#Tom holland fanfic
Text
please, call me peter
DATE: JANUARY 6, 2023
summary: you haven’t been able to come with anyone besides yourself, making you think something’s wrong with you. once you go to the gynecologist, dr. parker shows you that you’re just fine.
request: yes yes
words: 3.4k
warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [fingering], dub-con, small praise kink, dirty talking), and a cute ending.
note: shooting out requests like webs. sorry that was lame. if this makes you uncomfortable, do not read.
gynecologist!peter x female!reader
—
Your eyes scan the white room while you sit impatiently. Your heart lightly thuds in your chest and your fingers drum rapidly along your clothed thigh. The nurse had asked if you wanted to change into a hospital gown, which you politely denied. She gave you an indifferent expression before walking out, leaving you here.
You were at the gynecologist for one concerning reason; every time you had sex, you couldn’t come. Your previous relationship ended because you were unable to reach that euphoric high, which you believed was a ridiculous reason to leave someone. You weren’t as sad as you thought you’d be because you were too concerned with your own well-being to dwell on some bloke.
Before heading to the doctor, you had a quick hook-up, assuming that you and your ex just weren’t sexually compatible. But then you were proved wrong when you didn’t come. Again. You weren’t really the hook-up type, in fear of catching some unwanted disease or infection. Finally, you took matters into your own hands, literally, and masturbated with your fingers until you orgasmed all over your bed sheets.
See? It wasn’t impossible.
Then why couldn’t you come with other people? It had to be your fault. It had to be.
So, again, you were left here in the small hospital room sitting between empty stirrups with your ankles tightly crossed. The widening of the wooden door alerted you, your eyes shooting towards the man entering the room.
A guy? Your gynecologist was a guy?
You knew you were a decently healthy person because you were always on track with your appointments, even small check-ups. Because of your good wellness, you had never needed to go to the gyno. Until now, which seemed a bit nerve-racking all of a sudden.
The second the doctor turned around, you knew exactly why.
Warm, brown eyes peer at you with tenderness. Chestnut curls rest upon his head a little messily, but in the cutest way. He wore a professional lab coat over his casual clothing. His ribbed shirt and blue jeans seemed to match him perfectly. His cheeks appear a tinge pink when he smiles, welcoming and greeting you.
Oh shit.
“I’m Dr. Parker, and you are?” Dr. Parker asks as he plops onto his spinny chair. His eyes stare deeply into yours, causing your heart to race more than you’d like to admit. His voice was as attractive as his face, and you tried to convince yourself that he had to have at least one bad quality that you just haven’t seen yet, so you didn’t soak your panties.
“Y/N,” You blink to wash away the feeling of your nerves as your palms get clammy. “but you probably knew that already.”
“That is true, but I like for my patients to introduce themselves to me directly,” He states simply and you nod in response. Your sweaty hands interlocked over your thighs to ease yourself.
“So, what brings you in here today, Y/N?” Dr. Parker questions with a lick of his lips. He can’t help himself when his eyes drift nonchalantly, but quickly down your body. You were beautiful, which made it hard to concentrate on anything else, especially when you started talking. Your voice was silky, and he wanted to ask you more questions just so he could hear it more.
“I…” You were a bit embarrassed to share your reasoning. Was it common? Will he laugh at you? No, of course not, he’s a doctor! You battled with yourself in your head before spitting it out. “I can’t come during sex.”
Your jaw clenched as your hand practically hit your forehead in embarrassment. You couldn’t look at him because he was probably holding back a laugh. But you also couldn’t look at him because he was so handsome you might melt.
True be told, Peter already knew why you were here. He read the small report the nurse got before he entered. It was part of protocol and he wanted to hear you describe it yourself.
“That’s okay, darling. Nothing to be ashamed of,” He reassures gently as you remove your hand from your face. He smiles sincerely and you smile bashfully back. The nickname erupts butterflies in your stomach, and you can’t disregard the small wetness you feel trickle in your underwear.
When he asks, you go on to explain your situation in detail, even including the part about your ex-boyfriend dumping you. When Peter hears this, his jaw subtly clenches as irritation spreads through him.
Who breaks up with someone for that? He wanted to ask, but knew that was probably inappropriate. He does need to question you professionally though to ensure there’s nothing wrong. However, he thinks he already knows the answer.
“I’m going to ask you some questions that get pretty personal,” Parker faces his notes with you in the corner of his eye. You nod as your nervousness never fades and your heart beat remains quite fast.
Most of his questions were simple and straightforward, so you weren’t too ashamed to answer.
“Do you have any pain?”
“No.”
“Are you on birth control?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Two years,” You eyes strayed away from him, thumbs twiddling in your lap like an anxious child. He wonders how you got birth control without going to the gynecologist in the past, seeming as though you’ve had no history.
However, some questions made the heat rise to your cheeks. Your arousal worsened the more Dr. Parker spoke, his voice warm and soothing like honey.
“To clarify, you have orgasmed before, correct?” Peter was able to focus when his eyes were glued to his papers, but one glance at your adorable shyness and his cock was semi-hard in his boxers.
“Yes, I-I did it myself,” You hissed at yourself for stuttering. He made you so starstruck it was hard to form words. You didn’t meet many people like that in your life— now that you think of it, none at all. He surveys you for a moment you think was a little too long, and you tighten your ankles together at his burning gaze.
“Um,” He grunts, covering it up with a cough as his cheeks turn pink a tad more. Your lip subtly curls into a smile at his cuteness. Peter was nervous for the first time in a while, fingers shaking as he scribbled notes about you. He felt as silly as a child who had a crush on a classmate. “you seem very well.”
“So nothing’s wrong?” Your eyebrows crinkle in confusion, a lost expression cascading over your face when you feel like you’ve hit a dead end. You gaze at the floor, trying to understand.
“Not directly,” He says to reassure you. Your eyes meet his with a head tilt. Now, you were really confused.
“What do I do then?”
“Don’t have sex with idiots,” He grumbles, honestly hoping you didn’t hear it. But of course you did. Your heart rate quickens wildly in your chest at his blunt statement. “but to make sure, I’m going to check you, okay?”
Your eyes widen for a moment, not thinking you would have to be checked. Your thoughts immediately shoot to your soaked panties and how he’ll see your very visual arousal. Hopefully, he assumes it’s from nerves.
“Would you like to change into something more comfortable and accessible?” He asks, looking at your shirt with jean shorts. He checks most of his patients, so usually they would have been in a gown already. But at this hospital, the patient didn’t have to change, even though it was highly recommended. However, when they rarely denied the new wardrobe, the doctor had to undress the patient themselves. So far in Peter’s career, he’s only had to do that with incidents that were an emergency.
“No, thank you,” You answered with no explanation. Secretly, you hated the material of the gown and you swore it gave you rashes. Maybe you were allergic?
Dr. Parker nods once and turns to his little side table beside you. He slips on his blue gloves and tells you exactly what he’s going to do, so you’re not unprepared.
“And since you’re not in a gown, the protocol is that I must undress you myself,” Peter feels the burning red flame up his cheeks at his statement. Your eyes widen again at the image of the sensual action, but nod in understanding.
Who made that rule? You wanted to ask, but it seemed disrespectful. You honestly couldn’t tell if you loved or hated the person that invented that idea. Picturing Dr. Parker strip you only made a pool in your panties.
Peter’s gloved fingers unbutton and zip down your jean shorts with your permission. It was slow and steady, unlike your heart that was bouncing off the walls of your ribs. You know he could see your heavy breathing as your stomach rose up and down too quickly under the thin material of your shirt.
Your shorts were removed and then he was on to your underwear.
Peter’s cock pulsed in his jeans at the wet patch on your panties, his red blush never fading. He wanted to press the pad of his thumb against your throbbing clit. He would rub you over the flimsy fabric and then make you moan for him as he fucked you roughly with his fingers. He could assume that you were tight and tense because of your struggle to orgasm with another person, but the thought only made his cock twitch needily as he imagined you squeezing around him.
“Are you okay so far? And can I remove these?” He asks for consent and patiently waits. You nod, but he’s not having that. “Words, Y/N. I need you to say it.”
His demand caused you to clench around nothing as you stutter out a trembling yes, so he can proceed. Peter delicately removes your panties, sliding them down your supple legs and placing them with your shorts. You didn’t open your legs, but you knew he’d already seen the wetness leaking out of you.
“Okay, um,” His professionalism was fading from him. He wanted to devour you because you probably tasted amazing. The smell of your arousal filled his nostrils, making it hard to focus on anything. “Put your legs on these stirrups. I’ll help you.”
He guides your legs into the holders, strongly resisting the urge to gawk at your vulnerable area. Once you were settled, he looked down and nearly came right there. Arousal drowned your folds as your puffy clit poked out behind it all. He noticed the fluttering of your folds as the cold air hit your wetness. He wouldn’t need to use any lube on you for sure. Peter was losing his cool and was about to lose everything if he did not pull himself together.
“I’m about to start. Are you okay?” He could sense your nervousness from a mile away. He wanted to make sure you were okay, even if you’ve had sex multiple times before.
“Yes, doctor,” You reassure and his jaw subtly locks at his label leaving from your mouth. He avoids picturing his falling from your pretty lips, so he could focus on the task at hand. You didn’t notice, too caught up in your own thoughts of his fingers entering you. You wanted him to pound them into you mercilessly because you know he’d know all the right spots and special places to hit. You can imagine he’s soft and caring, and always gives immense pleasure to the woman.
You almost gasp aloud when you come to a realization; he probably has a girlfriend. Or a wife. A wife and kids. You don’t remember seeing a ring, but that doesn’t mean anything. Oh, God, you were daydreaming sexual thoughts about your gynecologist who would probably freak out if he could hear them.
“If it makes you more comfortable, my name is Peter. Sometimes that small detail helps the patients relax more,” He noticed your sudden panicked state and high tension in your legs, wanting to calm you down, so it doesn’t hurt. It was perfectly fine to be nervous, but it wasn’t fine for him to be this nervous. He’s a professional doctor, yet he’s thinking about ruining it all just to please you at this moment.
You feel the latex gloves graze your folds, making your heart jump up into your throat. Peter’s middle finger practically teases your entrance, and you hold back pathetic whimpers. Once he slips his middle finger inside, you release a shuddery moan. His finger stills, deep inside of you while he gives you a second to adjust.
“Relax for me,” You try not to clench around him, but you’re a lost cause when he begins to wiggle it around the tight space. Peter is struggling. His cock is about to burst at the seams while his middle finger sinks far inside you. Your clenching walls and hushed noises nearly make him moan. He sees you resisting the urge to moan and it’s killing him because he wants to hear you.
“You can moan,” Peter says, voice low and sultry. “It’s welcomed.” He curls his finger and slowly pushes in and out. You don’t hold back your moan this time as lust begins to fill your vision. It feels too good, even though you know it’s wrong. You feel yourself getting wetter and wetter at his skilled finger and his concentrated expression.
Peter is positive you’re enjoying this. He can’t resist you anymore when he has you spread open for him. Plus, he found nothing peculiar inside, you seemed healthy. He could stop now if he’d like, but the contraction of your pussy walls around his finger and the sweet whimpers you’re eliciting spur him to continue.
“How does this feel, Y/N?” Peter’s voice was gravelly and lustful; you were sure to catch on by now. His question was borderline professional, yet inappropriate. At this point, Peter couldn’t care less because your face said it all.
“Good, really good,” You admitted with fluttering eyes as your hands gripped the sides of your shirt. Your name out of his mouth made you melt into his touch as you instinctively grinded your hips into his hand.
“What about this?” His ring finger slides in effortlessly, and they both curl inside you. You gasp, eliciting another shaky moan. His digits were thick and just the right length to satisfy you without even needing his cock, even though you wanted it. “God, you’re so tight. Imagine what you’d feel like around my cock.” He grumbles.
You gasp at his sudden profound language, but the dirtiness only made you more aroused. Your brain imagined how his cock would look buried so deep inside of you that you’d feel him in your stomach. You imagine this pre-cum leaking from his tip as he pulls out of you just to slam back in. Your core tensed at the thought.
“I didn’t hear you, Y/N,” He grunts gravelly, slowing his movements. He slips his fingers out, removing the glove swiftly. You whine at the emptiness, answering him. He was so sweet, yet dirty, and you loved it.
“So good! It feels so good, please don’t stop,” You plead and he smirks in satisfaction as he continues. His thumb rolls over your puffy clit, making your hips press into his hand as he slips back in. Your thighs contracted as they begged to close, but the locked stirrups blocked you from doing so.
“Who’s making you feel this good?” His tone was smooth and clear, almost contradicting his sinful actions. His pace becomes brutal, ramming in and out of you with no mercy. The rough texture of his bare hand sends a shiver up your spine as your orgasm nears.
“You! You, Peter,” Your chest heaves as choked moans leave your lips. His digits rub your throbbing nerves as his fingers glide against your walls addictingly good. Your fingernails dig into the soft flesh of your trembling thighs. His lips raise in another smirk as his cheeks flush that familiar pink. “I’m close, Peter,” You whimper, causing him to hiss at the harsh pulsing of his shaft when his name falls delicately from your lips just how he imagined.
“I know, honey. Can feel you clenching around me,” He groans when you release another noise of pleasure. His eyes wander down to your aching cunt as his fingers become drenched in your juices. You’re squeezing him torturously, on the edge of your break.
“Are you gonna come? Gonna come for me?”
Without another moment, your orgasm ripples through your body with a blissful wail. Clenched muscles and screwed eyes don’t even express the full ecstasy you feel. White liquid saturates Peter’s bare fingers before he licks them clean. It wasn’t the most sanitary, but he didn’t give one fuck.
Your face screams fucked out; perspired skin, droopy eyes, and a weary smile. In his ideal situation, he would have devoured you until you couldn’t take it anymore. But that was for another time. If there ever was another time, which he hoped there would be.
Just maybe not in a hospital.
“Well, Y/N, it seems like you are very healthy,” Peter grins, taking the tissues to clean you thoroughly. You can feel the heat radiating from your cheeks at his joking comment.
“Thanks, doctor,” Your voice came out a bit squeaky while your heart continued to stammer in your chest.
“After that, I think you should call me Peter,” He chuckles, sliding away in his stool to discard the tissues. Heat burns your skin from his adorable laugh.
“Peter it is then,” He helps you down the stirrups and you begin to get dressed with a goofy smile curling on your face. Peter doesn’t fail to notice this as his thoughts begin to wander. He knows he just met you, but he wants to see where this goes. He is confident that you’re interested in him (at least enough for him to finger you), so maybe asking you out isn’t the crazy idea he’s ever had.
“Y/N?” Suddenly, he didn’t feel so confident.
“Yeah?” Your response was breathless.
“Would you, um,” Peter hesitated to find the words. He really was like a little kid talking to his crush for the first time. “like to go out sometime? Maybe?”
You admire his bashfulness. He anxiously rolls up his coat sleeves while his face displaces a rosy blush. His brown eyes twinkled with hope as he waited for a reply.
“I would like that, doctor,” You smile genuinely and sweetly, your joyful energy calming his pent-up nerves. “I mean Peter.” You giggle when he blushes.
“Okay, okay, this is great. Here’s my number,” Peter scribbles messily on a small sheet of note paper, handing it to you. It was adorable how nervous he was for being a well-respected doctor who waltzed in with a sweet kind of confidence. You were giddy as well, but you were way better at hiding it clearly. You snatch the sheet with your fingers, tucking it away in your palm.
“Do you do this with all your patients, Dr. Parker?” You tease with a quirked eyebrow and a pointed finger at his chest. Peter huffs out a chuckle while clicking his tongue.
“Only the most beautiful ones,” He gently lifts your finger, kissing it gently before striding out of the room. Peter doesn’t forget to leave an arrogant wink as the heavy, wooden door closes abruptly.
Maybe being a doctor does make him arrogant. Sometimes.
You stand frozen, starstruck. Your breathing was back to heaving again because he left you breathless. And speechless. You jokingly wondered for a minute if you would die from a heart attack, due to the rapid thumping of a stupid organ against your ribs. Curious, you open your palm and unfold the slip of paper he wrote hastingly. Glancing past the number, you notice the small words underneath.
Please, call me Peter.
—
yesss tell me what you think :)
#shawnxstyles#peter parker#tom holland#mcu peter parker#peter parker smut#peter parker fluff#peter parker fanfics#tom holland fanfic#tom holland smut#mcu peter parker smut#peter parker x you#peter parker x reader
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Meatballs! At the Unspecified Celebratory Event
Pairing: Tom Holland x ex!reader
Synopsis: you and Tom see each other at a family event for the first time since your breakup
Masterlist
“Thanks so much for having me. It’s good to see you again.”
“Of course. You know you’re always welcome. Now go grab some meatballs. I made them myself.” Sam said and squeezed your arm. You smiled in return before going over to the food table.
You put a few meatballs into your plate and mingled in the crowd with friends of the family that you hadn’t seen in a while. You heard someone being greeted by several people as they came in and looked up out of curiosity. Thats when you and Tom made eye contact. You quickly looked away and turned your body while you prayed that he hadn’t seen you. He had, of course, and was immediately making his way over to you.
“Hey.” Tom said when he finally got to you.
“Your mom told me to come.” You said at the same time. You then both apologized at the same time for cutting the other off.
“Oh. Sorry. You first.” Tom said and gestured to you.
“Sorry. Your mom told me to come.” You quickly explained. “I told her it would be too weird now that we’re broken up and everything but she insisted. Plus, I wanted to support Sam.”
“It’s okay. I’m really glad you’re here. I’m happy to see you.” Tom said sincerely. You smiled awkwardly and looked around the crowd to avoid eye contact. Tom looked around the crowd as well and briefly wondered that the purpose of the gathering was. The awkward silence went on for so long that it became palpable and you couldn’t take it anymore.
“Look, Tom, I really never would’ve shown up like this if I knew you were gonna be here. I’d hate to make things awkward. But Harry told me it was safe to come. I thought you were filming in LA?” You asked and felt yourself cringing over how much you were over explaining your presence.
“I am. I have the weekend off so I came to support Sam.” Tom answered and felt disappointed now that he knew you hadn’t come just to see him.
“Oh. That’s nice. I love LA. It’s so…hot.” You faked another smile and looked away. Tom felt the conversation falling flat but was desperate to keep talking to you.
“So, uh, you still keep in touch with mum?” He asked you.
“Yeah, yeah. Not that much, though. She checks in on me and I do the same.”
“That’s nice. And I’m guessing you still talk to Harry since he told you I was filming?” He asked and looked over at Harry who had conveniently never mentioned that he was still in contact with you.
“Oh, yeah. Him too.” You laughed nervously. “We were good friends so, yeah. He and I still talk.”
“And you came to support Sam. Who must’ve sent you an invite. To your new place. Since you moved out.” Tom realized with a tight smile.
“He actually didn’t send it to my new place. He gave me an invite the last time I was over his place, so…” You trailed off when you realized your attempt to make him feel better was probably just making things worse.
“Which was…” Tom asked.
“Oh, a couple weeks ago. He had me and Paddy over to try some new recipe. It wasn’t anything serious.” You explained and tried to make it sound as uneventful as possible.
“I see. So you’re still talking to the whole family. Everyone but me.” He said with a tight smile. You could see the sadness in his eyes now that he had learned this information and wished you hadn’t said anything.
“Yeah. Sorry. It felt wrong to just cut ties completely. It’s not like I broke up with them.” You laughed awkwardly.
“Right. Just me.” He returned the laugh and sounded just as awkward. An uncomfortable silence fell between you for a long time now that you had run out of things to say. You made brief eye contact with him and quickly looked away as you scanned the party for something to talk about.
“I haven’t talked to your dad since the breakup, if that helps.” You said finally.
“It helps a little.” Tom shrugged.
“Oh, good, it does?”
“Not really.” He admitted. “Nothing does.”
“Yeah. Me either.” You shrugged and took a long sip of your drink. Tom’s eyebrows went up in surprise to hear that you were struggling just as much.
“Really?” He asked quietly. You looked into his eyes and debated telling him just how much you missed him. You ultimately decided against it since it wasn’t the time or place to have that conversation.
“The food was really good, wasn’t it? I loved the meatballs.” You asked to change the subject. You had no idea how to make small talk with someone you used to have a life with.
“Yeah. So good. Sam’s great.” Tom nodded in agreement even though he hadn’t tried any food yet.
“So great.” You echoed. You both hated the faking niceties with each other but you had no idea how else to interact now that you were broken up. Thankfully, Harry walked up to the two of you with a plate of food and relieved some of the tension.
“Hey.” He said to you before realizing Tom was there too. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realize you guys were talking. Should I leave?”
“No!” You and Tom said in unison. Harry leaving meant you’d have to scramble to find more things to say so you were desperate to keep him there. Harry gave you both a strange look over how enthusiastically you said no before taking a bite of one of his meatballs.
“It’s fine. What did you need?” You asked him.
“That guy I told you about is here. He wants to meet you.” Harry said and pointed over his shoulder. Tom followed his finger and saw a 6 foot tall blonde guy covered in those little minimalistic tattoos. The very tattoos you once told Tom you loved on other people.
“Oh, great.” You smiled and waved to the guy. Tom looked between you and the guy several times and felt jealousy bubble up inside him.
“Who’s that guy?” He asked through a forced laugh so he didn’t sound as worried as he felt.
“That’s Garrett. He’s one of my photographs buddies.” Harry explained.
“I’ll go say hi.” You told Harry before going over to the guy. Tom watched you hug him hello and clenched his jaw.
“Woah, mate. Whats going on with you? If you stare any harder, that vein in your neck is gonna explode.” Harry said to him.
“Who is that guy?” Tom whispered harshly.
“I told you. He’s a friend from film school. I hooked him up with Y/n.”
“Hooked up?” Tom almost shouted. “What do you mean hooked up?”
“Oh my God. Down boy.” Harry snorted. “I mean I hooked them up to work on a project together. She wants him to shoot something for her.”
“If she needs pictures then why can’t you do it?”
“Because shes like my sister so I don’t want to see her in her underwear.” Harry said like it was obvious. Tom’s stomach dropped and he looked back over at you and Garrett. You were laughing at something he had said and Tom’s jealousy doubled.
“Underwear? What are you talking about?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know. She wants to do some album art in this vintage lingerie she found and he specializes in the style she was going for. I wasn’t really listening when she was explaining because I was too focused on the meatballs.” Harry shrugged and took another bite of his food. Tom snatched Harry plate and put it down on the nearest table.
“Stop eating the meatballs for one second. Are you telling me you asked that guy to take pictures of her in her underwear?” Tom whispered angrily.
“Yes, Tom. I approached my friend and asked him to take photos of my brothers ex girlfriend in her underwear specifically for my own enjoyment.” Harry said sarcastically. Tom gave him an annoyed look so Harry stopped being sarcastic.
“No. She needed a photographer, he needed a job, so I hooked them up. Thats the end of the very simple and very boring story of why Y/n is talking to that guy.”
“Stop saying hooked them up. You’re making it sound like they’re gonna date. Does he even know about me?” Tom asked as he stared daggers over at you and Garrett.
“He’s seen Spies in Disguise.” Harry shrugged.
“Oh my God.” Tom groaned. “I don’t mean my films. Does he know I’m her boyfriend?”
“You mean ex boyfriend?” Harry said out of the corner of his mouth. Tom gave him a look and Harry quickly shoved another meatball into his mouth.
“Fine. Ex. Does he know we used to date?”
“Relax, mate. I’m your brother. I’m not gonna throw your girl into the arms of another man. We’re all rooting for you guys to get back together.”
“Okay, good.” Tom sighed in relief.
“But sometimes, in order to realize who your soulmate is, you have to sleep with a beefy photographer who has tattoos straight off a Pinterest board.”
“WHAT?” Tom shouted this time, causing a few people to look over at them.
“Oh my God. It was a joke.” Harry groaned. “Chill out. How are you still this uptight when there are delicious meatballs around?”
“Enough with the meatballs.” Tom hissed. “You don’t really think she’s gonna sleep with him, do you?”
“Hm. Probably not.” Harry shrugged as he looked over at you and Garrett.
“Good.” Tom sighed.
“But my boy is a dawg so he’s definitely gonna try.” Harry snorted and ate another meatball. Tom looked at him with an unamused expression and Harry stopped chewing.
“Sorry.” He mumbled. “Wrong crowd.”
“It doesn’t matter if he tries. She’d never go for a guy like that. He’s all wrong for her. Right?” Tom asked nervously.
“Mate, don’t do this here. We’re here to support Sam. This is not the time or place to fight for your girls honor.” Harry pointed out. Tom reluctantly nodded in agreement and turned to watch you again. Garrett had his hand on your shoulder now as he told you some story.
“Nope. I can’t watch this. I need to talk to her.” Tom decided and crossed the room to get to you. You and Garrett were laughing at something so Tom started laughing too until you noticed he was there.
“Oh, Garrett, this is Tom.” You said to bring Tom into the conversation.
“Hey, man. I loved you in Spies in Disguise.” Garrett said as he shook his hands. Tom felt slightly annoyed that he couldn’t hate this guy since he was nice.
“Thanks.” Tom said quietly. An awkward silence fell between the three of you and all laughter ceased.
“It’s a great movie. Underrated as hell.” You added after an awkward beat of silence.
“Thank you, darling.” Tom said sincerely. “So what were you guys talking about?”
“We were talking about maybe working together for a shoot.” Garrett answered.
“Right. Harry was telling me about it. I wanted to tell you that you can come over and grab some of your sets if you need them for the shoot. You left a lot at my place.” Tom said to you. You narrowed your eyes at him but couldn’t help but smile. You knew exactly what he was doing and he knew it too. He smiled innocently at you before checking for Garrett’s reaction.
“His place? Why would your stuff be there?” Garett wondered.
“Of course it’s at my place. Where else would she be wearing lingerie?” Tom asked with a simple shrug. You turned your face so he wouldn’t see you laughing at what he said.
“Wait, so, how do you guys know each other?” Garrett asked you.
“Oh, I’m sorry. She must not have mentioned. I know her from being her boyfriend.” Tom said and put an arm around you.
“Ex boyfriend.” You smiled sarcastically and pushed his arm off.
“Semantics.” Tom shrugged.
“Ex?” Garett raised his eyebrows. “Wow. Thats great news. I didn’t think a girl as pretty as you was available.”
“Oh, I’m not.” You laughed awkwardly.
“You’re not?” Garett frowned.
“You’re not?” Tom smiled in surprise.
“I mean, I am, but not for you two. Excuse me.” You smiled at them both and quickly exited the conversation. Tom and Garrett looked at each other with a new sense of competition between them.
“Spies in Disguise wasn’t even that good.” Garett mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.
“Tell that to my Kids Choice Award.” Tom snapped.
“I will.” Garrett said mockingly. They exchanged sharp looks with one another before Tom walked away. He searched the room for you but couldn’t find you for a while. He asked around to see if anyone had seen you but had no luck. He sighed and went outside the restaurant to get some air. Coincidentally, you had the same idea. You were leaning against the wall of the restaurant with a drink in your hand and staring out into the night.
“Hey.” Tom said as he approached you.
“Jesus Christ.” You jumped.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. But I have been looking for you. Do you think we could talk?”
“About what?” You played dumb and took a long sip of your drink. Tom kicked some gravel on the ground and kept his eyes down.
“Us.”
“Is it really a good time? My blood is like 70% red sauce right now.” You groaned and patted your full stomach.
“When else? You don’t return any of my calls.” Tom said without looking in your eyes. You could hear how upset he was over that you felt bad for ignoring him for so long.
“Because we broke up. People who break up aren’t supposed to talk.” You said gently.
“But we weren’t supposed to break up.“ he insisted and looked up at you.
“How can you say that when you’re the one who broke up with me?”
“It was a mistake. I just blurted that out during the fight. I was frustrated from the terrible day I had so I took it out on you. I never meant to say I wanted to break up.”
“But you did.“ You reminded him. “I don’t care how frustrated you were. I never would’ve said that to you.”
“I know.” He sighed. “And believe me, I’ve wished I could take it back from the second it left my lips.”
“Then why’d you say it?” You asked quietly.
“I don’t know.” He answered honestly. “It just fell out of my mouth.”
“Because you don’t have any lips to stop it?” You asked with a coy smile. Tom looked at you in surprise and could tell you felt proud of that one.
“That kinda sounded like you forgiving me.” He smiled cheekily.
“Maybe I’m just trying to get back into a family that can produce meatballs like this.” You shrugged and avoided eye contact. You could feel Tom staring at you so you kept your eyes out on the London skyline.
“Why’d you come tonight?” He asked after a beat of silence.
“I told you. Your mom invited me. And I wanted to support Sam.”
“Support Sam doing what, though?” Tom genuinely wondered. “What is party even for? Sam just told me I had to come. I don’t even know what we’re celebrating.”
“I honestly don’t know either.” You admitted. “Your mom just told me Sam was having a party and making meatballs. I’ve been trying to figure out if it was a birthday or graduation from the decorations but they’re too vague. I’m just avoiding Sam so he doesn’t figure out that I don’t know what this event is for.”
“Maybe it’s just a meatball party.” Tom shrugged.
“Maybe.” You laughed softly and finally looked at him. When you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him anymore. Whatever had started the fight was long gone from your memory. You didn’t care anymore. You just wanted to get back to how you used to be.
“I knew you were gonna be here today.” You confessed. “That’s why I showed up.”
“Really?” Tom asked and took a step closer to you.
“Really. I just didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone. That’s why I haven’t been answering your calls.”
“And what conversation might that be?” Tom asked and got even closer.
“The ‘I really miss you even though you’re a massive dingus who doesn’t deserve me’ conversation.” You said with a sheepish smile. Tom smiled in return and moved some hair off your face.
“I am a massive dingus.” He agreed. “And I don’t deserve you.”
“I already established that.”
“But what was that? Did I catch you saying you miss me?” He asked playfully and cupped his ear. You rolled your eyes and stepped into his arms to hug him.
“Of course I do. All the photographers I’ve been sleeping with made me miss what we had.” You said against his chest.
“I’ve missed you too, darling.” He sighed happily. “Wait, what that now?”
“I’m kidding. Kind of. Can we make up now?” You asked and pulled out of the hug just enough to look at him. Instead of replying, he leaned down to kiss you for the first time in weeks. It felt like you were picking right back up where you left off as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
“That was a joke right?” He laughed once you pulled out of the kiss. Your eyes darted to the side as you pulled out of the embrace.
“We should go inside.”You changed the subject. “I just have to get some more of those meatballs.”
Tag list 🏷️
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#tom holland x reader#tom holland x you#tom holland fluff#tom holland fanfiction#Tom holland x ex!reader#tom holland angst#tom holland imagine#tom holland fanfic#tom holland
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a Monaco Grand Prix - t.holland
masterlist
pairing: Tom holland x mercedes intern!fem!reader
warnings: some flirting + possible minor errors
a/n: inspired by the Monaco gp today! combining my love for Tom and formula 1 into this! if you like formula 1, you can find my sports masterlist on @thatsdemko 🥰
“you can’t just be nice and give him a tour?” your boss, Toto Wolff, gives you a glare that’s almost killer. one that you know will bite you in the ass, if you don’t just take the opportunity to show the famous celebrity around the paddock.
you know it’s part of your job. if you want your placement to be permanent, you’ll have to do whatever the boss says, and that being showing a famous prick around the Monaco paddock.
you nod, “I’ll do it.” you swallow the nervous jitters, as you turn out of the Mercedes hospitality to the one and only Tom holland making his way through media, other formula 1 interns, and press.
he’s headed to you with his security guards. a bright pearly white smile on his face as climbs the steps, hand extended, “ah you must be y/n! I was told you’d show me around.” his British accent brings warmth to your ears as it visibly spreads to your cheeks taking his hand in yours.
you’ve completely forgot why you didn’t want to do this in the first place. after having met the Tom holland, you’d do anything your boss asks you to do.
