TOM HOLLAND as NATHAN DRAKE
in UNCHARTED (2022) - dir. ruben fleischer
Happy 1k! Hi! Could you pls write a blurb where the reader overhears her boyfriend Tom Holland talkin on the phone to his friend about his manager always calling him&how she won’t leave him alone &he calls her clingy. Y/n thinks he’s talking about her. She starts distancing herself to be less clingy& eventually Tom breaks down in tears bc she is being so distant&thinks she’s gonna break up with him &then they talk things out &realize it was a misunderstanding& they cuddle &it’s all cute&stuff🥺
This one became really really long, but I still kept it a blurb. I loved the idea, that's explains the lenght. I hope you like how it turned out!!
Miscommunication || th.
W/c – 971
"Mate, she's so annoying at this point." You were making your way to the bathroom, and as you passed the door to yours and Tom's bedroom, you heard him on the phone.
"I don't know what to do or say." You didn't mean to listen in on his conversation with his friends, but his statements took all your attention.
"No, she won't leave me alone." You wondered who Tom was talking about, but as he continued talking about how "she" was so annoying and clingy, you couldn't help but wonder if he was referring to you. You hoped not, but the more he talked, the more insecure and scared you got.
"Yeah. Well thanks for letting me rent to you, I better get going now anyways," Tom said his goodbyes, and as you heard the silence from the room, you rushed into the bathroom, as if you hadn't just overheard your boyfriend talking shit about you.
If someone had asked how you and Tom were doing, you would in a heartbeat have said that everything was perfect and amazing – No hesitation. But things are never as perfect as they seem. You thought Tom was happy, but you were proven wrong by that phone call.
You were obviously too clingy. So the next few days, you tried to distance yourself, hug him less, text less, and you let him be by himself when he was sitting on the couch with a script in hand, normally you would have joined him, and cuddled into his side until he gave you the attention.
Thinking back to all of these different moments, you began to understand where he came from. Maybe you were too clingy. And that's why you stopped. You would do anything to save yours and Tom's relationship.
"Darling," Tom called out for you, as he entered the living room where you were sat watching a random show on Netflix. "I'm going out with the boys." He gave you a quick peck on the cheek.
"What's up?" Tom asked a minute after he had pulled away. He knew you very well, and was always the first to know when something was wrong, he just didn’t know what.
"Nothing," you answered immediately, giving him a small smile. "Go have fun."
"Are you sure?" He asked one last time.
"Yeah, go have fun." Tom knew he wouldn't win this argument, nor would he find out why you were this distant. So he left the house with no other comments.
Tom had felt your absence for a time now, but he had no idea what had caused it, he also didn't know how to bring it up to you. He felt as if you purposely ignored him, and went on with your days as if he wasn't even there.
He couldn't pinpoint the last time you had spent some private time together, other than sleeping and eating of course, but there wasn't much interaction there either.
If Tom was being honest, he was scared that your absence was a sign of your boredom with him. And he couldn't help but wonder if you would break up with him, and that was the last thing Tom wanted.
Tom had been sitting on the couch for more or less the whole day, and then at some point in the evening, you had decided to join him – well in the living room at least. You were sitting on a chair with a book in hand, and hadn't even looked at Tom as you found comfort in your seat, and it was killing him.
This had been going on for some time now, and he was tired of it. If you wanted to break up with him, he would rather just get it over, instead of having his heart broken more for every time you ignored his presence.
"What happened?" Tom finally breaks the two weeks long silence that had been between the two of you. He was tired of the loneliness, he wanted you back.
You were a little surprised by his sudden outburst, but replied with the same word you had been using nonstop. "Nothing." As the words left your mouth – without even looking at Tom –, he could feel his eyes filling up with tears.
"No! Something is wrong, and you are ignoring it," he said as he stood up from the couch. You looked up from your book, eyes meeting his, but you didn't say anything, so Tom decided to ask the question he had been dreading this whole time. "Are you breaking up with me?"
If the words in itself didn't hurt you, the look on Tom's face and his breaking voice definitely did. He looked so broken and sad, and you felt the guilt build up in your stomach.
"No," you told him, as you stood up as well, standing in front of him, hand reaching out for his.
"Then why are you acting like this?"
"Because I thought you were tired of me." As you said so, Tom's facial expression changed completely. "I overheard a phone call, and you said how I was too clingy, and annoying, and that I wouldn't leave you alone."
"I was talking about my manager, not you." Tom finally pulled you into a hug, and kissed your forehead. "I'm not annoyed with you. Never have, never will be. I love you," he told you sincerely as he kissed your cheeks.
"I'm so sorry I read into things too much." You swiped your finger across his cheek, wiping away a fallen tear.
"So just to be clear, you're not breaking up with me?" You were quick to shake your head, and give a salted tear kiss.
"I'm not breaking up with you." You said as you pulled away, just for Tom to pull you back in.
TOM HOLLAND as NATHAN DRAKE
— Uncharted (2022) dir. Ruben Fleischer
And They Lived Happily Ever After
Epilogue of the (Y/n) Lively-Reynolds series
Tom Holland x Singer/Actress!Lively-Reynolds!Reader
Summary: (Y/n) Lively-Reynolds and Tom Holland get their happily ever after. It goes about as well as you can imagine it.
Warnings: uuh the end there got a bit on the steamy side so just some nice like snogging and plenty mentions of honeymoon sex and nudity, but otherwise you’re good, switching POVs so you’ll get to see everyone appreciating their love, and you’ll get to see the ceremony from so many people’s eyes, including some you haven’t seen yet ;)
Word Count: 3.4k words
Estimated Reading Time: 15 minutes
A/N: I’m not crying, you’re crying, shut up. This is a really emotional moment for me. My second series is finally over!! I started this accidentally, and it took me ages to finish, but I don’t regret a single second of it. It brought me so much happiness, and I loved reading your thoughts and comments as time went on. I only hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did <3 Just wanna send a million thank you’s to @the-girl-in-the-chair for being my test person and the one I could always talk to when it comes to this series, I love you so much Lana, you’re the beeest
I was picturing this dress (mostly cause it has pocketssss) so if you want a visual, here you go)
Also very important: the vows in this were inspired by the PA Series on AO3 and honestly check it out cause it’s just awesome and those are my relationship goals right there
Masterlist | Series Masterlist
“Alright, sweetheart, deep breaths, everything’s gonna be alright.”
She follows her mother’s instructions, taking in shaky gulps of air.
Breathe in, two, three, four.
Hold, two, three, four.
Breathe out, two, three, four.
Hold, two, three, four.
She nods slowly, then immediately shakes her head.
“No, this is a disaster!”
Blake finally gives up on keeping her dress unwrinkled, sitting down on the floor next to her.
“Angel, everything’s gonna be alright, I don’t even know why you’re freaking out so much. You’re marrying your best friend. You two love each other so much, and you’re gonna be so happy, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“But there are so many people, Mommy. And they’re all gonna be looking at me. You know I’m not good at the mushy stuff when I have eyes on me, they make me nervous. This is supposed to be perfect, and instead, we had to invite a hoard of insignificant Suits and entitled bitches, all for business. We already give them so much, why couldn’t we just keep this to ourselves?”
She sighs, and brings her daughter closer to her body, crushing her in a hug.
“Cause the world sucks, and it’s all part of the business. You and Tom have been on a break from acting for three months now, and you’ll stay there for another year at the very least. These Suits like to feel like they’re important, and inviting them to events like these keeps up a good relationship for when you come back.
“Besides, who cares about them? You’ll have to shake their hands once at the reception when you’re making your rounds and then it’s over. Don’t let a handful of idiots ruin the best day of your life.”
(Y/n) nods, gently wiping at her eyes, then crawls until she’s in front of the mirror.
“Well, at least we know the waterproof makeup works.”
Blake just smiles.
When Ryan first sees (Y/n) he has to pinch his thigh to keep himself from outright sobbing.
“Hey, no! No, no, no, you’re not allowed to cry, because if you cry, I cry, and if I cry, I’ll trip on my dress. These heels are tall, keep yourself together for both our sakes.”
It’s hard, it’s very hard, that’s his little girl, his sweet little daffodil, and she’s gonna sail off into the sunset with the love of her life.
“Alright, let’s do this shit. Try not to fall.”
He’s glad to see that Tom starts crying the second he sees her, so really it isn’t emotional weakness as much as it is the (Y/n) In A Wedding Dress Effect™.
(Y/n) manages to stay composed the whole walk, although her eyes are shining quite a lot.
“Thomas, if you hurt her, I will do something so unspeakably cruel to you that Satan himself will shudder.”
Tom looks at him with a face full of betrayal.
“What if she hurts me?”
“Oh, she most certainly will, you’re much more emotionally fragile than she is. That’s why I know that if you hurt her, it’ll be over something big, and therefore I’m legally allowed to fuck you up.”
(Y/n) kisses his cheek happily.
“Thank you, Daddy, the shovel talk was long overdue.”
It was actually part two of the shovel talk: wedding edition, but she doesn’t need to know that.
Taylor reaches into her purse and passes Harry a tissue, eyes still focused on the happy couple in the front.
This is it, right here.
The way (Y/n)’s looking at Tom like he’s the second coming of Christ. Tom rubbing his thumbs on her hands cause he just can’t stop touching her. The way they keep tapping each other three times, an endless loop of I love you I love you I love you.
This is what she’s been trying so hard to describe her whole life.
It gets her a little emotional…to remember the little girl who used to gape at her, and who’s now a badass independent woman marrying the person of her dreams.
It’s a lot.
And if she feels like she’s one strong gust of wind away from an emotional breakdown, she can’t even imagine how Blake and Ryan are faring.
“I understand that you’ve written your own vows. Tom, if you’d like to go first…”
He nods and clears his throat, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants before grabbing (Y/n)’s again.
“Do you remember the night we met? When you were crying over a movie and I took you to Burger King to cheer you up?”
She rolls her eyes and Taylor can relate, honestly. The whole world knows that story at this point.
He smiles so softly that Taylor’s itching to pull out her notebook and start writing.
“I’ve never told you how I fell in love with you. I always told myself I’d tell you the story in our wedding vows, so here it is. From the moment we left the afterparty, you kept ranting about the movie, about how it’s gonna end, about your theories… And I loved listening to them. There was one moment though, where you just took a huge bite out of your cheeseburger, while mid-rant… and on everyone else, that would’ve looked disgusting, but your eyes were shining so bright, and you were giving me your full attention and that…that was when I knew I loved you. And I would keep loving you for the rest of my life, 'cause there’s no one else in the world who could pull me in as completely as you do, even though there was ketchup dripping down your chin.”
(Y/n) blinks back tears, eyes wide.
“Oh, you fucker.”
That’s love, Taylor’s sure of it.
Now, to be perfectly honest, Harrison thinks those vows were shit.
You looked disgusting but I still thought you were hot?
That’s his big wedding speech?
As the good Best Man he is, he’s considering smacking Tom upside the head and making him start over.
He’s not expecting (Y/n) to like it to the point of tears, though.
Like, I’m sorry, but what the fuck?
He’s lucky he’s an actor cause no ordinary person would’ve been able to keep the confusion out of their face, and you don’t want a hoard of confused people on your wedding pictures.
(Y/n)’s turn now, and hopefully, she’ll do better.
“I promise that your ability to cook, clean, and remind me to eat only make up sixty per cent of why I’m marrying you.”
Harrison has to fight back the urge to sigh and facepalm.
“I wasn’t planning on liking you, let alone falling as deeply in love with you as I did. My plan was to hate you, make all my fans hate you, and do it fast enough that Marvel would have no choice but to replace you with Andrew again.”
From the audience, Andrew laughs.
“But unfortunately for me, you’re not easy to hate, and let me tell you, I tried really hard. You slithered your way into my heart like a particularly stubborn snake and I had no choice but to let you carve out your home within me and prepare myself for the inevitable heartbreak.
“That still hasn’t happened. For some reason, you’ve chosen to ignore the fact that I’m a barely-functioning sarcastic bitch whose favourite way of showing love is through insults and slaps on the ass.
“I don’t know why you chose me, and I expect I’ll be thanking every deity out there for the rest of eternity for putting you in my life, but I know that I couldn’t have chosen a better partner if I had tried.”
She pauses, and Harrison thinks that maybe, just maybe, at least one of them will have said nice vows.
“Also there’s no way I’m gonna live in a world where I can’t bite your ass on the daily, so you better say I do or I’ll end you.”
And he spoke too soon.
Tom still reaches behind him to grab the tissues Harrison was told to bring. Maybe his best friend was dropped on the head as a child, so now everything makes him emotional.
Nikki keeps her eyes firmly on her son and daughter-in-law as they flit around the room greeting their guests. She and Blake have made it into a game of sorts.
Every time (Y/n) wipes her hands on her dress after shaking hands with a Suit, Tom pulls her back by the waist, or the happy couple are asked to kiss, they take a sip of the very expensive and very tasty red wine provided for them.
The sound of clinking glasses feels the air once again and Blake tilts her glass.
And that’s one more glass finished. How far along are they now? Five? Six? She looks around at the empty bottles. Maybe a little bit more.
“Oh, my God, I’m so glad it’s over if I had to deal with another second of that, this wedding would have turned into a remake of Saw!”
(Y/n) slumps down heavily onto the chair, toeing off her heels until she can bring her knees to her chest and lean on the backrest.
“Why did we have to have a wedding? We should’ve just eloped. It would just be us, maybe I’d fly us out to Iceland and we could get married in a hot spring, I’m sure the water would do wonders to relax us, no?”
Nikki fills up her glass and hands it to (Y/n), who immediately downs it.
“Look on the bright side, tomorrow morning, you’ll be on a flight to Syros and one step closer to a full month spent only with your husband and the inordinate amount of cats on that island.”
Nikki’s been there. It’s amazing. They should plan a family holiday there.
