#tom bennett x ofc

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

'Til the Sky Burns

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

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

He'd remembered his words to her before left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She knew that look well enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?”

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

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

“What on earth are you-”

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

“Tom, I was just being nice!”

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

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

“That'd be a start, yeah.”

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

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

He was pleased at what he found.

“Miss me, did ya?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tom, please…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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#tom bennett world on fire #tom world on fire #world on fire tom bennett #world on fire tom #tom bennett smut #tom bennett x you #tom bennett #tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x female reader #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett x oc #tom bennett fan fiction #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fan fic #tom bennett fic #tom bennett fanfic #tom bennett fluff #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #12 days of smuff

[happilyhertale]

A spark of hope – Tom Bennett x female!reader

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, Misogyny

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

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

Other stories of mine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello my beautiful," he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hands off," he says with a smile.

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

You blush slightly but laugh lightly anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‚Not him again...‘ you think.

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

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

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

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

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

"Until next time," he says softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's nothing," he says softly.

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

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

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

"What is it?" you ask

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

You laugh lightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He clears his throat slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag list:

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

#tom bennett #tom bennett x you #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #tom bennett smut #tom bennett fluff #world on fire #lois bennett #ewan mitchell #tom bennett x reader #tom bennet x reader #tom bennett world on fire #ewan mitchell characters #ewan nation #tom bennett fic #tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x female reader

[fan-goddess]

Authors Note: Here’s the final one of your requests sweet anon! I literally started this yesterday so I’m happy with how quick I wrote this! I’ve separated your requests into 3 separate pieces just so it’s easier! Hope that’s okay and I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Certainly went more goofy than usual with the tags that’s for sure…

Warnings: P in v sex, public sex, Toms got a hell of a mouth, dirty talk, teasing, unprotected sex, he’s just oozing dominance, overstimulation, he’s cocky as hell, but he gets strangely bashful at the end, he’s gotta low-key breeding kink, and it’s successful, thumb sucking but not your own, degrading I think, praising also, (if I’ve missed any which I don’t doubt I have, then let me know in a way you’re comfortable with)

Taglist: @sofiyathecunt, @marvelgirl123, @sylasthegrim, @mochi-rose, @valeskafics, @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @blue-serendipity, @omgbrcat

The bar was crowded and noisy, as sailors from all ranks spread themselves all throughout the room looking for their next ‘catch of the day’.

You yourself was sitting idly by the bar, sipping your daiquirí whilst your supposed best friend was chatting up some ginger haired sailor with spectacles the size of oranges with vigour. You loved her, you really did, but she really had some unique tastes…

“And what’s a gal like you sitting all by herself in a place like this now?” A voice said, bringing you from your depressive thoughts.

When you turn to him, you’re actually surprised to see a handsome man in-front of you, dressed in his sailors uniform, with a matching hat and a cocky grin painted on his lips to match.

“Well sailor, my mates currently chatting up one of your own. And I’ve been left all on my own…” It’s amusing to you how when you mockingly pout in annoyance for a little added affect, the sailors eyes can’t stop themselves from staring at them, desire clearly swirling within them.

“Well we can’t have that can we now! A beautiful woman should never be without company I believe!” He grins, slyly touching hands with your own so his little finger can caresses your warm skin.

You choose not to answer his statement right away, instead watching with hooded eyes as his own stare pure liquid heat into your whole body, merely at the sight of your lips pursed around the straw of your drink whilst you give a small hum of amusement.

“And what are you going to do about my lack of company sailor?” You grin, placing down your now empty glass to look at him with full attention, resting your head on your hand for that extra effect.

“Well, I’ll be keeping the lady company. In any way she so pleases…” He grins, coming closer to you under the pretence of wiping something away from the corner of your mouth. Only his own mouth opens slightly in surprise and arousal, when your lips move to wrap around his thumb and bite down slightly, before removing it with a slightly wet pop and a cheeky grin.

“Well then, it’s a good thing I know exactly how you’ll be keeping me company, isn’t it sailor boy?” The cheeky carefree grin still drawn on your face.

“Yes pretty woman, it is indeed…”

It’s surprising how calm and aroused you are about fucking an absolute stranger in an abandoned and slightly dirty alleyway behind the bar. But hey, the big wars going on and you have no idea if you may die the next day. Gotta make the most of it right?

“Fuck… such a tight pussy…” The sailor boy groans, the sound alone going straight to your cunt that clenches desperately around his cock.

You have no idea his name, but that strangely makes that it all the more thrilling.

“Oh! So good!” You whine. The grip your nails have on his arms tightening as his teeth sink almost desperately into the skin of your neck. Wanton you cannot control ripping straight from your throat as he does so.

It only gets worse when that same thumb you playfully bit down earlier comes to your mouth once more to collect some of your built up saliva, and skilfully trace circles with it on your swollen clit.

You’ve got to admit, your sailor is nothing but skillful when it’s comes to a woman’s body. Not that you’re complaining of course….

“Can already feel your walls clenching down on me. You want my cum that badly inside you huh?” He huffs, grinning into the skin of your neck as he sucks dark marks you know’ll show up the next morning. It almost makes you forgive the cocky undertones that so clearly shines through.

“It’s okay love, I know you can’t help it when you’ve got a cock this big in your tight little pussy huh? Come on love, fucking cum for me already!”

You didn’t even realise how close you were until he told you. As the moment he said those words with that almost annoyingly deep seductive voice of his, your walls began to clench and your whines become muffled as you try to quieten them down by keeping your head in the curve of his neck.

Yet as you felt the euphoric feeling calm down, you realised he hasn’t even cum yet, and he was still thrusting deep inside of you like it was his last time on earth. Which to be honest, when you thought of this moment later that evening, to a man like him, it very well may have been.

“Awe it’s okay love! You can give me another one can’t you? Let’s see if we can give you another before I cum deep inside you shall we?” The sailor gives you another cocky smirk whilst his thumb still continues to draw small shapes on your clit, and all you can do to respond is whimper slightly whilst nodding your head sluggishly.

The strange buzz you begin to feel throughout your whole body is slightly painful, and yet that feeling mixed with the once again building of pleasure is something you can’t help but find almost annoyingly addictive.

So additive in fact, you can’t help but clamp your teeth tightly onto the plump skin of your lips to keep that delicious mix of pain and pleasure pumping through you.

“Awe, have I fucked my pretty girl dumb? That’s such a shame… still. I gotta tell you this is by far, the best fucking cunt in England” He emphasises his praise with a sharp thrust between each word, and you can’t stop yourself anymore from releasing your lips and beginning to desperately gasp for breath as his cock makes you feel practically breathless as he bullies you with it.

And It’s only worse for you when his cock begins to bully your sweet spot harshly and accurately.

“Fuck fuck fuck I’m gonna cum again!” You whine, your eyes screwing shut as you barely manage to get the words out.

“Hey! Eyes on me love!” His hand suddenly withdraws itself from your clits with a slight gasp you realise he’s grabbed your jaw tightly to force your eyes to look into his own, and his thumb covered in your juices is pushed into your own mouth, where you suck almost wantonly at the soaked digit with a whine.

“Yeah, that’s a good girl! Gonna cum deep inside you… and who knows. Maybe I’ll leave you with a going away present!” He chuckles, before his face screws up slightly as you feel yourself cumming around his cock, bringing him to his own orgasm with a deep erotic groan.

The two of you don’t speak for a few moments. Allowing only the sounds of your mixed heavy breaths do the talking as he releases you from his hold and the two of you begin to make yourselves presentable.

Sailor boy only needing to pull up his trousers and redo his belt, whilst you yourself pull up your underwear and adjust the shoulder straps of your dress before wiping away the slight wet trails around your mouth with your sleeves.

You look at him almost shyly as the sudden soberness hits you, whilst his own eyes hold slight sympathy when he looks over the state of your neck. No doubt already bruised and marked for all to see on the way back home.

“My names Tom by the way. Tom Bennett.” He says, finally breaking the sudden build of ice.

You shyly say your own, and a slight blush takes over your face when he repeats it back to you under his breath with a small half smile. As if to test it.

“I’m shipping off next week. Did you uhm, did you wanna maybe go somewhere to eat tomorrow night maybe for dinner? I’d ask if you wanted to go now, but now that I’m looking at you, I was wondering if you wanted to maybe go and rest back at your place first before we did anything…” It’s strange to see your sailor boy, or Tom you suppose, so shy all of a sudden. But still you can’t help yourself from smiling slightly as his much more innocent proposition than the one he gave you back in the bar.

“I’d love to do it tomorrow! I think you’re right. I may need some rest before we go somewhere… still, did you have anywhere in mind to eat?” You ask, preening slightly as he smoothly places him arm over your shoulder almost possessively and leads you out of the alley with a small smile, insisting he walks you to your home.

Whatever you do, no matter how many times you’re asked, you never tell your children this is how you met their father. Nor tell your eldest son this is how he got brought into the world…

#tom bennett/reader #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x you #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett smut #tom bennett #tom bennet x reader #world on fire smut #world on fire #ewan mitchell character

[helaelaemond]

To Be Strangers

gif by @barbieaemond

Pairing: Tom Bennett x female reader

Word count: 2.6k

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

Content warning(s): smoking, public sex

Rating: E

Ao3: here

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

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

"Got a spare?" you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what sort of girl is that?"

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

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

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

"Whatever you want it to be, sailor."

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

"I already know your name."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You're Mister Right Now."

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

"Have you?"

"Might have."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right here? Where anyone could see?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You taste like the sea."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, Tom!"

"Fuck! Yeah, like that?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Inside, Tom!"

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

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

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

"That was alright, weren't it?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Nah, not here."

You raise your eyebrow. "Oh?"

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

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

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

#tom bennett x female reader #ewan mitchell #Tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennett smut #world on fire fanfiction #tom bennett x ofc #mine #first time ive written reader fics................... SHAKING NERVOUSLY #mine pwp

[assortedseaglass]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤 & 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕠𝕣 -𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

Tom Bennett x Bess Vaughn

Tom Bennett is rebellious, cocky and listless. On the eve of World War II, Tom senses this may be his chance to leave Manchester behind. The problem? It means leaving practical, quiet and confident Bess Vaughn behind too.

Warnings: World on Fire spoilers, language, era typical sexism and ablism, sexual assault, war and injury detail, smut.

Volume I

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Volume II

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

✍Chapter Twenty Four

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #world on fire #the seamstress & the sailor #tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x reader

[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)

#my fics #tom bennett #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #world on fire #wof #world on fire bbc #world on fire season 2 #world on fire fanfiction #tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x female reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennet x reader #ewan mitchell #tom bennett smut

[lya-dustin]

Grab your knives and togas and join me on this Tumblr Holiday where we celebrate the murder of Julius Caeser.

a multifandom event since this is a multifandom blog*

OCs are welcome, encouraged even.

🥖send a prompt for a fic or moodboard where the only requirements are: must have a murder, a knife, and/or a party

🍷 write a fic or make a moodboard with the same requirements from the list above

🫒 let's play Caption This! Send a gif or picture of a character(ocs welcome if you have a face claim or drawing of them) And I'll supply the caption. You can also send the caption and i will find the gif or picture

🗡 the Gladiator Arena: send me a poll and the participants and let's see who wins the fight

*(fandoms allowed into the party:asoiaf/got/hotd, magnificent century, the ewanverse and the last kingdom, will make an exception for Tolkien)

#aemma velaryon #aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc #ewan mitchell #ewanverse #osferth x oc #osferth x reader #michael gavey #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd fanfiction #magnificent century au fanfics #tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x reader #juli's ides of march party

[arcielee]

Dancing in the Dark

Tom Bennett x OFC Summary: War is spilling over Europe and a route is being created to help POWs escape occupied France. Sometimes love does not last forever, but lasts long enough. Warnings: Smut/NSFW later on, some misogyny cause it's the 1940s Author's Note: I know the Tom and the nurse trope has been done but NOT BY ME so here we go. This shit will be short and tragic, with a possible follow up if we ever get a season 2 of World on Fire. Enjoy. ♥  Update: This is completed! Artwork by 4yvle1 and they are crazy talented, so follow them. 

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 - ende

Chapter 1

Vera walked with determined steps, her low pumps echoed on the Linoleum of the hospital floors as she walked towards the back offices. Her dark curls were pulled back and half-heartedly held with the few bobby pins she had left, but some had begun to frame her face and the severe expression she wore. 

She was mindful enough to soften her features when she would make her rounds, but in this moment she was focused on her steps as she weaved through the beds that now lined the hallways; the doctor was doing his best to accommodate the survivors of Dunkirk that continued to be brought in by the ambulance load, unwilling to turn anyone away.

In the back of the hospital was the only spare room that did not hold any patients. Inside were several desks, one for each doctor assigned. Sitting at the desk in the back corner sat Dr. O’Connor with a mug in his hand and two newspapers, the L'Action Francaise in his other hand and one from Great Britain opened on his desk, his eyes moving between them. 

