I hosted a blurb night on my blog after finishing tfg! people sent in requests and I wrote them, it was a fun time. I'll be posting them here! there are nine, and the final one contains nsfw material. they're also split into three sections: pre-story, mid-story and post-story. thank you so much for supporting the story <3
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PRE-STORY.
Bad First Impressions (T)
"I'm telling you, Tom, she's amazing. So talented and funny. Heart of gold, too. I think you'd really get on."
Tom's got a very fake, very forced smile on his lips, and he nods vacantly as he listens to Harrison prattle on about his new friend: you. Harrison doesn't seem to realise that he's been gushing about you for ten consecutive minutes, nor that Tom tuned out about eight minutes ago.
"Cool," Tom adds. He's reached the point where he's just interjecting a filler word every few minutes, adding to Harrison's otherwise one-sided conversation.
"Yeah, really cool," Harrison replies.
Tom's distractedly staring at his phone, scrolling through Twitter, liking a few tweets as he goes. His eyebrows furrow as he looks at a particularly funny thread, smiling as he likes it. In the background, Harrison's continuing to speak.
After about a minute, Tom feels Harrison kick him - hard.
"Ow, you prick!" Tom mutters, looking up angrily. The two men are sat at their kitchen table, Harrison's opposite Tom, arms crossed over his chest. "What was that for?"
"You're not listening to me!" Harrison whines, frowning at Tom. "I'm trying to tell you a story, and you're just ignoring me."
Tom feels guilty as he looks at Haz's wide, blue eyes.
"Sorry," he murmurs, putting down his phone. "You've just been rambling on about Y/N for ages, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't like me, so it's hard to stay interested."
Harrison pulls a face. "What?" He asks, looking at him with confusion on his face. "But you've never met her."
Tom nods. "I know, but I reply to her Instagram stories sometimes, and she opens them and never says anything back."
It's quite disheartening, actually. When Tom had got the notification that you'd followed him, he'd seen that as a green light to try and initiate something with you - a friendship, perhaps, or maybe something more. So he'd taken to leaving comments on your posts and always, always, replying to your stories - only to draw up a blank every single time.
"Well, if that's the only thing she's done to give you that impression, then I think you're reading into it too much." Harrison grabs Tom's phone from the table and unlocks it, moving it out of Tom's grasp before he can do a thing. "Here, I'll give you her number. Just text her when we're back in LA and see if she wants to meet. I'm sure she'd be down."
Tom eyes his friend sceptically, gnawing over his lower lip. There's turmoil in his heart - churning continuously. His desire to pursue a relationship with you fights against the humiliation of being left on read, but after a moment's contemplation, he sighs in agreement.
"Fine," Tom agrees. "But only because she's your friend."
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A month later, Tom's back in America, Harrison at his side. He's here on promo, hurrying from interview to interview, doing the rounds through the television stations. He's on cloud nine, but he's tired, which is why he'd turned down Harrison's offer to go out to a bar with a few of his friends.
Tom's alone, and it's late. He's scrolling through Instagram, and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead as he opens Harrison's story and sees you staring back at him. As Tom clicks through the whole thing, there's only more - you and Harrison, you dancing in the bar, Harrison smiling at you. Tom groans, and when the story runs out, he opens up his texts and goes to his conversation with you.
Maybe 'conversation' is a bit too kind. The screen shows two messages, but they're both from Tom, and both left on read - again.
Tom: Hey Y/N, it's Tom Holland. Harrison gave me your number, so I thought I'd drop you a message just to say I'll be in town next week if you were free and wanted to grab a drink? Big fan of your work.
Tom: Hi again, just wondering if you saw my last message...?
Tom groans, tossing his phone aside and pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He knows - or, rather, hopes - that he hasn't done anything to annoy you. You've never met each other, never communicated - nothing. And yet, you're continuously avoiding him, and now you're hanging out with his best mate without him.
It's bewildering.
The front door slams shut, and Tom sighs as he hears Harrison enter the house with a clatter. He stands up, walking through to the porch where he leans up against the doorframe and watches his friend hop about, trying to pull off his shoes and jacket, and getting stuck in the process - jacket half hanging off, one shoe discarded in the middle of the room.
"Had fun, Haz?" Tom asks, smirking. Harrison jumps, looking up, and Tom scoffs as he takes in how red and bloodshot his eyes are.
"Yeah," Harrison murmurs, "Fucking great. Just had... A bit too much to drink, I think." He looks down, glaring at his shoe. "Stupid fucking thing won't come off." He waggles his leg, and Tom sighs.
"Stay still," he mutters, dropping to the floor in front of Harrison. As he unpicks his best mate's incredibly knotted laces, he asks, "Y/N was there. Did she mention me?"
Harrison hums. "Yeah, yeah. I told her what you said- y'know, about thinking she was rude for ignoring you. She didn't really like that."
Tom feels his blood run cold, fingers slacking. "You told her what?"
Harrison blinks down at Tom, shrugging. "Yeah, sorry mate, I realised once I said it that I fucked up. But- but if it's any consolation, she said it wasn't intentional. Apparently, she's just been busy."
Tom sits back on the floor after he's pulled off Harrison's shoe, glaring at his friend.
"But she probably thinks I'm a dickhead now," Tom complains. He watches as Harrison goes back to wriggling out of his jacket.
"Eh, I mean... I told her you just wanted to be friends, but she was quite hung up on it." Harrison bites his lip before staggering over to Tom, pulling him off the floor and giving him a rough pat on the back. "Look, mate. You're both going to the BAFTAs soon, right? Just make up then. It'll be fine, I'm sure."
Tom sucks in a breath, and he has to try very hard to bite back a snarky comment.
"Fine," he mutters. "But Haz, if what you've told her has fucked up our relationship, then-"
"Oh, it'll be fine." Harrison's twirling a hand through the air, but behind the carefree drunken buzz, Tom knows his friend is nervous. "You'll get on great, Tom. You're so similar." He nudges him, grinning. "I think you guys could be a lot more than just great friends, you know."
