#richkid!tom x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silkscream · 3 years ago

Text

pink film

synopsis: being forced to stay home for the summer starts to feel worse when you have to deal with your sister’s engagement party. not to mention the return of your ex-boyfriend is starting to bombard your sanity.

pairing: richkid!tom holland x richkid!reader

genres: richkid!au, exes to lovers, camgirl/camboy → for @venomsilk’s valentine’s day bingo!

warnings: explicit content (18+ only): oral sex, vaginal sex, fingering, overstimulation, camming, some angst

wc: 11.3k

a/n: happy valentine’s day! this took me so long to write and it was also supposed to be like 5k but i went overboard hfgdhjkdhf. the original title was pink moon/blue film (a blue film is slang for... yk... Adult Films) but i decided that this fic is full of pink and red, as are most of my fics. feel free to give me feedback and i’m sending a virtual rose to all of you today 🌹

mini playlist to go along with the fic <3

No amount of champagne in your system would be able to tolerate the people in your backyard. Yes, you knew most of the people in your cookie-cutter town, but you’d avoid anyone you even remotely knew at all costs when you were home for college. But rather than spending the summer backpacking across Europe with your best friend, your parents much preferred that you stayed home to learn the ropes of the family business, not to mention you were forced into an internship set up by your father. Even if you tried, you couldn’t escape them, and you certainly couldn’t opt out of your older sister, Ava’s, lavish bachelorette party. Or engagement party. Whatever the fuck this was.

Ava outshined you every chance she got — perhaps because she was someone who actually enjoyed vanity since childhood and was thrilled whenever there was an opportunity to show off your family’s wealth with her clothing and her attitude. She likes to joke about how you’re probably adopted or that when you came out of the womb, your face was stuck in a “fucked up little frown” and it hasn’t budged since. Not for the next twenty-one years of your life. And now, you’re hopelessly pouring golden liquid into your glass, watching it slosh around as you roll your eyes to the sound of your sister squealing along with her friends and fellow club members of stupid little elite society. Your sister used to boast about how philanthropic it was, but really, it was an excuse for her to climb the social hierarchy and get blackout drunk on the way.

Leaning over the porch of the backyard, you scan the scene. You blend in easily as you stalk in your little orb, unbothered by the rest of the family and about one hundred of Ava and her fiancé, Matt’s, friends. Swallowing the champagne down your throat, you briefly catch the eye of a friend of a friend, waving awkwardly when your brain quickly realizes that you have to wipe the scowl off your face at that very moment. Fuck accidental eye contact.

“Enjoying your night?”

You jump when a hand finds itself on the small of your back. When you turn, you see Matt in his suit, putting his hands up in surrender as he apologizes for startling you. You give him a tightlipped smile and smooth out your vintage Miu Miu dress.

“Yeah. Just, um, tired,” you mutter.

“You know there’s other stuff to drink than just champagne, right?” Matt nods to your glass. Your fourth glass.

“I’m trying to be good,” you shrug.

“C’mere.”

It takes you by surprise when he takes your hand and leads you into your kitchen. Without a word, he takes a flute from the cabinet and rummages the fridge quickly for an opened bottle of champagne, Cointreau, and cranberry juice.

“What are you doing?” you raise an eyebrow as he fixes a concoction. Once he’s done, he pushes the champagne flute towards you with a smirk.

“It’s a poinsettia. Champagne, cranberry juice, and orange triple-sec.”

“Impressive,” you nod, taking a sip.

“Matty! There you are!” Ava suddenly appears. You admit that she looks as beautiful as ever, peachy glitter eyeshadow adorning her eyes that matches her orange dress. “Wow. Finally, you two are bonding. Sorry if she said anything off-putting to you, darling.”

“I’m right here!” you snap at your sister. She flashes you a brief fake smile laced with plastic and nudges Matt towards the door.

“Don’t scare any of my friends away, please. Also, I saw your boyfriend,” she teases, nudging you.

“What? I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Helloooo, our neighbor? Tommy Holly?”

“We stopped seeing each other,” you hiss, crossing your arms.

“Sheesh, wonder why,” Ava responds, making a face.

Your cheeks are warm once she leaves you alone in the kitchen. You can’t help but clench your jaw at your sister’s attitude, how constantly belittling she could be. Not to mention that the knowledge that Tom Holland is in the vicinity makes your stomach flip onto its side. You considering going upstairs to hide in your room, but for some reason, you want to stick it out. As if you’re challenging yourself. As if maybe seeing your ex-boyfriend would be like throwing knives with all of the possibility of deepening cuts you already had, but you tell yourself after your fifth drink that you’d be able to dodge them. You always did find pleasure in pain.

You genuinely hate admitting that Tom was the love of your life. Ever since you were kids. You were never friends necessarily, despite your families being rather close with one another throughout your adolescence. It was in your teenage years when you started to gravitate towards Tom at family gatherings. You would daydream about him at school, think about what he does in his room alone or what his mouth might taste like.

By the time Tom went off for university, you were sure it was time to get over him. You had to focus on your studies. Even if Tom went to university close enough to commute, there was no point in pursuing him when he’d be in an environment where he could probably take home anyone he wanted. Girls that were far prettier, far more mature. Girls from university. Plus, you were certain he didn’t think anything of you anyway. Even getting him to look at you was like grasping for straws.

One night at the beginning of year thirteen, Tom had climbed up your window. It was bold of him, really, considering he had always been particularly quiet around you growing up. You were friendly with the twins considering they were in the same year as you, but you and Tom were more acquaintances than childhood friends — he might’ve been in your room only once or twice before in the whole time he’d known you. So when your window opened and his curly head popped in, you nearly had a heart attack.

“What are you doing here?” you seethe. If looks could kill, Tom Holland would be six feet under.

“I was bored,” Tom mumbles. He says it like it’s a logical answer.

“No, really, what do you want? My parents are asleep!” you whisper-shout. It was funny how often you think about this boy, yet when he’s right in front of you, you’re yelling at him.

“I just... I always see your light on really late and I was curious and we never hang out even though our moms are basically best friends?” Tom rambles, running a hand through his curls. He looks crazy standing in the middle of your bedroom. “Also, I’m very intoxicated and very lonely and tend to be very impulsive in both states. But also, I’ve always wanted to see if I could crawl up to your bedroom without falling on my face. And look! I did.

“Okay, Spider-Man, you’ve gotta be quieter. But fine, we can hang out,” you sigh. You smile at him warily as you grab his shoulders lightly to help him sit on the bed.

You had talked that whole night, not sleeping until four in the morning. From then on, the two of you were inseparable. He was smitten with you for a year until it came time for you to graduate. The two of you were already having trouble with miscommunications, along with your own stress of starting your first year of Oxford University. But God, you were in love with him. You were sure he was, too, but as that autumn came, it seemed like the warmth that usually radiated from Tom was fading with the change of seasons. To put it briefly, during the breakup, Tom mastered nonchalance and you didn’t.

That’s why you’d hardened in your first year of Oxford. It was nice to be physically away from Tom, but his face showed up in your dreams every night. He’d left a mark on you that you would attempt to scrub off until your skin was raw, but the remnants would still stay like a tattoo.

Although both of you stayed civil — friendly, even — the thought of bumping into him in this current vulnerable state made you want to shove your head into an oven. A cigarette was all you needed. It’s not a habit you’re proud of, but it helps in situations where you need to occupy your mouth with something, and screaming enough decibels to break glass was certainly not an option.

Before you grab your cigarettes from the pocket of your coat in the foyer, you step back into the kitchen and grab a large mug and fill it with the rest of the champagne. Might as well dull the senses.

The cool air soothes you once you step out of your front door with your cigarettes, exhaling with another gulp of your champagne to wash down your nerves. You shiver at the view of the sunset, rosy-blond light flooding a backdrop of blue so that your bare arms were awash in liquid light. Your suburb feels so still. When the sky was this organically beautiful, it was funny that it’s set with the mundanity of luxury architecture — ornate, spiky gates with artificial lawns in front of houses that looked drawn out of a Barbie movie. God, how all that cleanliness was so uninteresting.

A sharp exhale. Malaise is what you feel. Psychological brain fog. The footsteps padding towards you on your large front porch snaps you out of your lamentations and when you turn your head, you’re met with the last face you want to see.

Tom is slouched coolly on the railing of the porch stairs and looks down on you. His hair is longer than you remember him ever having it. He smiles at you softly as if the two of you are close friends.

“Guess we had the same idea,” Tom muses, taking the last puff of his cigarette before throwing it on the ground and stomping out the cherry with his heel.

“Since when do you smoke?” you retort.

“Since when do you?”

“Since someone broke my heart,” you mumble.

“What was that?”

You hold your breath.

“Nothing.”

When he crouches down, for some reason you briefly think he might touch your shoulder, embrace you somehow, but he keeps his distance as he sits down on the stairs with you. Part of you wants him to touch you. He looks beautiful under the emerging moonlight with his silky button-down over his broad figure, his hair in smooth curls, and his hands adorned in shiny rings. Even his smell draws you in — the familiar, nostalgic scent of a fireplace and the hint of vanilla. You realize you haven’t been this physically close to Tom since before your breakup.

“Um, how’s Oxford?” When he looks at you, you feel your rib cage open like the jaws of a shark. You’re vulnerable from the alcohol but also slightly buzzed, cigarette in your hand as more of a comfort than an antidote.

“Good. How’s London?”

“Good. University is university,” Tom shrugs.

“Mhmm,” you hum. The silence between you two feels like a fragile bubble. Neither of you are daring to break it. You feel almost relieved when he speaks again.

“I like your dress.”

“I know. You were the one who picked it out at the store,” you give him a small smile.

“I was?” Tom furrows his brows in confusion.

“Yes, we were at a consignment shop in Rome. I had one vintage Prada and this vintage Miu Miu and I couldn’t decide between them so you picked Miu Miu for me.”

“Oh,” he murmurs. He tries to hide the small smile on his face as he thinks about the two of you spending time together. The memory comes back to him, how the shop was one of many the two of you visited during your brief trip to Rome during an autumn holiday. “Well, did I make the right choice?”

“Yeah. I get tons of compliments. All thanks to your impeccable taste,” you chirp. You’re sarcastic in your tone but Tom can’t help but light up when he sees your eyes glimmer in a disposition that’s almost friendly. Although you’re polite to him in public, he always feels like you’re throwing daggers at him. Your civility feels almost eerie. Usually, you wouldn’t even tease him as a friend. It was something he missed, and he loved that he was hearing it in your voice now.

You settle your gaze on a rabbit in your front yard instead of Tom’s face. Slender fingers wrap around your still-burning cigarette. You frown as you watch Tom take it from your lips to his own, taking a long, smooth drag and blowing it in your face.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to aim for your face,” Tom mutters, waving his hand in front of you. It makes you flinch.

“Thief,” you sigh. You purse your lips when you hear him snicker quietly.

“So. Matt Atkinson, huh?”

“Yeah,” you nod.

“That’s so funny. Considering Ava is kind of, like… you know. And he was a stoner loser when I went to school with him.”

“I know. Guess he girl bossed really close to the sun.”

Tom chuckles at your comment. “Yeah, I barely recognized him tonight. Super hot.”

“Oh, man, maybe you should’ve made the move before he turned into a yuppie!”

“Please,” Tom rolls his eyes. “Remember when Ava actually had a crush on me?”

“Yes. She was so fucking annoying about it. That’s probably why I always avoided you.”

“You avoided me?” Tom exasperates, frowning.

“Yes. She was all over you when we were like fifteen. You know I can’t stand to see her happy.”

“What, were you jealous of her? I didn’t even like her back then!” Tom teases.

You grimace as you bite your bottom lip. You always thought that maybe you’d have a chance with Sam or Harry when you were younger because Ava had already claimed Tom. And God, was she obnoxious in trying to win him over to the point where you’d just avoided them both. Luckily, her crush had died down once she’d gone off to university. Meanwhile, Tom was starting year thirteen while you were starting year twelve, and so your infatuation with him began.

“I wasn’t jealous,” you protest.

“But, really, did you fancy me when we were kids?”

“We’re still kids,” you shrug.

“Y/N.”

“No. Not until I was in twelfth,” you tell the truth.

“Interesting. I’d liked you since you were in ninth,” Tom admits casually.

Still do.

You look at him with a wide gaze, blinking a few times before flitting your eyes towards something else entirely.

“Oh, God, the Tom Holland? Liked me?” you scoff, though you settle for a tone that’s more playful. You bite your lip while you continue to process his words. You know you shouldn’t feel excited to know that Tom had liked you first considering you two were over now. That gummy feeling in your stomach that you felt as a teenager for Tom would never happen again.

“Yes, so much that I asked you out and spent a year with you.” His expression is innocent but there’s an intent of earnestness.

“Huh. So many lifetimes we’ve lived. And now here we are.”

“Yeah,” Tom breathes. “Here we are.”

Awkward beat. Tom coughs stiffly.

“Um. Can I?” he nods towards the mug in your hand. You hand it to him.

“Jesus, I thought this was water or something. This is so much champagne, Y/N.”

“I needed it,” you shrug. You feel wired all of a sudden. “Do you ever think about how there’s a parallel universe where we don’t meet at all or like, one of our families never move here so we don’t ever cross paths? Or a universe where we grow old together and I bully you in the nursing home. Or one where you and Ava actually get together. Or—”

“One where we’re still together.”

You look at him, suddenly feeling an immense weight in your stomach. Visions of the two of you come back to your brain like an alcohol-induced fever dream. But no, this is real. He really is sitting this close to you. He gives you a sad smile and takes a sip from your mug.

“That’d be weird, wouldn’t it?” you quip, biting the inside of your teeth. Tom can’t tell if your sudden ditziness is a result of your drunkenness or if you were being sarcastic.

“I don’t know,” he says softly. There’s something in his brown eyes that you can’t fathom. You remember when you could always tell how he was feeling just by looking into his eyes. Tom would call you a psychic, how nothing could get past you. How ironic it is that you’re right in front of him and you’re drowning in his eyes, naive and estranged. “I’m… really sorry about what happened to us, Y/N.”

You chuckle in a way that’s almost mocking. Tom thinks you’re about to cry.

“You don’t have to do that right now. It’s corny,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Everything’s fine, I promise. I’m very glad we’re good friends now.”

“Are we?”

“Sure we are.”

“I want you to know that I didn’t want to hurt you. And I was really in love with you. I regret a lot of the things I said.”

“It’s been like three years, Tom. It’s in the past.”

He closes his mouth, trapping the guilt inside until it’s lodged in his throat. You sigh when you realize your tone might’ve been too cruel.

“I’m not upset anymore, really. Time’s passed, you know? I was eighteen. We can just move on and be okay,” you bite your tongue. Even though you’d always wanted this apology, the memories of the breakup come back in a flood. You needed to be sober to have this conversation. You didn’t even want to have this conversation.

“I— Alright. We’re okay,” Tom nods slowly. He wants to say more to you but your demeanor is dismissive. He’s too afraid to upset you now. He doesn’t know how you’d react if he expressed any feelings of attraction or desire towards you again, so he decides it’s best for him to keep his distance. He’s just barely sorted out his current feelings about you. All he knows is that ever since he arrived at your house tonight, his eyes were fixed on you in a way that mirrored how he used to look at you.

Subconsciously, he leans towards you very slowly. Or maybe the world is spinning and you’re hallucinating. With your luck, maybe the champagne was mixed with acid or something horrid. No, this is all real. And everything feels like it’s spinning and his cologne is the only thing you can smell. You flutter your eyes as if expecting him to kiss you.

It seems that he’s anticipating the same thing from how he looks at you. Both of you inch closer to one another with slow vehemence but are interrupted by the sound of your front door opening.

“Oh, oops, did I interrupt something?” Ava giggles. Her arm is slung around a blonde whose knees are wobbling. She looks between you and Tom and smirks.

“Not at all,” you mumble.

“You remember Ginny from school, don’t you?”

“Hi, Y/N!” Ginny yells excitedly. She beams at you while she supports herself with Ava’s arms. When the blonde tries to touch Ava’s face, she slaps her hand away.

“Hi, Ginny,” you giggle. Ginny was probably the only one of Ava’s friends who was nice to you when you were in secondary school. Funnily enough, Ava was always the meanest to Ginny.

“Well, she extremely needs to go home because she’s a fucking lightweight and smoked a few spliffs so she might vomit everywhere. But she doesn’t have a ride. And knowing that you’re an actual killjoy and are probably completely sober, can you please drive her to her flat?”

“You can’t just call a taxi?”

“She needs help getting into her bed!”

“Are you serious?” you exasperate. “First of all, you prick, I’m fucking drunk. Second, there really isn’t anyone else at the party?”

“I’m pretty sober at this point,” Tom speaks up. You’d almost forgotten he was there.

“Oh, Tommy, you’re always the sweetest.”

“Ava, why don’t you come with us since she’s your friend?”

“Because I’m the hostess! Anyways, Matthew needs me. Ginny, get in the car!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you mumble in your breath as you help the girl get into the backseat of Tom’s car. She giggles childishly as she sits herself down. You get into the passenger seat and slam the door shut.

“Watch the doors,” Tom warns. You glower at him, turning up the radio.

“I’ll put in the directions.”

Once you get Ginny into her flat, she effortlessly flops onto the couch.

“Can we get Chinese?” she whines.

“No, Ginny, you have to drink water,” you let out a sigh as you get her a glass of water. Tom awkwardly stands beside the couch as Ginny fidgets.

“God, this is the drunkest I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Really? Drunker than when you drank an entire bottle of vodka on your eighteenth birthday, passed out in the tub, and we had to carry you from the bathroom back to Ava’s room before our parents woke up?”

“Oh, yeah. Maybe not drunker than that,” Ginny murmurs dreamily. Tom can’t hold back a laugh and it almost validates you to hear it. He pulls a blanket from one of the chairs to cover Ginny, who looks like she’s melting into the couch. She blinks up at the two of you with tranquility. Almost like her brain is made of air.

“You guys are such a cute couple,” she coos.

“Oh, we aren’t—”

“Thanks—”

You both answer in unison, giving each other amused looks. You raise an eyebrow when you see a slight flush over Tom’s cheekbones.

“So awesome. God, you’re so nice. So much nicer than your sister. I mean, she was great tonight, but I— sheesh, so tyrannical. She is, I mean…” Ginny trails off her babbling, eventually drifting into sleep. You feel tired sitting in her living room as you listen to her breathe. Tom locks eyes with you and nods towards the door. You nod.

“Goodnight, Ginny…” you whisper, following Tom out the front door.

The tension between you feels electric when you’re back in the car. You look out on the road blankly, unsure of how to start a conversation. You can feel Tom’s eyes burning into you. Wordlessly, he starts his car.

“Well, that was fun,” he concludes.

“Totally,” you retort bitterly.

“Do you want to maybe—“

“Better get back before my mother realizes I’m missing— oh, sorry. What did you say?”

“Nevermind,” Tom gives you a tightlipped smile. You recognize it. He always uses it when he’s trying to hide something.

“What were you about to ask me?”

“Ah, I don’t know, we could go get like, ice cream or something. Not that your sister’s party wasn’t a riot,” he mumbles sheepishly. You toy with the idea and the images of you two spending more time with one another this late at night makes you feel nostalgic, almost nauseous in the way the desire burns in your stomach.

“It’s late,” you reply softly.

Tom nods, flashing you that smile again. It’s like he knew that would be your answer. When you’re in your neighborhood again, he passes his house and moves onto yours.

“You didn’t have to drop me off here, I could’ve just… walked from your driveway to mine,” you say as Tom pulls into your driveway.

“Saved you the trip of several feet,” he shrugs. “I’ll see you at brunch tomorrow, then?”

“What?”

“Our families are getting brunch together?”

“Really? Jesus, no one tells me anything,” you huff.

“Damn, I’m sorry that the thought of eating waffles next to me is so horrid,” Tom teases. Heat rises to your cheeks but he laughs it off, insisting that he’s kidding. “I’ll see you tomorrow, rabbit.”

Your eyes soften at the familiar nickname. No one’s called you that in years. Certainly not Tom.

“See you.”

The next morning, you’re stretched on the chaise lounge chair in your room with your legs swinging over the seat the way you used to when you were a child, blinking up at your ceiling while you listen to the voices of your family stirring downstairs. The night rendered itself partially sleepless because of your usual insomniac, constantly wired and hemorrhaging constant intrusive thoughts about the boy next door. Conveniently, when you’d woken up that morning in your underwear and too-small crop top, Tom had been at his window the same exact time you’d drawn your curtains. A tiny smirk and his little three-finger wave were all it took for heat to rise up to your cheeks before you could even make sense that you were going to be spending time with him and his family later that morning.

You have very little to do other than skim through your novels and play dress-up in front of your full-length mirror until your sister begrudgingly trudges up to your room to wake you from the dead. You roll your eyes before she can even get her manicured hand on your doorknob. You have everyone’s footsteps memorized at this point. Ava’s sound like a galloping giraffe.

“Mum sent me to make sure you haven’t hung yourself with your sheets,” she crows as she saunters into your room. “Is that my fucking skirt?”

“Huh? Oh, this little number?” you smirk, curtsying after you smooth down the satin of your Prada wrap skirt.

“Why is it that when you wear it you look like a whore?” Ava frowns, crossing her arms as she tilts her head towards you like a dog.

“Maybe because I’ve got better legs.”

She scoffs. The jangle of her charm bracelet makes her sound like a dog whose collar is bouncing around.

“The green kind of makes you look sickly. As your sister, I recommend something else,” she tuts, her glossy mouth turned up in a saccharine-sweet smile even when her eyes resemble a cartoonish villain’s. “Be downstairs soon, the Hollands should be over by eleven.”

You breathe again once she slams your door closed behind her. An irritated groan rasps out of your throat. A frown in the mirror stares back at you, so you beam at your own face in mocking sweetness as if you’re an actor preparing for a scene. Another deep breath.

God, you can fucking survive brunch, at least. Get it together.

You swap your current blouse for a white chiffon frill top with cut-out details that aren’t revealing enough for your mother to complain about but enough for you to not sweat so much under the summer sun. Discarding the Prada skirt, you settle on your most breathable pair of black silk trousers. The outfit is plain but elegant, with the top somewhat fairy-like as it flows in the long sleeves. Your hair feels more haphazard than usual, so you pull it back with a claw clip so that your gold hoops are on display. The same hoops that Tom had gotten you for Christmas years ago. You sigh.

“Y/N, you look lovely!” Nikki compliments you as soon as you get to the courtyard behind your house. Her springy, floral perfume wafts in the air around you as she pulls you in for a hug.

“Thank you, Nikki, as do you!” you smile warmly.

A quick scan at the table causes your eyes to fall on Tom briefly. You look away as quick as lightning, though your smile lingers just slightly. He seems to sense the tension and when you spare a second glance at him, he softly smiles at you.

“Love, would you mind helping with the drinks?” our mother beckons you. You nod and walk over to the serving table to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. Nursing a pitcher of mimosas and another of bloody Mary, you quietly greet the Hollands one by one as you pour their glasses for them.

“Y/N!” the twins chirp in unison, which makes you chuckle.

“Hi Harry, Sam,” you grin. “What’s up?”

“Just happy to be here, we haven’t seen you in ages! Paddy thinks you look pretty, by the way,” Harry murmurs, poking his youngest brother on the side.

“Harry!” Paddy huffs, blushing carnation-pink and smiling awkwardly at you. He’d taken a liking to you ever since he was a small child since you were over often enough to hang out with the twins or babysit him occasionally. The small crush he’d developed on you was as adorable as ever.

“Tom,” you nod. “Umm, mimosa or Mary?”

“Morning, rabbit. Mimosa’s good.”

You don’t know why the sound of your old nickname makes your skin feel warmer and warmer, or maybe it was the sun beating down all of you and the fact that you underestimated what a long-sleeve shirt would do for your body. You also seem to underestimate your ability to handle two full pitchers of liquid considering your slight scuffle in serving your guests. Your heel scrapes the pavement the wrong way and a bit of mimosa trickles onto Tom’s lap.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry!” Your face is definitely as hot as the sun right now. Mortified, you attempt to paw at his thigh with a cloth but he holds your wrist to stop you.

“No worries, you didn’t even spill that much. Here, let’s set that down,” he offers.

“You div,” Ava loudly comments. “I need that Bloody Mary, hellooooo?”

“Here, pass that down.” Tom politely passes the pitcher down the table with the slightest grimace, trying hard as ever to not roll his eyes at your sister. You, on the other hand, go a little quiet, choosing to settle down at the table across from Tom. You feel grateful when your parents decide to serve the food, finally.

“This looks amazing,” Dom comments.

“Thank you,” your mother smiles, her eyes crinkling. “Eggs Benedict is Ava’s favorite.”

“Lovely choice.”

Sitting down now, your lip curls over the rim of your glass as the orange liquid gulps down your throat, soothing you in the summer heat. Tom seems to sense your anxiety, getting your attention by kicking you in the foot lightly under the table. You frown at him, giving him a look that reads, not now.

In response to your raised eyebrows, he turns the same expression, except with a smirk instead of a frown. You think that the slight leap of your heart is from the nerve-wracking energy of having to put a face on for your guests. Definitely not the quirk of Tom’s mouth. Definitely not.

“Congratulations on your engagement, love birds,” Nikki murmurs to the supposed stars of the show. You begin to zone out while the rest of the guests seemingly gush over the ring and the party and the future wedding party. You couldn’t care less. You’re better at daydreaming, tucking whatever anxiety you feel under your skin. Tom keeps catching your line of vision and each time his brown eyes feel like they’re relaying secret messages.

“Y/N, Nikki’s talking to you,” your mother says. Suddenly you’re snapped out of your short-lived reverie, now blinking back at everyone around you.

“Sorry?”

“How is uni going for you? Seeing anyone?”

“Ah, it’s, um, good,” you smile. “Yeah, it’s been great, I’m really… into my studies. I don’t really have time for dating.”

“You could be if you lived a little,” Ava interjects with her mouth full of arugula. She resembles a bunny when she chews, down to the beady red eye. “I had to physically drag you to prom!”

“To be fair, prom does suck,” Harry quips. You chuckle in response.

“She likes to reminisce times where she fully peaked because she can’t go back in time,” you dismiss.

Ava makes a guttural sound with her mouth.

“Mum! Are you really going to let her speak to me like th—”

“Got ya more fruit, babe,” Matt interrupts, returning to the table with a bowl of fruit salad like an angel.

“What were you studying again?” Sam asks you.

“Gender studies.”

“That’s where the money is,” Tom mutters.

“Excuse me?”

“Just a joke, darling.”

He smiles thinly, though you can tell from his eyes that he’s truly teasing in good faith. He crosses his arms over the breadth of his chest. You notice how neatly creased his Prada button-down it is along with the veins on his forearm.

“Okay, well, economics is just astrology for the stock market, no?” you retaliate.

Tom lets out a breathy chuckle and kicks you under the table again. You kick back a bit harder and he smiles widely.

“Oof. She got you, mate,” Harry laughs.

Your phone buzzes in your lap. Once you view the notification on your lock screen, you quickly cover it as you tuck it back into the pocket of your trousers before excusing yourself to the bathroom. Tom’s eyes seem to be searing in the back of your head, but once you’re in your own kitchen, you exhale in relief. Your phone buzzes again.

clintwestwood66: need to see those perfect tits, baby

You roll your eyes.

It’s not that you needed the money. Any level-headed person would most likely question your reasoning for selling nudes of yourself because of your current social status and wealth, and any other person would most likely just call you a greedy whore. You swear to yourself it’s the instant gratification of your phone buzzing with the sound of a cha-ching, how that dopamine release alone made you feel powerful for a split second. You were fine with showing off to strangers — men were a pawn to you, anyway. Above all, you were simply bored when you’d started out. That was all.

In the ornate bathroom mirror of the first floor, you look at your rosy cheeks and the way your hair falls into your face, and for some reason, you’re thinking about how Tom is perceiving you. Twirling, your eyes trace the curves of your body, the parts of your skin that showed through your sheer shirt, the dip of your hips. You have to shake the thought of him.

Undoing your blouse, you pivot your hips just slightly so that the light streaming through the window next to the sink falls in a certain pattern on your abdomen. You open your phone camera and hold it up to your face to cover it, capturing the lace black bra you’re wearing in the afternoon light. Sighing, you frown at the end result, now adjusting your bra so that your tits were more exposed, spilling out of the cup. There we go.

A sudden rap on the door startles you. Swallowing, you quickly readjust yourself and fix your shirt before sending the photos.

“Just a second!” you call to the other side of the door when you hear another tap. You open the door only to nearly collide with Tom’s chest. He takes the initiative to hold you by the wrist as if you’re a delicate thing, but mostly, you’re just taken by surprise.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

“Remembered to wash your hands?” Tom raises his brows, mouth curling into a snide grin.

“Obviously,” you huff, quickly turning your heels back to the courtyard. The sun is still blinding and you realize you feel dizzy. You blame the mimosa instead of the curly-headed boy in your house.

The summer had barely started, but even now, it feels like it’s progressing at the pace of drying paint — slow and uneventful. You yearn about the places you could be instead, renewing yourself completely in a foreign country where no one knew your name. But no, you’re sat in your room frowning into a mirror as you attempt to pluck your eyebrows the way your mother had taught you when you were sixteen.

You take a sip from your wine glass and look out of your window. A black window parallels yours. For some reason, envy bubbles up in your stomach, that on this Saturday night you were spending your time haunting your room while Tom was out probably at a bar with his friends or acquaintances or lovers. Truthfully, the mundanity of your life forced you to develop intrusive thoughts upon the return of Tom Holland, because what was more scandalous and romantic than to have another love affair with someone you already had a history with?

You realize this is a foolish thing to want. Again, you blame your thoughts on the glass of alcohol in your hand. If being desired was what you wanted right now, you’d take matters into your own hands. This is why, instead of going to bed like the rest of your household, you decide to change into your newest lingerie set from Agent Provocateur — mesh burgundy with embroidered lace detailing. A swipe of dark red lipstick and you’re set.

Persephone’s live will begin shortly.

You admit that you enjoyed this alter-ego of yours. It was a twisted take on how you would imagine yourself when you were younger — that you would break out of your shell and transform into some ethereal, powerful being. Maybe you’d wanted superpowers. You do kind of feel like a hero in a fucked up way, but only because of the mask you wear on your live streams. You decide in your current age to settle for sex appeal instead of magical powers.

“Hey guys!” you smile, taking a sip from your wine glass as you lounge in front of your laptop camera. You stretch slightly like a cat to show off your finger, your other hand settled on your hip as you slide it slowly across the supple skin of your bare thigh.

“Sorry I haven’t been online lately. Been really busy with work and family stuff… I had to sit through the worst brunch of my life today.” You look over to the chatbox.

“Hey, Phil! Glad to see you’re on. Miss me?” your laugh is like a music box while your voice is lower than it usually is from the way you purposefully try to sound sultry — a femme fatale facade.

“Welcome to the cum show,” you read off. “Ha! Hmm, what should I use tonight, huh? My fingers or a toy?”

Spidey69: [Tipped 20 tokens] want u to use the biggest dildo

“Sheesh,” you respond after seeing the notification and comment. “Just for twenty? I don’t know…”

Your eyes widen when you look up to see a brown head of hair in your window, making you gasp as you watch the figure fall to your bedroom floor clumsily.

“Aw, fuck,” he groans, clutching his side. While he’s still on the floor, you quickly throw your mask under the bed and shut your laptop.

“Tom? What the fuck are you doing here?” you screech.

“Wanted to see you. Duh,” Tom slurs, standing up. He looks you up and down and smirks. “Was I interrupting something?”

“Yes, you were,” you exasperate. You’re dumbfounded by the fact that Tom had pulled his stunt at the most inopportune time, and suddenly embarrassed by the fact that you’ve got nearly nothing on. “Why are you here?”

“I just said I wanted to see you!”

“That’s a lie.”

“No, I’m not lying,” he mumbles. He runs a hand through his curls. You notice that they look softer than usual, almost tousled in the way he looks like an off-duty model. The smell of his cologne is already permeating the air. “But I’d taken an Uber from the pub and then happened to get locked out of my house. So it was either sleep in my backyard or this.”

“You couldn’t have called one of your brothers?”

“They left the pub earlier because they were tired. You know how the twins are if you interrupt their sleep.”

“These are just excuses.”

“Correct. Smart girl,” Tom grins. “Also, I haven’t had a Spider-Man moment in a minute. Mostly just wanted to see if I could do it without falling to my death.”

“I don’t think I’m worth dying for, you div,” you roll your eyes. You adjust yourself so that a blanket drapes over the lower half of your body while you hug the pillow to your chest.

“You’d be surprised,” he shrugs casually. Your brow quirks up at his statement but you decide to leave it be. You’re still on your defensive, watching him carefully as he walks closer to you.

“Were you… taking nudes?” Tom asks awkwardly. He looks you up and down. Although you’re slightly covered up now, he can still make out the floral details of your lingerie and it makes him blush. He swallows his excess saliva and licks his lips absentmindedly.

“None of your fucking business,” you seethe, grabbing another pillow to throw at him. It whacks him in the head then falls flatly into his lap. He doesn’t react, only chuckles his signature breathy laugh.

Even when you’re angry with him, you look breathtaking. You always do, he muses, as he watches your eyes change from frustration to soft curiosity. Your eyelashes flutter at the speed of a hummingbird while he holds your eye contact. When your gaze flickers to your laptop, he makes a realization.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Cybersex?”

“Tom.”

“I thought you weren’t seeing any—”

“Why do you care?” you nearly yell at him. “It’s none of your business, really. Please get out of my room.”

“Y/N, I seriously can’t get into my fucking house. Also, you don’t need to cover up, I’ve literally been inside your—”

An irritated groan vibrates from your mouth as you attack Tom with another pillow, this time shoving it into his face as you try your best to put on an oversized t-shirt from the foot of your bed while you grumble for him to not look.

“We know everything about each other,” he slurs, his eyes softening once you’re still and sitting cross-legged next to him. “So if you’re like, trying to sext your long-distance college boyfriend, that’s fine, I can just… chill in another room, I don’t know—”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Tom,” you dismiss. You can’t even look at him because of how embarrassed you feel. “Also, if I did, you really were just like, ‘oh my ex-girlfriend has to have some FaceTime sex, guess I’ll just chill somewhere else.’”

“Well, did you want me to be jealous? You can do whatever you want, I don’t own you.”

He looks at you with his watery gaze and for a second, you think that there may be yearning swimming in his pools of brown, but you decide it's his drunkenness. Tom looks like a puppy like this — you always took pleasure in taking care of him when he was drunk when you dated, mostly because the ordeal always activated your nurturer instinct and that he was often very goofy when he was drunk. Goofy, adorable, and clingy.

“Pinot noir?” he asks, nodding towards the bottle of wine on your dresser. Before you can protest, he takes a sip straight from the bottle until you swat him away and snatch it from him. “What? ‘m not drunk, I swear. How else would I have climbed up your window?”

“You were blasted out of your mind when you’d jumped multiple fences after that one party when we were sixteen.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment for my impressive athleticism,” he sneers, grabbing the bottle again. “Adrenaline wakes me up, baby.”

Tom claps a hand on your shoulder in an oddly platonic embrace, but then his hair descends to your collarbone where he twists a strand of your hair. Your breath hitches when you realize how close he is to you. You inhale the smell of amber from his cologne — it’s subtle after the day passing, but it smells just as sweet as you remembered it.

“Hey, I was wondering where this was,” Tom smiles softly when he looks down at your shirt.

“Oh, um, you left it here. I guess I forgot to give it back,” you murmur, looking down at the old Trinity College shirt on your body. You wouldn’t tell Tom, but it was one of maybe three articles of clothing that belonged to him that you still had, and wearing it was one of your greatest comforts. There was something nostalgic about it even though you weren’t together anymore. You always like to deny to yourself that you still yearn for him and decide that you merely appreciate the memories. You are also a bad liar, even to yourself.

“Looks better on you.” His voice is low. His fingers trace your jaw and it’s then when you notice how blown out his pupils are.

“Are you high?” you narrow your eyes.

“Not that much,” he mumbles, exhaling in your face. His breath smells like beer and mint. Your bottom lip twitches when his thumb grazes the side of your mouth. It feels like slow motion when he entices his thumb to the center of your lip, and you welcome it by widening your mouth.

“Fuck,” Tom exhales. He doesn’t realize he says it out loud.

Slowly, he takes his thumb out of your mouth so that he can meet it with his own. The kiss is like melting ice, your guarded disposition unraveling just for him as the feeling of his tongue against yours weakens your knees. You’re too occupied with his mouth to notice how hard he already is. The kiss intensifies as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

The small mewl that comes from your mouth in between your kisses drives him insane. His eyes flutter open in surprise when you pull away from his mouth along with your warmth.

“I—um,” you stammer.

“Shit,” he mutters. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to— I—”

“It’s okay. I liked it,” you cut him off.

“You did?”

“Yeah. But I think it’s… it’s a bad idea,” you gulp.

“Right,” Tom nods, inhaling sharply in his nose. He rubs his face in an attempt to do something with his hands. He wishes you would let him continue. “Sorry. You’re just really captivating.”

“Thank you,” you smile shyly, looking away.

“We can… we can do something else. Actually, there was this movie I saw recently and it made me think of you.”

You’re still caught in your post-kiss haze that you don’t realize the detriment of Tom sitting on your bed to open your laptop, but by the time your senses snap back to you, the damage is already done. Your eyes widen.

“Huh,” Tom blinks at the screen. “Who’s Persephone?”

“Y-you weren’t supposed to see that.” There’s a quiver to your voice as you sit down next to him, crossing your arms. You’re too mortified to make eye contact with him right now.

“It isn’t my intention to invade your privacy or anything but is this like… OnlyFans or something?” he asks. You look at him briefly and he looks earnest in his curiosity. You sigh.

“Yes. No. It’s… I do live streams.”

“And you fuck yourself?”

You wince at his choice of words, but nod nonetheless. Your cheeks are burning up faster than a thermometer in a pot of boiling water.

“That’s… fucking hot,” Tom rasps breathily. He bites a lip as he scrolls on your profile slowly. “Not to be that guy, though, but you don’t need the money.”

“I know. I don’t really know why I do it,” you admit. “I guess I was just bored and it was easy to feel… validated. Not that I’m extremely insecure or anything, I just… I don’t know. It’s fun sometimes.”

“You make a lot of money?”

“A decent amount.”

“Interesting. You never wanted to be recorded before.” There was that Tom again, scrutinizing you with his sly smirk. You feel almost feverish about the situation. Of course, he’s taking the opportunity to tease you about not wanting to make… films when you were still dating him. You remember the argument you’d had about it but eventually, it became a thing of the past. Something about having a video of the two of you sounds much more alluring now, especially in the spur of the moment. You look at Tom with something in between contemplation and salacity.

“Well, I was in the middle of a stream when you showed up uninvited.”

“Shame. Maybe we should give the people what they want then. Finish what you started.”

“Really?”

“I’m teasing, love,” Tom chuckles. “The idea of that is really fucking hot, though.”

“Something tells me you actually want to do this.”

“No, not at all. The idea of fucking a pretty girl in a skimpy lingerie set has no effect on me whatsoever,” he retorts sarcastically.

“In front of strangers?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, taking another swig from the wine bottle before putting it back on your bedside table.

“We’ve fucked on the green at the golf course,” he reminds you, and the memory materializes fresh in your mind. It had been Tom’s idea of course, and although you weren’t necessarily an exhibitionist, that was probably one of the most exhilarating sexual experiences you’d shared with him.

There’s a longing in the way he looks at you, something in between genuine desire and the anticipation of a trick. His smile is coy, alluring. You look at him long enough to notice the erratic beat of your pulse ticking away at the moment of you drinking him in, blowing air through your teeth before you sink your claws to his shoulder. Mouth to mouth, palm to thigh, eyelash to cheek. It’s just as slow as the last kiss but he feels more open now to paw at you, his hand tracing the details of your garter belt.

“I’m serious, this is really fuckin’ sexy,” he drawls. “You never wore anything like that for me.”

“I don’t wear anything for you,” you chuckle, sighing as he nibbles on your ear. You shove him away, causing him to pout. “Save it for the show, Tommy. Now get off-camera.”

You take off your t-shirt and you swear Tom’s eyes grow three times their usual size. When you lean over your bed to get the mask you’d thrown under it, he slaps your ass playfully. You swat at him once you’re back to your laptop and logging in.

Persephone is LIVE.

“Sorry for the interruption, boys. Percy’s back,” you grin as you adjust your hair.

Spidey69: we thought u got kidnapped!!

Shy_guyxx: look so sexy queen

Whiskeydick23: [Tipped 30 tokens] I wanna see that ass, miss

“You will be seeing this ass, whiskey dick,” you chuckle. Your eyes flit to Tom’s briefly, holding in a laugh when you see his expression, both bewildered and impressed. He mouths ‘wow’ to you but you don’t catch it as you’ve gone back to entertain your fans. “I’ve got something special for you guys tonight.”

You turn to Tom again gesturing to the underside of your bed and then to the mask on your face. He blinks, confused, then again in realization. You flash a Hollywood smile back to your screen.

