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shawnxstyles · 1 year

Text

rough-up

DATE: DECEMBER 19, 2022

summary: tom overhears you say that he’s never made you come. shocked, he becomes determined to make it happen. he’s even more surprised when he discovers how to do so.

request: yess

words: 4.2k

warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [fingering, slight degrading, slight breast/nipple play], dirty talk, mentions of porn) language, fluff

note: sorry i’ve been inactive. i just had surgery on my knee, so i haven’t had the energy to write. this is unedited and probably bad 😭

(kind of mean) dom!tom

—

After seven long months of keeping the biggest secret ever, you finally decide to tell your best friend about your boyfriend.

Of course, Anna already knows about Tom and that you two have been together for months. You guys even live in a condo together! But she doesn’t know what goes on behind the scenes.

She’s been begging for you to tell her anything about your sexual relationship with Tom. She wants to know every miniscule detail if she can because that’s just how you two are. After every boyfriend she’s had and every guy she’s slept with, she always comes running to you with new drama and information. You guys told each other everything.

So, why was it so hard for you to tell her about Tom in a sexual way?

It didn’t feel wrong, it felt… mean. What you wanted to say wasn’t the most ego-expanding thing for a man. Tom wasn’t cocky or arrogant— he was charming and gentle, which is what made you fall for him. He’s lighthearted and funny, and you couldn’t ask for anyone better. But when you guys had sex for the first time, it was really good, but not completely satisfying for you.

All of Anna’s partners were relatively good, so you guessed it embarrassed you that Tom wasn’t as good. He was your first after all, and first times are never good. So you assumed after so many times you would finally come, but it just never happened.

You knew she wouldn't say anything harsh to you, but you had a feeling she would pity you and that sounds a bit worse.

“So how is your love life going? You seemed pretty thrilled about it over text,” You chirp through the phone to Anna as you wipe the kitchen counter.

Since it was Saturday, you decided to do a bit of cleaning. Tom went out to do some grocery shopping around an hour ago, so you assumed he would be back soon. You loved the days where neither of you worked too late and you could relax together before the day ended. This was one of those weekends.

Anna rants about her new friend with benefits while you discard your wipe and go to grab your duster in the laundry room. You put your phone between your ear and shoulder as you reach up in an attempt to grab it. You sigh to yourself, climbing on top of the washing machine. When she’s finished, she takes a deep breath.

“Enough about my life, how’s Tom? I don’t care. Have you guys had sex yet?? PLEASE DON’T TELL ME YOU’RE WAITING FOR MARRIAGE!” Anna talks quickly, yelling through your speaker. You always have to set your phone aside for a minute when she shouts like that. You roll your eyes, even though you know she can’t see you. “And don’t roll your eyes!”

“Look,” You take a breath as you think about how you’re going to say it. You stop reaching for the duster and stay seated on the machine for a moment. You put your phone down and on speaker. “Tom and I have had sex, okay–”

“OH MY GOD, I totally knew it! I was just waiting for you to tell me. I have so many questions. How long? How many times? Did it feel amazing?!–”

Tom shoves his keys into the lock and opens the front door. He picks up his few bags of groceries and lightly kicks back the door. He heads straight for the kitchen and places the bags on the counter. Before unbagging all the items, he goes to announce that he’s back, but is alerted by your sudden yell. Tom is naturally attracted to the sound, so he hurriedly makes his way over to you.

“Anna!” You shout, shutting her up. If you were a pushover, she would never stop talking. Ever. “It’s… fine.”

Fine? What was fine?

Tom stops and thinks, overhearing you. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but now he’s curious. Clearly you weren’t in trouble, so he’ll just pretend like he’s not here yet.

“Fine? Fine is a word you use to describe a pen, not sex. Sex shouldn’t be fine,” She replies in disgust and you try not to laugh at how dramatic she is. You keep your eyes fixated on the cabinet, forgetting about the duster.

“It’s… it’s good. I mean everything feels right. I get aroused, so it’s not like I don’t like it. It feels fantastic. Just… you know at the end when you’re supposed to feel amazing?” You try your best to explain your situation to her and you can hear the cogs spinning in her curious head. “Well, I didn’t feel that.”

Is… she talking about sex? She doesn’t hate it, but it wasn’t good?

Tom’s eyebrows furrow in immediate confusion as he leans against the wall near the laundry room. He crosses his arms, continuing to eavesdrop.

“So, you didn’t feel amazing, even though it was amazing. But did you come?” Anna asks, not caring if her question is too explicit or personal. She wasn’t afraid to ask or say anything and that’s what made your friendship so real.

“Um… I don’t think so? It’s different when you’re with somebody than by yourself. How do you know?” You cringe at your unsureness, a hand lifting to rub over your temple as you close your eyes for a moment.

“If you did, you would know. So you’ve never had the experience of coming before. Okay, woah,” Anna says, shock lacing her tone. She sounds almost speechless, and that is something you thought you’d never hear.

“Well, no, I’ve masturbated before and I’ve come. I think. So I have experienced it, just not with Tom,” As you come to a conclusion. It was a lot simpler now that you’ve explained it to Anna. “What do I do?”

She’s never come? That’s… fuck. Horrible.

Tom quietly creeps into the kitchen, making sure you don’t see or hear him. As he unloads some groceries, he wonders what he should do. Does he ask you? If he does then you would know he was listening to you and invading your phone call. So, he mentally settles for searching it up in his down time. For now, he is going to have to resist you as much as possible until he is confident enough.

He hates knowing you aren’t completely satisfied, and that he isn’t giving you everything you want when that’s all you deserve.

“On a scale of one to 10, how much do you like him? Because you could–”

“Anna, I’m not breaking up with him! I love him. So much. I just… don’t know how to bring it up,” You bite your lip and sigh. You extend yourself from a kneeling position and reach up toward the duster. You grab it while Anna contemplates. For once, the line is silent.

“You know I hate beating around the bush, so you might as well just get to the damn point. “Hey, person that I love so much, remember all those times we had sex? Well, I never came, so get your shit fixed!” Something like that should work.”

You roll your eyes as she mocks you and creates new ways to confess to Tom. After too many minutes, you hang up the phone and tell her you’d call her another time. You hop off the machine and waltz into the kitchen. Your eyes light up when they notice Tom, nearly finished unpacking the groceries.

“Oh, hey, baby, I didn’t even hear you come in,” You smile after kissing him softly on the cheek. Tom melts every time you even look at him, so your kisses practically kill him. He smiles in return before sliding some cereal into the top cabinet. “I know it’s still early, but what are we thinking for dinner?”

—

After a nice, relaxing dinner you both mustered up, Tom admits that he’s feeling a bit tired. You were a bit disappointed because you wanted to cuddle and watch your show. Ever since your talk with Anna, Tom has been on your mind all day. Even if you don’t come with him, you still love the feeling of him. He gets you to the edge every time, you just never get all the way. You love the feeling of his fingers on your skin and how full his cock makes you feel, you wished that you would meet the finish line just once.

“‘m sorry. We can cuddle in bed. You can be the small spoon,” Tom suggests and you can’t help but giggle. He knows you love being the small spoon, but secretly so does Tom. You find it adorable that your big, muscular boyfriend likes to be cuddled. It makes your heart flutter.

Tom didn’t want you to know he was avoiding sex, but it was for a good reason. He was determined to get better, to be better for you. He is honestly disappointed in himself that he didn’t realize this earlier.

As you guys complete your nightly routines together, you huddle under the thick comforter. With a full stomach, the heaviness of the blanket, and the warmth of Tom’s skin, you were destined to pass out like a sleepy baby. Once Tom was sure you were asleep, he slowly untangled himself from your gentle frame and tiptoes to the bathroom. You were a pretty deep sleeper; if there was a fire, you would burn alive.

Tom quickly searches up Pornhub in a private search, analyzing all the videos. He hasn’t seen porn by himself for a long time. He didn’t need to. He had the most beautiful woman in his bed every night. And he was about to ruin it because he couldn’t satisfy her. This motivated him to continue his research.

The erotic images and clips of women spread wide open didn’t appease him like it used to. He scrolls and finally clicks on a video of a man fingering a woman. Simple. He connected his Airpods, making sure you wouldn’t hear him.

Tom skimmed through multiple videos, paying close attention to how and when the men curled their fingers. He took note of how they teased the slits, and massaged the clit a lot throughout each orgasm. Tom assumed he did all of these, pretty well in his opinion. The few people that he’d been with in the past never had any issues with him because they’d always come back when they didn’t have to.

So why couldn’t you come?

Finally, after watching about fifteen videos, Tom noticed the particular pace. Tom was always gentle and soft when you two were intimate because he never wanted to hurt you. He’s had rough sex in the past, during one-night-stands, but he never would have thought that’s something you enjoyed. During those selfish nights, he didn’t care what the other woman liked.

Yeah, Tom used to be pretty selfish before you.

He would never do anything you didn’t ask him to do. Maybe you were too scared or embarrassed to mention it and that’s why you told Anna, not him.

Focusing a bit more, he feels a wave of confidence flow through him. He watches a few more, concentrating on the speed.

“You like it rough, don’t you? Dirty slut.”

The video talks in his ear, but he ignores it while he watches all his movements.

Tom’s going to have some fun with you.

—

A pleasant scent interrupts your sleep, waking you up gently. You take a deep breath, inhaling the heavenly smell. You hurriedly brush your teeth before following the smell, leading you to the kitchen.

You witness Tom’s sculpted back facing you as he cooks breakfast. Specifically pancakes, which were your all-time favorite. You always slept deeply, and there were few things that would wake you up. One, pancakes. Two, Tom’s mouth. Blaring alarms weren’t even worth it.

As you creep into the kitchen, you ogle Tom’s muscles. His build is so perfect, sometimes you don’t believe it. His shoulder blades are wide and strong while thick layers of muscle coat his arms. He’s wearing gray drawstring shorts, and the overall sight leaves you drooling.

You were still a bit horny from yesterday. Now, that familiar warm feeling tingles in your tummy as you wrap your arms around your boyfriend’s waist. Your cheek presses against his toned back.

“Morning, gorgeous,” Tom roughly hums, flipping the pancake easily. You'll never get over his morning voice and how his gravelly tone never fails to turn you on. You hear the click of the stove as Tom shifts to the counter. You release your hold as you go across the kitchen to grab some coffee.

“Morning! What motivated you to make pancakes?” You ask, pouring the hot coffee that has already been brewed.

“Well, I woke up early and I thought I’d do something nice for my girlfriend. Is that so wrong?” He fixes two plates and sets the pan away. He cleans up his mess and then you both sit on the counter stools. You withhold a huge smile, while your heart pounds lovingly. It was such a tiny thing he did, but he always made your heart flutter. That warm feeling covers your lower stomach again.

“You’re too sweet,” You kiss his cheek as you guys continue to eat. Tom knew you saw him as a softie, especially for him. But he wanted you to know that he can be rough, too. After his conclusion from last night, you needed it. “Nothing but.”

“I can be mean,” He adds, finishing his plate.

“Pff, you don’t have a mean bone in your body,” You joke, chewing your warm pancake. “I bet you can’t even be mean for a day.”

“Says who?”

“Says anyone who’s ever known you?” You quirk like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Tom was way too nice. He was incapable of being mean to anyone, ever. That’s what made you fall for him. Once in a while, you guys would banter jokingly, which you enjoyed. But you loved Tom for who he was.

“Fine. I’ll show you mean,” Tom rose from his stool and headed toward the kitchen sink to discard his plate. You rolled your eyes with a bit of a chuckle.

His plan was working perfectly.

He was going to make you upset. Angry. And then when you didn’t expect it, he would fuck you. So hard, and you would come so many times, you would never have to complain to Anna again. He felt… evil. But he was excited.

—

Tom wasn’t lying.

You really thought he was. You didn’t think he could be so careless. You two always do laundry on Sundays, but he made you do it alone. When you asked him what he wanted for dinner, he said he didn’t care. All of these things annoyed you, but what irritated you the most was when he denied giving you kisses.

Tom had looked so good all day. You were practically dripping in your shorts from lack of attention. Your blood boiled at his arrogance, but also intensified that burning feeling in your tummy. You wanted him so badly. Even if you didn’t come, you just needed to feel him.

He crossed the line, so you put your foot down.

“Tom, what the fuck?” You stood directly in front of his view of the TV, smoke coming from your ears. You’ve never been this upset at him before, but your hormones were aiding your fury.

“What?” Tom asks simply, innocently like he hasn’t been a complete jerk all day.

“What? That’s all you have to say?” Your eye twitches and you huff a breath. “You’re being a dick! What is wrong with you?”

“You said I couldn’t be mean. Isn’t this what you wanted?” He tilts his head condescendingly. His puppy dog eyes don’t fool you, while your hands ball up into little fists. He tries to look around you, eyeing the TV to avoid looking at you. You reach over and rip the controller from his hands, shutting the screen off. “Hey, I was watching that!”

Impulsively, you start punching his arms and torso. Tom did weekly boxing lessons, so your puny punches might as well have been kisses. Tom attempts to hold back a smile at your anger, surprisingly enjoying it. After a few seconds, Tom grabs your wrists in an instant. He hovers over you, pinning your arms above your head on the couch.