Vera walked to the hooks the doctor had placed on the wall adjacent to his desk, allowing her and Henriette to hang their personal items and purses. His attention broke away to watch her, a smile splayed across his boyish features.  “Guten Tag, Vera, I am finishing up this devastating article that Henriette was good enough to translate for me,” he gestured to the newspaper in hand, “and I am enjoying a cup of coffee, which will have to suffice for breakfast today.” 

She found she struggled with his American humor, often unsure how to respond to his words and the smile he wore, despite the grim headlines printed on both papers. Her brow had a slight furrow and she reached for her nursing apron. “It is very busy, Arzt,” was all she managed.

“Doctor,” he placed his hand onto his chest. “Or, since we are friends, you can call me Webster, like everyone else.” 

Vera did consider the young doctor a friend.

They had been introduced by his aunt, a woman named Nancy Campbell, who she was fortunate to become neighbors with when her father relocated them to Berlin, with him pushing to become a more active member of the NDSAP. He, of course, loathed the American woman and found her crude, but Vera was enthralled by her bold ideas and her unabashed drive to search for the truth. Nancy was quick to recognize her disdain for the Nazi party, offering her apartment as a reprieve from her father, where she would help her with her English and share a glass of brandy. 

Nancy had been good to help her purchase a ticket for Brussels, where she found a nursing program and a chance for her freedom. She had even offered to call a favor with her nephew, who had just moved to Paris. “He’s a darling boy, you'll adore him,” she had said. 

Vera was assigned to the independent facility after she graduated and did find that she was fond of Nancy’s nephew, a young man named Webster O'Connor. He was very much the personification of an All-American man, with a boyish grin to his often teasing words and a genuine kindness behind his eyes. He was good to keep her at his side and introduced her to Henriette, who was also kind enough to help Vera with the little bit of French she knew. 

This had come in handy to help her mask her Hannover dialect that she found often alarmed their new patients, since the majority were now soldiers.  

Vera tsked at his request. “I do not understand the work you have invested to get this degree, doctor,” her accent flared with the new word and broke it into two distinct syllables, “and then request to be called Webster.”

“You sound like my mother.” Dr. O’Connor, as always, was never deterred by her directness. “Sehr gut,” he complimented her on the pronunciation of the new word. Very good.

Her smile was brief with her exhale as she finished the knot of her apron strings in the front. She found him to be peculiar, but she also appreciated that he continued his constant coaching of her English during the shifts they shared together. 

The office door opened again and they both looked up to see Henriette peering in, her dark brown eyes bright. Dr. O’Connor sighed and folded his paper to lay on the desk top, pushing his chair back to stand. “I know, I know. I am needed, as always,” he said. 

“You are correct, Webster,” she replied with her French lilt and a smile. “You are very much needed.” She saw Vera grabbing a tin basin and restocking with gauze, ointments, et cetera to prepare for her rounds. “Your boy has finally awakened, Vera,” she said, her smile now sly. 

Vera felt a blush creep across her ivory cheeks and she avoided the look from Dr. O’Connor. “Oh? Is this our comatose Navy man?” His cheeky grin could be heard with his words.

When he had been admitted, the name on his dog tag read Bennett, Thomas and she knew little else other than he served in the Navy, or assumed by the blood soaked uniform he had been wearing when he was brought in. Patient unconscious with a gunshot wound to his left shoulder, possible head trauma, were the words written by the doctor on his chart and Vera happened to be on staff when he began treatment. She continued to follow up with him, keeping the Navy man in her daily rotations. 

It had been late one night when she finished her walkthrough, before her shift ended, that she stopped to check on him. He was bare from his waist up, his arm and abdomen wrapped in gauze with a dark purple bruising that spread across his chest and shoulder. She leaned forward to check that the blood had staunch and paused, her eyes looking over his sharp jawline and the curl of his lips. Without a thought in her head, her hand reached to brush away his golden locks when she heard a giggle behind her. 

Her hand froze and in one motion, she rightened her posture and spun on her heel to find Dr. O’Connor, the grinning fool, and Henriette, who at least had the decency to hide her smile behind her hand. 

“He is very handsome, no?” Her voice was soft as she raised a brow. 

Vera made an attempt to flee the hospital and they followed her towards the office, begging her not to leave but to stay and share a stout. “We are friends, are we not?” Henriette hung onto her arm, her brown eyes pleading. 

“C’mon, Vera, we are only teasing you,” Dr. O’Connor had jumped in. “It’s just… we’ve had quite a few men come through our doors and it was just surprising that someone finally… piqued your interest, is all.”

Vera was flustered. “I did not become a nurse as some ploy to get my M-R-S,” her tone was sharp, with a flourish on each letter. “I am doing what is right, what is my duty.” 

“Of course, of course,” he soothed, his hand touched her elbow and he began to walk towards the door; Henriette grabbed her own purse and followed. “No one is doubting your intentions. It’s just nice to see, ya know, you have a little crush.” He wore that same damned cheeky smile. “It makes you human.” 

Her eyes had narrowed onto him, but she still agreed to go with them and have a drink. They talked into the night, sharing their different pathways that brought them to the hospital, their liquored tongues confiding in one another. It gave her a true sense of friendship, an unspoken bond that would follow them within the hospital walls, and she found she did not mind it and even enjoyed their company. 

“He is quite the handful, Vera,” Henriette continued to tease her.

That was until this moment. 

“I guess, I will begin my rounds with him,” she struggled to keep her tone flippant and ignored their exchange of amused expressions with each other. She lifted her supplies to rest on her hip and followed them from the office, towards the growing commotion. 

“Get your dirty, grubby hands off me now!”

She heard a man yell and saw ahead that Jacques tried to hold Bennett, Thomas to the bed. Vera was quick to push past them, her hands reaching to rest on his legs. Her touch halted him for a moment and she saw his face was flushed, his eyes focused on Vera and her cheeks burned at the intensity of his blue eyes. “Let me go and I’ll take my chances!” His voice pleaded.  

Jacques was careful to press on his abdomen, avoiding his injuries and keeping him from leaving his assigned bed. “Hey, listen!” He tried to reason with him. “If you leave now, you will die!”

His attention returned to Jacques and he cocked his head, his face burned with his anger and it amplified the blue of his wide eyes. “Oh, so I just stay here and surrender? Like you lot?” He gave a sharp scoff as his eyes looked over the staff by his bedside. “Paris has fallen–she just told me!” 

Vera kept her grip on his legs, throwing her eyes back to the doctor and Henriette; her eyes widened and Dr. O’Connor kept his gaze on him, his expression solemn as he listened. 

“And not a shot fired!” He cried out and then his eyes narrowed as he emphasized his following words. “How is a bunch of cowards going to keep me safe?”

Her own hold loosened as she looked to Jacques and the sudden change in his mien. “Pardon?” His dark eyes burned in response to the words and his brow furrowed, pressing forward.   

“Jacq!” Henriette was quick to grab his arm, pulling him from the bed.  “Laisse-le.” Leave him.

He allowed himself to be pulled away, throwing a disgusted look back at the Navy man, who seemingly relaxed once the personified restraint was gone. His piercing eyes returned to Vera and she peered at his chest, noticing the bandages had shifted in the altercation and fresh blood began to seep through. “You have opened your wound,” but as soon as the words left her lips, she saw his gaze focus on her mouth. 

“Christ.” His expression was incredulous. “It seems the krauts are already here with their nursebands.” 

Her eyes narrowed in return. “Our staff has been devoted to helping you,” she snapped, her tone low. 

“You think you’ve helped me?” He was propped onto his elbows, his agitation still apparent on his flushed face. “Thanks to your help, I’m in a city crawling with Nazis,” his eyes fixated on her with the word. There was a moment she thought he might spit, but instead he fell back to the bed, wincing, and rolled onto his good shoulder away from them. “Now piss off and let me die in peace.” 

Vera was quick to stand, her cheeks flushed as she grabbed her basin and walked from the bed. Her strides brought her to the end of the hallway and she could hear the heavy steps of the doctor behind her. “Vera, please!” She turned and saw the same genuine concern imprinted on his face. “He was just in shock and he didn’t-” 

Vera grabbed his arm, pulling him aside to avoid any spectating eyes. “It is okay, Webster.” She struggled with his nickname and he gave a small smile. “I should have expected this, it is the world we live in right now.” She exhaled, shifting the tin to her other hip. “It was just a silly crush and it will not affect my work. I will do my rounds and will see him last, when his temper has cooled.” 

Dr. O’Connor looked at her for a moment and she could see him repressing an urge to hug her, but he, gratefully, kept his arms to his side and offered her a tight smile. She returned it with a nod and then moved back into the hallway, towards the first bed and grabbed the chart from the end. 

As the war grew closer, their patient intake had changed and she was accustomed to the hesitation from the soldiers they now treated. Vera minimized her speech, only using the bit of French from grade school and Henriette’s coaching to reply to them, attempting to camouflage her German accent as best she could. 

After the response of the Navy man, she would be more diligent. 

The day continued and rolled towards dusk, the orange rays of the setting sun peered through the large windows. She checked through her patients, some requiring more attention than others, before she finally made her way back to Bennett, Thomas. 

He was still on his side, having sulked himself to sleep with his arms crossed in front and his lips parted with his steady breathing. She watched him for a moment, a small smile to her lips, and she reached to touch his elbow, hoping it would be the least intrusive wake up for him. 

He opened his eyes and groaned when he rolled onto his back, turning to see her. “Christ, kraut,” he murmured, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Do you not understand ‘piss off’?”

The smile evaporated and her expression returned to severe, her eyes narrowing onto him again. “I must change your bandage,” she struggled to keep her tone controlled. “Your tantrum earlier possibly ruptured your injury.” 

“Gimme a moment, I know how you can understand,” his lips had a cruel curve as he brought himself to his elbows to face her. “Verpiss dich?”

Vera refused to be bullied; her expression steeled and she brought two fingers to press into his bloodied bandaged. He winced and fell back against the thin mattress. “You are injured,” she pronounced each word with an added emphasis. “You will be quiet and allow me to change this damn bandage or I can allow your injury to put you in a septic shock, letting your organs fail you one-by-one.” She leaned back, her hands moving to smooth her apron and left a smear of blood. “Your choice, Bennett.”

He watched her and his expression changed, with an almost look of amusement that played across his face despite how his own eyes were still narrowed onto her. Perhaps he had not expected her to snap back at him, she did not know, but he did not say another word as he pushed himself to sit upright in the bed. 

Vera sighed, sitting on the bed’s edge, and began to remove his soiled bandages; her touch was gentle and her hands cool as she cleaned and checked the lesion before reaching for fresh gauze. He remained quiet and his eyes were watchful, lifting his arm with a grimace as she wrapped around his abdomen.  

Her eyes remained focused on the task at hand, refusing to allow them to wander elsewhere on the Navy man and prayed for the color to leave her cheeks. When she finished, she moved to stand and he grasped her elbow to hold her back. She turned to look at him and saw his cerulean blue eyes stare back. “Danke,” he said with a smirk. 

Vera looked at him a moment and pulled away, grabbing her supplies and moving back towards the office. What she did not see was the Navy man who leaned back onto his bed, cocking his head to admire the swish of her skirt as she walked away.

----

Chapter 2

#tom bennett #world on fire #we need more tom bennett fanfic #tom bennett x ofc #ao3 #thanks for reading #♥ #dancing in the dark

[evita-shelby]

Tie your heart to mine

Summer 1939

On the road with the Lee and Dogs Family, Diane Shelby, eldest daughter of Thomas Shelby and his Mexican wife, Eva, meets Tom Bennett at a dance hall in Longsight where his sister Lois is playing.

An unlikely romance blossoms just as the war her mother predicted long ago arrives at their doorstep.

(Or World on Fire meets Peaky Blinders)

Rated :T (for now)

Taglist: @thegreatdragonfruta @peakyblindas @arcielee

Peaky Blinders fic where Diane is from

Moodboards:

Diane moodboard

How sweet it is

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

One shots: with the punctuality of a headlong train

Wrap my teeth around the world (moodboard and blurb)

#tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x oc #tom bennett x diane shelby #oc:diane shelby #eva smith shelby #world on fire peaky blinders crossover #ewan mitchell #world on fire #tom bennett x reader

[lynnbeth5172]

Murder In The Palace Theater

Summery: After the war, Tom tries finding work somewhere and ends up finding work at a detective firm.

A/N: This is very random and I’m sorry, first true time writing Tom

Warnings: Mentions of war and death, Tom kinda struggling with smoking.

…

1945

It was a simple day for Tom, cigarette in his mouth and reading a newspaper; he felt like his father in this position, turning the paper and scanning the words on it. While the sounds of his niece talking to her toy was filling his ears, The newspaper talked of the things going on and advertisements for jobs, though some looked increasingly boring than the last.