“My first collaboration,” you announce. “With none other than Hades himself.”

At this point, Tom is undressed down to just his boxer briefs much to your surprise. You raise your eyebrows as you scale the curve of his biceps and down to his toned abs, mouth salivating already. You clear your throat.

“C’mere, baby,” you say, the register of your voice going lower to be seductive. Tom awkwardly shifts himself to the space next to you, a thin smile spread over his features as he scans the comments without a word.

“He’s shy,” you reassure your audience. “What do you guys want him to do to me? Huh?”

“I thought I’d choose that,” Tom protests.

“C’mon, Hades, it’s for the boys.” He shivers at your touch, already succumbing to you. This version of you is a pleasant surprise to him. You’re truly a temptress, a vixen at heart, and although Tom would never admit to the fact that you still crossed his mind when he would pleasure himself, the version of you in his daydreams paled in comparison to the corporeal being in front of him.

Shy_guyxx: is he bigger than your toys? lol

Batman4ever: [Tipped 100 tokens] i bet she can deepthroat so good

“Good news, boys, looks like he’s already hard,” you tease, running your hands over Tom’s thighs. A soft red spreads over his cheeks and you notice the small freckles speckled over his crooked nose. You didn’t realize how much you missed them until now.

You start by pushing back against your pillows, moving the laptop so that your audience had a side-view of the both of you. Your mouth licks against his warm abdomen, lips making wet smacking sounds as you descend to his boxers. Already, his hand is tangled in your hair in praise. His soft groans are subtle but are all too clear for your ears.

When you look up at him with doe-like eyes, Tom feels like he might choke. God, how pretty he looked with his mouth ajar. You don’t waste any time in pulling down his boxers, marveling at his hard cock springing free for you.

“You wanna fuck my mouth?”

“Yeah. Got a dirty mouth on you, huh,” Tom exhales, pushing your head down towards the head of his cock. Pre-cum lines the tip of the head and then onto your tongue as you lick stripes down to his shaft. His soft moans immediately gratify you, so you take him into your mouth as far as you can. “Oh, shit. Yeah, that’s it. Fuck.”

You watch in awe as his head tips back in response to you swirling your tongue around his tip. The teasing is agonizing him, how slowly you deepthroat him while slowly pumping his shaft. Without warning, you go faster, settling on an even rhythm as you get him deeper into your mouth until his hips buck, causing you to choke on his cock in the process. He grips tightly on your hair, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck. You lock eyes and he swears he might cum too early. The sight of you in your lingerie with your mouth around him makes him feel like he’s in a dream. He wants to moan your name so badly but he knows he can’t.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he grunts. You giggle quietly at his reactions, taunting him with a slower rhythm despite the fact that he’s writhing under you. You surprise again by going deeper very abruptly, making him whine. It’s something you hadn’t heard in a while that certainly stirs something inside of you.

“Babe, I’m close.” He taps your shoulder, pulling your hair slightly to your confusion, but before you can say anything, he pulls you close to him for a sloppy kiss.

“You want me to stop?”

“I didn’t wanna cum so fast. Show’s just started,” Tom smirks. He surprises you by tugging you by the wrist, hand under your bum to coax you onto his lap. You sigh sweetly as you grind onto his length. He inches closer to you to whisper in your ear. “Y’ready, love? I don’t know if I can wait any longer.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Do you think you deserve it?”

“I don’t know, do I?” he echoes you with a smirk that shows off one of his dimples. It makes your heart melt for a split second before you jolt in response to his thumb circling your clit.

“Oh,” you exhale, closing your eyes as you grind onto his hand, the wetness of your cunt slicking his fingers. You watch in awe when he removes his hand and takes his fingers into his mouth.

“You taste so sweet, baby.”

When he attacks your neck with kisses, biting hard enough to create a bruise, you’re nearly falling apart for him to the point where you can’t take it anymore. Easily, you slide down onto his cock, causing you both to take sharp breaths. As you grind against his lap, he grips your soft skin harshly, rough and hard as if he’s trying to anchor you to his body. You wouldn’t mind staying tethered to him considering how fucking good it feels.

You indulge in the feeling of his taut skin, fingertips raking the length of his muscular back as your head lulls into his shoulder. He pulls your hair to expose your neck so that he can continue to suckle on your collarbone, biting down harder every time he hears you moan louder and louder.

Even with his mask on, you can see his pupils blown out, matched with his mouth pink and wide open, a crimson tint aligning the pucker of his lips from the red wine. You accidentally graze noses before you close in the distance to kiss him passionately, first knocking teeth slightly until your tongue slips into his mouth.

He growls at how deep he is inside of you. Forcefully, he switches your positions, pushing you with your back against the bed so that he’s on top. Grinning at your laptop, he moves it to a new position to show off the two of you in the frame. Your legs entwine together with Tom in the middle as he thrusts into you, rutting his hips in tandem with your erratic heartbeat and hushed breaths.

“Fuck, I missed you so much,” he whispers as he nibbles on your ear, and the notion makes your chest tighten. Maybe it’s the warmth in your core, supposedly from the proximity you are from an orgasm. But hearing him admit that he missed you even in the heat of the moment makes the entire experience change for you.

“F-fuck… Tom…” you whine without thinking. You want to gasp because of your mistake but he simply covers your mouth with his large hand to muffle your moans. Your eyes are nearly rolling in the back of your head as his cock hits your sweet spot, causing your legs to tremble.

“Feel so fucking good inside you,” he mumbles, grabbing your thighs and propping them upwards so that he has better access to your cunt. “You’re close, baby, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you mewl. “Fuck, I’m g-gonna…”

“Gonna cum for me?” Tom moans breathlessly, gripping a fistful of your hair. “Who else makes you feel like this, huh?”

“N-nobody,” you whimper. In the throes of ecstasy, your body quickly ascends to orgasm, legs shaking as the warmth in your cunt spreads to the rest of your lips. Tom’s whimpers mesh with your own as you ride out your high, and before you know, he slides out of you just to prop your thighs on his shoulders so he can suck on your clit. You cover your mouth to quiet your moans because truthfully, the feeling of Tom’s tongue on your pussy before you can even come down from your orgasm makes you want to scream.

It feels even more intense when he inserts two, three fingers into your cunt as he sucks on your clit at a constant rhythm. You feel like you’re about to disintegrate from the pleasure alone that you have to tug harshly on his hair so that he can release himself from you. When he obliges, he peppers sweet kisses along your thighs and hips as you tremble under his touch.

“Too much?” he sneers.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you breathe. He’s about to say something else teasing but you cut him off with your lips. This kiss isn’t as frantic as the other ones of the night – it’s both erotic and sweet, almost… romantic. His hand slides from your hip to graze your neck, softly rubbing at the nape of it where he can feel your pulse. It almost makes his face go red the way he feels when your hands are in his curls just the way he likes it, soft and combing through the way you used to.

When you pull back, he’s staring at you like you’re both a ghost and his guardian angel.

“Do you w-want to keep going?” he stammers. You nod. You kiss his jaw once again, murmuring something that sounds a bit like “I want to make you cum.” You get on all fours in front of him and gasp when he slides into you, his hand sweeping your hair away from your neck so that he can get closer to you to kiss your jaw from behind. His thrusts are slower than you expect. From the soft moans coming from his mouth, a flood of emotion fills your insides for reasons that aren’t concrete in your mind. You close your eyes.

You decide to lift your hips and thrust back onto his cock harder, which makes him pick up his rhythm so that he slams into you with more force. It hasn’t been long since you two had picked back up again but you already feel your walls pulsating with another oncoming orgasm.

“Oh, God, I’m close.”

“Fuck, me too,” you hear him pant.

“Cum for me, f-fuck–”

“Wait…” he breathes, slipping out of you quickly.

“Why did you–”

“Just wanna see that face when you cum,” he smiles. It makes your face feel hotter than it already was.

You’re flat on your back and he’s doing the thing again – thrusting into you with a slow pace that feels like honey dripping into tea, raindrops flowing down a windowpane. Your breath hitches from the way he handles you with such care, his kisses descending down your jaw like he’s planting flowers into the bed of your skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he thinks out loud as he watches your head lull onto the mattress as he fucks into you blissfully, your hair spread out on the bed like you’re underwater. You gasp sharply when he rubs your clit and he can tell you’re already on the brink of release.

“I’m gonna–”

“Look at me when you cum,” he grovels. His hand is around your neck the way you like it while he thrusts into you roughly, but he releases his grip to hold your chin up so he can see your expression. “Fuck, that’s my girl.”

He continues to rub your clit as you cum, your moans littered with expletives and mumbles. God, you can’t even think straight. You want to say his name so badly because it’s the only word in your mind.

Watching you cum forces him to mirror your desire, so he slips out of you and palms himself above you until he spills onto your stomach. His pants and breaths are all too familiar to you, causing butterflies to stir inside of you as if you weren’t just getting fucked by him. Watching him orgasm makes you feel like a voyeur even when he’s cumming because of you.

Once Tom is done, he collapses onto you, breathing heavily into your neck as you absentmindedly finger-comb his brown curls.

“You good?” you giggle.

“Yeah, fuck,” he exhales. His voice is low, raspy like he’d just woken up from slumber. “‘m more than good.”

“You’ve got…” you awkwardly point out, bending over to retrieve your t-shirt to wipe the cum off his stomach and your own.

“Thanks,” he responds, to which you laugh again because of how shy he’s suddenly gotten. Was he this shy because of you?

When you look back at your laptop, your eyebrows raise at the number of coins that your audience had tipped you. There were thousands, not to mention the number of viewers you had were the highest they’d been since you’d started camming.

Shy_guyxx: Fuck that was so hot

Madhatter67: did anyone screen record that? i would pay for that video

Peterporker12: Holy shittttt

“Thanks for the tips, baby-loves,” you grin, blowing a kiss to the camera. “And thanks to my… special guest for being here. Bye!”

You log off with relief, taking off your mask. Tom is looking at you with his mask off as well, his brown eyes wide as if he’d just reached his peak on ecstasy.

“You still high?” you question, slapping his cheek playfully to get him out of his trance.

“Maybe on you. That was fucking amazing.”

“Yeah, it was,” you nod, shutting off your laptop and plopping your back onto your bed. Your skin feels electric, pulsing once you realize that Tom has taken your hand in his.

“We should do that more often,” he smiles, inching closer to you and raising your hand to his mouth to kiss it. “Off-camera, too.”

“So you meant it?” you whisper, kicking him lightly like a schoolchild. He interlocks your legs together in an embrace. “That you really missed me?”

“Of course I did,” he swallows. “Haven’t been able to kick you out of my mind since we broke up. Since I met you when we were young, Y/N. I think you’ve made a home in my head.”

“Forced eviction helps.”

He chuckles at your remark. You hate admitting how much his laughter comforts you, makes you feel like he’s your favorite cup of tea on a rainy day. In Tom’s brain, you are the definition of perfect, and because of that, he had been grappling with letting you go for years. He had decided he knew you best out of anyone, and because of how he viewed you like you were the sun itself, he also decided that you were perhaps better off without him. It feels selfish of him to even be in your bed right now. There’s a gnawing in his chest that reminds him what the two of you had just done and he swallows his guilt with pride. He’d always had that recurring dream of him fucking you one last time, has always convinced himself that was a natural response to breaking his own heart. But now that he’s lying with you in your bed this close to you, he realizes that all he’d ever wanted was you. Wholeheartedly. For you to be his again.

“Could never evict you. It’s hurt before but I think… you being in my head helps spruce up the place. Makes me feel like a better person,” he confesses, kissing you on the nose.

“You’re not just saying that because we just had extremely good sex, are you?” You scrunch your nose.

“I mean, that definitely helped, but no. I don’t think I’ve ever stopped being in love with you.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, trying to hide your smile. Tears were pricking out of your eyes and you blame your hormones. There were plenty of times in the past that your body would be flooded with emotion after sex because of how everything with Tom felt so intense. Always like a movie. You had never felt that way about anyone else – it had made you think that the way you viewed your relationship with him was completely delusional.

“I mean it, Y/N.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

Tom’s smile grows ten times its size. Tucking you closer to his body, he peppers kisses all over your face. He thinks that if he could bottle your giggles to keep, he’d never have a bad day in his life again.

“Our families are gonna have a riot when they find you emerging from my bedroom in the morning,” you sigh.

“Let them think what they want,” Tom shrugs. “Soooo… we’re splitting the money, right?”

You scoff, hitting him lightly in the shoulder. When you look at his raised eyebrows, you laugh. “Fine. I guess you were the star of the show.”

playlist in plain text:

frank ocean - ivy

yeule - bites on my neck

the weeknd - tell your friends

lana del rey - watercolor eyes

fkj, ((( o ))) - vibin’ out

lykke li - sex money feelings die

the neighbourhood - you get me so high

anna of the north - lovers

deftones - sextape

lo-fang - blue film

#tom holland fanfiction #tom holland rpf #rpf #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #exes to lovers #richkid!tom #neighbor!tom #ex!tom #richkid!reader #peter parker smut

815 notes · View notes

duskholland · 3 years ago

Text

Taunt (Richkid!Tom Smut)

summary ↠ your relationship with tom is like playing a game of cat and mouse. he’s certain it’ll end with the two of you getting together, you aren’t so sure. — richkids au. warnings ↠ rich people shenanigans, golf, alcohol, jealousy, harry holland is used as a plot device, a fwb arrangement that becomes more, y/n has commitment issues but she is loved, angst with a happy end, hard smut. this fic is nsfw—minors do not interact !! extended smut warnings below the cut. word count ↠ 14.8k. a/n ↠ this was inspired by two amazing golf!tom fics I read last year— a golf lesson by @hollandcrush and the game by @allegra-writes :) both of those fics were exceptional and I have not been able to stop thinking about them since, so please go read both of those! thank you mabel and allegra for introducing me to the sinful side of golf... :) + some ppl get their friends birthday cards, but my gift to the lovely @sinisterspidey for her birthday is this golf!tom smutfic lmfao. chloe !! you have probably forgotten, but when I first conceptualised this (,,in december,,,) you were really helpful with some golf tips. sooo, thank you a) for helping me write this, b) for showing me the beautiful and hot world that is golf!tom, and c) for being a wonderful friend <3 ++ I had the idea for the smut section and constructed this whole elaborate plot just so I could enable myself... worth it? idk lmfao but it was fun !! please pay attention to the warnings !!

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

smut warnings ↠ unprotected sex including: dom!tom (incl soft + mean), y/n is a brat and gets punished for it, minor sir kink, public sex (unseen + uninterrupted: anxious readers do not fear), a highly inappropriate use of a golf club (incl stimulation but no penetration), degradation, choking, finger sucking, biting, spitting, fingering, oral (both receiving), edging and orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, squirting, cumshot. please practice safe sex irl! condoms protect against STIs as well as unplanned pregnancy !!!

✧ *:･ﾟTaunt･ﾟ:*✧

Tom’s mouth is warm against you, his persistent lips meeting with yours over and over again until all you can think about is him; all you care about is him.

“God….” he murmurs, deep voice vibrating against your lips. He brings a hand to cup the side of your face, and you feel yourself gasp as the cool metal of his signet rings brushes up against your cheek. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, darling. Even when you’ve pissed me off beyond belief.”

A smirk flickers out across your face. You disconnect from the heated embrace of Tom’s lips and sit back, your posture straightening as you take in the breathtaking sight before you.

Tom looks very handsome today, even when his eyes carry nothing but frustration. Wrapped in a tight black t-shirt and a pair of green slacks, his outfit is accompanied by the bright silver pop of his Rolex, rings and chain. There’s a glow to his cheeks that goes beyond the angered flush—he’s almost sparkling with the type of freshness only achievable by a good workout regime and an abundance of free wealth. His poise is further emphasised by the determined way his hair is styled from his face, his messy curls tamed into solemn waves. He is gorgeous, even more so than you, and you think his beauty far eclipses anything that’s expected from a country club brunch.

“I didn’t do anything,” you say finally, teasingly running your fingers through his hair. Tom rolls his eyes and reaches up to quickly catch your hands.

“Don’t mess up my hair,” he mutters, squeezing your fingers in his, “do you know how long it took me to get it all flat at the back?”

You manage a shrug. “It looks cute when it’s loose, though,” you whine. He looks softer with his chestnut curls bouncing over his forehead—with it all slicked back, he seems hard, brittle. And Tom isn’t brittle—even if the facade says otherwise.

Tom’s jaw twitches minutely. “I like it loose too,” he says, “but it doesn’t really fit in here, does it?” He tosses a hand into the air, gesturing at the decadent room around you. “Business casual at the club, darling.”

A small snort slips past your lips.

Forest Hills Country Club is the most desirable club in London, and anyone who’s anyone finds themselves a regular at the sprawling estate. You’re currently attending the Saturday morning brunch—though you and Tom have escaped the party and stowed away in an empty secondary living room distant from the party. Even several rooms away, you’re able to hear the celebrations—ears catching the popping of bottles, the light music of the string quartet, and the warbling laughs of the elite clientele. You aren’t upset that you’re missing it. You always go to brunch, but you don’t often get the opportunity to hang around Tom so discreetly. When he’d stalked across the room and pried you off the arm of your date, you’d been pleased.

You’d only come with someone else to get his attention. It’d worked, like always, and now you have exactly what you want: Tom, feeding you attention, cradling your face and kissing your lips.

“God,” Tom mutters. He glides his hands around your waist, briefly skimming his warm palms against the swell of your breasts before moving them back to your face. “You’re so bloody hot…”

You’re sitting on a cabinet, and as Tom nuzzles his face against the column of your neck, the hands on your hips jerk you closer to the edge. Your thighs fall open, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as your hand reaches up to bury in the chestnut mane. Tom steps closer to you, briefly pausing the kisses to your neck as he groans very softly when contact is made between the hard outline of his cock and the front of your crotch. Your dress has risen up in the ten minutes you’ve spent making out with the man, but it works to your advantage as it means you’re able to grind closer to Tom and receive the lightest, most tantalising amount of pleasure to your aching cunt.

“Tom,” you whimper, voice twisting as you feel him suckle on the sensitive part of your neck.

“Hmm?”

“Are you— are you going to fuck me?”

Tom chuckles against your neck. “I don’t know…” he teases. “In here, with the party down the hall? Seems a little risky, darling.”

“I like risk,” you say, “we’ve done worse. Do you remember the sauna?

There’s a brief intermission as Tom laps his tongue across the base of your neck. “I suppose,” he drawls, employing the deep, husky tones of his lower register. His voice has you squirming against the counter he’d so unscrupulously tossed you up against when he’d tugged you into the room. “We’d have to be very quiet, though…”

“I can do that,” you say immediately. Everything feels so hot— so tender, so wet. There’s a tightness in the pit of your stomach, pulsing, teasing, pulsing. “C’mon, Tom… live a little.”

He flexes a neat brow. “Well, if you put it that way…” Tom’s eyes drift away from your face, tilting down to the other side of your neck. You feel a sinking sensation in the pit of your stomach as his expression drops. “Wait— what the fuck is that?” Tom pulls back suddenly, his face immediately clouding over. Whatever atmosphere of suspense you’d been constructing shatters easily. He jabs with his index finger, the angry fingertip digging into the spot where your right collarbone joins with your neck. He’s highlighting a hickey, straining obviously against your skin. A hickey left by another man. “Are you taking the piss right now?”

When you’d thought about the possibility of Tom finding the mark, part of you had leaned into it whilst the other had tried to run. It isn’t the first time he—nor you—have been met with such a visible reminder that nothing between you is exclusive. You’ve peeled off his shirt before to find scratches running the length of his back. Part of you feels like a dick for instructing the guy to suck right there, in a spot so prominent it was only a matter of time before Tom found it, but another part… Well, you will admit that it feels sort of good to have him staring at you so viciously. In a muddled, fucked-up way, it’s quite nice to know that he cares.

You try to bite back the smile of victory as you see him flare up at you, his eyebrows pulling together as his eyes simmer with anger.

“That’s a hickey, Tom,” you say annoyingly.

“I know what it bloody is.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Then what’s the issue?”

“You told me you were done with him,” he mutters. “What was his name, fucking… Jack?”

Your tongue skims across your lower lip. “I am done with Jack. Haven’t seen him in months.”

Tom growls. Again, he presses his thumb to the site of the bruised hickey. Your skin is still sensitive, and you hiss as you inhale.

“You are such a brat,” he states. “Who was it, then?”

You shrug. “Don’t know,” you say, craning your neck as you watch Tom continue to press his thumb over the mark. He’s quick with it, almost as if he’s trying to rub it away.

“Can’t have been a good shag then.” Tom glances up at you, raising a brow. “Was it?” You hesitate. The silence tells Tom all he has to hear. “I knew it. Why do you keep doing this?”

“Doing what…?”

His stare hardens. Tom’s hands move away from your hips as he steps back, placing enough distance between you so he’s able to cross his arms across his chest. As he settles in a position he seems comfortable in, you can’t stop your eyes from flittering between the bright glinting of his watch and the bulges of his biceps.

“Fucking around with men who can’t satisfy you.”

You have to bite your lip. Tom sets himself up so easily it’s almost cruel. “See, I would stop, but you quite enjoy my company, Tom, and I’d feel mean denying you my presence.”

Tom stills. You watch his cheeks bloom with frustration, catch the way he flexes his fingers. A beautifully irritated groan slips past his lips, then he’s moving towards you.

“I am nothing like those pathetic men you entertain yourself with, darling, and you know that as well as I do.”

He’s right. He’s right, and both of you know it. Tom truly is nothing like the men you keep falling back to, keep chasing in the hopes that they’ll glut the deep vacancy his absence causes during the times you’re apart.

When nobody else does, he cares. Tom cares that you’re wasting your nights with people who know your family name instead of your own, understands that the self-destructive tendencies you construct are there because you’re scared, paralysed, terrified of allowing yourself to love someone. He knows that he’s the only person who’s ever come close to breaking you open. He knows you’re fond of him, and you know that he returns the sentiments of fear and adoration you feel every time you look at him.

And you… You just don’t know how to process that. You’ve been burnt by love before, have let people in only to watch as they’ve broken promises and left your trust in tatters. It’s been a long time since you’ve indulged in anything beyond a light dalliance, being selective with who you let touch your heart. It isn’t that you don’t want to be loved. You do. You want to be adored, to be cherished—sometimes yearn for it so badly your chest aches. Yet, it’s easier to keep those thoughts to yourself. Your heart is a delicate ware, and you hide it behind layers of snark and nonchalance. Only someone truly persistent would be able to reach it, which brings you to the root of your problem…

Tom’s hands wrap around your waist again, heavy and firm. As his fingers dig into the skin above your hips, he jerks you closer, so you’re standing just in front of him. His lips move over yours, hot and heavy, parting open when you slip your tongue into his mouth and moan at the taste of bubbly champagne.

“You piss me off so much,” he spits, his voice hard against your lips. “It’s like you make every decision with the intention of trying to annoy me.”

You do.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you say, “I’m this annoying with everyone.”

Tom suddenly pulls away from your lips, leaving them wetter than before. Both of his hands go to your cheeks, and the rings wrapped around his middle and pinky fingers sting against your skin. He’s so close to you that the tip of his nose strains against yours.

“You are not annoying,” he says seriously. “You are spectacular.” He kisses you again, this time softer. His lips linger over yours as he adds, “and so bloody hot, even when you’re acting like a nightmare.”

Your lips fade into a smile. He softens you. He makes your passion melt and malleable and then reshapes it into something more manageable—something gentler, pink instead of red, warm instead of boiling.

“You always try so hard,” you say. You lift your hands to the collar of his shirt, letting your fingertips slip beneath the stiff fabric and coast behind his neck. “Doesn’t it ever get tiring, being so persistent?”

Tom chuckles. “Sometimes,” he admits. His fingers stroke over your hair before he drops his head, nuzzling his face against the side of your neck. As his lips and tongue pulse across the side of your throat, he continues to speak, “it’ll be worth it, though. Eventually.”

The gelled strands of his hair are stiff beneath your fingers. You enjoy unpicking them, coaxing the softer curls of his chestnut strands away from the hardness.

“How come?”

Tom sighs. His hot breath bursts across your neck.

“You push, and push, and push. It’s like you want to see how far you can go before I decide I’ve had enough,” he mutters. His teeth are cold against your neck, the sharp tips teasing at your skin. “Guess what, darling?” You stay quiet, distracted by the lingering pressure of his mouth. Tom tuts, then digs his teeth into the column of your neck. The sharp bite of pain brings a wave of pleasure to the primal heat between your legs. “I said, guess what, sweetheart?”

Your voice catches. “What?”

Tom smoothes his tongue across the site of the bite. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs. “I’m not. I know you only do this because you’re scared, because you want to pretend that this is a game that you can quit at any moment. And it is a game… it is.” He pauses to press a gentle kiss over the love bite. “But we both know that the only way this ends is with you and me, getting together. It ends with us being in love and being happy. But, and I’ll be honest here, Y/N: I’m getting pretty fucking pissed that you keep stringing this out, darling. So please— please—knock it off. I’m tired.”

He sees straight through you. You can’t decide if it’s horrifying or thrilling. When he looks up at you with eyes so understanding, it’s as if he can read your heart, you settle on terrifying.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tom sighs. He takes a few steps back, and you notice that your skin feels cold without him.

“I’m going back to the party,” he comments, murmuring in a way that draws a shiver down your spine. “You should ditch your date. He’s a twat.”

You rub your fingertips over your arms, trying to draw a flame to the loneliness that unfurls over your skin. “You barely know him,” you murmur.

Tom rolls his eyes. “I know you, Y/N,” he adds. “He’s not right for you.”

You spin a ring around your finger as you avoid his gaze. “Okay.”

He clasps his hands together. “I need to go,” he says, “I have to find my date.”

Your eyes snap up to Tom’s. “Your date?”

He nods. You watch as he tucks his hands into the deep pockets of his suit trousers, his shoulders dropping. “You’re not the only one who needs a partner for these things,” he mutters. Tom pauses to reach for his half-drunk glass of champagne, and you observe the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the rest of the pearlescent liquid. His pink tongue coasts his lips directly afterwards. “And, seeing as you have a habit of declining my invitations, I made my own arrangement.” He pauses, eyes narrowing slightly. “Is that okay, darling?”

Well, you can’t exactly admit how distastefully his revelation lies in your chest without exposing yourself as a hypocrite, can you?

“Do whatever you want, Tom. I know I do.”

Something like pain flashes across his face, but it’s quickly smoothed away when he reaches up to tuck an unruly strand of hair back into place.

“Alright,” Tom says curtly. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Bye, Tom.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to approach you again; has that far-away haze resting in his eyes that usually prefaces vulnerability. He doesn’t, though. You stay still as Tom retreats to the end of the room, your heart seizing as he doesn’t try to look back.

With the heavy close of the door, Tom leaves you alone. At your sides, your hands curl into fists. It’s undeniable that the emotion hanging in your chest is nothing short of misery.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧

You don’t see him for a while. It’s nothing unfamiliar.

There are only a few times that you usually meet with Tom. Despite being busy people, your paths routinely cross during tennis practice on Tuesdays, brunches on Saturdays, and a plethora of other, semi-frequent activities at various points during the week. The next to hit your calendar is the fortnightly golf expedition that brings together your family with his. Usually, you’d skip it, but you decide you want to go this week.

After loading your car with a set of golf clubs that barely get to see the light of day, you shoot off a text to your cousin, letting him know that you’re on your way. You go golfing with him and your uncle, accompanying Tom, his twin brothers and his father on the course. Sometimes other friends tag along, but you tend to stick close to Tom or his brother Harry. Harry’s usually very funny. He gets flustered whenever you’re around.

Whilst you’re a competent golfer, you aren’t really keen on it. Maybe you should be better, given the hours you’ve sunk into wandering the course, but you’ve always preferred things that are more immediate, more thrilling. Nothing sounds attractive about chasing a ball around a field for several hours—the only thing that attracts you is the lure of the company.

One of the reasons you’ve decided to tag along today is because you’re restless. Even as you drive through London’s outskirts, you’re unable to sit still in your seat. Your fingernails drum over the leather of the steering wheel, tapping persistently until you drive yourself mad.

Nothing has felt right since last weekend’s brunch—nothing has felt right since Tom swept from the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Stuck alone in that room, you’d found yourself pondering the events until you’d become overwhelmed and had to ditch the party. By the time you’d next checked your phone, it was to a peeved text from your date and two concerned messages from Tom. Both had made you feel worse.

Utterly unrelated to anything that had happened, you’d spent the rest of the day severing every hookup arrangement you’d constructed with other men. Your decision had definitely had nothing to do with the sudden, sickening realisation that each one of your lovers wore a bed of brown curls… You just… You just didn’t find them interesting anymore. You couldn’t ever focus when you were with anyone else, couldn’t find the soaring highs of pleasure you get when you’re with him. They didn’t touch your lips with the same consideration as Tom, didn’t roll their hips with the right amount of gusto. They weren't him.

Fine. Fine. Tom had gotten under your skin. He always does.

Maybe he has a point, anyway. Maybe you are destined to end up together—or, at the very least, are supposed to bridge this gap between infuriating acquaintances and something more.

You’ve long since thought you’re two sides of the same coin. The evidence presents itself everywhere: in the way you have the same favourite type of champagne, and your ability to act as an unbeatable set of doubles during tennis. The way he’s hot when you’re cold, and vice versa. He’s snarky and brash, and so are you, but it fits in a way that’s soft. Nothing about your relationship is abrasive, even when it’s so obviously clear that both of you are sharp. Tom softens you…

…But he also infuriates you. Your annoyance swells to a peak as you make the turning into the country club, your fingers flexing around the leather of the steering wheel.

Who does he think he is, calling you out like that? Speaking about your future? Implying you’ll end up together despite the way your actions suggest anything but?

Tom thinks that he knows everything, thinks he has you nailed down because he’s taken the time to learn the intricate workings of your brain. He has some nerve acting like he understands you—regardless of whether or not he’s aware of how scarily close he seems to know you.

Now, are you sincerely furious? No, perhaps not. But if you think about your last encounter for long enough, it gives you an edge worth pursuing. You love infuriating Tom, thrive off the way the vein in his neck strains against the reddening patches of his skin when you get under his skin. The way his jaw firms as his eyes harden makes you shudder, ignites a heat in the pit of your stomach that demands attention. You crave the fierce placement of his hands on your hips, the spat words of degradation that he laces with equal parts affection and spite. When you push him far enough, he slips into a dominant headspace so obscene you find the memories following you into dreams.

You concoct a plan—a way to push Tom, just a little further, just to see if he can take it. You pull stunts all the time, but nothing as brazen as the scheme you draw up as you drive to the golf course. You tell yourself it’s to get back at him for questioning your judgement, but maybe it’s to see—to check—to disprove the other things he’d said. To challenge his assertion that he’ll still be waiting for you to throw in the towel and let him— what? Love you?

Your chest tightens.

Running on auto-pilot, you find yourself pulling into the car park of the country club, just a few minutes late for the game. Still mulling things over, you’re a little dazed as you clamber from your car, stretching out the tired muscles in your arms and shoulders as your feet make contact with the gravel. The air is plump with the sweet scent of honeysuckle, and you enjoy letting your eyes flutter around the light flowers and deep bushes that line the perimeter of the car park.

Amidst the buzzing bees and crunching gravel, you hear someone call out your name.

“Alright, Y/N?”

Your eyes lift, and as an eager smile spreads across your lips, you find yourself ruffling your hair. It’s Harry, Tom’s younger brother. Dressed in a pair of grey golf shorts and a white polo shirt, his cheeks are a violent shade of red. His flush contrasts the dark, rusted shade of his hair.

“Hi, Harry,” you return. You reach back into your car and haul out your golf clubs. As you stand up and lock your car, you find the boy standing a lot closer to you than he had been before. Your smile becomes perplexed. “Are you okay?”

Harry nods his head quickly. He holds out his hands, an eager grin strapped across his face.

“Can I help you with those?” he asks, tilting his head towards your golf clubs.

“Sure,” you reply. Your back feels a thousand times lighter as he reaches out and shoulders your heavy bag of clubs. Stepping forward, you press a hand to his shoulder as you peck his cheek. “Thanks, Harry.”

The man emits a broken noise, husked suspiciously low. “No— no problem, love.”

Part of you feels bad for writing Harry into your ploy, but he’s just so easy. It’s obvious how flustered he is already as you agree to walk with him to the golf course, his cheeks continuing to burn a bright, visceral red. You try to ease his nerves by making light conversation, asking about his week, learning that he’s been busy working with Tom. The two of them own and run a film studio just on the outskirts of London.

By the time you join the rest of your group, the tension between you has eased, and your mood has brightened. It’s a beautiful day out on the course, with the slopes of the green doused in that wonderfully bright, early-July glow. It’s hot beneath the sun, and you find yourself grateful that you’d opted for a short black skort and a small white t-shirt. Accessorising even in the face of sport, you have a pair of sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose and a gold necklace hanging from around your neck.

“Ahh… The stragglers are finally here. Thanks for joining us at last, Y/N, Harry.”

You scowl playfully as you look at Sam, Harry’s twin. He’s resting back against a golf bag, wearing a pair of chequered trousers and a flat cap. He flashes you a smile before pushing forward, his hand briefly skating over your waist as his lips meet with your cheek.

“Piss off, Sam,” Harry mutters. He high fives his brother with enough force to have the clash ringing through the air.

You find yourself looking around the group. There’s a few of you, mostly men, but your cousin Theo has brought his girlfriend, Annabeth. It’s whilst you’re reacquainting yourself with both of them that you feel Tom’s presence behind you, his shadow enveloping you before you feel him. His hands slip around your waist as you’re talking with Theo and Annabeth, and you lean into his side as he steps up behind you.

“Ahh, Tom,” Theo says, eyeing the man at your side with intrigue in his eyes, “nice seeing you again, chap.”

Tom hums. He rests his chin on your shoulder as he steps a little closer to you. “Pleasure as always,” he murmurs. After pausing for a moment, he moves away from you, allowing you to turn and finally look at him. You feel your breath leave your lungs as you take in the sight of him, glistening beneath the sun.

There are a few things you’ve learnt about Tom in the year that you’ve known him. He likes dogs, he likes the colour red, he has a secret tattoo printed to the bottom of his foot. But by far the most prominent aspect of his personality, and the one hobby he seems to fall back to, over and over again, is his affinity for golf. If he isn’t playing it, you can almost guarantee he’s thinking about it, and his dedication to the art of the swinging club is reflected in how seriously he takes the game. He isn’t superstitious about much, but you’ve come to learn that he never performs as well if he isn’t wearing his lucky outfit: cap—light grey, white writing—long slacks, blue shirt, golf glove, and Rolex.

Somehow, as he stands before you in an outfit you’ve seen a thousand times before, it feels refreshing. There’s a softness in your chest that’s unfamiliar. It makes it hard to breathe.

“Hi,” you blurt out, finding yourself on the receiving end of his deep, inquisitive eyes.

Tom’s eyebrows twitch. “Hey,” he says, an edge of mirth in his voice. “You alright? I didn’t think you liked golf.”

You laugh softly. “I don’t,” you say, “but I thought it was a nice day to try and learn.” Peering around, you raise a hand over your forehead and block out the shine of the sunbeams. “Harry?” you call out, “are you still good for teaching me a thing or two?”

Still with Sam, the other twin turns around quickly. The nod of his head is so enthusiastic it draws laughs from your cousin and Annabeth.

“Harry?” Tom questions. You look back at him, noting his expression has smoothed over, the friendliness gone.

“Yes,” you reply. “I was telling him how I needed some help, and he generously volunteered to teach me.”

“Ah.” Tom’s jaw tenses. “That was nice of him.”

You tilt your head to the side. “It was.”

Annabeth interjects. “He’s a nice boy,” she compliments, “it’s so obvious he’s sweet on you, Y/N.”

You scrunch up the tip of your nose, feigning bashfulness. “I don’t know,” you drawl, maintaining eye contact with Tom, “I think he’s scared of me. I wouldn’t say it’s a crush.”

“I don’t think so,” Annabeth teases. She smiles before nudging your cousin. “Theo, can you show me the clubs again…”

Left alone with Tom, the man steps forward. You have to bite back a grunt when his hand wraps around your upper arm, and he drops his voice.

“What are you planning, eh?” he murmurs, words charged with intrigue. “You seem… different today.”

“Different?”

“Yes.” Tom nods, and using his free hand, reaches up to ruffle up his curls. The white golfing glove wrapped around his palm looks delightful as it contrasts the smooth metal of his watch. “There’s this… sparkle to you. A glow.” He narrows his eyes. “I know you’re plotting something, so I’ll come out with it now, Y/N.” He moves nearer, the tips of his teeth glinting dangerously. “Do not distract me from my game, or I won’t hesitate to make you regret it.”

A snort slips past your lips before you can stop it. “What, are you going to punish me?” you tease. “Out here, with our families around? Okay, Tom.” You smirk petulantly as you cross your arms over your chest. “I’d like to see you try.”

You love goading Tom, thrive off the way his jaw tenses as his cheeks flush. “Such a bloody brat,” he mutters. “I hope you get me to snap, darling. You’ve been frustrating me so much recently, I’d love to put you in your place.”

It’s almost unnerving how similar your wavelengths are—how quickly Tom seemed to jump onto the devious plan you’ve been concocting. It’s as if he can read your mind. Your sex life has always been fluid, usually characterised by him taking charge and muscling you into scenarios equal parts scandalous and seductive, and you suppose it’s just a testament to how strongly you’ve bonded that he can read you so well. It’s almost flattering how eager he is to oblige you, to play the role of dominant partner when your skin crawls with brattiness.

He fits with you so well it scares you. You’re trying to lean into the fear.

“Okay, Tom,” you say, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible as you shrug. “I’m just here to have a good time.” You glance behind you, noting your group has congregated around the start of the course. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Harry’s waiting for me.”

Tom releases your arm as you brush him off. The imprints of his fingers stay throbbing against your skin, even as you begin to work your way around the course.

Golf is… okay. You appreciate that Harry lingers behind with you. He offers you a few helpful pointers, and you try to take them on board. If you’re being honest, though, your attention is on his older brother.

You are very good at riling Tom up. You find it easy. All it takes is pushing your sunglasses to sit above your forehead and bending over to pick up a few golf balls, and you have him on a leash. You’re wearing your skort high on your hips, and Tom’s cheeks darken every single time you stretch over or fiddle with the hem. His eyes are equally poisonous—rippling with intense ferocity each time you brush your hand over Harry’s upper arm or lean a little bit closer to the boy. It knocks Tom off his game, to the point where he’s having to crack jokes and excuse his lack of performance with comments about a headache.

You aren’t cruel with anything that you’re doing. You know Harry’s got a soft spot for you, so you try your best not to do anything to seriously harm him. You just lean into him a bit, let him reposition your hips as he guides your swing. There’s a point where he ends up behind you, arms around you, hands resting over yours as he guides you through the swing. There’s a decent amount of space between you, but from Tom’s angle, you’re sure it looks a lot closer than it is. If the way his cheeks flame as he smashes his next shot is any indication, it does.

After about eight holes, you find yourself growing tired. As far as you’ve been pushing Tom, he’s refused to engage in the way you’ve wanted. All that’s happened is he’s ruffled up his hair, grown a little taller, and developed a stiff jaw. All that’s happened is he’s made you horny.

And you really can’t be the one on the back foot, so you change your angle. Moving your attention away from Harry, you excuse yourself and decide to partner up with Tom.

“Tom,” you whisper, leaning close to him. You’re lagging at the end of the group, everyone else waiting to take the first shot on the next hole. Tom’s crouching on the ground as he rummages through his golf bag, the metallic clubs clinking. “Tommy.”

Very slowly, he looks up at you. From beneath his lashes, Tom stares up at you. “What?” The bite to his voice makes you shudder.

“I need you,” you whine. You reach up to tug at the sleeve of his shirt. “Now.”

You watch as he bites at the inside of his cheek. He stands up, a new club in his hand. “I’m playing golf, Y/N,” he mutters, skimming his thumb over the crown of the club. “I’m busy trying to win.”

You lick your lips, letting your fingers go for a walk along his shoulder. “You’re not doing so well, though,” you taunt. Blinking innocently, you sweep your hair away from your face and subtly extend your neck. “Don’t you want to go and do something with a guarantee of success?”

Tom rolls his eyes. He’s called up to tee, but leans closer to spit into your ear before he goes. “Just because you’re an easy lay doesn’t mean I can get all the satisfaction I need from you.”

You exhale quickly, surprised by how he’s let his snarling remarks slip into public. “Shit,” you mutter, “are you actually angry?”

He raises a brow. “This is the worst performance I’ve put in all season,” he says, “it’ll ruin my average. Yes, darling. I’m mad.” Tom lets his teeth close around your earlobe as he bites. You whimper at the sharp ache. “Knock it off.”

Always the slippery charmer, Tom decides to couple his hard words with a soft kiss on your cheek. As he walks up to take his shot, you’re left aching.

Things are more desperate now—you’re more desperate. More reckless, more needy. Your earlobe throbs, and you find yourself clinging to Tom’s side.