“right this way, Mr. Holland, let me show you our new and improved cars for this weekends race.”
—
each spot you took him to came with a variety questions and expression, god he was cute, was all you could think about. he was attentive and listened to your tidbits and nerdy jokes, he could tell you really loved your job and took formula 1 as serious as it was.
“and this is the Red Bull garage, legally I’m not allowed in there or else I’ll be reported for spying. but go on in, I’m sure Christian Horner would love to see you.” you gesture for the actor to step inside the garage and join the couple of other famous people you could see from where you stood.
as badly as he wanted to step in and have the cameras pointed on him, he didn’t mind keeping a lower profile and decline the offer to do so, “if you can’t go in then I definitely shouldn’t.” he laughs pulling out his phone to show you his Lewis Hamilton lockscreen, “I’d be murdered in there.”
“that makes two of us.” you giggle, pulling out your phone to show him the picture of you and Lewis on your first day. he’s a bit jealous as a claims, but you’re sure he’s had more opportunities to meet him than you have. considering you rarely see the drivers— except for Mick Schumacher.
“ah I’m hoping to get a picture with him like that too!” he carefully taps his finger against your screen to get another look at the picture; two of you smiling from ear to ear in Bahrain.
“I don’t have the privileges to get you to meet him, but considering your fame status? I’m sure by the end of this weekend you’ll see him more times than me.” you gesture for him to follow and he keeps up as you pass the McLaren, where Oscar piastri and lando norris are doing final placements.
“what if I want to see you more by the end of this weekend?” he asks, the words slipping off his tongue before he can filter them out. his hand flies over his lips; security guard chuckling at his intrusive thoughts winning. flirty words were easy for Tom, but he didn’t expect to find himself using a line on you this early on the tour.
you can feel the red hue quickly spread to your cheeks, it’s more noticeable than the last time he got your attention that way. he moved into your field of vision turning to face you, rather than the cars, “I mean I could always use a tour guide around Monaco?” he shrugs, hand finding the nape of his neck as he nervously plays with the hairs there.
“ask me when I’m off the clock, then legally I can answer.”
—
you thought he would’ve forgotten by now. it was hours after you gave him his own private tour of the paddock, and somehow? he was still there.
most people— fans, media, press, and other members of formula 1— had vacated the paddock following an early rise tomorrow for the big race, but not Tom. he’d stuck out waiting around, taking pictures with the few fans left, and even getting his picture with the infamous Lewis Hamilton.
“I see you finally got your picture.” you say as you make your way down those same hospitality steps to close the gap of where he stood off to the side.
“yeah, but I didn’t get that guaranteed tour of Monaco yet?”
“will I get paid by the end of the tour?” you raise an eyebrow watching his words stumble out of his mouth, words not even forming sentences you tripped him hard, “I’m joking, Tom, but I get off of work tomorrow late, so your tour will have to wait.”
he nods eager, but still slow enough to not show much of his excitement, “I can wait until then. I’ll find you here tomorrow evening?”
“deal, and I don’t take checks as a form of payment.”
#tom holland#tom holland x oc#tom holland x you#tom holland x y/n#tom holland x fem#tom holland fic#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland fluff#tom holland imagine#tom holland imagines#mercedes amg f1#tom holland fiction#tom holland x reader#tom holland fics#tom holland one shot#tom holland blurb#tom holland drabble#f1 fic#formula 1 fic#tom holland fanfic#peter parker x y/n#peter parker x you
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Crazed : Tom Holland x Reader
Descr: 8k wc, A crazed fan breaks into Tom's house when his girlfriend is home and she has to defend herself until Tom's security gets there.
Warnings: curse words, violence, stalker/crazy fan behavior, hostage situation, threats, danger, mentions of a break-in, (minor) injuries, hospital (brief), knife/blade, keys used as weapon.
Y/n rubbed her boyfriend Tom’s shoulders as he pinched the bridge of his nose. She knew he was stressing out over the recent safety concerns that had arisen for the couple. Y/n knew that Tom would handle it; even before the multiple promises he made to do so. But, she still wanted to wipe the frown off his face as he called his security team.
They had recently been made aware that there was an… overzealous fan of Tom’s that posed a risk to the couple’s safety. Tom’s brother and personal assistant Harry, had noticed someone was following them one afternoon. They contacted Tom’s security team immediately and had them look into it.
Allegedly, when the security personnel asked the fan to stop following the couple, things escalated. The fan had made numerous comments that concerned Tom’s security. The first was the fan’s statement on how they were Tom’s one true love; not y/n. The second was when the same fan commented that y/n needed to learn her place and stay away from Tom. Then of course came the standard stalkerish fan remarks such as claiming she knew where the couple had been at any given moment, that she had a shrine of Tom with photos that no one else had seen as she’d taken them herself, and that she was in love with Tom and knew he’d come around and choose her.
It wasn’t like Tom had no former experience with overzealous fans. But this was on a whole other level. The fact that this fan made his own security concerned for y/n, made Tom panic. Between his team's and his own suggestions, Tom had ensured that they always had at least two security guards with them.
Tom felt guilty for having to limit their privacy even more than normal when going on dates, or whenever they simply left the house. But, he refused to let something happen to y/n. Which was why he had to call his security team again today.
Earlier today Y/n had gotten a call from an unknown number. She always ignored calls from unknown numbers. As such, y/n had let the call go to voicemail. However, when she checked her voicemail, y/n felt the same panic Tom had been experiencing.
The fan who Tom had been worried about for several weeks by then had somehow found y/n’s personal phone number. Y/n knew it wasn’t super rare for celebrities and their friends and family to have their personal information leaked. But, the message that the fan left was very troubling.
The girl had threatened to harm y/n if she didn’t break up with Tom. She even went so far as to show she had the address of y/n’s work; as ‘proof to take her seriously’. The fan also had the address of y/n’s last residence. Y/n and Tom began living together months ago. But, technically y/n’s old apartment was still in her name as the lease wasn’t up for another month and a half.
When y/n told Tom about the voicemail, he immediately asked her to play it for him. His fury and fear skyrocketed as he heard the passion behind the fan’s voice. He couldn’t believe this was happening to begin with, much less to this extent. Tom was adamant something had to be done, starting with calling his security and demanding increased protection for y/n.
“We need to increase y/n’s security,” Tom ordered immediately upon his lead security officer answering his call. He felt y/n rest her head on his shoulder, rubbing his arm to try and calm him. Tom crooked his neck and placed a soft kiss to y/n’s head as he listened to his security guard’s response.
“No, you don’t understand,” Tom groaned, standing up from the couch. He began pacing their living room as he tried to keep himself in check. He couldn’t understand why his security wasn’t just listening to him. Y/n needed more security, immediately. “I’m going to send you something,” Tom said, pulling the phone from his ear just long enough to forward the threatening voicemail.
“Tommy,” y/n whispered as Tom put the phone back up to his ear as he waited on a response. She smiled warmly at him when he looked her way. Y/n wrapped her arms around his shoulders, “breathe please”.
Tom nodded in response to y/n’s request. He took a few deep breaths as he faintly heard the voicemail being played in the background. Tom hummed as he heard his security guard call for another officer to look into the voicemail. “See?” Tom asked in frustration, “she needs more security”.
Y/n watched as Tom nodded along to whatever his security was suggesting. She sighed in relief at seeing his lessening worry. She didn’t know what they were telling Tom, but it was helping. Y/n kissed Tom’s neck right under his earlobe as she waited for him to end the call and update her.
“Tom, look, I know you’re worried, but-” y/n sighed. Tom wanted her to not go in to work today. To be fair, it was a suggestion from his security when he called them last night, but Tom jumped on board with the idea without hesitation.
Tom frowned. “You’re not going to stay home?” He asked, his voice sad and eyes worried. “Please?” Tom requested, squeezing y/n’s hand.
Y/n pursed her lips. “I have work, T,” she argued softly.
“I know,” Tom agreed. “And I’m sorry, I dragged you into this -".
Y/n shook her head, “no. This isn’t on you Tom. I’ve told you that”. She sighed, “but, that doesn’t mean I can just stay stuck at home all day every day until this...overzealous fan chills out”.
“Overzealous?!” Tom huffed. “Darling, she’s bloody crazy!” He exclaimed. “This isn’t some slightly obsessed fan, she’s insane and she wants to hurt you.”
Y/n bit her lip and nodded. He was right. The voicemail had truly scared her. And she knew Tom knew that. Even if he hadn’t already been protective before, he certainly would’ve become so upon seeing how much it freaked her out.
“Just for today?” Tom pleaded. “I’m already working on a more long-term solution,” he assured her.
Y/n sighed softly as she thought it over. She didn’t have a ton to do at work today, so perhaps it wouldn’t be the end of the world. “Okay, if it will make you happy, I’ll stay home today,” she accepted.
Tom grinned and pulled y/n in for a tight hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he gushed. “I know it’s not ideal, but I’ll try to come home for lunch, and-" Tom rambled.
Y/n giggled. She rubbed Tom’s chest as she leaned back. “Handsome, you don’t need to do that,” she smiled. “Just focus on your scenes and rest between them, we both know you haven’t been doing that much. Hmm?”.
Tom nodded, he’d been spending most of his time between takes and scenes getting on his security about finding out who this crazy fan was and doing whatever was needed to stop them. “Okay, but,” he replied, smiling, “I’m still going to call during my lunch and check-up”.
Y/n hummed lovingly, stroking Tom’s cheeks tenderly. “You have a deal, sweetheart.”
“Okay, so, you’ll arm the security system after I leave?” Tom asked y/n.
Y/n nodded, “yes”.
“And, you have Jones’s number saved, right?” Tom wondered as he mentally made his way through his checklist. Jones was one of his security guards and Tom had requested that he be on call nearby in case something happened. Or if y/n simply felt scared that it could/would.
“Saved and set as a favorite for easy access,” y/n promised. She neared her boyfriend and set her hands on his shoulders. “Everything is in place honey.”
Tom took a shaky breath and nodded. He really didn’t want to leave her alone, but he had to go to set. He was nearly done with filming and then they’d be able to go wherever. Y/n had reminded him of that when he considered taking the day off. The sooner he was done, the sooner they could go back to Europe -for at least as long as it took until the fan was taken care of.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t anxious about y/n being home alone. But, at his security pointed out, the fan had given the address for y/n’s old apartment, her job, and has been seen on set before. This was the safest place for her. As far as they are aware, there was no reason to believe the fan has knowledge of this apartment nor that y/n and Tom even lived together.
“I’m just…” Tom sighed. He knew he was going overboard in his preparations. But he couldn’t help it, he needed to know y/n would be safe.
Y/n gave Tom a quick kiss. “Worried, sweet, adorable, I know,” she grinned. “But you’re also about to be late,” y/n giggled playfully. “So, go, get there safely, kick ass on your scenes, and we’ll talk at lunch?”
Tom smiled and nodded, holding y/n to his chest for another hug. “Alright love, I’ll call you soon. I love you.”
“I love you too,” y/n said. She pulled back from the hug and kissed Tom’s forehead. “Let me know when you get to set,” she added as Tom made his way to his car. Y/n waved goodbye before she closed the door.
Y/n quickly armed the security system. She sighed to herself before looking around as she tried to decide what to do on her unplanned day off. Y/n walked to the bedroom to change into pajamas and grab some large and comfortable blankets.
When y/n returned to the living room, she found Tom had texted her saying he’d made it to set. She smiled and sent a quick reply before settling herself on their couch. Y/n flicked the television on and scrolled through their digital movies until she landed on Uncharted. She smirked to herself and sent a photo of her movie choice to Tom before she pressed play and relaxed under her blankets.
“You okay?” Harry asked, squinting at his brother. “You seem tense and you keep saying the wrong lines,” he pointed out. Harry was not just Tom’s brother but also his personal assistant and therefore it was his job to see to whatever was bothering him. “What’s going on?”
Tom sighed and ran a hand down his face, wincing as he realized he realized he’d just messed up the makeup the crew put on him. “It’s just…” he mumbled, looking around the set before pulling his brother to the side. “You know that crazy fan?” He asked. When Harry nodded, Tom continued. “Well, they get y/n’s number and left her a threatening message”.
Harry’s eyes widened. “Is she okay?” He asked.
“Yeah, I mean, she was when I left. And, Jones hasn’t reached out to say that’s changed… But, I just…. It’s hard to clear my mind and focus,” Tom admitted.
“I get that mate, but you can’t know what’s going on if you don’t ask,” Harry said. “So, instead of stressing for likely no reason, why don’t you text her between scenes and see what she’s up to?“ he suggested.
Tom smiled and hugged his brother. “That’s a great idea mate, thank you!” He held out his hand and waited for Harry to pass him his phone.
Harry chuckled and quickly took Tom’s phone from his pocket. “Here ya are,” he said with a playful eye roll.
“Oh,” Tom chuckled. He felt his cheeks flush as he looked at the last message from his girlfriend.
“Ewww, if that’s a sext, you need to get better at hiding your reaction,” Harry groaned.
Tom glared at Harry as he shook his head. “No!” He scolded. “Apparently she’s having a movie day…” Tom mumbled bashfully.
“Okay? And…?” Harry questioned.
Tom tilted his phone so Harry could see the text thread. His blush darkened as his brother laughed and shook his head at y/n's choice of movies for the day.
“You two are gross,” Harry teased. “Ready to try this scene again now?” He asked, trying to guide Tom back to set.
Tom smiled to himself. He quickly replied to y/n’s text and passed his phone back to Harry. “Yeah, I am now,” Tom nodded.
Y/n yawned as she rose from the floor. She’d made a blanket fort earlier to watch movies in. But now, her legs were numb and tingly from the position she’d been in. Y/n tiredly made her way to the kitchen for some snacks. While she hadn’t done much today, she was exhausted. It seemed doing nothing let her body realize how tired she’d been lately.
Y/n groaned lightly upon seeing that Tom had left a nearly empty milk carton in the fridge. She had just gotten groceries, not knowing they needed milk since the n carton was still in the fridge. Y/n made a mental note to get more milk tomorrow, or tonight after Tom got home from set. She poured the last of it in her cereal bowl before going to throw the carton away.
Only, as she went to place the carton in the garbage, y/n noticed it was full. She quickly calculated what day it was and realized it was garbage day. Y/n decided to go put on some slippers so she could take the garbage out.
Y/n returned to the kitchen and tied the trash bag closed. She smiled to herself knowing Tom wouldn’t have to deal with taking the bag out tonight when he got home and instead could relax. It was the least she could do since she knew he was worrying about her more than usual today.
Y/n disarmed the security system so that her opening the back door wouldn’t trip the alarm. That was the last thing Tom needed while trying to focus on his job. She was careful though to shut the door behind her and lock it so no one could enter while she was walking to the alley to dispose of the bag. Y/n figured it was overkill, but she knew Tom would be happier knowing she’d done it.
Y/n was sure to be quick with throwing the bag in the can outside. She smiled when she noticed their neighbors’ cans hadn’t been picked up yet; she hadn’t missed pickup. Y/n cautiously looked around before walking back to her apartment.
Y/n felt some anxiety as she unlocked her back door, feeling like someone could sneak up behind her. As a result, she quickly rushed inside and locked it again. Y/n let out a sigh and decided to refocus on her movie day, designating it as a seemingly needed distraction. She grabbed her bowl of sugary cereal with little milk and headed back to her blanket fort in the living room.
Y/n paused the movie, having thought she heard something in the kitchen. She peered into the kitchen doorway from her seat and didn’t see anything. Y/n wanted to go back to her movie, but her gut told her something wasn’t right.
Y/n elected it was safest to fully check on the sound she thought she heard. So, she grabbed her phone, pulling up the favorites section of her contacts as she anxiously made her way to the kitchen. She stopped halfway there, realizing she didn’t have anything to protect herself with. Unfortunately, her ideal choice of weapon would be found in the kitchen. Y/n settled for her keys, holding them in her other hand as she resumed her quest to find the source of the sound she’d heard.
A gasp escaped y/n’s mouth as she entered the kitchen. There was a pile of broken glass underneath the back door on the far side of the room. Y/n didn’t see anyone in the room but knew this wasn’t a good sign. She hadn’t been wrong about having heard a sound, nor about the need to check on it. And, considering the broken glass had come not too long after the voicemail incident, y/n was worried they were related.
Y/n didn’t want to take her eyes off the kitchen in case someone appeared, but she suspected she should call Jones. She blindly tried to pull up his number as she stared at the back door. Y/n cautiously walked towards the knife block, hoping to grab a better weapon than her keys. Except, before y/n could get to even the halfway point, someone’s hand reached in through the broken glass on the door and unlocked the handle.
Y/n looked around for an alternative weapon since she was too far from the knife block. But, she quickly ran out of time as the person had flung the door open and entered her apartment. Y/n’s eyes widened and she began to step back. She wanted to run but she didn’t want to aggravate the girl before her. Plus, the safest way to run would be to run outside, but the girl was blocking that door.
The intruder was wearing a homemade Tom Holland shirt, making it even more obvious she was the stalkerish fan. The girl’s hair and makeup was overly done up, as if she was going out on a date or to an event. She was glaring aggressively at y/n as she walked further into the kitchen.
Once y/n sensed she’d backed up enough to make it to the doorway to the living room, she turned and bolted from the kitchen. She scolded herself as she realized her blanket fort in the living room now provided a large obstacle, blocking her from easy access to the front door. Before y/n could decide if she could crash through the mess of blankets and furniture supporting them, she heard the fan’s loud footsteps running after her.
Y/n sharply turned the corner and started to the stairs. She looked down at her phone as she ran, clicking on Jones’ contact. Just as y/n’s finger went to press call, she felt a hand on her ankle. She screeched as she tugged her foot away and tried to stumble up the rest of the stairs.
Y/n kept running up the stairs as the fan angrily screamed her name. She once again tried to call Jones, only this time she tripped on one of Tom’s shoes that had been left on the staircase. In her attempt to not lose her balance and fall down the steps, y/n used her hand to push herself back up. Only, this caused her phone to slip from her hands and tumble down the stairs. Y/n fell to the ground as she turned to grab the device. Except, she wasn’t quick enough.
Y/n silently watched in terror as her lifeline bounced past the crazed fan on the stairs. She froze as she saw the glint of the knife the fan had in her hand. Y/n swallowed thickly and decided her best bet was to try and lock herself in the bathroom and scream; hoping the neighbors would hear and call the police. She quickly stood back up and turned around. “HELP!” Y/n shouted, hoping by chance a window was open.
“I just want to talk!” The fan replied, bouncing up the steps after y/n.
“GET AWAY FROM ME!” Y/n yelled back, finally mounting the stairs. She rushed towards the bathroom at the end of the hall. A painful scratch on the back of her right shoulder caused y/n to stop. Y/n knew instantly from the way there were four simultaneous scratches that the fan had used her acrylic nails to scrape at y/n.
Y/n hissed in pain and spun around to try and fight off the fan. She fortunately still had her keys in her fist. As such, she lunged forward and dug them against the fan’s face. Y/n used the fan’s shock to turn and run the rest of the way to the bathroom.
As y/n tried to shut the bathroom door, she was blocked by the fan’s foot. “LEAVE ME ALONE!” she shouted, trying to shove the girl’s foot out of the way. “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING TO YOU!”
“JUST LET ME TALK!” The fan argued, pushing against the bathroom door.
“I DON’T WANT TO TALK!” Y/n groaned. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!” she asked, slamming the door repeatedly against the fan’s leg as the girl banged on the other side of the bathroom door.
“YOU STOLE MY ONE TRUE LOVE!” the fan screamed, the knife stabbing the door.
Y/n flinched backward as the knife sliced into the thin wooden door separating her from the crazy fan. During y/n’s brief reaction, the fan shoved the door open. Y/n fell backward onto the ground. She shouted again in desperation, praying someone heard her.
The fan stood over y/n with a furious expression. “YOU. STOLE. TOM. FROM. ME.” She seethed, leaning closer to y/n as she was flat on her back against the bathroom floor.
Y/n lifted her arms over her head to shield her face. “GO AWAY!” she shouted, kicking at the fan. Y/n gasped as the fan grabbed ahold of y/n’s hair. She used her keys to scratch the fan’s arm of the hand she was holding y/n with.
“STOP FIGHTING ME!” The fan complained, tugging on y/n’s hair. She used her other hand to try and pry the keys from y/n’s hand.
Y/n stared at the fan in bewilderment. “YOU’RE FUCKING CRAZY!” She cried, continuing her kicking and scratching. Y/n faintly heard her phone ringing from the other room. She silently pleaded with the universe for it to be Tom checking on her. If it was, she knew he’d send security over if she didn’t answer.
The crazed fan continued to fight with y/n until y/n spat at her in an attempt to get the girl to back up enough for y/n to get off the floor. The fan glared and hissed at y/n. “THAT’S IT!” She shouted, grabbing the knife from where she’d set it on the bathroom counter; out of reach from y/n. She dropped to her knees and placed the blade against y/n’s throat.
Y/n gulped as terror shot though every fiber of her being. She could keep using her keys, especially now that the girl was close enough for y/n to jab them into her eyes. Only, the knife against her throat made y/n worry the fan wouldn’t hesitate to push the blade into her as a response to such an attempt.
“Drop it, or I’ll make you regret it,” The fan threatened. She smirked when y/n shakingly let go of the keys.
“Okay…” y/n mumbled, wincing as her neck grazed against the knife’s blade as she spoke. “Y-you wanted to t-talk?” She asked rhetorically. “W-we can talk,” y/n offered. Hopefully, she could keep the fan talking long enough for help to reach her.
“No!” The fan scoffed. “I don’t want to talk,” she snarked.
Y/n tried to lean back from the blade, the firm tile of the bathroom floor not allowing her much relief. “B-but, you said-,” y/n argued.
“That was before this!” The fan shouted. She raised her non dominant hand, letting go of y/n’s hair.
Y/n noticed the blood dripping from the fan’s arm. She looked back up at the fan with fearful eyes. “Then… wha-what do you want?” Y/n asked, trying to slide backwards on the tile so she could at least use the wash to sit herself up.
“STOP MOVING YOU STUPID BITCH!” The fan scolded. “I love that man, but I swear he’s an idiot, I don’t how you tricked him into thinking he loves you, but I’m going to help him see the truth.”
Y/n’s eyes widened as she froze. She didn’t know what else there was to do at this point. She’d tried to fight but was out armed. She tried to scream but no one heard. She tried to call security but her phone fell. The only thing left was to try and get the crazy fan to drop her guard slightly.
“I… I… I’m sorry… I…” y/n lied, trying to appear weak and like the fan had cracked her. “What can I d-d-do?” She pleaded with fake tears. “H-how can I h-help? Please, I’ll do anything,” y/n fibbed.
“You- you want to help me?” The fan questioned hesitantly.
Y/n nodded, wincing as the blade scratched her skin. “I.. I had my fun…” she mumbled, hating herself for even lying about it. “I… you’re clearly better for him..”.
“Really?” The fan smiled. “You admit I’m better for Tom?” She asked dreamily.
Bingo. Y/n nodded faintly again, not wanting to say it.
The fan seemed to pick up on y/n’s reasoning. “Say it,” The fan barked.
“W-what?” Y/n questioned.
“Say that I’m better for Tom, that he’d be happier with me,” The fan ordered.
Y/n swallowed, the knot on her throat hitting the blade of the knife still pressed against her. She felt nauseous and her eyes prickled with tears. Tom was the actor, not y/n. But, she didn’t have much of a choice.
“Y-you’re better for Tom,” y/n mumbled. She hoped her shaky voice and watery eyes came across as fake remorse and sorrow for the fan rather than the fear and guilt she felt. When the fan stared at y/n expectantly, y/n fought the desire to tremble as she stared back in terror. “H-he… To-Tom,” y/n corrected herself not wanting to further upset the girl by being vague, “Tom would be happier with you”.
The fan smirked with pride. She tilted her head mockingly at y/n. “I’m glad you finally see it,” The fan commented. “Now, we just need to work on what you’ll say when he gets here.”
“What? He’s-he’s not coming,” y/n stated fearfully. She hoped she was right. She wanted Tom to call security, but she didn’t want Tom to get himself caught up in this dangerous situation.
“Of course he’s coming. He thinks he loves you,” the fan sighed. “He’s wrong, of course.” The fan rolled her eyes. “But no worry, because once we show him that you don’t actually love him like he deserves, he’ll choose me, his true love,” she grinned.
Y/n tensed. “S-show him… That I-“ she mumbled.
“You’ll see. You’re going to tell him that you don’t love him,” The fan explained.
“Or…” y/n whispered, her voice cracking. She knew she’d likely lost her ruse, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to be forced to lie to Tom; especially about this.
“Or, I’ll remove you from the picture myself,” the fan warned. “Then he’ll finally be all mine,” She smiled.
Y/n willed herself not to cry, she had to figure out a way out of this. There was no doubt even if y/n didn’t make of it, the girl would kill Tom too once she saw Tom wasn’t going to fall in love with her the way she thought. Y/n refused to let that happen. She needed to get her and Tom out of this.
Tom ran his hand down his face as he tried dialing y/n’s number again. He’d tried twice already with no response. Granted, they were back to back, so if she was busy with something, there’d been little time to finish and answer the phone. But surely, by him calling a third time, y/n would get the seriousness behind his calls and drop whatever she’d been doing.
Tom felt his whole body go numb as his third call went to voicemail. He closed his eyes as his fear reached an all time high. He looked around to tell someone he had to leave but didn’t see Harry in the hall. Tom didn’t want to waste anymore time so he decided to just leave.
Tom ran to the set door and grabbed his jacket, yanking his keys out before dashing out the door. He threw open his car door and jumped in. He quickly dialed Jones’s phone as he sped out of the parking lot. Tom sighed when Jones didn’t answer, maybe he was already with y/n then.
Tom was only seconds from their street when Jones called him back. “Is y/n okay?! Is she with you?!” He asked after hitting accept. Tom felt a chill rush through him when Jones stated he had no idea what Tom was talking about.
Tom quickly took the corner, speeding even more as he drove closer to his apartment. “Just meet me at my house, NOW!” He shouted as he pulled into the driveway. Tom vaguely noticed Jones commenting that he and another officer were on their way.
When he threw open the front door and didn’t hear an alarm go off, Tom felt his tears rising even more. He clumsily rushed past the blanket fort y/n had made in the living room. “Y/N?! LOVE?!” Tom yelled, moving further into the apartment.
Tom glanced in the kitchen to see if the back door showed any signs of damage. Since the front door was still locked and closed, he hoped he was overreacting. Maybe y/n was just taking a nap.
Tom’s tears fell down his cheeks as he found the broken glass and open back door. “No, no, no, no, no,” he mumbled. He rushed back to the living room. “Please,” Tom whimpered.
Tom went to go up the stairs, stopping when something cracked under his foot. He slowly raised his leg and looked down. He winced as he noticed it was y/n’s phone. Tom lifted it up and saw she’d pulled up Jones’s contact. He felt his heart drop as he faintly heard a struggle upstairs.
Tom threw y/n’s phone down and bolted up the staircase. “Y/N!!” He screamed, taking the stairs three at a time. “PLEASE ANSWER ME!” He pleaded breathily as he reached the top. Tom froze as his head snapped towards the bathroom.
“GET AWAY FROM HER!” Tom belted, sprinting to the end of the hall. “HEY!” He yelled, going to pull on the girl standing over his girlfriend. Tom’s breath hitched as he saw the blade pressed against y/n’s throat.
Tom froze as he stared in fear. He could see the terror and distraught in y/n’s eyes as she was pinned to the ground at knifepoint. Tom breath was shaky as his hands were fisted at his side. He tried to shoot his girlfriend a remorseful look, uncertain if she could see it from her angle. And then, he turned his eyes towards the girl holding her hostage as his eyes lit with fury.
“Back. Away. From. Her. Now.” Tom seethed, his jaw tight as he stared down the crazy fan.
“Tom! Oh my gosh,” The fan gushed. “Hi! Sorry for the mess, Uhh,” she giggled, “not to worry, I’m sure y/n will help clean it up after”.
Tom squinted harshly at the girl. “After? After what?” He asked dreadfully. He tried to look around the girl to see how y/n was doing. His eyes widened upon seeing drops of blood on the white tile flooring. Tom glanced back at the fan, “please. Whatever you want, it’s yours. Take it!” He pleaded.
“Is it money?” Tom questioned, “you can have it. Call my brother and he’ll help get it all out from the bank for you”.
Y/n tried to speak, but her voice was muffled as the fan pressed the flat edge against her more forcefully in warning. She squirmed and debated whether she should try and fight the fan off again now that Tom was here.
“Y/n,” Tom whimpered. “Don’t, please,” he begged, “I’ve got this”. Tom looked back towards the fan with his hands held up. “Just call him, his name is in my phone-".
“Harry, duh. I know your brother’s name, silly,” the fan laughed. “I know all their names! What kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t?!” She shook her head in disbelief.
Tom tried to resist looking confused as he slowly nodded. “Okay…” he mumbled, “so… then uhh,.. Yeah, call him and he’ll get you however much you want. It’s all yours. Just, let y/n go, please”.
“I don’t want your money,” the fan tsked.
“You.. you don’t?” Tom sighed in frustration. “Then wh-what do you want?” He asked hopelessly. “Merch? Harry can get that too. Ummm autographs? Tell me what to sign. Umm, do you want-“ Tom rambled, trying to find a solution.
The crazed fan pouted. “I don’t want anything from you babe,” she answered. “Relax, you don’t have to do anything Tommy bear.”
Tom’s breath wavered as he tried to keep his composure. “Then… then wh-why is my girlfriend on the-?” He stopped himself as the fan glared and turned to y/n, gripping the knife tighter. Tom realized his mistake; this fan claimed in her message that she thought she was his one true love.
“Ex,” the fan hissed, turning back to Tom. “Your ex-girlfriend,” she corrected.
Tom swallowed tensely. Even though the statement was false, it didn’t sit well with him. Even more concerning though was that he had no idea where the fan was going with all of this if she already decided y/n was his ex.
“Don’t worry sweetie,” The girl sighed with what sounded like sympathy. “You’re about to hear why that’s a good thing,” she said. “And I’ll be here to help you through it after.”
Tom opened his mouth to ask what exactly the girl meant when suddenly she was ordering y/n to sit up. He flinched forward instinctively when y/n struggled to get into a seated position. Tom only stopped himself when the fan pressed the knife closer to y/n’s skin, grazing it slightly. Ironically, he wanted to move towards y/n even more after that in order to get the knife away from her, but he knew any movement on his behalf could make things drastically worse in seconds; before he would have time to stop it.
Y/n rested her head against the wall of the bathroom. Her cheek brushed against the toilet paper holder installed beside her on the wall. She couldn’t get herself to look at Tom knowing what the fan was about to make her do. The fan had warned/instructed y/n on it prior to Tom’s arrival.
“Okay, speak,” The fan ordered. She moved infinitesimal to the side so Tom could see y/n clearly.
Y/n closed her eyes and shook her head. She no longer cared about the pain that came with such movement. Y/n felt her tears stream down her face as she tried not to shake. Her stomach was in knots and all she wanted to do was throw up.
“NOW!” The fan shouted, her anger rising at y/n’s lack of cooperation.