You breathe heavily from punching him, chest heaving up and down. Although you were beyond pissed at his demeanor, you felt yourself getting wetter. His thigh slightly spreads your legs and you wouldn’t be shocked if you had a visible wet spot from how aroused you’ve been all day.

“Feisty. What’s really got you worked up? Hm?” Tom provokes, a small metal chain dangling right above your face. He shoves his thigh roughly between your legs, causing you to gasp.

“You! Y-you have been making me mad all day! You’re being a dick!” You shout, nearly straining your neck, while he smirks at your mercy. Instinctively, your hips grind on his clothed thigh and you moan, finally getting some attention down there.

“Oh, so you just wanted my attention?” He tsks, moving one of his hands down your body. The other stays trapping your wrists over your head. His hand lifts the small band of your shorts and you inhale impatiently. He lowers his head toward your ear. “I bet you’re fucking soaking under here.”

You whimper at his words, waiting for him to just yank them down. Reading your mind, he does just that. He pulls both your shorts and panties down, revealing your soaked cunt. Your skin is on fire, but your wetness causes goosebumps along your arms. His free hand immediately goes to your slits, spreading your arousal messily around. Your breathing gets heavier, anticipating his thick fingers.

“What do you want?” Tom asks, so demanding you don’t even know if it’s Tom anymore. You’re not used to this side of him yet, but your body was loving it. His voice got deeper, and each word came out as a growl. He was almost animalistic, which was completely different from the soft, cuddly Tom who made love to you.

This Tom– wanted to fuck you.

“Your fingers! Please,” You beg, becoming desperate for anything. He smirks, obeying your pleas. He sinks his middle finger into your cunt, ripping a needy moan from you. You push your head into the couch cushion, hips grinding hard against his hand. He traps his knees on your thighs, halting your movements.

“Don’t be greedy,” He growls.

You whine, frustrated because he’s teasing you. Tom never really teases you. He does it subconsciously like when he walks around the house without a shirt on. But in bed? Tom was sweet and gentle, and always gave you what you wanted. But this Tom– he made you work for it. Beg for it.

And you loved it.

His finger curls slowly inside of you, skimming that special spot inside of you. His rugged thumb massages your clit too softly. Without warning, he adds a second finger and you moan out. Your back arches off the cushions, your body desperate for more friction. You hoped you would come this time.

Tom was about to stop. He didn’t want to hurt you. Maybe you didn’t really want this and it was all in Tom’s head. Just before he was about to drop everything– you begged him to keep going. Fuck. His cock pulsed desperately in his cloth shorts.

“More, more, please,” You plead in hopes he’ll give in, but you don’t know how easily he will. Your eyes are screwed shut in pleasure, but you can’t quite reach it. You’re not surprised because you never can anyway. But what does surprise you is when he speeds up his pace. He never goes too rough or too fast. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest as his fingers thrust in and out at a sinful speed. You gasp loudly, fingernails digging into your palms.

“Keep your hands there,” He demands, releasing his tight grip and bringing his hand down to continue to rub your clit. You obey, holding your own wrists. His fingers twist deliciously, and poke your G spot, causing you to scream his name. His other hand rubs your clit dangerously quick, flicking the sensitive nub as well.

You were overwhelmed with the amount of pleasure he was giving you. It was different from everything you’ve experienced with Tom. You were floating in a haze of lust and you never wanted to leave. He gropes your breasts harshly, flicking your pebbled nipples. The rough pads of his fingers tickled your silky walls so perfectly, you nearly passed out from the feeling.

“Are you going to come for me? Huh? Since you never have?” Tom taunts, as you clench around his thick fingers. You gasp, holding your breath.

How did he know?

“H-how did–”

“I heard you talking to Anna. If all you needed was a bit of a rough-up, why didn’t you just say so, love?” His voice was gritty and his actions were harsh, contradicting the sweet nickname. Your head was spinning and your heart was thumping swiftly against your ribcage.

So, so stupid. Of course he heard you.

Tom may be soft, but he wasn’t naïve.

“I thought you wanted slow and passionate, but no. You’re a filthy slut, aren’t you?” Tom degrades, eliciting a whine from your throat. He pinches your nipples through your thin T-shirt, the sensitive nubs causing you to hiss at the pain and pleasure. “Answer me.”

“Yes, yes I am!” Behind your closed eyelids, you see stars. Your muscles tighten and breathing increases rapidly. Your palms were probably bleeding from your nails, begging to pull on his silky, brown hair and kiss him passionately. Sex or masturbating has never felt like this before.

His pace never slows down, and your arousal continues to drench his hand. His attack on your clit is nearly torturous, but God, did you crave more.

Suddenly, when your stomach squeezed tightly and your legs tensed, your orgasm was in sight. You tried to close them, but Tom wouldn’t let you. A burning sensation exploded in your core, all your moans getting lost in the process. It was unfamiliar and overwhelming, and it made you wonder if this was your first orgasm ever.

Tom watches as you wither away with your orgasm, a nosy moan echoing throughout the living room. Your white liquid slowly coats his digits as he finally begins to decelerate his speed. He rubs your clit thoroughly, causing your body to jerk from the overstimulation.

“Oh my God,” Your chest heaves and your body rests limp on the couch. Tom immediately licks his fingers, tasting all of your juices. He peels off his tank top and wipes you down. He crawls back over you and absorbs your weary expression.

“You did so good, baby. Did you like it? Or was it too much?” Tom questions softly, caressing your face. He places a delicate kiss on your cheeks, waiting for a response. If he hurt you, he would never forgive himself.

“Tom,” You try to catch your breath. “That was incredible.”

He smiles, finally kissing you on the lips for the first time all day. He assumes now is the best time to ask the question of why.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t paying closer attention to you. But why didn’t you tell me first?” Tom slightly furrows his eyebrows, while you both sit up. You didn’t bother putting your underwear or shorts back on, since they were soaked through.

“I didn’t want you to feel bad. Or think you weren’t making me feel good because you were! I just… I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” You answer honestly, Tom listening and comprehending. He rests his arm over the couch while his hand fiddles with your hair. “I guess I have never really come before. I also didn’t know that’s what I needed…”

Tom laughs and you join in, slightly embarrassed. “Everyone has a secret, love. Yours is that you’re sweet as pie to the public, but a freak in the sheets for me.”

“Tom!” You gasp, swatting at his bare chest. He laughs again, catching your wrist. He moves it to the side and leans in for a kiss. You don’t deny him and attach your lips together, melting into his touch. You swear you tasted yourself on his lips, but it only made you smile more. “Doesn’t that make you a freak, too?”

“I guess. But I’m a man. Men are dirty. I didn’t know you were so dirty, Y/N,” He teases with a smile and you roll your eyes. You deflect his words, but even the teasing turned you on a bit. You cross your arms, acting annoyed. “And I thought you were so innocent–”

“Oh, shut up!” You groan while smiling, throwing your head on the back of the couch. He chuckles because he loves riling you up a bit. Now that the air was cleared, you secretly wanted more. Even though you just came for the first time with him and you should be exhausted, you felt the opposite. You felt energized. You wanted to go again and again until you fell asleep under him.

Maybe you were a bit of a freak…

If his fingers felt that good, you couldn’t imagine what his cock would feel like while he’s ramming into you harshly. You imagined him sinking deep into you and fucking you into oblivion with his dangerously quick pace. You nearly drooled at the thought. You swiftly stood up, going toward the bedroom.

Okay, you were a freak.

“Where are you going? Sleeping already?” Tom shouts as you slowly continue to back pedal away. He peers at you over his shoulder with furrowed eyebrows and a small smile.

“Sleeping is the last thing I want to do right now,” You wink and head straight for the bedroom. Tom raises his eyebrows and immediately launches himself off the couch to follow you, understanding your innuendo quickly.

“Yes ma’am,” He whispers to himself as he closes the bedroom door with a giant smirk on his face.

—

hopefully you like 🫠

#shawnxstyles #tom holland #tom holland fan fiction #tom holland fics #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland recs #smut

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bonesandchalamet · 11 months

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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.”

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jahayla-parker · 9 months

Text

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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youandtom2 · 2 years

Text

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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alltoowelltom · 2 years

Text

jellybeans (t.h)

tom holland x famous!reader

summary: the antics of tom and his girlfriend on the red carpet somebody teach me how to write a summary.

enjoy!

・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

“Tom! Tom! Over here!” calls a particularly excited journalist. Tom smiles as he heads over, squinting slightly at the blinding flashes of the cameras.

“Hey mate, how’s it going?” he asks politely.

“I’m great, thank you,” beams the journalist. “So tell me, how does it feel to finally be at the No Way Home premiere?”

“It’s such a good feeling man, I can’t even begin to describe it. We’ve all worked so hard on this film and I just can’t wait for everyone to see it.” Tom answers.

“Can you tell us anything new about the film?” asks the journalist.

“All I can say is, bring tissues!” Tom laughs, quirking a brow at the nearest camera.

The journalist looks around as if to scan the rest of the red carpet before asking his next question.

“And where’s the lovely Y/N Y/L/N tonight? She is coming, right? Everyone’s so excited to see her.”

Tom’s eyes light up at the mention of your name and he blushes slightly, one hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck.

“She’s always running late,” he says, playfully rolling his eyes. “I swear she was late on set every day during filming. Jon Watts started telling her filming started half an hour before it actually did so she wouldn’t miss her first scenes of the day.”

“You’re kidding!” Laughs the journalist.

“I’m serious mate.” Tom laughs along. “But I just got off the phone with her before and she swore she was just down the street-”

Tom cuts himself off as a roar of cheers and screams echoed from the crowds situated at the end of the carpet. He loses his train of thought and can’t hide the grin on his face as he cranes his neck, catching flashes of your red dress through the crowd. You catch his eye and make your way over, smiling and giving the journalist a little wave. Tom rests his hand gently on your lower back, pressing a feather-like kiss on your forehead, his way of saying hello in front of the cameras.

“Didn’t I tell you she’d be here?” he chuckles.

“Y/N, you look gorgeous!” gushes the journalist. “That shade of red looks incredible on you!”

You blush slightly, leaning into Tom’s side. “Oh, thank you so much!” you say. “And the finishing touch of my outfit…” you reach one hand up and hook your hair behind your ear, revealing your earrings, each one a delicate silver spiderweb glinting in the camera flashes.

“I love it. And your purse is uh, an interesting choice…” the journalist trails off, taking in the small glossy Spider-Man themed purse in your left hand.

“Oh!” you laugh. “Yeah, it’s…unique, shall we say. Really, it’s here to serve a different purpose,” you lean in to whisper conspiratorially, unzipping it and flashing the purse full of multicolored sweets at the camera. “Movie snacks!”

“Damn, which lucky guy gets to sit next to you?” laughs the journalist.

“That would be me,” says Tom smugly, holding you tighter.

“Y/N! Tom!” calls your manager from across the carpet, tapping her watch and gesturing for you two to move on.

Tom keeps his arm around your waist the entire time as you both make your way along the carpet, stopping from time to time to pose for photos and chat with reporters. As you enter the theater, Tom suddenly yanks your wrist, pulling you into a dark corner secluded from the crowds by a giant poster advertising the movie.

“Tom!” you hiss. “What the hell are you doing?”

He stands in front of you, wrapping both arms around you and leaning in.

“Have to say hello to my girlfriend properly,” he says, pressing his soft lips to yours.

You happily kiss him back, running your hands through the curls at the nape of his neck. He hums and deepens the kiss, tongue swiping across your lower lip asking for entrance and you sigh, pulling back.

“My lipstick, Tom,” you giggle.

He rolls his eyes slightly as he rests his forehead against yours, eyes filled with adoration.

“Hello,” he whispers.

“Hello,” you reply, resting your hands on his broad shoulders, simply basking in the moment.

“Tom? Y/N?” calls the slightly stressed voice of Harry. He peeks around the corner and rolls his eyes as he spots you both.

“God, really? I should’ve known you’d be hiding out somewhere sucking on each other’s faces,” he says, comically looking slightly green in the dim light. “They’re gonna start the premiere soon and everyone’s looking for you guys. Are you both decent? Presentable?”

Tom lightly cuffs his brother on the back of his head as he walks past, his other hand reaching behind his back to keep holding your hand. You hang back, knocking your shoulder into Harry’s.

“It’s a hard job you have Baz, keeping this one in line.”

He rolls his eyes yet again, closing the shutter of his camera as you both follow Tom into the theater and take your seats.

“Don’t I know it,” he grumbles, quietly reaching into your purse to steal a handful of jellybeans.

・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

tysm for reading, ily! reblogs and comments always make a writer's day <3

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland angst #tom holland smau #tom holland blurb #tom holland smut #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland x you #peter parker x y/n #nathan drake x reader #nathan drake #uncharted

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im-sleepdeprived · 7 days

Text

Crazier • Pt. 1

pairing: mcu!peter parker x reader

a/n: this is a series ! prob 3 parts im thinking (i think im back AH), editing took me 10000 years actually so if there's something wrong PLEASE don't tell me !!! :D

warnings: umm just me not knowing anything about star wars, girls support girls<3, mentions of breakup, honestly theres nothing wrong but i think i said 'shit' like twice if you give a shit lmfao

"There's no way you actually think 'Return Of The Jedi' is better than 'The Empire Strikes Back'. Like, come on dude, it's so obvious which is better," Ned exclaimed, obviously feeling very strongly about the little debate he had currently going on with Peter.

