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humanpurposes · 9 months

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Just for a moment, part iii

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, smut, Tom Bennett's daddy issues

Words: 5400

A/n: Also available to read on AO3.

Monday 27th May, 1940

The morning starts off with a miserable drizzle. Kitty watches the grey fade to warmth through her shift, until the early evening sun shines brightly through the wide windows of the shop.

The month of May has very much been the same, cold and wet at first, but the weather has been clearing up nicely. Dad is devoted to the garden now, digging up the grass and planting vegetables in every free space he can. It’s on posters all over the shop: Dig For Victory. Live off spuds and SPAM when the rations run out.

Life feels mechanical; most days she doesn’t feel like a real person at all. All week she stands behind the counter, exchanging coupons for pitiful amounts of tea and sugar, stocking up the rack of newspapers and skimming over whatever horrors the headlines are screaming about that day. When she gets home, she pulls together some kind of dinner from what food they have while dad sits by the wireless. When mam gets home from the munitions factory, they gather around the table and eat in silence.

The house is so quiet without the boys. The only time it feels a little lively is when they get a letter from one of them, but they aren’t very consistent, especially considering there’s three of them.

Every so often, she gets a letter from Tom Bennett, but she tends to keep those to herself.

Her life has become a waiting game, she realises, existing between brief moments of happiness with nothing but her memories to entertain herself. She finds herself thinking about Tom an awful lot. It’s not so bad during the day when she has something to do, but when she lies alone at night, her mind can wander. She still leaves her window unlocked and huddles close to the wall because maybe— just maybe, he’ll come through the window and fill the space beside her.

Once she’s packed up the register and put up the shutters, she waves goodbye to Mr Gregory and leaves him to lock the door.

She runs into the postman at the top of Slade Grove. She feels slightly less guilty for not remembering his name when he greets her as “Catherine.” It’s what her teachers at school used to call her, and it’s what mam calls her when she’s in a particularly foul mood. Now it just puts her on edge.

“Can I give these to you now?” he says, handing her a stack of three envelopes. “Saves me a house later on.”

She flicks through them as she carries on walking. Two are addressed to Michael Wheelan and they look boring, letters from the bank or something official, but upon seeing the third she stops and smiles.

Miss Catherine Wheelan 28 Slade Grove Longsight, Manchester United Kingdom

It’s written in Tom’s handwriting.

She tears it open immediately, her eyes flickering between the page and the street ahead, weaving through any passersby.

Dear Kitty,

Sorry it’s been a while since the last one. Morale hasn’t been the best to be honest. Do you know what they’re calling the last eight months now? “The phoney war”. Apparently things are only going to get worse from here, not that it’ll help your nerves.

Thanks for checking up on dad for me. I do worry about him being on his own, with Lois being away and all. I wonder if she’ll be back yet by the time you get this. Have you heard much from your lads? I hope they’re doing alright.

You’ll be pleased to know I haven’t been picking as many fights, but sure you know me, sometimes I can’t help myself. I’ve been reading over what you said. I know it’s not helpful, I know it’s stupid, but then I’ve never been one to think things through, have I? I suppose that’s not much of an excuse. It’s instinctive. It’s like my head tells me what I’m doing is wrong, but I don’t know what else to do.

And we could die any day. Kitty, the state I’ve seen some of these men in…

The writing becomes crooked and trails off, ending with a smudge of ink.

Maybe I should write about something less depressing? Did I tell you about this gorgeous bird I met at Port Stanley?

Kitty’s heart drops.

Beautiful thing she is. The moment I saw her I knew I had to have her, so I stowed her away and brought her on board with me. She whistles a lot, and she has these lovely yellow feathers that really brighten up the bunk. She’s a noisy eater though, munches on seeds like she’ll never eat again. I’ve named her Vera.

I can see the look on your face now. Don’t worry, pretty Kitty, there’s no other bird that could ever replace you.

“Charming,” she mutters to herself.

I think I quite like these letters really, it’s nice to give myself a moment to think, even if I can’t hear from you straight away. That’s when I miss you the most, right after I’ve sealed the envelope and written your address. I hate the waiting.

She glances up, seeing she’s only a few doors down from her house.

I should have leave coming up soon. I’m looking forward to putting my legs on dry land and sleeping on a proper mattress…

She checks the top of the page. The letter is dated from weeks ago. “Soon” could mean anything.

… and the odd late-night tryst to see my fancy woman at number 28.

She scoffs a small laugh.

I bet you’d slap me for that. God I hope your mum doesn’t get her hands on this before you. Ey up Mrs Wheelan, see what I meant was, your Kitty’s a very well-mannered lady.

She purses her lips in an attempt not to laugh, coming to stop before her own front door.

Take care of yourself Kitty. Don’t spend too much time fretting over me.

