#ironwriting

Her eyes widen at the same time the machine beeps, signaling that the coffee is ready. “Tom? Your ‘one-night stand turned internship boss’ Tom? Ooh, do tell.” She pours herself a cup of coffee, a gleeful expression on her face, which makes you want to punch it away.

“I called him. He picked me up and took me home. There’s nothing more to the story,” you shrug innocently, hoping your lie is solid enough because there had been way more to the story.

“Hello?” Tom’s voice is hoarse it crackles through the receiver on your new phone. He’s silent for a second before continuing, sounding more awake now. “Y/N? Are you alright?”

You sigh softly, hating how comforting his voice sounds. “Um, hi, Tom. Did I wake you? I’m really sorry- I just, uh,” you stutter, trying desperately to stop your teeth from chattering.

“Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

You tell him the cross streets and he promises he will be there as soon as possible. You wrap your arms around yourself, attempting to keep the little body warmth you had left. You consider going back inside to wait, but the loud music and drunk teens seem less tempting than the sobering cold. Several young adults join you, but they quickly jump in taxis or friend’s cars. Next time I’m bringing a jacket, you think to yourself, watching as a car pulls up to the curb next to you.

The passenger window rolls down, and Tom’s face appears, looking at you with concerned eyes. You ignore him, jumping into the car, welcoming the warmth with open arms. You kick your heels off, curling your legs in your seat to warm them. The window rolls back up as you buckle in, still not looking at Tom, scared of what might await if you do.

“Are you fucking crazy? What are you doing out here, in the cold, dressed like- dressed like that?”

“Forgot my wallet,” you mumble weakly, leaning your head against the door and closing your eyes. “Can you just drive me home, please? It’s freezing.”

You can hear him rummage around briefly, but you don’t have to open your eyes to investigate because two seconds later, soft indie rock fills the car. He doesn’t say anything, just putting the car in drive and as the car moves, you feel the exhaustion of the long day take over. You can’t bring yourself to stop it, the quiet music and steady heat lulling you to sleep.

The sound of a car door being shut wakes you up. You moan quietly, not wanting to open your eyes. The car beeps as it gets locked, and you sigh contently, nuzzling further into the comfort surrounding you. Your head hurts already, and you know you’re going to have a long day tomorrow.

“Darlin’, I need you to tell me what floor you’re on,” Tom’s gentle voice makes your eyes shoot open, suddenly realizing what is going on.

“Second. 2B,” you mumble, lying undeniable still as Tom carries you effortlessly up the stairs, your bare legs slung over his arm. “I, um, I can walk.”

Tom doesn’t say anything, placing you down gently when you reach the door of your apartment. You don’t dare look at him as you search through your purse, a small aha escaping you as you grasp the keys and pull them out. You unlock the door, the click of the lock turning echoing through the empty hallway. Reluctantly, you turn to look at your savior.

“Thank you,” your voice is raspy, so you clear your throat. “I’m really sorry I woke you up.”

Tom hands you your heels back, shoving his hands into the pocket of his sweats. Another look you hadn’t seen on him, but one you knew you could grow to love. You take them, shooting him a small smile, but he just nods.

“’s alright. Just don’t go outside by yourself like that again. I’ll see you on Monday. Night.”

You watch quietly as he walks back down the stairs, the hood of his sweater bouncing. You mumble a response, fully knowing he can’t hear you. Sighing, you step into the dark apartment. Two minutes later, you’re wrapped in the covers on your bed, willing yourself not to think about how Tom had immediately responded to your call of help, or how he had carried you upstairs, letting you sleep for as long as possible. Eventually, you’re able to fall back asleep, the smell of Tom still lingering in your nose.

“So he just picked you up and dropped you off? Nothing else happened? Bollocks!”

“I swear, nothing happened. He drove me home, carried me upstairs and then he left.”

“He carried you upstairs?”

You groan, realizing your mistake too late. Cecelia raises her eyebrows multiple times, teasing you. You shake your head, picking up your phone from the counter. Turning it around, the screen lights up at the motion, and you notice you have an unopened text message. Your pulse immediately quickens when you see his name.

“Shut up,” you mutter, a small chuckle escaping you as well, knowing she means well.

Let me know if you ever forget your wallet again. I’ll add chauffeur to my resume

Cecelia notices your sudden silence, grabbing the phone from your hands before you can stop her. You watch her as her eyes trace the words of the simple text. She whistles, handing you the phone back before taking another sip of coffee. You pull your leg up on the chair, resting your head on your knee.

Fuck you, Tom Holland.

“He just loves teasing you, doesn’t he? Cheeky bastard that one.”

XXX

You had left the text unanswered the rest of the weekend, having no clue what to say to him. He hadn’t followed up on it either, so you figured the whole situation would remain a secret between the two of you - well, three if you count Cecelia.

You desperately hope so as you enter the building of Holland and Osterfield’s on Monday morning. As you walk up the stairs, you re-read the email you had received from Harrison late the previous night. You double check the information and the time, nodding pleasingly when you realize you’re on time. You stop on the third floor this time, taking in the unfamiliar environment. You stop in front of the meeting room Harrison had told you to go to, knocking quietly.

A woman you have never met before opens the door, and you realize you’re the last one. You smile sheepishly, stepping into the room, trying to ignore the questioning stares of some of the workers in the room. Your eyes involuntarily find Tom immediately, sitting next to Harrison who is standing at the head of the table opposite from where you’re standing. Harrison glances up as the door is closed behind you and smiles.

“There you are! Everyone, this is our new intern Y/N. She’s helping us out with marketing for the next six months.”

The small crowd murmurs a few greetings, and Harrison tells you to sit down and comply. You aren’t sure exactly why he had invited you to the meeting in the first place, but you tell yourself it’s a great way to learn something new. Placing the laptop bag in your lap, you give Harrison your attention. When he starts talking, you briefly let your gaze flicker to the left to look at Tom. He doesn’t seem to notice it, staring down at the notes displayed in front of him.

You notice he isn’t wearing a blazer today, only a faded charcoal-colored button-up shirt. A black tie dangles from his neck and you wonder momentarily if he hated dressing up for work as much as you do. He shuffles the papers a little, the shirt tightening around his bicep as he does so. You instantly look away, not wanting the sight to stay in your head longer than it had to. Returning your attention back to Harrison, you listen as he talks about the charity gala they are hosting in a few weeks.

“Um,” you speak up quietly, instantly regretting interrupting him. “I think it would be more beneficial to personally invite the honor guests and then advertise through newsletters and e-mails.”

Harrison purses his lips, considering your suggestion. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, I assume the honor guests are well-established business owners, politicians, you know, the usual. I also assume most these people are older than all of us in this room. I think they would appreciate the gesture of a personal letter in the mail. With all due respect, Mr. Osterfield, most people didn’t make it as young as you and Mr. Holland. I just know that my grandparents would respond better to a letter than an impersonal e-mail.”

