#tomhollandsimp

Period mood swings || Peter parker

Summary: Y/N is on her period and is very snappy and irritated.

A/N: Sorry it’s not that long.

The bell rings, sharp and unforgiving, echoing through the crowded halls as students spill out of classrooms in waves of noise and movement. You barely register it. Your head feels heavy, your stomach aches in that dull, twisting way, and every little sound feels ten times louder than it should.

You slam your locker a little harder than necessary.

“Whoa—hey,” Peter’s voice comes up beside you, warm and familiar, but right now it grates instead of comforts. “You okay?”

You don’t look at him. “I’m fine.”

He lingers anyway—of course he does. He always does. Three months in, and Peter Parker is still that same soft, attentive boyfriend who notices everything. Usually, you love that.

Today? Not so much.

“You seem kinda—” he gestures vaguely, “—off.”

“I said I’m fine, Peter.”

The snap in your voice is sharp enough that it surprises even you. His expression falters immediately, like you just flipped a switch.

“Oh. Okay. Sorry.”

Guilt flickers for half a second… then another cramp hits, and it burns it right out.

You start walking down the hallway. He follows.

“Did I do something?” he asks carefully, keeping his voice low as students pass by.

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because you’ve kinda been—”

“Peter,” you cut him off, stopping abruptly and turning to face him. “Why do you keep talking?”

He blinks, taken aback. “I—what?”

“You’re just—talking. A lot. And it’s… annoying.”

The word hangs there between you, harsher than you intended. His face falls completely this time.

“I’m just trying to—” he stops himself, swallowing. “Never mind.”

You turn away again, ignoring the tight feeling in your chest.

By lunchtime, things haven’t improved.

Peter tries again—of course he does. He sits across from you, sliding your favorite snack onto the table like some kind of peace offering.

“I got you this,” he says gently. “You didn’t eat earlier.”

You glance at it. Normally, you’d smile. Maybe kiss his cheek. Thank him.

Instead, you push it back toward him.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You barely ate breakfast,” he says, concern creeping back into his tone. “You should—”

“I said I’m not hungry.”

A couple of heads turn from nearby tables.

Peter’s shoulders tense. “Okay. Okay, I get it.”

But he doesn’t, and that’s the problem.

He watches you for a moment, then tries again—quieter this time.

“Did something happen? At home? With school? You can tell me, you know that, right?”

Your jaw tightens.

Nothing happened.

And everything happened.

Your body hurts, your emotions feel like they’re spilling over for no reason, and the worst part is—you don’t even know how to explain it without sounding ridiculous.

So instead, you just say, “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why are you acting like this?”

That does it.

You push your chair back with a screech.

“Maybe I’m just in a bad mood, Peter! Not everything has to be a whole investigation!”

He flinches.

“I wasn’t—”

“Can you just drop it?”

Silence.

A long, uncomfortable silence.

“…Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, I can drop it.”

You grab your bag and walk away before the guilt can catch up to you again.

The rest of the day drags.

You avoid him in the halls. He doesn’t come looking this time.

And somehow… that makes it worse.

By the time school ends, the sky is overcast, the air heavy like it might rain.

You’re halfway home when you hear footsteps behind you.

“Hey.”

Of course.

You stop, closing your eyes for a second before turning around. Peter stands a few feet away, hands shoved awkwardly into his hoodie pocket.

“I wasn’t gonna just… not check on you,” he says.

You sigh. “Peter…”

“Can we just—” he hesitates. “Can we go to mine? Just… talk?”

You want to say no.

You want to go home, crawl into bed, and not deal with anything.

But something in his face—hurt, confusion, patience all tangled together—makes your chest ache.

“…Fine.”

His room is quiet, familiar.

Too familiar.

It makes everything feel heavier somehow.

You sit on the edge of his bed while he hovers near his desk, like he’s not sure how close he’s allowed to get right now.

“I don’t get it,” he admits finally. “This morning you were… okay. And then suddenly it’s like you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you mumble.

“Then why does it feel like you do?”

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t have a good answer.

He steps a little closer. “Did I do something?”

“No.”

“Then help me understand,” he says, voice softer now. “Please.”

Your throat tightens.

You stare down at your hands.

“I just—everything is annoying today, okay?” you say, frustration creeping back in. “Everything. The noise, people talking, you talking—just… everything.”

He pauses.

“…Everything hurts?”

You blink up at him.

“What?”

“I mean—like physically?” he asks, awkward but trying. “You look kinda… uncomfortable. All day.”

You hesitate.

There it is.

The opening.

You could explain it. You could just say it.

But embarrassment creeps in, mixing with everything else.

“It’s nothing,” you say again, quieter this time.

Peter exhales slowly.

“Okay,” he says. “Then I’m just gonna say this.”

He sits beside you, leaving a small gap between you like he’s afraid of crossing a line.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong,” he continues. “But… you can’t just keep snapping at me like that and then say everything’s fine. Because it’s not.”

Your eyes sting slightly.

“I know,” you whisper.

“I’m not mad,” he adds quickly. “I just… I feel like I’m messing up and I don’t know how to fix it.”

That hits harder than anything else.

You let out a shaky breath.

“…I’m on my period.”

The words come out small. Almost reluctant.

Peter freezes for half a second.

“Oh.”

Another second passes.

“Oh.”

You glance at him nervously, bracing for awkwardness, or worse—some dumb reaction.

But instead, his expression shifts into something softer. Understanding, slowly clicking into place.

“Wait,” he says gently. “So you’re in pain… and everything’s overwhelming… and I’ve just been—talking your ear off all day.”

You huff a small, tired laugh. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“…Oh my god,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I’ve been so annoying.”

“You have,” you admit.

He nods solemnly. “That tracks.”

A small silence settles, but it’s different now. Lighter.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” you say after a moment. “I just… couldn’t handle anything.”

“I get it,” he says immediately. “Well—not fully, obviously, but… I get enough.”

You look at him.

“You’re not mad?”

“No,” he says. “I mean—you kinda hurt my feelings, but… you’re also literally in pain and dealing with… all that.” He gestures vaguely. “So I think you win.”

You smile faintly.

“…Come here,” he says softly.

You hesitate for half a second before leaning into him. He wraps his arms around you carefully, like you’re fragile.

“Does this help?” he murmurs.

“A little,” you admit, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Okay. Good.”

Another pause.

“Do you need anything?” he asks. “Like—food? Water? A heating pad? I googled stuff once—”

You laugh quietly. “You googled it?”

“Yeah! Ned made fun of me for like an hour.”

“That sounds right.”

He smiles against your hair.

“I can get you snacks,” he offers. “Or we can just stay here. Or I can stop talking entirely.”

“Please don’t stop talking entirely,” you mumble.

“Okay, good. Because I don’t think I’m capable of that.”

You shift slightly, getting more comfortable against him.

“…I’m sorry,” you say again.

“I know,” he replies. “You’re forgiven.”

A beat.

“…But you owe me one.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. “Oh really?”

“Yeah,” he says, trying to look serious. “Next time I’m being annoying, you have to tell me before it reaches ‘why are you talking’ level.”

You snort. “Deal.”

“Deal.”

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“And for the record,” he adds, “I still like you. Even when you’re scary.”

“I’m not scary.”

“You told me my voice was annoying.”

“…It was.”

He gasps dramatically. “Unbelievable.”

You laugh properly this time, the tension finally breaking.

Fighting against me || Peter Parker

summary: Peter is on iron man’s side, your on captain americas side, yet you both don’t know this. You both don’t know each other identities until your phone falls out and slides towards peter….

The airport had already turned into chaos.

Cracked concrete. Smoke drifting through the air. The sharp clang of metal against metal echoed as teams clashed—Iron Man firing repulsors while Captain America blocked with his shield, the tension between them heavier than the fight itself.

And swinging in—late, slightly breathless, and trying very hard to look like he knew what he was doing—was Spider-Man.

“Okay, wow—this is… this is a lot bigger than YouTube clips,” Peter muttered under his mask, landing awkwardly before immediately trying to play it cool. “I mean—hi everyone! Big fan of—well, not this, but—”

A blast shot past his head.

“Right. Focus.”

Across the battlefield, another figure moved with precision and force—fast, sharp, relentless.

Y/N.

Masked. Anonymous. Just another fighter in the chaos.

Peter didn’t recognize her.

She didn’t recognize him.

They collided without warning.

A sudden impact—THWACK—

Her strike caught him clean across the jaw, snapping his head to the side.

“Woah—okay!” Peter stumbled back, hands up. “You hit hard! Like—really hard. Is that, like, a gym thing or—”

She didn’t answer. She came at him again.

Fast.

A kick aimed at his ribs—he flipped backward just in time, barely avoiding it.

“Alright, alright, I get it,” he said, webbing the ground and yanking himself sideways. “We’re doing the whole ‘no talking, just punching’ thing. That’s cool. Not my favorite, but cool.”

Y/N lunged again, this time catching his shoulder. He winced.

“Okay—ow—that one counted.”

He shot a web toward her wrist—she twisted, dodging, grabbing it mid-air and using it to yank him forward.

Their bodies collided again, both hitting the ground hard.

For a moment, they froze—faces inches apart behind their masks.

Neither spoke.

Then—

She headbutted him.

“OW—okay, wow! Definitely not pulling punches!”

He rolled away, flipping back onto his feet. She followed instantly.

Their fight turned sharper—faster. More personal, somehow, even without knowing why.

He landed a light hit to her side.

She retaliated with a brutal sweep, knocking his legs out from under him.

“Alright—rude,” he groaned, flipping back up. “You’re really committed to this.”

“I don’t go easy,” she snapped, voice strained but fierce.

Something about her voice made him hesitate—just for a fraction of a second.

But before he could think—

A blast from behind—one of Tony’s allies—hit near y/n.

The explosion sent her flying.

She hit the ground hard, skidding across broken concrete.

Peter froze.

“Hey—!”

He rushed toward her immediately, landing beside her.

“Hey, hey—are you okay?” he said quickly, kneeling. “That looked bad. I mean—really bad. I’ve seen bad, that was—like, top ten bad—”

She groaned, trying to push herself up.

“Don’t touch me—”

“Whoa, okay, sorry—just—” he held his hands up, panicked. “Look, I know we’re fighting, but you’re hurt, and—and my girlfriend—she always says, you know, ‘help people who need it,’ so—”

That was a mistake.

Y/N’s fist drove straight into his face.

He reeled back.

“OW—! Okay—message received!”

She forced herself up despite the pain—but her leg buckled.

Peter noticed immediately.

“Hey—no, seriously, you shouldn’t—”

She swung again.

This time, instinct took over.

He blocked it. Twisted. Knocked her back down.

“Stop—just—stop moving!” he snapped, more forcefully than before. “You’re going to make it worse!”

“I don’t need your help!” she shot back, breath shaky.

He moved in again, trying to restrain her—pinning her arms.

“Yeah, well, I’m helping anyway! That’s kind of my whole thing!”

