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youandtom2 · 10 months

Note

Request if you want it: Tom is playing at a golf event and reader is a journalist there. She absolutely can't stand him, because she finds out he is quite arrogant and full of himself. They go after each other throughout the whole day with sarcastic remarks. But somehow (you can fill in the details) Tom seduces her by the end and he gets her on her knees and he totally dominates her, making her choke and gag. And he embarrasses her by making her feel his muscles and beg to suck him off and he boasts about how easily he got her in the palm of his hand. :P

(14/07/22) brain go brrrrrrrrrrr THIS REQUEST!!!!

a/n (28/06/23): This was a request that was sent in and one that I had started last year that I really wanted to finish. Apologies to the anon who sent this in and waited for it whoops. This was supposed to be short but I clearly don't fucking know what short means so here's like 7k or something???

Anyway here's 'A Word for the Youth Diary?' Shitty title I know but I literally can't think of anything else.

MASTERLIST

"The weather is absolutely gorgeous here at St. Andrews' Castle Course, celebrating the first 'Pro Amateur' charity competition where a host of celebrities, socialites or anyone with a keen passion for golf can compete. A number of spectators have gathered around the course, eager to soak up the buzzing atmosphere, the scenic landscape and the presence of Hollywood stars, all in the views of the warm Scottish sun. Now that's something I never expected to say!"

The red light of your recorder dims as you press pause on your commentary. You made the switch to recorder a few years back when journalism became too close to drowning in a number of scribbled, illegible notes written far too quickly. Now it is a simple case of pressing record and pressing pause.

Of course, wherever there is a flock of celebrities congregating in the one area for the week, there will always be flock of paparazzi and journalists close by, each with the same agenda. It usually feels like mission impossible to get a word in with a celebrity or document anything of note or interest when there's a wall of other journalists blocking your way, but today those things won't be a problem. Because you’re not going after who may probably be the most coveted celebrity here. Tom Holland.

You don't quite don't know where it stemmed from; your strong dislike towards Tom Holland. In all honesty, your hatred towards him is very self-inflicted, but there's something about his ego that paints him in a very arrogant light. He knows he's hot shit with the press, he knows everyone fancies the man, he knows that his many talents has sky-rocketed him up the societal ladder and onto the throne of the rich and wealthy. What makes him double as frustrating than he is arrogant is that he hasn't done anything wrong. He's Hollywood's golden boy; ever the humble, handsome, kind, charity-giving actor that has claimed the hearts of many across the world. It's what makes your hatred towards him completely unjustified, so while no one shares the same view as you, there is some things you can do to quietly preach your opinions.

"First to arrive at the course is the notable Tom Holland, waving to the crowd with a smile, loving the attention as ever. Although I'm not sure that his mismatching colour-blocking golfing attire will receive the same compliments!"

The smirk on your lips lasts for the majority of the day as you talk incessantly into your recorder. Your goal isn't necessarily to shit on Tom, only when the opportunity presents itself of course, like when he swung the golf club at an awkward angle, sending the ball straight over the forest and into the sand bunker.

"Oooh, what a poor shot from Tom Holland. He'll be disappointed with that one. Perhaps leaning towards the 'amateur' side of the competition in comparison to some other competitors. Tom Holland yet again teaching us a valuable lesson in life; just because you're a pro at one thing doesn't mean you're a pro at everything else."

The crowd politely applauded and off he went with his caddie. While others followed, you choose to stay rooted while you wait for Mark Wahlberg to walk up to the tee. He's who you've been waiting for all afternoon. Getting a word in with him would set you up for the highlight of your career.

"Mark! Over here! Mr. Wahlberg! A word for the Youth Diary? Mr. Wahlberg!"

As it seems, Mark calmly maneuvers way past the wall of journalists, paying them, and you, no mind and strolls over to the starting point. Damn. You have to get a word with him somehow.

"Mark Wahlberg takes a mighty swing and thrashes the golf ball high into the air, and the crowd watches in astonishment as it sails its way over towards the green, a hair's breadth away from perfection as it rolls upon the hill. A round of applause circles around Mark as he proudly walks on with the confidence of a man who's set on winning this competition."

As the hours tick by, you find yourself without any luck. Those first few minutes of the competition were stuck in a loop, constantly experiencing deja vu of having to witness Tom Holland's unlucky shot followed by being ignored by Mark Wahlberg. You haven't had one decent interaction with anyone yet. Things are getting a little desperate.

You even begin to understand why the majority of journalists are following Tom Holland like a lost flock of sheep; he's very chatty. He stops at every turn to give his narration on his own playing, offers a brief insight to the projects he is currently working on, and if he likes you, even spill some of the secrets of his private life. It's a journalist's dream, one that you haven't even had the taste of yet since Mark Wahlberg is as accessible as the vaults of the Bank of England. Anyone with common sense would advise you to follow the crowd and ignore your bias towards him and just interview Tom Holland if it means you have something worth printing.

Oh no, no, no, no, no, no. Not a chance. He gets enough attention as it is.

"Mr Wahlberg! A word on your new film? Could you tell us about Uncharted! Mark! Over here!"

Not even a glance is spared your way in yet another attempt to get his attention. From your left, a voice emerges. A fellow reporter sidles himself next to you, away from the crowd that follows Tom Holland. You spot the Sky Sports label wrapped around his microphone.

"He doesn't like to speak much to the press. Thinks that he'll say something and they'll twist his words," he sympathies. It's genuine, obvious that he too has been caught up in the same frustration you've been facing all afternoon. At least he has a little more insight as to why you haven't gotten a word from Mark.

"Yeah, I figured. It wouldn't hurt just to say hello and have a small chat. What could the press twist about that? If anything, I think he's damaging his reputation by not saying anything. It's rude, y'know?"

He nods his head in agreement, but the sigh he blows doesn't seem to match. "You have to let it go though. They're not obliged to tell us anything. This is just a day out for them, they're not getting paid so why should they have to say anything about their work? It's just our luck whether they choose to talk to us."

"Ugh, I guess you're right, but I still need something for my article."

"Sky Sports has had lots from Tom. Why don't you try your luck with him? He seems to be a lot chattier than Mark. I don't know much about film journalism, only sports, so I don't know what it is you're looking for. But if you ask him anything, I'm sure he's willing to provide."

You look to him with contempt in your eyes, your lack of smile instantly shuts down his suggestion.

"I appreciate the suggestion but no. He's too easy. Think of how many journalists are here desperate to get a word in about sports, golf, acting, celebrity personal lives, all that show biz. If everyone shared the one source, audiences wouldn't bother reading them all because they all be the same, boring stuff. Think about it. If you, and 30 other journalists had the chance to interview Ronaldo, you would all take it because after all its Ronaldo. The only downside would be that you would then have 30 articles all saying the same thing and audience getting bored after reading 1. Now think about having the chance to interview Messi. It would be hard but total payout if you got it. Plus, you would stand out from the rest and that's what would gain audiences' attention."

Once again, the reporter sighs. "Look, kid. I've been in this job for 20 years and I've learned that sometimes you just have to cut your losses. If your objective is to get something to write about for your article, then you should do it however and whatever way you can, doesn't matter who the source is. If your objective is to get something from Mark Wahlberg specifically? Then you should scrap the whole article and try again. Something is better than nothing."

"I refuse to take anything from Tom Holland."

"Suit yourself. Good luck. Oh, by the way, I think you're still recording. Wouldn't want you to get your chance with Mark only to realise you have no storage left on your recorder."