Working slowly, you build up your teasing. It’s all very subtle—a few stray touches to Tom’s shoulders and his arms, a few light comments about his form. You change your posture so you’re taller, let your laughs roll freer. Tom always likes it when you smile, so you try your best to keep up with the group and toss in a few jovial comments. As you entertain your company, you’re constantly touching him, constantly teasing him, constantly clinging to him. You hope you’re overwhelming him as much as the scent of his cologne is overwhelming you.

With your eyes on the prize, you throw everything you have into teasing Tom until he breaks. You want a hole in one—it just isn’t the type that everyone else around you is striving for—and, eventually, you win. It’s hard to tell what it is that finally pushes him over the edge, but somewhere between reapplying your lipstick and letting your fingers tug at the curls sprouting from the root of his neck, Tom finally bends.

When he steps up to take a shot at the 11th hole, Tom smacks the ball with so much force the air around you lights up with the shocking sound of metal on plastic. You gasp slightly from the suddenness of it. The flex of his bulging biceps is obscene, but that pales in comparison to the stunned realisation that Tom’s hit the ball in the wrong direction entirely. You watch the white object soar through the air, careening to the far left of the course before becoming lost in the thicket of trees and bushes that line the route. There’s no doubt in your mind that it was purposeful.

“Oh no,” Tom mutters monotonously. “That was so far out.” He pauses, voice flat as he turns to look at you. His eyes are aflame. “Y/N,” he calls out, loud enough for everyone to hear, “could you please come with me? I think I’ll need another set of eyes to find that ball… It’s gone right into the shrubbery.”

A soft pout sprawls across your lips. “Ahh,” you say. “That’s a shame, Tom. You’re usually so good at golf.”

His lips press into a firm line. “Well, I’ve been a little bit off my game today.”

You nod understandingly. “I’m sure you’ll be better next time.”

Tom’s mouth twitches. Before he can snarl out whatever remark he has curled on the tip of his tongue, his father interjects. “Tom, just leave it. We have a hundred balls here.”

Tom shakes his head. “That was my lucky ball,” he reasons, “I need it. You lot can keep going around the course… We’ll rejoin when we’ve found it. It just might take us a while to find it…”

A round of hums and agreements flies around the group. No one seems to find anything suspicious, not even when Tom hurriedly tosses his golf bag over his shoulder and grabs your hand. You have just enough time to give Harry your bag before you’re being pulled behind Tom, his actions pointed, forceful. He leads you up the nearest hill, towards the thicket of trees that line the course.

“You’ve done it now, Y/N,” he mutters. His hand is so hot against yours. “Congratulations. You’ve bloody won.”

Relief swells in your chest. “What did I win?” you ask.

Tom is striding ahead so quickly that you find yourself almost tripping over your feet as you try to keep up with him. “My full and undivided attention,” he spits. His eyes are almost black as he twists around to look at you. “I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

“I don’t know,” you drawl, “I think that’s exactly what I wanted.”

Exhaling, Tom continues to lead the way. He’s quiet for a while, silent as he drags you up the hill, only slowing when he nears the top. He stops suddenly, releasing an unsteady sound as you crash into him. “Sorry, love,” he mutters. His voice is softer, and as he glances back at you, the fire in his eyes dampens. “You are in a rough mood today, right?” he checks. He’s open, willing to listen to the boundaries that both of you know have to be set before you engage in any sort of intimate activity.

“Yes,” you plead, “you can do whatever you want to me.”

Tom slips both of his hands into yours, thumbs brushing over the back of your hands. “Anything?”

You nod. “Anything.”

“Come up here, then,” he murmurs, continuing to lead you up the hill. “You owe me for absolutely decimating my average. I got— fucking bogeys. God.” Tom shudders. “I’m almost as bad as Harry.”

You reach the top of the slope and step closer to kiss his cheek. You’re equal parts guilty and endeared that you’d had such an effect on him. “Let me make it up to you?”

Tom just scoffs. “Unless you can pretend to be me and somehow complete the rest of the holes with an eagle or two, that’s bloody impossible,” he says, spouting more golf jargon that makes your head hurt. “No,” he adds, “but I know what you can do. It’s the least you can do, actually, for teasing me like a little attention whore all day.” When you suck in a breath, he nods. “Yeah, princess. I know what you are.”

You swallow dryly. You feel hot, pulsing with energy as neediness tingles in the tips of your fingers. “I couldn’t help it,” you whine, “you looked so good, Tom.”

“Get down,” he mutters. “Get on your knees, Y/N.”

Flames roar across you. “W- What?”

Tom flexes a brow. “You heard me.” He steps closer. “Get. On. Your. Knees.”

“...Right here?”

He surveys the course. “Over there,” he clarifies.

Tom leads you to an abandoned sand bunker. You’ve merged with the practice course, separated from the main holes by a thick line of trees and bushes. The practice holes are closed today, and there isn’t another soul around. Even if the course wasn’t deserted, the bunker is angled in such a way that you could be on your knees in front of Tom and you’d be completely hidden from view. The only angle anyone could see you from is if they’re approaching from behind, but you trust Tom enough to keep an eye out.

With this knowledge under your belt, you find yourself smirking.

“And what if I don’t want to, Tom?” You cross your arms over your chest as you rock back on your feet. “Who said I wanted to do anything for you, hm?”

He reaches out towards you without a second thought, and his gloved hand wraps around your throat. You can just about make out the glint of his Rolex, wrapped around tan skin before you become distracted by the way his fingers squeeze the sides of your neck. The pressure is delicious.

“Do you really want to keep this up?” he challenges. “Really?”

The contact on your throat makes your cunt tingle, and you absently release a high whine. You would push back, but Tom’s already red, already grunting. You’ve already gone as far as you can go.

You shake your head. He hums.

“I didn’t think so.” Suddenly, he releases your throat and moves his hands to your shoulders, pushing you until your knees yield. You sink into the sandy bunker, grunting when grains of sand dig into the sensitive bumps of your knees. “Shit.” Tom’s hand shifts to your cheek, and he tilts your head up so you can meet his eyes. “You look so fucking pretty down there, on your knees for me, where you should be. Where I know you love to be. That’s right, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve been acting out. Because you’ve missed me.”

You tilt your head to the side, chasing the curve of Tom’s thumb. When you envelop his fingertip with your lips, he’s quick to plug your mouth with it.

“Yeah,” he mutters. He gently starts to thrust his finger into your mouth, slow, controlled. “You fucking missed me.”

He stops his movements and drags his finger from your mouth, wiping it dry on the side of your cheek. Before you can complain, Tom’s unbuckling the front of his trousers and tugging on his boxers, replacing the emptiness in your mouth with his cock, full-mast and weeping. You’ve barely got enough time to part your lips before he’s fucking past your lips. Roughly, Tom pushes his crown then his sheath all the way into the hot heat of your mouth until you have the curls of his pubes brushing up against the tip of your nose.

You moan softly, drawing a hearty moan from the man above you. With both of his hands moving to grab the back of your head, he starts to guide you, harshly pulling you back and forth along his shaft. He’s messy with it, rough, persevering even when you gag. He knows you like it rough.

“That’s it,” he mutters. “Take it. There you go. Oh, fuck yeah.”

With shaky hands, you reach up and rest your palms on his thighs. You can feel the thick muscles flexing and shaking every time you go deeper, responding when you slow, when you pick up speed. When you teasingly pull back and kitten-lick across his tip, Tom’s legs tense again, only to relax when he pushes your head back down and fills your mouth completely.

“Don’t fucking test me,” he says, voice gruff. “You think you have any space left to bargain after the stunt you pulled out there? God.” He’s flushed, fingers jagged in your hair. “Prancing around in that ridiculous skirt, doing everything you could to drive me up the bloody wall.” Tom tugs at your hair until you whine. “Shit, you looked so good…” He pauses, giving you an up and down glance. “You look better now, though. On your knees, in the middle of this golf course where anyone could see you, sucking my cock like the greedy little slut you are.”

He thrusts into your mouth particularly harshly, and you find yourself pulling back, desperate for air. Tom lets you slip back, watches through amused, half-closed eyes as you pant for breath, your chin slick with spit, lips inflamed. You run your tongue around your lips, failing to clean up the mess, and Tom smoothes both of his hands around to the front of your face, his glove stiff like leather, his other palm soft.

“Open,” he says, drumming his thumbs across your lower lip. He wrenches your mouth open, bending over until his face is suspended above yours. When he purses his lips, you open your mouth wider, extending your tongue in time for him to spit into your open mouth. As his spittle seeps across your tongue, you try to stop yourself from melting. It’s warm and wet, tastes of mint and him.

Tom raises a brow.

“Thank you,” you say immediately, voice hoarse, throat scratchy. “Thank you, sir.”

He moans softly before guiding himself back into your mouth. “Good girl… Pretty girl.” Hands back in your hair, Tom pushes you quickly, thrusting with more purpose. “Oh fuck,” he mutters. “Shit. Such a hot mouth, ‘m gonna blow it if you keep that up.”

You hum around his shaft. Just when Tom’s starting to buck against you, you loosen your jaw and go deeper, and then, he peaks.

Looking above you, the moment Tom spins into climax is a sight that sticks in your memory. He looks so majestic as he unravels, his mouth falling open as his head falls back. Whilst his hands fist at your hair, he continues to thrust into your mouth, his cock pulsing as he cums across your tongue. You swallow around him, continuing to suck, even as it gets messy, drawing it out for him until he moans and pulls away.

“Oh fuck, “ Tom pants. “Christ.” His eyes are bright, glassy. He blinks as if he’s dazed, then gazes down at you adoringly.

“Good?” you ask, slowly becoming aware of the numbness in your knees.

“Fucking spectacular,” Tom corrects. His hand skims over the side of your face. “Get up,” he asks, then gives your cheek a light tap before stepping back and providing you with some space to rise to your feet. A soft grunt slips past your lips as you stand up, your legs aching. There are grains of hot sand straining against the tender skin of your kneecaps, gritty and pulsing, their imprints aching even after you dust them off.

“Ow,” you mutter, staring down at the dimples pressed into your knees.

Tom reaches out and wraps a heavy hand around the top of your arm. When you look back at him, you see that he’s tucked his cock back into his trousers. The tips of his teeth flash as he reels you closer.

“Gimme a kiss, darling,” he coos. When he’s lingering in front of you, he puckers up his lips dramatically, staring at you insistently until you step forward to plant a kiss on his mouth. Tom hums against your lips, and you let his tongue slip into your mouth when you feel the wet tip press up against your lips. He groans as your tongue mingle, and you find your fingers weaving into his hair.

“Can you taste yourself on me?” you whisper against his lips. When Tom moans, you feel him kiss you with more strength. With one hand resting on your cheek, the other grabs at your waist, fingers squeezing at your skin until you whimper.

“Shit,” Tom moans. He pulls back from you to pant against your mouth. There’s a beautifully bright flush resting over his cheeks, and he looks exceptionally gorgeous doused in the light from the sun. “Come with me, right now…”

His hand is strong as he weaves it in yours and starts to jerk you across the course, pausing only to reach down and grab his sets of clubs. The heavy bag jingles over Tom’s back, brushing up against your side as he tugs you over the green.

“Ow,” you say again, feeling the heavy bag colliding with your side.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, glancing back to shoot you an inquiring smirk. He raises a brow. “Actually, I don’t know why I’m apologising,” he adds. “I know you like getting knocked around.”

The velvet tones to his voice bring on a fresh wave of heat, and you feel the space between your legs pulse as you stumble after him. “Shut up, Tom,” you whine.

He glances back at you. “Am I wrong?”

The bite of your lip is all the confirmation that he needs.

Tom takes you across the course, away from the groups of people dotted around the green. You can’t see anyone you recognise and conclude that your group must have moved on to a few holes up. You briefly wonder if they’ll find your absence strange, but that thought fades as the man holding your arm pulls you into a small golf shack.

It’s just a storage shed, made up of white painted planks and housing a few cabinets and a lawnmower. The door is rickety and creaks as Tom slams it shut behind you. You barely get a second to take in the lack of decoration before he’s holding your waist and pushing you up to sit on top of the cabinet, your thighs falling open around his waist as he slots his lips against yours again.

He makes out hungrily with you for a while, the coarse leather of his glove brushing up around the side of your face as he holds you in place. Tom’s lips are hard, bruising and fierce as they devour your mouth. His hold on your face isn’t as angry as it’d been as he’d thrust his cock down your throat, but his actions are still riddled with frustration so prevalent it makes you squirm. By the time he pulls away, you’re panting, soft whimpers slipping past your lips every time he squeezes your waist particularly harshly.

“Shit,” Tom murmurs. One of his hands slips down to rest against your thigh. “I can feel you shaking, baby…” He looks up to meet your eyes, a cocky dominance pooling in his gaze as he smirks. “Whining like a little bitch in heat.”

Your eyes widen. A stark pang of humiliation rolls down your spine, curling uncomfortably between your legs and manifesting itself as arousal.

“Tommy,” you complain, voice cracking slightly, “don’t say that.”

He shifts his hand up to press against the crotch of your skort. Even with the layer of material, the pressure of his fingers nudging up against your slit makes you moan. He catches the eager sound with his lips as he kisses you again.

“What?” he murmurs, “are you telling me if I take a look between your legs right now, I won’t find you wet?” Tom’s teeth catch at the curve of your lower lip. “I don’t think that’d be right, princess.” He continues to gently pad his fingers across the front of your centre. “I think I know you a lot better than you think.”

You can’t stop the soft moans from pouring past your lips, especially when Tom moves the hand away from your thigh and tucks it beneath the top of your skirt. He wriggles his fingers down, clumsily working against the silky fabric before he manages to cup your cunt, bare against his palm, hot, pulsing, tender.

“Tom, oh my— shit,” you splutter, trying not to let your moans split into your words. Your skort doesn’t give much room to work, but Tom’s able to curl his fingers down to your entrance, dip the tips in the pool of your arousal, then spread your heat to your clit. He’s moaning against your neck as he teases your bud with his fingers.

“Aww.” Tom separates from your neck to kiss the bottom of your jaw. “You’re so wet, lovie. Still shaking. You’re so silly.”

He’s teasing you, fingertips light, skimming away from your centre when you try to buck down against them. “Please don’t tease me,” you whimper.

Tom laughs easily. “You underestimate me,” he coos, “do you really think I’m going to give you anything you want after the stunt you pulled out there? Thought you’d have learnt some fucking manners when I fucked your throat raw back where anyone could see you... I guess not.” Finally, his fingers connect with your clit properly, hot and eager as they stroke across the bud. It’s engorged and sensitive, and the stimulation has you grabbing handfuls of his back as you scramble to get a hold of yourself. “No, baby. You don’t get to cum. I don’t even think I’ll fuck you.”

Your breath hitches. “No,” you whine, “please, Tom.”

He’s still stroking your clit, still coaxing you closer to an edge that now feels so far away.

“No.” When Tom adds his lips to your neck, it drives you mad. Your arousal drips from your hole, your cunt fluttering around nothing. You curl your hands around Tom’s biceps, continuing to moan as you feel him toy with your clit, fingers unceasingly trailing over your lips and your bud, stimulating you just how you like it.

“Tom,” you add, feeling the heat suddenly twist, “‘m gonna cum.”

He stills his fingers. The whine you emit draws a chuckle past his lips.

“Finish the job yourself, then, if you want it so badly,” he purrs. Tom keeps his fingertips by your clit, pulling back to look at you questioningly. “Go on,” he urges, “get yourself off on my fingers like the needy little slut you are.”

Part of you wants to argue with him, but you find your brattiness fading as your hips instinctively buck down against his fingertips. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper.

It’s humiliating to sit them, grinding down on his fingers, on the receiving end of a very hard stare from Tom who watches you like you’re some kind of spectacle. It takes a while for you to build up to the edge again—Tom wasn’t messing around when he said you’d be working solo. He’s there only as a passive observer, his fingers drenched in your juices and providing you with the perfect board to rut down against. He spits degrading comments into your ear as you hump against his hand, only seems to shy away from actually touching you. If you thought you were good at teasing, he’s truly something else.

Eventually, you find the edge, but when you vocalise that you’re close, he’s quick to pull his hand away completely. Tom pushes his fingers into your mouth before you can complain, eager to plug your desperate pleads as you shift from side to side, craving contact with your bud.

“There you are,” he murmurs, “suck my fingers. That’s it. It’s okay.” His other hand strokes below your eye, and you wonder what he thinks of the desperate tears that pool in your orbs. “I haven’t even done anything, baby.” He moves the hand from your cheek and rests the back of his hand against your forehead. “Shit,” he adds. “You’re burning up.”

Tom looks away from you for a moment. The devious smirk he has on his face makes you shudder.

“Stay still,” he continues, “I have an idea.”

When he pulls away from you, leaving your mouth empty, you struggle to pant for breath. “Tommy,” you say quickly, “I’m sorry. I— I shouldn’t have teased you. I’m sorry. Please… Please don’t leave me like this. Don’t you… Don’t you want to fuck me?” You watch through heavy eyes as Tom crouches and starts to rummage through his golf bag.

“Should’ve thought about the consequences of your actions before you decided to throw my game,” he returns, voice light, teasing. The sounds of the clinking golf clubs make you shudder. “I do want to fuck you,” he adds, “but you’re barking mad if you think I’m giving you anything you want right now. I’m not pleasing you, I’m playing with you. I’m punishing you.”

You emit a light moan. Your legs are shaking, arousal hot and thick as it lines your slit. You bite at your lips as you try to regain your composure. ��How are you going to do that when we’re out in the middle of nowhere?” Usually, punishment with Tom involves handcuffs and blindfolds. All you have in the shed is a lawnmower and a bunch of rusty tools.

This fact doesn’t seem to perturb Tom—he just smirks as he glances back at you. “Modern problems involve creative solutions,” he mutters. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll have a good time. You’ll probably enjoy it too. It’s just about as deranged as I know you usually enjoy.”

A fond smile twists across your lips. “Did you know that you can be really elusive sometimes?”

Tom hums. “Just adds to the charm.”

“Makes sense. You are a very charming man.”

You can only see the side of his face from where you’re sitting, but you’re fairly sure his cheeks develop a rosy flush. You catch him biting at his lip until it’s faded, and the cuteness of the interaction brings a smile to your face.

Tom clears his throat. “Here we go…” He pulls a long club from the top of his bag. As the handle extends, revealing inch after inch of glistening metal, you find your eyes widening.

Are they always that long…?

“Don’t look so panicked,” Tom adds, expression softening. He stands up and moves over to you, gloved hand skimming across the thin metal handle. He pauses, tauntingly pressing the bulbous head of the club up against your cheek. It’s an iron, so one side is slightly curved, the other flat. You whimper at the sensation of cool metal to your skin. “It’s new,” he explains. “Never touched anything, never even seen daylight.” The expression that webs itself across his face is so scandalous it makes you squirm. “It still needs to be broken in.”

You find yourself gulping. You look between the club and Tom before letting your lips settle into a confused pout. “If you think for even one second you’re going to put that in me—”

Tom dissolves into a barking laugh before you can finish your sentence. “No, no, no, sweetheart. No. Don’t be silly.” He brings the head of the iron to your lips, silencing you with the heavy metal. Tom smirks as the tip wobbles your lower lip. “I wouldn’t ever put anything in you… I’m just going to have some fun. Is that okay?”

When he moves the head away from your lips, you glance down at the metal, then look back up to inspect the dark expression hanging over Tom’s face. He looks so handsome, with his jaw sharp and his eyes focused.

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly. “That’s okay.”

“Mhmm? Are you sure?” Tom reaches up to cup your cheek, peering into your eyes inquiringly. “Tell me what our system is again, yeah?”

It’s hard to maintain your focus, especially when he moves the head of the iron to roll up and down your thigh. “Green means keep going, orange means take a break, red means stop.”

“Good job, darling.” Tom looks between your legs. His hands press your thighs apart, and he gently guides the club until the head is nestled against your crotch. You cry out at the pressure. You’re sensitive from the edge, your clit still throbbing, and even the sensation of cold metal against your covered bud makes you shiver. “You’re so sensitive, aren’t you?” he teases. “I wonder how long you’ll last before you lose it.”

You’re breathing heavily. “Not long.”

Tom gently grinds the club against you, and you can’t stop yourself from bucking down against the pressure. It isn’t comfortable—it’s hard, cold. But it’s something, and you find yourself chasing the stimulation no matter how blunt the contact is.

“Tell me what it feels like.”

You swallow to line your throat. “Cold,” you say, “I’m really— really hot, and it feels so cold. So good. Like ice.”

Tom hums. He surprises you by suddenly pushing the club into your hand. His deft fingers move between your legs, separating your thighs even further before he grabs the front of your skort. With a quick tug, he manages to rip through the silky material, parting the shorts and revealing the fact that you’d opted against panties. As the cool air of the shed wafts across your flushed centre, you have to bite your lip to stifle a moan.

“That’s so much better,” he announces. Tom continues to widen the slit until you’re fully on display, and he pushes the material away from your slit completely.

“Tom,” you manage, “that was my favourite skort.”

He very quickly presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll get you a new one,” he promises, “sorry.”

You melt. “It’s— okay.” You find yourself distracted as he plucks the club from your shaking hand, then watch through heady eyes as he shamelessly admires the sight of your cunt, open and hot, undoubtedly wet and lined with arousal that he’d drawn from you.

“Keep these apart,” he instructs, tapping at your inner thigh with a hand. He meets your eyes and raises a brow. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Good, love. Good…” He squeezes your thigh. “If you’re good for me, maybe I’ll rethink fucking you…”

You nod your head quickly. You feel hot, everywhere, arousal crawling over your skin. It’s wet between your legs, fuzzy in your chest, fervent in your brain.

“Please, please—” Your breath hitches, words failing as Tom separates your pussy lips with two of his fingers. You shuffle so your legs are wider, only getting an inkling of what he intends to do when he’s halfway through the action. With wide eyes, you watch as he brings the flat side of the iron up to nestle between your folds, resting it gently over the front of your cunt, head pressing against your clit.

It’s so cold. The metal is harsh, bites up against your tender skin. The contact draws a loud, whimpering whine from your mouth, and that makes Tom coo.

“Fuck,” he mutters, looking at the spot between your legs. His eyes are dark as he testingly shifts the club from side to side, gently, gently teasing your bud with aching pressure. It’s so metallic and so chilly that a part of you wonders if the temperature is enough to riddle you completely numb to all sensations. Luckily for you, Tom brings it away from your centre after only about ten seconds, your slick sticking to the bottom of the club. “You made it messy, princess. Clean it up for me, yeah?” Tom brings it up towards your face. When you stick out your tongue, he nudges it forward.

“Careful,” you warn, moving back slightly when he comes in a little too strong. “Please don’t knock my teeth out.”

A gentle blush tickles at his cheeks. “Sorry,” he mutters, voice dipping and becoming slightly bashful. “I’ll be careful.”

“Thank you.”

With the hand not holding the golf club, Tom reaches to your thigh and gives your skin a gentle tap. It’s soft enough to remind you that he’s still Tom, he still cares for you, he still prioritises your well-being. You don’t hesitate to lean forward and wrap your lips around the wide head of the metal.

It’s a tight fit. The club isn’t too large, but it’s heavy, and the shape is awkward. It becomes a lot easier when Tom passes you the handle, and you’re able to angle it in a way that works. After a few attempts, the head fits completely into your mouth, and you moan as the tang of metal rubs up against your tongue.

“There you go,” he soothes. “I know how much you enjoy having something in your mouth, baby. Doing so good for me, princess. So good…” Tom steps back. He tugs at your hips and coaxes you down from the cabinet, hands supporting your shaky legs as you struggle to stand. “Stay right there,” he adds, “I want to have some fun.”

It turns out fun involves Tom’s hands and mouth roaming around your cunt, driving you closer to the edge, over and over again, just to pull away when you’re squirming. On his knees, he edges you repeatedly, alternating between fucking your cunt with his tongue and swirling the tip of it around your clit. When he decides to change things up, he crooks his fingers into you, starting with his one, then moving to two, then three, curling up against your g-spot and stroking until it feels like you’re gushing arousal.

As he pulls you apart, you’re forced to stay still against the counter, holding the club in your mouth. It acts almost like a ball gag, allowing spit to pool around the bulbous head before it drips down your chin. The burn of humiliation only spurs you on, encourages you to grind down against Tom’s fingers with more fervour, even when the tactic only ends up backfiring as he jerks the orgasm away from you before you’re able to spill into it.

It feels endless, uncontrollable. You lose count of the number of times Tom pushes you to the edge only to teasingly jerk it away from you. He dangles the precipice of pleasure in front of you so cruelly that it brings you to tears. They flow down your cheeks, muddying your mascara, leaving your face a convoluted mess of tears, spit, and sweat.

“Shit,” Tom whispers, looking up at you from beneath his lashes, “you’re so beautiful.”

After what must be at least twenty minutes, he finally pulls away from you, standing up but keeping three of his fingers wedged inside your entrance. They’re still, and you find yourself clenching desperately around them. Tom smirks as he reaches up and gently removes the club from your mouth, releasing your lips from the stretch and causing you to exhale. His eyes are dark as he stares at its head.

“You got it nice and wet for me, baby, well done.” The praise has your ears perking, hopefulness flooding the cavity in your chest. Tom tilts his head to the side. “And… I suppose you took your punishment well enough. Maybe I will let you cum, or maybe I’ll fuck you. What do you want more?”

Numbly aware that it’s a trick question, you find yourself relying on your gut instinct.

“I want you to fuck me,” you say, words desperately falling together. “Need you to fill me up, Tommy.” You find your cunt clenching around his fingers. “I need you so badly.”

And he smiles, then redirects his hands to his trousers. “Well,” Tom says, glancing back at you, “I can’t ever really say no to you.”

When he steps forward and finally sheaths himself inside you, part of your soul ascends heavenwards. Tom’s quick to spin you around and take you from behind as your hands sprawl out across the countertop, fingers curling into fists. He fucks you hard and fast, both hands on your hips as he pulls you back to meet his thrusts. The feeling of him pressing you open is indescribably good, only growing better when he angles himself right and knocks the tip of his cock against your g-spot.

Your composure is quick to slip. It doesn’t take long until you’re squirming against the counter, tears flowing down your cheeks as you fail to comprehend how good it feels to finally have him buried to the hilt. Things only get better when he starts to instruct you.

“Reach down and touch your clit for me, darling… That’s it. Shit.” He breaks off to chuckle. “You just got so tight for me. Such a wet, tight cocksleeve.” His voice is thick, hanging heavy with lust. “You’re such a gorgeous sight right now, such a wreck for me… I think I want to feel you cumming around me.”

You sob with relief. “Please,” you beg. Your fingers are light over your clit, trying desperately to avoid pushing yourself over the edge too soon. It’s so hard to keep yourself controlled when he’s pounding into you so well. “Please, Tommy, please.”

“Okay,” he groans, “you can cum. C’mon, good girl. Let go.”

You spin into it before you can get a proper hold on yourself, cumming with a broken cry of his name. Your fingertips catch at your palms, squeezing hard, but not even that can stop you from dissolving. Pleasure pours over you in unforeseen waves, pulling you down into the darkness as you curse and repeatedly spit his name. Tom does a good job of holding you in place and keeping your hips against the cabinet, but even he finds himself slipping.

You’re still climaxing when you feel him release too, shooting his load into your pulsing passage with an exhalation of your name. His desperation spurs you on, has you continuing to play with your bud even as it starts to ache, even when Tom pulls out from you. You’ve still got your hand on your cunt as Tom spins you around and kisses you messily. His arm curls between you, and he replaces your hand with his own, fingertips coarse against the sensitive rise of your bud.

“Still needy?” he murmurs, voice dark, rich.

You nod your head. You feel insatiable. Even with his cum beginning to drip from your clenching hole, you need more. “Not enough,” you ramble. Your lips are so sore from the biting, but the ache puts you further on edge. “More, Tom. Please.”

Tom nods. “Stay still,” he says, and pushes you back against the counter. This time you’re facing him, able to watch as he sinks to a kneel between your legs and pushes your thighs aside. “I’ll give you enough.”

He doesn’t give you any warning before burying his face in your centre, barely giving himself enough time to part your lips with his fingers before his tongue is clumsily knocking against your clit. You cry out loudly, your hands squeezing around the side of the cabinet as Tom curls his fingers back inside you. Your cunt is wet from arousal and his cum, and the noises he draws from you as he pistons the slender curves of his digits into you are nothing short of obscene.

“Oh my— fuck,” you whimper, words tumbling together. You can barely stay still, have to rely on Tom’s sharp elbows jabbing your thighs apart to stop your legs from clamping around his head. “Holy shit, Tom. It’s— it’s so much.”

He moans into your front, vibrations curling across every part of you. The contrast in textures against your clit drives you crazy—to go from his fingers, to the club, to the warm, wet expanse of his tongue has your eyes rolling—but it’s nowhere near as sensitive as your walls feel now, still recovering from the earth-shattering orgasm a few moments prior. As he continues to stroke three fingers up against your back wall, he suckles and teases your clit, sloppily enveloping the bud and toying with it.

You just can’t keep still. Your legs feel like jelly, your hands hot and slippery. You’re hot and cold, taut and relaxed, merely floating behind him as Tom tugs you towards the precipice of a high so blinding you can see it from a mile off. Everything is so slick, and you’re certain both his hand and his face must be drenched from your heat..

“C’mon, princess,” he urges, mouth briefly disconnecting from your heat. He stares up at you, cheeks flushed, eyes blown wide. “Let go f’me, pretty girl. I know you want to spill. I can feel you fucking trembling. Don’t hold back. Cum.”

His mouth is back on your bud, just in time with a particularly powerful stroke of his fingers, and you feel everything go rigid. Time stops, and the tightening of the coil in your stomach syncs with the overwhelming sensation of something building. Overwhelmed and panting, you toss your head back, your knuckles losing blood as you squeeze at the handle of the club and cum—hard.

Everything blurs out—sight, scent, audio. Nothing matters but the stroke of his fingers and the warmth of his mouth, and you let the pleasure roll over you until you’re numb to it. Amidst the frenzy, you feel something release, something wet, plentiful. You can’t find the drive to think about it, too focused on grinding down against Tom, but when it clears and he pulls away with an unfamiliar expression on his face, you find yourself wondering what just happened.

“Holy— shit,” Tom mutters. You watch him sit back, then take in the way his hands seem to glisten. He looks at his fingers as he parts his index and middle, watching your arousal stick between them. “That was probably the hottest thing you’ve ever done.”

“What— what did I do..?” you pant, dazed, spinning. You feel like you’re floating, have to move both hands back to grip the side of the counter as you struggle to recover.

Tom stands up. He briefly sucks off his fingers before wrapping his arms around your waist, supporting you effortlessly as he hums.

“You squirted,” he says, voice curving around the word. As your eyes widen, he chuckles. “Took me by surprise.”

“Oh my god,” you say. You feel hot again, but for an entirely different reason. “I’m sorry—”

His eyes widen. “No, no, no.” Tom shakes his head, coy smile on his face. “It was so hot. Don’t apologise.” He nudges his lips against the tip of your nose.

A relieved laugh slips past your lips. The guilt softens. “Okay,” you say, “if you say so…”

Tom nods. He very gently peels away from you, excusing himself only to crouch by his bag and rummage through it before pulling out a small packet of tissues. Sheepishly, he offers them to you.

“For you,” he adds.

“Thank you.”

Smiling shyly, you start to shakily clean yourself up, your body humming with unrivalled bliss. The warmth only multiplies when Tom comes nearer and wraps you in another hug, his hands gentle, his golf glove gone. His shoulders are soft against your face, and you bask in the closeness. You feel good, you feel grounded. You feel safe.

“I’ll take you home, darling,” Tom whispers, a few minutes into your hug.

Slowly, you peel yourself away from his shoulder, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “But— what about the rest of the game?”

He looks you up and down, a mischievous look on his face. “I don’t think you’ll be able to walk straight, let alone drive, Y/N,” he points out. “It would be irresponsible for me to leave you unattended.”

You chuckle as you finally muster up enough strength to stand tall. You run your hands across the front of your outfit, smoothing out the creases. Your skort feels strange with the tear down the front of it, and you find yourself thankful that the wind is calm today.

“That makes me sound like I’m a child,” you say, dodging the suggestion with a smile. “I can look after myself.”

Tom falters. He moves his hands to your shoulders and squeezes gently. “I know, love,” he says, voice softer, a lot more careful. “I just think it might be nice if you let me look after you this time. That was… a lot, and you deserve to come down from it properly. I can pour you a bath, make you some food. Get you anything you need.” Tom chews on his lower lip as he adds, “and, shit, I know you don’t like it when I overwhelm you, but I really want to be here for you this time—”

His eyes are so pretty.

“Okay,” you say suddenly. “I… I would really like that, Tom.” It slips out before you can challenge it, but you can’t force yourself to be mad about it. Maybe it’s just because your legs are so weak you fear you’ll need him to carry you, or perhaps it’s the softness to his smile that convinces you. Either way, you know it’s what’s right. You know his arms are what you need.

“Oh.” Tom blinks a few times before his face splits into a smile so genuine it almost knocks you off your feet. “Oh. Okay, then.”

“Is that okay?” you check, unsteadily following Tom as he walks across the shed to grab his golf bag. He offers you a hand that you gratefully accept, and with his golf bag slung around his shoulders, he lets you lean into his side.

“Yeah. Of course it is,” he mutters. Tom pauses to kiss the side of your head. “I just didn’t think you’d say yes.”

You hum. “Neither did I,” you admit. You stay still as Tom drops your fingers and pulls open the shed door. Ahead of you, he walks out onto the course and waits for you, his hand stretched towards you again.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he promises. His eyes are lighter than usual, glowing almost gold.

“You don’t need to,” you say, voice catching. “You just need to be you, and that’ll be enough.”

His lips fold into a soft smile. “You’re glowing again,” he mumbles. “Like earlier. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You chuckle softly. “Yeah,” you say. You reach out and take Tom’s hand. “I’m great.”

“Huh.” Tom rubs his thumb over the back of your palm. “You’re adorable.”

You scrunch up the tip of your nose, shying away from the smile on his face. “Stop,” you whine, “I’ll melt.”

Tom squeezes your hand. “What if I want you to melt?”

You pause. “Then you’ll probably get exactly what you want.”

He smiles. He glows. He tugs you from the shed and into the sun, then kisses you very softly. “Good,” he mutters, warm against your lips. “I’d like that very much.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧

A week later, you find yourself drifting across the lower level of the country club, an elegant gown twirling around your feet. You’re at a soirée, attached to a few of your friends as you enjoy cocktails out on the terrace. As the light evening breeze curls around your face, you find yourself shifting from side to side, unable to focus, eager eyes scouring the patio and the surrounding area.

You haven’t seen him yet, but you know that Tom’s here. He’d whispered it to you last week as you’d parted, then followed up the fact with a kiss. Just thinking about the encounter draws a warmth to your face and has you biting at your lip as you recall the events from after the course.

True to his word, Tom had taken you home. He’d cuddled you. Played with your hair. Brought you refreshments and tucked you into bed with a kiss on your forehead. When you’d invited him in beside you, Tom had wrapped himself around you and coaxed you to sleep.

It’d shown you a new side to him—one you’d known was sure to exist, but you’d never had the pleasure of meeting before. You’ve discovered that Tom is really good at being domestic—has already memorised the way you take your tea and the layout of the cupboards in your kitchen. He looks just as good in sweats as he does in a suit, and being casual draws out his silly sense of humour. You’ve learned that Tom likes to kiss your forehead, enjoys snuggling his face into the crook of your neck. He’s cute, and he’s generous, and he’s considerate, and—

He’s standing across the terrace right now, arm wrapped around the shoulder of somebody else. The sadness that pools in your stomach is so overwhelming that you almost burst into tears, right in the middle of the soirée.

Is this… Is this how it felt for him to see you in the arms of another?

Is it conceited to assume he feels even half the things for you that you find yourself feeling towards him?

Why does it hurt so much?

You know why it hurts.

Your breath catches in the back of your throat.

The game isn’t fun anymore.

Putting your glass down on a nearby table, you make a sharp turn and begin to walk towards the exit of the event. Your heart hurts. It shatters and it breaks, and small shards seem to twist further into your chest until it hurts so much it’s almost overwhelming.

The worst part is that the ache is all your own making. You’re the one who constantly shies away from defining your relationship—you’re the one who insists you aren’t official. You’re the one who has kept Tom so far removed from your heart that you’ve now managed to tangle yourself up in such a heartbreaking predicament. Tom is not the problem—Tom has never been the problem. You are.

“Y/N— Y/N!”

You falter as you hear him. He catches up to you easily, dodging the crowd that had slowed you down. When his hand connects with your arm, you go still. Tom almost crashes into your back.

“Oh— shit,” he mutters. “Careful.”

You bite at your lower lip so hard it brings tears to your eyes. “Sorry,” you say. You shake off his arm. “I need to go, Tom, can you— can you please move?”

He walks around you instead, reaching out as if to shield you with an arm around your shoulder. You duck away, trying to dodge his eyes and failing.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice confused. “Did something happen?”

Your breath hitches. You manage a hapless shrug. “I guess,” you say, “it doesn’t matter. I’m just… being stupid. It’s fine.”

Tom frowns. He takes a moment to look at you, then at the scene around you both. His expression shifts.

“Wait— was it—?” He falls quiet. He looks at you, waiting, and you manage a small nod. You can’t vocalise the problem without acknowledging your change of heart, but he seems to understand enough. Tom’s expression shatters. “I— I forgot she was coming with me,” he explains. “We made the plans after the brunch last week, and I forgot to cancel them. She only reminded me this morning, by which point it would’ve been really unfair for me to let her down.” His voice is strained, honest. When he reaches out and takes your hands, there’s honesty in the contact too. “I’m sorry, Y/N. It doesn’t mean anything… It was just a favour for a friend.”

You exhale. You feel better, but even that relief comes with guilt that tells you that you shouldn’t, because, “you didn’t do anything wrong. You can take whoever you want to events, Tom.” You manage a brittle smile. “Go back to the party. It’s fine. I don’t… I don’t care.”

His expression morphs into one of disbelieving sadness. “Come with me,” he pleads, “come dance with me.”

You shake your head. “Enjoy yourself,” you say, then you drop his hands. You turn and slip away again, and this time, you’re able to lose him in the crowd.

Wandering listlessly, you end up on the golf course again. There’s a steep hill right at the crown of the course, and you find yourself returning to the slope whenever you need to clear your head. You manage to climb all the way up, even shrouded in silk and heels and enough jewellery to sink a small boat. When you reach the top, you lie down in the grass, relaxing into the cool blades, thinking, unravelling.

You’re alone in your thoughts for only five minutes before you’re joined. Tom drops to the ground beside you, sitting cross-legged, then offers you a soft smile and an arm.

“C’mere,” he coaxes.

The dam breaks. Exhausted, you crawl into his lap. With your face buried in his neck, Tom rubs his hand over your back, soothing you as tears stream down the side of his skin, only to be absorbed by the crisp collar of his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” you say, hushed against his neck. Tom kisses at the top of your head. “I’m sorry for being so stupid.”

He cradles you closer. “Y/N,” he coos, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You squeeze your eyes closed. Forcing yourself away from the easy home you’d found in his neck, you bring your eyes up to Tom’s. There’s quiet acceptance in the brown shade, a patient understanding.

“You… have never been anything other than nice to me,” you mutter, “and all I’ve ever done is run away from you.”

He brings a hand to your cheek. “To be fair,” he reasons, “you were always honest about what you wanted.”

“Still.” You pull a face. “It’s just stupid. I’m… I’m tired, Tom.” You glance down, eyes attaching to his tie. “You deserve more than someone who makes you jump through a thousand hoops because they’re scared of opening up.”

He’s quiet for a few moments, his thumb padding over your cheek in circles.

“Did you ever consider that I like jumping through hoops? Love it, even?” Tom manages a lopsided smile. It stretches wider when you stare up at him, wide-eyed. “Everyone I meet is boring, Y/N. You’re the only person I know that challenges me. Vexes me, inspires me. And I know… I know who you are, and I like who you are. I appreciate your concern, I do, but I can make my own decisions.” His eyes soften. “What I want is you, in any way, shape or form you’re willing to share with me. You’re the kind of person worth waiting for.”

And shit. Shit. How are you supposed to guard your heart when he’s saying things like that?

You tilt your head to the side, eyes falling over the side of Tom’s face. It’s chiselled beneath the moonlight, the sharp line of his nose and jaw dusted in bright silver. His eyes are ghostly, light brown, but warm.

“I’m scared,” you admit, eyes dropping to the bump of his chin. His eyes are too prying, too honest, too much. Small steps. You need to take things in small steps. “I want to be with you, Tom,” you utter, “but what if I’m a bad girlfriend? What if we stop playing the game and you realise I’m boring, or you hate me, or—”

He presses his lips to yours very lightly, halting your words.

“—I haven’t done this in a long time,” you finish, and then you can breathe.

Tom stretches up to you, using his free hand to take your chin between two fingers and tilt your face towards him. He coaxes your eyes back to his, padding his thumb over the side of your jaw when your gaze locks.

