouble because I can’t do sums.”

She clicks her tongue and sighs. “Fine,” she says, jumping down from the wall.

“Smashing,” he grins, following after her.

She smiles over her shoulder at him. “What are mates for?”

Josie’s illness worsens and she passes away around the time that they start secondary school.

Tom’s behaviour becomes more uncontrollabe, exacerbated by his mum’s death, but with her and Lois at the all girls school, and him at the all boys, there is little that can be done to stop him.

Things come to a head one day when Douglas opens the door to an angry neighbour, who berates him for Tom having stolen the milk from their doorstep, running away laughing, before dropping and smashing it when they’d chased after him.

He’d come to her after Douglas had given him a stern telling off, head bowed and looking sorry for himself.

“He hates me,” Tom had said sullenly.

“He doesn’t hate you, Tom, you just need to behave yourself. Why’d you do it?”

“Was dared to,” he says with a shrug.

“Like when you spat in my hair?”

He presses his lips together, lowering his eyes. “I dunno why I do it. It’s just hard since mam’s gone, dad doesn’t understand me like she did.”

It’s then that she notices the tears that rim his eyes, and she pulls him into a hug.

When had he gotten so tall? He feels massive compared to how he used to.

“Thanks,” he whispers, “I’m glad we’re mates.”

The next few years follow a similar pattern; Tom gets into trouble and immediately runs to her each time, basking in the safety of her presence and comforting words.

As they grow older, Tom’s misbevaiour evolves into petty crimes which soon attract the attention of the police.

She also begins to notice the smell of cigarette smoke clinging to him each time she pulls him into a hug, a troubling new habit he’s developed, no doubt to impress the older boys. 

He now seems impossibly tall, and with every inch he grows it feels like he pulls a little bit further away from her. It makes her heart ache.

She grows used to seeing him walking home in the mornings looking bedraggled, a cigarette perched between his lips, after having spent the night in the back of a pub to avoid the police, who would no doubt have been knocking at the door of the Bennett household the previous evening.

When news of war having broken out in Europe reaches them and lads Tom’s age begin signing up to the draft, Tom decides he’s having none of it.

“Signing up as a conchie!” He tells her, as they sit on the wall together, waving the green booklet for emphasis.

“Your dad was a conscientious objector,” she says, narrowing her eyes in disbelief, “Your beliefs are suddenly the same as his are they?”

Tom tuts, flicking his lighter absentmindedly. “Just don’t wanna sign my life away for a load of bollocks that’s got naff all to do with me,”

His mind soon changes once the police come knocking again. He enlists in the Navy, action he considers less direct than fighting on the front lines.

The night before he’s due to ship out, he has a rowdy celebration in the local pub, jeering and clinking glasses with those who’ve not yet joined the draft. She watches on with a heavy feeling in her chest, she knows behind all his claims of how many Germans he’s going to kill and how he’ll have a bird in every port that he’s terrified of what’s to come.

That much is proven as he walks her home later that night, unsteady on his feet and reeking of beer. He sways in front of her once they reach her front door, big blue eyes misty and filled with emotion.

“You okay, sailor?” She asks with a soft smile.

“Can I– can I stay the night?” He asks, suddenly seeming like the little boy he was back when they were in primary school and he’d apologised for pretending to spit in her hair. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

She’s never shared a bed with Tom before. They’ve always been just friends. Her throat runs dry at the thought, but in that moment he seems so vulnerable, she can’t deny him anything.

They creep up the rickety wooden stairs to her bedroom, careful not to wake her mum, and squeeze into the single bed that occupies the space. He clings tightly to her, long limbs wrapped around her, like a drowning man grasping onto a lifesaver.

“I’m so scared,” he whispers into the darkness.

“You’ll come back,” she reassures him, “You have to, who else would be my mate?”

She feels him smile against her shoulder. “Yeah, who else would put up with you?”

They giggle, before shushing each other as she elbows him in the ribs, and they fall asleep curled around each other.

Tom’s gone when wakes up.

They write letters back and forth to each other, but each one feels distant and lifeless. He’s writing with the mask he shows to the rest of the world, giving an emotionless recount of each of his days. She supposes he might be afraid or whose hands his words may end up in, and he doesn’t want to embarrass himself, so she clings to every letter, vapid as they are, grateful to still have a connection to him.

She visits the Bennett household once a week, to share the letters they’ve been exchanging - to her disappointment, the ones she receives are much the same as the ones he sends home to Douglas and Lois.

Over time, her mum and uncle join her on her visits. Her mum brings cakes and her uncle gets into the habit of playing cards with Douglas. She is glad for the closeness between their two families, it makes Tom’s absence seem less daunting.

It’s at the Bennetts’ house where she learns the news of the attack on the HMS Exeter, the Naval ship that Tom is stationed aboard. Her blood runs icy cold at the news, though the Exeter was victorious it is not without deaths and casualties.

The weeks spent waiting for news are agonising, and it’s Tom she’s thinking of as she leans against the shop counter, eyes fixed on the large front window, but too lost in her thoughts to see through it.

“Quarter of sherbet straws when you’re not away with the fairies,”

The familiar voice startles her out of her reverie and she looks up wide eyed at Tom’s smiling face.

God, he’s grown into those bunny teeth. Has his smile always been so handsome?

“Tom!” She squeals, rushing from behind the counter and throwing her arms around his neck. “Do your dad and Lois know you’re back?”

He hugs her warmly before pulling back. “Yeah, popped home first to say hello. Left me new bird there, actually, thought you’d wanna meet her?”

She hates the way her heart sinks at this, but nods regardless, flipping the closed sign on the shop door and locking it behind her.

Tom tells her all about the Battle of the River Plate as they walk back to his house. He grows solemn when he’s finished, glancing sideways at her.

“I saw people die,” he says quietly, “I thought I was gonna die. Can’t believe there’s so much of my life I’ve pissed up the wall.”

It’s then that she notices how much more mature he seems, wise beyond his years. He’s seen things that no man his young age should have seen. She reaches for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, a gesture which he returns.

“So, this is Vera,” he gestures towards the kitchen table as they head inside.

She laughs, relief washing over her, when she sees the little canary sitting in her cage.

For a few days it feels like everything is back to normal, until Tom gets a new posting and has to leave again.

“I’ll come back,” he tells her, taking her hands in his, “who else would be your mate?”

She can’t help but smile. “No one else would put up with me,”

He’s away longer this time, his letters are fewer and the worry gnaws at her with more intensity than ever before.

For the second time in her life she cries over Tom Bennett when she hears that he’s been declared as missing in action on the beaches of Dunkirk, a suspected capture by opposing forces.

Lois falls pregnant, and for a time the advancing stages of her pregnancy and eventual birth are a welcome distraction, a reminder that there is life amongst all the death that surrounds them.

Her grief is amplified when bombs fall over Manchester, a bottomless pit opening in her gut when she finds out that there was a direct hit on the Bennett house. Her uncle and Douglas had been inside playing cards at the time, neither had survived.

Her mum moves Lois and her baby into the flat above the shop, with her uncle gone the space is no longer occupied and it makes sense for them to have it, considering they no longer have a roof over their heads.

It’s comforting to have them so close, a little piece of Tom to hold onto until he comes back, if he comes back. She hates herself for thinking it.

When Tom next steps through the shop door, there’s no trace of his grin from last time. He looks skinny, haunted, he’s aged. There’s an anger within his blue eyes that replaces the mischief that used to sparkle there.

He doesn’t need to ask for her to know what he’s after. There will be no hugs of greeting this time.

“She’s upstairs,” she says softly, her stomach tied into knots.

He simply nods and walks towards the back to go up.

It doesn’t take long for her to be able to hear the muffled sounds of arguing and not five minutes later he storms back downstairs and out into the street. She follows after him, grabbing the quarter of sherbet straws she’d bagged up for him.

He’s sat smoking on their usual spot on the wall, and she hops up beside him, placing the paper bag between them. He doesn’t touch them. She wonders when the last time he ate anything at all was, he looks so thin.

The silence between them feels painful, she doesn’t know what to say, but she can tell from the way his hands shake and the urgency with which he drags on his cigarette that if she doesn’t say something then he certainly won’t.

“You can’t be angry with Lois, y’know,” she says gently, “it’s not her fault,”

“Then whose is it?!” He snaps angrily, eyes narrowing as he looks at her.

He’s never spoken to her like that before and she shrinks away from it. “It’s not my fault either,” she whispers sadly.

His face softens, a look of shame replacing his anger as he averts his gaze, his lips twitching. “Sorry about your uncle,”

“Sorry about your dad,”

His return is brief, only a couple of days this time. Enough time for him to visit Douglas’ grave, but not enough for them to talk, not properly anyway. He reveals that he was taken to an American hospital in Paris, after being shot in Dunkirk. A woman named Henriette had helped him to escape France and he’d made his way home via Spain. It’s all so matter of fact the way that he recounts it, but she only has to look into his eyes to see the turmoil he’s feeling. It crushes her.

He looks fearful and uncertain when they say goodbye, the urge to cling to him and beg him not to go is overwhelming.

“You’ll still be here when I get back, won’t you?” He asks.

“Course I will, I always am,” she replies with a sad smile.

He cups her cheek, his large palm engulfing her face and leans down to press his lips to hers. She startles at first, they have never kissed before, but she quickly reciprocates, moving her mouth against Tom’s. His lips are so soft and there is a tenderness behind the gesture that brings tears to her eyes.

She’s breathless when they part, his forehead resting against hers, his hand still cupping her cheek.

“Mates, yeah?” He whispers.

The word makes her heart twinge. “Yeah, mates.”

Her fingers trace lightly across her mouth as she watches him walk away, kit bag slung over his shoulder.

Tom sends no letters at all the third time he leaves, so eventually she stops writing to him. She figures it can’t be nice for him to hear about how life is carrying on without him, how his niece has started to walk and talk, a new house built in place of his old one with a new family living inside it.

She can’t bear how the world continues, while she feels stuck in place, waiting for his return. It isn’t fair that there are people getting to laugh and love and live their lives, while he’s sacrificing his so that they may have the privilege.

With the exception of the morning paper sort, her mum has taken a step back from the shop, needing more rest than usual, and without her uncle around to help out, she’s taking on more hours in order to keep things ticking over. The sweet jars sit empty, rationing is difficult to get used to. She’ll never be able to come to terms with sending people away without the food they want and need, simply because the shop either doesn’t have enough stock, or they have already used their allotted portion for the week.

Her mind drifts back to how skeletal Tom had looked when she’d seen him last. She hopes he’s managing to eat.

It’s the beginning of September, the dying embers of summer glow dark orange on the horizon, as the evening battles the day for dominance in the increasingly earlier darkening of the sky.

Lois is on an evening shift, so her mum is round at the flat looking after the little one. She has the house to herself, and has lost count of the amount of times she’s read and re-read the same passage in her book, unable to take the words in.

She frowns when she hears the door knock, unsure of whether she should answer it or not, she’s not expecting anyone. Her hesitation provides enough time for a second knock, more urgent this time, so she relents, going to the front door and opening it.

It feels as though time freezes when she sees Tom standing there, gaunt and tired looking.

He doesn’t give her time to react, dropping his kit bag to the floor as he closes the door behind him and presses a bruising kiss to her lips. His hands pull at her clothes as he backs her towards the living room sofa, and she lets him.

She just needs to feel that he’s real, that he’s really back, so she loses herself in the moment, allowing him to climb on top of her, her own hands moving to strip him as he does the same to her.

Her fingertips stroke down his back and she’s shocked to find she can feel every vertebrae in his spine, and all the ribs that protrude through the skin. She’s never touched him in such an intimate manner before, but she knows he’s never been so emaciated. He feels hollow, yet there is strength to how he manhandles her.

Pulling her thighs apart, he settles between them, pushing her open with the thickness of his cock. She gasps, arching against him, clutching tightly to his shoulders as he pistons his hips in quick succession against hers. This is no gentle lovemaking, it is filled with raw animalistic need, a desire to feel something, anything.

His breaths are ragged against her neck and he finds release quickly, spilling inside of her with a grunt before collapsing and pulling her tight to his chest.

They lay quietly on the sofa together, nothing but the sounds of their heavy breathing filling the space. She has a thousand questions she longs to ask him, yet none of them seem appropriate. Despite the fact that Tom has just brutally had his way with her, she’s still in shock that he’s returned.

“I’m sorry I never wrote,” he says eventually, “was tired of never having any good news to tell you,”

“You’re back now,” she says quietly, fingers tracing over the bullet wound scar in his shoulder, “that’s all that matters,”

“Still mates then?” He asks.

Her heart lurches at the word. Is that all they are after what’s just happened?

“Yeah, still mates,”

He drifts to sleep in her arms and she holds him, until his thrashing pushes her from the sofa. She lands with a heavy thud on the living room carpet, watching in horror as Tom’s sweaty body writhes and cries out in terror in his sleep.

She kneels beside the sofa, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder to still him and coax him awake. He startles, wide eyed, before clutching at her, burying his face in her neck and sobbing until he drifts into unconsciousness again.

As Tom settles back into life in Longsight, he goes right back to wearing a mask for everyone.

“Are you a hero?” Children shout as he walks down the street.

“Always have been, always will be,” he says with a lopsided grin.

Yet each day ends with him muffling his cries into her neck after she’s soothed his night terrors, she knows better than the act he puts on for everyone else’s benefit. She suspects that Tom may be suffering from shell shock, but doesn’t dare to bring it up. Knowing his father had the same, it is likely a sore subject for him.

His return sees a new development in their friendship, them sleeping together the night he came back isn’t a one off occurrence, yet each time he still continues to refer to her as a mate. It’s confusing for her, but not an issue she wishes to push, knowing that Tom is struggling with enough already. He’ll figure it out when he’s ready, she just needs to be there for him.

Tom gets a flat nearby, and finds a job at the local garage. Having served in the Navy has imparted mechanical skills to him, and he can easily work his way around an engine.

She sits perched on the workbench of the garage, admiring the view. Tom’s sandy coloured hair is pushed back from his forehead, his navy overalls tied around his waist, leaving him in just the white vest he wears underneath. His first customer of the day has yet to arrive, so he’s clean for now. She bites her lip at the thought of how dirty he’ll be by the end of the day.

It has become routine for her to spend a few mornings a week watching him work - her mum has never gotten out of the habit of insisting she wants to open the shop and sort the morning papers before heading home, so she is left to her own devices most days until the early afternoon. Tom doesn’t seem to mind having her hang around the garage.

When a car pulls in, a portly gentleman stepping out, Tom walks to greet him.

“It keeps overheating, I can’t understand why,” he explains to Tom.

“I’ll take a look for ya, mate. Come back in an hour, yeah?”

The man looks over at her with slight concern. “Will she…uh…be assisting you?”

Tom grins. “Nah, she’s just a mate, won’t let her near your motor, don’t worry.”

Just a mate.

She thinks back to how he’d knelt behind her not long after they’d woken up, just a couple of hours ago, pulling her hips back to meet each of his thrusts.

Just a mate.

Mates don’t do that.

Tom’s voice breaks her out of her thoughts. “Stupid old sod, just needs to put coolant in the engine. Gonna tell him I replaced the fan belt and charge him extra.”

She giggles, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

He gives an easy shrug. “He’s loaded, he can afford it.”

She sighs, looking at her watch. “I’d better push off, mum’ll be expecting me at the shop. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Probably not,” Tom says. “Booked solid tomorrow, but come round to mine after?”

She nods, waving and walking away. She’s used to Tom letting her know when the garage will be busy, so makes a point to stay away so he’s not distracted.

It’s not until the end of the day, when she fishes around in her pocket for the keys to lock up the shop that she realises she has Tom’s lighter. She’s too tired to pop round and drop it off at his, so decides she’ll swing by the garage in the morning to give it back.

Her fingers wrap around it in her pocket, preparing to take it out to hand back as she approaches the garage the next morning.

She stops in her tracks when she sees a sleek black motor car parked in the vehicle bay, a tall, sophisticated, beautiful woman standing beside it. Her perfectly manicured nails stroke down Tom’s bare arm as her ruby red lips pull back into a smile.

Her heart lurches in her chest as she watches him reach out to tuck a strand of the woman’s long, dark hair behind her ear.

Her throat tightens, nausea bubbles in her stomach as she turns and walks away, the lighter long forgotten. It feels as though the bottom of her world has been ripped away. She angrily swipes at the wetness that rims her eyes.

Just mates.

Fine, if that’s what Tom wanted then that’s all they’d ever be.

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[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.”

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

#tom bennett smut #tom bennett x you #tom bennett world on fire #tom bennett angst #tom bennett #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #tom bennett wof #tom bennett x oc #tom bennett x female reader #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennett fan fiction #tom bennett fan fic #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fic #tom bennett fanfic #12 days of smuff #tom bennett imagine

[myfandomprompts]

𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭 | 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝟏)

Synopsis: You are a French girl that had the opportunity to teach in Manchester, and you had been lucky enough to be granted a bed at the Bennett’s place. As Europe is on the brink of war, you start to worry for your family back at home, and you are surprisingly consoled by the one man of the house you would never have thought capable of landing you an ear. It’s not that you like Tom, is it? Masterlist

Tags: fluff, angst, little slow burn, next part will include more tags (wink)

It was late, and you were in the Bennett’s living room, unable to sleep and because you didn’t want to bother Lois who was already sound asleep upstairs with your light, you had chosen to read on the couch, literature distracting you.

It has been three wonderful months in Manchester. The place was lovely, the people welcoming, the school you had begun to teach at everything you hoped for, and the Bennetts were absolutely adorable with you. Douglas was sweet, and had many stories to tell, Lois was kind and funny, and you two had got along pretty quickly. Even Tom, when he was around, was making efforts to be as delightful and troublesome as usual.

You had found the place by your connections, your brother playing in a band with a trumpeter named Eddie, whose wife happened to be Lois’s best friend. And now you were sharing the bedroom upstairs with her, having taken Tom’s bed as he now slept on the couch. He had not complained once about it.

The first time you met him, he had entered the house mere minutes after you had arrived, having just finished introducing yourself to his father and sister. You heard him before seeing him. “So, the reason I have to sleep on the couch from now has arrived, eh?”

His tone was playful, but you still felt guilty nonetheless as you turned around to see the infamous Tom, slightly blushing when you saw the tall blond-haired man in front of you, his blue eyes widening faintly as he met yours.

“Tom, be nice,” Lois had said. “This is Y/N.”

You had greeted him shyly, not sure how to act with him as you jokingly apologised for the loss of his bed, but his grin had just grown wider and he had chuckled.