Tom flinched at the sudden outburst. He kept his eyes focused on his terrified girlfriend. He watched as her eyes opened and he nodded for her to comply with whatever the fan was saying to do. “Y-y/n, it’s okay, just say it,” Tom pleaded softly.
“See, Tom wants the truth,” the girl remarked. “Now,” she glared at y/n, “tell him”.
Y/n whimpered as she held eye contact with her boyfriend. She saw him silently begging her with his eyes to just do it. Y/n sniffled as she closed her eyes. “I… I… I can’t,” she resisted.
“Do it or I swear!” The girl screeched.
Tom saw the wild look in the girl’s eyes and his fear increased. “Y/n,” he whispered. “I.. I want to hear the truth,” Tom mumbled, playing along with whatever the fan was going for.
Y/n squeezed her eyes tighter and shook. She didn’t want to do this. “I… I don’t….” Y/n mumbled, stopping when the fan yelled for her to use full sentences. “I used you,” She lied.
The words tasted vile as y/n spoke her instructed words aloud. “I.. I don’t love you.” She cried, her resulting movement causing the edge of the blade to seep into her skin. “I-I-I never did. I never l-loved you,” y/n repeated as she’d been told to. She felt her body go limp in defeat after uttering the false but nonetheless hurtful words to Tom.
Tom knew what y/n was saying wasn’t true. But, he could see how badly it hurt her to just repeat them. Nonetheless, he knew he had to play along to get the crazy fan to let y/n go. Fortunately, Tom was already crying.
“O-oh,” Tom whispered with pretend shock. “I… I thought…” he sighed, stepping back in hopes the fan would follow him.
“It’s okay,” the fan soothed. “It’s okay Tommy bear, I’m here for you.” “You don’t need her, I can show you what real love is,” she promised.
Tom noticed the fan had moved closer to him, further from y/n. She was still between the two of them with the knife, but it was no longer at y/n’s throat. Tom wiped his eyes dramatically with a frown. “But… I just…. I can’t believe…” he murmured, taking another few steps down the hall.
The fan sighed. “I know, it’s cruel,” she agreed, “but, aren’t you glad to find out before it was too late?”
Tom shrugged as he yet again moved back some, the fan unconsciously following him. He tried to shoot y/n a sign to be ready to run when the girl eventually exited the bathroom, but y/n wasn’t looking at him. He sighed and quickly improvised. “It’s just…y/n,” Tom whimpered, the fan pouting as he seemingly cried over y/n’s ‘declaration’.
Y/n looked up at hearing Tom say her name. She noticed the way he immediately made eye contact with her and then shifted his gaze to the floor. Y/n looked around and realized the crazy chick and Tom had stepped further into the hall. She was no longer at knifepoint.
Y/n quietly slid her hand toward the keys she’d abandoned earlier. She mentally thanked the girl for being stupid enough to not kick them away. Once she had the keys in reach, y/n took a deep breath as she thought of a game plan. She had to be careful, she didn’t want Tom getting stuck in the crossfire or for the fan to flip out on him in retaliation.
Y/n glanced back up at Tom as she heard him still mumbling about his shock over her statement. In doing so, she noticed a shadow in the staircase. Something she assumed the fan hadn’t seen due to staring crazily at Tom. Y/n took one last deep breath before she silently moved for the keys.
Y/n held the keys in her hands and tried to give Tom a warning glance. She then got onto her knees and leaned forward until she dug the keys into the girl’s leg. Y/n nearly vomited at the force she had to use to puncture the girl’s leg more than just a scratch. But, it was enough for her to get the girl to spin away from Tom.
As the fan turned on y/n, Tom rushed forward to try and grab the knife.
Y/n threw herself back to the ground as she prepared for the knife to contact her.
Before Tom could reach the crazy girl, he heard a buzzing sound and the girl fell to her knees, the knife hitting the ground beside y/n. He snapped his head behind him and saw his security guards standing there, one of whom had tased the fan.
Tom tried to run to y/n but one of the guards stopped him. The one with the taser sidestepped him, likely going to grab the crazy girl. But Tom pushed past both of them and ran to the bathroom. He jumped over the spasming fan in the doorway and fell to his knees beside y/n.
Tom sighed as he saw Y/n was still hunched over, waiting for the impact. “I-It’s just m-me, love,” he whispered tenderly before cautiously placing a hand on her back. When she flinched, he pulled his hand back. But, as y/n turned to look up at him with tears in her eyes, he pulled her to his chest.
“Shhhhh I’ve got you,” Tom cooed, rocking y/n lightly. “You’re safe.” “I’m so sorry”. He repeated these words and similar sentiments as they both cried and held onto each other. Tom faintly heard his security taking the girl away, but he didn’t look away from y/n.
“T-t-To-T-To-“ y/n mumbled, tears still flowing down her face.
“Shhh, you don’t have to talk,” Tom assured her, delicately wiping her cheeks. “I’m here, it’s okay now.”
Y/n shook her head as another sob left her body. “I-I… I didn’t mean it!” She cried. “I swear, T-Tom. I didn’t mean any of what s-she-“.
Tom frowned and pulled y/n back to his chest. He rested his lips on the top of her head as he sighed. “I know darling, I know,” he told her. “I know she made you say it,” Tom acknowledged.
Y/n fisted Tom’s shirt as she cried into his chest. “I … I didn’t… I didn’t want to say it…” she cried. “I didn’t mean it. I swear. I didn’t mean it.” Y/n repeated.
Tom listened respectfully as y/n kept repeating herself. He pressed loving kisses to her scalp as he waited for her to calm down. After a few minutes, Tom began replying with a quiet, “I know” each time y/n promised she hadn’t meant what she said.
Tom didn’t know how long this continued. To him it felt like an eternity having to hear y/n’s choked sobs and needless apologies. But, he noticed she suddenly went quiet. Tom cautiously cupped y/n’s face and tilted it so he could see her eyes.
“I love you,” y/n promised. She gazed up into Tom’s eyes and sniffled. “I love you.”
Tom smiled softly at y/n before giving her a quick kiss. “I love you too,” he whispered.
Y/n took Tom’s face in her hands and needily pulled him in for a longer kiss. She closed her eyes as she sunk her fingers into his hair and held him close. Y/n felt a few more tears leave her eyes as she savored the taste of Tom’s lips.
“Are you hurt?” Tom asked when they pulled back, resting his forehead on y/n’s.
“I.. I don’t think so,” y/n mumbled.
“I...-there was… is…blood on the floor,” Tom argued worryingly.
Y/n pulled back and looked over at the spots Tom was referencing. “Oh, I.. I think that’s hers,” she admitted. “I kinda tore up her arm before you got here,” y/n said, eyeing her keys.
Tom hummed and smiled faintly. “I’m so p-proud of you,” he told y/n. He saw y/n’s disagreement and shook his head. “You kept yourself alive until help could come,” Tom argued. “I s-saw you tried to call Jones, you ran, you fought back, you did what you needed to do to survive.”
Y/n sniffled. “I didn’t want to say that… I shouldn’t have-“.
Tom sighed. “I know you didn’t, and I’m sorry you had to. But that’s just it, you had to,” He pointed out. “I know you didn’t mean it. I’m not hurt or mad. I’m thankful you did what you needed to do. I’m thankful you were so strong,” Tom whimpered lightly.
Y/n flattened her lips and nodded. “I’m just glad you’re here. Thank you for c-coming for me.”
“Always. Now, are you sure-” Tom began, stopping suddenly. He abruptly stood up and carefully pulled y/n up with him. “Your neck,” he muttered, gently tilting her chin up for a better view.
“Shit,” Tom hissed, upset he’d momentarily forgotten about seeing the knife slice y/n’s neck. He eyed the thin line with a deep frown. “We need to get you to the hospital.”
Y/n huffed. “Tom, please, I just… I just wanna lay down and sleep,” she cried.
Tom sucked in his lips and nodded in understanding. “Okay. You will,” he promised. “Just after you get that cut looked at,” Tom declared. “Don’t worry, I’m going with you,” he said upon seeing the fear return to y/n’s eyes.
“You didn’t tell me she clawed your back,” Tom sighed, squeezing y/n’s hand as the doctor gave y/n a tetanus booster shot.
“I forgot,” y/n laughed humorously. She sighed, “doesn’t really hurt too much though”.
Tom nodded. “And your throat?” He questioned, eyeing the bandage covering her neck.
“That one hurts like a bitch,” y/n admitted with a quiet laugh. “But, I’ll be fine,” She promised. “But…Tom…. I….” y/n trailed off.
“You what, love?” Tom inquired.
“I don’t really… umm..” y/n sighed and cleared her throat. She immediately winced at the pain that shot through her as a result. Y/n huffed and looked back at Tom, who was watching her with a sorrowful look. “I don’t want to go home… I… I know she’s gone… but…”
Tom nodded rapidly, squeezing y/n’s hand again. “We’re not going back there,” He promised. “W-when the police are umm,… done with their stuff… I’ll have Harry hire some people to help move our stuff out,” Tom stated.
Y/n smiled appreciatively at how Tom had already considered her not wanting to go back there after tonight. “But… Where are we going to stay? You are staying with me still, right?” She asked nervously.
“Of course!” Tom promised. “For now, I can take time off and we can go back to London. Or, we’ll get a hotel or new apartment until the show wraps. Whatever you want darling,” he comforted.
“You need to finish-“ y/n began. She noticed Tom was about to argue with her so she smiled and shook her head. “I want you to finish. But I won’t argue to you taking a few days off right now,” she admitted bashfully.
Tom sighed with relief, not wanting to go back to work just yet. More so, not wanting to be away from y/n again just yet. “Okay, so new place it is, we’ll get a hotel for tonight,” he decided. “Then, figure it out from there,” Tom said softly.
Y/n nodded and smiled lightly at Tom. “Can we go now?” She asked.
Tom chuckled quietly. “Once you’re cleared, darling,” he said, looking at the doctor.
“You’re all patched up, let me just get the discharge paperwork for you to sign and the at-home instructions to take care of your wounds,” the doctor offered with a sympathetic smile. “Then you’re free to go,” he told the couple as he left the room.
Y/n sighed and squeezed Tom’s hand. She was beyond ready to get out of the hospital. To be somewhere comfortable and safe. With Tom.
“In addition to the guards outside,” Tom said, nodding his head towards the door to y/n’s emergency room where a few of his security were. “I tasked Harry with booking the safest hotel he can find. I’m also going to have guards on each entrance to the hotel, and one outside watching our room if we have a patio, and a couple in the hallway by our door, they’ve been told they’ll be working around the clock, and-“ he rambled.
“Tom, I appreciate all of that,” y/n confessed. “But… She’s been arrested. I don’t think we need that many…” she argued.
Tom nodded. “You’re probably right. But… I know you keep saying it’s not my fault….” He sighed. “But, I can’t help it… please just let me do this for you, until things settle down?”
Y/n smiled warmly and nodded. “Okay, thank you.”
“Tom, you can sleep now, we’re safe,” y/n promised, snuggling into his side as he held her.
“I know,” Tom whispered. “I just want to stay awake and just hold you for a bit,” he confessed. “But, please, rest darling, you’ve had a terribly long day,” Tom pleaded, kissing y/n’s forehead.
Y/n hummed quietly as she breathed in Tom’s cologne. “I love you,” she whispered, melting into his embrace.
“I love you too,” Tom replied, smiling down at y/n. “Thank you for being such a fighter today,” he added, tenderly running his thumb over the space between her brows to soothe her. Tom grinned to himself as he watched y/n quickly drift off to sleep. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if things had gone differently today, but he was glad he didn’t have to find out.
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Praise You Like I Should (CEO!Tom Holland) 18+
Summary: You were always a people-pleaser, desperate to do right by everybody no matter what they asked. Being an intern, your boss Jackson exploited your people-pleaser tendencies in a very unprofessional manner, and CEO Mr Holland wasn't happy about it...
Themes: smut! little bit of fluff and angst, dom!tom and sub!reader, oral (m+f), major praise kink, sir kink, overstimulation, masturbation (alone) , slight jewelry kink
w/c: 10k+
MASTERLIST
You look over the dimly lit hall before you, tables decorated to the nines with hand-folded serviettes, silver-ware suited for royalty, gleaming as they sit on a fresh white linen table cloth, surrounded by tall plum-coloured cushioned chairs. There’s about twelve tables dotted around the hall identical to one another, waiting to be filled by guests in about an hour or so. The room sparkles with the metallic colouring of birthday banners and balloons floating around the room, illuminated by the dancing, multicoloured disco lights.
The surprise birthday party you were instructed to organise is for Mr Holland’s business partner, Taylor. They’re each other's yin and yang, mixing together like oil on water but somehow they make it work. The informal Taylor bases his relationship with his employees on friendship and a sense of mutual equality, where the formal Mr Holland prefers professionalism and respect on top of trust. Nevertheless, both are equally respected as bosses and businessmen in their own right. It doesn’t necessarily mean you all prefer one over the other, but if you had to make a choice as to who you would rather hang out with, the answer is an obvious one.
As an intern, it isn’t exactly part of your remit to organise and host birthday events, but your boss, Jackson, ordered you to do it. Jackson’s notable within the workforce for several reasons; he’s outgoing, social, ambitious, confident, and is unofficially Taylor’s kiss ass. He appointed himself (ahem, you) with the responsibility of organising Taylor’s surprise party, not because he thinks he’s capable, but because he’s looking for recognition. What people don’t know is that he’s actually a lazy guy who has gotten himself drunk with the taste of superiority, abusing you as his own personal slave for favours both big (entirely consequential and out of your depth) and small (worthless and petty). Unfortunate to be his first intern, you’ve realised how gluttonous he’s become with you at his disposal how and whenever he pleases. However, being placed at the bottom of the pecking order, you’re not at liberty to say no.
Jackson’s not your favourite boss by any means, but by God he keeps you busy. It tooks weeks for you to organise the venue, the catering, the entertainment, the decorations, the invitations, most importantly the cake, and the little oddities that everyone forgets about like hand-written name tags and having straws at the bar. You’ve been working relentlessly and after weeks of stress, late and often sleepless nights, numerous phone calls and emails, cancellations and rebookings, tonight is the night that all of that can end. The curse of being a perfectionist and a people-pleaser can finally release its hold on you.
Just as you finish clarifying the itinerary with the hotel’s bar staff, you notice a dark figure walking through the entrance. Your eyes trail nervously from the black patent shoes to the white shirt peeking beneath the black suit of which belongs to Mr Holland. He has his tortoise shell glasses perched perfectly on his nose, reflecting the colours of the disco lights as he walks towards you, stoic and poised. A silent ‘fuck’ crosses your mind.
Being the CEO eight floors above you, Mr Holland’s face isn’t one that you see as consistently as Jackson’s. He’s at least 6 tiers above you in the pecking order, one of two to take superiority over a long line of directors, specialists, managers, supervisors and assistants before you. So you can hardly blame yourself when you start to feel nerves gathering in your chest, despite how well-respected he is amongst the workforce.
His eyes finally find yours and he clarifies your name. You can appreciate that he’s at least taken the time to learn your face. “You're Jackson’s intern, right?”
Wow. He knows you more than you thought. “Yes sir. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No, thank you. I was just coming to take a look around. I’m normally part of organising the celebrations but this year I’ve been too busy.” He wordlessly waves a hand before weaving in and out the tables, reading each name tag as he passes by. You watch nervously as he inspects the room until finding himself in front of what you call The Shrine with folded arms, almost bursting at the seams. More simply, it’s a collage of photos of Taylor taken over the years pieced together in a mosaic standing on an easel, gathered and no less arranged by you, of course. Next to it stands an empty corkboard, waiting to be filled with pictures from tonight's celebration, provided by the pop-up photobooth beside it.
“Whose idea was this?” There’s a warm smile on Mr Holland’s face.
“Mine, sir.”
“And the handcrafted name tags?”
“Also me, sir.”
“I love it. It’s very creative.” You exhale loudly, relieved. The people-pleaser inside you starts to buzz, fluttering wildly at Mr Holland’s praise. “Did you…” His eyes squint narrowly, honing in on you. “Did you organise all of this?”
“Yes, I did. The venue and catering took some negotiating but once that was planned, the rest came with time.”
“Impressive.”
You’re about to thank him but you're interrupted by the obnoxious calling of your name in a voice that booms from the entrance of the hall. Jackson marches towards you and you stand a little straighter. He doesn’t notice Mr Holland standing in the corner of the room next to the shrine. Instead of Mr Holland announcing himself, which is what you expected him to do, he sinks his hands into his pockets and quietly observes from afar.
“I need a rundown--” Please, that would be great. “--and for the love of God where is the present I was supposed to get Taylor?” Thanks for getting me a present for him, I’ll pay you back.
Your answer is succinct and to the point. “I’ve left it in your hotel room; it’s a dinner reservation at Keens Steakhouse in New York. As for tonight, the bar will be open for guests when they arrive at 6:30pm, Taylor will arrive between 7:00pm and 7:15pm for his surprise, the buffet will open at 7:30pm and cake will be served at 8:30pm. Last orders are at 11:30pm and the curfew is midnight. Everyone has checked in and has their hotel room key, although Kelsey couldn’t make it tonight, so her room is spare.”
Jackson gives a gruff nod, mumbling something intelligible under his breath. He cautiously looks to the bar, then narrows his eyes at you with a pointed finger wavering in your face. “I need tonight to be perfect so I need you to be sober. No alcohol. Got it?” In other words, I can’t be bothered making sure everything goes smoothly so I need you to stay sober while I get shit-faced. You nod, pursing your lips angrily as he walks away from you without a final word.
With Jackson no longer in sight, the tension finally deflates and your shoulders relax. You hate that every interaction with Jackson is a test of your skill and knowledge, caught in a vicious cycle of having to prove yourself worthy time and time again.
As Mr Holland emerges from the corner of the room, it’s an observation he also confronts having finally witnessed Jackson’s true authoritarian nature. His eyes are fixated on the golden doors in a stare so firm it could burn holes through the metal, and just when he steps into the brighter lights of the bar, his overall demeanour changes.
His jaw ticks when he finally faces you. “Jackson’s keeping you on your toes tonight it seems.”
“He always does, sir.” You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, recounting the numerous occasions his brutal demands have worked you to the bone.
“I don’t think I appreciate the way he talks to you.”
“Oh I’m used to it by now.”
“So he talks to you like that all the time?” Shit. In truth, Jackson would never have spoken so harshly to you had he known anyone was in the room let alone Mr Holland, but that was his mistake. One you’re not sorry for. “Well, if he isn’t going to tell you what an amazing job you have done, I will. You should be proud of organising all of this by yourself, it’s not easy. Well done.”
Your chest swells with pride as Mr Holland pats a gentle hand against your upper arm. Finally, your first taste of positive reinforcement. “Thank you, sir.”
Mr Holland’s smirk quirks at the edges. His hands find themselves deep within his pockets once again as he coolly and oh-so-calmly exits through the doors.
~~~~
You are insomnia personified. As relieved as you are that the night is going exactly to plan, with the nervous anticipation over, you just cannot wait to get to your bed knowing that the stress is over. You have hours of sleep to catch up on, a stone of weight to put back on and friends and family to respond to, and without a single alcoholic drink to lift your spirits, you’re finding it harder and harder to keep the exhaustion at bay. Beyond the exhaustion, however, there’s a sadness hidden deep within your conscience and while you glance over the decorations you hung up as the melodic singing of ‘happy birthday’ rings in the air, it spreads. It’s clear that people are oblivious to what makes you so downcast on a celebratory night as they pass nothing more than a glance your way, but in all honesty, you much prefer it to be that way. You wouldn’t want anyone to see the tear building in the corner of your eye.
For now, you thrive on the compliments you’ve heard about the venue, the decorations, the drinks and the food, each and every one of them satisfying your perfectionist mindset. Okay, so what no-one knows you organised the party, and sure, you can oversee the fact that none of the compliments are directed to you in particular, because in the end, you’ve gained Mr Holland’s approval and that’s enough for you.
Well, it was enough until Taylor took to the stage for a speech.
“...and a special shout-out to Jackson for putting this all together for me. This is absolutely amazing, I couldn’t have asked for more.”
Your heart sinks in your chest and your ears instinctively drown out the clapping and cheering of the crowd around you, eyes set in stone as they watch Jackson accept the dedication so graciously that it makes you sick to your stomach. It takes every ounce of energy you have left in you to suppress the wobble in your lip at the sight of Jackson soaking up the glory like a sponge. Jackson taking the credit for your hard work was something you should’ve expected from him. After all, he is lazy and will never be willing to admit it, definitely not in front of Taylor. Still, the chase for recognition was always going to be a losing battle for you; you’re an intern for fuck’s sake, you are merely just a name and a face for most, unfulfiling of the protagonistic arc the people here want in their stories. Jackson, the kiss ass, makes much more sense being the hero than an underdog intern.
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, accepting defeat.
You claim an empty seat at an empty table in a dark corner of the room, far from the crowd mingling on the dance floor and you remain there as the party continues into the night. The glass of tepid water looks pitiful in your hands, its lack of taste offering no respite from your sorrow.
With fifteen minutes until last orders, you begin counting down to the moment you can retire to your bed which you know won’t arrive until after you’ve cleaned up the hall. You’re jealous of some of the guests who have already decided to leave the party.
The chair to your right suddenly scrapes across the floor and you’re slightly taken aback when Mr Holland sits close beside you and abruptly rests an elbow upon the table, blocking your view of the crowd and demanding your attention. A cedarwood scent silently announces itself and you inhale it deeply, finding sanctuary in its presence despite how startled you are by it. Your breath is simply taken from you when he shuffles himself closer. He isn’t wearing his usual attire; something a little less formal, but likely to be just as expensive. With that expensive taste comes his expensive appearance: clean, styled, decorated admirably and booming with authority. A warmth starts to take a hold of you.
His movements are harsh and his body moves with brute intention, but behind those curls, his eyes hold sympathy, knowing what is upsetting you before it even spills from your lips. You try to fake a smile but he can see right through it.
“I thought it was you that organised the party,” he calmly states.
“I did. But because Jackson instructed me to plan a party means he takes responsibility for it.”
Mr Holland doesn’t waste a single second. “It isn’t right. It’s one thing to speak to you so rudely, but it’s another to take credit for your hard work, and I’m starting to believe that Jackson doesn’t value you as an intern as much as he values the superiority that comes with it, am I right?”
Anxiously, your eyes catch Jackson lazily hanging over the bar and demanding another drink. If Mr Holland were to know the truth, it would get Jackson in a lot of trouble and the people-pleaser inside you is screaming at you to just deny it all. Your skewed perception of professionalism means skipping over these things, something about snitching just seems so petty and childish, and that’s not the impression you want to give Mr Holland of all people.
Mr Holland’s stern voice brings you back. “You’re not answering to him now, you’re answering to me. Am. I. Right?”
You gulp. “Yes, sir.”
“I intend to have a word with Jackson--”
“Mr Holland, it’s okay, really--” You try to protest but he quickly rests his hand on top of yours, his warmth enveloping it completely, and your mind halts. Your heart flutters the moment his fingers curl just the little bit tighter, a compassion that says more than words could. It’s genuine, caring, but firm in a way that’s supportive, pledging to do right by you.
“He will apologise to you and let everyone know the truth.”
“Please, I don’t want to cause a hassle or stir anything in the office, I just want to do well. And what would it change if people knew the truth? It doesn’t bother me that much, honestly. Besides, you know the truth. That’s all that matters to me.” Desperately and without thinking, you twist your hand and your fingers interlock, returning the squeeze with a soft smile. Mr Holland tries his best to return the sentiment but you can tell the whole ordeal still troubles him and sits discontented by your side, a regretful sigh heaving through his lips. Soon, after a silent plea to let it go, he eventually sits level with you with a brighter sparkle to his eyes and instantly, the mood is lifted. You notice how his hand doesn’t leave yours.
“You at least deserve a drink.”
“I shouldn’t, I’m closing up tonight and I’m working early tomorrow.”
He scowls for what seems like the hundredth time tonight, facing issue after issue the more you expose Jackson’s true nature. “It’s Saturday tomorrow, you should be having a day off.”
“It’s laughable you think I get a day off,” you chuckle. The sad thing is, he thinks you’re joking. Jackson often sends you his overdraft of reports to complete over the weekend and has the cheek to deem you lucky that he gives you so much wisdom and experience. You can’t imagine Mr Holland being aware of this…
“Don’t be silly darling, everyone is entitled to days off. Even Taylor took a day off today for his birthday.”
Again, your scathing laughter meets his ears and he tilts his head, that skewed eyebrow lifting high into his forehead. “No offence sir, but with his position, he can afford to. I don’t think interns have that same benefit--”
“Of course you do, it’s company policy that everyone is entitled to a day off on their birthday.” Before you get a word in, he’s already pulling out his phone from his suit pocket. “Tell me when your birthday is so I can make sure you get it off, and I know when to get you a birthday present. Taylor too--”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that.”
“We do it for all our employees, regardless if you’re an intern or not.” His calendar flashes to life before his eyes. “So when is it? June? July?”
Your mouth suddenly goes dry and it gawps like a fish, not a usual response to such an easy question. Your fingers knead together on your lap as the sadness once again materialises and Mr Holland quickly senses something is amiss.
“It’s…it’s today. My birthday is…was today.”
Mr Holland’s eyes widen with horror. It’s no less than a minute later that he finally replies. “And Jackson has you working?”
“Since 7am this morning. I had asked for my birthday off two months ago because I did actually read the company policies, but he said interns can’t request holidays because they’re not permanent. I didn’t think anything of it.”
“What?! For fuck’s sake…” Mr Holland twists his chair violently, its legs colliding with the table as he tries to face you more directly and leans forward, your knees slotting into the space between his. The wave of his anger has rolled back even higher in its tide and now, unlike before, there’s a vein popping at his temple. “Let me just make this clear, okay? Correct me if I’m wrong. You’re telling me that Jackson has knowingly denied you of your birthday holiday entitlement and instead had you plan someone else’s birthday just so that he can take credit for it, make you work through it and clean up after it as well?”
God. In his words it sounds so desperately sad. Up until this point, you were able to distract yourself from getting caught up in the tragedy of it all, but now there’s nothing stopping the gates from opening and wallowing in self-pity. Although your blurring eyes tell of your true emotions, the forced smile on your lips does everything it can to convince both you and Mr Holland that you’re not bothered by it. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Mr Holland’s heart inevitably sinks. In that moment, he thinks of the cruelty behind Jackson ordering you to buy and wrap his present for Taylor when you have none to open. He thinks of you, alone, buying the candles of the birthday cake you wouldn’t be blowing out. He thinks of you, just hours ago as the crowd sings happy birthday to another person, blissfully ignorant of your sorrow. He thinks of the hours you spent working when you should have been with your friends and family. It’s all of the things you truly deserve, but have been robbed from you.
He reaches once again for your hand, now resting on your lap, and the tips of his fingers graze your thigh. You would be a fool to miss it. “Darling,” he sincerely murmurs, almost as quiet as a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
The fake smile takes lead and the rebel tear is wiped away. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault--”
“But it’s not okay. You…you didn’t even get to have a drink.” Damnit, your cheeks are wet again. “Did you at least get a break today?” Don’t cry in front of your CEO. Don’t cry in front of your CEO. Don’t cry in front of your CEO.
In fact, you spend so much time failing to not cry that Mr Holland assumes the worst. He takes in a long, deep breath and lures you into his embrace with a hand creeping up to the back of your head, and the second your forehead hits his shoulder, the dams break.
“I’m just so tired,” you sniff.
“You’ve been overworked, darling, that’s why.” His hand passes over your hair, gently cupping the curve of your head as he takes in every hiccup. His breath flows past your ears smoothly, broken up every few seconds with whispers of comfort. You feel horribly embarrassed, crying into the expensive suit of your CEO at the party you organised on your birthday: definitely not the definition of professionalism you are chasing.
“I’m sorry. I promise I’m not usually like this.” You retreat from his shoulder but the hand cupping the back of your head prevents you from travelling too far and you’re stuck, just inches from Mr Holland’s pitying eyes. He keeps you concealed from the crowd, but it’s not enough to hide from the burning glare of Jackson, his eyes drawing daggers at you from over Mr Holland’s shoulder. He’s somewhat frozen in a stupor, scarily steady for a man who was flailing over the bar minutes ago, but anger is a quick cure for intoxication.
Mr Holland’s voice sidles quietly into your ear. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. Get yourself up to bed, I’ll deal with Jackson.”
“But--”
“I will not take no for an answer. Now go.” You shiver at the stern tone, appearing only as he turns to lock eyes with Jackson who’s faring a guilty look upon his face. As Mr Holland brings you both to a stand, he gently encourages you towards the golden doors and although you should be indulging in the relief of finally being let off, you can’t pull your focus away from Mr Holland’s cold stare that refuses to stray from Jackson. In the few seconds that it takes to walk from your chair to the doors, a clear, obvious shift in mood transpires, one that is felt by the entire room because now it isn’t just you that notices Mr Holland’s sudden decline in temperament. Evidently, everyone is quick to sense the tension. The crowd’s lively dancing now settles into an awkward shuffle and the singing dulls into hushed whispers because they know to never underestimate the seriousness of Mr Holland’s anger. It’s uncomfortable and intimidating, even more so if you’re the reason for his vexation and if that’s the case, you should be on your knees begging for his forgiveness. It’s the one power Mr Holland holds that Taylor, his business partner, his equal, doesn't possess. This is your first time seeing him exercise this power and it’s incredibly daunting.
The beat of your heels clicking their way up the staircase is a quick one, not daring to hang around the unease any longer. The fresh smell of washed cotton that greets you in your room winds you down and you don’t spare a second of reflection before you strip yourself of your stiff dress, blister-inducing heels, thick make-up and the heavy stress. You slip right between the sheets, ready to drift asleep.
The lights are switched off, your eyes are closed and your body properly relaxes. Yet inexplicably you can’t settle into your bed no matter how much you toss and turn. Rationale convinces you that it’s because you’re in a bed different from your own, that the mattress doesn’t have the mould of your body imprinted on it, and although it’s a perfectly reasonable explanation, your inner conscience is telling you something else…
Flashes of memories made just half an hour prior spring to the surface and suddenly you’re watching yourself converse with Mr Holland again. But it isn’t exactly how you remember it.
For example, his hand is on your lap, gripping the curve of your thigh with his heat scorching through your skin when you know that, in reality, it was nothing more than a soft sweep. And when you both stood, you know he guided you with a gentlemanly hand, yet your dream sees his hand curving down the slope of your ass and squeezing the flesh. You have to refuse the idea of you shivering with arousal from hearing Mr Holland’s stern growl because truthfully, it was nerves.
Or…was it both?
You try to ignore it, but the seed has already been planted. Now all you can visualise is his fleeting touches, his soft voice praising you and calling you darling, the twinkle in his eyes as he sympathised for you, the caress of his hand through your hair as he comforted you, the way he cared for you, and fucking hell, the exhilaration of seeing him protect you so defensively when no one else did. His taut jaw, his clenched fists, his dark eyes, the pulsing vein at his temple, his eminence that commanded the room, the list is endless.
“F-fuck,” you stutter, succumbing to the pleasure of your own fingers toying with your clit. You don’t quite remember the exact moment your hand slipped beneath your underwear, too caught up in your fantasy of Mr Holland to realise. Regardless, the movie in your mind continues to play out and by now, none of it reflects any real events from tonight - it’s all purely fictional.
