#richkid!tom

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

“Yeah. Just, um, tired,” you mutter.

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

“I’m trying to be good,” you shrug.

“C’mere.” 

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

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

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

“Impressive,” you nod, taking a sip.

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

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

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

“What? I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Helloooo, our neighbor? Tommy Holly?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Since when do you smoke?” you retort.

“Since when do you?”

“Since someone broke my heart,” you mumble.

“What was that?”

You hold your breath.

“Nothing.”

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

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

“Good. How’s London?”

“Good. University is university,” Tom shrugs.

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

“I like your dress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So. Matt Atkinson, huh?”

“Yeah,” you nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You avoided me?” Tom exasperates, frowning.

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

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

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

“I wasn’t jealous,” you protest. 

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

“We’re still kids,” you shrug.

“Y/N.”

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

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

Still do. 

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Tom breathes. “Here we are.”

Awkward beat. Tom coughs stiffly.

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

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

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

“One where we’re still together.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we?”

“Sure we are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not at all,” you mumble. 

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

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

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

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

“You can’t just call a taxi?”

“She needs help getting into her bed!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll put in the directions.”

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

“Can we get Chinese?” she whines.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, we aren’t—”

“Thanks—”

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

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

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

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

“Well, that was fun,” he concludes. 

“Totally,” you retort bitterly.

“Do you want to maybe—“

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

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

“What were you about to ask me?”

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

“It’s late,” you reply softly. 

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

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

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

“What?”

“Our families are getting brunch together?”

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

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

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

“See you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe because I’ve got better legs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Morning, rabbit. Mimosa’s good.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“This looks amazing,” Dom comments.

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

“Lovely choice.”

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

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

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

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

“Sorry?”

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

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

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

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

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

Ava makes a guttural sound with her mouth.

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

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

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

“Gender studies.”

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

“Excuse me?”

“Just a joke, darling.” 

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

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

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

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

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

clintwestwood66: need to see those perfect tits, baby

You roll your eyes. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

Persephone’s live will begin shortly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just said I wanted to see you!”

“That’s a lie.”

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

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

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

“These are just excuses.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” he breathes. “Cybersex?”

“Tom.”

“I thought you weren’t seeing any—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you high?” you narrow your eyes.

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

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

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

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

“I—um,” you stammer.

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

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

“You did?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. No. It’s… I do live streams.”

“And you fuck yourself?” 

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

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

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

“You make a lot of money?”

“A decent amount.”

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

“In front of strangers?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Persephone is LIVE.

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

Spidey69: we thought u got kidnapped!!

Shy_guyxx: look so sexy queen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shy_guyxx: is he bigger than your toys? lol

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

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

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

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

“You wanna fuck my mouth?”

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

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

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

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

“You want me to stop?”

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

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

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

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

“You taste so sweet, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too much?” he sneers. 

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

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

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

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

“Oh, God, I’m close.”

“Fuck, me too,” you hear him pant. 

“Cum for me, f-fuck–”

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

“Why did you–”

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

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

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

“I’m gonna–”

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

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

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

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

“You good?” you giggle.

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

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

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

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

Shy_guyxx: Fuck that was so hot

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

Peterporker12: Holy shittttt

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

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

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

“Maybe on you. That was fucking amazing.”

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

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

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

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

“Forced eviction helps.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean it, Y/N.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

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

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

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

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

playlist in plain text:

frank ocean - ivy

yeule - bites on my neck 

the weeknd - tell your friends

lana del rey - watercolor eyes

fkj, ((( o ))) - vibin’ out

lykke li - sex money feelings die 

the neighbourhood - you get me so high

anna of the north - lovers

deftones - sextape

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

✧ *:･ﾟTaunt･ﾟ:*✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A small snort slips past your lips.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

“Are you— are you going to fuck me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know what it bloody is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doing what…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How come?”

Tom sighs. His hot breath bursts across your neck.

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

Your voice catches. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bye, Tom.”

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your chest tightens.

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

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

“Alright, Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Different?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

Flames roar across you. “W- What?”

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

“...Right here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head. He hums.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom raises a brow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He glances back at you. “Am I wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tom hums. “Just adds to the charm.”

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

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

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

Are they always that long…?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re breathing heavily. “Not long.”

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

“Tell me what it feels like.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For you,” he adds.

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes are so pretty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why does it hurt so much?

You know why it hurts.

Your breath catches in the back of your throat.

The game isn’t fun anymore.

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

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

“Y/N— Y/N!”

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

“Oh— shit,” he mutters. “Careful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mere,” he coaxes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would love that,” you reply.

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

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ 

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?" You nod, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah, how’s the Mrs doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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

“Fancy seeing you here,” she says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oi, you can’t smoke in here!”

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

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

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

“Been smoking since.”

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

“But the book!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good luck, now,” he pumped his fist.

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

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

She really does know how to put on a show.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do you regret smoking then?

nope

Why not?

wouldn’t have met you :)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s incredibly boring?”

“Have you played before?”

“...No.”

“Then how is it boring?”

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

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

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remembering how Tom did it, she stuck her tongue out and drove the club back and swung it. There was a pause between the two of them, she frowned.

She tipped her head to the side. “I don’t think that’s how I’m supposed to do it,” she said.

“Yeah, no,” he snickered. “But that’s okay,” reassuring her. He further explained the motion and she repeatedly bobbed her head.

“Okay... I think maybe…? I’m ready to try again,” she adjusted her hands on the grip.

“That’s it! You got it!” he exclaimed, walking towards her to give her a high five. “Now just try a few more and then we’ll move on to your stance, yeah?” he stood behind, observing her with his arms crossed.

She began to improve with every swing with Tom giving her a few pointers as she did. Observing her, Tom found her incredibly adorable with her tongue sticking out in concentration. After getting better at her drive, Tom proceeded to coach her on her stance.