Tom rolls his eyes but finds himself smiling fondly at his friend nonetheless.
"Let's get you to bed, then," he says, wrapping an arm around Harrison. "You're just talking shit now."
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The BAFTAs (Y)
You know it's a bad quality, but as you kick around the after-party of the BAFTAs, you're seething with jealousy. It sticks to you, festers deep inside the pit of your stomach, and you can feel the perpetual frown on your face as you try to keep your mouth shut, lulling your tongue to rest with drink after drink.
You didn't win the BAFTA.
And fine- fine, maybe you didn't deserve it. Maybe your performance wasn't of a standard that the Academy deemed high enough to reward. But that doesn't mean that it doesn't sting - didn't sting as you'd crossed your fingers, held your breath, hoped with every single fibre of your being that they'd call your name. When you'd heard his name instead, you'd kept your composure - slapped on a bright, forced smile for the cameras, and applauded, but you're seething.
Maybe it'd be easier if you knew Tom Holland - maybe then you'd be able to feel happy for him, proud of a friend, even. Instead, you know nothing, beyond the fact that he's probably a grade-a twat.
All you know of him is that he'd bad-mouthed you to your mutual friend Harrison, who'd let his scathing words slip when he'd taken you to a bar. Apparently, something about your demeanour irritates Tom - how he'd be able to pass judgement on you so quickly and effortlessly is beyond you. A few weeks after that, you'd felt no qualms voicing your thoughts on the third adaptation of Spider-Man, sharing an unpopular opinion that'd led to a chain of shady tweets from Tom's account.
You've never met him, and you don't need to in order to know that you won't get along. This BAFTA snub is simply the last straw.
With a sigh, you throw back the final dredges of champagne and smack your lips together, humming as you look around the room in search of another glass. A sea of sequins and crisp suits meets your eyes, and you start walking over in the general direction of the bar, only to hear someone call after you.
"Oi, Y/N! Y/N Y/L/N!"
You startle, eyebrows shooting up your forehead as your lips curl into a disdainful frown.
"Oi?" You mutter, turning around to look at whoever has hollered your name so ungracefully. You can feel other people looking at you, and shamefully try to curl a little smaller. The embarrassment of being perceived by a crowd of such industry elites makes you bristle.
"Sorry."
You see him, finally. Tom Holland, clutching that fucking BAFTA in his hand. He's got his long brown hair slicked back, and he nervously stretches out his palm towards you.
You look at his hand, and then, feeling the weight of several inquisitive glances around you, you reluctantly shake it. Your hand is limp in his, and Tom squeezes your fingers firmly.
"Ow," you mutter, pulling back your hand and shaking out your fingers. You look up at him, the frown on your face deepening. He's quite cute, but you try not to focus on that. "You've got one hell of a handshake there, Tom."
"Sorry, sorry. I'm... Sort of all over the place tonight." And he looks it, too. There's a bright, wild energy burning in Tom's eyes, and his gaze shifts all over you as he smiles awkwardly. "Just thought I should come and introduce myself," he adds. His gaze pulls a little tighter, and he stands straighter, lengthening his back. "I don't really want us to get off on the wrong foot. I saw some of the things you said about me, on, uh, Ellen, and... Yeah, I just wanted to clear the air. We're both friends with Haz, so..."
You bite your tongue, pushing back the urge to snap at Tom. You've already starting off on the wrong foot, thanks to him, but you don't want to be petty. Not on a night like this, with so many people watching.
"Okay," you reply, voice a little shaky. You swallow dryly, your head feeling woozy from all the champagne. "I appreciate that, Tom. Thanks."
"No worries." Tom's throwing his BAFTA between his hands, and when he catches you looking at it, he holds it out towards you. "You wanna touch it?" He offers, voice light. "It's so cool, Y/N. I can't believe it's mine."
You suck in a sharp breath as he thrusts the glass trophy into your hands. It's warm to touch - you think Tom must've been gripping it ever since he was awarded it on stage. As you turn it over in your hands, your eyes prickle with irritated tears.
"It's... very nice," you manage, voice thick. Jealousy twists along with your dislike of the man. "Very... Nice."
Tom just hums, seeming unaffected.
"I know," Tom almost moans, eyes sparkling. He's clearly bouncing on cloud nine. "It's my big break," he says, wistfully, "I can feel it. Did you know," he drops his voice, leaning nearer, and the scent of his cologne makes you wince, "Emma Stone said she wants to work with me. All because of this." He sighs, an unruly grin unfurling over his face as he stretches his arms above his head. "I can't believe it."
Your eye twitches, and the second Tom's arms are back by his sides, you thrust the BAFTA back at him. You can't bear holding it any longer, hating the weight of failure in your hands.
"Congratulations," you reply dryly. You take a few steps back, looking around in search of a way out of this conversation. You can feel an immature remark building on the tip of your tongue, and you know you need to get away from Tom before you say something irreversible.
"Thanks." Tom reaches out, his hands briefly making contact with your bare upper arm. His warm tickles your skin. "Sorry if I'm a bit crazy tonight, I'm running on so much adrenaline right now, I just can't believe that I won-"
You see red.
"Really keeping it humble, aren't you?" You snap.
Tom's demeanour shifts and his eyebrows arch as he stands a little straighter. His lips curl into a frown, but then when he meets your eyes, his expression softens.
"Oh, oh," he murmurs, watching as you cross your arms over your chest and blink back angry tears. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking-"
"Yeah, you don't seem to do a lot of thinking, do you, Tom?"
He pulls a face. "Wow, okay." Tom laughs awkwardly. "I didn't mean to be insensitive, I'm sorry, Y/N."
"Whatever." You bite your lip, shaking your head. "You've made it clear that you don't like me, Tom. You can keep the pleasantries to yourself."
