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youandtom2 · 9 months

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Okay okay okay I know I have a million and one things to be writing right now but this idea just popped into my head and I’m a little obsessed. A lil Peter Parker fluff since I seem to be lacking it these days.

Imagine this…

It’s maybe 5-8 years later and Peter’s a little older, let’s say mid-late twenties. He’s still Spider-Man but it’s taken quite a toll on him, and being his biggest fan, twenty-year-old you spent all your teenage years watching old YouTube videos that people had posted about him, whether it's him saving the day once again or a friendly interaction. You dove deep. Really deep. News articles, TV clips, blogs, anything to fill the void of never having met him. Obsessive wasn't the word, it was just...really intense admiration.

In fact you learned and observed so much that you badly inherited his techniques; fighting, netogiating, his sense of deliberation and morales. You wanted to be the good guy, just like him.

Until one year, you decided that you wanted to help him out and support him in any means necessary.

What better way to do it than become just like him? Beating up the bad guys, stopping crime, keeping the city safe, just like he used to with a smile on his face.

It worked…for a while. Perhaps you sometimes got in a little over your head and admitted to being over ambitious with who you picked a fight with but it worked. Alas, Spider-Man didn’t recognise the help. You weren't even sure if he knew who you were. Nevertheless, you persevered because even without his recognition, each bad guy you stopped was one less fight for spider man.

Except one night, things didn’t go to plan. Your enemies were well equipped, well trained and far too cunning for your liking. You didn’t know what you were thinking; how exactly did you plan on single-handedly shutting down a five-man bank heist??

You became bruised, bloody and harmed like never before, reduced to merely a punching bag for the perpetrators, sport for the wicked. Just when you thought it was all over for you, when the light drained from your eyes, to your relief Spider-Man swooped in. The Spider-Man. The very same you had dreamt of meeting one day. The only shame was that it just had to be under these unfortunate circumstances. Damn.

Half conscious, he whisked you away to safety. Where? You’re too dazed to know, and you were left to slowly recover in the warmth of your bed while Spider-Man finished what you started. Your only regret was that you were barely conscious enough to thank him.

But he knew where you lived. That was something, right?

Surprisingly, he returned during the night with a few cuts and bruises to his skin, but it was nothing in comparison to you. He emerged from the window, his silhouette standing menacingly in front of you. Even with the mask that gave little away, it was obvious he had a dark scowl on his face and the narrow slits of his eyes painted exasperation. You swallowed thickly. He was not at all what you expected him to be, the hero persona you saw in all those videos ceased to exist and the closer he trudged towards you, the more you began to think that tonight's decisions were a mistake.

You shuffled nervously away but with the same scowl, he tended to your wounds, tutting and reprimanding each one, his small mutterings of disapproval twisting the knife of guilt that was already deep in your gut.

“I was just trying to help you out,” you whispered dejectedly.

“I don’t need help. Not from someone like you.”

Ouch.

“Just stay out of it. I've got enough people to protect, I can't keep looking out for people like you who deliberately put themselves in danger."

Then he was gone, floating out of your room with nothing but a gasp of wind swaying between your curtains. It wasn't just your body that took a beating that night. With your dignity slightly bruised, you decided that the only way you could recover from it was to push on, to not let his words take away all that you had achieved. You were sure you still had plenty more to accomplish, with or without Spider-Man's influence.

Ultimately you ignored Spider-Man's warning and continued to take it upon yourself to keep playing the wannabe hero. You were determined to prove him wrong, to show that you can rise to the occasion and prove that your mental shield is just as strong as your dedication.

A week and a half of convalescence passed by before you were back to your old habits, tapping into NYPD radio frequencies and listening out for reportings. Morally quiestionable, but it was all for the better.

Only one of note came through; a drug exchange, two known perpetrators. Easy.

And it was. You had the two pinned and tied ready for the police to collect them two minutes before they arrived. You were gone before then, not leaving a single trace of your presence. Pride smothered the pain and you walked home that night looking up at the bright stars in the night sky as if looking into the whites of Spider-Man's eyes, and gleamed brightly, perhaps with a twinkle of complacency.

Proved you wrong.

Little did you know, from the shadows and the dark contours of the tall buildings, he was actually watching you, following you. But of course, you didn't have the same spidey-senses as he did, so how could you possibly know he was there? He shook his head because that was the issue, you couldn't do half of the things he could, you were so ill-equipped, so normal, how could you possibly think that you could keep doing these dangerous things?