However, Peter couldn't have been more nonchalant. "Listen, man, I love debating with you but I know where I stand and this is where I draw the line," he shrugged.

Ned opened his mouth, no doubt to argue some more with his best friend, when his gaze shifted to you, "Hey man, maybe we should talk about something Y/N can enjoy too."

That made your head snap up from where you were just toying with the food on your tray. "Don't worry about me guys," you forced a smile, "Honestly, I love watching Ned beat you into a pulp about movies," you looked at Peter.

Peter put on his 'sad-puppy-dog-face', "Ouch babe. You're supposed to side with me here, I'm your boyfriend after all."

"Well, I would've sided with you if you hadn't bailed on me when we were supposed to watch the movies together the other night. If you'd been there then I would've been able to contribute to this conversation and agree with who I genuinely thought was right, which at this moment, I believe, is Ned."

Ned grinned at you from across the table and you two high-fived while Peter just pouted some more, "I'm sorry sweetheart, I really am but y'know I had the internship."

You rolled your eyes, "Of course, I know that. At this point the surprising thing is whenever you don't have that internship," you looked at Ned, "Dude, do you know how many dates and hangouts he's canceled on me? I feel like I should be able to sue at this point. Can you sue someone for wasting your time?"

Ned winced, "Pete, I love you man, but you need to start actually acting like her boyfriend otherwise you won't be her boyfriend for much longer."

Peter's eyes widened a bit but then his face quickly turned nonchalant, "It was just a few slip-ups, don't worry about it," he threw an arm around you and pulled you in, kissing the top of your head, "but you're right, we should talk about something we'd all enjoy."

Laughing, you said, "I told you guys, I enjoy hearing you debate because Ned is always-"

Peter threw a hand up, "Don't finish that sentence. I've had enough of you two fraternizing against me for the day."

You and Ned laughed some more, "Well honestly, you two can continue your...," you waved your hands, " 'old-couple-bickering' and I can scooch down a little and go hang out with M.J.."

Peter pulled you in closer at that, "No don't leave," he muttered in your hair.

"Yeah," Ned started, "let's talk about something else like," he trailed off, "OH, you're managing the school play next week, right? That's gotta be interesting, tell us about that."

"It's really nothing 'Manager' is really just a fun name they stuck on me. Mrs. Lightbody does most of the work."

"Oh come on," Peter said, "when you first got the part, it was all you wanted to talk about. What happened?"

you happened, you thought. It's true, you had been too excited that you'd been chosen to be in charge of everything and you couldn't wait to rant to your boyfriend about just that. That was until he basically ignored you and shook it off as nothing, running away for the stark internship. You hadn't really wanted to talk about it with anybody after that. Maybe it wasn't as cool as you'd thought it was.

You looked down and just shrugged, "Dunno, guess I just didn't think you guys would be interested in it. You've never really shown interest in theater before."

"Well, that was before my gorgeous girlfriend was in charge. Now, go on, tell us what it's like to get a bunch of theater kids on track."

You laughed, "God it's torture. I'm convinced it's some personalized hell made for someone's eternal punishment and I do not envy them."

Peter and Ned laughed along with you, Peter saying, "Yeah I bet. We all know how much you love your control."

You gasped, eyebrows furrowing, "Peter Parker are you saying I'm a control freak?"

He held up both of his hands in surrender, "No of course not babe," he traded a glance with Ned when you weren't looking.

"Anyway," he propped an elbow on the table, rested his head on his palm, and made a motion with his other hand, "continue."

You looked at Ned, "Are you sure I'm not boring you," you asked, shoving your hand in Peter's face when he went to argue.

"Of course not Y/N! Wild, out-of-control theater kids is a favorite subject of mine," he grinned and you huffed a laugh.

"Fine, it's not as easy as I thought'd it be I'll say that. There's always someone way out of line, either singing songs from musicals at the top of their lungs or fighting someone else with the props. One time a kid started climbing the curtain bags and it was disastrous."

You told them all the funny stories you had from the past rehearsals and how you couldn't wait for the upcoming ones.

"Hey these sound fun how come I haven't been to one yet," Peter asked, referring to the rehearsals.

You scoffed, "Please Parker, you can barely make it to a date. There's no way you're gonna make it to one of these."

Peter felt a wave of guilt rush over him. He'd been leaving you hanging a lot lately.

"I'm sorry Y/N/N, really I am. But I want to come to one of these. I want to see you doing your thing. In fact, when's the next one I'll be there," he sounded so sure of himself but you weren't.

"Um," you hesitated, not really sure if you should answer him, "They're every other day after school until opening night. But Peter, honestly, you don't have to come I know how busy your schedule is and you barely fit in things that you need to do, I seriously doubt you have the time to voluntarily do this," you told him, refusing to get your hopes up.

"Hey," he leaned closer to you, "I know I haven't been the best boyfriend lately but I promise I'm going to be there for you today."

"Peter," you said quietly not being able to meet his eyes and that alone made his heartbreak, "Don't make promises you can't keep. That never ends well."

"Hey if I said I'll be there, then I'll be there. come on, gotta have a little more faith in me than that sweetheart," he smiled a little, letting it grow into a grin when he saw your lips tugging up at the corners of your mouth.

"Promise," you asked.

"Promise," he confirmed, leaning in for a sweet kiss. Maybe he could really be there for you this time instead of-

Something hit the side of your face making you both turn your heads towards your other friend. You looked down to find a bunch of rolled-up napkins lying on the floor.

"Well as glad as I am that y'all got that settled, let us remember that this is a public space," Ned said making you both laugh.

"So it's settled, meet you in the auditorium after last period right," Peter asked you, trying to make sure he had the times correct.

"Oh," you replied, a little shocked that he was actually doing this, "Yeah, if you're showing up then I guess so."

peter laughed, "Y/N come on, what did we just have an entire conversation about? Of course, I'm showing up."

You nodded slowly then looked towards Ned, "I didn't hit my head anywhere just a minute ago, did I?"

Ned just shrugged, "I'm just as surprised as you are Y/N. Peter needs to step up his game and I'm sure the internship can wait an evening. After all," he gave Peter a hard look before an amused expression took over his face, "After all, what is an internship if not just running around making copies of random things and memorizing dozens of different coffee orders."

"Hey man come on, we've been over this." he nodded his head towards you and widened his eyes slightly, but you didn't notice, too busy taking a sip from your chocolate milk, "This isn't just any internship. I have to be available at every moment in case Mr. Stark decides he needs me on something."

"Mhm, whatever," Ned took a bite of his sandwich, "All I'm saying is that no matter how important it is, you need to learn to divide up your time evenly."

"Don't worry Ned, I'll be sure to sign him up for some time management classes," you said seriously, making Ned choke on his food from laughter.

Peter sighed, one arm still resting on the table, the palm of it holding his head. his other arm tucked away under the table, hand holding yours.

you were feeling amazing, your mood completely lifted now. Peter was finally making the first step to fix things after your many failed attempts. Things could start going back to how they were at the beginning of your relationship. sweet, caring, and mutual.

You were so sick of feeling like this whole thing was one-sided but now things finally looked like they were turning up.

Little did you know.

When the day finally ended you couldn't wait. Spending time with Peter while hanging out with your new friends (somewhat, you weren't really sure but you were optimistic) seemed like it be such a good time. Almost too good to be true.

You rushed towards your locker and gathered your stuff before shooting Peter a text that you'll just meet him in the auditorium.

You arrived there before anyone else, which was typical, everyone would be wandering the halls with their friends for a while before making their way here. The cast and crew might mess around a bit but in the end, they were extremely passionate about what they did and you knew that in the end, the show would be amazing. They were all incredibly talented.

little by little everyone started filing in in little groups. You searched them all for Peter but he was never a part of them. Oh well, he was probably caught up with Ned and MJ at the moment. He'll be here in a bit.

When the majority of people were present you, reluctantly, decided you had to get things started whether Peter was here yet or not. Everyone had to start getting to work and he should be here any minute now.

"Ok everyone, you've been wandering around long enough. Time to get started," you clapped your hands together, a clipboard held under your arm, "Noah, Jack, and Lacy we've got to start making progress on the set and I don't want paint everywhere we've had one paint fight too many," you narrowed your eyes at Noah and Jack who looked down sheepishly. It had been a mess. It'd looked as if a pride parade had thrown up all over the stage.

"This background is our last chance and if you mess it up again we'll probably have to cancel and if that happens, I will not hesitate to unleash Lexi on you," you gestured towards the girl who glared at them and you could've sworn you saw them pale which made smile a small smile.

You pulled out your clipboard to skim through and see what was on the agenda. "Where's our light-man," you asked and looked up. Everyone shrugged looking around until a girl, Martha, spoke, "Lenny had a teacher meeting, he's running a bit late but he'll be here."

You nodded, "Martha that reminds me, how's your mom doing with the costumes? does she have everything she needs?"

Martha nodded quickly, "Measurements and everything. All of them should be ready a few days before the big day and she'll be here that night for any mending that might be needed." She shot you two big thumbs up.

"Good, good, good," you muttered under your breath. You looked around at everyone and shrugged lightly, "OK so I guess everyone just rehearse your lines, get to work and we should be good for the next couple of hours."

Chatter quickly spread across the large room as everyone got together working and talking. You sat down on a seat and let out a long sigh. You tugged your phone out of your pocket and looked for a new message from Peter. There was nothing. You sent two more and added a call for good measure. He didn't pick up, it just rang all the way through. Maybe he got caught up with a teacher. Or maybe he got detention and didn't get a chance to tell you.

You had more important things to get to and Peter would get here whenever he got the chance. He'd promised after all. So you shouldn't worry about it too much.

You started making rounds around all the groups of working teenagers, stopping when you saw Lexi waving you over to her little group which mostly consisted of the main cast.

You walked over to them, "And how's everything going over here? Any trouble?" They all shook their heads.

"Actually, I think we're getting along rather well, it's a great cast you've rounded up here miss Y/L/N," Mrs. Lightbody said, making you feel extremely proud.

"I actually wanted to talk to you," Lexi said kindly.

"Oh? What's up, Lex." She grabbed your hand and led you a little farther away from the group, turning and shooting them a quick reassuring smile.

Lexi was the star of the whole play, playing the main character, so you'd worked with her closely these past few weeks. She helped you with even the slightest things so you wouldn't get too stressed or anxious (she claimed you were the only sane person in the whole group and it needed to stay that way). She was undoubtedly the most excited person about the whole play and you couldn't blame her, you could already tell from just practice that she was going to do amazing. She was on the popular side where school cliques were involved, but she was always such a sweetheart. She quickly became a great friend of yours and you hoped it stayed that way even after the play and all these fun little get-togethers were over.

"Hey, Y/N I noticed you seemed a little off before. I'm sorry if I'm out of line saying this but I just wanted to check in on you and make sure everything was okay. Anything going on? I'm always here to listen if you need to talk," she smiled one of her heartwarming smiles.

You were a little shocked that she'd noticed, "Thanks Lex, really, but I'm fine I promise. but thank you so much for looking out for me."

she had a look on her face like she didn't believe you but she didn't push it, which you appreciated, "ok well if you decide you want to talk about I'm always around I promise," she grabbed you into a hug which you gladly accepted. she pulled away and squeezed your shoulder before heading back to the group.

You loved her but really there was nothing wrong. Because Peter was gonna show up. Even if he hadn't answered you yet. He's gonna show up, follow you like a lost puppy, and marvel at your every move in that way of his to the point where it got annoying, and you were gonna make him swear to never come to one of these again. To which he would pout and give you puppy-dog eyes and you'd both forget whatever it was you'd said.

He had to come. otherwise, you might seriously start considering Ned's words from earlier. or you won't be her boyfriend for much longer.

Peter had to show up because maybe your whole relationship was on the line.

An hour of a bunch of nonsense arguing passed until you finally heard the press of the large auditorium doors opening up.

Your heart flew when you saw the large mess of brunette curls turned to close the doors. however, your hope quickly deflated as soon as the figure turned around. it was just Lenny the light-man.

"Lenny, great. I need you to start working on the lights and getting them ready," you told him. He nodded and quickly made his way backstage.

You were totally bummed. peter hadn't even replied to you so you had no clue what was going on. you'd even gone so far as to text Ned who'd just sent you a shrugging emoji and an apology for not knowing where he was.

You felt a little broken, with each passing minute, your hope that your boyfriend might still show up dying down.

You were desperate so you walked down to the side of the stage where Lexi was chatting with her 'co-star' Brad Davis, who played her love interest.

You walked up to them, your hand lightly grabbing Lexi's shoulder which brought her attention to you, "Can I talk to you," you whispered. She nodded quickly. You looked towards Brad whose attention was already on you, "Is it alright if I just steal her for a moment," you sent him a fake smile. He smiled back, "No don't worry about it, she's all yours."