You hear a few other people mumbling agreements. You meet Harrison’s eyes for a moment before looking back down at your hands, reminding yourself to apply a new coat of nail polish when you get home. There is a brief silence, and you wonder if maybe it had been a bad idea to speak up like you did.

“I think she’s right. Let’s send the honor guests invitations and we’ll notify the other businesses through e-mail like planned,” Tom speaks up and you immediately look at him. He just nods at you, and you give him a small smile.

“Okay, that’s settled then. Y/N, would you help me with those invitations later?” he asks, looking at you expectantly and you nod hurriedly. “Now, let’s talk about the next marketing campaign.”

Harrison’s words drown out, and you glance down at the papers in front of you. You stifle a yawn, suddenly wishing you could cuddle up in bed with Tom. You shake your head, needing to get rid of the thoughts. That doesn’t work as well as you hoped it would when Tom takes over his portion of the meeting. His words are impossible to comprehend, the thoughts in your head taking over. You quickly excuse yourself, opening and closing the door before anyone can say anything.

Hurriedly, you make your way upstairs and toward your desk, scolding yourself the entire way. You had never crushed on anybody this way before. Does it count as a crush? Your thoughts are messy and most of them unwelcome as you plop into your chair with a loud sigh. Pulling out your computer and earbuds, you welcome the loud noise of the song as you press play. You try your best to focus on the lyrics, pulling up the chat window and clicking Cecelia’s name.

you: dude i just interrupted harrison in a meeting and tom stood up for me and i wanna kms

A few minutes pass by and you pray that your best friend is on her computer, needing someone to vent to, or rather, someone to help you make sense of your jumbled thoughts. A small icon pops up, notifying you that she’s writing and a relieved sigh escapes you.

cecelia: bollocks! tell me what happened

you: tom isn’t wearing a blazer today and he looks really good and i just. ugh. f*ck me

ceceilia: i bet that’s what you were thinking when looking at him

you: shut up. i gotta go. i ran out of the meeting because i couldn’t stand it and i have to do my work

You exit out of the chat window, pulling up the document you started on Friday. Harrison had asked you to compile a list of potential businesses to contact in regards to the gala. You finish it faster than you would have liked, but you attach it to an e-mail and send it to Harrison anyway. He responds not even five minutes later, asking you to meet him in his office.

You unwillingly get up from your chair, making your way down the hall. You attempt to ignore your increasing heartbeat as you get closer, not knowing what to expect. You had interrupted him and caused quite the scene as you ran out of the conference room. You definitely didn’t earn any more respect points by doing that. Your knock on the door is timid but he appears to hear it anyway.

He tells you to come in, so you open the door cautiously, a nervous smile dancing on your lips. Harrison is sitting at the chair behind his desk when you close the door behind you, but your eyes are more focused on Tom leaning up against the desk. He looks at you quizzically and just for a moment you think you see a form of concern in his eyes. Harrison clears his throat and startles you out of your moment with Tom.

“Are you alright, Y/N? You seemed to leave us in a hurry? I know meetings can be boring but...”

You quickly shake your head, meeting Harrison’s eyes. “No. I’m sorry. I, uh, stomach bug. I wasn’t feeling too hot.”

Your excuse is so weak that you don’t even buy it yourself but Harrison just nods. “Okay, well, I hope you feel better. Why don’t you, uh, take the rest of the day off? You can work on those personal invitations at home and send me a few different versions, and then we’ll pick the best one. I saw that you’ve done a fair share of graphic design.”

You nod slowly, wondering if your face betrays how confused you feel. “I can stay-”

“I’ll take you home,” Tom speaks up for the first time since you entered the room, giving you a tight-lipped smile.

“O-Okay. Um, I’ll get right on those invitations, Mr. Osterfield.”

Tom walks you to the elevator, neither of you saying anything, the only sound is the elevator jostling as it moves. The ride back to your apartment is just as quiet, the radio making the tension a little less awkward. You hadn’t talked to him since he had dropped you off at your apartment, and you weren’t quite sure what to say.

“Thank you,” you state suddenly, deciding to elaborate after receiving a look laced with confusion from him. “For taking me home on Friday. I never really thanked you. I don’t wanna think about what could’ve happened if-”

“Yeah, I don’t want to think about that either. Don’t understand why you’d be walking around in a dress like that anyway,” he interrupts, not taking his eyes off the road once.

“Oh, shut up, like you were complaining last week. That dress wasn’t any better.”

You pause momentarily as the words leave your mouth. That was the first time either of you had mentioned your night together after the interview. You glance over at him, noticing the way his knuckles are turning slightly white from gripping the steering wheel. He doesn’t smirk like you had expected him too.

“Well, I was there to take you home that night. To make sure you were okay and no one touched you. I watched you from the moment you walked in,” his words are stern, almost slightly possessive, but then a smirk finds its way to his lips. “Besides, I don’t recall you complaining either. Unless you count complaining about me taking too long to-”

“Okay, okay,” you grumble, feeling your cheeks heat up at his words. He chuckles just as he pulls up in front of your complex.

You unbuckle slowly, grabbing your bag in one hand. There is a slight pause in the music, which makes the sound of you opening the door appear even louder. You slide out of the car, your heels clicking against the cobblestone of the street. Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you dip your head back in to take one last look at him. He has a confident grin on his face now, the seriousness of his voice totally gone.

You watch as she locks the front door, grabbing the skirt of your dress in your hands so you can walk down the stairs. You can’t pinpoint the exact cause of your nervousness. Being Tom’s date, Cecelia meeting Tom again, mingling with the high-status people of London - they all play their part, you assume. For some strange reason, you also feel anxious about the gala going as planned. After all, you had been planning this event alongside Tom and Harrison for a long time. You realize you’ve been moving automatically when the cold air hits you and you find yourself outside. 

Cecelia links her arm with yours, the two of you very careful with your dresses. Neither of you knew the exact price tag, but you both agreed they were more expensive than anything you guys could afford. The driver is already waiting outside of the car, open the door and helping you both inside when you’re close enough. The ride is mostly filled with Cecelia’s eager chatter. You remain quiet for the most part, your unexplainable nerves getting the best of you. Your best friend seems to understand and leaves you alone, much to your relief. You’re able to calm your increased heartbeat with numerous pep-talks, but once the car comes to a halt, your heartbeat quickens once again. 

The door on Cecelia’s side is opened and she shoots you a quick smile before letting the driver help her out. Inhaling deeply, you reach for your own door handle. The door is slung open before you can even touch the handle, and a pair of gentle eyes meet yours. You smile timidly at the older man and the stranger holds his hand out and you find yourself grabbing it almost automatically. God knows you need help getting out of the car. With your free hand, you gather most of the satin skirt to keep it from brushing against the car. 