He blinks a few times, clearly taken aback by the malice in your tone, but then his eyes cloud over. "I was just trying to be nice," he quips, voice darker. "I don't understand why you're being so hostile towards me." Tom's eyes flicker across your face. "I don't want us to be enemies, Y/N."
You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Whatever," you murmur. You can feel the champagne twisting you, exacerbating your anger and your irritation, but as you stare at Tom, and his fucking BAFTA, all you feel is heated, rolling hatred. "Goodnight, Tom."
He sets his lips into a hard line and doesn't bother to respond before he turns and stalks away, pushing through the crowd. You frown as he walks away, your eyes narrowed into slits.
You were right: Tom Holland is a twat.
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MID-STORY.
Y/N's Rough Premiere (T) -- parts 2-3.
Tom knows you're struggling tonight, and it breaks his heart a little bit.
It's the premiere to your latest film, the red carpet rolled out in LA. Tom had been convinced by PR to walk it by your side, accompanying you as your date, and whilst he was initially disappointed to trade his night-in with Harrison for the harassment of the paparazzi and the blinding bulbs of their cameras, he's glad to have come along. There's a tenseness in your jaw that he's never seen before, and the questions from the journalists have been invasive at best, downright rude at worst.
"Are you okay?" Tom mutters, whispering into your ear. You're between journalists, standing at the back of the carpet, and his eyes flit over your face, dissecting the way you have your eyes screwed shut and your eyebrows drawn together.
You suck in a deep breath, lower lip wobbling. "I'm fine, Tom," you reply. "I'm..." You break off, and Tom notices the way your eyes scrunch further together, a quiver in your chin.
He looks around anxiously, realising that you're too far away from both the entrance and the exit to get out of sight of the cameras if the tears start to roll, and he thinks they will. It doesn't matter that Tom isn't the fondest of you - he knows the power of bad press, and for you to be seen crying at your own premiere would dominate the headlines and discredit all of you hard work.
So, with gentle hands, Tom reaches out for you, slowly turning you around. He stands facing the cameras, drawing you into his chest, letting you rest your cheek against the front of his suit as his arms curl around you.
"What are you doing?" You mutter, voice weak. You're not resisting, and after a moment, you reach out and wrap your arms around his waist. Tom can feel the front of his short grow damp with your tears.
Tom hums, trying to ignore the way he can feel a thousand different eyes on you both. Despite his best efforts, you're still both very obviously standing in the middle of the red carpet - just, instead of the media noticing your frustrated demeanour and angry tears, hopefully they'll focus on the way Tom's stopped to share a heartfelt moment with you.
"Helping you," he replies. "You look like you're about to cry, and I don't think you want them to see you like that."
You go very still for a few moments, and Tom finds himself kissing the top of your head, rolling his hands over your back. He wants to soothe you, doesn't like how fragile you seem. You are one of the fiercest people that he knows, and he isn't used to seeing you like this, so small and uncertain. He hates it.
Tom doesn't know how you'll react, but he certainly doesn't expect to see the levels of angry malice glinting in your eyes when you pull away from his chest, finally. You still seem upset, but it's less weepy and more irritated, as if you've channelled your frustration into Tom instead of the event.
"I don't need your pity, or your help, Tom," you say slowly, the tips of your teeth glinting. "I don't need another publicity stunt tonight, alright?"
Tom's eyebrows jump up his forehead, hurt fizzing out through his chest. He's used to your unpleasant attitude, doesn't know why he's surprised to see it directed towards him again. Maybe he'd been distracted by the strawberry tones of your shampoo, but he could've been sure you'd been hugging him just as tightly as he'd been hugging you.
"I wasn't doing it as a stunt," he replies, keeping his face straight. He can feel himself bristling as he stares at the anger in your eyes, and he has to suck in a breath to keep himself calm. "I care about your feelings, Y/N, believe it or not, and I didn't want you to blow your premiere because you got upset."
You step back, rubbing at your arms, and Tom watches as you reach up to pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh - loudly, seeming to deflate.
"Okay." You reach out and offer him a hand, offering him a small smile. "Sorry," you add. "Rough night."
Tom sees the stress in your eyes and decides to rise above it. He loves picking a fight with you, normally, but it's neither the time nor place for it tonight.
So, Tom bites his tongue. "It's fine," he concedes. He slips his fingers into yours, and your intertwined palms fall between you as he shifts to rest by your side. "Are you ready?" He asks, tilting his head towards the lines of journalists.
You set your mouth into a firm line, nodding. "I think so."
"Let's do this, then."
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Tom's Birthday (Y) -- parts 5-6.
If you'd known your trip to London was going to involve attending a garden party that included all of Tom's friends and family, you would've packed a nicer dress.
Tom only mentioned the party last night, as he'd watched you reappear from your bedroom, carrying the ends of the wrapping paper and role of sellotape. You'd tried, haphazardly, to wrap up the gift that you'd bought him for his birthday, but it'd been tricky to get the paper to stick down correctly. However, any shame that you'd felt about your shoddy wrapping job had gone drifting out the window the moment he'd say, so easily,
"Oh, do you know about the party tomorrow afternoon?"
No, you had not known. And now, as you circle the garden with your arm holding Tom's waist, your brain still hasn't caught up to the situation.
It's Tom's birthday - his 24th. You'd already spent the morning awkwardly hovering around the house as he'd had a birthday brunch with his family. That, at least, had been easy enough to deal with - Tom's immediate family know that your 'relationship' is a set-up, so you hadn't had to act like a couple. Unfortunately for you, though, his extended family and his school friends do not, which means you've spent the majority of the day drifting around Tom's garden, pretending to be his girlfriend, instead of his just his friend - and as much as you've learnt to appreciate Tom's presence, it's hard.
Facing his closest friends and pretending like you're in love with Tom is difficult, but you're trying your best to give a convincing performance.