He looked like he was might say something else but you didn't give him the chance to before dragging your friend away from all the commotion, "I'm ready to talk now."

She looked at you knowingly before sitting down and patting the spot next to her. So you sat and you told her everything. You told her about all the missed dates, how sometimes he'd just ignore you completely making it impossible to reach him and come back and act like nothing happened, how it always seemed like he was hiding something, and how you were so tired.

And she listened, of course, never making you feel like you were being overdramatic, and making you feel something that Peter always failed to. Seen.

When you finally finished Lexi looked at you with total sympathy-eyes, you hated it but you sucked it up because you had chosen to talk to her.

"Permission to speak freely?" she asked hesitantly. You nodded quickly, "Yes of course, please do that's why I came to you in the first place."

"Dump his ass," she deadpanned. Your eyes widened in shock as you looked at her. "Really?" you asked. She nodded, "Y/N, I love you but it's obvious that this boy doesn't. Because if he did there's no way he'd test you like that, I mean, he's standing you up right now when he promised he'd be here. I say end it before it gets worse. But hey," she held up both hands, "If you think I'm out of line saying that I totally understand but I'm just telling you what I'd do if I was in your shoes."

"You think I should dump him," you mumbled looking down, not really believing it. You'd thought about it sure, what would happen if you two weren't together anymore but you'd never considered it an option, let alone a solution.

"Thanks, Lex, I'll think about it," you gave her a tight smile and she smiled back. "I just hope you do whatever feels best for you Y/N, you've been looking down lately and you don't deserve that." She gave your hand a squeeze and one last smile before she went back to practice.

You weren't seriously thinking about ending things with Peter, you were too scared to lose him. Your friendship was more important than any relationship ever could be. But the longer he went as a no-show the more it ran through your brain for the rest of rehearsal. Peter never texted or called. You were desperate for a simple "sorry" at this point, not wanting to have to settle for the worst option. But as time went on, the less it seemed like an option and more like a task. Something you had to do, that had to be done—something new to check off your clipboard.

Rehearsal ended and people left in groups as they had come. You lingered, smiling and saying you had just a few things to check up on before you left whenever someone took regard for your incessant hovering. Soon enough you were the only person in the big empty room.

You sat at the edge of the stage, legs dangling, and pulled out your phone from your pocket. You sent one last text, we need to talk.

After about ten minutes of waiting there, you decided it was getting late and you had to get home before it was too dark. maybe you could convince your parents to let you head over to Peter's after dinner and you could get over with it then. your mind was made up. you were gonna break up with him.

You gathered your things and made your way up to the big double doors. The hallways were quiet and you were hyperaware of every step of yours. It was weird to see the school so dead, a big contrast to the usual packed hallways. The more you thought about it the more it was like you could almost hear the running footsteps of students. No scratch that, student. Okay at this point it started sounding too real.

You turned around to catch your boyfriend speeding down the hallway, skidding to a stop when you saw you.

"Oh my god Y/N, I'm so sorry I totally lost track of time. I was just helping May out with a few things and next thing I know-"

You held up a hand to stop him, "Save it Peter I really don't care."

His face fell, "But, hey, let me make it up to you! Let's go get some ice cream or something. You can tell me what rehearsal was like today and I'll walk you home after. It's getting dark."

You crossed your arms. you almost wanted to agree but you knew better than that, this whole thing was getting way too much for you to handle.

"Peter I'm done," you told him simply. he looked at you a little confused, "done...done with what?"

"This," you almost screamed as you pointed at the two of you, "I'm done with this, this whole act because, let's face it, we both know you weren't helping May with shit." you were surprised you had gotten this far without crying and you wanted to keep it that way so you sucked in a breath and tried to steady your heartbeat.

The guilty look in his eyes told you enough. you were right. he moved the slightest step closer but you moved back, you really didn't feel like touching him at the moment. "come on sweetheart," he said weakly, "there's gotta be something I can do. I promise I'll show up on time more, you'll never have to wait for me again. I'll be around you so much you'll get sick of me. just please don't do this."

"That's the thing, Peter," you groaned, "I don't want to be sick of you but I'm sick of the way you keep treating me. you make me feel like shit Peter. you're my boyfriend and you make me feel terrible. and I keep trying to help you out, coming up with different excuses each time but I've finally run out. I want a stable relationship and you can't give me that so I'm done."

His eyes were red now and you had to push back the guilt you were feeling, he brought this upon himself. it's true, you wouldn't have done this unless it was absolutely necessary. you loved him but you just couldn't handle it anymore.

"I can," his voice broke slightly on that last word, "I can give you that y/n just give me another chance to show you."

You huffed, "Well Peter, part of a stable relationship is honesty. can you be honest and tell me where you were today? 'Cause it's been established that you weren't with May."

He froze a little and you continued, "In fact, why don't you tell me where you were when you missed all those dates, all those couple hangouts, and all those group hangouts? When you missed my parents' anniversary dinner that they invited you to, or my little brother's birthday party that he was really excited you'd be there for. Go ahead Pete," you flung out your arms, "tell me where you were and I'll believe you can give me a stable relationship."

He looked physically conflicted, as if he was genuinely having an inner battle with himself, "I- I can't y/n/n, but you have to believe me when I say it's for the best."

"And I can't Peter. I can't so just forget this," you cleared your throat, "Come back when you can actually handle a relationship Parker, or you know what, don't because either way, I'm through with this."

You turned to walk away. his hand reached out to grab your wrist but you dodged it and held your hand up, "I don't think we should talk anymore," you kept walking and he didn't follow. You didn't want him to. But in all honesty, it was hard to turn your back when the person you were leaving was always the one you ran to when your heart shattered as it did right then.

the cold air hit you hard and the tears finally came, slightly smudging the concealer under your eyes but you couldn't care less at the moment.

It was true what he'd said, it was dark already and windy so you tried to be alert on your way home, deciding you could process all your emotions when you're home safe.

You were walking for a bit, wiping your tears and trying to keep your vision clear when you heard a slight thud next to you and footsteps matching up to catch yours. "Hello Miss, it's pretty dark, can I walk you home?"

part 2 is here !!

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ptergwen · 2 years

Note

whattt about going to the bar with your friend nathan works at and he tries so hard to get your attention by showing tricks and telling you random facts at the most random times while talking to your friends and he eventually convinces you to go home with him :)

ask box | taglist | blurb masterlist | main masterlist

w/c: 893

warnings: mentions of drinking and suggestiveness

a/n: i’m having way too much fun writing for nate y’all keep the requests coming! also sorry for the wait i had a little writer’s block again but it passed lmfhdjsj i hope you enjoy

it’s a typical night at the bar for nathan.

mix boujee drinks for customers with money to spare, make small talk with coworkers to pass the time. he enjoys his job, and he’s damn good at it. not many bartenders can pull off the tricks he does or tell you the history of drinks while concocting them. it’s a skill. it gets him extra tips, too. but as much as he enjoys his job, it’s predictable.

it’s a typical night at the bar for nathan until you walk in.

you instantly catch his attention in the little dress and strappy heels you wear. your smile when you laugh at something your friend says, accentuated by your lipstick, stops him in the middle of pouring someone a drink.

tonight just got interesting.

nathan absentmindedly pours the drink into the glass, eyes glued to you. you’re making your way up to the bar. the customer he’s serving has to pull the glass away before it overflows. they leave the bar with their drink, muttering a complaint under their breath.

that leaves an open stool open at the bar, and you take it. your friend stands beside you. nathan dries his hands off with a rag and throws it over his shoulder, looking between you and your friend.

“evening, ladies. what can i get you?”

“vodka soda lime, please.”

“i’ll have the same.”

nathan raises a brow at you, grabbing the glasses to make your drinks.

“lemme see your ID?”

you get it from your wallet and show it to him. he reads it over while cleaning out one of the glasses.

“y/n y/l/n.”

“and you are?”

“nathan, nathan drake. could i call ya y/n/n?”

“only if i can call you nate.”

nathan grins and sets down the cleaned glasses.

“call me anything you want.”

a smile tugs at your lips. your friend scoffs.

“you could put away your ID now. i just wanted to get your name.”

“how about asking instead of carding her?”

“yeah, nate. how about asking?”

you lean your chin in your hand, looking up at him through your lashes.

“i think the former was much smoother, y/n/n. don’t you? besides, it’s policy.”

nathan meets your eyes. there’s something between the two of you, you both feel it, but your friend interrupts again.

“what’s the status on our drinks?”

“coming right up, ladies.”

you smile fully at him, then break off into conversation with your friend. nate starts your drinks.

he gathers a shaker and bottles of vodka and club soda. you see him swing the vodka behind his head from the corner of your eye. intrigued, you turn to watch him. he flips the shaker in the air with one hand and catches it with another. a laugh of disbelief leaves your lips.

he’d hoped that trick would impress you. it’s always a fan favorite.

nate sends you a smirk from across the bar counter. you’re about to say something when your friend grabs your arm, making you turn back towards her. you continue your conversation while nate gets back to work on your drinks.

he scoops ice into the shaker and pours in vodka, then shakes and pours the chilled vodka into the glasses. he tops them off with club soda, lime juice, and a slice of lime in each glass for garnish. he slides the glasses towards you two.

“two vodka soda limes. enjoy.”

you trace a finger around the rim of your glass, lips forming a smirk.

“we will. thanks, nate.”

“yeah, thanks. let’s go, y/n/n.”

your friend picks up her drink and leaves the counter. you start to follow, but nate speaks up.

“vodka’s made with some pretty weird additives, y’know. fermented fruits, grains, sometimes even potatoes.”

“potatoes?”

“gives it a richer flavor.”

you squint at your drink.

“is this one made with potatoes?”

“nah, not too many brands use that method. only three percent of vodkas worldwide.“

“really?”

“really. go ahead, try it.”

you tentatively sniff your drink before deciding to take a sip. you hum in satisfaction, licking your shimmery lips when you’re done.

“whatcha think?”

“it’s good.”

“just good?”

nathan crosses his arms, tilting his head to the side. you sip some more of your drink, eyes locked with his.

“really good.”

you suck on the lime. nate watches your lips.

“could i get ya another?”

“i should find my friend. i’ll be back later, though.”

“that’s too bad, my shift’s just about over.”

“aw, i don’t want you to go. i like you and your fun facts.”

nate rests his elbows on the counter and lowers his head so it’s level with yours.

“you could come with me. i’ve got plenty more where those came from.”

“i dunno, i can’t leave my friend.”

“i think she’ll be alright.”

nathan nods out at the crowd. she’s right in the center, dancing with a group of girls. you shake your head lightheartedly.

“tell you what. if you’re worried, i could ask someone to keep an eye on her.”

“you wanna take me home that bad, huh?”

“isn’t it obvious?”

you laugh and push at nate’s arm.

“your friend’s kind of a cock block, anyway.”

“oh, totally. but now that you’ve got me alone, what do you wanna do with me, nate?”

nathan tosses aside the towel that’s over his shoulder.

“i’ll get us a ride.”

tags: @hollandsangel @parkerctrl @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah

#nathan drake #nathan drake x reader #nathan drake x you #nathan drake fic #nathan drake smut #nathan drake fluff #nathan drake fanfiction #nathan drake imagine #uncharted #tom holland uncharted #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland writing #tom holland fic

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lnfours · 7 months

Note

Congrats on 10k! Could you write drunk reader after a night out with her friends getting picked up by Tom and she's like: "we should get married right? I'd like to be mrs. Tom! And you could be Mr. Me!!!" 💐

thank you anon! currently sobbing i miss tom

10k celebration

you were currently slurring your words in the passenger seat of tom’s audi. you had called him while at the bar with your friends, rambling about how you had too much to drink and you had missed him.

so, naturally, he grabbed his keys off the hooks and slipped on the first pair of shoes he could find to come get you.

he was smiling in the drivers seat, amused as he listened to you, “oh! you know what we should do, baby?”

he grinned, humming back at you for you continue. you went to speak, a hiccup coming out before you carried on with your sentence, “let’s get married.”

he raised an eyebrow at you, “you wanna get married?”

you nodded, another hiccup following as he asked another question, “like right now?”

“yeah, i mean,” you said, “ive always thought it’d be nice to be mrs. tom holland.”

he laughed, “‘mrs. tom holland?’”

you nodded, “yeah! and you can be mr. y/n y/l/n!”

another giggle left his lips as a hiccup left yours at the same time. he grabbed your hand, bringing it up to your his lips and pressing a soft kiss on the skin of the back of your hand.

“whatever you want, baby,” he smiled, “i’m all yours.”

#🍾 ; jordan’s 10k celebration #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #new moon #tom holland fic #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader fluff #fluff #mail time

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shellshocklove · 1 year

Text

snow crush | tom holland

pairing: tom holland x female!reader

summary: for christmas this year, you and tom had decided to only give each other small presents. but tom had other plans for your christmas present.

warnings: lots of fluff, established relationship, smut 18+ (minors dni!), fingering, praise kink, light degradation, a little voyeurism?

word count: 6.3k

a/n: i’m sorry this is probably the most self-indulgent thing i’ve written. still, i hope you guys like it <3 (also! i do not condone my romanticizing of cold weather in this. i still don’t like it, but i also love it a little bit) i would also like to say a huge thank you to kat (@luciwritesstuff) for beta reading this a little for me! ily <333 feedback as a comment, in the tags, as an ask or reply is very much appreciated, and they make me super happy! happy reading <3 (i’m still not a writer)

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“Merry Christmas, Tom” your leg brushed against his as you handed him his gift.