“Yeah, you’ve got your footing right, so now just soften your knees a little?”

“Like this?” she habitually bent down into her tennis stance. His eyes crinkled as he laughed, holding his belly. She stood up straight with her wrists on her hips.

“Are you taking a fucking piss?” she scolded him trying not to give in to laughter. Apologising immediately after, trying hard to contain his laughter.

“No, no. Like this,” he showed with an imaginary club. She observed and tried to mimic him, bending a little too much again. “Okay, um. Is it alright if I touch you?”

“Yea-Yeah sure.”

He stood behind her, feeling her jump slightly when he held her waist. “Okay, so just place the back of your knee on my knee,” he leaned in closer to her back.

“Yeah, that’s it,” she felt the vibration of his chest against her back. “The key is to kind of relax your body a bit. Just whatever makes you feel comfortable. We’re different so it might not,” he cleared his throat as she backed her bum against his crotch. “It might not, uh, feel right for you.”

“Feel comfortable?” he whispered, feeling his breath on her ear. His skin felt soft against hers as he brushed his hands on her arm to reach for the club.

“Yeah,” her voice, barely above a whisper when he placed his hands on hers.

“Ready to swing?”

“Mhm,” she gulped, feeling his skin touch hers.

“Alright,” they both drove the club back and swung softly. “Nice one,” Tom muttered as they watched the ball hit the ground.

“Now, you try it again,” he said, the warmth of his body leaving hers and she felt the breeze blow on the back of her legs again.

For the next couple of months, they were constantly seen together. Whether it was at the occasional society events, or at the golf club, or library. When the air got colder though, they met less often since y/n was done with her summer leave at a local publishing company.

One evening, Tom had invited y/n to have dinner at his place with other friends. Sam wanted to experiment with different cuisine and needed as many unbiased tasters. After dinner, they proceeded to play drinking games. Apparently, y/n had been so bad at playing that she’d become drunk by the third game.

“Alright, mate. You need to help me out a little getting out of the car,” Tom grunted trying to move y/n who was slumped over in the passenger seat. He’d offered to drive her back home since she was absolutely hammered.

“I hate it when you call me ‘mate’,” y/n slurred her words.

“What should I call you then?” he sighed and stopped trying to pry her out of the car.

She placed her pointer finger on her lip, in thought. “Well, haven’t thought about it,” she giggled.

“Mhm,” Tom shook his head, smiling to himself.

y/n then decided to get out of the car by herself. Sighing, he closed the door and rushed to catch her before she fell onto the floor.

“Fuck, Tom! Someone stole my car,” she exclaimed when they walked up to the car porch, her voice echoed around the compound.

“You drove to my place, remember?” Tom laughed, hushing her.

They stumbled up the front door after what felt like an eternity, Tom was panting from chasing her around. “You’re fuckin’ mad when you’re drunk,” Tom muttered to himself.

He gave her a bottle of water to drink as they sat at the front door, her head placed on his shoulders. Tom felt the light drizzle from the sky falling onto his skin. "Okay, can you get in yourself?”

She nodded, finally being able to stand up on her feet —with Tom’s help, of course. She wrapped her arms around Tom’s neck to give him a hug. His hands found themselves on her lower back. She let go and kissed his cheek, lingering a little too long.

Their eyes closed, still leaned in. He felt as drunk as she was, finding himself breathless. He could smell the mixture of booze on her breath. Their lips drew closer and closer.

y/n turned her face away, Tom cleared his throat. “Oh, I’m not feeling great,” she mumbled. Tom turned to face her, she was crouched, hugging her belly. “I think I’m gonna vom,” she covered her mouth.

“Okay, hand me your keys, yeah,” he took the keys from her hand. "Please, mate, if you vom on me we'll have a puke contest," he begged. She rushed in, stumbling quickly to get to the nearest toilet.

Tom followed her, thanking all the gods she didn’t vomit before she got to the toilet. He held her hair back as she barfed all the alcohol out of her system, trying so hard not to gag at the sound. After getting her to brush her teeth and clean up, he brought her to her room.

“Thanks, Tom. You’re great,” she smiled as he tucked her in. He placed a bottle of water and painkiller on the nightstand before he headed back home.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Tom spotted her, sitting alone at a table with her head resting on her palm. She looked miserable, a minute frown on her face. “Hello, there. Care for a pint?” He waved the drink in front of her, making her groan.

“Fuck off,” she pushed the drink away.

“D’you wake up okay?” he sat down.

“No, spent the whole day in bed. Why did you let me drink that much?” she moaned, pressing her fingers into her temple.

“You snatched them all right off my hand!”

She covered her face, chagrined as she recalled the memory. “Did I vomit on you?”

“Not a drop, darling,” he smiled, resting his arm on the back of her chair.

Taking a sip of her water, she nodded. “I hope I was hot though,” she sneered, making him chuckle.

Her head rested on his shoulder as they witnessed the wedding reception. They watched and made fun of people as they made a fool of themselves on the dance floor. It had seemed like the perfect opportunity for Tom to declare how he felt about her but the thought of it made him entirely sick. And other than the incident last night, how she felt for him was utterly vague.

He stood up from his seat and put out his hand in front of her. “May I have this dance?”

y/n snorted, looking up at him. She sighed and he still stood there with his hands in front of her. “Oh. You’re not kidding are you?” her face deadpanned.

“No,” he shook his head.

“Okay...” she took his hand and he led her to the dancefloor.

He placed his hands on her waist and she placed hers nicely on the back of his neck. They swayed to the rhythm of the song, a common slow dance song played at weddings that is much too old for her to know the name of. She looked at him, he raised his eyebrows making her grin and scoff.