“Christ, are they all this pretty in France? I should pay them a visit, I would be a very happy lad there.”

Douglas had sighed while Lois rolled her eyes, and you had not known how to react back then watching him laugh again before going upstairs with a wink to his sister, satisfied with the way your cheeks had turned pink.

But now that you had been his flirtatious self for over three months, you had grown used to his witty remarks and knew better than to take them seriously. You got along pretty well in fact. One day you had stumbled upon him in the kitchen as he played with a deck of cards, and had offered to teach you how to play. You had never seen someone as skilled with his hands as he was, and you wondered now if this particular talent had anything to do with the two weeks he had spent in prison lately. Regardless, you had spent a wonderful afternoon with him that day.

It was a stark contrast with your current situation, reading late and laying on the couch with the oil lamp as sole light, finding the activity the only efficient distraction from the thoughts that prevented you from sleeping at night. You were quite the anxious person, and since the news that Poland had surrendered and that Europe was on the brink of war, you had grown concerned for your family back in France. The word out was that Western Europe would be next and your family was living too close to the German border for you not to be concerned. The fact that you had not received any letters from any members of your family in a whole week did nothing to appease that worry. So instead of sleep, reading it was, and you were so focused on your book that you did not hear the front door open softly and you jumped when you saw a figure standing in the threshold of the living room.

“Mon Dieu… You scared me!” you gently scolded as you brought your hand to your chest, steadying your heartbeat.

“Sorry love, didn’t mean to,” came the quick response of Tom, fully dressed with his overcoat, his cheeks slightly pink from the cold he had just escaped from.

“Where do you come from this late?” you inquired, shivering as you felt the draught reach you as he took his coat off.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Are you still scrapping for metal, Tom? Can I finally have that tin man you’re building?” you teased as you echoed Lois, watching him as he made his way to the chair across from you, lazily dropping in it and lighting a cigarette between his lips.

“Lois talks too much,” he answered, smoke coming out of his mouth as he spoke. “And you won’t find me doing that again. Don’t plan on going back in a cell this soon.”

He winked at you, but the only thing now on your mind was what Douglas had announced to you this morning. “I heard… Conscientious objector, uh? Your father must be proud, you already have the genes for pacifism.”

“I doubt that. I’m not really into what he believes in so…” his voice was low, contemplative. “Sooner or later, I’ll still be a disappointment. No surprises there.”

“Don’t say that, I know he is proud of you. At least he is glad you’re not on the mend any more. Or in the army.”

“Yeah…I’m a real hero.”

You frowned, saddened by his words but you found nothing to say as he reached for the ashtray next to him. You hoped that one day the man before you would see his worth.

“So, can’t sleep?” he kept on, putting an end to the topic as you stared at the way the smoke passed his lips. “Why are you in the cold like that?”

“I just… thought I would have some reading done,” you half-lied, raising the book in your hands. “But don’t let me keep you from a good night’s sleep. You look like you need it.”

Tom’s demeanour shifted at that and a grin appeared on his lips, looking you over. “Well, I would, but since you’re sitting where I sleep…”

Your eyes widened as you suddenly remembered that he had taken the couch because of you. And now you robbed him of it as well. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that, I was just enjoying the living room... I’ll leave you be,” you said with slight embarrassment, closing your book and moving to get up.

“No, stay, you're warming up my bed so nicely already, you're not going to abandon me now, are you?" he teased, a sly smile on his lips as his face lit up. "There is enough space for both of us on this couch if we keep close."

The stern look you gave him at his inappropriate proposition amused him for a moment, but soon his anxious and serious expression returned, "No, honest, despite what you think I look like, I'm not tired. So stay. Please."

You hesitated, sensing that like you, he might use the company, but you still did not want to be a bother. He talked again before you could come to a decision.

“I know you read when you’re anxious, so tell me what’s bothering you. Why you can’t sleep.”

You were surprised for a second by the fact that he knew this about your personality, feeling something in your heart tingle as his blue eyes examined yours, waiting for your answer. "It’s nothing, it’s just, passing insomnia.”

He took another puff of smoke, not believing you for a second, “Worrying about your folks, are you?” he said as you lowered your gaze at your hands and nodded. You didn’t know Tom could be this perceptive, or that his eyes could have that softness you've never noticed before. “They’ll be fine. These Nazis won’t be able to do much if we have a say in it,” he stated, looking at how your pretty eyes had suddenly turned morose. 

He didn’t want that. “What if they do anyway? Look at Poland, we weren’t prepared and now here we are. They don’t look like they are gonna stop there. Finland is-”

“You listen to the wireless too much. It’s always bad news nowadays, no point in listening to it if it makes you sad.”

You gave him a sorry smile, internally touched at his simplistic way of seeing things. “Stop listening to the news won’t make Germany stop invading its neighbouring countries Tom,” you replied softly, trying to ignore the way your heart ached at the thought. “What has happened is already so horrifying, I can’t even begin to imagine what it would look like if they really go all the way through with it.”

You felt tears come at the rim of your eyes against your will as you let the words you dreaded to say come out loud. Your lack of sleep was making you prone to strong emotions, and you had kept them hidden for a little too long. “It’s just… so scary. What if I can’t go back, or something happens while I’m here? They feel so far away! What if I end up never seeing them again? What if I have made a mistake coming here?” you went on, voice cracking and barely holding your tears. 

Tom had straightened up on his chair. “Of course you’ll see them again,” he firmly said, but when he saw your teary eyes his voice turned soft, and he stood up at once. “Hey it’s alright. You’re alright love. C’me here.”

You watched him come over and sit beside you before wrapping an arm around your shoulder, pulling you gently against him. You blinked at his sudden display of affection but did nothing against it, leaning into him as he pulled you closer, allowing you to rest your head against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, and you clung to the sound.

“Nothing will happen to them,” he whispered. “If they are half as smart as you are, nothing will get them. Trust me.”

His breath was tickling the side of your face as he talked. You giggled softly, now finding pathetic the way you had reacted due to your lack of sleep. “Thank you, Tom. You’re sweet when you want to,” you whispered, feeling your eyelids slowly flutter from the fatigue.

“I’m always sweet. You’re just not around often enough to witness it.”

“Then I am clearly missing out...”

Then it went dark, and you fell asleep in Tom’s arms. “Not as much as I am, Y/N.”

Tom watched you as your breathing became even, hand itching to prevent a strand of your hair from falling over your pretty face. Had it been anyone else, he would have woken you up and made you go to bed to be more comfortable, but as the minutes passed, he gradually abandoned the idea of moving even an inch as you felt amazingly warm over him. He gently took your book away from your lap before putting the cover over your form and leaned back against the couch, finding a comfortable position of his own.

Your peaceful expression suited you, he thought.

Sunlight filtered through the windows directly into your eyes, and you blinked yourself awake, the smell of smoke and sandalwood tickling your nose. It was nice, but as you realised from where, or from who it came from. Your face was resting against Tom, his chest rising up and down softly as he breathed and you straightened at once, the motion making him shift and blink in turn beneath you. You stayed still while you forced your memories from the previous night to come back. Tom lazily stretched his arm over him before dozing into sleep again. Oh no no no.

“Réveille-toi espèce de-” you scolded, hitting him on the shoulder to urge him awake. “Why didn’t you wake me up! We would both have been better off in our own beds!”

“Hey, easy!” he protested with a giggle, now fully awake and trying to take a hold of your wrists to stop you from punching him. “You’re the one that fell asleep on me, in my bed, and I’m not the one complaining here, love!”

His amused expression annoyed you more than it should have and you cursed in frustration, realising that you had to get ready for work very soon. You were glad that neither Douglas or Lois had woken up early to see you like that.

“If I’m late for school, it’s on you,” you warned, getting rid of the covers he had apparently put over you during the night and pointing an accusing finger at him, standing up to walk upstairs.

“What, I don’t even get a cup of tea as a reward for being your pillow? I clearly deserve it,” he taunted, taking his jumper off and looking at you expectantly.

You sighed, “Fine. But stop guilt trapping me. You still should have woken me up, I’m sure your muscles are killing you right now. No, I hope they are."

“My muscles are fine, thank you. And I would never have dared to wake you up, you seemed so relaxed in my arms, I didn’t want to ruin it for you.”

His grin was enticing but you escaped it by fleeing into the kitchen and processing to make you and him some tea, taking care in adding milk, a thing you had learned British people liked, and you brought one of the hot cups back to him. He was now comfortably laying under the covers, ready to fall asleep again, but he straightened up to take the beverage from your hands, satisfied with the way your nose flared in frustration. But even though you seemed vexed, it did not reflect your thoughts in the least

“Thank you. For listening to me last night.”

Your words made him arch his brow in surprise but his sweet smile quickly came back as he sipped his drink happily. “Anything, Y/N.”

You gave him a half a grateful smile in response before turning on your heels, heading upstairs to ready yourself for the day. Tom smiled at the way the covers were now infused with your scent, and he was glad to fall back to sleep in it.

It was your turn to buy groceries, and you had taken your time in the market today, strolling through products before heading back to the Bennett’s.

Nearing the back door, you were put face to face with a furious looking Tom, storming out of the kitchen and almost bumping into you as you set down your bike against the wall of the small alley. He barely apologised and disappeared into the street. You stayed stunned by the encounter for a moment before cautiously making your entrance in the house where Douglas was sitting at the table, a dismayed expression on his face while Lois was ironing.

“What was that?” you asked, looking between the two. They looked at each other before Douglas spoke.

“Tom enrolled in the Navy.”

You dropped your bags of groceries on the floor. “The Navy? But… what about civil work?” you asked, stupefied.

“Yeah… He is not doing that any more. He changed his mind.”

You glanced at Lois who gave you a sorry look. No wonder Tom looked so upset and Douglas so sullen. “I’ll… find him.”

It had not been very difficult to find Tom. You had strolled around the neighbourhood before deciding to head to the local pub, almost certain that you would find him there. And it did not fail.

As you entered, immediately noticing his back turned to you, elbows on the counter at the front. You made your way to him across the crowd and settled yourself beside him, looking at his now almost empty glass of beer.

“Can I please have the same thing but smaller?” you called out to the barman, making Tom acknowledge your presence for the first time. 

He examined you briefly before reporting his gaze on his glass. “Did Lois send you?”

You shook your head. “No, I came on my own. You should not be alone.”

He nodded, taking his glass of beer and emptying it in one gulp.

“So… the Navy, uh?” you tried.

He licked his lips and proceeded to play with the edge of his now empty glass, jaw clenching a bit. “What, are you gonna tell me I made the wrong choice too? Didn’t know you were this much into pacifism. With your folks and all.”

“No, it’s not like that Tom, it’s just a little difficult for your father at the moment. I don’t want you to leave, but it does not mean that I don’t understand your choices.”

His eyes shot up at you as you were handed your drink, not noticing how Tom didn’t draw his gaze away from you as you ingested the cold liquid, warming your throat in the process. When you put down your glass, Tom was still looking at you, a triumphant grin on his face.

“My my, are you saying that you’ll miss me or do my ears deceive me tonight?”

You blushed, opening your mouth to try to think of a witty response. You found none. “Just… Be serious for a minute and listen to what I have to say,” you managed, and he groaned in frustration, ordering another drink as you continued. “Your father loves you, that is why he is so upset. He just… doesn’t want his boy to go away. He lived it himself, he knows how it is, he is scared for you.”

He only made an annoyed sound as he took a sip of beer again, a defiant expression on his face. You try not to question why your eyes had been briefly drawn to his Adam's apple as he drank.

“If you leave things as they are with your father, you’ll regret it. I know you will,” you kept on, willing to not let his pride take the better of him. “When do you leave?”

“In a week,” he replied. “First to Liverpool for training and then off to wherever they send me.”

You bit your lips. You had not known Tom for very long, but you knew that it was unfair that he had to go. You were terrified that war would take away all that liveliness and light he carried around. You liked that about him, even though you didn’t show it.

“At least you’ll get to travel,” you shrugged jokingly, but your heart was not in it. Tom however, seemed to find his humour back.

“That’s true. Maybe to France, who knows? Always dreamed to see if they are all like you there, or if you're some miraculous exception. I hope they are not as serious as you, though, I would be very disappointed.”

You let out a fake scandalised sound. “Me, serio-! That’s not very nice of you to say, Mr. Bennett! I have my moments.”

“What, is the demoiselle jealous?” he smiled, leaning closer, and you could smell the same scent you had woken to several mornings ago in the living room, but this time mixed with the smell of beer.

“No, you’re just being rude,” you replied, forgetting to move away from his ever-closing face. “And your charming smile won’t be able to get you out of my wrath if you keep depreciating me like that.”

He arched a brow, and you knew you had made a mistake. “Charming smile? Well, that’s a first. But do go on, what else do you find charming about me?”

You scoffed, unable to stop the blush from creeping onto your cheeks and chose to hide behind your drink as you took a long sip.

“C’mon, I’ll even let you say it in French, if that’s easier for you,” he pleaded, eyes glittering in mischief as he leaned closer to your ear. “I like when you speak French.”

“Tu peux toujours courir, mon beau,” you said, shaking your head with a smile. You can forget about it, handsome.

“Mhh… What does that mean?”

“It means that you, sir, have drank too fast, and that you should stop there,” you replied, ignoring the way he was now looking at your lips as they moved. “I won’t say anything, but please remember what I said. Don’t avoid your father, don’t make that mistake. Oh, and don’t come home too late," you said, dropping a few pounds on the counter.

“You’re leaving me already? It was just starting to get interesting.”

You could not repress a smile as you internally agreed. “I’m hungry, and I am cooking tonight. Maybe if you behave, I will leave some for you.”

And you turned your heels, letting him there with a lost expression as you made your way to the door, satisfied and your body a little bit too warm. Mere metres from the exit, however, you collided with someone.

“Oh, I’m sorry sir, I wasn’t paying attention,” you apologised, even though it was him that had not been paying any attention to his surroundings as he was talking to his group of friends.

The man turned with an annoyed expression on his face at first, but it quickly disappeared to be replaced by a cheeky smile at your sight, “No to worry miss, no harm done,” he reassured you, touching your arm in a playful manner. “Where are you from? Don’t recognise your accent.”

“Oh, I’m from France. I… didn’t know it was that obvious,” you confess, uneasy at his sudden interest and secretly wishing that you were already on your way home.

“Nah, I just have an ear for it. Staying long?”

“I work here actually. School.”

“Wonderful, it means that we will cross paths again, won’t we? I believe in fate you see, not a coincidence we met like this hon’,” he said, leaning in closer and making you take a few steps back.

You knew it had been no coincidence when his arm collided with yours harshly a minute ago, just plain inattention on his part. Your desire to escape him grew wider by the minute. “Uh, I guess we’ll see about that,” you said, trying to give him a genuine smile. “Now I’m sorry but I must go. Maybe next time!”

The tall man nodded, and you now noticed how gruff he looked. “Alrigh’, to next time then, dove.”

You shyly smiled at him before hastily opening the door and exit the pub, the cold attacking your already shivering skin.

“I work here actually. School.”

“Wonderful, it means that we will cross paths again, won’t we? I believe in fate you see, not a coincidence we met like this hon.”

Tom’s gaze had not left you for a second as he watched you leave, seeing you struggle to reach the entrance of the pub across the crowded place, and he did not miss the way you collided with loud guy either.

The man was a regular named Larry, but Tom usually called him ‘the loud guy’ as he never seemed to ever shut up. The fact was, that lad had already challenged Tom's nerves a couple of times, and his legs were now making their way to the two of you on their own. He had only heard the end of your conversation before he could get close and as you left, reassuring him, Tom was about to make his way back to the counter when he heard Larry’s boisterous voice.

“Pretty this one, and a teacher at that. She could teach me whatever she wants any time, eh?” he said to his red-haired friend next to him. “I’ll bet you she touched me on purpose, the naughty thing. She must get laid pretty easily.”

He then proceeded to have the fattest laugh Tom had ever heard, his friend on the other side only giving him an unimpressed glance, and Tom felt his blood boil.

“You want to repeat that, mate?” he defiantly said, staring straight at Larry who froze and turned at his voice.

“Repeat what? Don’t you know it’s rude to listen to other people’s conversations?”

“Well you’re not really whispering there, are ya? You wouldn’t be able to have a private conversation even if you wanted to, with your ugly mouth of yours. Or do you lack the brains to understand that?”

You were right. Maybe he had drank too fast, and maybe although he was as tall as Larry, the fact that he was twice his size did not bode well for him. But he was very crossed right now, and it wasn’t the first time he had got himself into a situation like this one. He could take it.

“Watch it lad, wouldn’t want to damage your pretty face, don’t think your mum would be happy about it, yeah? Now piss off.”

“Big words for someone who talks about women like that. Did your mum forget to teach you some manners?”

Larry’s expression turned dark. “So that’s about the French lass, huh? Frustrated she took interest in a man rather than a boy like you? You wanted a taste, am I right? Well too bad. Let the big men play and piss off.”

Tom didn’t know why this particular sentence had infuriated him that much but it did, and the next moment his fist had landed on Larry’s face, making him reel backward and growl as his nose started to bleed. Rage took him and he punched Tom back in the stomach, making him huff and gasp for air as people started to yell around them, rushing to stop the fight.

“Stop this! Or take it outside!” yelled the barman as someone held Tom back, preventing him from punching loud guy again.

“Gladly,” sneered Tom, but Larry’s friend had another opinion.

“It’s not worth it. C’mon Larry move. I said move,” he insisted, pushing his nose-bleeding mate out of the pub. Tom had tried to follow them, still enraged but the hands retaining him did not let him go until the two men had disappeared into the night.

“You’re alright lad?” asked a man to his right.

“I’m fine,” he growled, shaking the pain from his hand and feeling his torso aflame by the blow he had received.

He didn’t know why he had reacted like that, but as he returned to the counter, he had definitely sobered up.

@enchantingcupcakecollectionfan

Part 2

#tom bennett #wof #world on fire #tom bennet imagine #tom bennett x oc #tom bennett fanfiction #oneshot #ewan mitchell #world on fire 1x02 #wof gif #mygif #angst #short story #fluff #smut #aemond #Tom bennett X reader #gone with regret

[fuckalicent]

guys i miss tom bennett

#only solution is to write the most angsty shit ever for him #tom bennett and angst will do it for me every single time

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Captain America

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem!reader

Warning: World War II, Fluff, Angst, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Family Fluff, did I mention this fic is very fluffy?

Summary: Tom's son was deeply convinced his father was the British counterpart of Captain America, his favourite comic hero. In his son's mind, he was a hero for protecting his mother and himself on the open sea.