Oh, she’s talking out loud now.
“Yes, you are. But Nikki!”
(Y/n)’s eyes brighten, and she feels her arm get grabbed and pulled towards her brand new daughter-in-law.
“You said husband. I have a husband, I’m married!”
Yes, if someone had to marry her sweet little boy, she’s glad it was someone like (Y/n).
“And now, please gather around to watch Mr and Mrs Holland have their first dance as a married couple.”
While they get into place, Harry shares a look with his own husband, sitting primly at the piano, staring back at him.
When (Y/n) and Tom first came to them, shily asking them to sing If I Could Fly as their wedding song, Harry burst into tears. He just loves love, and to be a part of something as monumental as a first dance-
He really should have said no cause Louis just started playing and Harry’s already having a hard time holding back tears.
But the way Tom and (Y/n) stare at each other- that’s how he stares at Louis. And it’s the look he sees reflected back in his husband’s eyes every second of the day.
Love is just such a beautiful thing.
For your eyes only I’ll show you my heartFor when you’re lonely and forget who you areI’m missing half of me when we’re apartNow you know me, for your eyes only
He feels privileged to even be in the same room as them. It’s no secret that (Y/n)’s fiercely private. She loves, deeply and wholeheartedly, but not for others to see. She loves each person in their own special way, pieces of her heart are cut, shaped, and fitted to fit her feelings for everyone around her. But her love for Tom as it’s shown today is a sight to behold.
It’s the sun after long dreary weeks. It’s the first flower bloom after months of cold, harsh weather. It’s seeing the stars out in the countryside after a life spent in the city.
It’s fragile. It’s new. It’s special. It’s lovely.
Harry loves love, but he thinks that right now, he may love their love the most.
Georgia takes yet another sip of the very expensive but very tasty champagne offered.
To be honest, she didn’t want to come. Weddings are boring, if not for the open bar, and knowing that she isn’t really welcomed here isn’t making her feel particularly better. I mean, she’s met (Y/n) all of once and they mostly trash-talked the Kardashians, she can’t have made an important enough impression to be an esteemed guest.
But, the Lighthavens are an important family in the film industry, earning them an invite to the most awaited event of the year, and it would look bad if someone didn’t show up to represent them.
Still, being twenty-seven and single, there are many things she’d rather do than sit by the open bar getting smothered by other couples’ happiness while she wallows in her own misery.
“Whiskey sour, please.”
He turns towards her.
“And refill the kind lady’s glass.”
She barely spares him a glance, eyes still focused on (Y/n), flitting around the room.
“Enjoying the wedding?”
He puts a hand on his heart in fake offence.
“Ouch. As the Best Man, it’s my job to ensure everyone’s having the time of their lives, so tell me, what can I do to make this night more enjoyable for you?”
She turns towards him, taking in the ruffled blonde hair, white shirt sleeves folded up to his forearms, vest and tie discarded somewhere.
“Actually, your job is to stop any upcoming crisis so the groom doesn’t get blamed and inevitably murdered by his newly-aquired wife.”
She steals the whiskey from his hand and starts drinking it. He blinks dazedly but dutifully orders another.
“Your unhappiness could quickly become a crisis, though. As much as she hates to admit it, (Y/n) doesn’t like it when people are miserable, especially when she’s having so much fun.”
“Do you know who I am?”
Panic shoots through Harrison’s eyes. It’s fleeting, and it’s subtle, but it’s real.
“Am I supposed to?”
“You’re telling the truth.”
“(Y/n)’s motivated me to be more honest, although I can’t quite see the benefits she’s always raved about as of yet.”
She smirks into her glass.
“You genuinely have no idea who I am.”
A single mention of him from her lips and his acting career would shoot through the roof.
“I’m sorry. Although from how happy you look, maybe I’m not?”
“What’s it gonna be?”
He’s saved by the bell.
“All the unmarried people out on the floor I wanna see which unlucky bastard will have all grandmas pinching their cheeks and cooing cause they're next.”
A collective groan was heard throughout the crowd.
“If it helps, there’s a hundred-dollar bill in the bouquet that you can keep.”
That got people moving.
Harrison takes a look at her ring finger.
“Not gonna join?”
“If you out me as single, I’ll end you, there’s no way I’m doing this.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve broken whatever fight will undoubtedly come from this bouquet tossing.”
He stands on the sideline, ready to stop things from escalating.
The bouquet lands in his hands.
“Oh, fuck yeah! Even with my back turned my aim is impeccable.”
Tom pushes him forward when Harrison’s reluctant to move and whispers something in his ear.
Georgia doesn’t break eye contact while he walks towards her and takes a lavender rose out of the bouquet.
“Here. It matches your dress.”
Alright so maybe weddings aren’t that bad.
It’s a testament to his patience that Tom waited until the hotel door is closed before pressing (Y/n) up against the wall and getting started on his Wedding Night Ravishing.
“Fuck, I can’t believe we actually pulled it off.”
She mumbles through their kisses and to be fair, he kind of can’t either.
“I swear to God- we got him the perfect fucking girl- if he doesn’t invite Georgia on a date- fuck, baby- I’ll kill him myself.”
He starts trailing kisses down her neck, slowly unzipping her wedding dress.
It’s pretty, and it’s special, and it has pockets, he’s not gonna rip it, thank you very much, he wants to have ‘just got married’ sex tonight.
“Georgia’s a tough one to get to, you said it yourself. He’ll have to work for it.”
She pulls his hair harshly until they’re eye to eye and he moans. His pupils are probably about as blown as hers right about now.
“You had to work for me.”
He licks his lips and her eyes trail on the movement, mouth falling open unconsciously.
“And what a good fucking decision that was.”
And if there’s one thing that never fails to get her going, it’s that.
“How loud do you think you can make me scream before the other residents complain?”
Challenge fucking accepted.
(Y/n) lowers her sunglasses a tad, wanting to take in her husband in all his blazing glory, no filter in between them.
Whoever invented honeymoons was a fucking saint. One month of a near-constantly naked Tom more than eager to fuck her into the nearest solid surface made for a very happy (Y/n).
Currently, she’s sunbathing on a pool chair with a mimosa while Tom is swimming laps in the pool. Or was. Now he’s getting out and the water’s trailing down every single inch of him and suddenly she’s not as thirsty for champagne and orange juice-
“Princess, are you listening?”
Her eyes flit back up to his face.
“Don’t ask me the colour of anything, this isn’t fair, you’re distracting.”
He chuckles and climbs over her, tasting the mimosas right out of her mouth.
“I’m distracting? You’re distracting! Do you know how hard it was to swim my usual laps while you’re just laying here, happy and calm and naked and mine?”
She grins smugly.
“I can feel how hard it was, yeah. I’d ask if you’re up for it, but I kind of already got that answer, so you should just hurry and get it in.”
For a few more glorious seconds, she gets lost in the kiss and in his hands moving along her body, getting so close, so close-
“No, but actually I did get out of the pool for a reason.”
In the back of her mind, she remembers Harry in that one concert saying this is called edging after stopping Kiwi for the millionth time, and the way Tom grabbed her waist and pulled her towards him, smiling in interest.
If she weren’t such a good person, she would have kicked him in the balls for that.
Unfortunately, she needs those, so.
“Haz got a date with Georgia.”
Her jaw drops open and she slaps his arm happily.
“What the fuck, are you serious? Tom! This means it worked! We got them together! We’re the best fucking matchmakers in the world!”
Tom chuckles and flips them over until she’s straddling him, running his hands from her knees to her waist, where they dig in just a little.
Great idea, if you ask her.
“Calm down, darling, it’s just one date.”
“That’s what I said about you, and now look at where we are. We’re married and on our honeymoon.”
His eyes all but sparkle at that.
“We are. We’re married. I’m your husband, and you’re my wife, and we’re married.”
She leans down, can’t stop herself from snogging his face off when he looks so sweet and happy at the prospect of spending eternity by her side.
“And we’re gonna live happily ever after, right?”
“And we’re gonna live happily ever after, princess.”
please do come talk to me about this series. comment, reblog, send in an ask, literally anything, can just be a gif of someone screaming, just ACKNOWLEDGE IT SO I KNOW IT WASN'T IN VAIN
Braces Are Breaking
Summary: Peter Parker does not have much family left, and the small part he has he protects fiercely. When he suspects someone is dating his sister, he’s determined to find out who it is. What he doesn’t expect is to do so under such dire circumstances.
Word count: 7.9k
Pairing: Peter Parker x adoptedsister!reader, Bucky Barnes x fem!reader
Warnings: explosions, mentions of blood and minor injuries, mentions of sex, Peter being a little shit for a good moment
A/N: good of me to not post anything for almost two months just because I couldn’t finish a single story. i have more WIPs than what is acceptable at this point
Peter Parker does not have many people in his life. Not close ones, at least. Or now he does, maybe, with everyone at the compound and the team. But you were first—his sister. It doesn't matter that it's not by blood, he has not known anything else for as long as he can remember. His parents raised you as their own, and Peter loves you no less because of it.
And maybe it is because he used to have so few loved ones, people that he cared about and cared about him just as much back, that he holds onto you so tightly. Now, you're the only family he has. And yeah, Peter can admit that he's started to grow a makeshift family with the people he lives and works with. But you're his sister and that kind of bond is just a tad stronger than anything he has with the rest of them.
You've devoted so much of your time to him, neglecting yourself in so many ways that Peter can't imagine ever repaying you for what you've missed out on. Interests, friends, your safety. He wants, needs, to make sure you're alright. Not only because he feels like he owes you and your parents that, but because you're the most important person in his life. He can't handle losing anyone now that his parents and May are gone.
You both were young when they passed away. And even with Aunt May taking you in as her own, she couldn't always be there. Taking care of two kids cost money that she previously didn't have, and more often than not she worked late nights that left you cooking on a stove you could barely reach just so Peter wouldn't go to bed hungry.
Not many people can blame him for feeling responsible for your safety, for your happiness. Even if he's your little brother, he protects you with a fierceness that overpowers the one an older brother would have. You're careless sometimes and oftentimes forget that you deserve what people crave of you too, maybe more than what all of them take without thought.
Because there came a time when he grew up for once, when he realized what you had sacrificed everyday for your younger brother. When Peter put on that mask, he was no longer depending on your care, and instead he could let you lean on him for a little while.
In the beginning, right after his newfound abilities revealed themselves to him, he would make things easier around the house in any way he could. With time his small acts of kindness developed from fetching your bag of chips from the kitchen without moving an inch to saving you from speeding cars and robbers. That was only once though, because since then Peter has forbidden you from walking alone at night even though you clearly disregard that ban. You're more careful though, he knows that.
You've known what he is for years. And maybe you don't really like him putting himself at risk like that, you even threw a shoe at his head during a particularly loud screaming match after the whole Vulture thing, but you've always been supportive. Too supportive sometimes, to the point where he had to give in and let you force him into moving to the Avengers compound when Tony offered him a place.
It's been hard on him, having you at a college campus hours away while he lives safely secluded in upstate New York. The security measures he nagged at Tony to install at your place did help a bit, he can admit that, but mostly he worries about wether or not you come home safely after walking home from a late class, if people are nice to you, if a frat guy has put something in your drink at some stupid party. Mostly he's scared that his enemies will find you, take you away from him for the purpose of hurting him. Only MJ can take away his worries, and that's just when he has a chance to see her ever since she started her classes at MIT.
Sometimes you come up to the compound for the weekend. Everyone notices how Peter's shoulders become a little less tight, his frown a little less prominent. Peter Parker loves his sister and not a soul has escaped that knowledge. Even Tony can admit, but only to himself, that he feels more at ease too when you're visiting because the goddamn kid can't stop fidgeting during the times you're not around.
Like now, for example, when you've just taken the drive back to campus after spending the Friday and most of the Saturday at the compound. Peter's been sitting quietly at the kitchen island, silently watching Wanda cook while Steve and Tony bicker on about some boring protocol.
"You lost in there, kid?" Tony asks, interrupting his conversation with the Captain abruptly.
Peter's eyes flicker hastily over to the man, clearing his throat from the thickness his hour of overthinking has brought. Not a word has been uttered, which is scarily abnormal for the young man. Usually the kitchen would be filled with seemingly endless descriptions of the latest version of some video game Tony could not give a damn about.
"I think Y/n is seeing someone," Peter blurts out.
A soft 'what?' escapes Wanda's lips, turning around with a wooden spoon in her hand, dripping tomato sauce into the pot while Steve raises an amused eyebrow. They share a look, a knowing one, that Peter misses entirely because he is focused on the warm evening light flickering outside of the window.
"What makes you think that?" Steve asks, clasping his hands over the counter.
Peter shakes his head, trying to rid himself of his frown. He does come across as a pouting child right now, he's aware of that. A kid crying for his mother when she's paying attention to someone else, and you're not his mother. Far from it.
"I don't know, she's just...different. Like it's—sometimes she spaces out when we've talked the past month, but it's like she has this dreamy look on her face. She's thinking of someone," Peter forces out of himself, earning a warm chuckle from the red headed woman at the stove who's abandoned her cooking.
"Could help for her to get some. About time," Tony mutters, dipping his finger into the simmering sauce before Wanda has a chance to stop him.
"Don't say that, Mr. Stark." Peter scrunches his nose, closing his eyes.
Hands are held up in feigned innocence, raised eyebrows accompanying Tony's expression. "No harm done, kid. Was just a matter of time, having her around a bunch of horny college kids. You got a pretty sister, Parker."
"Tony," Steve sighs, sending a warning glare towards the man after seeing Peter's jaw clenched so tightly he's afraid the kid might shatter his teeth.
"I don't wanna think about that," Peter mumbles, gripping the counter in front of him.