The noise of his niece, Lily. Playing with her stuffed toy and talking to it came to a stop as she then got up and walked to where Tom sat, putting her stuffed rabbit on the floor and making her way to the chair he sat in.

“What’re you reading?” Tom looked at Lily then at the paper in hand, stubbing out his cigarette in his ash tray.  He didn’t see her face scrunch in slight disgust as he put the cigarette out.

“Newspaper, lookin for jobs.” 

He knew that it was bad to smoke around children, his own niece for that matter. But he couldn’t bring himself to truly stop, it helped with a lot of things; his nightmares of the war, the lurking feeling that something’s gonna go to shit, Lois sometimes would even take his cigarettes away to encourage him to stop.

His thoughts were cut short as he felt the feeling of Lily’s chin on his shoulder. She was on tiptoes to look over the newspaper, where it showed very few job advertisements. Some advertised working at a bakery, some at a small mechanic shop.

“They all look dull.” Lilly complained as she looked at the bakery advertisement which showed a woman holding a pie and smiling, Tom looked at the image in the paper then back at his niece.

“You think I’d be dull at baking?” Lilly nodded and pointed at the bakery advertisement.

“You’d be rotten at it, mum said that you’re terrible at making a cuppa.” He had to suppress a laugh, of course his sister would tell her daughter how bad of a cook he was; when he and Lois were young and tried making food for themselves or for their parents, Tom would always end up burning the food or his hand. He had gotten slightly better at making food for the day but not as good as Lois or his mum were.

“Fair enough.” He scanned the paper and noticed an ad for an assistant a private detective firm, at that moment he heard the door open and Lily removing her chin from his shoulder and running to the door. 

Tom put down the paper and offered a smile to his sister, Lois looked slightly tired with light purple bags under her eyes. Kissing her daughter’s forehead as she then walked towards Tom and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, moving away to look at him. He offered a small smile to his sister.

“Long day?” She only nodded and lightly shook her head to shake off the tiredness, Lois noticed the newspaper on his lap and raised a brow at him.

“Found anything yet that’s suits you?”  Tom glanced at his sister who took the toy from the ground and gave it back to Lily, who had her fingers to her mouth as she bit at them.

“There’s one for a detective firm, seems like a good pay.” He picked up the paper again and reread the ad for the detective firm, it reminded him of the stories Lois used to read when they were younger. About the world’s smartest detective finding out cases of murder, sometimes she’d read them to him; the ones that were less gruesome though Tom didn’t mind those ones either.

“Uncle Tom would be a good Sherlock Holmes,” Lily smiled at him to which Tom lightly mussed her hair. A small habit he enjoyed doing, watching her hair become slightly frizzed from him.

“Thank you, little Lily.” He resisted the urge to light another fag in front of his niece, he used to do it a lot when she was a baby. Before she started questioning things around her like why Tom always had something in his mouth that he lit, Lois smiled at them as Lily then excused herself to go to the washroom. Leaving the siblings alone.

“Tom you sure you want to do this job?” It wasn’t an impolite question just a gentle prod, Tom simply shrugged and got up to pour himself a glass of water, using the cup that Lois had given him once.

“It looks the least boring and it looks like it’d pay good, plus I think I can be a good detective.”

“Just doesn’t seem like the job for you considering…everything you went through.” She didn’t say more but he figured what she was saying, he took in a breath and considered her words. She was probably right in that matter, that being a detective wasn’t the best idea, he still had trouble with blood. Anything that nears the color of blood made him feel queasy and uncomfortable, leading him to slightly dislike the color.

Tom didn’t speak as he then turned on the radio to fill the silence that grew between them, it was broken was Lily came out of the washroom and the two of them spoke to the young girl as if they didn’t just have a small debate about Tom getting a job.

Lois and Lily left after a bit, leaving Tom to turn off the radio and lighting a cigarette glancing at the newspaper before walking to his room, bringing his ash tray and smoking on his bed. It felt odd to not share a room with his sister anymore, him and Lois shared the same room since they were kids; sometimes they hated it and sometimes they enjoyed the company of each other, with the occasional pillow thrown by Lois whenever he smoked.

He missed it honestly, the sound of his sister’s breathing slowing as she fell asleep. It was oddly comforting and sometimes helped him be lulled asleep, moments like these made Tom slightly yearn for his younger years when he didn’t have to worry about nightmares about men dying. Instead just worrying about either a scolding from his father or getting caught up in a fight at the pub, he knew it was stupid to think about the past. There was no point fretting over it since it happened, his father died and now it’s just him and his sister, this time without them sharing a room.

Putting the cigarette out and turning off the lights, Tom changed and went under the blanket. Hoping that maybe he won’t have a nightmare about the war or anything scarring.

…

She woke to the sound of a child crying as she opened her eyes, soon being assaulted by the sunlight that shone from her window, Ada rubbed at her eyes to help wake herself more. Wondering what the time was as she quickly got out of bed to get ready for the day, she hurriedly fixed her hair into looking at least decent and changed into a simple dress. Putting on a coat for the chill of the day, she put on her shoes and quickly walked to the kitchen where her cousin was; a piece of toast was on the table and Ada took it and immediately ate it, ignoring the tea that was next to the toast.

“In a rush?” Her cousin, Shauna. Glanced up from where she was cooking breakfast and Ada simply smiled, it wasn’t the first time she had scarfed her food down but she knew that she’d probably get sick if she kept doing it.

“Finley doing better?” Her cousins son had gotten sick due to the changing weather, developing a cough that her cousin had treated with pills. His coughs had lessened but he still had a cough and a runny nose, he stayed in his room most times where Shauna or Ada would give him tea to help with his throat.

“He says that he feels a bit better though he did cry since his throat hurt from coughing,” Ada chewed her lip and sipped some of her tea. Moving to where her cousin was and offering a gentle squeeze to Shauna’s shoulder, then walking to Finley’s room to see him; the small boy was laying on his side and holding his teddy bear, sniffling and rubbing his nose with his arm.

“Morning Finney,” Ada leaned against his doorway slightly as she nearly tripped on one of his toys that laid about. She made a small reminder to herself to maybe clean up his room when she gets back from work, the small boy did nothing but cough and offer a little smile.

“Morning aunt Ada.” The word aunt always felt odd to her, she wasn’t technically his aunt as she was his mother’s cousin, though after a while he had taken to calling her an aunt. She supposed she was a makeshift aunt due to his actual aunts and uncles not wanting to really deal with him.

She carefully made her way over the toys that were strewn around his bedroom, since he was sick he had taken to just sitting in his bed and playing with his toys. Sometimes leaving the bed to sit on the floor or just staying in bed and playing. Leaning down slightly to press a small kiss to his temple, she leaned back up and carefully left the room, closing the door behind her as she called that she loved him and that she’ll be back later on.

Opening the door she immediately felt the chill hit her, the breeze blowing her hair and making it tangle slightly. She grit her teeth and continued walking to her place of work, she tried moving a bit faster but ended up running into an elder man who was holding a newspaper. He cursed at her slightly but ended up apologizing as she then gave him his newspaper back; when she finally made it to her place of work, her hands felt slightly numb as she opened the door. Immediately closing it afterwards.

As Ada walked in she made it to her small space where she worked, beginning to work as the sound of people around her talking filled her ears. It wasn’t much just having to use the typewriter to either type out missing cases or sometimes searching in the small archives, if anything it was a job she could get used to. She’s been doing the job since 1940 though there was a hold on work when the war got bad, thankfully the firm wasn’t hit although work was put on hold until they were able to get back to work again. Besides the murder cases that they had to deal with, some unsolved and some solved.

“Ada.” She looked up and noticed one of her fellow workers, Tim. Looking down at her from where she sat.

“Hm?”

“Mr Hodge would like to see you,” she looked curious and got up, feeling a small ache to her legs as she got up. Pain shooting to her legs but she walked to where his office was, the small plate on the door reading “Matthew Hodge”. She heard voices at the other end of the door and knocked, waiting for a few moments as she looked down and took a deep breath. Even if she’s worked for this man for a few years now, he still managed to make her feel nervous.

After another moment she heard him say she could come in and opened the door; the first thing she noticed was that there was another person in the chair across from Mr Hodge, it was another man who looked to be the same age as her. He had dirty blonde hair and when he turned around to face her, she noticed his eyes which were a lovely shade of blue.

“You wished to see me?” She hesitated slightly removed her gaze from the man and onto Mr Hodge, for a man in his 50s he had wrinkles and fine lines on his face particularly near his eyes. He was a thin man though looked quite tired, though he hadn’t fought in the war it looked as if he had. Dark patches of purple appearing under his eyes but he still managed to look cheerful despite it.

“Yes, I’d like to introduce you to our new hire.” He gestured to the man and Ada gave him a polite smile as Mr Hodge introduced him as Mr Tom Bennett.

“Tom I’d like you to introduce you to Ada, she has been with this firm for six years now and has done quite well.” He gave a smile to her and Ada smiled back, feeling a bit flattered by his words. Glancing back at Mr Tom, she offered her hand for him to shake.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr Bennett.” The man looked at her hand then at her face, a cheeky smile growing on his lips as he took her hand. His hand felt cool in hers as he shook it.

“Pleased to meet you as well, Miss Ada.” He held her grip for a second longer before letting it go and looking back at Mr Hodge, he then went on to explain to Mr Bennett how she’ll be helping him know how to do work at the firm.

“It’ll be nice to have another face to see, usually since we work in a small workplace we tend not to see many new faces.” Ada found herself smiling as she said that, it was true. Since it was quite a quiet buisness they tended to just be used to each other’s presence.

“Well then I’m happy to be a new face to see, especially to you.” He offered a small wink to her and she politely smiled, Ada was used to men flirting with her. Especially being one of two women there, most of them were polite enough when she turned down their offer of drinking at the pub or more though there were also a few who didn’t take too well.

“Did you have any line of work before this?”

“Served in the navy during the war,” his smile dimmed slightly when saying that as he looked down for a moment before looking back up.

“A sailor…” She didn’t know how a sailor would end up working in a detective firm though she supposed needing money means doing random jobs, even if it weren’t a random job.

“Got a problem with that?” He quirked a brow at her and she quickly shook her head, feeling heat rise to her face.

“No but I suppose the last thing I expect a sailor to work at is in a private detective firm,” she shrugged and glanced at Mr Hodge who cleared his throat to speak to Mr Tom again.

“Well hopefully you’d be able to learn how to work here quickly.” He made a small gesture for Ada to leave and with one last glance at Mr Tom she left, closing the door behind her to go back to working. Walking back to her small desk of work, she began working again as she tried to ignore the feeling of something fluttering inside her.

It really would be nice to have a new face around…especially one like Tom Bennett.

…

So this is my true first time writing Tom, if this is bad then I’m so sorry. Thanks to @zaldritzosrose for sorta helping me with ideas and doing a moodboard for them both.

I do hope you find this somewhat enjoyable and if it isn’t then again I’m so sorry

Small Taglist: @bellaisasleep @liv-cole @zaldritzosrose @wolfdressedinlace @prettymuchteddy @arcielee

@sepherinaspoppies @fan-goddess @thought--bubble @rafeism

#tom bennett #tom bennett x ofc #world on fire #i have no idea #im so so so sorry

[happilyhertale]

hello! I was hoping to send in a tom bennett x reader request that I have in mind.

basically, reader is sent off by her father to have an arranged marriage with an older, rich man. she's young and still has a whole life ahead of her however she decides not to fight against her father and does what pleases him. reader feels miserable, her husband barely acknowledges her and when he does, he says nasty things.

one night, she stumbles upon a man, tom bennett. two end up beginning a secret love affair of sorts. please? 💜

Life anchor – Tom Bennett x female!reader, Part 1

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem!reader

Warnings: Misogyny, light violence

Author’s note: Hey you (:

A little Tom Bennett story requested by the wonderful @chainsawsangel 💕

Sorry it took me so long to write this! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 2.9k

Part 2, Part 3

Other stories of mine

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"No discussion. You will marry him"

You just looked at your father in disbelief. A burning spread through your eyes, brought on by the tears that blurred your vision.

Yet you refused to give in.

"You can't be serious... He is almost your age, father!" you tried to say in a firm voice, but your voice threatened to fail.

A sigh left your father, "It's our chance..."

"... your father. It's your chance," you had interrupted him.

"It's our chance for me to cement my place in politics. To earn more money. He can guarantee us that. You just have to agree to marry him," your father said to you.

Single tears now ran over the rim of your eyes. You looked to the side and tried to suppress a sob. A heaviness spread through your chest that would not let you go for a long time.

"Father... please don't do this to me..." you whispered without looking at him.

But at first there was no reply from your father and you had to make sure that he had not left the room. But when you looked to him, you saw that his gaze was fixed on you.