Your dear friend,

Tom Bennett

Her smile fades quickly— why shouldn’t she worry about him?

It’s always the same with letters from Tom. Her heart leaps and for a few brief moments she feels so bright, just to have some kind of news from him. She could read pages and pages of his stupid ramblings and his moments of sincerity, but then it’s over all too soon. He signs off as her dear friend, then suddenly the words on the page are no longer new, and he’s still thousands of miles away, picking fights with his crewmates and launching shells at German ships.

The days pass slowly, but when she stops and looks back, the eight months have felt like nothing. Her life is flying past her and she hardly even notices, too caught up in the memory of those nights in September.

All for him to call her his fancy woman and feed her jokes about birds.

She knows better than to get her hopes up with Tom; she’s seen him go through every crush he’s ever had. He used to go through phases of ditching her for whichever sweetheart he was entertaining at the time, only to come crawling back to her when he’d inevitably cock it all up. Because he’s Tom Bennett, and he can’t help but make a mess of everything.

And like a good friend, she always kept her window unlocked for him, always held him when he needed it and did her best to set him straight. Because that’s what friends are supposed to do, surely, and he never said they were more.

Is that truly all she is to him? A dear friend, a listening ear and a convenient shag.

She rubs her fingers over her eyes because she will not cry over Tom Bennett. With the letter back in its envelope, she puts it into her bag and tries to find her keys, when she notices the smell of cigarette smoke. It’s hardly a rarity, but it makes her think of him.

For whatever reason, she glances over her shoulder at number 27. Low and behold, she sees a man with a cocky smile in a tight, white t-shirt, leaning in the doorway, lowering a cigarette from his mouth.

“Alright, pretty Kitty?” Tom says. “Was waiting for you to notice me–”

Suddenly she’s flying across the street and flinging her arms around his neck. She stands on her tiptoes to put her head over his shoulder and he leans into her, holding one arm over her back and one around her waist.

She closes her eyes. His breath is hot against her neck. He is here. He is real. He is more than a memory or words on a page.

Tom presses a soft kiss to her temple and she feels him smiling against her skin. “Take it you missed me then?”

She pulls away, holding back the urge to cry again, hardly able to catch her breath. This close, she can see every detail of him this close, the texture of his skin, the lines around his mouth and brows, the circles under his eyes, the scruff along the sides of his jaw, the little cleft on the tip of his nose. “Maybe a little bit,” she says.

She gives a little yelp of surprise when she feels him pulling her into the house. He closes the door behind them and then her back is against the wall, her handbag dropped by her feet.

Tom shrugs her coat from her shoulders before he surges in to kiss her, fiercely, desperately. Their bodies are tangled in one another, her hands in his hair, his tracing over the curves of her body through her dress.

And then he moves away. She tries to follow him only to realise he’s smirking.

“Missed me just a little bit?” he teases.

She wants to roll her eyes, but she just smiles. “Quite a bit.”

He drags his thumb over her lower lip, pulling it down to watch it come back into place.

Kitty huffs impatiently as she nudges her nose up into his.

Their eyes meet and the anticipation lasts a lifetime.

Tom hums as he leans in to kiss her again, slower and deeper, pressing her a little further into the wall by the firm hold on her waist.

“Missed you,” he utters between kisses, “so fucking much.”

She runs her hands over every part of him she can reach, his neck, the sharp line of his jaw, over his ears and into his hair.

“How long have you been back?” she breathes.

“Since this morning,” he says, coming to kiss her neck, the spot he knows will have her back arching against him.

“You didn’t come to the shop,” she says.

“Wanted to wait for you.”

She glances down the hallway, to the seemingly empty kitchen.

Tom huffs and pulls away from her, leaning with one hand against the wall. “Dad’s flogging his paper. Lois is out. Empty house for a few hours.”

She turns her head back to face him, pleased at the flush in his cheeks and the mess she’s made of his hair.

Tom’s eyes look down to her waist, where he presses his thumb into the fabric of her dress. “Come upstairs,” he says lowly, “I want to fuck you properly.”

She nods mindlessly, closing her hand around his as he leads her up the stairs, to a bedroom with two single beds, separated by a curtain. The room is about the same size as the boys’ bedroom in her house, but with only two beds, there’s enough space for two separate wardrobes. Her brothers make do with sharing everything.

Nothing about the room denotes Tom Bennett, not the floral wallpaper or the knitted throws on the beds. Not the books, perfume bottles and silver candelabras on the mantle, and certainly not the lingering scent of hairspray.

He leads her to the bed furthest from the door. She follows the stream of sunlight coming in from the window, and then she notices the details that are his. The ashtray and the empty beer bottle on the bedside table, the ditty bag and the pairs of boots at the foot of the bed, and the sailor’s hat left on the floor by the wardrobe.