"So, how long have you both been together?"
You're talking with two of Tom's old drama class friends - Mindy and Sam, you think. They're very nice - both of them smiling, seeming giddy as they look at the way Tom's got his arm flung around your shoulder.
You glance at Tom, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, uh, a few months," Tom replies, shifting his eyes away from you almost guiltily. "Known each other ages, though." You hum in agreement.
Mindy nods, her curly hair flying in every direction. "You're so sweet," she coos, nudging Sam. "Aren't they? You make such a lovely couple."
A smile twitches out across your face, and you lean into it. "Thank you," you reply. "Tom's a pretty nice guy."
Tom scoffs, looking down to meet your gaze. Amusement dances in his brown eyes. "Just a pretty nice guy?" He repeats, mocking outrage.
Your smile becomes a little less genuine, and you have to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. It doesn't matter than you and Tom are friends now - he still seems to delight in putting you into these awkward situations.
"Oh, sorry, birthday boy," you say smoothly. You glance at Mindy, finally allowing yourself to roll your eyes, just under the rouse of a joke. "Mr Dramatic loves his praise."
Mindy grins. "Always liked being the centre of attention, eh, Tom?"
Tom pouts, the hand holding your waist grabbing a little firmer as he furrows his eyebrows. "Rude," he mutters. "Can't catch a break, even on my bloody birthday." He looks at you, strength in his eyes, and you think you can see desperate pleading in them.
"Poor baby," you coo, shooting his friends a glance. "Let's go get you some cake, alright?" You say, pulling him away from the conversation after exchanging brief goodbyes with Mindy and Sam.
Tom sags as you walk over to the house together, joined together by your hands. His palm is warm against yours
"Thanks," he mutters, voice low. "I'm so tired."
You smile as he rests his head briefly on your shoulder, feeling his soft brown curls pressing into your skin.
"Do you want to go and hide for a few minutes?" You whisper. You're both standing on the patio, but as you glance around, everyone seems busy in conversation.
Tom stands up straight, wide-eyed as he nods. "Yes," he says, almost desperate. "Quick, quick."
Giggling softly, you drag him into the house, dodging past a few of the guests as you drag him upstairs. Luckily all of the partygoers seem confined to the ground floor, so you're able to make a beeline for your bedroom, where you hastily push him inside and lock the door.
"I like being your fake girlfriend a lot better when it's just us alone in a restaurant or something," you admit, leaning back against the door. "It's a lot less stressful." You watch as Tom walks around the room before settling on the edge of the bed, folding his chin into his hands. His smile is warm as he stares at you, eyes soft.
"Definitely," he agrees. Tom lies back on the bed, grunting as he sinks into the mattress. "I love my family, but they ask a lot of questions."
You click your tongue, remembering with a shudder the invasive questions Tom's grandparents had asked you.
"I hope they chill out whenever you bring your real girlfriend home," you say, "Some of the things they were asking were pretty intense."
Tom sits up, slowly, stroking at his chin. "Sorry if they made you uncomfortable," he says, looking a little guilty. "They don't know."
You manage a weak smile. "It's fine." After a moment's silence, your eyes fall on the present you've left out on the dresser. "Oh! I haven't given you this yet."
Tom stands from the bed, trailing after you inquisitively as you pick up the badly wrapped gift and thrust it into his hands.
"You got me a birthday present..?" Tom mumbles, his eyes wide. He holds it delicately, like he's scared to drop it, and when you nod, a wide grin takes over his face. "You didn't have to do that."
You roll your eyes. "Yes, I did," you reply. You reach out to touch his shoulder, your touch gentle. "We're friends now, and you're letting me stay in your house for free. Of course I had to get you something." You bite your lower lip, apprehension twisting through you. "I just hope that you'll like it."
It was hard to pick something to buy Tom. He already has everything he could ever need, and you know he doesn't like things in excess. In the end, you'd gone for old reliable.
Tom unwraps the present carefully, taking the time to uncurl the tape and keep the sparkly paper perfectly intact. His mouth falls into a wide o as he realises what you've got him.
"Another Rolex?" Tom mutters, looking up at you, shocked. He pulls open the box and inspects the dazzling watch face, looking so surprised that it makes you giggle.
"You've got quite the collection, but I saw you looking at this one when we went shopping the other week, so I thought I'd get it for you." You smile at him, loving the warmth in your heart that comes with knowing you've made him happy. "Do you like it?"
Tom nods. After a beat, he carefully puts the watch down on the dresser, and then pulls you in for a very sudden hug. You grunt as he squeezes you tightly, but the warmth in his arms and the scent of his husky cologne takes away the discomfort of his vice-like grin.
"Thank you," he exclaims. He pulls back, but goes to rest his hands on your shoulders. Tom's eyes twinkle earnestly. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love it."
Your cheeks ache from how widely you're grinning. "You're very welcome," you reply. "Happy birthday, Tom."
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The Aftermath of Tom's Part Eight Fuck Up (Y)
If Harrison can tell that there's something wrong, he doesn't say a word.
You've been in his car for ten minutes, sitting bolt upright in the front seat, staring down at your hands. Your phone keeps buzzing, and each vibration feels like a shock to the system. With every passing second, you can feel your mood growing darker - large, stormy grey clouds pulling across your mind, dampening your spirits.
You don't understand what happened.
Everything was going so well. It'd been you and Tom. having fun. You and Tom, sleeping together again. Tom opening his mouth, telling you he loved you, and then...
"Y/N?"
You can feel Harrison glancing at you briefly, his eyes sharp with concern.
"What?" You croak, clearing your throat as you feel your voice crack.
"You're crying."
With startled hands, you reach up to your face, tilting your head back as you run your shaky fingertips over your cheeks. Harrison's right - you are crying, lightly. As you feel the tears drip over your skin, the acknowledgement of their existence only seems to spur them on.