"We have no choice," he said to you quietly.

From then on you knew that you had no choice - you had to marry William.

In those moments, your suffering began to grow. In the prime of your early twenties, you found yourself married to a man who had outlived nearly fifty years of his life. Since that union, a heavy unease has settled in your chest that refuses to go away.

William has a face that is not far from attractive; some would even dare to call it attractive. If only his inner character didn't cast a shadow over his outer appearance. While his physical stature is tall and his mane of hair exudes a lush darkness, it is the elegance of his clothing that always graces him, coupled with the incessant curve of a smile on his lips.

On the surface, he treats you with an almost warm politeness. And yet, in this realm beyond the surface, he remains uninterested in the totality of your being, unmoved by your passions or aspirations that truly define you as a person. In his perception, you are nothing more than a decorative facade, a charming companion on his arm. The words between the two of you are sparse, relegated to a realm of brevity.

When confronted with problems or troubling circumstances in his immediate environment, he brandishes his wealth as the ultimate remedy. His conviction is based on the notion that the amount of financial resources directly correlates to a person's intrinsic worth. He conveys this conviction by subliminally making his interlocutors feel inferior compared to him. You find disgust in this pretense and detest the artificial facades he puts on.

The house in which you live is surrounded by a huge green space. It is a really pretty property, but still you feel lost there. It is oversized, its rooms reflect emptiness. And those who share most of your time there are your employees. The fact that William is rarely present doesn't bother you - solitude is a cherished companion.

In the midst of this house there is a room set aside just for your comfort. When the burden of your heart becomes too heavy, you retreat there to rest. It is a refuge to bear the burden in your chest.

William's return often takes place under the gaze of the moon, the late hours being his time of arrival. But at times, a communal dinner graces the quiet nights. Occasionally, when you are already in bed together, he becomes a nocturnal partner. His body language varies - sometimes averted, sometimes seeking closeness. Almost like a dance between your husband's ignorance and his desire to be intimate with you.

There is an undeniable lack of zeal in this scenario. You endure it with unwavering stoicism and wait patiently for him to complete his act. As soon as sleep catches up with him and he has his back turned to you again, you rise and quietly retreat to the bathroom. Hidden in a cabinet is a small vial of diluted acetic acid. Using an pipette, you wash his semen from your body with it. The weight on your chest, which never leaves you, is almost unbearable at such moments.

One evening, William opens up to you that you are going to visit an adjacent naval ship. It is of great importance - well, not to you.

The naval ship is docked in your city's harbor, almost like a symbol of England's maritime power and importance. Politicians of the highest importance have been invited to join an expedition aboard this ship, meet its dedicated crew, and make connections.

William has agreed to participate in this momentous event, and by his side you will find yourself in his presence as an escort. On a quiet afternoon, you set out on your way. First you will visit the berth of the ship and later you will move on to a nearby banquet hall, for a small celebration with the crew and the politicians.

In the midst of this journey, a gentle rain falls from the sky, decorating the window panes of the carriage in glistening rivulets. The reverberations of William's words ring dully in your ears, and your nods of time punctuate the conversation as you are drawn to the fleeting ballet of raindrops on the glass.

As the car approaches its destination, the port's towering cranes wave like sentinels of industry, drawing your gaze to the ships resting on the calm water. Your gaze falls on the naval vessel. "H.M.S. Keith" you read as the car passes the ship. A strange name for a ship, you think to yourself. The car stops, a sign that you have reached your destination and it is time to put on a smile.

Even before your feet hit solid ground, William stands resolutely in the midst of his comrades-in-arms, deeply engrossed in a speech.

A smile curls your lips as you make your way to his side. Your smile is reflected on the lips of the other wives, who also stand beside their husbands.

In the midst of the gathering, your gaze falls upon the captain of the ship, a prominent figure emerging from the sanctuary of the vessel. He embodies the essence of a leader. His portly figure is crowned by a cap, behind which hides hair made silver by time and experience.

He greets the ladies with a gallant gesture and gives each hand a gentle kiss. Inside, your familiar heaviness weighs on your chest, a weight that threatens to impede the rising and falling of your breath, but you wear your smile undaunted like an ornate mask.

With a fluid movement, the captain turns his attention to the gentlemen, and together they enter the waiting ship. The men walk ahead of their wives, almost like obedient dogs you trot along behind them. You are led to the upper deck and find yourself in the midst of cramped quarters. You realize that the men are doing their work in this confined space day after day, entangled in the toils of war.

Your thoughts are momentarily interrupted as you come face to face with the assembled crew. A disciplined line of sailors stands before you, and as the eyes of the sailors notice the presence of the women, a chorus of whistles sounds playfully through the air. Quickly, the captain steps in and restores decorum to his ranks. With a mixture of curiosity and fascination, you gaze at the unfamiliar faces until your gaze lingers on a pair of steely blue eyes. Unable to break the connection, you feel trapped as his gaze seems to peer into the depths of your soul.

Suddenly, a faint smile graces his lips, making your heart flutter. As if in a trance, you avert your gaze, and a blush of surprise coats your cheeks as you notice William at your side. His arm wraps around your waist. You return his gaze. There is a slight irritation in William's gaze as he notices the color of your cheek. But the blank smile replaces his irritation almost immediately.

"Come on, let's leave the smelly guys behind, we're going to the banquet hall," he whispers to you. You make an effort to agree with him with a gentle smile and a subtle nod. You turn and follow William down the path into the hall, steel-blue gazes lingering on you until you disappear completely from his view.

Entering the banquet hall, you are led to a table where influential elite are gathered. An interplay of cigar smoke and the amber swirl of whiskey dances through the air. Laughter resounds like a melody, even if some of the banter is not particularly sophisticated. The tightness in your chest almost incessantly present.

From time to time you eat a snack from your plate and occasionally take a delicate sip of wine, but the moments drag on like an eternity. The steel-blue eyes do not leave your thoughts. At some point you are so absorbed that you no longer notice much of the conversations around you.

"What do you think of that?" William asks you suddenly. You look at him a little startled, "Apologise. What did you mean?" you ask him.

"Little silly... Caught up in your thoughts again...", he chuckles lightly.

"George here just had the idea that it would be a wonderful idea to join the sailors on the ship for a day," William says to you.

"Why would that be?" it slips out.  William laughs lightly and the other men agree.

"Well, so that we can show that the elite care about these men," William answers your question.

You look at him. You have little to no desire to spend time on a ship. But you smile slightly and nod slightly.

"Excuse me," you say quietly and stand up from the table. With purposeful steps you walk towards the bar as a slight ache returns to your chest, almost overwhelming in its intensity, seeking comfort. The bartender greets you with a warm smile and your request for a martini is effortlessly fulfilled. Conversation is minimal, words an unnecessary bridge to your needs.

As the martini stands before you, embodying in its clear form the calm you wish to feel within you, you do not hesitate for long. With practised ease, you lift the glass and its contents find refuge within you in a single, deliberate movement. You pinch your eyes shut briefly as the liquid fire flows down your throat, leaving a stimulating trail in its wake.

As you awaken from this fleeting reverie, you become aware of a presence beside you. A subtle jolt of surprise runs through you, only to be quickly replaced by recognition - those steel blue eyes, captivating and familiar, are upon you again. A soft blush adorns your cheeks once more, accompanied by a barely audible clearing of the throat, a modest attempt to regain your composure in the face of this unexpected encounter.

"Hello, love...", he says in his deep voice, "... I'm Tom," he smiles at you.

You can't help but surrender to his voice. A smile spreads across your face.

His gaze bores into yours again and he too begins to smile. Only his seems to be surrounded by a lightness.

"Don't ya want to tell me your name?" he finally says.

You chuckle lightly and shake your head gently.

"Excuse me. Hello Tom, I'm y/n," you finally say.

His smile widens and exposes his slightly crooked teeth. His smile makes you feel warmth in your chest where otherwise there is only room for the usual heaviness.

"Hello y/n. And... ya like to drink alone?", he asks you without his gaze leaving you.

Your gaze goes from his smile back to his eyes, "Well... Sometimes that is the only thing that helps you," you say honestly and order another drink.

Tom watches you intently, his gaze fixed on the fine furrow in your brow and the heaviness that envelops your smile. The fact that your smile does not reach your eyes strikes him almost immediately. Clearly a weight rests on your thoughts. He chooses silence rather than words, however, and lets his attentive gaze rest on you.

As you also take your next drink almost in one go, Tom reacts gently yet firmly as you put the glass down. He grabs your hand, an unspoken invitation for you to follow him. A shock of surprise runs through you, but the alcohol in your veins transforms your reaction into an unexpected giggle.

Amidst the pulsating rhythm of the dance floor, he brings you to a standstill. Couples sway and spin around you, a sea of movement and you in the midst of it. You can't help but smile, and your joy is reflected in Tom's expression. His hand is on your hip, and his other hand tenderly intertwines his fingers with yours.

"What are you doing?" you ask quietly, but still smiling.

"Well... love... I think it's called dancing," he says cheekily as he begins to lead you across the dance floor.

Enveloped in an irrepressible lightness, your laughter blends in harmoniously. His steps, which deviate from the usual dance steps, find a unique cadence that stages a dance all its own. Amidst the elegance emanating from the neighbouring couples, your finesse may differ, but with each passing moment, his rhythm becomes a familiar melody for you.

A perpetual grin adorns Tom's face, proof of the joy that unites you in this improvised waltz you dance together. With each successive step, the distance between you decreases and the feeling of his touch makes its way through your bodies like a gentle current. The longer the dance goes on, the more its warmth becomes an embrace that you long for. The outside world no longer exists for you.

But like a curtain falling over a fleeting act, the pleasure is abruptly interrupted. Unexpectedly, William appears in front of you and interrupts the enchanting choreography.

"Y/n. What are you doing?" he asks you, without even giving Tom a glance.

"Well... I think it's called dancing," you say before you realise how cheeky your answer is. The alcohol and Tom's lightness rubbing off on you make you answer.

William looks at you, doesn't make a face. But suddenly a small smile appears on his lips, but you know that smile.

"Of course..." is all he says before he grabs your wrist and pulls you along. You cast a fleeting glance over your shoulder and see Tom looking after you, his steel-blue eyes gazing at you almost longingly. In this quick moment, you don't get a chance to say goodbye.

As your attention returns to William, you realise that his gaze is fixed firmly on you, an intensity that makes you shudder.

"You will not disrespect me like that again, is that clear?" he hisses in your ear as he pulls you closer to him.

"You can't just dance with the pack!" he adds.

You glare at him as he literally pulls you outside and comes to a stop.

"You want to spend a day on the ship with this pack, but I can't dance with this pack?" you ask him.

Your head flies to the side as you feel the blow against your cheek. A beeping sounds in your ear and you gasp slightly. Your eyes are squeezed shut and tears rise almost simultaneously, but you try to ignore the pain.

"Do you want to offer yourself as a whore because you disagree with something?" he hisses at you.

Your cheek throbs and you have trouble following William's words. You hold your cheek with your hand, hoping that the pain will subside. Slowly you turn your gaze back to William.

"I will not tolerate my wife behaving like this. And you will obey me," he almost shouts at you, emphasising every word with his raised index finger pointed at you. You say nothing, not a word passes your lips. You just nod slightly, your hand still on your cheek.

Silently, William leads you to the car, his grip tight and locked around your upper arm. He literally barks at the smoking driver that he wants a ride home immediately.

Your cheeks are on fire, the blow leaves a rosy hue, and your tears, by now running down your cheek, give your skin an almost glistening touch.

A heavy silence prevails the whole time, and you do not perceive a single word from William's lips. When you arrive at the house, you retreat to your room without many words. Seeking refuge from his presence that night.

Nestled in a cocoon of blankets and pillows, your gaze rises to the ceiling as your thoughts weave a tapestry of memories. Your mind wanders to Tom - his laughing gestures, the way his touch ignited as he led you across the dance floor. The abrupt end, heralded by William. You roll onto your side and snuggle against your pillow, its soft embrace giving you comfort. But before you can think about it further, sleep envelops you and takes hold of your consciousness.

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Tag list

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

#tom bennett #tom bennett x you #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #tom bennett smut #tom bennett fluff #world on fire #lois bennett #ewan mitchell #hotd #tom bennett x reader #tom bennet x reader #ewan nation #tom bennett x ofc

[bleulone]

WHISPER IN THE DARK: o. — prologue (rewritten)

a Tom Bennett fanfiction | Fandom: World On Fire. Rating: Mature. Status: On going. Slow updates. Type: Canon compliant, Pre Canon. Tags: Tom Bennett/Orginal Female Character, 1930s, Angst and Feels, Cinema, Coming of Age, Family, Fluff, Forbidden Romance (kinda), Hurt/Comfort, Inter-class Romance, Jazz Age, Mature Themes, Mention of Sexism, Period Drama, Romance, Romantic Tension, Slow-burn, She fell first/He fell harder, Secret Rendez-vous, Swearing, World War II.