Simon Bennett was the spitting image of his father. Dirty blonde hair. The most brilliant shade of blue. His cheeky grin. And the mischievous nature even at the tender age of four.

He was created the night after his father returned home from France. A night filled with passion and no caution for consequences.

His mother, his father’s school sweetheart and the love of his father’s life, had given birth to him nine months later during an air raid.

Tom woke up to the blaring of the sirens. He turned to his side, softly kissing the woman next to him awake. „Sweetheart, we have to go.“

He got up from the squeaky old bed and rushed around for their pre-packed bag.

You softly sat up. Rubbing your eyes before getting slowly out of bed. The large stomach in front of you limits your movements. Tom walked over with your coat in his arm, helping you stand and wrapping it around your shoulders.

He led you outside, trying to shield you from any flying rubble or glass as you made your way to the nearest air-raid shelter. His anxiety grew the longer you remained outside.

It was hard for you to walk. Your ankles are swollen and your back is hurting from the weight of the baby and the impending birth. You were in your last month, a month you should rest and stay off your feet. Tom wasn’t the religious type. But he prayed for you not to go into labour this night. He should have prayed harder he thought as you stopped in the middle of the street. Right in front of the shelter.

A pained sob escaped your lips as you held your stomach. „Sweetheart!“ He let go of the bag of clothes and important things to rush to you. „The baby!“ You gasped. Tom saw the puddle forming on the street. His panic and his fatherly instincts kicked in.

He rushed to the bag and picked it up before he rushed back to you and picked you off your feet and into his arms. He rushed into the shelter before they closed the door.

Bombs fell outside as your screams filled the room full of people. He was thankful as a nurse stepped forward and helped you deliver the baby.

Simon Bennett drew his first breath when the aircraft over Manchester was gone.

It was a welcomed sound in the shelter after the explosions and falling buildings. Cheers broke out as his son screamed for the first time.

His face was red and his fists waving around as he declared his malaise about not being nestled in his mother’s warm womb anymore. Tom chuckled as he held the small boy. His smile grew larger as the small boy wiggled closer to his chest.

It had been hard for him to leave them behind to go to sea again. He had no choice, cursing the stupidity of his youth. The navy had given him plenty of time to be with his family.

Before he left, he married you. With Simon in your arms and Lois and his niece Vera as your witnesses. He had never seen a more beautiful sight.

The goodbye was the hardest. Everyone cried. You, Lois, him, even Vera. But the cry of his beautiful son was the most heart-wrenching one. He had already seen your tears the first two times he had gone to sea. He knew his heartache, but he didn’t anticipate how much Simon’s little cry would wound him.

As often as you could, you would write him a letter. Sending pictures with a few letters so Tom would see how his son had grown over the months, later years, he wasn’t home.

In one letter you wrote about your new employment with Robina Chase. He was glad you found employment with Harry’s mother as her housemaid. You were able to take care of Simon and Vera while working. And you were out of the city and the danger.

My dear Tommy,

I hope you are well. We haven’t heard anything from the Navy. Robina’s military contacts couldn’t get through to the Navy. I guess you are engaged in a battle or you are too far to reach. I hope it’s the last.

Simon and Vera are getting along nicely. They started to crawl, giving me a hard time to clean the floors. Sometimes they would race each other, giggling like madmen.

He also started to make sounds. It’s funny how I would point to something and he would make a sound. His favourite so far is car noises. When you come home he can probably call you ‚daddy‘ or ‚papa‘.

Besides Simon’s progress, I think I made progress with our hostess. It seems Robina has grown fond of me. I am the caretaker of her granddaughter after all. She has given me more days off now. Inviting me to go on walks with her. Asking me about both children’s development. She seemed genuinely interested.

Your letters to him were his lifeline. His hope of returning home. Every chance he got he would write back. He wrote ten each day. Hoping some of them will reach you. He needed you to know he was still alive and well.

He would sew the pictures you send him into the pocket of his shirt so he could carry them with him at all times and not lose them. And if he should die, you and Simon would be next to him.

Simon was three years old when an American soldier gifted him his first Captain America comic.

You always had to read it to him at night time. He insisted on it. “He is like daddy.“ He would say. “Daddy is my Captain America.“ You smiled at your boy. His grin was always so cheerful when his eyes danced over the pictures on the paper. He loved the adventures of Steve Rogers. Imagining his father fighting the bad man at sea.

Robina had even gone out of her way and had smuggled some comics into England for Simon’s fourth birthday.

But his greatest gift was his father.

You were standing at the docs with Simon sitting on your shoulders. Both of you are searching for a familiar mop of blonde hair. It became a game as more men left the belly of the ship. ‚Spot Daddy‘ Simon called it.

As he finally spotted his father, Simon became more excited. He was shouting for him, waving enthusiastically.

Tom looked up as he heard an unfamiliar child's voice calling for his father. His brows moved together as the boy waved and even shouted his name.

His eyes widened as he saw the woman the boy was sitting on top of her shoulders. You smiled up at your son as best as you could before turning back to look in front of you. Watching him rush over to you. Weaving through his fellow shipmates before finally reaching the both of you.

He took Simon from your shoulders. Groaning mockingly as he held him to his chest. Kissing his red cheeks. „My boy has grown!“ He laughed. “he is better fed than I am.”

Simon hugged his father for the first time in his four years. Savouring the warm feeling. „Welcome home, daddy. I missed you.“ He mumbled into his neck. His small arms tightened around his neck.

Tom tightened one arm around his son’s body, while the other pulled you to his chest. Kissing both yours and Simon’s forehead. „Missed you more, kid.“ He whispered against his son’s cheek.

Tom came home from work. It was late afternoon, the sun had already set. His body was weary from the heavy lifting.

„Honey, I am home!“ He called as he walked further into the house. There was no reply, the house quiet. He walked into the living room, Simon sitting on the sofa, reading another comic.

The boy’s head turned, a large grin breaking out on his small face. It was infectious, a smile breaking out on his face. „Where is Mama?“ Tom asks softly. „Upstairs, Mary has been fussy all morning. Something about teething, Mama said.“ Tom nodded softly. Later he should have a look at how his two girls were fairing.

Simon went on to read his precious comic. Tom sat next to him on the cushion. „What is he doing now?“ „He is fighting Hydra. There is a bad professor who would like to recreate the super soldier serum.“

Tom smiles, reading the last pages with his son before whispering, „I think I saw the next one at the paper stand. Wanna check if it’s there?“ Simon eagerly nodded. Rushing off the couch and racing to the front door. Tom was not far, taking his son’s hand and skipping to the newspaper stand down the road.

Main Masterlist

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[aemondsbabe]

A Promise is a Promise

summary: promises & phone sex || tom's trying his best to make it home to you by christmas, but a snowstorm derails his plans

pairing: tom bennett x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, phone sex, dirty talk, fingering, masturbation, breast/nipple play, very slight angst but happy ending, probably not historically accurate bite me, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.3k

a/n: happy day eleven of 12 days of smuff and happy christmas eve to everyone who celebrates!! hope y'all enjoy this one! Can be read as a part 2 to Homecoming or as a stand alone!

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @rxyl

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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Your breath fogs up the window as you look outside one last time, sighing heavily as you watch puffy snowflakes rain down from the sky, scattering through the pale yellow shafts of light from the street lamps. You peer up and down the quiet street, frowning at the sight of all the twinkling lights and festive candles that decorated so many of the townhouses, feeling decidedly un-cheery this year. 

Deciding that it wasn’t worth it to torture yourself further, you pad up the stairs to your bedroom, trying to ignore the soft glow from the Christmas tree in the front room. Your footsteps sound much louder than normal in the quiet house since your parents were out for the evening, attending some holiday party at a friend's house, one that you were in much too foul of a mood to even consider attending. 

You’ve hardly had the chance to change your clothes before the phone in your room starts ringing loudly, making you jump. Sitting on your bed, you roll your eyes as you reach for it, expecting it to be your parents or some friend, calling half drunk from a party no doubt. 

“Hello?” You sigh, pressing the phone to your ear as you stare disdainfully out the window, watching more and more of the traitorous snow fall from the dark sky. 

“Well, try not to sound too excited.” A familiar voice chuckles, instantly making you perk up.

“Tom?!” Your eyes widen as you press the phone harder against your ear, “Where are you? Are you okay? I thought you said you’d be home this afternoon!”

You can hear him laugh on the other end of the line at your rushed questions. “Relax, love, I’m fine,” he sighs, you can hear springs squeak softly in the background, like he’d sat down on a bed, “The train’s just got delayed, ice on the rails or some fucking nonsense, and with the damn snowstorm, well…” He sighs heavily.

“Delayed for how long?” You ask, crestfallen. 

“Dunno, the man at the station said maybe a day, maybe two,” you can practically hear his frustrated sneer, “What with it being Christmas eve, everything’s just a damn wreck, apparently.”

“Oh…” You try not to sound too heartbroken, not wanting him to feel worse, “Well, did you find somewhere to stay in the meantime? I hate the idea of you sitting at the station.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “Some shoddy little inn. The train had to stop at some farming town in the middle of God knows where, but a bed’s a bed, I suppose.” You can hear two thuds in the background, no doubt him tossing his boots off somewhere carelessly. 

“I’m glad you’re somewhere safe, Tommy,” you smile sadly, idly fidgeting with the bottom of your night shirt, well, really his nightshirt, “I wish you were with me, though.” You whisper, trying to ignore the sad little squeeze your heart gave. 

“Wish I was too, love.”

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, happy to simply listen to each other breathe after so many months apart. You really are trying not to let it get to you too much, but he only got so many days of leave from the RN and once he got shipped back out… you dare not think about it too deeply. 

There’s some rustling on the other end of the line and you furrow your brows as you listen, hoping the storm isn’t interfering with the phone lines too. 

“Tom?”

“‘M here,” he reassures you, springs creaking again as he settles back on the hotel bed, “Was just taking off my shirt.” He cooed, making you roll your eyes as you picture his playful smirk, your cheeks flushing as you imagined that cheeky little head bop that followed most of his lewd comments. 

“Now there’s a sight I’d like to see.” You hum, reclining back against the many pillows on your bed with a small smirk.

“Bet you’d be falling all over yourself for it,” he laughs, propping up a knee, “It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long without it.”

“Without what?”

“My cock.” He answers, voice confident and cocky. 

“Tommy!” You squeak, giggling despite yourself, which makes him chuckle on the other end, “And here I was hoping months away would turn you into a romantic!”

“Fat chance, love.” He laughs heartily, smiling genuinely for the first time in months. 

Again, a comfortable silence washes over the two of you, each of you clinging to the phone like it was truly a lifeline, feeling closer than you have in months although you’re God knows how many kilometers apart. 

He sighs again, though this one makes you smile. It’s a familiar sigh, one he only does before he says something he knows will get a rise out of you.

“What’re you wearing?” You can hear his smirk, you can practically feel it on you as he speaks, his voice already low and raspy. 

You can’t help the tittering little giggle you let out, biting your lip as your cheeks flush further. “Erm, just your button down, actually,” you say, shy all of a sudden as you squirm atop your covers, “The one you wore in secondary some days… oh, and knickers.”

“And knickers,” he murmurs, quiet for a moment before continuing, “My girl in my shirt n’ I’m not there to see it. A real shame.”

“Yeah…” you whisper, fidgeting with the small buttons lining the front. 

“D’you have my shirt buttoned, love?”

“Yes?”

“You think you could unbutton it for me?”

The way he asks for it has your heart racing, excitement building steadily within you as you rub your thighs together, already seeking something to lessen the tension within you. Almost automatically, your hands reach for the buttons as you cradle the phone on your shoulder, holding it in place with your cheek. 

“Yes, Tommy.”

“That’s a good girl, love.” He praises, chuckling lowly as a small, delicate whimper just barely makes it through the phone lines. 

You scramble, all but ripping the shirt in two until finally the fabric falls away. You’re already breathing heavier, chest heaving enough to have the shirt slip off your chest instantly; your nipples harden quickly in the cool air of your bedroom, the small radiator only doing so much to heat the space. 

“It’s unbuttoned.” You breathe, squeezing your eyes shut as you desperately try to envision him doing the same. 

“God, I wish I was there,” he sighs and your ears perk up when you hear a soft tinkling in the background, cheeks heating up at the thought of him slowly taking off his belt, “I miss those perfect fucking tits, lovely girl. Got off thinking about them every night.”

“Yeah?” You ask breathily, your fingers skimming softly over your stomach, coming to rest in the valley between your breasts. 

“Mhm,” he murmurs, already breathing hotly into the phone, “Pinch them for me, pretty girl, yeah? Like I would.”

You gasp and quickly do as he requests, not being able to hold off any longer yourself. You whimper into the receiver as you tweak your nipples, your eyes roll back in your head at the thrill that shoots down your spine and settles right between your legs. 

“Fuck, good girl.” He praises again, sounding like he’s speaking through clenched teeth.

“What’re you wearing?” You ask breathily, lightly tugging at your stiff nipples still as you rub your thighs together, your center already aching, “What’re you doing?” 

“‘M rubbing my cock through my boxers,” he sighs heavily, “S’all I’ve got on.”

The thought makes you whimper again, imagining him cupping his already twitching length through the thin fabric of his underwear. Your mouth waters as you picture a wet patch near the tip, his cock leaking at the thought of you. 

“Tommy,” you sigh as your back arches into your own touch, “Can I?” 

Your meek question makes him chuckle. “Can you do what, love? You’ll need to be specific.”

You whine this time, biting your lip as your cheeks flush. “C-Can I…” you start, still feeling so impossibly shy around him sometimes, “Can I touch myself?”

“Thought you were already touching your tits?”

“Tommy!”

“C’mon, pretty,” he laughs, licking his lips as he imagines how cute you must look, cheeks all blushed with embarrassment, “Y’know what I wanna hear.”

“Can I touch my cunt?” You murmur, voice high-pitched and breathy.

“Fuck,” he breathes, head lolling back against his pillow, “Yeah, y’can, love, lemme hear you.”

Mindlessly, your hand drifts down. You don’t even bother to take off your panties, too impatient to go to the trouble as you shove your hand inside. A moan is punched out of you at the first touch, your core already throbbing as you glide your fingers through your slick folds. Tom groans along with you as your fingers finally begin swirling around your clit, your thighs spreading further. 

“What, shit,” you sigh, a shudder rippling up your spine, “What’re you doing now?”

“Got my cock out,” he rasps, his voice catching, “Thinking about you while I fuck my hand, God, I wish it was your tight cunt, pretty girl.”

You whine again, back arching once more as your fingers skim over your clit before dipping down to gather more slick from your dripping entrance. You all but see stars when you rub yourself again, core clenching around nothing. 

“Wish you were here…” You murmur, breath catching as you move your hand a little quicker. 

“Yeah?” He asks in a low voice, “What would you want me to do?”

“Fuck me,” you whine, wiggling your hips impatiently, like he was just at the end of the bed teasing you instead of lost somewhere in the countryside, “Want you to fuck me, Tommy.”

He groans, louder than he probably should in a small inn. Your face flushes when you hear him spit, imaging his cock glistening as he uses it to stroke himself. 

“Christ, I miss that pretty cunt,” he mutters, breath catching, probably speeding up in time with you, “Get a finger in there, love, fuck yourself like I would.”

Obediently, you do as he says, rutting against your own hand as you unceremoniously push two fingers into yourself, marveling at how tightly your walls already clench around them. 

“Fuck, Tommy!” You squeak, clit tingling every time your palm smacks against it as you fuck youself. 

“God, that’s it,” he groans, “Keep going, fuck, ‘m not gonna last.” He warns, knowing it’s been too long since he’d last had any privacy. 

“‘M not going to either,” you assure him, shaking your head to your empty room as if he could see you, “Feels too good, oh!” You gasp, your whole body tensing up as you crook your fingers up, expertly locating that sensitive spot within you. 

The two of you pleasure yourselves together for another few moments, heavy breaths and moans passing between the phones. Finally, Tom groans lowly again and swears through gritted teeth. 

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he pants, the slick sound of his hand streaking over his cock in the background nearly makes you unravel, “Cum with me, pretty girl, please.”

The whiny way he says please is your undoing and you finally break, calling out his name breathily as you arch against your sheets. Slick sounds fill your bedroom as you peak, breathless at the way your core clenches rhythmically over your fingers. 

Tom isn’t far behind you, his rough groans only adding to your pleasure. You whimper when he hisses out your name as he finishes, envisioning the way he paints his lower stomach with spend, cock twitching against his palm. 

You breathe heavily for a moment as you both come down before you dissolve into giggles, your sour mood from earlier almost completely gone. 

“Fucked you dumb n’ I’m not even there,” Tom gloats, sighing as he wipes away his cum with his boxers, too tired to get up and clean himself off properly, “You’re gonna make me blush, love.” 

“Tommy!” You groan playfully, admonishing him through a giggle, “You’re horrible.”

“You love it.” He laughs tiredly, yawning quietly. 

“Tired?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, the bed squeaking again as he makes himself comfortable, “Sorry love, s’been a long day.”

“I would imagine so,” you smile sadly still, twirling the phone cord around a finger, “I’ll let you sleep.”

“I’ll get to you tomorrow,” he promises, his voice heavy with sleep, “I swear, told you I’d be back for Christmas.”

“Tommy…” You sigh, glancing out the window to see snow still pouring from the sky.

“I mean it,” he murmurs tiredly, “A promise is a promise.”

You wake with a start, jerking up in bed as you look around blearily, unsure of what woke you. Your eyes narrow as you glance at the clock on your bedside table, too early still for even your alarm to be going off. 

You jump as you hear a knock from downstairs, someone pounding at the door. Rolling your eyes, you slip on a robe before making your way downstairs. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” You sigh, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you reach for the doorknob, tugging it open with a frown. 

“Wha–” You stop in your tracks, gasping loudly.

“Y’gonna let me in or are you gonna leave me out here to freeze my bollocks off?” Tom asks with a grin, laughing when you practically leap into his arms and pull him into a suffocating hug. 

“Tommy!” You gasp, clinging to him, “How did you, when did you?” You stutter, a million questions running through your mind. Finally, you pull back just enough to look at him, nearly crying as you at last look into his familiar blue eyes, “How?” You breathe.

“A very nice famer with a truck,” he laughs, holding you tightly to him, “Told ya I’d get home to you by Christmas.” 

Not being able to hold off anymore, you press your lips against his, feeling warm despite the cold.

