By Hufflepuffholland on Tumblr
Summary: Tom has been in love with Reader since they met, basically. He feels he has a chance after reader dumps their sorry excuse of a boyfriend
Requested: No but it's inspired by the song Don't You Go by All Time Low, listen to it!
Warnings: N/A (or fluff)
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Tom could still remember the first day you introduced Stephen to him. It was two years ago, even then he knew he should feel threatened by him. But, Tom knew he shouldn't. You were never his to claim, he never felt like you owed him anything. Still, Tom knew he'd live everyday under Stephen's shadow, he would have to deal with seeing him lounge around the woman he had been in love with for more than four years.
How perfect they seemed to him, almost like they were mocking him. Why hadn't he tried to make you his the first time he had seen you, like he wanted to? Now that he had seen you with him, he knew it was too late. Everywhere he wanted to be with you, Stephen was always there, and there wasn't anything he could enjoy from it, other than when he saw you both fight, secretly hoping one of these fights would tear you apart. He was selfish, yes, he knew that, but he couldn't help but wish that you would figure out what an asshole you were dating. And little did Tom know, you did see every fiber of asshole that Stephen was made up of.
This was typical. It had been considered typical all two years of your relationship. At least twice every other month since the start of it all. The fighting was never ending, so normal that at events like these, parties, it was never anything else, and onlookers just became regular attendees, sitting front row at every fight. Tom hated it. He hated knowing some dimwitted asshole got to have you when he was the one who really wanted you.
He admired you from afar for the four and a half years he knew you. Since the beginning of your friendship, he found himself at a loss of words around you. He found you so beautiful, so delicate, so smart... just, so pleasing in the most simplest of ways.
He'd never have you. He wanted you so badly, he craved you. He deserved you. But, he would never have you... or, at least it's what he thought every passing day you were with your boyfriend.
"Oh, my God! This is all we ever do! Fight after fight after fight. I'm sick of it! I'm done!" Tom couldn't help but think that if there was a God, and if he ever had any doubt, he believed in him now. Hearing those words fall from your mouth was like listening to a song. "Then, goddammit, be done with me!" He looked at your boyfriend's expression, thinking how stupid he was to let you go so easily. Tom looked to you once more, seeing you inhale... exhale. "Fine," he heard you mumble, turning on your feet and marching toward the front door of the house, turning around to shout over your shoulder, "we're done!" And you'd turned around too quickly, colliding into another body.
You looked up, being met with a pair of lovely brown eyes, smiling weakly before placing your hand on his shoulder, "Sorry, Tommy." And like that, you were inside. Tom felt the skin where you had touched him burn. He shook his head, it was just him being cold he thought, refusing to believe you had that much of an effect on him. He hadn't realized he'd been smiling since the contact between them until he looked up, noticing he was under vision of your, now, ex-boyfriend. His smile dropped instantly, clearing his throat before nodding toward him, slipping inside the comfort of the house. Inside, you'd managed to dodge your ex, the party itself having been uneventful. You continued to feel a gaze burning onto your back for the longest time, too scared you'd lock eyes with the person you despised most you refused to turn around earlier on. You decided to try your peripheral vision, finding no use of it, then sighed deeply once before turning your gaze toward where you felt the stare, relieved to be met with Tom's eyes, much lighter in comparison to the one's you were used to seeing.
You smiled widely, offering him a small wave, to which he returned with a smile just as wide, causing your heart to stammer just the slightest. Just as you moved to pull your hand back to your side, another one caught yours, yanking it up to their height. As your eyes found themselves boring into uninviting irises, you struggled to find release from the haunting grip. "What are you doing?" You screamed, "It's o-v-e-r!" His grip only tightened, his screaming toward you growing more intense.
Had it been the alcohol or the adrenaline? Tom didn't know, he hadn't even noticed his feet traveling toward you. He hadn't felt himself lifting his arm up and clenching his hand into a fist. He hadn't felt the impact of his fist hitting flesh as he punched your ass of an ex-boyfriend as hard as he could. He did, however, felt the action of a fist coming into contact with flesh when it was him on the receiving end.
"TOM! What the hell is wrong with you?" You shoved your ex-boyfriend away, him already being escorted out by two of his bandmates. "Tom, honey, how many fingers am I holding?" You asked, placing three in front of him. He laughed slightly, holding up three of his own, causing you to smile before standing up straight, offering him a hand, to which he gladly accepted. You asked if he was okay several times, finally resulting in Tom clamping his hand over your mouth laughing, convincing you to go on a walk with him, "You know, just in case I have a concussion, I'll need you to keep me awake." The short walk around the block turned into a 4 A.M. conversation. A conversation that turned into intimate moments, so intimate you found yourself accepting the invitation he had extended to you to head back to his place.
Tom had been so consumed in the moment, so happy he'd had you that one night, promising it was one time, and that was it. He hadn't failed to notice that one night turned into two, turned into three, and then a whole week. What he had failed to notice, however, was the distance you attempted to place between you, too afraid of getting too involved, both of you agreeing to a one night stand, yet already breaking that arrangement.
He was so consumed in you he almost hadn't noticed your absence that next morning, a month after both of your promised "one night stand". Little did he know that when he'd roll over that morning that he'd find your favorite flannel of his, that you had worn all month, in a ball on your side of his bed. He almost hadn't noticed the lack of your humming as you usually did the times he had found you roaming around his house. He almost didn't see the note you had left on his bedside table - where you usually placed your glasses and book down when he begged for your attention.
But, when he noticed how much colder and darker the room seemed, the yellow post-it the only color left, he knew that you were gone. You were gone and he hadn't even had one last night, not that he would have been happy with just one.
"I'm so sorry Tommy. It just isn't the right time.
Love, (Y/N)"