He swung away. He had more pressing matters to tend to.

~~~~

That drug exchange you stopped? Yeah, wasn't actually as simple as a drug exchange. It was two members of a dangerous cartel exchanging stolen intel from the NYPD. You were the reason why the NYPD found out they had a mole who had been stealing from them.

Yet they blamed Spider-Man. The only one they deemed capable enough of taking down two of their most dangerous members, and definitely not you.

It was then you learned that your actions had consequences because on the next night of exercising your vigilante hobby, the police had reported that Spider-Man had been ambushed, taken, held hostage and subjected to torturous methods of interrogation.

Your stomach dropped and your mind pleaded for repentence but was soon overtaken by a rage of retribution. It was dangerous, reckless, idiotic even to get involved. But Spider-Man had save your life once. It was time you returned the favour no matter how much Spider-Man would have repulsed the idea. The words swirled in your head. 'Just stay out of it.'

No. Not this time.

Conventiently, the interrogation was being held in the old, abandoned building you used to call your high school and it gave you the upperhand. It was likely that neither the cartel nor the police knew about the broken removeable fence at the far end of the sports ground. It was your way in.

Voices echoed from the gym hall.

"How did you know?!" Whack. A punch to Spider-Man's gut. "Who informed you?!" Screaming. Scratching from Spider-Man's throat along with incessant murmurings of I don't know I don't know.

While guilt thrummed through your veins, you needed to keep your cool, needed to figure out a way to get Spider-Man out safely. And quickly. What would Spider-Man...

No. What would you do?

From the bleachers, your eyes caught sight of the four big speakers hung at the corners of the room, the same speakers that voiced the principle's announcements during class. You had your idea, and you set your feet quickly into motion.

It was the perfect distraction. Thankfully there was still some power left in the old building, just enough to project the sound of the radio pressed against the microphone and left just enough time for you to make your way back to the gym hall where Spider-Man was being held.

Once the enemies had realised that there was someone else lurking among the hallways, your opponent numbers dropped from ten to two. Which was much more manageable.

Darkness and stealth was on your side but the pressure of time was weighing heavy. You had to act now. Filled with adrenaline, you took your chance and struck leaving the two enemies stunned enough to untie Spider-Man and drag him towards the emergency fire exits before the others returned. It was a fight like no other, exchanging hits, kicks and punches with equal hatred. But you had learned from the best.

You knew that as soon as you got out, you were on the home stretch. Your escape was becoming more and more plausible.

Despite your involvement, despite going against his word, Spider-Man still clung to you like his bloody, beaten body depended on it.

"C'mon," you strained, heaving underneath his heavy body as you trekked across the playground. "You can make it."

"Why are you here? I thought I told you to stay away." His voice was so hoarse from screaming that it was reduced to just a rumble coming from his throat, yet it was still somehow laced with frustration. You winced.

"Returning the favour."

Spider-Man heaved a painful breath, fighting to find his next words. "You shouldn't have."

You didn't reply.

You had whole-heartedly intended to return Spider-Man's favour in its entirety. Being unexpectantly successful in saving him, your next step was to tend to his wounds just like he did with you. But the second you were able to set him down, surrounded by the safety of the police, Spider-Man didn't wait one second before he reached upwards, extended his web and flew away, leaving you behind without a second glance.

Gutted. Absolutely gutted. Let down. Heartbroken.

Frozen, you had watched him disappear into the night feeling a void, a crater of emptiness dwelling in the pits of your stomach, swallowing up every particle of pride and achievement you thought you deserved. He ripped that all away from you.

Of all the enemies you had faced, of all the challenges you took on, the pain you had endured, no one had left you so emotionally defeated quite like Spider-Man had. Your hero. Your hero no longer. The holy image you had of him had shattered.

You fought with yourself so much over the incident that your mind was in ruin. One side told you that you exuded so much pride in yourself that it smothered his, leaving him embarrassed. Spider-Man saved by a random nobody? People, beside Spider-Man, would begin to question his capabilities. It would destroy his reputation.

But on the other, would it have killed him to thank you?

You soon learned not to care anymore. It had been weeks since you last saw him.