You and Cecelia follow the crowd, making your way up the stairs leading into the children’s museum. Now that you knew the reason behind the event, the location made a lot more sense and it had proven to you, once again, that Tom isn’t your regular, heartless player. You clutch your shawl tighter, desperately praying for the guests in front of you to hurry up before you catch a cold. Eventually, they move along and you’re able to step inside. You welcome the warmth, forcing yourself to loosen your grip on the fabric covering your bare shoulders. Your eyes wander around, recognizing a few decorations from one of the meetings, before resting on a familiar face. 

The first thing you notice about Tom is his hair. It’s styled, almost too perfectly, combed over to the right. He looks great; professional, yet handsome enough for you not to be able to take your eyes off. He smirks as you and Cecelia step toward them. You smile, greeting your two bosses by their first names. Cecelia and Harrison exchange a greeting, having met each other once before. 

“I knew you would look good in blue,” Tom states almost arrogantly. 

“What Tom means to say, Y/N, is that you look beautiful. You both do,” Harrison looks between the two of you as you flush, not noticing how Tom’s smile hardens. “You two head inside and grab yourselves a drink, look for your assigned seats. We’ll be in as soon as we’re done greeting everyone.” 

Finding your seats had been easier said than done. Eventually, Cecelia suggested the idea that maybe, just maybe, you’re supposed to sit with Tom. You had quickly thrown the idea away but a few minutes later, you find your name written on the seat next to Tom’s. Cecelia had smirked, deciding to keep her comment to herself. Tom, Harrison, and Harrison’s mother had joined you not too long after you sit down and the conversation flows easily from there. Harrison’s mother excused herself a few moments later, making her way to the stage to officially welcome all of the guests. 

You pick at your dessert silently, too full to even taste it. The three-course meal was more food than you could handle and you had barely been able to finish your dinner. No one brought up the topic of the two empty chairs labeled Sam and Harry and although the curiosity was killing you, you had a hunch the topic was sensitive. A hand rests on top of yours and you turn your attention to Tom, pausing your mindless prodding. He just raises his eyebrows and you instantly know he had watched you pick at the untouched plate of Banoffee pie. 

“Let’s dance,” Tom doesn’t ask and before you can politely decline, he’s on his feet and holding his arm out for you. Cecelia silently urges you to take him up on his offer and with a sigh, you place your fork down and scoot your chair back. 

Luckily, other couples have made their way to the dancefloor already. Realizing that not everyone will be focused on you, you relax slightly as Tom leads you into the small, moving crowd. He comes to a stop and places one hand on the dip of your hip, his other hand grabbing yours. If he notices the clamminess of your skin, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t mention your slight shaking either, and you can’t quite decide if that’s positive or negative.

“This would’ve been a lot easier if you didn’t get such a big dress, you know,” you mutter. “I really can’t dance.” 

“Relax, darling,” Tom instructs softly, gently pulling you closer to him. Your body reacts immediately and you pray he doesn’t notice your flushed cheeks. “We’ll just sway.”

And you do. The two of you begin swaying slowly from side to side and you quickly forget about everyone else in the room, focusing on Tom’s grip on your waist. A part of you knows that this is wrong - it should be wrong. Tom is your boss, not even your real boss, just overseeing a stupid, required internship for your degree. You shouldn’t be this infatuated with him. Not only is it wrong, but nothing would ever happen between the two of you and you would just be setting yourself up for heartbreak. Closing your eyes briefly, you push the thoughts away, wanting to enjoy this moment - or, whatever it is -  with Tom.

The picture of Tom’s freckled, younger brother pops into your mind. You remember suddenly what this gala is for and how difficult this day must be for Tom. You can’t fully comprehend or understand how he feels, and frankly, you’re grateful for that. Just the thought of not being able to see your parents or sister again is extremely painful. The song changes, the tempo still the same, and you keep swaying clumsily. Rubbing your lips together to spread the nude lipgloss, you look up at Tom. 

“I’m sorry,” you offer gently and his questioning eyes meet yours. “About Paddy. About your mom and dad. I’m really sorry for your loss, Tom.” 

His face hardens at the mention of his younger brother’s name and you instantly wish you can take the words back. The pain in his eyes is enough to make your own eyes water. Slowly, his hand falls from your hip and you immediately miss the warmth from his touch. He untangles his hand from yours shortly after, taking a step back. You feel the urge to close the distance, to touch him, to do something but you know you can’t. Licking his lips, Tom mumbles out an excuse and strides out of your view, blurring into the sea of people. You gather the skirt of your dress in your hands, willing the unshed tears away before you reach the table. 

You sit down quietly, ignoring Cecelia’s worried look. Having a best friend that could read you easier than the instructions on the Mac n’ Cheese box could both be a good and a bad thing. Harrison looks behind you, more than likely expecting his best mate to follow. When he doesn’t, Harrison looks at you. You mouth out Paddy’s name, not wanting to bring it up again. The blue-eyed man winces slightly before pressing a quick kiss to his mother’s cheek and excusing himself from the table. Cecelia easily falls into a conversation with Harrison’s mother and you listen half-heartedly, wondering if you had ruined your relationship with Tom. 

You quickly wipe at your eyes, careful not to smudge the eyeshadow Cecelia had worked on, wondering if you had been the only one who noticed the slight crack in Tom’s voice. Your best friend croaks out a laugh, quickly using the back of her hand to remove the escaping tear. The crowd erupts into an ovation, your table quickly joining in on the celebration. A few other representatives from other businesses share short speeches, mostly just encouraging everyone to donate and to show Tom and Harrison some support. You’re not really paying attention, too busy trying to figure out where Tom was. You had to apologize. 

“I’m so proud of you, boys. I think you’ll get a lot of donations,” Harrison’s mother gushes as the two heads of the company sit back down at the table. 

“Y/N, come here, would you? I wanna show you something,” Tom whispers, leaning in closer so you can hear him. 

You can smell his cologne - the same one he wore the night you met him - and nod, not trusting your voice. He scoots his chair back, holding his arm out for you. You grab it, allowing him to help you up from the chair. Too scared to ask him where he’s taking you, you follow him silently. Tom doesn’t make an effort to release his arm from your grip, so you don’t either. You can’t help but feel slightly tense, but Tom doesn’t appear too bothered and you conclude it must just be you. You walk with him through the crowd and a hallway with different photos of animals until you reach the elevator. 

Watching curiously as he presses the button for the third floor, you try to ignore the itching feeling from the uncomfortable silence. Still not being sure if he was upset with you or not was gnawing in the back of your head and your frustration was quickly growing. The elevator moves too slow for your liking and your thoughts become overbearing. Tom leans back against the railing in the bright elevator as you twiddle your thumbs, inwardly debating whether or not to speak up. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, not being able to hold it any longer. Tom looks at you questioningly. “About bringing up your family and-”

The elevator comes to an abrupt stop and the doors open with the sound of a small bell. You stumble slightly in your heels and Tom immediately reaches out, but you’re able to steady yourself. He shakes his head, motioning for you step out. You follow his instructions and he follows you. You’re about to continue your apology but the view stops you. You look around the dark-painted hallway and the various butterflies scattered around on a string of fairy lights. The beautiful decorations continue down the long hall and you stare in awe, breathing out an almost silent ‘wow’.