“Thank you my love.”

The soft present was wrapped in shiny paper covered by hundreds of tiny green mistletoes. Finishing it all off, you’d tied a big red ribbon around it where the tag, with your boyfriend’s name, was scribbled in your chicken-scratch cursive. It was a beanie. One you’d knitted him yourself.

Since you and Tom had only been dating for a little under a year, you’d both decided, a few months ago, that you wouldn’t give each other big and extravagant presents for Christmas this year. You’d been racking your brain for weeks on what to get him before you’d come across an old GQ magazine in his office one day, one where he’d been gracing the front page. Flicking through the pages you’d stopped at a picture of him wearing a beanie, and thus an idea had formed in your head. It was a small gift, nothing extravagant as promised, but knitting it yourself would make it special. You quickly found a pattern online, before you hurried to the store to buy the perfect yarn and supplies. Later that same day you were placed in front of your TV, a bad reality show rolling in the background as you knitted every stitch with love. Now you were hoping he’d like it.

“I want you to open yours now!” he said as he handed you a sleek black box adorning a white ribbon.

“What why? I thought we were waiting until Christmas?” you asked.

This Christmas would be your first Christmas as a couple, but sadly you wouldn’t be able to spend it together. This gift exchange between the two of you would be the last time you’d spent together until after the new year. Later, you were off to catch a train, travelling home to see your family for the holidays. And he was doing the same.

“We were but… I want you to open mine now,” he insisted.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Tom! Is this not a PG present? Did you get me lingerie or something?” you giggled.

Your accusation earned you a small chuckle before he said, “No– but now that you’ve brought it up– I wish I did” he wiggled his eyebrows at you. This earned him a chuckle.

“Please love, would you just open it now?”.

With a playful sigh you did as he asked. You pulled on the ribbon before you lifted the lid of the black box. You raised your eyebrows at him, shooting him a confused expression as you lifted the piece of paper that laid neatly folded in the box.

“Go on”, he said as you unfolded the paper.

The paper consisted of pictures of snowy mountains, a cosy cabin and skis. He’d cut them out and glued them all together in a makeshift collage. Under his “collage” he’d written:

To my love, Cabin sex for New Year’s?

Looking up from your present, you were even more confused.

“Since we won’t be spending Christmas together this year, I rented us a cabin so we could spend New Year’s together instead,” he grinned, “it’s at the top of a mountain and there’s a ski resort– and even a hot tub!”.

“Toooom! Are you serious?” your heart grew in size at his generosity.

He only nodded, “I’ve taken care of everything and we’re staying for a week– we’re leaving on Boxing Day!”.

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything. Shifting closer to him on the sofa, you cupped his cheek and planted a grateful kiss on his lips.

“Thank you, Tom! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you kissed him again, “I would love to have cabin sex for New Year’s with you!”. Sealing your promise, you planted another grateful kiss on his lips.

Pulling away, your brows furrowed. “What?” the tone in Tom’s voice suddenly got serious, “What is it?”.

“It’s nothing…” you said unconvincingly.

He gave you an unimpressed look, urging you to say what was on your mind.

“It’s just that… now my present is gonna look so shitty compared to yours!”

“What? Nooo!” he protested, turning his attention to the forgotten gift in his lap. Ripping off the paper, the marine blue beanie revealed itself to him. Picking it up he studied it, running his fingers along the ribbed yarn.

“Love–” he started.

“I’m sorry it’s nothing special or anything– but I didn’t know what to get you… so I knitted you a beanie.” you said shyly.

“You knitted me a beanie?” he asked, sounding like you’d just gifted him a rare and expensive diamond.

“Yeah–“ you nodded before he cut you off with a kiss.

“Darling, I love it!”. Then he put it on. Under the ribbed hem, his curls were sticking out, sweetening his appearance. But it didn’t matter. To you he looked just as hot as he’d done in the photos you’d seen of him in GQ.

“How do I look?” he asked you, turning his body to face you.

“It suits you!” you said, “I think I chose the right colour.”

“It’s super warm and comfortable too! I can wear it on our trip”, he said enthusiastically, making you chuckle. A big smile blossomed on his face. His eyes crinkled as he pulled you closer and into his lap.

“Yes! I guess you can!” you giggled as you brought your hands up around his neck.

“Maybe it wasn’t such a bad gift after all?” you questioned, a finger toying and twisting around a stray curl at the back of his neck.

“No, it was the perfect gift” he reassured you, “Thank you, my love!” he leaned forward, capturing your lips in a soft and loving kiss.

“Oh my god!! It’s freezing in here!” you exclaimed as you stepped inside the living room of your rented log cabin.

It was bigger than it had looked like from the outside. The main room of the cabin was the living room with an open kitchen, and the large windows in the west-facing corner revealed the most amazing view of a snowy mountain landscape. Below you, down in the valley, a river curved its way like a snake through grass, dividing the small village in two. Up here in the mountains, the cabins were scattered along a mountain road. There was enough space between each cabin, making them still feel private and secluded, but also close enough making them feel like they belonged together. Outside on the veranda a hot tub was placed in the corner overlooking the valley and mountains.

Inside, the ceilings were tall. The log walls gave the cabin a rustic and cosy feel – like it was taken straight out of all the Christmas movies you’d watched during the last month. The big fireplace was the centrepiece of the room and a sight for sore eyes with how cold you were feeling right now. Rubbing your hands together, failing to warm them up, you made your way over to the fireplace. In the hall you heard a ruckus as Tom carried your bags and groceries inside. The fireplace was already made and the only thing you had to do was reach for the matches, and let the flame catch on the scrunched-up newspaper.

Even though your flight had been easy, the drive to the cabin had been a long one. With the sun setting so early this time of year, the sky had been bathed in blue light by the time you two drove away from the airport in your rented car. The drive had been relatively easy. Tom was a good driver, and the weight of his hand on your thigh soothed you as you watched snow covered pine trees passing you by.

You couldn’t help but think about how grateful you were for Tom’s gift. You’d always loved winter and the snow. There was just something about the smell of the crisp air when the thermometer dipped below freezing. You loved how your cheeks would almost go numb, and how your eyebrows and eyelashes would get coated in a thin layer of frost. And you loved the feeling of relief when you finally stepped into the warmth of a cabin, after being outside the whole day in the cold.

It would be a lie to say that this was your first time in a cabin like this, situated in a scenery like this. No, you were no stranger to trips like these. Growing up, the money other families would spend on an all-inclusive charter flight to Spain, or Italy, or Greece, your family would save and spend on skiing trips during winter break. As a child you’d loved the thrill and the spike of adrenaline you’d get as you’d raced downhill on your skis. The well-deserved hot chocolate at the end of a full day of skiing, had also been a highlight for you as a child. And later, as you’d gotten older, the hot chocolate had been replaced by a beer and Après-ski. As far as you were concerned – Tom had gotten you the perfect gift.

You had missed him over Christmas, and you had missed him in general. The last few months he’d been working a lot, meaning a facetime call at the end of the day had been the only way you’d been able to see him lately. Spending a whole week together was a luxury you hadn’t been accustomed to – and you were planning on taking advantage of every moment you got to spend together.

“I found these hot water bottles in the cupboard– do you want one now or should I just put them in our bed?”.

Looking up from the flames dancing before you, you shifted your gaze to Tom where he’d appeared in the doorway, holding up a hot water bottle in each hand.

“Now, maybe?” you answered, “Once I get the fire going, I can get started on dinner?”

It wasn’t anything fancy. A frozen pizza you’d bought at the supermarket down in the village before you’d made your way up the winding mountain road. But after such a long day of travelling, heating up a frozen pizza was about all the energy you had left in your body for cooking.

Seated on the sofa in front of the fireplace, with a hot water bottle resting on each of your tighs, and a shared thick wool blanket draped over both your bodies, you ate in peace. It was still cold in the cabin, but the fire burned hot, and the pizza warmed your tummies.

Content and full you snuggled closer to Tom, trying to chase more of his warmth. The warmth coming from the hot water bottle in your lap, and your shared blanket, not enough for you.

“Are you still cold, my love?” he asked you as he slipped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to his body.

Nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck you nodded as you let out a quiet, “Yeah”.

“Even your nose is cold” he chuckled as he brought a hand down to cup your face, making you lock eyes with him. His thumb ran softly over your cheeks, soothing you and warming you at the same time.

“Maybe we need to think of other ways to get you all warmed up, huh?” he asked as a cheeky grin grew on his face.

Looking up at him with moony eyes you gave him a small nod, “Yes– I think so.”

“Yeah?” his grin grew even wider as he leaned down, placing a chaste kiss on your lips, teasing you. He pulled away too fast for your liking, your face following his as you let out a quiet whine.

“Oh?” he teased, making you let out another whine, “What’s the matter baby?”.

You didn’t answer him, instead you leaned your face closer to his, chasing his lips for another kiss. One that he granted you. As the kiss grew deeper, your hand found a home resting on his shoulder. A sneaky hand found your waist, rubbing teasing circles into your skin over your sweater and the layers underneath. Your hot water bottle was abandoned as he started pushing your back down against the cushions of the sofa. Over you, two strong arms held him up. You parted your legs for him, opening them for him to slot between. Hovering over you, he leaned down, brushing his lips over yours.

“I think I may know of a way to get you all warmed up” he mumbled against your lips.

Your stomach hurt with laughter as you watched Tom fall on his ass for maybe the hundredth time today.

“Stop laughing!” he whined, “and help me”.

His whining made you laugh even more, but you made your way a few metres up the hill to where he’d fallen. The tracks your skis left in the densely packed snow looked like the fishbone of a whale. Ripping off the ski pole on your right hand, you reached out your hand. Around you other downhill skiers and snowboarders were racing by at a fast pace.

“I thought you said you were good at snowboarding” you teased. Your comment earned you a frown in return from Tom.

He grabbed your hand, but instead of pulling himself up, he pulled on your arm. With a hard jerk you were falling, your skis giving out from under you, crashing right into his chest. You managed to catch your fall a little with, both your hands on either side of his body, steadying yourself. But with your skis giving out from under you, you fell with a harder force than anticipated, slamming your helmet into his with a loud clank!

“Ouch”,Tom cried.

“Ouch!” you whined.

You tried to sit up, but with how steep the slope was, your skis only started sliding down the slope, making you fall right back down against his chest. Tom was laughing hard under you. Your clumsy attempt to stand, making him giggle even harder.

“Stop laughing” you tried to scold, but one look at his laughing face made your mouth quirk at the corners, and soon you were laughing too.

“I am good at snowboarding,” he defended, “or I was like five years ago” he chuckled.

“Tom, I can’t believe you almost talked me into going straight to the black slope when you can’t even stand for more than ten seconds! You would’ve broken every bone in your body, I reckon, had we done the black slope!”.

“And then you would’ve had to call for a helicopter to come pick me up. Spend months in the hospital with me, nursing me back to health, fetching things for me while I’m limping around… like a shell of the man I used to be” he teased.

You gave him a stern look, “Please don’t put that into the world… you keep manifesting your life– I don’t want you to manifest that.”

“How about I manifest me and you down at the café by the ski lift, drinking hot chocolates instead?” he said with a raised brow.

Giggling you nodded your head, “Sounds like a much better use of your manifestation powers”.

Pecking your lips, he sealed the deal on your new plans. Then he helped you stand, making sure your skis were steadily planted on the snow-covered ground. You reached out your hand again, helping him stand horizontally on the slope to make sure he wasn’t sliding away before was steady on his feet. Then you two slowly made your way down the slope.

In the steeper parts of the slope (he’d convinced you he was more than capable of trying the red slope), you skied behind him slowly, carving big swings as you watched him closely – ready to step in and help him if he fell again.

Safely back down at the bottom of the slope you crossed your right leg behind your left, pushing down on your ski bindings. You did the same with your other foot, while Tom loosened his own bindings.

“Ready, love?” he asked you after he’d watched you gather your skis and ski poles.

“Yes!” you said brightly, sending him a warm smile.

“Want me to carry those for you?” he asked you, reaching his left arm out towards your skis. Under his right arm he was carrying his snowboard.

“No, it’s okay Tom!” you started. His mouth formed into a pout at your rejection, making you quickly add: “You can carry this instead”. You slotted your gloved hand in his, making his features soften.

Hand in hand you made your way over to the café as you listened to Tom excitingly babble on about how he’d made it down the whole piste without falling. You always thought he looked so extra cute when he got all excited like this. His eyes sparkled like the crystals in the snow. The cold had made his cheeks turn rosy, and the brown curls, sticking out from under his helmet and beanie, had turned white with frost. You were sure you were looking at him with eyes big as moons.