You mumble a weak thanks and remember to press the pause button on your recorder. The reporter saunters away back towards the crowd, your only indication of knowing where Tom Holland is. You consider it for a second, but determination drives you away, following Mark to the next hole.

~~~~

It's all to play for in the final hole with only two possible candidates capable of winning the trophy. Currently sitting in the lead is the elusive, mysterious Mark Wahlberg, strolling casually along to the final hole with his team behind him. Ah, and of course, next in line is Tom Holland soaking up the attention as he strings along behind Mark Wahlberg like an apprentice would their mentor. It's not clear whether the confidence he walks with is a poorly executed imitation of his acting mentor ahead of him, or whether it is a man deluded with besting him. All will be revealed within the hour.

It's well into the evening of the Pro Amateur competition and the luck that reporter wished you earlier has yet to find you. With the final hole well underway, you're starting to think that it never will. So far, you've gotten a few short, curt answers from other celebrities here but nothing near the sustenance your article needs. If only Mark could stop being so stubborn.

"One at a time please guys, one at a time." Tom's smug, arrogant tone of voice emerges from behind you and not too soon after, tens of other voices asking him questions. As he makes his way nearer, so do the swarm of people and in an attempt to get out of the way, you're stampeded by the press. Bumped, shoved and pushed, you struggle to find your balance and fall precariously on your knees with your equipment tumbling from your bag. In all honesty it didn't hurt, but what an inconvenience picking up all your bits and bobs. Ugh it's all his fault.

Before you do anything irrational and say something you shouldn't, you pack up your stuff and walk away.

The competition concludes with a twist that no one was expecting. With a gust of wind getting the better of Mark Wahlberg, it earned him a double bogey and cost him the trophy, annoyingly snatched up by Tom who achieved victory with a birdie. You seethe at the sight of Tom holding up the golden trophy, soaking up the champagne that his teammates spray all over him and hearing the applause from everyone, even you as a slow, lethargic clap rings from your hands. All to just to keep up the pretence of 'liking him' of course. Ugh, why did he have to win?

After a day of being the lone ranger in a journalists mission, you concede to following the crowd into the conference room where many like you await behind a wall of microphones and a valley of cables to hear from today's competitors. And Mark Wahlberg is one of them. This might be your chance to get a question in. Quick! Where's your recorder?

Fuck. It's not in your bag. Where is it? You rummage through your bag again and it's definitely not there. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Where could it be? Did you lose it when you fell over? Has it been stolen? Fuck, you really need that!

You have no other option but to record from your phone and in your quiet, subdued panic, you try your best to catch anything he has to say. The quality isn't great and it's picking up outside noise to the point that articulation has no place on your recording. Sweating at the loss of some expensive equipment and valuable content, your phone drops and the clatter of it paints a mountain on its waveform, rendering the recording useless. Fuck, if you hadn't lost your recorder.

People start to look at you in your fluster and your legs starts bobbing erratically. The attention is too much and it's exactly why you prefer to stay behind the microphone and not in front of it. You have to leave. At the next possible opportunity, you end your recording and begin to make your way through the aisle, apologising profusely to the other journalists who wait for Tom Holland to make an appearance.

You just about make the double doors of the conference room when you hear Tom's voice welcoming the room.

"Before I start, I wanted to check to see if this was anyone's recorder..."

Everything about you stops dead in its tracks; your feet, your heart, your breathing, your entire existence. Nervously, you spin around to spot Tom Holland holding your recorder in his hands, fingers fluttering around its buttons. How the hell did he get his thieving hands on it?!

A pit opens up in your stomach at the dreaded thought of having to announce yourself in front of everyone to claim it. But damn, you really need your recorder back.

Braving the nightmare, your hand raises half-heartedly into the air. "Uh...it's mine. Sorry, I must've dropped it."

Tom's deep brown eyes lock onto yours from the stage and he throws, what you think, a sickly smile before he offers up the most ridiculous idea. "I can set to record if you want. I can sit it riiiiight here." He sits it directly in front of him and sends you a sly wink. It's a spot any journalist would dream of having their microphone; right under their nose on the off-chance that anything muttered under their breaths or whispered discreetly would be picked up. Journalists are a sucker for secrets. Quite frankly, you don't care for his secrets, you don't care for his thoughts on today's events, and you really don't care for what he has to say at all.

But the only reason why you end up saying yes is because you care more about what people would think of you if you gave up an opportunity like that.

"Sure. Thanks."

You proceed to endure 15 minutes of Tom glorifying himself in front of the press. God, it's embarrassing. You could plainly hear the snide tone underneath the guise of 'self-evaluation'. Everyone seems to soak it up like a sponge, praising him for his insightful words and self awareness, writing nothing but positive words about the actor. Whatever. You wish you could drown him out but your paranoia is rooted to your recorder at his table, thinking the worst outcome as his fingers toying with its external case. What if he doesn't know how to work it and accidentally erases all you had from today? One slip up and it's gone. Your eyes constantly flicker from your recorder to him and no matter who he's speaking to or where he's looking, he always manages to catch your gaze.

Already outside your comfort zone, you audibly whimper when you see him lightly tap the little trash button at the end of the recorder, miles away from the stop, pause and play buttons that you would regularly use. You would only ever press that button with intention, it’s pretty to hard to press it accidentally. Even without knowing how to work the recorder, it doesn't take an idiot to know what that means, so watching Tom play with it tells you that he is whole-heartedly toying with you, enjoying the view of you panicking from his throne of sadism.

It's like he can sense your hatred towards him.

~~~~

"Thank you, thank you! Until next year!" Tom smiles as he walks off stage, your recorder in his clutch. The further he walks away, the faster you bob and weave through the crowd, feeling like you're fighting against the tide as it sweeps you out. Then, just as the room empties you reach the entrance to the backstage area in a relief, only to hit a brick wall that stands in your way between you and your highly coveted recorder.

"No press allowed backstage." A security guard towers over you.

"Tom Holland has my recorder. I'd like to get it back." You have no time for polite small chat, your request grumbling with agitation.

"Still can't allow you back--"

"You can let her through, Jim. It's alright." A young boy’s voice echoes from behind the wall.

The guard hesitantly lets you through, keeping you under his iron gaze while you slip through the narrow space he gives you. You are led out into a hallway with plaques decorating the hall, awards from winners of tournaments the venue has previously hosted, the newest addition being Tom's 'Pro-Amateur' plaque much to your distaste.

The boy you recognise as Tom's caddie leads you down this hallway, he hasn't said so much as a word to you as he confidently walks ahead. Now he's getting his assistant to fetch you? God, the arrogance!

"He's in here."

"Thanks," you quietly mutter. The door closes behind you, locking both you and the actor into the room. When you started the day bright and early this morning, you didn't think this was where you were going to end up. You couldn't have put money on it.

Although, you have to admit: despite putting your heart and soul into avoiding Tom Holland the entire day, this could be an exclusive for your article. Nobody else has had this opportunity, so why not take advantage of it?

Tom smiles as he greets you, carelessly tossing your recorder from hand to hand. You swallow nervously. "You are...?"

You respond with your name, who you report for, and make it abundantly clear that you would like to take back your recorder in one piece.

He approaches with a small, boyish chuckle like you just told a joke. "Sorry, I was just thinking," he casually says, "about how you once said you refuse to take anything from me."

What? Where did he hear...? Fuck. He listened to it. And that entire conversation you had with the Sky Sports reporter...

Your mouth drops. As does the anchor in your stomach.

"What was it you said again...?"

"You listened to it." He ignores you.

"Oh yeah, that my 'mismatching colour-blocking golfing attire wouldn't receive the same compliments'."

"You...listened to it all?" you reiterate once again. Your voice rings with all the inflections of a question, but you already know the answer. Unfortunately.

Tom's brows furrow inward.

"Honestly, I can overlook the fact you insulted my outfit, it doesn't bother me that much." There's a 'but' in his sentence. You're just waiting for it. You inwardly panic, trying to remember what else you said that would warrant that dreaded 'but'. Your shield of writer's anonymity has fallen; it's what protects you if you are to ever post negatively about a celebrity, but now that he knows your name and your face, you're left exposed.

"But..." There it is. And in a disbelief, he bites, "I'm too easy? Really?"

There's two ways you could go about this. Stand your ground and defend yourself, or dig yourself a grave and apologise.

Ha. Yeah right.

"I don't really think it was your place to listen to my recordings."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm. Should've minded your business if you knew what was good for you."

"You--" He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, almost to contain himself and tries again. "You," he points accusingly, "are very...very lucky that you look as attractive as your voice sounds."

Your cheeks flush angrily. Safe to say, you're not used to anyone calling you attractive let alone Tom Holland, so in your fluster you have no idea how to respond. You don't know how to tame the flutter in your heart nor the fire in your stomach. Instead, you ignore it all and revert back to your original goal.

"Can I have my recorder back? Please?"

"In a minute." He swats his hand away from yours. High above your reach, you stand helpless as you watch his thumb crash land onto the record button, resuming from where it last left off. "I think that what you have about me in your article is a little bit too harsh. Why don't we start putting some positivity back in. I think you have it in you to pay me just one compliment. I did win the competition after all, I think it's deserved."

You laugh hysterically. The nerve of this guy! So conceited. "You don't deserve anything from me."

"C'mon. Just one. It's not that hard. I promise I'll give you your recorder back straight after."

Succumbing to his torment, your eyes roll over his features, his hair, his outfit and his body, trying to identify possible compliments that would meet his demands but yet wouldn't inflate his ego too much. What you don't anticipate is you're spoiled for choice.

Defeated, you sigh. "You...smell nice."

"Aw, c'mon. I said you were attractive and all you could think of was that I smell nice? Try a little harder."

"Hey, you said the deal was that I give you one compliment then I get my recorder back. Cough up, Holland."

A smug grin pulls at his lips. "I'm not satisfied. And I will give it back when I am satisfied."

Given that your hatred towards Tom Holland is now at least justified and not just self-inflicted, it means that it's twice as hard to sacrifice it all and compliment him like he so desperately wants you to, a complete betrayal to your own beliefs. But you NEED your recorder.

"You look strong."

"Elaborate."

"You clearly work out."

"What in particular?"

"Your arms."

"How can you tell?" He's really pushing the mark, overstepping it by miles with the dirty smirk he has on his face because he knows he is. You audibly grumble at the sight. Losing patience...

"They just looked particularly...muscular when you were swinging the golf club."

"Why don't you give them a feel and you can tell your readers how strong they really are in detail? I know you want to."

Is it bad of you to admit that you do want to feel them? Absolutely. Are you going to announce that to him? Absolutely not.

You don't move for a couple of seconds, your own conscience making so much noise inside your head that you can't make a coherent thought. A spark of adrenaline twitches at your hands, enough to catch Tom's eyes but it's not enough to swing it into force.

Quietly, slowly, he reaches for your hand and envelopes his fingers around yours, manipulating them to wrap around his upper arm. He makes sure to mold your fingerprints into his skin while he tenses, just to feel the sheer density of his muscles. His skin is warm, soft to touch but yet firm to grasp. While you become instantly fascinated, his glistening smile brightens in the corner of your eye. It's so quiet in the room that Tom hears the softest stutter of breaths and he feels like a winner all over again.

"Well?" He nods towards the recorder, its red button flashing. For the readers...

"Definitely..." you clear your throat. Why has your mouth gone dry all of a sudden? You retract your hand. "Definitely toned. Sculpted."

"If that's what you like then I should show you this..."

He takes your hand once again, its warmth holding you captive, and drags it all the way down to his torso. You can't pull your eyes away from how he sensually slips your hand underneath the hem of his shirt and weaves your fingers between the valley of his abs. Your fingertips skate over every sculpted ab of his, feeling the way they almost shiver at your cold touch.

Your fingertips aren't enough. Tom takes a step closer and your whole palm presses against him, almost too intimately for strangers.