“This is nice,” she whispered.

“Come on now, move closer.”

“Like this?” she stepped closer, her head now right next to his. His heart skipped a beat.

As they continued to sway, her head rested on his shoulders and Tom caught a whiff of her shampoo. Taking her hand from his shoulder, he moved her hands under his arm. As he did this, she lifted her head up. He peered over to look at her, their faces a couple millimeters away. Shifting his gaze from her eyes to her lips, his breaths shorten.

“y/n,” his voice was hushed.

“Yeah?” their eyes locked. He struggled to utter a word, his eyes fixated on her lips.

“Just kiss me already,” she sighed. Tom hesitated, bug-eyed and breath hitched. Fuck it, he thought.

Her eyes fluttered close when she felt his lips on hers. Her lips were as delicate as he’d imagined. Even though she swore off booze for the night, he caught a taste of wine on her lips. Though they didn’t want to, they broke the kiss when the song ended. They leaned on each other’s foreheads as they smiled, giggling struggling to flutter their eyes open.

“Uh, y/n,” a voice came from behind her.

Eli. He’d mentioned something about their mother needing to go home early.

She let go, Tom cleared his throat, trying his best to wipe the grin off his face. “Eli,” she said in between her teeth. “This is Tom Holland,” she introduced. “Tom, this is my brother, Eli,” they shook hands and Eli gave her a cheeky grin. He then hurriedly left after he lingered with Tom a minute too long seeing that she’d been glaring at him.

“Okay,” she took Tom’s hand in hers and rocked it back and forth. “I’ve got to go,” he bites his lip, nodding his head.

“No, yeah. I’ll see you,” he kissed her cheek.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Driving up to Brighton, Tom was sick to his stomach. He bounced in his seat and he could feel the damp heat from his hands as he wiped them on his shorts. Saying all but a few words, he stared blankly out the window. Sam took the wheel, knowing full well he’d be too jittery to drive. After all, y/n was leaving tomorrow.

Red and lilac, the water mirrored the sky. The waves crashing on the rocky shore now louder than the music from the beach house. Tom snuck away from the barbeque where the guests gathered.

“Oi, what are you doing out here?” a familiar voice tugged at his heart. He bites his lip, hiding his smile.

“Having a smoke to celebrate you finally leaving,” he joked, passing her his cigarette. She hummed.

They walked away from the beach house sharing a single cigarette. As the waves grew louder and the bustling noise got softer, the more world spun. He’d had a few too many drinks to conquer the nerves. Feeling the rocks crunch under their feet, they stumbled to god-knows-where. Somehow their fingers intertwined as they walked, it all felt right. Until a pain pangs in his stomach knowing she’d be leaving in a few hours.

“You alright?”

Tom cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m good,” he smiled, caressing her knuckles with his thumb.

She chuckled. His grip on her hand was tight and only grew tighter. “You sure?” she stopped, pulling him back to her.

Looking down at his feet, he searched up words in his dizzying brain. He jittered in his stance and stopped when he felt her hands on his cheeks —as soft as he’d known her to be.

“What’s up?” she tried to get him to look her in the eyes. He sighed, chuckling.

“y/n, I,” he choked. She inched closer, her infamous frown on her face again. “I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered, chickening out.

Her frown disappears. “I’m gonna miss you too,” she fluttered her eyes close and leaned in, attaching her lips to his. It felt different than the one they had a week ago —more longing, more passion. Her hands fell on his shoulders and moved them slowly to his chest. Tom wrapped his arms around her lower back and brought her body flush against his.

They reluctantly let go when they heard the party cheer behind them. Turning back to peer back at the party: they were cheering at something else. Touching foreheads, they chuckled and Tom lifted his hands to rest them on her face.

The dim light in the sky highlighted the high points of her face. “You’re so beautiful,” he grazed his thumbs on her cheeks, adoring her features.

“Tom?” she whispered, he turned his gaze to her eyes.

“Yeah, love?” her legs weakened at the new name.

“I really really like you,” she bit her lip. Tom’s eyes grew wide, his hands fell to her shoulders. He sighed, clutching his hands in his chest making her giggle. He pouts as he feels his eyes start to well up. “Are you crying?”

Shielding his face with his hands, she cackled loudly, falling on the sand. “I was trying so hard to say it first. I was so nervous!” he shouted as she laughed even louder, rolling on the floor.

“I can’t believe I made you cry,” she wiped the tears from her eyes, sighing and then starting to laugh again.

“Oh, I’m never going to live this down, am I?” she shook her head, still laughing.

Her laughter died down, and soon they were kissing again. He held her waist, slipping his hands under her shirt and she does the same. The rings on his fingers sent shivers up her spine. Tom parted from the kiss, and his lips felt swollen. Their chests rose and faltered in unison, their foreheads still touching.

He cleared his throat. “We should head back. Those people are here for you,” he grazed his fingers on her shoulder.

“Yeah, I forgot about the party for a second,” she giggled.

When they got back, y/n entertained her guests and said her farewells. Tom lingered close, chatting with her friends. Stolen glances exchanged the whole night, both having something else on their minds. Fortunately, the night ended faster than expected and her guests had left, including their brothers.

Closing the front door, she turned around to see him right behind her. “Fancy seeing you here,” she moved closer, taking his hands. His gaze was alluring as he smiled. He grabbed her face and kissed her, earning a moan from her.

He pressed her against the door, feeling his clothed hard-on against her thighs. In a drunken haze, she stopped the kiss and led him upstairs. Their lips connected at the top of the stairs, not parting as they stumbled into the nearest bedroom. Her hands slipped down to his chest, unbuttoning his button-down. When she got rid of the clothing, she let go of the kiss and dragged her fingers down his skin, admiring his abs.