Wanda clicks her tongue, uncrossing her arms over her chest to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. "She is a grown woman, Peter. You have to let her make her own decisions," she says. "It's okay to look after her, but there comes a limit where you're crossing boundaries that should not be breached. And I do think she has learned how to handle herself by now."
"I just don't want her to be hurt."
"If it comes to that, we'll help you kick the punk down. But don't judge the guy before you meet him. If there even is one," Steve adds.
Peter nods, running a hand over his face, breathing in deeply. The guy who's stolen your attention better be a goddamn saint. He'll make sure of that.
The rooftop is cold, brisk and windy, as the golden evening light slowly fades into purple skies. You like sunsets, the endless pictures of them in your phone should work as proof enough, but right now all you can think about is the way your skin prickles with the breeze.
Your breath hitches in your throat, a soft yelp escaping your mouth, as strong arms wrap around your waist and lifts you from the ground. Cold metal seeps through the fabric of the sweatshirt you borrowed from him last night, palm splaying underneath the navy sweater over your skin.
"You scared me, Bucky," you say through a giggle, tugging at his arms to let you down.
He spins you around with both hands splayed out over the small of your back, greeting you with a soft smirk that he only reserves for you. Up until two months ago you believed he was incapable of being anything other than miserably grumpy.
Bucky nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in deeply with a hand on the back of your head pressing you into him.
"Missed you, sweet girl," he mumbles, letting his left arm grip your side just a little harder.
"It's been a few hours, Buck. Saw each other during lunch," you say with a soft smile on your lips, because in reality you have no objection against the feeling of Bucky's hands on your skin.
He groans in answer, pressing his lips to your forehead before letting his palms wander up to your face. Your eyelids flutter closed, basking in the gaze of Bucky Barnes that can be warm when he wills it to. It always is around you.
"Hard having you around without laying my hands on you. That punk brother of yours really that big of a problem?" he mutters with a soft grin that tells you he's only half-serious.
"Are you kidding me? You know how he is. I think if he had his way no man would be allowed to approach me before I was thirty," you say.
"Wouldn't object to that," Bucky answers.
"You not included?" You smile.
"Me not included," he says with his lips hovering an inch from yours, turned up into a grin.
And there's nothing more you can revel in than the feeling of Bucky Barnes kissing you with a fever that leaves you weak in the knees and questioning if rom-com love really does exist after all. Bucky Barnes is yours entirely, and if he had his way he would plaster a sign on your forehead that tells everyone that you are his girl, and his only.
It is rather unbelievable, that the hot war veteran from the history books is currently holding you to his chest on a compound rooftop. Your sixth grade best friend would screech in excitement if she knew what you were doing right now. And the media would have a heart attack if they found out that the former assassin with a constant glare on his face can be the most beautiful man on the planet. That he can be so sweet, so tender and loving and gentle that you fear you might cry sometimes.
James Barnes is perfect in the way that he is just enough for you. In reality he is far from perfect as a person—he is rude, stubborn, impatient, self-deprecating, slightly violent and quite impulsive. But with you, for you, he is perfect. The only mishap in your relationship is the inevitable disapproval your little brother is going to have with it. You're quite sure it won't matter that much, the fact that it's Bucky who occupies your mind and time constantly, but more so the fact that any man is doing so.
"I can't believe I'm hiding on a rooftop from my little brother. I was supposed to have left half an hour ago," you say, gazing up at him with your arms thrown around his neck.
"I'll gladly show you off if you say the word," Bucky answers.
You shake your head, a soft smile on your lips that unwillingly betrays the ounce of fear you hold. Peter means everything to you, and it does scare you that he won't approve. He's so overtly critical of everything concerning your safety, including relationships and what not. A man with the history Bucky owns, and his many more years of life experience, could be factors that will leave your brother unhappy with it.
"Let's get you home, huh? Got a long drive ahead of us," he says, interrupting your momentary retreat into your thoughts.
"Us?" you ask.
"Ain't a chance in hell that I'm letting you drive in the dark all alone. Need my best girl safe." Bucky let's his arm travel upwards, over your shoulders before squeezing you to his side. The moment is awfully reminiscent of his days out on the town with a bunch of 40's dolls, a sense of sentimental normalcy that he's not sure he wants back. Having you is much better.
"You're such a sap, Barnes."
Now, Peter wasn't really sure about his predicament about your alleged secret affair. Or calling it an affair would be to exaggerate, and misguide, but secret it was. When he told the people in the kitchen about his worries, they were more of a hypothesis than something sure. But now—now Peter is sure of it.
The way you giggle like a school girl each time the phone calls leaves no doubt in Peter's mind that his sister has a big fat crush on someone. The person even sent you a letter. A letter. He saw it while visiting your place a few days ago, your name written in fine cursive on the envelope. And yeah, maybe it was shitty of him to read it, but what kind of little brother would he be if he didn't snoop through your things?
God, sweetheart, you have stolen my every thought and replaced them until there is none but the picture of you. I long for you each night your head is not resting on my chest, warm and soft in my arms. My beautiful, sweet girl. I have not found, and will never find, the words for what wonder you are.
Who even writes that? He's not sure what kind of person you've got pining after you but it sure as hell isn't someone from this century. Peter didn't read everything because there came a point where he was too grossed out with the lovesick thing going on, and you would surely murder him if you caught him red handed.
He's safe now, though. The whole team has found themselves out on the field behind the compound, engaged in some kind of made up sport with a ball and a bat that in the beginning was supposed to be baseball but quickly lost every rule when no one could agree on them. Granted, it's hard combining 21st century rules with both 40's and Asgardian variants in one single game. And you insisted on avoiding any form of running for as much as you possibly could, resulting in Steve eliminating the element for participants who wished not to.
It's messy and Peter has dirt on his clothes and he's pretty sure there's a stick nestling in Thor's hair. The game has been going on for a good hour, but no one seems to want to stop anytime soon. Most likely the day will end with a bone or two broken and maybe a concussion. He's kind of worried about you, because it seems no exceptions are made for none-Avengers when it comes to sports brutality. If it wasn't for Bucky grabbing a hold of your arm at the last second, Thor would have barged right into you.
"Hey, watch your step, Odinson! Almost knocked over Y/n!" Bucky shouts, a large hand still holding onto your shoulder while you brush away grass from your leg with a chuckle.
"It's fine, James," you say, gently stepping away from him before the effect of his touch starts being much too noticeable.
Thor turns his attention towards your figure, allowing a sorrowful frown adorn his usually carefree face.
"I apologize, Y/n. It was not my intention to, uh, 'knock you over'," Thor says, nose scrunching when he tries to correctly rephrase whatever words Bucky used to describe the near accident.
"You don't have to apologize, Thor. 'S only grumpy man over here with the problem." You nod towards the scowling soldier behind you with a teasing smile.
You spot your brother chuckling from twenty feet away, abandoning the trio you've found yourself in to return to your post. Maybe you're just paranoid, but in moments like these you feel like Bucky's care for you becomes blatantly obvious. So obvious that Peter will notice something is going on between you and the 100-something-year old man.
"C'mon, let's get the game going again!" you shout, jumping in your place not out of excitement, but for the reason that you're growing increasingly cold in the wake of dusk setting upon the compound grounds.
A thoroughly hard ass game of constant need to display overconfidence in one's ability to run a lap around the field and competitive brawls of strength play out in the next twenty minutes. You're all sweating and panting—even Natasha who you never thought got winded. Quite frankly, your lack of superhuman abilities or any kind of sportsmanship is evident on your crouched figure in the middle of the field.
"You okay, sweetheart?" Bucky whispers, barely even leaning down enough for you to hear.
"Yeah...yeah, just a little tired," you breathe out. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom."
Bucky glances out over the still excitable players of the evening, assessing wether or not anyone would miss him if he came with you. He's missed having his hands on you the entire day, all because of your punk of a brother constantly popping up whenever he has a sinful thought of you walking around in his sweatshirt. And he never likes leaving you by yourself, wether or not it's for a mere two minute walk to the bathroom.
"Alone," you stress with a smug smile on your lips as you start walking backwards, letting your fingers brush his for just a second.
Bucky's face falls, a glare growing that normally isn't reserved for you but comes out in moments like these, when you deny him time with his precious doll. But for the sake of your wishes, he schools himself with a glance that he hopes sends the message of 'you're gonna pay for this later'. No matter how much he whines jokingly about the secrecy of your relationship, he really does understand your hesitance. After all, he hasn't found the courage to tell Steve yet about the woman he's head over heels for.
Maybe the jerk has noticed the slight change in mood whenever you're around, and the way an anxious night of thrashing and nightmares still comes with an okay day after, or how he has responded with a murderous growl at each of Natasha's attempts to set him up. Bucky understands that in those moments, it might be obvious how fucking whipped he is for someone, for you. Back in the days his charms were temporary and a means of having a pretty dame on his arm wherever he went, but rarely did it ever manifest as any real affections.
Perhaps that is why he can't help but follow your figure becoming smaller with each step, already feeling the nervous tick in his limbs that comes with each of your absences. Those never really disappear until he can have his arms wound tightly around you, squeezing your soft flesh, trailing his lips over your skin, pushing himself inside of your tight heat. He's never as at peace as he is when you're near. It's torture knowing that whoever and whatever can hurt you when he's not there to protect you, and in that context he guesses he can relate to Peter.
Sometimes he feels guilty for worrying so much, being so unbearably overprotective that the constant nagging you hear is only a sliver of what runs through his mind. It's never that he does not believe you can take care of yourself—because you're so intelligent and kind and lovely, determined and frightening when you want to be. There hasn't come a time where you can't hold your own, and he beams with pride each time you get a chance to stand up for yourself.
Things have changed during his lifetime, and what used to be a man's duty is now merely an option. But whatever he feels for you, what rage and fury grows inside of him at the thought of your safety being severed, is not the result of societal expectations for what a man is to be for his woman. It's instinctual, a need and want that he does not think could ever disappear. Not even if you went and did the worst thing imagineable. Not even if you went with another man behind his back or shouted at him that you wish he was dead. Not even if you weren't his anymore.
And for a minute, Bucky gets lost in the game, in the brawl he has going with Sam about wether or not the latter cheated by running before Nat could hit the ball. He forgets for just a minute that you're not there, until the unmistakable sound of an explosion echoes throughout the grounds. It penetrates his skin, waves crashing into his chest as his heart stops beating for just a few seconds. The sound halts the game, forces nearly a dozen of alert gazes towards the buildings.
Wood clashes against ground as bats are dropped and playful happiness turns into guards risen, defense ingrained into the very cells of the people sprinting towards the compound. And maybe some of them have everyone's safety on their minds—the agents, cleaners, Tony, secretaries, Pepper. Any other day, moment, and Bucky would think about that too. But you're not here.
Lungs burn after seconds much too few for someone like Bucky to feel winded. Perhaps it's the growing panic, festering in his chest and eating away at the air that used to reside inside of him. He doesn't even see what passes him by, who follows him or keeps up or where people are going. The compound turns into a white tunnel, last streaks of sunshine coloring the walls pink and orange and Bucky doesn't see it even though you would stop a whole conversation just to point it out because you're not here.
You're not with him, you're somewhere inside of the smoke and splinters and inevitable fire that must have turned everything to dust. The thought is the only image inside of his mind, displaying so clearly that he's not sure if he's just imagining the worst or if the picture is what he sees in front of him. Not even the faint sound of your younger brother swinging past him registers, because Bucky is pushing everything and everyone out of his way as he accelerates towards the bathroom in the common area.
The fire alarm blares loudly, red lights coloring the hallways until it looks apocalyptic. Guns are raised in front of agents, careful movements and guards risen as they sneak through the compound in search of the source. There has never been an infiltration for as long as the construction has stood. Endless protocols have been worked through, demonstrated, picked apart. Every single person in the compound knows their role in the situation of an attack, but it seems everyone is a little out of place.
The smell of smoke creeps into Bucky's nose before he sees it. Coughs, deep and raspy and painful. Hushed talking and a shout. A nervous chuckle, but it doesn't matter to him because his ears are only searching for your voice. Black-clad strikers round the corner, attempting to hinder him from venturing any further. He can't hear what they're saying, and he doesn't give a single fuck wether or not he's allowed when you're not by his side.
His screams roar through the hallways, tears through the increasingly thick air that brings tears to his eyes and threatens to draw coughs out of his lungs.
And he keeps screaming, he shouts your name as loudly as he can because you're not answering and he can't find you. The trail of smoke grows thicker with each step, until he's closing in on the sterile white laboratory that he never steps a foot in because places like that hold too much weight in his memories.
It's empty, glass shattered and a small fire brewing and he sees that the explosion happened here but he still can't let himself calm down enough to reason. Angry shouts from the hallway, muffled by the blaring alarm, are pointed at the soldier as they desperately try to get him out of the area.
It takes a minute for him to sweep through the entire wing. And maybe he would have felt relieved if he didn't know that whoever caused the explosion is still out there, still amongst the walls of the compound. It forces him out, past the guards and towards the living room in the residential area.
And when he hears the voice of his friend, the friend that he's been forced to drag around for a century, it does nothing to calm him down, and nothing to ease the fear that you would already be too far gone to save.
"Buck!" Steve shouts, sprinting through the hallway towards the manic soldier. "They're in the living room!"
His light jog slows down as he nears Bucky, putting a warm hand on his shoulder before leading him out of the smoke. And perhaps Steve notices the tension in Bucky's shoulders, the incessant beating of his heart that has nothing to do with his frantic running. He makes no move to mention it.
Steve is much more at peace than Bucky. The latter has no room to think about the reason behind it, he only sprints towards where he only hopes he can find you. He needs you to be there, actually.
And then he enters the living room with frantic eyes searching through the small swarm of people gathered, searching for you. Some rookie agent is pushed out of his way harshly, in the way that Steve will scold him for later, but Bucky quite frankly doesn't give a damn about that right now. He'd take any scolding from the punk if it meant getting to you faster.