She struggled—harder than before.

And then—

He saw it.

Blood.

Dark, spreading from her leg.

His grip loosened slightly.

“Wait… you’re bleeding.”

For a split second, everything slowed.

Then—

A blur of black.

Black Panther struck, slamming into Y/N and sending her flying again.

“HEY—!” Peter shouted, spinning toward him.

Y/n hit the ground, unmoving for a moment.

Something small skidded across the concrete near Peter’s feet.

A phone.

Peter hesitated.

Then picked it up.

The screen lit up.

And everything inside him dropped.

The lock screen photo—

Her.

And him.

Smiling.

Close.

Happy.

“...y/n…?” his voice cracked under the mask.

His head snapped up.

“STOP!”

Black Panther paused mid-step, turning slightly.

“Don’t touch her!” Peter shouted, voice breaking. “Please—just—don’t—!”

He ran to her side again, dropping to his knees.

“Baby—hey—hey, can you hear me?” His hands hovered, afraid to touch her now. “It’s—it’s me—well, you don’t—just—please wake up.”

She stirred faintly, breathing uneven.

Peter looked back at Black Panther, desperation bleeding through every word.

“She’s not—she’s not part of this, okay? She—she’s just—”

He stopped.

Because that wasn’t true.

She was part of this.

Just like him.

And neither of them knew.

He looked back down at her, voice softer now.

“We… we had a fight,” he whispered. “Last time I saw you… I didn’t even fix it.”

His hands trembled.

“I didn’t even say sorry.”

Around them, the battle still raged—but for Peter, everything had narrowed to this one moment.

“Please wake up,” he said quietly. “Please… I can’t—”

Her hand twitched.

Just slightly.

Enough to make him freeze.

“y/n/n…?”

The fight wasn’t over.

But something had changed.

Peter barely registered the noise of the battle anymore.

Explosions, shouting, metal clashing—it all faded into the background as he knelt beside her, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

“Y/n… hey… hey, come on,” he said, voice unsteady, both hands gently cupping her face through the mask. “Please wake up. Please.”

She groaned.

Her head shifted slightly in his hands.

Relief hit him all at once. “Yeah—yeah, that’s it, you’re okay, just—just stay with me—”

Her eyes snapped open behind the mask.

For a split second, confusion.

Then instinct.

Her hands shot up, shoving against his chest.

“Get the fuck off me!” she snapped, trying to push him away despite the pain. “I have a boyfriend—what is wrong with you?!”

The words hit harder than any punch she’d thrown.

Peter froze.

His grip loosened immediately, hands lifting like he’d been burned. “I—no, I wasn’t—I mean—I wasn’t trying to—”

“Back off!” she snapped again, trying to sit up, wincing sharply as her injured leg protested.

“I’m not—look, you’re hurt, okay? I was just trying to help—”

A metallic thud landed behind them.

“Kid, what are you doing?”

Tony stepped forward, armor gleaming even through the dust, his gaze flicking between Peter and the girl on the ground.

“This isn’t a charity event.”

Peter turned quickly. “Mr. Stark, wait—she’s—”

Tony didn’t hesitate. A gauntleted hand reached down, grabbing y/n by the arm and pulling her up roughly.

She gasped in pain.

“Hey!” Peter lunged forward instantly, grabbing Tony’s arm. “Stop—stop, you’re hurting her!”

Tony tilted his helmet slightly. “She’s on the other side, kid.”

“I don’t care!” Peter shot back, voice rising. “She’s injured—can’t you see that?!”

y/n struggled weakly in Tony’s grip, trying to pull away.

“Let go of me—!”

“Not happening,” Tony replied flatly, tightening his hold. “You don’t get to tap out when things go sideways.”

“Mr. Stark, seriously—just let her go!” Peter insisted, stepping closer, more desperate now. “She’s not—she’s not a threat right now!”

Tony’s attention shifted back to Peter, something sharper in his tone. “You’re getting distracted.”

Peter shook his head immediately, stepping forward again. “No—I’m not—”

“She’s on the other side,” Tony added, firmer now. “You don’t stop in the middle of a fight to play medic.”

Peter’s chest rose and fell quickly under the suit.

Then, before he could stop himself—

“She’s my girlfriend!”

The words came out louder than he meant. Raw. Unfiltered.

Everything froze.

Even through the mask, y/n went completely still.

Her breathing hitched.

“…what?”

Her voice was quieter now. Shaken.

Peter didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“y/n , I—”

Her head snapped up toward him, eyes wide behind the mask.

That voice.

She knew that voice.

“…Peter?”

It came out almost like a whisper.

A disbelieving one.

Peter’s stomach dropped.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached up—just enough to peel his mask back halfway.

“Yeah…”

For a moment, the battlefield disappeared for both of them.

There was no Captain America, no explosions, no divided sides—

Just them.

Her expression shifted—shock, confusion, something deeper, something hurt.

“You—?” she shook her head slightly, trying to process it. “You’re… Spider-Man?”

“And you’re—” his voice cracked as he gestured weakly toward her suit. “You’re here. Fighting. Against me.”

A bitter, breathless laugh escaped her.

“Wow… so this is what you’ve been doing?” she said, pain threading through her words. “Disappearing. Ignoring me. Lying.”

“I wasn’t lying—I just—couldn’t tell you—”

“So you just pick fights instead?” she shot back, anger flaring despite the situation. “You don’t call, you don’t text, and then the next time I see you—you’re attacking me?”

“I didn’t know it was you!” he said quickly. “I swear, if I had known—”

“Well, you didn’t,” she cut in.

Silence fell between them again, heavier this time.

Behind them, Tony shifted slightly.

“…Okay,” he muttered, more to himself than anything. “That’s new.”

Peter didn’t even look back.

His attention stayed on her—on the way she was trying to stay strong despite the pain, despite everything.

“I was trying to protect you,” he said more quietly now. “Even before I knew it was you.”

She let out a shaky breath.

“You don’t get to say that,” she replied. “Not after everything.”

Another explosion echoed somewhere in the distance, snapping reality back into place.

This wasn’t over.

Not the fight.

Not them.

Peter hesitated, torn apart by it.

“…Your leg’s still bleeding,” he said softly, like that was the only thing he could hold onto right now. “You need to—”

“I’ll handle it,” she said, though her voice wasn’t as steady as before.

A pause.

Then, quieter—

“…You really meant that?”

He blinked. “What?”

“What you said,” she replied, not quite meeting his eyes. “Before. That I’m your girlfriend.”

Peter didn’t hesitate this time.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “I did.”

Something in her expression shifted again—still hurt, still conflicted… but softer, just barely.

Before either of them could say anything else—

“Kid,” Tony called out again, more urgent now. “We’re not done here.”

Peter clenched his jaw.

Then looked back at her one last time.

“Stay down. Please.”

She didn’t argue this time.

And as he pulled his mask back down and turned toward the fight again, one thing was painfully clear—

Nothing between them would ever be the same.

I’m done || Peter parker

Summary: Peter hasn’t been showing up for y/n, one day when the bell rings she tries to tell him but he’s in a rush. Then he comes to her house later on in the night and they argue. A few things were said but when peter goes “i’m done”; Y/n starts to panic…

The bell rang, sharp and loud, but you barely moved.

Students flooded out of the classroom in noisy waves, laughter and chatter filling the hallway—but you stayed by your desk, watching Peter.

He was already halfway to the door.

Of course he was.

“Peter,” you called, grabbing your bag and hurrying after him.

He turned, a little startled, like he hadn’t expected you to follow. “Oh—hey. Sorry, I was just—”

“In a rush?” you finished flatly.

He winced slightly. “Yeah. I mean—kind of.”

You stared at him for a moment, searching his face. He looked tired. Distracted. Like his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Not with you.

“Can we hang out today?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. “After school. Just for a bit.”

There was a pause.

A small one.

But it was enough.

“I can’t,” he said.

Your stomach sank. “You didn’t even think about it.”

“I did—”

“No, you didn’t,” you cut in, shaking your head. “You just said no. Like always.”

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly. “I just have stuff I need to do.”

“There’s always ‘stuff,’ Peter,” you said, frustration creeping into your voice. “Every day. Every time I ask.”

“I’m trying—”

“You’re not trying!” you snapped. A few people nearby turned their heads. You didn’t care. “You disappear in the middle of conversations, you bail on plans, you don’t even walk me home anymore—”

“I said I’m sorry!”

“And I said I just want to spend time with you!” Your voice cracked slightly. “Why is that so hard?”

He looked torn. Guilty. But still—

“I don’t have a choice,” he said.

That did it.

You let out a hollow laugh. “You always have a choice. You just don’t pick me.”

His expression shifted—hurt flashing across his face—but you were already stepping back.

“Forget it,” you muttered. “I’m done asking.”

MJ slid up beside you like she’d been waiting for this exact moment.

“You coming?” she asked casually, though her eyes flicked toward Peter with quiet understanding.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice tight. “Let’s go.”

You didn’t look back.

You didn’t walk home with him.

Again.

The walk felt longer without him. Colder. Even with MJ beside you, talking about something random to distract you, your mind kept drifting.

To him.

To how things used to be.

To how easy it had been.

By the time you got home, the weight in your chest felt unbearable.

You barely made it to your room before it hit you.

You dropped your bag, kicked your shoes off, and collapsed onto your bed.

And then you cried.

It wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t controlled. It was the kind of crying that made your chest ache, your breathing uneven, your thoughts spiraling.

“I just wanted one day…” you whispered into your pillow.

One day where he chose you first.

It was late when you heard it.

A soft tap against your window.

You froze.

Another tap.

You already knew.

You sat up slowly, wiping your face with the sleeve of your hoodie before walking over and pulling the window open.

Peter climbed in carefully, like always, landing softly on your floor.

“Hey,” he said.

You didn’t answer.

You just turned and walked back toward your bed, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

He lingered by the window for a second before stepping closer.

“I came as soon as I could,” he added.

Still nothing.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “So… uh… how was your day?”

You turned sharply. “Are you serious right now?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’re just going to act like nothing happened?”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are!” you snapped. “You do this every time, Peter! You disappear, and then you show up like everything’s fine!”

“I thought we could just talk—”

“We are talking!”

“Not like this!” he shot back, his voice rising.

The tension snapped.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said bitterly, “am I being too much? Is this inconvenient for you too?”

“That’s not what I said!”

“It’s what you do!” you fired back. “You make me feel like I don’t matter!”

His jaw tightened. “You think I want to be gone all the time?”

“I think you don’t care enough to stay!”

“That’s not fair!”

“Neither is being ignored by your boyfriend!”

Silence hit for half a second—

Then everything got worse.

“I’m doing the best I can!” he said, frustration spilling over.

“Well, it’s not good enough!” you shot back instantly.

The words hung there.

Heavy.

Sharp.

His expression changed—hurt flashing into something colder.

You immediately regretted it.

“I didn’t mean—”

He turned away, running a hand through his hair. “I need water.”