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[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Rocking The Boat - Tom Bennett

He's such a chaotic douchebag...I love him (could i come up with a more cringey title lmao)

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), slight misogyny, war wounds, inaccurate WWII terms, smoking (ew, but he makes it look hot), angst, enemies(?) to lovers, pining, Tom being a menace to society (and insecure), fingering, unprotected sex (no rubbers on a battleship, I'm afraid)

(caught in) 4K Words🤙🏻

~~~~~~~~~~

Being the only female on a heavy cruiser of hundreds of men, it had its hardships.

Your parents begged you not to join the Navy, but you couldn’t just sit at home doing nothing while the Nazis killed and tortured their way through Europe. You had to do something. 

Of course there wasn’t much you could do on the front lines being a woman and all, but you could help heal any man that was on your side of the war. That’s how you ended up on the Exeter as a nurse, Lord knows they needed as many as they could get.

It was strange being ogled and desired by all the men, but you knew they must have not seen a woman in a long time. You found that some men would even get injured on purpose just to see you, some you even had to beat off with a stick like a rabid dog. And there were times you regretted your decision, but you felt it would be worth it in the long run. You finally felt like you had a purpose and you felt good knowing you were on the right side of the war. But the one thing, well, person, that really got on your nerves was Tom.

Tom was different, in a way that he managed to get on your nerves more than others. Somehow. Just something about his attitude and how he went about his life on the ship. It’s like he didn’t even want to be there, just wanting to stir up trouble. He picked so many fights, he was actually one of the first to come to see you for that exact reason when you boarded the ship.

He seemed shocked to see a woman on the ship, but also intrigued. Mostly intrigued.

He had a busted lip and bloody knuckles and you had a hard time keeping in your disapproval for the infighting. “Problem, miss?” Tom spoke up, a smirk already playing at his lips as he watched you clean up his wounds intently.

You shook your head, avoiding his eyes. “No problem here, sir. Just find it a bit counterproductive to pick a fight with someone on the same side as you.”

“Counterproductive.” He scoffed, curling his top lip in a sneer. “Then maybe that bloke should’ve kept his mouth shut about my canary.”

“You picked a fight just because of a bird?”

“Maybe.”

After that day, Tom kept coming back, not even because of the fights sometimes. Most of the time he liked to see what you were up to, knowing damn well you were always busy helping other sailors with their injuries or illnesses. He didn’t care about that, he only wanted to distract and annoy you. And it almost always worked. Maybe it was because you were a woman and he saw you as an easy target, someone to toy with other than his fellow sailors. There were more than a few times he had you flustered, and it bothered you to no end, mostly because he was actually affecting you.

“What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this, hm?” Tom teased, leaning against the counter you were working at.

You shrugged. “Just doing my part, like the rest of you.”

“My sister went off to sing for the men, to liven their spirits and the like. What about you? You gonna liven up my spirits too? Although, you don’t necessarily have to sing to do that.” He smirked, but that only made you scoff, attempting to fight off an oncoming blush to your cheeks.

“Your charm won’t work on me, Mr. Bennett.”

He smiled, almost genuinely. “Oh, so you think I’m charming?”

You rolled your eyes. “I think you know damn well that you are.”

It was like this almost everyday, always around the same time. He must’ve been on a break or something at those times because it was like clockwork. You started to get excited whenever that specific time came around because you knew that meant that handsome bastard would be coming to annoy you in his special way. It gave you something to think about other than gruesome wounds you had to treat sometimes, or the fact that there was always a possibility that you could die. 

But just before you could get in your own head about that, in the corner of your eye, you saw Tom leaning against the doorframe to your nurse’s office. “You just going to stand there all day, sailor?” You teased as you cleaned some of your equipment.

Tom shrugged with a smirk, smoking a cigarette as he watched you. “I wish. I’ve got a nice view.”

“Thank you for your prompt visit, Mr. Bennett. Now leave me be, I have to make sure I’m not distracted whenever another sailor comes in.”

“You do know that some of the men are getting hurt on purpose just to see you, right?”

“Maybe.”  He hummed in disapproval, but you only smirked. “It’s not like you don’t do the exact same thing, Mr. Bennett. You are an arsehole but I never took you for a hypocrite.”

Tom scowled. “Yeah, well, I’m not like any one of these bastards. They think they actually have a chance with you when they clearly don’t.”

“Oh, and you think you do?” You cross your arms with a scowl resembling his.

“I know I do.” He replied, making you scoff in annoyance. “I see the way you look at me. How you look me up and down, how you can barely keep eye contact with me.” You freeze in place when Tom takes a few steps closer to you, feeling his body heat radiate off of him and onto you. “How your body tenses up when I get close.” You quickly look away from him with a frown, but he places his fingers underneath your chin and gently forces you to look back at him. “There’s no need to feel ashamed, miss. Your body knows what it wants…what it needs.” You allow your eyes to slowly shut as Tom leans in, feeling his breath on your lips. “See how your body responds to me when I’m not even doing anything?” He chuckled lowly.

You lightly gasped as Tom pulled away suddenly, the warmth of his body and hands leaving too soon. “What?”

Tom smirked proudly as he went to walk out of your office. “Have to go perform my sailor duties, miss.” He said with a wink.

You exhaled shakily as you were left entirely flustered, a deep scowl coming to your face as he did that to you and just left like that. He was only toying with you, that bastard. Ha, well, you’re not likely to fall for that again. No way.

Turns out, you didn’t have to worry about Tom flustering you again because after that day, you never saw him. He was avoiding you, for some reason. You didn’t think you would ever understand him. He was sending you so many mixed signals and it was confusing the hell out of you. You did find him incredibly attractive, but his personality left something to be desired. You didn’t think you could actually be with a person like him, but you couldn’t possibly know what the future held.

It was only a week later before Tom visited you again. It was at a late hour, when most of the crew would be asleep. But you were up late, studying a book of rare illnesses just in case, you always found you’d rather be safe than sorry. You were so buried in the pages you didn’t even notice Tom staring at you, the smell of his cigarette alerting you that you weren’t alone. “Shouldn’t you be asleep, Mr. Bennett?” You asked, only glancing up at him for half a second.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He entered your office, closing the door behind him, taking a seat on your desk.

“Do you have an injury that needs tending to, Mr. Bennett?”

“No.”

“Then would you kindly leave my office?” You stood up from your seat, marking your place in the book and putting it back on a shelf behind you.

You could hear the man let out a short chuckle from behind you. “Giving me the cold shoulder, eh?”

You frowned as you turned back around to face him, the sight of him resting one leg on your desk with flicking his cigarette ash in a pile on your once clean table surface irking you. “If my memory serves me correctly, it’s you who’s been giving me cold shoulders this past week?” You snarked, but that only made him smirk, which annoyed you even further.

“Been keeping track, have ya?”

You rolled your eyes. “I suggest you leave, Mr. Bennett. Sleep. You need your rest. Who knows, maybe we’ll be bombed tomorrow and you’ll be too sleepy to defend yourself.”

“That a threat, miss?”

“Like I said, just a suggestion. Nothing more.”

Tom put out the end of his cigarette on the desk, standing up and stepping closer to you as you stepped back, only to find yourself against the wall with nowhere to go. He looked you up and down with his signature smirk. “So, it’s not an order then?” You flinched when Tom ran his pointer finger along your jawline, his expression softening slightly. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Not unless you ask.” You exhaled shakily as he gently lifted up your chin, his breath on your lips making your eyelids droop. “Just say the word, and I’ll go.”

“Is that what you want?” You whispered. “To run away, like last time? You gonna run away from me, Tom?”

Tom’s expression hardened at your words before closing the gap between each other's lips, kissing you rough and hard, not even giving you enough time to gasp at the sudden action. You felt lightheaded and weightless as he pulled you to him by your hips, kissing you with a bruising force that made you wince. He pulled away briefly to look into your eyes, almost hoping to see some semblance of hatred or fear in them, but he only found a dark lust, definitely resembling his.

You were breathless as he turned you around and pushed you up against your desk, helping you sit up on the wooden surface. He drove his knee in between your legs, forcing them apart and promptly maneuvering his hand up your skirt and into your undergarments. You gasped loudly as he found your clit, rubbing harsh circles as he sloppily kissed down your neck. He inserted two of his long fingers inside you as he frantically undid the buttons on your top, almost breaking some off. He roughly tore down your brassiere, groaning at the sight of your breasts finally coming free. You whined and squirmed as he thrusted his fingers in and out of you at a brutal pace, not stopping even when he went to unbutton his trousers, but you helped him with that, almost just as desperate to feel him inside you as he was.

Without warning, he removed his fingers only to immediately replace them with his cock. He filled you to the brim in one fluid motion, the two of you moaning loudly in unison. He rested his forehead against yours, each other’s panting breaths intermingling as he stilled inside you, allowing you a moment to relax before he started thrusting languidly. You could feel every inch of him as he stretched you out, over and over again with each rut of his hips. He kept an intense eye contact with you, studying your face every time he bottomed out, committing to memory every pleasurable facial expression you made any time he hit that special spot inside of you, making sure to angle his hips that way each time.

It was almost too much, the eye contact. You tried to look away briefly a couple times, but he kept you looking at him with a firm grip on your jaw, so firm it was painful. But his cock was making you feel so good you had to focus on the pain to really feel it. “Fuck…” Tom moaned, picking up the pace, the desk squeaking loudly every time he thrusted harshly, all your writing utensils and other miscellaneous items falling over on the floor that you’d have to pick up later. He brought his hand down to rub his thumb on your throbbing clit, his eyebrows furrowing tightly as you moaned his name. “Yeah, that’s it. Keep clenching around me. Soak my cock with that pretty pussy of yours.”

His heavy accented words went straight to your core, adding to the already all-consuming buildup of pleasure in your body. Tears came to your eyes as he sped up his ministrations, his thumb on your clit and his cock pistoning in and out of your sopping cunt. “Oh god, ‘m gonna come.” You whimpered breathlessly, unable to catch your breath, almost feeling like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room.

“Oh, fuck, yes.” Tom groaned loudly as he felt you pulse around him, finding your release and digging your nails into his shoulders as you rode it out on his cock. He watched as you arched your back and your head thrown back in pleasure, spasming around him with little to no care for how you might’ve looked in this state of euphoria. This sight is what finally pushed him over the edge along with you, thrusting into you as fast as possible until he pulled out just in time to shoot him cum all over your pussy, watching the milky white liquid dripping down into your wet folds and creating a small puddle underneath you on the desk. It was a fucking Renaissance painting, more beautiful than whatever Da Vinci or Michelangelo could ever paint.

It was a moment of pure exhausted bliss, bathing in the afterglow and feeling like nothing could touch either of you. But that all came to an end once Tom saw the loving smile on your face, leaning forwards to kiss him, but only to be disappointed when he turned his face so you could only kiss his cheek. “Tom?” Your sweet voice seemed to bring him back to the real world. He blinked in shock, quickly avoiding eye contact and stuffing himself back into his pants, making a break for the door before you could say another word, leaving you flustered and confused once again.

What went wrong? Did he think you were bad at sex? You hadn’t gotten any complaints before. Maybe he thought he was bad at sex? But no, he was too arrogant and full of himself to think he was bad at anything. Maybe he was just toying with you as he had done before, but you didn’t think he’d take it that far. You felt empty, not just physically, you had given a piece of yourself to Tom now and he didn’t even seem to appreciate it. He left you with an aching heart and his cum between your legs.

He didn’t know why he did it. His first instinct was to run. That’s what he does now, run away from everything. From his father, his sister, his jail time, his home. Now you. Why must he run from everything in his life? Even from someone as good as you? Maybe that’s why, because you were. Good. And Tom? He knew he didn’t deserve you, but that didn’t make him want you any less. He has always been selfish, he knew that. He was selfish to take you, give you a false sense of hope that he cared for you and wanted you any more than a quick fuck. He didn’t really care for you, right? That’s what he told himself. That’s what he told himself every time he saw you, as you worked or cared for the injured crew with that sweet smile on your face. That’s what he told himself whenever he felt a pang of anger and jealousy whenever you would show any other man attention. That’s what he told himself when he touched himself to the thought of you. That’s what he told himself when he felt the need to hold you in his arms after he ravaged you that night.

Tom briefly saw the hurt look in your eyes as he ran from you, slapping himself once he reached his quarters. Idiot, he told himself, idiot, idiot, idiot. He told you himself that he wasn’t going to hurt you, and yet…

You didn’t talk to him at all after that. You saw him throughout the ship every day, but the look on your face told him to stay the fuck away whenever he made eye contact with you. He wanted to talk to you, but he wasn’t that stupid that he’d willingly go into the lion’s den. Though, he knew he’d have to face your wrath eventually. He thought he’d give it a couple weeks, to let you calm down so you didn’t knee him in the balls, though, he knew he would deserve it. But unfortunately, he was never given that chance.

Everyone on the ship froze as the sirens went off, the lights turning red as they were alerted that their other ships had been sunk by the enemies. They were determined that they weren’t going to be next. Tom saw you run about, gathering your med kit and making sure to go wherever you were needed as all hell broke loose. Your face looked calm, driven. He found himself admiring you in that moment as he felt his chest freeze up in a panic, but beneath the surface you were feeling the exact same thing. You both made eye contact with each other for a second, but that’s all the time that was needed to express to each other what you each wanted to say aloud: Be safe.

Tom tried to focus all his attention on loading the cannons to fire back at the enemy, until a blast shook the entire ship. He heard screams, and felt a sudden heat from above. Tom looked up, and as the ceiling filled with fire, he had one singular thought as he felt the flames travel down quickly: you.

Even when he was knocked out from the blast, the first thought when he came to was about you, if you were okay. Where had you been during the blasts? Were you hurt? Were you dead? He tried not to think about it as he cut off the circulation to one of his fellow crewmates. “We’re gonna need a medic down here, sir!” He shouted up to one of his officers.

“The medics are in worse shape, blown to bits or wishing they were at the moment.”

Tom froze, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest. Ignoring the howling screams of the man who had lost an arm, he stood up and faced his officer. “What about Miss L/n?” He asked lowly, only to get no response. He scowled, surprisingly himself and his commanding officer as he shoved the man against the wall, getting right up in his face. “What about Y/n?!” He yelled, making the man flinch.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” He pleaded, ripping Tom’s hands away from where they held on tightly to his uniform. He let him, unmoving, frozen in shock and dread. He closed his eyes. Please, don’t be dead…please, don’t be dead…

After he helped the injured he found or anything else he was ordered to do, he quickly made his way down to where the injured people were and he was praying the whole walk there that you’d be there helping other people and not the one being helped. He never saw your dead body, so that was a good sign.

He took a deep breath as he pushed open the door to the injured wing.

A wave of pure relief washed over Tom’s whole body as he saw you resting in a cot, a large bandage over your arm and neck. He could see the faintest burn marks traveling up past the white cloth. You didn’t look well, but you were alive and awake. He almost chose not to disturb you, he was afraid you’d yell at him to leave as soon as you laid eyes on him. But he needed to talk to you, at least once, just to make sure you were okay. Even just to receive your cold shoulder.

“You’ve seen better days.” He teased cautiously as he approached you, also relieved that you didn’t look at him in disgust like you had once before. He could take a breath, finally.

A pang of fear and panic washed over you as you saw him, looking him up and down, wincing at his ash, dust, and blood covered skin. “So have you, sailor.” You smiled weakly, a chuckle escaping your throat before it sent you into a fit of coughs, waving him off as his expression turned into worry. “I’m alright, just some burns. Nothing I can’t handle.”

He hesitated. “I’m…glad.”

You couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Oh, so you care about me now, huh?”

Tom nodded with a frown, knowing he must’ve deserved that. “I shouldn’t have run away that night. You have every right to be angry with me. I know that. I was just…scared.”

“Scared?” You questioned, and he nodded once more. “Of what? Me?”

“Yes.” He whispered. “And of me. That night, I felt…” He could barely get the words out, it was so foreign to him to be vulnerable. But if he wanted to keep you in any capacity, he’d have to get over himself. “I felt something I’ve never felt before.”

“Coming?” You joked halfheartedly, your chest blooming with warmth as he chuckled in annoyance, showing his adorable crooked smile.

“No.” He huffed in amusement, struggling to keep eye contact with you, your gaze so intense and never wavering from him. “Look, I…” He sighed, “I’m not the type to…fall for someone. That’s not me, that’s never been me, and yet…”

“And yet?” You asked hopefully.

Tom rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna make me say it, are you?” He smiled as you giggled. “I have. I’ve fallen, despite my best efforts. I know I’ve hurt you, and I can’t promise I won’t do it again. I can’t promise to be a good partner, can’t even promise to remember your birthday or bring you flowers every day or anything of the sort, or even to stay alive during this bloody war. But I do want you. I do.” He leaned in close, his lips next to your ear. “And it’s not just because your pussy’s the finest thing I’ve ever felt.” He whispered, causing you to smack his chest as he laughed, happy to see that he could still make you blush like a teenage schoolgirl. “Do you believe me?”

You sighed, causing him to frown, his eyes stared up at you like a kicked puppy. “You did hurt me, Tom. I didn’t understand. And even being hurt…I do.”

He furrowed his brows in confusion. “What’re you saying?”

You smirked softly. “You’re gonna make me say it, huh?” You chuckled. “I believe you, Tom. And I do want you. Though, I also can’t promise I’ll be a good partner either.”

Tom smiled as he shook his head. “I’ll have you in any way that I can.” He almost leaned in to kiss you but stopped himself. “I’d absolutely devour you right now but I don’t think everyone here would take too kindly to that. Plus, I want you all to myself.”

“And I’d rather not irritate my burns.” You added, pulling at the ends of the bandage on your arm.

Tom settled beside you, sitting on the edge of your small cot, holding your hand in his. “Well, let’s win this bloody war, and then maybe we can live out the rest of our days on a farm with eleven goats or something.” Tom chuckled, kissing your knuckles.

You giggled. “Yeah, let’s win this war.”

~~~~~~~~~~

i demand more Tom fics pretty please🥺

#world on fire #world on fire bbc #tom bennett #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x fem!reader #tom bennett x f!reader #tom bennett smut #ewan mitchell

[arcielee]

It's Not Tonight

Summary: Tom Bennett slips in through your window. Paring: Tom Bennett x Female!Reader Word Count: 1.6k+ Warnings: Tom is a scoundrel, angst from a one night stand, masturbating, a smidge of voyeurism, kissing, grinding, sexual memories recalled fondly but also bitterly, overstimulation kinda? Author's Note: It has been one year since I last wrote for Tom fucking Bennett and what better way to commemorate that than something short and smutty? This takes place end of episode 1 and beginning of episode 2, for season 1 WoF. Thank you so much my beloved @helaelaemond for being my muse, for your help with this piece! Without you, it would have just been sitting in my drafts. 💜 Dividers are by @saradika-graphics 💜

It had been two weeks since Tom slipped through your bedroom window, his features pink from the night’s cold air and a boyish grin curled on his lips. You squeaked your surprise, your eyes wide as he pressed close to kiss, the contrast of his cold nose and hot mouth making your skin rise, tasting the pint he must’ve finished before he came tapping on your window pane. 