“Darling. Shit,” his voice strained. “That tickles,” he laughed. She giggled, reaching for the hem of her shirt to take it off.

No bra. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” Tom drooled. He grabbed her face again, expecting him to attack her lips but he dove his head to reach for her neck. She whined, making him smile against her neck. He took her breasts in his hands and played with her hard nipples. Her legs gave out when he found the sweet spot on her neck.

They moved closer to the bed, y/n fell back on the bed. Tom kisses her neck and leaves trails of kisses down her chest.

“Fuck, Tommy,” she moans, her back arched when his lips attached to her nipples. The nickname incited a groan from him. He licked her nipples, causing a string of beautiful moans to come from her throat.

She hummed when she felt the absence of heat from her body, he untied the drawstrings of her pants and pulled them off. Continuing from where he left off, he took his time down —worshipping her body. He kissed her clothed hips. She looked down, making eye contact with him as she watched him take her panties off with his teeth. Her head fell back on the bed, biting her lip.

“So beautiful,” he cooed, she felt cold air blow against her wet slick. He adorned her skin with kisses, everywhere but where she wanted it most. He then reaches his hand up and plays with her nipples.

He kisses the insides of her thighs and then closer to her wet pussy. He inched closer when he changed his mind and trailed up to her hips. Grinding the air, she moaned, pushing his head closer to her body.

“D’you like it when I tease you?”

She nodded, her eyes shut, tightly pursing her lips. Finally, he licks a long stripe up her entrance, making her grip his curls tightly. He does it agonisingly slowly a few more times until he reaches for her clit.

She reaches for his hands, intertwines her fingers with his and squeezes them tightly as he kitten licks her clit. He let go of her hands and inserted a finger into her, earning a loud moan from her. He adds another finger, sucking on her clit as he does so. All the stimulation makes her arch her back.

In the daze, she closed her eyes, alternating between grabbing his hair and the bedsheets. “Right there, baby. Fuck,” she whimpered when he bends his digits, stimulating her g-spot. A familiar knot forms in her stomach as he repeats the motion. She saw colours as she reached her climax, grabbing his hair tight making Tom moan into her.

“That was fucking hot,” he wiped her wetness from his mouth. She laughs, panting as she comes down from her high. He wastes no time, kissing his way up her body to her lips. Their tongues intertwine, she tastes herself and her arousal grows again.

She holds his shoulders, pushing to switch positions and grinds her hips on his crotch. He groaned into the kiss, his hand flew to her waist. She kissed down his body, taking off the remaining clothing still on him. His dick sprung up as she did, making him wince from the cold air. She kissed the tip of his shaft, making him grab his hair.

“Oh, this is better than I’ve imagined,” he moans.

“Yeah? You’ve thought about this?” she asks, her words vibrating on his shaft.

He nodded, grunting as she licked the tip. “Tried not to cause it’s kind of creepy but- fuuuck,” he cursed, tipping his head back when she sucked on his tip. “But you’re just so fucking hot.”

She flattened her tongue on his cock from the base to the tip as she looked up at him through her lashes. His mouth wide open and eyebrows crossed, he mouthed ‘fuck’ under his breath. He gently wipes her damp hair away from her face. Opening her mouth to take his dick in, he stops her.

“Darling, I’m gonna cum on your face if we continue like this,” he sat up.

“And?” she raised her brow, making him chuckle, shaking his head.

“As much as I want that, I want to cum with you,” she gets up from her knees to kiss him.

They got up to the top of the bed. He lined his dick at her entrance. “Ready?” he looked into her eyes. She nods, smiling up at him. He kissed her forehead. He drove his tip in, and their breaths hitched. “Keep your eyes open for me, darling,” he says when her eyes nearly closes shut. She sighs his name. Mouth agape, looking at him under hooded eyes.

“Feel so fucking good,” he moves his whole length in her at a nice pace, groaning. He buried his head into her neck. His breath feels hot on her neck and she lifts her legs and wraps it around his bum.

His tip hits a new spot in the position, making her clench her pussy. “Fuck, that’s it,” she whines, making him bite into her shoulders. She gripped his hair in her hands, “Tommy, I wanna hear you moan.”

He lifts his head, facing her. They looked into each other’s eyes as Tom thrusts into her —deeper and harder. She raked his back with her fingers, forming red lines. Their moans and pants echoed the walls.

“You’re fuck- so fucking tight, love. You close?” she nods, unable to utter a word. “Cum with me when I say so, okay?” she moans, closing her eyes, humming.

Her eyes follow his hands reaching in between their bodies. She rolls her eyes to the back of her head, squealing when he massages her clit.

He chuckled. “Always wanted to see your eyes roll back with my cock in you.” She groaned, her pussy clenched even tighter now. “Keep your eyes open for me when we cum.”

“Only if you cum in me,” she mutters in between moans, making him grunt and nod.

Tom thrusts his cock in her a few more times, they were getting sloppier. “Fuck I’m close,” he mewled. “Cum for me, love.”

She lets go, clenching even more than he deemed possible. They both moaned and cursed, his warm cum painted her walls. They come down from their climax, panting beside each other.

y/n sighed, laughing as her breathing regulated. “Holy fuck,” she chuckles, both of them stare at the ceiling. Tom turned on his side to face her — still euphoric, he traces his fingers on her bare shoulders, a soft smile on his face. Peering over to face him, she smiles.

He pecks her shoulders and hovers over her to cover her with kisses. She sighs, nestling her palms in his curls. After returning from taking a piss, they cuddled with each other and let slumber take over them.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

String lights hung on top of her, mimicking barely visible stars above them. She grabbed a smoke in the garden maze. “Fancy seeing you here,” a familiar voice. He snuck out on her the next day.