Harrison's still looking at you, you can feel the weight behind his gaze, but he stretches out across the console and rests a hand on your shoulder. As he returns his eyes to the road, you reach up to grab his hand, clutching his fingers desperately as your other hand goes to your eyes.
"Is this... Is this because you're going to break up?" Harrison tries, voice gentle.
You swallow down the lump in your throat.
"No," you say. "I don't want to talk about it." You can't. You can't sit there, bundled up on Harrison's front seat, and spill your soul to him. It's still too fresh.
"Did Tom... Did he at least tell you how he feels?"
You let go of Harrison's hand, and instead, use both of yours to hide your face away. You're properly crying now, sucking in shaky breaths, feeling your heart break in your chest as you try to calm down.
After a few moments, you hear the clicking of the car's indicator, followed by the movement of Harrison pulling over. He unbuckles his seatbelt and then clambers out of the car, but before you can find the words to lie and tell him that you're fine, he's stalked around the vehicle and appeared at the passenger's side.
"Harrison, I-"
Your friend pulls you up from your seat, and he wraps his arms around you. You're standing on the pavement of a residential street, but no one is around to watch you collapse into his hold and bury your face in his chest.
"Shh," he murmurs, rolling his hands over your back. He's a lot taller than Tom, and whilst drawing that line of similarity makes your chest ache, you're glad that he's stocky enough to handle you as you cling to him. Harrison hugs you like he's trying to keep all the pieces of you together, like he's afraid of letting go and watching you shatter. "It's okay. It'll be okay."
You take a few moments to gather yourself, feeling the warm Los Angeles wind caress your form. Gratitude mixes alongside the heartbreak, and you find yourself drying up, as you cling to him. You don't want to cry - not now, in the middle of a street, with Harrison. Later, you're sure you will, back when you're home, in the shower, in your bed, on the floor, but for now..? You don't want to feel any more hurt. You don't want to think about Tom.
"I'm okay," you say bravely, pulling away from Harrison's chest. His arms go to your waist, hanging there very loosely as his worried eyes dissect your face. "I... I'll be okay," you reassure him.
Harrison reluctantly smiles at you, confusion evident in his gaze. "I don't know what happened, but Tom is an idiot," he says. "If he hurt you..."
You manage a forced smile. "Doesn't matter," you say. Your eyes widen as they fall on the dark teary spot you've left staining the front of Harrison's chest. "Sorry for crying on you," you add, smiling sheepishly.
Harrison chuckles, shaking his head. "It's okay," he replies. He pats your shoulder before stepping away, his eyes warm with sympathy. "What are friends for, eh?"
You smile weakly. "Thank you, Harrison."
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POST-STORY.
Breaking the News (T)
Tom is notoriously bad at keeping secrets, but somehow he's managed to keep this one under wraps.
He gives you all the credit. When he'd suggested that you keep your relationship status private until Harrison came back home from Liverpool, it was you who'd pulled through with all the practical arrangements. You'd come up with Tom's cover-story, and he'd executed it perfectly, only a little offended at how easily Harrison had believed his lie that 'oh, no, the fake arrangement ends next week, not this week. I got the date wrong'. As far as Harrison, and Tom's entire family, know, all the time that you've been spending together, the cute posts and the tagged comments, have all just been part of the rouse.
Just they've not. Tom now gets to call you his girlfriend, properly, and it has to be the best thing ever.
"How are we going to do this?" Tom asks, looking at you curiously. The two of you are standing in the porch, waiting on Harry, Sam and Harrison to walk up the driveway.
"We'll just drop hints until they realise we're together," you suggest. A smile finds its way to your face, and you lean in to kiss his cheek. "I bet they'll take so long to figure it out," you tease, "At least half an hour."
Tom scoffs, shaking his head. "You underestimate them," he says. "There's no way it'll take them longer than ten minutes."
You quirk an eyebrow. "I think we could kiss in front of them, and they'll be so oblivious that they won't even realise we're not out in public."
"Do you want to bet on it, darling?" Tom asks, stepping a little closer. He slips his hands around your waist, pulling you a little closer so he can kiss you, softly.
"Sure," you mumble against him. "What's my prize when I win?"
Tom smirks. "I'll do anything you want tonight."
You hum, intrigued. "Deal."
The doorbell rings a moment later, and Tom begrudgingly separates from you. He watches as you wipe at your mouth, peering into the mirror in the hall to fix your lipstick, and when you give him a nod, he opens the front door.
"Haz!" Tom exclaims, his entire face lighting up. "Missed you, bro."
For a while, there's an exchange of pleasantries, chatter, and conversation. You order in food, and then the group migrates through to the living room. Harrison sits on the long sofa with Sam, Harry folds into the armchair, and then Tom grabs your hand and pulls you onto the shorter couch. You sit in his lap, easily looping an arm around the back of his neck as you throw your legs across his thighs.
No one bats an eye.
As the conversation continues and Harrison fills everyone in on his time on-set, Tom can't stop exchanging amused expressions with you. He knows his brothers and his best mate can be a little oblivious sometimes, but he hadn't expected them to be this thick.
After a while, Tom starts experimenting, seeing how far you can push the boundaries and still remain undetected. He pulls you in a little closer, and he starts to kiss your cheek sporadically, dropping a kiss to your skin every few minutes. Your palms lie intertwined in your lap, and you even go as far as to rest your head against his chest.
When the conversation shifts onto Harry's latest film, Tom sighs quietly and looks at you. You raise an eyebrow, as if to say, I told you so, then stare very pointedly at his lips. Tom's mouth twitches. He shrugs, then nods, and he leans in to meet you in the middle, kissing you softly. You don't pull away, so he shifts his hands higher, kissing you stronger, enjoying the sensations of your mouth pressing to his, so soft, and lovely. He parts his lips and you deepen the kiss, hands shifting up to his tug at his hair, and he has to hold back a groan.