“Be quiet, pretty girl,” he had said, a murmur against your lips, and you sighed sweetly, his tongue pushing past your lips for another deep kiss. “We don’t want to wake no one.” 

This was true, as your father would often vocalize on how much he loathed, “that damn Bennett.” You quietly pulled him towards your bed. 

The next morning, your sheets held the tangy sweet scent of the euphoria he had pulled from you–several times–mixing with the cigarette smoke and a musk that was so distinctly his own. As you pulled them off to wash, you noticed his navy blue overcoat he had tossed onto your chair. You grabbed it as well, smiling with the thought it would be clean for when he came back.

But he did not come back that night, or the next one. 

It was now fourteen fucking days since that night together. Though your agitation with Tom Bennett was not as adamant on your every expression, something pointed out by your mother, it still thrummed beneath in such a way that rattled your bones. His coat was now clean and folded across the armrest, a mockery of that short-lived bliss.

You were on your bed and reliving the warmth of his voice that had tickled the shell of your ear, how his fingers so carefully peeled away your nightgown and the undergarments you had worn, the gentle nip of his mouth that trailed towards your core…

You burned with this memory, same as you had that night, rutting your nightgown to your hips, your fingers touching and trailing back up the damp fold of your underwear that was shaped to your lips before you dipped below the waistband. Your arousal was slick between your folds, a slow circular motion, just as Tom had done. 

When he did, he had asked you, “Do you think of me when you touch yourself?” 

That arrogant bastard–but your scoff came out as a soft moan, followed with his name spilling from your lips, breathless and still wanting, “Tom…”

“Yes, love?”

The voice struck cold against your spine, your hand pulling back and your eyes snapping open to see his lean figure pulling through your window. You struggled to find your voice. “I…” you were now burning from how Tom looked over you, aglow, aware, with his damn cheeky, boyish grin splayed across his perfect mouth, “...where the hell have you been?”

Tom only hummed in response, still smirking as he peeled off his shirt, his pale chest stained pink, and climbing onto your bed. You parted your legs to let him rest into the cradle of your hips, the nip of his skin against your plush thighs making your skin rise. 

When you tried to move the offending hand, he was quick to catch your wrist, the crystalline blue of his eyes boring into you, and you stared at him a moment, watching as he brought your hand closer, pressing your middle and ring fingers to his tongue, his hot mouth closing and suckling them clean. 

Your mouth opened with a soft gasp, squirming under his weight, from the sensation of his tongue licking your fingertips. He pulled your hand back with a lewd pop and let it fall back to your side, his grin still cheeky and now almost smug. 

“They had me on remand for two weeks,” his voice was low, the blue in his eyes bright, “I came here to celebrate, but I see you started already…” 

You should have pushed him off and then back out the window he crawled in from, but your body betrayed you with a warmth pooling between. Instead, you pushed to your elbows, one hand reaching to cup the back of his neck to pull him closer for a kiss, tasting the remnants of yourself, your tongue curling against the roof of his mouth. 

Tom groaned, low, returning the passion until your breath was a heated exchange. He shifted his slender hips with a slow grind against your clothed cunt and you moaned softly, nails biting into his shoulders. He reached between, his fingertips almost tickling with his touch. 

“So wet,” and he was still smug, “and it’s all for me.” 

Your eyes were glazed already, your skin warming as you processed what he said, but before a smart comment could pass your kiss-swollen lips, his hot mouth moved to reclaim yours again. He was hard already and you could feel him, pressing against the seams of his pants, pressing against you until your heart rate could now be felt in your cunt. 

“Tom,” you moaned again, your hips lifting for the friction, “I need you.”

He pulled to lay onto his back, unfastening his buttons while you slipped your panties off. You moved to straddle him, his slender frame caught between your plush thighs and his cock hard and flushed and pressed upwards, nearly touching his belly button, slotted between your soft lips. Black now almost swallowed the brilliant blue of his eyes when they focused on your nipples that were peeking beneath the thin fabric of your nightgown; you could feel him pulse beneath you. 

Tom pushed up for another kiss, fumbling to help remove your final layer, your bare chest flushed against his as he pulled you close, and his chest hair tickled. His mouth moved towards the curve of your neck, trailing to your chest, the glisten of his spit with every intimate kiss placed.

Your back arched in response, rolling your hips against him. You reached to line him with your entrance, slowly sinking onto his length; you are wet, but there was a stretch still, a fullness that Tom fucking Bennett possessed, and it was delicious. 

“Stop clenching,” he gritted once he was fully sheathed within. Your hands moved to his chest, pushing him to lay back against the pillows; it was your turn to wear the smug smirk. 

His eyes fluttered as you slowly rocked against him, so deep you swore you saw sparks when he bottomed out. His grip dimpled with the hold he had on your hips, lifting his own in response to your motion. You gasped, soft in the quiet of the bedroom, and he repeated the movement. 

“Fucking hell,” he rasped, setting a pace that sent a tingling sensation to the ends of your appendages, returning to claw at your lower core. “You feel fucking perfect.” 

You are without words, your fingertips digging red crescents onto his pale chest for balance, chasing after your pleasure. The flutter of your walls around him had Tom groaning. “Touch yourself,” he commanded, and one of your hands lifted to touch his bottom lip and, again, his mouth closed around, his tongue coating them with his spit. You pulled back and slipped them between your blossom above where his in-and-out pace continued, a milky white ring forming around his base. 

The touch was the tipping point, spilling your climax with a clenching response to the shuddering euphoria that rippled through you. You struggled to stay quiet and Tom was quick to roll you onto your back, pinning you to the mattress. 

His large hand pressed over your mouth to muffle you, sliding back in and returning to his same brutal pace. You whimpered against his palm, still very sensitive with the final waves of your last release that was trilling your spine. 

“One more for me, pretty girl,” he whispered, and your tears were already pearling, your walls clenching with your second peak–not as intense as the first, but a prolonged pleasure with the stuttering of his hips. 

Tom pulled back, still hunched over you with his tension present in his shoulders and neck, his brow focused in a furrow as he pumped his fist, his pearly spend spilling from his flushed cockhead and across your stomach. He paused, leaning close to touch his forehead to yours, a sticky sheen from his peak, before his jaw tilted up to press a messy kiss to your hairline. 

“Alright then.” 

You blinked and he was gone, already standing and tucking himself back into his slacks before reaching to toss your nightgown to your grasp. You could already feel the heat of your returned anger spilling into your bloodstream, replacing the sweetness you felt only moments before. “You taking off to disappear another two weeks then?” Your voice was tight with the question. 

His crooked grin flashed as he crawled back onto the mattress, his mouth hot and consuming, his kiss slow and searching until it drew a small noise from you. Then Tom pulled back again, grabbing his shirt. “I have somewhere to be tomorrow.”

“Court date?” You were flushed from the kiss, but your bitter tone remained.  

“They only let me out cause I said I’d join up, but I had a change of heart on the way over,” he finished the last buttons before tucking it into the waist of his slacks, his perpetual smirk playing on his lips, “I’m a conscientious objector.” 

His Mancunian drawl emphasized the final two words. “You’re a scoundrel is what you are, Tom.”

Tom only hummed, grabbing his coat and slipping his arms through the sleeves. “You would not have me any other way,” and he moved to steal another kiss, a clash of teeth and tongue that stirred your blood again. 

But before your fingers could move to comb through his sandy locks, he pulled away, disappearing out through your window and into the night. 

You fell back onto your sheets with their tangy sweet scent of the intimacy shared, of cigarette smoke and the musk that was so distinctly Tom fucking Bennett’s. 

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl

arcie's ewanverse masterlist

#ewanverse #wof fanfic #wof fanfiction #tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x you #tom bennett x female!reader #it's not tonight

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Best Intentions

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Angst. Smut (individual warnings applied to each chapter) Word count: ~12k (spread over three parts)

Summary: Tom's landed on his feet since arriving back in Longsight; a steady new job as a mechanic, utilising the engineering skills he learned in the navy, and the companionship of his childhood friend. Life should be idyllic, but nothing is ever that simple when it comes to Tom. And it's always her that bears the brunt of it.

Chapter one Chapter two Chapter three Epilogue Wedding night

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

#tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennett x you #ewan mitchell #tom bennett smut #tom bennett angst #tom bennett fan fiction #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #tom bennett fan fic #world on fire #world on fire fan fiction #world on fire fanfiction #world on fire fanfic #world on fire fan fic #tom bennett imagine

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

~✨Request Rules✨~

Update: Requests OPEN 

Characters I write for:

Tom Bennett (WOF)

Michael Gavey (Saltburn)

Billy Washington (Trigger Point)

Ettore (High Life)

Aemond Targaryen (HOTD)

Daemon Targaryen (HOTD) sparingly

Rules:

Please refrain from sending plot-heavy requests. They’re extremely difficult to write and I just find I can’t put much creativity in them.

No specificities for the reader/female character of the story like disabilities/eye colour etc.

I am at my liberty to change certain details of requests if I feel they gel with the story better. 

If I don’t think the request suits the character, I may not take on the request.

Please be patient! I will be working on other things alongside requests.

Thank you all again 💕

#aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond angst #aemond smut #aemond fluff #billy washington #billy washington fanfiction #trigger point #billy washington smut #billy washington x reader #tom bennett smut #tom bennett angst #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett #tom bennett world on fire #ettore x reader #ettore #ettore high life #high life fanfiction #ettore smut #ettore fanfiction #osferth x reader #osferth smut #osferth fanfiction #tlk osferth #ewan mitchell #osferth fluff #aemond fanfiction #hotd #high life

[myfandomprompts]

𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭 | 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝟗/𝟏𝟎)

Summary: There is little time left. Very little time. Previous Part - Masterlist

Warnings: angst, anti-Semitism French spoken -> italics

At first, it’s how Albert’s face seems to shut off each time your town’s name is seen on a sign at the side of the road, the mark that you’re getting closer to your destination. Then it’s how Tom looked like he wished for the earth to swallow him whole each time the bus station is mentioned, the place that will take you home.

It just seems so close now.

But there are good moments. At noon, when you find yourselves in the middle of nowhere with only the shade of the trees or a windmill to keep you cool, you all sit joyfully on the grass to eat what Charles and Germaine had generously given you; plenty of bread and ham to be able to walk without to a rumbling belly. It’s during those occasions that Tom never misses an opportunity to be next to you, the fact that you’ve taken to teaching him French seriously giving him a good reason to talk to you at length.

Not that he needed a good reason.

Everyone casually laughs at his attempts at pronunciation, each of them trying to participate and help where they can. But the truth is, he’d rather have you for himself, because he knew he could make you smile like he had never seen anyone else do, like nobody else could.

He wanted to be the only one.

“This isn’t even a word…”

“Yes it is!” you argued as you dropped your hand in defeat. “Poulailler is where the chickens go. Try it.”

He didn’t lose his teasing smile while he tried to pronounce it. “Yeah, still doesn’t sound right.”

“It wasn’t bad. La poule is the chicken, le poulailler is the chicken coop, it’s as simple as that.”

“And how do you say rooster, then?”

You stopped yourself from answering him at the last second, red staining your cheeks slightly. “Mh, that you don’t want to know.”

“Why?”

You contemplated his curious and enticing smile before a voice interrupted you and your thoughts. “Hey, Y/N, can you tell me on the map where the store you slept in was again? Looks like a good hiding place for future travellers, if the owners get on board.”

You nod quietly to Giulia before taking the map from her to examine it while you heard Tom fall back at your side, disappointed. The conversation didn’t stray from the different points Giulia could use for her route, mentioning Raymond, whom Charles had said he would convince, and Albert, who already saw himself as a ‘passeur’ near Poitiers.

Tom was bored again, and you felt guilt at the sight of his glum expression. But it all went away when he suddenly comfortably rested his head on your lap, closing his eyes and proceeded to take a nap there as if it was the most natural thing to do.

There was a brief silence, but the others quickly reconvened around the current subject while indescribable affection and fulfilment flooded through you. You didn’t notice Henriette's discreet smile, Giulia’s indifference or Albert’s flickering eyes as you fell behind the conversation completely, coming to run your fingers through his hair.

He didn’t open his eyes, but his lips stretched into a content smile. The soft satisfying sound he made when you grazed your nails over his scalp cheered you, and only you heard his quiet praises, telling you how nice it felt.

This is what he had been talking about, making every moment count. You would not allow yourself to think of the end.

You didn’t leave his side once as you hit the road again, walking next to each other, hands itching to reach to the other. It felt liberating, confusing, good. However, the more you advanced, the more your feet started to gradually drag on the pathways, reluctant. You wished you could stretch the journey at will, to go back in time or simply think of this journey as a nice trip in the countryside. Not a way to make it home, to send him home.

To put all of this behind you.

But reality struck you like a slap in the face when you approached the next town, quiet streets with bricked walls plastered with the new government’s posters, and below one of them, an old looking graffiti with a single blood-icing sentence.

“Les Juifs sont la cause de la guerre.”

You all glanced at it before lowering your gazes and hastening the pace, taking the direction of the inn you would spend the night in in tensed silence.

Tom lingered a moment longer, trying to decipher the words without success. He trotted behind you, brows furrowed at your sudden sour faces. “What’s written there?”

You rolled your tongue inside of your mouth, ill at ease. “Jews are the reason for the war.”

He stopped, face decomposing after your whispered translation before glancing around in worry. But he quickly caught up with you as you neared the café terrace where both regulars and travellers were enjoying a drink or a well-deserved meal.

You exhaled in relief as you entered, the coolness of the inside air much more bearable after your journey, and by the time you sat around a table and booked rooms at the counter, Tom had found his usual silent countenance again. You could see the irritation in his eyes and within his gestures as he now could not utter a word out loud without earning a dark glance from Giulia, not until you were in a less crowded place again. It saddened you too.

You had to snap your eyes away from the way his tongue wetted his lips before taking a sip of his drink in frustration when Albert dropped a heavy book in front of you. “Phone book. I need your help finding Aunt Marie. It won’t hurt telling the parents we’re on our way.”

You nod, more like a reflex than anything else before opening the pages filled with countless telephone numbers. Tom eyed each time you turned a page with a dark expression, jaw clenching, but you said nothing as you continued. His glass was emptied by the time Henriette had gone to freshen herself in the commons, your own tired gaze fixed on the digits before you.

You didn’t notice the three policemen enter at first, the usualness of their visit blending perfectly with the rest of the customers, until they approached a table that had been awfully quiet since you’d arrived. 

It was the entire room’s turn to fall in a tense silence. “Gutten Haben, Henrren.”

You lifted your head upon hearing the German words, not understanding why two French Policemen had suddenly switched languages. The one that had spoken was giving a sad look at the men seated for dinner, the two other policemen gauging the room warily.

“Uh… Gutten Haben, what can I… do for you?” one of the men asked in awful French, his thick German accent making the policemen smile briefly. Meanwhile, sweat was starting to form over the man’s forehead.

“Unfortunately, you’ll have to come with us. We’ve been told that you’re immigrants, German immigrants.”

The two Germanics exchanged frightened glances before gazing back at the rough-looking policeman. “But… We have papers, we obtained it from your government, months ago!”

The latter clicked his tongue, an uneasy scowl appearing on his features, as if he was trying to convince himself rather than them. “I’m afraid it won’t suffice. Our government has implemented new laws. You’re going home, I’m sorry.”

You heard murmurs around you, catching words like “ran away”, “Jewish” or “persecuted”. The next moment, Giulia was whispering in your ears. “Y/N, take Tom and go through the back entrance. If they are taking refugees, there is no say what they’ll do to a British soldier, and we can’t risk it. I’ll find Henriette.”

There was a strange state of purpose surpassing the brief panic that filled you before you took Tom’s hand softly under the table. He barely resisted when you led him away, heading to the back stairwell as the two Germans were taken out quietly out of the room and the two other policemen lingered around.

Tom didn’t say anything until you had reached a back alley with a slim stream coursing next to it. “What is it, what are we doing?”

You checked that the coast was clear before pulling him to a corner where no one would hear you. “I don’t… I don’t think this town is safe.”

“What are you talking about? I thought we’ve reached a ‘free’ place where they couldn’t chase us. Were they German folks?”

“I think they… I think they were Jewish refugees from Germany, yes,” you thought out loud, digging your teeth in your lower lip in anguish. “The Reich wants them back, for…”

“And what the hell has it gotta do with those French coppers?”

You knew how helpless you looked at that moment, how lost. “Because this is the new regime! Pétain will do anything Hitler asks of him, and there is no say where it’ll stop… You would be taken as a prisoner of war, you have no papers, you have nothing…” You bit your tongue darkly. “Somebody ratted out those Germans, that's how they knew.”

Tom parted his lips in exasperation before clenching his jaw hard. “Oh, that’s bloody brilliant.”

He leaned his head against the darkened wall, right next to a propaganda poster, Pétain looking down at you with high colours as if he could see you, hear you. 

You bit your nails, stressed. “But it won’t happen to you! You’ve got Giulia, you’ve got a safe route to Spain, and there are no Nazis on this side, it’ll be alright.”

“Once again, Y/N, you don’t know that. I’m the first wanker who is making sure that crossing will not get me killed. Not that I’ll care about making it now, anyway…”

Shock at his words made your breath momentarily get stuck in your throat. You lowered your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to keep a straight face.

But you tensed and didn’t even know where to look. 

He immediately realised what he had said, pushing himself off of the wall to make you look at him. “Shit, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean that.”

He wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head as he held you close, making you go soft against him. “Why would you say that…”

“I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry,” he repeated against your hair. “I’m just bloody tired, and it’s like I can’t see past the moment when… when we…” A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Well, at least you won’t have to worry about me then.”

You detached your face from his chest, looking up at him with fierce damped eyes. “I’ll never stop worrying about you, Tom.”

You saw the lump in his throat disappear as he swallowed hard, glistening eyes fixed on you. You cupped his face with your hand, bringing him into a kiss that would make him understand, feel your need for him.

“You don’t get to give up, you hear me, Tom Bennett?”