“Here you go, my love!” Tom sang as he sat down your hot chocolates on the table. It was a generous cup, the top overflowing with whipped cream and tiny marshmallows. While he got you two your drinks, you’d found a table by the window looking out over the ski lift.

“Thank you, my love!” you parroted.

“I’ll be right back” he said as he hurried off towards the counter again. Taking a sip of your hot chocolate, your gaze shifted out the window while you waited. You watched the people standing in the queue for the lift and chuckled to yourself as you watched a few people struggle to sit down correctly.

The sound of a plate sliding across the table made you turn your head again, watching Tom slide into the chair opposite you. When he looked up at you after shuffling out of his jacket, he let out a short chuckle.

“What?” you questioned.

“You got a little…” he leaned forward, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, “There you go” he said with a swipe of his finger over the tip of your nose. When he leaned back in his chair again, you didn’t miss the way he licked the cream from his finger.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed as you finally looked down at the plate he’d sat down before you. It was the biggest cinnamon bun you’d ever seen in your life. It covered the whole plate.

“Yeah, I know!” he chuckled, “They just looked so good I had to get us one”.

“I think it’s bigger than my head!” you chuckled, grabbing the cinnamon bun with both hands and holding it up in front of your face.

“It is bigger than your head” Tom chuckled. “Wait! Don’t put it down– I need to take a pic”.

You did as he said, continuing to hold up the cinnamon bun until you heard the familiar sound of Tom taking a photo with his phone.

“Did you get it?, you asked.

“Yeah! Look”, he chuckled showing you the photo he’d just taken. The cinnamon bun covered your whole face, only the top of your beanie sticking out over it. It made you chuckle too, the sheer size of it.

“Is it okay if I post it to my story when we get back home?” he asked while you put the cinnamon bun back down and tore off a piece.

“You want to do that?” you asked a little surprised, “I thought we weren’t ready to be official like that yet.”

You’d been together for long enough for your relationship to be committed and serious. But Tom had some preservation against making your relationship official to the whole world, and not just to your family and friends. It wasn’t that he didn’t want the world to know, it was just that he didn’t want you to receive so much attention or possibly any hate, which was something you weren’t used to.

“I want it if you want it!” he said, “I love you– I’m not scared to show anyone that.”

His confession went straight to your heart where you felt it squeeze. You reached out your hand over the table to fit it with his.

“I love you too, Tom! And if you think we’re ready– it’s okay with me.”

“Okay then” he smiled. He lifted your hand, bringing it to his face where he placed a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

“I’ll post it when we get back home after New Year’s– I won’t tag you or anything.”

With a heart full of love for the man sitting opposite you, you couldn’t help but think about how lucky you were to be his – and for him to be yours. Especially now, when he’d told you he was ready to take such a big step in your relationship. You drank your hot chocolates while you shared the world’s largest cinnamon bun, and later, when you walked out the café Tom was sporting a new chocolate covered smile.

Over the next few days Tom’s snowboarding only got better and better as you’d spent every day on the slopes. Soon he was starting to show off, carving hard in the swings, and spraying you with snow – teasing you. Soon you were showing off too, taking more chances and racing fast down the piste. One time you even went off-piste, your skis sinking through the powdered snow as you dodged tree after tree with Tom on your heel. All of the skiing made your heart full, and seeing Tom so happy doing an activity you grew up loving, made it grow double in size.

“Wait for me!” you giggled as you quickly sat down your winter shoes on the veranda deck.

Looking up from where you’d bent down to slip on your shoes, you watched Tom’s backside quickly run over to the bubbling hot tub. A bottle of champagne in one hand, and two glasses in the other.

It was freezing outside. The snow covered the whole veranda deck except for the small path making its way towards the hot tub that Tom had shovelled earlier. As you stepped outside you felt a wave of goosebumps prickle over your entire body. Finally with your shoes on, you sprinted towards the hot tub, your bikini clad body only covered by a small towel resting over your shoulders.

Over by the hot tub, Tom had already jumped in. His hands were raised as he tried his best to get settled without dropping your glasses and champagne into the hot bubbling water below. By the hot tub you shook off your towel, quickly discarding your shoes next to Tom’s. Swinging your right foot over the edge of the hot tub, a squeal left your mouth as your other, naked foot, stepped right in the cold snow.

The water was scolding hot. Or at least you thought it was, after running practically naked outside in the freezing temperatures. You quickly sat down, chasing the warmth of the hot bubbles and the comforting steam rising from the water. From the hot tub you had a fantastic view of the valley below and the mountains towering above it. Half an hour earlier the sun had dipped below the mountain, as it slowly got darker and darker around you everything was bathed in a cooling blue light. Down below in the valley you could see warm lights coming from the houses like glowing stars in the winter sky. Looking down on all the lights, you made yourself believe you could pinpoint the exact house where the restaurant, where you’d booked a table for later, was situated.

Opposite you Tom had sat down the glasses and the bottle of champagne on the edge of the hot tub. He was naked except for his swim trunks and the beanie you’d knitted him for Christmas. Over Christmas you’d knitted yourself a matching beanie, one that now adorned your head.

Sinking a little deeper into the hot tub, your entire body except for your face now submerged, you leaned your head back resting it against the edge. After four long days in a row spent with skis on your feet your muscles had become tired and sore. It had been a few years since you’d skied so much in such a short amount of time, and muscles you’d forgotten you had, had been put through the ringer. The warmth of the water and the bubbles massaged your muscles, and a sigh of relief left your lips.

“Feeling good?” Tom asked, followed by the loud pop of the champagne cork. Foam spewed into the hot tub before Tom filled up your glasses.

“Orgasmic,” you said, a content smile resting on your features.

“Better than last night?” he teased handing you your flute of champagne, while he sat down next to you.

“Maybe?” you teased, taking the glass from him and taking a sip. The tight knit bubbles of the wine tasted sweet on your tongue, making you lean your head on Tom’s shoulder in contentment.

“Maybe?” he exclaimed, “You sure about that darling?”, he dipped his head down. His lips ghosted over yours, while you felt a hand snake around your shoulders. “I think you and I remember last night very differently” he said with a cocky bass to his voice.

You leaned forward, hoping to catch his lips in a kiss, but he moved away from you. A small chuckle escaping his lips as a small pout now adorned your face.

“I remember you being so wet and needy for me– not a single coherent word except for ‘Tom’, and ‘please’ and ‘more’ leaving your lips while you came on my cock so many times– I lost count” he moved away from you when the last word left his lips, taking a sip of his champagne.

You didn’t know what to say as you felt heat warm your cheeks (and not because of the steam). Memories of last night, and every night since you’d arrived to be completely honest, blended together in a supercut in your head. You felt yourself getting worked up, your tights involuntary clenching together.

“What?” he teased, dipping his head down again, “You got nothing to say now?”.

You bit down on your bottom lip, “Maybe you could remind me? Make me remember again?” you asked innocently.

A sinful smile blossomed on his lips at your words. “Can’t remind you if you're gonna sit so far away from me” he said as his hand found the thick of your tight, teasing circles into your skin, while the other put his glass down.

Getting up from your seat you put down your flute of champagne at the edge of the hot tub. Then you stepped closer to Tom, before you sat down on his lap – one leg on either side of his body.

“Is this better?” you asked.

“Perfect baby” his hands came up to wrap around your body, pulling you closer to his chest.

“Do you remember what the first thing I did was?” he asked. A warm glow, coming from the light inside the cabin, bathed over his features, softening them. But his eyes were dark with lust.

You did remember, he’d taken his time with you, kissing you all over to get you worked up. But as to continue this little game you’d only just started, you shook your head.

“No?” his mouth formed a little o, mimicking the last letter of the word. You shook your head again.

“Well… firstly I gave you some kisses– like this,” he leaned closer, pressing his lips against yours.

He started out slow and languid, before he deepened the kiss by brushing his tongue along your bottom lip. You instantly opened yourself up to him. Your hands snaking around his neck. On your arms, goosebumps erupted in the wake of your movement, having left the warm water for the first time since you’d sat down.

Breaking the kiss Tom peppered soft feathery kisses along from the corner of your mouth, and down the side of your neck. You felt yourself getting more and more turned on. If you weren’t submerged in water right now, you were sure a wet patch would have formed in your panties. You shifted a little on his lap, your core brushing up against the bulge growing in his swim trunks. A moan escaped your lips at the swipe of his tongue grazing over the sweet spot behind your ear.

“I think someone is starting to remember” he teased, gently biting the skin on your neck, making you moan again.

“A little,” you breathed out, “but I don’t remember everything yet… I think I still need some more reminding.”

The small chuckle Tom breathed into your neck at your words, travelled straight to your heart where you felt it squeeze. His hands around your waist started to journey its way up your body and over your arms where they settled around your neck. More goosebumps erupted in the wake of his soft touch.

He pulled away from your face a little, watching as the pointer finger on his right hand traced the string of your bikini top. The fabric of your bikini was thin and left nothing to Tom’s imagination. The peaks of your nipples peeking through the fabric.

“It’s cold” you said shyly.

“I’m sure it is” he said, a hint of condescending sarcasm in his voice.

His finger continued to trace along the fabric of your bikini top before it circled your clothed nipple. He was teasing you more and more, making your breathing start to come out in laboured breaths.

Then he slowly pulled the fabric to the side, exposing your breasts to the cold air. His finger circled your nipple again, making you let out a small “oh”. His other hand left your neck, landing on the thick of your tight, where it snaked its way under it to help you sit up in his lap. You did as he wanted, sitting up a little so your breasts would be closer to his face.

Looking down at him, a cheeky grin adorned on his face. Leaning forward, he pressed soft kisses to the top of your breasts. He started on the right, making his way down the valley and up again over your left – never breaking eye contact.

The tension in the air between the two of you was thick with arousal. Your heart beating faster and faster with each press of his kisses. His teasing was brutally slow, but as slow and brutal as it was, you wouldn’t want it any other way. He knew exactly what to do to your body, what you liked, and what made you squirm under his touch.

When you thought you couldn’t handle it anymore, he swiped his tongue over your nipple, taking it into his mouth. Your body jerked with pleasure while a soft whine escaped your lips. He sucked on your nipple, giving it all the attention you’d longed for after so much teasing. He let go of it with a pop, moving on to the other, giving it just as much attention. Your breathing came out in heavy breaths and moans. Your cunt so wet and neglected, it was starting to hurt.

“Now I think you remember,” he said after he’d let go of your other nipple, looking up at your face from below. Your hands had found the top of his head, steadying yourself. Your fingers gripped the knit of his beanie tightly.

“I almost remember now,” you breathed out, “but there’s one thing that’s a little blurry”. You grabbed the hand that had been resting on the back of your tight since he’d made you stand up in his lap. Resuming your previous position, you sat back down. With a hand around his wrist, you guided his hand slowly down your tummy and towards the hem of your bikini bottom.

“I think you touched me here,” you said innocently, “but I can’t remember how you did it.”

“Want me to show you baby?” he asked, his finger teasing around the elastic hem.

“Yes, please!” you nodded eagerly.

“So polite for me” he praised, his hand slipping into your bikini bottom. “Asking me to touch you– like a good girl,” his finger grazed over your clit making you jump at his touch, “even saying please.”

Then he started pressing down on your clit, rubbing it in tight circles just the way he knew you liked. Your mouth fell open in a small gape as you fought to keep your eyes open.

“You like that don’t you?” he asked with a draw of his finger through your slick folds, “Me rubbing your little clit out here on the veranda where anyone can see you” his finger teased you opening. Pushing just the tip of his finger inside.

“Where anyone can see you be such a slut for me.”

Then he pushed all the way inside your cunt, the heel of his hand pressing hard against your budding clit. Your head fell back a little as he earned himself a moan. He didn’t move right away but curled his fingers, so the pad pressed right against the spot inside that made you see stars.

“Oh, Tom” you whined.

“I know baby, I know… feels good, doesn’t it?” his lips found your neck again.

“Uh-huh…” you nodded, “you’re making me feel so good– thank you.”

“You’re cute–” he said, his finger starting to move inside you, “thanking me for fingering you.”

He found a steady rhythm. With every thrust of his finger, a smear of his palm pressed against your clit. Your breathing went from laboured to erratic as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of your orgasm.

“More please?” you breathed out.

“Want another finger? Is that what you want, baby?” you only nodded, not trusting your words right now. “Since you’ve been so good– saying please and thank you– I think you deserve another finger.”

He pulled out for just a second, before he entered you once again in a single thrust. The stretch of the second finger and the new, and faster pace he’d set, brought you closer and closer. With each thrust he hit your spot. When his other hand came down to brush over your clit you didn’t know how much longer you could take it, before you’d clench down hard around his fingers in bliss.

“Tom,” you warned, but he didn’t let up his pace.

“Are you close? Want me to know you’ll come around my fingers soon?” he asked with a smug tint to his voice.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” you moaned in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

“C-can I come? P-please can I come?” you begged.

“Yes, baby– you can come. Come on my fingers like a good girl.”

And with one more hit to your g-spot, and a brush of his fingers over your clit, you did. You clenched down hard around his fingers as the wave of your orgasm washed over you. Your body shook with pleasure, while moans of his name escaped your lips. He coaxed you through your orgasm with gentle draws of his fingers while he only put pressure on your clit, knowing you’d be too sensitive for his usual brushing circles.