His hand slides up between your thighs. He dons a devilish grin because he knows there’s a whole crowd blissfully unaware behind him. An innocent gasp slips from your lips and it lures his eyes to your mouth, panting as he traces the letters of his name over your covered cunt as a sign as to who it belongs to. Overrun with anticipation, you bite your lip, feeling the pad of his finger slip beneath your thong and…
“Oh my god! Shit!” Your body seizes, curling into itself as your fingers dull to a small twitch between your clenched thighs. There’s a blissful moment where you ravish the hot rush of blood pulsing at your pussy, letting it bubble until it slows to a simmer, and only when you come down from your high minutes later do you fully realise what has just happened. Eyes split wide open, you rise from your bed.
You just masturbated fantasising over your CEO.
What in the hell have you gotten yourself into?
~~~~
The morning comes surprisingly quickly and the hotel's thin curtains don't fully shield you from the sun's glare. It’s bright, directly in your face and if you didn’t know any better, you would think that it’s spotlighting you because it knows what you did last night. As if you forgot…
The guilt still ruins your conscience and you feel nothing but regret; fantasising and sexualising Mr Holland’s kindness is just the pinnacle of everything you disagree with and it doesn’t exactly define the sort of professionalism you strive for.
Shaking it off as best you can, you refresh yourself with a shower and a harsh splash of cold water to your face, and by the time you open your laptop it’s 9am. There hasn’t been any emails from Jackson so far which you’re not too sure if you’re shocked by. It’s typical on a Saturday morning for Jackson to send you multiple reports with deliberately vague instructions that you would somehow have to decode and translate for yourself. But regarding last night’s events, perhaps he’s heeded Mr Holland’s words and decided to honour your weekend entitlements.
The white screen stares back at you, watching you nervously bite your nails as if you’re expecting a red notification to pop up, attached to an email from Jackson with hungover words. A minute or two passes by and alas, nothing. Not a word. In all honesty, you don’t have an issue with it, not at all, but it means that your routine is completely disrupted and you’re struggling to decide what to do with yourself. And without work, you have nothing to distract you from last night’s sin while it plagues your mind.
A new sweat arises and your cheeks flush with embarrassment. It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did, and that’s the part you think is the worst. Why did it feel so fucking good?
What brings you out of your self-loathing is three quick, quiet knocks echoing from your door in quick succession. Curious, you open the door and when you see who stands there in all his formal glory, you wish you hadn’t. Your heart immediately jumps to your mouth.
“Oh, Mr Holland--hi. I wasn’t expecting you…” Your words fade into a soft whisper when your eyes spot a small pink bag, its ribbon handles hooked daintily onto his fingers. Surely that can’t be what you think it is…?
He’s painfully quiet, a small smile painting his lips at what he sees; he’s never seen you dress so casually before and he wants to take a good long look at you, unsure of when he’ll see such a sight again. The weight of his stare burns holes through you, heating you from within.
Not a second later, he holds out the pink bag towards you and you forget to breathe.
“Happy belated birthday,” he gently voices. Your fingertips graze each other as you take it from him. For such a small, delicate bag, it’s certainly weighty and your stomach drops thinking about how much money he’s stupidly wasted on you…
“Thank you sir, really. You didn’t have to do that.” A nervous chuckle escapes your dry mouth. “How…how did you get this so quickly? It’s barely past 9 in the morning.”
“I have a few contacts who owe me a few favours. And I just felt so guilty about you missing your birthday. Sorry you couldn’t celebrate it like you should’ve.”
“Like I said, it’s okay--”
He shakes his head disapprovingly but surely, a taunting smirk begins to form. “Am I going to have to give you the same ‘talking to’ I gave Jackson last night to make you realise that it is definitely not okay?”
Yes, yes, yes, fucking yes. “No, no, of course not. Sorry, I suppose that’s just the people-pleaser in me.”
Mr Holland stands stoic before you, his head slightly tilted and his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes are watching you endearingly, drawing you into him, but everything else about him oozes something that makes you want to swallow a little harder. His confidence in himself is mildly intimidating and you wish you could feel the same. Just his being here creates a dizzying effect on you that you just can’t shake.
“You can think of this as a congratulations of sorts too.”
You tilt your head. “Congratulations?”
“Mh-hm,” his eyes flit over your confusion, a devilish, haunting smirk gracing his wet lips. “Congratulations on becoming a permanent member of Taylor and I’s company.”
Mr Holland admiring you be damned, you find yourself taking a step back in shock. “Are you…are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious, do you think I would lie to you?”
“Not at all, I just, I thought it was going to be Jackson’s decision. I am his intern.”
You aren’t a fool to miss the way his jaw ticks at the mention of Jackson’s name and all too quickly, a ferocious fire consumes his eyes. A small shiver cuts through your skin. “You don’t work for Jackson anymore because Jackson no longer works for me.”
“What?!”
“What did you think when I said I was going to deal with Jackson? That he was going to continue working for me even after finding out he was treating you badly? Or finding out that he orders you to do his work over the weekends? Or even when he blackmails you into doing jobs beyond your remit? How could you possibly think that I would let that sleazy bastard feed off my pay when I know he isn’t capable of the job? You’re far more deserving of the position than he is, far more deserving of the appreciation and beyond capable.”
“Sir, I…I can’t thank you enough. I’m very grateful. I won’t let you down, I promise.”
“I know you won’t. Although I do sometimes wish you would’ve told me or Taylor about Jackson’s behaviour sooner. I don’t tolerate that kind of exploitation, not even for a second and you shouldn’t have either.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I was just so caught up in wanting to do well that I would’ve done anything to please the company.”
“Maybe you should stop spending your time trying to please other people, and focus on pleasing yourself.” His face gravitates just a hairsbreadth towards yours and in quieter, darker words, he whispers… “You were certainly capable of pleasing yourself last night.”
You take a timid step back, mouth agape. You can’t think of anything to say, not when the ringing in your ears starts to resonate louder and louder. Shame swells like a disease and you can feel the bile rising in your throat. You are almost certain you didn’t hear anyone outside your room last night, how could he have possibly known?
“I…um…I don’t know what you’re talking about…”
He smoothly leans against the door frame, his wicked grin tells you that he doesn’t believe a word you say. Nevertheless, he explains, not to worsen how mortified he knows you already feel, but to reminisce of the surge of adrenaline and lust that coursed through him last night.
“I came by late last night to drop off your present. I didn’t think you would still be awake so I planned on leaving it at your door, and just as I bent down to place it there, I heard just the softest of moans—“
“I think you must be mistaken—“ An uneasy chuckle barely covers your tracks, leaving you just as compromised as before.
“I thought you might’ve been with someone, but I then didn’t hear any other voices, so I assumed you were by yourself.”
“Sir,” you squeak, intending to finish your sentence but you just don’t have the words nor the confidence to deny him of what he already knows. You feel like a deer caught in the headlights, exposed and vulnerable without the faintest idea of how to get yourself out of his commanding presence.
A million and one emotions rage through you and drown you in a fluster. Your feet shuffle nervously beneath you, slowly inching your way back into your hotel room as you sense yourself losing control over the conversation. With a mouth drier than the Sahara desert, there’s not much else you can do or say to avoid falling victim to both Mr Holland’s taunting and your own taunting; last night’s images playing out before you more vividly now that he resurrects them.
The subject finally diverges, but it doesn’t mean you're any more comfortable with it. “Do you know you’re the only one that addresses me as ‘sir’?”
You shake your head, eyes inevitably averted. You didn’t know that, you just thought it was professional.
“You never corrected me.”
“I didn’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“I liked hearing it. Just as much as I liked what I heard last night. But I need to know,” he takes a step to cross the threshold of your hotel room. “Was there anything…anyone in particular crossing your mind?”
“There was…” His jaw ticks furiously and you instantly get the notion that denying him is simply not a choice here.
“Who?” He demands in that stern voice you’ve heard only once before.
One word sits on your tongue and you know that as soon as it breaks the silence, the professionalism you worked so hard to build up will crumble before you. But the risk is entirely worth it.
“You.”
Mr Holland’s lips part and releases a snicker as if he knew, and the curl of his smirk becomes dangerous. He lets the singular word ring out into the air, and the tension envelopes you both in a suffocating bubble until he finally speaks. “You…what?”
“You, sir.”
His chest rumbles with approval and you even feel its vibrations fluttering low in your stomach. Desire consumes you; a desire to know what he’s thinking, to know what he’s planning to do with that compromising information, to figure out whether he’ll respond to it in a way that satiates your more promiscuous desires like the ones that distracted you last night. You would give anything to see what’s going on inside his head.
Inexplicably, he nods towards your pink bag, easily brushing over your last conversation like it was nothing to him and it completely throws you off. “You should open it.”
It takes a second to drag your eyes away from him. You actually forgot you’re still holding it in your hands. The tissue paper rustles loudly as you reach in-- “Inside.” Mr Holland urges. With a short nod, you lead the way, allowing him to slowly close the door behind you with a gut-wrenching squeak and a thunderous boom.
The second the door shuts, the air becomes taut, strained and harder to breathe and you dedicate all your efforts into ignoring your last conversation just as easily as he had, but he’s standing right behind you and the warmth of his breath skates past your ear and it’s all you can think about. Even without disclosing what he now knows, the presence of Mr Holland alone would bring about such unnerving effects, so you don’t find yourself at fault for struggling to keep it together.
From the pink bag you pull out a small white and gold box, wrapped with yet another ribbon. Inside is a silver chain, light and dainty, but the pendant it carries is nothing alike. The reflection of the sun hits the circular-cut diamond, becoming iridescent as it hits your eyes. The stone is slightly on the larger side, bigger than any other necklace you own, but it sits perfectly in the balance of being flashy yet classy. Expensive yet tasteful. It’s a piece that you can’t price and that exact thought scares you.
“It’s beautiful,” you softly murmur. The chain cascades elegantly across your fingers, almost mesmerising to watch.
Your eyes catch his movement in the mirror in front of you and steals your attention away from the necklace. He holds out his hand by your side, soft but firm.
“May I?” You almost flinch as his words hit your ear, the ripple of your shiver continues for long after. As the chain pools in his hand, he is equally gentle, handling it with expertise while he lifts it carefully over head and rests the pendant tenderly in the dip between your clavicles. Its icy cold touch seers your skin, heat radiating with each grazing touch of his fingers as they clasp the chain together behind your neck. Once secure, you admire the way it shines brightly against your skin tone, eyes momentarily lost in your image until you realise that yours are the only pair looking back at you. Mr Holland remains engrossed with the curve of your neck, his proximity close enough to be counting the beats of your pulse as it thumps beneath your skin and for all you know, it’s elevating, thrashing harder and harder while you watch with wide eyes as Mr Holland presses his lips against it.
The second his lips meet your skin, his hands find your hips, holding you steady to prevent you from buckling. A numbing tingle shoots through your nervous system at the feeling of Mr Holland swiping his tongue across the reddening bruise he’s leaving behind. Every kiss is with purpose, targeting each and every sweet spot as if he had a map to each of their location: the peak of your neck that connects to your jaw, the sensitive spot just millimetres below your ear, the slight curve of your shoulder that sits beneath the chain. He instantly claims you, and you show no sign of resistance when you find yourself voluntarily tilting your neck, begging for more.
You finally meet his eyes in the mirror, realising how cavernous his blown-out pupils are; that if you search too far you’ll become trapped. “This…” he whispers, planting another kiss to your ear, his hands beckoning to the chain, “is the only thing I’ll allow you to wear while I fuck you.”
A shameless, breathless mewl whines from your throat and a rampage of endorphins consumes you. As the first piece of insight to his mind, you don’t get nearly enough time to let it process in your head before his clawing hands are tugging at the drawstrings of your joggers.
The small nip to your neck is a wake-up call. This is real and this isn’t a fantasy of yours, only that it will be a recreation of what had you orgasming last night.
“You know, I can be a people pleaser too.” His hand slips beneath your joggers, but refrains from slipping beneath your underwear. “I can please you in so many ways.” As a testimony to his words, his fingers trace over the silk of your underwear, catching your bud in its travels and a silent gasp bursts from your lips. “But not without earning it. Do as you’re told, and I’ll do exactly that.”
Your head falls back onto his shoulder, words vacant, eyes rolling.
“Are you listening to me?” The hand on your hip squeezes harshly and you jerk in his arms. You have never agreed to something quicker in your life.
“Yes, sir! Oh—”
“Good. Then you can start by closing those curtains over there.”
His hand slips fluidly out of your joggers when you force yourself away from the subtle torment. The light dims a little, however you think it’s more for privacy than for light. When your back turns once again, Mr Holland sits himself on the edge of the bed, legs spread and leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Whatever it is about him in that single second triggers something in you; attraction, lust, sex appeal, or all of the above. Whatever it is, it compels you to give yourself in to him.
A messy mixture of want, need and unrelenting desire brings you to your knees before him. His eyes sweep over your face, examining, analysing, translating every desperate twitch. He can even see your lips parting where he spots the remnants of teeth marks from when you had nervously bitten them in hidden moments. Smoothly, the pad of his thumb brushes over your lip, tugging it into a pout because that’s what he wants to see; you, desperate, pouting, begging for him. It soon pops back into place, his hand now curling around your chin and pulling you closer. His own lips are nothing more than a breath away from yours and you think he’s going to finally kiss you, but annoyingly, he only allows you to feel the shape of the words as he whispers them to you.
“So what is it about me then, hm? What do I do that turns you on?”
“It’s…it’s stupid.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Let me rephrase.” The grip on your chin tightens and your noses collide. “Tell me what it is about me that turns you on.”
“Last night at the party, you were the only one that…cared. You made me feel like I wasn’t invisible.”
“What else?”
“You stood up to Jackson for me - you just looked so determined like you were unstoppable.”
He tilts his head in the other direction now, leaning in just as close, your breaths mingling together. You’re so desperate to feel his lips on yours. “And?”
“When…when you touched my thigh--”
“You were burning.”
“I was nervous--”
“Because of me.”
“Of course because of you. I was scared of disappointing you.”
A small snicker escapes him and leaves behind a wicked smirk. Two hands now firmly cradle your jawline and you think the moment has finally come. Why else would your heart be thumping in your chest?
“Not possible. I always knew you were a good girl. And I think you like being told that, don’t you? You like being recognised to the point where you need to be reassured of it. I saw that coy little look on your face the first time I told you how impressed I was. It was obvious that no one else had praised you like I did - you couldn’t keep yourself together. And I bet if I kept telling you how fucking sweet you are, and how much of an perfect angel I know you are for me, the second I slip my fingers into your tight little pussy, you’d be an absolute mess.”
Well, he’s not wrong. You’re already soaked.
“Please, sir,” you whimper. “Please just kiss me.”
Finally, finally, he pulls you in for a long, languid kiss, his tongue takes lead to taste every part of your bitten lips as they slot perfectly in between his, lingering longer with each time he captures them. The blood rushes so quickly through your veins you think you might implode, overwhelmed by just how good it feels that your hands suddenly grapple onto the cuffs of his shirt.
A satisfied hum buzzes against your lips, twisting your own into a small grin that unbeknown to you, Mr Holland could actually feel.
“Let me see you,” he demands, his hands plucking at the hem of your sweatshirt. When you don’t do it right away, a tight grip coils around your neck and stops the gasp leaving your mouth. “Do. As. You’re. Told.”
You’re baring your all for him (all except a diamond necklace) in a matter of seconds, standing before him as he leisurely leans back against the bed, resting on his elbows. Those predatory eyes roam your body, mapping out the shape and details, and imprinting them to memory.
“So fucking pretty…” He deliberately watches for your reaction and you crumble under the praise resulting in a mirthful laughter to shake his chest. His arms reach for your waist, luring you in with the tight grab of your hips until his lips sit just below your ribs. The heat from his breath hitting your skin makes you involuntarily wriggle, but he doesn’t allow for any movement from you, not unless he permits it. You feel his lips suddenly, trailing across your ribs and up your chest. “Do you know what good girls like you do for me?”
“What?” You breathlessly murmur.
“They get on their knees,” Mr Holland pauses to let you act on it. Now you’re looking up at him as his knuckle ghosts over your cheeks and he mingles closer. “They look at me right in the eyes and they beg me to give them a taste, to let them suck me off because they’ll do anything for a reward, even if it is just a few words of praise. So let’s hear you, pretty girl. I want to hear you beg me with that sweet, innocent voice of yours.”
You take a cautious breath. “I want to taste you so badly, sir. Please. Will you let me?”
“Hmm.” He purses his lips. Shit. It isn’t good enough for him and he spots the panic in your eyes. All of a sudden, you begin pleading in such a desperate, childish tone you didn’t know you were capable of. Even your lip begins pouting as the need to please him becomes so overwhelming that, unexpectedly, your eyes water, like you’re facing life or death. And he is the decider.
“Wait, wait, no, please, I want to make you feel so good, so, so, so good. I can do it, I promise, and I can be good for you if you let me. Please sir, I really need it. I’ll do anything.”
Mr Holland smiles and gently kisses you with approval, just the shortest of pecks of reassurance before he leans back and nods towards the zipper of his suit trousers, tented with the erection that’s pleading to be satisfied. You waste no time in unbuttoning, unzipping and pulling free his hard cock that almost dwarfs your hand and you stare at him with such bewilderment, a stare that is returned by a certain smugness, a confidence that has you licking your lips.
There’s a surge of instinct coursing through you and your brain convinces you that there’s nothing else you should be doing, that your whole purpose at this very moment is to do as you promise; to please him, to make him feel good, so when you hear his moans the second you wrap your lips around him, your heart flutters with fulfilment. It’s a sensation you keep chasing, growing stronger the longer you bob your head up and down his cock, every time his praise seeps from his lips, and you just about lose it when his fingers comb through your hair. You offer every trick in the book; swirling around your tongue around the head of his cock, sweeping it across the small slit to collect the small bead of cum, teasing him before taking him down your throat and gagging on him. Not too little, not too much. Consistency is key.
You’re not sure how much of an idea he has about just how dedicated you are in your mission to prove yourself to him, that you’re desperate to show how capable you are by what you’re willing to do; perhaps a horrible side-effect of having to constantly prove yourself to Jackson with each conversation, but with Mr Holland, there’s an element of belief and confidence: a contradiction between Jackson’s ‘I don’t believe you until you prove it’ versus Mr Holland’s ‘do it because I know you can’.
Mr Holland’s head falls back, his eyes closed, and falls into an eerie silence. If it wasn’t for his hand still combing through your roots, you would’ve thought he wasn’t satisfied with you. Still, you keep going, running your lips and tongue down his shaft and returning slowly back up again where you get a teaser of the bitter-sweet taste you’re vying for. He doesn’t say anything for a while and you’re undecided of whether you’re doing so well that he’s speechless, or you’re not doing enough that’s worthy of his praise. It’s hard to tell with his head tilted back, and you begin to lose faith. You’ve become so drawn into his voice and words that you feel lost without them.
‘You like being recognised to the point where you need to be reassured of it.’
“Sir,” you meekly voice, leaving a beat to suck on the head of his cock. “Am I making you feel good?”
The depth of his growl sends a spike of arousal straight to your clit. He spits out his words in a manner that’s uncontrollable. “Fucking incredible.”
His head finally lifts and his eyes pin on you, fully blown and dilated. “Look at you - oh fuck - taking me so well. Knew you’d be a good girl but f-fuck, I don’t know if I can hold it in any longer.”
You reply with a wanton mewl, your dopey, tear-stained eyes saying the words your mouth can’t. You need to do something that would push him over the edge, do something that would completely shatter his world, never to be forgotten. He’s already so close, and you're already dripping onto the carpet, and with one last final trick up your sleeve, you catch his eyes, sink yourself onto him until your nose bashes against skin, and fight through the gag. Teeth baring, you slowly, lightly, graze your teeth up his cock, ghosting over every vein that pulses, leaving behind the soothing aftercare of your soft lips. By your side, his thighs twitch and by the time you reach the head of his cock, an explosion happens.
Mr Holland swings forward, grappling onto your head as you drink down everything he gives you. His entire body tenses, trapping you into a headlock and just only for a couple of seconds do you feel yourself losing breath. It's slightly tense and panic-inducing but it doesn’t matter, because above you he’s panting heavily, enclosing his thighs around your head and holding onto you for dear life. It’s all the signs you need to know that you’ve done what you promised, you have proved yourself.
“Fucking hell,” Mr Holland pants. His grip loosens around you and your lips release him with a pop. The instant your lips are free, he claims them, humming into them with adoration. “That was…” A soft, tender kiss. “The best goddamn…” Then another. “Blow job I’ve ever had.” He kisses you for a final time with a smile laced through it, and rests his forehead on yours to give himself some time to catch his breath. “So good…” he breathes. “So, so, so good. Sweet angel. My sweet angel.”
There isn’t anything to describe the burst of achievement that swarms your chest when you hear those words and your cheeks inevitably heat under his hands. You’re smiling, obviously smiling and no matter how hard you bite your lips to hide it, the pull is too strong. You make yourself far too goddamn easy to read so when Mr Holland catches a glimpse of your reaction, he smirks, clearly amused, and simultaneously reaches down the length of your body until his hand finds sanctum between your thighs.
“Hmm, you’re soaked, darling. Don’t you think we should do something about it? After all, you’re earned your reward, and I’m dying for a taste of that messy, little pussy of yours.”
You release a shaky breath when his fingers start exploring. “Yes, oh god, yes.”
“Yes…what?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Better. Let’s not make that mistake again.”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Now--” In a vice-like grip, Mr Holland encircles your waist and your body burns against the rough cashmere of his suit. It’s surprisingly stimulating as he casually hauls you off your feet, but you would much rather the heat of his skin. Nevertheless, your back soon meets the soft cotton of your sheets as he lays you to rest on the bed, remaining shadowing above you basking in the sight of your naked, wanting body. The diamond that nestles deep into the base of your throat twinkles obnoxiously in his eyes and he almost grows jealous of the way it hugs your neck. However, it's a jealousy he can overlook as his eyes wander over the peak of your breasts and your glistening cunt, because he knows that they are all for him.
Mr Holland promptly sinks to his knees, placing his head in between your thighs, his eyes never straying from your cunt. There isn’t a moment of hesitation when he swings his arms to cross over your hips, dragging your legs effortlessly over his shoulders and diving, tongue first, into your cunt. It’s a complete invasion of his touch, his tongue immediately swirling around your clit with a careful, consistent pressure that deep down, you know will end you in minutes. The gasp is telling of your struggle to keep composed, gradually crescendoing into a moan as that amorous tongue descends down your slit, licking you up in long, fat strips. An urge in your hips begs for attention, wanting to raise higher to ease the tension building deep in your stomach, but you're trapped, locked in place with no routes of escape and you have to tell yourself that you just have to tough it out.
But it’s harder said than done when he begins slotting his tongue into your hole, tasting and caressing every inch of you he’s capable of reaching. Digging deeper and deeper, his mouth consumes the entirety of your cunt, humming into it to push you further over the edge. He knows you’re hanging on by a thread, but it doesn’t mean he’s willing to slow down. And just then, an evil, malicious thought spawns in his mind which he voices immediately.
“You’re not cumming until I say so. Understood?”
The feeling of you clenching to stop the impending orgasm has him chuckling. He knew you were close.
“Such a sweet, little angel. So obedient too, right?” He blows a gentle breeze onto your clit and you simply whimper in response. “Right?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
Satisfied, Mr Holland has your cunt in his mouth again, salivating over its taste as he suckles on your clit, your folds, your skin, anything to lure out what he knows he’s going to get eventually, but it makes it twice as appetising when he knows your orgasm is only at his command.
Meanwhile, your heart stammers in your chest with each tug of his lips. Whatever sanity you have left to cling onto, you claw at it with desperate hands, fighting to hold up the wall that blocks the blood rushing to your cunt, holding your breath to stop the bubble from bursting, because fuck, you are ready to snap. You can’t help but notice how he’s taken a page from your book, pleasuring you at a steady consistent pace, not too much but not too little. Unsurprisingly, the result is the same but the conditions are far worse.
“Oh my god, please let me cum, I can’t hold it anymore.”
His grip only tightens, his tongue moves faster and his mouth gets hotter.
Your hands, of a mind of their own, decide to condemn your obedience and push at his arms around your hips in an attempt to get away. Despite his obvious strength, you somehow manage to get a microsecond of respite, but his mouth only sucks you back in again, murmuring only one word that runs laps around your head.
“Obedience.”
“I can’t, sir, please, I can’t h-hold on. Fuck!”
“Oh dear.”
“NO! No, no, no, no, okay, okay, I’ll do it, I can hold on. Just…please go slower.”
His dark cavernous eyes meet yours from behind his arms, unmoving even as he relishes the taste of your slick, challenging you for only a second before he thankfully listens to your wishes. Weakened, your head flops back onto the bed with a small bounce, eyes drifting shut as the feeling in your stomach calms and a small relief hugs your heart. It’s a small price to pay to lose the feeling of euphoria that was going to course through you…only if Mr Holland had let it or if your people-pleasing traits had failed you, none of which had actually happened.
The feeling deflates but the pleasure still lingers.
“You taste so delicious, darling. I could eat you all day.” Arousal jumps to your clit like a flash of electricity. “And you’re doing so well for me, how could I ever stop?” This time, it’s his tongue, soft and caressing. “And this pussy; so pretty, so fucking pretty, I could just play with it for days.” His finger begins circling your clit not too long after he spits into it. By now, you realise what he’s doing. He’s feeding into your need for praise that, along with the small touches and sweeping licks, builds you up just as quickly and suddenly as before, and once again you’re struggling to cope. “I know you can be such a good girl for me, I know you can do as I say, and you have no idea how much it turns me on when you do.”
“Sir…” You warn. He instantly recognises the desperation.
“I’ve got one last instruction for you, angel.” He sucks on your clit for just a couple of seconds, just to get you closer and closer to falling apart. “Cum for me. Cum in my mouth.”
“Fuck!” You scream as an endless stream of euphoria consumes you, hitting you in a sudden white wash of heat that riddles your entire body top to toe. You can feel your cunt clenching erratically, between homing an orgasm and suffering under Mr Holland's continuous lashings, it can't, not for one second, rest until either relent. You feel your own slick, hot and bothered, trickling down your ass but before it gets the chance to meet with the white sheets beneath you, Mr Holland sweeps it up expertly with his tongue, partnered with a primal growl of pleasure.
By the time Mr Holland has finished cleaning up every inch of your cunt and ass with his tongue, he proceeds to kiss his way gently up your body, not forgetting to leave your tits untouched and pinches your buds between his lips. You have just enough energy to cradle his head, allowing yourself the pleasure to run your fingers through his hair, moving with him while he leaves sharp kisses to your chest, your collar bone, your neck, ear and jaw, until once again, those hungry lips claim yours.
Still somewhat recovering, you purr quietly, content with the overall sense of pleasure, both of your sexual and people-pleasing needs.
Your lips slowly part. The kiss ceases but your noses brush off one another gently, still basking in the blissful, intimate aftermath of what's just happened. Your CEO above you remains, hovering over you with admiration in his eyes, running over your features as if it is the first time he's seeing them, adoring them all over again.
There's two words sitting on the tip of his tongue, hidden behind a smirk because he knows what he'll see when he speaks them.
"You're beautiful."
Of course, his prediction comes true. Your cheeks redden, your eyes roll away and your teeth sink into your swollen lips, muttering incoherently about it not being true but thanks him incessantly, but Mr Holland is too caught up in your coy modesty to rebuttal. It's just like the first time he complimented you, and he realises then and there that he's addicted to being the person that makes you shy, blushed, diffident.
Being a CEO, he does indeed posses significant power in the palm of his hand, obtained by hard work, dedication, commitment and sacrifice, but for him, there isn't a power stronger than the one he has over you and all it takes is a few, simple, praising words.
"We still have another three hours until check out."
Your eyes and ears perk up. "Sir?"
Cautiously, he shuffles above you, innocent until you feel his cock sliding into you and he relishes the catch in the back of your throat at the sudden pressure forcing its way fluidly into you. You're simply speechless, questioning if it'll ever end as he pushes every inch of him inside you, breaching and stretching the boundaries of your walls. Mr Holland snags your bottom lip between his teeth, harshly biting as a relief for the tight grip that surrounds his cock.
When your ass eventually meet his hips, you both release a groan in unison, breaths mixing and mingling until Mr Holland breaks the silence.
"You're gonna look even more beautiful when you're all fucked out and dumb for my cock, all with a diamond wrapped round your neck."
His hips snap back at a frighteningly fast pace and thrusts in even more aggressively. The pain is immeasurably exhilarating. Your thighs squeeze his waist, mouth agape without a single breath escaping.
"Think of this as a second birthday gift." Like before, he draws back and slams into you without mercy. "Do as you're told and you'll get your third on Monday in my office."
Somehow, your gut tells you that you won't have a problem with that. Not at all.
#dom!tom holland#ceo!tom holland#soft!dom!tom holland#sub!reader#tom holland smut#tom holland#tom holland fic#tom holland x reader#tom holland x you#smut#angst#peter parker smut#one shot#peter parker#tom holland one shot#tom holland fanfic#praise you like i should
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𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑦.
PAIRING: peter parker x fem!reader
WARNINGS: strong language
GENRE: idk
SONG INSPIRATION: talking body by tove lo
WORD COUNT: 738
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you and peter had been laying in his bed for the most part of being at his house.
rewatching star wars, him telling you the most interesting parts, but as much as you were listening, you couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that your face was pressed against his pecs.
occasionally glancing up as he speaks down towards you, trying to keep a good poker face, but were most definitely freaking out on the inside.
pete sat up a little bit which made you pull away a little bit making you feel a bit disappointed.
“y/n! you there dude?” he chuckled whilst waving his hand in your face. snapping you back into reality as if you weren’t just fantasying about your best friend’s washboard abs. no, of course not.
“yeah-yeah i’m totally fine!” your words coming out rushed and stuttered as you settled back onto his chest and resumed the episode.
your love for your best friend’s abs were becoming a problem.
no like seriously!
last week you guys had gym together, you had been holding his feet down as he he did sit ups whilst talking to each other, but you kept spacing out since his abs were poking through his shirt each time he sat up.
trying to look anywhere but him, your eyes locked onto another pair who had caught you in the act. ned. he just smirked at you and then looked back over to his partner and carried on working out.
you squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment waiting for the class to be over and hoped that your other best friend wouldn’t open his mouth.
it had been about two weeks since the absolutely soul-destroying moment happened to you in the gym, ned hadn’t said anything about it to peter, but that didn’t stop him from teasing you about it.
“dude, you have a bad staring problem.” ned laughed at you as you kicked his shin before you shoved your face in your hands as you leant your elbows on the cafeteria table, shaking your head. knowing he would never let you live this down.
“i seriously don’t know what’s wrong with me lately, i had one thought about him and now they won’t stop coming, especially about his abs, like what’s wrong with me?” you fake cried and he just laughed at you.
“wait i have an idea.” ned had called peter over after he had gotten his food, making his way over to you two.
“what are you doing?” you whispered yelled over to him before putting on your best fake smile acting normal.
peter was now standing behind you - raising his eyebrow in confusion.