“Neither have I,” he admits. “I’m scared as well.” Tom licks his lips. His mouth glimmers beneath the moon. “I think that it’ll be worth it, though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. We fit together so well it’s startling.” Tom’s voice drops, and you see the rosy blush coast across his cheeks before he even adds, “you do know, right? You know how much I adore you?”

Your heart feels weak. You feel weak. You try not to run from it.

You take a breath. “I know that I love you,” you whisper, “and I hope you feel the same way.”

Tom’s lips twitch. He leans forward and kisses you, drawing a hand to your hip and letting his warm palm envelop your waist as he draws you closer, his other hand steady on your face. With your bodies connecting as your lips unite, you feel something in your heart shift. He has you, you know that now—has his hand on your face, the other on your waist, and his heart, wrapped so snugly around yours that it’s hard to tell where his ends and yours starts. It’s a passionate mess of aching, burgeoning love, and it’s beautiful.

His lips fall away. The tip of Tom’s nose nuzzles up against yours.

“I do,” he says, voice gentle. “I love you, and I want to make you happy for a very long time. Will you let me?”

Your lips move before you can think, before you can allow fear to cloud your decisions.

“I would love that,” you reply.

Tom hums. He kisses you again, then again, then again. And it’s perfect.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧

!!!!!!! thank you so much for reading !!!!!!!

let me know what you think please...? :D I love asks and I love reblogs. pls validate me fhdkjf.

masterlist/taglist linked through my bio <3

#tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #smut #richkid!tom #richkid!tom holland #richkid!tom smut #y/n #richkid!tomfic

3K notes · View notes

mrs-hollandstan · 2 years ago

Note

Richkid!tom as tue reader'sugar daddy?

👀 decently dirty

"Daddyyyyy!" You call. You watch Tom fight his smile before he's spinning,

"Darling… what is it now? What would you like?" He poses. You hum, moving towards him. He fucking loves the sway of your hips, could get lost in all of you. You shrug as you lean on his knees, sinking to your own between his legs,

"I dunno… there's this really gorgeous dress at Saks. Could be useful for all your galas." You tell him, cocking your head. He chuckles as you cross your arms across his thighs,

"Yeah?" You nod,

"And there's this really nice lingerie set at Honey Birdette. I think you'd like it. It's blue just like you like." He hums,

"I don't exactly get anything out of that baby girl. What's in it for me?" He asks, eyes hooded. You giggle as you stand, sliding into his lap to straddle him,

"Well why would I be buying the lingerie unless I let you peel it off me?" You purr, leaning in to kiss just below his ear and across his neck. He purrs low in his throat,

"Tell you what…" He starts as he stands, dropping you onto his bed and crawling over you, "I'll up your allowance to ten thousand this month. Surprise me with whatever you'd like, and then we'll spend the whole weekend right here in this bed." He reasons. You chew your lip,

"How 'bout Switzerland. It's gorgeous there right now. We can fuck with the windows open, listening to the waterfalls." You try to negotiate. His smirks sinisterly down at you,

"You are so fucking spoiled." He growls, dragging your shirt up to kiss your stomach. You squeal as he leaves wet kisses along your skin,

"You didn't say no though. Can't resist me can you?" You chide. He growls, nipping at the skin of your belly button,

"Yes… we can go to Switzerland. And the Netherlands, and Paris, wherever you want." He confirms. You slide your fingers through his hair as he kisses your lips softly,

"Regardless of how much money you give me… nothing is more important to me than your love and these moments." You tell him. He smiles down at you,

"I know… me too. But… I like having you at my beck and call." He responds. Kissing him again, you roll him onto his back,

"I'll get the most gorgeous red bottoms for you baby." You tell him, caressing his cheek. He chuckles, watching as you start to leave the room, hips swaying again,

"I like the strappy heels too." He murmurs. You giggle, turning to look at him,

"Don't worry… you'll get a decent surprise." You promise. The smile that he carries never leaves his face as he resumes what he was doing.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #my writing #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland x oc #richkid!tom #rich kid!tom #tom holland blurb #tom holland blurbs

112 notes · View notes

allthingsfuckd · 3 years ago

Text

fancy seeing you here | richkid!Tom x richkid!reader

: ̗̀➛ trope: strangers to friends to lovers

: ̗̀➛ genre: fluff, smut (18+)

: ̗̀➛ word count: 7k+

: ̗̀➛ summary: reader meets a charming new member of her parents' social club at a party

: ̗̀➛ warnings: 18+ minors DNI; swearing; smoking; mention of drugs (pot, only one sentence), drinking; vomiting; descriptions of tennis and golf; loads of rich people problems jawfjajid; smut (unprotected sex, oral male&female receiving); and may i say again,, minors dni!

: ̗̀➛ a/n: i really love this fic and i put my whole heart into this one, it’s one of my favourites to write. i haven’t been mentally okay so my writing may be a little funky here and there. also, i only know the basics of tennis and golf so if i fuck up any descriptions im so sorry ajdiaw. i tried doing as much research as i can so please leave a review in my ask, i’d really really love to improve my writing. i hope you all enjoy this as much as i’ve enjoyed writing it!! also I'm so sorry for posting so late, i just woke up :D

here's my taglist!

my other works

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

“What are you standing here for? Mingle,” a voice said patronisingly, making y/n roll her eyes.

“Ha ha. You have it easy ‘cause you’re a man. You men hide together in the rooms and gamble. Leaving the women to mingle and dance and look pretty,” she slumped against the wall in the corner of the ballroom. “I’m not even a debutante, why am I here?”

The Regent Society, a society especially for those of wealth, prestige and honour was founded in the 60s. And such societies, organise events such as this one — the debutante ball, where girls who are of marriageable age (16) come out and present themselves to society. To simply put it, a misogynistic, degrading event (even though they’ve declared it was now held simply for tradition —not to marry off minors). y/n’s parents, unfortunately, fell prey to the gimmicks of the society’s events, meaning she and her brother, Eli are to attend and behave accordingly since they were young.

Eli took a rather long sip of his whisky. “Toughen up. You’re off to America next year, no more balls or gowns or mingling,” he examined the extraordinarily bright room, taking yet another sip and swallowing down the warm whisky, together with the little pride he had left. “I’m stuck here because my dear wife insists on coming to these events to please our darling parents.”

“Oh yeah, how’s the Mrs doing?”

“Peachy,” he grimaced. A pity really, Y/N thought. Being a socialite in a profound family had its repercussions —to be married by the age of 30, or succumb to the sickly tradition of forced marriage. Her brother, unfortunately, was a victim.

Soon, the orchestra began their concerto and everyone’s attention was drawn to the gaggle of girls in white dresses swarming the dance floor. The same dance routine and song every year.

“God, I need a smoke,” Y/N rolled her eyes. She scanned the room, looking for the nearest exit.

“Go,” he proceeded to his mother who was intently looking for her unmarried, remarkably eligible daughter.

The music was muffled on the balcony. Tom huffed the smoke out of his mouth and took a swig from his beer as he admired the garden, wet leaves glistening under the moonlight. London was known for its depressing rains but Tom saw it as his muse.

The music grew clear, the squeaky brackets of the door accompanied making him turn his head to the door behind him.

A lady appeared, adorned in a floor-length dress. The door was closing behind her when her dress got caught on the edge of the door, tugging her backwards. She yelped and cursed. Tom stifled a laugh, pursing his lips.

She looked at him and quickly glanced down to the floor. “Bloody floor-length gowns,” she muttered under her breath pulling her skirt from the door. He chuckled, amused by her struggle, and turned away to hide his amusement to not embarrass her.

Y/N wanted the ground to eat her up. The man was attractive. Dark-haired, and well-defined features. And he was clearly laughing at her. The night could only get worse. She reached into her pocket —one she had sewn in secretly— to take out a pack of cigarettes.

And it did. She palmed her dress, feeling for her lighter.

“Brilliant,” sarcasm in her tone, she put the cigarette into her mouth, repeatedly shoving her hands in her pockets as if a lighter would miraculously appear.

“Need a light?” the man offered, picking up his lighter and walking towards her.

“Thanks,” she took the lighter from him, smiling sceptically. He smiled back.

“I take it you’re avoiding the ball?” he leaned against the fence, scanning her from head to toe.

She chuckled. “You mean the snob fest?” he laughed, puffing smoke out of his mouth and nose as he did. “I’ve never seen you around. You attending the ball as well?” she filled the silence.

“Yeah, I am. I uh," he chuckled, almost embarrassed to admit. "My parents felt that being members in one club wasn’t enough so they joined another one,” she nodded her head slowly.

Tom loves his family, very much so in fact, and they all get along incredibly well. It just felt like his whole life was decided for him. Be it attending balls, or weddings, going to the best schools, taking after his father's law firm. No say or control over any of the mishaps in his life.

Y/N’s head tilted back as she huffed her smoke out to the sky, moaning softly to not be heard by the stranger. “What have you got in your cig?” the man asked, amusement in his voice. “Is that pot?”

The woman laughed heartily. “No,” she sighed. “I quit smoking about three months ago but I really needed this today,” she admitted.

“Is it really that bad in there?” he mused.

She scoffed and nodded. Her cigarette depleted and she put it out on the dish next to Tom. A breeze blew and he caught a whiff of her perfume, a soft but strong scent of flowers.

“Thanks for the light again, um,” y/n tried to recall if he gave her his name.

“Tom,” he perked up, taking his hand out of his pocket. “Tom Holland,” he reached out to her.

Her gloved hand fit nicely into his. “I’m y/n y/l/n,” she smiled. “Okay, it’s getting chilly now. It was lovely meeting you, Tom. And welcome to the Regent Society. Things are about to get fucked,” she lifted her skirt, making her way back in.

“Don't go tripping on your dress now,” he said as she walked away, his smile wide when he saw her shake her head lightly.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Y/N shifts from her slouched sitting as she hears the door creak open. She saw the figure gesticulate and rake their fingers in their hair, muttering under their breath. The figure turned around and a smile crept on her face when she saw who it was.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she says.

Tom jumped, his hands flew to his chest as he turned to the direction of the voice. His shoulders dropped seeing the familiar face. She sat nicely on the reading nook by the big arched window, legs hidden by her long dress.

“God, you scared the shits out of me!”

“Sorry,” y/n giggled, covering her face with the book to hide her smile.

He shook his head, smiling. “I should ask you the same question,” he walked toward where she sat. “Shouldn’t you be waltzing?” he mocked a waltz toward her.

A scowl formed on her face. “You’re a proper dickhead,” y/n bookmarked her book. “Came to check out the library. Heard the mansion had a massive library. And I got lost in the book,” she lifted the book and turned the front cover in his direction.

The library was indeed massive. Encapsulated with dark walls and tall bookshelves, a person can feel incredibly tiny in the space. Your eyes would automatically draw to the steps that lead to the second level of the library. Mr Anderson appreciated history enough to preserve the Victorian house and the library was a remarkable pinnacle of the mansion.

“Lady Susan. Good book,” he nodded his head.

She tilted her head. “You read Jane Austen?”

“For school, darling,” the heels of his shoes thud against the floorboard. “But I did really like it,” she felt the weight of the cushion sink, shifting to make space for Tom.

“What were you having a fit about?” referring to the earlier instance of their meet.

“My aunt’s just pissing me off,” he shifted to reach into his pocket.

“Oi, you can’t smoke in here!”

“It’s not like you don’t smoke,” the joint held between his teeth, he fumfers.

“Yeah but I smoke ethically,” Tom’s eyes followed her hand as she snatched the cigarette out of his mouth and the box. He blinked fast, jaw slacked.

“Fine,” he mimicked her actions, snatching them back. “Let’s go outside then. Or did you quit again?”

“Been smoking since.”

“Brilliant,“ he claps his palms together, pointing his thumbs to the exit.

“But the book!”

“Jane Austen will always be there for you, babes. Smoke won’t,” he walked away without looking back.

Her brain froze and her face twisted to make sense of his words. “That does not make sense!” he disappeared into the hallway. “You should consider reading more,” her volume louder this time.

“Come on?” he reappeared and leaned against the door frame, looking small by the 10-foot tall door. “You can follow me and teach me more,” he gave a sardonic smile.

She pondered over the idea. Either sit here, be found and forced to participate in whatever function they've got going on or go with Tom and maybe have some fun outside the pages of a book. “Let’s go then,” she hops down from the reading nook. “But only if you agree to read something I suggest.”

“Sure,” he combed his hair back with his fingers. They both walk hastily toward the exit knowing if someone caught them, they won’t be able to break free.

Thankful she opted for her thicker dress, she shivered from the cool breeze on her face. “What do you hate most about these events?” Tom asks as he draws his head back to exhale the smoke from his mouth and look at the stars. The sun has set and the party is yet to be over.

The crickets chirp in a chorus as she thought about her answer. “So many reasons really. But I think the most is that everybody hates everybody,” she balanced her weight on the outer edge of her feet. “My mother complains about every close friend she has. I don’t know how she does it.”

Tom hummed. “So, what’s this book you wanted to recommend me?” he patted the space next to him on the bench, looking at her.

Middlemarch was one of her favourite books. She talked his ear off about it, and surprisingly he was highly enthused in the conversation. Her eyes sparkled as she described the book and Tom felt like he’d know everything about the world if he kept talking to the girl. “I’m sorry if I bore you,” she apologised, lowering her head.

“Don’t worry about it. You’ve got my attention,” Tom reassured her.

As the night progressed, they’d learned more about each other. From obvious connections, Tom learned that y/n wanted to be a writer. He’d never had a chance to dream as much as she did, having his whole life being led to continue his father’s law firm since he’s the eldest.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gina, y/n’s cousin, was talking about her kids being in a new school when she caught the sight of a familiar face. She couldn’t deny that she had been looking for him all day. After spending time with him the other night, she took a liking to him, his charm and (undeniably) his good looks.

He was laughing with two men with curlier hair and as if he felt her staring, he looked in her direction and gave her a soft wave. She shot him a smile, feeling her heart sink to her stomach as she went back into the conversation. She (impatiently) held herself back from immediately running up to Tom and mingled around a little more until she finally came up to him.

“Fancy seeing your pretty face here,” he passed her a flute of champagne. Her fingers grazed his, a warmth washed over him. “No more gown?” his eyes trailed on her figure.

“I’m playing dress-up,” she teased. “I have a game this afternoon,” she addressed her tennis attire and the event.

He chuckled. “Gown or not, you look splendid, darling,” he made her cheeks heat up.

“Thank you,” she curtsied, mentally slapping herself with regret as soon as she does so.

“Oh god, where are my manners?” Tom apologised. “y/n, this is my mate Harrison and my brothers, Sam and Harry,” he introduced. She’d seen Harrison around and asked about his parents. Soon after chatting with each other, they then left to the snooker table.

“What time’s your game?” she took a few steps back and he slipped his hands behind her back to stop her from knocking over the champagne tower.

“Oops,” she laughed. “2pm,” she stuttered. “Why? You gonna watch?”

“I might,” he smirked, his hands still lingering on her back. Their faces were dangerously close, y/n gulped. “I didn’t know you could play,” she relaxed her shoulders when he moved back and let go.

“It’s the only tolerable event they have. Found it enjoyable the older I got since I’m practically hitting balls,” she sipped on her champagne. He chuckled. “What brings you here?”

He sighed, looking down at his shoes. “My brothers just got back and this is the only thing my parents would make time for,” she hummed, sliding closer to him so that their arms touched. They watch as the people in the room mingle and laugh.

“You look great too, by the way,” she broke the silence.

“Thanks, darling,” Tom nudged her arm, making her smile sheepishly. His eyes lingered on her face, smiling shyly when she turned to face him.

Tom wore his cap, it was sunny out for once in London. Harry and Sam were yapping on about their trip to Greece when y/n stepped onto the court. As she did, he shushed them making the twins share a look.

Nerves began to wash over y/n. She’s been playing since she was 9 but she never got over her nerves. The spectators weren't many, it was a Friday afternoon after all. She scanned the crowd and her eyes fell upon Tom and his brothers. Tom waved and she gave a small wave back.

y/n was leading again in the 2nd set when Elsa caught up to score a 6 in the set —the same as y/n scored the 1st set. The back of y/n’s shirt was drenched and she just wanted the game to be over and done with.

“She’s proper good, isn’t she?” Harry said to Tom. She really was, Tom thought. He kept his eye on her the whole game and she didn’t look half as tired as she’s supposed to be. It really was extraordinary for her stamina to be that good when she smokes. . Tom got up from his seat and headed to the gate where she was resting during the 10-minute break before the final set.

“Hey, champ,” he leaned on the fencing. y/n turned around when she heard the familiar voice and got up from her seat.

“Hey,” she stood on the other side of the fence.

“You’re doing really good,” he hooked his hands into the holes of the fence.

“I think I’m alright,” she laughed. “You didn’t have to come watch me,” a drop of sweat rolled down her temple and she wiped it with the towel in her hand.

“Harrison raved about how well you play. Wanted to see for myself,” she shifted from one foot to another, biting her lip.

“Well, I like to put on a show,” she joshed, erupting a chuckle from Tom. The umpire rang a bell, signalling for the game to start in a minute.

“Good luck, now,” he pumped his fist.

“Thanks,” she smiled, winking as she walked away making Tom swoon.

The whole time, Tom repeatedly bit the insides of his cheeks. He watched as y/n gracefully caught up to the ball.

She really does know how to put on a show.

She got everyone on the edge of their seats, Tom particularly felt heated up. The wink alone made him so weak he could barely walk back to his seat, but seeing her dominate the game was incredibly attractive. Her quick reflexes were immaculate. This was nothing compared to golf.

Elsa had memorised some of y/n’s moves and habits and she caught on that y/n was tired. As y/n ran to catch up to the ball, she felt her belly flip when her shoes didn’t grip the ground.

A gasp erupted from the crowd, some were cheering for Elsa. Tom nearly jumped up from his seat as he saw y/n slip. He and his brothers winced, hearing how hard the racquet slammed on the floor that the slip stung. The crowd cheered for her as she got up, her ankles buckled and failed her as she fell again.

“Shit,” y/n muttered under her breath. A medic rushed to her as she started to get up again.

“You alright?” the St John Ambulance volunteer asked. Another applaud came from the crowd when she was able to stand up properly. She nodded, earning a louder applaud and encouragement from the crowd.

The game went on and y/n was now at an advantage. If she gets this, she’ll win the whole match. Tom crossed his fingers as she exhaled through her mouth. She lifted the ball above her head and struck it with the racquet, a sound emitted from her. Her lungs were on fire and her legs were weak.

Tom never really understood tennis, but seeing a game like this was far more interesting than watching it on TV. He gave up on getting Sam to explain the rules of the game when he became more and more baffled.

Tom saw y/n twisting her body to drive a backhand, she returned the ball. Elsa struggled to chase time. His eyes followed the ball as it hit the ground and the small crowd cheered loudly.

“Did she win?” Tom asked Sam, earning a nod from his younger brother who was clapping. y/n sighed and smiled with relief, heading in the direction of the net to give Elsa a hug. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she put her hands together, mouthing 'thank you' to the crowd cheering for her.

The spectators congratulated her as she walked out of the court. “You did great, mate!” Sam shouted as she drew closer to them. She gave him a tired smile, her lungs still burning. Her hair was a mess and she could barely utter a word.

“Thank you, guys,” she struggled to say.

“Were you always this good?” Harry asked, amused.

“Oi, stop asking the poor kid questions. She’s clearly tired,” Tom scolded. She smiled, as she stopped to catch her breath. “Here, let me help you with that,” he grabbed the strap of her tennis bag.

Coming out of the shower, she saw that Tom was still waiting at the lounge for her. Her heart melted and she pressed her lips together to hide her smile. “Hey,” she said softly.

“Here you go,” he offered her a bottle of Coke and she chuckled. The bottles hissed as they opened them and they clinked their bottles together. “Cheers, mate.”

“Cheers,” she smiled, bringing the bottle to her lips.

“You were really amazing. Can’t believe you’ve not gone pro,” Tom praised her as he walked her to her car.

y/n has never had a shy bone in her body but when she’s around Tom, her legs could just give. “I try my best,” she shrugged, her palms getting clammy.

“Oh, you absolutely did, mate. You really did put on a show,” he smirked, referring to what she said before at the court. “And may I say, it was quite hot,” he admitted. Eyes wide, he immediately apologised if the comment was offensive.

She shrugged it off, laughing. “Well, you’re one to talk.”

“What?”

“Come on, Tom,” she scoffed, a look of disbelief on her face. “You look fucking hot all the time,” she gazed at the outfit he put together today. The white polo he wore hugged his biceps and chest perfectly and the black slacks he paired it with defined his ass.

“Do I, now?” a playful smirk formed on his face, his eyebrows raised as he brought his hand up to his hair, only to flex his bicep.

“Ugh, you’re such a twat,” y/n rolled her eyes, pushing him playfully as he laughed. The urge to grab her face and kiss her grew on him. With her hair still damp and body glistening under the sun, it almost felt impossible to hold himself back.

“Oh yeah, I’ve finally gotten the chance to start the book,” he mentioned as she placed her bag in her backseat.

Her expression lit up. “Really?” he nodded. “How’d you like it so far?”

“It’s really beautiful writing,” his comment made her smile. “I’m about almost done,” he slipped his hands into his pockets.

Her heart leapt with joy. “I’m excited for you to finish,” she hopped into the driver’s seat.

“Alright now, you better go get some rest,” he held the side of the car door, earning a nod. “See you around,” he smiled, closing the door. Something pulled on his heartstrings as she waved frantically as she drove past him.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Just finished the book. Amazing. The text read from Tom, sent 2 hours ago.

She bit her lip as she read the message. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes after replying to his text. It was 7pm now and she’d taken a nap for 2 hours. Another ding came from her phone and she picked it up to check.

Sam took this photo of u during ur game. Thought u’d like it. The next bubble popped up and it was a picture of her in the trophy pose.

i love it. tell Sam thanks. She sent the text, three dots appeared and her phone buzzed.

How’d u have that much stamina when you smoke?

i really don’t have that much. my lungs were on fire

Do you regret smoking then?

nope

Why not?

wouldn’t have met you :)

Tom’s heart fluttered at the text, he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “You alright, mate?” Sam asked, smiling at him.

“Yeah,” Tom nodded, looking back at his phone to type a reply.

“You texting y/n?” Tom smiled, ignoring his question, too engrossed in his conversation with y/n.

“What’s that face for? We’re just mates,” he said when he finally looked up from his phone.

“Mates don’t look at each other like you lot do,” Sam said, making Tom flip him off.

“She said thanks for the photo,” Tom said.

Sam hummed, going around the sofa to look at Tom’s phone. “Tell her I said no problem,” he said as Tom typed his message. “And tell her I think Tom should get his head out of his arse and tell her how he feels,” he teased.

Tom grabbed the pillow next to him and flipped it behind his head to hit Sam in the face. “We’ve only known each other 3 months. Piss off.”

After half an hour of texting, they switched to FaceTime so y/n could cook while they chatted. They had their dinner together and talked until the wee hours of the morning.

y/n was comfy and all snuggled up in bed and Tom the same. “I've got a proposition to make,” he announced and y/n hummed. “Since I’ve read your book and watched you play tennis, you should definitely join me for a game of golf.”

She groaned, burying her face into her pillow. Tom had his mouth open, clearly offended at her reaction. “What’s wrong with golf?”

“It’s incredibly boring?”

“Have you played before?”

“...No.”

“Then how is it boring?”

She bit her lip, rolling her eyes. Tom was really nice to attend her match and read her favourite book. “Okay, I’ll do it,” her tone as if in defeat.

“You won’t regret it, love,” Tom was excited.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

y/n watched as Tom practised his drives at the driving range. She squinted her eyes and studied his movements closely with her head tilted and eyebrows tightly knit. If she were to be honest though, she was admiring Tom (especially since he looked so good).

Arm muscles significantly defined, his left wrist was adorned with a silver Rolex, one she’s never noticed he’s worn until now. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, he could not look hotter.

“Want me to teach you?” Tom’s voice snapped her out of her trance.

“Yes, please,” she grinned, walking hesitantly toward Tom who held out his club for her to grab it.

“Okay, so it might be a little difficult since you play tennis. But you’ll definitely get a hang of it.”

She adjusted her stance. “We’re gonna learn swinging first alright? So your stance isn’t all that important now, just try give it a swing?”

Remembering how Tom did it, she stuck her tongue out and drove the club back and swung it. There was a pause between the two of them, she frowned.

She tipped her head to the side. “I don’t think that’s how I’m supposed to do it,” she said.

“Yeah, no,” he snickered. “But that’s okay,” reassuring her. He further explained the motion and she repeatedly bobbed her head.

“Okay... I think maybe…? I’m ready to try again,” she adjusted her hands on the grip.

“That’s it! You got it!” he exclaimed, walking towards her to give her a high five. “Now just try a few more and then we’ll move on to your stance, yeah?” he stood behind, observing her with his arms crossed.

She began to improve with every swing with Tom giving her a few pointers as she did. Observing her, Tom found her incredibly adorable with her tongue sticking out in concentration. After getting better at her drive, Tom proceeded to coach her on her stance.

“Yeah, you’ve got your footing right, so now just soften your knees a little?”

“Like this?” she habitually bent down into her tennis stance. His eyes crinkled as he laughed, holding his belly. She stood up straight with her wrists on her hips.

“Are you taking a fucking piss?” she scolded him trying not to give in to laughter. Apologising immediately after, trying hard to contain his laughter.

“No, no. Like this,” he showed with an imaginary club. She observed and tried to mimic him, bending a little too much again. “Okay, um. Is it alright if I touch you?”

“Yea-Yeah sure.”

He stood behind her, feeling her jump slightly when he held her waist. “Okay, so just place the back of your knee on my knee,” he leaned in closer to her back.

“Yeah, that’s it,” she felt the vibration of his chest against her back. “The key is to kind of relax your body a bit. Just whatever makes you feel comfortable. We’re different so it might not,” he cleared his throat as she backed her bum against his crotch. “It might not, uh, feel right for you.”

“Feel comfortable?” he whispered, feeling his breath on her ear. His skin felt soft against hers as he brushed his hands on her arm to reach for the club.

“Yeah,” her voice, barely above a whisper when he placed his hands on hers.

“Ready to swing?”

“Mhm,” she gulped, feeling his skin touch hers.

“Alright,” they both drove the club back and swung softly. “Nice one,” Tom muttered as they watched the ball hit the ground.

“Now, you try it again,” he said, the warmth of his body leaving hers and she felt the breeze blow on the back of her legs again.

For the next couple of months, they were constantly seen together. Whether it was at the occasional society events, or at the golf club, or library. When the air got colder though, they met less often since y/n was done with her summer leave at a local publishing company.

One evening, Tom had invited y/n to have dinner at his place with other friends. Sam wanted to experiment with different cuisine and needed as many unbiased tasters. After dinner, they proceeded to play drinking games. Apparently, y/n had been so bad at playing that she’d become drunk by the third game.

“Alright, mate. You need to help me out a little getting out of the car,” Tom grunted trying to move y/n who was slumped over in the passenger seat. He’d offered to drive her back home since she was absolutely hammered.

“I hate it when you call me ‘mate’,” y/n slurred her words.

“What should I call you then?” he sighed and stopped trying to pry her out of the car.

She placed her pointer finger on her lip, in thought. “Well, haven’t thought about it,” she giggled.

“Mhm,” Tom shook his head, smiling to himself.

y/n then decided to get out of the car by herself. Sighing, he closed the door and rushed to catch her before she fell onto the floor.

“Fuck, Tom! Someone stole my car,” she exclaimed when they walked up to the car porch, her voice echoed around the compound.

“You drove to my place, remember?” Tom laughed, hushing her.

They stumbled up the front door after what felt like an eternity, Tom was panting from chasing her around. “You’re fuckin’ mad when you’re drunk,” Tom muttered to himself.

He gave her a bottle of water to drink as they sat at the front door, her head placed on his shoulders. Tom felt the light drizzle from the sky falling onto his skin. "Okay, can you get in yourself?”

She nodded, finally being able to stand up on her feet —with Tom’s help, of course. She wrapped her arms around Tom’s neck to give him a hug. His hands found themselves on her lower back. She let go and kissed his cheek, lingering a little too long.

Their eyes closed, still leaned in. He felt as drunk as she was, finding himself breathless. He could smell the mixture of booze on her breath. Their lips drew closer and closer.

y/n turned her face away, Tom cleared his throat. “Oh, I’m not feeling great,” she mumbled. Tom turned to face her, she was crouched, hugging her belly. “I think I’m gonna vom,” she covered her mouth.

“Okay, hand me your keys, yeah,” he took the keys from her hand. "Please, mate, if you vom on me we'll have a puke contest," he begged. She rushed in, stumbling quickly to get to the nearest toilet.

Tom followed her, thanking all the gods she didn’t vomit before she got to the toilet. He held her hair back as she barfed all the alcohol out of her system, trying so hard not to gag at the sound. After getting her to brush her teeth and clean up, he brought her to her room.

“Thanks, Tom. You’re great,” she smiled as he tucked her in. He placed a bottle of water and painkiller on the nightstand before he headed back home.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Tom spotted her, sitting alone at a table with her head resting on her palm. She looked miserable, a minute frown on her face. “Hello, there. Care for a pint?” He waved the drink in front of her, making her groan.

“Fuck off,” she pushed the drink away.

“D’you wake up okay?” he sat down.

“No, spent the whole day in bed. Why did you let me drink that much?” she moaned, pressing her fingers into her temple.

“You snatched them all right off my hand!”

She covered her face, chagrined as she recalled the memory. “Did I vomit on you?”

“Not a drop, darling,” he smiled, resting his arm on the back of her chair.

Taking a sip of her water, she nodded. “I hope I was hot though,” she sneered, making him chuckle.

Her head rested on his shoulder as they witnessed the wedding reception. They watched and made fun of people as they made a fool of themselves on the dance floor. It had seemed like the perfect opportunity for Tom to declare how he felt about her but the thought of it made him entirely sick. And other than the incident last night, how she felt for him was utterly vague.

He stood up from his seat and put out his hand in front of her. “May I have this dance?”

y/n snorted, looking up at him. She sighed and he still stood there with his hands in front of her. “Oh. You’re not kidding are you?” her face deadpanned.

“No,” he shook his head.

“Okay...” she took his hand and he led her to the dancefloor.

He placed his hands on her waist and she placed hers nicely on the back of his neck. They swayed to the rhythm of the song, a common slow dance song played at weddings that is much too old for her to know the name of. She looked at him, he raised his eyebrows making her grin and scoff.

“This is nice,” she whispered.

“Come on now, move closer.”

“Like this?” she stepped closer, her head now right next to his. His heart skipped a beat.

As they continued to sway, her head rested on his shoulders and Tom caught a whiff of her shampoo. Taking her hand from his shoulder, he moved her hands under his arm. As he did this, she lifted her head up. He peered over to look at her, their faces a couple millimeters away. Shifting his gaze from her eyes to her lips, his breaths shorten.

“y/n,” his voice was hushed.

“Yeah?” their eyes locked. He struggled to utter a word, his eyes fixated on her lips.

“Just kiss me already,” she sighed. Tom hesitated, bug-eyed and breath hitched. Fuck it, he thought.

Her eyes fluttered close when she felt his lips on hers. Her lips were as delicate as he’d imagined. Even though she swore off booze for the night, he caught a taste of wine on her lips. Though they didn’t want to, they broke the kiss when the song ended. They leaned on each other’s foreheads as they smiled, giggling struggling to flutter their eyes open.

“Uh, y/n,” a voice came from behind her.

Eli. He’d mentioned something about their mother needing to go home early.

She let go, Tom cleared his throat, trying his best to wipe the grin off his face. “Eli,” she said in between her teeth. “This is Tom Holland,” she introduced. “Tom, this is my brother, Eli,” they shook hands and Eli gave her a cheeky grin. He then hurriedly left after he lingered with Tom a minute too long seeing that she’d been glaring at him.

“Okay,” she took Tom’s hand in hers and rocked it back and forth. “I’ve got to go,” he bites his lip, nodding his head.

“No, yeah. I’ll see you,” he kissed her cheek.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Driving up to Brighton, Tom was sick to his stomach. He bounced in his seat and he could feel the damp heat from his hands as he wiped them on his shorts. Saying all but a few words, he stared blankly out the window. Sam took the wheel, knowing full well he’d be too jittery to drive. After all, y/n was leaving tomorrow.

Red and lilac, the water mirrored the sky. The waves crashing on the rocky shore now louder than the music from the beach house. Tom snuck away from the barbeque where the guests gathered.

“Oi, what are you doing out here?” a familiar voice tugged at his heart. He bites his lip, hiding his smile.

“Having a smoke to celebrate you finally leaving,” he joked, passing her his cigarette. She hummed.

They walked away from the beach house sharing a single cigarette. As the waves grew louder and the bustling noise got softer, the more world spun. He’d had a few too many drinks to conquer the nerves. Feeling the rocks crunch under their feet, they stumbled to god-knows-where. Somehow their fingers intertwined as they walked, it all felt right. Until a pain pangs in his stomach knowing she’d be leaving in a few hours.

“You alright?”

Tom cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m good,” he smiled, caressing her knuckles with his thumb.

She chuckled. His grip on her hand was tight and only grew tighter. “You sure?” she stopped, pulling him back to her.

Looking down at his feet, he searched up words in his dizzying brain. He jittered in his stance and stopped when he felt her hands on his cheeks —as soft as he’d known her to be.

“What’s up?” she tried to get him to look her in the eyes. He sighed, chuckling.

“y/n, I,” he choked. She inched closer, her infamous frown on her face again. “I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered, chickening out.

Her frown disappears. “I’m gonna miss you too,” she fluttered her eyes close and leaned in, attaching her lips to his. It felt different than the one they had a week ago —more longing, more passion. Her hands fell on his shoulders and moved them slowly to his chest. Tom wrapped his arms around her lower back and brought her body flush against his.

They reluctantly let go when they heard the party cheer behind them. Turning back to peer back at the party: they were cheering at something else. Touching foreheads, they chuckled and Tom lifted his hands to rest them on her face.

The dim light in the sky highlighted the high points of her face. “You’re so beautiful,” he grazed his thumbs on her cheeks, adoring her features.

“Tom?” she whispered, he turned his gaze to her eyes.

“Yeah, love?” her legs weakened at the new name.

“I really really like you,” she bit her lip. Tom’s eyes grew wide, his hands fell to her shoulders. He sighed, clutching his hands in his chest making her giggle. He pouts as he feels his eyes start to well up. “Are you crying?”

Shielding his face with his hands, she cackled loudly, falling on the sand. “I was trying so hard to say it first. I was so nervous!” he shouted as she laughed even louder, rolling on the floor.

“I can’t believe I made you cry,” she wiped the tears from her eyes, sighing and then starting to laugh again.

“Oh, I’m never going to live this down, am I?” she shook her head, still laughing.

Her laughter died down, and soon they were kissing again. He held her waist, slipping his hands under her shirt and she does the same. The rings on his fingers sent shivers up her spine. Tom parted from the kiss, and his lips felt swollen. Their chests rose and faltered in unison, their foreheads still touching.

He cleared his throat. “We should head back. Those people are here for you,” he grazed his fingers on her shoulder.

“Yeah, I forgot about the party for a second,” she giggled.

When they got back, y/n entertained her guests and said her farewells. Tom lingered close, chatting with her friends. Stolen glances exchanged the whole night, both having something else on their minds. Fortunately, the night ended faster than expected and her guests had left, including their brothers.

Closing the front door, she turned around to see him right behind her. “Fancy seeing you here,” she moved closer, taking his hands. His gaze was alluring as he smiled. He grabbed her face and kissed her, earning a moan from her.

He pressed her against the door, feeling his clothed hard-on against her thighs. In a drunken haze, she stopped the kiss and led him upstairs. Their lips connected at the top of the stairs, not parting as they stumbled into the nearest bedroom. Her hands slipped down to his chest, unbuttoning his button-down. When she got rid of the clothing, she let go of the kiss and dragged her fingers down his skin, admiring his abs.

“Darling. Shit,” his voice strained. “That tickles,” he laughed. She giggled, reaching for the hem of her shirt to take it off.

No bra. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” Tom drooled. He grabbed her face again, expecting him to attack her lips but he dove his head to reach for her neck. She whined, making him smile against her neck. He took her breasts in his hands and played with her hard nipples. Her legs gave out when he found the sweet spot on her neck.

They moved closer to the bed, y/n fell back on the bed. Tom kisses her neck and leaves trails of kisses down her chest.

“Fuck, Tommy,” she moans, her back arched when his lips attached to her nipples. The nickname incited a groan from him. He licked her nipples, causing a string of beautiful moans to come from her throat.

She hummed when she felt the absence of heat from her body, he untied the drawstrings of her pants and pulled them off. Continuing from where he left off, he took his time down —worshipping her body. He kissed her clothed hips. She looked down, making eye contact with him as she watched him take her panties off with his teeth. Her head fell back on the bed, biting her lip.

“So beautiful,” he cooed, she felt cold air blow against her wet slick. He adorned her skin with kisses, everywhere but where she wanted it most. He then reaches his hand up and plays with her nipples.

He kisses the insides of her thighs and then closer to her wet pussy. He inched closer when he changed his mind and trailed up to her hips. Grinding the air, she moaned, pushing his head closer to her body.

“D’you like it when I tease you?”

She nodded, her eyes shut, tightly pursing her lips. Finally, he licks a long stripe up her entrance, making her grip his curls tightly. He does it agonisingly slowly a few more times until he reaches for her clit.

She reaches for his hands, intertwines her fingers with his and squeezes them tightly as he kitten licks her clit. He let go of her hands and inserted a finger into her, earning a loud moan from her. He adds another finger, sucking on her clit as he does so. All the stimulation makes her arch her back.

In the daze, she closed her eyes, alternating between grabbing his hair and the bedsheets. “Right there, baby. Fuck,” she whimpered when he bends his digits, stimulating her g-spot. A familiar knot forms in her stomach as he repeats the motion. She saw colours as she reached her climax, grabbing his hair tight making Tom moan into her.

“That was fucking hot,” he wiped her wetness from his mouth. She laughs, panting as she comes down from her high. He wastes no time, kissing his way up her body to her lips. Their tongues intertwine, she tastes herself and her arousal grows again.

She holds his shoulders, pushing to switch positions and grinds her hips on his crotch. He groaned into the kiss, his hand flew to her waist. She kissed down his body, taking off the remaining clothing still on him. His dick sprung up as she did, making him wince from the cold air. She kissed the tip of his shaft, making him grab his hair.

“Oh, this is better than I’ve imagined,” he moans.

“Yeah? You’ve thought about this?” she asks, her words vibrating on his shaft.

He nodded, grunting as she licked the tip. “Tried not to cause it’s kind of creepy but- fuuuck,” he cursed, tipping his head back when she sucked on his tip. “But you’re just so fucking hot.”

She flattened her tongue on his cock from the base to the tip as she looked up at him through her lashes. His mouth wide open and eyebrows crossed, he mouthed ‘fuck’ under his breath. He gently wipes her damp hair away from her face. Opening her mouth to take his dick in, he stops her.

“Darling, I’m gonna cum on your face if we continue like this,” he sat up.

“And?” she raised her brow, making him chuckle, shaking his head.

“As much as I want that, I want to cum with you,” she gets up from her knees to kiss him.

They got up to the top of the bed. He lined his dick at her entrance. “Ready?” he looked into her eyes. She nods, smiling up at him. He kissed her forehead. He drove his tip in, and their breaths hitched. “Keep your eyes open for me, darling,” he says when her eyes nearly closes shut. She sighs his name. Mouth agape, looking at him under hooded eyes.

“Feel so fucking good,” he moves his whole length in her at a nice pace, groaning. He buried his head into her neck. His breath feels hot on her neck and she lifts her legs and wraps it around his bum.

His tip hits a new spot in the position, making her clench her pussy. “Fuck, that’s it,” she whines, making him bite into her shoulders. She gripped his hair in her hands, “Tommy, I wanna hear you moan.”

He lifts his head, facing her. They looked into each other’s eyes as Tom thrusts into her —deeper and harder. She raked his back with her fingers, forming red lines. Their moans and pants echoed the walls.

“You’re fuck- so fucking tight, love. You close?” she nods, unable to utter a word. “Cum with me when I say so, okay?” she moans, closing her eyes, humming.

Her eyes follow his hands reaching in between their bodies. She rolls her eyes to the back of her head, squealing when he massages her clit.

He chuckled. “Always wanted to see your eyes roll back with my cock in you.” She groaned, her pussy clenched even tighter now. “Keep your eyes open for me when we cum.”

“Only if you cum in me,” she mutters in between moans, making him grunt and nod.

Tom thrusts his cock in her a few more times, they were getting sloppier. “Fuck I’m close,” he mewled. “Cum for me, love.”

She lets go, clenching even more than he deemed possible. They both moaned and cursed, his warm cum painted her walls. They come down from their climax, panting beside each other.

y/n sighed, laughing as her breathing regulated. “Holy fuck,” she chuckles, both of them stare at the ceiling. Tom turned on his side to face her — still euphoric, he traces his fingers on her bare shoulders, a soft smile on his face. Peering over to face him, she smiles.