He all but smiled, a ray of light in the dark. “You should know me by now, nothing can take me down, not even a bullet.”

You smiled in turn, trying not to leave his warmth as you kept your body close. “You know, I can’t help but think that… if you haven’t been shot, we might have never met again.”

You stared at each other while his thumb stroked your shoulders, lowering to your ribs, to your waist.

He took a deep breath. “Some might say it’s God’s plan and all. Either way, considering where I am now… I’d say it was worth it, this damn hell I've been through.”

He was drawing small circles against the curve of your waist, tickling your skin and you chuckled through the bitterness. “Always the charmer, are you?” 

“Well, yeah, that’s what I was known for back at home, wasn’t I? Gotta live up to the name.”

You hummed, coming to wrap your hands around his neck to stroke the soft hair there playfully. “That’s not exactly what I remember your reputation to be.” 

“Hm? Care to tell me, then?” he teased.

You faked hesitation, pressing your forehead against his to whisper. “Trouble maker… Loud-mouthed… Hot blooded?”

He pouted. “That… does not sound like me at all.”

His hidden laughter made you tilt your head to the side in refound glee. “Doesn’t it? I could have sworn it was you. Maybe I should look for another Tom?”

He instantly pressed his body harder against yours, familiar heat meeting your flesh. “Why would you do that when you have what’s best right there? Helpful, good-looking, amazing kisser…”

“Oh, really? I don’t remember hearing anything about that last part.”

“Odd, since you’re the one who told me, love,” he said with a grin as you arched an eyebrow over your forehead. "Through the pretty sounds you make, that look in your eyes when I touch you… I just can tell.”

You shook your head with a sigh to try to hide the blush that adorned your cheeks as he joined his lips with yours again. The touch sent chills down your spine and it suddenly made you feel far away from the inn, from any risks that could come your way.

“Are you Jewish?”

The small tone made you stop and snap your eyes open. A small child stood behind Tom, no more than eight, looking at the two of you with a paper plane in his hands, his expression flat.

You froze in Tom’s arms as you blinked, his head falling backwards in annoyance as you pulled away from him. “I, uhm… No? Why would you ask that, sweetheart?”

The child frowned at your confused tone. “Then, why are you hiding?”

You remained speechless at his question as Tom’s warning tone fanned in your left ear. “Y/N, if I turn around that lad is going to be traumatised. You should really make him go.”

You scowled at his complicit eyes as you tried not to feel his point. You detached yourself from him, making him sigh in frustration as you approached the boy gently. “We’re hiding because… we’re playing a game. Tom here was meant to find me, and he did. We were just discussing… game strategy. Where are your parents?”

The boy sniffed, an untrustworthy look fixed on you. “My father says that Jews are bad, that they’re everywhere and steal everything from us. That’s why the Germans want them.”

You tried not to appear too gobsmacked as you lowered yourself to him, a sour taste in your mouth. “You know… Maybe you shouldn’t listen to everything your father says, I can assure you they-”

Tom’s impatience was palpable behind you and when he called your name, the boy’s frown deepened, clutching his paper plane harder as he glanced between the two of you. “Maybe I should go and ask my father directly, he’ll know.”

“No, wait!” you tried, but he had already scattered toward the house right at the opposite side of the road, disappearing behind a fence.

Tom came to your level, seeing you heave with distress. “What was that?” 

“Not reassuring.”

You took his hand swiftly and dragged him along the stream in haste, wishing to put as much distance between you and the concerning neighbourhood before the boy could find you. Despite Tom’s hissed arguments as you kept walking, you only stopped when you reached the underside of a bridge, considering it far enough and feeling your slightly panicked heart settle.

“Are you giving me a tour?” he chuckled as he took in his surroundings. “It’s very pretty, I’ll give you that.”

It was. The bridge you had stopped under was small but big enough to hide you from anyone above. The evening light shone right on the stream below your feet and cast beams of light on the white stones. On the other side, a lone fisherman was laying his line in the calm waters, a bored eye lifted toward you as you turned to face Tom with a frustrated sigh.

“Darn this country. I’m sorry I dragged you here again, I just didn’t want to face people with problematic ideas. I didn’t want to get angry.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Does my girl get angry, really?”

“When people are stupid, yes!”

He chuckled as he pulled you away from under the bridge in order to walk along the stream, hand in hand. The grin he wore upon his lips was so endearing, as if he had no care in the world. "I’m afraid you’ll have to do an awful lot of fightin’, then.”

You exhaled as you pressed your thumb against the back of his hand, making him grin further. The night was setting quickly and already humidity was falling over your skin, eliciting goosebumps there.

“Do you even know how to get back?” he asked, looking around as you passed a small pier.

“Yeah, it’s somewhere… around there,” you gestured vaguely over your left to the path that led back on the road, hesitant. If truth was to be told, you were not in a hurry to get back, those moments with him seemed so precious to you.

Tom hummed, unconvinced but did not add anything else. As you went up the pathway, smells of dinners being cooked and playful screams of children reached you, and when you neared a small square further down the road, you heard the soft sound of a gramophone starting to play. Tom’s lips slowly curved upwards as he glanced over the high window where the music was coming from.

“What are you doing?” you asked when he turned around to face you, a playful glint in his eyes.

He didn’t answer, only brought you to a stop before taking one of your hands in his and putting the other on your waist. When the voice of Lys Gauty resounded, slow and beautiful along the violins, you felt yourself move in his embrace. 

You laugh softly, feeling silly at each of your steps. “I didn’t know you could dance.”

“I went to a few of Lois’ gigs,” he said with a snidely. “I observed.”

“I’ve never seen you attend one…”

You saw his expression drop as you kept moved in rhythm. “Yeah, well, once I went there, knowing you would be there but when I arrived, you were dancing with some bloke and… I didn’t feel like staying.”

You watched his long eyelashes flutter, the skin under his eyes turning reddish as he fled your gaze. He was beautiful.

But you couldn’t help but tease him. “I remember. He was quite nice, offered me a drink afterwards…”

“Yeah, I don’t want to hear about it, really.”

You smiled tenderly, bringing a hand you wanted apologetic closer to his face. “He was not you, though. You wouldn’t have tried to get me drunk, right?”

Tom’s smile grew sardonic, satisfied. “The git.”

“Yeah,” you whispered as you pressed your lips against his smug ones, grinning through the kiss.

You lost yourselves in the melody, bodies moving languidly along the female soothing voice as he held you close, faces resting against each other.

“It’s nice… What does it say?” he asked after a while, hot breath fanning over your cheek.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the lyrics. The word slowly sank in and unexpectedly made your heart ache, their meaning passing over you like a cold wind. “It’s from a movie, I think. It’s… kind of sad.”

“Tell me.”

You felt some of his hair graze the side of your face as your voice turned a bit broken. “It’s about two young lovers of twenty. They lived very close, but although they loved each other they never had the courage to confess, until they kissed and all became brighter.”

He readjusted his position against you. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

The music turned sombre, trumpets playing in as you continued. “But then hope disappeared, and all took the shade of the night. They grew apart, and their story became part of the past, their shared dreams left behind as if nothing happened between them.”

Tom fell silent, his fingers pressing deeper into your palm and waist as you opened your eyes.

If the words resonated strongly within the two of you, their weight crushing like a hammer, you did your best to not let the other feel it. You couldn't let yourself be controlled by these emotions, not so close to the end.

The song ended on a distorted note and a click as your light steps slowed on the paved stone. When the melody started again, the same melancholic words repeating, you decided that you had enough.

You couldn't bear it. “We should go back.”

You slowly pulled away from him, shivering from the cold air around you from the loss of his embrace but felt his grip over your hand harden, securing you into place. He hadn’t moved, a determined expression displayed over his features, the one he took when he was battling against his emotions.

You looked at him expectantly. “You haven’t changed your mind, have ya? I really can’t convince you to come with me anymore.”

You tried to focus on his touch in order to shut out the now irritable music coming from the window above, to shut out the emotions that threatened to make tears appear at the rim of your eyes. Nothing was as bitter than your heart at that particular moment. 

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded slowly after a long while, his lips curling in bitterness, resignation. When you met his eyes, you could have sworn that the light inside of them had gone, the lively glint inhabiting it. But his hand remained locked with yours, warm and tight.

When you got back to the inn the night had fallen completely.

You often wondered what would have happened if you had listened to your father, if you hadn’t come home from England, stayed away from the war.

Would you still be in your tiny flat, not far from the centre? Would you be worried sick about Tom, as staring at the door he had slammed behind him like he had just left? Would he have even slammed it in anger if he had been the first to leave, and not you? 

By now, the news of his disappearance or potential death must have reached Manchester, and you wondered how you would have felt if you had been on the other side of the mirror. You pictured a devastated Douglas, a lost and helpless Lois listening to the wireless. You couldn't even fathom the state you would have been in, if you weren't here, knowing he was perfectly out of danger, close to being reunited with your parents and having found your brother safe against all odds.

The greatest difference from where you stood was that here, you would have to see him leave, never to come back.

You're taken out of your reveries as you reached a crossroad, one moment Henriette asking you if you were alright, the other the boisterous voice of your brother making your head lift up in a quick motion.

"This is it,"  he announced, examining the sign in front of you. "This way is Châteauroux… where you'd be able to take the train,” he said toward Giulia as he waved somewhere over his right. “And this way is Poitiers. Our path.”

Your feet planted on the ground like they had suddenly grown roots and you felt the oxygen lack in your lungs as you forgot to breathe. You stared at the sign helplessly, trying to comprehend the words written on it, unwilling to.

You barely heard the conversation going vividly around you as the others said goodbye with warm embraces. Your eyes were turned toward Tom, finding him already looking at you and you felt your heart drop in your chest. His blue eyes bright, piercing, his mouth drawn in a tight line. 

Only when the small form of Giulia came to block your vision were you forced to tear your gaze away from him. "Y/N, it was a pleasure meeting you. You really helped."

Your voice seemed to sound far away when you answered clumsily, barely present in the moment with her. 

You felt so empty. "Oh, I, uhm… really?"

"Yes, more than you know."

Her smile managed to snatch one from you, but it didn’t linger as she hugged you kindly. Over her shoulder, you saw your brother shake Tom’s hand and Henriette bid him good luck with a smile, but he barely managed to return it. Instead, silence settled in the air as Giulia let go of you, your gaze fixed on Tom, speechless.

Henriette was the first to speak after a while, clearing her throat awkwardly. "We should give them a minute."

The crunching noise of pebbles on the ground as they stepped away resonated too loudly in your ears. Tom approached you carefully, his fair skin paler than usual against the warm summer air.

You fumbled with your hands, eyes barely able to meet his penetrative ones.

"I guess this is goodbye then," you said, throat achingly dry.

He didn't answer, staring at you relentlessly, making you hyper aware of the scorching heat gradually forming beneath your eyes. "You'll say hi to your father and sister for me, yeah? And to the baby…"

His mouth remained closed as you shifted uncomfortably into place, crushed under his gaze. 

Not having enough of it. 

"Stop looking at me like that…"

His eyes flickered, the softness of his tone surprising you as he parted his lips. "Looking at you like what?"

"Like you're… like you're mad at me."

'I'm not-" he began, shaking his head. "I'm not mad at you, I just… It's just fucking unfair."

You swallowed the sour taste in your mouth. “We’ll see each other again. It doesn’t have to be the end.”

“Then why does it bloody feel like it?”

You couldn't answer, the uncertainty of your lives too much to even think about, rendering promises achingly pointless. You bit the inside of your cheek in a failed attempt to stay composed, but when he lowered his gaze and took your hands in his, you froze.

They were so warm, perfect for you.

"Listen, Y/N, about these three words, these three damn very known words... I really need to say th-"

"No, please Tom, don't," you pleaded, feeling the dampness of your eyes barely holding in. "I can't… I couldn't cope. Please."

His face decomposed, eyes strained sadly upon you, lost. The words burned his tongue, melted his heart. Still, he didn’t say them.

You couldn't bear it, the expression he wore, your own doing. You felt a tear form at the rim of your right eye and you leaned into him, pressing your forehead against his to hide it from him. He sighed against you immediately, eyes closed and hands trailing up your arms.

He felt so good. 

“Don't you dare forget about me, Y/N."

He sought out your lips, his nose digging into your cheek and you caved, melting into his needy kiss. It was slow and painfully sweet, realising that it could be your last. As his hands cupped your face more strongly, calloused fingers burning your numb flesh, you allowed yourself to make it last.

You pulled apart, panting for air as you remained in each other's embrace, your hands pressed against his chest. You found his heart to be beating as fast as yours, as shattered as yours.

After a sharp inhale, you felt it settle gradually as you tried to memorise the feel of him in your mind, to imprint it into your skin. 

"Goodbye, Tom."

You kept your eyes shut as a single tear finally rolled down your cheek, your body aching as you battled against his softening grip. When you pulled away from him sharply, you could only repress a shuddering breath.

You didn't allow yourself to look back until you had reached the others, and when you finally turned, he hadn't moved a muscle, weary eyes strained in you, powerless as he stood in the middle of the path.

It took everything you had not to let more of your tears fall.

Giulia gave you a quick movement of the head before joining him. She had to call his name before he finally followed her. Henriette stroked your back as you watch him reluctantly walk backwards, his eyes not leaving your face.

Maybe it would be easier to just close yours, embrace the darkness, to not witnesses that wretched moment.

But you couldn't, and by the time he had disappeared around a corner, your cheeks had dried and the pain in your stomach had turned dull.

There were still a few more miles until you would reach the bus station, and you couldn't utter a word, barely acknowledging your surroundings as you kept walking.

Only when you were safely seated in the bus did you feel all of the emotion crashing down, true tears being finally released. There was no dull pain anymore, but aching regret clutching at your heart, and you had to press against your chest in an attempt to soothe the pain. 

"Y/N, what's happening?"

You tried to breathe, to remain quiet, but it was too painful. "I should have let him say it… I should have said it back, I should-" you panted in muffled cries as Henriette watched you with worry. "I should have said that I loved him."

You didn't calm down until you arrived at your destination.

Part 10 (and last one.)

Thank you @babyblue711 for you support and amazing beta reading, as always.

Music Tom and reader dance to:

A/N: The installation of antisemitism within the Vichy government occurred much later, the first step with a new Jewish status on October 1940. I fast fowarded it so it can be applied on the story, in July-August 1940. The persecution in Non-Occupied Zone came much later as well, but it didn’t prevent the hate toward the Jews in France. Jew immigrates were, however, arrested during that time, because they weren’t French (who still had some semblance of rights early in the war.) Same goes for the prisoners of war.

@chainsawsangel@mischiefmanaged71@depressedperson88 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan@yentroucnagol@tssf-imagines@nightdiamond8663 @lauraneedstochill @unleashthelion @helaenaluvr @omgkatherine01 @launotfound @r0segard3n @queenofshinigamis @helaelaemond

#tom bennett #tom bennet x reader #wof #world on fire #smut #tom bennett fanfiction #ewan mitchell #angst #fluff #world on fire 1x06 #gone with regret #usermyfandomprompts #gone with regrets

[endless-ineffabilities]

Maroon (part two)

modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

And I wake with your memory over me

That's a real fucking legacy to leave

A series loosely based on the song Maroon of off Midnights by Taylor Swift ▪︎ read more Daemon & Aemond midnights imagines here: masterlist

series list: part one - part two - part three -

themes/warnings: fluff, angst, slow burn, mutual pining, slight love triangle, language, accident/severe injury (towards the end)

word count: 7.3k

a/n: just a little explanation on their ages, since they are aged up for this series. Jace, the reader, Helaena and Aemond are in their mid-twenties. Alys is in her mid-thirties. Luke is around 21/22. Feel free to adjust if you wish.

Also, the photo I used is of Tom Bennett, as I felt the need to use a modernized look for Aemond, but nevertheless, he is still Aemond - silver haired, sullen, and soon enough, sapphire-eyed. If my photo editing skills are up to par, then I would have edited shoulder-length (yup, for this story) silver hair and modern clothes on our Aemond, but alas...

happy reading, beautiful people. ����

The morning after their interrupted kiss, the reader learns more about Aemond's apparent lover. She grows discouraged with striking up a romance with him, but he is determined to change her mind.

There is a curious knot in your stomach when you wake, remembering the night before. Aemond had leaned in close, so close, that you feel as if his scent still surrounds you.

The deep green walls of his bedroom are still burned into your eyes. From then on, there is no way that this particular shade of green won’t bring you back to that night. With him.

With Aemond. The one who has flooded your thoughts for almost a year now. The object of your desire.

Although, it seems… that he might already have his own object of desire.

Why did Alys visit him so late last night? You want to feign innocence, and remain oblivious to any and all lewd possibilities. Maybe she’s just a dear friend, who needed some company. Perhaps to have a drink, or to borrow a book? Or perhaps she has had some romantic trouble earlier last evening, and needed to vent her heart out to Aemond, who is nothing if not an attentive listener.

Well, shit. You slam your palm to your forehead as you allow reality to set in. You can continue to hope, but deep down, you know that Alys is not just a friend to Aemond.

This might be one of the very few instances wherein tabloid fodder has some truth to it. Dragonstone heir and model socialite spotted leaving Claridge’s Hotel in London after a wild night out.

That was just one of the several headlines that caught your eye, and immediately chose to ignore. You don’t even remember how long ago that was, but it seems as if their story is yet to reach its end.

If, indeed, it ever will.

But why was he going to kiss me? I mean, he was, wasn’t he?

You turn to the side, and notice that you’re all alone in bed. Helaena always wakes up much earlier, preferring to be awake as the sun rises, which leaves her ample time to go about her extensive morning routine.

Before you allow your rampant thoughts to get the better of you, you finally get up, wiping sleep from your eyes, and stumble to her bathroom. As you study your reflection is the mirror, one thing springs to your mind. What is going to happen if you meet Aemond downstairs? Granted, it is rare for the whole family to convene early during weekdays, but he did say he will meet you in the morning.

You take your sweet time getting ready, delaying the inevitable, before finally heading downstairs.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The clock above an alcove in the kitchen reads 8:17. The smell of pancakes waft through the air, calming your senses. Breakfast food is always a good idea.

Helaena comes into view, stacking the last pancakes on a plate.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Nice face.” She jokes, smiling in her carefree way.

“What about it?” You scrunch your nose in response, picking off a blueberry from a glass bowl on the kitchen counter.

“Rough night?” She turns off the induction stove, having finished, and you help her carry the dishes to the dining table.