DIANE TAIT, THE PEARL OF MANCHESTER. She has everything: beauty, intellect, money, influence... Those are few of the many traits that made the Tait family oh-so enticing, headed by none other than Robert Tait, Tait and Somer LDT’s director and former War hero. This well-off background suffices to secure the young brunette’s future: a successful marriage, a rich inheritance and a profusion of great connections. If you think about it, this could make a great film—if only Frank Capra were there to add a comic twist before directing it.

THE AVID MOVIE-GOER AND READER that Diane is knows it, no story can be immune to hindrances. As a matter of fact, her life holds troubles of its own: Harry Chase, her soon-to-be fiancé’s lack of commitment challenges the prospects of an eventual marriage and the rumors of her designation at the head of the factory already provokes a wave of hostilities. If living in this gilded cage becomes unbearable at times, escapism is exactly what Diane craves for, whether it's through fiction or reality.

WHAT DIANE DOESN'T EXPECT IS her satisfaction to find its source in an unlikely place, buried in the ocean eyes of the Bennett boy. More than just reflecting an inspiring raw truthfulness and a burning free spirit that almost consumes his notorious waywardness, they tell a captivating story—one tumultuous and chaotic yet tender and poetic, one she has never read before but soulfully desires to.

֎ Read the prologue HERE on ao3.

֎ Listen to the playlist HERE on spotify.

#tom bennett #world on fire #world on fire fic #world on fire fanfiction #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fic #tom bennett x original female character #tom bennett x ofc #whispers in the dark #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #bleulone writes

[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Twenty Three

Tom Bennett x Bess Vaughn (OFC)

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Strong Language, Angst, Smut, Violence, Depictions of War, Mentions of Death, Depictions of PTSD, Injury Detail, Era typical Sexism, Era typical Homophobia, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mentions of Domestic Abuse (very brief), Depictions of Reproductive Health, Suicidal Thoughts, World on Fire Spoilers.

Notes: Been a while, hasn’t it? Here's 7K for ya. I’m writing this for me and the few people that are still engaging with it. If you enjoy it, and you know who guys you are, then I’m happy!

There are probably mistakes, but I'm ill. Soz.

“Morning, pet. Brought you a cuppa. Poor thing,” A soft hand ran over Tom’s forehead, as though testing his temperature, and brushed the hair from his eyes. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

Tom’s head was pounding. Rubbing bleary eyes, he took the tea from the person above him. Perfectly manicured nails, ringlets, red lipstick and the overpowering smell of lavender.

“Cheers, Queenie.”

“Anytime, love. Here,” she draped his threadbare jacket over the bedframe. “Tried to get the mud out as best I could.”

“Mud?”

“Yeah,” Queenie chuckled. “You fell over by the park. Our Frank was worried he’d have to carry you the rest of the way. Listen, I’ve got bacon and eggs on the stove, pop down when you’re dressed.” With small, high-heeled steps, she tottered from the room.

Fuck.

Tom rose tentatively from the bed, his head pounding. When he felt he could stand without vomiting, he made his way to the small wash basin in the corner of the room and caught sight of himself in the old mirror.

If it wasn’t for the pulsing of his head, Tom would have suspected he’d died and was looking at his own ghostly reflection. Purple circles rimmed his usually bright eyes, which were dull and tired. His skin clung to his face- he could do with twelve plates of Queenie’s bacon and eggs by the looks of him -and the shadow of his stubble was darkening his chin. Despite his age, he looked old. As though someone had tried to draw youth after only having it described to them. A thousand lives had been lived behind his eyes, some of them he wouldn’t wish on anyone.

“Breakfast, Tom!” Queenie called up the stairs. Tom splashed his face with water and, looking at his reflection once more, had to fight the urge to spit at it. Pathetic.

Downstairs, Queenie was fussing around the kitchen table at which sat two distinctly different figures. Frank Smith was reading a newspaper, a steaming cup of tea beside him. Upon seeing Tom, he muttered a quiet “good morning”, and hid behind the paper. Opposite him was perhaps the oldest lady Tom had ever seen. Wrapped in moth eaten shawls and gawdy jewellery, she wore a permanent smile, though even from where Tom stood he could see that nothing much was going on behind her eyes.

“Have a seat, Tom.” Queenie passed him a plate of breakfast. The only seat available was by Frank, and the man shuffled awkwardly as Tom sat beside him, memories of Tom screaming at him in the school corridor swirling in his mind. The old lady opposite looked slowly up at Tom and gave him a gummy smile. She gargled a little.

“Hello, m’am,” Tom nodded his head and went about adding sugar and milk to his tea.

“This is Tom, Nanna.” Queenie bent low and shouted in the woman’s ear. “Tom. Bennett. Poor old thing doesn’t know today from tomorrow but she seems happy enough,” she directed at Tom, who nodded wearily and shovelled eggs into his mouth.

“Beautiful boy,” the old woman said. Her gummy smile was a little off putting but the kindness, even if she said this kind of thing to everyone, was just what Tom needed in his hungover shame. He placed his hand over hers. “Beautiful boy,” she cooed as though looking at a newborn. Tom supposed, compared to her great age, he was.

“She’ll be one hundred and two in March, won’t you Nanna?” Queenie shouted.

“Don’t look a day over twenty-one,” Tom said.

Nanna Warren let out a hearty heh heh and allowed Queenie to spoon porridge into her mouth. They all ate in silence, apart from Nanna Warren’s little murmurs and mutterings, and when they were done, Queenie took their plates to the sink. “Frank, love, take Nanna into the front room.”

Frank set his paper down resignedly and lead the old woman into the hallway. “Beautiful boy, beautiful!” 

“Got plans for the day, Tom?” Queenie turned from the sink and fixed him with a watchful but friendly gaze.

“Find m’self a bed to sleep in and a shower. Reckon I’ve got a few apologies to make an’ all.”

“Mmm,” War had matured Queenie Warren too. She was still girlish and flirtatious, but she seemed to have realised her words had meaning and was making amends for her off-handed comments of old. “Bess is some woman-”

Tom laughed fondly. “Yeah,”

“- I could never put up with you.”

Perhaps not. “I’ll be off Queenie, thanks for letting me stay. Say ta-ra to Frank for me.”

“I won’t, I know you two don’t see eye to eye. Take care of yourself, give Bess a kiss from me.”

Tom shrugged on his jacket, pulled up the collar and made his way into the cold day. Apologies. Where to bloody start.

Each of the Vaughn girls was looking at their father with disgust.

He had come downstairs that morning reeking of ale and grease from the dockyard, sat in his armchair, let out an almighty belch and promptly dozed off. When Cora kicked him and shoved a plate of eggs under his nose, he took them with a scowl and ate in silence.

“Just one more bloody man to worry about,” Bess huffed from the kitchen table.

“Bugger off back to Carver Mills then,” Fergal snapped.

“Don’t you two start,” Cora slammed a fresh loaf of bread onto the table. “I’ve heard enough bloody bickering these last twelve hours to last a lifetime.”

“Watch your language-”

“Be quiet!” All three girls shouted at their father and he fixed them with an annoyed stare.

Breakfast was a solemn affair with Fergal fighting through his hangover, the girls’ lack of sleep and Bess’ additional worry over Tom. In truth, some of it had waned in the hours since she woke up. After hearing Tom’s idea of a woman’s purpose in this world, her worry had dwindled to a mild apprehension. When Dot came in from collecting the milk and told her the Mrs Mason’s eldest had seen Tom entering Queenie Warren’s Cringle Park home late last night, her mild apprehension became a fully borne rage.

Bess liked to think she trusted Tom to stay loyal to her. But something in his astoundingly arrogant display at the Palais gnawed at her confidence.  

“Got any towels, Cora?”

“Dot, for God’s sake, wash your own.”

“Bess?”

“One, in my handbag.”

Dot kissed her sister’s cheek and began rummaging through her bag. “I’ll wash it and give it back.”

“Keep it, I won’t want it back-”

“I don’t need to be hearing about your filthy woman talk-”

“Be quiet!” Each of the girls shouted again at their father. Bess watched as Dot disappeared upstairs. She had been carrying a towel with her everywhere, just in case. She always did of course, in the event of her monthlies, but her monthlies were now three weeks late and she had an appointment with Sister Murphy in a week’s time.

A knock at the front door made each Vaughn jump.

“That’ll be Dennis with the post,” Cora was already rounding the kitchen table, pulling her apron off as she did so. Bess was in no mood to see rat-faced Dennis Warley and the contemptuous looks he saved especially for her and her tailored slacks. She stood from the table, gave Fergal a wide berth and went upstairs to dress.

Stuff Dennis Warley and his shit taste. Bess pulled out a dark dress from the draw she still kept in her sisters’ room, covered it in a dark jumper and pulled on some thick woollen socks. Her hair, still curled from last night, she tied off her face with a scarf, the frizzy strands settling on her shoulders.

Lying back on the bed, she cradled her stomach. It was a little plump, thinner now because of rationing, but still soft and doughy. Bess rubbed circles over it, wondering what it would be like to feel it grow. In her need for him, and his for her, Bess and Tom had been reckless. But surely, it would have happened by now? When he found his way back to her after his months on the run in Europe, she was so certain in her need for him, her love for him, that a sheath didn’t matter. When he had returned this time, so hungry for her after discovering his father gone, hadn’t she welcomed him openly? Given herself over to him completely because that was what he needed? Perhaps this time, she had given too much. She’d seem him with Vera, and Jan, and not worried about the consequences. After last night, however, she was scared.

Downstairs, Cora and Dot’s voices raised in pitch and volume, and Bess looked up at the ceiling. A new crack had formed there. Trust Dennis to say something stupid.

Only it wasn’t Dennis Warley at all. Downstairs, Cora Vaughn was locked in a battle with none other than Tom Bennett.

“I wondered when you’d show up,”

“Cora, I-”

“Roger’s not here, so don’t worry-”

“I’m not worri-”

“You looked worried last night when he dumped you on the pavement.”

“Give over, Cora. Posh knob wouldn’t get his hands dirty. S’why he’s off flying planes and leaving us lot in the muck-”

“Don’t you start on Cora!” Dot pushed past her sister and jabbed a finger into Tom’s chest.

“He tried last night, Dot.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Fergal Vaughn stood from his chair by the hearth and made his slow way to the front door. “Give him a piece of your mind did you, my girl?”

“I did, Dadda.” Cora’s eyes were still set on Tom. Indeed, so were Fergal and Dot’s. “And Dot gave him a smack.”

“Save your energy next time, Dot. You could beat Tom Bennett into next year and he’d still come up with some sorry excuse-”

“Is Bess in?” Tom pinched his nose.

“Care about Bess now?”

“Shut up, Dot.”

Fergal lunged at him. Tom’s arms instinctively reached outwards. The two men stumbled into the cobbled street, each gripping the other’s collar. They grappled for a while, Fergal’s size and Tom’s athleticism preventing either from felling each other.

Hearing the commotion from upstairs, Bess hurried down the narrow stairs and into the street.

“WHAT IS GOING ON?”

The bundle of bodies stopped moving at once. Dot slid off Tom’s back. Fergal dropped his arms from Tom’s collar and Cora stumbled backwards from her attempt to restrain her father.

“Bess, love-”

“Look at yourselves.” Bess folded her arms. “A disgrace to mam’s memory. And Marie’s.” She pointed at Tom. “Get inside. The lot of you.”

Like a troupe of naughty children, Fergal, Cora, Dot and Tom filed into the house. No sooner had Bess slammed the door was she grabbing Tom’s wrist and pulling him into the yard. “I’ll deal with you lot later,” she said to her family, each stood sheepishly in the kitchen.

The autumn air was crisp outside. Dadda’s chickens were scraping at the earth and scurried forward when Bess turned over a bucket to perch upon. Seeing she had nothing to give them, they went about their business.

Tom watched Bess as she lit a cigarette and stared ahead. God, she was gorgeous. Sat there in the morning light, hair aflame, all haughty and tight-lipped. She was just as he always imagined her. When she turned her head ever so minutely to look at him from the corner of her, he winked.

“Don’t flirt with me.”

Tom raised his chin and straightened his back. He knew Bess loved his neck, and from her low position she would be able to see the perfect angle of his jaw. “It’s working then.”

By way of a reply, Bess blew smoke into his face. With a small smile, Tom crouched before her and took her empty hand in his.

“I’m sorry,”

Bess watched him, taking another drag of her cigarette.

“I-,oh fuck,” Tom stood up again and paced the small yard. Apologies. How the fuck do you apologise? Not as a way to wriggle out of trouble, but to truly make amends? Before he could start, Bess spoke first.

“I heard you and Dadda had a little chat.”