The whole world seized, her body froze and her breath got caught in her lungs. She begged for the world to eat her at her feet so she wouldn’t have to face the man. She turns around, the cigarette dissipating, holding it in her fingers.

“Hi,” she braved her broken heart.

“y/n,” his voice pleading but stern.

“Tom,” she mimics his tone.

“I was a coward. I’m so sorry,” he says, bug-eyed.

“About what?” she maintained a calm facade. He opens his mouth to talk but a high pitched squeal disrupts him.

“Mummy! Mummy!” a girl runs towards y/n, headbutting her thighs and her body moves with the momentum of the impact.

“Hi, love,” she rubs her back, putting out her cigarette. With guilt stirring her stomach, she gave Tom a weak smile.

Tom froze, gloom took over his body. The girl had most of y/n’s features but he could see that she had a nose he'd seen so often in baby pictures of him and his brothers. The Holland nose.

“Mummy who's that?” the girl tugs at her mother’s dress. She whispered back an incoherent reply, too soft for Tom's ringing ears to catch.

“Darling, why don’t you go play with Uncle Eli, yeah?” she whispers to her, seeing Eli at the corner beckoning for the young girl.

y/n cleared her throat, wiping her sweaty palms on her clothed thighs. “How old is she?” Tom asks, his gaze not faltering from the floor.

She gulped. “Three.”

“And...” his eyes wide, unblinking, now fixated on her face.

She nods.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

please say hi if you want to be mutuals!! and i would really appreciate a reblog if you enjoyed it.

The diamonds, the clothes, shoes, dinners, accessories, all too much. He spoiled you in every way shape and form. In the tabloids, he was a spoiled rich kid who never care for anything but himself but when he was with you he couldn’t stop caring.

“You look so pretty.” He placed a soft kiss right over your neck. Tilting your head to give him more access you stare out at the balcony, the garden was so beautiful and big you at first got lost in it.

“Stop it, tom.” You let out a soft laugh and he shakes his head, curls tickling your neck and face just a bit. His hands already getting ready to bunch up the expensive silk you called a dress, getting ready to pull it up just to your waist and the expensive thing you wore underneath was something worth hundreds he would tear off.

“It’s true.” He kisses gently over your shoulder this time. “Prettiest thing in the world.” He pulled you closer into his hips, feeling him grow hard and desperately wanting you.

“Tom,” your breath hitched as your dress came all the way up, exposing everything underneath. The garden was nearly never empty and Toms balcony was perfect view. He was playing a dangerous game and he knew it. He wanted to play it, play you. “Someone can see.” You warn.

“Then let them watch.” He said in a growl. The sound of him unzipping his pants came next. You were thrown into a bliss with his touch and kissed that you truly didn’t care if anyone saw. “I’m the son of a bloody millionaire, what is someone in the gardens going to do?” He was always so cocky and before you could say anything back, he slipped right inside you.

You grip onto the railing. One hand or his is slipped around your waist, the other hand peeling away at a strap for better access of of breasts. He wasn’t slow, he was rough as he almost always was.

“So fucking pretty, such a fucking tease today. Did you think you were cute trying on those panties knowing others were around was cute? Being a whore is fucking cute?” He thrusted into you. Your whimper but hold back, nervous someone is going to look up and see the two of you. “Don’t be shy now whore.” He let out an airy laugh on your next as he pressed a messy kiss there.

Kissing over and over as you moan. Crying his name, fully exposed, wearing the most expensive diamonds that keep hitting against your chest as he fucks you. A reminder that you’re his.

“Tom, Tom please.” You whimper as your grip tightens on the railing.

“Please what?” He encourages. When you don’t say something back immediately he chuckles. “So fucking in love with my cock you can’t speak.”

“Look.” He points down to a worker walking in the garden, minding his business, you both look at him. “Tomorrow morning, that man will be most likely serving breakfast and I want you knowing I fucked you right above him. Knowing youre such a fucking whore for my dick.” He pounded harder and that was it, that was the part that pushed you over the edge and had you fully bent over the railing. Crying Toms name as you chased your orgasm.

Tom followed soon after that. Pulling out and cumming on the back of your dress. Pressing sweet kisses into your shoulder to calm you. He may have always been rough but he gave you everything you needed afterwards.

“Baby,” he kissed, bringing you back. “let’s get you in the bath.” He said in a gentle voice and you nodded. The sun now fully set and you look down in the garden one more time and no longer see the man tom pointed out.

your heart said to go for it, but your mind pulled you back in. you were so shocked and overcome with new feelings, you froze up. that, and you’d infuriate your mother. although she cares about tom a great deal, she loathes his public figure. he’s always getting papped in places and with people he shouldn’t be. the two of you together would just destroy her.

you still want to please your mom at the end of the day, no matter how deep under your skin she gets.

tom immediately apologized and tried play it off as him being drunk. you grew up with him, became part of each other’s families, which means you know him well enough to know he was lying. he meant every second his lips were on yours.

what you need to do now is something you’ve meant to for a while. the only problem is that you’re stuck at your mother’s party, and tom hasn’t shown up yet.

“y/n, darling,” your mom calls for your attention. she’s dragged you into a conversation with some bloggers, but you haven’t spoken a word. “why don’t you tell us about your trip to spain last summer?” she plasters on her award winning grin and squeezes your shoulder. it’s time to play along.

“oh, it was beautiful,” you halfheartedly reply, more to the bloggers than her. they nod in clear interest. one jots down notes. “we went for a few weeks and visited a bunch of different cities. i’d love to go back sometime.” the typical press formatted answer earns your mom’s approval. you’re off the hook. your eyes start to wander around the room, hoping to set on tom.