You can hardly breathe from the tight hold Peter has around you. Sometimes he forgets his strength, you do every now and then too, but in moments like these you allow him the reassurance he craves. If it means squeezing the air out of your lungs for him to wind down, you will gladly give it to him.
"I thought you were in there," he mumbles, clinging on just a little tighter while you try to suppress a wince.
"I wasn't. I'm okay," you whisper.
"You're not allowed to go anywhere alone now. Always gotta have someone with you," Peter adds, much to your dismay.
"It was an accident, Peter!" you exclaim, distancing yourself just slightly. "You're goddamn stubborn, d'you know that?"
The pouting glare on his face tells you much more than any words would, luckily, because Peter is ripped away from your line of sight and pushed aside before he has the chance to defend himself from your accusations. You barely perceive the offender before cold and warm arms wrap you up against a hard chest, a deep shudder escaping his lips while the scent of your shampoo takes over his senses.
"Hey!" Peter shouts, throwing his arms up in the air.
Bucky makes no move to acknowledge the now upset youngster. No, Bucky grabs your face and presses a wet kiss against your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw. His lips on your skin draws a faint giggle out from your mouth, nose scrunching in that gorgeous way Bucky can't get enough of.
The blood trickling down your forehead doesn't register until a few seconds later. A frown so deep it just might become permanent carves onto his face, letting his hands tilt your head until the wound is clear in front of him.
"You're bleeding," he says through a quiet growl. "You're hurt."
You gulp, letting a second pass by before your soft palm comes up to Bucky's cheek.
"I'm okay. I just bumped my head into a corner when I heard the explosion," you say softly. "It was just an accident in the lab, no threat. Everyone's okay."
Bucky barely listens to the words you're saying. All he sees is the indentation in your skin, taunting him with his presence somewhere else than by your side. He doesn't give a damn wether it's a paper cut or bones protruding out of your flesh—it's not supposed to be there.
His thumb runs over the small wound, collecting the drops of blood through a quiet wince from your lips. It smears on your skin, inching up towards your hairline.
"I need to clean up your wound," Bucky says mechanically, like he's retreating further into that place in his mind that festers on his misery and tells him that everything is his fault.
"What the hell?"
A collective mumble sounds through the room, eyes turned your way that you don't even have to ignore because Bucky takes up your entire line of sight. You see his glazed over expression. Your lips are pressed to his cheek the following second, fingers running softly over his stubble.
"I'm okay, James. I promise," you whisper, leaning your forehead against his and he flutters his eyes open.
"Oh my god," Peter gasps. "You fucking—you're dating my sister?!" he shouts, turning around abruptly with a groan.
"Hey, language, ladybug. There's seniors you gotta respect around here." Tony gestures around towards the two super soldiers, one entirely too engrossed with the presence of you in his arms to take offense.
It's Sam's desperate attempt to keep his laughter at bay that forces your gaze away from Bucky. For just a minute you forgot the presence of everyone else in the room, forgot that what the two of you have was supposed to be a secret. Somehow you haven't avoided the effect, the one that throws you into a space only you and the person in your arms can reside in.
"You're dating Bucky?" Peter asks, gesturing wildly to the man.
Your boyfriend's arm draws you into his side just a little closer, because while his reason tells him to lay it off for your brother's sake, there's another voice shouting at him to show everyone the pretty dame he managed to lure in.Who he belongs to.
"Buck?" Steve speaks up, a surprised look on his face that can be taken for neither displeasure nor happiness.
"Uh..." you breathe out, covering your eyes with your palm for just a second before you force yourself to meet the eyes of everyone in front of you.
Somehow everyone who's permanent residence is located somewhere else than the compound have been chased away from the room, leaving only the people who's taken your brother in like family.
"I guess...yeah," you nearly whisper. Why you sound so uncertain in the piece of your life that holds the most of your confidence is beyond you, but having a dozen of observing stares on your figure might just do that to someone.
"But he's—Y/n, he's old. It's Bucky, you can't—" Peter stutters, clenched arm on his hip with the other still pointing towards the now offending man with his hands on your body.
"Better get on with it soon, Parker," Tony says with an eyebrow raised.
What happens next you're not sure anyone could have predicted. The white strings fly through the air in a speed your eyes can't comprehend. It's not until the web forces Tony's arm to slam against the wall behind him that you register what Peter just did.
"Oh my god. Peter!" you scold, slipping from Bucky's hold with eyes bursting out of their sockets. You can't fucking believe he just webbed Tony to the wall like a petulant child.
"Well, that's a new side of you," Tony mumbles, breaking out of the sticky nets with the help of Steve, who casts a disapproving glare Peter's way.
The boy has the decency to look just a little embarrassed, with flushed cheeks and ears on the verge of red, but you can see it clearly on him that he doesn't regret it. He would probably do it again, because you know that boy and right now he's most likely finding it hard to control his feelings. He'd probably punch someone if he had the chance.
"Hey, kid," Bucky says, taking a step forward and it's evident that the move was a mistake. Peter inches back with a hardened frown on his face, jaw clenched so tightly you're slightly worried over the state of his teeth.
Your brother shakes his head, dropping his gaze to the ground. "I just—I need a minute," he mutters. "Sorry," he says bitterly before walking out of the room.
The place falls into painfully tense silence, silence that you can't stand. Everyone is either trying to avoid your gaze, pretending like the wall in front of them is a beautifully constructed artwork that deserves just an extra minute of observation, or blatantly staring at the two of you with a question mark above their heads. The latter is solely reserved for Mr. Stark, of course.
"How long has this been going on?" Sam speaks up, crossing his arms over his chest with a content smirk that he can't quite hide. Gods know how much the jerk has been nagging on Bucky to take a girl out for once, all the while he only longed to get home to you.
Bucky clears his throat, taking a step away from you to lean against the table behind him. You miss the warmth of his presence as soon as he leaves your side, exposing you to the awkward atmosphere of the room. No one is mad, you can see that clearly, more curious with the dramatic circumstances you've found yourselves in.
You hear Bucky tell the awaiting audience with a grumble in his voice. Mostly your mind is thinking of Peter. His reaction is the one you feared, that look of betrayal on his face. It doesn't feel right standing here before you've talked to him despite wanting to prolong it for as long as possible. Peter Parker is a sweet boy most of the time, but there's a temper hidden underneath the surface that comes out every once in a while.
"I'm gonna talk to Peter," you whisper in Bucky's ear, leaning up on your tiptoes.
He gives you a nod in answer. Not much is worse than having all the attention on himself, contrary to the attitude he kept 80 years ago, but he knows you despise it more. He refrains from pressing a soft kiss to your temple, watching you pad across the floor until he's left on the makeshift podium by himself.
It takes you a while before you find your brother rummaging around in the medicine cabinet. His hair is ruffled, he's run his hand through it a few times too many, but the tensing of his back, the straight posture, shows he's not made much progress in calming down.
The doorway is harsh against your flesh as you lean against it, digging into your side and you think it only feels that way because your nerves are running amok. However nerve wracking a presentation in front of the entire class is, it's no competition against talking serious feelings with your brother. Especially not when that brother is Peter Parker.
"What do you want?" Peter seethes, back turned while reading the label on a brown glass bottle.
"Peter, don't be that way. Please," you say softly with a sigh.
He shrugs, shaking his head so subtly you almost miss it. He's stubborn and it will take a lot of pleading from your side to get him to understand. It's always been that way, bargaining and comprising. Ever since you were a child you've been folding for his sake.
"I don't think you're wrong by being upset. I know you—you've always been protective, I know that." You gulp. "And James is older, he is. But not much, not so much that it makes a difference."
Peter grips the bottle in his hand, letting his movements come to a halt as he stares right down at the small letters inscribed on the back of it.
"He's the loveliest person, Peter. He's so good to me," you whisper, unable to stop the corner of your lips from quirking upwards. "I hope that—I want you to see that."
He gulps, tightening his hold on the counter while flexing his arms, rocking back and forth on his heels before shaking his head once more.
"Sit," he tells you without turning around.
"Sit down." He nods towards the counter on the other side of the room. Your eyebrows furrow, but you make no move to disobey his sudden orders.
Your legs dangle as you hoist yourself up, glancing towards your brother as he pulls out cotton pads and band aids from the cabinet above him.
"You don't have to do that. It doesn't hurt," you say, running the pads of your fingers over the blood that's slowly drying.
"Just...let me do this," Peter says through a thick gulp, still avoiding your gaze as he pours sterilizing alcohol onto the cotton in his hands.
It stings as it touches your wound, lurching you backwards just an inch. Peter has a concentrated frown on his face as he cleans away the blood with a gentleness not many people possess. Despite the upset and anger, he finds it in himself to be soft. That's maybe what you love the most about him.
"I'm not mad at you," he mumbles after a good three minutes of silence.
Your eyes flicker up towards him, awaiting for any kind of continuation of his sentence.
"I've known you've been seeing someone for a while now. 'S just...weird knowing that someone else gets that much time with you. Bucky's fine, I guess. Still think he's too old for you, and he's trouble, you know I've told Tony that before—"
With a sigh you lean against your brother, wrapping your arms around him with a squeeze a bit tighter than what's comfortable even for an enhanced person like him. Cutting off his words before he can delve further into the "I like him, but" train. It's the sentiment that matters, right?
"I love you, d'you know that?" you say.
"Debatable," Peter manages to wheeze out.
A soft knock on the doorframe tears your attention away from him, letting your arms relax until they're resting by your side once more. You can't help but gaze lovingly at the man leaning against the doorway. Peter notices. He wants to puke into the trash can a few feet away. Maybe punch the guy staring at you just as warmly back.
"Am I interrupting something?" Bucky asks, crossing his arms over his chest while glancing over at the now tense Peter.
To your surprise, Peter is the one to answer the question before you even have a chance to formulate a coherent thought in that cloudy mind of yours.
"No. Actually, can I talk to you for a bit?" he asks, stepping away from the counter while nodding out towards the hallway.
Bucky gulps, giving a single nod that follows the furrowing of his eyebrows. However doubtful you are of your brother's intentions with the conversation, you let a giggle slip out when Bucky sends a pleading glance over his shoulder with a whispered 'help me'.
"I heard that," Peter shouts from the hallway.
Leaning against the wall closest to the door, strings of nearly comprehensible sentences single out through the murmur of voices. Words are heated and oftentimes not, exchanged with sincerity and an underlying bitterness that fades with the topic.
It's bad to eavesdrop, you're well aware of that, but you can't help from it when the subject of the conversation most likely is you. The fact that your little brother is trying to threaten your twice as big and almost old boyfriend is hilarious and very endearing, if it wasn't for the truthfulness behind Peter's words.
A good two minutes in, the hit you took to your head really starts to be felt to the point where your sight blurs just an inch. With a hand to the wall guiding your steps, you make your way back towards the counter where you previously sat. Listening in is no priority any longer when you desperately try to will away the stinging pain of alcohol in your wound and the throbbing ache in your forehead. Besides, the conversation is private after all.
Bucky tries and succeeds in keeping a smug smile away from his face as Peter talks with carefully chosen words and an underlying apprehension lurking behind them. After all, he does care about what Peter thinks of him more than anything, but the concern that comes off as anger means that you only have one more person who cares about your well-being. He can't be irritated with that, despite how much he's wanted to throw the kid out of the compound grounds the past few months.
"Look, kid," Bucky speaks up, uncrossing his arms from where they were resting on his chest.
"Don't call me kid," Peter mutters, glancing back towards the room you're in.
"Sorry, sorry." Bucky puts his hands up innocently. "Look, Peter—you're doing a damn fine job of taking care of your sister. I had sisters too, you know, back in the days. And I would take out the punks they were seeing out in the alleyway behind our house and hold them against the wall. Wasn't as peaceful as you, I guess."
Peter raises his eyebrows just slightly, because he doesn't want Bucky to see the amusement in the moment when he's supposed to be intimidating. Instead he crosses his arms, biting down on his inner cheek.
"I understand. And Y/n, she's—she's a little reckless and can be damn stubborn, and I know that you only want what's best for her." Bucky breathes out through his nose, shaking his head while looking down at the ground. "I want that too, more than anything. I'm head over heels for that girl, you know. 'S my whole goddamn world."
A thick gulp passes through Peter as he avoids the other man's gaze.
"Being with me is a tough job. Have loud nightmares and half the world hatin' me, but your sister—she takes it like a champ. And I would never put her in danger. 'S the last thing I'd ever do. She’s the best thing I got going for me and I don’t want you to think that I’m not doing everything I can to treat her right.” Bucky swallows the thin air, glancing up at Peter through his lashes, waiting for some kind of response.
"You never talk this much," Peter mumbles after a few seconds too long of silence.
A harsh puff of air escapes from Bucky's nose, head leaning back against the wall with a nearly invisible smirk of amusement on his lips.
"Yeah, sure don't," he says. "Don't like talking."
"I just get scared, you know?" Peter whispers, looking down at his feet. "My whole family's gone."
Bucky nods slowly. The two of you have been through more grief than a couple kids should be able to endure. Sure as hell ain't gonna let neither you or Peter fall ill again.
"It's not you. I think—I think maybe it's a little weird. But you're a good man. I know that," Peter tells him. "But if you ever do anything to upset her, and I mean just forgetting to text her good morning or something, I'm not gonna be this nice."
"Well, get in line, punk. Have a whole team of people waiting to beat me up if that ever happens," Bucky says. "They care about her too, you know. You have a whole dozen looking out for her. Doesn't always have to be on your shoulders."
Peter nods reluctantly. It's something he knows deep down—that he's too overbearing sometimes. Everyone is not out to get you. And if they are, there's a whole bunch of scarily strong people there to protect you and the little family he has left.
"Just don't—don't, like, kiss her in front of me or anything."