He walked out into the kitchen before you could stop him.

Your chest felt tight, guilt creeping in—but so did anger.

You followed him.

He stood at the counter, gripping the edge of it, a glass sitting untouched in front of him.

“I didn’t mean that,” you said, quieter now.

He let out a short, frustrated breath.

“I’m done.”

Everything stopped.

“…what?” you whispered.

But he had already turned, already heading back toward your room.

Your heart dropped straight into your stomach.

He’s breaking up with you.

The thought hit instantly. Completely.

You rushed after him.

“Peter—wait—what do you mean?” your voice cracked as you followed him inside.

He turned, confused. “What?”

“You said you’re done—” your breathing started to speed up, panic rising fast “—you can’t just say that, you don’t just—”

“I meant the argument—”

“I know I messed up, okay?!” you blurted out, tears already spilling again. “I didn’t mean what I said, I was just upset and I miss you and I feel like you’re slipping away from me and I—”

“Hey—hey, slow down—”

But you couldn’t.

Your breaths came too fast, uneven, shallow.

“I can’t do this if you’re going to leave,” you said, your voice breaking completely now. “I love you, Peter. I love you so much and it feels like you don’t want me anymore and I don’t know what I did wrong but I’ll fix it, I swear, just don’t—”

He froze.

Then immediately stepped forward, grabbing your arms gently.

“Hey. No. No, that’s not what I meant,” he said quickly. “I’m not breaking up with you.”

You shook your head, tears blurring everything. “You said you were done—”

“With the argument,” he said firmly. Softer. “Just the argument. Not you. Never you.”

You let out a sob, breathing still heavy.

He guided you to sit on the edge of your bed, kneeling in front of you.

“Look at me,” he said gently.

It took a second, but you did.

“I’m not leaving you,” he said again. “Okay? I got frustrated. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing.

“Then why does it feel like you already have?” you whispered.

That hit him.

Hard.

His expression softened, guilt washing over him.

“I know I’ve been… gone,” he admitted quietly. “A lot. And I know it’s hurting you.”

“It is,” you said, your voice small now. “I feel like I’m not important anymore.”

“You are,” he said immediately. “You’re— you’re the most important person in my life.”

“Then why won’t you just be here, Petey?” you asked.

He hesitated.

That same hesitation.

That same wall.

“You don’t trust me,” you said softly.

“I do,” he said quickly. “I just—there are things I can’t explain.”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered. “You expect me to just accept that?”

“I’m trying to protect you,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“From what?” you asked.

He didn’t answer.

Your chest tightened again, but this time slower. Sadder.

“I don’t need you to protect me from your life,” you said. “I just need to be part of it.”

Silence filled the room.

Then—

“I’m scared,” he admitted.

You blinked. “Of what?”

“Losing you,” he said.

Your expression softened.

“Then don’t push me away,” you whispered.

He nodded slightly, tightening his grip on your hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’ll try harder. I mean it.”

You studied him for a moment, searching his face.

“Okay,” you said finally. “But you have to actually show up, Peter.”

“I will,” he said.

There was a pause.

Then, quieter—

“I love you.”

Your throat tightened again, but this time the feeling was different.

“I love you too.”

He pulled you into a hug, careful at first—like he wasn’t sure if you’d pull away.

You didn’t.

You held onto him tightly, like if you let go, everything would fall apart again.

And maybe things still weren’t perfect.

Maybe there were still secrets, still distance, still things unsaid.

But in that moment—

His suit || Peter parker

Warning: Smut! Rough sex, reader gives peter head and moaning

Summary: Y/n and peter are best friends, but what happens when y/n tries on peters suit?

Kinda short i know sorry guys!

Peter's bedroom was a cozy mess of comic books, tangled webs of string lights, and the faint scent of pizza boxes from last night's hangout.

Aunt May had left for her book club meeting hours ago, leaving the apartment blissfully quiet. Y/N and Peter had been best friends since middle school, the kind of bond that meant they could raid each other's closets without a second thought. But today, curiosity got the better of Y/N.

'Petey, where do you even keep this thing?' Y/N called out from Peter's closet, her voice muffled by the hangers and forgotten laundry.

She had spotted the Spider-Man suit earlier, tucked away in a hidden compartment like some secret treasure. Peter, sprawled on his bed with a textbook open but unread, felt his heart skip.

'Uh, hey, that's not exactly dress-up material,' he replied, trying to sound casual as he sat up.

But the door to the closet creaked open, and there she was—Y/N, slipping into the sleek red and blue fabric. It hugged her curves in ways it never did on him, the material stretching taut over her breasts and hips. She zipped it up with a grin, striking a playful pose in the mirror before turning to him.

'How do I look, web-head?' she teased, hands on her hips, the suit's emblem gleaming under the desk lamp.

Peter's eyes widened, tracing the way the suit clung to her thighs, accentuating every inch. He swallowed hard, his gaze lingering too long on the zipper dipping low between her cleavage. Without thinking, he bit his lower lip, a nervous habit that betrayed the heat pooling in his gut.

Y/N caught it immediately—the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his teeth pressed into that soft pink flesh.

A spark ignited in her chest, something playful turning electric. She sauntered over, her bare feet padding softly on the carpet, and before Peter could stammer an excuse, she swung a leg over his lap. Straddling him on the bed, she settled her weight down, feeling the immediate hardness of his cock straining against his jeans, pressing up against her core through the thin suit fabric.

'Peter,' she murmured, her voice low and teasing as she rocked her hips in a slow, deliberate grind.

The friction sent a jolt through him, his hands instinctively gripping her thighs. She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear. 'You're biting your lip like that because this turns you on, doesn't it? Me in your suit... all tight and suited up for you.'

He groaned softly, his face flushing as his erection throbbed beneath her. 'Y/N, I—shit, you look... incredible. But we shouldn't—'

She cut him off with another grind, slower this time, circling her hips to feel every inch of his hardness rubbing against her pussy. The suit's material was slick, amplifying the sensation, and she could feel herself getting wet already.

'So, are you gonna kiss me, Parker? Or just sit there getting harder?'

That did it.

Peter's restraint snapped like a frayed web. His hands slid up to her waist, pulling her flush against him as his lips crashed into hers. The kiss was hungry, desperate—tongues tangling, teeth nipping as he devoured her mouth. Y/N moaned into it, her fingers threading through his messy brown hair, tugging just enough to make him growl.

They tumbled off the bed in a tangle of limbs, Peter's back hitting the carpet with a thud as Y/N landed on top.

She broke the kiss only to nip at his jaw, her hands fumbling with the suit's zipper. 'Get this off me,' she demanded breathlessly, and he obeyed, his fingers trembling as he dragged the zipper down her front.

The suit peeled away like a second skin, revealing her bare breasts, nipples hardening in the cool air, then her stomach, and finally exposing her soaked panties clinging to her folds.

Peter's eyes darkened with lust as he helped shimmy the suit off her legs, tossing it aside. Y/N wasted no time, her hands attacking his shirt, yanking it over his head to reveal the lean muscles of his chest and abs—toned from years of swinging through the city.

She kissed down his neck, sucking marks into his collarbone, while her palm pressed against the bulge in his jeans.

'Fuck, Y/N,' he hissed, bucking up into her touch.

She smirked against his skin, popping the button on his jeans and tugging them down with his boxers in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. It was bigger than she'd imagined, veined and pulsing in her grip as she wrapped her fingers around it, stroking slowly.

She slid down his body, positioning herself between his legs. 'I've wanted this for so long,' she confessed, her voice husky before she leaned in and licked a stripe up the underside of his shaft.

Peter shuddered, his head falling back against the floor with a groan. Y/N took him into her mouth, lips stretching around his girth as she sucked him deep. Her tongue swirled around the head, tasting the salt of his pre-cum, while her hand pumped what she couldn't fit.

'Oh god, yes—just like that,' Peter panted, his fingers weaving into her hair, not pushing but guiding.

She bobbed her head, hollowing her cheeks for tighter suction, the wet sounds of her mouth on his cock filling the room. She grazed her teeth lightly along his length, making him twitch and curse under his breath.

“Fuck y/n-ugh baby” he moaned.

Saliva dripped down her chin as she worked him faster, feeling him throb against her tongue.

But Peter wasn't content to just receive. With a strained grunt, he pulled her off, his cock popping free with a slick sound. 'My turn,' he said, voice rough as he flipped their positions.

Now she was on her back on the carpet, legs spread as he hooked his fingers into her panties and ripped them off. Y/N gasped, her pussy exposed and aching, slick with arousal.

“Your so wet, fuck” He said looking at his best friends dripping cunt.

He dove in without hesitation, his mouth latching onto her clit, sucking hard. Y/N arched off the floor, a cry escaping her lips as his tongue flicked and circled the sensitive nub.

'Peter—fuck, your mouth feels so good,' she moaned, her hands fisting in his hair.

He slid two fingers into her wetness, curling them to hit that spot inside her, pumping in rhythm with his licks. She was dripping, coating his chin as he ate her out like a man starved, the slurping sounds obscene and intoxicating.

'Come for me, Y/N,' he murmured against her folds, the vibration sending her over the edge.

She shattered, thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure crashed through her, her pussy clenching around his fingers. He lapped up every drop, not stopping until she was trembling and begging him to fuck her.

Peter rose up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his cock rock-hard and ready.

He positioned himself at her entrance, rubbing the tip through her slickness. 'You sure?' he asked, eyes locked on hers, even as his body screamed for release.

'Yes—please, Peter, fuck me,' she whimpered, wrapping her legs around his waist.

He thrust in with one powerful stroke, burying himself to the hilt inside her tight heat. Y/N cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders as he stretched her perfectly.

He didn't give her time to adjust, pulling back and slamming in again, setting a rough pace from the start. The carpet burned against her back with each brutal thrust, but the pain only heightened the pleasure.

'You're so fucking tight,' Peter growled, his hips snapping forward, cock driving deep into her pussy.

He gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, angling to hit her g-spot with every plunge. Y/N met him thrust for thrust, her breasts bouncing, moans spilling from her lips uncontrollably.

'Harder, Peter—go harder and faster,' she begged, her voice breaking as another orgasm built. 'Please, fuck me like you mean it—make me scream.'

That plea unleashed him. He pounded into her relentlessly, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing off the walls. Sweat slicked their bodies, his balls slapping against her ass with each forceful entry.

Y/N was a moaning mess, incoherent pleas mixing with gasps—'Yes, right there—don't stop—fuck, Peter!' Her pussy fluttered around him, squeezing his cock as she came again, harder this time, her juices soaking them both.

Peter wasn't far behind. 'Shit, Y/N—I'm gonna cum,' he warned, his thrusts erratic, chasing his release.

'Inside me—fill me up,' she demanded, clenching around him deliberately.

With a guttural moan, he buried himself deep and exploded, hot spurts of cum flooding her pussy. They rode out the waves together, bodies locked, breaths ragged. He collapsed onto her, both of them spent and sticky, the room heavy with the scent of sex.