“we?” the woman taking notes asks. must everyone pry? “my friend and i,” you shortly reply. you’re standing up on your tiptoes to see over the crowd. you’d think six inch heels would do the trick. “i’m actually looking for him right now, so if you’ll excuse me,” you offer a polite smile and silently pray they won’t ask who. unfortunately, your wishes don’t come true.

the other blogger, a short and stubborn man, speaks up. “just a friend you say? come on, tell us. who’s the lucky fella?” he inquires. your mother raises a firm eyebrow, signaling for you not to.

tom has a reputation for his reckless behavior. it’s your mom’s worst nightmare when the media associates your names under most circumstances. you’re representing her, so she does whatever she can to control how you’re seen. you’re constantly in the papers, being a young socialite and all. it sucks.

“he’d like to stay out of the tabloids, sorry,” you cover for tom, on your mom’s behalf. “i should really go. it was nice meeting you.” the bloggers don’t bother to hide their disappointment as you shake their hands. your mother rubs your back in approval. “thank you for doing that. we’ll talk later,” she speaks lowly. “bye, mom!” you practically make a run for it. 

weaving through the sea of people, you end up by the main entrance. it’s hard not to get lost even though it’s your house. the place is packed with girls just a couple years older than you, wearing pearls around their necks. men’s strong colognes flow through the air. you’re in a form fitting red slip dress and louboutins yourself.

smoke and mirrors is what they call it. you show the pretty parts to distract from your ugly ones.

harrison suddenly comes waltzing in with a lady on either of his arms. you’d expect nothing less. he’s tom’s best friend besides you, considering the failed kiss attempt didn’t change that. their parents worked at the london branch of the same company. they each came to the states and met you. you happily introduced them to your world, helping to make it theirs as well.

“haz!” you meet him at the front door. he’s smirking while he leads the women inside. “fancy seeing you here, isn’t it?” he jokes. “very funny. i died laughing,” you deadpan, curiously eyeing harrison’s plus two. they merely giggle. “listen, have you seen tom anywhere? if he’s coming.” you’re fighting back a frown. “why wouldn’t he be?” harrison questions in a more serious tone this time.

“long story. you have guests to entertain, so i won’t get into it now,” you decide and manage a small smile instead. he perks up. “right. i’ll let you know if i see him?” nodding, you give him a wave goodbye. “enjoy yourself.” “you too, love. cheers!” the girls lean into him, harrison wiggling his eyebrows at you. he’s ridiculous.

hours pass by without word of tom. it isn’t like him to miss an event, especially if you’re in attendance. you despise these exhausting nights, and he’s supposed to be your rock during them. he should have his arm draped around your shoulders, whispering silly remarks to you while you hide out somewhere. you miss him more than you thought possible.

you’re just about to give up when you spot nikki ushering her husband inside. behind them follows tom, clad in a grey checkered suit with his locks perfectly tousled. he’s here. you waited the whole night, and he finally came.

tom kisses his mom on the cheek before strutting over to the drink table, not without a few reporters hassling him. they’re probably looking for another holland scandal to break. he declines their requests for comments on this and opinions on that, instead pulling up a chair next to harrison. the two exchange hugs and fix themselves glasses of champagne, you watching their encounter.

harrison fills tom in on the drama he’s missed tonight while they sip their drinks. tom keeps forcing smiles that don’t reach his eyes. he’s fiddling with his fingers, leg bouncing up and down steadily. those are the telltale signs he needs saving. however awkward it may be, you’re going to have to break your silence. it was bound to happen eventually.

“mate, i’m telling you. she fit her entire first right up her-“ “boys,” you cut into harrison’s story, greeting him and tom. his face tints deep pink upon your arrival. “don’t let me stop you. finish your charming anecdote,” you encourage him and subtly glance over at tom. he’s biting back a grin as he sets his elbows on the table.

“not with a lady present. let’s just… pretend you didn’t hear that,” harrison chuckles nervously and hops to his feet. “i’m gonna leave you two to chat.” humming, you move to take his chair. tom sucks in a breath. “what happened to the girls you brought?” you wonder. “they left. said they got bored,” harrison admits, tom stifling laughter. he elbows his friend for that.

“oh, fuck off. i’ll see you later,” he mopes, flicking your arm for good measure. tom salutes him and grabs his nearly empty champagne. “so long, bruv.”

it’s just you and tom now, seated side by side, silently so. he has no intentions of speaking first. he’s too embarrassed, and you don’t blame him. this is on you. you clear your throat before starting the conversation.

“can i top you off?” you tap the bottom of his glass with a tiny smile. tom shakes his head. “i’m alright, thanks.” he finishes the last sip and sets it down, turning to face you. your smile has vanished. “wasn’t sure you were gonna make it. i’m glad you did,” you change the subject. as if he’s considering the sincerity behind your words, tom furrows his eyebrows.

“mum wanted us to. she dragged me and dad straight off the golf course,” he explains and clasps his hands in his lap. his fingers interlock with each other. you fight off the urge to replace them with yours. “we would’ve been here sooner, but the paps are camped outside.” the hint of a smile forms on his lips, at last. “guess it’s not often you get the town’s finest under one roof.”

“you think i’m one of the town’s finest?” you tease, resting your chin in your palm. something flashes behind tom’s eyes. he looks right into yours, scooting closer. “absolutely. you’re the most eligible bachelorette in this whole building.” you allow a toothy grin to spread across your face. “tommy, stop it. you’re too nice to me.”

the nickname is music to his ears. tom looks you up and down, licking his lips simultaneously. “no, seriously. you look gorgeous,” he muses, you pushing at his chest. he exhales a breathy laugh, and you giggle yourself. “red’s definitely your color.” “reverse card. you wear it way better than i do,” you insist. your fingers tug at the collar of his suit. “too bad you didn’t match me.”

you’re relieved you two can talk like you usually do, light flirting and good vibes. it might not be so hard to put the kiss behind you. well, you can’t go on pretending it didn’t happen. you have to at least discuss the fiasco. tom should know why you didn’t reciprocate, then you can take it from there. whether he still has feelings for you, assuming he ever did, will depend on how that turns out.