The door closes and his footsteps tread softly behind her. His hands snake around her waist and turn her to face him.

She places her hands on his chest, running her hands over his torso, mapping his body through the soft cotton t-shirt. He feels firmer than he used to, a consequence of loading shells into guns and living off rations. She feels along his arms too, over muscles, veins, tendons and the scar below his bicep.

Tom presses a kiss to her forehead before he starts to undo the buttons on the front of her dress. A familiar restlessness rises in her belly, and suddenly she thinks she can’t bear to wait another moment. With the buttons undone, she puts her hands over Tom’s as he slides the dress down to the floor, along with her stockings and quickly slips out of her shoes.

She wastes no time unclasping her brassiere and muffles Tom’s awestruck groan by pressing her lips to his.

Somehow he manages to rid himself of his t-shirt and slacks without parting from her for too long, and he guides them both to the bed. She giggles as he lands on top of her and the metal bedframe squeaks.

“Now,” Tom says, pressing a delicate kiss to her neck. “Don’t have to worry about being quiet like we usually do, do we?”

“No…” Kitty breathes as he moves down, dragging his lips and tongue down her body. When he comes to her breasts, he cups one with his hand, and takes the other nipple in his mouth. Her head rolls back against the pillows but she brings her eyes back to him. She wants to cling to every moment, every sensation, all the movements of his tongue against her skin and his hair falling in front of his face.

“Eight fucking months,” he half growls as he moves further down, kissing along her stomach and running his hands over her hips. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

She instinctively bites her lip when he ghosts his lips over her clothed cunt.

He tuts. “Don’t hold back on me now, sweetheart. I want to hear how much you missed me,” he says, curling his fingers around the hem of her underclothes before dragging them along her legs, leaving them somewhere on the floor.

He trails teasing kisses along her thighs. She squirms and whines every time he edges closer to her centre, until finally, he drags his tongue through her folds, from her entrance, up to her pearl with a deliciously agonising pressure. She doesn’t hold back the moans that sound in her throat, curling her fists through the bedsheets.

He works over her pearl with his tongue and lips, groaning against her as he does it and squeezing his fingertips into the flesh of her thighs.

It’s been so long since she’s felt like this, even on the nights when she felt herself getting too desperate, she can never quite match the feeling.

In a way it infuriates her that he can make her feel so good, but what’s worse than that is that he knows it. She can see his smug, half smile as he mouths at her cunt, so pleased at the noises she makes and the way her hips are starting to move against him.

She curls in on herself as her peak washes over her, but he manages to hold her down, right where he wants her, and keeps going until her whole body shudders and her legs are quivering.

“Fuck,” she breathes, “Tom…”

Even then he doesn’t give her much of a reprieve. He moves back for a moment before he positions her legs over his shoulders. His tongue is against her again, only now he moves lower, teasing over her entrance.

She whines impatiently.

“Fucking greedy, aren’t you?” Tom chuckles. He licks over her again— too much and not enough. “Just take it, take what I give you.”

But it doesn’t take long for him to slip his tongue inside her while his nose nudges against her. His name is a dreamy chant on her lips now. The pleasure rises and burns until she’s sure she can’t take anymore. She threads her fingers into his hair, gripping at it, urging him on, just a little more, and she’s sure she’ll fall apart.

Then he’s gone without warning, but he soon compensates the loss by replacing his tongue with a single finger.

Tom gazes up at her through his lashes. He keeps his eyes on her face as he pushes inside of her, deeper, deeper, until she takes a sharp intake of breath when he finds her sweet spot.

“Give me another one,” he groans, lowering his head down to circle his tongue over her. “Come on, pretty Kitty.”

She follows it like a command. Her second peak is sharper than the first and has her gasping for breath as she feels herself come undone around him.

“There you go,” Tom grins as he brings her legs from his shoulders and starts to make his way up her body.

He props himself over her, one hand on either side of her head. His silver chain, usually hidden below his shirt, dangles in front of her as their eyes meet. They breathe together, chests rising and falling in perfect unison.

He hesitates for a moment, before he places a lazy kiss to her lips. “God,” he utters, “you’re so fucking gorgeous, do you know that?”

“Just keep saying it,” she says.

He takes one of her hands and guides it down to his briefs. She traces her fingers over the hem before she slides underneath and wraps them around his already hard cock.

“Fuck—” Tom hisses through his teeth, his brow furrowed and his jaw tight. He reaches for the bedside table and hands her a condom. “Do the honours for me,” he grins.

She tears it open and reaches back down to slide it along his length.

Slowly, he lets his weight fall against her as he slides inside of her, burying his face into her neck and letting out a shaky breath against her skin.

She brings her arms around his shoulders as he rocks into her, gently at first, but she can feel that it’s not enough. His breaths are getting sharper and his thrusts harsher as he whimpers into her neck.