After a moment, Y/N chuckled weakly, tracing lazy patterns on his back. 'Best friends, huh? Who knew the suit would be the thing to finally push us over the edge.'

Peter lifted his head, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. 'Yeah... think we can keep this our little secret?'

His daughter is like 4 years old and goes out with Tom for a family gathering of his family. she’s very shy and doesn’t play with the other kids, staying with her dad mostly or maybe one of his brothers?

Shy || Tom holland’s daughter

Summary: Y/N is very shy at a family gathering and is attached to her dad, Tom.

Tom Holland arrived at his parents’ house with his four-year-old daughter perched on his hip, her small arms wrapped tightly around his neck. The garden was already full of noise — laughter, kids running around, the smell of food on the grill — but she buried her face in his shoulder the moment she saw the crowd.

“It’s alright, love,” Tom murmured softly, rubbing circles on her back. “It’s just family, yeah? No rush.”

She nodded slightly but didn’t lift her head.

Harry was the first to spot them. “Oi, look who finally decided to show up!” he called, grinning as he walked over. “And there’s my favorite little lady.”

She peeked at Harry for half a second, then tightened her grip on Tom’s shirt.

Harry chuckled. “Still shy, huh? That’s okay. I was too. Until I learned to be incredibly charming.”

Tom snorted. “You mean loud.”

Sam came over next, crouching a few feet away so he wouldn’t scare her. “Hey, sweetheart. I saved you a juice box. The good kind.”

Her eyes flicked to the juice box in his hand, interested… but she didn’t move.

Paddy appeared behind them, hands in his pockets. “Give her time, lads. She’s got Holland stubbornness.”

Tom smiled at that, kissing the side of her head. “That she does.”

He carried her to a quieter corner of the garden and sat down on a bench, letting her sit on his lap. Around them, cousins chased each other and adults talked loudly, but she stayed close, her little fingers gripping his hoodie.

“You don’t have to play if you don’t want to,” Tom told her gently. “You can just hang with me.”

She finally spoke, her voice tiny. “Too loud, Daddy.”

“I know,” he said softly. “We can stay right here.”

That’s when one of the younger cousins ran up with a ball. “Wanna play?”

She shook her head quickly and pressed into Tom’s chest.

Tom looked up at the cousin apologetically. “Maybe later, yeah? She’s just warming up.”

After the cousin ran off, Tom whispered, “You did great, love. You used your words.”

She nodded again, eyes big. “Stay with me?”

“Always,” he said without hesitation.

That was the cutest moment — the kind that made Harry, Sam, and Paddy exchange looks from across the garden.

Harry muttered, “Swear he melts every time she looks at him.”

Sam smiled. “Never seen him this soft before.”

Paddy added, “She’s got him wrapped around her finger already.”

A little later, Harry came over again, this time sitting beside Tom instead of standing. He didn’t say anything at first, just started quietly poking at a blade of grass.

After a minute, she glanced at him.

Harry noticed. “Hi again,” he said gently. “Did you know your dad used to be way shyer than you?”

Tom protested. “That is absolutely not true.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You hid behind Mum’s legs till you were about six.”

She let out a small giggle — the first of the day.

Tom looked down at her, surprised. “Was that a laugh?”

She nodded shyly, then looked back at Harry.

Encouraged, Sam joined them, sitting on the ground. “If you want, we can just roll the ball here. No running. Just us.”

She thought about it, then slowly slid off Tom’s lap — but kept one hand holding his.

Tom’s heart nearly burst.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

They gently rolled the ball back and forth, her staying close enough that her leg pressed against Tom’s. Paddy eventually joined too, making silly faces that earned another tiny giggle.

After a while, she climbed back into Tom’s lap, tired but calmer.

That’s when Tom shifted a bit and chuckled quietly. “Uh oh… Daddy needs to run to the bathroom for a minute.”

Her head snapped up. “No,” she said instantly, panic creeping into her voice. Her arms wrapped tight around his neck. “Don’t go.”

Tom’s heart squeezed. “Hey, hey… I’ll be right back, okay? Two minutes. I promise.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I wanna come.”

He smiled sadly. “I know, love, but you have to stay here just for a tiny bit.”

The first tear slipped down her cheek, then another. “Daddy…”

Before she could really start crying, Nikki Holland appeared, drawn by the sound. “Oh sweetheart,” she said gently, coming over. “What’s wrong, my angel?”

“She doesn’t want me to leave,” Tom said quietly, standing but keeping her close. “I just need the loo, Mum.”

Nikki held out her arms. “Come here, darling. Granny’s got you. We’ll wait for Daddy together.”

She shook her head at first, clutching Tom even tighter as her little sobs started.

Tom pressed his forehead to hers. “Look at me,” he said softly. “Granny loves you so much. And Daddy will be right back. I won’t be long at all.”

He kissed her cheeks, wiping away her tears. “Can you be brave for me?”

She sniffed, eyes darting between him and Nikki.

Nikki smiled warmly. “We can sit right here and watch for him, yeah? And maybe have a cuddle.”

After a moment, she slowly let Tom pass her into Nikki’s arms, still reaching for him.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Tom promised, pointing to his eyes and then hers. “You watch for me.”

She nodded, lip trembling. “Come back.”

“Always,” he said, blowing her a kiss before jogging toward the house.

The second he was out of sight, she let out a small cry, but Nikki held her close, rocking gently.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Daddy just popped inside. He loves you so much. He’ll be right back.”

Harry, Sam, and Paddy hovered nearby too.

Harry made a silly face. “We’re on Daddy-watch duty, yeah?”

Sam pointed toward the house. “As soon as he comes out, we’ll tell you.”

She sniffed and wiped her nose with her sleeve, eyes glued to the door.

And then — there he was.

“Daddy!” she gasped.

Tom barely had time to step back into the garden before she was wriggling out of Nikki’s arms and running toward him.

He dropped to his knees and caught her, hugging her tight. “Hey! I’m back. See? Just like I promised.”

She buried her face in his chest. “You came back…”

He held her close, swaying a little. “I will always come back to you. Every time.”

Nikki smiled, brushing her hand over Tom’s shoulder. “You’ve got her heart, Tom.”

He looked down at his daughter, kissing her hair. “She’s got mine.”

Tom picked her up again, settling her back on his hip as she clung to him, finally calm.

“Better now?” he asked.

She nodded. “Stay with me.”

He smiled softly. “Right here, love. Not going anywhere.” “Had fun?” Tom asked.

She nodded sleepily. “With you.”

I still hate you part 2 || Tom Holland

The music was still pounding, but it didn’t matter anymore.

Not when Rudy was suddenly there—storming through the crowd, his face dark with anger.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snapped, grabbing Harrison’s shoulder and shoving him back slightly. “That’s my girl. You’re supposed to be my boy.”

Harrison didn’t even flinch.

“I’m not your boy,” he said calmly. “And maybe if you treated her right, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

Rudy stepped closer, chest to chest now. “Say that again.”

“Back off,” Harrison replied, his tone still steady—but firmer now.

You felt the tension spike instantly.

“Stop,” you said, stepping between them. “Both of you—just stop.”

But Rudy wasn’t listening.

His hand shot out, grabbing your arm.

“Let’s go.”

“Rudy—” you tried to pull back. “Leave it.”

“I said let’s go.”

“Rudy, you’re hurting me—”

He tightened his grip and started dragging you through the crowd.

“Stop! Rudy, stop!” you protested, trying to keep up as people turned to stare.

No one stepped in.

They never did.

The cold air hit you the second you were outside.

“Get in the car,” he snapped, pointing toward the street.

“No,” you said immediately, shaking your head. “Not when you’re like this.”

His expression twisted. “Like what?”

“Angry,” you said, your voice trembling. “You’re angry and you’re not thinking—”

“I’m perfectly fine,” he cut you off, stepping closer.

You instinctively stepped back.

“Rudy—”

“Don’t tell me how I feel.”

You kept backing up until—

Your shoulders hit the wall.

Nowhere else to go.

Your heart was racing, your breath shallow.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“You were all over him,” Rudy snapped.

“I was dancing—”

“With him.”

“So what?” you shot back, even though fear was creeping in. “You were flirting with another girl—”

“Don’t twist this on me.”

He grabbed your arm again.

Harder this time.

“Rudy, stop—please, you’re hurting me—”

“She told you to stop, Rudy.”

The voice cut through everything.

Cold. Sharp. Controlled.

Tom.

You both turned.

He was standing a few feet away, jaw tight, eyes locked on Rudy’s hand gripping your arm.

“Let go of her. Now.”

Rudy scoffed. “Tom, fuck off. Don’t get involved.”

Tom didn’t even hesitate.

“Let her fucking go.”

He stepped forward and grabbed your arm, pulling it free from Rudy’s grip.

The sudden release made you stumble slightly, and Tom’s hand steadied you for a second.

He looked at you, his voice lower now.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded quickly, tears still slipping down your cheeks. “Yeah…”

But your voice didn’t match.

Behind you, Rudy let out a harsh laugh. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Tom turned slowly, his expression darkening. “Someone who was raised better than you.”

Rudy stepped forward. “Watch your mouth.”

“No,” Tom shot back. “You don’t put your hands on a woman. And you don’t speak to someone like that—especially her.”

That last part hung in the air.

Rudy’s eyes narrowed. “Especially her?”

“I’ve seen how you’ve treated her all night,” Tom continued, his voice hard. “It’s pathetic.”

That was it.

Rudy swung first.

The sound of the punch was sharp, echoing in the cold air as Tom’s head snapped slightly to the side.

Then chaos.

Tom hit back just as fast, shoving Rudy before landing another punch.

“Stop!” you screamed. “Stop it!”

They didn’t.

They kept going—shoving, swinging, anger spilling out with every hit.

“Rudy, stop!” you cried, your voice breaking. “Tom, stop—please!”

Footsteps rushed out behind you.

“What the hell—” Harrison’s voice cut in as he ran over, grabbing Rudy and pulling him back. “That’s enough!”

Chloe and Sarah followed, both looking panicked.

“Are you okay?” Chloe asked, rushing to your side.

“I—I don’t—” you shook your head, eyes still locked on them.

Harrison held Rudy back, breathing hard. “You’re done. Go.”

Rudy wiped at his lip, glaring past him—at you.

“If I leave now,” he said, his voice cold, “we’re over.”

Something in you snapped.

You stepped forward slightly, your voice steady for the first time all night.

“We’ve been over,” you said. “Fuck you.”

Silence.

For half a second.

Then Rudy scoffed, shaking his head before turning and walking off.

Gone.

Tom spat blood onto the ground, breathing heavily.

Then without a word—he turned and walked away.

“Tom—” you started.

But he didn’t stop.

A car door slammed.

An engine started.

And then he was gone.

You stood there for a moment, everything catching up to you all at once.

“Hey,” Harrison said gently, stepping closer.