"Can't promise that," Bucky answers. You walk in looking all gorgeous and there's not much he can do about it, little brother there or not.
"I'll send that letter you wrote Y/n to every newspaper in the country if you do that," Peter threathens.
"Letter?" He furrows his brows, standing silent for a good ten seconds before he realizes to just which letter Peter alludes.
A sudden thump and the sound of clattering against floor can be heard through the hallway, tearing them away from their conversation and into the room beside them. The sight of you leaning over the counter, a sway in your stance, draws Bucky up to your side in a second.
"Hey, hey. Are you okay, sweetheart? You need to sit down?" he asks, hand resting on your back while taking on the full of your weight against his side.
But when you gaze up at them, it’s not with pain or helplessness on your face. No, you’re fuming. Peter is taken back with the rare expression of anger, so much that he stows away the realization that Bucky genuinely do care for you more than he’s seen anyone care for someone before. Even more shocked he is when a punch, though weak in comparison to what he usually receives, reaches his shoulder.
“Ow! What did you do that for?” Peter shouts, staring down at the target of your anger before sending a murderous glare your way. It has never been more obvious that you are siblings.
“You read Bucky’s letter?!” you say, hitting him again with Bucky’s hand resting on your shoulder, holding you back with a poorly suppressed smirk on his lips. “That was private you asshole!”
The color drains from the young man’s face, turning his brown eyes into comically wide orbs. He takes a step back, averting his gaze from yours. If he knew you were listening in on them, like the little shit that you are, he would have never even mentioned it.
“You know what? Great to see you two. Lovely couple,” Peter stutters out, backing towards the door. “Approval granted. Have I mentioned how beautiful you look today?”
His voice fades out with the distance growing, until Peter Parker is entirely absent from the room. A chuckle rumbles from the man behind you, earning a soft swat to his chest as you lean against it, letting his arms engulf you from behind with a smile on your face.
“Glad to know he’s coming around,” you say. “Never underestimate the power of manipulation.”
Your Bucky laughs, muffled by your hair against his lips. And so do you, because how could you not when the warmth nearly spills out of his mouth?
“My beautiful, sweet girl,” he mumbles. “Still haven’t found the words to describe what wonder you are.”
peter parker x reader | angst | blurb
There's a deep ache in the space between Peter's ribs.
A deep ache that travels up his sternum and bubbles up his throat in the form of a low sob.
"Peter," he hears the echo of your voice somewhere to his left, but he can't understand what you're saying. He feels like he is underwater, the world a blur of bokehs around him, the noises dissipating before reaching him. He is struggling to surface; the ache in his chest forcing him to swallow some of the water.
"Peter," you call again, and this time, somehow, he understands that you're calling out to him but his arms refuse to leave the heavy weight he's carrying. They're stuck under— and the weight keeps getting heavier.
"Peter," a third time and then he's being pulled away, from under the heavy weight— no, he doesn't want to let go.
"May!" he cries, the yell bursting out of his chest with a ferocity that scratches his throat.
He can't believe she's gone.
"I have to—" he begins, but you're dragging him away and as he gets further and further from his aunt— his only family— the only one he could call his own, words lose all meaning.
"Peter we have to get out!" you shout, in between sobs, dragging his away from the ruins. He feels like lead in your arms, his body fighting to get away from your own.
"May," Peter chokes again, as you drag him out the side of the building and into the pouring rain.
You take to the skies then as Peter hangs on, red sparks shooting from your fingers. You've got one arm around his waist as he grips your own— and he's trembling, arms shaking against your own and you feel your chest cave for him.
You drop down to a far away building then; the torrential rain making it almost impossible to see, the need to take shelter becoming necessary.
The rain sizzles on Peter's arms. The cuts, the bruises, the tears— the drops trickle down the open crevices to mix with the hot gushing blood.
He can't feel his limbs as he lets go of you, coming to stand in front of the large billboard that shows the wreckage he was at just a moment ago.
May. May. May.
May is gone.
"The damage, the destruction, you saw it with your own eyes," a reporter's voice booms, his face taking up the expanse of the screen and Peter is forced to look up at the searing bright lights.
"When will people wake up, and realize that everywhere Spider-Man goes, chaos and calamity ensue?"
"Peter, don't," you whisper softly into his side and he shudders, reaching out an arm to steady himself against you.
"Everything Spider-Man touches comes to ruin. And we, the innocents, are left to pick up the pieces," the voice booms and the last embers in his burning heart fizzle out.
He failed. He failed to protect the very thing that was the reason to fight back, the reason to keep going.
He feels his hand on your shoulder then and he looks up, only to notice your eyes are red-rimmed as well. Only then does he realise you are actually, really here.
His throat burns.
How are you still here?
How hasn't he lost you too?
It's the look in your eyes that makes him realise that this is a nightmare he can't wake up from because he'd never dream of seeing you in pain.
"I'm sorry," you whisper, and he immediately turns, burying his head into your shoulder, muffling his cries into you as you root yourself into the ground.
He gasps loudly, the ache tearing out of his chest, finally clawing it's way out in the form of a gut-wrenching wail.
Everything he touches comes to ruin.
It's true, Peter thinks.
And then, he thinks of you. You, with your bright eyes and a heart you'd given him for safekeeping. He couldn't do this. Couldn't put you in danger. Couldn't take your heart and make it his.
Because if he did, he'd leave you to ruin too.
And that is a nightmare that would drive him to insanity.
Can I request some dad!tom where he gets the reader a push present after delivering their first baby 🥺🥺
help i want a baby his baby
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you’re exhausted, slumped against the rough cotton of the hospital pillow that’s proped up just enough for you to watch your newborn baby get wheeled out of the room and to the infirmary.
“i’m so proud of you,” comes tom’s soothing voice, barely loud enough for you to hear, “you did so good,” the feel of his lips on your sweaty forehead is grounding, reminding you that you really did just give birth. that your child is here.
“thank you,” you mutter sleepily, turning your head to look at him with bleary eyes, blinking slowly and smiling slower.
tom kisses your forehead again and drags his fingertips along your arm as he moves away to the other side of the room, “i got you something” he says, almost seeming bashful. he digs around in his backpack, sitting next to your hospital bag that he’d been adamant on packing three months before your due date. his tongue is pocking out as he fishes around in the smallest pocket, finally revealing a small velvet bag.
“you didn’t have to get me anything,” you sigh, voice as loud as you can muster, which isn’t much.
“of course i did, you just brought our child into the world, it’s quite literally the least i could do,” you smile weakly at that, your eyes closing for half a second as he returns to you.
tom opens the bag for you, and you watch intently as he pulls a delicate necklace. the pendant is round, a flat circle with engraving all along the edges, and you think tom starts tearing up again as he hands it to you.
“sweetie,” you rasp, reaching out to wipe away his tears because you hadn’t been able to when he was crying before.
“read it,” he mutters, reaching up to hold your wrist gingerly.
you look at him for a second longer then turn to the pendant, the feel of him rubbing over the paper of your hospital bracelet dulling as you read the small letters.
you come to find that the engraving along the precious metal is your birthday, followed by tom’s and then finally your baby’s, all separated by miniscule dots.
you start to tear up too.
you look up at him again, “you said that already,” you sniffle.
“i know,” he leans forward, meeting you in a kiss so gentle you barely feel it, “but i wanted to tell you again, hopefully get my gratitude across,” he smiles, and makes sure you feel the next kiss.
hi, I’m the anon from the other day with the p link. here (pornhub) it is. it just reminds me so much of Peter and it’s one of my fav videos
forgot to post this!!!
Request: Hi there! I love your Tom Holland x toddler!sister works and i had a request
Could you write where the reader is about 4-5 and Tom takes her to the set of NWH, and there he introduces her to Andrew and Tobey and she kinda playing with them and Tom gets a lil jealous and its a whole lotta fluff fluff fluff ✨❤️✨❤️✨❤️
Tom Holland x sister!reader
Summary: Tom gets jealous when Y/N gets along with Tobey and Andrew.
Warnings: fluff, tom being a jealous big brother
a/n: thank you for the request! sorry it took a bit of time to get out. hope you all enjoy!
(gif not mine)
Tom carries Y/N onto set, Harry and Nikki trailing behind, stuck in their own conversation.
"You excited to see everybody?" Tom asks his sister.
"Uh-huh. Especially Z." Y/N grins. Tom softly chuckles at his sister's love for Zendaya.
"Yes, well, I can't argue with that." Tom says, a loving smile on his face -- both for his sister and his girlfriend.
"Are the other Spider-mans here?" Y/N asks.
"Yep. Both of them." Tom confirms.
"So I can meet them?"
"Of course." Tom nods, Y/N getting an excited grin.
- - -
While Tom got hair and makeup done and got in his Spider-Man costume, Y/N spent that whole time with Zendaya and Jacob, the two entertaining the girl, the young girl claiming a place on Zendaya's lap.
After getting ready, Tom returns and gets Y/N, the girl reaching out for her brother. Tom picks her up, resting her on his hip.
"You wanna meet Tobey and Andrew now?" Tom asks.
"Uh-huh." Y/N nods.
"Okay, come on." Tom walks over to where he left the other two Spider-Mans after a short talk with them. "Y/N, meet Andrew and Tobey. Guys, this is Y/N." He introduces.
"Hi, Y/N." Andrew smiles, Tobey giving her a smile and wave.
"Hi." Y/N smiles. She squirms in Tom's hold until he puts her down. She walks up to the other two. "What's your favorite color?"
Tom quietly chuckles at the first question she always asks anybody she meets. He doesn't know why it's the default question, but it has been for at least a year.
Tom just observes as Y/N practically talks Andrew and Tobey's ears off, the two letting her and enjoying the conversation with her.
- - -
Later in the day, the cast is taking a break from filming, mostly waiting for everything to be set up again. Tom watches in the distance as Y/N plays with Tobey and Andrew, the girl constantly giggling.
"Hey." He turns to see Zendaya walk up to him. "You good?" She asks, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah, I guess." Tom frowns, turning his attention back to his four year old sister. Ever since she met the older two Spider-Men, she's been attached to them. She sat with them during lunch and has only really talked to her mother outside of them.
Tom tried to play with her earlier, but she rejected him, going to Tobey and Andrew.
"If you're okay, why are you pouting?" Zendaya questions, a small amused smirk on her face. Tom huffs, motioning over to Y/N, Tobey, and Andrew.
"She's been with them all day." Tom complains.
"And?" Zendaya asks.
"She isn't giving anybody else the time of day. They're her new favorite people." Tom whines. "I want her attention again." He pouts, his lower lip jutting out, his brown doe eyes reminding Zendaya of a puppy dog making her quietly laugh.
"You'll get her attention back sometime. She's just excited to be around new people." Zendaya says.
"I want her attention now." Tom grumbles.
"Have you tried to get her attention?" Zendaya asks.
"Yes. She rejected me and went to them." Tom informs.
"Look, she's little, she doesn't know she's hurting your feelings." Zendaya says.
"She isn't hurting my feelings." Tom objects and Zendaya gives him a look.
"Jealousy is a feeling, Tom." Zendaya reminds.
"I am not jealous." Tom insists, earning another look from his girlfriend. "Okay, fine, I'm jealous. But she used to be attached to my hip. Now, she's attached to theirs."
"Look, she's meeting new people, she's excited. She'll be back next to you in no time. And after the movie, she'll be seeing you a lot more than she'll ever see them." Zendaya says.
"Then I just have to make sure favorite brother stays with me." Tom says.
"Are you sure you're her favorite brother now?" Zendaya asks.
"Yes." Tom says, but sees Zendaya's look. "What? Did she say something?"
"Well, as of earlier, Sam is currently her favorite brother." Zendaya informs.
"What?!" Tom exclaims.
"He made her cookies before they left. He'd be my favorite right now, too." Zendaya shrugs.
"Well, don't worry. I have no cookies, so my favorite Holland brother is still you."
"Thanks, I guess."
"Trust me, you guys go home, she'll be back to cuddling you like the world is ending." Zendaya promises.
- - -
The Hollands are back at Tom's place after filming ended for the day. Nikki gave Y/N a bath while Harry and Tom each took their own showers before settling in the living room.
Tom exits the kitchen, handing Harry his mug of tea, a mug of tea for himself in his other hand.
"Thanks, mate." Harry says, taking the mug.
"Yeah, no problem." Tom says, sitting on the couch.
As Harry is finding something to watch, Y/N practically skips into the living room and goes up to Tom.
"Can you brush your hair?" She asks hopefully, giving him puppy dog eyes, the trick that always gets him to give her whatever she wants.
"Sure, love." Tom puts his mug on the table next to the couch. He takes the hairbrush and Y/N climbs into his lap. Tom leans back against the couch to create a distance and he starts to brush her hair.
Tom makes sure to not tug too harshly, apologizing whenever she would let out a small 'ow.'
"Thank you." Y/N tells him, kissing his cheek, before rushing off to the kitchen. A few moments later, they hear her groan out of frustration.
"I can't reach the Pop Tarts!" She calls out.
"I got it." Harry says, getting up and going to the kitchen. Harry gets the Pop Tarts off the highest shelf he put them on earlier, giving a packet to Y/N.
"Hey, hey." Harry whispers, stopping Y/N from leaving. "Go spend time with Tom."
"Why?" Y/N whispers back.
"Well, he was feeling left out earlier since you spent the whole day with Tobey and Andrew." Harry quietly says.
"He was?" Y/N asks.
"Yeah. He's been pouty all day. Honestly, you would think he's the four year old." Harry jokes making Y/N giggle.
"Does that mean I hurt him?" Y/N frowns.
"No. No, he's fine. He just wants some Y/N time." Harry says.
"Okay." Y/N nods, quickly running out to Tom. She notices the mug of tea in his hand so she slows down, climbing onto the couch with less, disregarding her plan to jump on it.