Tom's head quirks to the side to get a better view of you. "Thoughts?" he asks, even though he can read them so clearly on your face. You're becoming entranced.

"...Holy shit," you whisper. "Um, yeah. Strong."

"For a woman who had a lot to say about me, you're certainly lost for words now."

As the heat rises and things escalate, neither of you diffuse the tension and the string of long, uninterrupted silence continues. Every minute that passes by is a precarious step over crossing boundaries and breaking every rule you have in your moral bible.

It forces you to suck in a nervous breath and hold it for a few seconds while you deliberate what the end goal is. Of course, it was to leave with your recorder but given your current position and your change of opinions, you're not so sure anymore. To be clear, your change of opinion isn't necessarily about Tom; you still think he's conceited, arrogant and incredibly vain, but it is what you do with that opinion that has changed. Before, you avoided him, stopped yourself becoming another little lost sheep and following him at every opportunity. Now? You're giving him every drop of attention you have to give.

Tom watches you intently while he silently introduces himself to your shyer nature, definitely not the same person that walked in here in a fit of rage and demanding for their recorder. The minute he meets that side of you, he knows exactly what to do next.

He drops his head as he drops his voice into his lower register, your hand feeling all the rumblings from his chest. "Want to be completely speechless?"

Fuck it. Sure you do. "Mm-hm."

"Good girl."

You aren't actually sure what he's planning to do so you look for intention in his eyes, but you see nothing but darkened caverns and devilish features. In fact, it's because you're looking into his eyes that you don't realise that he's grown hard underneath his straight grey trousers. Like before, he guides your hand fluidly underneath the waistband where the button pops out easily, and navigates you under the elastic band where he desperately shapes your fingers around him. He pulses underneath you, shaking with relief that he has you exactly where he wants you.

You dare not pull your eyes away from his, even as they droop in his pleasure. More so now that you admit how seductive they look. You try to mirror that same seduction with a small smile, moving your hand up and down his shaft independently.

Fuck, the more you move your hand, the more you think it's never going to end. Bluntly put, he's huge.

As a journalist, you should be eloquent with your words, careful in your choice of vocabulary, definitive with your metaphors, but all those years of reading and writing falters the second the sheer size of him stuns you. It slightly pains you to be so tasteless but nevertheless, you don't think there's any other way to put it.

So caught up in the heat of it, your common sense finally comes to once again acknowledge your recorder in his hand. You forgot he had been recording this entire conversation...

He brings it closer to his lips, seductively whispering directly into it. "Just like that..." He keeps going. "Doing such a good job - fuck - don't stop."

Encouraged, and progressively feeling turned on, you tighten your hand around his cock and move faster.

"How do I feel, sweetheart?" The microphone tilts towards you. Detail. Although at this point, you don't think it's for your readers as much as it is for you and Tom.

"So big. I almost can't fit my hand around you."

He very nearly buckled. That voice of yours is like a siren to him. Little do you know that when he found your recorder and listened to all of your little angry ramblings about him, it had sparked up a fiery, unavoidable desire inside him. It was hell having to listen to your voice talk shit about him, he just couldn't stand it. He needed to hear you compliment him, worship him, adore him, and he spent every spare minute of his day replaying your recorder, instilling your voice to memory until he could manipulate your words, imagining what they would say about him.

But now that he actually gets to hear you feed into his desire is twice the satisfaction than he initially thought.

As quick as lightning hits, an idea occurs to him and it completely devastates his entire system; if hearing you compliment him turns him on, how would having you beg for him make him feel? The idea becomes such an unstoppable craving he already knows his imagination won't be able to satiate it this time. He needs it for real and right now.

"You wanna taste?"

Doe-like eyes stare up at him - oh, you are so capable of begging him - and your movements come to a halt...all except your thumb sweeping over his tip. You didn't actually think this was going to go any further than a hand job.

"You want me to?"

Oh no, no, no. This isn't about Tom begging. "Because I know you want to. I can see how desperately you want to tell everyone how I allowed you to come backstage, meet me, get on your knees for me, how I allowed you to suck me off and how I allowed you to taste me." His hand slithers up your jawline and brings you close, leaving nothing but a hair's breadth to separate you. As you anticipate the feeling of his lips, you have but his breath fanning over yours and the anxiety bubbling at the pit of your stomach to feed from. "You just need to beg for it, sweetheart."

Beg. It was hard enough to lose one battle and compliment him, but to lose an even bigger one and beg? You would be absolutely humiliated.

Would be meaning if it was under any other circumstance, if you weren't so spellbound and seduced by him. But that simply isn't the case.

Not uttering another word, you slowly drop to your knees keeping Tom with the wicked grin within your sights. The zipper of his trousers comes undone and you pull him free, watching as his cock stands tall and bobs heavily with weight. Instinctively, your tongue rushes to wet your lips.

"Beg." Tom demands again. The recorder soon comes back into your view and your jaw clicks with frustration. He's capturing every single word much to his demented, power-hungry mind.

You chew through your irritation and instead tune into the feeling that's bubbling in and around your stomach, the one that's being powered by him. "Please," you breathe. "Please, Tom, I wanna suck you off so badly, I promise I'll be good."

"And do you promise to never write a bad word about me ever again?"

Oh, this fucker.

"I prom-"

"Say it like you mean it."

How you so wish you could lie through your teeth, but you know for a fact that from now on, any bad word you write about Tom Holland will forever be tied with this day. You'll think twice about writing badly because being on your knees for him will get in the way. You'll struggle to find the words to knock him because the compliments you paid him will stain your lips. You'll hesitate to criticise him because you'll remember how you verbalised about his good looks.

"I promise. Just--just let me taste you." It's sad how desperate you sound. "Please?"

He doesn't respond. There's one last warning to give.

"If you break that promise, I will come for you."

Adrenaline rushes through your veins and your heart pounds. Despite being adamant in your dislike for Tom, you do somehow get the feeling that the threat that rings through his tone is not one to be taken lightly. It buzzes a little too seriously for you to brush over it. So you answer accordingly.

"Okay, I promise."

The threat dissipates and he looks at you approvingly, his empty hand dropping to cup your cheek. You aren't so unaware of the twitch of his cock in your hand. "I just want to make it clear and put on the record that out of the two of us..." Tom angles you closer, "it's you that's the easy one. Too easy. So easy that you're already on your knees and begging me."

How you would slap that grin clean from his face. The scowl on yours warns him of it, but he simply laughs, mocking you.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Admit it." His boyish chuckle continues to ring in the air and its contagious effect pulls at your lips despite trying to hide it. He sees clearly that it pains you to admit it, so as a small motivator, he crouches to your level, his hand still cradling your cheek. In quieter words, though still delivered through a smirk, he murmurs..."Be a good girl for me, yeah?" His lips melting onto yours stops you from getting the chance to reply. The surprise of it fogs up your brain, submitted into a dream-like state as he gently molds his lips onto yours. It's short and leaves you wanting more.

With a flutter of lashes, you nod. "Atta girl."

He stands up taller once again and you take that as your cue to fulfill your promise. Your lips wrap around him and your tongue darts to sweep over his tip. His groans can be heard above you and no doubt heard by the recorder, crescendoing the second your head starts bobbing. Your hand covers what your mouth can't reach, doing as much as you can to make him feel good. It seems to work; his hips begin thrusting. Slowly, at first, to swing into rhythm but the more you swallow him the less control he has of his own movements, and soon, with your hair wrapped tightly around his fist, he's rutting erratically, drinking in the sounds of your moans of pleasure and pain.

"Fuck, you're so good at that."

"Don't stop. Don't fucking stop."

"Taking me so well. Good girl."

"Just like that, shit."

"Look how easy you are, fuck. So willing, aren't you? You wanted a word for your precious Youth Diary? Here it is; you are so easy it's pitiful. Fuck--"

Tom's animalistic nature completely dominates to the point where your tears and gags are silently begging to slow down. Every part of you is screaming out: your throat is bruising, your lips are tearing, your eyes are streaming, your knees are cramping, but holy fuck hearing him talk about you like that fuels the fire inside you.

His thighs twitch underneath your hands and you think he might just cum down your throat. The red-hot grip he has of your roots is your only warning before that happens.

Warmth fills your mouth and you're quick to swallow it down before you choke, like it’s instinct. He holds you hostage with his cock deep in your mouth, using you to string out the orgasm for as long as he can. Minutes later, you open your eyes to see Tom hunching over, still very much catching up to you in regaining his composure. His white fist grips the recorder while the other remains tangled through your locks, keeping you in place to prevent you teasing him any further.

When all seems settled, Tom lifts your chin once more - dabbing off the little drop you seem to have missed - and catches your gaze from behind the tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You already know what he's going to ask of you and when he perches the recorder in front of you, he shoots you a wink.

"Detail." He simply says.

"Hmm, you taste so good, Tom. Best I've ever had. I could taste you all day."

At that moment, something snaps in Tom. The smirk drops and his jaw tenses. It's small, minute changes, but it dramatically changes the atmosphere in the room. You just don't know whether it's for better or for worse.

You find your answer when Tom's muscular arms promptly tuck themselves under your arms with vigour, yanking you up onto your feet. The clatter of your recorder steals your attention as Tom carelessly throws it onto a coffee table to his right; after all, he needs his hands to be free if he is planning on returning the favour. You should be complaining about his lack of regard for your equipment and how he could've broken it, but the red flashing light still shows sign of life, so you decide to overlook it for now. Besides, Tom doesn't give you long before he whips your head back to claim your lips, hungrily moaning into them as he forces his body weight against yours and slams you flat against the wall. The collision whips all of the air out of your lungs but it isn't what causes the gasp to jump from your throat. Tom's lips find your neck, suckling onto the supple skin with intentions to bruise, all to distract you from his hand slipping under your skirt. With ease, he palms your cunt, offering just enough of a tease to have you burning for more.