Talia, their housekeeper, walks in the kitchen. A worried look is etched on her face. “Ma’am, are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for you? I can cook you something else, or fetch something from the store? Your mother says - ”

“Everything’s fine, Talia.” Helaena assures her. She has never really indulged having a maid to clean up after her. One thing about Helaena, she’s very likely the most simple one out of the family, not bothering with the usual trappings of luxury, and that includes having a maid at her every beck and call. Helaena only asks for help when she needs it, and as it stands, she’s perfectly capable of cooking up a damn good breakfast. “Why don’t you attend to yourself this morning?”

“A-attend to myself, ma’am?” Talia asks.

“Yes,” Helaena shoots a smile at you conspiratorially, “Talia, go out and take a walk, or watch a movie, or get a massage. Whatever you want, it’s on us. The rest of the family are either busy working, hungover somewhere, or out of town, anyway. We’ll be fine for today.”

Talia smiles brightly in appreciation. “Very well then. Thank you, ma’am. Please do call me if you need anything at all.”

Helaena nods her head once. Talia makes a move to leave, but she seems to recall something.

“Oh, uh, Miss Y/n?” She addresses you this time. “Sir Aemond did say that he’s very sorry that he isn’t able to see you this morning. He left very early, quite in a rush. There must have been something very pressing at work.”

“Oh.” You could not hide the disappointment in your voice. Or was it relief? “Aemond’s not here?”

“He did say he would call you, though, as soon as he can.”

Aemond isn’t here. “Right. Well, thanks for letting me know, Talia.”You smile at her genuinely, while feeling slightly empty inside from the notion of Aemond’s absence. There was no reason to be excited or nervous, after all. A shame, really. “And please, call me Y/n.”

“Of course, Y/n. And, it’s not a problem. Sir Aemond did seem quite distressed about having to leave. I’m sure he’d be annoyed with me if I don’t let you know.”

“Oh, that’s for sure.” Helaena rolls her eyes, smiling at you. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say that my brother’s kinda infatuated with you.”

Before a warmth can develop in your chest from what Helaena claims, another person walks in the kitchen. A long-legged, impossibly unblemished figure that is Alys Rivers.

Talia straightens, not as comfortable around Alys as she is with you and Helaena. She takes that as her cue to leave. She politely addresses each of you in turn. “Have a lovely morning, Ma’am. Y/n. Miss Alys.” Her tone bristles at the last name.

“Sooo,” Alys saunters over to the table, and daintily plops down on the seat opposite you and Helaena, “good morning, girls. You don’t mind if I join you for breakfast, do you?” She pops a piece of fruit in her mouth before you could respond.

“Not at all, Alys.” Helaena sighs. “It would be nice to finally speak to my brother’s…” She trails off, one eyebrow raising slyly. “…friend.”

Alys simply laughs it off, unfazed. “That’s nice of you, Helaena, but you don’t need to watch your words around me. I know that Aemond has never clearly stated what we are yet. But we are something, that much I’m sure of.” Her gaze trails over to you. “Nice sweater. You know, it looks a lot like my Aemond’s.”

My Aemond’s. God help me. “Oh, uhm,” you balk, not wanting to overstep the line with something that is completely none of your business, as far as you’re concerned, “he lent it to me last night. Clumsy ol’ me apparently can’t handle too much red wine. Literally and figuratively.”

You smile at Alys placatingly, but you’re not sure what for. Nothing happened last night, right? Nothing at all.

“Well, it looks good on you, darling.” She winks at you. The more she speaks, the more you realize how self-assured she is. Your first meeting, you’re wearing her… boyfriend’s…. sweater, and she’s only quick to accept your explanation. It’s as if she’s truly certain that no one can steal Aemond away from her.

“Thank you.” You awkwardly say, taking a sip of your coffee.

“So, Alys,” Helaena says, “tell us more about yourself. Surely we cannot just believe everything the gossip blogs say about you.”

“Right, well. I’m aware that I do have a certain image, but that’s all it is. An image. A kind of persona. It makes it easier to draw a line between my job and my personal life. I do enjoy the luxurious and fast-paced lifestyle that modelling brings, but that’s not everything. I am… more than that.”

Her statements catch you by surprise, slightly. You knew more than just to take her reputation at face value, but it’s different now. Aemond’s attraction to her might run deeper than you had hoped.

“I think it’s right that you do whatever you feel is best for you.” You find yourself genuinely saying, empathizing with how she feels. “I can’t claim to know exactly what it’s like, being in the public eye like that, but it must be hard. You should protect yourself, and if keeping up a kind of mask is something that works, then…” You purse your lips, and tilt your head, a show of your approval.

“Solidarity, sister.” Alys smiles at you, one which you return. “I mean, thanks for not judging me right away. Most people do.”

The rest of the morning is spent in a way you never would have expected to enjoy, but you do. Alys turns out to be more friendly than she seems, and it’s plain to see that she truly cares for Aemond. She did share her insecurities when it comes to him, and how he has set implicit boundaries between them.

Whenever she gets too close, he’s only quick to pull away. Aemond has predictably not made it clear what they are, and has never protested when Alys goes on dates with other people. Although she wishes that he would.

Each time Alys hints at how Aemond means to her makes you feel guilty. You know you want him, but she has been in the picture much longer than you. Do you even have a chance? Do you want one?

Eventually, Alys receives a call, which she explains is from her disgruntled manager, telling her that the call time for her photoshoot is nearing. She excuses herself, sashaying confidently out of the apartment. You can’t help but feel small, and the fact that you find her a tad intimidating is the least of your worries.

Aemond seems farther away from you, if he ever was close. Helaena notices your lowered spirits, and she spends the rest of the morning helping you get your mind off things.

But no movie, series, or copious amount of baked goods proves effective.

Despite your best efforts, Aemond Targaryen has taken refuge in your mind. And perhaps, your heart. But you would never admit that too soon.

Especially not now.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The weekend is a welcome respite from your busy university schedule. Although you have to work a full shift at a local bookstore, you wouldn’t complain about it. It’s a calm and decent enough part-time job, and while it doesn’t pay much, you’re more than happy to be surrounded by books all day.

You rush into the bookstore, already half an hour late. Your bus was delayed for too long, and you did not even get to pick up your usual coffee on the way.

“Mel?” You call out to the owner. She’s always the first to come in, and open up shop. You rub your boots on the welcome mat, and make your way around the tall bookshelves. You spot her at the counter, arranging yesterday’s receipts into a folder.

“Good morning.” She greets you with her usual warm smile. “Don’t even worry about it, y/n.” She reassures you in time, already knowing you would apologize profusely for being late.

You breathe a sigh of relief, dropping your bag behind the counter. “I’ll just stay a bit later after closing. Help clean up everything.”

“No need.” She places a hand on your shoulder, and whispers close. “By the way, you have a visitor.”

“A visitor?”

“A handsome one, might I add. He’s sitting in the corner desk by the Classics section. I found him waiting outside so early. Poor kid said he wanted to be here as soon as the shop opened, and I don’t know about you, but I hardly believe it is because of his raging love for literature.”

“Oh, I see.” You stand dumbfounded, a new sense of nervousness settling over you. That handsome visitor can only be Aemond, can it?

“Go on, honey. Take your time. It’s not like the shop gets particularly busy this early.”

You slowly walk deeper into the shop, past the new releases, the sci-fi section, and then the romance.

And sure enough, there he sits.

His shoulder-length silver hair is in its usual half-up style, and his expensive black coat is draped on the back of his seat. His left hand holds a book on the table, while the other props up his face, his index finger absentmindedly running over his lips, deep in thought.

Your footsteps carry no sound, so he does not notice as you walk closer. You almost don’t want to bother him, as he looks so serene. Faint sunlight from an awning window warms the scene, casting a glow over him. Beautiful.

You find yourself leaning against a bookshelf, studying him, flashes of that night running through your head. He did leave you a message, explaining why he had to leave the morning after. You were not sure what to respond with, apart from “No problem. See you soon.”

Impersonal. Direct. Safe. Getting to know his lover that morning was a sort of wake-up call. You aren’t sure whether you’re ready to dive in deeper into the enigma that he poses. So you decided to leave it at that.

But it clearly was not enough for him, as evidenced by numerous subsequent missed calls.

His head turns, languidly, finally sensing your presence. When your eyes meet, a soft smile forms on his lips.

“Hello, darling.”

Shit. Two simple words and you’re all but ready to let go of any uncertainty you might have about him, then and there.

“Aemond,” you can’t help but smile in return, “to what do I owe this visit?”

He closes his book and sets it down on the table. He turns his body towards you, still seated, leaning back to take you in.

“Would you believe me if I said that I missed you?” He says smoothly, so sure of himself. He stresses, “I miss you.”

“It’s only been days since I last saw you, Aemond.” You roll your eyes in a poor attempt to hide the way you grow flustered.

“Feels like forever.” He stands, walking over to the bookshelf you’re leaning on, making a show of perusing the titles. “You have not answered my calls, darling. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you’re ignoring me.” He steps closer to you, mirroring your position.

“I was busy.” You respond quickly with a defensive tone. And you were, but not busy enough to avoid staring at your phone every time his name blinks on the screen, waiting for his call to drop.

“Hmm. I was hoping we could have a moment alone. To… talk,” His eyes rake your face, landing on your lips, “or perhaps, more?”

“More? Getting ahead of yourself, Aemond?” You look down, unable to meet his heated gaze.

“I really enjoyed our night together, and I was hoping we could have some more time to ourselves.”

“I’m sure we will. The next time Hel invites me over, or you guys throw a party…” You trail off, raising your head to look at him again, and sure enough, he continues to watch every change in your expression.

“How about now? Could I steal you away for an hour or two? I’m sure Melanie wouldn’t mind.”

“Already on first-name basis with my boss. Fast work, Aemond.”

“She’s a sweet woman. Nurturing. I’m glad you have someone like her as your supervisor.” His lips quirk in amusement.

“Really…” you raise your eyebrows.

“Mhmm. If she was unfair or unpleasant to you in any way, I would not hesitate to have someone better appointed in her stead.” He explains smugly.

“It’s an independent bookstore, Aemond, and not one of the hundred businesses your great empire owns. You wouldn’t have the jurisdiction.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” He lowers his face nearer to yours, his breath fanning your face. He continues, “I don’t believe you understand how much I would be willing to do for you.”

His proximity makes you short of breath, so you take a step back, wanting to clear your head. A frown materializes on his face, but it disappears just as quick as it arrived. He is determined to make himself heard.

“I have known you for a good part of a year now, y/n. And… my admiration for you has only blossomed as time passed. When we had a moment to ourselves that night, it just felt… right.”

“Aemond… ”

“I’m inclined to assume that you feel the same way. At least, I hope.”

Your throat feels dry all of a sudden, and you struggle to match his unabashed sincerity. “I’m not sure where this will lead. What you expect this to be. You already have… someone… ”

“Someone?” Props to him for seeming genuinely clueless as to who you’re referring to.

“I met her the morning after. Alys. She’s actually quite lovely.”

“It’s not what you think.” He finally looks away, his mood changed with the mention of Alys.

You sigh flatly, "That is exactly what someone involved would say. Look, I have no interest in ruining anyone's relationship - "

"I am not in a relationship - "

"But there is something between you and Alys, isn't there?"

"We aren't together. I have made this clear to her, time and again." He paces at the aisle, running his hand over the books. "Though I admit, in the times when I need... company... she's the one I have become accustomed to calling."

"Company." You almost roll your eyes at his casual implication.

"Hmm." His lips curl in distaste. "It does not come easy for me to connect with anyone. Even for a purpose as unseemly as that."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"I know, I just... hope that you don't think any less of me."

"Aemond," you take a step forward, "you're free to want... company with whomever you want. So is Alys. But I can't get into this, whatever this is, with you if I will have to share you with anyone else."

"You won't. That already is far from the truth, darling. I have not even considered anyone else for a while now."

"But Alys - "

"I did not invite her over that night. I hadn't even seen her in weeks. Nothing happened after you left my bedroom."

"She cares about you. A lot."

"I know," he shakes his head slightly, "and I care about her, too. But it never became..." He bows his head, almost sheepishly. "... it's not... I don't love her."

Your gaze softens as you watch the torment in his expression. It becomes clear that Aemond does not throw around the word love without care. He sounds cautious. Nervous, almost.

His eyes find yours suddenly, the intensity behind them catching you by surprise.

"But you..." His brows furrow in frustration. He takes a deep breath, before repeating, almost accusingly, "You."

Suddenly, he pulls you close by the waist. His violet eyes keep you in place, holding you dear.

You take each other in with hungry eyes. His every little movement, every twitch, catches your attention. The way his lips purse, the way he swallows nervously. A stray strand of silver hair has fallen in front of his face, and you unconsciously reach up for it, your hand freezing mid-air when you realize what you're doing.

His hand comes up to caress yours, and slowly, he presses a soft kiss to your palm.

A soft moan nearly escapes your lips at how soft the gesture is. How gentle it feels. How right.

"I want you." He says, still holding your hand.

The two of you stand, mere inches away from one another.

Until a startled voice pierces the atmosphere, destroying the mood. "Shit, excuse me."

A boy stands in the middle of the aisle, a book in his hand. The day's first customer. He smiles sheepishly, pointing to the section you and Aemond have conveniently blocked, "Sorry, uh, I need to check out some of those."

You quickly step away from the shelf, and from Aemond. "Oh, excuse us. Please go right ahead." You wave him through.

Aemond does not move, his eyes irately landing on the boy. He is plainly displeased at the intrusion, not bothering to hide it. Spoiled, rich baby.

"Aemond, move over here." You address him, pulling at his hand. That gets his attention.

He does not let go of your hand, and directs you to the next aisle. But the haze has subsided for you. Or at least, it has to, for now.

"I have to work." You mumble. The words sound so dull after everything that has been said.

"Alright. I'll wait here."

"Pardon?"

"I'll wait here until you can leave with me for a little while."

Your mouth parts in frustration, confusion, or is it awe? You no longer know for sure. This day is certainly shaping up to be more eventful than you are prepared for.

"Aemond," you try to implore gently, "my first break is in four hours. Surely, you won't just wait here until then."

"Why ever not?" He looks amused at your growing incredulity. "I've got time to kill. Besides, I've got all these books to keep me busy."

"You would wait for me for four hours, and then what?"

"Then, I suppose, I'll take you out for lunch." His thumb continues to draw circles on the back of your hand, which almost escapes your notice. It felt so normal, just as if he has held your hand a thousand times before.

His hand reaches up to stroke your cheekbone, before tilting your head up at him. "Please say yes, darling."

Your heart races, even without its usual helping of caffeine. Looking at Aemond, you think that your break cannot come soon enough.

"Okay."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

For the next four hours, Aemond keeps his word and waits.

He moves to a table within eyeshot of the counter where you're working. It is clear that he is watching you, glancing at you from time to time and throwing a smirk your way.

You struggle to keep up appearances, cordially greeting customers and ringing in their purchases. You fight the temptation to walk over to Aemond, nudge his face towards his book, and tell him to quit staring at you like that.

His presence makes you infinitely more self-aware, and you try not to watch your every move, but you do anyway.

Aemond seems content to wait in silence, poring over the pages of his novel, until someone in particular walks in the store.

“I’m sorry, miss, I must be in the wrong place. My good friend Y/n promised that this would be the best bookstore in the city.” A familiar voice says. “Seems cozy, sure, but far from the best, wouldn’t you say?”

You look up at the new arrival, whom you immediately recognize. Aemond visibly straightens in his corner, noticing him as well.

“Jace!” You exclaim brightly, reaching over the counter to give him a hug.

Jacaerys chuckles deeply, and you can't help but feel warm at the sound. The sound of his laughter is something you love about him, genuine and free.

"Somebody missed me." His voice is muffled against your hair, and his arms wrap around you tightly.

"Course I did." You move to stand in front of him. "Back from Pentos so soon?"

"Yes, I finished my course early. I'm just that smart, as you well know." He taps the side of his head smugly.

"Ha-ha." You playfully punch his shoulder.

"Nephew." Aemond greets, interrupting your little reunion. "It's been a while."

"Aemond," Jace turns around to face him, "I didn't notice you, dear uncle. You look well."

"As do you." Aemond replies stoically. His hands are neatly kept behind his back, and he watches you and Jacaerys with keen eyes. "I was not aware that you and Y/n are so close."

You know that Aemond does not have the best relationship with his half-sister Rhaenyra's children. At first, you could not understand why. Jace and his siblings are among the kindest boys you've met. Luke is a bit roguish, but that is part of his charm.

But that was before Helaena explained to you how Aemond must have felt neglected growing up, always in the shadow of his nephews, who are much favoured by his own father Viserys. Helaena learned not to mind, telling you how she has found peace with her own self and her passions. She is aware that Viserys loves Rhaenyra above everyone else, and by extension, Rhaenyra's children. His marriage to their mother Alicent was borne out of necessity, not love.

And she only hinted at it, but apparently, Aemond was also bullied by the younger boys when they were children. Of course, that was long ago, but some scars never fully heal.

"We're good friends, Aemond." Jace responds, putting one arm over your shoulders, a movement that makes Aemond's lips curl in distaste. "Met her through Hel, of course, and I just couldn't get enough of this little rascal." He squeezes your shoulders, pulling you closer, making you wrap an arm around his waist.

"You're the rascal, leaving me for nearly half a year like that." You jest, matching his smile.

"Well, I'm back now, aren't I?" He says, then he turns back to his uncle, "What are you doing here, by the way? Just browsing for a new read?"

"No," Aemond loosens his stance a bit, looking at you, "I'm actually waiting to take Y/n out on a date."

A date? Is that what I agreed to?

"To lunch." You clarify, meeting his gaze.

"A lunch date." Aemond simply shrugs, deeming the matter settled.

"Uh-huh." Jace looks between the two of you, growing amused. "Listen, uncle, could you give me just a few minutes with Y/n. Then, I promise, she's all yours."

Aemond stands still for a few seconds, deliberating whether he should leave you with Jace. The silence is utterly deafening, so you say, "Aemond. I'll be with you in a bit. We can head out soon."

"Hmm." He relents, then stalks back to his table, his silver hair gently flowing behind his neck.

Jace watches Aemond walk away with a weird look on his face, and you already know what's coming next.

"Y/n?" Jace smirks at you. "What is going on?"

"He's... here for me."

"Worked your magic on him, I see? I remember you having a crush on him and all..."

"Alright, pipe down about it." Your face becomes flushed, and you catch Aemond's eye in the corner. "I didn't even do anything. He sought me out."

"Riiiight," Jace says, "and this is what you want?"

You shrug, "I do like him. You know this."