“Yeah-”

“And then you insulted Bobby. And my suit,”

“You looked gorgeous-”

Bess hmphed. “Then you made a scene-”

“Dot smacked me!”

“Not hard enough!” They glared at each other. “And after that, you had the bare-faced cheek to insult Cora and Roger. On their special night!”

“I know,” Tom deflated visibly in front of her and Bess’ heart melted a little. A little. “I’m sorry, I really am.”

“What for?”

Christ, Bess was breaking his balls. He sighed. “For fighting with your father, for ruining Cora’s night and for the awful things I said to you and Bobby.”

“And?”

“And what?” He was getting annoyed now.

“Didn’t think you liked Frank Smith.”

“I don’t. He’s a prick.”

“But you spent the rest of last night with him? Was Walter Watson there too? Bragging about how you got into my knickers? Or planning how the three of you could next embarrass me, as a joint effort?”

“No,”

“Anything else to add?”

“No?”

“Then think.”

Tom looked up, wracking his brains. Cora, Dot and Fergal were peering out of the window, transfixed by the goings on in the yard. Cora and Dot hastily withdrew from the window. Fergal continued to stare at Tom and Bess.

“Erm-”

“Where did you stay, last night? Only, I said you could come to ours but-” She let the sentence trail off.

Fuck.

Bess’ eyes had turned dark. She leant forward on her knees and casually flicked the ash from her cigarette. She was waiting. Had thrown down her gauntlet. The challenge? Daring Tom to make up an excuse, as he always did. Well, enough people had tried to outsmart him before. There was a reason he was so good at stealing car parts and had managed to wrangle his way out of jail. It wasn’t this, though, that made his blood boil. No, it was Bess’ lack of trust.

“Stayed at Queenie’s.” It was blunt. Tom wanted to embarrass her for trying to trip him up. It didn’t work.

“She finally got you in her bed then.”

“Yes, she did.” At Tom’s words, Bess blanched. A few tears pin-pricked her eyes and she looked like a child. Tom softened immediately. “She slept in the other room, with Frank. They’re courting, remember?”

“Yes.”

“Or had you conveniently forgotten so you could have a reason to be angry at me?”

“You managed that yourself.”

Silence.

Once more, Tom crouched in front of Bess. She had nowhere to look but at his sandy hair, that silly old jacket, those extraordinarily blue eyes. “I know I behaved like a fucking prick, but I’d never do that.” It was too horrible an idea to even voice. “Please, please, of all people, please trust me.”

Bess looked at him. The little crease between his brows. The world-weary, tired eyes. His lips, pursed with tension. She reached out and stroked his cheek. From the window, a small squeal sounded. Dot.

“I do. God help me, I do.”

The door opened abruptly. There was Cora, a crying Vera in her arms. She shoved the baby at Tom. “Make yourself useful.”

Tom scooped his niece into his arms, confusion evident on his face. “Why do you have her?” He began bobbing on the spot to soothe the crying babe and Bess felt he stomach clench. Her stomach, and something farther south.

“You haven’t told him?” Cora scowled at Bess and Tom looked between the sisters. As though she could sense him doing this, Bess turned from her sister to Tom.

“It’s fine,” she stood up and approached Tom and Vera, running a soothing hand over the baby’s brow. “She’s fine, Connie popped over with the baby this morning.” She took Tom’s hand. “Lois was injured in last night’s raid.”

“Oh fuck,” Tom’s legs wobbled and Bess made to cradled Vera. He found his footing, but fear was etched across his face. Day by day, his family was growing smaller.

“She’s ok, Tom, she’s ok. Hit her head but she’s at home. Well,” Bess swallowed awkwardly. Where was the Bennett home now? “She’s at Connie’s.”

“You best get over there, boy.”

“Cora,” Bess said warningly. With folded arms and a small tut, Cora turned on her heel and stalked back into the house. Bess rapped a knuckle on the window. Dot and Fergal hurried away from the glass.

“Take Vera,” Bess gripped Tom’s jacket and pulled it around the wee thing. “Go and see Lois and maybe, if I’m not still angry at you, I’ll see you at the flat?”

Tom looked down his nose at her, taking a step closer. Vera, nestled between the two, settled and was content to make small gurgles as she watched two of the people she loved most above her.

“You won’t be angry for long,” Tom’s lips were dangerously close to Bess’. Thank God Fergal wasn’t still at the window.

“Is that so?” Bess whispered, bringing her face close to his. Thank God the baby was between them. From here she could smell yesterday’s cologne, the slightest whiff of lager and his Marlboro’s. It was intoxicating. Damn Tom Bennett.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Bess Vaughn.” Tom gripped the front of Bess’ jumper and pulled her close. “The way you’ve always looked at me.”

Both were remembering the day Bess returned from the central Manchester, clad in white and turning heads everywhere she walked. Remembering the way she watched Tom as he stretched to fetch her a glass of wine.

Just as Tom made to kiss Bess’ plump lips, she pulled away. “I need to go. Meeting Kasia at Southport.”

Tom looked at her with mock bemusement. “Southport? This time of year?”

“Aye,” Bess kissed Vera’s mop of soft hair and straightened. “She needs a friend and I’ve decided to be that friend. It’s nice, she tells me all about how disappointing Harry is-” she looked Tom squarely in the eye. “- and I do the same about you.”

“Nothing disappointing about me, love.” Again, he winked and Bess felt herself blush.

“Get away with you. Go to Lois.”

“Yes, captain.” With Vera tucked against his chest, Tom made his way to the gate into the ginnel. He saluted to Dot and Cora, who were once more watching from the kitchen, and opened the latch. A small hand wrapped around his wrist, and before he could fully turn around, Bess’ warm lips met is.

“I love you.”

“I know,” she smacked his arm. “I love you.”

Bess closed the gate behind him and listened as made his way down the ginnel, cooing to Vera all the way. When she turned around, the back-room curtain rustled. No doubt Cora and Dot would have plenty to say.

Vera was asleep by the time Tom made it to Connie’s small flat. He knocked on the door and was welcomed by the one-legged young man he had met just a few days before.

“She yours?” He used his walking stick to point at Vera.

“No. She’s Lois’. From upstairs?”

“Oh right. Yeah. Heard your sister took a knock in the raid last night.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here.”

“Lucky really. Or unlucky, depending on how you look at it.”

“Unlucky, how?” Tom’s anger prickled.

“You’re in the war, mate. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen men blown to pieces somehow still clinging on to life-” He knocked is fake leg with his cane. “Better sometimes that the war finish us off, rather than making us linger in this living hell.”

“Can I see Lois, mate?”

The strange man shuffled aside and, cradling Vera close to his chest, Tom ran up the stairs to Connie’s flat two steps at a time. The door was open when he got there. Connie sat at the small table, making notes on some sheet music. She looked up at hearing the floorboards creak as Tom approached, and silently waved him in.

“She’s in my room,” she whispered. “Been sleeping most of the day but I heard her get up not long ago.”

“Cheers, Con,” Tom made towards the bedroom door but Connie stepped in front of him.

“Give Vera here,” she held out her hands and Tom tentatively let his niece go.

“Won’t Lois won’t to-”

“Best if it’s just you, I think, love. Will be alright, won’t we?” Connie cooed at Vera as she babbled happily.

The small room that Lois shared with Connie was dark. The dirty curtains were drawn and piles of baby clothes littered the cupboard. Fresh and folded, but left out of the drawer. The bed creaked and from beneath the tattered blanket, Tom’s sister appeared.

Her head was wrapped in a large bandage, the kind that Tom would give her when they played hospital as children. Her curly hair poked awkwardly from the bottom and did little to hide the black bruises beneath her eyes.

“What the fuck happened?” Tom perched on the end of the bed.

“You got any cigarettes?” Her voice was hoarse.

“Always,” he grabbed the packet from his trousers, lit one and passed it to his sister. “Since when do you smoke?”

“Since this morning.” Lois coughed through the smoke and relaxed against the iron headboard.

“So,” Tom nudged her leg gently but spoke firmly. Despite their argument, he was still her brother. “What happened?”

“Was getting an old fella from a house last night, it had been hit in the raids.” She shuffled uncomfortably. “And yeah, the ceiling came down on my head.”

“Only ‘cause you went back in to get his bloody teeth!” Connie walked past the door with Vera on her lap.

“Dad’s spirit is living on then,” Tom whispered under his breath.

“Oh for God’s sake, Tom!” Lois tried to get up from the bed but Tom was still sat on the covers. “I’m really not in the mood to be shouted at about dad. Again-”

Tom swore under his breath. “Lois! I know you think I’m a wind up but I meant it as a fucking compliment. Going back in to make sure that old lad was comfortable is exactly what Dad would have done.”

They sat there awkwardly for a moment and watched the cigarette dwindle into nothingness. When it was done, Lois covered Tom’s hand with hers.

“Thanks for coming,” she whispered quietly.

“I’d be a twat not to. Wish you’d called.”

“Where would I call?”

Tom huffed a sad laugh. There was no happiness to it at all. “The Vaughns?”

“From what I hear, you’re not very popular in their house.”

“Jesus Christ,”

“Connie told me after she dropped Vera off this morning.”

“I’ve already been round. Apologised.”

“Ooh, I suddenly got a chill,” Lois huddled under the covers. “It seems hell has frozen over.” Tom smacked her leg. “Don’t hurt me, I’m ill!”

“Doesn’t count when it’s self-induced.”

“How did it go? Your apology? Charm your way out through the back door?”

“I see you’ve still got no faith in me,”

It was Lois that nudged Tom this time. “Don’t be daft.” Tom didn’t reply, simply stared at the watch on his wrist. The battery had stopped, its hands pointing to 6.04. “Be more like dad.”

“You what?” Tom glanced at her. She looked ridiculous with that enormous bandage wrapped round her head, and in his eyes she seemed just as tired as he was, but her annoying I-know-something-you-don’t attitude remained.

“Actions, not words. That’s the best way to say sorry. To really say sorry. Something Harry could never manage…” Lois’ voiced trailed off but, when Tom laughed, she looked at him sharply.

“Bess is off to see Kasia this afternoon. Said something about slagging me an’ Harry off.”

“I could give them some fodder!”

Tom laughed, without bitterness, for what felt like the first time in years. “You should join them.”

“Can’t,” Lois sighed resignedly and looked around the tatty room. “Too much to do.” Dirty napkins and baby toys were scattered around the place. The laundry basket was overflowing. A plate of half-eaten toast was forgotten by the bed. With hands on his knees and head bent, Tom pushed himself from the bed and began sorting the clothes.

“What you doing?” Lois was standing now, wrapping herself in a dressing gown and making her way towards the small room where Connie was singing to Vera.

Tom looked over his shoulder at his sister and winked. “Actions, not words.”

An old gentleman and the woman tucked into his side scowled at Kasia and Bess as they ran past.

The young women’s shrieks took flight in the sky and carried across the flat beach. The tide was way out, a few algaed rocks just showing beneath the lapping waves. In the miniature tidal pools, Bess and Kasia stomped, kicked salty water at each other and ran away from the waves. It had been so long since Bess felt this carefree. For Kasia, even longer.

“Robina will kill me,” Kasia gasped between giggles as she wiped sand from her grey skirt.

“The sooner I get those trousers finished the better.” Bess huffed as she slung her arm around Kasia’s neck, and together they walked the long stretch back up the beach. In the distance, the old couple kept glancing back at them as they made their way to the promenade. Ahead of them, a solitary figure was making its way towards the water. Probably one of the clam fishers, thought Bess.

“Do you know,” Kasia said, looping her arm through Bess’. “I don’t think I ever saw Harry laugh like that. Not really.”

“Me neither. Saw him grin once when his private school lads beat the St Thomas’ team at cricket.”

Kasia exaggerated a frown and pouted her lips. “So. Serious.”

Bess laughed. “Our Tom doesn’t have a serious bone in his body. Perhaps we should swap!”

At this, Kasia fell about. “Poor Vera wouldn’t know who is who.” The pair cackled and cackled until Bess could do naught but gulp for air.

“I like to think Tom’s changed,” Bess laughed. “But I know he’d swap with Harry just to wind up Mrs Chase.”

“Brought you girls some dinner.” Over Kasia’s renewed giggles, Bess almost missed the voice behind her. She span around quickly and lost her footing in the wet sand. As quickly as she did, Tom heaved the paper bundles under one arm and gripped Bess’ with his free hand.

He’d washed since Bess saw him that morning, though he was still pale and tired looking. Over the top of his blue jacket, he wore a woollen coat of Albie’s, and Bess smiled sadly as she ran her hand over the lapels.

“Thanks, love.” She kissed his cheek. Behind her, Kasia was tucking her hair behind her ears and smoothing her clothes.

“Alright, Kasia?” Tom nodded at her and held out one of the paper bundles. As it passed Bess, she caught the delicious whiff of vinegar. Fish and chips.

