Title:

Title: 𝒶 𝓅𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝒻𝓁𝑒𝓈𝒽

Pairing: Apollo!Peter Parker x Cassandra!Reader

Summary: Not even the gift of foresight will keep you from the God who calls you his.

Warnings: Dark!God AU, Stalking, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Dubcon/Noncon, MINORS DNI!

A/N: whew! back from hiatus with my very late entry for the amazingly talented @thanatosfic’s 1K Greek Myths challenge! the real challenge was keeping this under 5k—i literally just barely squeaked by lmao. it’s been a minute, so i know i’m a bit rusty, but i hope you all enjoy anyway. ❤️ divider by @whimsicalrogers

You run because you have to—because you see. He never should have let you see, Peter knows that now. It was meant to be a gift, a glimpse into existence the way they saw it, but it was a mistake.

Humans were never meant to know the future.

At least, that is what he reasons as he pursues you.

You already had a touch of prophecy without Apollo’s gift—his gift. It was what had caught his attention the first time, when your soul was young, and you hadn’t yet learned not to trust him. Just a hint of foresight. That’s what had caught his eye.

But humans are quick and clever—that’s what he would come to learn, especially about you. You who had taken his gift but spurned him. You would make him chase you to the ends of the earth—beyond, had you the power. You were looking at him now, he could tell as he explored the recently abandoned hut that had served as your home in the weeks you had evaded him.

Peter kicks over the camping stove with frustration, carding his fingers through his curly brown hair. It’s been abandoned for a week at least, maybe more. He’d caused this, his eagerness spilling over into the dreams. He shouldn’t have shown you images of yourself, writhing in pleasure underneath his touch—you’re too headstrong for such a direct approach.

He leans down to inspect the bed, lifting the top sheet to his nose and inhaling deeply. It still smells like you, a little. He sighs. It’s been so long since he’s held you the way he wants to—centuries.

Lifetimes.

The lingering scent of you stirs him, and Peter palms himself through his jeans. There was a time before he woke, where he was just Peter, and Peter alone.  He still doesn’t know what happened, when a second set of eyes opened up underneath his, and someone else slipped inside his skin with him. Or was it that he’d used to be someone else? It was confusing to think about the time before this mattered—before you mattered.

He is both now. He is Peter and more now—

He is Peter the God.

Fuck, to have you, finally—the thought makes Peter shudder with pleasure as he undoes his jeans and ruts into his own hand. He’s getting closer, bridging the gap you’ve built between yourself and him bit by bit. He swipes a thumb across the head of his cock, pretending it’s you who’s touching him. He hasn’t had this body yet, hasn’t tasted of you wearing this skin, and the newness of it excites him.

He knows you’re watching as he spills onto the dirty sheets, knows you’ll see him closing in on you, but that’s fine.

You’re out of places to run.

——

“And what brings you in today? I see here on your resume you have some experience in office administration.” The faded silver nameplate pinned to the older woman’s threadbare blouse reads Shirley, and her plastic looking smile parts to reveal lipstick stained teeth.

You force a weak smile of your own. You can’t tell her the truth—the truth that sounds insane even when you think it in your head.

“I’ve just always liked Seattle, and since I’ll be in the area for a bit—”

“Portland.” Her smile widens unpleasantly.

“W-what?”

“This is Portland.”

Shit. Seattle was last month. “Y-yeah. No, sorry, I just moved from Seattle.” You correct yourself hastily. Seattle had been good. Six long months without the visions, the all-too-real dreams that left you drained and terrified.

Without him.

“And was this the sort of work you were doing in Seattle?” The sickly sweet lilt of her voice makes you nauseous. You know what she’s doing—digging—and you want to protest, if you do, you know you can kiss this temp job goodbye. Your righteous indignation won’t pay for the hotel room you’re staying in, or put gas in your jeep or food in your stomach. You want to keep running, but you can’t—not without money.

“Yes, it was. On a more permanent level,” you add, knowing it’s what she wants to hear. It doesn’t matter that you’ll be gone in two months—maybe less, if the dreams pick up again.

“Hmm.” She thumbs through the little packet containing your application, resume and references, and you try not to fidget as she does so. You don’t want her to call up any of the people listed—hell, not even the companies, considering you’d up and left without so much as a see you later when you’d realized how close you had allowed him to get.