He pecks her shoulders and hovers over her to cover her with kisses. She sighs, nestling her palms in his curls. After returning from taking a piss, they cuddled with each other and let slumber take over them.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

String lights hung on top of her, mimicking barely visible stars above them. She grabbed a smoke in the garden maze. “Fancy seeing you here,” a familiar voice. He snuck out on her the next day.

The whole world seized, her body froze and her breath got caught in her lungs. She begged for the world to eat her at her feet so she wouldn’t have to face the man. She turns around, the cigarette dissipating, holding it in her fingers.

“Hi,” she braved her broken heart.

“y/n,” his voice pleading but stern.

“Tom,” she mimics his tone.

“I was a coward. I’m so sorry,” he says, bug-eyed.

“About what?” she maintained a calm facade. He opens his mouth to talk but a high pitched squeal disrupts him.

“Mummy! Mummy!” a girl runs towards y/n, headbutting her thighs and her body moves with the momentum of the impact.

“Hi, love,” she rubs her back, putting out her cigarette. With guilt stirring her stomach, she gave Tom a weak smile.

Tom froze, gloom took over his body. The girl had most of y/n’s features but he could see that she had a nose he'd seen so often in baby pictures of him and his brothers. The Holland nose.

“Mummy who's that?” the girl tugs at her mother’s dress. She whispered back an incoherent reply, too soft for Tom's ringing ears to catch.

“Darling, why don’t you go play with Uncle Eli, yeah?” she whispers to her, seeing Eli at the corner beckoning for the young girl.

y/n cleared her throat, wiping her sweaty palms on her clothed thighs. “How old is she?” Tom asks, his gaze not faltering from the floor.

She gulped. “Three.”

“And...” his eyes wide, unblinking, now fixated on her face.

She nods.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

please say hi if you want to be mutuals!! and i would really appreciate a reblog if you enjoyed it.

taglist: @alexa-myr @wildxwidow @emistrash @marishaslove @user1683 (please resend your form again i think there was something wrong!)

#tom holland x fem #tom holland fluff #tom holland fic #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fandom #richkid!tom

270 notes · View notes

uglypastels · 3 years ago

Text

Plan, Interrupted // t.h.

(a/n) there's nothing like coming up with 50 different fic ideas while trying to write one for months, haha, but after getting the prompt from the amazing @worldoftom I could not not write this!! Thank you so much, B, for thinking of me and helping me brainstorm :') and thanks to @duskholland and @lilbeatlebear for the constant support (gods know, I needed it haha) and an apology beforehand for any kind of questionable choices in the writing. idk what i was thinking, but i do think it turned out pretty well.

word count: 22.5k

warning: (enemies>lovers... if you squint... maybe) shitty family drama, rich people behaviour, chaotic driving, alcohol consumption, swearing, public nudity, smut > 18+, minors please DNI (intoxicated, semi-public making out, oral (m), d/s dynamics but also switch, riding, and idk how to do this.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces.

“What do you guys think? Does this one make me look fat?” Your sister asked as she spun around for what felt like the millionth time. You let your head fall back as you tried to reach for the last drops of champagne that had stayed behind in your tall glass.

“y/n!” You almost knocked your own teeth out as your mother nudged you in the arm.

“What?” you hissed back at her, putting the glass down on the little table. Its relatively modest surface was occupied mainly by your plate, which used to hold several small (too small, in your opinion) pieces of wedding cake testers. Honestly, you did not understand why you had to be there anyway. No one listened to your opinion. Obviously, the red velvet with cream cheese filling and blueberry jam was the best. Who, in the actual fuck, would want to eat carrot cake at their wedding?

Well, your sister. That’s who.

“So, what do you think?” your sister just kept on twirling, whipping her veil over her head dramatically.

“It’s ugly,” you said, not even looking at the dress. For the first six dresses, you tried to look for the differences, but at some point, it all just started to blur into one big ball of organza, glitter and lace. And it was all just so white.

“y/n!” your mother gasped once again. It seemed to be the only word leaving her mouth lately.

“I’m sorry, it is.” You shrugged, “I liked the first one better.”

“Oh, let her be, momma,” your sister waved your mother off, interrupting her before she could snap your neck off, “she’s just sour because she doesn’t have a wedding to plan… or even a boyfriend for that matter.” She started twirling in Ugly Dress No. 35 in the shade Eggwhite Puke before she saw the glare you gave her.

That was the reason you were there. Not for moral support, not for your opinions or ideas, but to make sure that everyone around you knew that your sister was the pretty successful and happily engaged one; meanwhile, you were alone, bitter and getting drunk on cheap champagne in the middle of the day.

You were going to say something, even had a thought of throwing some bits of frosting at her, but at that exact moment, you got a text message from your friend, asking if you wanted to go out for drinks. How could you possibly say no to that?

“I gotta go, see ya later,” you said while responding to your friend you would meet her at your regular meeting spot. Then, without even looking up at the rest of the bridal party or waiting for their response, you made sure to leave quickly.

New York had been getting warmer and warmer, and the streets of the Upper East Side were bustling with people trying to get from one destination to the other. For once, you were glad to get sucked into the stream of commuters, actually feeling free compared to what you had to endure in the bridal shop with those familial piranhas.

Your phone started vibrating in your pocket as you crossed the street, avoiding a cab that didn’t know what a red light was. You picked up the phone, and it was your friend, the same one who had just texted you a minute ago. You were still flipping the cab driver off when your friend asked where you were.

“Oh my god, Rebecca, I’m literally two minutes away. Calm down.” You said as you walked at a faster pace, keeping up with everyone around you. Though, apparently, you had been still walking a bit too slow for some, as a man caught up to you, bumping into your shoulder.

“Look out, asshole,” you mumbled, but the man apparently heard you because the next second, he turned around. For a second, you were scared he was going to kill you (this was New York, after all). Then you were surprised by his perfect jawline, which was a bizarre observation to make about a stranger who could still kill you.

You remembered that you were still in a phone call with your friend, and you made sure that the man could see if you had a witness to whatever might happen. But, unfortunately, he stood still in front of you.

“What did you just call me?” Oh, he had an accent. So he wasn’t American, good. And it also explained why he stood in the middle of the road. Anyone else, who was from here, would have just kept on walking…. Or would have pushed you even harder.

“I called you an asshole,” you smiled sweetly, feeling a surge of confidence come out of nowhere. “Now excuse me, I got places to be.” The confidence clearly worked because you passed by him and left the man standing, most likely making him unsure of what had just taken place. You made your way through the rest of the street wearing that Bad Bitch attitude, feeling like no one could come even close to you.

"Ok, what the hell was that?” Shit, you still had Rebecca on the phone.

“Sorry, some fucker bumped into me. He actually stopped and called me out. Can you believe that? Ugh, men.”

“I know what you mean, honey. But… was he hot?” Of course, that was the only thing Rebecca could think about. But, unfortunately…

“Not only that, Beck, he had an accent.” you were exactly the same. That’s why your friendship worked so well. Rebecca gasped at the news.

“Can you go back? Get his number oh my god, y/n-”

“I am not doing that. Did I not just tell you that he was an asshole? Besides,” you looked behind you to see if he was anywhere in sight, “he’s probably far away now. And I’m almost there. No point in going back.”

“So what if he’s an asshole? We both know that it’s the problematic ones that are the best in bed,” she said, almost matter-of-factly, to which you could only roll your eyes. Half because her words were absolutely ridiculous, and a half because, though absurd, still very accurate.

You were nearing the restaurant now and could already see Becky sitting at your usual spot, at the high bar bench that faced the window. It was the best spot to look at the people on the street and judge them with great velocity.

She waved at you as you walked inside. Then, before you could say anything or even give her a hug, she sat up straight with a solemn expression laid across her face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked exactly what you had been planning on asking her.

“Nothing?” you asked yourself, more like, “why would anything be wrong?”

“Because I could practically hear your eye-roll back there, and the only reason when you’re so against hooking up with hot foreign guys is when you’re angry… and the fact that I snatched you away from your sister’s wedding dress shopping gave me a few ideas on how you might be feeling. So, I already ordered for you.” It was then that you noticed the large cup of coffee on the table next to you. With a relieved sigh, you sat down and took a large sip of the hot drink, which most definitely burned your tongue, but you didn’t care at that particular moment. The extra hint of... spice didn't go unnoticed by you either.

“So, what happened?” Rebecca watched you drink, most likely concerned for your tastebuds and mental wellbeing.

“We had to look at a hundred ugly dresses. She had decided to go for this Princess Diana on crack look; it’s actually ridiculous. I drank as much champagne as possible, and my family did not miss a single opportunity to tell me that I’m the lesser child.”

“You’re not, though,” she reminded you, though you didn’t need it. Maybe it was a delusion, but you never saw anything in your sister that made her so much better than you… except for the fact that now, she will be Mr and Mrs Stone Cold Bitch. You drank your coffee, with the interludes of pouring your frustrations out on poor Rebecca.

“I just… I wish something would happen that would take them all down a notch. I- I want to fuck up the wedding.”

Rebecca thought about your words for a moment. “I’m invited to this wedding, right?”

“I think so?”

“Then yes, you should definitely do it.” This was followed by a gasp, “you should totally sleep with her fiancé!” The exclamation made a few people around you look up from their own conversations.

“No. Ew,” you had met your sister’s husband-to-be, Derek, and you had never been particularly impressed, “besides, I don’t want to ruin their marriage, she’s still my sister, and I still love her, but-” you halted.

“But what?” Rebecca blinked; her cup of coffee was only an inch from her mouth as she awaited the rest of your sentence.

“I also want her to be miserable for a bit, my whole family for that matter. I want something to happen that will make everyone talk about it. Something that people who weren’t even invited will talk about-”

“You should get a streaker!” she almost shouted, once again a bit too enthusiastically considering you were in a restaurant for a late brunch. There were more conspicuous glares thrown your way.

“A what?”

“A streaker, you know, a naked guy with a trenchcoat.” Rebecca saw your apprehensive face, “Imagine, beautiful reception, and suddenly this naked guy comes running in! It’s gonna be hilarious and most important… no one will be able to forget it.” Her words stuck well in your mind. You could already imagine it: your entire family freaking out as some stranger runs in, ruining everything. It wouldn’t be surprising if someone fainted out of pure shock. Drinks would be spilt, food would be dropped… pure chaos.

It could be perfect.

“That is actually a great idea,” you grinned at your best friend. “But how will I get someone to do it?”

“Please, this is New York; you could throw a rock and hit five perverts walking down the street who’d be willing to do it.”

“But that’s the thing, I don’t want some pervert that will go and harass my cousin or some shit, just a quick run through the ballroom and leave,” you explained, leaving the both of you to think about options for a moment.

“Hire an actor.” Rebecca said, finally, “take out an ad in the paper or something; I’m sure someone would be interested and hey, if they act, chances are they might be slightly good looking too.” She nudged you in the side suggestively, but you ignored that last bit. Her suggestion, however, just like all the previous ideas, had been pretty good. You could write up a little ad, maybe even search through craigslist (although that still leaves a high pervert probability).

Eventually, together with the help of Rebecca, you wrote up a quick ad. Not too long, since news ads were expensive. You also thought it would be wise to get a prepaid phone to set up as a contact, so no weirdos had a way to contact you directly.

“Ooh, I feel like we’re in a spy movie,” Rebecca squealed as you left the store with the new phone.

“Calm down, Becks, this isn’t Ocean’s 8… more like… Wedding Crashers.”

“Still cool,” she shrugged.

Later that day, you found yourself behind your computer, trying to find out how in the hell does one put an ad in a newspaper or any kind of shared media that people might be reading. You had to make sure it wasn’t something widely known, so none of your family might accidentally stumble upon it, but read widely enough for someone to read it and catch interest. You had sat down at your desk, a large glass of red wine at hand. It had been a while since your champagne binge at the wedding parlour, and you could feel your mind unfogging throughout the day, which was highly unnerving. To go through with this plan, you could not be thinking clearly. It was an insane idea, and you could not start thinking over the consequences now.

After going through the ideas you and Rebecca had come up with and a few drafts, you managed to format a simple, hopefully compelling, message:

Be Naked At My Sister’s Wedding

My sister is having an outdoor wedding in New Canaan, CT, in July. I want someone to be naked in the woods and run through the wedding in order to ruin it. I will protect you from my family.

If interested, for further information, please contact:

Followed by the number of your freshly bought burner-cell phone. The glamour of taking out an advertisement in the press was that, as long as you paid enough money, you could get anything printed, and no one would even be questioning it. Another great point- it was anonymous!

You looked at the message, and maybe the alcohol had not hit yet, but the longer you looked at it, the worse you felt. It all just felt a little bit off. You couldn't do this to your sister. As much as she pissed you off, this wedding was an important day for your family, and you couldn’t be the person to ruin it for all of them. This was insane.

You had your finger on the button to send the ad off to the printers, then stopped. But you couldn't delete it just yet either. Not sure what to do, you saved the file with the ad draft and turned your computer off.

⤐

Although you had felt confident about pursuing the plan at first when talking about it with Rebecca, the following days only made you more uncertain. You had hoped to take a few days before doing anything. It was better; you had learned through experience that it was never good to act on initial emotions. In the restaurant, when the plan came to be, you had still been angry and upset at your family. You wanted to see them rot in the pits of hell.

Now, that need was not as high. You were feeling better, so you decided to put the plan away for now. But it didn’t mean, however, that you didn’t stop thinking about it.

That weekend, you had a few errands to go through in the Theatre District, so you had decided to go search for a little kiosk that might be selling the kind of reading material that you were searching for. Something local to the area that was sold and read thoroughly by its targeted audience. Clumsy you had never saved the original page that you wanted to send the ad to so you were in need of a new backup.

This way, if the plan was set in motion, you had a place to send your advert in. just as a precaution. The wedding was less than a month away, and you were intending on having it all very well planned out if the opportunity just so happened to take place.

You had found a little kiosk at the corner of the sidewalk. An old man smoking a cigarette was looking through a Vogue magazine that must have been at least a few years old. The sight of the outdated article made you a bit apprehensive, so you decided to keep walking in search of another vendor.

This one, you found only a few blocks later. It was a woman selling magazines, and she was eating a candy bar. Her bright red hair was in stark contrast to the dark inside of the vendor’s booth.

“How can I help ya?” she said, smacking her chocolate-covered lips.

“What would you say is the best-selling magazine here? That is like… local to the neighbourhood?” You asked, already looking at the extensive showcase.

“Hmm,” the girl stuck her head out from over the counter to look as well. “I’d probably say that one,” she pointed at a magazine right at your eye level. It was independent publishing, from the looks of it. On the cover was a large mask, which looked very intriguing. Interested in it yourself now, you decided to buy a copy and being led by the growling noises of your stomach, you decided to buy one of the candy bars that the girl had been eating.

“Make that two,” you added to your purchase quickly. The girl gave you your total, which you promptly paid for and then stashed your newly bought items in your bag. Then, with a quick smile, you said goodbye to the redhead and made your way to get the rest of your business done.

Once you had everything else taken care of, with a few shopping bags occupying your arms and not really feeling like walking all the way back to your apartment, you stood at the side of the street, trying to catch a taxi. The cars passed by you without a second of hesitation. It felt like you had never seen so many occupied taxis next to each other at the same time. After what must have been an eternity, one cab finally stopped at your feet. You got inside and told the man your destination.

The man, thankfully, didn’t make any attempts at conversation, even when you got stuck in the usual traffic jams. Feeling a bit bored, you decided to look at some of the articles in the publication you had bought. The pieces that the issue covered were spread over several topics, making it hard for you to determine the purpose or target audience. It wasn’t really something you would have ever picked up under any other circumstance. But, you had to admit, they were all very well written.

It also made one thing clear- none of your family had ever heard of it. Perfect.

You couldn’t be bothered to read the articles at that point, merely flipping through them. The advertisements were on the last few pages, and you realised that many more people had ideas like you, all with the same kind of audience in mind. For example, people were looking for actors to play roles in their college films; a woman was looking for a date for a wedding; another ad sounded very much like the writer was looking for a hired gun, but you decided to ignore that one.

But the longer you looked at all these other advertisements, the more you started to doubt this plan you had concocted. You had too much to drink that day, that was for sure, and you hadn’t been thinking clearly, which was sort of the point. When you looked at these cries of attention on the glossy pages, it got you to believe that maybe this was a bit desperate. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea. Now, you still had time to stop it. You had not sent anything in yet, and maybe that had been for the better.

You kept that idea in your mind, started reading a review about the off-off-Broadway production of Bob Ross - the Musical and were debating whether or not you should buy tickets for it next week when the driver pulled up to the curb of your destination. You paid him, feeling generous on the “No talking”- tip and got out. Your apartment was half a block away, which felt doable to do with your nose in the pages of the magazine. Was it a magazine? The format didn’t precisely expose that, but it didn’t feel like a journal or a newspaper either. Anyway, you made your way down the street reading and almost bumped your forehead against the door of your building once you had arrived.

“Oh, miss y/n!” Charlie, the security man of your building, quickly got up from his seat as you walked through the main hallway. You glanced up from another article (Pizza Rat- Myth, Legend, or Nuisance?) at the sound of your name.

“What is it, Charlie?”

“Your sister is here to see you. She, uh, came in just a few minutes ago. I thought you’d ought to know.”

Shit. “Thank you, Charlie,” you smiled appreciatively. Charlie nodded and sat back down as you made your way to the elevator. What, in the actual fuck, was your sister doing here? Hadn’t you made it perfectly clear that your apartment was yours and not a hospitable resort for your family? You did not want them there. If they wanted to meet up, they could reserve a table at Le Bernardin. But that was, supposedly, a disadvantage of living off of your parents and getting an apartment with their money. It was never an exclusively-you situation. They, and for some reason also your sister, felt entitled to unpredicted visits.

Not feeling ready to be stuck in a room with your sister, you remembered the candy bars you had bought at the kiosk and quickly unwrapped one of them. You were mid your first bite when the elevator doors opened. Once you stepped out, you were greeted with the image of your sister lounging on the large white sofa, a glass in her hand, flipping through magazines. She hadn’t looked up at the sound of the elevator ding, so you quickly stashed your newly purchased piece of reading into your bag while holding onto the candy bar like it was life support.

Right as you closed the zipper of your bag, did she look in your direction.

“Ah! There you are!”

“Yup, here I am. Here you are, too, I see.” You smiled with gritted teeth.

“Yes, sorry if this isn’t the best timing-”

“It actually really isn’t-” you tried to say, but she didn't listen and just kept on yapping.

“I just had to come and see you. After the dress shopping- well, I wanted to know if you were doing OK. Make sure we’re still good.” She put her glass down on the table, only an inch away from a coaster, and it was then that you noticed a white and blue cardboard box on your coffee table. Your sister saw the look you gave the strange new object and reached out for it in glee.

“Oh yea, I almost forgot. I popped by Lady M and got us a few goodies- although now I’m thinking, you must be good.” You noticed the glare she had shot you as you were taking another bite of the candy bar when saying that, and it made your blood boil. It was as if the opportunities to ridicule you were actually coming at her. As if she was a beacon, or a giant magnet, for bitchy comments.

As your sister started to munch away on a bonbon, you sat down in one of your chairs, as far away from her as possible. You stared, probably a bit too obviously, as she sat there. Was it too much of an expectation to think she had something to say to you?

“So why are you here exactly?” you said, trying not to look at all the candy in the take-out box and just focus on the one you were eating.

“Mm, I told you already,” your sister wiped the corner of her mouth, “I wanted to see how you are. You seemed really upset yesterday.”

“Well, I was; one can only take up so much in a day. Was kind of tired of how everyone was belittling me, you know?” As you said that, you felt your shoulders slack, and your back hit the rest of the chair. Your sister moved over on the couch and leaned up to you. Her face showed a small smile, but it was a kind one. One filled with compassion- a sure rarity in your family.

"Oh, honey, please don’t think that.” She patted her hand on your leg, and for a brief moment, a surge of guilt flew over you, feeling horrible that you had been this close to ruining her big day… but just for a moment.

“You know how mom is; she isn’t as… understanding when it comes to certain things. But you know I completely support you.” She gave you a sweet smile, which was confusing since you had the feeling as if she had just insulted you. You didn’t know where the insult was hiding, but you could sense it nearby. Your sister picked up another piece of fancy candy that most likely cost more than the number of calories it had in it, which to you, never felt like a good diet.

“What do you mean?” you eventually dared to ask.

“Oh, you know, not many girls would be so comfortable being single, especially when there’s so little else wrong with you.” You could feel a muscle in your face twitch at each word that came from your sister’s mouth, and it only got worse the longer she went. The guilt now trickling out of you at a steady pace. “So it’s really quite commendable how you parade your bachelorette life like that. God knows I would never be able to do it. I mean… I’d probably not even dare to leave the house knowing that nobody wanted me… So it is, truly, very… empowering, in fact, mhm.” she looked up at you from her fourth bonbon.

You wanted to scream in her face but instead opted for a polite, very much forced, smile while your fingers were wringing themselves around the corner of a throw pillow. A pillow, which also gave you a great urge to smother her with it. To think that there was a second in which you had thought that maybe this could be a normal conversation. That your sister actually was concerned about you.

No, that would have been absolutely ludicrous. And now you were stuck listening to her stating these backhanded comments at you. The longer it went on, the more you had to hold yourself together not to say anything back. You had to keep it together, but that band that held it all in one place was without a doubt getting tighter and tighter until- you finally snapped.

"Can you shut up for like one fucking second,” you sneered, making your sister look perplexed. The bonbons in the box were almost all gone.

“Excuse me?” She blinked in bewilderment.

“Just shut up. I’m so tired of hearing you talk, the whole family actually. Why can’t any of you accept that I’m happy with what I’m doing? Why, whenever someone has something to say about me, it has to be these unbelievably pretentious comments that actually make me want to-”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” your sister waved you off. She wasn’t even listening to you. You could tell.

“I’m serious.”

“You know what,” your sister scoffed, “maybe mom was right.”

“About what?” Oh, yet another conversation about you that had been held behind your back. You were absolutely ecstatic to hear what the topic of this one was. Would it have been your presumed alcoholism? Perhaps another entirely different fictitious addiction? Or maybe your mother finally managed to convince your entire family that you had joined a convent, which seemed to be the only acceptable reason for you not to be in a relationship.

“Mom had suggested that maybe it would be better if you, uhm, didn’t come to the wedding.”

“Excuse me?” Now it was your turn to blink at her in disbelief.

“Of course I was against it, how could you not come to the wedding? You’re my sister! But momma believes that your energy might be slightly… off-putting.” And apparently, this was the moment she decided it was time to go (perhaps because she ate the last bonbon) and got up to grab her jacket. You followed her like a disgruntled chihuahua.

“How can you uninvite me from your wedding?”

“Just the ceremony, you still get to come to the reception, of course. And you can still sit at the main table during the party, c’mon, y/n.” She put on her jacket.

“You’re actually doing this?” This hurt. Sure, you hated your family sometimes, certainly at this moment, but that’s what families did! But what made you a family was that you could put this hatred aside. So, for example, at the wedding of your back-stabbing bitch of a sister and her good for nothing husband… you wanted to be there and support her in any way you could.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, y/n. We both know you can be a bit… testy, sometimes. I mean, look at you now. Mom said that's precisely how you would be. Of course, I was trying to prove her wrong, but…

“Oh, so all that I care for you bullshit was just that? Bullshit?” you asked, confused. But, of course, it made perfect sense. Your sister and mother had put on a bet to see if she could crack you and make up a reason not to invite you to the wedding. Fucking parasites, each and every one of them.

“No, not at all. I did want to see if you were ok. But you have to admit, y/n, that you haven’t been in the greatest state lately. I mean, just look at yourself now. But I would still love it if you came to the party. After all, we are sisters.” She then proceeded to extend her arms in the form of an embrace. When you didn’t move, she, somewhat aggressively, pulled you into the hug. Once she pulled away, she gave you another one of those psychopathically sweet smiles and finally went off to the elevator. As she walked away, her “Toodeloooo” echoed through the corridor.

Once you heard the doors of the elevator close, you fell face-first onto the sofa and screamed as long as you could until your lungs started to burn.

That night, after your sister had left and a few glasses of wine later, you found the website of the writing you had purchased. It had taken you a while, but you found the section in which you could send in an advertisement. Maybe another "You" would have given up after hearing the news you got degraded to a second-class family friend, but after everything that had happened with your sister, you were adamant about ruining everything. Perhaps a mental professional would call it a concerning obsession, but that is precisely why you didn’t do therapy.

⤐

The wedding would be taking place on July 30th. You had sent out the first ad somewhere at the end of June. The first one, because clearly one did not suffice. You had not received any results from that. The longer it went on, without any results, the more you started to doubt your plan. It was very much possible that this was a sign not to go through with it.

A sign you decided not to listen to. In fact, as the days went by, you felt more and more in need of ruining the damn wedding.

While waiting for a phone call from the ad, all you were getting were messages from your family. It was possible that you, in a slightly drunken state, had sent a not so nice message into the family group chat. After this fiasco, your family felt obligated to get the situation cleaned up.

Not for you, though. No, god no, that would have been ridiculous. Your mother could simply not have her excellent reputation smudged, especially not by her own daughter. So, by making your sister and father spam you with repetitive messages and trying to call you, she really thought she was doing something. If only any of these messages actually included an apology, not just attempts at getting you to be quiet.

y/n don’t be so dramatic and just come to lunch with us.

It is really not a big deal; I mean, cousin Fred isn’t coming to the ceremony either.

Oh, for god’s sake, y/n, get over yourself!

You were particularly fond of that last message, even thinking about putting it as your new alarm sound. You could not put it together that your family was putting you on the same level as crazy cousin Fred, who you had not seen in probably ten years, and the last you heard about him was that he had been stuck in some sanatorium after being rescued from a ferret-worshipping cult in Iowa. But now that you thought about it… the cult didn’t sound like a bad idea.

But the days passed, one after the other, and you had received no responses from your ad. Finally, one night, after a long phone call with Rebecca and about half a bottle of Chardonnay, you started to question everything.

“Maybe I deserve it,” you had also just ordered yourself some food and were stuffing fries into your mouth as you talked, “Am I that intolerable, Beck?”

“I wouldn't say intolerable, no. But listen,” you had the feeling she sat up straight, so you did the same, “Maybe you deserved to get kicked out of the ceremony, I mean you have been acting a bit like a bitch but!” she interrupted herself exactly where you were planning on stopping her. Somehow, her words just didn’t feel very supportive at the moment.

“But,” she continued, “there is no excuse for them to treat you like complete shit, which is clearly the reason that you have been so upset, and, I’m sorry, but your entire family are morons if they don’t see that.”

“Thank you,” you sniffed, “I needed to hear that.”

“You’re welcome.” What followed was a minute of silence as both of you ate until Rebecca asked her next question, “So have you heard from anyone yet?”

“No,” you sighed heavily, “Absolutely nothing.”

“I’m sure someone will contact you.”

“I highly doubt it; it’s been four weeks. The wedding is in three days. If someone calls me now, it would be a-”, and at that exact moment, almost as if it was some cosmic joke, you could hear the burner cell phone ring on your kitchen counter. “Are you fucking kidding me?” you mumbled as you got up to check it.

“What? What just happened?”

“I think someone’s calling.” You said, feeling very detached from everything that was happening.

“Oh my god, oh my god, keep me up, put me on speaker!! Did you answer yet?” Rebecca kept on rambling, making you even more nervous.

“No- wait.” Before the person had a chance to hang up, you rushed to answer them; as you said, “Hello?” you put your regular phone down and put your call with Rebecca on speaker so she could hear what you were doing.

“Hey, is this the person that put in the ad about the uhm wedding performer?”

You couldn’t help but smile at their choice of words. It was smart, in case he had called the wrong number.

“Yes, this is them.”

“Ok, great, I was wondering if the job is still up for grabs?” Now that you had a little bit of time to process what was happening, you couldn’t help but think that the voice, the accent, sounded really familiar, but you couldn’t seem to place it.

“YES, I mean yes, yes it is. Would you be available in… three days, so next Saturday, that is.” You had prepared for this moment, imagined being cool and collected, making sure that the person who you were hiring to do this was not some kind of creep, but yet, here you were, basically begging the guy. He sounded a bit shocked at the sound of the date.

“Oh, that’s quick, but yeah, I should be, yeah.”

“Great, but uhm, would you be available to meet tomorrow maybe? I kind of have a plan of how I need all this to go, so if we could just go through everything, make sure you know-”

“Yeah, that’s totally fine, darling. Just send me a time and address, and I’ll be there.” He didn’t seem too bothered about it. You, however, needed a second to comprehend that little nickname.

“Ok, cool, I’ll send you the address later and well, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you then,” and with him having said that, you hung up and immediately went on to text him when Rebecca erupted from the speaker of your regular phone.

“Honey, what happened to the third degree you wanted to do to him? Calm and collected, remember?”

“I know,” you send the text with your address as you spoke to your friend, “but at this point, I’m desperate. This guy might be the only chance I have, so I need to take it but don't worry, I got a plan.”

“Just make sure to follow this one through.” After this, the two of you talked for a little bit more until you could feel your eyelids get heavy and you fell asleep on your couch.

⤐

Unfortunately, the morning came sooner rather than later, and the pain that throbbed through your head was more than a little indicator of how badly you slept. Not to mention you had forgotten to take off your bra before sleep, so everything hurt.

Groggy, in pain, and still tired, you sat up on the couch, trying to find something around you that you could drink but only found an empty wine bottle. Then you saw the clock and the panic set in. it was almost 2 pm! And you had agreed to meet your… What were you even supposed to call the guy? Employee? Hired staff? You decided to just refer to him as “man” before you found out his name. That was something you had planned on doing in your original plan, but it was too late for that.

To set plan B in motion, you got up and ran to the landline, which you only really used to call one number.

“Lobby, how can I help you miss y/n?” Charlie sounded ready to do whatever you’d throw at him.

“Charlie, hi. In a bit, around 2.30, a man will be coming in. I need you to get as much information about him as you can, but like… subtly, you know?” In moments like these, you were glad the phone wasn’t stationary, as you could take this time to run around your apartment, cleaning up all the mess you had made the night before. Even for strangers, it was important to make good first impressions. There was still so much to be done, though. You most definitely needed a shower, find something nice to wear, prepare all the things you needed to talk about- god, why was revenge so difficult?

“Uhhh…” Charlie mumbled. “Miss? Is everything alright?” He must have heard you stumbling around the place, bumping into things as you tried to find the blueprint of the hotel and venue. It was genuinely ridiculous how easily you could obtain this kind of information on the internet.

“Yes, yes, everything’s fine. Can you just get him to answer some kind of contact sheet? Make it look like it’s for security, I don't know. Just name, address… that kind of stuff. Nothing too weird, oh, and if you could stall him a bit too, that would be amazing.”

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do. But how will I know it’s the right person, miss?”

“Well, he’ll be here to see me but… oh, he has a British accent!”

“Ah, right, got it.” You could hear him scribbling down the things you had just said. Charlie was a great guy, but not always the brightest. You hung up the phone, and with less than thirty minutes until the man would arrive, you rushed into the bathroom. It must have been a new speed record of washing up once you got back into your bedroom to look for a decent outfit. It had to be something decent, but not too professional since this wasn’t exactly Wall Street business that you were up to.

You had just finished drying your hair, buttoning your shirt and putting glasses of water on the dining table (somehow, all these things were done simultaneously) when you got a call from the reception.

“Miss, there is a Mr Holland here to see you.” Mr Holland. You liked the sound of that.

“Thank you, Charlie, you may send him upstairs.” Usually, you would hang up now and wait for your guest to arrive with the elevator, but instead, you stayed on the line a little bit longer: “Did he fill out the questions?”

“Yes, but I will admit it was very strange, and I think he saw through that.”

“Doesn’t matter, just bring it over once he leaves, ok? And thank you.”

“Anyday, miss.” And with that, you hung up. It may have taken another minute for the elevator to reach your floor. The doors opened with a ding, and for a second, you didn’t know what to do. The man that walked into your apartment was the last type of guy who you would have imagined to go up for a job like you had described in the ad. He was firmly built, not too tall, but his height suited him just right. His hair was styled in soft dark brown curls, slightly gelled back though, and he wore plaid trousers, a green shirt with a denim jacket on top. He had his hands in his pockets as he walked up to you, but you could see the edge of a watch peeking out.

“Hi. Mr Holland, I presume,” you extended your hand for him to shake, which he did, firmly and with a kind smile. You noticed his eyes taking in the room, looking from one side to the other, most likely feeling a bit overwhelmed by the Upper East Side-ness of it all.

“Just call me Tom.” Tom Holland. A nice, sensible, sounding name.

“y/n.” you pulled your hand back and led him to the table, where you had everything laid out in preparation. The sight of this most certainly surprised him. You looked at him, trying to figure out if you had ever met because you could swear you had seen this man somewhere before. You just couldn’t point out where exactly.

“Before I begin explaining the plan,” you sat down as he did opposite of you. “I must ask you why you wanted to do this.”

“This must be the most formal prank I have ever encountered,” he said with a breezy chuckle, but then he saw the stern expression across your face, telling him you were taking this all very seriously. “Well, I’m behind on my rent and haven't had a proper job in a while, so basically, I need the cash. And, sorry if this offends you, but my friends dared me.”

“So, not a pervert?” You imagined yourself taking notes as if you were performing an actual job interview, but unfortunately, you had neither pen nor plain paper on hand. Tom smiled.

“I don’t think anything I can reply to that will actually convince you that I’m not, but no, I am not.”

“I suppose you’re right, but I’ll take your word for now.” you took a second, trying to figure out what to begin with, telling him. “Well, might as well start then. Like I said, the wedding is on Saturday, with the reception starting at 4-”

“Why are you doing this?” He interrupted you, clearly not having listened to a word you had just said.

“Pardon?”

“You know my reasoning, but I’d like to know yours. Call me old fashioned, but I would like to know why I will be running through a wedding without any pants on. Is this a hate crime? Cause I’m not interested in any of that-”

“Believe me, no hate crime involved.” You tapped your nails on the glass of the table.

“Well then, someone must have royally pissed you off, haven’t they? If you are willing to ruin the most important day of their life?”

“My sister, yes, and she’s a grade-A asshole, so-’ and then it clicked. You knew exactly where you had seen Tom before. And from the look on his face, he must have recognised you at the sound of the vulgarity that escaped your mouth. It was as if you were both transported to the busy street all those weeks ago. You could basically feel him bumping into you.

“It’s you," you whispered, more to yourself.

“Well, shit.” He leaned back in his chair. You both mirrored each other’s expressions, which could only be explained as disbelief. What were the chances that the man who was supposed to help you ruin your sister’s wedding was the pompous dick that dared to push you aside on the street?

“You know what,” he took a sip from the glass of water you had so politely set up on the table, “Somehow, I’m not at all surprised that it’s you.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you glared at him.

“I could tell back then, just by the way you looked at me, that you were just another spoiled rich girl that must have watched a few too many reruns of Gossip Girl. So let me guess, your sister got the nicer Porsche for her birthday?” Oh, so that’s how you were gonna play it? Really? Suddenly, you didn’t think you needed Tom that much, after all. You were sure that someone else would call in a second… or maybe a bit later… Oh, who were you kidding? He was your only hope.

But fuck, from the way you were looking at each other, clearly there was no joy in this brand new collaboration. Most definitely not for you, but he was here already so you might as well take advantage of the opportunity. This was, however, a tricky situation and you could not have him fuck it up, so you needed him on your good side.

“I’m sorry, ok, I was having a bad day and took it out on you. If you want to leave, go ahead.” you pointed him the way to the exit, where he had just walked through a minute ago. You saw Tom’s mouth twitch. His gaze flickered between you and the elevator. You could tell he was outweighing the scenarios. He didn’t like you, which was fine, but he needed the money. He had made that very clear. His eyes locked with yours again, and he spoke up. Or maybe he was considering the reaction of his friend when they'd hear that he walked out? Surely, that would be very humiliating.

“You’re lucky I need a good laugh, myself, love.”

“There really is no need for nicknames, Tom.” You ignored the heat rushing through your face at the sound of it and made yourself look as unbothered as you possibly could. You didn’t need him to know he was getting to you, and you didn’t need your own mind to know it.

Detach, Denial and… what could you add to that?

Tom put his hands up in defence, and you noticed that wristwatch of his again.

“If you’re struggling so much, how come you got a Rolex?”

“Gift from my parents when I moved here, not that it’s any of your business.” He smiled, slightly condescending, which was fair. You looked at the silver band as he turned it around his wrist a bit.

“Well, ok then, as you’ve noticed, I got some stuff here,” you quickly changed the subject to divert the tension. Which seemed to work as both of you looked around at the various notes and papers that you had spread around the table earlier. Tom picked up a piece of paper that lay near his hand and started reading through it.

"I will say, this must be the most elaborate prank I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling pretty proud of yourself, even though you, personally, would not have called it a "prank".

“Wasn’t a compliment,” he put the piece of paper down, looking unimpressed, “pranks shouldn’t be 12-step programmes. They should be easy. I run in, run out, done. Don’t see what’s there more to it.”

“Maybe that’s all you need to do, but I need to ensure that, one, you don’t get killed by my family and, two, that they don’t kill me. For that, I need to make sure that this shit goes well and that you don’t fuck anything up.” Formalities, you had decided, were gone since the moment he called you a spoiled rich girl. He had no right to say something so true.

“What makes you think I’m the one who’s gonna screw up?” He challenged you by leaning forward, his brow raised. You had no response to this, so you decided to simply ignore it.

“So, like I’ve said, the reception will be at 4.”

“When’s the ceremony?” He asked.

“Why does that matter?”

“So I know how long I will have to wait before it’s time to show up.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll drive us both to the reception,” you said. “And I’ll make sure you have a room in the hotel for the night… or a way of transport back to the city in the evening. Whatever you prefer. It might be for the better actually if you can leave quickly. Safer, even.”

“Are you telling me you’re not invited to your own sister’s wedding?”

“No, I don’t think I said any of that.” You were attempting to sound aloof as if you had no idea what he was talking about. But of course, he was the struggling actor here, so he saw right through you.

“Fuck, that’s harsh… sorry.” That almost sounded compassionate; his features seemed to soften, and you tried to match that energy. There was no need to stay cold toward each other.

“Thanks, not that it’s any of your business,” you jumped on the opportunity to throw his own line back at him, which didn’t go unnoticed by the look of the slight smirk he gave you. It was not your intention or in any part of the plan to tell the guy what your reasoning was for this whole endeavour, but it might have been wise. This way, you didn’t look like the complete bad guy for wanting to ruin your sister’s special day, and you even might have gotten someone on your side for a change. Not that it was much better. You still didn’t like him.

“Not to jump to any conclusion,” he said, preparing to jump to conclusions, you thought, “but why hire me to do this? I mean, this feels like a joke very much below your level. Why not hire someone to be your fake boyfriend and out show everyone? It's not that uncommon. Plenty of ladies looking for a good looking fella to prance around with for the day. My mate Harrison is basically making a business out of it.”

“Because I'm not interested in lowrate escorts, but I'm also not that great of an actress, so I don’t think it would have fooled anyone, and besides, I don’t have anything to prove to my family. Showing up with a date would just be conforming to their bullshit. I’d much rather make them miserable this way.” You didn’t care to mention to Tom that the idea of a fake boyfriend had simply never crossed your mind.

"You’re mental, aren’t you?” He looked at you with fascination as you drank some of your water.

“You can still walk out if you want to.”

⤐

Somehow, Tom wasn't too scared off by your manic side and stayed for the remainder of the afternoon.

Saturday came about much sooner than you wished for. Before you knew it, you were waiting in your car for Tom to get in. It turned out that it was actually for the better that you weren’t welcome at the ceremony, as it was supposed to start in half an hour, and it was still an hour drive when you started the engine.

Tom lived in what you could only assume was a small apartment above a Chinese restaurant. Thankfully, there had been no need to drive into any small side streets to get to his apartment. Instead, you waited in a designated parking spot, right at an intersection. Waiting, the time went by even slower than slow, it felt like, and you were about to text Tom to hurry up when you heard a knock on the window.

With a shriek, you jumped up, your hand immediately bolting to the automatic door lock. But when you managed to take a breath, you noticed it was Tom that had scared the living shit out of you. It was a sunny day, and though his eyes were covered with a pair of sunglasses, you could tell he was smiling brightly at you with his whole face. He tapped on the window again, and you quickly unlocked it. However, he didn’t step in but opened the backdoor to throw the overnight bag on the seat, it falling right next to yours. Only then he finally got in.

“Sorry, my friend was late, and I needed to wait for him because I can’t leave Tessa alone.”

“Who’s Tessa,” you asked, looking in your back view mirror for any oncoming traffic, but the view was blocked by a couple of guys carrying an old couch, making you go look over your shoulder as you tried to get your car back onto the road.

“My dog.” Tom said, grabbing his phone, “here’s a picture.”