She holds him as tightly as she can, hoping it will somehow soothe the ache in her heart, because she still feels the absence of the last eight months. Because she can already feel the time slipping away.

Tom withdraws from her neck. “Look at me,” he pleads.

She does, and he brings his forehead to hers. His nose presses into hers and their lips barely brush over each other.

“You feel so good,” he says. His expression fades into something darker and more determined as he fucks her harder and faster, “so fucking tight.”

She feels it too, the urgency to make up for the time and the distance with a carnal need.

They reach their climaxes together, moaning into each other’s mouths and keeping their bodies tight together. It never feels close enough.

Once they’ve caught their breath and they feel their desire mounting again, Tom lies back on the bed and brings her to straddle him.

While the position isn’t unfamiliar, the movements are, but she’s eager enough, gauging both of their reactions as she grinds her hips against his. She goes slowly, at first, bracing herself against him while Tom keeps hold of her waist to guide her movements.

“Nice and slow, just like that,” he whispers, gazing up at her with a slight smile, “show me how much you missed me.”

She doesn’t care how the bed creaks under them, that she’s breathing and moaning too loudly. There’s something freeing and unashamed about how they fuck. Seeing Tom’s face twisted in pleasure and hearing his needy whines as he starts to buck his hips to match her movements.

And when another climax tears through her, she wishes she could drag the moment out forever.

Tom takes her in his arms as they collapse back on the bed.

She feels like she’s dreaming, not quite awake but still aware of whose arms are cradled around her, whose heartbeat she feels against her ear, who reaches for a packet of cigarettes and flicks his lighter.

They talk about things they’ve already discussed over letters, the bloody war and all the misery that comes with it. Life in Longsight seems dull in comparison to Tom’s tales of sea battles and antics on board the Exeter. But even in the middle of the Atlantic, in the midst of a war that’s consuming the whole world, he still found time to wind everybody up. She can’t tell if she hates him or admires him for it.

There’s something different about him. Where he used to sound so cocksure and carefree, his voice is duller.

Tucked under his shoulder, she shifts her head to get a better look at him, propped up against the pillows, taking drags from his cigarette, pouting his lips as he exhales the smoke and tapping the ash into the tray. Her eyes tell her it’s the same person, the same jaw, the same nose, the same lips, the same shade of blue in his eyes.

No… he looks different in the way his face falls. He seems less smug than he used to be. He seems tired, older, colder.

Of course he’s different, how could he not be? The war has reached every corner of the world, but he’s been in the thick of it.

“Your dad must be glad to have you back,” she says quietly.

Tom’s body tenses underneath her. He brings his cigarette to his lips again, giving a little irritated huff as he exhales. She wonders if that’s a thread she should avoid tugging on, but it already seems to be unraveling. He reaches to stub the cigarette out in the ashtray.

“I didn’t want to go back,” he mutters, his expression stern and sad. “I thought I was doing the right thing by going. I’ve spent enough of my life making a mess of everything, I thought if I did something good then…” he glances down at her, then shakes his head. “But I was so fucking scared—” his voice breaks his eyes are glistening.

Kitty sits up and clenches her hand around his. He’s trembling.

“You’re alright,” she says, softly, “you’re alright.”

He breathes quickly and she can feel his heart thundering in his chest. His descriptions of the attacks on the Exeter and the aftermaths had been brief, which she thought must have been a way to protect her from it on his part. Maybe he didn’t want it in writing, maybe he didn’t want to think about it once he had lived it, to be surrounded by fire, smoke and death at every turn.

“I thought dad would help me. I told him I didn’t want to go back, I thought he could help me somehow.”

“And what did he say?”

His nostrils flare as he huffs again. “He thinks it’ll be a bad look for the movement. He doesn’t think I’m genuine.”

Kitty strokes her thumb over his knuckles and his fingers tighten around hers.

“For a moment I thought he’d be pleased,” he says, his voice thick and coarse, “just for a moment.

She breathes through the tight feeling in her chest. “Maybe if you spoke to him again—”

“No,” he says bitterly. “Made up his mind now. Sure, what does it matter either way? I’m not much use here.”

The light feeling in her limbs is starting to fade. She feels solid and heavy where her body meet the mattress.

“Your dad needs you,” Kitty says, “and Lois.”

He scoffs.

“Don’t tell me you’re upset with her too?”

Tom frowns. “Stupid fucking mistake. What does she think she’s going to do now?”

“She told you then?”

“She sent a letter.”

Lois had called in a few weeks ago to tell them the news. Mam already had her suspicions, even though Lois was barely showing. She and dad were horrified, but of course they didn’t make that clear until after she had left. “A baby on the way and no husband, for shame.”

“She knows it was stupid, but she’s not asking anyone else to deal with the consequences,” Kitty says.

“All because she wanted to mess around with some posh boy.”