Again, nothing.
As you pull away, Tom groans. A glance at the clock confirms that it's been half an hour, and a kiss, and he's lost his bet. You smirk at him.
"What are you making all that noise for?" Harry asks, looking at Tom with a raised eyebrow.
Tom rubs his hand over your upper arm, glaring at his brother.
"You're all so bloody stupid," Tom announces.
Harrison pulls a face. "What?" He asks, looking between you both. He raises an eyebrow at you. "What is he talking about?"
You shrug, tilting your head to rest against Tom's. "I don't know," you reply, smiling. "Half the time I have no idea what my boyfriend's trying to say."
"Yeah, neither do any of- wait-"
It's Sam, in the end, who pieces it together. Tom watches, amused, as his younger brother looks at him, hard, eyes zeroing in on the way you're curled up in his arms, and the messy locks of Tom's hair. His eyes widen, and he gasps.
"-You two are... Are you actually together?"
Tom looks at you, grinning.
"Yeah," you confirm.
A round of congratulatory cheers goes around the living room, and Tom listens to your light, melodic giggles.
"Took you all long enough," Tom jokes.
Harrison just rolls his eyes, a broad, unruly smile hanging from his lips. "I'm so used to seeing you acting all couple-y together that it didn't seem unnatural. The both of you together is just... right."
Tom looks at you, his face splitting open with a wide grin. His face warms as you kiss his cheek, your lips tender.
"I agree," you say, looking at Tom fondly. "Feels like it's supposed to be like this."
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First Date as a Real Couple (Y)
"I don't know why I'm so nervous," you admit, accompanying the statement with an anxious laugh. "We've done this a thousand times before."
It's a bright afternoon in London, and you're walking with Tom, hand-in-hand. He's got a Spider-Man decorated backpack pulled over his shoulders, and it matches the one you're wearing. He looks at you as you talk, his lovely eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.
"You're nervous about this date?" Tom asks, cooing softly.
You scrunch up your nose, elbowing him gently.
"Shut up," you whine. "Don't tease me."
Tom squeezes your hand. "Not teasing. Just... Admiring how cute you are."
Your lips quirk into a small smile. "You're cute."
For your first official date as a couple, Tom had suggested you take a picnic out to his local park. You'd stopped off at Waitrose, buying a selection of small, expensive picnic bits that look delicious. You're excited to finally go on a real date with him, but as you approach the park, you find butterflies flurrying in your stomach.
"It's just like every other date," Tom offers, after a moment. He leads you up the path, and then takes a deviation over the grass. It hasn't rained in a few days, but your boyfriend had still shoved a rolled-up picnic blanket into your rucksack, which he now gestures at you to get out. "Just this time, we're actually together." He kisses your cheek as he takes the blanket from you. "So, for that reason, this is already my favourite date that we've ever had."
He works around you for a few moments, spreading out the blanket perfectly across the grass before taking your hand and helping you down. You spread out some of the food, pushing your sunglasses to the top of your head as you sit back and watch Tom, moving around in his element.
Your boyfriend really is quite handsome. As he smoothes down the corners of the blanket and pours out two glasses of sparkling peach lemonade, there's a furrowed frown of concentration fixed to his face. You can tell he's put a lot of time and effort into organising the date, as he then goes on to pass you a perfectly folded napkin, and a plastic plate.
"Done!" He exclaims, finally dropping down to sit beside you. As soon as he's still, he seems to suddenly become a little shy. It's almost immediate, how Tom's bright smile drops, growing more sheepish, less certain. He runs a hand through his hair, cheeks blushing a soft pink as he pulls off his sunglasses. "What do you think?"
He looks so uncertain and flustered that it brings a soothing smile to your face.
"It's lovely, Tom," you assure. "Perfect. How did you think of this?"
Tom relaxes, releasing a low breath through his lips. "Our first date was at the park, remember? Back in LA, when they made those fans spot us?" Your expression clears, and you find yourself humming. "Thought it might be nice to have another go at it, just, this time actually be together."
You coo. "That's so sweet." You lean in to kiss his cheek, but as you go to move away, Tom reaches up to hold your arm, keeping you in place. He wiggles his eyebrows, and you laugh. "What do you want?"
"Give me a kiss, love?" He asks, puckering up his lips. Tom screws his eyes shut, laughter lines forming over his face.
"No," you reply, chuckling. His eyes shoot open, and he gasps. "I don't kiss on the first date, Tom."
Your boyfriend frowns at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Yeah, but this isn't the first date-"
"Yes it is." You enjoy riling him up, love the way he's frowning at you. He looks so cute with his nose scrunched up like that. "Maybe if it goes well, I'll let you walk me home-"
"-You live with me-"
"-Maybe I'll let you give me a kiss on the cheek-"
"-We've slept together before, many times, I hardly think-"
"-Or maybe I'll just leave you here, all alone." Tom pouts at you, and you roll your eyes fondly. "Kidding," you add. You reach up with both hands, cupping his face easily. His eyes reflect a thousand shards of light. "If my boyfriend wants a kiss now, I guess that can be arranged."
Tom doesn't wait another second, meeting you in the middle and letting his lips nuzzle against yours. You smile into it, hands going to wrap around his neck, and you hear him hum gently as you savour the feeling of his mouth on yours.
"See, that wasn't so hard," he mumbles. He kisses your nose, looking at you fondly. "You're such a tease."
You just shrug, sitting back and resting your head on his shoulder. "You love it."
Tom laughs. "Yeah," he agrees. "I do."
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Shooting Their Film Together (T)
The first day of a new production is always nerve-wracking, but Tom feels the lightest he's ever felt as he walks on-set with you at his side.