“She’s cute.” you glanced for as long as you dared to look while waiting for a green light. Tom showed you his lock screen, a picture of a very adorable grey dog, the breed not entirely known to you.

“Yeah, she’s the best,” Tom finally took his glasses off and put them in the inside pocket of his jacket. “You don’t have any pets, do you?”

“Nope,” god, driving in New York was always so fucking stressful. People, bikers and cars coming at you from every possible angle, even the ones it shouldn’t be possible to appear from. It was as if you lacked about a hundred pairs of eyes each time you hit the road. “Sorry, I’m just- fuck,” you pushed your hand into the claxon as some asshole in a BMW cut you off.

“Maybe I should have driven?” Tom chuckled.

“What? So you can steer us onto the wrong side of the road? No, thank you.”

“That is actually really rude of you,” he retorted but had not seemed very hurt by your comment. You drove on for a few blocks until a roadblock surfaced, showcasing roadwork ahead. Two lanes had to merge together, assuring you would be arriving late. The cars moved at a snail’s speed.

"Would you want any pets? Doesn’t it ever get lonely up in your white marble post-modernistic castle?”

“I don’t know,” you could do nothing but indulge Tom in the conversation as you waited for progress in the traffic, “My mom is allergic to anything cute, so I grew up without any pets, and I guess I’ve never missed what I didn’t have.” That was a lie. You always wanted a pet. Didn’t really matter what, but your parents were very strictly against it, even now. Even though you were an adult who lived on their own, they would not have it and since they paid your rent…

“Well, if you want, I can let you walk Tess one day,” he suggested. “As a favour in return?”

“How about the favour will be that I pay you 400 bucks like we agreed, huh? I’m not gonna babysit your dog too.” Finally, the cars upfront started to move, and you had maybe moved five inches before another fucking BMW got in your way. Your blood might have actually reached the boiling point, and you began to lose feeling in your hands at the tightness of your fingers around your gear shift- but then, suddenly, you felt a soothing touch over your knuckles. Glancing down, you saw Tom’s hand over yours. His thumb moved in slow motions over your skin. When you looked up at him, he was sitting casually in his seat, eyes on the road, most likely not even aware of what he was doing. You also got to notice, and even appreciate, his outfit. It consisted of a very sharp, dark grey suit. Under the jacket, he had a white button-up, no tie.

“It’s going.”

“Huh?” you blinked.

“The traffic, the cars are moving.”

“Oh shit," you quickly moved the gear, getting the car back into motion before another damn BMW could sneak in. Perhaps it was your harsh movement, but Tom pulled his hand away, putting it on his thigh, and you couldn’t help but steal swift glances at it every now and then (when it was safe to do so, obviously).

After what was supposed to be 20 minutes but turned out to be 45, you finally drove out of the city onto the interstate. It would be another 40 minutes or so before you arrived in New Canaan, so you tried to get comfortable behind the wheel. It wasn’t easy, and Tom must have noticed.

“If you need a break, we can stop somewhere, and I can drive- I promise I know which side of the road is the right one.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m fine.” Immediately, you felt much better. Or, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“So, wanna tell me what’s up with your family?” He quipped.

“Alright,” right then, you noticed a sign mentioning a gas station, “actually, you can drive for a bit.” You were ready to take the exit.

“Ok, I get it. No family talk.” he tapped his leg for a few seconds, enough for you to start thinking that he had dropped the topic. “Wanna know something? It might make you feel better.”

“Sure…” you were just doing your best to focus on the road, which wasn’t as challenging considering that you had about half an hour of driving straight forward.

“I stole this watch.” He confessed, referencing the Rolex that he showed from underneath his sleeve.

“Oh, great, so I’m stuck in a car with a criminal.” Your heart was beating a bit faster, without a doubt. Has that been his plan all along? Make you drive out to the wedding, where he could rob each and every one of your family members? Was that what his bag was for? Or was it maybe filled with unregistered weapons? So he could rob and kill you. Oh god…

“You’re too dramatic, love. I stole it from my dad before I moved here.”

“Still sounds like a criminal offence, especially if you fled the country.” Suddenly you realised you had to change lanes unless you wanted to take the exit back to New York, which didn’t feel like a lousy idea…

“I didn’t flee… my parents weren’t exactly too happy when they found out I wanted to go to New York and become an actor. We didn’t end things on great terms, and the last thing I had done before leaving was to go into their bedroom and steal my dad’s watch. I don’t even know why.”

“It’s a nice watch,” you commented, making Tom laugh. But suddenly, you had a feeling about where his story was going. "Are your parents… ok?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re great. Dad found out about the watch and wasn't too happy, but what can he do about it when I’m 3000 miles away.” He smirked and let the chair fall back a bit, getting himself even more comfortable. You slapped him across the sternum.

“Aw, what’s that for?” He grabbed your hand to stop you from hitting him.

"You dick, you made it sound like they had died or something.”

“No, I didn’t. Blame your interpretation for that.”

You managed to slap him lightly once more before bringing your hand back to the steering wheel. There you were, thinking he was trying to lecture you on the importance of family and love or some other kind of bullshit. Actually, it was for the better he didn't. You might have had to push him out of the car for being a total dweeb.

The short silence was getting to you, “Ok, so, what is the plan once we’re there?” You had gone over the plan in vigorous detail during that first meeting at your place, making sure Tom knew exactly what he had to do. Like you had told him then, you had three goals.

Make your family miserable.

While not getting caught,

And preferably not getting Tom into too much trouble (pain).

But you wouldn’t exactly have sleepless nights if you didn’t manage to fulfil the third goal.

“Ok,” Tom thought for a second, “when we get there, you get a key to your room and I'll meet you there a bit later. Then, I drop my stuff off and wait for the best man’s speech.” You had heard from your sister that Lorenzo, the best man, had planned a speech of about 15 minutes, so if Tom made his way downstairs at the beginning of that, he would be just in time to make his big entrance at a good moment in the party.

“Once downstairs, I need to take the path up to the woods and do my thing. Wait a few more minutes and- showtime!”

“Showtime,” you smiled back at him. “Then what?”

“Uhh, I get the fuck out of there. Into the broom closet.”

“Where I will stash you a spare change of clothes, which I assume you have with you?

“In the bag,” he pointed to the bag on the backseat. “I change as fast as I can and sneak out, then go back to the room.”

“Perfect.”

“You know, we can still go for plan B,” plan B is what Tom liked to call his whole “fake dating” idea, which still sounded as ridiculous to you as the first time he suggested it to you. There would be no way that anyone in your family believed you were together. Absolutely absurd.

“In your dreams.”

⤐

You kept on driving in silence for the next ten minutes before you finally arrived at the venue. It was a beautiful building, surrounded by ideally kept flora. Trees and bushes trimmed with impeccable precision, and what you heard in the background must have been a peacock. So yeah, it was that kind of joint.

It was a little past four when you stepped out of the car, and you could see the wedding party making their way from the ceremony to the reception. Your sister was nowhere to be seen, but you knew she must be in her room, changing into her second dress for the party.

Tom quickly got out, making his way into the reception, which was thankfully on the other side of the building, where none of your family was supposed to be at the moment (except for maybe a rogue nephew, but what would a 7-year old know?). It was his goal to stay as inconspicuous as possible. If anyone asked, he was a third cousin twice removed from the opposite side of the wedding. No one would be any wiser.

You got out of the car, seeing more of your, basically forgotten, family members who had just arrived for the booze and dance. You said your polite hellos and went off to the lobby. Tom was sitting in a lounge chair, somehow having gotten a hold of a cup of tea in the few minutes that you had been separated. You shot him a confused look but tried to ignore him, not wanting to seem as if you knew him. The woman at the helpdesk was nice; she most definitely felt overwhelmed at the rush that the wedding brought with it. (Apparently, some woman, you assumed your mom, had not been too happy with the linens that had been provided in her room and demanded them to get new ones… as in, from the store.)

You got your key, then as the actress that you were, made a bit of a show of dropping your key right in front of Tom as you said a polite hello to the “mysterious, handsome stranger”. Being the “gentleman” that he is, he then caught up to you quickly, handing you the keycard while keeping the spare one for himself. And just like that, you were in.

You got into the elevator, alone, your hand clutching to your luggage for dear life. It was only two floors, but your bag was heavy, and you had made the mistake of putting on your heels for the drive… Who even does that? So your feet were killing you before you had reached your room. And the journey to your room became even longer, when the elevator doors opened on the floor below, to reveal the wrinkly face of-

“Auntie Tua!?” you said in a panicked voice that might very easily be disguised as excitement. Aunt Perpetua was an ageless woman, but in the same way that fossils are. She always wore the most hideous dresses, of which the pattern hurt your eyes while your mouth struggled to keep your meal in at the smell of her bag. For some reason, it always smelled like sour cabbage combined with salmon. As it was the wedding, she had chosen to wear, in combination with her fishkraut purse, a bright purple dress with more ruffles than she had hair and a hat to match. Well, it was more of a fascinator with various plumage poking out at all angles.

“Ah, sweetheart!” she stepped into the elevator, the smell of salmon becoming more and more pungent. You smiled, trying to hide the tears that were already forming in the corners of your eyes.

“Not at the wedding, auntie Tua?” you asked, getting as far away as you could from the woman.

“Oh, I was, but it was terribly boring, so I left.” If you had a drink, you would be sure to spit it out. She left the wedding ceremony?

“Did anyone notice?”

“Yes, yes, your mother was not very pleased, but well, I’m not going to let anyone tell me what to do, especially a woman dressed in chartreuse.” your great aunt scoffed as if what she was wearing wasn’t a crime against society. You listened to her rant, not believing how an elevator could possibly be going any slower when the door opened again, and you slipped out, making sure to quickly press the “close doors” button again as you stepped through them to ensure dear aunt Perpetua was leaving.

You found your room quite quickly. Inside, you were, once again nearly scared to death, by the sight of Tom lying on the bed. Ah, there was only one bed, but that was fine because Tom was not meant to stay any longer than he needed to get changed in the closet.

“We got to stop meeting like this, love,” he smiled, sitting up. You didn’t trust your mouth to come up with any snarky comment in return, so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you glanced over at him. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing a set of very toned arms. Seeing the veins as he moved made you clench your jaw, but just for a moment.

You put your luggage next to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. Maybe you could just stay here for the rest of the evening, not even bother with the party. The duvet was so soft, so inviting to get underneath it and curl up and sleep. As a child, you had always wondered if you could hibernate, what would be a better time than this?

“You ok?” Tom asked, scooting over closer to you.

“Yup,” you nodded, “just tired.” What you wanted to do was to fall backwards onto the soft mattress, but what you had not considered was that Tom had moved relatively much closer to you, causing your bodies to collide. As soon as your shoulder touched him, you jumped back, excusing yourself with a soft apology.

“It’s alright, but you know, I’m still not opposed to my idea-”

“If you’re scared of running around naked in front of my family, you can just say so,” you said, “but then, I hope you understand that I won’t be able to pay you.”

“I’m not sure if this is extortion or prostitution… and, in all honesty, I don’t know if I’d be opposed to either in this circumstance.”

“Now, that made zero sense; you are just plainly idiotic,” you rolled your eyes, then proceeded to sigh, “but I guess I have to go; I don’t want to miss the show. I’ll see you there… or not.” So you said as you grabbed your shoes and made your way to the door. You had not even had five minutes to rest after your drive. But you couldn’t dare to be much later, for the reception must have been well on its way.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Tom caught up to you, standing closely, maybe a bit closer for what you were supposed to enjoy, but all that the proximity affected was the shortness of your breath. It surprised you to see him get so close up to you, and for a brief instance, you were confused as to what he was planning to do, but then, almost out of nowhere, he gave you a set of clothes.

Oh, right.

“I saw a great little storage room a corridor away from the help desk.” He winked and reached his arm out. His hand brushed over your side as he got the door handle and opened the door for you.

“Right, thanks.” That was all that you managed to mutter out before quickly trotting off downstairs to the party. You decided to go down the stairs this time, remembering that the staircase was closer to the storage room that Tom spoke of… or, that’s what you concluded after a first glance of the building.

It was one thing to plan out an elaborate plan of taking some sweet revenge on your family, but it was an entirely different thing to actually go through with it. That was certain. You only had a little purse with you. So you had to carry Tom’s clothes under your arm, only hoping you would not bump into anyone. But in fear of this happening, as you walked down the stairs, you tried to think of an excuse why you were carrying a pile of man’s wear on you. Nothing compelling could come to mind.

It was, thankfully, unnecessary, for you managed to get to the room that said “storage” and quickly slipped in. it was dark, but you just put the clothes behind a pile of towels and just as quickly left. Flawless. This was a foolproof plan, after all, and you were no fool.

Tom, on the other hand...

To your own astonishment and confusion, you had the feeling that you might be growing kind of fond of him, but at the same time, you didn’t quite know what to think of the man. While your first encounter could be called unfortunate by some, and both of you had your strong opinion on the other, you still couldn't pinpoint anything on him with certainty. He was, without a doubt, very charming, very good looking, amusing, and though his words did not always make sense, his actions had the right intentions… most of the time… hopefully, but…

There needed to be a but. There always was one. You had not met a man who didn’t have some baggage on him. Maybe his was that he was willing to get paid for ruining a stranger’s wedding by running naked across the dancefloor? It could be worse. God knows you’ve dealt with worse.

But, oh, what would you know of it? You had only met him, officially, three days ago. And though you did spend a reasonable amount of time with him in those three days, you could not set on any definitive judgments about him. It was simply impractical, and frankly, prejudicial.

That was the conclusion you had come to once you arrived at the large doors of the wedding party. They were clear, so you had an easy view of everything that was going on. But, to your surprise, you could not see your sister anywhere, meaning that she must have still been preparing for her big entrance and that the party had not yet begun.

Before anyone noticed, you slipped through the door and got another look at everything. It was a lovely looking celebration. With chiffon panels hanging from the high ceilings, and fairy lights twinkling in their midst, everything had a very soft look to it, but in that polished way, your family was known for. The room itself consisted of three parts. The biggest of it was the dining area, where about… too many round tables were positioned. Each filled with plates, glasses, cutlery, a floral centrepiece and more wedding junk. Then there was the dancefloor, a parquet area, with a bit of podium at the side where the band set up their instruments.

That would have been it, but your parents had paid for the extra mile, which included the window wall to be opened up, revealing the beautiful garden, which held space for the many more wedding party activities that were unknown to you.

One final thing about the room was that it had a sky-view ceiling, perfect for a summer evening and night. The view itself was uninterrupted, and if one were to look up, one would only see the clear blue sky of the day, but if someone, for example, Tom, would look out the window, one could easily see what was taking place downstairs. Something you had really been counting on when making your plan.

It was during these moments that you thought of taking a step back and reviewing everything. Was there a possibility for you to have taken it all a bit too far? Most definitely, but you did not really give a fuck. It was honestly a rather lovely philosophy to live by.

You quickly spotted Rebecca, almost having forgotten that she had, in fact, been invited to the party. It wasn’t even that she and your sister were close, but more the fact that your sister did not care about who was at her wedding, as long as it was big, flamboyant and preposterously narcissistic.

Rebecca was sitting at one of the furthest tables, having a lesser connection to the married couple, but she did not seem troubled by that. On the contrary, she appeared to be happily settled next to someone you thought might have either been your sister’s gay dog-walker or one of her work friends. Just as you walked past her, you could hear her laugh at one of his unfunny jokes.

“Oh my god, Steve, that is hilarious!” it was then that she noticed you walk by, “y/n! There you are!

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” you didn’t want to ruin her chances, however small they may be, of getting lucky later that evening.

“No problem, Steve here was just telling me about… sorry, what did you call it, again?” Oh, this conversation was going splendidly. But, before poor Steve had the chance to correct himself, you apologised once again and excused yourself to find your own seat. Apparently, your family had not completely disowned you (yet) as you found your place at the largest table with the little card sticking out of the floral arrangement saying “1”. You would be sitting surrounded by your closest family. Hooray…

What made it slightly more bearable to you was that when you looked up through the glass ceiling, you could see the hotel and there, behind one of the windows, was Tom. he was leaning against the window and must have had found the minibar, as when your eyes met, you saw him toast to you with a glass of champagne. You were about to raise your empty glass, a bit defeated, back at him when the band started playing behind you and the large doors opened, revealing the happy couple and your parents. So that was why you were the only one at the table?

The newlyweds twirled their way to the table, with their entourage behind them, as the rest of the party clapped and cheered. You got up and clapped along, but probably a bit off-beat.

“y/n! So glad you could make it!” said the groom’s mother as she sat down next to you, followed by her husband, the maid of honour, the best man, your parents and then finally the happy couple. It was a cosy little table. You were sitting right between the two mothers, also known as menopausal hell.

“We missed you at the ceremony, sweetie,” your mother brushed something off your shoulder.

“Then why did you uninvite me?” you said through gritted teeth. To this, your mother had no response. You decided to go for another home run. “I bumped into Auntie Tua in the elevator.”

“Oh, god, do not speak to me about that woman.” Your mother scoffed, glaring over to where your great aunt was sitting, right next to cousin Fred, who looked more weasely than ever. Your mother then extended her hand over you and started clicking her fingers frantically at a waiter walking by, showing him her empty glass. The man walked up and poured her the wine which he was carrying. You took the opportunity and handed him your glass as well.

“y/n, are you allowed to drink in the monastery?” If you had taken a sip, you were sure you would have spat it out. Instead, you did your best at controlling your breathing and put the glass down slowly before smiling as nicely as you could to the groom’s mother.

“I’m sorry, Mary, what was that? I might have misheard you, I think.”

“I was asking if you are allowed to drink alcohol? Since you’ve joined the monastery, I mean.” What in the actual fuck-

“I think there has been some kind of mistake, Mary, I didn’t-”

“She didn't join yet. We thought it would be better for her to do it after the wedding. Don’t want our girl to miss out on all the fun.” Your mother butted in, almost pushing you off the chair to speak to Mary. They were actually insane. Each and every one of them. You glanced up again, but Tom was gone.

“Ah yes, that makes perfect sense,” Bert, the groom’s father, chuckled loudly and… either had a spasm or winked at you. Either way, a horrific sight. You started looking around for another table you could join instead, but each seat was apparently already occupied. You considered excusing yourself to the toilet, anything to leave this torture, and you were already getting off your seat.

“You want to say something, y/n?” your sister looked up at you expectantly; suddenly, all eyes were on you, people thinking you had a speech prepared.

“Oh, no, I was just-” you pointed to the exit, “uhm, never mind.”

“Well, sit down, then,” your mother pulled you down to your seat harshly. You were still rubbing the spot on your wrist that she had grabbed when the best man got up, clinking his knife to his glass. All attention was on him now as he started his speech, talking on and on about how the love shared between your sister and her husband was to envy and how he wished them many good things. How love was all about having and sharing and giving and receiving.

You felt like could be said in one breath, but that’s probably exactly why he got to speak, and you weren’t even invited to the ceremony. Many people made crying noises and started sniffing, but you could not see a single tear in the room when you looked around.

⤐

The speech went on forever, but for once, you weren’t mad about that. Everybody was listening to the guy spilling his fake tears about two people, while you could only think about Tom. You hoped he had noticed the speech had begun and that he was making his way outside. Though you had not had a good look at what the garden looked like, the woods were beginning very near it all, giving Tom an excellent spot to hide while also being close enough to the party. There was a path leading up to the tall trees, and if he took that, he could make a beeline for the dancefloor and parkour his way through the tables.

Oh fuck, there were so many tables. What if he got stuck between them or fell and couldn’t make his escape?

And if he got caught… a thought that had not yet dawned upon you suddenly hit. He could get arrested for so many things. And once that happened, it would only be a matter of how invested the police were in the reason behind his streaking that would attach you to the crime. Because you could give Tom as much credit as you wanted, but there was no way he would lie to the police… or would he? No… he probably wouldn’t.

“y/n.” your mother hissed, slapping your arm a bit too harshly. You must have zoned out because when you looked around, people were clapping again. The speech was over. You joined in for the last few seconds while leaning into your mother’s side.

“You know, this is basically abuse, mother.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, clapping even louder, with a proud smile directed to the best man. More proud than she had ever looked at you, that’s for sure (and a bit exaggerated for dramatic purposes).

Next up was the maid of honour, a woman you had never seen before in your life, so you really questioned how much honour there really was. What honour did they even speak about, and why did the maid have it?

The speech, thankfully, was not that long. It included all the go-to points that should be included in a wedding speech, a cheer for the couple, and another wave of polite clapping, and finally, the wedding could begin as the meal was brought out. Knowing your sister, all the dishes were miniature and unpronounceable. So, while it might have consisted of four courses, it only took half an hour before people started to dance. Now you actually hoped that Tom got there a bit later cause you did not want him to spend so much time there. It could not be good for anyone.

As you thought that, you looked over to the garden and actually caught a glimpse of Tom, who was making his way to the woods. You then immediately looked at the room, trying to figure out if someone had noticed your accomplice, but no one had made any weird looks or nudged their neighbour, so you assumed the coast was clear.

⤐

Your stomach was beginning to flip as your anticipation built up in you. It could happen any minute, and you kind of wanted to be out of the room when it did. Well, sort of. You hadn’t figured it out yet. But, no, that was silly. Of course, you wanted to stay and see the horror on your family’s face.

People were dancing to a generic love song. It was a slow one. Couples holding each other close, moving to the rhythm of the music. Maybe it was a more suitable reaction for you to be jealous for not having anyone to dance like this with, but all that was on your mind was the thought that if it was any moment, this one would be perfect for Tom to show up.

Having had enough of your family and feeling pretty proud of yourself for withstanding them for so long, you got up and made your way over to Rebecca’s table. It had several advantages. First of all, it was far, far away from your family, and at the same time, much closer to the exit if you needed it in case of an emergency escape. There was also that from her seat, Rebecca had the perfect view to the dancefloor and the gardens, so you had a perfect-adjacent view when you sat down next to her. The table was also closer to the kitchens, meaning that whenever a waiter walked out, holding a new bottle of champagne, or wine, or whatever, you were often one of the first to get a refill.

“So, how’s the… thing going?” Rebecca asked.

“I hope well. But I have no idea. He could show up any minute.” Everyone from Rebecca’s table had decided to go to the dancefloor, leaving the two of you free to talk about whatever out in the open without the fear of anyone listening in- and that would be an advantage… #5? Not significant enough to keep track.

“Is there anything you need me to do? God, this is all so exciting.” Rebecca squealed before downing her drink. You were going to tell her to calm down, that, again, this was no Ocean’s Eight, but then you thought of something.

“Actually, yes. Tom will probably leave some clothes behind back there, so could you maybe take them and bring them to my room? So no one else finds it?”

Rebecca glanced in the way of the woods, where Tom was most presumably staying low.

“Sure thing.”

Not even before you managed to finish your drink did you suddenly hear gasps and the sound of someone running. The band singer stopped, almost dropping his microphone, but it took a moment for the rest of the band to catch on with what was happening. Rebecca grabbed your hand, and both of you extended your necks to look over the crowd. But it quickly dispersed, with more gasps following.

“Whoooo!” you heard the familiar voice shout out before almost jumping over the crowd and the tables in his way. There was Tom, very enthusiastic and very much naked, running through the room. He passed by your table, and you tried to look as scared as possible, but it was challenging when you saw him wink your way. Then, as quickly as he had appeared, so soon he was gone through the corridor.

“Did you know he was so-” Rebecca commented, turning around, hoping to catch a final glimpse of him, but Tom had already disappeared. You drank your drink quickly, feeling your throat drying up. When it was finished, you put your glass on the table and just shook your head “no”. You had no idea. The quick images that your mind managed to capture of his body flashed before you.

Tom had left the dancing guests in only what could be described as pure shock. You could see your mother looking sickly, holding on to your father’s arm, trying to remain stable. Your sister started sobbing and was already surrounded by her bridesmaids, who were trying to fix her make-up as she was still crying.

Then the fury hit, and a group of “brave” men started to barge their way through the room, ready to apprehend the naked criminal. It was only to your, and most likely Rebecca’s, amusement to see the entire group walk in the opposite direction than you saw Tom run to. The shock must have blurred their memory. Or their fragile masculinity prevented them from having a good look at where he had gone. Both worked in your favour.

“I think I might go to the ladies room,” you stated, a bit too loud, but that was kind of the point. At the same time, Rebecca said she was just going to hop outside for a cigarette. You had to give it to her, that was very smart because you had noticed a little smoking corner in the garden very early on.

And so, you made your way to the storage closet. Making sure no one was around to see, you knocked three times, slowly, in a way that Tom would know it was you. Finally, he opened the door just far enough for you to slip in.

“Oh my god, that was ama- Oh my god!” Oh, he was still naked. “Why aren’t you dressed yet!?” you couldn’t be too loud, in fear of being heard and getting caught, but your hissing conducted enough anger, in your opinion.

“Because I can’t find my clothes,” he hissed back. He had managed to wrap a towel around his middle- no, not even that, he was just holding it in front of himself. His chest was moving up and down with each deep breath he took. Now that he didn’t have layers of clothing on him, you could see the perfectly toned muscles that he had been hiding. They weren’t bulging, not even that refined, but you had to hold yourself back to not go up and touch him. It was that same kind of feeling a kid has in a toy store when the display has a “do not touch” sign on it. Simply ludicrous to expect a person to listen to it.

“Right, uhm”, but he needed the clothing to not get his head chopped off by your family, so you quickly started looking through the shelves. You hadn’t even realised how many towels there were when you had gone in the first time, for a brief moment even getting scared that you had left them in the wrong closet or that someone had taken them away.

But eventually, you managed to find the spare outfit. Tom took them from you, dropping them to the ground and quickly put on his underwear.

You didn’t really know what to do, so you started counting towels. Yes, it would have been best to leave the storage closet, but each time you tried, you could hear voices outside. People from the wedding talking about a "hooligan”.

“Oh, you’re a scoundrel, too, apparently,” you reported back to Tom about the things you heard outside. He laughed as he put his belt on. Why did guys always hop around when doing so?

He had just grabbed his shirt and was in the middle of putting it on when you heard the cold voice of your mother.

“I do not care if we have to tear this whole place down; you better find him!”

“Shit, my mom,” as if your mother would smell you through the door, you backed off, “what if she walks in here?” You both froze, looked at each other then stared at the door. Before you could think of a plan, Tom started unbuttoning his shirt again.

“What the hell are you doing? You know they are looking for someone naked, right? So undressing is the last thing you should be doing.” You wanted to throw his jacket at him, maybe even find a bucket to put over his head, but he kept his shirt open, and your mind went blank, just for a little bit.

Footsteps and your mother’s voice were getting louder, as well as your own heartbeat. And you might have seriously needed a cardiologist when Tom pulled you close. Basically, face to face.

“Do you trust me?”

“No?” you questioned yourself, feeling dumb at the response.

“I just ran naked in front of your whole family for you, and you still don’t- never mind, can you, for one minute? Trust me for the next minute?” He was looking into your eyes, his hand on your hip, and you could feel as he was pulling your skirt up. His eyes were nothing but sincere, so surely you could trust him… right?

“You can slap me as much as you want later, ok? Just- kiss me.”

“What?!” Fuck, that was definitely too loud. Too scared in the moment to think it through, you leaned in and kissed Tom as hard as you could. It was very messy and could not have possibly been comfortable for him, but you grabbed him by the collar and just went for it. He somehow had found the zipper on the side of your dress and had unzipped it halfway. You let go of the instinct that said to kick him in the nuts, trusting him for that one promised minute.

And there it was. The door opened, revealing you to your mother.

“y/n!” she shouted, making you pull away. You looked at yourself and Tom and realised that what he had created was just a scene of two people getting caught making out. Your mother stared at you, then gasped. “Have some respect for yourself.” Before walking away, leaving the door wide open for everyone to see. Obviously, her intention was to shoot some shame into you, but you were glowing. It worked. She had looked Tom right in the face and didn’t say anything. She had no idea who he was.

Tom passed you and closed the door of the storage room. When he turned around to face you, his cheek was greeted by a harsh slap from your hand.

“Oh fuck.” He rubbed the spot you had just hit. The smirk pulling at his lips did not go unnoticed.

“Sorry, but you offered, and I just couldn’t resist.” You got back to your zipper and tried to pull it up, but it must have got stuck on the fabric, as it would not budge.

“Here, let me help,” Tom stepped up, and you were ready to slap him again, but you knew that would make very little sense. So you put your arm up and let Tom handle the messed up zipper. He barely touched you, making you think that whatever he was doing would go nowhere since you needed to put some pressure on the fabric, but no, the next second, you could hear the sound of the zip go all the way up.

“Thanks,” you said, brushing some of your hair behind your ear.

“No problem,” he went on to button up his shirt, “and I’m really sorry for this. I just thought… since PDA often makes people nervous or something- but I'm really sorry if I crossed a line there or made you uncomfortable in any way.”

“It’s fine. Was a bit weird, but… I didn’t really mind.” You were becoming more and more aware of how close you still were to Tom. He must have noticed as well when both of you quickly stepped aside.

“We should probably… go.” He pointed back at the door, to which you nodded in agreement. Though scared of what hysteria might be awaiting you outside, you decided to rip the bandaid off and open the door. When you looked outside, no one was in the corridor, fortunately. You flattened out your skirt, making sure to look presentable, and must have taken, maybe, ten steps and had just turned the corner when you bumped into your sister.

“y/n!” she shrieked. The bridesmaids had done their best, but you could still see the streaks of foundation that had been washed down through her crying, as well as the layer of mascara and eyeliner around her eyes.

“Uh, hey, I was just going back to the-”

“Don’t bother,” she sniffed, “it’s over. Everyone is looking for-” she suddenly froze up, her eyes wide before narrowing them down. “Is that him?”

In a panic, you turned around to see Tom, who had just walked out. He was cuffing the sleeves of his shirt but looked up at the sound of your sister’s exclamation.

“Is he who?” you asked, your eyes switching between her and Tom as if it was a fast-paced Tennis match.

“Momma said you were canoodling in the closet; of course, I didn’t believe her but, hi.” She loosened up, flattening her hair and fluttering her eyelashes as Tom made his way over to you. He gave her a smile filled with charm as he extended his hand.

“Hi, I’m Tom. Congratulations on the wedding.”

Your sister shook his hand, her smile now a bit faded. Perhaps it was that Tom had reminded her that she was now, in fact, married and thus not allowed to flirt with him, or he had reminded her of the disaster that had just occurred. But she pulled herself together quickly, turning her attention to you.

“Are you guys here… together?”

“Yes,” Tom pulled you close to him before you had a chance to say anything, “yes, we are. Sorry, I’m late. Work, you know how it is.”

“No, I don’t.” your sister, who had never worked a day in her life, responded with a bit of a blank expression.

“Well, I hope I didn’t miss anything.” In the context given, Tom’s genuinity was actually hilarious to experience, especially in addition to the horrified expression on your sister’s face. You took his words and decided to play a bit off that. You looked up at your sister and tried to play off your notice of her ruined make-up.

“Wait, what happened?”

“You guys missed it?” Her lip quivered, ready to break out into tears again. She really had no idea where you had been for most of the wedding.

“I mean, I left the party like… when did you arrive, honey?” You looked up at Tom, who didn’t miss a beat in responding. He looked at his watch.

“Probably like half an hour ago, babe.” AKA ten minutes before the incident.

“Yeah, and then… well, we got a bit occupied,” you said bashfully. Your sister was ready to scream, from what it looked like. She looked at you, then at Tom, then back at you. Opened her mouth, prepared to say something. Then decided against it. She made another attempt before a bridesmaid showed up, hauling her off to the party… or, the remnants of it, at least. You were now standing alone in the corridor with Tom. Still side by side, his arm around you.

You stepped in front of him, looking happier than you had felt in weeks.

“God, I could kiss you right now!” You had done it. Like, actually done it. You had managed to fool not only your mother but the Bridezilla herself.

“Go right ahead,” Tom smirked. You blinked.

“Huh?”

“You said I could kiss you- well if you want to…”

“Oh, uhm, no, I didn’t mean it like- I mean… uhm- I mean-” you had no idea what you meant, and words were only getting harder and harder to form, but then Tom started laughing.

“It’s alright; I was just joking.” Was he, though? Or had you just made things really awkward? You didn’t know what to do anymore, so you decided to nod and smile awkwardly, and then proceed to make your way back to the party.

“y/n, wait.” Tom spurted out, making you turn around. He had his arm up behind his head, scratching his neck.

“Hmm?” You made your way back to him, even though that had been only a few steps. Tom looked at you but waited for a moment before he spoke.

“I uhh, wanted to apologise about the stuff I had said when we met. You know, about you being spoiled and whatnot.”

“You weren’t wrong,” you laughed it off, being very aware of your privilege and fortune in life.

“Maybe, but it wasn’t my place to say it. Besides, when I was upstairs, I could see you sitting at the table with your family and… again, not really my place to say anything, but I get it now; why you would want to do something like this. If my family was like that, I’d ruin my brother’s wedding too.”

“You have a brother?” Was that really the takeaway from his little speech? That was your response to all that he had said? You regretted it the second the words left your mouth- but Tom didn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah, 3 actually.” From his expression, you couldn’t tell if he saw it as a blessing or a curse. Well, knowing how siblings can be, you assumed a bit of both. Tom continued: “But anyway, I just wanted to say sorry.”

“You really don’t have to be, but… thanks,” and you kissed him on the cheek. He seemed a bit startled. Your lipstick was supposed to be long-lasting and not smudge, but a hint of the pigment stayed behind on his skin, merely looking like one of his cheeks was a bit more flustered than the other. So, not wanting him to walk around with that, you reached out to wipe the lipstick off. And you were in the middle of doing so when he reached up to put his hand over yours.

Surely, the lipstick would have been gone by now, but you were focused on his eyes, just like he was on yours. Neither of you noticed how you were moving closer to one another until your lips met in a soft kiss.

You could not explain your reasoning behind wanting to kiss him. In the last few days, there had been absolutely not one reason that would have made you eager to kiss him. Not one.... nope. There was nothing about him that drove you crazy and hot and bothered just looking at him. Not at all.

You could feel him flex his muscles at your touch, and the quick sensation brought back the images of Tom running through the dancefloor. It felt like a personal attack that you were able to have only seen him like that for such a small amount of time.

Tom squeezed your hip, and he was leading your bodies up to the wall, and you were prepared and more than eager to continue wherever this was going, but you had to remind yourself that this was the ground floor and people could walk in on you any second.

"Fuck," you gasped when your lips parted from his. "I'm sorry."

"That's not usually something one wants to hear after a kiss like that," Tom brushed his hair out of his face, "but indulge me, love, why are you sorry?"

"I shouldn't have kissed you without asking."

"Don't worry, I can take care of myself," he leaned in and softly kissed your jaw, "I'm not really the one to do something I don't want to do- and I don't think you are either. So just sat the word, and I'll stop." He kept peppering your skin with these kisses, leaving you in a frenzy. You could barely keep your eyes open, your vision getting slightly blurry as you couldn't bring yourself to focus on anything but his touch.

"We should... we should pro-" you tried to mutter out words, but it was getting harder and harder to do with Tom's hands and lips all over you.

"We should what, darling?" He paused his kisses to speak, and that one brief instant felt like an eternity.

"We should probably head upstairs." You really should have. After all, people could just walk by any moment. Neither of you was trying to hide anything, and it was just pure chance and luck that nobody, either guest or staff, had decided to walk through that corridor. And as much as you wanted to try and test that luck, the odds were most likely not in your favour, and you had already bumped into too many relatives in one day.

"Mhm, we probably should go,” he said and kissed you one last time. Only then did he take your hand and led you to the elevator. The fire in you started burning, and you didn't want to waste a second by just standing there. You tried to brush your fingers through his soft hair, but when you leaned in, he took a step back- out of the elevator.

"What the-" you sputtered out, confused and a bit annoyed. Tom just smirked.

"See you in the room," he checked his watch again, "in 5 minutes." And like that, the doors closed. Of course, you could have just opened them with a click of a button, but Tom clearly had something up his sleeve and you were intrigued, so you just clicked on the button for your floor and leaned against the wall with a sigh.

With no interruption from any salmon smelling aunties, the elevator ride went by much quicker this time, and you got out on your floor and made your way to your room. That is where you encountered Rebecca, knocking on the door. A pile of clothes under her arm.

"Ah, there you are. I think I got them all, so here- have you been making out?" She must have noticed something you didn't, or maybe she could smell it on you with her strange sixth sense because you had checked yourself out in the mirrored walls of the elevator and nothing seemed to be hinting at the fact you had just finished a pretty heavy make-out session with Tom. Rebecca smiled and pushed you playfully, knowing you too well and understanding when you didn't answer her question. Then she started looking around.

"Where is he?"

"He's actually coming up in a few minutes."

"Oh! Ok, ok, wait!" She pushed Tom's clothes into your arms and started to rummage through her bag. It took a bit, but eventually, she pulled out a handful of condoms. You gladly grabbed those from her, too, while managing to get your key out of your own purse without dropping anything and entered the room. Once inside, you dropped everything in your arms onto the empty chair in the corner.

⤐

Tom had given himself a window of five minutes, but having experienced men plenty of times in your life, you knew that would be more like ten to fifteen minutes before you heard the door opening. So, in that time, you tried to make yourself more comfortable around the room. Trying out different poses, figuring out which would be the most enticing for Tom to walk in on- which did feel a bit silly to do, but what else were you to do?

You had finally decided to simply, very casually, sit on the mattress when you heard a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” you said, though your original thought had been to shout “fuck off”.

“Room service,” the deep voice from the other side of the door said. You got up, ready to tell them that you had not ordered any room service and that they must have gotten the wrong room. But once you opened it, you were greeted with the handsome and sly smirk of Tom. He had his jacket hanging off his finger, over his shoulder, and in his hand a bottle of champagne.

“Sorry it took so long, I was trying to find where they were keeping the good stuff.” He walked in, unwrapping the gold foil on the cap. You looked with concern as he tried to pop it open, scared that he would shatter the window or possibly break your nose, but Tom was more skilled than you had expected, opening it with only a slight bang and barely anything spilling out. The cork fell right into his hand. He handed you the bottle, which you gladly accepted and took the first swing. Of course, you were already quite tipsy, and you knew Tom had drunk from the minibar before coming downstairs, so he wasn’t at his most sober either.

“What’s the occasion, actually?” You asked while handing him back the bottle.

“How about being a great team?” He drank. “The Bonnie and Clyde of weddings and revenge!”

“That might just be the lamest thing I’ve ever heard.” He didn’t deserve the champagne after that, so you quickly took it from him. After that sip, you put the bottle down and sat on the bed. Tom followed you, making you move back into the middle of the mattress as he pinned you in. His hands at your sides. He kept leaning in, and you leaned back until your head hit the duvet, and there was nowhere more for you to go but up for your lips to come up to his.

While you had been waiting for him, there had been a moment in which worries started to settle. You had been concerned about what it would be like once you were alone in a room with him. There was the obvious possibility of things being extremely awkward between the two of you. A little time had passed since the kiss in the hallway and either of your minds could have changed during. But it couldn't be further from the truth.

The kisses were haste and messy, and you were ready to tear off Tom’s shirt off his body when he pulled away from you.

“Mm,” he wiped his mouth, “I should probably tell you that the following services might cost you a bit extra.”

“Fuck off,” you smiled, kissing his neck.

“Mmm, as delightful a that sounds, I’d much rather,” Tom grabbed you by the leg, hiking your skirt back up like in that broom closet, “fuck you.”

Simply said, you had no comeback to that. There was nothing in you that wanted to stop that from happening. From your racing heartbeat to the heat that you could feel taking over you, it was becoming more and more of a necessity that needed to be taken care of. And Tom hadn't missed it. He was smiling as he kissed you; you could tell that he found your need for him entertaining. Especially when his hand had found its way under your skirt. The touch of his fingers against your panties made you buck your hips up at him.

"You're so wet for me, already," his words were slightly mumbled as he spoke against your lips, but you could hear him clearly. "What exactly has got you so hot and bothered, hmm?"

"I don't know what you mean," you tried to play coy, not give in to what he wanted, and it seemed to work.

"That's not the answer I was looking for, baby," Tom put his mouth up to your neck, and with each word passing his lips, and with each small puff of air, you felt the shivers go down your spine. And he just kept on going:

"Cause see," he stayed still, his mouth at your side and keeping the distance that he knew would get you riled up, "I saw the way you looked at me earlier. Or rather... where you looked. I bet you haven’t stopped thinking about me fucking you since, have you?"

He was unapologetically confident, which wasn't a bad look on him. He knew he looked good, and he wasn't afraid to flaunt it. That was probably why he had no problem stripping and running across a room filled with strangers. He had nothing to be self-conscious about.

At his words, you did think back to the party, seeing him, his body, running up to you. You couldn't deny that your eyes had wandered off a bit south, and yes, he was most definitely right that that image, and the idea of what was about to happen between you two, stayed to linger in your mind.

"So what if I did look at your cock, hmm?" you tried to sound as aloof as possible while Tom had occupied himself by kissing your neck and giving the most attention to your sensitive spot. It was getting harder and harder to do as his fingers were rubbing circles against your clit. Your disinterest was beginning to be even harder to prove when you dug your nails into his shoulder, biting down a moan.