"I need to hear you say my name again with that voice of yours." Ah, so that's what triggered him.

"Tom," you mewl, almost purring.

"As sexy as that sounds, I think it will sound even better when you’re cumming for me."

Oh fuck.

It's frightening how quickly Tom is able to weaken you with just the deft touch of his fingers to your clit and punishing kisses to your neck. You try your best to soak it in and remain somewhat stable to remember every moment of it, but goddammit you can't keep yourself together. So much so that despite Tom claiming to adore the sound of your voice, for the sake of dignity, he keeps his hand clamped hard against your mouth. Neither of you want curious ears to overhear the scandal coming from within.

Never did you think that Tom's all-round talents included making a girl cum so easily. It's kind of frustrating.

His fingers circle around your clit, dragging and pulling every nerve he can find and it winds you up perfectly. Legs shaking, breath faltering, you suspect you have mere seconds before he takes your orgasm.

Your whines and moans buzz from behind Tom's hand, muffled and diffused. Eventually he lets go, and replaces his hand with his lips, once again thrashing against yours.

"You gonna cum for me?"

"Fuck, I--"

"Say my name. Beg me to let you cum."

"Tom, please, I want to cum. Please let me cum."

Two fingers slot themselves into you, his palm taking over pleasing your clit and you have to stop yourself from buckling. It is the last sign Tom needs to know that you're on the precipice of shattering. With a devilish twinkle to his eye and a crooked smile, he sinks closer to you, his lips narrowly brushing against the shell of your ear and whispers the word. "Cum."

In a similar fashion to Tom what seems like hours ago, you come undone. Your hands grip onto his shoulders for stability as he refuses to stop abusing your cunt. His fingers dig deeper, his hand moves faster, and the tight curl of his knuckle breaking you sends you spiralling.

The gut-twisting tension soon turns to tranquil bliss as he slows his movements, finally catching a breath to revel in the post-orgasm haze with a twitch or two catching you out.

For as egotistical as you believed Tom to be, with the grounding kisses he litters over your cheek, neck, lips, he completely negates that belief. He utterly dominated you, yet affection fuels his movements; something you don't expect a vain person to have. Maybe he isn't all you made him out to be...

Calmly, you both collect yourselves until you're presentable, standing apart within the room as if what just happened never happened. The heat of the room is all that's left to suggest otherwise.

Tom doesn't stop you from reaching for your recorder, the plastic rectangular object feeling like home in your hand. You firmly press the stop button, letting the audio file save before you address Tom again.

"Thanks for...y'know, keeping it safe. I genuinely don't know what I would've done if I lost it."

Tom smiles kindly. "It's no problem."

"Oh, and congratulations."

He nods humbly. "Thank you. I didn't actually think I was going to win it, but I guess luck was on my side." Huh. He's not bragging...

Settling your recorder into your bag, you begin to make your way out of the room. You hadn't realised how late it had gotten and how hungry you had became until your stomach grumbled loudly. As you take your cue to leave, Tom leads you out with a gentle hand to the small of your back and chills arise. Shit. Don't start liking him now...

Tom clears his throat before you completely disappear. "Will I be seeing you lurking about any other events this year?"

Something about his question makes you smile. "Maybe. I've got a few film premieres that I will be attending."

"Good. Well, if any of them include me, I'll make sure to review your work again." How his wink makes you weak.