“I, uh, took Paddy here once. He loved it. You kinda remind me of him in some ways, no offense, so I thought you’d like it, too,” Tom explains quietly. 

You nod. “I love it. It’s so beautiful.” 

The two of you begin your exploration. You have no trouble understanding why his younger brother had loved it so much. Walking through the dark walls and looking at the various butterflies and other insects was an adventure in itself. Neither of you said much, just taking in the atmosphere and reading the different plaques with information about each species. An occasional ‘hey, look at this’ or ‘that’s awesome’ is exchanged but nothing more. Neither of you mind. It’s comfortable and once again, you seem to forget the fact that Tom is your boss. 

The expedition continues and you lose track of time. It feels like you’ve been away from the crowd for hours, but it feels like you’ve only been with Tom for minutes and you don’t want it to end. A shiver runs through your body and you curse yourself for not being able to handle any cold. Although, the airconditioning seemed to be running, which was unnecessary in the middle of the December. The exhibition is quiet, so naturally, when you hear rustling, you look up to investigate. Tom is shrugging off his blazer and before you can question him, he hands it to you. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how cold it must be for you. Here you are.”

You hesitantly take the article of clothing he was offering, a sigh of relief escaping you as you slipped into it. The warmth was instant and you welcomed it with open arms. It also smelled just like him, but you would never tell him that. Tom chuckles and you glance up at him. Even with your heels, Tom still towered a few inches taller than you. The dimly lit hallway casts shadows on his face, but you’re still able to see his features. His comforting eyes meet yours and you can’t bring yourself to look away. Normally, eye contact like this would you squirm uncomfortably, but it was different now. It was uncontrollable and innocent, and you enjoyed it. 

It happens before you can read the situation. Tom leans down slightly and without even realizing, you tilt your head upwards and your lips meet. It feels just like the night when you had met him, if not better. It’s soft at first; gentle, and almost a little hesitant. The little angel on your shoulder continuously scolds you, telling you how wrong this is. Thankfully, the little devil also perching on your shoulder quickly silences him. Your kiss deepens. An arm wraps around your waist and Tom pulls you so you collide with his chest. Your fingers tangle within Tom’s shirt, definitely crumbling the fabric, as your lips move together with hunger. 

Briefly distancing himself, he steps backward before pushing you up against the wall. A sound of surprise escapes you, but it’s muffled by his lips. His tongue asks for permission and you accept, not being able to control the sounds of pleasure leaving your mouth. His large hand cups your cheek, his fingers tangling in your loose curls. He accidentally loosens the strand of hair being held back by the hair clip, but you barely register it, too preoccupied with the countless emotions consuming you. Your lungs ache from the lack of oxygen and despite not wanting to, you pull away. The two of you stand silently as you try to catch your breath. Tom’s close enough for you to feel his warm breath everytime his chest falls, but you want him even closer. 

“How does my apartment sound, darling?” The slight cockiness in his voice excites you further. 

“Perfect,” you mumble almost instantly, your mind still not clear from the feeling of his lips against yours. 

♡ my beautiful readers ♡

the intern: // @errorloadinghappiness // @chamilsanya //  @moose-munch //  @all-the-best-people-are-weird // @starkviibes // @quackson-queen // @hollands99 //  @safetypin-inspace // @aquzrius // @tom-hollands-eyelash // @greenarrowhead // @obsesivesun // @pignolithecookie //  @justmesadgirl //  @satellitespidey // @unhealthyobsessionwithmarvel // @butithasntkilledyouyet //  @smexylemony // @95lover // @spirito-della-tartaruga // @shannonxbarnes // @softspideyboy // @slut-for-fandoms // @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell // @blueeyedbesson // @phoenixherron // @attractiveoctagon // @hermionedeservesbetterthanron // @theclearblues // @blisshemmings // @inneedoftomholland // @competativekook // @love-untiltheresnoloveleft // @spinneret-holland // @whatanight13 // @sherizaraiyah // @thesamebutwonderfullydifferent // @whatdafricklefrackle // @imagine-that-100 // @theirmidgardian // @lucille-lovely // @livingincompletesilence // @spider-tay // @tomhollanders2013 // @haz-thetics // @notes-from-my-journal // @life-still-confuses-me // @naeniiie-blog // @greenarrowhead // @johnmurphys-sass // @sunshine96love // @twinklestqr  

permanent: @spideymood // @parkerstan // @smexylemony // @blueeyedbesson // @embrace-themagic // @hazeyholland // @notimeforthemessenger // @alilblogger // @elentiya02  // @whileinparis // @marvel-language // @lizziemariejackson // @allofthebitters // @tominhoodies // @meaganjm // @notunlimited // @marvelismylifffe // @inspiredbynewt // @takemyvirginitystone // @parkerssweb // @tom-hollands-eyelash // @dangerousluv1 // 

“I got scared. Sue me,” you mumble, feeling your embarrassment bubble but you try your best to ignore it. “So, enlighten me. Why is Tom Holland picking me up at 7:45 in the morning?” 

Tom’s fingers clench slightly around the steering wheel, but you don’t really notice. You lean back into the comfort of the leather seat, peering at your employer through your lashes. He glances at you quickly before directing his gaze back at the busy road in front of him. You glance at the clock on the dashboard, finding yourself wondering how long Tom had been waiting for you.

“You were late. Thought I’d give you a ride,” Tom states confidently with a small shrug. 

“You didn’t know I’d be late, though,” you counter, raising an eyebrow as you turn to look at him again. “How long were you waiting?”

Tom clears his throat, “If you’re going to keep interrogating me, you can walk. Can’t you just be appreciative like normal people?” 

“Sorry,” you mumble, deciding to let the subject go. For now. “I really do appreciate it. I would be freezing my ass off and I’d be late if it wasn’t for you.”

Tom nods but doesn’t reply. You bring your phone out, debating to text Cecelia but you decide against it. You could tell her later. The car ride ends quicker than you want it to. You had recognized one of the songs playing from Tom’s Spotify and the two of you had immediately started sharing knowledge of other artists and bands. Tom had relaxed and the environment had been comfortable. For a second, you had forgotten he was your boss. You had forgotten about the weird coincidence of him being outside of your apartment - if it even was a coincidence - and you had forgotten about the workload waiting for you. 

The SUV comes to a stop and soon after the music stops. The silence suddenly feels heavy and you unbuckle, leaning down to pick your laptop back up from the floor. The driver door shuts and you allow yourself to sigh before making your way out of the car. The unwelcome cold hits you once again and you shiver involuntarily. Letting the door shut behind you, you glance up at the tall building as you step away from the car. You don’t know if it’s your lack of attention or your general clumsiness, but the second you start walking, the thin heel of your shoe slips and you wobble, your arms flailing as you try to catch your balance. 