He's already familiar with the studio. He'd toured it a few months ago with Harry, back when they'd been finalising their script. As soon as the screenplay had been approved, and the cast settled, Tom had booked out the lot for seven months. Now it looks ready: set build, lights shining, crew bustling around. There's a nervous excitement in his chest that shows no sign of easing, only growing more fervent the further onto set he walks.
"I need to go to makeup," you tell him, squeezing his hand. Tom reluctantly lets go of you, pouting at you until you roll your eyes and kiss his lips, softly. "See you on set, baby."
Tom watches you go, admiring you quietly.
It'd been a bit of a nerve-wracking proposition: shooting this film with you. Not only is it Tom's first time being directly involved with production as well as acting, but he's heard horror stories of couples that enter an ambitious project like this together only to fall apart during the process. But you'd been on board from day one - continuously supportive, not just in your agreement to star as leading lady, but also supporting him throughout the stresses of pulling together a film on this scale.
Tom's still nervous about it all, but he realises his fears are all unwarranted when he walks into the wings of the main set later that afternoon and watches you shoot your first scene. It's just you, alone, monologuing to yourself in the centre of a staged bedroom, but it's captivating to watch you work.
Maybe Tom is a little biased, but he thinks he could watch you act for hours on end, and never get bored. There's just something so magical about the way that you command yourself. Always in control, pouring everything that you have into your character, your scene. Your voice, even lilted with an unfamiliar accent, makes his heart pulse, and Tom realises that he's never been more in love with you as he is in this moment.
"Cut! Take five, everyone." The director calls. Tom startles, looking around and blinking a few times. Harry, from where he's standing behind a camera, turns around, stretching, smiling at him as he sees his brother.
"You alright?" Harry calls out.
Tom nods, clearing his throat as he walks forward. "Yeah," he says, feeling a lump in his throat. "Just can't believe this is finally happening."
Harry nods. The two brothers had worked on the film together, writing the script as a team. It's been taken on by a production company now, but it's still very much their project, and Tom's sure that Harry feels just about as nervous and proud as he does right now.
"Y/N's doing great," Harry adds. "Smashing it."
Tom nods. "She is," he says. "I might go check in with her, whilst she's on a break."
Harry hums. "Catch you later."
You're sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through your phone aimlessly. When Tom approaches, you look up to him, your face clearing.
"How am I doing?" You ask, a teasing smile spreading across your face, but Tom can see the genuine curiosity hanging in your eyes. He reaches down for your hands, standing in front of you and rubbing his thumbs over the back of your warm palms.
"Fantastic," he compliments. "I can see it already," he says, "Oscar-Nominated Actress, Y/N Y/L/N."
You scoff. "Always so dramatic." You kiss over his knuckles, and Tom thinks you're so cute.
"Not dramatic," he counters. "Supportive."
You nod, seeming to like that better.
"Very supportive," you agree. You squeeze his hands. "I can't wait to do our scenes together. It... It's going to be a lot of fun working on this with you, Tom. Thank you for inviting me to join this project."
"Of course, love." Tom pulls one of your hands towards him, kissing the back of it with warm lips. "There's no one else I'd want to do this with."
You return his smile, your eyes soft. "I love you," you tell him, and it doesn't matter that it's been two years since you got together - Tom always blushes when he hears you speak those three lovely words.
"Love you too, darling."
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Post-Engagement Balcony Sex (Y) **
The hard railing of the balcony presses into your back, but the ache is the last thing on your mind as your lips meet with Tom's again and again. Your hands are on his shoulders, and in the dim glow coming up from the city below you, the engagement ring on your finger glints. It catches your eye, makes you pull away from Tom's lips, so soft and pillowy, to stare at the diamond, a small smirk flickering out across your face.
"What is it?" Tom grunts, his hands on your waist. He presses his face into your neck as you inspect the ring, his nose cool against your skin.
"Just admiring my new accessory," you mumble. Your breath hitches as his lips roam the column of your throat, biting and sucking at your sensitive skin until you're moaning. "Fuck, Tom." You finally stop looking at your ring, drawing your hands up to hold his hair. You pull him nearer, your eyes screwing shut as he nips at the tender patch below your ear before smoothing over the bite with his tongue.
Tom weaves his way around to your mouth, leaving a series of wet kiss along your jawline before capturing your lips in a deep snog.
"You know," he says, speaking against your lips. His hands are on your waist, but they creep back to rest on the curves of your bum. As he pulls you closer, his eyes glint in the dim evening light. "Been thinking about pulling off this dress all night." His voice is low, accented, and it sends thrills down your spine, straight to your centre. "You look bloody stunning, love."
You bite your lip, stifling a moan as Tom grabs handfuls of your ass over the material of the dress. "Thank you," you manage. You're overcome with a very sudden, very deep urge to have him, as you look at the lust in his eyes. Your fiancé looks exceptionally handsome tonight - covered in that fitted suit, his short brown hair clipped and styled just how you like it. The scent of his cologne is almost overpowering. "Tom."
"Mm?"
You drop your lips to his ear, letting your teeth briefly brush his lobe before whispering, darkly, "Want you to fuck me on this balcony."
Tom groans, and you think you can feel the hard line of his length pushing up against you before he moves away, his hands shifting down your thighs. He very quickly and easily moves them beneath your dress, the loose skirt giving him easy access. You moan softly when he knocks your thighs apart and drags two of his fingers across the front of your panties.
"Well, well, well," Tom murmurs. He looks up at you, a cocky smirk hanging from his lips. "You're wet."
You bite back a moan as his hand dips beneath the material. With those skilled, slender digits, Tom dips his fingertips down to your hot entrance, gathering some of the slick pooled at your hole before dragging it up to your clit. He watches your face, seeming to enjoy the small whimpering moans that leave your lips as he works his touch over your tender bud.
"Feels so good," you tell him, voice hoarse. You press back against the railing, glad for the support. Tom's back to kissing up your neck, suckling small hickeys against your skin. You pull him closer, grinning when you feel his cock, more pronounced that ever, nudging against your thigh. "I like this suit on you," you add, "Makes you look very dashing."