"Open, please." She holds the Pop Tarts out to him. Tom takes the packet and opens it for her, receiving a thank you. Y/N grabs his arm and wraps it around her, cuddling into his side as she begins to munch on the snack.
Tom softly smiles, his hold subconsciously tightening around her a bit as he puts her favorite movie.
Halfway through the movie, Y/N and Tom are the only ones up, Harry and Nikki retreating to bed both exhausted, and Tom offering to put Y/N to bed when it was time.
Y/N looks up at her eldest brother, his attention focused on the movie even though he's seen it countless times.
"Tommy?" Y/N calls, getting his attention.
"Hmm? What is it, darling?" Tom asks.
"I'm sorry I made you feel left out earlier." Y/N says.
"What? Who told you that?" Tom asks.
"Harry." Y/N answers.
Tom quietly laughs, reminding himself to smack Harry over the head later.
"It's okay, love. I know you didn't mean to. Nothing's your fault." Tom assures.
"Are you sure? I always hate feeling left out." Y/N says.
"I know. But I'm positive, I'm okay. I was just being moody earlier. It's absolutely nothing to worry about." Tom promises.
"If it helps, you're my favorite Spider-Man. Real life Spider-Man, too." Y/N tells him and Tom softly smiles.
"It does help, thank you." Tom says, kissing her on the head, hugging her. After silently sitting for a few minutes, watching the movie, Tom breaks the silence with a question. "Am I your favorite brother, too?"
"Right now, yes." Y/N answers.
"I'll be whatever you want if I'm your favorite brother all month." Tom bribes.
"Deal." Y/N grins.
Taglist: @glxwingrxse @peyton-14
Isn’t it amazing to think that Tom has loved Spider-Man since he was little, and he got to not only play the web slinging hero in the mcu, but he also got his own MJ both on screen and off? Talk about the universe bringing Tomdaya together. ❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️
Good on green, good when you’re putting your hands all over me 💚
Tom on set today with fans. ☺
“When my father hears about this-“
“He won’t. When I bring you home in 3 months time, spinning some story where I found you helpless in a fifty foot tall cage, your father will be heralding me as a hero and you will be nothing more than the captive prince who couldn’t manage to escape his cell, let alone run a kingdom.”
“Accept it. I’ve won. And you, dear one, are my trophy.”
hi sorry i have no clue if requests are still open but maybe a fic of dad!tom and his daughters first period? thx
i got a few requests about this actually! we're all helpless for dad!tom <3 also this is actress!reader bc i'm pushing that agenda too (cw: talk of periods, but it's all goofy and fun father-daughter banter)
⇘ ⇘ ⇘
tom is an amazing dad. every day he astounds you with how good he is with your teenage son and preteen daughter, and he loves spending time with them. he loves being the ‘fun’ parent when you’re out of town, but right now, he kind of wishes you were here, not because he doesn’t think he can’t handle the current situation, but because your daughter might feel slightly less mortified.
“dad!” she groans, thumping her head against the metal shelving in the drug store.
“what? i’m trying to help you.” tom says, turning to his girl and holding up two boxes of pads, “which size, your mother told me the size does in fact matter,”
“ew, don’t ever say those words to me ever again,” she pulls herself away from the shelf begrudgingly and walks over to tom, shifting slightly at the discomfort she feels in her abdomen, “you could at least try to be a little discrete,” she grumbles, taking one box into her hands.
tom just shrugs, “all girls have periods, pumpkin,” he pokes her nose before reading the side of the other box.
“yes, don’t even get me started on how unfair that is,” she sets the box back down on the shelf, “didn’t mum say tampons are better?”
tom sighs and sets his box down too, “don’t worry, love, i agree with you, and your mum has expressed enough frustration toward the topic for the both of you.” he sighs and flicks through his text thread with you, relaying some of the messages to your daughter, “mum says you’ll probably want to start with pads, and work up to tampons–whoa what are you doing?”
he watches her flip a devacup box around in her hands, “mum has one of these, i saw it in your bathroom under the cupboard when i went digging for period products this morning,” she mumbles, “can’t i just get this?”
tom shakes his head, “not yet, those are terrifying, and i’m not even the one that needs to use it, here, grab this teen box, we need to face time mum.”
Meta-Fore of Love | seven [18+]
chapter 7 : vices of mine
words : 5.3k
warnings : all smut, explicit warnings under the cut
special thanks » this one in particular goes out to @spidey-sophie, hope you accept your favorite type of smut as a belated birthday gift :D
b’s note » this is an immediate continuation of last chapter, so they’re still in the maintenance closet at the pub. it is very explicit, please check the warnings! thanks for the feedback on the last chapter <3 love you all!
series masterpost | main masterlist
explicit warnings : angry making out in a maintenance closet, angry sex in the living room, possessive!Tom behavior, fingering, mouth fucking, butt slapping, pussy slapping
~ ⛳️ ~
“Tell me to stop.”
You don’t understand what he means, so you stay quiet and watch. You watch him bury his face in your neck, sucking on the skin under your jaw, nose spewing out hot air and a tingle of curiosity down to your legs. They tremble for a second and you buck your knees, but Tom is there to catch you. Hands on your hips now, pulling you to him then back against the door with a dry noise.
The course of his kisses goes from your jaw to your chin and your lips, so you’re expecting him to kiss you again. And when he finally lunges forward, you welcome his tongue and his taste and all of the desire he forces into your mouth. The guttural sound he makes travels straight down to your toes, making them curl in your shoes.
“What the fuck,” you gasp, trying to talk to him first, trying everything to at least understand what’s been going on tonight that he’s suddenly kissing you like he hasn’t done it just this morning. Like it’s been years since the last time he got to do it and all he can think about is splitting you open.
“Tom—” you try again.
All you want is to ask what’s going on with him. What he wants from you. But all he does is pressing his crotch into you. He grabs your chin with a hand and keeps your head tilted back. You can’t really open your mouth to speak, not even if he asks you to, so you surrender to his merciless hold and let him handle you however he likes.
“Can we fuck?” he asks with his mouth on yours as though he’s sucking the air you exhale into his own lungs. “I’ll make it quick,” he adds, easing his grip on you. “Just need my cock in your fucking pussy.”
“Fuck, Tom,” you moan, mostly at the tone of his voice that keeps you shivering from the feet up. “I didn’t bring a condom tonight.”
“Get me my fantasy then,” he says, nipping on your bottom lip and pulling until his eyes find yours. He lets it go after a few seconds, but crashes your mouths together before you can reply.
He’s making you throb all over the place, light-headed from his words and his urgency and just the rarefied air in the room. You hold on to his white t-shirt, the shape of his muscles underneath that you already know from memory calling out to your fingertips. For a second, you have to remember to breathe or you will freaking die under his kiss. Your wrists are starting to hurt from how tight he’s grasping them, but also from how much strength you’re using to make it hurt more, because fuck, fuck, he tastes so damn good.
Everything tastes good. His tongue, his lips, his teeth when you swipe behind them in search of that spot in the roof of his mouth that always makes him moan and hold you tighter.
The only images in your mind are your bodies half naked as he holds you against the door, legs spread, all obscene, his cock buried so deep you practically feel it poking your lungs. Yet you can’t really give him what he wants, not here at least. Not like this.
You fight against him and break the kiss. Both of you gasp for air, and Tom’s about to dive in for another round, but you use your shoulders to block his, then say, “Tom, no, not here. The timing isn’t right.”
Tom steps back for a second, leaving you panting against the door. You stare at him and try to read his face, but there’s none of his usual signs except for his eyes. They’re all blown and trampled with lust, calling out to you as they always did.
He sighs, moving his hands from where he’s trapping you to your neck. Holding you almost sweetly now, a dire contrast with the fire in his gaze, burning embers that melt your willpower into nothing.
“Among other things,” you reason with him, pecking his mouth to tell him that it’s not that you don’t want to. “But, hey, what’s up with you tonight?”
“Ugh, nothing,” Tom says, taking another step backwards. The intensity in his eyes reduces to a soothing evening fire on a cool February night. Then he sighs again and says, “I need a beer. C’mon.”
His hand finds yours and he tugs on it. Gently now. You move out of the way, studying the downward slope of his shoulders and trying to figure out whether he’s horny or angry or sad. However, you don’t come to any conclusion as he leads you back to your friends’ booth.
You expect him to sit down and grab his beer, but instead he stands there squeezing your hand, inadvertently not letting you sit down either. He chugs half the bottle down in one breath, bangs the bottom of it on the table while all the other boys observe him attentively, and says, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?”
“The fuck?” you mutter, mostly to yourself, but Harrison seems to hear you. He looks up from Tom to you and makes a questioning gesture with his head, but you shake yours since you have no idea what’s going on.
The next thing you know, Tom is twirling his arm around yours and asking, “You wanna go home with me?”
“You’re going home so early?”
“Yeah.” Tom swallows, the muscles of his throat moving with it. “You know why.” He gives you a hard, focused look, filled with the red fire you saw in it just now in the maintenance closet. “Wanna come?”
You’re not sure if his question has a double meaning or not, but you nod and follow him out of the pub nonetheless. The sting of not knowing what this moment could mean continues to itch in the back of your mind, but all the questions you have about it remain unanswered.
Tom stays quiet until you get home. On the way out of the pub. Waiting for the taxi by the curb, his arm tight around your waist. During the whole ride home, too.
The only moment he dares to speak is to help you out of the car when you get to your building, but he grows quiet again once you’re back on your feet on the sidewalk. While struggling with the front door and in the lift, going up to your floor. His hand is back on your waist, but this time he pulls your shirt out of your bottoms and burns your skin from his hot, sweaty palm. He also scratches his nails on your side, forcing you to struggle not to flinch as you watch him nibble on the inside of his cheek.
Tom seems nervous somehow, but you have no idea why.
You let him inside the flat first and lock the door behind you, inhaling deeply, but when you start to speak, Tom twirls you on your feet and pushes you against the door. He has his eyes on you, hungry, eager, desperate, but you knew that much by now. You’ve been vibrating for this since you left the pub, feeling the tension ooze off of him the whole way here and every time he almost reached out to touch you but didn’t.
When his hand was on your leg in the taxi and all you wanted was those fingers in your mouth, choking you as he called you ‘baby girl’. When his knee was bouncing up and down and all you could think about was straddling it and riding it until you passed out from pleasure. When he scratched his crotch absentmindedly in the lift and your first thought was to cup him and kiss him and swallow his cock right on the spot.
Yet you held it all in for yourself, letting him control the narrative instead, waiting for him to pounce so you could pounce back just as hard.
And when you finally jerk forward into a kiss, it’s almost violent, and you relish every fucking second of it. You want his tongue mixing with yours, his spit on your lips. Want to lick the spearmint and the liquor off the roof of his mouth until he cries out for mercy. And you want your hands on him, want to rip his clothes off as he does the same to yours. But for now all that happens is that you stumble into the living room, all lost limbs and rabid kisses, and you reach the tv console table and open one of the decorative eggs on it.
You always thought they looked weird, but once you realized that they could be opened, that you could store things in them, they became perfect. And yes, there it is. In the smallest, taupe colored one. An even smaller stash of condoms for emergencies like tonight.
Tom grunts into your mouth as he plucks the wrapper out of your hands, making you smirk into the kiss. His true colors are finally shining through. He’s got his hands around your arms, shoving you away until you’re at arms’ length, panting with your mouth ajar, his just the same. His little pink tongue wiping across his lips before he clashes them on yours yet again.
This time, however, he manhandles you even more. He twists you on your feet, neck all craned and hurting so the kiss won’t stop, and starts peeling the clothes off your body. He doesn’t even touch your skin, but it inflames from the lack of contact anyway. You twinge and whine and beg into his mouth, but he doesn’t listen. He only moves. Shirt, bottoms, socks and underwear, all gone from your body in seconds. And by the time you’re naked in front of his fully clothed self, he shoves you once and you fall with your hands on the coffee table.
Pressing his hard-on against the back of your ass, Tom grabs your chin and lifts your head until he can peck your cheek and your mouth, then he presses down on your neck and says, “Stay down, beautiful.”
You obey. Immediately and without thinking, letting your body do the talking for once.
It’s a painful waiting game with your face on the cold surface of the coffee table, hands grasped around the sides and your legs cramped from the odd position. Your butt is still in the air, still pointed at Tom’s crotch while he undoes his trousers. You’re so wet just from watching him, you’re nearly blind with it, but you want this to be the best time ever. Tom looks like he needs it, whatever it was that bothered him tonight and left him so on edge. And you crave it just the same.
The coldness of plastic is what you feel first. Tom places the condom wrapper in the middle of your back, keeping his palm over it as he says, “I’m gonna finger you until you’re fucking dripping down your legs. In the meantime, you’re going to make sure that doesn’t move. We’re gonna need it later.”
You can only nod in response, curling your hands around the table and focusing on not moving at all.
The pad of a finger comes next, warm against your spine, tracing its shape down to the very bottom. A shiver runs through you in the same direction, though it’s impossible to arch your back any further. The wrapper slides closer to your neck, but it doesn’t fall.
The same finger teases your folds, spreading them open, Tom’s head tilted to the side as he zeroes in on what he sees. He’s caressing you slowly, so tentatively, but at the same time heightening the fire he lit on you back in the maintenance closet at the pub. And your whole body’s thrumming with it. With him. The smell where he leans over you and drops little kisses of bliss onto the back of your neck. The texture of his skin when he palms your right buttock, then the left one, then right in the middle until he’s drenched from your wetness.
Several of his fingers now trace the soft line where your bum ends and your legs begin. The skin there so thin that you tremble with the goosebumps it raises on your skin. When your eyes flicker upwards, you first catch sight of the grey packet still on your back, waiting, patiently unlike you. Then you find his eyes, boring into yours like in a dare. And finally you see his dick, hard under his briefs, prominent in the v of his zipper. He’s still fully clothed, a powered up predator over your bare self.