“That’s it… that’s it” you heard him say, “good girl… such a good girl for me”.

You slumped your body against his, tiredness taking over your body as you came down from your orgasm. With one gentle movement he pulled his fingers from your cunt, before he wrapped his arms around your body in a hug. One of his arms stroked you lovingly down your back, as your breathing slowly steadied.

Shifting a little on his lap in an attempt to sit up, you felt his hard bulge underneath you. The small brush of your clit against him, made you whine a little with sensitivity. You were about to ask him if he wanted you to take care of him, but you were cut off before a single word left your lips, by a loud rumble coming from his stomach.

You couldn’t help but giggle, and apparently your giggle was contagious. Then your stomach let out a loud rumble. Your tummy too, screaming out for food. The giggling then transformed into a full on laughing fit between the both of you.

When you’d both calmed down a little Tom said, “Maybe we should start to get ready for dinner my love?”

“But I wanted to take care of you too– like you took care of me.” you whined.

“I’m sure you’ll make it up to me when we get back from dinner.”

And you did. After teasing him all night during dinner playing footsie under the table, giving him sneaky touches, and innocently making innuendoes. You’d dropped to your knees the minute the door shut, and you were back inside the cabin. After fumbling a little with the belt on his dress pants, you’d taken him out, already half-hard after all your teasing, and given him a sloppy blowjob in the hall.

Later you’d moved to the bed, where he’d basically ripped off your dress, before he fucked you hard into the mattress as the fireworks outside started to go off. You both came with a bang. And after, your chests heaved as your breaths were caught. His cum going cold on your stomach. When you’d finally calmed down a little, you turned your head slightly to the digital clock placed on the bed side table. It showed: 00:06.

Turning your head back towards Tom you said, “Happy New Year Tom!”.

“Happy New Year, my love!” he answered, pressing his lips against yours in a loving New Year’s Kiss. You knew this was going to be a good year!

tags: @hollandweather, @mayal0pez, @lnmp89, @ironladsblog, @anime-parker, @melodicheauxxo-writes, @parkersdahlia, @devotion, @peterparkerfilms, @tomdutch, @t-lostinworlds, @theslayerofthevampires, @thepowerthismanhasoverme, @userholland, @kingjohn36, @brucesferret, @bbyvanessaa, @crvshnburnn

(if your url’s crossed out pls go into your visibility settings and make sure your blog isn’t hidden!)

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland one shot #tom holland oneshot #tom holland fic #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #*writing

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stylesharrys · 7 months

Text

Pranked

A/N: I haven’t written for Peter in the longest time, this also used to be a patron exclusive fic but since I no longer write for tom/Peter over there, I figured you guys could have it!

WC: 1,990

“I’m sorry they did that to you,” he whispers. “It’s not cool. Cassy and her little penguins are just raging bitches. They’re jealous of you, you know? That’s why the dared Jack… they’re jealous, so they try to humiliate you.”

You scoff into him, pulling back to wipe your eyes and get a look at him. His thin lips are gently pulled into a line, eyes bubbling over with sincerity and concern. You wipe your face and sniffle.

“They’re not jealous of me,” you shake your head. “There’s nothing for them to be jealous of.”

It’s Peter’s turn to scoff this time, his head shaking at your words. He reaches closer to brush the matted hair from your tear-stained face and strains a smile.

You get pranked and Peter picks up the pieces.

Your palms are sweating and you’re struggling to keep your breathing even. This can’t be happening, not again, not now. Everything is white noise as you blink at the boy before you.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think we’d end up hitting it off like we did, and I felt awful. I had to tell you. I’m sorry, really.”

His words are muffled through the ringing in your ear and the music blaring through the house, but you still hear them. You can’t take your eyes off him; you’re completely frozen.

Jack scratches the back of his head nervously, eyeing you with regret. “Y/N, I really do like you, you’re a cool chick. But I can’t string you along anymore. I won’t tell anyone about the dare, and I’ll make sure Cassy and her minions don’t say anything either.”

It was a dare. A fucking dare. Three of your so-called friends dared Jack to take you on dates, and make you believe he liked you. They fucking humiliated you.

You nod your head, bleakly. You should be used to this shit. You’d just hoped for once; you’d found friends that actually cared about you. That would support you and do what friends do.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Really should’ve seen that coming,” you laugh out bitterly to yourself.

You’re willing back tears the best that you can; chest right and throat closing. You can’t cry in front of him; you can’t let the situation humiliate you any more than it already has.

Now he pities you, and he will always remember you to be the girl he was dared to date. The girl that no boy would ever actually like off his own back. The girl with no friends. The girl that fell for a prank.

You huff out a laugh. “At least I made a friend decent enough to tell me the truth, right?” He smiles weakly and offers a simple nod of his head.

Jack isn’t a bad guy, not really. Even after pulling such a shitty stunt, you can’t bring yourself to hate him. You stand, wondering if anything he said to you was ever genuine.

You say nothing else when you finally look away from him. Your feet carry you through the crowds of the party when you finally let the tears slip.

You’re left questioning everything; everything Cassy and her friends ever said to you, every nice comment that’s ever been tossed your way since. You feel like the fucking laughing stock like the party was thrown for everyone to take turns in humiliating you.

Breaking away from everyone else, you stumble your way outside. It’s quieter out there, strings of fairy lights tangled in trees that illuminate the path you follow. It’s secluded to the frat house's left, the furthest area away from the pool, and therefore other partygoers.

You sit at the edge of a sun lounger, vision blurred through pools of tears that well in your eyes. And you finally let them fall. There’s an aching in your chest that tears you from the inside out. A feeling of heartache so strong that you feel it in your fingertips.

You don’t understand. Why is everyone so out to get you? Why do people take pleasure in your pain? Why aren’t you good enough for anyone? What do you have to change about yourself to make people like you?

“Y/N?” A gentle voice coos through your thoughts.

Your head snaps up at the sound of your name, face blotchy with tears that you make a quick attempt to wipe away. You sniffle, plastering on a gentle smile in greeting.

In the soft moonlight, Peter Parker stands above you, concern swimming in his eyes. You know Peter, you’ve known him for a long time. And when your eyes meet him, you find yourself crumbling again.

Peter has always been the only genuine friend in your life. You’ve known him for ten years, and at twenty, he’s still just as lovely and kind as he was in high school. He hasn’t turned into some college douche like so many of your other classmates.

He has gotten hotter, though. Puberty smacked him twice, and he’s no longer a scrawny boy anymore. He’s still got the same soft brown eyes and messy locks on his head, but he’s beefed out in a little weight and muscle, and he’s gotten a little taller.

Yet with all that, he’s barely got any better at talking to girls he likes. The thought hurts you when you remember how easily he’s always spoken to you. Just another reminder that not even Peter would like you.

Peter notices the tears in your eyes and steps closer, brows furrowed in confusion as he looks around to see if anyone knows what’s going on.

“Are you okay?” He asks. “What’s wrong? What happened to you?”

You only cry harder at the kindness of his tone. He’s always been such a good person — a little aloof and geeky, sure, but kind and funny. Genuine. He’s always been himself.

“Was it Jack?” He finally asks, shuffling as to sit beside you on the lounger. He’s seen the both of you around campus a lot recently, and while you guys are friends, he’s not hurt that you didn’t tell him you had a boyfriend.

You’re friends, sure, but you don’t sit and talk as often as you probably should.

You sniffle, shrugging a shoulder. You don’t know if he’s more to blame or Cassy and her friends are.

“It was all a prank. Cassy and her minions dared Jack to ask me out. He just told me the truth.”

There’s a beat of silence as Peter takes in your broken words. It hurts him, to see you so upset and defeat.

He’s always thought you were wonderful. Pretty, funny, kind and smart. He’s been one to admire you from afar, one that’s always listened intently whenever you spoke, one that included you in conversation and gone out of his way to make sure you feel comfortable.

And you’ve always noticed the little things that Peter does for you. You’ve always noticed because no one else ever does them. Even if you do it for everyone you meet.

“Oh, Y/N... I’m so sorry.”

You sniffle again, nodding as you bow your head. You feel shameful, absolutely mortified to have admitted that aloud to Peter. And yet, you can’t seem to stop yourself from saying more.

“I just don’t get why everyone feels the need to use me for something. No one ever wants to be my friend. No one ever means anything that they say to me. Pete, why am I such a joke to everyone? Why does everyone play me?”

He doesn’t say anything, just wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his chest. You let him, of course, you do. Despite holding hands with Jack and kissing him a couple of times, this is the most physical touch you’ve experienced in years.

It only makes you cry harder.

You wrap your arms around Peter’s middle as you nuzzle your face into his neck. A hand finds the back of your head, gentle coos slipping past his lips and into your ear. His embrace is warm, safe. You feel a weight lift from your shoulders just from being in Peter’s calming presence.

“I’m sorry they did that to you,” he whispers. “It’s not cool. Cassy and her little penguins are just raging bitches. They’re jealous of you, you know? That’s why they dared Jack… they’re jealous, so they try to humiliate you.”

You scoff into him, pulling back to wipe your eyes and get a look at him. His thin lips are gently pulled into a line, eyes bubbling over with sincerity and concern. You wipe your face and sniffle.

“They’re not jealous of me,” you shake your head. “There’s nothing for them to be jealous of.”

It’s Peter’s turn to scoff this time, his head shaking at your words. He reaches closer to brush the matted hair from your tear-stained face and strains a smile.

“Are you kidding? You’ve got so much that they don’t: a personality, for example. You’re kind, funny, caring… pretty. You’re too cool for them, and they know it.”

His kind tone has warmth rising to your cheeks as you bite back a thankful smile. You don’t know how Peter does it, how he’s the warmth of the sun that dries the ground after it rains. You think he’s far too good, too precious for this world.

You meet his warm gaze, eyes a little puffy, but he doesn’t mention them — even though he finds it absolutely adorable. There’s a swell of pride in his chest at the fact he got to make you smile when you felt so bad.

“And not everyone would play you, you know. Some uh… some people are genuine, and might wanna take you out because they might’ve had a little crush on you for a while, but been too scared to admit it…”

Blinking, you notice the pink on his cheeks, the rosy hue that isn’t from the alcohol. You realise quickly who he’s referring to, and warmth begins to rise to your skin, flames burning from the inside out. Your chest feels tight and heavy, but not in the anxious way it typically has done.

No, this feeling is comforting, exciting. It’s the feeling of realising how stupid you’ve been, how the one boy you’ve always admired from afar has always felt the same for you.

“Yeah?”

You don’t feel worried that this may be part two of Cassy’s plot. Because it’s Pete, and you know Pete. You know how kind and compassionate he is, how thoughtful and respectful. You nearly choke on your spit. This gorgeous boy that everyone slowly started to pine after wants you.

He nods, sheepishly, and then it’s like something flickers in his memory. Peter straightens himself out, a giddy smirk on his face and you watch as he builds his confidence up in quick haste.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “So, do you wanna come back inside… with me and - and my friends?”

You’re nodding before he can finish his sentence, and a smile beams its way across Peter’s face. He stands from the chair, teeth tugging his bottom lip into his mouth as he extends a hand for you to take.

Standing before him, you toy with his fingers, a smile of your own on your lips. “You know, I have a crush on you, too.”

Peters brows raise to his hairline, eyes wide. To him, this day couldn’t get any better. He’s buzzing, trying to fight the need to sprint around the house five times and jump in the pool.

He swallows thickly. “You uh, you do?”

“Yeah. I have done since we were fifteen. But you always liked Liz.”

Peter blinks, can’t quite believe his ears. There’s no way you’ve had a crush on him for almost four years and didn’t say anything to him. How did he not realise? How did he not pick up your change in attitude whenever he was around you?

“I didn’t know you liked me back then…”

You shrug, your smile not faltering. “I know,” you say. “But, you know now.”

There’s a moment of silence, like neither of you can believe how easy this is — how this could’ve been years ago. Peter clears his throat, squeezing your hand.

“So… if I asked you on a date?”

“I’d say yes.”

Another moment of silence.

“And… if I uh, if I told you that I really wanted to kiss you…”

Leaning up on your tiptoes slowly, you pucker your lips gently to press a soft kiss to Peter’s mouth. His eyes flutter closed, hands leaving yours to rest on your waist and pull you closer.

“I’d say yes.”

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webslingingslasher · 1 year

Note

Would you write dad!tom?

i’ve never written for tom before, lemme know if this is good pls. also, idk why and idk what the fuck else he be doing but i don’t picture tom as famous in this? ps. why do i want to do this again but month by month

warnings: talk of vomit, talks of pee and a small dash of smuttiness if you look hard enough.

“What does it say?”

Tom is resting against the doorframe with this thumbnail in his mouth, he’s nibbling while trying to turn his neck to watch where you're sitting. He can barely see you, just a peek of your face and a hand between your legs.

You laugh at his excitement, “I’m still peeing!”

He whines, “well, pinch it off! I’m sure there’s enough on it!”