"Thanks, darling." Tom easily slips two of his fingers into you, quickly opening you up. There's no resistance - you're needy for it, soaked with arousal, your blood boiling in your veins as you grip to his shoulders and grind down to meet his digits as they explore your passage.
"You should keep it on," you say, breathless. Though it's the last thing you want to do, you push him back a little. Tom retracts his fingers, giving your clit a final rub before moving his hand to his mouth and sucking off your arousal, his eyes dark.
"Oh, really?" Tom hands move over your figure, stroking over your hips, applying a hard pressure that makes you whimper. "Are you that fucking desperate?"
You nod, throat running dry. "Yeah," you admit, "I need you, Tom." You decide to tease him, running a hand down until you feel his crotch, your palm applying firm pressure to his straining member. "I think you need me too," you add, whispering into the night sky. He groans as he grinds against you, and the sight of his cheeks flushed pink and his eyes blown wide with lust makes you feel powerful. "Don't you want to fuck me?"
Tom almost groans, his voice strained. "There is nothing I'd like to do more than make beautiful, passionate love to my gorgeous fiancé all night," he affirms, making you shiver in response. He raises an eyebrow, one of his hands going to your cheek. "Why don't you undo my belt and turn around, love?"
You do as instructed, excited fingers trembling as you release his belt buckle and turn around. You reach down for the hem of your dress, pulling it up, up, up, until it's bunched at your waist. You glance back to Tom, watching as he kicks off his trousers and boxers, one of his hands going to his cock. He keeps his eyes on yours as he slowly jerks himself off, running his thumb over his weeping tip as he smirks.
"Like what you see?" He asks.
"You know I do."
Tom releases himself, his fingers going to the waistband of your panties. He kneels behind you as he tugs them down your legs, depositing a few kisses to the back of your shins as he helps you out of the lace. As Tom makes his way back up your figure, his hands find purchase on your hips. He pulls you back and you arch your spine, fingers curling around the smooth metal railing of the balcony as you bend over.
"You're bloody lucky we don't have any neighbours up here," he mumbles. You gasp as you feel his tip press up against your clit, his cock sliding between your folds with ease. "Doesn't mean the neighbours down the hill won't be able to hear you scream, though."
You shiver, dropping your head between your arms as you feel him press up against your entrance, teasing you.
"You'd like that though, wouldn't you?" Tom chuckles, his voice full of fondness. "You little minx."
Before you can think of a suitable response, Tom knocks you off-guard by entering you, easing into you with a slow thrust that makes you cry out in pleasure. Your fingers tighten around the railing as he pulls back, at a pace so torturously languid that it makes you swear beneath your breath.
"Faster," you beg, adding a moment later, "Please."
Tom squeezes your waist, humming. "Mm, anything for my future wife."
He delivers on his word, and you find yourself breathing heavily as he starts to fuck you properly. With his hands wandering your hips, cock slapping up deep within you and his slow grunting moans filling the air around you, you find your eyes rolling back.
"Fuck, Tom," you whine. The angle feels incredibly satisfying, and as you drop your head lower and redistribute your weight, it allows him to slip into you deeper, tip hitting your soft, sweet spot. "Fuck."
"Does that feel good?" He asks, voice cocky. He knows it's good, knows how much you love to feel him all over you.
"Yes," you agree. "So good."
Your body jerks as one of Tom's hands curls around your front, going down to stimulate your clit as his other gropes your chest. He's so close to you, his crotch hitting against you with each focused thrust, sounds of skin on skin slapping through the air. As he rubs your slick bud, you moan loudly, your walls clenching around him as you feel yourself near the verge of a slow, building high.
"Can't wait to do this for the rest of my fucking life," Tom tells you, rasping into the darkness. "Love this sweet cunt." He's rambling, but his voice remains clear, hanging heavy with his accent that always seems to jump out a little more prominently when he takes you like this. "Feels like it was made just for me."
"It was." You're grinding back to meet him, your grip on the railing tightening each time his length hits you just right. Your face is hot, your hair unsettled, and you're panting, but it's perfect, and it's hot, because it's Tom pulling at your body and speaking praise into the air. "What's mine is yours."
Tom seems to really like that, and he grunts as he rubs your clit a little faster.
"Squeezing me so tight, darling," he murmurs. ""M gonna cum."
You bite your lip, feeling the brink of your high ready to spill. "Me too," you manage, voice tight.
"Go on, love," he urges, "I want to watch you cum for me."
It's a bit of a blur - a mess of clenched knuckles, shaking legs and an orgasm so intense it makes you cry out loudly. You're glad for Tom's arms wrapped around you, because the strength of the climax that unfurls in the pit of your stomach and rolls across your figure in waves is so deep, and unprecedented that it makes you falter. Tom, on the other hand, stands steadier, holding you closer, thrusting into you as he cums a few moments after you. His cock throbs inside your hot passage as he works his fingers over you, drawing out your climax until you're shaking.
"Shit," you say breathlessly, relaxing as Tom slips from you. He pulls you up, and you shake your hands out as he hugs you from behind, your dress slipping back down, obscuring the mess of his cum dripping down between your thighs.
You meet him in a sloppy kiss, both of you breathing hot and heavy.
"You're unreal," he almost moans. "Unreal." Tom shifts his lips to your nose, making you giggle.
"So are you," you say. You twist in his arms until you're able to throw your hands around his neck, your fingers finding home in his hair. "Never a dull moment with you, Tom."
Your fiancé nods, grinning at you before returning his hands to your waist. He pulls you closer, lips nudging your cheek before your ear.
"We're not done yet," Tom promises. "The night is just beginning, love, and we have a lot of things to celebrate."
You smile, gazing at him with love in your eyes.
"Let's get to it, then."
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finis !!!
thanks so much for reading <3