You turned and wrapped your arms around him without thinking.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“I’ve got you,” he said quietly.

Chloe rubbed your arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, pulling back. “Yeah… I just—”

Your eyes drifted toward the street.

“…I’m gonna go check on him.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow slightly—but didn’t argue. “Okay. Text me.”

“I will.”

The street was quieter now.

You spotted his car parked a little further down.

The engine was still running.

You hesitated for a second.

Then walked over.

You opened the passenger door slowly.

Tom didn’t look at you.

He was leaning back in his seat, one hand resting on the wheel, the other holding a cigarette between his fingers.

Smoke curled through the air.

You slid into the seat, closing the door softly.

Silence.

Heavy. Thick. But not uncomfortable.

After a moment, he spoke.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

A pause.

“…Thank you.”

He exhaled, staring straight ahead. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Thank me.”

You frowned slightly. “Why?”

He finally glanced at you. “Because I didn’t do anything special. I just did what he should’ve done.”

Your chest tightened slightly at that.

He looked away again, taking another drag before holding the cigarette out toward you.

“Here.”

You hesitated for half a second—then took it.

You inhaled, the burn hitting your lungs as you leaned back slightly.

“I don’t know why I stayed with him,” you admitted quietly.

Tom’s jaw tightened. “Yeah… I was wondering that.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh—but it quickly turned into tears again.

“Me too.”

You reached forward, flicking on the small light above.

Tom blinked, squinting slightly. “What are you doing?”

“Hold still,” you muttered, leaning closer.

He instinctively leaned back a bit. “What the—”

“Stop moving,” you said, your voice softer now.

He paused.

Letting you.

You reached up, gently tilting his face to the side, inspecting the cut on his lip.

“…You’re bleeding a lot,” you murmured.

“I’ve had worse,” he said.

You ignored that, glancing around before spotting tissues in the console.

You grabbed them and leaned in again, dabbing carefully at the blood.

He went quiet.

Watching you.

You were so close now—closer than you’d ever been without arguing.

Your touch was careful. Gentle.

Completely different from anything he expected.

Your eyes flicked up for a second—

And met his.

Everything slowed.

Neither of you moved.

Just staring.

Something unspoken sitting right there between you.

Tom broke it first, clearing his throat slightly and leaning back.

“…You want the last of that?”

You blinked, glancing down at the cigarette still between your fingers.

A small, tired smile tugged at your lips.

“Yeah,” you said softly.

The cold hit you properly now that the adrenaline was fading.

You were still standing outside, arms wrapped around yourself slightly, the thin fabric of your dress doing absolutely nothing against the night air.

Tom noticed.

Of course he did.

He didn’t say anything at first—just shrugged off his hoodie and held it out to you.

“Here.”

You blinked at it. “…What?”

“Take it,” he said, like it was obvious.

You hesitated for half a second, then slipped it on. It was warm—his warm—and way too big on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands slightly.

“…Thanks,” you muttered.

Tom huffed, a small smile tugging at his lip. “I still hate you. Don’t get used to it.”

You rolled your eyes—but smiled anyway. “Right back at ya.”

There was a small pause.

Then he nodded toward the street. “I can drop you home… but I’ve had a bit to drink.”

You shook your head, glancing back at the house. The music was still going, the lights still flashing.

“It’s only like 2am,” you said. “…I wanna stay.”

He raised an eyebrow slightly.

You hesitated, then added, testing it—

“Wanna… get a drink together?”

A beat.

Tom studied you for a second… then nodded once. “Yeah. Alright.”

Back inside, the party swallowed you whole again.

You grabbed drinks, standing a little closer than usual—less tension, less biting comments.

For a moment, it almost felt… normal.

Easy.

But that didn’t last long.

You turned back to him after finishing your drink—

—and he was different again.

Leaning against the counter, surrounded by a couple of his frat boys, that familiar smirk back in place.

Cold. Distant.

“Can I talk to you?” you asked.

He didn’t even look at you properly. “You can leave me alone now.”

One of the boys snorted.

Another laughed.

Your stomach dropped slightly.

“…Why are you being a dickhead now?” you snapped.

Before Tom could answer—

“Probably because you’re single now,” a voice cut in.

You turned.

Jack.

He stepped closer, grinning. “Means I can have a go, yeah?”

Before you could react, his arm slipped around your waist.

Tom moved instantly.

He shoved Jack back hard. “Back off.”

The room went quiet for a second.

Jack raised his hands. “Alright, mate—”

Tom didn’t even look at him. His eyes were on you now, jaw tight.

“Y/N,” he said flatly, “piss off. Now.”

That stung.

You let out a sharp laugh. “Ha. And to think Thomas Stanley Holland could be nice for once.”

You stepped back, shaking your head.

“Dick.”

And then you walked away.

You found your friends again quickly.

Music. Drinks. Laughter.

You leaned into it.

Hard.

Drinking more, dancing more—letting everything blur until you didn’t have to think anymore.

Chloe grabbed your hands. “There she is!”

“I’m fine!” you insisted, already laughing.

“Uh-huh,” she said, unconvinced.

A while later, she leaned in. “Okay… I’m gonna head off.”

“With him?” you asked, glancing at the guy beside her.

Chloe grinned. “Yeah.”

You pointed at her. “Text me. Make sure you’re safe.”

“I will, mum,” she teased, hugging you quickly before leaving.

Now it was just you.

And the music.

And the alcohol.

You didn’t care who was watching anymore—you just danced, completely lost in it.

“Careful.”

Harrison appeared again, steadying you as you nearly lost your balance.

You laughed. “I’m fine!”

“You’re not fine,” he said, amused.

You leaned closer slightly, grinning. “Tom’s a dick.”

Harrison chuckled. “Yeah… he can be.”

“I hate him,” you added.

“Sure you do.”

Before you could argue—

“Wow,” a voice cut in. “You move on fast.”

You turned.

The girl from earlier.

Your eyes narrowed instantly. “What did you say?”

She smirked. “You heard me.”

“What did you say, bitch?” you shot back, stepping forward slightly.

“Okayyy,” Harrison quickly stepped in, hands up. “Let’s not start another fight tonight, yeah? Come on, sassy.”

You swayed slightly. “…I’m not sassy.”

“You are very sassy,” he said, guiding you away. “And very drunk.”

The kitchen lights felt too bright.

Harrison helped you sit up on the counter.

“Stay there,” he said. “I’m getting you water.”

You groaned. “I don’t want water.”

“You need water.”

Tom was already in there.

Of course he was.

Leaning against the counter again, like he hadn’t moved all night.

You squinted at him.

“Oh look who it is,” you slurred. “The miserable prick.”

Harrison laughed under his breath, handing you a glass. “Drink.”

You took it reluctantly.

“Watch her for a sec,” Harrison said to Tom. “I’ll be back.”

Tom pushed off the counter, stepping closer.

Your dress had slipped slightly—nothing major, just enough.

He reached out, adjusting it back into place.

You swatted lightly at his hand. “No touching, Tommy.”

He froze.

Just slightly.

“…Tommy?” he repeated.

You didn’t even notice. “Imma danceeee.”

He shook his head immediately. “No, you’re not.”

“Watch me,” you grinned, hopping down—

—and nearly falling.

He caught you instantly, hands on your waist.

Your eyes met his.

For a second, everything slowed.

You leaned in.

Close.

Too close.

Your lips brushed his—

He pulled back.

“No,” he said quietly. “You’re drunk.”

You frowned. “…Rude.”

“You can barely stand,” he added.

“Still rude.”

Before you could protest again, he lifted you—like it was nothing—and carried you out of the kitchen.

“Tom—!” you laughed, half-heartedly struggling.

“Stop moving.”

His room was quieter.

Darker.

He dropped you gently onto the bed.

You bounced slightly, giggling. “Again.”

“Not happening.”

He grabbed some clothes from somewhere and placed them beside you. “Change.”

You blinked at them. “…You change me.”

“Absolutely not,” he muttered, turning around. “I’m not looking.”

You fumbled, eventually managing it with a lot of complaining and laughter.

“I’m done,” you announced proudly.

He glanced back, checking quickly—then nodded.

“I’ll sleep in the guest room,” he said.

“No,” you said immediately. “Stay.”

“Y/N—”

“Stay,” you repeated, softer now.

He hesitated.

Then sighed, giving in slightly, lying down on the edge of the bed.

That was a mistake.

Because the second he settled—

You climbed on top of him.

“Y/N—”

You kissed him.

Hard.

He froze for half a second—

Then kissed you back.

Just as suddenly.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was messy and heated and everything you’d both been holding back.

Your hands moved—

He stopped you.

“Hey,” he said, pulling back slightly, breathing heavier now. “No.”

You groaned. “Why do you hate fun?”

“You’re drunk,” he said firmly. “Go to sleep.”

You flopped back dramatically. “You’re boring.”

“Good.”

You rolled toward him instead, grabbing onto him. “Cuddle me.”

He let out a quiet breath.

“…Fine.”

He pulled you closer slightly, one arm around you.

The room spun.

Your eyes grew heavy.

Within minutes—

You were asleep.

And for once—

Safe.

Your head was pounding.

That was the first thing you noticed.

The second—

This wasn’t your room.

You blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains. The sheets felt different. The room smelled different.

Then it hit you.

Tom.

You shot upright slightly, wincing as your head throbbed harder.

“…Oh my god,” you muttered.

Memories came back in flashes—

The fight.

Rudy.

Tom stepping in.

The car.

His hoodie.

His room.

…and the kiss.

Your face burned instantly.

“No. No, no, no…” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “I did not do that.”

You looked beside you.

Empty.

He wasn’t there.

A strange mix of relief and something else you didn’t want to think about settled in your chest.

You glanced down—his t-shirt hanging off you, your legs bare except for your underwear.

“Great,” you muttered.

You slid out of bed carefully, still slightly dizzy, and made your way downstairs.

The house was quieter now—hungover silence replacing last night’s chaos.

You made your way into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and pouring yourself water.

“Jesus…” you whispered, taking a long sip.

“Morning.”

You jumped.

Spinning around, you saw Jack—and another frat boy, Riley—walking in.

Their eyes immediately dropped.

Then smirks spread across both their faces.

Your stomach dropped.

You quickly pulled the shirt down further, crossing your arms slightly. “Turn around, you pervs.”

Jack leaned against the counter, completely unbothered. “I like the view.”

“Disgusting,” you snapped.

Riley chuckled. “So… you and Tom, yeah?”

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“You had sex with him?” Jack added casually.

Your heart skipped. “Fuck no.”

They exchanged a look.

Smirking.

Your stomach twisted. “What?”

Jack shrugged. “That’s not what he told us.”

It felt like something dropped in your chest.

“What?”

Your voice came out quieter this time.

Riley just laughed under his breath.

And suddenly, you felt stupid.

Embarrassed.

Angry.

Without another word, you stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

You barely registered him at first.

“Oi—”

Tom.

You brushed straight past him.