“Well. Everything looks to be in order…” She places the manila folder down with a snap. “I’ll make the call. You should hear from them no later than tomorrow afternoon with your hours. Please be on time.”

“Thank you so much, Shirley.”

“Mrs. Harscombe.” She corrects you with an oily smile. “And you’re quite welcome.” You know you shouldn’t risk looking into Shirley Harscombe, you know it’s only a waste of your time and energy, and it’ll only lead the Peter-Apollo-thing to you that much faster, but you’re doing it before you really mean to, peering into her future and all its possibilities. It’s like being swept down a raging river and all of it’s streams all at once, and her life thrums around you like a heartbeat.

You see Shirley standing in her kitchen as her husband berates her with a beer in his hand. You blink, and there’s Shirley—opening a second bank account, a secret bank account so that her husband—Ben is his name—doesn’t drink away all of their retirement funds, or else she’ll have to work till she’s seventy. You blink—and there is Shirley.

Smiling smugly at you as she gloats over the scrap of power she wields. You don’t feel angry at Shirley—not anymore.

“Have a good day.” You gather your bag and sweater as she stamps something on your file and enters it into the system with a few keystrokes on her computer. You head for the door, but linger in the threshold, hesitating.

“Mrs. Harscombe?” She looks up at you with the same thin smile, like an adult humoring an irritating child. “Separate bank accounts isn’t enough. You should leave him.” She sputters after you as you walk out of the door, down the hallway and out into the gray afternoon.

—

You hear from the nursing home the very next day, and by the middle of the week, you’re already well adjusted to your new schedule. Everything is simple enough, and aside from the occasional rude patient, you have little to complain about. The physicians and nurses are nice enough, and they don’t ask too many questions about your life outside of work, and you appreciate that more than anything.

Your check deposits on the first Friday with ease, and you pay for another week of your hotel room up front. You don’t dream, either. Only blissful darkness greets you when you close your eyes, and you’re more grateful for that than anything. Not having to see Peter’s curly brown hair or boyish, lopsided grin as he greets you in your dreams is a blessing.

Those fucking dreams.

It’s too real, his phantom touch lingering on your skin hours after you wake.

You used to wonder who he was before, but it doesn’t really matter, not now. Not now that thing had attached itself to him like a leech. You don’t know what happens when something rides your soul, wears you like a costume, but you don’t want to find out.

I won’t.

Your resolve doesn’t sound as strong as it used to, not even in your own head. It doesn’t help that you’re exhausted, running on fumes with less and less time in between your harrowing escapes. Not for the first time, you cast a narrowed glare upward, not really at your ceiling but beyond it, at whatever cosmic forces had dealt you such a cruel hand.

It’s not everyone that has a mad God after them.

It’s the waiting that’s the hardest.

The first few times you’d been naive. You’d truly believed you had shaken him of your scent—and so you had started fresh. New hair, new clothes, new I.D., new you. Peter would never find you, and his delusions would never again darken your door—at least, that was what you’d believed.

What a fool you had been.

And your shock to see him sitting in your new apartment, his feet perched on the coffee table as he thumbed through your magazines—nothing had ever matched up to it, before or since.

“Hi, princess. I missed you.”

And he’d truly thought he had you then—and so had you, really, until the bus had turned him into a bloody smear on the pavement. You didn’t look back then, and you still don’t now. You don’t know how he’s still alive, how the thing infesting him managed to draw life back into his mangled body, but you do know it means he won’t stop.

He won’t stop ever.

And so you wait. You wait for the tense buzzing in the back of your skull, for the sound of his laughter in the darkness of your dreams—

You wait for him.

__

“He’s looking for you.” The voice makes your head snap up, your fingers tightening on the edge of the reception desk. Mrs. O’Malley is sitting in her wheelchair, her tight, displeased expression flooding you with relief, and then annoyance. Your heart is pounding against your ribs, and you try to slow it as you give her a wan, impatient smile.

“Boris?” You ask, jerking your head towards the slumbering orderly in the corner. Mrs. O’Malley is the sort of woman who likes telling people what to do and how to do it, a habit that you assume has only gotten worse with time, turning her from bossy to battleaxe.

“I don’t think he’s looking for anything except the back of his own eyelids. Is there something I can get for you?”