An automatic shriek escapes you. You shut your eyes, positive you’ll hit the snow-covered ground any second. A strong grip tightens around your waist and you feel yourself regaining balance. You open one eye at a time, taking in what had happened. A few pairs of eyes are looking at you and you flush, knowing you had just made a fool of yourself. A low chuckle brings you back to the situation at hand and you glance over your shoulder to inspect your savior. Tom’s coffee-colored orbs are close enough for you to see the underlying concern although his face reads amusement. 

“You alright?” 

You nod slowly and he releases his grip, letting you go. Clearing your throat, you smooth down the front of your coat, needing something to do with your hands. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find his concern flattering, but you wouldn’t let yourself read into it. You would have been worried if you saw someone about to fall, too. Huffing loudly, you clutch the strap of your bag looking up at Tom. He shoots you a tight smile, extending his hand toward you. You glance at the to-go cup in his head, the hot liquid inside steaming. 

“Here,” he states simply, gently shaking the beverage. “You seem like you could use it more than me. It’s tea.” 

Hesitantly, you take it from him. The left corner of Tom’s mouth curves into a half-smile and you mumble out a thank you. He nods, and the two of you start walking into the extravagant building, ignoring the intrusive stares of the surrounding people. As you walk through the revolving doors, you sigh softly, welcoming the warmth with open arms. Neither of you says much as you make your way to the fourth floor. Tom greets a couple of people while you pretend not to notice their questioning looks. 

Most of the people addressing Tom’s presences are women. They are all incredibly attractive and their narrowing eyes makes you feel uncomfortable. If you didn’t know any better, you would say they were jealous. Tom didn’t seem to notice, happily responding to his employees, but never stepping away from you. He stays close as you slowly make your way toward the silver doors, and it helps the little confidence you have left. Only when the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your desired floor, does Tom speak again,

"Have a good day, Y/N. Hope the tea helps.” 

Before you have time to respond, he’s striding down the hallway toward his office. You stand glued to your spot, watching him silently. He doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. When the door to his office closes behind him, you’re brought back to reality. A faint blush makes its way to your cheeks as you realize how pathetic you must have looked, and you turn on your heel, trudging toward your own desk. 

An hour or two later, after playing around with various designs, you e-mail Harrison to let him know you have prepared three different versions of the invitations, attaching all three of them before pressing send. A blur of excitement and nervousness brews in the pit of your stomach. You have average knowledge of graphic design, and creating the invitations was more fun than work, but the pessimistic part of you keeps telling you that Harrison will hate them. They were far from perfect, but you had put quite the effort into creating them, and you just hoped one of them would be good enough. 

A redhead that you don’t recognize stops in next to your desk. You spot her out of the corner of your eye, so you pause your typing and direct your attention toward her. She smiles at you, but you can’t quite decipher if it’s genuine, and she extends her hands. You glance questioningly at the bright red Santa hat in her hand and she quickly explains that it’s an office tradition to have do Secret Santa every year. Although you find the concept slightly childish, you shrug and reach toward the hat containing the names. The woman simply moved on before you could even open the note, and when you did, the name Ned was scribbled down with black ink. 

The first task was figuring out who he was. You didn’t socialize much with the others, most of them almost ten years older than you. After some asking around, you were finally able to locate him. At the memory of the whole ordeal, you glance over your shoulder, only to notice that Ned isn’t in his seat. It had turned out, that Ned had been in the same office as you this entire time. You take note of the small LEGO figures placed neatly on his desk before getting back to work. Twenty minutes later, Harrison e-mails you back, asking you to meet him in his office. 

You make your way down the hallway, the chunky heels of yours clicking against the floor. Remembering the first time you made your way to Harrison’s office, how nervous you had been, you chuckle at yourself. Over the past month, you had grown quite close to Harrison. The two of you would often debrief and he would need to sign off on your hours at the end of every two weeks. Of course, the two of you never met up outside of work, but you no longer felt nervous about being called into his office. 

This confidence falters slightly when you open the door and Tom is sitting on Harrison’s desk, his legs dangling off the edge. Despite him picking you up this morning and the two of you bonding over your shared music taste, you can’t quite shake the awkwardness of being in the same room as him. Harrison being there as well makes it worse because you’re positive he can sense the slight tension. You smile timidly, wishing you hadn’t left your phone at your desk so you could use it as a distraction. They both look at you as you stand there quietly, and you feel yourself flush from the attention. 

“I saw the invitations,” Harrison informs, glancing up from his computer screen to look at you. “I showed them to Tom, too.”

“Oh,” you clear your throat. “I’m sorry they’re not good. I really tried-”

“Y/N, they’re great,” Tom interrupts and Harrison nods in agreement. 

Your cheeks heat up, once again, at the compliment. Although you had wanted them to like your work, you had told yourself that it was a long-shot and that they would end up hiring a professional graphic designer. Tom studies you for a moment and you avoid his gaze, slowly moving a little closer to Harrison’s desk. The blue-eyed man turns his computer around and you see the three different designs you had created. You analyze them again, already seeing a couple of things that you would change. 

“We think they’re all great, so we want to know which one you are the proudest of,” Harrison sends you a smile and you nod, pursing your lips as you pretend to be thinking. You had already chosen your favorite before you sent them. 

“This one,” you declare, pointing to your favorite invitation. It was fairly simple; black and white with red details. 

You were unsure of what color to choose at first, but you decided to go with red in the spirit of Christmas. It was simple, yet sophisticated. You had kept the intended audience in mind while designing it, and out of the three, you like this invitation the most. Harrison nods at your choice, listening as you put words to your thoughts and explain why that was your first choice. 

“Okay, it’s settled then. That’s the invitation,” Harrison looks at Tom briefly. You can’t tell if it’s for approval or agreement, but Tom nods nonetheless. “How’s your Secret Santa going?”

“Horrible,” you mutter, an annoyed groan escaping you. “I have a guy in the marketing department but I barely know him and he’s probably at least five years older than me. I noticed he likes LEGO so I might buy him that. Why do you guys do this anyway?”

Tom smirks, apparently finding your despair amusing. “For this. To see people like you fuss over what to buy a stranger. I find it kind of amusing.”

You scoff, narrowing your eyes at him momentarily. “Well,” you pause with a huff. “It fucking sucks. Now, excuse me, I have to go back to my desk and finish my work.”

The smirk on Tom’s face only grows bigger as he looks at you, fiddling with a pen absentmindedly. He had ditched the blazer he was wearing this morning, the sleeves of his white button-up rolled up to reveal his skin. You watch his fingers move along the pen easily, the movement causing the veins in his arms to be more prominent. Licking your lips, you look back up at him, ignoring your impure thoughts. 

“Just remember that someone pulled your name out of the hat, too. Careful who you unleash your anger at,” Tom smirks, almost innocently. 