“What’s wrong?” he called after you.

You shoved his shoulder as you passed. “Don’t.”

He frowned. “What—”

But you were already pushing open another door.

Harrison’s.

He looked up instantly—and then immediately covered his eyes.

“Whoa—okay—morning—didn’t need to see that—”

“I need bottoms,” you said quickly.

“Yeah—yeah, hang on—” he said, turning around and grabbing a pair of joggers, tossing them in your direction without looking.

You pulled them on quickly, your movements rushed and tense.

Harrison peeked slightly. “You good?”

You let out a frustrated groan. “No. I didn’t sleep with Tom, by the way.”

He blinked. “…Okay?”

“Just—ugh, I hate my life.”

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Alright… I’ll see you at uni, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you muttered.

You headed back downstairs, grabbing your phone off the charger.

The second you stepped into the kitchen again, you shot the boys a glare.

“Grow up.”

They just smirked.

Then—

Something caught your eye.

Jack’s phone.

Your stomach dropped.

You snatched it before he could react.

“What the hell—”

The screen was open.

A picture.

Of you.

Shorts. Bra. Slightly blurry—but clear enough.

Your heart stopped.

“Where did you get this?” your voice shook.

They didn’t answer right away.

Then Riley muttered, “Rudy.”

Your eyes filled instantly.

“Delete it,” you said, your voice breaking.

Jack shook his head slightly. “Nah. You look hot.”

“Delete it!” you shouted.

They just laughed.

“Fuck you,” you snapped, throwing the phone back at him as you shoved your shoes on.

Footsteps.

Tom and Harrison both came down the stairs.

Tom looked at you properly now—taking in your face, your tears.

“What happened, moody?” he asked, confused.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Fuck you, Tom.”

His brows pulled together. “What—”

“And you going around telling everyone we had sex?” you added, your voice sharp with hurt. “Very respectful, yeah?”

His expression shifted instantly. “What are you talking about—”

But you were already heading for the door.

You yanked it open and slammed it behind you, running back toward your accommodation.

Inside the house—

Silence.

Tom stood there, confused, irritated.

Then slowly turned toward the others.

“…What did you say to her?”

Jack shrugged. “Nothing—just what you told us.”

Tom’s jaw tightened. “I never said we fucked. Because we didn’t.”

The room went quiet.

“…What are you lot looking at?” he snapped.

Then he saw it.

The phone.

The picture.

His expression changed instantly.

“What the fuck is that?”

Harrison stepped closer, his face hardening too.

“Where did you get that?”

“Rudy sent it—” Riley started.

That was enough.

Tom smacked the back of Jack’s head hard. “Are you serious?”

“Oi—!”

“Delete it,” Tom snapped.

“Why? It’s not even—”

Tom grabbed the phone, deleting it himself. “You don’t keep shit like that.”

Harrison shook his head, disgusted. “What is wrong with you?”

“That’s messed up,” Tom added, glaring at them. “Don’t ever show that to anyone again.”

They muttered under their breath—but didn’t argue further.

Tom tossed the phone back, his jaw tight.

Then he turned away, running a hand through his hair.

“…Fuck.”

You barely made it back to your accommodation before everything hit you.

The embarrassment.

The anger.

The humiliation.

Your hands were still shaking as you pushed your door shut behind you, leaning against it like you could block the world out.

Then—

A knock.

“Y/N?”

Chloe.

You opened the door quickly, and the second she stepped in, you knew something was wrong.

Her face was furious.

“What?” you asked, your stomach already sinking.

She didn’t answer—just held her phone out.

You looked.

And your heart dropped.

“No…” you whispered.

The picture.

It was everywhere.

Messages. Group chats. People reposting it.

Comments underneath.

“That’s Tom’s girl.”

“Didn’t she just break up with Rudy?”

“She definitely slept with him.”

Your chest tightened.

“I didn’t—” you shook your head, panic rising. “Chloe, I didn’t—”

“I know,” Chloe said quickly, grabbing your hands. “I know you didn’t.”

“But everyone thinks I did…” your voice broke.

Chloe’s jaw clenched. “I’m going to kill them.”

“I’m serious.”

Campus was worse.

Way worse.

People stared.

Whispered.

Some didn’t even try to hide it—looking at their phones, then at you, then back again.

You kept your head down, walking faster, your chest tight the entire time.

Your phone buzzed.

Again.

And again.

Tom.

You ignored it.

In the lecture hall, you couldn’t focus.

You could feel it—eyes on you, people talking quietly behind you.

You stood up suddenly.

“I need air,” you muttered to Chloe before walking out.

Outside—

Voices.

Raised.

“…why are your so-called friends telling everyone you and Y/N had sex?” Chloe’s voice cut through sharply.

You froze.

Tom. Harrison. Chloe.

“They’re sending that picture around!” Chloe snapped. “Do you even realise what that does to her?”

Tom’s voice came back, tense. “I didn’t say that.”

“Well, someone did—”

“I didn’t,” he repeated, firmer now.

You didn’t want to hear this.

You turned—

And started walking away.

“Y/N—” Tom spotted you instantly. “Wait.”

You didn’t stop.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” he said, catching up slightly. “I swear.”

You kept walking.

“Y/N, look at me—”

“No,” you snapped, your voice shaking. “Just leave me alone.”

He stopped.

Then—

“Everyone listen up.”

Your steps faltered.

You turned.

Tom was standing in the middle of the walkway now, loud enough that people nearby were already looking.

“For everyone’s information,” he said clearly, his voice sharp, “me and Y/N did not have sex.”

The whispers stopped.

“And if I see anyone with that picture,” he added, his tone dropping dangerously, “or hear about it being sent around again—delete it. All of it.”

Silence.

“I’m not asking,” he finished.

Your heart was racing.

People were staring—but differently now.

Less mocking.

More… cautious.

You looked at him for a second longer—

Then turned and walked away.

But this time—

You didn’t feel quite as alone.

That night, you couldn’t sit still.

Everything was still buzzing in your head.

So you left.

Hoodie on. Phone in your pocket. A blunt between your fingers.

The air was quiet.

Cold.

You exhaled slowly—

Then froze.

“Of course,” you muttered.

Rudy.

“What do you want?” you asked, already irritated.

He stepped closer. “You really embarrassed me today.”

You laughed bitterly. “Me? You’re the one who sent that picture.”

“You shouldn’t have been acting like that—”

Before he could finish—

You slapped him.

Hard.

The sound echoed.

“Don’t,” you snapped, your voice shaking with anger. “Don’t you dare blame me for this.”

His expression darkened as he stepped closer.

“Watch yourself—”

“Or what?”

“She told you to back off.”

Tom.

Again.

Rudy scoffed. “You again?”

Tom stepped forward. “You never learn, do you?”

“Stay out of it—”

Rudy barely got the words out before Tom hit him.

Fast. Clean.

Rudy stumbled, and Tom shoved him down, holding him there.

“Phone,” Tom snapped.

“What—”

“Now.”

Rudy hesitated.

Tom grabbed his collar tighter. “Delete the picture.”

Rudy swore under his breath—but pulled his phone out.

Tom watched closely. “All of it.”

Rudy deleted it.

“Happy?” he muttered.

Tom let him go with a shove. “Don’t come near her again.”

Rudy glared—but left.

Silence again.

You turned.

Started walking away.

“Y/N—”

Tom grabbed your arm—but gentler this time.

You paused.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” he said, quieter now. “About us. About anything.”

You looked at him.

Really looked.

He meant it.

“I know,” you said softly.

He hesitated. “…I’m sorry.”

You blinked slightly. “For what?”

“For all of it.”

There was a small pause.

“…It’s okay,” you said. “I still hate you though.”

A corner of his mouth lifted.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded. “Same.”

You both laughed lightly.

The tension—

Different now.

You held up the blunt slightly. “You want?”

He took it without hesitation.

You ended up back at your accommodation.

Sitting on the floor. Talking about nothing and everything.

Laughing.

Relaxed.

High enough that everything felt softer.

At some point, you looked at him.

“…Why have you always hated me?”

He frowned slightly. “I never hated you.”

You blinked. “What?”

He shrugged. “You just annoyed me.”

You laughed. “Same.”

A pause.

Then—

Something shifted.

You leaned in slightly.

He didn’t move away.

Your lips met.

This time—

It wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t messy.

It was slower. Intentional.

His hand came up to your jaw, steadying you as you kissed him again.

When you pulled back slightly, he looked at you differently now.

“Do you know you’re beautiful?” he murmured.

Your heart skipped.

“Shut up,” you said softly.

But you didn’t pull away.

I still hate you Part 1 || Tom Holland

Summary: Enemies into lovers. Tom and Y/N are university students, who really dislike each other. They always bicker and argue, but what happens when Tom see’s her bf getting too aggressive during an argument? And the events after that….

The soft hum of chatter echoed faintly through the halls of the student accommodation, mixing with the occasional slam of doors and bursts of laughter from somewhere down the corridor. Inside room 3B, Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, her laptop open but forgotten, her phone lighting up every few seconds in her hand.

Across from her, Chloe was sprawled on the floor, surrounded by a chaotic pile of clothes—crop tops, skirts, dresses, heels—all flung out like she was preparing for a fashion show rather than a uni party.

“Okay, but this one?” Chloe held up a tight black dress, grinning. “Tell me this doesn’t scream ‘main character energy.’”

Y/N barely glanced up. “It screams something, yeah…”

Chloe narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t even look.”

“I did,” Y/N muttered, though her attention was glued to her phone.

Another message lit up the screen.

Rudy❤️- Don’t go tonight. I mean it. Those parties are trash.

Y/N’s jaw tightened.

Chloe noticed immediately. She dropped the dress and stood, crossing the room in two strides. “What now?”

“Nothing,” Y/N said quickly, locking her phone and tossing it beside her.

Chloe didn’t buy it for a second. “Y/N.”

“It’s just—” Y/N hesitated, then sighed, rubbing her temple. “He just thinks the party’s a bad idea.”

Chloe blinked. “He thinks… or he told you not to go?”

Y/N didn’t answer.

“Are you serious?” Chloe scoffed, grabbing the phone before Y/N could stop her. “Oh my— ‘Don’t go tonight. I mean it.’ Who does he think he is?”

“Chloe, give it back—”

“No.” Chloe stepped away, holding the phone out of reach. “Absolutely not. You’re not skipping your first proper uni party because your controlling boyfriend said so.”

“He’s not controlling,” Y/N said automatically, though it sounded weak even to her own ears.

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Right. Because telling you what you can and can’t do is totally normal.”

Y/N looked down, picking at the sleeve of her hoodie. “I just… I don’t know if I feel like going anyway.”

Chloe walked back over, softer now, dropping onto the bed beside her. “You were excited about this yesterday.”

“That was before…” Y/N gestured vaguely toward the phone.

Chloe shook her head, then suddenly grinned, a spark of mischief lighting her eyes. She grabbed Y/N’s hand and squeezed it.