"I mean," you wrangled out, "don't pretend like you haven't been staring at my tits the whole day."

"What can I say? This dress looks amazing on you." Tom leaned down and kissed your cleavage, right above the hem of the dress. "And I bet it will look even better on the floor."

"Ouch, nope. That was actually sad, try again." men and their dumb pick-up lines, way to ruin the mood. Unbelievable. And your reaction must have thrown Tom off a bit from his plan, as his arms tensed over you, but he quickly came back.

"You know what, sweetheart,” his hand moved up and down your thigh, “the more you talk, the more I want to take back what I said earlier. You're so fucking spoiled I just want to rip this pretty number off you, and teach you a lesson. Completely ruin you while you beg for me. How does that sound?"

Every instinct that went through your head felt like the wrong thing to say. You didn't want to give in with what he was suggesting, not wanting to give him that satisfaction, but at the same time, if you would play the brat, wouldn't that be precisely what he'd like? And wouldn't it be more fun anyway? While thinking through the possibilities, the imaginary timer must have gone off, and you had been taking a bit too long to answer for Tom's liking as he spread your legs and slapped your thigh. It wasn't hard enough to leave any mark of feeling behind, but the sensation was there, and it was enough to get you to respond.

"It doesn't sound... Too bad." You looked up at him with innocent eyes. Or, in a way that you, at least, hoped to resemble innocence. But the look that had been so successful over the years, with getting you exactly what you wanted, had barely any effect on Tom. He, instead, smiled sweetly at you, almost making you think you had him under your spell, but then he cupped your face in his large hand, squeezing your cheeks in a way that almost felt humiliating. Almost.

"You can play your little games when you're with some fuckwit you pick up at a bar, y/n, but I'm not here for that. So you better be a good girl and listen to me, understood?" He looked deep into your eyes, and with his hand holding on to you, you couldn't help but nod along. Who would have thought that he had a side like that to him? It was exhilarating, to say the least, and it made you eager to test his limits.

Your response wasn't good enough, however. His fingers squeezed the tiniest bit harder into your cheeks.

When he released, you mumbled out a weak "yes". To this, Tom raised his eyebrow. Maybe he wasn't sure if you were willing to continue or how far you wanted it to go, but that was all he did. Then his smile came back, and he let his thumb move over your lips. You tried not to move, not wanting to look too eager- you still didn’t want to give him that kind of satisfaction just yet, but you had also not really been used to wanting to please a guy so much. You were usually the type to find a guy in a bar to hook up with and, hopefully, get a climax out of it. But Tom- he felt different. When he touched you, you could tell that as much pleasure as it was giving him, he actually wanted you to feel that too. Still, you were never one to give up your place easily.

For a second, nothing happened, and that second was enough for you to comb your fingers through his curls, pull him down and kiss him.

What you also tried to do was wrap your legs around him and change positions, so you were on top, but that didn't seem to pan out. Tom stayed settled on his spot, one of his knees planted sturdily between your legs.

"That was pretty cute, I have to admit," he teased, making you want to push him off the bed, but then he started to hike your dress up further and further. Past your hips. He wanted it off you, just like you did yourself. Tom must have forgotten about the zipper that was on the side because when the dress began to get stuck over your chest, you had to help him awkwardly pull it down again, and he unzipped it. With the material now loose around you, you got up a little and let him take it off you completely.

Once you were only in your underwear, he finally took care of his shirt, pulling it off his back and disregarding it onto the chair where you had put down his old clothes. That reminded you-

"Ooh, wait." you tapped his shoulder and Tom, without question, immediately got off you. He lay down on his side and watched you get up. Then, before he could ask what was wrong, you made your way to the chair and pulled one condom off its long chain.

“Someone’s eager,” he laughed to himself, clearly amused at the long chain of condoms that you had prepared there. You didn’t care to explain. At the end of the day, you were both just happy that they were there. Walking back to bed, you were making sure to remember to thank Rebecca later.

Tom took your hand and pulled you on top of him, smiling. You had never been the one to fall for these kinds of little things, never even being the one to fall for someone in the first place, but every time he smiled, you couldn't help but feel a little flutter inside.

"You're really pretty, you know that?" You said, meaning it playfully but not hiding an ounce of truth behind the statement. Tom's eyes locked with yours. Then, for a second, they filled up with a glimmer of- something. You couldn't quite tell. He brushed some hair out of your face, and by the light smirk hooking at the corner of his mouth, you were prepared to hear some snarky comment in return.

"You're really pretty, too."

The moods between the two of you kept switching, to the point that your head felt like it was spinning... or maybe that was just the result of Tom helping you sit up on his lap, his hands over your hips, while you had leaned forward to kiss him again. The taste of the champagne lingered in both of you. As the kiss went on, you let your hips roll over his. To this, Tom responded with a quick but deep groan. One of his hands moved down to your ass, squeezing it gently. He was holding himself in for you; that much was clear. Which was sweet, but you missed that part of him that made you want to get down on your knees for him- again, a very new and strange feeling, but it was not unwelcome.

So, when he squeezed again, you made sure to let him know you enjoyed it. You then bucked your hips and moaned his name softly but audibly.

"Oh, fuck," he seemed to have enjoyed that. And if you had not gotten that, there was the fact that his trousers began to get tighter and tighter around his dick. You could feel him get harder with each move you made.

The trousers were really becoming a problem, both of you realised that, so in an unspoken agreement, you got off and Tom hopped off the bed. However, it was clear that the constant switching of positions was becoming a nuisance to both of you, and before Tom took off his clothing, he grabbed the bottle of champagne, taking a generous chug from it, and handed it to you.

You sipped slowly from it, not taking your eyes off of Tom. He had already lost his shirt earlier, and the sigh of his body was, simply put, fantastic. When he had run through the wedding party, everything happened so fast, and by the end of it, you were a bit sad that you didn't have more time. Was that objectifying Tom in a sense? Fuck, maybe?

When he took his last items of clothing and looked up at you, you were unapologetically looking him over, up and down, with a smile.

"Enjoying the view?" He said, not even trying to be shy about it.

"It's not bad."

"Do I really need to fuck that attitude out of you?" He raised a challenging brow, to which you only shrugged. Without saying another word, you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra. Tom's eyes were basically glued to your chest. You let it hang in your hand for a moment before throwing it aside. It was like a race flag going up, as the moment the bra hit the floor, Tom jumped back into bed, and you sat up. You met halfway, both on your knees in front of each other. Both naked, ready to take the next step... you just didn't know how.

"So..." you muttered out, regretting it immediately. Nothing made a situation more awkward than acknowledging the awkwardness- which was what you had essentially just done with that one word.

Or maybe that was all in your head, because Tom grabbed you by the hip and pulled you close to him, chest to chest.

"Not doing anything we don't want to do, right?" He asked, his voice now much more gentle and caring but never losing an ounce of desire through it. You looked at him and nodded, to which he kissed the corner of your mouth.

He kept peppering your skin with light kisses until he spoke again, in a tone sweeter than honey. "Gonna be my good girl?"

You were melting into his words and his touch. You could barely comprehend when his fingers found their way back between your legs. Your hips bucked up against him as he moved slowly, sensually, agonizingly and teasingly against you. A soft moan, or maybe more of a frustrated whine, passed your lips in need of friction.

"Answer me, love, and I'll give you what you want." He was smirking, loving the effect he had on you, and you couldn't even be mad about it yourself.

"Yes," you gasped out, and Tom didn't waste a second to press his fingers against your clit, rubbing circles, finding your most sensitive pressure points to bring you to that tip of ecstasy. He kept up with the motions, moving faster, slipping through your folds and going deeper with each thrust.

However, as good as it felt, the position the two of you were in felt a bit uncomfortable. You didn't really know what to do with yourself while your body was begging for some action.

"Mmm, Tom," you mumbled against his lips. They were bright pink and slightly swollen, but you thought he looked terrific. Not to mention his hair, which was now losing its styled shape, his curls coming up from all different directions as you grabbed them. And his eyes, once golden brown, now turning darker with need.

He didn't stop his movements but hummed, letting you know he was listening.

"Could I maybe-" an unknown shyness was taking over you, and suddenly, you had lost the ability to speak. And it didn't help that when your voice shut down, Tom looked at you with those eyes of his, pushed that rogue strand of hair out of your face and asked:

"What is it, darling?" So innocently, as if his fingers were not deep inside you and soaked in your juices.

You still didn't know how to say it, so instead, you let your hand wander down his body. Over his abs, to his hip and then finally over his cock. Tom hissed in a breath at the touch but got back into his mindset reasonably quickly.

"Wanna suck my cock, love?" His hand, in return, went up to your ass and squeezed it.

"You'd probably like that, wouldn't you?" The confidence was, thankfully, coming back into you. As much as you seemed to be enjoying letting Tom take control, that feeling of submission was still foreign to you. Not unwelcome, but strange. You were simply testing out the waters- both for yourself and for Tom. Who knows, maybe he would want to switch it up a little, too?

"I can give you a good time," You kissed his neck, just below the ear, "just tell me what to do." And you could practically feel the shivers that ran over his skin at your words. You were currently in a kind of mid-space. Taking control by letting him tell you what to do. It made sense for a tiny bit, but by the tension that had arisen between you and the heat in the room, it seemed to be working.

"How about you get down on the ground and let me fuck your pretty little mouth, then?" He kissed you once more to seal the deal, and once you pushed away, you made your way off the bed to sit in front of it, with enough space for Tom to stand up.

"You know," you got yourself a bit more comfortable while beginning to slowly stroke his length. "I don't usually do this." And you blinked slowly, letting your eyelashes flutter for Tom. You could tell what he was thinking. He was ready to see your makeup start running down your face as he made you his and that thought only made you more eager to get a move on.

"And what would this be?" He patted your head, moving his head softly over your hair.

"Letting a guy toss me around." You kissed his tip, still not breaking the eye contact that you had set up between you.

"Oh, if you think this is tossing around," he chuckled. His grip on your hair got tighter, "You've seen nothing yet."

You knew that, but fuck, you couldn't wait to see how far he was willing to go. Maybe not this time, things between you were still relatively fresh, and it was never good to go all-in for the first time. But... perhaps another time. If it would ever happen. What were you even thinking? Next time? You would probably never see Tom again. This was just what happened when two people got drunk at weddings.

Did you want more to happen, though? That thought hadn't crossed your mind before. And it still didn't feel right. But, no, it wasn't the time to think about these things.

You quickly let your head clear up from all the confusing thoughts and focused on what was happening at the moment. Tom was standing in front of you, hard and already leaking precum.

You gave his tip another kiss. You wanted to take your time. Well, not really. But you did want to tease the living fuck out of Tom, and sometimes that called for a bit of sacrifice on your part. Slowly, you took him into your mouth. Pulling out and each time you leaned in, attempted to go a bit further until he reached the back of your throat.

"Oh, fuck, yes!" He groaned, grabbing your hair and letting his hips move back and forth. You let your jaw slack, trying to relax as much as possible while you focused on your breathing while Tom sped up in his movements. The longer he went on, the more difficult it became to stay somewhat composed. Of course, it wasn't really necessary in a situation like that, but a girl could try.

Your knees started to burn as they dug into the small carpet you were sitting on. As Tom kept on going, he went deeper, making you gag slightly- but that only seemed to spur him on. And just like he wanted, the mascara was running down your cheeks. You needed to release the tension between your legs, so while still looking up at Tom, you started to play with yourself.

This kept going for a bit longer, and when Tom started to slow down, you were getting ready for a release, preferably your own, but then he pulled away. You gasped for air and clenched your thighs together, not wanting to think about the disappointment that no one had probably even come close to finishing.

Tom took your hand and helped you get up, and once you were up on your feet, he kissed you deeply.

"You look so fucking gorgeous." He looked over every inch of your face taking in the mess he had caused. And to make things worse, or maybe better, he took his thumb and wiped around the last remaining staining of your lipstick. The pigment must have wiped off for the most parts since the last time you had reapplied it, but Tom was making his own little masterpiece on your face. And he sealed it off with one more kiss.

You wanted to enjoy this moment, but all you could think about was the feeling of him against you. He was still hard, and you were gnawing for a release at this point, feeling like your body was on fire.

"Get the condom, please," you would never call yourself a beggar, but you had come close at that moment. Tom chuckled at your slight desperation and turned around, grabbed the silver packet, ripped it open with his teeth, and put on the condom a bit hastily.

The tension was growing, as well as the anticipation for that one moment of contact. But, of course, Tom stopped.

"Do you trust me?" He asked, his hand on your side.

"A bit more since the last time you asked," you couldn't help but smile, and he joined in.

"Good to know, but please, be honest. Do you?" You looked into each other's eyes. In the time that you spend together, at your house, in the car, at the reception, here, Tom had done nothing to offend your trust. On the contrary, he had helped you bring your plan to fruition; he treated you well and made you feel amazing.

"Yes, Tom, I trust you." You said.

"Ok, jump." And so, like he asked, you did. You jumped up a little, and he caught your legs with ease. While he held you, you couldn't stop looking at the way his muscles flexed as he carried you over to the window. Oh, so that's what he had in mind, then.

He pressed you against the window, and you gasped as your back hit the glass.

"Oh shit, that's cold," you said. Tom quickly pulled you away. Then, thinking fast while still being wrapped around Tom, you reached out for the large curtain and pulled it across to you, so you could lean against that instead of the glass. Half of the room was now set in darkness, but plenty of light still came from the other half of the window.

Tom pressed you against the curtain, this now feeling soft and warmer against your bare skin, and a bit awkwardly, he pushed into you. Your giggles that had filled the room while Tom had tried to position himself exchanged for a loud moan. If there was anyone in the room next door, there was no doubt that they could hear you.

"You're so tight, fuck," Tom groaned as he stretched out your walls. You held on to him tightly as he fucked you harder. With each of his thrusts, you were hitting the window, so you were glad that the soft curtain stayed between you, but the rings at which it was hanging kept rattling a bit dangerously.

"I- I think," you moaned instead of finishing your sentence, "I think we should move back to the bed before the curtains rip off-f-fuck!"

"Good idea, baby," Tom agreed, probably noticing the noise as well. "How about you ride my cock for a bit, hmm?"

Though the window idea was short-lived, it had been enjoyable, and it brought you to this moment. Tom sat down on the bed, his back against the headboard, and you quickly got on top, not wanting to waste another second. Things were messy between you two, far from perfect, but in a way, that's what made it so good. It was authentic and pure desire.

The new position hit in a new way, and it might have been even better. You had to try around for a bit before finding the right rhythm, but once you got there, each movement hit you with another wave of pleasure.

Tom had one of his hands on your hip, but he had made sure he was sitting up when you got on his lap, so he could give your breast all the attention they deserved. While he played with one in his palm, he had his mouth around the other. When he let his teeth graze over your nipple, both of you were surprised by the sound you made. It was a high pitched sort of moan caused by a sensation unknown to you until then. Tom got the hint and did it again, on the other.

"Fuck, Tommy," you grabbed for his hair and tried to change up the way you moved to get some more friction. Tom helped out a bit by meeting your hips with his thrusts, and each time you moved at the right moment, you felt him hit the perfect spot within you. You were getting close. But you didn't say anything, just kept on grinding. By the way that most of the evening had gone by, you had the idea that if you had announced your climax to Tom, he'd tell you to wait. Do not do anything until he gives you permission.

So, with another powerful thrust, you let your release flood over you. Then, with a high pitched moan and stars in front of your eyes, you rode your high on him. Your legs, as well as your arms, were shaking. Although you had planned on going on for a bit longer to help Tom get there as well, you simply couldn't. All you managed to do was fall over to the front against Tom's chest, your head on his shoulder. He held you close, still in you, caressing your hair.

"I'd have expected you to carry on for a bit longer, love," he smiled and kissed your temple. To this, you just swatted at his arm and laughed.

"Just give me a moment, unless you'd rather finish yourself off in the bathroom?" You smiled sheepishly.

That put the fear in him, and Tom shut up. But he kept on kissing any possible spot of your skin that he could reach from the position you were in. And, since he was still inside you, the tiniest movements from either of you caused a shockwave of stimulation.

⤐

"Did I actually ever apologize?" you whispered, not sure if Tom had fallen asleep.

"What are you talking about?" He mumbled, clearly confused.

"About calling you an asshole. Did I apologize?"

"Which time?" He snickered. "You tend to call me that a lot, I've noticed."

"I meant the first time. On the street."

"Hmm," he thought for a second, "I can't remember, honestly. But apology accepted." He kissed your shoulder and nuzzled in closer to you.

Maybe your first climax had come a bit early, but it sure as hell wasn't the last. It turned out to be a long and unforgettable night.

As the night had gone on, the bottle of champagne had finished and was now lying under the chair, haphazardly discarded. The curtain was still half-closed, and the floor was covered in thrown pieces of clothing.

Even though not all things had gone as planned, in the end, you couldn't wish for it to go any differently. Somehow, for once, things seemed to be working out in your favour.

Hell, while your entire family was still running around the hotel in panic and confusion, trying to find the man that had seemingly ruined everything, you were wrapped in his arms, falling asleep, not even realizing that both of you had found... something in each other. You still hadn't quite figured out what that something was, but it didn’t matter. It felt good, nice, and no matter how long it would last, you didn't want to let go of it just yet.

The End

> thank you so much for reading!! It would mean the world to me if you reblogged and please let me know what you thought through a comment or ask (or even DM <3)

> both links to masterlist and taglist are in bio + in pinned navigation post

taglist: coming in reblog

#tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland au #tom holland writing #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #smut #richkid!au #au #writing #fanfic #fic #fanfiction #tom holland x y/n

665 notes · View notes

heavenlyholland · 3 years ago

Text

bittersweet | secret’s out

summary — mixed and conflicted feelings between you and a man you recklessly hooked up with, that ended up in a unexpected pregnancy, can leave things feeling too good to be true, and moments felt bittersweet.

a/n: alright so here’s the intro to bittersweet !! i’ve worked on this for over the past month, almost two now, planning the plot and storyline down, brainstorming ideas and of course writing, and i am so so so excited for you all to read it !! before we get started, i want to thank some beautiful people who took time out their days to beta read and edit my work, so thank you @veryholland @kelieah @parkerpeter24 and @hollandsmushroom !! you all are such blessings and i really appreciate you giving up time to fix all the little mistakes i made while writing lol !! but anyway, i hope you enjoy reading the intro !! sending you love <3

warnings: suggestive content, swearing, mentions of abortion, angst

pairing: tom holland x reader | word count: 8.8k

reblogs and thoughts are GREATLY appreciated! requests are open!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

No one ever intends on getting pregnant, unless you’re a married woman who’s ready to settle down, or already has, and has an actual plan for what they want to do in their lives and the future.

You, however, did not fit that stereotype, but the one cliche that fits you perfectly was the drunken hookup at a party, which led to you getting knocked up.

All you could remember was meeting this guy, who had some sort of reputation and persona built for him- something to do with his family name and money. You couldn’t quite put your finger on who he was exactly, emphasizing the drunken part of the hookup.

You didn’t want to resort to plan b, even though you could if you wanted, but something inside of you was urging you to keep the little bean growing inside of you as if it was a sign from the universe that this was supposed to happen.

You had gone through your rebellious and adventurous phase and you still hadn’t quite gotten out of it, so maybe, just maybe- and you kept telling yourself this as you contemplated on the decision that would affect your future- this would be a good thing, to settle you down and ground you from the chaotic reality of the world. It made you wonder how shitty of a lifestyle you were living- constantly partying, drinking, hooking up, all the kinds of fun that people your age usually partook in. But then again, it got you thinking. Some people did settle down around this age. But were you too young? Were you still too irresponsible to take care of such a significantly life-changing thing like this? There were so many questions that were left unanswered, before you could even decide to go through with something as drastic as it all was.

His name had something to do with the Netherlands…Was he Dutch? You thought to yourself as you paced back and forth in the living room of your apartment. You were trying to the best of your ability to remember who the “special” guy was, lucky enough to take you back to a hotel room and engage in sexual activities.

You loved going to parties, formal ones at least. The environment, the drinks, the drunk decisions that you knew you would regret in the morning, meeting new people, hooking up- all of it was right up your alley.

With your work situation, you were invited to many events with a variety of well-known business-people, as well as celebrities. You were fortunate and grateful for your job, knowing that you could be in a much more harsh situation, but luckily your job paid well and gave you many exciting opportunities.

Tonight was no different than all the other times you had spent your Friday nights at venues that cost more than you could possibly imagine. Dressed in your favourite champagne coloured dress, that fits your figure in all the right ways, you walked up to the bartender, ordering a drink that looked appealing to you.

As the night went on, and the more drinks you consumed, you eventually got to the point where things began to feel a bit different, but not bad enough that you weren’t able to comprehend the things in front of you. Everything became more funny, and your extroverted alter-ego came out when meeting new people throughout the night.

You had made a few new friends as the hours passed, deciding to become drinking buddies for the night and ordering too many rounds of tequila to count. By the time however many shots were downed, your new found friends had gone off to either hook up, get more drinks or go and dance- which was not your forte.

As you stood at the table you were once situated at with your friends, you decided to go and get one last drink for the night, knowing if you pushed yourself to continue, you would really regret it the next morning. You walked up to the familiar spot at the venue, heels clicking against the floor faintly because of the music blaring through the speakers, loud enough to feel the vibration of the bass in your bones.

Noticing that the current bartender was already occupied with mixing drinks and handing out orders, you leaned onto your forearms against the cold surface, leaning your body weight into your arms to let some pressure off of your aching feet due to the heels you were wearing. You looked around, taking in the sight beneath your vision; people dancing, laughing, and drinking together, all enjoying their time at the event.

“I was wondering if you could tell me,” you heard a voice from in front of you, making you turn your attention to where the noise had come from. When you looked over to the opposite of where you were standing, your eyes were met with a young brunette man, slyly grinning at you, “If you’re here, then who’s running heaven?” he asked you, almost making you choke on your own breath. You let out a loud laugh, your hand coming up to cover your open mouth, shocked at what the man had just said to you.

Relaxing your fit of giggles from the pick-up line, you stood up straighter, allowing yourself to get a more indepth look at the appearance of the man in front of you.

“I’m sorry, but that was the most stupid pick-up line I have ever heard,” you said through another laugh, earning a grin from the unknown man.

“Damn, I thought it was a good one,” he jested, flashing you a quick smile. You couldn’t help but feel a shiver run down your back, goosebumps forming on your skin from the smallest action.

You let out yet another loud laugh, “Yeah, if you’re in fourth grade.” Earning another laugh from the nameless man. “But, hey, I like a man who tries, and can make me laugh,” you pointed out, pointing your finger at him with a raise of your eyebrows.

“Is that so?” he questioned, leaning in further, closing the space between the two of you nearly all the way.

You hummed, “Mhm, I also like when they know how to prepare a good drink or two,” you smirked, playing with a strand of your hair and wetting your lips with your tongue.

“Oh no, I’m not a worker here- my family’s hosting the event, I’m just…” His voice fading away as he thought about the right word to describe what he was doing.

“Doing charity work?” you questioned, filling in the blank and earning a shrug from his shoulders as he brought his attention away from you, and to the drink he was surprising you with. You watched intently as he poured the ingredients together, following the steps as if he was an actual bartender. Once finished, he handed you your new drink, pulling out a small glass and a bottle of Scotch and pouring a small amount, before sliding around the side of the counter, and reaching you. He held out his arm for you and you wrapped your arm around his bicep, following him to where he was leading you.

“So if you’re not a bartender, what’s your status here?” you asked, having to raise your voice over the loud chatter and music.

“Could ask you the same thing, love,” he jested, nudging your side with his elbow, smiling at you. “No, but I’m the eldest son of the event organizers. Nikki and Dom?” he asked you, asking if you knew who they were, to which you nodded your head. “Yeah, they’re my parents,” he explained, and you followed along with a nod of your head again.

The man, name still unbeknownst to you, had led you out to the balcony of the building, escorting you to the couch that was empty, looking out over the busy city on the warm summer night. “What about you?” he asked, looking over at you as you both plotted on the cushions next to each other.

“Oh, I come to these because of my job,” you explained simply, shrugging your shoulders.

“So you go to venues like these often?” he asked you, feeding the conversation to get to know each other more.

You nodded your head, “Yeah, for the most part. S’not like I go to every single one, but when I get the chance to, I go,” you said, gaining a hum in response.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The night went on, eventually learning each other’s names, which you couldn’t remember the next day. But the one thing that stuck with you, was what happened once you both got comfortable with each other.

“Why don’t we take this to somewhere more comfortable?” he asked you, pulling away from your lips, his breath uneven, a side effect of the makeout session you both had just gone through. You bit your lip because of how intense the events that just took place were, and nodded your head. Standing up from your seat on the couch outside, following the man, hand-in-hand, as he led you somewhere more private.

He pulled you into a room, down the hallway of the building, closing the door and quickly locking it behind him before pushing you back onto the desk that was in the room, in front of floor-to-ceiling windows. You giggled at his eagerness, connecting your lips again, intoxicated and obsessed with the feeling of bliss and utter pleasure as his hands roamed up and down your body. He hoisted your dress up above your hips, fingers digging into your hips as you reached up to hold his cheek and jaw as you deepened the kiss. He let out a low groan, making you squirm on the spot. You interlaced your own fingers behind his neck, pulling him down closer to you so that you were leaned back on the desk, his two large hands holding you up as you continued to immerse yourselves in each other’s lips.

You both pulled away from each other, again, to catch your breath, looking into each other’s lustful and dark eyes. You began to unbutton his white dress shirt, eager to get to the point to satisfy each other’s needs. He kissed you again, not being able to get enough of your lips, letting you blindly undress him the best you could. Opening his shirt to reveal his broad chest and chiseled abs, you roamed your hands up and down his torso, feeling the bumps and dips and curves of his muscles beneath your hands. He pulled away from you, letting out a louder, more long groan.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he mumbled against your neck, diving down to attack your skin, kissing, sucking and nipping at your sensitive skin, earning whines and breathy exhales as he worked downwards, your hands tangled in his brown curly hair, tugging on it when he sucked on the right spot.

The last thing you remember was his fingers reaching for your dress’ straps, pulling them down to the side to let your dress fall off your body, exposing yourself to the man. Vividly remembering the last action before being welcomed into a state of satisfaction, pleasure, and euphoria, he laid you on your back, against the cold wood surface of the desk, his lips attaching onto your skin.

Screw it. You thought, pulling out your phone from the pocket of your oversized hoodie, dialing up the one person you knew could be some sort of help in this sticky situation.

It took a few rings of the familiar facetime ringtone before the connecting sound went off and you were welcomed by the chirpy and enthusiastic voice you knew too well.

“Hey girly!” you heard through your phone, pulling you away from your gaze out the window, coming back to your senses and out of a state of overthinking and worriedness. “What’s up? Why’d you call?” Natalie asked, shining her infamous bright smile. She set her phone up against something in her room, taking a step back from her phone to tie her blonde hair up into a messy bun, pulling a few strands out to finish the look.

“Hey…” you had let out nervously, your voice trailing off into unease. Natalie furrowed her eyebrows together, instantly plopping back down onto her nicely made bed, now concerned with the unusual change in emotion from you.

“Alright, what happened?” she asked with a roll of her eyes. You trusted Natalie with everything you had in you, and the feelings were reciprocated. You had known each other since grade school and had become inseparable since.

“Well, something bad happened,” you said, again in the same tone as before, trailing off- dreading what was to come. Dreading how Natalie would react if she would think differently of you, if she would help you, if she wouldn’t care- too many possibilities ran through your mind, and you hadn’t even broken the news.

Natalie gasped, her jaw-dropping practically to the core of the Earth, “Oh, my god,” she let out even louder than her tone at the beginning of the call, beginning to think about what you were about to say, she furrowed her eyebrows in concentration. “Your ex is back in town with a new girl!” she guessed, making you roll your eyes, tilting your head back.

“No,” you chuckled, still nervous as to what was to come.

“What? That was a pretty good guess. Hmm, oh!” she exclaimed, pointing her index finger up, an imaginary lightbulb appearing above her head. “You got pulled over for speeding, and tried to flirt your way out of it, but only made it worse by flirting and ended up getting a ticket anyway!” she guessed quickly as if she was one of the spokespeople at an auction.

“That’s... oddly specific,” you explained, furrowing your own eyebrows in confusion.

“Hey, it was a strong guess!”

“I’ll give you that, although- you’d think I’d flirt my way out of a ticket?”

“Haven’t we all done it?”

“Um, no…”

“Anyway, seriously what happened!”

“Alright, okay.”

“Y’know it’d be funny if you told me you were pregnant because of a hookup with someone you met at one of those fancy parties you go to.” Natalie jested, making your head immediately shoot up from your lap. She cocked her head back in confusion at your reaction.

“What? No. That wouldn’t be funny. I don’t think that’s funny.”

“Oh c’mon, as if.” She rolled her eyes as she let out a loud cackle. You stayed silent, picking at a hangnail that had formed on your thumb from your nervous picking. Natalie’s laughing began to die down as she came to realize you weren’t laughing with her, and you were more quiet than usual. “Wait…” she trailed off, piecing things together before letting out a loud and shocking gasp. “You’re actually?” she asked in shock.

You slowly nodded your head, not daring to look up because of how embarrassed you felt, tears beginning to fill your eyes, so many thoughts entering your head at the possibility that Natalie would disapprove and be disappointed at your reckless actions.

“This isn’t a prank, right? Like- you’re not fucking with me right now, are you?” Natalie asked cautiously.

“Of course, I wouldn’t lie about something like this, Nat! Why would I lie about being pregnant?” you snapped, voice louder than anticipated as you looked through your phone at your best friend to see her shocked expression.

“Oh, my god…” her voice faded away, “Do you- do you know who the father is?” She asked softly, knowing this wasn’t fun and games anymore and that it was serious.

“No!” you snapped again, too many emotions running through your body. “I don’t know who the Dad is, and that’s why I called you because…” you said more calmly this time.

“Because you want me to help you figure out who he is.” Natalie finished for you.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, not caring if your mascara had run from your tears that were now freely falling down your face.

“What? Why would I be mad at you, y/n?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows together and looking at you like you were crazy.

“Well, I made a mistake, and- I was scared you were gonna be mad that I was so reckless,” you explained.

“Babe,” Nat cooed, pouting, “I would never be mad at you because of something like this. Do I think that is going to teach you a lesson on how reckless you are? Yes,” she joked, earning a small giggle from you, “But I would never be mad over you getting pregnant,” she explained sincerely.

“Well, thanks, I guess. I just really need help to figure out who the Dad is, so I can break the news to him and crush all his dreams and future,” you said sarcastically.

“Hey, c’mon, who knows. Maybe he’ll be happy about it?” Natalie asked awkwardly, knowing that no one would be happy to find out that the hookup they had, led to a pregnancy.

“I doubt it.”

“So do you remember anything from when it happened?” she asked, now invested in the whole situation. You stood up from your seat on your couch, pacing around your living room, carrying your phone along with you.

“No, and that’s the issue,” you whined, mentally facepalming yourself because you couldn’t remember. “All I remember was that he had brown hair, and his name had something to do with being Dutch,” you explained, shrugging your shoulders as you set your phone down onto the island counter of your kitchen, propping it up against the paper towel holder.

“Dutch? That’s quite specific, don’t you think?” Nat asked you, you shrugged your shoulders again, frustrated and overwhelmed. You opened your silver fridge, pulling out a chilled water bottle, opening the plastic cap and taking a sip from it as you turned back around to look at your phone.

“I don’t know, is it?” you asked, raising your one eyebrow.

“In a sense it kind of is. But, seriously, you don’t remember anything, at all?” she asked you again, trying to pry you open to spill the truth, in case you were hiding something from her. But in all seriousness, you were as clueless as she was with the evidence of who your baby Daddy was.

“Nope, I don’t really remember anything before or after the sex. All I remember is the actual sex,” you pursed your lips, leaning your chin on your hand that was resting on the cold counter.

Natalie laughed, “I can’t believe we’re talking about your sex life right now.”

“Oh, come on now, it’s nothing compared to the other things we’ve talked about,” you reasoned, to which Nat agreed, nodding her head and bringing her lips to form a straight, thin line. “But wait, y/n, if you remember the things before and after, why can’t you just assume that it was the same guy?” she asked you, and to be fair, you hadn’t thought about that scenario.

“Well, I guess I didn’t think of that, but what if it wasn’t him?” you asked anxiously, fiddling with your fingers and the sleeve of your hoodie.

“I don’t see how it couldn’t be him, you were at his parents’ event, he had some correlation to them, and he relates to something to do with being Dutch?” Natalie lists out all of the contending factors to your answer. “Nikki and Dom Holland hosted a charity event for sick kids last month- that’s what you attended, right?” she asked, your screen previewing a blurred screen with the word “paused” shown on it.

“Mhm, yeah,” you hummed, biting your lip nervously.

“Then it’s got to be him, y/n. I think you should find a way to reach out to him,” she shrugged, her face appearing on your phone again. “If it isn’t him, then we continue our search for your mystery baby Daddy,” she nonchalantly spoke.

“Alright, well, I’ll find a way to reach him,” you smiled nervously, Natalie returning the smile with sympathetic eyes.

“Okay, keep me updated please.”

“Of course, you know I will.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The next few days were uneventful. Other than you casually cleaning up around your apartment, and doing anything else to keep yourself preoccupied and away from the thoughts that tried to consume your mind. Any time a single thought regarding the situation you were stuck in entered your mind, you shook your head and shifted your thinking to something else. Whether that was reading a book, or simply doing anything other than getting your mind wrapped around the thoughts and possibilities. It felt as if you were in quicksand; feeling as if you moved, or in your situation; thought about it, you’d sink and get trapped, ultimately trapping yourself in your thoughts which you knew would consume you and begin to eat away at you. You mentally cursed at yourself for falling into this habit so quickly, and coping with your emotions this way, but what else was there to do? You couldn’t tell people, simply because it was too early in the pregnancy to assure you that you were having the baby, and you still had to build up the courage to reach out to your baby Daddy. Hell, you needed to figure out what you were even going to say to him.

You knew you weren’t going to last any longer, and you had to tell him, or else it was going to continue to eat away at you like a parasite feeding off of an animal. You tried to distract yourself, going to your local farmer’s market, watching your favourite TV show, baking desserts, and of course working, which luckily you got to do from home, but nothing would completely have it leave your mind. God forbid it didn’t help that the pregnancy test that you had taken was sitting on your bathroom counter, staring you down and being a constant reminder that you needed to do something about your situation. Most days you sat on your couch, or laid in your bed, thinking about all of the possibilities, including all the good, and all the bad ones.

About a week and a day later, after the continuous daily schedule of you dragging yourself to get up and go on about your day, you looked in the mirror of your bathroom, taking in your appearance and seeing how exhausted you looked, you glanced down to the test that changed your life, and then to your stomach. You placed your hand on your stomach, closing your eyes and just thinking about what the future would hold for you.

You proceeded to get ready for your day, taking a shower and changing into a comfortable, but stylish outfit and making yourself a healthy breakfast. With a piece of avocado toast and a side of fresh raspberries that you had bought from the farmer’s market, you sit at your island counter and mindlessly scroll through your phone. Once done, you cleaned up your plate in the sink and made your way to your home office, completing your tasks for work that needed to be done. That had taken a good portion out of your day, and when you finished the last thing on your list, you shut down your computer and made your way to your living room to take a quick cat nap.

You had closed your eyes not even for a solid five minutes before you were awoken by the sudden urge to throw up. You gagged, hand coming to your mouth as you quickly shot up from the couch and made it as quickly as possible to the bathroom before you hurled into the toilet bowl, bringing up the remains of your breakfast, snack, and lunch from before. After getting what needed to be out of your system, and feeling the sweat start to bead on your forehead, you sat back onto your heels and placed your hands on your thighs. Catching your breath and wiping the tears that had fallen from your eyes with the back of your wrist, you carefully stood up and reached underneath the sink cabinet to grab the mouthwash to clean your mouth out. Cleaning up the remains in the toilet and putting away your mouthwash, you left the bathroom, went straight into your bedroom and laid under your covers, you pulled out your phone from your pocket, opened it and went straight to the call app, dialing Natalie’s number.

It only rang twice before she picked up, her cheering voice putting a small smile on your face as you heard, “Hey future Momma! What’s up?”

“Mm, don’t know if I like that name yet.” You stifled a laugh and pursed your lips. “I was just calling ‘cause I’m bored.” You trailed off, “and I just threw up.” You talked through your phone, hearing a faint gasp through the speaker.

“Seriously? Aweh, I’m sorry, y/n. Was it bad?” Natalie asked you, you shrugged, even though she couldn’t see you.

“Eh, it was just throwing up- no different than if I were to have a hangover,” you jested, earning a giggle from across the phone.

“For real though, you okay?” Natalie questioned, concern lacing through her voice.

You hummed, “Mhm, just tired now… and my boobs hurt,” you groaned as you had tried to turn onto your stomach, quickly leaning back into your position on your side, avoiding the dull ache.

“Yikes, symptoms starting to hit you now?” Natalie seethed, thinking about how uncomfortable it would feel.

“Yep,” you responded, giving a tight-lipped smile.

“Anyway, any updates on your baby Daddy?” she asked, making you cringe at the term.

“Not yet, but y’know, I was looking on Instagram today when I realized we had exchanged socials,” you said through a monotone voice, seeming unfazed at the discovery.

You heard Natalie gasp and almost scream at your words, “What?!” she asked you loudly. “y/n! This is great news! Now you know who it is and now you can tell him!” she exclaimed, happily.

You sighed, “Yeah, I guess.”

“What do you mean, ‘you guess’, y/n?” Natalie asked in confusion. You could practically hear her facial expression through the phone, rolling your eyes and smirking. “This is your chance to get it all figured out,” she explained.

“Yeah, but like- don’t you think it’s a bit weird to randomly text the guy who probably doesn’t remember me, and even weirder to tell him that I’m pregnant with his kid?” you asked, cringing at the thought of how wrong things could go.

“Well, why don’t you just text him and see if he remembers you, if he does- which I’m sure he will because that pus-” Natalie ranted, making you gasp at the end of what she was saying and cutting her off because you knew where the conversation was headed.

“Nat!” you said, raising your voice, your jaw dropping.

“Sorry, sorry,” she snickered, “you know what I was getting at though. Ask him to meet up somewhere, and go get a coffee or something and spill the beans,” Nat said.

“I mean- it’s not a shit plan,”

“My plans are never shit, what do you mean!”

You giggled, “I’m kidding. I’ll think about it though.”

“You better.” Natalie protested.

“Mhm, I will, I will,” you laughed, “anyway, I’m gonna go and make something to eat for dinner, and hopefully not throw it up this time. Wish me luck,” you said.

Natalie laughed, “Good luck, babe. And text him! Trust me, one little text won’t do any harm!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You had lost track of how long you had been staring at the screen of your phone. Specifically, at the message you had sent. Your hands were slightly shaking, heart pounding in your head, and your knee bouncing quickly up and down.

It had taken you longer than it should have to send a simple, ‘Hey, it’s y/n. I don’t know if you remember me from the one charity event we met at, but I just wanted to reach out to you to see how things were.’, but knowing what you had to tell him, you kept writing out things to say and deleting it because it wasn’t good enough. To be fair, no message would ever be good enough with what was to come.

You turned your phone off, not being able to handle the nerves that began to form in the pit of your stomach, you felt like throwing up- and that was the last thing you needed right now. You distract yourself by putting on a movie and grabbing a bag of ketchup chips that you had impulsively bought at the store, due to your cravings that sprung at you within the blink of an eye.

You were intently watching what was happening in the movie, beginning to distract yourself away from your nerves, when the familiar sound of your Instagram message notification went off, immediately pulling you away from the TV and straight towards your phone. Unlocking it and opening the app, you go to the messaging section, seeing the bolded text next to the person’s profile picture, that as of right now, dreaded to look at.

You inhaled, swallowing most of your nerves down, clicking on the message to read his response.

From @TomHolland96: Hey Love. I do remember you, and I was thinking about our encounter for the past while to be honest. Things are good, busy with work as usual, but I’m going on a business trip in the next few days, so I’ll try to sneak in a quick vacation.

To @TomHolland96: That’s funny, I was thinking about it too, and how we never really kept in touch. But anyway, that business trip sounds exciting, where are you headed?

You murmured to yourself as you read his message, scoffing at how you were given no choice other than to make plans before he left. Breaking you from your thoughts, you look down to see the new message from him.

From @TomHolland96: My bad, work gets busy- parents are always hounding me to do things, and such. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t stop thinking about our little situation we had ;)

From @TomHolland96: I’m headed back to London, where my family’s head office is for the company. I work out here as the representative, pretty much the head of the office if you asked anyone.

You rolled your eyes at his cockiness, vividly remembering the same cockiness and flirtiness when you had first met.

To @TomHolland96: Gosh, your neck must get sore from holding that head of yours because of how big it is. But anyway, are you free at all tomorrow? I was wondering if you wanted to catch up.