“Yes, thank you.” Kasia smiled and took the food from him.

“Bess.” Tom handed his girlfriend her portion before turning back to Kasia and clearing his throat. “How are your brothers?” Bess saw him puff out his chest, an attempt at nonchalance. His eyes were worried though, downcast, as he tucked into his chips.

“They’re well, thank you. Jan is missing his play friend though.”

Tom smiled. “Well, anytime he wants to play footie just let us know.” He faltered and Bess held on gently to the sleeve of Albie’s coat, to remind him she was there. “And Grzegorz?”

“He’s managing. Vernon and Roger got him a job at the RAF base.”

“Was a good man, Vernon.” Tom said, and the three fell into a solemn silence, punctuated by the call of gulls and rustling of newspaper.

When they had each finished their food, Kasia collected the scraps and bid goodbye to Bess with a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Stay a while longer, there’s no need to leave ‘cause of Tom.”

“That’s alright,” Kasia smiled at Tom, who looked a little stung. “It’s a lovely evening. You two enjoy your walk.”

Not leaving Bess to reply, Kasia left for the promenade. Tom made for the other direction, towards the sea. Bess watched Kasia go before trotting after Tom. His hands were tucked into his pockets and she looped her arm through his. He let go, instead bringing his arm about her shoulders so that she was tucked into his side.

He smelled of cigarettes and that laundry detergent that always reminded Bess of Douglas. There was something of Albie too that lingered on the coat. That cheap cologne he used to wear when they went out dancing. Bess chuckled and Tom looked down at her.

“Thinking of Albie,” she said simply. “And your dad.”

“Mmm,” Tom pushed Bess near the waves as they approached the water and she shrieked. He laughed and grabbed her around the waist. “Had to do it. ‘S what Albie would have done if he was here.”

“Yeah. Remember all the family trips we used to have down here when mam and dad wanted to wear us down?”

Tom rested his head atop Bess’ and they watched the water turn orange as the sun lowered behind them. They didn’t talk awhile, content in each other’s company and thinking of the past, but something in Tom silence told Bess he wasn’t happy. He was almost rigid behind her, his usual relaxed swagger gone. Tentatively, she inquired about the afternoon.

“How’s Lois?”

Tom almost jumped at her voice. “Fine, yeah, fine. Was rescuing some old man’s teeth when the house came down.”

“Douglas’ll never be gone.”

“That’s what I said.” He said nothing else.

Bess turned in his arms and looked up at him. “Where are you, mister?” She ran a hand through his hair. It needed a cut before he went back, surely it was too long for navy regulations now.

“What do you mean?”

“What are you thinking about?” He finally took his eyes off the ocean and looked down at her. Bess shivered. His eyes were stony and distant. The wind ruffled his hair and for a moment he looked like Gary Cooper or Spencer Tracy. “You’re so handsome.”

Tom ignored her. “’I’d like to think Tom’s changed.’”

Bess’ cheeks prickled with embarrassment. “Pardon?”

“’I’d like to think Tom’s changed, but I know he’d swap with Harry just to wind up Mrs Chase.’” He quoted again.

“We were only mucking around-”

“I know you said you and Kasia would have a giggle at me an’ Harry’s expense,” Tom was looking back at the water and not Bess. “But I thought at least you’d have a higher opinion of me.”

Bess’ lip trembled and she ran her hand through Tom’s hair again. “You know I think the world of you-”

“I saw the way you looked at me last night. The way your father looked at me. You all still think I’m exactly the same as before, don’t you? Just a petty criminal with nothing to give.”

“Where the hell has this come from?” Bess sadness was making way for anger now.

“Bess, I’ve come back to find my dad dead, my home gone and what do I get? Bloody,” he waved his hands angrily, struggling for the word. “judgement and dirty looks.”

“No-one’s judging you-”

“’I’d like to think Tom’s changed’,” Tom began to quote Bess once more but she cut him off.

“Well, I’d like to think you have changed but your behaviour last night proves my point. Getting drunk, fighting, staying at Queenie’s-”

“Jesus Christ. NOTHING HAPPENED!”

They stared at each other.

“Why do we keep arguing?” Bess said sadly.

Tom kicked a shell and made his slow way along the tide line. “I don’t know,” he sighed, rubbing his face.

Walking beside him, Bess thought that, in truth, she did know. They were opposites. Where her grief was quiet and slow-burning, Tom’s was sudden and raging and, as it shrouded them both, neither knew how to help the other.

“Did you and Lois chat much about your dad?” She didn’t know what else to say, and maybe talking of Douglas would ease Tom’s grief.

“Not really.” Never mind.

“Please Tom,” Bess clutched his arm stopped him in his tracks. “You can’t just shut down and never talk about it.”

“It’s what you would do.”

She stared at him. Fine. If he wanted to be difficult, she could do it too. “You’re not the only one who misses him, Tom. He was my friend-”

“He was my dad!” Tom bellowed. “I suppose you wouldn’t have minded a swap with him either. Harry, my dad, anyone’s better than me-”

“Oh stop being so fucking put down upon. You’re using this as some stupid excuse not to confront your grief. The war. If you don’t want to talk to me about it, fine, I can’t know what it’s like out there. But I’ve lost people too, and, and-” Bess stomped her foot like a child. “And I love you. I want to help.”

“How could you possibly help?” Tom sounded resigned rather than angry, but nonetheless, it felt as though he had struck her.

“I-I-I’m trying to do my bit, for you. For the war effo-”

“Patching up cuts and scratches? Fixing holes in soldiers’ socks?”

“I was under the impression,” Bess snapped and wiped a tear from her face. “That that is exactly what you think I should be doing.”

Tom shook his head. Actually shook his head in confusion. “What the hell do you mean, woman?”

“Woman! Exactly! Heard all about your argument with Lois,”

“Fucking Dot-”

“Yes. Dot. Connie told her that you blamed her for your dad’s death-”

“I apologised-”

“-that her job was being at home looking after him and the baby. Is that what you think? That that’s all we’re good for?” “This is all you’re good for, Bess Vaughn.” “You know that’s what Walter Watson said to me? That night? Do you agree with him?”

“No-” Tom took a step forward but Bess stepped back.

“Well?”

“WELL WHAT?”

Bess held her stomach. Tom didn’t notice. “Do you think our role s just that? Give you children and then while away our lives at home, mothering you all?”

“It’d be a damn sight more peaceful than whatever the fuck this is!”

Neither of them was listening to the other, just shouting over the top of whatever they had said last.

“Cos you know, you’ve barely said one word to me that isn’t “bend over” or “come here” since you got back-”

“Now I know why no-one would come near you-”

Bess stopped shouting. So did Tom.

“Fuck you.” Bess turned on her heel and marched towards the promenade.

“Where are you going?” With his long legs, it was easy for Tom to catch up, even if he was so tired.

“Home.” Tom still walked beside her and she found his very presence so close angered her. “Go away.”  

“Unfortunately for you, love, we live in the same place.”

They walked in stony silence towards the run-down bus stop, Tom a few steps behind to give Bess space. They perched at opposite ends of the bench and, when the bus arrived, were dismayed to see it full. Squeezed together on the leather seats as the bus rattled back to Manchester, Bess stared out of the window. Tom did too, glancing down occasionally to look at her. The exposed line of her neck. Her lips set into an angry pout. The place at which their shoulders touched burned and he wanted nothing more than to be even closer to her. He leant his head down, and light as baby’s breath, kissed her below her ear.

The skin of Bess’ neck rippled with goosebumps and Tom smiled a satisfied smile. When she turned her head to him, she didn’t meet his eyes, nor speak. She simply brushed her nose against his cheek, her lips grazing the morning’s stubble, and turned back to the window. It was as if to say, I’m still angry at you, but I love you, and at that very moment in time, that was enough for Tom.

The sun had set by the time the bus rumbled into Manchester. Air-raid wardens were already out on shift, their small torches replacing the streetlamps that would give the city away to enemy airplanes.

Bess made in the direction of Carver Mills when she stepped off the bus, but faltered when she realised Tom wasn’t beside her. Instead, he was stood at the bus stop, hands in his pockets.

“Gonna check on Lois. And the baby,” he said, answering her questioning gaze.

“And then?” Bess didn’t need to elaborate. They both knew she was alluding to his new found homelessness. Tom shrugged. “Dadda will still have you. You’re a bloody pair, the both of you, but he won’t have you on the street. And if,” she took a step closer and pulled Tom’s coat lapels around his neck to keep him warm. “-if Dadda won’t have you, I suppose I’ll have to.” She stretched up to peck his lips.

“Yes, captain.”

BANG

Bess shot up in bed and flicked on the lamp. A pair of study nurse’s shoes were forever positioned by her bed, and a jumper and coat were slung over the bedframe in case of this very moment. The bombs.

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry.” Tom was stumbling through Bess’ bedroom window, his back leg caught on the frame. “Forgot about the blackouts.” He hastily replaced them in the window with a lopsided grin. No sooner were they in place was he peeling off his jumper and slacks.

Bess rubbed her eyes. Despite her sleep-filled haze and her lingering annoyance at the man before her, she could still appreciate the lean muscle of his pale torso that had only strengthened in his days in the navy. A light sheen of sweat clung to his smattering of chest hair, and his breath was laboured.

“Did you-” Bess budged up in the bed so that he could climb in beside her. “Did you climb up the building?”

“Why so shocked-” Tom nestled beside her.

“Your feet are freezing,”

“Used to climb through your bedroom window all the time,”

“Yes, but it wasn’t on the fifth floor.”

“Ah,” Tom said nonchalantly, leaning back against the bedframe. “Anything for you love, and a place to lay my head.”

Bess hmphed but curled her body against Tom’s. One large hand came to her waist and rubbed lazy circles there. It was a while before either of them spoke. It was in these moments over the last year that both Bess and Tom had learnt to enjoy their simplicity. Tom may not return from his next posting. A bomb could land on the roof at any moment. To lay there, with someone you loved so completely, really was the simplest and most divine miracle.

“’M off to the docks tomorrow,” Tom whispered into Bess’ hair. “To collect my papers.”

“So soon?” Bess pushed herself to sit and face him, her voice wobbling as it betrayed her worry.

“I can’t stay,” Tom pulled her back to his chest. “As much as I want hide here with you. You said it earlier, I need to stop running from everyone. From everything.” He rubbed his eyes and sighed. From her bedside table, Bess pulled a packet of cigarettes and lit one, placing it between Tom’s lips when she’d taken her first drag. Tom winked at her. “’S like sitting on the front step again.” He paused. “No. I think the only way for me to work out what I’m doing, who I am, is to get back out there. The open sea, the purpose. You an’ dad were right. The navy is the making of me.”

“Take me with you,” Bess gripped his small waist all the tighter and buried her face in his chest.

“No chance. Not letting you loose with a load of sailors.”

“I can look after myself-”

“Exactly. It’s them I worry about.” Tom pinched Bess’ plump hips and she squealed. The sound, so unlike any Bess would ever usually make delighted Tom, and he did it again, tickling every bare patch of skin he could reach until Bess was on her back, writhing to get away from him as he penned her in with his arms.

She was panting when he finished, and her giggles took a while to subside. Red blotched her cheeks and her dark eyes were bright with laughter. The mess of her hair was unrulier than ever, tangled on the pillow. Below his hips, her nightdress had ridden up her thighs, the curve of her breasts just visible through the thin fabric.

Tom shut his eyes, committing her image to memory. “I’m sorry about earlier. About everything,” he whispered.

“I know,” Bess ran a hand through his hair and he stooped to kiss her.

“I’m sorry,” he kissed the juncture of her neck. “I’m sorry,” Nipped at the underside of her jaw. “I’m sorry,” his tongue ran languidly over her lips. A throaty moan left Bess and Tom lowered his hips between the spread of her legs. “I’m sorry,” he kissed his way over her chest. “I’m sorry,” lightly bit each pert nipple through the fabric.

“Tom, please-”

“I love you,” Tom kissed her stomach.

A jolt of fear gripped her. What if? “Tom, please-” It was said with hesitation then, but it died in her throat when his head dipped lower. Warm hands slid around the underside of her thighs and gripped her hips.

“I’m sorry,” his warm breath fanned across her core. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice muted as he brought his mouth to her centre. “I’m sorry.”

Notes: I’m sorry it’s been ages. Life, ya know? This will have a happy ending!!

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @heimtathurs @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandomprompts @allthefandomtherapy @reblogedworks @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @adragonprinceswhore @notasockpuppetaccount @houseofdupree @marysucks-blog @chattylurker @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @nolongereviliwantlove @just-emmaaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring @fangirlninja67 @evita-shelby @cherievictoria @schmexie @ewanmitchellcrumbs @blairfox04 @theoneeyedprince @targaryenrealnessdarling @cherievictore

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #ewan mitchell x reader #tom bennett x oc #tom bennett x ofc #world on fire #the seamstress & the sailor #assortedseaglass #sorry it's been ages

[humanpurposes]

Just for a Moment, part ii

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

Tom Bennett x OFC

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

Words: 5000

A/n: Also available to read on AO3.