The door of your apartment softly clicked shut behind you as you trudged in with your groceries, juggling them all within your hands. It was a matter of time before the weight toppled and the loose apples went rolling across your floor, now bashed and bruised. Broken. No good. You barely had the motivation to pick them up, in fact, you barely had the motivation to do anything anymore. The fact that you had even left your house to shop was surprising in itself considering you had condemned yourself to your apartment. After all, Spider-man had abundantly made it clear that you were good for nothing. You had failed to learn the lesson he was trying to teach you all this time. Why exert yourself to do any good if it was just going to leave you equally as miserable?

After settling your groceries upon the counter top, you eventually set about picking up the apples, not even bothering to flick the main light on. The metal lid of your bin flapped open and--

"Don't bin them!" A voice came from behind you. You shrieked, whipping around to see a body standing by the edges of your kitchen. The lights came flickering on and standing there, to full height, was Spider-Man. He was fully suited, fresh, colourful, inviting.

Still frozen to the spot, he calmly stalked closer to you, plucking an apple from your hand and inspecting it. He gave it a quick clean against the fibres of his suit. "Nah, definitely not worth throwing away." Without hesitation, he casually lifted the bottom half of his mask to just below his nose, revealing only his mouth that bit into the apple. It seemed silly to admit, but you realised that there was indeed a human underneath that suit.

"What...what are you doing here?"

"Having an apple," he quipped. Your eyebrows quirked inwards, clearly not the answer you were searching for. You rephrased.

"Why are you here?"

He ignored your question and took a stroll around your kitchen, perching himself up onto the bunker, legs swinging childishly. "That's the thing about apples. They can endure a little bumping, a little rough-and-tumble, but they're still good on the inside."

You studied him carefully, analysing every word he said, every movement he made. Nothing about him stayed true to the Spider-Man you saved weeks ago. What was going on? Where is all this coming from? You remained on your toes until you discovered his motive.

"You've been keeping quiet it seems." His tone dropped, as did his informality and something more serious stepped in.

"Isn't that what you asked of me?" You could've done without the sneering, but given the heartbreak he had caused you, it was justified.

"Multiple times. But it never stopped you before. Why now?"

"Because..." you turned away from him, ripples of your misery washed through you. You took a deep breath and blurted out the truth like it was releasing the shackles that had been quietly binding you. "Because all I wanted to do was help you out. Not once did you care or appreciate it. Not once have ever said 'thank you'. That night..." He knew the one you were talking about. "I realised that no matter what I did, that was never going to change. So why bother."

He hopped off the bunker taking another bite from his apple. "Why would I do that, hm? Why would I thank you?"

You stared at him, incredulous. Your temper was begging to boil. "Because it's what people do when someone goes out their way to do something for them?! A stranger no less. Someone with zero obligation or commitments to you."

"True. But if I were to thank you, if I were to tell you that I had appreciated everything you did to help me out, if I were to thank you for saving my ass, would that not be encouraging of the thing I told you not to do?"

"I--"

"I let you do what you felt like you needed to do for a while, but the moment you got hurt I had to step in, I told you to stay out of it." He had sauntered over, standing within an arm's reach of you but you didn't falter.

"Why?"

"Because!" He bellowed. You flinched, his temper now matching yours. "You have no obligation or commitment to me! You don't need to do any of those things for me, yet you do. If I had let you continue believing that it's all okay to put yourself in harm's way, that it's okay to get hurt, or worse, killed, for me, then I would never be able to forgive myself."

For once, you didn't have the words nor the courage to counter his argument. Moments went by standing under his shadow, watching as his temper simmered to a look of pure despair. "Look," he said, quieter, more level headed. He placed his apple onto the counter beside him and bravely raised his hands to come either side of your face. Your heart skipped a beat. "I see the goodness in you, I really do. It's hard to come by these days. I don't want to see that being destroyed by some shithead on the street."

You averted your eyes but he only just followed your line of sight, somehow desperate to let this message sink in. "Promise me you'll keep yourself safe and leave the ass-kicking to me, alright? Be my good apple."

He mirrored the smile that found its way to your lips, inches away from his own. "Promise me?"

"I promise."

"Good." In a swift movement, he lured your head down until your forehead is met with a kiss, soft, sweet. Your eyes flutter shut for no more than the few seconds after he kissed you and when they open, they find his chest. He still kept you there, close to him, ensuring you felt the words that his lips brushed against your skin, over the scar you had obtained on one of those fateful nights. "You saved my life," he whispered, as if reminding himself. "I am forever in your debt. And be that as it may, please, please, don't do it again."