"Hmm, we'll see, Tom Holland."

~~~~~

It takes you over a week after the golfing event to eventually find the courage to finish writing your article. Most of it is written from what you remember thinking throughout the day, but your work leaves much to be desired. All that's missing from the article can be found on your recorder that you have deliberately been ignoring knowing what filth it contains.

It takes a couple of glasses of wine on a Saturday night to find the bravery to listen to it once again. It all goes smoothly at first, words flow from your mind to your fingertips and your article slowly builds as your past self feeds you your own commentary from that day. You were going to stick with your original idea, deciding to keep in all your criticisms about Tom Holland because who's going to stop you?

But your valour is short lived. Because you've reach the end. When you think you have the finished product, a masterpiece of literacy for your readers to enjoy and you have nothing else to write. Just when you think you're about to press 'publish' that you reach that part of your recording that you just can't bring yourself to turn off.

Shit, it turns you on so much to hear Tom's voice once again demand that you promise to never write another criticism again and the way you caved so easily in your lust-induced state. Even listening to it makes you resonate with it all over again, resurrecting the same excitement and anxiety to stir in your stomach. It's a reminder that persuades you that you don't necessarily agree with what you write about Tom. It makes you reconsider all that you've just written, your finger hovering over the backspace button prepared to fix the promise you're about to break.

Fuck. It's such a good story. Probably one of the best articles you've written. Alas, with the disagreement going on in your head, you can't find it in yourself to commit to it. There's also the problem that if you are to post it, the privilege of writers' anonymity will no longer be in your possession. Tom does, after all, know your name and your face, and you are damn sure he will take the time to find it and read it. What unnerves you is that you have no idea what actions he might take. How could you forget that warning?

"If you break that promise, I will come for you."

So there you sit with your empty glass of wine, chewing nervously on your nails while your eyes dry at the light of the screen you've been deliberating over for the last three hours. The question still remains.

What do you do?

#ngl the ending was a little rushed #cos this was way longer than i wanted it to be #oh well #enjoy!#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #golfer!tom holland #peter parker #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x y/n #anon asks

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marvelwitchergilmore · 4 months

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A Moment Of Everything

Summary: Peter Parker x Fe!Reader -> You and Peter have never gotten along, but can two nights in Florence change things for good?

Disclaimer: Swearing, fluff, angst. Mentions of blood and wounds. I was watching The Proposal last night and got inspired. Enemies to Lovers. See this for whichever Spider-Man you wish. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

You knew things had to change eventually.

Yourself and Peter couldn’t go your whole lives hating one another.

You just didn’t expect it to change quite so much.

It had all started one night when you were on a mission with each other.

Two days in Florence, Italy. You were both sent to monitor a suspect. And, like usual, Peter was off with you. He didn’t seem too happy about having to share a bed at the hotel. And, even though he didn’t particularly like talking to you, he would still do it. Only, that night, he didn’t.

When he didn’t have to talk to you, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t even look at you.

So, the night before you were expected to fly back home, you called him out on it.

He didn’t listen to you. He simply walked away from you. He followed the guy and you had to go with his plan. Whatever his plan was, you had to guess.

Only, the suspect got away.

“We’ll find him again.”

Peter just grunted.

“Peter.”

Nothing.

“Peter!”

Again, nothing.

“Jesus Fucking Christ! Peter!” He finally slowed down and looked at you. “What the hell is your fucking problem?! I get you don’t like me, but we’re meant to be together in this!”

“We are together in this.”

You couldn’t help but scoff. “Bull-shit. You have done nothing but ignore me this entire trip. If you have a problem with me, you can just say it. Where are you going now? Or am I not allowed to know that either.”

“Back to the hotel. Not like you’d tell me.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You tried running to catch up with him.

“Nothing.”

“No, go ahead. Tell me.”

Soon enough you both made it back to the hotel and inside the room before the conversation continued.

“Tell me, Peter. I can take it.”

“No, you can’t.”

“You don’t know me-”

“You’re right! I don’t!” Peter turned around and looked at you, forcing you to stop in your tracks.

“I don’t know you! I don’t know anything about you! Because you don’t share anything.”

“Well, excuse me for wanting to keep my life a little private.”

“A little?!” Peter raised his eyebrows and scoffed. “A little private is not telling your co-workers where you're going when you say you’re going on holiday. A little private is not showing them a thousand pictures of your new puppy. Your life is anything but a little private.”

Clearly, he had more to say so you waited. And you didn’t have to wait long.

Sighing, Peter rubbed his forehead for a moment before looking back at you.

“I have known you for almost ten years and you have told me less than three things about yourself. And yet, an hour before we leave to come here, Hank from the Biology lab does…what? Flirts with you for five minutes, tells you his coffee order and you’re practically marrying the guy!”

“Peter, that’s none- Is this what has been bothering you since we left? This?! Just because I decided to talk to a guy and tell him about my day…why does it bother you so much that I don’t talk about myself?”

“Because I am meant to be your teammate. You have known me for almost ten years and never once have I hid anything from you. We are meant to trust one another. It doesn’t matter if you don’t like me or if I didn’t like you, what matters is that you trust me, and that I trust you. This partnership is meant to go both ways.”

You didn’t know what to say. You just kept looking at Peter. It looked like the world had been lifted off his shoulders whilst he also started beating himself up over what he just said. His chest was heaving and for a moment, you thought he was gonna walk towards you but instead, he took a step back.

“I’m going for a shower.”

When the door closed behind him, it took you a moment to gather yourself.

You couldn’t deny that he had a point. Maybe you hadn’t told him as much as you could have done, especially for being teammates for almost a full decade. But it wasn’t like he didn’t have his faults in it, too.

Maybe instead of ignoring you and only talking to you when he needed to, you might have warmed to him more rather than seen him as a stand-offish person who you would trust to save your life, but wouldn’t trust to put it on the edge first.

After twenty minutes, Peter emerged from the bathroom, freshly washed, clothed and ready for bed. He put away his dirty clothes and put his wash bag back in his bag before climbing under the covers that lay at the bottom of the bed.

He hadn’t said anything when you both arrived at the hotel late at night. Just took some sheets out of the cupboard and put them on the floor. When you entered the room, you said he was being ridiculous.

He just said the bed was too soft for him and that he wouldn’t sleep.

After an hour of back and forth over you telling him just to get into the bed, since it was big enough for a family of five, never mind two, he still decided to stay on the floor.

As you lay in bed, listening to the distant noises of the city, you tossed and turned before settling on your back. But you still couldn’t sleep.

Then you heard Peter.

He was tossing and turning, too.

Eventually, you heard him sigh in annoyance of sleep not taking over him.

So, wrestling with your own mind, you spoke up.

“I like Greek Mythology.”

A few seconds passed and then; “What?”

You faltered for a moment before speaking up again.

“I-I like Greek Mythology. I always have.” you said before explaining, taking your time. “When I was five, my grandmother gave me some of her old books. In the pile was a kids illustrated version of Greek Gods and Goddesses. I was obsessed. And I mean, obsessed.”

You laughed a little as you explained your obsession with Greek Mythology to him. Meanwhile, from the floor and out of sight from you, he smiled. He couldn’t even think of when he’d heard a smile in your voice. Never mind a laugh.

It was once of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard.

“For three halloween’s in a row, I went as a different Goddess.”

You fell silent for a moment in the memory before you started to speak again.

“I hate coffee. I try it once every year and it’s always the same. Absolutely disgusting.” you chuckled a little. “I spent every summer away from home at Camp where I ran a book club. I watch Rom-Coms when I’m sad because they make me feel better. My favourite flowers are blue tulips. I don’t watch thrillers because they remind me too much of work. And, I haven’t told anyone this much…ever.”

Only as you finished did you realise how much you had told him. And you felt a pang of anxiety in the pit of your stomach as Peter remained silent.

“Are you still there?”

Peter swallowed thickly and nodded his head, despite the fact you couldn’t see him. “Y-yeah. I’m here. Just…processing.”

“Okay.”

That conversation had been just over eight months before you got a knock at your apartment window one evening.

You had taken a couple weeks off work since you hadn’t taken any vacation days…ever. Barton had practically banned you from the building for two weeks.

The rain had been pouring over the city and, with all your work finished, you had rushed out and got some supplies before sitting in front of your TV, watching one of the many rom-coms your DVD collection provided before pulling a few books from your shelves and reading through them.

At some point, you had fallen asleep, still fully dressed, under your blankets, listening to the quiet silence of your apartment as the rain hit the windows outside.

Only, rather than continuing to sleep throughout the night, you heard a continuous tapping.

So, leaning up with tired eyes, you looked around. The loose braid you had stuck your hair in had fallen out, your bobble being lost between the cushions somewhere.

The apartment was shrouded in darkness, save for the street lights outside still lighting small sections of your apartment.

Along came more tapping until finally you turned towards the sash window that lay by the fire escape.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you saw him through tired eyes.

Making your way over, you pushed the window open and Peter made his way inside.

“Sorry for waking you.”

You just grumbled and closed the window to stop the rain from flying in, though it didn’t stop the small puddle made by Peter who was practically soaked to the bone from the rain.

“Ah, so this is who I lost you to.” Peter said with a slight smirk as he spotted one of your Mythology books.

“Barton said I was banished from HQ until my vacation days were finished. What are you doing here at this time of night? What even is the time?”

“I didn’t know where to go, and you’re the only one who I trust to do the job well.”

“What job?”

Finally looking at Peter, you saw it.

His body, and his clothes, were splattered with blood. You couldn’t tell how much of it was his and how much of it could be somebody else's.

“You didn’t kill anyone did you?”

“No.” Peter answered. “They’re alright, just at the police station getting booked.”

You sighed as you took in even more of his wounds. “Alright. Meet me in the bathroom in two minutes. Give me your jacket.”

Peter removed it and you took it from him, including his grey hoodie.

“Bathroom?”

“Down the hall and to the right.”

Peter nodded and walked down whilst you headed into the kitchen and shoved his jackets into the washing machine and pressed start. Then, from the top cupboard, you pulled down your first-aid kit that contained everything from princess plasters, from when you had been looking after your neighbour's kid for two days, to a stitching kit.

Twenty minutes later, you had a basin full of warm, blood stained water, a once-clean face cloth covered in stains of blood and a grown Avenger sat on the edge of your bathtub, wincing every now and again and you cleaned him up.

“Remind me again why you came to me?”

You turned Peter’s head to face over your right shoulder as you cleaned a graze and cut just above his eyebrow.

“Because I trust you. And I didn’t feel like getting another lecture from Laura.”

“Ah,” you nodded and Peter laughed a little.

Then he hissed.

“Sorry, I'm almost finished with this one.”

“It’s okay.” Peter flicked his gaze to you a couple of times. “T-thank you for doing this.”

“What else would I have done? Kicked you back out of the window?”