With another huff, you walk out the door, trying your best to ignore their snickers. You watch your dark yellow heels as you walk, the color contrasting the black of your stockings. London was growing colder by each day and it was now too cold to walk from your apartment to the tube and from the tube and to the internship with bare legs. Sitting back down at your desk, you resume your assignment, trying to avoid the thought of all the homework you had waiting when you get home.

“Yeah. She barely looks over twenty. Do you think they slept together?”

“Possibly. Karen told me that someone had seen them arrive together. Poor girl almost fell flat on her arse, but Tom caught her apparently.”

You wince at the memory, realizing that more people had seen your almost-accident. The rest of their conversation all blurs together and before you know it, they’re done touching up their makeup and you’re alone once again. With a deep sigh, you gather yourself and step out from your hiding spot. You glance at yourself in the mirror, almost too tired to care about the dark spots underneath your eyes. With the additional stress of the internship and dealing with whatever was going on between you and Tom, there had been countless sleepless nights. If you weren’t at Holland and Osterfield’s, you were either at school or trying to catch up on homework. 

Knowing you’re about to be done for the day anyway, you ignore your messy appearance and head back toward your desk. Plopping back into your chair with a sigh, you silently start a debate with yourself on whether or not to tell Cecelia about the gossip. Having finished the invitations and the list of RSVPs Harrison had asked for you, you decide to get started on your homework. You log into the all-too-familiar website, navigating your way to the assignment with the closest due date. 

You’re halfway done when the normal buzzing of people chatting quiets down. Curious, you glance up from your computer to inspect the cause of the sudden change. You nearly choke on your breath when you see Tom standing in front of you, his lips pulled into a tight smile. You furrow your brows at him questioningly, not trusting your voice to ask him aloud. 

“You were done twenty minutes ago. Do you really love being here that much?” Tom asks and you can easily detect the teasing in his voice, but you’re too tired to play along. 

“Oh. I lost track of time,” you explain, closing your laptop and gathering your things. Tom is still standing there silently as you stand, throwing your bag over your shoulder and smoothing down your skirt. 

“I’ll take you home,” Tom offers, although it sounds more like a statement than a question. 

Being twenty minutes late, you know you’ll have to wait another forty-five minutes for the Tube, so you just nod and follow him silently. Instead of letting the curious stares get to you this time, you ignore them, feeling slightly confident about Tom offering you a ride home. The two of you don’t talk, but you don’t mind. There’s a brewing pain in the back of your head and all you want is to fall asleep. It doesn’t feel awkward, sharing the silence with Tom, and you feel relieved. 

He opens the door for you when you reach his car, and you climb into the SUV while mumbling thanks. Tom places his own laptop in the backseat before effortlessly getting behind the wheel. The car starts and he fumbles briefly, trying to connect his phone to the speaker system. A few moments later, a song by Ed Sheeran fills the car. You hum in appreciation and Tom chuckles, buckling in before starting to pull out of the parking lot. 

“Did the tea help?” 

“Is this gonna be a regular thing now? Picking me up and taking me home?” You counter, not too keen on talking about this morning. 

Tom stays silent, and you wonder if you’ve overstepped an invisible boundary. Being friendly with Harrison and small gestures like this from Tom makes it easy to forget that they’re both your bosses. You glance at him, watching as his tongue quickly traces his bottom lip. He looks at you momentarily, 

“If you want.” 

YOU’RE IN THE MIDDLE OF writing your fifth page of notes, a now turned-cold plate of noodles next to you when Cecelia walks through the door. You mumble out a greeting, focused on finishing the last paragraph. She puts her backpack down on the floor as you finish the last word, finally looking up at your friend. She studies your work as you stretch your hand.

Tom hadn’t said much after that and neither had you. He wished you good luck with your homework and headache, and you wished him a safe drive home. After some rest and Tylenol, you were feeling a lot better. Although it was the last thing you wanted at the moment, you had reluctantly sat down with your three hundred pages books. You were determined to get ahead on your homework, knowing you would be busy with the upcoming gala and Christmas. 

“How was work?” you ask, allowing yourself a small break.

“Tiring,” she shrugs, shrugging off her coat. “Had the usual amount of tossers. Oh, and Harrison- is that his name? He stopped by.”

You watch as she rummages through the fridge as if she those words hadn’t left her. She puts her ingredients down on the counter and walks over to her backpack. She pulls out an all-too-familiar invitation, the red details standing out against the white, placing it on the counter in front of you. You glance it before meeting her eyes.

“Harrison stopped by? Like, did he know you work there or was it purely coincidental?”

She shrugs, going back to making her food. “Dunno. He was in my serving section and I recognized him from those photos, you know, and I introduced myself. He said you never mention me and he gave me that invitation.”

“He invited you to the gala? Just like that?” You question, ignoring her statement about never mentioning her.

“Well, yeah,” she shrugs. “I didn’t think much of it. Don’t even know if I’ll go.”

You sit there dumbfounded for a moment, watching her silently as she pours the egg mixture into the pan, her omelette beginning to sizzle. Sliding down from the bar stool, you close your notebooks, letting her know that you’re taking a shower. She just nods, scrolling through something on her phone. Your stocking-clad feet slide on the floor as you walk into the shared bathroom, locking the door behind you. Turning on the water so it has time to get warm, you undress, relishing the feeling of not wearing the formal attire you had been too busy to change out of.

The bathroom quickly heats up, the steam surrounding you. Why Harrison had decided to invite Cecelia was beyond you. Technically, you hadn’t even been invited yet. Actually, you weren’t sure if you were meant to go at all. You try to erase Tom’s teasing smirk from your mind as the water runs down your body. And, for a moment, you wonder how different things would be if you hadn’t met Tom that night at the club. Would he still be teasing you? Would Harrison be so nice? Does he even know what happened between the two of you?

You exit the hot bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar to let out some steam. Cecelia is sitting on the couch, her laptop in her lap, and an empty plate on the table in front of her. You plop down next to her, wrapping the bathrobe tighter around yourself. Grabbing your phone from the table, you unlock it effortlessly, navigating your way to Instagram.

“Do know what this gala is for?” Cecelia asks so suddenly that you’re forced to stop your actions to look at her.

“Some charity. They’re looking to raise money, I suppose,” you explain with a shrug, not too interested. “I just do what I’m told. I don’t question anything.”

“Yeah but,” she looks up from her laptop to meet your gaze, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Do you know what charity?”

You groan, annoyed with her sudden interest. You loved being in the apartment with Cecelia because she understood how little you liked to talk about your internship and the whole Tom-thing. Thankfully, she still doesn’t have a clue about him picking you up or driving you home. You send her a pointed look, as if to explain you’re not currently in the mood to chat about it.

“No,” you admit grumpily. “I don’t. Why are you so interested all of a sudden? I thought you weren’t gonna go. Besides, I’d rather not talk or think about Tom right now. He’s distracted me enough already.”