Kitty swallows down the dry feeling in her throat. “I don’t think what she did was much different to me and you.”

Tom looks down at her with wide eyes. “Me and you are different,” he says.

“How so?”

His lips shift, like he might say something, but he doesn’t. “I don’t know, I thought Lois was more sensible than this.”

“She’s certainly not done herself any favours, but you won’t help by being angry at her.”

“But she’s always been the responsible one, you know?”

“That’s not fair, Tom, she’s your sister not your mother.”

Tom stares up at the ceiling with his lips parted. “No… I suppose not.”

He turns his head into her. “I should never have gone in the first place.”

There’s lots of things that she thinks she would want to change. Sometimes she wishes Tom wasn’t so reckless and impulsive. She wishes he’d find an interest that wouldn’t end him up in trouble with the police. She wishes he really was a pacifist, and that way he would be here, and the only thing separating them would be a single street and two windows. It hurts to think of what could have been.

But those things cannot be changed, and even then, he wouldn’t be him. He wouldn’t be the Tom Bennett she’s adored for as long as she’s had memories of him.

She shifts against him, hooking her arm over her chest and her leg over his hips. “I know things are hard,” she says. “Just don’t leave them on a bade note. You’ll regret it if you do.”

They don’t speak for a while. The evening drags on, the sun dips lower in the sky, voices and the shouts of children sound from the street and Kitty is content lie beside him, listening to his heartbeat and his slow, controlled breaths, while he plays with her hair.

“I love you,” he breathes, so softly she thinks it might be a voice in her head. “When we got hit, it was all I could think about. That I might die then and there, and you’d never know.”

She feels her mouth break into a smile. “You love me?”

“Oh leave off, I’ve said it now,” he says with a grin.

They dress and he leads her downstairs to the kitchen. While he fusses with the kettle, Kitty takes a seat at the table.

“You’ve not met Vera yet,” Tom says over his shoulder, nodding at the small birdcage on the table. Inside, a little, yellow canary with black, beady eyes tilts her head and chirps.

“Hello, Vera,” Kitty says.

Vera chirps back.

Tom turns back around with a single cup of tea and a plate of toast. “Have to be stingy with the butter and milk, obviously,” he says setting them in front of her.

“Oh,” she says, “no, I won’t have any, don’t waste your rations on me.”

Tom angles his brows at her. “It’s not a waste.” He takes a seat in the chair opposite and lights a cigarette. “Come on, you’ve been on your feet all day.”

She hesitates before she reaches for the milk, spilling the smallest dash she can manage into the cup and skipping the sugar. Then she takes a cut of butter no larger than her thumbnail and spreads it across the toast. She takes a few tentative bites, ushering some back to him and tearing off a few crumbs to feed to Vera. Even the most mundane parts of life have become luxuries now.

“How long are you back for?” she asks.

“A week.”

“And then?”

“Off to Dover. They’ve got some big operation planned.”

“And will you be back after that?”

He draws his tongue between his lips. “I don’t know.”

Before long, the front door unlocks and Lois’ heels click through the hallways as she comes into the kitchen. “Dad not back yet?” she says, tossing her coat over the banister. She stops at the head of the table and looks between the two of them. She’s holding a brown paper bag. “Hello, Kitty. I’ve just been in to see your mum.”

“Oh she’ll be wondering where I am,” Kitty says, glancing across to Tom.

His chin is tilted down, and he looks up at her through the smoke with pleading eyes, like an injured puppy.

“Tell ‘em the Gregorys invited you up for tea,” Lois shrugs. She reaches into the bag and pulls out tiny pieces of clothing that are vaguely familiar to Kitty. “For the baby,” she says. “Thank God your mum kept all your old stuff.”

“Make do and all that,” Kitty says, briefly catching Tom’s eye.

She downs her tea and hurries to the hallway. Tom had left her coat over a sofa in the front room, and her bag is still on the floor. She tuts at his carelessness and shouts a farewell to Lois as Tom comes to see her to the door.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he says formally, with the corners of his mouth curled.

“Of course,” she replies, peering round his shoulder to see if Lois can see them.

Tom looks round too and smiles back at her as he leans into her ear. “A pleasure, as always, pretty Kitty.” He catches her lips in a quick peck before he opens the door for her.

She hurries across the street and finds her keys in her handbag. Before she opens her own door, she looks back to number 27. The glow of the spring evening beams off the red bricks of the houses and Tom looks golden, watching her through the haze of smoke from his cigarette.

It’s like before, all those months ago, before he first went away.

Each night, Tom steals into her bedroom. They kiss as quietly as they undress each other and set themselves down on her bed.

It gets more unbearable with every day that goes by. Each hour is an hour closer to carrying on with her life without him, when he’ll become another person to wait for, another reason why she wants this war to end.