“Tom—” you croak after you’ve waited long enough, and he seems to finally react.
His fingers slide down between your folds, circle your clit, collect wetness and prickles on your skin, and finally find your middle. You shake in anticipation and gape at the first touch of a tip around your hole, just teasing, then slipping inside until the heel of his hand slaps against you.
Your back bends in response, but the sound of the condom gliding downwards alerts you to what’s going on. You have no way to know what he’ll do if the wrapper falls from where he placed it, so you bend in the other direction, accidentally fucking yourself further on his hand.
“Fuuuuck,” you whine when the tip of his finger brushes your spot. Your whole insides clench craving for more, but the condom is still dangerously close to your shoulders, way too close to falling off, so you push down even more. Crying out when Tom inserts a second finger at his will, filling you up so beautifully yet not really enough to make you feel any pleasure. Just full, eagerness, tension and thirst running through your body in its search for more, more, more.
You manage to make the plastic wrapper slide a little to the middle of your back, and then you hold the position and let Tom finish fingering you. One after the other, he plays with your pussy as he pleases. He slides one or two fingers at a time, intercalating them in a pattern you cannot distinguish. Crooked knuckles rubbing your walls, in and out of you at shutter speed. Pressure builds on every surface, making you shake all over with it when he twirls his hand to rub your clit with relentless fury.
Chest running out of air, you moan a grumbled ‘ungh’ and grind back into the familiarity of his touch. Your body welcomes him and adjusts to him from memory, head dropping between your shoulders at the crescendo of pleasure. It goes up, up, up, flatlining in your brain, all thoughts fleeing from you.
Tom is quiet, but he’s groaning, his free hand clasped around your arse as the other slaps against you at an unforgiving pace. At the poke of his fingers on your spot, you start to tremble, wishing that he’ll keep pressing there. Wanting nothing more than to come around his fingers like this. Their slender shape wrecking noises out of you, gathering a tight bundle of joy so fucking deep in your gut.
“Close,” you choke out a warning. And you feel it. Between your legs and in the pit of your stomach. A swirl of viscera and emotion. The orgasm starting to build, and grow, and expand until all you see is fucking black.
He pulls out before you get there, though. You groan and collapse onto the table, but perk back up when he taps your bum as though to get your attention. You open your eyes, not having realized they were closed. And you watch, keen-eyed, as he shows you his fingers. All wet and nearly white. For a second, you think he’s going to lick them clean the way he sometimes does, crazy as he is about your taste. Yet instead he splays his clean palm on the small of your back and leans closer, grunting and gesturing with his head as his hand approaches your face.
The instruction is clear even to your smelted brain. You have to suck them clean, but you never really wanted anything more in life. Your lips spread by instinct and the next thing you know is your gagging noises around his fingers because Tom rams them in your mouth way too fast and way too deep. It feels almost too much at first, yet soon your throat relaxes and you hum around him in pure delight. Hips tipping backwards to find friction.
You immediately recoil at the press of his open zipper on your sensitive skin, but Tom doesn’t let you pull away at all. He presses his crotch into you, scratching the cleft of your thigh on his fly, cock poking right in the center. Your muscles contract in response even though he’s nowhere near inside you yet.
His hand darts to your chin and he holds you there, still jabbing his fingers into your mouth at the same pace he was inflicting between your legs moments before. No complaints from you whatsoever, though. You love his freaking fingers, their shape and length choking you to perfection. Certainly you don’t expect what he does next, but Tom shoves your head until you’re lying on the table again and keeps fucking your mouth like that for a few more seconds.
The empty in your head swirls around that idea, being shoved around by him for whatever reason that he has yet to explain to you. You could just ask him after he retrieves his fingers, but he slaps your cheek softly with the back of his hand and the thought flees your mind right away.
It’s astounding how he lets you gather your breath after all this, especially when you realize how dark his gaze has become. Something is possessing him tonight. Tom’s never been this rough with you. Yet there’s something about it that draws you in.
Before you have any time to organize a question in your head, Tom grasps your hair and hisses, “Your fucking eyes on me, c’mon.”
You obey blindly and try to focus around the desperation in your body, watchful as he plucks his cock out and shows it to you. Dark red and hard, weeping at the tip. Tom grabs the packet that’s still waiting on the nape of your neck to rip it open and fumbles with the rubber until it’s rolled down on his full length.
A small eternity must pass from that moment to the instant Tom’s cockhead presses into your hole and pushes in the first inch. The stretch is ever so beautiful, but you have zero seconds to adjust as he surges forward until he’s buried to the hilt. Your mind splits into pieces when he starts moving right away. Slowly at first, one agonizing thrust after the other. The drag of his cock inside you sweeter and hotter each time. Again and again, your voice breaking into little hums and moans and gasps whereas Tom remains quiet.
He’s nipping on his lip, you find out when you gaze at him. You can’t see him properly, not well, your body in the way, and also because he has his head down. Watching himself, both hands holding your cheeks apart. Squeezing the flesh so hard you’re seeing white. So you focus on his hips, moving back and forward, out and back into your heat, getting more and more eager. Less dragged, more deliberate. Hips starting to slap against yours.
You want to tell him that you’re getting close already, that he’s brushing your spot too often and just right from this angle, and you want to ask him if he’s good, if he likes it, if he’d do anything different, but you’re too far gone, holy fuck. The fact that he doesn’t stop, speeding up instead, should tell you enough, but you hate that he’s so quiet tonight save for a few moans that escape through his gaping mouth.
And then you look at the TV. At his reflection. You can see everything in it, the tilt of his body, the flow of his hips, the sweat glistening on his skin from the speed he’s gaining by now. The moans fall from your lips and you’re gasping for air, gasping for words, lost in the silence that he’s forcing on you tonight.
“Tom, look,” you pant onto the coffee table, tilting your ass upwards, pointing a hand at the tv. His eyes follow your finger and soon he sees himself on the black screen.
He stops moving altogether, holding only the tip of his cock by your entrance. You clench around the emptiness and whimper, body keen on following his movements until he touches you again.
His hands clasp around your hips and he angles you a little to the right, his leg out of the way, and when you look, your own cunt is exposed in front of your eyes. Tom tries a few short thrusts, then longer ones, concentrated on his mirrored image. Making a show of it. Hands rubbing up the curve of your ass. Nails biting into the skin on his way back down.
A soft slap lands on your cheek and you slant into it, quivering for a second one. It’s not usually your style, but there’s something dark about his mood today. Something that drags you in without a second thought.
The second slap is stronger and louder, spasming your shoulders as your front collapses onto the table. Tom keeps his hips still against you, testing a couple more slaps, on your cheek or on the side or right at the top, flesh wiggling with every strike as he restarts moving. Slowly again, that nasty fucking tease, in long, languid thrusts that roll your eyes into the back of your head. Your mouth agape as you struggle to contain your moans, little groans escaping not when he hits, but when his hand moves away. When his hips smack wetly against you.
His silence holds you curious, though. You miss the thrill of his voice, the string of praise he always used against you. Yet you see them in his eyes, in the way they’re holding you hostage as he gains speed. Body curved into yours. Head dipped forward as he slams into you. And he doesn’t stop until your eyelashes get sticky from the sweat.
“Gonna— come—” you choke on your spit, trying to focus on your pleasure. But there’s too much happening at once. So many pressure points. There’s his hips pounding against your ass, your walls clenching around his cock, the smack of sweat. All of it reflected back at you if you look up.
Your eyes brim closed until you can barely see again, forced open by a sudden slap of his hand on your buttock.
You gasp and arch your back, Tom’s hand coming around your throat to push your back against his chest. It looks beautiful on the screen. He looks beautiful on the screen, mouth agape in front of yours, hand clasped on your neck, squeezing, rendering you breathless. His hips still moving against you, cock stretching you open so tight you edge yourself every time he pulls out.
He slaps you again and pushes inside, reaching for your clit next. You arch into him and tighten all around, crying out as your orgasm hits. Your body spasms from the shock, feeling it from the inside, squeezing around his cock. Elbows kicking out until your chest falls on the table again. Your whole existence loses meaning, except for that beautiful reflection on the black surface.
You shake and completely lose your shit, throat coarse from moaning. He’s still holding your hips up with one hand, the other slowing down on your clit as you ride out your high. Your legs flail about from the aftershocks and drop all of your weight down until his cock slides out of you completely.
“Tom, Tom,” you cry out for him, trying to grasp consciousness back into your brain. Your mind is all want and need, pure desperation to feel him come too. You whine his name on repeat trying to tell him. Your hands seek for him, for his hips and his cock, but he’s faster than you.
He rearranges you on the table, pinning your naked chest against the cold surface. Spreading your legs apart with a foot, then climbing over you. He sets both legs on each side of you, sort of sitting on your hips. Pressing the head of his cock between your butt cheeks, a croak fleeing your dry lips when he tips onto the wrong hole, then hissing and bending his knees a bit more to keep going down. When he finally finds your cunt, the tip dipping inside through dripping folds, he fucks into you with despair. Your next moan loud and hoarse, everything in you still overstimulated from the previous peak. But the angle is all wrong and he can’t move as deep as before.
Tom whines in annoyance.
“I got you, I got you,” you wail in humdrum. You twirl on the table and lie on your back, letting him push and pull your legs until your thighs are pressed against your torso.
He holds them there, shoulders hooked on the crook of your knees, sitting on your arse and sliding all the way inside this time.
“That’s my fucking pussy,” Tom finally speaks, moaning your name and another curse right after. He sets an implacable pace, leaning forward to kiss your mouth as you hold on to his biceps.
One of his hands holds your jaw and keeps it slack and stock-still, lips spread begging for his through wheezing little breaths. You wonder if he’d like to spit on you again, because you’d honestly take it all and beg for a millionth round, eyes rolling back at the thought, but he barely licks a straight line from your jaw into your mouth.
He can’t do much else anyway. All it takes is three thrusts and the slap of your own hand on your clit, walls so much snugger around his cock before he starts shaking uncontrollably.
“Fuck, fuck yeah,” he moans over your warm skin, and he looks and sounds so fucking hot, heat encompassing heat. Your hand stays on your swollen nub, rubbing in erratic circles, and a second orgasm wave splashes over you. It rocks your body from end to end, the impact a little slower this time, but that doesn’t stop the strangled cry of his name that it whimpers out of you.
His body keens over yours, first all tense, shoulders shaking with unease. Your hole is absolutely filled with him, clenched tight as if you could feel his cock pulse while he comes the more you squeeze. And then he slumps forward, chest heaving, mouth open hovering over yours. He’s still balls-deep in you, hands clamped around your calves now. Waiting for that beautiful post-orgasm pain to pass.
Tom lets you run your nails over the buzzed sides of his head, nuzzling into your palm with a moan. You spend the longest time there, caressing his head, cradling the back of his skull and scratching the scalp while he practically mewls and melts into your body. Breathing, once faltered, starts to soften. When you release a deeper sigh and adjust your legs so that your feet touch the floor, Tom stirs and pulls out.
A hand on each side of your torso, he pulls himself up and your eyes immediately find the wet spot of sweat in the middle of his chest. You want to touch it and lick it, smear it across his pecs with hot laps of your tongue, but Tom is quick to stand up and reach for your hand.
“You okay, champ?”
You’re not quite sure if everything is okay, judging from his silence. You wish he would just tell you what’s going on, but you don’t question him about it. Not just yet. You hate when you have to pry for things. It makes you feel like you’re imposing yourself. And that’s the last thing you want to do. Coercing him into telling you would most likely have the opposite effect of what you want. And hopefully he’ll open up to you when he’s ready.
The flat remains as quiet as the night while you make your way to the bathroom to wash up. You showered before dinner, so you don’t want to take another one just now. Instead, as he discards the condom and pees, you study the slope of his shoulders, sitting on the toilet after he’s done using it to continue watching him attentively.
He’s quiet, feet thumping on the floor as he moves about, eventually shedding his clothes and stepping into the tub right when you’re flushing the toilet. The water starts running while you’re sorting out your make-up and night routine in front of the mirror. When you’re finished, Tom’s still in there. You open the glass door and peek inside. The first thing you notice is that the tap is turned to cold, and he’s just standing there, both hands on the wall, head tipped down between his elbows, the water stream hitting the back of his neck.
“I’m done here, so, um, I’m heading to bed first,” you say tentatively.
Tom only nods, without even glancing up. He looks contemplative at least. Almost sad, if you look at it from another angle. You wish you could see his face, but since you can’t, you have to move on and wait at least until he’s finished here.
“Hey,” you try again. He turns his head to the side, but his eye doesn’t flick towards you. You can tell he’s paying attention even though he isn’t looking at you. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” he croaks and looks down again. “All good. Shower.”
“Okay.” You pause, studying the slouch of his body. When he sighs and turns the tap to the other side, steam starting to form around him, you add, “I’ll leave the door open.”
Hopefully he’ll understand that you mean your bedroom door. You could easily lie on his bed and wait for him there, but he’s been so odd tonight that you don’t want to risk it. He was clearly angry at something, at least his silence and the way he fucked you gave you that impression. You just have no idea if it’s at you or something else.
You take a step back to leave and raise a hand to slide the door closed, but Tom does it himself. Quickly. It bangs when it shuts completely, startling you a bit. Through the fogged up glass, you can see the shape of his hand on the door as though to stop anyone from opening it again.
The shower keeps running for longer than usual. You can hear it while you get ready for bed, then as you lie on your back, ears perked up for any sign of normalcy. It only really comes when the front door bangs in the distance and Harrison curses himself for it, followed by a couple of muffled laughs. You can’t be sure if it’s the twins or someone else, but you’re not going to get up to check.
And then everything is quiet again. Even the shower.
The bathroom door clicks open and not even two seconds later, you hear Harrison’s voice.