She just purses her lips, turning her laptop toward you. You realize it’s an informational article about the gala and as you start reading it, you wonder why she had decided to look it up in the first place. You skim through the lines as fast as you can, not really comprehending the information, but Cecelia gets impatient and points a bright red fingernail toward the bottom of the text. You squint, reading the last paragraph word-for-word.

This will be the fifth charity event hosted by Holland and Osterfield’s. The two young heads of the company have often shown their support to various charities and businesses, but this time around, the support hits close to home. The company is throwing a gala to raise money for the ‘Paddy Holland Fund’, a charity founded by the young Tom Holland himself just little over a year ago. Bring your tissues, folks, because it might get emotional.

“I have an interview in,” you click the button on your phone, your eyes widening. “45 minutes. Shit. Besides, this how one night stands work.”

You turn around, fishing your dress up from the floor with one hand. You try to ignore the sounds of the bed creaking as your date from last night moves around. You pull the red dress over your head, slipping on your black heels - surprisingly keeping your balance this time around. 

“You can stay for breakfast, darling,” he suggests softly, his voice raspy. “I can drive you to your interview. I actually have to be at work in thirty minutes anyway.”

You shake your head, grabbing your purse and slipping your phone inside. “Thanks, but no thanks. I really need to go home and take a shower. This interview is important to me.” 

He shrugs as if to say suit yourself, effortlessly throwing on a navy colored shirt. He follows you to the front door quietly, his bare feet padding against the wooden floors. You grab the door handle, turning around to take in his ravishingly good looks one last time. If this had been any other day, you definitely would have taken him up on his offer. 

“Well,” a smirk spreads across his lips, and you wish you could feel them against your own. “Thank you for last night, love. Good luck with your interview.” 

You just nod, swallowing thickly, unable to form a normal sentence. You walk out into the hallway, realizing that you’re on the top floor. You’re already planning the fastest route back to your apartment when you hear his door close behind you. 

XXX

Taking one last look in the full-length mirror on your wall, you nod to yourself. You can do this. You’re too much of in a hurry to care about the apple falling off the counter as you grab your purse. Locking your door, you inhale deeply; one last attempt at calming your nerves. 

The nerves come back in waves as soon as you walk through the revolving doors at Holland and Osterfield’s. The view that met you was more than enough to take your breath away, but you’re too anxious to enjoy the beautiful foyer. After announcing your arrival and purpose, you are directed toward the fourth floor. As the elevator doors close, you give yourself one last pep-talk. 

Sitting in the office was the most nerve-wracking thing you had experienced in a long time. You nervously tug at the hem of your dark grey pencil skirt, wondering if it was a little too short. After glancing around the room again, you focus your gaze on the bookshelf on the wall. You can just barely read the book titles, but it helps calm your jitters. 

“You like reading?” 

The oddly familiar voice makes you jump in your seat, and you stand up, wiping your clammy palms on your skirt. Turning around to meet your potential boss, you extend your hand toward him. You can physically feel your eyes widen in shock when you look at him. His stern expression changes, too, and a smirk suddenly makes its way to his lips. 

“Y/N,” your name falls from his lips with ease, and you hate how good it makes you feel. “Good to see you again.” 

The sly smile on his face fuels your sudden frustration. Just my fucking luck, you thought, looking at the man you had left this morning. Yesterday when you met him, he had been wearing black jeans, a black shirt, boots and a suede brown jacket. The bad boy exterior had been swapped out, and you couldn’t quite decide which side you preferred. 

You nod. “You as well,” you trail off, realizing you had either forgotten his name or he hadn’t given it to you at all. 

“Tom Holland.” He finally takes your extended hand, his touch lingering. He clears his throat, walking toward the chair behind his desk. He motions for you to sit back down and you comply. 

“So, Y/N,” he starts, flicking through the stack of papers on his desk. You realize they contain information about you, suddenly itching to see what was written. “It says here you go to Imperial College London. Impressive.” 

You nod, not entirely sure how to reply. “Yeah,” you confirm. “I have been going to ICL for the past two years. I will be graduating in June.” 

“I can’t help but notice your thick American accent. Although London is lucky to have you, I can’t help but wonder why you chose to come here. Enlighten me, would you, Y/N?” 

You hate how your name sounds so much better in a British accent, especially the way it falls from his lips. You fold your hands in your lap, suddenly regretting leaving the top button of your blouse unbuttoned when you feel his eyes watching you. 

“Well,” you begin, trying your best to avoid his curious eyes. “My aunt lives in London, so I used to come here every summer until I turned thirteen. I’ve always loved London, and well, ICL just seemed like the perfect university for me to attend.” 

Tom nods, seemingly more interested in your appearance than your answer. You study the stripes on his tie, attempting to organize your thoughts so you would be prepared to answer his next question. 

Crossing your legs, you use your right hand to throw your hair over your shoulder. Tom licks his lips, quickly glancing back down at the notes in front of him. 

“What brings you to Holland and Osterfield’s? Why is this the company you want to intern with for the next six months?” He raises a questioning eyebrow, leaning back into the comfort of his chair. 

You take ahold of your bottom lip with your teeth, trying to figure out the best way to answer his question. Truth to be told, his company had been the last on your list, but they were the only ones that had replied to your e-mail. 

“Mr. Holland,” you start, meeting his eyes. “Your company is very extraordinary. I find what your company does and stands for especially inspiring. I know that Mr. Osterfield and yourself started out young, which makes your success that more impressive. I would love to work for a company like yours.” 

Tom smiles at your answer, nodding. You glance at his hands as they write additional notes on the papers in front of him, an unwelcome redness spreading across your cheeks as you remember how they had touched you last night. The memory sends a shiver down your spine, and you shift uncomfortably in the chair. 

“Harrison tells me you’re a marketing major. He’s the one who runs the marketing department of the company,” Tom informs you, looking back up from the printed notes. “Unfortunately he wasn’t able to make it in for your interview. He said you know all the basic marketing stuff?”

You nod, validating his information. You glance toward the black, elegant watch on the wall. It had only been ten minutes, and you were already more than ready to go back to your apartment. 

“And do you usually sleep around?” 

Your head whips toward him. “No! I-I, uh,” you sputter, embarrassed. The question had fallen from his lips so nonchalantly. “I believe that’s none of your business, sir.” 

Tom grins teasingly with a shrug. “Fair enough.” 

He pushes his chair back, standing up and straightening his blue blazer. You feel his eyes on you as he walks around his desk. You stand up quickly when he stops in front of your seat expectantly. You pick up your purse, slinging the strap over your shoulder. 

Tom buttons his blazer, the fabric tightening around his abdomen as he does. You bite your lip, remembering his bare chest from the morning. You suddenly wonder what would have happened if you had stayed at his place. 

“Well, Y/N, I look forward to working with you.”

You frown, meeting his eyes. “That’s it?” 

“Yes,” he states simply. “Unless you have any questions for me, I expect to see you here on Monday. 8 o’clock sharp. Bring your laptop and good looks.” 