On their last night, he fucks her from behind, keeping her mouth covered and muffling his own sounds in the crook of her neck. His breath and the hold on her mouth only makes her more desperate.

If anything, that first evening has ruined her, going back to gentle lovemaking is excruciating.

She quietly pleads for “more… more…”

Tom clamps his hand tighter around her mouth. “No, no, no, be a good girl,” he whispers harshly, “just be a good girl for me, Kitty.”

Once they’re both too tired to carry on, he wraps his arms around her. He tells her he loves her, and she says it back.

Dover is closer than the Atlantic at least, but the distance is all the same. He’ll still be gone.

She watches him as he dresses and follows him to the window. Before he leaves, he kisses her, deeply and desperately, pulling her still bare body against him.

When they move away for breath she gazes into his eyes. She could never forget them, the storm of blue and grey rings around his pupil, but he already feels like a memory, something intangible, there but not quite.

He presses a kiss to her forehead and his lips linger there. “When I get my next leave, I’ll come straight to you,” he says.

She doesn’t doubt it’s a promise he’ll keep. Tom Bennett doesn’t often make promises to her, but so far, he’s never broken one.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

Series taglist: @hanula18 @azxulaa @whoknows333

#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

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zzoguri · 7 months

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on the drive home ➵ ji changmin

the three times changmin thought you two would be okay, and the one drive home that made him realize he was wrong.

requested by @vernyangel for the song "on the drive home" by niki

genre/warnings ➵ angst no happy ending, established relationship, afab reader (no-gendered terms), lowercase intended, reader is shitty but changmin still excuses their actions, jiwoo is chuu btw, chanhee is the best friend who knocks sense into changmin, sadly no proper conversation about the problem happens

word count ➵ 2.6k words

taglist ➵ @deoboyznet @kflixnet @blankjournal @winterchimez @miusgirl @jenoscafe @sweet-unicorn-world @vernyangel @mosviqu

a/n ➵ took me a bit to really pump this out :') spent so long just looping this song to really get my thoughts out. i hope you enjoy this @vernyangel! thank you for always supporting me bff </3 i hope this does justice to your request, and i hope i can do well in your other one as well. please don't forget to reblog (even if it's in your tbr!)

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! want to request? check out my guidelines! masterlist

it’s a slurry of orange and red hues that cascade all over town. the buildings are only but a blur of figures that fill the windshield, and the pavements do not hold a living soul. with the windows rolled down, warm tones fill the car, the faux leather seems to glow, and the hands on the steering wheel reflect the shades of the city.

anything but silence fills the car; the melodies from the radio are low, and the whispers of the wind hit against eardrums. but these sounds are not enough to break the tension between changmin and you.

he doesn’t bother to talk like all the other drives back home. for once, it’s quiet on his end. he does not bother to admire the hues of the sky, and he decides against commenting on the songs from your playlist. instead, he looks at you all while your eyes are trained on the road.

he leans back in his chair, head pointed to you, and takes in the sight. the hazy buildings along with the sun setting are only a background made for you, and shades of orange make your skin glow. to him, you still look like the same person he first knew—the one who transformed the meaning of home—but now, you are nothing like the one he fell in love with.

a disheveled maze, constellated and intertwined, but somehow, my favorite kind

the sounds emitting from your speaker bounce on the four walls, filling your room with the sweet harmonies of niki accompanied by plucked guitar strings. the lamp shines over sprawled notes written in handwriting only you can decipher. all while you work, changmin is lying down on your bed. his hums come and go, his attention being divided to whatever he comes up on his phone.

the familiar strumming of a guitar plays out; it’s one you and changmin know by heart. he’s ready to sing along to snow patrol, murmuring during parts he didn’t know the lyrics to. then the song is cut short; an unfamiliar tune plays out. his eyes snap away from his phone to stare at your slouched figure by the table.

“awe, why’d you change it?” he whines. not a single response comes from you. he frowns at your back but decides to not ask again. maybe his voice was too soft for you to even hear him, or you were too caught up in your work to pay attention to his thoughts. either way, he wanted to respect your study time so long as you took enough time to rest.

a bell rings out. changmin looks back to his phone to see a text message from chanhee—are we still meeting for dinner?

“hey, are you still up to have dinner with chanhee?” changmin asks as he sits up, hair ruffled into a mess, and still…

this isn’t the first time you’ve done this. you were the type to not answer if you were caught up with something. but changmin is used to it, understanding that you needed the space to focus which resulted in tuning everything out.

he stands up and walks towards you, his hands landing on your shoulders. still, no reaction. he starts to frown at your behavior. usually, you would at least acknowledge him at this point. “earth to y/n?”

a disgruntled sound leaves you as your eyes remain on your notes. you still continue to rewrite them all while changmin stands behind you. “do you want to have dinner with chanhee?” he asks once more only to be met with you shaking your head. he hums for a moment before suggesting, “do you want me to order some food instead?”