“Not him,” she snaps, scoffing. “The boy,” she leans close, like she’s telling you a secret. “The one with laurels in his hair.” Your stomach fills with hot lead, and your throat grows painfully tight.

No.

“W-what?” Your thin smile is frozen on your face, but it isn’t a smile anymore, just a terrified grimace that won’t slip from your paralyzed features. “I—your medicine—” You fumble clumsily for the nurse-alert button on your desk, knocking over a cup of pens in the process. Mrs. O’Malley’s voice is like dry, withered reeds, but her grip is like iron when she grips your wrist.

“He’s looking for you,” she repeats, her bony fingers digging into your skin. “The boy with eyes that burn like the sun, bright, bright—” You rip yourself away from her, hissing as her nails rake long, red lines down the skin of your  forearm. You slam your fist down on the button as she launches herself across the desk.

“Stop! Get the fuck off me—” There shouldn’t be this much strength left in Mrs. O’Malley’s arthritis-bent fingers as she tears at the sleeves of your sweater, trying to get a better hold on you.

“Don’t run from him!” She screeches, spittle flecking your cheeks. She’s shaking you like a rag doll, her fingers driving into the meat of your shoulders like needles. “Stop running from him!” Your head is snapping back and forth so hard you think your neck might actually break, and through her shrieking, you can hear the sound of frantic footsteps.

Someone wrestles the old woman off of you, and you lay there, staring dizzily up at the humming fluorescent lights. How could she know that? You aren’t cold, but your skin prickles anyway, like you’re being watched.

The boy with the laurels in his hair.

You don’t wait to watch as the orderlies to wrestle Mrs. O’Malley onto a gurney, strapping her flailing limbs down to the thin mattress while she rages. Her nonsensical shouts echo down the hallway as they wheel her off.

“Don’t run from him! Eyes like the sun!”

By the time Boris turns to check on you, an apologetic smile on his face,  you’re already gone, half running down the darkening street.

—

The lobby of the hotel is as you left it that morning, empty and quiet. The receptionist doesn’t look up from her copy of People as you hurry by, already tallying up your meager belongings in your head. You have escaping down to a science now, a list of steps to take before you can throw yourself into the driver’s seat of your old jeep to race as far as your tank will take you, only to begin it all over again.

You aren’t neat about it, throwing open the door to your hotel room, the thud of the handle meeting the wall mixing easily with the noise of the city nightlife floating in through your window. Before it even closes, you’re already shoving what little clothing you have into a worn duffel bag. You’re chanting in your head, listing all the items you know you can’t forget.

Toothbrush. Phone. Wallet. Laptop.

You leave the scrubs you scavenged from Goodwill over the shower railing, where you’d hung them to dry after a vigorous hand-washing, and you leave your third or fourth hand nurses shoes there too, along with the key-card with your fake name on it. You won’t need those where you’re going.

Where am I going?

The thought makes you pause, your hands stilling on the pair of jeans you’re stuffing into your bag. You’re not sure. You’ve never moved with a plan, any sort of pattern, but that isn’t what makes you stop—no. It’s the larger question, the one that looms constantly over you. Closer to the front when you’re sleeping in the driver’s seat and taking bird baths in truck station bathrooms, but distant when you’re comfortable in hotel beds.

Where is your life going?

You try not to think about it, to push the thought back, back—but it won’t go. It stays stuck in your proverbial craw like toffee, only more unpleasant. Is this all there is? Running and hiding like a fucking rat? Your own grim expression meets your eye when it drifts to the mirror above the dresser.

Is it better than the alternative?

You finish shoving your clothes and most prized possessions into your few bags before shouldering them with a heavy sigh.

“South, maybe,” you say aloud, knowing you won’t go south at all—you’ll go east, to the big cities, to where you can get lost just like all the other souls. You reach for the doorknob and tug it open, stepping out into the hallway—

And right into a solid, warm body.

“Oh, sorry, I—”

“No need to apologize, princess.”

Your blood turns to ice, your chest tightening painfully. It isn’t possible, you know it isn’t—but it is and it must be because he’s here. It’s disgusting how certain you are, even without seeing his face. How sure, because the scent of him hasn’t changed, the piney aftershave and shampoo that’s just so Peter. There’s something warm and spiced underneath it, something that reminds you of warm sun on a summer day.