“can you flex really quick for me?” kind of used to ned geeking out over the fact that he was spiderman didn’t really surprise that he would ask that, sliding his tray onto the table, his hands slowly rolling his sleeves before doing so.
that’s when he did it, this had you floored. the vein in his bicep pulsing, your eyes skimmed over to his forearms which were now even thicker now that the muscles were tensed.
not to mention his abs were blatantly pressed against his white under shirt right in your face, peter had now brought his arms down, sitting beside you and started eating without question. you turned back around to the table before picking at the food on your own plate.
the guys spoke to each other back and forth about some school project that they were working on together. you were quiet trying to process what had just happened, the brunette turned towards you, it was odd for you to be so quiet.
cursing your shortness. your face was always pressed into his torso as you guys shared a hug. that’s when you had acknowledged it every time he’d wrap you up in his arms.
you’d had enough of his oblivious teasing and were going to do something about it, so as he was about to leave you...
“hey pete, can you wait a second i need to see something.” he of course had no problem with agreeing.
that’s when you had grasped the hem of his shirt and raised it, as you expected you were met with rock hard abs, running your hand over them, giving him an approved ‘hm’ and pulling it back down again and sent his confused self home, wondering what the fuck just happened.
© ruewrote.
#tom holland#tom holland x reader#peter parker#peter parker x reader#tom holland imagine#tom holland imagines#tom holland oneshot#tom holland oneshots#tom holland fanfic#tom holland fanfics#peter parker imagine#peter parker imagines#peter parker oneshot#peter parker oneshots#peter parker fanfic#peter parker fanfics#tom peter parker#tom peter parker x reader#x reader#imagine#imagines#oneshots#oneshot#fanfic#fanfics#mcu x reader#mcu#marvel#marvel x reader#peter parker x you
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threesome; tomdaya x fem!reader
smut
word count: 2.5k
a draft that took a mind of its own...pls enjoy
"Do you know the walls of this cabin are paper-thin? Because we could hear everything last night," Zendaya sneered taking a sip from her coffee while looking directly at you.
"Oh my god, seriously?" you asked feeling your face grow warm recalling the events of last night. It wasn't like you and Tom weren't discreet about your sex life. You had sex. Lots of it. But it hadn't crossed your mind that maybe other people didn't want to know those details of your life. At least not when they didn't have a choice in the matter.
"What was he doing to you? Geez," she scoffed playfully looking out at the lake as the two of you enjoyed the morning sun on the patio. "You were not holding back, huh?" she teased again, chuckling a little this time.
"Well, if you must know. Tom-" you started saying, but she cut you off holding up her hand. She didn't want to hear more.
"I was just joking. I don't actually want you to tell me," she scrunched her face making a disgusted look. She had a vivid imagination and an idea of what had happened in that room. She wasn't going to tell you that though.
"Oh please, don't act like you haven't thought about it before," it's like you read her mind. You looked right at her waiting to see her reaction.
Her eyes bulged and she held on to her coffee mug tighter. "Thought about what?" she asked furrowing her brows.
"Tom," you smirked crossing your legs after noticing her reaction. You leaned back on the chair as you closed your eyes feeling the breeze on your face.
Zendaya shook her head dismissing your comment.
"Come on. Tom is an attractive guy. I get it. I understand if you have thoughts about him," you raised a brow now cocking your head looking at her and waiting to see if she'd say something. But there was silence and that was telling enough.
-
"Babe, what do you think of Zendaya?" you asked throwing the decorative pillows off the bed and to the love seat in the room. You were ready to get in bed, but you were curious to know what Tom had to say about the conversation you'd had with Zendaya earlier.
"She's a good mate," he said nonchalantly, not thinking twice of your question. He continued rummaging through the drawer in the dresser you were sharing. He was looking for socks.
"She's a good mate? Tell me more," a hint of playfulness in your voice as you tossed a pillow at him before pulling the covers back and getting into bed.
Tom turned to look at you with shock. A hand went to the spot where the pillow hit him. "What was that for?" He asked dumbfounded closing the drawers, the pair of socks in his hand.
"I mean, do you think she's attractive?" you asked raising a brow waiting for his response.
"Well, yes. You'd have to be blind not to think that," he said bluntly and you laughed because he wasn't wrong. This is what you loved about him. He was so adorably cute and honest and you knew you could have this conversation with him - no awkwardness.
"Where's this coming from, love?" he asked joining you in bed. You were under the sheets as he laid on top of them resting his weight on his side as he saw you turn to look at the ceiling.
"She heard us last night. She asked what we were doing," you laughed recalling the conversation.
"So?"
"It just made me think..." your voice trailed off.
"About?" he pried placing a hand on your belly which urged you to look at him.
"Threesome," the word unfamiliar on your tongue, but oh so tempting.
"With Z?" he asked wanting clarification. Surely you couldn't have come to this conclusion from just a girls' talk with Zendaya. Who need not forget was probably one of the most proper and least into threesomes people he'd come to know. Or so he thought.
"I told her how you do that thing-" you started saying and Tom cut you off standing up from the bed and scrunching his face.
"Darling, it's bad enough she heard us. You had to go into detail?" he asked shutting his eyes. His face flushed.
"She acted like she didn't want to know, but trust me she wanted to know. I could see it in her face," you said pushing the sheets off you so you could sit on your knees as you watched Tom stand at the foot of the bed, hands on his hips.
"Here's the best part, she didn't deny thinking about it." You looked up at Tom sweetly as if you weren't just admitting one of his (and your) best friends had thought about having sex with him.
"So what do you want me to do with this information?" he asked now tilting his head.
"Nothing just wanted to let you know." You smirked and Tom shook his head chuckling a little before walking to you. He placed his hands on your face pulling you so your lips could touch. He kissed you tenderly as you placed your hands on his arms. Your heads tilted in opposite directions as your lips molded.
-
"We have a proposition," you exclaimed sitting in the same spot you'd sat with her yesterday. This time, it was later in the afternoon and there was something fruity in your cup. Your finger traced the rim of the glass as you looked at her.
Zendaya raised a brow taking a sit of her drink. "Yes?" she asked tilting her head.
"Would you care to join us...tonight?" you questioned, slouching back in your chair comfortably and nonchalantly. Like you weren't just asking your bestie to have a night of passion with both you and your man.
Zendaya gulped, but didn't respond. She looked out at the lake pondering your offer. She was curious. Of course she was curious. Especially after she, again, unintentionally heard you and Tom.
"I'll think about it," she finally replied looking at you. The sun reflecting off her eyes gloriously; you nodded in response.
-
There was a soft knock at your door, you turned to look at Tom who shrugged his shoulders but carefully sat up in bed. He was shirtless and only wearing his boxers. The covers hid half his body in this new position. You slipped the covers off your body and walked to the door.
You knew who it was. There was no doubt in your mind, but you were surprised when you opened the door. It almost went swinging when Zendaya stepped into the room, her hands on your face, lips tenderly on yours. There was softness to her that Tom came very close to. Her lips pressed firmly on yours until you started to move your lips in sync backing up a little so you could close the door until she was pressed to it. Your bodies flushed against one another.
Tom cleared his throat and the two of you pulled away to see him watching.
"Sorry, I had to do that. Confidence boost, if we're going to do this." She glanced between you and Tom. Your gaze went to Tom who tapped the bed. "Come here," he said and you held Zendaya's hand as you approached the bed.
She sat down on your side of the bed, feet planted on the ground.
"We are all okay with this?" Tom asked and you both nodded. Zendaya's back still to Tom, she was looking at you. "Okay," he whispered and he inched closer to Zendaya.
You wedged yourself between her legs and her hands tentatively brushed up your thighs. Her chest was rising and falling quickly as her fingers traced the curve of your ass. You brought your hands down to her face bringing her lips to yours. This time, the kiss was slow and sensual. Lips moving with purpose.
Zendaya felt Tom's lips on her shoulder and shuddered at the new point of contact. His lips peppered kisses along her shoulder and up her neck. She moaned into your mouth and you happily swallowed it, tongues now mingling.
Tom's fingers pulled at her hair gently tilting her head to the side, his tongue running along the side of her neck. You pulled away from kissing her to straddle her. This gave you access to same area Tom was focusing on. You kissed her collarbone before slowly moving up to where Tom's mouth was.
Your tongues met as you licked up her neck. The two of you getting lost in a kiss, your hands held on to her lower back and Tom's hands held on to your ass pressing you closer to Z. She was sandwiched between the two of you. You came back from the kiss when you felt her squirm, her hands on Tom's urging you to move your hips. You did so gladly grinding on her thighs.
You went back to kissing Zendaya as Tom lowered the straps of her nightgown revealing her perky breasts. He cupped them as you continued moving your hips on hers, lips still locked. He palmed her breasts, thumb and index finger gently pinching her nipples eliciting a string of moans from Zendaya who was now matching your movements.
"You have too much clothes on," she whispered against your lips and you gave her one more kiss before getting off her. You pulled down your shorts and matching shirt revealing your naked body. You pushed back Zendaya pulling the rest of her dress down her legs, Tom sitting next to her body, hand running up her tight torso. You were almost drooling at the scene and before you could join again you looked at Tom.
"Take it off," you demanded and he quickly got off the bed to remove the only article of clothing he was wearing. The three of you now completely naked and fully anticipating what came next.
Zendaya was still laying down on the bed, Tom grabbed her arms raising them above her head. She looked up at him, her harden nipples calling your name. You hovered over her taking one in your mouth. You sucked gently before rotating your tongue on her nipple. Tom watched carefully, your ass on full display as you leaned over her. He reached out to give you a firm spank and your groan reverberated off Zendaya's nipple causing her to let out her own groan.
Your lips trailed down her torso until you were right above her pussy. She was dying of anticipation. Yeah, she wanted to know what Tom could do, but she was more curious about you. She always had and now you were between her thighs and she swore she could cum from just that sight.
"Fuck..." Zendaya hummed as your tongue made contact with her sensitive pussy. She was throbbing for you, the sensation only rising as Tom playing with her nipples, his tongue rotating about each bud. Your tongue was focusing on her clit now. Rotating before flicking. You sucked gently before licking. You repeated the same movements over and over holding her thighs open as you felt her shake. She was close you could feel it. You felt it when you dipped your tongue in her pussy; she was tighter each time.
When you finally slipped a finger in, she couldn't control the string of moans. She was vocal and you loved that. Her arms were still raised above her head and her hips were rising too. Tom held her down firmly, hand spreading over her stomach, mouth still attached to her nipple.
"I think she's ready for you," you chocked getting up from the spot you were in, Zendaya looked down at you confused. Your lips were glistening and Tom nodded. He reached from the drawer pulling out a condom.
You switched with him laying next to her now. Your lips brushed hers sloppily and she moaned as she tasted herself on your tongue. You pressed your lips a little more firmly on hers and she groaned as you palmed her breast. You palmed it harder and she squirmed when you pinched her nipple.
Tom ran his hand up her thigh. You turned to watch him, cheek pressed on Zendaya's. She had her eyes closed, head tilted back at his touch. He leaned over to kiss you hungrily and you fisted his hair intensifying the kiss before nodding at him. You turned to Zendaya holding her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
Tom lifted her thighs before slowly bringing himself down. His member glided between her folds feeling how wet she was. You'd done that, you'd prepared her so well.
Zendaya gulped looking at Tom's dick as he pulled away, he held it in his hand and you watched carefully too. He brought it down to her pussy again, this time slipping into her. Zendaya almost screamed as she felt her pussy stretch around him. She'd never imagine he was this gifted and now she could understand why you'd been so loud. He moved painfully slow, his eyes on you the whole time. Zendaya had closed her eyes again; the feeling of Tom's dick sliding into her was too intense. Especially considering the previous events aka your tongue on her pussy. She was already wound tightly and she didn't know how long she'd last.
Tom started speeding his movements. He slid into her more easily and his thrusts became rougher. Eventually her legs were above his shoulders and he was hitting her sweet spot at a new angle. An angle that was causing her breasts to move quickly and her moans to grow louder. You kissed her through it all, letting her moans vibrate in your mouth. She held your hand now, another gripping the sheets.
She couldn't keep track of how long this had been going on for, but she was surprised she'd held on for so long. She was seeing stars and at any moment she would be ready to snap.
"I'm gonna cum," she moaned arching her back, you went up to kiss Tom for a brief moment wondering if he was going to cum too. He nodded his head and you came back to her.
"You can cum baby," you whispered and the sound of your voice alone was enough. She unraveled, body shaking profusely as Tom slowed his hips. He hadn't reached his climax yet. He wanted to unload in you and you knew that.
You climbed over Zendaya, your breasts pressed together, ass in the air for Tom. He removed the condom and slid into your pussy. He groaned as a hand came down on your ass and you backed into him feeling him fill you up.
"Oh fuck," you moaned and Zendaya grabbed your face locking lips. Tom fucked you quickly, ass bouncing every time your bodies made contact. Your body pressed against Zendaya as she wrapped her arms around your shoulders pulling you closer, kissing you sloppier. Your hand reached down between her legs, she was soaked and she shivered when you ran a finger between her folds.
It wasn't long before you were reaching your own high, Tom following close behind. His movements, again, growing slower. You felt his warm release; your body relaxed under his, falling on Z.
The sounds of your breathing filled the room as the three of you came down from your highs.
"That was..." Tom started.
"incredible," you finished.
"So worth it," Zendaya added.
#tomdaya x reader#tomdaya x you#tomdaya x y/n#tom holland x reader x zendaya#tom holland x you#tom holland x reader#zendaya x y/n#zendaya x you#zendaya x reader#zendaay x fem!reader#tom holland x fem!reader#tomdaya x reader smut#tom holland fanfic#zendaya fanfic#zendaya smut#tom holland smut
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Photos you'd have on your phone with Tom Holland?
photos you would have on your cell phone if you were dating tom holland
(if anyone wants another male artist just send the request❤️)
(special bonus)
#tom holland imagine#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland x reader#male reader#reader#x reader#tom holland x male reader#fanfic#tom holland fanfic#tom holland edit#tom holland
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haircuts | tom holland
summary: for some reason, you let tom give you a haircut.
warnings: one dirty joke, talk of hitman (??) it's really just fluff-
pairing: tom holland x fem!reader
word count: 1.0k+ words
“why on earth did i agree to this in the first place?” you asked, looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror.
“because i’m the best boyfriend ever and you love me,” he scoffed, as if it were obvious.
“mm, i’m thinking no.”
“doesn’t matter! no take-backsies!”
tom sectioned off your hair, gently pulling on it to tease you. he patted the top of your head, causing you to glare at him. “see, all done. well, with the first part.”
he paused, “wait, how short did you want it?”
“do a couple inches. 4 at max. i don’t want you to cut off too much and have nothing left for my barber to fix.”
“yes ma’am,” he grinned, and you simply rolled your eyes.
“seriously, don’t mess this upppp!”
“i’m an actor, darling. not a hairdresser.”
“then why on earth did you beg me to let you do this?!”
“…because i thought i’d be funny? and it is! it’s hilarious and i haven’t even started yet!”
“i swear to god, i’m gonna shave your head off.”
“hair, you mean?”
“no. head.”
“you can’t touch my hair,” tom said, waving you off. “sony owns it.”
you pressed your lips together, frowning at his triumph. “sony can’t own your hair if you don’t have hair,” you retorted.
“yeah, yeah. don’t be such a worry wart, love. it’s fine,” he insisted.
“jeez. just cut it already.”
“okay, okay! don’t rush the artist,” tom muttered, “it’s actually quite painful, the amount of faith you have in me.”
“well, considering that you’re an actor and not a hairdresser, i think i have every right,” you grinned, playfully swatting him.
“hmm. well, you’ll be eating your own word once you see your hair! but just in case,” tom added quickly, “don’t quote me on that.”
“yeah, okay.”
he took scissors to your hairs, just barely hovering over.
“wait!” you interrupted, turning around to face him, and then yelping again when you saw that the metal object was barely a centimeter away from you.
“hey! careful!”
“you stabbed me!”
“w-what? it didn’t touch you!”
“it almost did! and then i would’ve had no eyes!”
“that wasn’t even my fault,” tommy argued back, “you’re the one who spun around that fast. also,” he mumbled, “you wouldn’t have lost both your eyes. …just one.”
“sabotage,” you hissed.
“what? where on earth are you getting this from?”
you sighed, shaking your head. “i knew you were a hitman.”
he slowly turned to face you, quizzical. “wha- who would pay me to kill you? and what would they get out of that?”
“i dunno. are you insinuating i have no worth?”
“no!”
you narrowed your eyes at him, “murderer,” you whispered harshly.
“oh, wow, you got me there. because that is what i was hired for.”
“that would make a great movie.”
“huh? a movie? girlfriend gets stabbed in one eye by boyfriend- even though it isn’t boyfriend’s fault -and plot twist; boyfriend is hitman?”
“yes. precisely.”
“okay buddy.”
“yeah. it’d be a total block-buster.”
“…of course it would be.”
“yep. wanna know why?”
“why?” tom asked, giving in.
“because spider-man’s in it.”
he tilted his head, confused.
“you! you’re the lead!”
“hmm. i would make a good boyfriend. i’d capture that role perfectly.”
“what? no. you’d be the girlfriend.”
“then who’d be the boyfriend?”
“downey. duh. how else would it be a total block-buster?”
“well, i think it’d be one because i’m in it.”
“yeah, but downey.”
“but holland.”
“mmmm… no. fine. maybe a bit. the girls are crazy for you.”
“like you?”
“i wouldn’t say crazy. maybe momentarily fazed, but even that’s far-fetched. i’d say you’re the one who’s crazy for me.”
“well, you aren’t mistaken,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek, which in turn made you giggle. “wait, why’d you stop me?”
“oh, right. because you have to get my hair wet first.”
“ohhh. wait, really?”
“generally speaking, have you ever gotten a haircut?”
“yes!”
“okay then. anyways, do it.”
“sure,” he finished the last bit of his tea, before rinsing it out.
“what are you doing? why are you washing the mug in the bathroom sink? i feel like this is a valid question.”
“because i’m not trying to get tea on you.”
“wait, i don’t get it.”
once second you were nice, content, and dry. (well, as content as you could be.)
and the next you were soaking wet.
you looked up at him, jaw dropping as you moved your wet hair to one side of your face. “you. did. not.”
“what? you said you needed the hair wet!”
“so you dumped a cup of tea on me?!”
“no, i dumped a mug of water on you that was originally filled with tea,” upon seeing your face, he tried to amend, “but, hey, at least… you’re wet?”
“no. i’m not. this wasn’t arousing.”
“that’s not what i meant!”
“there was a spray bottle under the sink!” at hearing your words, tom turned around and open the cupboard.
“oh, yeah. there is. isn’t that crazy?” he pulled it out and started to fill it.
“well, how’s it matter now?”
“i just want to be thorough,” he nodded, causing you to glare at him.
“sorry.”
“liar.”
“yes.”
“okay,” you sighed, “c’mon short-stack, let’s get this over with.”
“i’m taller than you,” tom deadpanned.
“i’m… relatively… average hight.”
he frowned at that, but you continued, “you, kid, are also relatively average height. for a woman.”
“hey! i’m also older than you!”
“okay,” you shrugged.
“don’t test me, i’ll shave off your head,” he threatened.
“you’d never.”
he dangled the scissors in front of you, a smirk on his face. “watch me.”
“god! just cut it already!”
“okay, okay. impatient much?”
and because you were working on your anger management, you didn’t sock him in the face. you really considered it, though.
he snipped at your hair, grinning. tommy made you close your eyes the entire time, claiming that it had to be a surprise. surprise.
“ta-da! all done!”
it… it wasn’t terrible. it sucked, but it could have been worse. obviously, though, you weren’t having it like that to tom’s premiere tonight.
you inhaled, grabbing him by the sides of his face.
“this, babes,” a pause, “is why you should stick to acting.”
“in my opinion, it’s not half bad.”
“no, no, it’s definitely more than half bad.”
“beggars can’t be choosers,” tom said, closing his eyes and crossing his arms.
“i don’t think that works in this scenario.”
“hater.”
“yeah, okay.” you turned to your phone, which buzzed beside you.
your mouth fell agape, and your eyes widened.
leo (hair person)
i know it’s short notice, but something came up. so sorry!
you looked him dead in the eye; “where’s the razor?”
#tom holland x reader#tom holland#fluff#tom holland x you#tom holland fluff#tom holland imagine#tom holland fanfic#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland x y/n
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man-handled
DATE: DECEMBER 4, 2023
summary: you get a little caught up in your boyfriend’s muscly arms and can’t help but imagine what it would be like if he man-handled you.
request: i thought it was but i guess not??
words: 5.1k
warning: SMUT (f- receiving (multiple orgasms, oral, fingering, throat-fucking), m- receiving (oral), slight daddy/sir kink, degrading, name-calling, dirty talk), language, and probably the shittiest ending ever
note: i’m so tired y’all
mafia!tom x reader
–
You weren’t usually like this. You weren’t known for being so horny to the point where you can’t think straight. You were known to be quiet, shy, and even a little innocent. But sometimes Tom brought out the worst in you. But you learned to like that side of you. The secret, dark, and dirty side that only Tom could unveil from you. Watching you unfold and come undone–no pun intended–gave Tom a deep sense of growing pride.
Every day he made it more obvious that he was the only one and that there would never be anyone else for you.
What was causing you to act so strange was a new obsession for you. You had been with Tom intimately numerous times, but he never failed to pleasure you immensely. You two have explored each other’s bodies inside and out, yet your mind still found things to obsess over. Currently, it was his arms.
His arms.
They were usually covered with different brand-name suits, all varying from gray to black. The sleeves always wrapped around his biceps snuggly, hinting at only some of his bulkiness. Usually, the sight of him in his suits when he left for work had you thinking about how hot he looked overall. But as you watched him leave this morning, your eyes couldn’t stop fixating on the packed muscle you knew was hiding under the black suit’s sleeves.
You’re not sure, but you think this newest obsession started last night by complete accident. That accident being Tom’s overwhelming dominance and control when he was fucking you.
Although you were on the quieter and more innocent side, it amazed both Tom and you that you were secretly fucked in the head just like him. You hadn’t even known it until you stumbled upon Tom. Sometimes, you think that he molded you to indulge in his kinks and fantasies, but he’s never forced you to do anything. If anything, it’s always you shyly asking him to do something more when a dirty thought pops into your head. He always makes sure to degrade yet praise you in the most addicting and twisted way.
Last night, while you and Tom were simply watching a movie, things got heated (it was never just going to be a movie). Tom had gotten home early and just wanted to relax. But the makeout between you two got hotter and you both got needier. When you moved yourself to his lap, gently rocking into him, his strong hands forced you to stay still. You remembered the bruises present on his knuckles and wondered if they still hurt when he squeezed your hips. You whined into his mouth before he picked you up easily, throwing you over his shoulder as you squealed.
“Always so greedy.”
Tom has picked you up and threw you over his shoulder before. Maybe the other times he was gentler about it, afraid to hurt his little princess even if you were completely okay with it. But that night, he didn’t seem to give a fuck. He had a difficult day at work, the evidence clear on his wounded hands, so maybe he took some of that aggressive out on you. After he had brought you upstairs, you were extremely drenched as his bulky arms tossed you on the bed.
But after that, he apologized for being so rough. He explained how he had a tough day and he was sorry for taking it out on you. It resulted in long, sweet, loving sex that you adored all the time because you got to see the part of him that no one sees. Just like that secret part in you that only he sees. Except, you weren’t yearning for his softness after being man-handled. No, you were looking to be fucked. Hard. You wanted it rough, messy, degrading, and straight sinful. The nastiest scenes flooded your mind through the night, hoping that you could relive one of them with Tom. As he fucked slow into you last night, your eyes couldn’t remove themselves from his bulging arms holding himself over his head. You watched as the muscles would work and his veins would pop out when he did a push-up, and it had you clenching around him pathetically.
What were you going to tell him when he came home?
For the rest of the day, you wandered around the house needily. You cleaned, you read, you reorganized, but nothing distracted you enough from your fucked-up thoughts and the pulse between your legs. One part of you felt ashamed for hiding it from Tom, but the other half of you didn’t care. It felt like you had your own little secret that no one knew. But then again, you really wanted to tell him because you wanted to see the results. And feel them…
When it was late into the evening, seemingly later than when Tom usually returns, you sighed to yourself. You brought yourself to bed, too worn out from your own desires nagging you down all day. If only Tom didn’t have a rule about touching yourself while he was gone, you would have been able to handle your dirty situation all by yourself. But no, Tom had to be insanely controlling and sexy about everything, just making your situation even harder to deal with. Just as your bare feet slip into the comforter, you hear the hefty front door open. Your head shoots up, instantly on high alert of Tom’s arrival. Just when you thought your body was relaxing, the sound of his approaching footsteps seem to heighten your hormone levels, veering away from homeostasis once again.
Tom peeks his head through the ajar bedroom door, body hunching over the door handle. He doesn’t say a word until he realizes that you are in fact awake, opening the door wider. He skulks closer to you, his body bulky and stoic just how you remembered it being this morning when he left. His hands at his sides had those infamous cuts and bruises that you always wrapped with bandages. He never wanted you to, you demanded that you do. Your heart pounds as your tummy tickles, wishing he could read your mind and just handle you the way you want him to with those bruised knuckles.
“Missed you today, Princess,” his thick hand rose to caress the hair on your head. You feel yourself lean into his touch, yearning it always no matter how intense or soft. You always craved to just feel him.
“Missed you too, Daddy. So much,” your hand reaches up and encloses around his wrist, squeezing softly. His hand gently pulls away as he sits beside you on the bed, and you nearly whimper at the loss of contact.
“What d’you do today?” Tom asked simply and softly, genuinely curious about your day. But finally with him next to you, your mind has gotten all fuzzy, and you feel like you’ve forgotten every word you’ve known. Your eyes haven’t drifted away from his arm since he pulled away from you, mind encompasses in the way he moves.
“I cleaned. I reorganized the shelves in your office. Oh, and I read too…”
Tom tried to listen to your dull list of activities, but he couldn’t help but notice how distracted you seemed. Maybe you were tired from all the chore-like things you did. But your eyes weren’t blinking as they started at his chest, clearly hazy with something. Something familiar.
“Yeah? And what did you read?”
“Um… I don’t remember,” your head started to tilt to the side as you licked your lips, lost in whatever thought was clouding your mind currently. Tom’s mouth curved just the slightest bit up at the airheaded state of you, wondering if you could be anymore adorable. The fact that you didn’t remember what you read, knowing you love reading, is what stood out to Tom the most. Something was obviously off, Tom just couldn’t figure it out yet.
“How was work? Do you need me to patch you up?”
“Work was stressful. People don’t listen and then ask why m’so harsh. And idiots like to go behind m’back and take stuff from me,” Your eyes fall onto his wounded hands.
“S’not nice…”
“Not nice at all, huh?” Tom reaches up to caress your face ever-so gently, not wanting to touch you too much with his open cuts.
“Come on. Let me fix you up. Please?”
Now, how could Tom ever say no to you?
–
Sometimes, Tom could be stubborn. Like right now, where he refused to sit down while you tended to his wounds because he’s saying that it won’t take long enough to sit. You want to roll your eyes in annoyance, but you don’t want him to see your attitude and punish you later. Or maybe you do…
He had his suit jacket off now and just his crisp, white buttoned shirt rolled up to the elbows. The skin that was untouched was smooth under your delicate touch, but his scars and fresh cuts, which were most likely old ones reopened, were rugged. You dabbled light pressure as you wiped away dry blood with the wet cloth, not afraid of hurting him because he barely blinks when he punches someone. He surely wasn’t phased by his girl cleaning up his damages like a little puppy trying to lick themselves better. That’s exactly what your touch felt like—little puppy licks and gentle pawing.
And when you applied the cooling ointment, his pain was eased, but he doesn’t think it was from the cream. No, he is a firm believer that you are his medicine. Your words, your touch, your soul was healing. Although he was your opposite in every way and he hurt people for a living while you mended people’s aches with your mere presence, he could never hurt you. Never.
So, when you’re all finished wrapping his hands with that rough cloth that’s an excuse for a bandage (it was all he had stored), he’s shocked by your blunt statement. You were rarely blatant about anything, especially when it had to do with sexual situations.
“Why did you apologize to me last night?” You just threw your words at him, hoping he caught them. He didn’t know that when you were fixing him up you were ogling his arms like a child in a toy store during the Christmas season. His veins were green, constant exploitation of work causing them to pop out more. He looked delicious and it made you crave him more than ever. Even more with his ripped up hands. You wanted the roughness and pain and the power to be instilled on you. You wanted him to take his particularly hard day out on you. Tom blinked, silently leading you out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. He tried to recall exactly when he apologized to you, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Clearly, work had gotten to his head too much.
“I don’t remember what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, darling,” Without a thought, he begins unbuttoning his shirt with his bandaged hands. He looked like something of a fancy man mixed with an underground boxer. Not the type of fancy that shows off his money, but the type that’s humble and real and works hard for what he wants. A man who made himself. And that’s exactly who Tom is; someone who built himself.
You swallowed, suddenly feeling like you’re under the spotlight. But you took a breath. “Last night, when we were having… sex… you apologized for being really rough.”
He flatly hums, indicating that you need to continue while he buttons his shirt. You could just faint from his sculpted, stony beauty that was hidden behind a few buttons and fabric. Unlike his knuckles, his skin was smooth and untouched besides his scattered tattoos. He had faint scars that you could barely see unless you were looking really hard (which in your case maybe you were). His build and figure used to intimidate you, but now, you’re just awed.
“Well… I kind of liked when you were rough…” Your words dragged out, especially as your head tilted down to face your lap in embarrassment. “You’ve never really been like that before and it caught me off guard, but in a really good way! I didn’t realize I wanted something like that until… yeah.” You weren’t embarrassed that you were attracted to your own boyfriend’s man-handling, but by the fact that you had to admit that to get what you wanted. Sometimes, you wish he could just read your mind, but life wasn’t a movie or a book, even if it felt like that from time to time with the life you live. Dating a mafia man was insane to visualize–those things only really happened in books. Or so you thought.
“You did?” You softly hummed, nodding your head. You could feel the heat radiating off of your cheeks, your heart thumping in your chest. You didn’t think Tom would reject you. That’s not why your heart was beating faster than its usual tempo. You were anticipated and your organ couldn’t help but be thrilled at what was to come. “You liked when I took my day out on you? Liked when I was a little mean?”
You crossed your ankles that had been hanging off the bed, biting your lip. You nodded, maybe a little too quickly, because you got slightly dizzy from the movement along with your amped hormones. You had that beat in your chest, but you also had that throbbing pulse in your lower body that has been aching since you watched him leave earlier that day. In the most Tom-way possible, he stalks over to you, torso bare while his trousers remain on. He’s slow and calculated, and it makes you even more anxious. When your eyes finally look up at him, he’s glaring down at you with blown-out pupils, a darkness swirling with the brown color of his irises.
He’s close to you now, inches away from touching you. But he doesn’t. You hear the clink of his belt loosening around his waist before it’s adoring his hand. His quick movements cause the leather to slap your bicep, making you gasp, but what he doesn’t do is apologize. You’re not sure if what he did was purposeful. Did he want to startle you and show you how rough he really could be? You never lingered too long on the idea of him using a belt on you, but if Tom was going to be man-handling you more often, then the thought would probably be more recurring. Tom shrugs off his pants as if they’re a bother, and by the large bulge outlined in his briefs, it seems as if they really are.
You hadn’t even realized you were licking your lips until Tom’s hand came up around your throat, thumb pulling it out. He tucks his thumb into your mouth, gripping it tightly.
“Drooling over m’cock and I’m not even fully undressed yet,” he removes his thumb before lightly tapping your cheek. “On your knees. Need to fill that filthy mouth.”