From @TomHolland96: I actually have quite a tight schedule tomorrow, but I’m free around lunch, so we can meet then. Where were you thinking of going?

To @TomHolland96: Okay, great! How about Glenrose park?

From @TomHolland96: Sounds good, see you then, gorgeous ;)

After liking his message, you had practically thrown your phone across the room, standing up off of the couch and shaking out all your nerves. You were nervous to say the least, you had been since the moment you had found out you were expecting, but you also had started to feel exhilarated now that you were getting together with Tom. You didn’t know what to expect, but as you got ready for bed, anticipating the day ahead of you, you reminisced over the events that led you to this exact moment. Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was all too good to be true.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The next morning, you were up before your alarm, focused on what was on the agenda for the day. You showered, got ready and dressed in a pair of light washed jeans with a beige knitted sweater. Putting in your favourite earrings, clipping in your favourite necklace that was gifted to you from your grandmother, and you slide on your last pieces of jewelry, exiting your bedroom to begin putting together your breakfast.

Time had been moving faster than you would have preferred, and it was soon approaching noon, meaning that you would have to face Tom for the first time since your first encounter with each other. You made sure you had all of your belongings, including your purse, phone, and keys, and made your way down to your building’s underground parking lot. You pulled your coat closer to your body as you entered the cool parkade, strutting along to your parked vehicle. You quickly unlocked the doors and slid in, immediately turning it on and blasting the heat to keep you warm. Although it was still considered summer, the brisk September weather was starting to roll in, meaning fuzzy socks and hot chocolate, carving pumpkins and raking leaves.

Leaving early to give yourself enough time to pick up an order from the local cafe, for Tom and you, you hummed along to the quiet music that played through the speakers of your vehicle. Traffic was light, since most people were at work or in school, leaving you ahead of your schedule.

You parallel parked your vehicle outside the cafe that was located on the corner of the street. You grabbed what you needed from the passenger seat, turning off your car and mindfully stepping out of your vehicle. Entering the familiar spot, you’re immediately welcomed with the warm scent of chai and cinnamon, with a mix of coffee brewing and freshly baked goods. You were a regular at the cafe, always stopping before work in the mornings, as well as sometimes sitting down to work in the seating area, or to catch up with friends after a long awaited time.

You had ordered a pumpkin spiced steamer, avoiding coffee as a reminder of why you were out today and even coming to the cafe. You also had ordered a lemon loaf as a snack to tide you over for your venture out.

The drive from the cafe to Glenrose was just under fifteen minutes, theoretically meaning you’d arrive on time, so without wasting a moment, you thanked the employee that served you your order, and left for your vehicle, thickly swallowing back the nerves that were quickly creeped into your veins.

As expected, it didn’t take nearly as long as you would’ve hoped it had to get to the park. You parked in the marked off area for visitors, turning off your vehicle as you sat there, fiddling with your fingers, trying to gather yourself before facing the man you dreaded to see, the one who had been equally responsible for the situation you were in. You let out a quick breath, shaking your hands and opening your door, pulling your purse and warm drink with you, carefully getting out. As you stood straight, you felt the brisk breeze against your cheek, feeling a shiver run down your spine, making you shiver into your coat.

You walked from the parking lot, to the actual park, following the path to the seating area, keeping a careful eye out in case you spotted the familiar face you were here to see. You checked your phone to see the time, reading it was a few minutes past noon, meaning he could be here any minute. You stood under the large oak tree in the middle of the park, looking down at your feet as you moved your leg around to rustle the orange and brown leaves that had fallen off the tree as a sign of the seasons changing.

“You must be y/n, if I remember correctly,” you heard from behind you, making you turn around quickly in surprise to see the one and only, standing opposite you, dressed in a beige and white striped shirt, along with black dress pants and shoes. He wore an expensive rolex on his wrist, with his brown locks slicked back into a professional look, a few strands falling loose and onto his forehead.

You opened your mouth in shock, startled from his approach, but quickly turned your open mouth to a smile, “Yeah! Hey, it’s so nice to see you,” you nervously laughed. You reached out to shake his hand as he went in to give you a hug, both of you now awkwardly trying to agree on a way to greet each other, eventually agreeing to just hug each other. As he stiffly brought his arms around you, you were welcomed to his musky, but sweet scent, filling your senses, leaving you a bit distraught, being reminded of why you were here and what you were eventually going to tell him. You pulled away after a short moment, going to sit at the wooden table and chairs under the tree.

“So, how are things? It’s been a while since we last saw each other,” you spoke, taking a sip of your drink.

Tom nodded as you talked, taking a sip of his own coffee that he brought with him, “I’m good, yeah, quite good- just busy with work, y’know. A lot of meetings and projects to work on.”

“Oh, okay, I see. What do you do again?” you asked, trying your best to remember if he had previously told you his profession.

“I’m actually one of the executives of the branch here for my parents’ company. They’re based at home in England, and I work out here with some mates and my brother,” he explained, and you nodded your head, following along, honestly intrigued that he had such a professional job at such a young age. “What about you?” he asked, looking back into your eyes.

You cleared your throat, “I’m the director of public relations at a company that does something similar to what yours does,” you laughed at the connection, “hence why I was at the event your company held, and we… you know…” you trailed off, hiding your face into your hand as you felt heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment.

Tom chuckled to himself, rubbing at the nape of his neck. “Hey, we don’t have to make that seem like a bad thing,” he reasoned, “what we had- and may possibly still have- was pretty amazing. I felt like I knew you as if I had known you my entire life, after what- two hours? If that’s not the universe telling me something, I don’t know what it is,” he said, making you giggle.

“Is that you trying to subtly flirt with me?” you smirked, breaking a bright smile. As you looked at Tom you noticed how his cheeks were tinted a light shade of pink, and how his eyes would squink and wrinkles would appear whenever he smiled or laughed.

You continued for the next half an hour, soberly and properly getting to know each other. Joking with each other, and slightly flirting with each other throughout the conversation.

As you had just stopped uncontrollably laughing at something Tom had said, you see a young woman walking down the path with a stroller, reminding you of your sole purpose for why you were here with Tom currently. You needed to cut to the chase, and get on with what you were eventually going to say, rather than procrastinating. Sitting up straight, your mood switching from a comfortable state to anxious and on edge within a second.

You cleared your throat, restlessly rubbing your clammy hands together, “Hey, uh, there’s actually something I wanted to tell you,” you said hesitantly, adjusting yourself in your seat.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. What’s up,” Tom said happily, making you mentally scoff in your head at how hard this was going to be for you. Tom’s life was perfect from all that you had learned in the short time this afternoon. But he was stressed and busy with work, and that’s what scared you the most. You were about to throw a life-changing sentence at him, not knowing how he was going to respond to it.

You took a slow and shaky breath, closing your eyes for a moment to make sure you weren’t going to cry in a public place.

“What I’m about to tell you, Tom? Is… scary. Truth be told, I have no idea how you’re gonna take this- and I really dread this, and I wish it didn’t have to be like this, but a part of me does, and it’s giving me hope, but honestly? I’m really scared,” you rambled.

Tom sat across from you in pure confusion. With his eyebrows furrowed together, his head slightly tilting to the side. “Darling, what do you mean? You’re confusing me a bit.”

“I’m pregnant,” you let out randomly. Tom’s head cocks backwards in shock, his eyebrows raising and eyes widening at the studden, and a shocking statement.

“Wow, y/n, that’s great to hear!” Tom responded slowly, interlacing his own fingers together and resting his forearms on the table in front of him. “Kinda bold since we, I guess- just properly met,” he nervously chuckled, not quite sure why you would tell him such a personal situation.

“No, Tom, I’m pregnant,” you reiterated, emphasizing on the word ‘pregnant’ while locking eyes with Tom. You tilt your head down and give him a knowing look, biting the inside of your cheek.

Tom inhaled, confused at how quickly your mood and expression had changed. He looked to the side and out to the park, watching people walk and play with their dogs and elderly couples strolling along. Exhaling through blown up cheeks before looking back at you, “So you’ve said, y/n, really, congrats,” Tom said.

“Are you just not hearing what I’m saying?” you asked, growing annoyed that it wasn’t clicking for him. Your heart was racing, you could hear it in your ears, and feel it all throughout your body. Your stomach had practically fallen to the core of the earth, and butterflies filled the emptiness- but not the good ones. You felt like throwing up, and if you tried hard enough, you probably would be able to. But, all you could focus on was Tom not putting the pieces together. You stared at him, watching his confused features sit there, all confused and dazed.

His eyebrows furrowed together, “Yes, I am, and what else do you want me to say, y/n?” Tom asked more frustratedly, his voice raised, his arms thrown up in defeat.

“You don’t understand, Tom- you’re not hearing this right, I’m. Pregnant,” you emphasized, in a voice that sounded like you were “dumbing” your words down for him to understand as your tongue poked the inside of your mouth in annoyance.

“You’ve said that like a million times, love, I get it. You’re pregnan-” he argued, but before he had the chance to finish his sentence, you cut him off,

“It’s yours, okay? Happy now? That’s what I meant when I reiterated the words, I’m pregnant, Tom. It’s yours,” you blurted, tears immediately welling in your eyes, you bite the inside of your lip as you watch Tom’s reaction unfold in front of you.

Tom exhaled a nervous and shocked breath, “Wow, I- I don’t know what to say… How long have you known?” he asked, showing a more sympathetic look through his eyes when meeting yours.

“About two or three weeks now- I would’ve told you sooner, trust me, but I needed to find out who the Father was, and I needed to gather myself- I didn’t expect to get pregnant-” you rambled, the same mix of emotions hitting you all at the same time.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I get it,” Tom assured you, reaching his hand down to rest on top of yours and lightly hold onto your hand, rubbing your soft skin with his thumb. “Just take a few breaths to gather yourself, you’re getting yourself worked up, and your gorgeous self doesn’t need to cry,” he subtly flirted, making small butterflies erupt in your stomach.

You looked down to your lap and back up, a single tear falling down your face, “S0 you’re not mad?” you questioned, eyebrows turning downwards as you frowned, wiping away the tear that wet your skin.

“Why would I be mad, y/n?” Tom asked you.

“Well- I just threw this on you out of the blue, probably completely changing your life forever,” you jested sarcastically.

“y/n, it happens, it’s not the end of the world. Yeah, it’s going to change a lot of things- but nothing’s wrong with that, okay? It’s not your alone’s fault- it never will be, I mean- it takes two people to get pregnant,” he jested, earning a small giggle from you, “and even if you don’t believe that everything will be okay right now, I’ll make sure to tell you,” he told you.

“Okay, well, thanks. I’m just glad you’re not mad,” you smiled weakly. “I really thought I was about to get to know you, and then go and fuck up your life,” you sadly giggled.

He let out a breath, “Yeah, yeah, of course. I’m obviously going to have to tell my parents about it, and they’re probably not going to take it as well as me, but y/n,” he said more seriously, swallowing thickly and looking deeply into your eyes, “no matter what, I promise you things will be okay.”

You nodded your head quickly, squeezing Tom’s hand that was still holding yours. You both stood up out of your seats, and grabbed your empty cups, tossing them in the nearest garbage disposal.

“y/n?” Tom called out from behind you, making you turn around from where you were standing. He walks up to you and reaches for your hand, linking his fingers with yours. “I promise you.”

“Promise me what?” you asked, looking at him and tilting your head to the side.

“Things will be okay,” he said as he pulled you into a hug. His free hand reaches up to hold the back of your head against his chest before he places a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Yes, and please let me know what your parents say, okay? Text me,” you tell him, nodding your head in reassurance.

“I’ll call you,” he said, taking you by surprise.

“But you don’t have my numbe- oh.” You gave him a straight lipped look, rolling your eyes at how he sneakily gave himself the opportunity to get your number. You exchange contact information, and Tom walks you to your vehicle, parked in the lot and you bid your goodbyes. Tom blows you a kiss and you smile sadly.

Although you felt reassured and happy that Tom took it easy, something about the hesitancy in his voice when bringing up his parents and telling them, made you feel like it all seemed bittersweet.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“Mum? Dad? Can you come sit for a minute? There’s something I need to talk to you both about,” Tom called out to his parents, his heart beating in his ears, hands growing a bit sweaty.

“Coming, darling,” his Mum, Nikki called back, walking through the archway and wiping her flour-covered hands on her black apron, leaving visible prints on the fabric. Tom sat in the one armchair in the living room of his family’s home. His Mother follows him in, sitting opposite of him. Soon after his Dad walks in with a wine glass in hand. He sits down next to his wife, placing the glass full of red wine on the coaster in front of him.

“What’s up, son?” his Dad asked, crossing his one leg over the other. Tom rubs his hands together nervously, puffing out a breath before sitting up straight in his seat.

“So, I met up with a girl today at my lunch break,” he started, his parents nodding along, confused at what their son was trying to get at, “and we had actually met at your event last month- and um, shit this is so embarrassing, but we- we hooked up,” he said, looking between his Mother and Father.

“What are you trying to get at, sweetie?” his Mum asked him, making Tom bite his lip anxiously.

“The girl- she’s… pregnant,” he let out quickly, wanting to rip the bandaid off quickly, knowing the reaction they were going to have.

“What?” his Dad almost shouted, standing up from the cushion he was sat on, walking over to where Tom was sitting.

“We were drunk, and got carried away, and she reached out to me today to tell me,” he explained, resting his forehead in his palm, feeling ashamed of his actions, countering his earlier reaction with you at the park earlier.

“How could you, Thomas!” his Dad continued to shout. His Mother still sat back on the couch, staring off into the ground, trying to process what her son had just told her.

“It’s not like we planned it, Dad,” he argued, making his Father shake his head.

“But you still went around and got with some girl you don’t even know-” his Father continued.

“We got to properly know each other today, Dad! God, are you not listening to me?” Tom said, his frustration growing by the second. He was now standing as well, mirroring his Father who stood across from him.

“Why would you go out and ruin what you had! You had a good life, Thomas, and now all of that’s flushed down the drain,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. There was silence in the room, but the air was thick, filled with tension and unease. “Go to your room,” his Father spoke bitterly.

“You’re treating me like I’m some child, Dad. I’ve got this figured out, and I plan on figuring it out as time goes on!” Tom yelled, voice shaky. He never got worked up, wanting to present the tough facade to everyone he knew, but deep down, he hated yelling, and arguing with people.

“Because you’re acting like one. Now go, I don’t want to talk anymore.” He said sternly, making shoulders drop, slumping over his body. This attitude brought back the painful memories of when he disappointed his Father as a kid, and teenager, always trying to do his best to make his Father happy, but seemingly never being good enough.

His Father began to walk away before stopping in his tracks and turning back around one last time, pointing his finger, “I’m disappointed in you, Tom. You’re not going to involve yourself with that girl. You can’t jeopardize your career and life by getting a girl, who you don’t even know, pregnant,” he said, making Tom’s head shoot up from looking at his feet.

“What?” he asked in disbelief, eyes beginning to fill with tears.

“You heard me.”

“Dad- you can’t- I can’t do that to her,” he protested.

“I don’t care, son. You’re going to figure out whatever legal agreements need to be made, but I don’t need you distracted from work over some stupid slip up.”

“No.” Tom shook his head, tears now beginning to fall from his eyes and down his face. He glanced over to his Mother who was still sitting on the couch, watching the argument unfold in front of her. “I’m not doing that to the innocent girl, whether you like it or not.”

“If that’s the choice you want to make, then your project’s over,” his Father said furiously, referring to the biggest project of Tom’s job that he had been planning for the past year. Tom felt a drop in his stomach, he felt sick. He couldn’t believe the punishments being given to him by his Father, all because he told him that he got you pregnant.

“It’s your choice, Tom. You choose what you want. It’s your life after all,” he said sharply. Leaving the room, off to who knows where, leaving Tom to stand in the living room, not knowing what to do with himself. His Mother stood from her seat, walking over to her son and bringing her hand up to his cheek, caressing his soft, but wet skin.

“I really hope you make the right decision, my love,” Looking at Tom with sad eyes and a slight frown on her face.

That was all that she had said after Tom broke the news. As she left the room, most likely heading to bed or following his Father to where he went, Tom fell back into the chair, silently crying into his hands.

This couldn’t have possibly gone any worse than it had, and Tom didn’t know what he was going to do, or how he was going to tell you what happened. He was lost, he thought he had planned it all out, but truth be told, it was far from it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

series masterlist | series taglist | general taglist

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x fem!reader #tom holland x pregnant!reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland oneshot #tom holland oneshots #tom holland series #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #dad!tom au #richkid!tom au

412 notes · View notes

greenorangevioletgrass · 3 years ago

Text

it will come back (richkid!haz + tom x reader)

"I know who I am when I'm alone; I'm something else when I see you. You don't understand, you should never know how easy you are to need." - Hozier, It Will Come Back

AU Masterlist | Main Masterlist

summary: Harrison insists Y/N is a great shag and nothing more. Tom joins in on the fun and proves him right and wrong at the same time.

pairing: richkid!haz x actor!tom x reader

word count: 4,902

notes: this is.... just a pure mess of filth. this is set before angel of small death, but can be read as a standalone. big thanks to @tommysparker and @shipping-not-sailing for enduring all the pestering and giving me mad ideas and have you seen @uglypastels' AMAZING FANART (open it for a surprise)??? y'all are amazing ilysm <3

warnings: enemies to lovers, past & present fwb dynamics, language, drinking, jealousy, so much yearning holy shit, SMUT (threesome (mmf), oral (m&f receiving), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, anal fingering, rimming, anal sex, protected sex, dirty talk, choking, kiiind of hate sex? it's filthy pls read at your own discretion)

***

Paris, February 2019.

If there's one thing Harrison loves more than Fashion Week, it's the Fashion Week after-parties. After hordes and hordes of luxury pieces to wear, there’s plenty of lavish extravaganza to be had. Right now, he’s treading among marble sculptures in some chateau just outside of Paris, clad in a masterfully crafted suit, mingling with models, fashionistas, and fellow jetsetters of the world.

Except for one.

"Ugh, there she is." he scoffs into his champagne flute.

Next to him, Tom scans around the room. “Who?”

He follows Harrison’s gaze to the woman next to the statue of Persephone eating her pomegranate. She wouldn’t look so out of place next to these sculptures if it weren’t for the colors she’s rocking. Her lips glow red like she’s the one who took a bite of the fruit. The bubbles in her champagne are like specks of gold, and the sequins are specks of stars in her indigo blue dress.

“Ah. The love of your life.” Tom side-eyes him cheekily.

“Fuck off. No, she’s not!” Harrison retorts way too quick and aggressive. Then, he continues, without taking his eyes off of her, “I can’t even stand her. That girl’s a bitch and a half.”

Tom only laughs. "You say that now…”

Harrison lightly shoves him in the arm. "The hell does that mean?”

“Oh, please. I know you guys are fucking around.”

“What?” Harrison tries to play it cool, but he knows there’s no coming back from that. He’s been made.

Tom leans against the bar, now rocking a smug ‘I-told-you-so’ smirk. “You sneak away and she sneaks away and then you guys always come back a little flushed… it’s not that hard to figure out, bro.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean I like her. I mean, look at her!” Harrison insists. “With her snooty voice and that fake laugh and her stupid dress…”

Tom shakes his head. "If you hate her so much, why do you keep coming back to her?"

"Honestly?" He takes a deep breath, and for the first time throughout this conversation, something remotely truthful comes out. "She's one hell of a shag."

"Huh..."

Tom goes quiet. Unlike his best friend, he can objectively say that there’s nothing wrong with her voice. She laughs, her whole face lit up, like she’s genuinely having fun, and her dress looks fine on her.

Scratch that.

Her dress looks amazing on her. The tulle is sheer and light around her thighs, making it look like it magically floats around her. But the corset bodice accentuates her curves so well that Tom finds himself somewhat envious of the sequins swirling patterns all over her body.

Harrison turns to see him still staring at her, deep in thought, and he grows suspicious. "What." It sounds more like a demand for explanation than a question.

“That’s it? Great shag, nothing more?” Tom asks, as if for confirmation.

Harrison shrugs.

“So you don’t mind if I chat her up?”

“Yeah,” he answers immediately, far too cool, too fast for him to catch himself. In the span of three seconds, Harrison manages to go experience the shock, the panic, the confusion.

The regret.

But he’s three seconds too late, and she's already walking over to the bar where they are now, and he can hear Tom stepping up and greeting her in his effortless charm.

"Y/N! Fancy seeing you here!" Tom opens up his arms and she gladly accepts the hug, kissing him on both cheeks.

"I could say the same about you, Spider-Man." she pats him on the chest, finger lingering just a moment too long on his chest. “I almost didn't recognize you for a sec. You look great!"

He chuckles bashfully. He seems to trade in his usual preppy golf chic style with a more ‘bad boy’ look, with his buzzcut and leather jacket over a white t-shirt. "Oh, thanks. It's for Cherry. I just came back from Morocco and then this div right here…" he elbows Harrison, "...told me he's walking the runway! So of course I gotta go."

"I saw. Good job on not tripping," she notes, finally flashing her signature fake smile at Harrison.

He's not sure whether he's more annoyed at her backhanded compliment or the fact that it took her this long to even acknowledge him. He knows she was there at the show. She sat right on the front row, eyeing him up and down with every outfit he came out in.

"Thanks. I'm sure you were really looking forward to that, weren't you, darling?" he smiles back pointedly at her.

"Only thing I came here for," Y/N retorts, quick as lightning. "Actually, I'm hosting this after-party hoping to celebrate that too, but alas…"

"You did this?" Tom pipes up, motioning at the hall around them.

"Mm-hm. I mean, regular clubs are so passé, don’t you think?"

"That's so true. And may I say, this is quite impressive. It’s very… you." Tom's eyebrows rise, playing up his puppy dog eyes as he marvels at the place.

Harrison sees right through his bullshit moves and her bullshit taste, so he simply dismisses, "Eh, it's alright," staring down his empty glass, signaling the bartender for another drink.

"Do you wanna dance?" Tom shifts the conversation with such ease, as if there isn’t a massive elephant in the room-- if said elephant were his best friend cockblocking them.

And to make things worse (or better, depends on who sees it), she matches his frequency, too. "I'd love to. Any reason to get away from Debby Downer here."

Harrison manages a half-hearted, condescending sneer as they make their way to the dance floor, but he knows he's losing. He lets his best friend flirt with his archenemy, and of course she wouldn't miss the opportunity to land a low blow. Her dark eyes flash viciously in the dim light as she shoots him a death glare from across the room.

And he tries to prove her wrong. He tries to mingle with his other friends and acquaintances, but somehow, among a sea of guests, he can always spot Tom and Y/N on the dance floor. Right now, the shorn-haired boy has one hand on hers and the other on her hip. He spins her and dips her, probably saying something swoon-worthy as she hikes up her leg on his waist.

Giggling and getting way too close for Harrison's liking.

And no. He doesn’t have an actual preference for how close Y/N can get with Tom or how much she giggles over his jokes.

Or so he tries to convince himself.

"Mate," Tom lightly slaps his arm, snapping him out of his reverie, "Y/N's showing me around the house. Is that alright?"

"Um, yeah. Why are you asking for my permission?" he laughs it off like it's the most ridiculous question ever-- and in hindsight, it is. He has absolutely no say in who his friend or his enemy fucks.

Tom shrugs. "I don’t know. I mean, you're the one who has history with her--"

"It's really no big deal, Tom. I don't care," he cuts off, more exasperated than anything else.

"...Right. I'll text you later, then?" he pats Harrison's arm once again, this time as a goodbye.

Y/N waits for him by the entrance, and that little shit still has the gall to blow him a kiss before she takes Tom's arm and disappears into the hallway.

Some of his model friends call him out to join them, and as he downs the rest of his whiskey, Harrison comes down to the dance floor to drown in the blaring music and dancing bodies. The question pounds his head: why did he let Tom go for it? Why is he disappointed that Y/N actually plays along? Why is he so bummed about this all?

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he’s almost relieved from its distraction.

Well. Until he reads the message.

'Master suite. 2nd floor, East Wing. Last door on the left. Stop sulking and get your shit together asap, or Tom and I will start without you ;)'

It's much easier to simply pull one of these girls who are already grinding all over him and vying for his attention. He could make eyes at any of them and they’d be happy to get cozy with him for the rest of the night. No questions asked. But he hates the idea of leaving these assholes alone more than he craves being alone. He’d lost out twice already tonight-- first to Tom, and then to Y/N for having the last word. The winning strike. He’s not gonna let her win again.

So he sets off. Across the marble floor tiles and past the Greco-Roman statues, up the winding stairs towards the east wing. It's not until he walks in that he considers the possibility of this invitation being nothing but a prank. A sick joke to shit on his miserable evening even more.

"Ugh, I hate you guys so fucking much," Harrison grumbles, fully prepared to walk back out on Tom and Y/N, making out on the gaudy king-sized bed.

But with that, she pulls away from Tom. She walks over to Harrison, hips swaying under her dress. "Took you long enough."

"Thought you weren't gonna start without me, darling." He cups her chin with his thumb and forefinger.

"Thought you were gonna lose the attitude, Harrison," she chucks his little quip back at him. But then, as quick as pushes his hand away, she pulls him in, "C'mere."

It sounds like a dirty trick, but in it, Harrison finds relief. His lips find their way to hers. Hot and warm and biting and familiar. As it should be.

Finally.

"Fuck…" Tom quietly cusses from the bed, slipping out of it to not miss the action.

Harrison even forgot that he was there for a moment-- and for a moment, he wanted to forget. He's not ready to share her just yet-- especially when said friend so graciously helps himself to unzipping Y/N's dress and peeling it off of her body. So he shoves Tom away from her-- playfully, although with a sliver of truth behind the possessive gesture.

But Tom simply catches it as friendly banter, and he comes up behind the boy and kisses his neck instead. "Just like the good old days, eh, mate?" His hands roam all over his chest, his fingers warm against his sheer lace shirt.

"Wait, you guys have done this before?" Y/N asks, curious at the two boys before her.

"We went to an all-boys boarding school…" Tom shrugs and rests his chin on Harrison's shoulder.

"We've experimented," Harrison finishes.

"Ooh, naughty," she coos, closing the gap to Tom's mouth, this time into a searing kiss. But her hand strokes the back of Harrison's head gently, almost like willing him to stay.

And wrapped up in lust and loathing sounds like enough incentive to do that.

Y/N finally breaks the kiss with Tom to resume her kiss with Harrison. He wonders if she's comparing them in her mind; see who she likes better.

And he hates how much he wants it to be him.

"Well…" she smiles slyly like she could read his mind. "Why don't you boys show me how you do it, hmm?"

It flips a switch in Harrison’s head and activates his competitive side. He pushes Tom into bed, straddles his lap and slips off his suit jacket. He drops it on the floor, revealing the black lace shirt underneath, hugging his biceps and clinging onto his chiseled body like second skin.

Tom whistles low. "You sure know how to dress up, don't ya?"

Meanwhile, Harrison peels off the leather jacket and white t-shirt off of him. "You know how to dress down."

"That's very true," he chuckles, unbuckling his friend's belt and pauses when he pushes down his pants.

The lace shirt, sheer and swirling patterns on his chest, connects to the signature Versace black-and-gold waistband, and an equally sheer and fitting pair of tights, with lace edges like garters.

It's not just a shirt. It's a fucking lingerie.

Y/N couldn't contain her gasp. Nor could she resist joining them and feeling the fabric on his thigh-- a texture she's never felt on him before, and she wishes she had sooner. "Is this for me?"

Harrison scoffs. "You wish, darling."

She looks over his shoulder-- he couldn't see it, but he can feel her knowing smile to Tom. "That means yes," she explains matter-of-factly.

"There's no shame in that, mate. Besides, for what it's worth…" Tom runs his hand all over his lace-clad chest, down the silk button line, "You look damn good in it."

The buttons come undone one by one. The lace scratches against his skin, soothed by kisses from two mouths; one along his neck, the other down his spine. The hand over his hard-on is.. firmer, stranger, but he feels her curves pressed against his back. Soft. Familiar. Inviting.

Soon enough, he lies naked on his back with both Tom and Y/N between his legs. Their tongues dance along his veiny shaft, retracing the lace patterns on his discarded lingerie until they meet right at the tip. They make out right over his cock, clashing and colliding with the pink, leaking head. It floods his senses like no other.

"Um… hello?" Harrison breaks the silence in the room-- and the kiss.

"Jesus Christ, you just can't stand not being the center of attention, can you? Gosh…" she scoffs, slapping his inner thigh lightly.

"Are you always this hard on him?" Tom turns toward her, bemused.

She only stares at him as if saying, duh.

And he stares back at her. "That's hot."

Harrison partly considers smacking his head, but Tom follows it up with taking his entire length in his mouth. Dirty smirk slobbering and swallowing him whole. And just like that, all is forgiven. He doesn't remember Tom being this bold about sucking dick in boarding school, but to be fair, it has been forever since then.

His mind is hazy, and all he could think of is the tension in his core. At this point, he couldn't care less who makes him cum, so long as he does. And just as he gets on edge, in every sense of the word, her hand grips the base of his cock and follows the rhythm of Tom's mouth. Erratic. He only vaguely registers the moans muffled into a kiss as he explodes all over his abs.

"School must've been fun for you guys, huh?" Y/N smirks as she laps up his white hot release all the way to his chiseled chest, making her way next to him.

He really should've been very pissed at her. For raining on his parade. For mocking him and putting him in place in front of Tom. For being more of a bitch than usual, if that's even possible.

But she lays her head next to him and he can see the shimmery makeup on her face and the barely visible trace of lipgloss, and he just… kisses her. Brings his hand between her legs, slipping underneath her panties.

Soaked.

Harrison hums knowingly, "You're having fun, too, it seems," circling his middle finger around her clit.

"Oh, definitely." Her eyes close and breath hitches when his finger enters her-- nearly too calm, too gentle, given everything that's happened.

Well. Up until he hears the clink of a belt buckle dropping to the floor and the shift of weight in the bed as Tom jumps back in sans clothing.

He settles between Y/N's legs and nuzzles Harrison's hand, sucking his slick, salty fingers clean off of her arousal. "Fuck, you taste so good, too."

“I know,” she chuckles, low and lazy and cocky as fuck, not even hiding how attracted she is to this fucking guy.

“May I?” he gazes up at her, fingers hooked into the waistband of her lace panties.

“Fuck yeah.”

Harrison has never wanted to kiss the smug look on her face so bad. He tries to contain her moans as Tom licks up her folds and makes his way to her clit. Distracting her by undoing her bra and putting her pebbled nipple in his mouth, one after the other, never leaving one unattended with his finger pulling and pinching. But the more he tries, the more he finds himself… disappearing from the picture. Her nails scratch into his shorn hair as she gets further and further lost in her bliss.

“Tommy…” she sighs, her back arches as her orgasm draws near.

“Mm?” he barely responds. His eyes are still shut and his mouth buried in her pussy.

She cradles the back of his head, fingernails digging into her scalp. “Make me cum.”

That makes him look up, his nose glistening from her wetness. He flashes his signature boyish smile and dives right back to it.

There’s something about Tom that Y/N is wildly drawn into. He's cheeky and playful and affable in a way that Harrison… isn't. And as much as it pisses him off to see how much she's enjoying this, he understands perfectly why she does.

She grabs his hair, though, as if beckoning him over.

And like a fucking loser, he unlatches himself from her breast and meets her gaze. "Yes, darling?"

She kisses him through her high, messy and broken with moans, and for a second, he thinks maybe whatever they have between them means something. Somehow.

“Harrison…” she calls out his name, sweet and delirious like she's about to say something nice for once. “... I don’t think you’re my favorite anymore.”

She giggles mischievously, playfully, but Harrison just sees red. Even as she bites his lower lip to reel him back in, all he can focus is her hand on Tom’s face. How she hisses when he nips at her hip. How hard she came apart under him. And all his walls build back up.

“Yeah, well. You were never my favorite, so...” he untangles himself from her and sits up, “All’s fair in love and war, right?”

“Harrison--” she reaches out for him when she notices the air thickens between them, but he’s already left the bed.

Tom props himself up on his elbows and watches Harrison disappear into the bathroom. "Mate?"

Five seconds has never felt so long as Y/N faces the possibility that she might have pushed him too far. And when he does return, she fully expects him to curse her (and maybe Tom, but definitely her) out and storm off.

But he kneels behind Tom, seizing him from behind. His kisses are sharp and biting down his back. It's the kind that stings the swell of his ass when he gets there.

He grins back at Harrison. “You guys are so chaotic. Is this what you get up to when-- shit!”

Y/N watches his entire face drop in a blind surge of ecstasy. His jaw goes lax and lets out a lazy moan as Harrison works his tongue around his taut ring of muscles. Teasing. Taming. Taking his time to work the so-called golden boy open.

“I honestly came here to fuck Y/N, but…” Tom admits.

She responds with a light swat to his shoulder. “How presumptuous of you.”

“Did I presume correctly, though?”

“Well…” she rolls her eyes and bites back a smile, which is already an answer in and of itself.

“So go on then. Fuck her,” Harrison comes back up and goads him, and she’s not sure whether he means it as an encouragement for him or an insult against her. Or both.

“You sure you’re okay with that, mate?” Tom turns his head towards him, his tone light but his eyes narrow in concern.

He sticks the tip of his finger into Tom’s ass, just enough to make his arms give, so he can get a better look at the girl laying before them. “I told you, who she fucks is none of my business. Right, darling?”

“I know, but-- fuck me…” he groans, gripping her waist tighter for support.

“While you fuck her? You sure you can handle it?” Harrison simpers devilishly.

Tom tuts. “Don’t underestimate me, bro.”

Harrison finds Y/N’s gaze boring a hole into him, firm and unwavering, like she’s trying to read him. Or make a decision. Whatever he’s doing, he’s not doing it to win her anymore and she’s not sure what to make of it.

“Top drawer, right bedstand,” she tells Harrison, both as an instruction and a sign of consent.

He promptly sets off to the bedstand, convincing himself that he’s not doing this for her with every step. He tosses a condom Tom’s way, keeping one for himself, and the latter wastes no time unwrapping it and rolling it onto his curving cock.

“Hurry up, or Tom and I’ll get started without you…” Y/N teases in a sing-songy tune, but her eyes watch him like a hawk as she gauges his reaction.

He’s calm this time. “By all means, start without me,” he replies nonchalantly as he rummages through the drawer, still looking for that lube.

“Alright then. Let’s see if that cock’s as good as your mouth,” she pulls him in with her legs around his waist.

He leans in to kiss her as he lines himself up against her opening. “Looking forward to proving it to you, darling.”

Harrison finds the lube and turns to them just in time to see them moan in pleasure, and he tries not to break the bottle in his hand. He really shouldn’t be so wound up by Tom calling her darling. It’s an awfully common term of endearment, and he's not the only one who can use it on her. Tom probably didn't mean anything by it.

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna fuck me eventually?” Tom smoothly calls him out.

For the first time since the three of them stumbled into bed, Harrison is glad that Tom is there and seems to genuinely want him. Y/N’s game has gotten so tangled up that he’s not even sure if she still wants him there. Not really. So he’s gonna make the most of it where he's wanted.

“I thought you would’ve learned a little patience since we last… experimented,” Harrison whispers in his ear, biting at his earlobe.

“Guess I haven’t.” Tom grinds his ass back into Harrison’s cock, finding a new rhythm that makes Y/N moan.

She lets out a breathy laugh. “You’re cute.”

“Why, thank you. I--” his words are cut off with the feel of cold gel on his sensitive spot. “I try to be--”

Harrison interrupts him with his cock this time, entering him in one swift thrust. He welcomes the haze that clouds his mind as Tom locks in on him, so tight and delicious around him. It allows him to forget this whole mess he's lying in.

Meanwhile, Y/N revels in how real everything feels. Tom's dick flexes inside her, pulsing and still all at once. He's thicker than Harrison-- his whole body is. His waist is slightly wider, and his hard chest presses a more solid weight on top of her. Even more so that there's Harrison and the whole weight of his ego piling up atop him…

"You alright?" Harrison checks in with Tom as the latter still lies flopped on Y/N's chest.

"Mm, very," he murmurs into her skin, kissing her lazily across her chest..

She must've seen how cock-drunk he is because the next thing she does is to cup his face and take a good look at him. "Hey… look at me. Are you good to keep going?"

"I am, I am. It's just been a while since I've last done this, Y/N. Chill out," he rambles on, kissing her for reassurance.

"I want you to not cum before I do," she instructs-- slowly, soothingly, as she scratches the back of his head. "Can you do that for me?"

Tom simply hums, so she clenches around his cock to snap him out of it. "Okay! Okay. I won't, baby, I promise."

She grins and finally kisses him back, then. "Good boy."

"You never asked me so nicely," Harrison notes as he starts to move at an unhurried pace. There's no jealousy or resentment in his words… that he intends to.

"You never play nice with me, so…" Y/N shrugs, thrusting up to meet Tom's frantic hips.

"Yeah, I'll show you nice." Harrison laughs, almost coldly so, and starts fucking Tom deeper. Harder.

It makes her head spin. Tom's completely enshrouding her with his biceps and sloppy kisses all over her neck. But she can't help but feel like Harrison's the one fucking her. His mouth is on Tom's shoulder, sucking a hickey like there's no tomorrow, but he keeps his eyes on her. Keeping his pace deliberate, so she feels every impact of his thrust.

His hand finds Tom's neck, and he feels him picking up the pace from underneath him. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good…"

"Harder," Tom manages through a strained voice.

"Where?"

He squeezes Harrison's fingers on the sides of his neck, and he's fully aware how acutely she feels it. The sheer sight of Tom blissed out and desperate before her is getting her so close, and he knows it.

"You like that, don't you?" he murmurs it into Tom's ear, but he's really saying it to her.

The two of them barely hears Tom's needy pleas of 'fuck I'm so close, fucking hell' when they come. Everything's so tight, so intimate, but at the same time, never really close enough. She's feeling his thrusts without even having him inside her. He brings her closer, but it's Tom's hand rubbing down her clit. And God, she falls apart harder than she ever had, but she also comes wishing he was closer.

They sort of stumble back into bed absent-minded, each in their own post-orgasm haze. Each of them wondering what the next move should be, now that this is over.

Tom's phone rings in his trousers pocket-- startling and saving them from another second of this awkward silence. He climbs out of bed, and fishes it out, ass hanging in the air.

"Hello?" He pauses, pulling his pants back on. "Yeah? Alright, cool. I'll be right down. No, I'm just… looking around. Think I got a bit lost," he winks back at them.

Y/N sees Harrison smile, shaking his head at his best friend, and it makes the air a bit lighter in the room.

"Harry and Jacob just arrived, so. I'm gonna head back downstairs and… give you guys a little privacy-- I think you really needed it. But, uh," Tom grins, all bright and cheery, "That was a lot of fun, guys. See ya!"

The door closes and the lighthearted air disappears with him. Right now there's just Y/N and Harrison sitting on opposite ends of the bed, still trying to process what just happened.

Harrison finally opens up, "I--"

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," she says at the exact same time, wasting no time to rush off to the ensuite.

When she comes back, Harrison's already buttoning up his bodysuit back on, and she's almost disappointed that she can't admire this look on him a little longer.

"You're leaving," she says, more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah, um." He looks like he's about to say something, but just… studies her face from across the room.

"What?"

"Did you mean that?" He plays it off by glancing down on his shirt buttons. "When you said I wasn't your favorite anymore?"

And there it is. So he was pressed about that, she notes in her mind. In all honesty, she meant it as a joke. But they also don't open up and be vulnerable with each other. So she settles for the next best thing.

"I don't pick favorites," she ultimately answers. "But if I did…"

Harrison looks up, reluctantly resigned with how much he still wants it to be him.

But her words just hang in the air, and eventually she shakes her head. This is simply not the relationship they have. "Nah. Nevermind."

But he gets it. He smiles, for the first time in a while, a genuine smile at her. "Right." It's not quite the answer he's hoping for, and not quite the reaction he wants to give, but it's something.

"Besides," she pipes up, the cheekiness coming back to her pretty features, "I think if I were to decide, I would need to fuck you first."

"Didn't we just--"

"No…" she steps closer, and Harrison has never felt more naked in his life, even though she's the one wearing nothing. "Tom fucked me and you fucked Tom. I think it's hardly fair, isn't it?"

She wraps her arms around his waist and he welcomes it with open arms. "Good point. We'd better go ahead and make it fair, then, darling."

She kisses his jawline, already unbuttoning his shirt again. "Gladly."

***

Tagging my beloved moots who might be interested? @angel-holland @spidey-sophie @worldoftom @cocoamoonmalfoy @thegirlintheswivelchair @lovelytholland @violetlilysunshine @spideyssunshine @spideyspeaches @annathesillyfriend @hotforharrison @kiwi-bitchez @selfcarecap @awkward-darkness @bi-writes @hollandsrecs @hollandsmushroom @kelieah <3

anyway i hope you enjoyed it and i'd love to hear what you think in the comments, reblogs, or asks! thank you so much for reading!

#richkid!haz #dear lord i hope the tags work #harrison osterfield #tom holland #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield smut #harrison osterfield x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom x harrison x reader #ava writes

358 notes · View notes