You shake his hand, willing the heat in your cheeks to go away. If you had known the interview would be this easy, you wouldn’t even have bothered with the three mock interviews you had done with your friend the day before. 

After meeting Tom back in late 2014 at one of Harrison’s parties, the two of you quickly began dating. You were already growing quickly on YouTube at the time but kept your relationship out of the spotlight for months. You had been there through the entirety of his audition process for Spider-Man and you couldn’t be prouder of him. A few months ago, after a dinner filled with laughter, memories, and fairy lights, he had asked you to be his forever. The proposal was absolutely perfect and you could tell he had put a lot of planning into it, which made the gesture even more special. With both of you having busy schedules, you had decided to take it slow and plan whenever you had time. You had already been out dress shopping once but with no luck and Tom had asked Harrison to be his best man even before he asked you to marry him. Still, it felt surreal to be engaged to Tom. Just thinking about it made the butterflies in your stomach celebrate.

Remy is the first cast member you spot and as you get closer, you realize he’s chatting with Tony. You focus the camera on the two young men as you approach them, barely able to contain your excitement. You can tell they’re wearing their character clothes you glance around quickly, making sure they’re not about to start filming. Tony sees you first and as his facial expression changes, Remy turns around, too. Sending them a smile, you give them a small wave, waiting until you’re close enough to verbally greet them. Tony grins, wrapping his arm around you for a quick hug. He doesn’t say anything and you don’t either, wanting their genuine reactions. For a second, you wonder if it’s still as noticeable as when you left the house. Remy pulls you in next, the two of you greeting each other until he pauses mid-hug. He pulls away, gripping your upper arm gently as he looks down. His eyes double in size as a gasp escapes him.

“You’re- When? Tom never said anything. I swear-” Remy rambles and Tony joins in, their words mixing together.

“Guys! Guys, chill. It’s fake,” you giggle, giving the belly a few pats. “It’s for a video. See?”

You motion to the camera in your right hand and the two boys fall into silence. Still focusing the camera on them, you explain the video concept once again. They continue to gush about how real it looks and you feel a sense of accomplishment. After showing your friends and family the belly, you were planning on testing everyday activities and if people would treat you differently. If the belly looks real enough for them to believe it, multiple strangers probably would, too. The three of you catch up for a moment, talking about random things. Eventually, your patience thins out and you ask for Tom, itching to catch his reaction on camera.

They join you on your journey to find your fiancé, claiming he’s going to flip his shit and they don’t want to miss it. With determination in your step, you begin to walk over to where he’s supposed to be filming his next scene, recording the entire time. You hear him before you see him, his American accent is clear as day. A few seconds later, you hear Jacob and you assume they’re filming a scene with Peter and Ned. You watch from afar, making sure your camera is turned off, not wanting to get in trouble with Marvel. Tom’s lack of constraints is a well-known fact and the company and production crew always go to great lengths to make sure he doesn’t spill any valuable information, so you figure it’s best to keep the camera off for now. As you get closer, you notice Zendaya is standing off to the side, looking between the two men playing their characters. You realize she’s in the scene, too, and you watch intently as Peter, Ned, and Michelle bicker amongst each other.

Sensing the scene nearing its end, your nerves pick back up. You couldn’t quite put your finger on the exact reason behind your jitteriness but the suspense of waiting for Tom’s reaction made it twice as bad. Turning the camera back on as soon as Jon confirms the scene is over, you try your best to keep your composure. You don’t walk any closer just yet, explaining to the viewers that Tom still hasn’t seen you and that you’re currently on set to capture his reaction. Remy and Tony are chatting eagerly amongst themselves and you vaguely hear them placing a bet on Tom’s reaction, which makes the whole situation even more comical. Deciding it’s time, you head toward your fiancé and your two friends. Zendaya notices you first, Tom and Jacob facing the opposite direction, and you give her a small wave.

“Thomas,” she exclaims dramatically, making Tom jolt. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re having a baby?”

You can only imagine the look of confusion plastered on Tom’s face at Zendaya’s sudden outburst. The beautiful actress sends you grins toward you, returning the wave. You wonder briefly if she was just playing along or if she genuinely thought you were pregnant, but you before you could decide Tom’s surprised eyes met yours. He had seen you just last night before bed but the look of confusion is authentic. Coming to a halt in front of the small group, Tony and Remy in tow, you purse your lips together, barely able to contain your wide grin. Tom looks so genuinely confused that you find it incredibly difficult to muffle your laugh. A few moments pass and he notices the camera in hand, realization washing over his features. By now, seeing you with a camera in hand was second nature and it made sense that he didn’t question it.

“That looks so real,” Tom whispers in amazement, his eyes trained on the fake bump.

You rotate slowly, showcasing it from every possible angle, a string of giggles escaping you. “It does, doesn’t it? I’m doing a twenty-four-hour pregnant challenge for my channel.”

“Girl, you had me all excited!” Zendaya whines, grimacing in your direction. “I saw you walk in during the scene and I was about to stop right then and there, but then I noticed your camera.”

Tom inches forward, close enough for you to see the small freckles decorating his nose. Catching it all on film, you watch with admiration as he hesitantly reaches out to touch the pretend bump. The groups awe aloud and before you can stop it, the familiar heat spreads across your cheeks. You swear you hear the sound of someone’s camera, but you’re too preoccupied with looking at Tom to investigate. Although you physically can’t feel his hand, you can’t help but notice how perfectly it fits against the bump. The two of you had discussed marriage and babies multiple times, but it was more small comments here and there than an actual serious conversation. Tom always told you stories about him and his siblings, and you knew he wanted a lot of kids. You wanted kids, too, but you had never decided on a number, figuring you would want to experience motherhood first. Seeing Tom interact with the bump - fake or not - made your biological clock tick faster. Just by the look on his face, you knew you wanted him to be the father of your kids and the sooner, the better.

The others took turns feeling the huge jelly-like shape strapped to your body as well. It felt slightly odd, having them all put their hands where a potential real bump could be someday, and you made a mental note to explain that to the camera later. After all, this was meant as a test to see how it feels to be pregnant. The entire time, Tom’s gaze lingers on you; his dark orbs following your every move. You don’t know whether to find it slightly concerning or very adorable. The group continued to gush over the realness, but you were too caught up on Tom’s focus on you.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you state softly, but loud enough for him to hear over the continuous chatter.

“Like what?”

You can’t tell if he’s being serious or playing dumb, so with a sigh, you elaborate, “Like… I don’t know! You keep looking at me funny.”

“Sorry, darling,” he apologizes automatically. “I didn’t mean to- It’s just… It looks so real.”

“I know,” you shrug. “Is it weirding you out?”

Tom shakes his head immediately. “Quite the opposite, in fact. I can’t wait for you to be pregnant for real.”

“Aw, you guys are the cutest! This is so going on Instagram,” Zendaya gushes and once again, you feel your cheeks heat up.