“You could have done it. I did wake you up. Clearly I didn't learn my lesson from the first time.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, I guess I did nearly beat you up.”

What Peter meant was just over two months ago. You had both become friends of sorts. But, you had fallen asleep at your lab desk one night and Peter came in to wake you up and you nearly cursed him out so much that you even had him convinced he was an intruder trying to break into your home.

“But, if you hadn’t come to me, I probably would have cursed you out when I found out, anyway.”

“Found out?”

“You can’t hide anything from me, Peter. I know everything,” you joked.

“But do you?”

Peter’s question slipped from his tongue before he could stop himself, but you didn’t know what to do. So, your eyes turned from his and you tried your best to remain calm until you saw a large spot of blood coming through his black t-shirt.

You tried your best to get to the wound that was beneath it without him removing his shirt, but you both knew it was no use.

So, awkwardly asking him, he stood and you looked to him only to find him looking back.

Slowly, he removed his shirt, trying his best not to stain the rest of his body from the blood you had just cleaned away and for a moment, you were met with his body in front of you.

Most of the blood was coming from that one wound but the top of his arms now showed a little bruising, as well as his torso, though it was more healed than you thought it would have been.

Finding yourself staring for a little too long, you forced your gaze back to his face where he’d removed the shirt from over his head and lowered himself back down onto the edge of the tub, opening up his legs for you to stand between them once more.

Though, it was in that moment that you realised how close you had been standing to him this entire time.

“Th-This might sting a little.”

Peter nodded and you watched as he clenched his jaw and tried to suppress the grunt that tried to escape from him as you cleaned out the wound.

“You might need some stitches.” you mentioned. “I can do them here, though they might not be Laura standard.”

“I think I’ll survive.”

You nodded and tried your best to ignore the fact that Peter was looking at you as you looked for your stitching kit and began working.

In your peripheral vision, you could see some of his bruises already starting to heal, though some might take more than a couple hours.

Even with his adapted DNA.

“If you want, you can stay here for the night. I have a spare set of pyjamas if you need them.”

“You sure they’ll be my size?”

You laughed a little. “My, uh, my neighbour gave them to me. She bought a set for her husband but when they came they were too big for him. She told me to keep them in case I ever had someone…stay the night. They might be too big for you, too but they have a drawstring so…”

“Okay.”

You looked at him for a split second and then looked back to his wound with a small nod.

Soon enough you finished and stepped back to grab the face cloth before dipping it into a fresh basin of warm water to clean off the rest of his wounds that would heal soon enough.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

As you looked at Peter when he stood, there was a moment of…everything.

Neither of you were moving, yet his eyes and your own spoke a thousand unspoken words between their gazes.

Without thinking, Peter lifted his hand to meet your own, allowing you to place the cloth down before he pulled you a little closer.

Your name left his lips in a small whisper, a plea, a wish of permission.

You felt yourself stand a little taller as his other hand came to your face, brushing the loose hair from your face, behind your ear.

His eyes continued to flick from your eyes to your lips, as yours did the same with him.

There was time for you to stop. For you to say no. And if you did, he would have stepped away and, most likely, would have apologised and left.

But you didn’t want that.

Each tantalising moment that passed, you wished for time to hurry up. For his lips to finally meet yours.

And once they did, there was no turning back.

At first it was soft, until you both became hungry for more.

Leaning in, your hands came to his neck to pull him closer to you.

Eventually, the kiss broke apart for a moment, your heads resting together, your eyes partly closed.

“Was that-”

“Just shut up and kiss me again.”

Peter chuckled a little before feeling your lips connect to his, allowing his hands to pull your body flush against his.

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detroitlib · 5 days

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View of a windmill in Holland, Michigan, with tulips in foreground. Printed on front: "Dutch mill, Holland, Michigan." Printed on back: "L.L. Cook Co., post cards, Milwaukee, Wis." Handwritten on back: "Dear Ethel, Just wanted you to know we are thinking of you. Tressa & Olin are such nice hostesses. We had a good trip over although it rained. Laura Lee was very good and has been. I think she misses her daddy. We'll go to Toledo on Monday. Then home later in week. Chet will meet us there. We'll see you soon. Love, Dorothy & Laura Lee. P.S. Fri. morn Chet wrote about G. Its wonderful." Card is postmarked April, 1929.

Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library

#windmill #holland #michigan #michigan history #postcards #vintage #vintage postcards #1929 #tulips #flowers #dutch #l.l. cook co.#detroit public library

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personinthepalace · 1 year

Text

Behind the Scenes Swordfighting Stunt Choreography with Lockwood and Co

youtube

for @charmquarkstrangequark - a compilation of all the bts swordfighting choreo we got for l&co. Hope you enjoy this :)

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waitimcomingtoo · 1 year

Text

He Said, She Said

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Synopsis: absolute tomfoolery ensues when you and Tom suspect that the other thinks you’re dating but you’re both too shy to correct each other

Masterlist

A week after you had wrapped filming a movie with Tom, you invited him to your house to hang out. Since the love story between your characters had been the backbone of the film, you’d grown particularly close to each other during the 8 months of filming. You had spent the last 8 months acting along side Tom as his crush, then girlfriend, and then wife. This was your first time seeing each other since wrapping and there were multiple times throughout the night where you had to catch yourself before you did something that you used to do when you played his wife. It was slightly confusing to spend 8 months acting as if you were in a relationship only for it to suddenly end one day. Tom felt the same way and often found himself about to go in for a kiss before he remembered he wasn’t actually your boyfriend. You both managed to catch yourselves just in time until the end of the night.

“Text me when you get home safe.” You said as you walked Tom to your door.

“I always do.” He smiled softly at you.

You smiled in return before wrapping an arm around him to pull him into a kiss. Tom instinctively kissed you back before he could process what was happening. You pulled away after a minute and stroked his cheek with your thumb.

“Bye, T.” You waved to him before shutting your door.

Tom stood outside your door for a full minute with his lips still pursed. He touched his fingertips to his lips and sure enough felt your sticky strawberry lipgloss still lingering there.

“Now wait a damn minute.” He said to himself as his confusion settled in.

It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d kissed him, but it was the first time you’d kissed him in the absence of any cameras or scripts. A surprised smile broke out on his lips until it settled into a confused frown. He turned around and went to his car where he sat for a long time, raking every inch of his moment for the moment your friendship became something more. When he came up empty, he took out his phone and texted his groupchat.

“emergency boy call” He texted and waited until the FaceTime notification appeared on his screen.

“What’s with the late night boy call? It’s almost midnight.” Harry asked through a yawn.

“Yeah. I was already balls deep into my YouTube deep dive.” Harrison complained.

“What were you watching?” Tuwaine asked him.

“Wig installation videos.” Harrison answered. “In case I ever need to install a wig.”

“That seems like a good use of your time.” Sam snorted.

“Guys.” Tom groaned. “I did not ask for a boy call for us to talk about whether or not Harrison will be installing a wig anytime soon.”

“I could do it if I wanted to.” Harrison mumbled.

“What did you need the boy call for?” Harry brought the focus back to Tom.

“I think Y/n and I are dating.” Tom admitted and held his breath as he waited for their responses. He could previously only see his friends ceilings, but all their confused faces appeared on his screen when he said this.

“What? You think?” Harry asked.

“I thought you guys were just friends?” Sam added.

“I thought that too.” Tom replied. “But we hung out tonight and she kissed me goodbye.”

“So? Haven’t you kissed a million times?” Tuwaine wondered.

“For scenes, yeah. Never just as us.”

“Cheek kiss or lips kiss?” Harrison asked.

“Lips.“

“Well was it a peck or a smooch?” Harry questioned.

“Uh, is there a difference?” Tom frowned.

“Big time.” Harry and Harrison said in unison.

“Well how do I know the difference?” Tom wondered.

“A peck is what you give your grandmum on the cheek. A smooch is slightly longer and involves head tilting.” Harrison explained.

“I don’t know. Her tongue was in my mouth. Is that covered under the smooch umbrella?”

“DAMNNNNN.” Harry and Harrison spoke in unison again as the shouted.

“That was way past smooch territory, my guy.” Tuwaine said through a laugh.

“Then what is it?” Tom asked his friends.

“A smackeroo.” Harry shrugged.

“I was just gonna say a smackeroo.” Harrison clapped his hands.

“That was no smooch. You got snogged, mate.” Sam said and they all nodded in agreement.

“Ew.” Tom grimaced. “No one says snog anymore. What are you, Angus Thongs?”

“Who the fuck is Angus Thongs?” Harry asked after a beat of silence.

“You know. That movie. Angus Thongs and Perfect Snogging. It’s all about a girl who wants to snog Angus Thongs.”

“Mate, it’s Angus COMMA thongs COMMA and perfect snogging. The title is three separate phrases. Angus, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging.” Harry explained.

“You thought the character was named Angus Thongs?” Sam laughed. “Why would the writers give him that name? What nationality would the surname “Thongs” even come from?”

“Can we get back to the reason of the boy call? Y/n freaking smooched me and I don’t know what it means.” Tom groaned.

“And that’s never happened before?” Tuwaine asked.

“No. This was the first time she did that.”

“So maybe it was just an accident.” Sam shrugged.

“Who accidentally kisses someone on the mouth?” Harry wondered.

“Exactly. That’s why I think we started dating and I didn’t realize.”

“How could that have happened? Wouldn’t you have realized if you guys made your relationship official?” Sam asked his brother.

“I don’t know. We’re so close and our relationship gets confusing sometimes. We’ve always have this unofficial thing between us where we’re not exactly together but not exactly “just friends” either. I’ve never really known where I stood with her.”

“This might not help,” Tuwaine prefaced, “but I was shocked the first time I met her and you told me you guys were just friends. You really seemed like a couple.”

“Yeah, that definitely didn’t help, but thank you so much.” Tom smiled tightly, feeling more confused than ever.

“He’s right though. You guys don’t act like friends act. Why do you think everyone assumes you’re dating? Even mom asked me if you two were bumping uglies.” Sam brought up.

“We’re not. Or maybe we are? I don’t know. What does bumping uglies even mean?”

“You’d know if you did it.” Harrison said and the rest of the guys agreed.

“Can you think of a moment when you might’ve become a couple?” Sam asked his brother.

“There are so many moments that it could’ve been. That’s why I’m so confused.” Tom whined and rubbed his eyes.

“Well think, man.” Sam urged.

“I don’t know. Maybe the last day of shooting? She said she didn’t want anything to change between us after we stopped filming. Maybe that meant she wanted us to be together like our characters were?”

“You can’t be “maybe” dating someone.” Harrison shook his head. “You need to find out for certain if she thinks she’s in a committed relationship with you right now.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Tom wondered.

“I’ll do it.” Harry offered and his screen went to the “pause” icon.

“How?” Tom asked him.

“I just texted her asking if you were dating.” Harry replied and returned to the FaceTime.

“What?!” Tom shrieked. “Without discussing that with me first?”

“Wait, what happened?” Harrison asked. “I was watching a Dance Moms compilation.”

“Which one?” Tuwaine asked.

“Kelly and Christi being iconic.” Harrison said with a cheeky smile.

“Classic.” Tuwaine laughed.

“Guys.” Tom groaned. “Harry went rogue and texted Y/n.”

Meanwhile, you were doing your skincare routine when you saw your phone light up with a notification. You picked it up and saw the text from Harry.