“Oh, there you are.”
He’s probably talking to Tom. You can imagine him holding his towel with one hand and rubbing his head with the other one. That image fades away as soon as Harrison speaks again, in a much more hardened voice, “Get in here.”
You hear steps down the hallway and see shadows moving towards the living room, but you don’t hear anything else afterwards.
And in the next morning, you wake up alone, your bedroom door still open ajar.
~ ⛳ ~
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Can i requet from the MMIH series, where nathan and Leah are just like training combat difences and then out of no were leah gets her period, and a little blood runs down her inside thigh and nathan freaks out starts acting nice to her since he has no clue about menstraition and stuff, and leah takes advantage of himm
the twins are around 15 here. hope you like this. let me know what you think.
Match made in Hell (mob au series)
a bloody prank
Pairing : Mob! Tom Holland x Reader
Warnings : sibling banter, period talk
The school football team were up against the South end high this Friday and being the team captain Nathan was relentlessly training with the team at school and sweating it out in the gym when home. Nailah being the number one supporter of her brother was helping out with his daily exercises. She was holding his knees as he did his crunches effortlessly. Nathan sat up completing the second set when his eyes spotted something along the sides of Nailah’s legs.
“Hey, what’s that on your leg?” he stopped in between to ask.
“What?” Leah frowned and looked down her legs to find a long red stain on her gray yoga pants. “Oh shit!” she cursed, muttering under her breath about how her cycle was a few days late this month and a little warning would’ve been appreciated because now she has to go and change.
“Leah, you alright?” Nate’s voice was full of concern.
“Yeah it’s nothing Nate.” she waved her hands nonchalantly.
“It’s not nothing…” he looked at it carefully and panicked. “Oh my god you’re bleeding!”
Nailah was about to tell him that it isn't anything to be worried about but then a mischievous idea went across her head.
“Oh Nate.” Nailah sighed deeply, shaking her head with remorse. “How do I even tell this to you?”
“What? What is it?” Nathan was getting more worried by the minute.
“Sick?” He quickly got up on his feet.
“Yeah, have been for the last one year.” she pursed her lips with a sad look on her face.
“Do mum and dad know?”
“Yeah they were one who decided it was better not to tell you or else you’ll get upset. The doctor said it’s serious and it might take years for me to get better.” the lie coming out of her mouth flawlessly as she simultaneously tries hard not to break character and start laughing like a maniac watching the look on Nathan’s face.
“Oh god Leah why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He cradled her face with his hands. “I’m your brother sissy I’ll never let anything happen to you.”
Which made Nailah a tiny bit guilty for messing with him like this. “That’s very sweet of you Nate.”
“How do you feel right now?”
“A bit dizzy, just want to lie down for a while.” That was true though she was actually feeling tired.
“It’s ok, everything will be ok.” he assured her. “I'll carry you to your room then you can rest.” Before she could protest he lifted her in his arms and carried her back to her room.
“Thank you Nate.” she said as he was about to walk out her room to give her some privacy.
“Anything for you.” he smiled.
After changing out of her clothes Nailah had planned to tell him that it was all a prank but he didn't give her a chance as he ordered her to stay in bed and brought her soup. She could get used to this she thought because on a normal day Nathan would never do this.
“Just tell me what you need?” he said sitting at the edge of her bed.
“Ice cream and some chips would be really nice."
“Coming right up.”
“Also can I play with your psp?” She knew the answer would be a big no but it’s worth a shot.
“Yes you can, Leah.” he said with a warm smile.
Woah what is happening? Did the sun rise in the opposite direction today? Nathan would die before letting anyone touch his gaming console.
You and Tom were out for a business meeting so when you returned you were met with your son in the living room with bags of chips and an ice cream tub in his hand.
“Nate, where are you taking all this stuff?”
“Mum, dad thank god you’re back!” he let out a sigh of relief.
“Why what’s wrong?” you asked.
“Leah…” and Tom perked up beside you with just the mention of her name.
“What happened to her?” he demanded.
“She’s very sick.” he informed.
“What?!” both of you said at the same time.
“Yeah she was bleeding…” Tom was already climbing the stairs two at a time without even listening to the rest of it. “and then felt all dizzy.”
“Ok bud calm down and tell me everything.” you said taking the ice cream tub and chips out of his hand and placing it on the coffee table.
“Leah! Leah!” Nailah heard and quickly sat up on her bed as Tom came bursting into her room. “What happened? Are you sick, love?” he sat down beside her on the bed.
Now it was getting out of hand as Nailah wondered how to calm her dad who worried with the littlest things when it comes to her. “No Daddy, I’m fine.”
“But your brother said you were bleeding.”
“It’s nothing daddy…” she couldn’t say anything further as you entered her room with Nathan on tow who was scowling. Oops, the secret is out.
“Nailah Estella Holland.” you said sternly “I didn’t expect this from you. Why did you lie to your brother like that?”
“Y/N, don’t scold her she’s sick.” Tom interrupted.
You scoffed. “Oh your darling daughter is perfectly fine I can assure you that.” Then you looked at Nailah. “I think you've got some explanation to do young lady.”
“I’m sorry I lied, I'm not sick.” she mumbled looking down at her hands on her lap.
“But I clearly saw blood on her pants,” Nathan said, still confused.
“I think we need to sit down for this one.” you said sitting at the foot of the bed and Nathan does the same. “Listen to me carefully I don't know how much they have told you in the sex ed classes at your school ”
“Ugh mum.” Nathan groans.
“I know, I know it’s a bit awkward but it’s important that you know bubs.” you said with understanding. “So you have a basic idea of how the uterus works right? How every month an egg is released and…”
“Yeah yeah mum I know all that.” Nathan was already feeling impatient wanting a way out of this.
“Ok so when there is no baby where do you think all that buildup inside the uterus goes? It can’t stay inside the body right?” he nodded as you continued. “So every month it comes out as blood.”
“What?” Nathan was visibly surprised. “Is that good?”
“Yes it is perfectly normal every girl gets it when they reach a certain age. And it’s not at all life threatening.” you shot a glare at your sweet daughter who buried her face into her father’s shoulder. “It lasts for a week and during that time we feel tired and a little moody.”
“Little moody?” Tom’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as Nailah giggles by his side because after all he is the one who has to go through the brunt of your not so little mood swings during that time of the month.
“You said something?” you shot an icy glare at his direction prompting him to shut up.
“Nothing at all, darling.” Nailah finds it really amusing how her father who can make grown men wet their pants is only scared of you and of course grandma.
“So that’s it Nate it’s just the regular menses nothing to be worried about.” you reassured him.
“Am I still getting my ice cream?” Nailah piped in and received a dirty look from Nathan.
“Go, get it yourself.” he grumbled.
Ice Cream Fixes Everything
Request: hii i was wondering if you could do a tomhollandxteensister where she’s around 13-14 and she’s gone out with her friends and they start picking on her so hides she somewhere kinda crying, she calls him to come pick her up and they go out together and get ice cream or something?
i LOVEE your fics btww <33
Tom Holland x sister!reader
Summary: Tom tries to cheer his little sister up.
Warnings: mean friends, mentions of getting made fun of
a/n: thank you for the request! sorry it took a bit of time to get out. hope you all enjoy!
(gif not mine)
Y/N is out with her friends, the group going to see a movie and are now at the mall. Y/N expected it to be a good day, but her friends' comments and the subtle icing her out, proved to make the day bad.
Whenever Y/N tries to join the conversation, they all shoot her comment down or pretend they didn't even hear her. Not to mention the insults constantly thrown her way.
"Where should we eat?" Brittany asks.
"Ooh! There's a really good sushi place a couple blocks down." Emma informs.
"Yes! I vote sushi." Allison agrees.
"Uh... is there, um, none sushi stuff at the place?" Y/N asks, nervously scratching the back of her neck.
"Of course not, dummy." Emma laughs.
"Well, it's just... you know, I-I'm allergic to fish and stuff." Y/N reminds them.
"Just suck it up. You'll be fine." Brittany insists.
"No, no, I'm-- I'm severely allergic. My throat swells up and I can't breathe." Y/N says.
"Okay, so just get some water and stop being a little bitch about it. Besides, you could afford to lose some weight anyway." Brittany says, patting Y/N's cheek. The other three girls laugh.
"Mm, yeah, you could use a diet." Allison says, pinching Y/N's stomach, the Holland girl almost immediately backing away.
Y/N feels her eyes sting, but she pushes them back.
"I'm, uh... I saw a cute pair of shoes a few stores back, so, uh... I'm-- I'm gonna go back and look at 'em. I'll, uh, I'll catch up with you guys." Y/N says.
"Okay, whatever." Emma mumbles, paying more attention to her phone.
Y/N nods, quickly walking off. The tears return to her eyes and she tries to keep them in, but a few manage to escape. Y/N hastily wipes them away, rushing outside and looking around, finding a bench that's in the corner and sitting on it.
Y/N gets her phone out and debates which family member to call, finally deciding on one, and putting the phone to her ear and listening to the ring.
"What's up?" Tom's voice comes through.
"Tommy?" Y/N sniffles.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey. What's wrong?" Tom asks, worry in his voice.
"Can you come get me?" Y/N asks.
"Yeah, of course. Where are you?" Tom asks and Y/N hears the jingle of keys in the background.
"The mall." Y/N says, her voice cracking as she finds it harder to hold her tears back.
"Okay. Okay, I'm on my way." Tom assures. "Do you want me to--" His question is cut off as Y/N hangs up on him, letting out quiet sobs.
- - -
After Tom finds a parking spot and makes his way to the front doors, he spots Y/N on a bench, her legs pulled to her chest, and tear stains on her cheeks.
Tom rushes over, kneeling in front of her.
"Hey." He gently calls, getting the girl's attention. Y/N uses the sleeve of her jacket to wipe her cheeks and gets up, Tom standing up as well. "You all right?"
"I'm fine. Where's the car?" Y/N asks.
"You called me crying. You're still crying. That's not fine." Tom says.
"I'm fine. Can we just go now?" Y/N says, sniffing.
"Okay." Tom nods, his voice quiet. He puts a comforting hand on her back, leading her to where he parked the car. Tom unlocks it and opens the door for her. She gets in, Tom shutting the door and he rushes to the driver's side, getting in.
"You wanna talk about it?" Tom asks.
"No." Y/N immediately answers.
"Are you hurt?" Tom asks, earning a look from Y/N, the girl motioning to the tear streaks. "I meant physically."
"No." Y/N mumbles, looking back down at her lap.
"You sure you don't want to talk?" Tom asks.
"Yes, Thomas." Y/N snaps.
"Okay. Sorry." Tom mutters. He puts the car in drive, leaving the parking lot.
Y/N doesn't pay attention to where he's driving, just assuming he's going home. She looks up when he parks, finding them in front of an ice cream shop.
"What are we doing?" Y/N asks.
"Getting ice cream." Tom states.
"It's November." Y/N retorts.
"Well, no matter the season, ice cream fixes everything." Tom states, brushing her cheek with his knuckle, the girl shying away from his touch. "Come on."
"I don't want to." Y/N sighs.
"Come on, darling. When do you ever turn down ice cream?" Tom asks.
"It's just gonna make me fatter and uglier." Y/N grumbles quietly making Tom frown.
"Okay. Nope." Tom gets out of the car, going to her side and opening the door. "Out."
"No." She rejects.
Tom unbuckles her and grabs her hand, dragging her out of the car.
"Hey. Look at me." Tom cups her face, the teenager forced to make eye contact. "You aren't fat or ugly. You are the most beautiful girl in the world. And you're smart and kind and funny and compassionate. Whoever said whatever does not know what they're talking about."
"Come on, it's Tommy. You know you can tell me anything." Tom tells her, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. His gentle tone seems to set Y/N over the edge, the young girl breaking into sobs.
"I hate them." She cries.
Y/N falls into Tom who immediately hugs her, her sobs muffled by his jacket. Tom whispers reassurances in her ear, stroking her hair, keeping a tight hold on her. He looks up, seeing a few people glancing in their direction.
"You wanna get back in the car?" Tom quietly asks, planting a kiss on Y/N's head. She nods and Tom opens the back door. He lets her slide in before getting in next to her, shutting and locking the doors.
Tom immediately brings Y/N back into a hug, silently comforting her while she cries.
After a while, Y/N's now simply sniffling and stray tears still escape. Her head is resting on Tom's chest, his arms wrapped securely around her, one hand on her back, the other gently massaging her scalp.
"They're mean." Y/N declares, finally deciding to open up. She sits up, pulling away from Tom, but he softly rubs her arm as comfort. "They just... they spent the whole day avoiding me. And if they weren't avoiding me, they were making fun of me. My clothes, my weight, my laugh, my nose, my entire personality."
"Well, they're idiots. Like I said you're smart, beautiful, inside and out, and kind. And a million other good attributes. Your laugh is sweet. You are completely perfect in your own way." Tom tells her, tapping her nose with his free hand. "They're shitheads for making you feel like that. And they're not true friends either. Friends wouldn't make you feel that way."
"Thanks." Y/N mumbles.
"Promise me you'll get new friends. It's better to be lonely than to be around a bunch of fakes. And you can't be that lonely, you have four brothers." Tom says making Y/N let out a watery giggle which causes him to smile.
"You want me to go get the ice cream and we can eat it in here?" Tom asks and Y/N nods. Tom kisses her on the forehead before getting out and going into the ice cream shop.
After about ten minutes, Tom walks out, two cups of ice cream in his hands. He opens the door and gets in, giving Y/N her ice cream.
The two spent their time enjoying the ice cream and talking about anything that would get Y/N's mind off of her "friends".
"You feel better?" Tom asks as they're back in the front seats and Tom is getting ready to drive home.
"Mm-hmm." Y/N nods.
"See? Told you ice cream fixes everything."
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