“not to ruin the fun, but we still have to talk,” you murmur, tom’s body stiffening across from yours. he’s not sure he’s ready to discuss that. “can it wait? we’re at a party,” tom reminds you, running a hand through his styled locks. “yeah, my mother’s. don’t tell me you’re having a good time,” you playfully chastise him. he simply shrugs. “hardly. you’re the best part.”

you ignore the butterflies roaming about your body.

“you won’t mind a quick convo, then. it is with me,” you attempt to persuade him and place a hand on his knee. tom coughs a bit too loudly, the contact surprising him. “you know what? i think i’ll take you up on that drink first,” he decides with a mustered up smile. “coming right up.” you pat his leg before taking his glass. he chews on his lower lip while you poor the bubbling liquid. that was certainly… odd.

you slide tom his champagne back with an exaggerated wink. tom scoffs at this. “mm, thanks. care to join me?” he brings the alcohol to his lips, eyes never leaving yours. your mother specifically said no drinking tonight, since the press would be here. screw your mother, though. “please. could you hand me a glass?” you eagerly grab the champagne bottle. tom searches for an empty cup next to him.

you two are unspoken drinking buddies at this point.

“here you are, darling,” tom drawls, holding out the glass for you. every time he calls you that, you completely melt. “thanks, tommy,” you purr in response. you’re finally pouring your own drink when someone taps you on the shoulder, and hard. you look behind you to find your mother standing with her hands on her hips, less than thrilled. speak of the devil.

“hello, mother. can i help you?” you make sure to ask rudely. she responds with a smile that’s obviously fake. if tom weren’t here, you’d be getting scolded. “yes, my darling. those bloggers from earlier were hoping you’d finish your interview.” your mom shakes your shoulder in a motherly way. you squint up at her. “didn’t they leave hours ago-“ “they’re back,” she sharply informs you.

she’s lying, and you have a hunch as to why.

frowning, you hold tom’s hand in both of yours. “sorry, this won’t take long. why don’t you go find tuwaine?” you suggest instead. “he’s around here somewhere.” tom gives you an understanding nod and laces your fingers together, even if it’s only for a moment. “must be chatting up some producers or whatnot. i’ll see if i can help.” he’s such an incredible friend to everyone. he deserves the same from you.

“thomas, so lovely to see you,” your mom interrupts. tom stands up, kissing both her cheeks out of courtesy. “you, too. what a wonderful party. thank you for having us.” despite what the rest of the world believes, his manners are impeccable. “of course. give nikki my best, will you?” your mom puts her hands on his shoulders. he grins at her. “definitely. take care, mrs. y/l/n.” “always a pleasure,” she states, nudging you to come along with her.

you shoot tom one last apologetic look as your mother pulls you along and towards the crowd.

tom is no idiot. he’s well aware how she really feels about him.

when a swarm of guests is surrounding you, your mom lets go. you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. “why would you do that? i haven’t seen tom in days.” she sighs without a care. “isn’t it time you branch out? expand your social circle?” her manicured fingers ruffle your hair. you push away her touch. “i’m social enough. we were in the middle of something really important.”

you begin to walk away, but your mother takes your arm. “whatever you’re about to do, it’s a mistake. he’ll make a fool of you,” she practically spits. yanking your arm from her grasp, you laugh bitterly. “of me, or of the family name? look around, mom.” you gesture to the spot beside her where your dad should be. “as far as i’m concerned, i have no family except tom. i’m gonna go check on him.”

you’re gone before your mom can stop you. she simply stands there, utterly mortified by what you said.

you run around the house to find tom, stumbling in your heels and not giving a fuck. you’d truly meant the part about him being your family. all the holland’s, honestly. they’re the most genuine and caring souls, and you don’t want to lose the one you’re closest to because of your mother’s delusions. 

tom is in a circle with harrison and tuwaine, the three of them chuckling amongst themselves. you’d hate to bug him, but this can’t wait anymore.

“uh, tom?” you mumble his name, appearing behind him. he steps away with another quiet laugh. “hey, y/n/n. that was quick, hm?” your face gives away your distress. his whole demeanor shifting, tom reaches for your hands. “what is it, love? is something the matter?” “just… come with me,” you croak out.

you manage to smile at harrison and tuwaine, dropping one of tom’s hands so you can lead him upstairs. they each return the smile and share curious looks.

following behind you, tom keeps your hand tight in his own. he’d thought you were going to grill him about the kiss that barely happened. it seems like this is a much more pressing matter. his outburst of emotions can be discussed another time. now, it’s time to deal with yours.

you drag tom into the first room on the second floor, which is your dad’s study. he’s away on business this weekend, so he luckily couldn’t make the party. tom sits down in the office chair. you sit up on the desk, in front of him. your lip quivers the second his worried features come into view.

“y/n/n, what’s going on? why are we in here?” tom wonders, his tone soft. your heart clenches. “i- i wanted us to have some privacy when i told you this,” you sniffle out and blink back the tears forming. you’re sort of shaken from the conversation with your mother, and mostly because you have no idea how tom will react to your confession.

his hands come to stay on your thighs, right below your dress. they feel warm against your bare skin.