Monday 18th September, 1939

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

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

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

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

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

Lois holds out a clean shirt for him.

“Didn’t bring my overcoat then?”

His sister glowers.

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

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

“I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

“Since when?” Lois says.

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

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

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

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

“Afternoon.”

“Not in prison anymore?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tom Bennett the conchie?” she smirks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes it was,” Kitty says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kitty I—”

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

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

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

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

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

Kitty shifts her weight on her feet.

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

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

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

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

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

He wonders if it’s an invitation.

“He said he loved you, didn’t he?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Look at me.

She slides the window closed and turns the lock. 

Come on, look at me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“... I’m just a bloody nuisance.” 

Tuesday 19th September, 1939

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

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

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

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

“How was the recruitment office?” Lois asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah well this one’s different.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, to get shot or blown up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a pause, then Stevie sighs. “I’ll stop by the shop on my way home.”

She doesn’t reply.

“Night, Kitty,” Stevie says.

She grumbles back, “night.”

The door closes. Kitty releases a shaky breath that makes his heart ache. Her footsteps move across the floor towards the bed. He hears her sheets rustle and the light switch off. Surely she realises she’s left the window open?

He cautiously pushes the curtains back with a slight scraping noise of the rings against the curtain frame. He swings his legs inside and ducks his head under, kicking off his boots before he moves towards the bed, careful to avoid the floorboards he knows are creaky.

Kitty lies facing the wall and close to it, leaving a small amount of space on the mattress beside her.

He takes off his jacket, belt and jumper, leaving on his slacks and shirt, and lifts a corner of her duvet, slotting in against her back. He places the hand that isn’t underneath him on her arm, tracing up and down, along the texture of her skin.

Kitty hums dreamily. She takes his hand and clutches it against her stomach, so his arm falls around her waist. He holds her tighter, bringing her further into him until he can feel the curve of her spine against his shirt.

“I’m sorry I was such an arse to you earlier,” she mutters. 

He brushes the hair from her neck, his eyes inches from her bare skin. Her nightgown is starting to slip down her shoulder too. She smells sweet, like red sweets and vanilla perfume. 

“It’s my own stupid fault,” he says, softly, but they’re so close she’ll hear every word. “Besides, didn’t even go through on the pacifist thing. I signed up for the navy this morning.”

Her hair flicks in his face as she turns to her other side. His arm settles back on her waist and the tip of her nose barely brushes his own.

“You did what?”

“Signed up for the navy,” he says.

“You did not,” she breathes.

He swallows his disappointment. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? For him to find a principle, to do something for the right reasons?

“What are you so upset for?” he says, “I’m the one who has to go, not you.”

She nods, but he can see the tears welling in her eyes.

“And Stevie’s signing up too,” he realises.

She huffs, the way she usually does when she’s upset but she pretends not to be. “That’s it then, once you and him are gone, I’ll have no one.”

He takes her hand and brings it between their chests, clasping it tightly. “Oh my pretty Kitty,” he grins, knowing how much she hates it when he calls her that, “you’ve got your mum and dad, you’ve got mates. Dad and Lois adore you. You’ve got your job, you’ve got a life here.”

“You’re a part of my life too,” she says.

It knocks the breath from his lungs.

“I’ve signed up now. Couldn’t take it back even if I wanted to.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Kitty says.

His chest feels like it might crush under the weight of it all. “But you said—”

“I know what I said, just… why’d you have to get yourself caught up in all these messes?”

He sees it in the way she looks at him, not exasperated or angry just, sad. He’s never really understood why she seems to take his mistakes so personally.

He turns his head further into the pillow and moves his tongue over his teeth. “Some bloke at the recruitment office said I was a coward for queuing up with the conchies.”

Kitty’s lip trembles. “So what?” she whispers.

“Squared up to him, didn’t I? But when it came to putting my name down… I don’t know, I just couldn’t do it. See the grief dad gets for his paper, what would people think of me if I stayed home while men are laying down their lives?”

Her chest rises and falls as she sighs, slowly, deeply. 

“Maybe it’s me,” he says. “Maybe I’m a bad person.”

“You’re not a bad person,” she says, placing her hand on his jaw, fingertips stoking lightly over his neck. “You’re just…”

“Just what?”

She smiles sadly. “You’re just stupid.”

He smiles back, and nudges his forehead against hers. The rest of the house is so quiet he worries he’s breathing too loudly.

“Kitty,” he whispers, sliding his hand along her waist and into her back, pulling her closer, closer.

“Yes?” 

His palm maps every curve and detail along her body, her back, her hips, her rear, her thighs, the feeling of her skin and the way she shudders at his touches. 

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

Her smile is wide and unashamed. She puts her arms over his shoulders and gently presses her lips to his. 

They had kissed before, once or twice when they were kids. Back then they thought it was hilarious, another secret they could keep with each other, and they felt so grown up at even just the briefest peck of their lips.

Kissing Kitty now is unlike anything he’s done before. It’s slow and steady, and he savours every moment of it, the softness of her mouth, her hands in his hair, the little hum she gives when he kisses her neck and the way she arches her back when he slips his thigh between her legs.

She follows his lead at first, but finds her stride soon enough, kissing him deeper, holding him closer as she slowly starts to rut her hips against him, grinding into his thigh.

He whispers her name into her mouth, desperately squeezing her waist through her nightgown as he feels himself becoming hard against her stomach. And it hurts. Everything about her consumes him, sets him on edge and lulls him into a calm and assured warmth.

Her hands slip between them, unsure but determined fingers undoing the buttons on his shirt. He catches on and quickly has it over his head, leaving it forgotten on the floor.

She pauses, her eyes, palms and fingertips running over the bare skin revealed to her, the light patch of hair on his chest, the lines of his muscles, the small moles running down his torso and the scar on his bicep where he’d broken his arm years ago. 

She slips further, brushing over the bulge in his slacks. Tom clenches his teeth and places a hand over hers, bucking under her touch. 

“Can you take these off?” she says, and with that doe-eyed look, how could he ever refuse her?

He lifts his hips and shuffles his slacks past his ankles, and soon those are on the floor too. He looks back to Kitty, with a pleased grin.

She teases her fingers over the fabric of his boxers. “Those too?”

He removes the final layer, smiling at Kitty’s apparent fascination. She cautiously feels along his naval and his hips, until she comes to his cock. She traces her fingertips over it, already half-hard.

He positions her hand around it and guides her to stroke up and down. Their eyes meet. Even through the low light and the dreamy haze of his own want, she’s beautiful, lips parted, brows in a wanting frown, and the corners of her mouth curling up. When she brushes her thumb over the tip, he thinks he might come there and then.

He leans up, kisses her cheek and whispers in her ear. “I want to see you too.”

She comes to her knees and lifts her nightgown over her head. He leans his head against the headboard, a contented sigh leaving his lips at the sight of her. She’s perfect. How could she be anything less? 

He reaches for her hips, bringing her to straddle him. Never parting from her body, his hand slides along her waist to one of her breasts, squeezing gently and dragging his thumb over her perked nipple. He starts to guide her with his other hand, rocking her hips back and forth, dragging her wet centre along his cock. He bites down on his lip to stop himself from groaning at the little whimper that catches in her throat, and the feeling of her gliding against him, so warm and practically soaked. 

She braces herself against his chest. “Tom,” she whines, though it’s barely above a breath. He can feel her trying to move faster, desperate for friction. “I want more, please…”

He hushes her, placing a finger to her lips. He turns his head to the floor, impressed with himself that his slacks are just within reach. He takes a packet from one of the pockets and tears it open with his teeth, sliding the condom along his length.

He leans up again and catches her lips in a gentle kiss. “Are you alright with this?” he says, “we don’t have to.”

Kitty holds his face in her hands as she lifts her hips. “I want to,” she utters.

Tom positions his tip to her entrance and holds her as she slowly starts to sink down. He can’t help the low groan that sounds in his throat no matter how much he tries to resist, but she’s so tight, so perfect.

She gasps and clenches her hands in his hair, but is determined to keep taking him, until their hips meet and he bottoms out. They stay like that for as long as she needs, catching her breath, getting used to the feeling of him inside her.

“Good girl,” he hums, tracing his thumbs over her stomach. “How do you feel?”

Kitty’s eyes flutter and she nods. “It hurts a little, but it feels good.��

“This should help,” he says, circling his thumb over her pearl.

She clasps a hand over her mouth as she lets out a short gasp and braces herself against him again. 

“Fuck, does that feel nice, pretty Kitty?” he grins.

Her moans are starting to make too much noise. If they go any further they might wake up her whole family. Not fancying having to explain a black eye or any broken limbs to his dad or commanding officer, he takes Kitty in his arms and brings her to lie down beside him again, keeping his cock nestled inside her.

He brings her head close to his shoulder. “I’m going to start moving, tell me if you want to stop.”

She nods, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"And I know it feels good but you need to be quiet too, yeah?"

"Yes," she utters, "please, just..."

He starts to fuck her slowly, finding a rhythm that ensures the bed doesn’t make any noise as it rocks. He draws her pleasure from her gradually, his cock dragging through her and his fingers circling over her pearl. He can feel it when she starts to clench around him, her hips moving against him to match his thrusts. 

They fall apart together, silencing their moans into each other’s necks.

The quiet of the night feels precious; two people existing in the same space, breathing the same air, sharing the same heat, clinging to each other like they’ve always done. 

She kisses him again, messily, like she’s drunk. Somewhere in it she loses her focus, her mouth slides along his jaw and she giggles into his neck.

“Are you tired?” he says.

“I think so,” she mumbles.

“Come here then.” He slides slowly out of her and turns onto his back, one arm draped over her shoulders. She leans into him, keeping a hand against his skin, over his heart.

Kitty snores softly in her sleep but he doesn’t mind it. 

He visits her every night for the next week, until he’ll have to leave for his training. He waits until all the lights in the Wheelans’ house are off, then sneaks in through the window and discards his clothes before he climbs into her bed. They kiss and fuck as quietly as they can, until they’re both breathless and too tired to stay awake.

On his last night in Longsight, once Kitty is fast asleep, her breath fluttering against his chest and his fingers stroking over her hair, it occurs to him that he might love her. But he’s seen what a mess Harry and Lois made, saying stupid things like that before one of them went away. So he lets her sleep, and stay in blissful ignorance. 

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

Series taglist: @hanula18 @azxulaa

#my fics #tom bennett #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #world on fire #wof #world on fire bbc #world on fire season 2 #world on fire fanfiction #tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x female reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennet x reader #ewan mitchell #tom bennett smut

[lya-dustin]

The Ewanverse Family Tree

for shits and giggles and A Comedy of Non-Mathematical Errors

a collaboration by @toms-cherry-trees @elizarbell @huramuna

Family tree

9th and 10th century

(the last kingdom)

Osferth + unknown wife

19th century

Mr. and Mrs. Bennett

(World on Fire)                                                                     

Douglas Bennett + Josie Bennett 

-Tom Bennett                                                            

-Lois Bennett 

Vera Chase

(The Halycon)

Margaret ‘Peggy’ Bennett+ Mr. Taylor

William ‘Billy’ Taylor

unknown sister

(Granchester)

Unknown Bennett sibling

-Abraham

20th century

Bennett Family post wwii

Tom Bennett + Diane Shelby (oc)

-Thomas Bennett Jr(oc)

-Elizabeth Bennett (oc)

Bennett Family

1960s

(Saltburn)

Tom Jr + some rich girl he met in Oxford in the 60s (unclear how he became a peer)

Elspeth Catton

Eadmund Bennett (basis GRRM used for Aemond Targaryn)

Micah Bennett

Lizzie + several unnamed men she hooked up with during the 60s and 70s

Billy Washington’s mom, Val Washington(Trigger Point)

Will from Salad Days’ dad

Jack from Fire’s mom

Bennett Family

1980s-1990s

Tom Jr's kids and grandkids

Elspeth + Sir James Catton

-Michael Cherwell Catton

-Felix River Catton

-Venetia Trinity Catton

Eadmund Bennett + Alice Rivers

-Ettore Rivers

Micah Bennett (via sperm donation)

Genyen/Shawn (Doctors)

Lizzie’s grandkids

Lana and Billy Washington (Trigger Point)

Will(Salad Days)

Jack and his brother (Fire)

Daniel from the veggie addicts video

Every single small role Ewan has ever been on

#ewan mitchell #abraham grantchester #aemond targaryen #ettore #elspeth catton #billy washington #billy taylor #the halcyon #trigger point #saltburn #my ocs #salad days #will salad days #genyen #tom bennett #tom bennett x ofc #world on fire bbc