“Yeah, no. We’re going.”

“Chloe—”

“We. Are. Going.” She shoved the phone back into Y/N’s hands. “And if he doesn’t like it? Tough.”

Y/N let out a small laugh despite herself. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know,” Chloe said proudly, hopping back up. “Now get dressed. We’ve got class, and then we’re getting you the hottest outfit in this room.”

The campus buzzed with life as they made their way across it—students rushing to lectures, sitting in clusters on the grass, music faintly playing from someone’s speaker.

Chloe was mid-story, animated as ever, while Y/N walked beside her, trying to ignore the lingering unease in her chest.

“…and then she actually told him his vibes were ‘off.’ Like, who says that?” Chloe laughed.

Y/N smiled faintly. “Honestly? Fair.”

They turned the corner toward their lecture hall—

—and collided straight into someone.

Y/N stumbled slightly, her bag slipping off her shoulder. “Oh—sorry, I didn’t—”

“Watch where you’re going,” a voice snapped.

She froze.

Of course.

Tom.

He stood there, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, looking down at her with an expression that was equal parts annoyance and arrogance. A couple of his frat friends lingered behind him, already smirking like they were waiting for entertainment.

Y/N straightened, irritation flaring instantly. “Maybe if you weren’t standing in the middle of the path like a statue—”

Tom scoffed. “Maybe if you actually paid attention—”

“Maybe if you didn’t have such a massive ego, people could walk around you—”

Chloe stepped slightly to the side, watching like she had front-row seats to her favorite show.

Tom leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping. “Careful. You might hurt my feelings.”

Y/N let out a sharp laugh. “Trust me, that’d require you having some.”

One of his friends snorted.

Tom’s jaw tightened for half a second before he smirked again. “Still as charming as ever, I see.”

“Still as insufferable,” Y/N shot back.

There was a beat—charged, tense.

Then Chloe grabbed Y/N’s arm. “Okay, before you two start a full-on war in the middle of campus—lecture?”

Y/N tore her gaze away first, rolling her eyes. “Gladly.”

As they walked past him, she could feel his eyes on her back.

Tom let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

The lecture dragged.

Y/N tried to focus—she really did—but her mind kept drifting. To the messages. To the party. To Tom, annoyingly.

Chloe, on the other hand, was doodling in the margins of her notebook, occasionally leaning over to whisper comments that made Y/N bite back laughter.

Finally, the lecturer wrapped up. “That’s all for today. Make sure to review the reading for next week.”

Chairs scraped as everyone stood.

Chloe stretched dramatically. “Freedom.”

Y/N smiled. “Barely.”

“Come on,” Chloe said, grabbing her bag. “We’ve got important business.”

“Which is?”

“Turning you into the hottest person at that party tonight.”

Back in their accommodation, the room was even messier than before.

Chloe immediately dove back into her pile of clothes. “Okay. Options.”

She held up a tiny red top.

Y/N blinked. “That’s… not a top. That’s a suggestion.”

Chloe gasped. “Excuse you, this is fashion.”

“It’s barely fabric.”

“So?” Chloe shot back, grinning. “That’s the point.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You’re actually insane.”

Chloe tossed the top onto the bed and grabbed a skirt. “You could wear this.”

Y/N eyed it. “That’s even worse.”

“Worse? Or better?”

“Chloe.”

“What?” She shrugged. “You’re allowed to look hot, you know.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at her phone again.

Chloe noticed. “Nope.” She snatched it away for the second time. “Not tonight. Tonight, you’re free.”

Y/N exhaled slowly. “…Okay.”

Chloe’s grin softened into something genuine. “Okay?”

Y/N nodded. “Okay.”

“YES!” Chloe practically bounced. “Right. Outfit secured. Now—”

She reached under the bed and pulled out a bottle.

“—pre-drinks.”

Y/N laughed. “Already?”

“Obviously. It’s part of the ritual.”

They sat on the floor, passing the bottle between them, music now playing softly in the background.

The tension in Y/N’s chest started to loosen, little by little.

“Tonight’s going to be fun,” Chloe said, nudging her.

Y/N smiled, a real one this time.

“Yeah,” she said. “It is.”

The bass was loud enough to feel in your chest before you even reached the front door.

The frat house—Tom’s frat house—was already packed. Music thumped through the walls, laughter spilled out onto the lawn, and bodies crowded the entrance like it was the only place that mattered tonight.

Chloe grabbed your wrist, practically bouncing. “This is what I’m talking about.”

You hesitated for half a second, adjusting the hem of your outfit. “It’s… a lot.”

Chloe turned to you, eyes wide. “Y/N. You look insane—in a good way. Stop overthinking.”

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed again.

You sighed, pulling it out.

Rudy❤️: Why is your location at a frat house?

Your jaw tightened.

Another message.

Rudy❤️: I told you not to go.

You rolled your eyes and typed back quickly.

Y/N: You’re here too, so what’s the problem?

There was a pause.

Then—

Rudy❤️: That’s different.

You stared at the screen for a second, something in your chest snapping.

Without replying, you shoved your phone deep into your bag.

“Done?” Chloe asked.

“Done.”

“Good,” she said, grabbing your hand again. “Let’s go.”

Inside was chaos in the best and worst way possible—sticky floors, flashing lights, people dancing on furniture, drinks being passed around like water.

“Y/N!” a voice shouted over the music.

You turned to see Sarah and Daisy pushing through the crowd toward you.

“Finally!” Sarah said, pulling you into a quick hug. “You made it.”

“Told you she would,” Chloe grinned.

Daisy beamed, her boyfriend standing beside her with his arm slung casually over her shoulders. “You look so good.”

You laughed, a little shy. “Thanks.”

Her boyfriend nodded at you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you replied.

“I’m gonna go find the guys,” he said to Daisy, giving her a quick kiss on the head. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“No promises,” she shot back.

He laughed and disappeared into the crowd.

“Drinks?” Chloe immediately suggested.

“Drinks,” Sarah and Daisy echoed.

You nodded. “Definitely drinks.”

A few minutes later, you were already feeling warmer, lighter—the alcohol kicking in just enough to blur the edges of your nerves.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you said, handing your empty cup to Chloe.

“I’ll come—”

“No, it’s fine,” you smiled. “I’ll be quick.”

“Okay. Don’t get lost.”

“No promises,” you joked, slipping away into the crowd.

The hallway upstairs was slightly quieter, though the music still pulsed through the walls.

You were halfway down it when—

“Well, this is a surprise.”

You stopped.

Of course.

Leaning against the wall like he owned the place—because, technically, he did—was Tom.

His eyes dragged over you, slow and assessing, before settling back on your face.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

You crossed your arms slightly. “I was invited.”

He raised an eyebrow. “By who?”

“Harrison.”

Tom scoffed, pushing himself off the wall. “Of course it was Harrison.”

You rolled your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means he invites anyone with a pulse.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Good to know the standards aren’t too high around here.”

His smirk flickered. “Careful. You’re in my house.”

“And?” you shot back. “You gonna kick me out?”

Tom stepped a little closer. “Tempting.”

You held his gaze. “Try it.”

There was that tension again—sharp, familiar, almost electric.

Before he could respond—

“Tom!”

Both of you turned.

Rudy.

Your stomach dropped.

He walked up like he belonged there, immediately pulling Tom into a quick handshake—one of those casual, overly confident “dap” greetings.

Tom’s expression shifted instantly—tight, forced.

He clearly didn’t like him.

“Didn’t know you were coming tonight,” Rudy said.

“Didn’t know you were either,” Tom replied flatly.

Then Rudy’s eyes landed on you.

And everything changed.

“Y/N?” His expression darkened. “What the hell are you wearing?”

The words hit harder than you expected.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Tom glance at you—really look at your face this time, like he was waiting to see how you’d react.

“I—” you started, but Rudy was already grabbing your arm.

“Come here,” he muttered, pulling you away.

“Rudy, what—”

He dragged you down the hallway, away from Tom.

“Are you serious right now?” he snapped, letting go of your arm once you were out of earshot. “You look like that here?”

You frowned, hurt flashing across your face. “I thought I looked nice.”

He let out a harsh laugh. “Nice? Y/N, you look like a slut.”

The word landed like a slap.

“What is wrong with you?” you shot back, anger rising to cover the sting. “It’s just clothes!”

“Yeah, clothes that every guy here is staring at.”

“So what?” you said. “That’s not my problem—that’s yours.”

Before he could respond—

“Y/N?”

Chloe appeared, eyes darting between you both. “What’s going on?”

Rudy’s entire demeanor shifted instantly.

Like a switch flipped.

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his side. “Nothing,” he said smoothly. “I was just telling her how beautiful she looks tonight.”

Your jaw clenched.

Chloe frowned slightly. “Uh-huh…”

Rudy leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips—quick, but possessive.

Over his shoulder, your eyes drifted—

And there he was.

Tom.

Standing at the end of the hallway, watching.

His expression unreadable. His gaze fixed on you.

Rudy pulled back, smiling like everything was perfect.

You stepped away from him almost immediately.

“I’m gonna go dance,” you said flatly.

“Y/N—” he started.

But you were already gone.

Back downstairs, the music hit you all over again—loud, consuming, drowning everything else out.

Chloe caught up with you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “I just— I need a drink.”

“Say less.”

One drink turned into two.

Two turned into… more.

The burn of alcohol was easier than the tight feeling in your chest.

“Come on,” Chloe laughed, grabbing your hands. “Dance with me.”

You let her pull you into the crowd.

Lights flashed. Music pounded. Bodies moved around you.

And for a while—

You let yourself forget.

You danced, laughed, drank—letting go of the tension, the anger, the way Rudy’s words still echoed in your head.

Across the room, though—

Tom was still watching.

The music was louder now—or maybe it just felt that way.

Everything was blurred at the edges, your head light, your body moving on autopilot as Chloe dragged you deeper into the crowd again.

“Drink,” she said, handing you another cup.

You didn’t even question it. You just took it.

Somewhere between laughing, dancing, and trying not to think about Rudy—you noticed him.

Across the room.

Talking to a girl.

Not just talking—close. Too close. Leaning in, her hand brushing his arm, his head tilted toward her like whatever she was saying actually mattered.

Your stomach dropped.

“Chloe,” you said, grabbing her wrist. “Look.”

She followed your gaze—and her expression changed instantly.

“Oh hell no.”

Before you could stop her, she was already pushing through the crowd.

“Chloe—wait—”

Too late.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Chloe snapped, stepping right between Rudy and the girl.

The girl blinked, confused. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Chloe shot back. “Why are you all over someone else’s boyfriend?”

Rudy frowned. “Chloe, calm down—”

“No, you calm down,” she cut him off. “Your girlfriend is literally here.”

The girl scoffed. “I didn’t even know he had a girlfriend—”

“Yeah, well he does,” Chloe said, folding her arms.

“Chloe,” you said quickly, stepping in and grabbing her arm. “Leave it.”