“no.” it’s the first time he’s heard you speak since he arrived.

a pout appears on his lips. “but… you haven’t eaten.”

“pointing out the obvious, mister.” the tone is harsh, enough to have him flinch. the grip on your shoulders loosened. in front of him was a version of you he wasn’t used to. it almost seemed like you were mad at him but he didn’t know why.

you let out a sigh. “sorry, i’m just not in the mood today.” the apology that leaves your lips almost sounds genuine. “i just have a lot of things to work on, and i need to do it now or i’ll be behind.”

changmin nods before letting go of you. “is there anything i can do?” you go back to saying nothing, only shaking your head once more, and he takes it as a sign to not bother you further.

“okay,” he whispers, taking a few steps away from you. “i’ll go have dinner then with chanhee, okay?” once again, you don’t respond; you don’t even bother to shake your head this time.

he quickly types a reply to his best friend—yeah, it’ll just be us. y/n’s got some work to catch up on. he grabs his bag that rests against your bed frame and looks back to you whose back still faces him. he walks to you and faces your cheek. a frown rests on your face, clearly concentrated on the work you’re doing.

“i’ll go, okay? just let me know once you’ve eaten.” the question is soft, but your hardened expression doesn’t falter. so he kisses your cheek, lips lingering a few seconds more than usual, before saying, “love you, take care.”

“stay safe.” your response is almost soundless, but changmin catches it. he grins at your words—it’s enough to patch up the wound you inflicted moments ago. so he exits your room, leaving you the space you seem to need.

floating in a sea of missed calls and excuses

it’s cold tonight; the wind comes in waves, hitting changmin’s cheeks in full force, and the leaves rustle along. he loves it when the weather is like this; it’s an excuse to wear hoodies without having his fingers fall off. but most of all, it’s an opportunity for him to snuggle up in bed with you. he would rest his nose against your cheek and leave trails of kisses all over your collar area, only until you’d tell him to stop from how ticklish it feels.

but tonight, he stands in the dark right outside of your favorite restaurant. the luminescence pours out, the chatter from customers and staff seeps through the cracks of the windows, and the smell of dishes lingers in the air. everyone seems like they’re having the time of their lives—can changmin say the same for himself?

his eyes stare at his shared messages with you—still no response from you. a sigh leaves him.

you were not the type to ditch plans. if something came up, you would message him as soon as you found out. but now, it’s 30 minutes past the time you were supposed to meet him, and there was no message regarding your absence. so he calls you, places his phone against his ear, and waits for your answer.

it rings for a while. changmin is almost scared you won’t pick up—what if you lost your phone? what if you were kidnapped? or what if you got into an accident?

“changmin-ah!”

changmin lets out a sigh of relief as he hears your voice. “where are you?” he can hear the faint sounds of music playing from your end, but he doesn't hear a word from you. “y/n?”

“huh? oh, sorry. what were you saying?”

his eyes flicker to the restaurant sign. “where are you? i’m already here.”

“already whe—oh, there!” you cough. “i can’t make it.”

changmin frowns before asking, “what’s wrong? are you okay?”

“yeah, i just can’t make it.” he bites the inside of his cheek as he listens intently to your words.

“but we planned this for a while now.” he looks down to the ground as he paces around, kicking a stone off the sidewalk. “we haven’t gone on a date in months,” he whispers.

“i’m with jiwoo right now.”

his eyebrows shoot up before he asks, “is she okay?” he doesn’t want to make you feel guilty if your best friend needs you. you only hum back in response. “okay, do you want me to pass by?” not a single response comes from you. all he can hear is the muffled sounds of chattering and the faint notes of whatever song is playing in the background.

“hello?” he calls out once more.

“oh, sorry! i was talking to jiwoo. anyways, i really have to go!”

“oh, okay. love—” the call drops. “—you…” the last word trails into a whisper. you don’t even bother to say your usual farewell.

he bites the inside of his cheek as he looks down at his phone, looking back at his chat with you. as he replays the conversation, a prickly feeling consumes his heart—enough to form cuts on the organ but not enough to stab it all the way through.

the next thing he knows, he’s calling his best friend. two rings later, he picks up, even faster than you did. “changmin-ah?”

“hey, chanhee. have you had dinner?” changmin asks as he walks into the restaurant. he quickly tells one of the staff his name for his reservation.

“oh! i was about to.”

the waitress signals that they have his table, and so he follows her to where he’ll be seated. “okay. do you wanna have dinner with me?” he asks.

as they arrive at the table, he notices the setup is nicer than usual. a candle sits in the middle of a pile of fake rose petals, and a bottle of your favorite wine in an ice bucket standing beside it—they’re all special requests made by him just for you. so he signals to the waitress to clean up the roses and remove the candle. the wine that was meant to be shared with you will now be shared with his best friend instead.