“tell me what? i’m listening, yeah?” tom gazes up at you with so much love. “lay it all out for me.” god, he’s fucking amazing. if only you knew where to start. “do you, um…” you trail off, letting your tears subside and words settle. “do you remember when your family made your big debut in town?”

a grin replaces tom’s frown, painting his beautiful face. “how could i forget? you made it quite memorable.” he traces circles on your thigh and elicits a giggle from you. “i spilled a whole thing of soda on your white fucking button down,” you recount with a lighthearted sigh. “right before your dad was supposed to introduce you to everyone, too.”

tom presses his tongue into his cheek to hold back another grin. “took ages to get it out. dad went mad when i didn’t show.” he cocks his head to the side, you leaning back on your hands. “you held me hostage in the laundry room so you could do that bloody stain stick.” your mouth drops open in mock offense. “i had to clean up my mess! i wasn’t gonna let the world meet you covered in pepsi.”

that was one of your earliest memories together. the holland’s threw a party and invited everyone who was willing to attend. they had been hoping to properly introduce themselves to the town, and this was their way of doing so. although yours and tom’s friendship was fairly new, you spent all night together because you had experience with such events.

tom’s dad was making a speech to thank the guests for coming. you and him listened from the snack table, until his name was called. he rushed to go up there while you were pouring yourself a drink. he’d bumped into you, and the bottle ended up all over him. you snuck tom right off to his laundry room.

you’d felt terrible as he stood there shirtless and blushing, you aggressively swiping his button down with a stain stick.

“why do you bring that up?” tom questions and continues circling your skin. you purse your lips. “i dunno. it was the last party i actually enjoyed,” you admit, putting your hand over his that rests on your thigh. “like to reminisce when i’m suffering through one of my mother’s.” his eyes shift to where your hands are laced. “i see,” he affirms. “so, is that… all you wanted to talk about?” “not even close,” you laugh out.

a burst of courage coursing through your body, you say it. “when you kissed me the other night-“ “i won’t do it again,” tom cuts in, trying to avoid the rejection he thinks you’ll give him. “it was a mistake, and i’m so sorry. our friendship is more important than my feelings.” you seem excited to hear that, though it’s not for the reason tom expects. “you do have feelings for me?”

he’d forgotten about his i was drunk excuse.

“um, yeah. i do,” he admits, cheeks rosy and lip caught in his teeth. “but, i’ll learn to put them aside, if that’s what’s best.” “no, no. it isn’t,” you dismiss him and put your free hand on his chest. “i love you, tom. that’s what i was really trying to tell you.” your words bring an instant grin to his face. he chuckles in disbelief, standing from the chair.

“fuck, thank god. that’s all i’ve ever wanted to hear.” he’s between your legs now, his hands moving up to your hips. you’re beaming at him as your arms snake around his neck. a burning question comes to tom’s mind. “hang on. why didn’t you kiss me back, then?” he almost whispers, thumb brushing over your hipbone. “this is gonna sound weird, but… my mom,” you reluctantly let out.

“you’re gonna have to elaborate,” tom prompts you and raises an eyebrow. you can’t hold back your eye roll. “she’s never been a fan of the person you are in the media.” his lips form a line. “i gathered.” your fingers tangle in his curls at the nape of his neck reassuringly. “i was subconsciously scared i would be letting her down in some way, if we were together.”

tom allows your hands to work their way up to his scalp. he exhales contentedly as you play with his ever so soft hair. “i understand, she’s intimidating. what’s changed that brilliant mind of yours about coming clean?” your nose scrunches up when he pokes one of your temples. “oh, yeah. i yelled at her earlier ‘cuz she stole me away from you.” his face lights up. “sexy.” “shut up,” you groan. “someone had to tell her off.”

“good thing it got to be you,” tom agrees with a squeeze at your hip. “‘m proud of you, y/n/n. it’s not easy, standing up to mummy dearest.” you tug on his hair. “like you’d know. nikki is a saint.” “that’s what she’ll have you believe,” he says under his breath, you gasping. his lips turn up in a smirk. “on that note… i love you, too.”

“would’ve been embarrassing if you didn’t say it back,” you acknowledge with a cheesy smile. tom dips his head down to rest his forehead against yours. “yeah, yeah. save the attitude for your mum.” your legs easily wrap around his waist, tom’s breath hot as it hits your face. “let’s give that kiss another go,” you mewl. he doesn’t hesitate to reply. “with pleasure.”

tom’s lips land on yours, you kissing back right away. he smiles into it as your lips gently move together. “about fucking time,” he grumbles, your hands situating in his chocolate curls once again. he’s savoring every second you touch him, kiss him, love him. the taste of your mouth is one he’s craved for longer than you could imagine.

it doesn’t take long for things to heat up, you messing with tom’s hair and tom rubbing your hips. you lay back on the desk as his tongue enters your mouth. holding you by your waist, tom hovers over you. his tongue tangles with yours in a deep kiss. between that and his fingers beginning to massage your thigh, you’re done for. you’re ready to take this a step further by the time he’s kissing down your neck.

“tommy?” you grab onto his shoulders, your head back. his lips detach from your skin with a grin. “yeah, love? ‘s everything okay?” he coos, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone. “more than.” you tilt his chin up to peck his lips. “you wouldn’t happen to have a condom, would you? just thinking ahead.” he laughs breathlessly, reaching into his suit pocket.

“conveniently enough, i do. not sure your dad would like me fucking you on his desk, though.” tom sets his hand on your leg that’s still hooked around his waist. “my room’s always available. carry me?” you make grabby hands and bat your lashes. he hoists you up by your waist, not lifting you just yet. “that would break the news of us, no? your mum’s gonna go apeshit.” he keeps his arms around you, chuckling.

“let her. besides, i know a couple of bloggers that would love to announce our status update.” you peck tom’s lips, grinning as you do. you’re suddenly in the air and being picked up by tom. the surprise of it makes you squeal, clutching onto his broad shoulders instinctively. he gives you the look of adoration that’s reserved for you only.