"Okay."

Spider-Man slowly pulled away, taking one last bite of the apple before pulling down his mask. He made a turn towards your open window, the way he came in, but not without a boyish chuckle, running a ragged hand through your hair and teasing it softly.

"My good apple."

a/n: wtf was this hahahahaha good apple? christ.

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #spider man #tom holland #tom holland fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker dabble #peter parker shorts #mcu #fluff

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patanahinkyun · 4 months

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*credits to owner of gif- u r amazing

tom holland x reader-

fluff ‘cause life is sad enough already

You were startled out of your slumber upon hearing a loud crash that seemed to originate from the kitchen. Harshly rubbing your eyes in effort to regain consciousness, you sat up on the bed, feet softly padding down through the archway of the bedroom.

The cause of the crash was, unsurprisingly, your overtly clumsy boyfriend, who had managed to drop both the plate and glass water bottle he had tried to hold together. He now stared guiltily at you, adorably sort of jumping over the shards of glass that now lay scattered on the floor, as he took you into his arms, mumbling a soft ‘sorry’ into the depths of your hair.

You couldn’t help but let a smile overtake your face, heart beating as you took in his presence, after having been apart from him the whole day. You both cleaned up the mess and Tom comfortably settled onto the dining table as you reheated the food.

Setting the warm food in front of him, you sighed as you rested your hand chin upon your hand, watching him practically gulp it down. He started animatedly narrating the things that happened on set, you contributing an enthusiastic nod when you felt him pause.

Mere minutes passed before your vision slowly started to blur and your eyes drooped shut. He looked up, just in time to see your hand drop from under your chin as it almost violently banged the surface of the table, as a gasp tore from his throat.

Amazed to find you were still out cold, Tom was the one who sighed this time, quickly finishing up his food before lightly picking you up, careful not to wake you, a feat that seemed almost impossible at the moment. He laid you down on the bed, barely controlling his burst of laughter seeing the trail of drool that had started to emerge from your mouth.

Quickly taking off his sweatshirt; he practically ran to the bed, switching on the heater in course, as he finally ended the day, with you in his arms.

#marvel #tom holland fanfiction #fanfic #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland #fluff #short reads #cute

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verxn · 1 year

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Sick day

Description: you’ve been keeping quiet about you being sick with a little cold you’ve caught because you didn’t want Tom to stop everything he was doing just to take care of you, that is until he still finds you in bed.

Pairing: Tom holland x black fem reader

Note: just another shitty writing :-(

Tom woke up and looked around the room, everything seem a bit…off, usually y/n magenta silk bonnet would be on the dresser next to the scarf she puts on before bed, her clothes would be thrown on the end of the bed and there would be 3 pairs of shoes since she can’t seem to decide what to wear.

Tom looked to the side, to see his wife sleeping peacefully, her beautiful dark skin shined because the light shined through the curtains. Her hair was wrapped up or so she thought, her box braids slipped out of the bonnet and scarf. Y/n started to cough in her sleep, it went from small coughs to being awoken up from coughing.

“Hey honey, you okay?” Tom said to his wife while running to her side. She nodded still coughing, she then pointed to the little trash can across the room “hand me that” she said in between the coughs

Tom got up and put the trash in front of his wife as spit in the trash. “Yuck” y/n said putting the trash to the side of the bed “y/n are you sick?” Tom asked rubbing her back “yeah but I’ll be fine in no time, you can continue your work, no need to worry” she said with a weak smile

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, you can barely move” he said with a concerned look painted on his face, she frowned because she knew this would happen. “I’ll be right back” Tom said while grabbing his phone and walking out of the bedroom.

Y/n sighed and laid back down in bed, before she knew it she was gone, Tom walked back in and saw her sleeping quietly. He tucked her in and tried to at least put her braids back in the bonnet so they won’t get messed up.

He kissed y/n’s forehead and exited out the room to make some soup for her.

When he was finished he brought the hot bowl of soup and some crackers to her, placing it on the nightstand beside the bed, he tapped her. “Honey wake up, I made soup” he said softly

Y/n sat up groggily and sighed, she rubbed her eyes tiredly and looked at the soup. She grabbed the bowl and started to eat some, she ate half the soup and some crackers.