The devil on your shoulder wants to be a brat and not listen to him, but you’ve been craving this all day. If Tom knew what you wanted–which he did–his punishment to you would just be not giving it to you. And that’s not your ideal plan at the moment. So, you slide off the edge of the bed and onto the floor at his feet. The first thing he does is spread your thighs open with his ankle.
“You don’t get to squeeze y’pretty little thighs together while sucking me off. That’s rude, pet. Get as wet as you want, but if you close y’legs, you’re not comin’ tonight. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Your hands were waiting anxiously by your sides, clawing at the skin on your thighs. Your pussy was already clenching around its own wetness, unable to close due to his new limit.
“It talks,” his tone was sinister and demeaning. The kind that would make someone’s eyes twitch and hands fist in an argument out of irritation. But his works were fueling some type of sick need inside of you that needed to be sedated, and this seemed to be the only way to do it. And you didn’t mind it one bit. You fucking loved it. “Who knew such a slut would be so obedient?”
You knew better than to respond to that rhetorical question. Instead, you patiently wait for his smirk to rise in cocky pride before he finally slips off his briefs. Like every time you’ve seen his cock, it’s pretty. You didn’t know they were supposed to look so yummy and dream-like. He was smooth with inklings of hair scattered down at the base and his tip was a cute coral color that grew an angry red when he was hard. From the looks of it, he was pretty hard. His tip was leaking that delicious pre-cum you were dying to taste, even if you’ve had it thousands of times before. Having to sit and stare at his glory without touching was some type of punishment, you think.
His hand latches onto the base and the other grips the back of your head. He pushes you closer, tapping your cheek with his tip. You suck in a breath, readying to take him.
“You know what to do if it’s too much. And it will be.”
Tom shoves his cock into mouth once you’re open wide enough. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to his size or explore his prick like he usually does. This time he’s quick and harsh like he’s trying to beat some type of record. But he’s still just as calculated as he always is, and you know he’s not just going to come fast because he can. Most men do that all the time when they want to get off briskly, but Tom wasn’t like that. He liked to take his time and appreciate the moment, edging you both just a little to make it a little fun. He always edged himself more though, forcing orgasms out of you before you would even touch him.
Your cunt pulsates around nothing, trying to grasp the pleasure he is holding from you. Hands clawing at his meaty thighs until your nails break the skin barrier. Moans attempt to escape your mouth, but are instantly shoved right back down your throat from his thick cock. Tom drills into you with no mercy, causing saliva to cascade down your chin in long strings. The muscles in your jaw ache from their open stance, begging for a break that you would never get. If it was too much you could easily tap his thigh a few times and it would all be over, but that’s exactly what you don’t want. You love that he came home after a stressful day and you could make him feel better. You didn’t want your limitations to restrict his maximum abilities when you secretly wanted more to begin with.
“Look at you letting me fuck this throat. This whiny, little throat and your filthy mouth. Always so fuckin’ needy for it,” his grip on your hair intensified, stilling your head from any movements you might subconsciously make. You’re not surprised when the tears finally start to leak from your eyes, rolling down your face in wavering streams rather than small rivulets. “I’m so big I made you a crybaby. That good, sweetheart?”
There were no words that were able to leave your stuffed mouth, only rumbles of moans that vibrated around his cock so dirtily that his head was falling back. Deep, guttural groans emitted from his rough throat, his movements never faulting. Even when you feel the tip of him twitching in the back of your mouth, he doesn't stop.
“Take it. I’m going to come and you’re going to take it. All you wanted was to be a storage for my cum, right?” Tom’s words were cruel and degrading, but they were the exact thing that got you off. Your stomach churned in lust, feeling a bit neglected, yet pleasured by him fucking your mouth.
He was going all out tonight and you didn’t want anything less. Tom didn’t even give you a warning about when he was coming, he just wanted you to take it. And who were you to defy him? When ropes of his much-needed release fired from his prick, you made sure to swallow every drop. He slowly removes himself from your mouth as your jaw aches immensely. Saliva and cum were lathered around your chin, coating your lips with the taste of him. Your hand lifts up to massage your jaw as you look up at the flames of lust in Tom’s eyes. You notice that there’s slight hesitation; he wants to default back into a caring lover rather than a dominant one. But even with the soreness in your jaw, you manage a smirk to let him know that you’re fine. You’re more than fine, and you’re more than ready to continue the rest of the night. You know that it will be your turn soon too at some point, right? That throat-fuck was torture for your sopping cunt. You’re mind-dizzyingly horny.
“What’s the matter? Your lip is all trembling and wet,” You didn’t even notice him stuff his prick back into his pants because you were so mesmerized by the taste left on your tongue and the ache in your jaw. He leans down, nearly level with you on the floor, but still hovering over your head. “Just like your pussy I bet, hm?”
Your entire body shivered from his words as if a frozen wind cascaded through the bedroom, but at the same time, your skin has never burned so fiery. His hands were quick to fit under your arms, lifting you up to your feet. When your thighs met again, they squeezed tightly to rid the incessant throbbing between them. You knew you were just soaking wet too–the kind that reached all the way to your bum once Tom laid you flat on your back. The kind that would drip onto the bed sheets if you were positioned on all fours with your rear up in the air. Tom loved to do every which way with you, but he was keen on watching your scrunched-up face relax once you came. The way your nose would wrinkle and eyebrows furrow, mouth just wide enough to slip a finger or two through. Which, of course, Tom would take advantage of. But right now, he wanted to taste you.
It had been such a long day, full of busyness and rage-work. He didn’t mind having to punch a face or two daily, especially when they wronged him significantly because then he got to do more than just a punch. The only part he hated was seeing your face in the aftermath. When he’d come home, he would see you all delighted to see him back and well, just for your expression to drop in concern at his wounds. Whether it was his hands (it was usually his hands), arms, chest, or even his face, you were relentless about fixing him up. Tom’s resistance was nothing to you, so eventually, he would just sigh and let you aid him. You had something of a magic touch because only you could make Tom feel better. Nothing like the doctors he had occasionally visited as a child or even his mother’s kisses. And now, his knuckles may be bruised and may be bandaged, but that would never stop him from taking care of his girl. Especially when his girl got all shy about wanting to be man-handled. He thought you were the most adorable thing really.
Usually, Tom would gently lay you back on the comforter and make sure you had a pillow underneath your head. This time, he didn’t even hesitate to throw your willing body like a ragdoll on the bed. The gasp you let out was practically a moan. His invasive, manly hands shredded your bottoms down your legs without a care in the world. You’ve never seen him so aggressive with you, but God, if it wasn’t exactly what you wanted. You had been craving this type of fucking, and now that you have it, well, you might just pass out from how good it’s all going to feel.
“This slutty little pussy,” he growls, thumb circling your throbbing clit. He can feel the way it swells underneath his rough touches, and he can hear the way your breath gets caught in your throat. You were always so delicate to him, like you would break if he held you too hard. But while you were soft, you were also strong, which is why Tom was able to treat you like this and you wouldn’t shatter like thin glass. “So weepy and wet. Who knew you were such a cock whore, hm? Or is it just for me?”
“You. Only you.”
Tom knew it was only for him. And of course, you knew it was only for him. No one has ever gotten you as wet as Tom has, and no one has pleasured you nearly as much. He strived to satisfy you until you begged him to stop, which no one had ever come close to doing. Every past partner you’ve been with always had to use lubricants because they couldn’t make you wet enough. You were always ashamed and embarrassed, but then you realized that’s how they should feel. Their performances are minuscule and rubbish; compared to Tom’s, they don’t stand a chance. But you didn’t bother with those past “lovers” anymore, because you had your one and only right in front of you. Or more like right in between your legs with his head on your thigh.
“Right. I’m feeling a bit hungry. You’ll let me eat, won’t you?” He widens your legs, forcing them to spread so you can’t suffocate him with your thighs. Lewd whines spill from your mouth as his breath hits your pussy, warm and close. “Oh, wait, I’m making the decisions.”
His lips lock onto your clit, sucking on the nub. You don’t conceal the moans that instantaneously begin to slip out of you like a mantra. He changes his rhythm, going firm and fast, and then slow and calculated. It was addicting, and it left you clawing at the bed sheets and curling your toes. His tongue swirls through your folds, collecting your juices and prodding inside of you.
No man has eaten you like Tom has. When they did it, they did it as if it was a chore. Tom does it as if it’s a reward.
He cherishes you, honors your body with his hands and mouth while also showing you who’s in control. It’s these things that make you utterly obsessed with him, thinking about him for twenty-four hours even when you see him at the start and end of every day. You were obsessed with the way his tongue was licking into you, desperate to consume every drop of your wetness until you were drained. His thumb returned to its home on your clit, pressing and holding as it throbbed beneath his finger. Your head spun as if you were drunk on a carousel, but it wasn’t nausea you were feeling. No, it was the ecstasy of pleasure building up inside of you as you approached your high.
“S-so close. Fuck—”
A slap to your inner thigh caused you to squeak into the heated air. Tom never cared when you cussed before, but the fact that he did now was another little turn-on that just got added to the list. Seriously, what was wrong with you?
His mouth popped off of you, thumb never letting up on your clit. He cleanly slides his middle finger through your slick folds, easily curling it inside of you. Even with his wounded and wrapped hands, his thrusts are flawless and perfectly paced. The sandy texture of the bandage occasionally itches your inner thigh, adding a delicious stimulation to your skin. As he pumps his digits inside of you, you are aware of the muscles in his arms flexing, which makes you clutch tightly around him.
“Oh, what’s got you so tight?” You groan at his words, not responding clearly. “Don’t be a brat.
“Your a-arms,” You can’t help but moan as he curls his fingers inside of you again.
“Yeah?” he hovers his body over you now, one arm supporting his bulky weight right beside your head. It was exactly like how you had remembered it and you didn’t even have to tell him. His bicep was next to your head, pulsing and working to keep him up right. You could feel and hear him grin and grunt every time you squeeze tightly around his fingers. “You’re the filthiest fuckin’ girl I’ve ever seen. The way you’re taking my fingers I just know you’re wishing it’s m’cock.”
Your skin was on fire. Your hair was a mess. Your head was going to evaporate into a cloud of lust. And your body was an oozing waterfall. That’s the only way to describe how you felt.
His transitions are natural and effortless as if he could do it with his eyes closed because he’s mapped your body out so well. But no matter how many times you’re with him, you’re still withering beneath him, shaking until your orgasm washes over you like a tsunami. He tilts his head, licking his lips before whispering in your ear deeply.
“Since you’ve been crying for it all day, come. Go ahead. Soak my fingers. Soak the fuckin’ sheets.”
You topple over your orgasm into a pool of pleasure, indeed soaking his hand and the sheets beneath you. As your body becomes hypersensitive, you wiggle away from his touch, only for him to hold you in place. He snatches your hips, stills them roughly with a press of his bandaged hands.
“I’m not done here, sweetheart. For this one, I want you to be as quiet as possible. Can you do that? Or are you inclined to let the neighborhood know who is making y’come this many times?”
Tom was incessant about making you come a magnitude of ways that night, all with specific rules. One with no touching, one with no moving, one with no moaning. It was a rollercoaster of crying and orgasms. To say you were exhausted was an understatement, but you’ve never felt more refreshed and satisfied.
You were so tired that when Tom left to begin your aftercare, you had passed out on the messy bed sheets.
—
i rushed the ending so much, but i felt bad that i’ve posted in so long and i’m just so busy that i never have time to write anymore
taglist:
@motheroffae @noa217 @nelly-belly97 @spidermanffh3000 @rugbeat3000 @mysticdaisy21 @emilyparkerholland @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya @princesspannnn @sageisswaggg @purplerose291 @girlbossnancy @lockwood-lover @theslayerofthevampires @breaxthing @eatshitanddiee @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @raajali3
crossed out= not able to tag
#shawnxstyles#tom holland#tom holland smut#tom holland fics#tom holland fan fiction#tom holland x you#tom holland x reader#spiderman#spiderman x reader#spiderman fanfics#tom holland x y/n#tom holland one shot#tom holland fanfic
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He Said, She Said
Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader
Synopsis: absolute tomfoolery ensues when you and Tom suspect that the other thinks you’re dating but you’re both too shy to correct each other
Masterlist
A week after you had wrapped filming a movie with Tom, you invited him to your house to hang out. Since the love story between your characters had been the backbone of the film, you’d grown particularly close to each other during the 8 months of filming. You had spent the last 8 months acting along side Tom as his crush, then girlfriend, and then wife. This was your first time seeing each other since wrapping and there were multiple times throughout the night where you had to catch yourself before you did something that you used to do when you played his wife. It was slightly confusing to spend 8 months acting as if you were in a relationship only for it to suddenly end one day. Tom felt the same way and often found himself about to go in for a kiss before he remembered he wasn’t actually your boyfriend. You both managed to catch yourselves just in time until the end of the night.
“Text me when you get home safe.” You said as you walked Tom to your door.
“I always do.” He smiled softly at you.
You smiled in return before wrapping an arm around him to pull him into a kiss. Tom instinctively kissed you back before he could process what was happening. You pulled away after a minute and stroked his cheek with your thumb.
“Bye, T.” You waved to him before shutting your door.
Tom stood outside your door for a full minute with his lips still pursed. He touched his fingertips to his lips and sure enough felt your sticky strawberry lipgloss still lingering there.
“Now wait a damn minute.” He said to himself as his confusion settled in.
It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d kissed him, but it was the first time you’d kissed him in the absence of any cameras or scripts. A surprised smile broke out on his lips until it settled into a confused frown. He turned around and went to his car where he sat for a long time, raking every inch of his moment for the moment your friendship became something more. When he came up empty, he took out his phone and texted his groupchat.
“emergency boy call” He texted and waited until the FaceTime notification appeared on his screen.
“What’s with the late night boy call? It’s almost midnight.” Harry asked through a yawn.
“Yeah. I was already balls deep into my YouTube deep dive.” Harrison complained.
“What were you watching?” Tuwaine asked him.
“Wig installation videos.” Harrison answered. “In case I ever need to install a wig.”
“That seems like a good use of your time.” Sam snorted.
“Guys.” Tom groaned. “I did not ask for a boy call for us to talk about whether or not Harrison will be installing a wig anytime soon.”
“I could do it if I wanted to.” Harrison mumbled.
“What did you need the boy call for?” Harry brought the focus back to Tom.
“I think Y/n and I are dating.” Tom admitted and held his breath as he waited for their responses. He could previously only see his friends ceilings, but all their confused faces appeared on his screen when he said this.
“What? You think?” Harry asked.
“I thought you guys were just friends?” Sam added.
“I thought that too.” Tom replied. “But we hung out tonight and she kissed me goodbye.”
“So? Haven’t you kissed a million times?” Tuwaine wondered.
“For scenes, yeah. Never just as us.”
“Cheek kiss or lips kiss?” Harrison asked.
“Lips.“
“Well was it a peck or a smooch?” Harry questioned.
“Uh, is there a difference?” Tom frowned.
“Big time.” Harry and Harrison said in unison.
“Well how do I know the difference?” Tom wondered.
“A peck is what you give your grandmum on the cheek. A smooch is slightly longer and involves head tilting.” Harrison explained.
“I don’t know. Her tongue was in my mouth. Is that covered under the smooch umbrella?”
“DAMNNNNN.” Harry and Harrison spoke in unison again as the shouted.
“That was way past smooch territory, my guy.” Tuwaine said through a laugh.
“Then what is it?” Tom asked his friends.
“A smackeroo.” Harry shrugged.
“I was just gonna say a smackeroo.” Harrison clapped his hands.
“That was no smooch. You got snogged, mate.” Sam said and they all nodded in agreement.
“Ew.” Tom grimaced. “No one says snog anymore. What are you, Angus Thongs?”
“Who the fuck is Angus Thongs?” Harry asked after a beat of silence.
“You know. That movie. Angus Thongs and Perfect Snogging. It’s all about a girl who wants to snog Angus Thongs.”
“Mate, it’s Angus COMMA thongs COMMA and perfect snogging. The title is three separate phrases. Angus, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging.” Harry explained.
“You thought the character was named Angus Thongs?” Sam laughed. “Why would the writers give him that name? What nationality would the surname “Thongs” even come from?”
“Can we get back to the reason of the boy call? Y/n freaking smooched me and I don’t know what it means.” Tom groaned.
“And that’s never happened before?” Tuwaine asked.
“No. This was the first time she did that.”
“So maybe it was just an accident.” Sam shrugged.
“Who accidentally kisses someone on the mouth?” Harry wondered.
“Exactly. That’s why I think we started dating and I didn’t realize.”
“How could that have happened? Wouldn’t you have realized if you guys made your relationship official?” Sam asked his brother.
“I don’t know. We’re so close and our relationship gets confusing sometimes. We’ve always have this unofficial thing between us where we’re not exactly together but not exactly “just friends” either. I’ve never really known where I stood with her.”
“This might not help,” Tuwaine prefaced, “but I was shocked the first time I met her and you told me you guys were just friends. You really seemed like a couple.”
“Yeah, that definitely didn’t help, but thank you so much.” Tom smiled tightly, feeling more confused than ever.
“He’s right though. You guys don’t act like friends act. Why do you think everyone assumes you’re dating? Even mom asked me if you two were bumping uglies.” Sam brought up.
“We’re not. Or maybe we are? I don’t know. What does bumping uglies even mean?”
“You’d know if you did it.” Harrison said and the rest of the guys agreed.
“Can you think of a moment when you might’ve become a couple?” Sam asked his brother.
“There are so many moments that it could’ve been. That’s why I’m so confused.” Tom whined and rubbed his eyes.
“Well think, man.” Sam urged.
“I don’t know. Maybe the last day of shooting? She said she didn’t want anything to change between us after we stopped filming. Maybe that meant she wanted us to be together like our characters were?”
“You can’t be “maybe” dating someone.” Harrison shook his head. “You need to find out for certain if she thinks she’s in a committed relationship with you right now.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Tom wondered.
“I’ll do it.” Harry offered and his screen went to the “pause” icon.
“How?” Tom asked him.
“I just texted her asking if you were dating.” Harry replied and returned to the FaceTime.
“What?!” Tom shrieked. “Without discussing that with me first?”
“Wait, what happened?” Harrison asked. “I was watching a Dance Moms compilation.”
“Which one?” Tuwaine asked.
“Kelly and Christi being iconic.” Harrison said with a cheeky smile.
“Classic.” Tuwaine laughed.
“Guys.” Tom groaned. “Harry went rogue and texted Y/n.”
Meanwhile, you were doing your skincare routine when you saw your phone light up with a notification. You picked it up and saw the text from Harry.
“are you and tom dating?” It read. You frowned and looked at yourself in the mirror. Harry, being Tom’s brother, should know better than anyone that you and Tom were just friends. But the fact that he asked you made you second guess yourself. You wondered if there was a possibility that Tom thought you were in a relationship.
“did he say we were?” You texted back.
“yeth” Harry responded.
“Oh shit. Why does Tom think we’re dating?” You whispered to yourself and nervously chewed on your nail. You raked your brain for a cue that you might have missed of Tom suggesting that you should be a couple. Your relationship had always been flirty and wavering on the line between romantic and platonic, so it didn’t seem impossible to you that could’ve begun a romantic relationship with him without even knowing it. The more you thought about it, the more it seemed plausible that he had suggested you should be together without actually saying those words and you had agreed to it without realizing what you agreed to. If that was the case, you felt too guilty to correct Tom and tell him you weren’t actually dating. After all, you wanted to be his girlfriend. You just wished you knew when you had become it.
“yea we are” You finally texted back.
“Update. Y/n says you’re dating.” Harry proudly announced to the FaceTime call when he saw the message on his screen.
“She did?” Tom asked in disbelief.
“Yep. So you were right. You guys are officially a thing.” Harry confirmed. Tom sunk down in his seat and felt an explosion of different emotions. On the one hand, he was thrilled to finally be in a relationship with you. On the other hand, he felt sad that he had missed the moment when your friendship became more. He wished he could remember how it happened. But little did he know, it never happened.
“I’m so happy. I just wish I knew when it started.” He told his friends.
Meanwhile, you were in your bathroom, staring at your phone, wondering the exact same thing.
“When the fuck did we start dating?” You whispered to yourself.
The next day, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something you were missing. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t put together the moment when your relationship with Tom began. Instead of driving yourself crazy trying to remember, you decided to ask him to come over to see if you could get the information straight from the source.
“I know I just saw you last night but do you wanna come over today 🤠” You texted him.
“I’m on my way 🥵🥴🙄” He texted back within no time. You smiled to yourself and put your phone down to go get ready.
A half hour later, you heard a knock at your door that made your heart skip a beat. You smoothed your hair down before opening up your door.
“Hey you.” You smiled and leaned your cheek against your door.
“Hello darling.” He returned the smile. There was an awkward pause as neither of you knew of you were supposed to kiss or not. You both wanted to, but couldn’t tell if the other was expecting it or not. You both took a step forward, then moved back, before hesitantly moving into the middle again. Tom decided to take charge and wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you into a kiss. You felt relived that he took the initiative and wrapped both arms around his neck to kiss him back. Tom felt so excited that this was finally happening that he lifted you off the ground and brought you inside without ever breaking the kiss. You laughed against his lips as he gently set you down.
“Won’t you come in?” You said sarcastically once you broke apart.
“Why, thank you. What a lovely home you have here.” He played along as you shut the front door behind you.
“What happened here?” Tom laughed when he noticed a open box of cereal on the ground with cheerios all around it.
“Oh, I uh, I fell.” You said and looked to the side.
“Did you throw an open cereal box at a spider again?” Tom asked skeptically.
“Maybe.” You mumbled.
“Darling. Just hit it with the-“
“The smackazine. I know.” You rolled your eyes. “I just get too scared to get close enough to actually smack it.”
“You should’ve called me sooner. I would’ve demonstrated the proper way to use a smackazine.” Tom said as he rolled up a nearby magazine and hit it against his hand.
“Oh yeah? And what exactly is the proper way?” You humored him and tapped your chin.
“Just like this.” Tom said before smacking you with the rolled up magazine. You screamed and ran away from him, only encouraging him to chase you. You ran from him and jumped over the couch but he caught up to you. And grabbed you by the waist and threw you onto the couch before smacking you all over with the magazine as he straddled your waist.
“Don’t hit me! Do I look like a spider to you?” You asked and tried to hold him off of you. Tom stopped smacking you and gave you a look.
“Do you want an honest answer?”
“Hey!” You pretended to be offended and ripped the magazine out of his hands to smack him with it. He laughed and knocked it out of you hands and when you were caught off guard by it falling to the floor, he held your face in one hand and kissed you. You melted into the kiss and pulled him closer by his shirt as the confusion from the night before melted away. Now that he was here, you didn’t care about getting answers anymore. You just wanted to enjoy your time with him. You made out on your couch for a while until you needed to pull away for air.
“I’m so happy we’re finally together. I’ve wanted this for a long time.” You said in a soft voice as you traced patterns on his cheek with your fingernail.
“So did I. I had no idea you felt the same.” Tom said as he stared into your eyes with a soft smile.
“I didn’t either at first. I wasn’t sure if I really liked you or if I was just caught up in the magic of filming. But I missed kissing you and acting like your girlfriend the second we wrapped. That’s when I knew my feelings were real.”
“So we started dating after we wrapped?” Tom whispered to himself as pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
“What was that?” You asked.
“I just said I knew it right away.” He quickly covered up. “I liked you from the day we met. I just never imagined you’d like me back. That’s why I never officially asked you out.”
“I knew it. That’s why I didn’t realize when we started dating. It’s because he never officially asked me out.” You thought but didn’t say out loud.
“You didn’t need to. I just knew.” You shrugged and smiled wider.
“I had absolutely no idea and he can never know that.” You thought inside your head but kept your smile.
“She can never know that I never actually asked her out. I’m glad she thinks I did so that I never actually had to do it, but she can never know the truth.” Tom thought to himself. You noticed from his expression that he was deep in thought and touched his face to get his attention.
“What are you thinking about?” You asked as you pushed some hair off his forehead. Tom snapped back to reality and smiled shyly.
“You. And how long I’ve waited to do this.” He said before connecting your lips in a kiss again. This time, it was interrupted by his phone buzzing.
“Oh. It’s my mum.” He read off his phone.
“What did she say?”
“She said Harry told her about us and now she wants a family dinner.” He said as the color drained from his face. The thought of sitting down for a family dinner where his brothers knew the truth about the ambiguity of the beginning of your relationship while you and his mom were in the dark put a pit of dread in his stomach.
“Aw. When?”
“Next Saturday. We don’t have to do it, though.” He said and hoped you’d agree.
“No, I’d love to.” You told him, making him gulp.
“You would?”
“Totally. It’ll make her happy and I love spending time with your family. It can be our first dinner date as an official couple.”
“All right. I’ll tell her yes.” Tom gulped again and reluctantly agreed to the dinner. He didn’t know how, but he knew the truth would come out at the dinner. That meant he had exactly a week to figure out how your relationship began or he’s have nothing to say when his mom asked at the dinner.
“Perfect.” You smiled, having no idea about the turmoil Tom was going through over this. He decided to push it from his mind and worry about it when he had to.
Tom ended up staying over the entire day despite having spent the whole day with you the day before. You cooked dinner together and felt like a couple that had been married for years instead of the new couple that you were. There was laughing, kissing, and a closeness that didn’t exist when you were just friends only a day ago. You loved this new relationship, but you couldn’t stop wondering when it began.
You ended up on the couch again after eating and laid on top of each other as you talked about whatever came to mind. You lost track of time as you chatted and eventually felt yourself growing tired. When you let out a yawn, Tom checked the time on his phone.
“Damn, it’s 1 am already? I should probably get going. I don’t want to keep you up any longer.” Tom said as he got off the couch.
“You don’t have to go.” You said and tugged him back onto the couch.
“I don’t? Don’t you want to go to sleep?” He asked genuinely. You didn’t make eye contact with him as you toyed with a loose string on your jumper.
“Well, I was just thinking. You would go home after hanging out when we were just friends. But since we’re dating now….” You trailed off and slowly looked into his eyes.
“I could spend the night?” He asked when he realized what you were hinting at.
“Only if you-“
“Yes.” Tom said immediately, making you laugh.
“Sorry. I meant, yes, I’d love that.” He said in a calmer tone as his heart beat out of his chest.
“Okay. Good.” You smiled coyly. “We could watch a movie or something.”
“Uh huh. A movie. Sounds good.” Tom was barely listening as he never took his eyes off you. You scrolled through Netflix for a few seconds before putting on something random. Neither of you had any intention of watching, you just wanted to see who’d make the first move.
The first twenty minutes of the movie went by with you and Tom sneaking glances at each other every few seconds. By the third time you made eye contact with him, you turned to face him.
“Are you enjoying the movie?” You asked with a coy smile.
“I don’t even know what movie is on the screen right now.” Tom answered honestly.
“Do you want to turn it off and do something else?” You asked innocently and scooted closer to him.
“Did you have something in mind?” He asked and slid closer to you.
“There is this one thing I think we could try.” You said, just inches from his face now.
“I think you might be a mind reader, darling.” Tom said before connecting his lips to yours.
You woke up the morning in Tom’s arms with your bedsheets tangled around you. You knew your sheets were stained with the scent of his cologne now and smiled at the thought of falling asleep to that later. You turned around in his arms so you were facing him just as he was waking up. He yawned a little as his eyes fluttered open and smiled the second he realized last night wasn’t a dream. You laughed shyly and covered your face with your hands, but he just pushed them away to kiss you.
“So.” He said as he stared into your eyes.
“So.” You sighed happily. “Breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry yet. I need to work up an appetite.” Tom said and climbed right back on top of you.
After a week, the day of the dinner had arrived and Tom still hadn’t figured out how your relationship began. You spent a majority of that week together and despite that, Tom was just as lost as he was the first time you kissed him. You, on the other hand, had completely forgotten about finding out when your relationship began. It wasn’t until you were on the steps of his childhood home that you realized that if his mom asked you how you got together, you wouldn’t know how to answer her.
“Are you ready for this?” Tom asked when he noticed the panicked look on your face. You quickly smiled and slipped your hand into his.
“I am. Cause I got you.” You said before knocking on the door.
“Ah! They’re here! Come in, come in.” Tom’s mom, Nikki, said when she opened the door. You both walked in and she pulled the two of you into a hug.
“I’m so glad you could make it. Come to the kitchen and I’ll make you a drink.” Nikki said as she led you to the kitchen. You went to say hello to Tom’s dad and brothers as Tom talked to his mom.
“So Tom, I’ve been dying to ask you. When did you guys finally get together?” His mom asked as he poured Tom a drink.
“Oh, uh….” Tom trailed off and pretended he was thirty. He took a long sip of his drink because he knew that once he stopped drinking, he’d have to answer his mom. When Tom’s drink finally ran out, he looked at the empty glass before looking at his Kim.
“Excuse me for a second. I have to…poop.” Tom lied and quickly dashed out of the room. He saw Harry and Sam in the living room and grabbed them both by the backs of their shirt collars. They both let out a yelp as Tom yanked them into the hallway.
“Boy meeting.” He whispered harshly and formed a huddle while Sam and Harry rubbed their sore necks.
“I need someone to find out how Y/n and I started dating because I cannot figure it out for the life of me.” Tom said in a low voice.
“How are we supposed to find out if you couldn’t?” Harry whispered.
“Because I can’t just ask my girlfriend when we started dating. But you can. Whoever gets the answer gets a million dollars.”
“For real?” Sam’s eyes widened.
“No, but I’ll let you try on the Spiderman suit.”
“Bullshit. I’ve already tried it on.” Harry scoffed.
“Me too.” Sam nodded.
“Same here.” Paddy said, making the other three jump.
“Paddy? When did you get here?” Tom asked.
“18 years ago. Thanks for noticing.” Paddy rolled his eyes. “And since when have you been dating Y/n?”
“I don’t know.” Tom, Harry, and Sam said in unison.
“Well what’s our incentive for finding out?” Paddy questioned and the other two agreed.
“Oh my God. Fine. What do you want?”
“A million dollars.” Paddy said.
“No.”
“A hundred dollars.” Sam suggested.
“No.”
“A dollar.” Harry said with a wicked smile.
“Yeah. Sure fine. I’ll give you a dollar.” Tom agreed with a roll of his eyes.
“Fuck you all I’m winning this.” Harry said and ran to find you. He soon found you setting the table in the dining room and approached you with and eerie grin.
“Hey there, sister in law.”
“Slow down.” You chuckled. “We’re not there yet. Tom and I have only been dating for….”
You trailed off when you realized you didn’t have an amount of time to give him. Harry hung on to your every word, thinking he was about to get the answer, only to be disappointed.
“…a short amount of time.” You said after a beat and hoped Harry wouldn’t notice. Harry 100% noticed and felt his eye twitch as he kept his huge smile.
“I know, you silly billy. I’m just so excited that you two crazy kids are finally together. So tell me, how did it finally happen?”
“He didn’t tell you?” You laughed nervously, beginning to panic now that Harry was asking the exact questions you didn’t have the answers to.
“Of course he told me.” Harry lied. “I just want to hear it from your perspective.”
“I’m sure I won’t have any details to add. It’s whatever he said.” You shrugged as you finished setting the table. Harry stared at you for a long time before letting out a sigh of defeat.
“You owe me a dollar.”
“What?”
“What?” Harry asked as he left the room. He found his brothers in the hallway and hung in head in shame.
“I lost. I’m gonna go kill myself so thank your girlfriend for me, Tom.” Harry grumbled and walked to his bedroom with his head hanging low.
“Don’t worry, Tom. Your big brothers got this.” Sam said and patted Tom’s shoulder.
