tom holland imagines

soft

Tom's breath was hot against your neck, his forearms framing your head against the soft pillows beneath you. His lips ghosted over your bare collarbone, voice raspy but quiet next to your ear as his lips traveled across your skin, "Love you. So much."

"Love you, too," you whispered in reply with a content sigh, your arms hooking around his neck and fingers twisting his soft curls there carefully. The two of you stayed like that for only a few more moments, completely wrapped up in each other, not wanting it to end.

The cramping in your hip, forcing you to unhook your legs from Tom's waist was what finally broke you apart. Tom rolled to your side, propping himself up on his elbow, his thumb brushing down the bridge of your nose gently, "Gonna be right back, okay?"

"Mhm," was all you could mumble in reply as your eyelids got heavier with each blink. The bed shifted as he got out, the sound of his feet traveling to the ensuite bathroom across from your bed. You could only faintly process the sound of water running, and a few moments later, the end of the bed was dipping again as Tom kneeled there in front of you.

You let out a tired yawn and blinked a few times to open your eyes. Your boyfriend's hand was against your knee, thumb rubbing soft circles against your skin. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he gazed down at you, "Okay if I help clean you up, darlin?" His big brown eyes blinked at you expectantly, not wanting to do anything without your permission, despite what had just taken place. As soon as you nodded, he was running the warm washcloth in his hand up the inside of your thighs.

A squeak escaped your lips as he ran the cloth over your center, still sensitive from the orgasms you'd had not too long ago. An apology tumbled from his lips at this, but you simply shook your head, a small smile on his lips, "'S okay. Thank you, baby."

He tossed the cloth to the ground before crawling up next to you once more, "Anything for you, my love."

Shimmying under the covers, Tom got comfortable before pulling you back into his arms. As good — no, as great — as sex with Tom was, afterward was almost better with how soft and loving he was. He treated you like a queen; he always made sure you'd come, for one thing, but more importantly, when you both came down from your highs, he was there giving you soft kisses and cuddling you until you were asleep.

His skin was hot against yours, and the steady sound of his heartbeat drew you in even closer until your head was resting over his heart so you could hear the thumping beneath you, grounding you. One hand grasping your thigh, his other pressed into the soft skin of your side, he shifted you until you were more or less laying on top of him. You weren't the smallest, and it had taken you a long time to feel comfortable with Tom seeing you so vulnerable, to see the parts that you wished were more toned, to touch the places on your body that were softer. It had taken a long time for you to feel comfortable sitting in his lap or laying on top of him, but now it was your favorite place to be, even if you were still self-conscious at times. And even if it was a particularly hard day for you to love yourself, he somehow made you forget it all as his fingers brushed through your hair, or traced over every curve and roll and stretch mark delicately.

This evening was not any different as his fingers combed through your hair gently, twisting it between his fingers before his fingertips trailed down your back, brushing along your spine. You nearly shivered at the feeling, but burrowed further into his chest as his fingers traced random shapes against your skin, eventually following along the lines of the stretch marks on your thighs and hips.

Slotting your legs between his, you pressed gentle kisses to his skin. Along his collarbone, the base of his neck, his jaw, anywhere you could reach. Unlike the feverish kisses and lovebites that had taken place in those exact same spots not that long ago, these were soft and light as a feather, in an attempt to convey just how much you loved him. Your fingers brushed over one of the bruises you'd left on his skin, and you couldn't help the pride you felt, knowing that he was yours and only yours in this way.

It seemed as though he had had the same thought, his lips pressing delicately over the dark marks that were blossoming under your skin. He did this every single time; his way of soothing over the marks he made. This was what you loved most about him — how soft and caring he was, always taking the time to make sure you were alright.

Resting your head against his chest once again, you lifted one hand to brush through his hair. Capturing your forearm in his palm, he pressed a kiss to your wrist gently. You let out a soft giggle, shifting so you could rest your chin against his chest and gaze up at him. He was perfect, as always, in all the ways. Your voice was soft as you spoke up, not wanting to break the calm and quiet that had fallen over the room, "I love you, Tom."

His eyes fluttered closed, eyelashes brushing the smattering of freckles that adorned his cheekbones, a quiet hum of content sounding from him, "I love you more, Y/N."

This, you knew for a fact (or, just your personal opinion), was not even possible, but you weren't going to argue with him about it. Not now, anyway. Snorting softly in reply, you just reached up again and traced the tip of your finger down the bridge of his nose. You loved the way it was slightly crooked, even when he didn't. It was perfect for tracing, and for pressing soft kisses to the tip of it, which always made his nose scrunch up, a soft blush tinting his cheeks as he giggled. And yes, it was a giggle, no matter how hard he tried to convince you otherwise.

Your fingers traced across his perfectly sculpted cheekbones, along his sharp jawline. If you weren't careful, you were certain he could cut you. He always rolled his eyes at that, but you could see the smile in his eyes.

Finally, you traced your finger over his lips gently. It was something he was self-conscious about, from all of the shit people said online, even if they were only joking. No one but you knew how good of a kisser he was, though, and you were more than okay with that. His lips pursed, pressing a light kiss to the pad of your thumb as your other hand slid into his hair once more, "Love you most, bub."