Then proceeded to lay back down, her husband looked at her while she drifted back to sleep, tom placed the damn near empty soup bowl back on the nightstand and sat down at the end of the bed watching over y/n as she slept peacefully.

This song was kinda my inspo….it was literally playing when I was writing this🧍🏾

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pbnjparker · 2 years

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cuddles | t. holland

an: just a cute fluffy short blurb w tom <3 love u guys sm and again after 295023 times im so sorry for lagging :( ive got two more weeks left of my term and only get to rest for one week before going into my summer term!

pairing: tom holland x fem!reader

“You look extremely adorable right now,” Tom said lighting tapping your nose, “It’s hard to lay here, in your arms and not want to kiss you.”

You smiled and move closer to him, “I won't say not to any kisses.” You mumbled, “I’m sure you wouldn’t.” He laughed, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I’m so lucky that I get to have you in my life,” You smiled, “I really don’t know where or who I'd be if I never met you.”

Tom rubbed your back soothingly, “I love you,” He said pressing another kiss on your forehead, “I can’t wait to see what the future has in store for us.”

Before you know it, Tom had already fallen asleep and you felt yourself falling asleep too. You pressed a small kiss on Tom’s cheek, “Good night sweet angel.” You whispered, “Good night love.” He said before pulling you in closer to him.

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rawdickulousreturn · 1 month

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#tom holland #zendaya #short king #short men #shorties #short kings #meme

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riordanness · 8 months

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coffee… at midnight [p.parker]

1.4K wordcount

warnings: none

requested: no

Thank goodness for that one boy… I think to myself as I breathe a sigh of relief as the final customer in the line walks out the door of ‘Swift Beans’, the small cafe/corner store I work at every night after school, to save for college next year.

I wouldn’t say that I hate customers, exactly, but large rushes will never, ever be something I enjoy.

Everything about them frustrates me. The stress of so many orders at once? The mess that it leaves everywhere, because you have no time to clean up during the rush itself? The lack of enjoyable chatter with customers?

Honestly, most of the things about this job frustrate me. Mostly, it’s the endless consistency. I hate routines, especially day-by-day ones. The mundane cycle makes me want to scream.

I let out a long sigh of frustration and exhaustion as I finish wiping down the bench behind the counter, and collect the empty milk cartons to take out back to the bins.

When I come back in, I glance up as the door opens and the little cluster of bells hung above it tinkles excitedly as it announces a new customer.

My face breaks into a smile against my will. If it isn’t my absolutely favourite customer. The brown haired, brown eyed boy started coming in here every afternoon at four fifteen exactly about a month ago, and it is the best part of my day, to be honest.

The boy reaches the counter, but before he can open his mouth to order or even say hello, I grin and recite: “One caramel oat milk latte, small, and a honey mustard sandwich with extra pickles.”

His honestly surprised smile is beautiful, and so worth it. “How on earth did you guess that?” he jokes sheepishly.

I roll my eyes lightly, teasing him. “Oh, I don’t know…” I muse, tapping my forefinger on the side of my jaw. “Maybe because you order the exact same thing every single day, and you’ve been doing that consistently for like a year?”

“Technically, it’s only been twenty-five weeks,” he corrects me, his smile almost a smirk as his brown eyes meet mine.

I laugh. “Exactly.” Throwing his pre-wrapped sandwich at him (I make it early just especially for him at the beginning of my shirt everyday), I make my way to the coffee machine, getting a shot of espresso ready and grabbing a takeaway cup to pour it into.

“So,” he says, stepping closer to me to talk. “How was your day?”

I make a slight face of annoyance as I reach for the red carton of oat milk. “Well, I had to go to high school all day, and then I got stuck in this dump of a shop, as usual.” I pour the milk into the shiny milk jug, and place the steam wand into the milk, the tip just under the surface of the milk.

“Hey, at least you’ve got a paying job,” the boy laughs gently.

Raising my eyebrows, I look up at him. “Oh, that’s right. You intern for Tony Stark, right?”

He nods, suddenly looking adorably shy.

“Hey, nothing to be embarrassed about,” I say. “Even if you aren’t getting paid for whatever it is you do, I bet there’s tons of kids who’d kill to be able to work for Tony Stark. Hell, I’d kill to just be in the same building as him.”

He laughs for real this time, and I feel a little swirl in the pit of my stomach. Something about the sound, about his smile, his eyes…

I blink, shake it off, and return my eyes to my milk jug, remembering that I actually have a job and need to do it. I twist the steam knob, and hear the all too familiar hiss of the hot steam coming out of the wand. I watch as the milk folds into a whirlpool, the little ch ch ch of the steam calming my suddenly rattled nerves.