“You’re not my big brother.” Tom pointed out.
“I know. That’s why I’m definitely gonna disappoint you.” Sam smiled proudly before leaving the hallway. He went and found you in the kitchen now and casually leaned against the wall.
“Hey you.” He smiled and poked your chest. You looked down at where his finger had been before giving him a strange look.
“No. I am not explaining how tampons work again. I already explained it once and it’s not my fault that you passed out.” You said and folded your arms.
“That’s not what I was gonna ask.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Although I still don’t understand how it stays up there with nothing to hold it up there.”
“I’m leaving.” You said and tried to walk away.
“Wait, I’m sorry.” Sam stopped you. “I just wanted to ask about you and Tom. I am just tickled pink that you two are finally together. Do tell me, how did that happen?”
“I’m not talking about this with you. You’re putting off a real creepy vibe right now and I do not feel safe.”
“What? You’re totally safe. Just tell me how you and Tom started dating or I’ll kill you.”
“See you later, Sam.” You chuckled and walked away. Sam let out a sigh and retreated back to the boys.
“How did it go?” Tom asked.
“I threatened to kill her.” Sam said quietly.
“Oh my God.” Tom groaned and rubbed his eyes.
“Leave it to me. I’m getting that dollar if it kills me.” Paddy rubbed his hands together and went to find you. As soon as you saw him coming, you grimaced and braced yourself for what was coming.
“Hey, Y/n.” Paddy greeted you.
“Why are you all being so weird today?” You whined.
“Hold tight. I haven’t even been as weird as I’m gonna be yet.” Paddy warned you.
“Oh no.” You groaned and looked up at the ceiling.
“I just want to know how you and Tom started dating and nobody gets hurt.” Paddy said and pulled out finger guns. You looked at his fingers guns and let out a sigh before pulling him to the side.
“I have no fucking idea.” You whispered to him.
“Huh?”
“Harry texted me like a week ago and said that Tom said we were dating and I felt too guilty to correct him and say that we weren’t because I didn’t want Tom to feel bad if he really thought we were dating. But then I thought that maybe we were dating and I just hadn’t realized it so I went along with it and now everyone keeps asking me how we got together and I have no fucking idea.” You whined and looked around incase anyone was listening.
“Oh.” Paddy frowned when he learned the truth.
“Paddy, you cannot tell Tom. He can never know. It’ll break his heart.”
“Uh huh.” Paddy nodded too many times and knew he was immediate going to tell Tom.
“Can you promise me you won’t tell?”
“I can promise you that.”
“Thank God.”
“For a million dollars.” Paddy continued.
“How about one dollar?” You folded your arms.
“Deal.” Paddy agreed. You pulled a dollar out of your pocket, handed it to him, and sent him on his way.
“Well? Did she tell you?” Tom asked when paddy came back.
“She did tell me. And then she bought my silence.” Paddy smirked and held up his dollar.
“What? What the hell happened in there?” Tom whispered harshly when he saw the dollar in his brothers hands.
“You’ll never know.” Paddy laughed menacingly before leaving the hallway.
“You all failed me. Now I’m never gonna know and she’s gonna find out and dump me and hate me forever. And it’s all your fault.” Tom said and pointed to Sam and Harry.
“Our fault? You’re the idiot who didn’t realize when he started his girlfriend.” Harry pointed out.
“Yeah. You’re on your own now. In fact, I hope she breaks up with you and takes all your dollars.” Sam scoffed.
“Me too.” Harry agreed before walking away.
“Boys! Dinner!” Nikki called from the dinning room. Tom hung his head in defeat and trudged into the dining room. He took a seat next to you and gulped, knowing there was no more avoiding the question. You noticed Tom’s pained expression and put your hand on top of his.
“You okay?” You mouthed to him. Tom’s mom saw the interaction and smiled to herself.
“I’m so happy you two finally got together.” She sighed. “I knew it would happen. But come on now. I want details. How did it happen?”
You and Tom tensed up as the most feared questioned had now been asked. Everyone turned to look at the two of you and you felt the pressure rising.
“Oh. You know.” You laughed and waved your hand, hoping that would suffice.
“Actually, I don’t know.” Harry raised his hand to say.
“What? Who’s side are you on?” Tom whispered to him.
“Justice.” Harry whispered back.
“I haven’t heard the story yet.” Tom’s dad spoke up, making you both snap your attention to him with angry looks.
“Tom, why don’t you tell the story?” You said and patted his hand.
“No, no. You tell it much better than I do. You tell it.” Tom said and put his hand on top of yours.
“No, you. I insist.” You replied and put your hand back on top.
“Someone tell the fucking story.” Paddy deadpanned.
“Patrick.” Nikki gasped and looked at him.
“Who said that?” Paddy gasped even louder and looked behind him.
“It was…after…we wrapped.” Tom said slowly and carefully watched your face for any indication on if he was right or wrong.
“Yeah. We didn’t start dating until after we finished shooting.” You agreed with him. He thought he had guessed correctly while you thought you were finally finding out what really happened.
“But how did it happen?” Nikki urged. “Who confessed their feelings first?”
You and Tom looked at each other, expecting the other to answer. When you realized at the same time that the other was just as confused, you both started to get suspicious.
“Tom did?” You answered but it came out like a question. Tom frowned and furrowed his eyebrows because that did not line up with what little he knew. He would’ve remembered telling you how he felt and knew that he never had until after he thought you were together.
“I did.” He said, making you sigh in relief that you had guessed correctly.
“But only after Y/n told me how she felt.” He continued, confusing you all over again.
“Huh?” You blurted then quickly took a sip of water to make it look like you hadn’t said anything. It was too late, of course, and the family looked at you in confusion.
“Did you not tell him how you felt?” Nikki laughed in confusion.
“No, I did.” You quickly lied. You didn’t remember doing it, but clearly Tom thought you had, so you went along with it.
“Well what did you say? I want the romantic details, guys. How did you phrase it?” Nikki gushed.
“Aw, Tom. Tell your mom how I phrased it.” You smiled at him as you internally panicked. You didn’t have the slightest clue on how you phrased it since you had no memory of ever doing such a thing.
Tom, on the other hand, was just as lost as you were. He didn’t remember you ever telling him you had feelings for him. All he remembered was you kissing him goodbye that one night and then telling Harry that you were dating. If there had been a confession at any point, he surely would’ve remembered.
“No.” Tom said suddenly, making everyone look at him. You felt a jolt of dread, thinking he had realized that you didn’t know when you’d started dating.
“I won’t tell you because it was a special moment between us and I want to keep it private. For now, at least. Maybe we’ll tell you one day but for now, it stays between us.” Tom answered and put his hand back on top of yours. You sighed in relief and leaned in to kiss him to thank him for unknowingly saving you in that situation. Little did you know, Tom had just pulled that answer out of his ass and hoped his family would believe it so that he never had to and it that he had no idea how you ended up together.
To both of your relief, his family bought it. They thought Tom’s answer was perfect and therefore stopped asking questions. Tom didn’t know why Paddy laughed and shook his head when he gave his answer, but he decided not to question it. You got through the rest of the dinner and said your goodbyes after some tea and dessert. On the drive back to your place, Tom kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding your hand.
“That was a little stressful, I’m not gonna lie.” You chuckled as you looked out the window.
“A little? Darling, that was the most nerve wracking dinner of my life. I think my hair went gray a little just from sitting through that.”
“Aw, that’s okay. I still like you.” You laughed and squeezed his hand. He looked over at you with a smile before looking back at the road.
“Just out of curiosity, when do you think we got together?” You asked and held your breath waiting for the answer. Tom initially panicked at this question, then decided to bite the bullet.
“Can I be honest?”
“Of course.”
“I didn’t even realize we were officially a couple until you kissed me that night.” Tom admitted and looked over at you to see your reaction. You were frowning, only because this answer didn’t line up.
“That night you hit me with the smackazine?” You asked.
“No. When we hung out the night before that.” Tom explained, only making your confusion grow.
“I didn’t kiss you that night.” You laughed in surprise. Tom tried to keep his eyes on the road but couldn’t help looking at you with wide eyes. The entire reason he thought you were dating was because you kissed him that night, and now you were denying it?
“Yes, you did. You 100% kissed me that night as I was leaving. And I’m glad you did because I wouldn’t have realized we were a thing if you hadn’t.” Tom said. You fell silent and when he finally looked over at you, you were looking at him with a stunned expression.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” He laughed nervously.
“Tom, I did not mean to kiss you that night. It must’ve been out of habit since we had just finished filming. I didn’t even realize I had done it until now.”
“What?” Tom practically shrieked. “But that night, you told Harry we were dating.”
“Only because he told me that you said we were dating. I just assumed we had started dating without me realizing it.”
“But that’s what I thought.”
“Why’d you think that?”
“Because you kissed me goodbye that night!” Tom exclaimed and then went quiet.
“Ohhhhh.” You remembered it now. “I see now that this was my fault all along.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. We just confused each other.” Tom laughed now that guy had gotten to the bottom of the situation.
“Did we gaslight ourselves into thinking we were dating?” You laughed as well.
“I think we might’ve.” Tom nodded and looked over at you with a smile. You returned the smiled felt peace for the first time all night. Your relationship may not have started in a traditional way, but it started, and that was all the mattered.
“Honestly, I don’t care how it started. I only care that it never ends.” You told him, making his smile grow.
“So this is us confessing our feelings? In case my mum ever asks?” He teased.
“Your mom can never know the truth. This conversation stays between us.” You chuckled and gave his hand another squeeze.
“Darling, as long as there’s an “us” for it to stay between, I’m good.”
Tag List 🏷️
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@letsloveimagines @peterparkoure @a-villain-vying-for-attention @justcallmehitgirl @jackiehollanderr
@maryjanee23 @geeksareunique @emmamarshmellow
@unbelievableholland @flixndchill @sovereignparker @every-marveler-ever
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@canyouevencauseicant @illwritetomorrow @thehappygrungelife @saysomethingspiderman
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@electraheart-3174 @unbelievableholland @yourtypicalhotmess @horanxholland
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@maybemona @alexxcorona113 @lethal-wisdom @xo-spidey
#tom holland x reader#tom holland x best friend!reader#tom holland imagine#tom holland fluff#tom holland x you#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland and co#tom holland fanfic
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perfect - t.holland
masterlist
requested: y- “Could you do reader and Tom or Harry with newborn !!”
pairings: dad!tom holland x mom!reader
warnings: fluff + child has been given a name
a/n: I hope I did this justice 🫡 I’m not very good with writing newborns!
you can’t figure out what you’re more obsessed with: her rolls, feet, or the fact that she looks exactly like Tom.
you haven’t been able to move from the crib. you should be asleep, but your eyes are glued to the crib where your newborn daughter, Emma, lays asleep.
you know Tom will come in any second. he’ll be concerned why you’re not in bed or pumping. he’ll ask if something’s wrong with Emma or with you. he’ll ask a series of questions you’ve heard on record since you came home from the hospital, but you don’t mind them. he’s concerned for his two loved ones.
“everything alright?” there it is. you sigh, taking a look at him for a brief second before looking back at her. she hasn’t moved, yet every rise and fall of her chest makes your heart swell.
“I just can’t decide which part I love more of her.” you carefully tap your finger against the wooden edge of the crib.
Tom exhales quite happily, it’s nothing serious to be worried about. he carefully steps into the room, his hand rests against your lower back, “why don’t you go sleep? we can worry about what we love most once we’ve rested.”
you shake your head. there’s tears welling your eyes, you know this is just hormones— or maybe you’re just so in love you can’t move from her crib.
“I just want to stay here forever.”
“we’ll have plenty of time to stay in here forever. we need some sleep.” he assures you, his palm running over your dirty hair. you can’t remember the last time you’d showered coming to think of it.
“you’re right, I’m being ridiculous.” you nod along with him finally moving from the crib. the emotions had dried allowing the exhaustion to finally settle in your body. Tom promises to take the first shift after napping and you don’t argue, just settle into the mattress.
“and you’re not ridiculous. however, I think her rolls are quite adorable.”
—
three hours.
you’d been asleep for three hours and didn’t even hear a single noise from emma or Tom. you assumed he would need your help at some point, but having not heard anything from either of them. you could trust he had it all under control.
you slowly rise out of bed and exit the bedroom, you see Tom in your living room rocking chair. he’s got a bottle in one hand, and her cradled in his other arm. she looks quite cozy and content with him.
“you’re awake.” he looks up from her with a frown. his plans were to let you sleep as long as you needed, but he knew you couldn’t leave her alone for too long without checking on her. the silence was always scary to hear.
“I know.”
“she’s been sleeping this whole time. you can go back to bed if you’d like?” he recommends rather than offering. you know the suggestion is what you should take, but you can’t get yourself to move from where you’re standing. your eyes glued to her once again.
“it’s everything. that’s what I love about her.” you say finally taking your eyes off of your sleeping newborn to look Tom in the eyes.
he nods in agreement looking back down at her in his arms, “she’s perfect.”
#tom holland x oc#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland x you#tom holland#tom holland x fem#tom holland fic#tom holland fluff#tom holland imagines#tom holland imagine#tom holland x y/n#tom holland x reader#tom holland x pregnant!reader#peter parker#peter parker x oc#tom holland drabble#tom holland fiction#tom holland fanfic#tom holland fics#Peter Parker fic#peter parker x reader
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In Time : Tom Holland x Reader
Completed Series
Series Description: Reader is a cashier at a grocery store in Atlanta and crosses paths with Tom while he’s in the area filming No Way Home. Tom quickly falls for y/n but she has a boyfriend. Does/will y/n feel the same? Will they ever end up together? Are they destined to be friends or something more? Fluff, comfort, hurt-comfort, angst, strangers-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, etc.
Series Warnings: cursing, some spice/suggestive content, brief mentions of previous smut/sex but not actually written, toxic boyfriend behavior, minor aggression/violence, arguments, self doubt, mean fans, food/eating, breakups, pining, kissing and related romantic behaviors, and mentions of cheating. Please let me know if I missed anything!
Chapter List:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8 *contains chapter text and social media post(s)/SMAUs
Chapter 9 *this chapter is done as social media post(s)/SMAUs
Chapter 10 *contains chapter text and social media post(s)/SMAUs
Chapter 11 *contains chapter text and social media post(s)/SMAUs
The End
This was a Ko-fi request by the lovely @theslayerofthevampires Thank you again for the support 💜
Taglist: @theslayerofthevampires @galaxyholland @bigbirdstwins @mcushvft @fishingirl12 @raajali3 @justapurrcat @natswifeysblog15 @directioner5life @ell0ra-br3kk3r @laylasbunbunny
Tom Holland Masterlist
Peter Parker / Spider-Man Masterlist
All My Works / My Main Masterlist Navigation
#tom holland#tom holland x reader#tom holland smau#smau#tom holland fluff#tom holland pics#tom holland funny#tom holland x gf!reader#tom holland x yn#tom holland x fem!reader#tom holland x you#tom holland fanfic#tom holland fic#tom holland x y/n#spiderman tom holland#tom holland one shot#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland imagine#Tom holland protective#tom holland imagines#tom stanley holland#tom holland au#Tom holland x reader angst#Tom holland fluff#Tom holland angst#Tom holland preference#Tom holland x reader fluff#original post#thomas stanley holland#in time
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Request if you want it: Tom is playing at a golf event and reader is a journalist there. She absolutely can't stand him, because she finds out he is quite arrogant and full of himself. They go after each other throughout the whole day with sarcastic remarks. But somehow (you can fill in the details) Tom seduces her by the end and he gets her on her knees and he totally dominates her, making her choke and gag. And he embarrasses her by making her feel his muscles and beg to suck him off and he boasts about how easily he got her in the palm of his hand. :P
(14/07/22) brain go brrrrrrrrrrr THIS REQUEST!!!!
a/n (28/06/23): This was a request that was sent in and one that I had started last year that I really wanted to finish. Apologies to the anon who sent this in and waited for it whoops. This was supposed to be short but I clearly don't fucking know what short means so here's like 7k or something???
Anyway here's 'A Word for the Youth Diary?' Shitty title I know but I literally can't think of anything else.
MASTERLIST
"The weather is absolutely gorgeous here at St. Andrews' Castle Course, celebrating the first 'Pro Amateur' charity competition where a host of celebrities, socialites or anyone with a keen passion for golf can compete. A number of spectators have gathered around the course, eager to soak up the buzzing atmosphere, the scenic landscape and the presence of Hollywood stars, all in the views of the warm Scottish sun. Now that's something I never expected to say!"
The red light of your recorder dims as you press pause on your commentary. You made the switch to recorder a few years back when journalism became too close to drowning in a number of scribbled, illegible notes written far too quickly. Now it is a simple case of pressing record and pressing pause.
Of course, wherever there is a flock of celebrities congregating in the one area for the week, there will always be flock of paparazzi and journalists close by, each with the same agenda. It usually feels like mission impossible to get a word in with a celebrity or document anything of note or interest when there's a wall of other journalists blocking your way, but today those things won't be a problem. Because you’re not going after who may probably be the most coveted celebrity here. Tom Holland.
You don't quite don't know where it stemmed from; your strong dislike towards Tom Holland. In all honesty, your hatred towards him is very self-inflicted, but there's something about his ego that paints him in a very arrogant light. He knows he's hot shit with the press, he knows everyone fancies the man, he knows that his many talents has sky-rocketed him up the societal ladder and onto the throne of the rich and wealthy. What makes him double as frustrating than he is arrogant is that he hasn't done anything wrong. He's Hollywood's golden boy; ever the humble, handsome, kind, charity-giving actor that has claimed the hearts of many across the world. It's what makes your hatred towards him completely unjustified, so while no one shares the same view as you, there is some things you can do to quietly preach your opinions.
"First to arrive at the course is the notable Tom Holland, waving to the crowd with a smile, loving the attention as ever. Although I'm not sure that his mismatching colour-blocking golfing attire will receive the same compliments!"
The smirk on your lips lasts for the majority of the day as you talk incessantly into your recorder. Your goal isn't necessarily to shit on Tom, only when the opportunity presents itself of course, like when he swung the golf club at an awkward angle, sending the ball straight over the forest and into the sand bunker.
"Oooh, what a poor shot from Tom Holland. He'll be disappointed with that one. Perhaps leaning towards the 'amateur' side of the competition in comparison to some other competitors. Tom Holland yet again teaching us a valuable lesson in life; just because you're a pro at one thing doesn't mean you're a pro at everything else."
The crowd politely applauded and off he went with his caddie. While others followed, you choose to stay rooted while you wait for Mark Wahlberg to walk up to the tee. He's who you've been waiting for all afternoon. Getting a word in with him would set you up for the highlight of your career.
"Mark! Over here! Mr. Wahlberg! A word for the Youth Diary? Mr. Wahlberg!"
As it seems, Mark calmly maneuvers way past the wall of journalists, paying them, and you, no mind and strolls over to the starting point. Damn. You have to get a word with him somehow.
"Mark Wahlberg takes a mighty swing and thrashes the golf ball high into the air, and the crowd watches in astonishment as it sails its way over towards the green, a hair's breadth away from perfection as it rolls upon the hill. A round of applause circles around Mark as he proudly walks on with the confidence of a man who's set on winning this competition."
As the hours tick by, you find yourself without any luck. Those first few minutes of the competition were stuck in a loop, constantly experiencing deja vu of having to witness Tom Holland's unlucky shot followed by being ignored by Mark Wahlberg. You haven't had one decent interaction with anyone yet. Things are getting a little desperate.
You even begin to understand why the majority of journalists are following Tom Holland like a lost flock of sheep; he's very chatty. He stops at every turn to give his narration on his own playing, offers a brief insight to the projects he is currently working on, and if he likes you, even spill some of the secrets of his private life. It's a journalist's dream, one that you haven't even had the taste of yet since Mark Wahlberg is as accessible as the vaults of the Bank of England. Anyone with common sense would advise you to follow the crowd and ignore your bias towards him and just interview Tom Holland if it means you have something worth printing.
Oh no, no, no, no, no, no. Not a chance. He gets enough attention as it is.
"Mr Wahlberg! A word on your new film? Could you tell us about Uncharted! Mark! Over here!"
Not even a glance is spared your way in yet another attempt to get his attention. From your left, a voice emerges. A fellow reporter sidles himself next to you, away from the crowd that follows Tom Holland. You spot the Sky Sports label wrapped around his microphone.
"He doesn't like to speak much to the press. Thinks that he'll say something and they'll twist his words," he sympathies. It's genuine, obvious that he too has been caught up in the same frustration you've been facing all afternoon. At least he has a little more insight as to why you haven't gotten a word from Mark.
"Yeah, I figured. It wouldn't hurt just to say hello and have a small chat. What could the press twist about that? If anything, I think he's damaging his reputation by not saying anything. It's rude, y'know?"
He nods his head in agreement, but the sigh he blows doesn't seem to match. "You have to let it go though. They're not obliged to tell us anything. This is just a day out for them, they're not getting paid so why should they have to say anything about their work? It's just our luck whether they choose to talk to us."
"Ugh, I guess you're right, but I still need something for my article."
"Sky Sports has had lots from Tom. Why don't you try your luck with him? He seems to be a lot chattier than Mark. I don't know much about film journalism, only sports, so I don't know what it is you're looking for. But if you ask him anything, I'm sure he's willing to provide."
You look to him with contempt in your eyes, your lack of smile instantly shuts down his suggestion.
"I appreciate the suggestion but no. He's too easy. Think of how many journalists are here desperate to get a word in about sports, golf, acting, celebrity personal lives, all that show biz. If everyone shared the one source, audiences wouldn't bother reading them all because they all be the same, boring stuff. Think about it. If you, and 30 other journalists had the chance to interview Ronaldo, you would all take it because after all its Ronaldo. The only downside would be that you would then have 30 articles all saying the same thing and audience getting bored after reading 1. Now think about having the chance to interview Messi. It would be hard but total payout if you got it. Plus, you would stand out from the rest and that's what would gain audiences' attention."
Once again, the reporter sighs. "Look, kid. I've been in this job for 20 years and I've learned that sometimes you just have to cut your losses. If your objective is to get something to write about for your article, then you should do it however and whatever way you can, doesn't matter who the source is. If your objective is to get something from Mark Wahlberg specifically? Then you should scrap the whole article and try again. Something is better than nothing."
"I refuse to take anything from Tom Holland."
"Suit yourself. Good luck. Oh, by the way, I think you're still recording. Wouldn't want you to get your chance with Mark only to realise you have no storage left on your recorder."
You mumble a weak thanks and remember to press the pause button on your recorder. The reporter saunters away back towards the crowd, your only indication of knowing where Tom Holland is. You consider it for a second, but determination drives you away, following Mark to the next hole.
~~~~
It's all to play for in the final hole with only two possible candidates capable of winning the trophy. Currently sitting in the lead is the elusive, mysterious Mark Wahlberg, strolling casually along to the final hole with his team behind him. Ah, and of course, next in line is Tom Holland soaking up the attention as he strings along behind Mark Wahlberg like an apprentice would their mentor. It's not clear whether the confidence he walks with is a poorly executed imitation of his acting mentor ahead of him, or whether it is a man deluded with besting him. All will be revealed within the hour.
It's well into the evening of the Pro Amateur competition and the luck that reporter wished you earlier has yet to find you. With the final hole well underway, you're starting to think that it never will. So far, you've gotten a few short, curt answers from other celebrities here but nothing near the sustenance your article needs. If only Mark could stop being so stubborn.
"One at a time please guys, one at a time." Tom's smug, arrogant tone of voice emerges from behind you and not too soon after, tens of other voices asking him questions. As he makes his way nearer, so do the swarm of people and in an attempt to get out of the way, you're stampeded by the press. Bumped, shoved and pushed, you struggle to find your balance and fall precariously on your knees with your equipment tumbling from your bag. In all honesty it didn't hurt, but what an inconvenience picking up all your bits and bobs. Ugh it's all his fault.
Before you do anything irrational and say something you shouldn't, you pack up your stuff and walk away.
The competition concludes with a twist that no one was expecting. With a gust of wind getting the better of Mark Wahlberg, it earned him a double bogey and cost him the trophy, annoyingly snatched up by Tom who achieved victory with a birdie. You seethe at the sight of Tom holding up the golden trophy, soaking up the champagne that his teammates spray all over him and hearing the applause from everyone, even you as a slow, lethargic clap rings from your hands. All to just to keep up the pretence of 'liking him' of course. Ugh, why did he have to win?
After a day of being the lone ranger in a journalists mission, you concede to following the crowd into the conference room where many like you await behind a wall of microphones and a valley of cables to hear from today's competitors. And Mark Wahlberg is one of them. This might be your chance to get a question in. Quick! Where's your recorder?
Fuck. It's not in your bag. Where is it? You rummage through your bag again and it's definitely not there. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Where could it be? Did you lose it when you fell over? Has it been stolen? Fuck, you really need that!
You have no other option but to record from your phone and in your quiet, subdued panic, you try your best to catch anything he has to say. The quality isn't great and it's picking up outside noise to the point that articulation has no place on your recording. Sweating at the loss of some expensive equipment and valuable content, your phone drops and the clatter of it paints a mountain on its waveform, rendering the recording useless. Fuck, if you hadn't lost your recorder.
People start to look at you in your fluster and your legs starts bobbing erratically. The attention is too much and it's exactly why you prefer to stay behind the microphone and not in front of it. You have to leave. At the next possible opportunity, you end your recording and begin to make your way through the aisle, apologising profusely to the other journalists who wait for Tom Holland to make an appearance.
You just about make the double doors of the conference room when you hear Tom's voice welcoming the room.
"Before I start, I wanted to check to see if this was anyone's recorder..."
Everything about you stops dead in its tracks; your feet, your heart, your breathing, your entire existence. Nervously, you spin around to spot Tom Holland holding your recorder in his hands, fingers fluttering around its buttons. How the hell did he get his thieving hands on it?!
A pit opens up in your stomach at the dreaded thought of having to announce yourself in front of everyone to claim it. But damn, you really need your recorder back.
Braving the nightmare, your hand raises half-heartedly into the air. "Uh...it's mine. Sorry, I must've dropped it."
Tom's deep brown eyes lock onto yours from the stage and he throws, what you think, a sickly smile before he offers up the most ridiculous idea. "I can set to record if you want. I can sit it riiiiight here." He sits it directly in front of him and sends you a sly wink. It's a spot any journalist would dream of having their microphone; right under their nose on the off-chance that anything muttered under their breaths or whispered discreetly would be picked up. Journalists are a sucker for secrets. Quite frankly, you don't care for his secrets, you don't care for his thoughts on today's events, and you really don't care for what he has to say at all.
But the only reason why you end up saying yes is because you care more about what people would think of you if you gave up an opportunity like that.
"Sure. Thanks."
You proceed to endure 15 minutes of Tom glorifying himself in front of the press. God, it's embarrassing. You could plainly hear the snide tone underneath the guise of 'self-evaluation'. Everyone seems to soak it up like a sponge, praising him for his insightful words and self awareness, writing nothing but positive words about the actor. Whatever. You wish you could drown him out but your paranoia is rooted to your recorder at his table, thinking the worst outcome as his fingers toying with its external case. What if he doesn't know how to work it and accidentally erases all you had from today? One slip up and it's gone. Your eyes constantly flicker from your recorder to him and no matter who he's speaking to or where he's looking, he always manages to catch your gaze.
Already outside your comfort zone, you audibly whimper when you see him lightly tap the little trash button at the end of the recorder, miles away from the stop, pause and play buttons that you would regularly use. You would only ever press that button with intention, it’s pretty to hard to press it accidentally. Even without knowing how to work the recorder, it doesn't take an idiot to know what that means, so watching Tom play with it tells you that he is whole-heartedly toying with you, enjoying the view of you panicking from his throne of sadism.
It's like he can sense your hatred towards him.
~~~~
"Thank you, thank you! Until next year!" Tom smiles as he walks off stage, your recorder in his clutch. The further he walks away, the faster you bob and weave through the crowd, feeling like you're fighting against the tide as it sweeps you out. Then, just as the room empties you reach the entrance to the backstage area in a relief, only to hit a brick wall that stands in your way between you and your highly coveted recorder.
"No press allowed backstage." A security guard towers over you.
"Tom Holland has my recorder. I'd like to get it back." You have no time for polite small chat, your request grumbling with agitation.
"Still can't allow you back--"
"You can let her through, Jim. It's alright." A young boy’s voice echoes from behind the wall.
The guard hesitantly lets you through, keeping you under his iron gaze while you slip through the narrow space he gives you. You are led out into a hallway with plaques decorating the hall, awards from winners of tournaments the venue has previously hosted, the newest addition being Tom's 'Pro-Amateur' plaque much to your distaste.
The boy you recognise as Tom's caddie leads you down this hallway, he hasn't said so much as a word to you as he confidently walks ahead. Now he's getting his assistant to fetch you? God, the arrogance!
"He's in here."
"Thanks," you quietly mutter. The door closes behind you, locking both you and the actor into the room. When you started the day bright and early this morning, you didn't think this was where you were going to end up. You couldn't have put money on it.
Although, you have to admit: despite putting your heart and soul into avoiding Tom Holland the entire day, this could be an exclusive for your article. Nobody else has had this opportunity, so why not take advantage of it?
Tom smiles as he greets you, carelessly tossing your recorder from hand to hand. You swallow nervously. "You are...?"
You respond with your name, who you report for, and make it abundantly clear that you would like to take back your recorder in one piece.
He approaches with a small, boyish chuckle like you just told a joke. "Sorry, I was just thinking," he casually says, "about how you once said you refuse to take anything from me."
What? Where did he hear...? Fuck. He listened to it. And that entire conversation you had with the Sky Sports reporter...
Your mouth drops. As does the anchor in your stomach.
"What was it you said again...?"
"You listened to it." He ignores you.
"Oh yeah, that my 'mismatching colour-blocking golfing attire wouldn't receive the same compliments'."
"You...listened to it all?" you reiterate once again. Your voice rings with all the inflections of a question, but you already know the answer. Unfortunately.
Tom's brows furrow inward.
"Honestly, I can overlook the fact you insulted my outfit, it doesn't bother me that much." There's a 'but' in his sentence. You're just waiting for it. You inwardly panic, trying to remember what else you said that would warrant that dreaded 'but'. Your shield of writer's anonymity has fallen; it's what protects you if you are to ever post negatively about a celebrity, but now that he knows your name and your face, you're left exposed.
"But..." There it is. And in a disbelief, he bites, "I'm too easy? Really?"
There's two ways you could go about this. Stand your ground and defend yourself, or dig yourself a grave and apologise.
Ha. Yeah right.
"I don't really think it was your place to listen to my recordings."
"Oh?"
"Mm-hm. Should've minded your business if you knew what was good for you."
"You--" He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, almost to contain himself and tries again. "You," he points accusingly, "are very...very lucky that you look as attractive as your voice sounds."
Your cheeks flush angrily. Safe to say, you're not used to anyone calling you attractive let alone Tom Holland, so in your fluster you have no idea how to respond. You don't know how to tame the flutter in your heart nor the fire in your stomach. Instead, you ignore it all and revert back to your original goal.
"Can I have my recorder back? Please?"
"In a minute." He swats his hand away from yours. High above your reach, you stand helpless as you watch his thumb crash land onto the record button, resuming from where it last left off. "I think that what you have about me in your article is a little bit too harsh. Why don't we start putting some positivity back in. I think you have it in you to pay me just one compliment. I did win the competition after all, I think it's deserved."
You laugh hysterically. The nerve of this guy! So conceited. "You don't deserve anything from me."