“huh? i thought you were going on a date with y/n.”

changmin sighs before taking a seat saying, “something came up. they’re with jiwoo right now.” he watched her clean up the table, leaving the two sets of tableware untouched.

a beat passes.

“okay,” chanhee whispers back. “i’ll see you at that restaurant, right?” and changmin only hums before hanging up on him.

when his best friend arrived, changmin smiled at him. thankfully, tonight’s reservations would not be wasted. but for the rest of the dinner, changmin avoided talking about you.

i sit here with glistening eyes as the stripes on my back chip and dry

changmin stands outside of the door, a plastic bag full of your favorite takeout food in his hand. tonight was supposed to turn out right; come home with boxes of chinese food and spend the rest of the time talking about nothing or everything—whichever you wanted—but he doesn’t know where he went wrong.

the door swings open and it reveals his best friend. confusion paints chanhee’s face, but changmin grins as he raises the bag up. “i brought some food if you haven’t eaten.” the smile on his face is bittersweet. no matter how many times he may try to play this whole thing off, chanhee knows his best friend.

so chanhee only nods and steps to the side, letting him into his apartment. it’s instinctive for him—go to the kitchen, remove the food, and microwave it. so chanhee goes to the fridge, pulls out two cans of beer, and sets them on the table. as soon as dinner is ready, the two sit across from each other before digging into the meal.

from how changmin looks, it seems like he isn’t up to talking. all he wants to do is eat in silence, but chanhee knows it would be wrong to leave this situation hanging in the air.

“so, what’s up with you two?” changmin looks up to see his best friend whose eyes are on him as he slurps up some noodles.

“what do you mean? everything is fine,” he shoots him a smile before grabbing some beef and broccoli. as he chews away, chanhee sighs as he shakes his head.

“you know that’s a lie.” his best friend is always the type to be straightforward. if changmin was wearing an atrocious outfit, chanhee would let him know. if he was overreacting, his best friend would knock some sense into him. but most of all, if chanhee smelled bullshit on changmin’s end, he would call it. chanhee believes that his best friend’s situation is no different.

so chanhee asks, “what happened tonight?” but changmin refuses to answer, letting the silence take over—it’s enough to speak for him. he bites the inside of his cheek, drops the fork on his plate, and rests his arms on the table. as he looks intently at changmin, he says, “i think you need to talk to them.”

changmin rips his gaze away from chanhee, looking down at the food that he moves around on his plate. usually, he would listen to what his best friend would have to say, but now, he wished he could block him out.

“i wouldn’t talk about it if you didn’t want to,” chanhee starts off. “but i can’t stand watching this unfold any further. i don’t want you to keep getting hurt.”

changmin only sighs as he continues to play with his food until he feels his best friend grab hold of his hand. he looks up to see chanhee whose face is painted with concern. “i’m serious.” it’s a testament to the gravity of the elephant in the room you and he share. “this isn’t healthy, and you know that.”

changmin wishes he could retort back—you two were only going through a rough patch because of different schedules and priorities. if chanhee dissed his outfit, he would defend his fashion choices. if his best friend thought he was overreacting, he would justify his behavior by pointing out the circumstances that brought this reaction.

but the only time changmin could never defend himself is when chanhee calls bullshit on him, so he chooses to stay silent. he doesn’t try to argue with his best friend. instead, he only eats his food and hopes that this will pass—you two will be okay.

but for now, the night is young, and you are here, and snow patrol just came on the radio

changmin breathes in the sight of you, almost like it’ll be the last time he’ll ever see it, and bites on his tongue. the words shall remain unspoken. but a familiar song starts to play out, a shared favorite between you two, and he cannot help but feel his sentiments start to spill out.

“it this the end?” the question is almost soundless but he knows you hear it over the vocals of snow patrol. your hands grip on the steering wheel, and you swallow down nothing. still, your eyes remain on the road.

changmin hopes you shake your head, telling him that everything is fine, or maybe even ask what he’s pertaining to. he wouldn’t have it in him to let go of what you two formed together—a home in each other in a town that never did justice to the term. he’s only learned what it means to have one through you because you built it with him. any other response would be fine so long as it wasn’t an affirmation of his fears.

but the worst came like the breeze that hit changmin’s cheeks—you nod without sparing a glance. with a simple nod, everything he knew disintegrated.

you held the sledgehammer and swung it against his heart made of glass, and the shattered pieces fling against the wall. that action alone should be enough for him to feel anger, despair, sorrow. but he’s okay with picking up the glass shards, left to clean the mess you left because you’re still home to him even if he may not be yours.

without uttering another word, he lets his eyes drift to the road—this will be the last time you two go on the same path. but for now, he’ll remain content with his last moments with you.

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