I finish steaming the milk, and expertly pour it into the espresso shot, swirling the mlk around, mixing it with the golden brown creme, before bringing the top of the milk jug right up close to the coffee, and pouring a perfect heart. I bite my lip in satisfaction.

“Aw, look at that!” He smiles, and I give him an appreciative one in return. “I think you get better at latte art everyday,” he says earnestly.

I glance at him in surprise, my brow furrowing. “You really think so?” I ask. I take a lot of pains with my latte art, watching endless videos on how to improve your milk and pouring techniques, and I like to think to myself I’m improving, but no one, not even my manager has ever actually complimented my art skills.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he says, putting the takeaway lid onto the cup, and taking the first sip, the way he always did before leaving. “Mmm, good,” he says, a phrase I’m very used to.

I suddenly feel brave, and meet his brown eyes. I’ve been dying to know this boy’s name for weeks, spending hours every night thinking about him in my bed. I hadn’t fully allowed myself to believe it before, but today, I knew.

I had a crush on this boy, and I didn’t even know his name. I was a pretty shy girl when it came to talking to people I had a genuine interest in knowing. Customers, I could talk to them just fine. A new kid at school or a cute boy? I was absolutely hopeless. Okay, time to finally be fearless, I think, and open my mouth.

“What is your name?”

He gives me that smile I’ve begun to love so much. “Peter,” he says. “Peter Parker.”

“I’m y/n,” I tell Peter.

Peter smiles at me again, and slides a ten dollar bill across the table towards me. “See you tomorrow, y/n,” he says, before he turns and leaves the store.

I glance down at the money, and the note beside it.

call me, pretty girl?

xxx-xxx-xxxx

-Peter

That night at home, I rush through my homework faster than I ever have before. I shower, yank on my pjs, and sit cross-legged on my bed as I stare once again at Peter’s note. I gingerly pick up my cell phone, and swipe it open.

I type in the phone number Peter gave me. My thumb hovers over the green call button, however. I’m not even sure why I’m so nervous about this to be honest. It’s just a phone call. To a boy. To a very cute boy. A very cute boy who I’ve been crushing on for weeks. Who gave me his number and left me a note calling me ‘pretty girl’.

I bite my lip and press the button, hard.

Holding the phone to my ear, I hold my breath as it rings, once twice, three times.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” I say, a little breathlessly.

“Oh, hey, pretty girl,” he says, his voice warm and soft. “You got my note, I see.”

“You basically handed it right to me,” I laugh. “If I somehow missed it, I’d definitely have to get glasses and I really do not want glasses.”

“Why’s that, love?”

My heart skips at the nickname, and an irrationally wide smile creeps onto my face. “I, um, hate how I look with glasses on. I used to have them when I was little and they looked awful.”

“Nah,” Peter says easily, clueless to the effect he was having on me. “I reckon you’d look really cute with glasses on.”

“You think so?” My voice is weak.

“Definitely.” He was not going to be swayed. “You are literally the prettiest girl I have ever seen. Hell, I go to the exact same store every day after school, even though it’s completely out of my way, just to see your smile.”

I’m smiling now, so big it almost hurts my cheeks. I flop backwards onto my pillows, staring up at the fading and peeling glow-in-the-dark star stickers on my ceiling. “I asked for more hours just to be able to serve you. I learned how to make barista coffees just so I could make yours everyday.”

“I think I’m in love with you, y/n,” Peter says suddenly.

My breath hitches. “I-I think I’m in love with you, too,” I say. “I have been for a while, actually.”

I can almost hear his smile through the phone. “I’m glad.”

We stay on the phone for hours after that, chatting endlessly. And the night after, and the night after that. He still comes into the cafe every afternoon, and I still make him his caramel oat latte. And honestly, I’ve never been this happy to have a daily routine.

#peter parker #mcu #mcu peter parker #peter parker fic #short fic #fanfiction #fanfic #mcu fanfic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #mcu peter parker fanfic #mcu peter parker fanfiction #marvel #spider-man #mcu spider-man #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction

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avalentina · 5 months

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Ava's Holiday Writing Spectacular!

CANCELLED...

I just want to say thank you and I'm sorry.

I recently got a new job and I'm back to full time hours, plus with most of the additional staff being college students, I'm filling in a lot more. I get up in the morning, I go to work, I come home, and I go to bed. That's about it. But the holiday Spectacular will be back in 2024, and it will be EPIC! I plan on finishing everything I planned for this year and adding many more. I love the holidays and writing about them makes me very happy, so here's to 2024 and all the places it will take us! I love you all!