“are you and tom dating?” It read. You frowned and looked at yourself in the mirror. Harry, being Tom’s brother, should know better than anyone that you and Tom were just friends. But the fact that he asked you made you second guess yourself. You wondered if there was a possibility that Tom thought you were in a relationship.

“did he say we were?” You texted back.

“yeth” Harry responded.

“Oh shit. Why does Tom think we’re dating?” You whispered to yourself and nervously chewed on your nail. You raked your brain for a cue that you might have missed of Tom suggesting that you should be a couple. Your relationship had always been flirty and wavering on the line between romantic and platonic, so it didn’t seem impossible to you that could’ve begun a romantic relationship with him without even knowing it. The more you thought about it, the more it seemed plausible that he had suggested you should be together without actually saying those words and you had agreed to it without realizing what you agreed to. If that was the case, you felt too guilty to correct Tom and tell him you weren’t actually dating. After all, you wanted to be his girlfriend. You just wished you knew when you had become it.

“yea we are” You finally texted back.

“Update. Y/n says you’re dating.” Harry proudly announced to the FaceTime call when he saw the message on his screen.

“She did?” Tom asked in disbelief.

“Yep. So you were right. You guys are officially a thing.” Harry confirmed. Tom sunk down in his seat and felt an explosion of different emotions. On the one hand, he was thrilled to finally be in a relationship with you. On the other hand, he felt sad that he had missed the moment when your friendship became more. He wished he could remember how it happened. But little did he know, it never happened.

“I’m so happy. I just wish I knew when it started.” He told his friends.

Meanwhile, you were in your bathroom, staring at your phone, wondering the exact same thing.

“When the fuck did we start dating?” You whispered to yourself.

The next day, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something you were missing. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t put together the moment when your relationship with Tom began. Instead of driving yourself crazy trying to remember, you decided to ask him to come over to see if you could get the information straight from the source.

“I know I just saw you last night but do you wanna come over today 🤠” You texted him.

“I’m on my way 🥵🥴🙄” He texted back within no time. You smiled to yourself and put your phone down to go get ready.

A half hour later, you heard a knock at your door that made your heart skip a beat. You smoothed your hair down before opening up your door.

“Hey you.” You smiled and leaned your cheek against your door.

“Hello darling.” He returned the smile. There was an awkward pause as neither of you knew of you were supposed to kiss or not. You both wanted to, but couldn’t tell if the other was expecting it or not. You both took a step forward, then moved back, before hesitantly moving into the middle again. Tom decided to take charge and wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you into a kiss. You felt relived that he took the initiative and wrapped both arms around his neck to kiss him back. Tom felt so excited that this was finally happening that he lifted you off the ground and brought you inside without ever breaking the kiss. You laughed against his lips as he gently set you down.

“Won’t you come in?” You said sarcastically once you broke apart.

“Why, thank you. What a lovely home you have here.” He played along as you shut the front door behind you.

“What happened here?” Tom laughed when he noticed a open box of cereal on the ground with cheerios all around it.

“Oh, I uh, I fell.” You said and looked to the side.

“Did you throw an open cereal box at a spider again?” Tom asked skeptically.

“Maybe.” You mumbled.

“Darling. Just hit it with the-“

“The smackazine. I know.” You rolled your eyes. “I just get too scared to get close enough to actually smack it.”

“You should’ve called me sooner. I would’ve demonstrated the proper way to use a smackazine.” Tom said as he rolled up a nearby magazine and hit it against his hand.

“Oh yeah? And what exactly is the proper way?” You humored him and tapped your chin.

“Just like this.” Tom said before smacking you with the rolled up magazine. You screamed and ran away from him, only encouraging him to chase you. You ran from him and jumped over the couch but he caught up to you. And grabbed you by the waist and threw you onto the couch before smacking you all over with the magazine as he straddled your waist.

“Don’t hit me! Do I look like a spider to you?” You asked and tried to hold him off of you. Tom stopped smacking you and gave you a look.

“Do you want an honest answer?”

“Hey!” You pretended to be offended and ripped the magazine out of his hands to smack him with it. He laughed and knocked it out of you hands and when you were caught off guard by it falling to the floor, he held your face in one hand and kissed you. You melted into the kiss and pulled him closer by his shirt as the confusion from the night before melted away. Now that he was here, you didn’t care about getting answers anymore. You just wanted to enjoy your time with him. You made out on your couch for a while until you needed to pull away for air.

“I’m so happy we’re finally together. I’ve wanted this for a long time.” You said in a soft voice as you traced patterns on his cheek with your fingernail.

“So did I. I had no idea you felt the same.” Tom said as he stared into your eyes with a soft smile.

“I didn’t either at first. I wasn’t sure if I really liked you or if I was just caught up in the magic of filming. But I missed kissing you and acting like your girlfriend the second we wrapped. That’s when I knew my feelings were real.”

“So we started dating after we wrapped?” Tom whispered to himself as pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

“What was that?” You asked.

“I just said I knew it right away.” He quickly covered up. “I liked you from the day we met. I just never imagined you’d like me back. That’s why I never officially asked you out.”

“I knew it. That’s why I didn’t realize when we started dating. It’s because he never officially asked me out.” You thought but didn’t say out loud.

“You didn’t need to. I just knew.” You shrugged and smiled wider.

“I had absolutely no idea and he can never know that.” You thought inside your head but kept your smile.

“She can never know that I never actually asked her out. I’m glad she thinks I did so that I never actually had to do it, but she can never know the truth.” Tom thought to himself. You noticed from his expression that he was deep in thought and touched his face to get his attention.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked as you pushed some hair off his forehead. Tom snapped back to reality and smiled shyly.

“You. And how long I’ve waited to do this.” He said before connecting your lips in a kiss again. This time, it was interrupted by his phone buzzing.

“Oh. It’s my mum.” He read off his phone.

“What did she say?”

“She said Harry told her about us and now she wants a family dinner.” He said as the color drained from his face. The thought of sitting down for a family dinner where his brothers knew the truth about the ambiguity of the beginning of your relationship while you and his mom were in the dark put a pit of dread in his stomach.

“Aw. When?”

“Next Saturday. We don’t have to do it, though.” He said and hoped you’d agree.

“No, I’d love to.” You told him, making him gulp.

“You would?”

“Totally. It’ll make her happy and I love spending time with your family. It can be our first dinner date as an official couple.”

“All right. I’ll tell her yes.” Tom gulped again and reluctantly agreed to the dinner. He didn’t know how, but he knew the truth would come out at the dinner. That meant he had exactly a week to figure out how your relationship began or he’s have nothing to say when his mom asked at the dinner.

“Perfect.” You smiled, having no idea about the turmoil Tom was going through over this. He decided to push it from his mind and worry about it when he had to.

Tom ended up staying over the entire day despite having spent the whole day with you the day before. You cooked dinner together and felt like a couple that had been married for years instead of the new couple that you were. There was laughing, kissing, and a closeness that didn’t exist when you were just friends only a day ago. You loved this new relationship, but you couldn’t stop wondering when it began.

You ended up on the couch again after eating and laid on top of each other as you talked about whatever came to mind. You lost track of time as you chatted and eventually felt yourself growing tired. When you let out a yawn, Tom checked the time on his phone.

“Damn, it’s 1 am already? I should probably get going. I don’t want to keep you up any longer.” Tom said as he got off the couch.

“You don’t have to go.” You said and tugged him back onto the couch.

“I don’t? Don’t you want to go to sleep?” He asked genuinely. You didn’t make eye contact with him as you toyed with a loose string on your jumper.

“Well, I was just thinking. You would go home after hanging out when we were just friends. But since we’re dating now….” You trailed off and slowly looked into his eyes.

“I could spend the night?” He asked when he realized what you were hinting at.

“Only if you-“

“Yes.” Tom said immediately, making you laugh.

“Sorry. I meant, yes, I’d love that.” He said in a calmer tone as his heart beat out of his chest.

“Okay. Good.” You smiled coyly. “We could watch a movie or something.”

“Uh huh. A movie. Sounds good.” Tom was barely listening as he never took his eyes off you. You scrolled through Netflix for a few seconds before putting on something random. Neither of you had any intention of watching, you just wanted to see who’d make the first move.

The first twenty minutes of the movie went by with you and Tom sneaking glances at each other every few seconds. By the third time you made eye contact with him, you turned to face him.

“Are you enjoying the movie?” You asked with a coy smile.

“I don’t even know what movie is on the screen right now.” Tom answered honestly.

“Do you want to turn it off and do something else?” You asked innocently and scooted closer to him.

“Did you have something in mind?” He asked and slid closer to you.

“There is this one thing I think we could try.” You said, just inches from his face now.

“I think you might be a mind reader, darling.” Tom said before connecting his lips to yours.

You woke up the morning in Tom’s arms with your bedsheets tangled around you. You knew your sheets were stained with the scent of his cologne now and smiled at the thought of falling asleep to that later. You turned around in his arms so you were facing him just as he was waking up. He yawned a little as his eyes fluttered open and smiled the second he realized last night wasn’t a dream. You laughed shyly and covered your face with your hands, but he just pushed them away to kiss you.

“So.” He said as he stared into your eyes.

“So.” You sighed happily. “Breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry yet. I need to work up an appetite.” Tom said and climbed right back on top of you.

After a week, the day of the dinner had arrived and Tom still hadn’t figured out how your relationship began. You spent a majority of that week together and despite that, Tom was just as lost as he was the first time you kissed him. You, on the other hand, had completely forgotten about finding out when your relationship began. It wasn’t until you were on the steps of his childhood home that you realized that if his mom asked you how you got together, you wouldn’t know how to answer her.

“Are you ready for this?” Tom asked when he noticed the panicked look on your face. You quickly smiled and slipped your hand into his.

“I am. Cause I got you.” You said before knocking on the door.

“Ah! They’re here! Come in, come in.” Tom’s mom, Nikki, said when she opened the door. You both walked in and she pulled the two of you into a hug.

“I’m so glad you could make it. Come to the kitchen and I’ll make you a drink.” Nikki said as she led you to the kitchen. You went to say hello to Tom’s dad and brothers as Tom talked to his mom.

“So Tom, I’ve been dying to ask you. When did you guys finally get together?” His mom asked as he poured Tom a drink.

“Oh, uh….” Tom trailed off and pretended he was thirty. He took a long sip of his drink because he knew that once he stopped drinking, he’d have to answer his mom. When Tom’s drink finally ran out, he looked at the empty glass before looking at his Kim.

“Excuse me for a second. I have to…poop.” Tom lied and quickly dashed out of the room. He saw Harry and Sam in the living room and grabbed them both by the backs of their shirt collars. They both let out a yelp as Tom yanked them into the hallway.

“Boy meeting.” He whispered harshly and formed a huddle while Sam and Harry rubbed their sore necks.

“I need someone to find out how Y/n and I started dating because I cannot figure it out for the life of me.” Tom said in a low voice.

“How are we supposed to find out if you couldn’t?” Harry whispered.