Resting one hand on the wall you brace yourself, you have just enough energy to place the test on the back of the toilet before holding your head in your hand, swaying lightly with the wave of nausea that hits.

“Fuck, I’m gonna puke.”

In an instant Tom pulls himself from the door and places his hand on the back of your head, lightly petting at your hair, his other hand flushes the toilet, you shouldn’t puke where you had just peed.

“Feel like puke or gonna puke?”

You nearly hit the wall with your shoulder, the only thing stopping it was Tom’s quick movement so his hand protected the hit. You’re trying to fight off the gag, your mouth is filling with saliva, you know it’s about to happen, each time you swallow the thick build up it makes another gag climb. You need water, but moving even a millimeter, will have repercussions, you can’t even speak to him without losing it.

You cough a gag, it’s no longer suppressing it, it’s coming, now.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Tom rushes pulling at your shoulder to get you to get on your knees in front of the toilet.

“Can’t, I can’t,” You gag one more time, he only has a second. Tom pulls away to dash for the small basket you keep near the sink, you instantly hold it to your chest when he reaches it out. “Hair,” you whimper, Tom’s hand wraps your hair around his fist, and like you knew everything was in place, you let loose.

Tom praises and shushes while you cough and expel into the trash can. He’s used to this by now, it’s been happening for two weeks. At first it was unnoticed, usually gagging and nauseous when you wake up, you chalked it up to something not settling or stress from work, but then it got increasingly worse and happened throughout the day.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” You cough the words between gags, it’s like clock work. You only puke three times, then it’s normal.

Tom’s counted, he knows you’re done. He grabs the trashcan without looking at it, he knows it makes you feel bad. “Water?” He ignores the apologies, he’s said more than enough times that you had nothing to say sorry for, you also had nothing to thank him for, but you still said it everytime.

It’s like you’re gasping for air, the bile always makes your throat feel raw. It’s happening so often you’ve started sounding raspy. You nod but there was no need, he’s already gone to grab your water bottle. When Tom returns he flips the straw up for you and holds it out, you lean forward to gulp it down, your arms feel like lead and you pull back and close your eyes.

He was somehow able to toss and change the bag in the time he grabbed your water, “done?” Your eyes are closed and you lean your head against the wall, a hand rests over your stomach and you nod. Tom presses a kiss to your temple, it makes you blink your eyes open at him. You grab at his hand and place a kiss on the backside, “sorry.”

Tom’s nose scrunches, “in sickness and in health, right? You said ‘em too.”

You laugh, “doesn’t mean it’s not gross.”

“Love, trust me. There is quite literally, nothing you could do that would gross me out. I am so utterly in love with you even your puke sparkles.”

Your thumb rubs over the ring on his left, ring finger. A commitment for him to promise he’d love your puke forever. You’re nervous about the test behind you, but not anxious. You’re ready, Tom’s ready, you both agreed last year, after being married for three, that birth control could stop and whatever happened, happened. And nothing did for almost an entire year, not even the puking caught your attention.

It wasn’t until you were talking to a coworker, you had let it slip that you’ve had excruciating headaches almost everyday for the past week, and nothing helped; not even medicine. Her name was Sharon, she was the work mom, everyone had her back because she had theirs, often bringing in baked goods and offering a lending ear, also a supply stash of medicine which is why you were talking to her this morning, that damn headache from yesterday stayed.

Sharon sipped her coffee, “have you been tired lately?”

You groan, “oh god, you have no idea. I’m telling you this in confidence, but for the past week I’ve been going home on my lunch break and taking a nap.” Sharon gets a small grin, she hides it behind her coffee mug, “Don’t alert HR on me, dear. But, have your breasts been really tender?”

You pull a thinking face, you almost wanted to rub them right then to verify. Then you remember a few nights ago when you were in bed with Tom you shied away from him when he grabbed your chest. When you were on top he always played with your tits, but that time it almost hurt when he squeezed them and when he pinched your nipple the shock that jolted through you made you punch his chest. You both had a deer in headlights look, you couldn’t believe you had done that, he couldn’t believe you had either.

“I’m sorry! It was a knee jerk reaction!” You hid your mouth behind your hands, mostly shocked, also because his surprised look was funny and you needed to hide your smile until you saw his reaction.

“You wounded me! In the middle of battle, no less!”

You snort then grind back down on him, he groans and you lower your voice. “I’m sorry, it like, hurt when you did that. It caught me off guard.” Tom’s face scrunches, “hurt?” You pull at his hands to rest over your chest, each hand holds a breast and you use your own to direct his movements. As you squeezed, anything past a tender touch made you hiss. Tom caught on, he raised his hands under your hold and tried himself. “Like this?”

And sure, maybe when you shower and run over them quickly it’s a little sore.

You rub at your temple and blink in the harsh lighting, “yeah, you could say that.”

Sharon glowed, “diagnosis? Take a test, and I hope it’s the answer you want.”

“A test?” Realization hit, you made an ‘oh shit’ face, “you think I’m pregnant?”

Mamma Sharon giggles, “been through it four times, it always started the same. I’d guess it’s been about a month since it started?”

“Tomorrow will be four weeks, holy shit. Tom is gonna be so happy, oh god. Oh god, Sharon, I might be pregnant, holy shit. I wanted this, why am I freaking out?”

Sharon fans your face with her hands, “It’s scary! You’re doing a new thing, your entire life is going to change. But, sweetie, you chose a good person to navigate it with, Tom seems like the exact kind of person to do this with.”

“He is, he really is.”

So, after work you stopped at a drug store and got a pregnancy test, and a bottle of sparkling grape juice. It nearly killed you having to wait on Tom to get home, but you did it, and even waited until after dinner. After you both cleaned the kitchen you followed him to the couch and sat across his lap, he watched the TV behind you and rubbed at your legs, it was something so domestic about your life with him that having a baby right now felt both rushed and timely.

You rested your head against his shoulder and nuzzled in, a message he understood as ‘I’m about to speak, so listen please,’ “I talked to doctor Sharon today at the office,” Tom listens but is still focused on the TV, “and you know how lately I’ve been puky and I’ve had headaches and been super tired and you’ve been banished from touching my boobs?”

Tom looks over at you, his hands squeeze your calf, “yeah,” You push a curl hanging over his forehead back, it bounces right back, “well, I’ve been diagnosed,” his interest is piqued, he knows how awful you’ve been feeling, you both were thinking it was a bug or a new allergy. Tom’s eyebrows raise, he’s waiting for you to go on.

“I’ve been diagnosed with…” You drumroll on his forearm with your pointer fingers, “pregnancy.”

Tom’s jaw drops, “pregnancy?”

“Pregnancy.”

“No, but like, pregnancy?”

You shake your fists in the air, “pregnancy!”

Tom pushes you back by your hips to look at your face, “pregnant, pregnant, right?”

You’re ecstatic, he’s ecstatic. It’s how it should be.

“I got a test, I wanted to do it with you though.”

Tom looks around for a drink, there’s a cup of tea and a water bottle on the coffee table. “Do you have to pee? Do you need something, I have tea, do you want tea?” You wince at him, “sorry, lover boy, any chance you can wait til morning?”

Tom’s jaw drops, you can’t drop that bomb then expect him to put it on pause.

“It’s recommended, I promise! The pregnancy hormone is more active in the morning, they said for the most accurate results it should be the first pee of the morning!”

Tom throws his head back with a groan, “but can’t we do one tomorrow too? Don’t tell me you aren’t dying to know!”

You chew on your bottom lip, “after this episode.”

Sure enough before the first credits rolled Tom was pulling you up the stairs, pregnancy test in your hands. He stayed to watch the process, which takes you to now, puky and apologetic.

“We’re going to be together forever, you know that right?”

Tom pets your hair down, “I’d hope so.”

You shake your head, you’re not joking now. “No, I mean like, shit happens you know? And forever is a long time, but now this? Tom, if we're pregnant, that’s it. No matter what happens, we have a kid and we’re wrapped in each other's lives forever.”

Tom pushes his head down to kiss your forehead, his lips murmur where he’s kissed, “doesn’t sound as scary as you’re making it.”

Your lip wobbles, “you mean it?”

Tom rolls his eyes, “what did I tell you again? Oh, that’s right, I do.”

“Don’t ever regret saying them either.”

He scoffs and mutters ‘as if that’s possible,’ under his breath.

You use his arm as support as you pull yourself up and are able to finally put your underwear back on. You grab the test but cover the results with your hand, and walk out to the bedroom. The bed bounces when you throw yourself down, Tom takes a seat next to you.

You blow out a shaky breath, “ready?”

Tom laces his fingers between yours, “ready.”

You hold it up in the light, you both squint looking for the result, your breath catches and Tom wraps a hand around your shoulders.

“Tom, is that a double line?”

“Baby, that’s a double line.”

You hold it an inch from your face, you expect the result to disappear when you blink. You’ve never imagined seeing a positive test, there was no possible way you could be pregnant. It’s shell shock, you knew it was possible, yet you didn’t.

“Tom, I,” You’re at a loss for words, you can’t believe it.

“Baby, you’re pregnant. We’re having a baby.”

His words hit you like bricks.

You sob, happy tears, you both have been wanting this for a year, talking about it for longer.

“Holy shit, babe, holy shit.”

Tom jumps up to wrap his arms around you, even he couldn’t fight the tears. “We’re pregnant, oh my god, baby. You did it.” Your arms were just as tight around him, “Tommy, we did it.”

#tom holland blurb #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #tom holland smut #my writing

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bonesandchalamet · 9 months

Text

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.”

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berrieluv · 2 years

Note

ew why was gross peter so hot i need more like gross peter cleaning the whole house and then fucking you awake and then fucking you in the shower

honestly don't know why i liked him so much???? it just appeared in my mind that day and i can't stop thinking about him by now. and thank you so much for sending this because i was in need to write about him.

again no tittle just more gross! peter parker.

Peter didn't like how jerking off felt now, not after finally having you. His fist no near to how your pussy clenched around his cock. You haven't allow him anywhere close to you, you just looked at him like he needed to do get his life together, and the old Peter would never understand why that was really fucking hot.

Peter thought two weeks were enough. He couldn't last longer, not with you wearing those short skirts almost on purpose, by the time you arrived, your body was displayed on the bed with tight little shorts, showing your ass to him, and he was just a man, so he did what he thought would never really have to do; he cleaned. He took all the empty cans of beer out of the fridge and washed the cum-covered sofa, because yes, he could've fuck you straight away on bed, but he respected your wishes, he may be an idle but he loves you more than anything.

Peter's cock wouldn't go down the whole time he spent cleaning, and it would never if he kept thinking about you the way he was. He entered your share (not lately) bedroom and took his pajama pants off, he couldn't resist it anymore, it was cruel what you were doing to him without even noticing.

He spits on his hand, stroking his cock before going inside of you, knowing it was impossible for you to be wet, he has watch you while sleeping and knows it's been too long since the last time you had a wet dream.

Peter puts your shorts aside, not thinking of taking them off, how could he when you looked so hot in them.

He started to stroke slow, carefully to not wake you up yet. He starts thrusting, his extremities holding him to not let his weight fall in you.

"Peter?" You murmured, still asleep.

"Yes, baby?" He asked carefully, knowing you weren't awake, not fully at least "You need something? Everything for you, princess, agh, you name it" He moaned.

"Clean" You said with a yawn.

"Done, princess. Said it; everything for you, fuck... everything for this pretty tight pussy, God, love you, baby, love how your pussy feels around my cock, fucking..."

"Peteeeer" He heard you cry, and he worried, was he hurting you?

"Yes? What happened, princess? What is it?"

"please..." you begged and he smirked "clean" his smirk fell and was replaced by a chuckle.

"I did already, princess. I told you didn't I? Your wish is my command, I would never do something you don't want me to"

"Thank you" You murmured, closing your eyes again and moving your knee to your chest so Peter could have a better access to your pussy.

And he went feral, you, sleeping peacefully on the bed, the mattress he haven't touch in so long and you were allowing him to just fuck you while you were sleeping, and using you felt so good, your body clenched around his cock and your snoring was replaced by little gasps.

He wanted to be careful with the pace, not too quick, he still tried to be careful with your body, but when you moaned like that, fuck, how could he;

"God, baby I love how you feel around me... Fuck, I want this bed just as how I had the couch, fucking... all fucking covered in my cum. i want you like that too..." he said, throwing his head back while thrusting harder into you "gonna pour all my cum in you baby, wanna see you fucking dripping like I always do, can I? please, baby let me fill you up with my cum"

Peter thrusts deeper one more time, the question was just a formality, he was going to do it anyway, he couldn't think on taking his cock out of you to cum.

When he finally pulled out, he saw his massive load of cum escaping from your pussy, which was clenching around nothing.

"You're so fucking hot, princess. You're pussy's a fucking dream. I'm not cleaning you up, baby. Gonna leave your pussy fucking dripping, you're gonna be so pissed when you wake up, won't you?"

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fic #spiderman #andrew garfield imagine #andrew garfield fanfic #andrew garfield smut #andrew garfield x reader #spider man smut #spider man x reader #spider man fanfiction #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #anie writes smut

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youandtom2 · 10 months

Note

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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