-Ava

HO HO HO Merry Christmas!

Feliz Navidad!

Happy Hanukkah!

Happy Kwanzaa!

Season's Greetings!

No matter what holiday you celebrate, welcome to my Seasonal Writing Spectacular! I hope you love the holidays as much as I do!

This event will feature one-shots and maybe some head cannons, for all of the characters I write for. Feel free to send in requests for it as well! I don't have a posting schedule done for it yet, but I will be making one!

My characters are...

Harry Styles

Draco Malfoy/Tom Felton

Sebastian Sallow

Stefan Salvatore

Loki/Tom Hiddleston

Maybe more???

The first post will be for Harry Styles on December 6th!

Stay Tuned!

And HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

I'm not promising a story a day because hell the fuck no, I'm too busy for that, but we'll see where the winds take me!

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shrineofwill · 5 months

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#shrineofwill #musicians #jazz metal #love music #spotify #youtube #youtube shorts #spiderman #toby maguire #tom holland #andrew garfield #Spotify #sexy superhero

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youandtom2 · 2 years

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OMG YES to the sequel to Contraband AND YES to the little drabbles of soldier!Tom. I can't wait for this!!

EEEEEEEEEE I'm excited tooooooo fuck it here's one for you! Here's how I imagine firearm training would go with Sergeant Holland ;) *set during the contraband storyline*

Ready, Aim, Fire.

"For fuck sake," you quickly mumble to yourself, reloading your small pistol with yet another magazine of 17 rounds. There's a dirty smudge on the lens of your glasses, your headphones sit askew on your head and your uniform scratches even more than usual. It doesn't take the multiple missed bullet holes on the target to know that your head's not just quite in it today, and you don't know why.

The day has run on a little longer for you being the last soldier left in the firing range while the rest of your squadron left a little over half an hour ago. There's no one but you, a puddle of bullet shells by your feet, the wooden dummy and 45 meters of empty space separating you. Your heart is set on making the centre of the dummy's head your primary target; an immediate death shot in reality and you're stubborn enough to not leave until you do it. Just one bullet to the head, that's all.

You take your stance again, legs shoulder-width apart, two hands grappling the pistol with straight, sturdy arms, shoulders bracing to take the recoil. You line up your shot, your gun falling into a blur as your eyes focus on the wooden target at the far end of the range. A steady breath flows easily in and out your lungs as your finger curls around the trigger. You think you've got it this time...

"Too low."

A rumbling, critical voice appears behind you just as you shoot your shot, somehow managing to slot itself in between appearing just a fraction too late and soon enough to predict the outcome.

Fuck. Too low. And a little to the right. You barely hit the shoulder.

Blame it on him anyway.

"Well I would've gotten it if you hadn't thrown me off," you grumble, clicking the gun into safety and whipping around to meet Sergeant Holland who stands with his arms folded and leaning against the entrance of your cubicle. Uncharacteristically, he wears a simple blue, muscle-fit t-shirt paired with his cargo army trousers and sturdy boots. There's something about Sergeant Holland after training hours that always emanates attraction like never before.

Despite it, his expression falls flat with judgement, a challenging brow craning with just an ounce of annoyance at your tone. His eyes flit over to the wooden target meters from the firing range, noticing how the human-shaped target is riddled with charred coin-sized holes, a few magazines' worth at least. But none of fired shots tarnish the pristine wooden oval head.

"So you're not aiming for the head?"

"No, actually." Deny. Deny. Deny.

"No?" He knows you're lying.

"Nope."

"Then go ahead. Headshot. Between the eyes. Right now."

"I--"

"Is there a problem with that, soldier?"

The sincerity behind his tone has you conditioned to shake your head no, swallowing the heavy lump of guilt down and leaving behind a bitter taste of regret. Damn him. He knows fine well you can't make that shot.

Like before, you position yourself as close to the boundaries as the cubicle will allow you and with the sharp raise of your arms, you aim down the barrel of the gun with a feigned confidence, the oval head in your sights. Slowly, when you're almost certain you've got it right this time, your finger curls around the trigger and fires.

You hit the neck. Your closest shot yet. But not close enough.

Defeated, you begin to think it's an impossible shot. Perhaps you should be using a rifle from this distance...

"Your stance is all wrong, your hips aren't positioned correctly and you focus too much on the target that you barely pay attention to where you are pointing your gun."

Fuck off. "I don't think there's anything wrong with my stance, actually. The target is at 45 meters. Accuracy lessens with distance. It'd be pretty hard to aim--hey!"