“Because I can’t just ask my girlfriend when we started dating. But you can. Whoever gets the answer gets a million dollars.”

“For real?” Sam’s eyes widened.

“No, but I’ll let you try on the Spiderman suit.”

“Bullshit. I’ve already tried it on.” Harry scoffed.

“Me too.” Sam nodded.

“Same here.” Paddy said, making the other three jump.

“Paddy? When did you get here?” Tom asked.

“18 years ago. Thanks for noticing.” Paddy rolled his eyes. “And since when have you been dating Y/n?”

“I don’t know.” Tom, Harry, and Sam said in unison.

“Well what’s our incentive for finding out?” Paddy questioned and the other two agreed.

“Oh my God. Fine. What do you want?”

“A million dollars.” Paddy said.

“No.”

“A hundred dollars.” Sam suggested.

“No.”

“A dollar.” Harry said with a wicked smile.

“Yeah. Sure fine. I’ll give you a dollar.” Tom agreed with a roll of his eyes.

“Fuck you all I’m winning this.” Harry said and ran to find you. He soon found you setting the table in the dining room and approached you with and eerie grin.

“Hey there, sister in law.”

“Slow down.” You chuckled. “We’re not there yet. Tom and I have only been dating for….”

You trailed off when you realized you didn’t have an amount of time to give him. Harry hung on to your every word, thinking he was about to get the answer, only to be disappointed.

“…a short amount of time.” You said after a beat and hoped Harry wouldn’t notice. Harry 100% noticed and felt his eye twitch as he kept his huge smile.

“I know, you silly billy. I’m just so excited that you two crazy kids are finally together. So tell me, how did it finally happen?”

“He didn’t tell you?” You laughed nervously, beginning to panic now that Harry was asking the exact questions you didn’t have the answers to.

“Of course he told me.” Harry lied. “I just want to hear it from your perspective.”

“I’m sure I won’t have any details to add. It’s whatever he said.” You shrugged as you finished setting the table. Harry stared at you for a long time before letting out a sigh of defeat.

“You owe me a dollar.”

“What?”

“What?” Harry asked as he left the room. He found his brothers in the hallway and hung in head in shame.

“I lost. I’m gonna go kill myself so thank your girlfriend for me, Tom.” Harry grumbled and walked to his bedroom with his head hanging low.

“Don’t worry, Tom. Your big brothers got this.” Sam said and patted Tom’s shoulder.

“You’re not my big brother.” Tom pointed out.

“I know. That’s why I’m definitely gonna disappoint you.” Sam smiled proudly before leaving the hallway. He went and found you in the kitchen now and casually leaned against the wall.

“Hey you.” He smiled and poked your chest. You looked down at where his finger had been before giving him a strange look.

“No. I am not explaining how tampons work again. I already explained it once and it’s not my fault that you passed out.” You said and folded your arms.

“That’s not what I was gonna ask.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Although I still don’t understand how it stays up there with nothing to hold it up there.”

“I’m leaving.” You said and tried to walk away.

“Wait, I’m sorry.” Sam stopped you. “I just wanted to ask about you and Tom. I am just tickled pink that you two are finally together. Do tell me, how did that happen?”

“I’m not talking about this with you. You’re putting off a real creepy vibe right now and I do not feel safe.”

“What? You’re totally safe. Just tell me how you and Tom started dating or I’ll kill you.”

“See you later, Sam.” You chuckled and walked away. Sam let out a sigh and retreated back to the boys.

“How did it go?” Tom asked.

“I threatened to kill her.” Sam said quietly.

“Oh my God.” Tom groaned and rubbed his eyes.

“Leave it to me. I’m getting that dollar if it kills me.” Paddy rubbed his hands together and went to find you. As soon as you saw him coming, you grimaced and braced yourself for what was coming.

“Hey, Y/n.” Paddy greeted you.

“Why are you all being so weird today?” You whined.

“Hold tight. I haven’t even been as weird as I’m gonna be yet.” Paddy warned you.

“Oh no.” You groaned and looked up at the ceiling.

“I just want to know how you and Tom started dating and nobody gets hurt.” Paddy said and pulled out finger guns. You looked at his fingers guns and let out a sigh before pulling him to the side.

“I have no fucking idea.” You whispered to him.

“Huh?”

“Harry texted me like a week ago and said that Tom said we were dating and I felt too guilty to correct him and say that we weren’t because I didn’t want Tom to feel bad if he really thought we were dating. But then I thought that maybe we were dating and I just hadn’t realized it so I went along with it and now everyone keeps asking me how we got together and I have no fucking idea.” You whined and looked around incase anyone was listening.

“Oh.” Paddy frowned when he learned the truth.

“Paddy, you cannot tell Tom. He can never know. It’ll break his heart.”

“Uh huh.” Paddy nodded too many times and knew he was immediate going to tell Tom.

“Can you promise me you won’t tell?”

“I can promise you that.”

“Thank God.”

“For a million dollars.” Paddy continued.

“How about one dollar?” You folded your arms.

“Deal.” Paddy agreed. You pulled a dollar out of your pocket, handed it to him, and sent him on his way.

“Well? Did she tell you?” Tom asked when paddy came back.

“She did tell me. And then she bought my silence.” Paddy smirked and held up his dollar.

“What? What the hell happened in there?” Tom whispered harshly when he saw the dollar in his brothers hands.

“You’ll never know.” Paddy laughed menacingly before leaving the hallway.

“You all failed me. Now I’m never gonna know and she’s gonna find out and dump me and hate me forever. And it’s all your fault.” Tom said and pointed to Sam and Harry.

“Our fault? You’re the idiot who didn’t realize when he started his girlfriend.” Harry pointed out.

“Yeah. You’re on your own now. In fact, I hope she breaks up with you and takes all your dollars.” Sam scoffed.

“Me too.” Harry agreed before walking away.

“Boys! Dinner!” Nikki called from the dinning room. Tom hung his head in defeat and trudged into the dining room. He took a seat next to you and gulped, knowing there was no more avoiding the question. You noticed Tom’s pained expression and put your hand on top of his.

“You okay?” You mouthed to him. Tom’s mom saw the interaction and smiled to herself.

“I’m so happy you two finally got together.” She sighed. “I knew it would happen. But come on now. I want details. How did it happen?”

You and Tom tensed up as the most feared questioned had now been asked. Everyone turned to look at the two of you and you felt the pressure rising.

“Oh. You know.” You laughed and waved your hand, hoping that would suffice.

“Actually, I don’t know.” Harry raised his hand to say.

“What? Who’s side are you on?” Tom whispered to him.

“Justice.” Harry whispered back.

“I haven’t heard the story yet.” Tom’s dad spoke up, making you both snap your attention to him with angry looks.

“Tom, why don’t you tell the story?” You said and patted his hand.

“No, no. You tell it much better than I do. You tell it.” Tom said and put his hand on top of yours.

“No, you. I insist.” You replied and put your hand back on top.

“Someone tell the fucking story.” Paddy deadpanned.

“Patrick.” Nikki gasped and looked at him.

“Who said that?” Paddy gasped even louder and looked behind him.

“It was…after…we wrapped.” Tom said slowly and carefully watched your face for any indication on if he was right or wrong.

“Yeah. We didn’t start dating until after we finished shooting.” You agreed with him. He thought he had guessed correctly while you thought you were finally finding out what really happened.

“But how did it happen?” Nikki urged. “Who confessed their feelings first?”

You and Tom looked at each other, expecting the other to answer. When you realized at the same time that the other was just as confused, you both started to get suspicious.

“Tom did?” You answered but it came out like a question. Tom frowned and furrowed his eyebrows because that did not line up with what little he knew. He would’ve remembered telling you how he felt and knew that he never had until after he thought you were together.

“I did.” He said, making you sigh in relief that you had guessed correctly.

“But only after Y/n told me how she felt.” He continued, confusing you all over again.

“Huh?” You blurted then quickly took a sip of water to make it look like you hadn’t said anything. It was too late, of course, and the family looked at you in confusion.

“Did you not tell him how you felt?” Nikki laughed in confusion.

“No, I did.” You quickly lied. You didn’t remember doing it, but clearly Tom thought you had, so you went along with it.

“Well what did you say? I want the romantic details, guys. How did you phrase it?” Nikki gushed.

“Aw, Tom. Tell your mom how I phrased it.” You smiled at him as you internally panicked. You didn’t have the slightest clue on how you phrased it since you had no memory of ever doing such a thing.

Tom, on the other hand, was just as lost as you were. He didn’t remember you ever telling him you had feelings for him. All he remembered was you kissing him goodbye that one night and then telling Harry that you were dating. If there had been a confession at any point, he surely would’ve remembered.

“No.” Tom said suddenly, making everyone look at him. You felt a jolt of dread, thinking he had realized that you didn’t know when you’d started dating.

“I won’t tell you because it was a special moment between us and I want to keep it private. For now, at least. Maybe we’ll tell you one day but for now, it stays between us.” Tom answered and put his hand back on top of yours. You sighed in relief and leaned in to kiss him to thank him for unknowingly saving you in that situation. Little did you know, Tom had just pulled that answer out of his ass and hoped his family would believe it so that he never had to and it that he had no idea how you ended up together.

To both of your relief, his family bought it. They thought Tom’s answer was perfect and therefore stopped asking questions. Tom didn’t know why Paddy laughed and shook his head when he gave his answer, but he decided not to question it. You got through the rest of the dinner and said your goodbyes after some tea and dessert. On the drive back to your place, Tom kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding your hand.

“That was a little stressful, I’m not gonna lie.” You chuckled as you looked out the window.

“A little? Darling, that was the most nerve wracking dinner of my life. I think my hair went gray a little just from sitting through that.”

“Aw, that’s okay. I still like you.” You laughed and squeezed his hand. He looked over at you with a smile before looking back at the road.

“Just out of curiosity, when do you think we got together?” You asked and held your breath waiting for the answer. Tom initially panicked at this question, then decided to bite the bullet.

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I didn’t even realize we were officially a couple until you kissed me that night.” Tom admitted and looked over at you to see your reaction. You were frowning, only because this answer didn’t line up.

“That night you hit me with the smackazine?” You asked.

“No. When we hung out the night before that.” Tom explained, only making your confusion grow.

“I didn’t kiss you that night.” You laughed in surprise. Tom tried to keep his eyes on the road but couldn’t help looking at you with wide eyes. The entire reason he thought you were dating was because you kissed him that night, and now you were denying it?

“Yes, you did. You 100% kissed me that night as I was leaving. And I’m glad you did because I wouldn’t have realized we were a thing if you hadn’t.” Tom said. You fell silent and when he finally looked over at you, you were looking at him with a stunned expression.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He laughed nervously.

“Tom, I did not mean to kiss you that night. It must’ve been out of habit since we had just finished filming. I didn’t even realize I had done it until now.”

“What?” Tom practically shrieked. “But that night, you told Harry we were dating.”

“Only because he told me that you said we were dating. I just assumed we had started dating without me realizing it.”

“But that’s what I thought.”

“Why’d you think that?”

“Because you kissed me goodbye that night!” Tom exclaimed and then went quiet.

“Ohhhhh.” You remembered it now. “I see now that this was my fault all along.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. We just confused each other.” Tom laughed now that guy had gotten to the bottom of the situation.

“Did we gaslight ourselves into thinking we were dating?” You laughed as well.

“I think we might’ve.” Tom nodded and looked over at you with a smile. You returned the smiled felt peace for the first time all night. Your relationship may not have started in a traditional way, but it started, and that was all the mattered.

“Honestly, I don’t care how it started. I only care that it never ends.” You told him, making his smile grow.

“So this is us confessing our feelings? In case my mum ever asks?” He teased.

“Your mom can never know the truth. This conversation stays between us.” You chuckled and gave his hand another squeeze.

“Darling, as long as there’s an “us” for it to stay between, I’m good.”

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