"C'mon. Just one. It's not that hard. I promise I'll give you your recorder back straight after."
Succumbing to his torment, your eyes roll over his features, his hair, his outfit and his body, trying to identify possible compliments that would meet his demands but yet wouldn't inflate his ego too much. What you don't anticipate is you're spoiled for choice.
Defeated, you sigh. "You...smell nice."
"Aw, c'mon. I said you were attractive and all you could think of was that I smell nice? Try a little harder."
"Hey, you said the deal was that I give you one compliment then I get my recorder back. Cough up, Holland."
A smug grin pulls at his lips. "I'm not satisfied. And I will give it back when I am satisfied."
Given that your hatred towards Tom Holland is now at least justified and not just self-inflicted, it means that it's twice as hard to sacrifice it all and compliment him like he so desperately wants you to, a complete betrayal to your own beliefs. But you NEED your recorder.
"You look strong."
"Elaborate."
"You clearly work out."
"What in particular?"
"Your arms."
"How can you tell?" He's really pushing the mark, overstepping it by miles with the dirty smirk he has on his face because he knows he is. You audibly grumble at the sight. Losing patience...
"They just looked particularly...muscular when you were swinging the golf club."
"Why don't you give them a feel and you can tell your readers how strong they really are in detail? I know you want to."
Is it bad of you to admit that you do want to feel them? Absolutely. Are you going to announce that to him? Absolutely not.
You don't move for a couple of seconds, your own conscience making so much noise inside your head that you can't make a coherent thought. A spark of adrenaline twitches at your hands, enough to catch Tom's eyes but it's not enough to swing it into force.
Quietly, slowly, he reaches for your hand and envelopes his fingers around yours, manipulating them to wrap around his upper arm. He makes sure to mold your fingerprints into his skin while he tenses, just to feel the sheer density of his muscles. His skin is warm, soft to touch but yet firm to grasp. While you become instantly fascinated, his glistening smile brightens in the corner of your eye. It's so quiet in the room that Tom hears the softest stutter of breaths and he feels like a winner all over again.
"Well?" He nods towards the recorder, its red button flashing. For the readers...
"Definitely..." you clear your throat. Why has your mouth gone dry all of a sudden? You retract your hand. "Definitely toned. Sculpted."
"If that's what you like then I should show you this..."
He takes your hand once again, its warmth holding you captive, and drags it all the way down to his torso. You can't pull your eyes away from how he sensually slips your hand underneath the hem of his shirt and weaves your fingers between the valley of his abs. Your fingertips skate over every sculpted ab of his, feeling the way they almost shiver at your cold touch.
Your fingertips aren't enough. Tom takes a step closer and your whole palm presses against him, almost too intimately for strangers.
Tom's head quirks to the side to get a better view of you. "Thoughts?" he asks, even though he can read them so clearly on your face. You're becoming entranced.
"...Holy shit," you whisper. "Um, yeah. Strong."
"For a woman who had a lot to say about me, you're certainly lost for words now."
As the heat rises and things escalate, neither of you diffuse the tension and the string of long, uninterrupted silence continues. Every minute that passes by is a precarious step over crossing boundaries and breaking every rule you have in your moral bible.
It forces you to suck in a nervous breath and hold it for a few seconds while you deliberate what the end goal is. Of course, it was to leave with your recorder but given your current position and your change of opinions, you're not so sure anymore. To be clear, your change of opinion isn't necessarily about Tom; you still think he's conceited, arrogant and incredibly vain, but it is what you do with that opinion that has changed. Before, you avoided him, stopped yourself becoming another little lost sheep and following him at every opportunity. Now? You're giving him every drop of attention you have to give.
Tom watches you intently while he silently introduces himself to your shyer nature, definitely not the same person that walked in here in a fit of rage and demanding for their recorder. The minute he meets that side of you, he knows exactly what to do next.
He drops his head as he drops his voice into his lower register, your hand feeling all the rumblings from his chest. "Want to be completely speechless?"
Fuck it. Sure you do. "Mm-hm."
"Good girl."
You aren't actually sure what he's planning to do so you look for intention in his eyes, but you see nothing but darkened caverns and devilish features. In fact, it's because you're looking into his eyes that you don't realise that he's grown hard underneath his straight grey trousers. Like before, he guides your hand fluidly underneath the waistband where the button pops out easily, and navigates you under the elastic band where he desperately shapes your fingers around him. He pulses underneath you, shaking with relief that he has you exactly where he wants you.
You dare not pull your eyes away from his, even as they droop in his pleasure. More so now that you admit how seductive they look. You try to mirror that same seduction with a small smile, moving your hand up and down his shaft independently.
Fuck, the more you move your hand, the more you think it's never going to end. Bluntly put, he's huge.
As a journalist, you should be eloquent with your words, careful in your choice of vocabulary, definitive with your metaphors, but all those years of reading and writing falters the second the sheer size of him stuns you. It slightly pains you to be so tasteless but nevertheless, you don't think there's any other way to put it.
So caught up in the heat of it, your common sense finally comes to once again acknowledge your recorder in his hand. You forgot he had been recording this entire conversation...
He brings it closer to his lips, seductively whispering directly into it. "Just like that..." He keeps going. "Doing such a good job - fuck - don't stop."
Encouraged, and progressively feeling turned on, you tighten your hand around his cock and move faster.
"How do I feel, sweetheart?" The microphone tilts towards you. Detail. Although at this point, you don't think it's for your readers as much as it is for you and Tom.
"So big. I almost can't fit my hand around you."
He very nearly buckled. That voice of yours is like a siren to him. Little do you know that when he found your recorder and listened to all of your little angry ramblings about him, it had sparked up a fiery, unavoidable desire inside him. It was hell having to listen to your voice talk shit about him, he just couldn't stand it. He needed to hear you compliment him, worship him, adore him, and he spent every spare minute of his day replaying your recorder, instilling your voice to memory until he could manipulate your words, imagining what they would say about him.
But now that he actually gets to hear you feed into his desire is twice the satisfaction than he initially thought.
As quick as lightning hits, an idea occurs to him and it completely devastates his entire system; if hearing you compliment him turns him on, how would having you beg for him make him feel? The idea becomes such an unstoppable craving he already knows his imagination won't be able to satiate it this time. He needs it for real and right now.
"You wanna taste?"
Doe-like eyes stare up at him - oh, you are so capable of begging him - and your movements come to a halt...all except your thumb sweeping over his tip. You didn't actually think this was going to go any further than a hand job.
"You want me to?"
Oh no, no, no. This isn't about Tom begging. "Because I know you want to. I can see how desperately you want to tell everyone how I allowed you to come backstage, meet me, get on your knees for me, how I allowed you to suck me off and how I allowed you to taste me." His hand slithers up your jawline and brings you close, leaving nothing but a hair's breadth to separate you. As you anticipate the feeling of his lips, you have but his breath fanning over yours and the anxiety bubbling at the pit of your stomach to feed from. "You just need to beg for it, sweetheart."
Beg. It was hard enough to lose one battle and compliment him, but to lose an even bigger one and beg? You would be absolutely humiliated.
Would be meaning if it was under any other circumstance, if you weren't so spellbound and seduced by him. But that simply isn't the case.
Not uttering another word, you slowly drop to your knees keeping Tom with the wicked grin within your sights. The zipper of his trousers comes undone and you pull him free, watching as his cock stands tall and bobs heavily with weight. Instinctively, your tongue rushes to wet your lips.
"Beg." Tom demands again. The recorder soon comes back into your view and your jaw clicks with frustration. He's capturing every single word much to his demented, power-hungry mind.
You chew through your irritation and instead tune into the feeling that's bubbling in and around your stomach, the one that's being powered by him. "Please," you breathe. "Please, Tom, I wanna suck you off so badly, I promise I'll be good."
"And do you promise to never write a bad word about me ever again?"
Oh, this fucker.
"I prom-"
"Say it like you mean it."
How you so wish you could lie through your teeth, but you know for a fact that from now on, any bad word you write about Tom Holland will forever be tied with this day. You'll think twice about writing badly because being on your knees for him will get in the way. You'll struggle to find the words to knock him because the compliments you paid him will stain your lips. You'll hesitate to criticise him because you'll remember how you verbalised about his good looks.
"I promise. Just--just let me taste you." It's sad how desperate you sound. "Please?"
He doesn't respond. There's one last warning to give.
"If you break that promise, I will come for you."
Adrenaline rushes through your veins and your heart pounds. Despite being adamant in your dislike for Tom, you do somehow get the feeling that the threat that rings through his tone is not one to be taken lightly. It buzzes a little too seriously for you to brush over it. So you answer accordingly.
"Okay, I promise."
The threat dissipates and he looks at you approvingly, his empty hand dropping to cup your cheek. You aren't so unaware of the twitch of his cock in your hand. "I just want to make it clear and put on the record that out of the two of us..." Tom angles you closer, "it's you that's the easy one. Too easy. So easy that you're already on your knees and begging me."
How you would slap that grin clean from his face. The scowl on yours warns him of it, but he simply laughs, mocking you.
"C'mon, sweetheart. Admit it." His boyish chuckle continues to ring in the air and its contagious effect pulls at your lips despite trying to hide it. He sees clearly that it pains you to admit it, so as a small motivator, he crouches to your level, his hand still cradling your cheek. In quieter words, though still delivered through a smirk, he murmurs..."Be a good girl for me, yeah?" His lips melting onto yours stops you from getting the chance to reply. The surprise of it fogs up your brain, submitted into a dream-like state as he gently molds his lips onto yours. It's short and leaves you wanting more.
With a flutter of lashes, you nod. "Atta girl."
He stands up taller once again and you take that as your cue to fulfill your promise. Your lips wrap around him and your tongue darts to sweep over his tip. His groans can be heard above you and no doubt heard by the recorder, crescendoing the second your head starts bobbing. Your hand covers what your mouth can't reach, doing as much as you can to make him feel good. It seems to work; his hips begin thrusting. Slowly, at first, to swing into rhythm but the more you swallow him the less control he has of his own movements, and soon, with your hair wrapped tightly around his fist, he's rutting erratically, drinking in the sounds of your moans of pleasure and pain.
"Fuck, you're so good at that."
"Don't stop. Don't fucking stop."
"Taking me so well. Good girl."
"Just like that, shit."
"Look how easy you are, fuck. So willing, aren't you? You wanted a word for your precious Youth Diary? Here it is; you are so easy it's pitiful. Fuck--"
Tom's animalistic nature completely dominates to the point where your tears and gags are silently begging to slow down. Every part of you is screaming out: your throat is bruising, your lips are tearing, your eyes are streaming, your knees are cramping, but holy fuck hearing him talk about you like that fuels the fire inside you.
His thighs twitch underneath your hands and you think he might just cum down your throat. The red-hot grip he has of your roots is your only warning before that happens.
Warmth fills your mouth and you're quick to swallow it down before you choke, like it’s instinct. He holds you hostage with his cock deep in your mouth, using you to string out the orgasm for as long as he can. Minutes later, you open your eyes to see Tom hunching over, still very much catching up to you in regaining his composure. His white fist grips the recorder while the other remains tangled through your locks, keeping you in place to prevent you teasing him any further.
When all seems settled, Tom lifts your chin once more - dabbing off the little drop you seem to have missed - and catches your gaze from behind the tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You already know what he's going to ask of you and when he perches the recorder in front of you, he shoots you a wink.
"Detail." He simply says.
"Hmm, you taste so good, Tom. Best I've ever had. I could taste you all day."
At that moment, something snaps in Tom. The smirk drops and his jaw tenses. It's small, minute changes, but it dramatically changes the atmosphere in the room. You just don't know whether it's for better or for worse.
You find your answer when Tom's muscular arms promptly tuck themselves under your arms with vigour, yanking you up onto your feet. The clatter of your recorder steals your attention as Tom carelessly throws it onto a coffee table to his right; after all, he needs his hands to be free if he is planning on returning the favour. You should be complaining about his lack of regard for your equipment and how he could've broken it, but the red flashing light still shows sign of life, so you decide to overlook it for now. Besides, Tom doesn't give you long before he whips your head back to claim your lips, hungrily moaning into them as he forces his body weight against yours and slams you flat against the wall. The collision whips all of the air out of your lungs but it isn't what causes the gasp to jump from your throat. Tom's lips find your neck, suckling onto the supple skin with intentions to bruise, all to distract you from his hand slipping under your skirt. With ease, he palms your cunt, offering just enough of a tease to have you burning for more.
"I need to hear you say my name again with that voice of yours." Ah, so that's what triggered him.
"Tom," you mewl, almost purring.
"As sexy as that sounds, I think it will sound even better when you’re cumming for me."
Oh fuck.
It's frightening how quickly Tom is able to weaken you with just the deft touch of his fingers to your clit and punishing kisses to your neck. You try your best to soak it in and remain somewhat stable to remember every moment of it, but goddammit you can't keep yourself together. So much so that despite Tom claiming to adore the sound of your voice, for the sake of dignity, he keeps his hand clamped hard against your mouth. Neither of you want curious ears to overhear the scandal coming from within.
Never did you think that Tom's all-round talents included making a girl cum so easily. It's kind of frustrating.
His fingers circle around your clit, dragging and pulling every nerve he can find and it winds you up perfectly. Legs shaking, breath faltering, you suspect you have mere seconds before he takes your orgasm.
Your whines and moans buzz from behind Tom's hand, muffled and diffused. Eventually he lets go, and replaces his hand with his lips, once again thrashing against yours.
"You gonna cum for me?"
"Fuck, I--"
"Say my name. Beg me to let you cum."
"Tom, please, I want to cum. Please let me cum."
Two fingers slot themselves into you, his palm taking over pleasing your clit and you have to stop yourself from buckling. It is the last sign Tom needs to know that you're on the precipice of shattering. With a devilish twinkle to his eye and a crooked smile, he sinks closer to you, his lips narrowly brushing against the shell of your ear and whispers the word. "Cum."
In a similar fashion to Tom what seems like hours ago, you come undone. Your hands grip onto his shoulders for stability as he refuses to stop abusing your cunt. His fingers dig deeper, his hand moves faster, and the tight curl of his knuckle breaking you sends you spiralling.
The gut-twisting tension soon turns to tranquil bliss as he slows his movements, finally catching a breath to revel in the post-orgasm haze with a twitch or two catching you out.
For as egotistical as you believed Tom to be, with the grounding kisses he litters over your cheek, neck, lips, he completely negates that belief. He utterly dominated you, yet affection fuels his movements; something you don't expect a vain person to have. Maybe he isn't all you made him out to be...
Calmly, you both collect yourselves until you're presentable, standing apart within the room as if what just happened never happened. The heat of the room is all that's left to suggest otherwise.
Tom doesn't stop you from reaching for your recorder, the plastic rectangular object feeling like home in your hand. You firmly press the stop button, letting the audio file save before you address Tom again.
"Thanks for...y'know, keeping it safe. I genuinely don't know what I would've done if I lost it."
Tom smiles kindly. "It's no problem."
"Oh, and congratulations."
He nods humbly. "Thank you. I didn't actually think I was going to win it, but I guess luck was on my side." Huh. He's not bragging...
Settling your recorder into your bag, you begin to make your way out of the room. You hadn't realised how late it had gotten and how hungry you had became until your stomach grumbled loudly. As you take your cue to leave, Tom leads you out with a gentle hand to the small of your back and chills arise. Shit. Don't start liking him now...
Tom clears his throat before you completely disappear. "Will I be seeing you lurking about any other events this year?"
Something about his question makes you smile. "Maybe. I've got a few film premieres that I will be attending."
"Good. Well, if any of them include me, I'll make sure to review your work again." How his wink makes you weak.
"Hmm, we'll see, Tom Holland."
~~~~~
It takes you over a week after the golfing event to eventually find the courage to finish writing your article. Most of it is written from what you remember thinking throughout the day, but your work leaves much to be desired. All that's missing from the article can be found on your recorder that you have deliberately been ignoring knowing what filth it contains.
It takes a couple of glasses of wine on a Saturday night to find the bravery to listen to it once again. It all goes smoothly at first, words flow from your mind to your fingertips and your article slowly builds as your past self feeds you your own commentary from that day. You were going to stick with your original idea, deciding to keep in all your criticisms about Tom Holland because who's going to stop you?
But your valour is short lived. Because you've reach the end. When you think you have the finished product, a masterpiece of literacy for your readers to enjoy and you have nothing else to write. Just when you think you're about to press 'publish' that you reach that part of your recording that you just can't bring yourself to turn off.
Shit, it turns you on so much to hear Tom's voice once again demand that you promise to never write another criticism again and the way you caved so easily in your lust-induced state. Even listening to it makes you resonate with it all over again, resurrecting the same excitement and anxiety to stir in your stomach. It's a reminder that persuades you that you don't necessarily agree with what you write about Tom. It makes you reconsider all that you've just written, your finger hovering over the backspace button prepared to fix the promise you're about to break.
Fuck. It's such a good story. Probably one of the best articles you've written. Alas, with the disagreement going on in your head, you can't find it in yourself to commit to it. There's also the problem that if you are to post it, the privilege of writers' anonymity will no longer be in your possession. Tom does, after all, know your name and your face, and you are damn sure he will take the time to find it and read it. What unnerves you is that you have no idea what actions he might take. How could you forget that warning?
"If you break that promise, I will come for you."
So there you sit with your empty glass of wine, chewing nervously on your nails while your eyes dry at the light of the screen you've been deliberating over for the last three hours. The question still remains.
What do you do?
#ngl the ending was a little rushed#cos this was way longer than i wanted it to be#oh well#enjoy!#tom holland#tom holland smut#tom holland fic#smut#tom holland x reader#tom holland imagine#golfer!tom holland#peter parker#tom holland fanfic#tom holland x y/n#anon asks
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nonsense | t.h
summary -> inspired by ‘nonsense’ by sabrina carpenter. dedicated to @darling-im-wonderstruck and @kate-bishopss <3
au -> tom holland x singer!reader
wc -> 1.6k
warnings -> unedited, fluff, tom being bf material, a little bit of language and sexual innuendos
masterlist | listen
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
you sighed softly as you sat in the interview chair, tapping your fingers against your leg as your hairstylist and makeup artist applied some last minute touches before the camera turned on.
your new single had been on top charts for the past couple months, your album was coming out in a few short weeks, a tour was on the agenda for later this year. everything felt like it was finally slotting into place.
your fans had shown an insane amount of support from the number of streams and pre-saves for your new music, everything career wise made you feel on top of the world.
personal life wise, not so much.
you had met tom awhile back, the two of you had instantly connected while he was filming the latest spider-man movie. you two had gone out on a couple dates, hooked up a few times, the usual.
he checked all the boxes. he was caring and sweet, he made you feel like a queen, and he made sure you knew just how special you were to him.
however, whenever he was around, you felt knots in your stomach. the nervousness would set in whenever he was near. whenever you talk, you’d feel like you were speaking nonsense. all the nervousness is what kept you from jumping into something with him, but he was adamant about waiting for you. he didn’t want anyone else but you.
he didn’t care if it made him sound desperate, didn’t care about the girls in his dms or the ones who would text him and ask if he was seeing anyone. he only wanted you.
the camera started rolling and the interviewer introduced herself, smiling to the camera before introducing you. you smiled and thanked her for having you on before she asked her first question.
“so, ‘nonsense’ has been a huge hit,” she started, “you sing some very, risqué, lyrics, while also talking about how this certain someone makes you feel. did you pull inspiration from real life to write this?”
you nodded, “yeah, i did. i mean, you know that feeling you get when you talk to your crush? the kind of feeling that makes your insides melt? that's kind of how i feel with this person, every time.”
she smiled, “do they know they make you feel that way?”
you nodded, letting out a soft chuckle, “they do, yeah.”
she continued with the next question, “so, fans have speculated that the song is about tom holland, and you guys have been spotted out and about over the past couple months. are they right?”
you shook your head, palms sweating as you thought out your answer, “they’re all so creative with their speculations, but no, it’s not. tom and i are just friends.”
she tilted her head, “really? i mean, so many people have put compilations together of the two of you together and it seems like there’s some real chemistry brewing there.”
you smiled politely, “yeah, no. he’s really sweet, but we’re just friends.”
you felt the knots in your stomach again as you talked about him. just the thought of him made your stomach erupt in butterflies, how were you supposed to be together?
the interview was over after some more questions about the album and tour. you walked back to the dressing room, grabbing your things. as you scrolled through the missed texts on your phone, only one stood out to you the most.
tom: you were great ❤️
you smiled softly, going to reply, but your thought were interrupted when your manager walked in the door.
“the cars here,” she smiled, “ready?”
you tucked your phone back into your purse, “yeah,”
you walked outside of the building, saying hi and greeting some fans who waited outside. you took pictures, signed autographs, but the only thing on your mind was that text.
you pulled your phone back out as you got into the car, the driver heading back to your apartment building.
y/n: thank you ❤️
your fingers hovered over the keyboard, contemplating sending what you were thinking. you didn't understand why you were so nervous around him, why everything he did made your heart race or why he made your tongue go numb like all of a sudden you’re speaking gibberish.
none of it made sense, but then again, did it really have to? wasn’t the whole point of falling in love with someone about risks and growing together?
it was, right?
wanna get dinner tonight?
you locked your phone as soon as the ‘read’ popped up at the bottom of your message. you nervously bounced your leg, trying to fight back the urge to say ‘never mind’ as you watched the city life outside the dark tinted window.
your phone buzzed twice in your hand and you hesitated before looking down at the message on your lockscreen.
thought you’d never ask
meet at your place around 7?
you smiled down at your phone, your manager looking over at you as she spoke up, “nice job dodging those questions about tom earlier. i know how important your private life is, we want to keep it that way.”
you nodded, typing back your response before looking back at her. desperately trying to steady your heartbeat.
sounds good, spider-boy ❤️
“yeah,” you sighed, “i mean its not like i completely lied to them. we are just friends.”
“friends who hook up and get dinner on sunset?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. you sighed as she giggled, “i mean, i know there’s something brewing, anyone with eyes does, but why wait?”
you shrugged, “he just makes me nervous, almost like he’s too good to be true.”
“for as long as i’ve known you, if anyone deserves the ‘it’s too good to be true’, it’s you.”
you nodded, a soft smile on your face as the driver pulled up in front of your apartment building. you said your goodbyes, heading into the building and making your way into the elevator. you sighed, pressing the button for your floor.
maybe she was right. she almost always was.
the next few hours felt like the longest ever as you got ready. your hair was still styled almost perfectly from before, you touched up your makeup, and slipped on one of your favorite dresses. you felt good, and you looked good.
you were in the bathroom, applying some lip gloss in the mirror when you heard the knock on the door. you ruffled your hair one last time before making your way down the stairs and to the door, the clicking of your heels echoing throughout the penthouse.
you opened the door, smiling as tom stood in a dress shirt and dress pants. his sunglasses pushed back the curls that would normally fall in front of his forehead.
he looked so damn good.
he could say the same about you, though. his eyes traveled down your body as soon as you opened the door. he smiled as he handed you the bouquet of flowers from his grasp.
you thanked him and let him inside. he closed the door behind him and followed you into the kitchen where you were adding the new bouquet to the vase on the island.
“you look gorgeous, love,” he smiled as he took your hand. you laughed as he spun you around in a small circle, pulling you into his chest.
the smell of his cologne was embedded in your brain. after many nights of rolling over and smelling it on the pillows on the other side of your bed, or on one of the blankets on the couch he claimed was his, it smelled familiar. the feeling it gave you almost felt like home.
“so do you,” you grinned, “where are you taking me tonight, holland?”
“mm,” he hummed, “i booked a reservation for that italian place you like.”
you felt your heartbeat quicken as his nose brushed up against yours, “the key to my heart.”
he laughed softly, “seems you figured out what the key to mine is.”
you sent him a questioning look, “what’s that?”
“writing a song about me,” he smiled, “or, as you say, ‘about you and me’.”
you let out a chuckle, “you listened to it?”
“of course,” he playfully rolled his eyes, “it’s an honor to have a pop hit written about me, y’know.”
you hit his arm playfully, “stop.”
“stop what?”
“being so,” you trailed off for a second, “perfect.”
“you deserve nothing less, y/n.”
you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and if he wasn’t holding you by the waist, you probably would’ve toppled over.
“you just make me so nervous,” you breathed out, “i’ve never felt this way about anyone else before.”
he smiled, “me either,” you returned the smile, “i know i’ve said it before, but i want it all with you. all the nervous jitters, the pillow talks, the dancing in the kitchen, all of it.”
in that moment, you put your nerves aside and let yourself give in.
“i want it all with you, too,” you mumbled, leaning closer to his lips. he smiled against yours as he kissed you sweetly, the both of you pulling away and erupting into soft chuckles.
your laugh grew louder when he picked you up, ignoring your protesting as he started up the stairs to your bedroom.
“what about our dinner reservation?” you laughed, fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants.
“you asked how quickly i can take my clothes off,” he said as he laid you down on your bed, “and there’s only one way to find out, love.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
💌 beings my tagged list has gotten so long that tumblr literally won't let me add it, the tagged list is temporarily closed until i can figure it out. in the meantime, be sure to follow and turn on notifications for @toms-gf to be notified whenever i post imagines :)
xoxo,
jordan <3
#tom holland#tom holland x reader#tom holland imagine#spiderman#spider-man#spider-man: homecoming#tom holland x fem!reader#tom holland fluff#tom holland x you#tom holland x singer!reader#tom holland au#tom holland fanfic#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland fic#tom holland x y/n#tom holland smut#tom holland x reader fluff#singer!reader#singer!au#the format might be shitty bc i uploaded it on mobile#oh well#idc#like#reblog#marvel#mcu#imagine#tholland imagines
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hey i’ve got a request for tom holland x reader:)
so tom and reader have been secretly dating for a long time, only haz, tuwaine and harry know because tom lives with them and y/n has been coming around to see him. one night tom invited y/n to come round and stay the night, forgetting the rest of his family are visiting the next day and he introduces them for the first time? thank you!! <3
Girlfriend (t.h)
snkjskjhsjskh this was so cute i had to write immediately <3 thank u for the request, hope you enjoy!
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:
It wasn't always supposed to be a secret, honestly. At first you and Tom just agreed to keep things quiet from friends and family to avoid so many opinions while you got to know each other.
Tom of course couldn't keep himself totally quiet and found himself spilling to the boys one quiet night in, too happy in his new relationship he felt he'd burst if he didn't tell someone.
You followed his lead, telling your best friends but making them swear to keep it quiet. And then, keeping it a secret became almost fun. There was something so exhilarating about sneaking around, staying at each other's places and spending nights feeling like there was no one else in the world.
Naturally Tom introduced you to his close friends so you could spend the night at their place, and you found yourself really growing close to them, div behavior and all.
So here you were, basking in the early morning sun in Tom's bed as he snored quietly next to you. Downstairs you could hear a faint clatter of the boys going about their morning, preparing breakfast and making their teas.
Snuggling closer to Tom, you press yourself into his back and snake an arm around his waist, pushing one of your knees between his gently. He hums quietly, his hand slowly moving to hold yours over his chest. You press tiny kisses into the back of his neck, pushing yourself up on one elbow to reach over to his cheek. He chuckles, turning over to face you and opens his eyes slowly.
"Morning," you whisper cheekily.
He brings his hand up to your face, tracing the edge of your features gently.
"Morning, m'love" he rasps.
You poke his side as his eyes flutter closed again.
"Tommy," you whisper. "Don't go back to sleep."
"M'not" he mutters, as he promptly goes back to sleep.
You drag your finger up over his bicep, trailing up his neck and tracing the wonky line of his nose broken too many times. He scrunches up his face, tongue poking out to lick your finger as it passes over his lips.
"Ew, Tom!" you shriek. "That's so gross!"
"Wha- you'll make out with me for hours and you'll put my- but that's gross?" he says disbelievingly. "You're mental, love."
You roll your eyes and he reaches out in apology, opening his eyes and pulling you into his chest.
"What are your plans for the day?" he asks, changing the topic smoothly.
You shrug, snuggling into his warmth.
"Not much. Thought I might go shopping later if the weather doesn't get too hot."
He nods.
"I assume I won't convince you into joining me and the lads for a round of golf?" he says teasingly as you shake your head playfully.
"I would rather chop off my own-" your playful jab at golf is cut off by the slam of the front door and a chorus of voices and stomping of feet in the foyer. Both you and Tom frown, trying to figure out who it is.
It's when Harry says loudly up the stairs "Mum! Dad! Paddy! and who's that getting out the car...oh Sam! Forgot you were coming this morning!" that you and Tom snap into action.
"Oh, bollocks!" Tom hisses. "I clean forgot my family was coming over this morning!" he jumps out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and hunting around for a T-shirt.
"Your- what?" you shriek. "Your family? I haven't met your family!"
"Is Tom awake yet? Is he here?" the faint voice of Nikki echoes down the hallway.
"Erm, I think you're about to meet them darling," Tom says worriedly.
"Here, put some pants on." he chucks a pair of pyjama shorts at you, followed quickly by an abandoned T-shirt of his.
You slip into the clothes hurriedly.
"Are you sure you can't just chuck me out the window or something?" you ask. "It's not too far a drop and I bounce back easily."
"Hmm," says Tom. "Hard pass. You'll be fine, really. They'll love you."
You sigh, rootling through your overnight bag to find a hairbrush.
"Are you sure it's not- it's not too soon?" you ask. Tom pauses, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He pats the spot next to him, gesturing for you to sit.
"It's very rushed, but I think it's a good time for you to meet them," he says seriously. "I've been thinking about introducing you anyway. My family is important to me and so are you. I think we're ready to take this next step?" he trails off, searching for a reaction from you.
Your heart swells at his words and you nod. "I think so too."
He holds out his hand for you to take.
"Ready?"
You nod.
"Ready."
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:
"Morning, darling." says Nikki as Tom enters the kitchen. She stands up to hug him, but stops short when she sees you hovering behind him, your hand still firmly grasped in his.
"Oh!" she says. "Hello."
"Hi." you say quietly, suddenly intimidated by Tom's whole family peering at you from their places around the kitchen.
"Mum, Dad, idiots," Tom starts. "I want you to meet Y/N."
"Hi, Y/N." says Paddy monotonously, not looking up from his phone.
"My girlfriend." Tom adds proudly.
You blush, enjoying the way he said that. You hadn't formally discussed a label for your relationship yet and it sounded really nice coming from his lips.
"Your girlfriend?" repeats Dom.
"Oh, hello darling!" gushes Nikki, sweeping you into a hug. "I'm Nikki, it's so nice to meet you!"
"Hi, Nikki," you say as you hug her back. "I'm so sorry, I usually don't wear my pajamas to meet new people, promise."
Nikki laughs, taking you by the arm and leading you over to the couch. You both sit down and she hands you a cup of tea.
"Right," she leans in like she means business. "Which embarrassing story from Tom's childhood do you want to hear first?"
All three of Tom's brothers follow you into the lounge, situating themselves on the furniture and the floor, always eager for an opportunity to roast their eldest brother.
Tom rolls his eyes, leaning over the back of the couch and putting his mouth right next to your ear.
"I think this is going well, girlfriend."
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:
tysm for reading! reblogs, comments and feedback is appreciated <3
#tom holland x y/n#tom holland x reader#tom holland fluff#tom holland fic#tom holland x you#tom holland smau#tom holland angst#tom holland imagine#tom holland x famous!reader#tom holland fanfic#tom holland smut#tom holland blurb#tom holland one shot#tom holland fanfiction
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