Sergeant Holland, eyes rolling, snatches the pistol from your hands and assumes the position at the front of the cubicle, and without a moments hesitation, he fires one, two, three, four, five shots in quick succession, absorbing recoil like it is nothing. He barely blinks, barely stops to aim as each shot lands exactly like the last; directly between the eyes. He stands poised, stoic, unbothered by the sheer display of his own skill, one that you would literally kill to have and as much as he aggravates you, you would be lying to yourself if you said that him shooting those five rounds like that wasn't the hottest thing you've ever seen.

Steady, dark orbs find yours again, now twinkling with a certain arrogance he wears as plain as his uniform. You fucking hate it more than having missed hitting that headshot. "Show off."

"Like I said," he hands you back the gun which you take with a sulk. "Positioning."

You whip off your glasses and headphones in a huff. "Whatever. I'm done for the night."

"I haven't dismissed you yet, soldier." This man. "You're not finished here until you hit that target square between the eyes."

You're sure he can hear your teeth grinding together. "Yeah, well we're going to be here all night. I can't make the shot, okay? I can't do it."

"Is that the excuse you're going to make when you've been ordered to shoot and kill an enemy from the firing line? When there's miles of bombs, mines and traps ahead of you, what are you gonna do? Wait it out until one of you get closer? Get real, soldier, that's never going to happen, one of you will have to take the shot and I won't have you being the one falling to your own weaknesses. Not under my watch. Now, take that gun and make the shot."

The frustration is getting the better of you and your confidence is slipping. You hold his glare for just a second too long that it overwhelms the shame, and you cast your eyes downward at the cold, metal gun in your hands. He's right. As ever. You should be able to use this with the best of your ability at the very least. It seems so inconsequential now, but that won't be the case in a couple of years time when you're at the front line, staring death in the face at every turn.

"Sorry."

Wordlessly, he sidles behind you, slipping out of your sight to let the target take lead and with a sigh, you step forward and raise your arms, cramp slowly settling in.

"Lift your arms, they should be in a straight line at eye level--" His presence suddenly surrounds you. Standing directly behind you, his arms slither down the length of yours, teasing them upwards as he lowers himself to share your line of sight. He's so close to you that you could feel the intensity of his breath skimming over your ear just as easily as you can hear it. Yours wobbles the second his warm, earthy scent invades your sense of smell and replaces the burnt lead of empty bullets. He's so close.

"Your hips should be at a 45 degree angle, like this..." Those hands curl around your belted waist yet somehow squeeze even tighter, twisting you ever so slightly to your left. "And bring this leg back a little bit." His voice reduces to a whisper, salacious like the hand that sinks lower between your thighs, salacious like the small gasp in the back of your throat when his palm cups over your cunt and teases with a soft pressure, but no where near as devilish as his decision to divert his hand over the curve of your thigh, pushing it a step backwards.

"Now that you're relaxed..." His cheeks raises into a sinful smirk and it brushes against the heat of yours. "Find the target. Lock onto it."

Teeth sink nervously into your bottom lip. You're trying so hard to listen to his instructions but you're struggling to concentrate, especially when your mind is screaming obscenities about the way his body burns against you, the way his hands tug at your hips, the way your ass sweeps against his hips.

"Focus, soldier." He gently prompts. "Find the target."

Between the eyes. Between the eyes. Between your thighs--Between the eyes.

"Ready, aim, fire."

When you pull the trigger, your arms take the brunt of the recoil but a small percentage of it forces you back just a fraction closer to him. Promptly, you click on the safety before you truly take a look for yourself, and when you find another black, charred bullet hole just millimeters above Sergeant Holland's, your lips split into a smile. "Holy shit. I did it."

Soft lips press themselves tenderly against your cheek, his fingers squeezing with reassurance. "Well done, soldier. A little above where you were instructed to shoot but I'll allow it."

"I can never win with you, can I?"

"Hmm," he hums, softly chuckling. "Don't get ahead of yourself, soldier. You've still got a lot to learn."

"True, but can I at least tell the others I made that shot by myself when they come in tomorrow? Please? It's the only thing I have over them." He leans away ever so slightly with a smirk stretching across his lips and you twist in his arms with a hopeful glint to your eyes.

A strand of your hair gets swept away by his thumb, leaving behind the lingering buzz of a kiss to your forehead. "Don't push your luck."

#soldier!tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #fluff #contraband #tom holland x reader #short fic #tom holland x you

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