“But—”

“I said leave it,” you repeated, pulling her back.

Your heart was pounding now—not just from anger, but something heavier.

You turned to Rudy. “Can I talk to you?”

He rolled his eyes but followed you anyway.

The hallway felt colder. Quieter.

Too quiet.

The second you stopped walking, everything hit you at once.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice already shaking.

Rudy shrugged. “What?”

“Don’t do that,” you snapped. “You were all over her.”

“I was talking,” he said dismissively.

“You were not just talking.”

He let out a sharp breath. “You’re overreacting.”

“Am I?” Your voice cracked. “Because upstairs you’re dragging me around and calling me names, and now you’re flirting with other girls?”

“I wasn’t flirting—”

“You were!”

Your eyes burned, tears spilling before you could stop them.

“I thought I looked nice tonight,” you said, your voice breaking. “I actually felt good for once and you just—ruined it.”

Rudy stared at you, completely unmoved.

“Are you done?” he said flatly.

You blinked, stunned.

“I—what?”

“Cry all you want,” he added coldly. “Your tears don’t mean shit to me.”

The words hit harder than anything else tonight.

For a second, you couldn’t even breathe.

Then you turned—and ran.

You didn’t know where you were going.

Up the stairs. Down a hallway. Through a door.

You just needed to get away.

You found a bathroom connected to a bedroom and locked the door behind you, your hands shaking as you leaned against it.

And then you broke.

Tears streamed down your face, your chest heaving as everything you’d been holding in finally came crashing out.

His words echoed over and over.

“You look like a slut.”

“Your tears don’t mean shit to me.”

You covered your mouth, trying to quiet your sobs.

After a while—minutes? longer?—you forced yourself to breathe.

“In… out… you’re fine,” you whispered, even though you didn’t believe it.

You turned to the mirror.

Your makeup was ruined.

“Great,” you muttered weakly.

With shaky hands, you cleaned it up as best as you could—wiping under your eyes, fixing what you could, pretending you didn’t feel like you were falling apart.

Eventually, you unlocked the door.

Pulled it open—

And froze.

Tom was standing there.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed—but the second he saw your face, his expression shifted.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Your defenses snapped right back up.

“Why do you care?”

His jaw tightened slightly. “Because I just heard the way Rudy was talking to you.”

Your stomach dropped.

“You heard nothing,” you shot back quickly. “Fuck off.”

Tom pushed himself off the wall slightly. “Y/N—”

“You don’t get to act like you care,” you cut him off. “Not after every time we’ve spoken. I hate you”

He exhaled sharply. “You’re in my room.”

You blinked.

“What?”

You looked around properly for the first time—the bed, the desk, the scattered clothes.

Oh.

“Oh,” you muttered. “Right.”

A beat.

“…Sorry.”

You brushed past him before he could say anything else.

Back downstairs, the party hadn’t slowed at all.

If anything, it was worse.

Louder. Hotter. Messier.

“Y/N!” Sarah called, spotting you. “Where have you been?”

“Bathroom,” you said quickly.

Chloe appeared a second later, eyes scanning your face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied. “I just need a drink.”

“Okay…” she said slowly, not convinced.

One drink turned into another.

And another.

Soon, everything felt distant again—in a way that was easier to handle.

Daisy had disappeared back to her boyfriend, leaving you, Chloe, and Sarah in the middle of the dance floor.

“Come on!” Sarah laughed, grabbing your hands.

Music pounded through your body as you danced with her, the alcohol making everything looser, heavier, freer.

You didn’t think.

You didn’t feel.

You just moved.

At some point, Chloe wandered off with a guy she’d been eyeing earlier, leaving you and Sarah laughing as you danced together.

“You’re so drunk,” Sarah said, grinning.

“Shut up,” you laughed, nearly stumbling.

Arms suddenly wrapped around you from behind.

“Careful there.”

You turned, blinking.

“Harrison,” you said, smiling slightly.

“Hey,” he said, pulling you into a quick hug. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you said automatically.

He gave you a look like he didn’t fully believe it—but didn’t push.

“You know Tom’s been staring at you all night, right?” he said casually.

You scoffed immediately. “He’s not.”

Harrison smirked. “He is.”

You shook your head, taking another sip of your drink. “I hate him.”

“Sure you do,” he said, amused.

Before you could respond, he grabbed your hands and spun you.

You laughed despite yourself, letting him twirl you around.

For a moment—

It felt light again.

Easy.

Safe.

But across the room—

Someone had just walked in.

And stopped dead in their tracks.

Rudy.

His eyes locked onto you.

Spinning.

Laughing.

In Harrison’s arms…..

Weed || Tom Holland

Summary: Y/N hates when Tom smokes and he finds out why at Harrison’s frat party.

You hated it when Tom smoked weed.

Not because you wanted to control him — but because of your dad.

When he used to smoke, he’d change. His temper got shorter. His voice louder. Doors slammed. Words cut deep. And sometimes it didn’t stop at words. Weed became the smell that meant brace yourself.

Tom knew you didn’t like it. He just didn’t know why.

So when Harrison invited you both to a frat party at his uni, you were already nervous.

You only really knew two people there. Harrison… and Tom.

The house was packed, music shaking the walls, bodies everywhere, the smell of beer thick in the air.

Tom squeezed your hand as you walked in. “You alright, love?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Just… stay with me, yeah?”

“Always,” he promised.

But not long after, you saw Tom and Harrison drifting toward the back garden with a few lads.

Your stomach dropped.

You followed and found them by the pool, Tom already lighting a spliff.

“Tom,” you snapped.

He looked up. “Hey.”

“You said you wouldn’t smoke tonight.”

Harrison scoffed. “It’s just weed, Y/N.”

You ignored him, eyes locked on Tom. “It makes me uncomfortable. You know that.”

Tom sighed. “I know, but—”

“If you’re going to,” you cut in, “have one. Then no more. Please.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. One.”

You turned to Harrison. “Haz, don’t let him have more than one. I’m serious.”

Harrison rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. One.”

You didn’t trust it, but you went back inside.

You tried to enjoy yourself. Danced with the two girls you knew, drank more than you should have, laughed when the music was good. But every so often, you glanced toward the garden.

When Tom came back in, his eyes were glassy, his laugh too loud.

Your heart sank.

You pulled Harrison aside. “Has he had more?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Haz,” you said sharply. “I told you I don’t like it. He knows that.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he said. “You’re overreacting.”

Your voice shook. “Please. Just don’t let him have any more.”

He waved you off. “Relax.”

You went back to your friends, but the room felt too loud, too tight. The alcohol was hitting you hard, and Tom still hadn’t come near you once.

You texted him: I wanna go soon. I’ve had too much. I don’t feel good.

No reply.

So you went to find him.

And there he was again. By the pool. Laughing. Smoke curling in the air. Another spliff in his hand.

At least his third.

He finally noticed you. Smiled. “Hey, baby.”

He patted his leg. “Come sit with me.”

Something inside you snapped.

You marched up, grabbed the spliff, and threw it straight into the pool.

It hissed loudly.

Harrison jumped up instantly. “What the fuck, Y/N?! Are you serious right now?!”

Tom stood too. “What the hell was that for?!”

You spun on Harrison. “I told you not to let him have any more!”

“That was my weed!” Harrison snapped, stepping closer. “Do you know how much that cost me?! What’s wrong with you?”

You tried to stand your ground, but he kept coming, voice getting louder.

“You don’t come to my party and start throwing my stuff around like some psycho!”

“I told you,” you said, shaking. “I told you I don’t like him smoking—”

“Oh, here we go,” Harrison scoffed. “You and your stupid rules. You don’t own him!”

“That’s not what this is about!” you shouted. “You know why I hate it!”

He laughed harshly. “Yeah? Then say it. Because right now you just look controlling and embarrassing.”

Your chest tightened, eyes burning. “Because when Dad used to smoke, he’d get angry. He’d shout. He’d hurt Mum. And every time I smell it, it feels like I’m back there again!”

The words burst out of you.

For a split second, Harrison froze.

But then his anger flared again. “That’s not my problem! That doesn’t give you the right to waste my shit!”

He stepped right up into your space, towering over you.

“And don’t you dare use Dad as an excuse—”

You shrank back, heart pounding, suddenly feeling small. His voice. His stance. It was too familiar.

“Haz… stop,” you whispered.

But he didn’t.

Tom moved in, grabbing Harrison’s arm. “Haz, back off.”

Harrison yanked his arm free. “Stay out of it, Tom!”

“I said back off,” Tom repeated, firmer this time, stepping fully in front of you.

Harrison ignored him, still shouting over Tom’s shoulder. “You always do this, Y/N! You ruin everything when you don’t get your way—”

Tom snapped. “That’s enough!”

Harrison still tried to lean around him. “No, she needs to hear—”

Tom shoved him back. “I said BACK OFF!”

That finally stopped him.

Harrison stared at Tom, breathing hard, then looked at you — really looked at you — curled in on yourself, eyes wide, shaking.

It hit him.

You weren’t just angry.

You were scared.

“Y/N…” he said, voice lowering. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

But the damage was done.

“I wanna go,” you whispered.

And you turned and ran.

You pushed through the crowd inside, tears streaming down your face, barely seeing where you were going.

“Move— sorry—”

Suddenly, someone grabbed your wrist.

“Hey, don’t run off like that,” a guy slurred, tugging you back.

“Let go of me!” you cried, trying to pull free.

You stumbled, lost your balance, and fell hard onto the floor.

Tom saw red.

He charged forward and shoved the guy away from you. “Get your fucking hands off her!”

The guy staggered back. “Chill, man— I was just—”

“Don’t touch her!” Tom snapped.

Tom dropped to his knees beside you instantly. “Hey, hey… are you okay?”

You tried to sit up but swayed again, dizzy and unsteady.

That’s when Tom really saw it.

Your glassy eyes.

Your shaking hands.

How badly the drink had hit you.

You weren’t just upset.

You were wasted.

Guilt slammed into him.

He should’ve been with you.

He should’ve noticed.

He should’ve taken care of you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, sliding an arm around you and helping you up.

You clung to him, crying. “I wanna go home.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I should’ve looked after you.”

He shot one last warning look at the guy, then guided you outside.

The cold air hit your face as Tom sat you down on the steps, crouching in front of you.

You were still shaking.

“I hate it when you smoke,” you sobbed. “It makes me feel like I’m a kid again and something bad’s about to happen.”

Tom’s heart broke.

“I didn’t know about your dad,” he said quietly. “But I should’ve listened anyway. You told me it hurt you, and I didn’t take it seriously. That’s on me.”

He brushed your hair out of your face, hands gentle.

“And I should’ve been with you tonight. You were scared, and I just… left you on your own.”

You sniffed. “You didn’t even dance with me.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I fucked up.”

He pulled you into his chest carefully. “I promise you, love. I won’t touch it again if it makes you feel like this. You matter more than any of that.”

You nodded weakly. “I just wanted you.”

“I’m here now,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”