Jace studies your expression, seeing sincerity but also a tinge of something else. Doubt, perhaps? "Just be careful, alright? My uncle can be a little... unpredictable."

"He's... I mean, he actually seems a lot better than I expected. It's a shame you two aren't close."

"Yes, well, some things can't be helped." Jace's eyebrows furrow in thought. "What about that model that he's rumoured to be seeing? He can't keep messing around with her, if he wants you, y/n."

"Oh, I even met her, actually. She's nice. But Aemond says that they're apparently... over. Or... not working out. You know, I'm not sure." You shake your head, not wanting to think about it any further. It isn't really a matter that's been resolved yet.

"Okay, just be careful, alright? You're too good for him, y/n."

"Don't worry about me, Jace." You smile, looping your arm with his as you lean against the counter. "How's the family? How are Luke and Joffrey?"

"Well, Luke is Luke. You know. Gets into a fair share of trouble, what with his penchant for racing cars and all. Bloody well gives mum a heart attack each time he has to do a competition. I think he's coming back tomorrow from some race in Casterly Rock."

"That's our Luke." You sigh fondly.

"And Joff's as sweet as ever. Nearly done with middle school, that one. You're invited to his finishing ceremony, of course."

You smirk at his assurance, "I think Joff should be the one to invite me, no?"

Jace moves to stand in front of you again. "Doesn't matter. I'm the big brother, I say you're in."

He cages you in, with each of his hands on the counter. You then press your forehead against his chest, and he rests his chin atop your head. A position that the two of you have gotten so used to doing. Jace is truly like a brother to you, and he loves you like his actual sister in turn.

"Mmm, I did miss this." You breathe.

Aemond's fist bunches on the table, his book long-forgotten. You and Jacaerys were only friends, right? So why did he have to feel so uneasy?

He stands, not able to watch the scene any longer, and walks over to claim what he thinks should be his.

"Let's go." Aemond's voice pierces the silence, catching you by surprise. You move away from Jace, and throw him a sheepish smile, as if to apologize for Aemond's behaviour.

“I guess that’s my cue to leave.” Jace’s arm drops from your sides, and he takes a step back to keep Aemond’s envy from worsening.

“Won’t you join us for lunch?” You ask Jace. One glance at Aemond, and it’s plain to see that he’s not particularly fond of that idea.

“Nah, you two go ahead. I’ve got some matters to attend to.” Jace is quick to respond. Whether he’s telling the truth, or he just wants to appease Aemond, you remind yourself to ask him about it later.

“Nice seeing you, uncle.” Jace says to Aemond, as he heads for the door.

His hand is already at the doorknob, when he recalls something. He calls out to you, “Y/n, you will be coming to the Dragonstone ball, right?”

“Oh, I don’t know yet.” You reply. The annual Dragonstone ball is a grand event held by the Targaryens, and almost anyone of repute is sure to be invited. Celebrities, philanthropists, academics. You vaguely recall seeing last year’s ball everywhere in the news. That must have been around the time you first met Helaena, your friendship quickly developing soon after.

“Well if you are, would you - ” Jace begins to say, but he is immediately interrupted by Aemond.

“She’ll be coming with me.” Aemond declares.

“I am?” You say, startled, as you pick up your bag from behind the counter.

“Mmm. You are, darling.”

What the hell?

“See you around, y/n.” Jace relents, taking note of the heightened tension in the room.  

As soon as he’s gone, you address the silver-haired scoundrel who was quick to make a decision for you, much to your annoyance. “Listen, sweetheart,” you pat him on the chest, and head for the door, expecting him to follow suit, “it’s not going to be that easy.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The two of you sit in the secluded veranda of a Valyrian restaurant that, unsurprisingly, is owned by the Targaryens. Beautifully gilded tables are nestled in a garden, and Aemond had led you to their best section under an archway. The restaurant had been empty when you arrived, with all the staff standing ready to usher you inside. You suspect that Aemond went ahead and purposefully reserved the entire place for this very afternoon, but you let it slide.

“When is the Dragonstone ball?” you ask, after finishing most of your meal.

“I’d say in around two months. My mother is overseeing everything, as usual, so it’s really all up to her.”

“And,” you lean back, smiling wryly, “apparently, I am going with you?”

Aemond smirks, “Why wouldn’t you?”

You scoff. The ‘Prince of the city’ sure has a pair on him. “I don’t know, Aemond. Maybe because you did not really ask me to come with you.”

His smirk does not fade. He leans forward, taking your hand from across the table, his fingers tracing your skin. Your prideful facade is at risk of breaking, and you wish to simply hold his hand back lovingly.

But you keep a hold of yourself, waiting.

“Darling,” the corner of his lips turn up in amusement, most likely at your rapidly changing expression, “would you do me the honour of being my partner…” He deliberately pauses, taking delight in how your eyes widen, “… to the Dragonstone ball?”

Oh, you little shit. “Mmm,” you swallow, attempting to steel your nerves. Aemond patiently waits for your response, the damage already done. For a split second, he gets the urge to reach for your knee underneath the table.

Perhaps to comfort you. Or solely for his pleasure, adding to your already fluttering heartbeat. Or both.

“Okay,” you clear your throat, “I will go with you. Thank you for asking.”

Aemond smiles brightly, the dimples on his cheeks deepening. “I’m glad, darling.”

Something crosses your mind, and before you can push it down, curiosity gets the better of you. You find yourself asking, “By the way, who did you go with last year?”

His face falls, “You probably already know. Alys.”

“Of course,” you nod, “and the year before that? Her as well?”

“Y/n,” he says sternly, “that’s not of any importance.”

“Won’t she be expecting to go with you again this year?” You ask.

He simply shrugs, “She may have mentioned something recently to that effect.”

“Aemond - ”

“Look, the main reason why I brought her to previous balls was because I’ve always been expected to take a date. It’s just the proper thing to do, to keep up appearances, though I don’t really agree with it. If I were to bring someone, I don’t want to do it out of obligation. And I can finally do that now, with you. I want to be with you, and take you as my partner for the ball.”

How can I argue with that? It’s almost impossible, when his violet eyes blaze at me in the way that they always do.

“I just,” you look away, choosing to admire the way the vines wrap themselves around the archway, to distract yourself from Aemond’s heated gaze, “I don’t want her to feel like she’s being slighted in any way. I don't want her to feel like I’m… stealing you away… or something.”

Aemond smiles, “By all means, steal me away, darling.”

“I’m being serious.” You attempt a stern tone, but it falls flat as soon as you see his smile.

“I was never hers to keep. You, however…”

“What?”

“You’re more than welcome to call me yours, if you wish.”

“Aemond.” You want to scold him for being so forward, not when there are some things that still need to be resolved. But you also want to trust him, to trust in whatever it is the two of you are becoming.

You realize you are already in too deep. How? The possibility of ever losing him is enough to fill your stomach with dread. If Aemond will be yours, then he will also be yours to lose.

And you don’t know what you will do if that happens.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next two weeks pass by in relative bliss. Aemond makes an effort to see you almost every day, visiting you in the bookstore or meeting you after your lectures. You learn more about him in this time, than in the past year you’ve known him. The two of you have always admired each other from afar, but now that Aemond has begun to completely open up to you, it’s as if you’ve known him your whole life.

It's as if he’s one of the pillars holding everything together around you. A comfortable constant. As well as a conflagration, casting his radiance over everything. Aemond is like a magnet, a desirable paradox drawing everyone to him. The amount of looks you get from your fellow students whenever Aemond picks you up from university made you uneasy at first, but you’ve learned to find the humour in it.

Aemond’s smug smirk at their reaction each time he takes your hand, stealing you away, is surely enough to make you feel giddy inside.

Everything seemed too good to be true, and perhaps it was.

The abrupt end to this brief golden period began one evening, as you and Helaena are in her bedroom, perusing through countless gown designs online to wear for the Dragonstone ball.

Aemond had been away on business to a nearby city, and you eagerly await his return. Then a sharp ringing echoes throughout the room, coming from Helaena’s phone, a sound that makes you anxious though you cannot pinpoint why in the moment.

She glances at the screen, before quickly turning to you. “It’s my father.”

“Oh, answer it then.”

“That’s strange,” her face contorts in confusion, “he almost never calls.”

Helaena excuses herself, walking over to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her reflection on the glass is only faintly visible to you, and you struggle to make anything out of the muffled conversation.

A long, torturous minute passes before the call finishes. When Helaena turns to face you, her face is white as a sheet.

You stand, and rush over to her side. “Hel? What is it?”

At your touch, something snaps in her, and she becomes frantic. “It’s… it’s my brother… it’s Aemond… ” She quickly scrambles around the room, putting on her coat and shoes.

“Aemond?” You feel nauseous with worry. “What happened, Hel?”

“I have to get to the hospital. Aemond and Luke got into an accident.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

An entire week passes before you hear from any of them. Helaena had rushed off alone to the hospital that night, and while you were desperate to come along and see Aemond, she explained that her parents preferred that only family came to visit.

You understood. Or at least, you tried to. You went home feeling weak all over, and it only worsened when you saw that the accident was already plastered all over the news.

It was reported that Aemond and Lucerys were each driving their cars at dangerous speeds, when one of them must have collided with the other, crashing onto the freeway. It was alleged that Aemond’s car had flipped over multiple times before finally landing down a hill. The extent of their injuries are not made public, probably at the authority of Viserys himself, but the masses have been quick to speculate.

Jace calls you while you are staying home one afternoon, having opted out of attending all your lectures for the day. For the past few days, actually.

“Hey, you,” He greets softly, knowing how you must already be reeling with stress. “Holding up okay?”

“Me? What about you, Jace? How is everyone? How is Luke? Aemond? Fuck, I haven’t heard from anyone.”

He breathes, “We’re fine, y/n. Luke just has a broken leg, but it should heal fine. He does have to put up with a cast for several weeks, though.”

Okay. Luke is alright. But you still can’t let out a sigh of relief, not until…

“What about Aemond?” You ask nervously.

“That’s… another thing.”

“Please just tell me, Jace.”

“Are you home? I’m actually nearby. We should maybe discuss this in person.” He offers.

And only half an hour later, he is standing at your door. You quickly envelop him in a tight hug, and he breathes deeply, feeling comforted by your presence.

Once the two of you are settled on your couch, cups of warm tea held between each of your hands, you begin talking.

“Aemond is fine. For the most part.” He says. “He’s alive and well, but he’s suffered an injury.”

“What injury?”

“He doesn’t want anyone to know, Y/n. At least, not just yet.”

You pause, unsure if you want to press further. You do want to know, but you also want to respect Aemond’s privacy. Besides, if he wanted you to know, he would tell you himself, wouldn’t he?

“I understand,” you relent, sinking into the couch, “I’m just glad they’re okay.”

Jace notices your distress, and reaches for you, “Come here.”

The embrace offers a momentary respite. Your head drops down on his shoulder, and you both enjoy the silence that follows.

“One thing’s for sure,” Jace says after a while, “There’s no way in hell that mum is letting Luke drive again. At least not for a long, long fucking time.”

You smile at that, feeling light for the first time in a while.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Dragonstone ball is once again making its rounds in the media, and this year, it is reported to have been delayed for two more months, allowing the dust to settle over the terrible accident that befell two of the Targaryen heirs.

Just a week after you learn about this piece of news, you finally hear from Aemond.

Your heart skips a beat when his name flashes on the screen, and you pick up your phone with a slightly trembling hand. You press the green button, and lift the phone to one ear.

Nothing. But then, you hear soft breathing at the other end. It’s a silly notion, but you think you recognize those breaths to be his. It can only be him.

“Aemond, I know you’re there.” You say, biting your lip in anticipation.

“Dar…” he cuts himself off, “Y/n. I’m alright, I apologize for only calling you now.”

Coldness seeps in your bones when you notice how he corrected himself. Why?

“It’s alright, Aemond. I’m just relieved that you’re fine. I was so worried, you have no idea.”

The sound of your voice tugs at his heart, one which he sorely missed. He swallows, struggling to bring himself to say what he means to. “I need to tell you something. About the ball… I’ve decided that I should take Alys instead. She was already expecting that she is to be my date, and I just think that it’s rude if I…”

“That’s fine.” You say, far too quickly, not believing your own words. “I… I did consider that. You should take her.”

“Darling,” Aemond finally says, unable to hold back, “I…”

“It’s okay,” you attempt to comfort him, but it’s mostly for your own sake, “I completely understand.”

He takes a deep breath. As he envisions how you must look on the other line, he instantly feels a pang of regret.

“I’ll… I’ll see you around, yeah?” You say, wanting to be done with this damned call.

“Hmm. I’ll see you, darling.”

You throw your phone down on your desk. Feeling numb all over, you make your way to the kitchen, and quickly take a bottle of red bottle from the cabinet. You make quick work of the cork, and pour yourself a hefty amount.

You slosh the liquid around your glass, staring at that familiar shade of maroon.

And sure enough, it brings you back to that night on their balcony.

“For fuck’s sake.” You whisper to yourself. Closing your eyes, you see him.

What happened, Aemond? Have I already lost you?

“How could I?” You say bitterly. “When he was never mine?”

The part two preview that I posted, has been relegated to part three, after much editing. It's meant to be a steamy, little scene that unfolds in the Dragonstone ball.

And I had to work in the tragic injury that Aemond suffers in a way that might be suited to this modern setting. It's just hard for me to picture child on child violence happening here, with one of them taking a brutal dagger to the eye. At least not in this world, which is meant to resemble ours 😂

Oohh and thoughts on Jace? I actually don't intend him to be a love interest for the reader, and more so a genuine friend. But Aemond doesn't need to know that, does he? He surely won't believe it in the events at follow... 😏

Taglist for this series is still open (for now) so comment below if you wish to be added. 🤍

Series taglist: @caught-in-the-afterglow @aemondtargaryensrider @punggo66 @dollfaceyourfear @candypurplebutterfly @moonmaiden1996 @bdpst-massacre @mxrgodsstuff @lolitaisreal @blue-serendipity @depressedperson88 @melsunshine @thejanecampaign @fxngsfxgxrty @padfooteyes @msmarvel-19 @noxytopy @louschan @aemondssuit @virginslut08 @tempo-rary-fix @lauraneedstochill @julczimozart @booknerd2004 @sarcasticfangirl @witchyvik @julieeba @pyjama-shorts @bellaisasleep @account3168 @this-is-a-bad-idea @zillahvathek @thincrusttheworks @krispold @yougotthatlove @raging-panda @fleetingly-artistic @its-hopes-world @ririrare @throughgoeshamilton @polireader @katsav17 @minttea07

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #ewan mitchell #midnights #maroon #modern!aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x female reader

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Little Darling

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem!reader

Warning: angst, nightmare, war flashback, post-war, fluff

Summary: Tom woke up with a start, his little darling calling for him.

Tom’s eyes opened, seeing the red lights of the alarm around him. The air was heavy. Filled with smoke, ashes and burning oil fumes. He groaned, sitting up slowly.

Blue eyes swept over the room. The typical iron scent of blood was in the air but no blood was anywhere. It was eerily quiet around him. Even if the red light was blinking, he couldn’t hear the Klaxon blaring as it usually did.

His hand slowly moved to his ears. His fingers glided over his grime-covered cheeks before he reached his ears. He sighed in relief as he felt no blood coming out of his ears. So his eardrums hadn’t busted and he hadn’t gone deaf all of a sudden.

Tom got up slowly from the floor. Groaning as his muscles protested against his movement. He walked around the canon room before he walked up the ladder into the hallway. He was looking for other people on the ship but no soul was anywhere in sight.

As he walked on, he heard the faint cry of a baby. He stepped into the hallway and walked further down. His pace quickened as the volume of the child’s cry got more intense. His brows furrowed as he walked closer to the crying. The voice grew louder the closer he got to the room the baby’s cries came out of.

He stood in front of a closed door. The cries coming from the room sounded so desperate. His heart was clenching at the sound. But before he touched the handle of the door he woke up.

Tom took a deep breath in as he opened his eyes wide. The room was dark, only the faint light of the street post shone into the bedroom.

He rubbed his eyes and looked around. His wife lying next to him, sleeping peacefully. A soft smile on her face. He sighed softly as he watched her. The back of his pointer finger caressed the soft skin of her cheek.

Then he heard it again, the soft cry of an infant. His wife stirred softly. She was about to wake up.

Tom leaned down, kissing her forehead after he threw his blanket away from his body. “Stay, sweetheart. I got her.” He whispered before slipping out of bed.

Slowly he made his way to his daughter’s room. Flashbacks of the nightmare are still fresh in his mind.

Tom stood at her door Penelope written with wooden letters on the door. He smiled as he traced over each letter. She was still a wee little thing, so small even at her birth. His wife blamed herself. She believed she hadn’t eaten well during the pregnancy. A midwife reassured her that Penelope was healthy and a normal size.

Tom touched the door handle, his fingers wrapping against the cool metal. His breath stuck in his throat as he pleaded with any higher power not to let this be a dream again.

As the door opened, he breathed out in relief. He opened the door wide. Rushing to his daughter he lies in her crib. She writhed and screamed nearly bloody murder. Tom picked her up, shushing her softly. “Hey there, little darling. What’s wrong? Mhm?” He asked softly as if she could give him an answer.

Penelope quieted down but still sobbed something disturbed her sleep. She already had a slight sleeping rhythm where she slept through the night. “Was it a nightmare, Penny? Yeah? Daddy had one too.” He kissed her head softly. Her fine dirty blonde hair tickled his lips.

“Yeah, Daddy was on the ship he worked on again. But it seems you pulled me out of there. My little saving grace, my little darling.” He kissed her again.

Small sobs were still escaping her small lips. But it seemed like he was calming her down. As his daughter was calming him down. “Grace would have fitted you better, but mummy didn’t want to call you Grace,” Penelope grunted softly. “Alright, both Bennett women spoke.” He smiled down at the baby on his chest. “But then you are my Lucky Penny, aren't you Penny?”

This time his daughter cuddled closer to his chest. Tom smiled brighter, kissing his daughter longer on her forehead. “Alright, little darling, let’s go to bed. Mummy won’t mind waking up to you sleeping on my chest.”

Slowly he made his way back to the bedroom. He carefully manoeuvred himself into bed with Penelope against his chest. As he finally lay in bed, he watched as his daughter's little eyelids fell shut. Her little snores filled his ears.

Slowly, with his daughter’s comfortable weight on his chest, he fell asleep. Dreaming of his two loves laughing with him.

Main Masterlist

Can't get enough? Tell me about it...

#tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett x you #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #ewanverse

[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)

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