tom holland fic recs @hollandsrecs - Tumblr Blog

Aug 3, 2021

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)

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