He smells like this in the dreams, too.

“Did you miss me?” He asks, reaching forward to curl a lock of your hair around his finger. “I missed you.” You’re frozen, unable to react, to move as he releases your hair to draw his knuckle over the curve of your cheek. It’s deceptively soft, almost reverent. “How long’s it been, princess? Two years? Three?”

You don’t have anywhere else to go but back, tripping over the threshold and into the hotel room. Peter follows, stepping gracefully into the room. He wrinkles his nose as he takes in your threadbare surroundings,  his lips pressing into a grim line. Peter kicks at your bags, forgotten on the floor as you’d scrambled away from him.

He takes a step towards you, and you go for the folding knife hidden in your jacket. Peter’s expression doesn’t shift at all, except perhaps to go a bit softer, like the sight of your fear and desperate defense is somehow endearing. You brandish it anyway, holding it like the self-defense teacher in Arizona taught you.

“S-stay back,” you croak, your throat tightening as he disregards your warning with another step. “Peter stop!”

“Or what, princess?” He asks, and his voice sounds… amused. “What? You’ll stab me? You can’t hurt me anymore.” Peter looks down at his own hands, flexing them as if becoming familiar with their function. “Nothing can hurt me anymore.”

Peter stands between you and the door, his brown eyes going molten gold as he stares at you. Your fingers tremble around the handle of your knife.

“You don’t have to do this.” You hate that it comes out as a plea, desperate and weak. “This doesn’t have to be what happens here, Peter—”

“You know what happens now, seer.” It’s Peter’s voice—but not, at the same time. “Look,” he says mockingly. “Tell me what you see.” You don’t want to, not with him there, but you can’t help it. You expect to see possibilities bloom before you like flowers in an open field, but instead, there is only one.

You see yourself. Behind you sprawls a vast estate, overlooking the sea. You blink, and suddenly you are beside yourself, only literally, close enough to feel your own breath on your face. You are swathed in soft, white fabric—Peter always did love you in white—and your belly curves outward through the layers of your dress, easy to see. And at your neck, a wide, shimmering gold necklace emblazoned with the sun. No, not a necklace.

A collar.

Peter’s hand on your chin is what brings you back, his thumb wiping gently at the tears streaming down your cheeks. His smile is wide, manic, as he pries the knife from your trembling fingers before your brain forgets to close them around the handle.

“No!” You gasp, pushing at his hands as you gulp down a lungful of air.  It’s like the scene from your second sight is tattooed on the insides of your eyelids, revealing itself again and again. You can almost feel the heavy gold around your throat, the sun sigil too warm against your skin—

“No, no, no-!” You shriek and struggle in his arms, your eyes wide and fearful. Peter bears it patiently, allowing you to beat at his chest with open palms and then closed fists as your gasps turn to ragged sobs. For all your fight,  Peter only wraps his arms around you tighter.

“Get off, get off me! Fuck you!” You rake one hand down his face, and he doesn’t flinch as you scratch jagged, bloody lines down his cheek. They close up almost as soon as you do it, but you feel satisfaction when he frowns.

“I know you’re upset, princess. You’ve been running so long,” he croons, but you shake your head, still struggling in his iron grip as Peter presses you against the wall. His lips drag along your cheek, and you feel them curve against your skin. He’s pleased. Even as his skin flakes away under your fingernails, he doesn’t care.

You scream.

Long, and loud, and finally, finally Peter stops moving. Your head bangs against the wall as you lean back, staring up at the ceiling as you pant.

“Are you done with the hysterics?” Peter asks, cocking his head. You’re not sure if he means to be cruel, or if it’s just a byproduct of the thing squatting in his skin, but it doesn’t matter because it cuts all the same.

“What are you going to do to me?” You ask, still not looking at him, not bothering to respond to his barb. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m going to give you everything you ever wanted.”

Somehow, it’s the worst thing he could have said.

Peter grasps your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look him in the eye as he begins inching his hand under the hem of your shirt. This too is familiar—maybe you saw it, maybe you dreamt it, but it doesn’t matter now that Peter—Apollo—is sliding his hand up your shirt, under your bra—

“No one is coming, princess. It’s just me,” he undoes the clasps deftly, “and you.” Peter’s thigh begins to slide up between your own, and you push uselessly at him. He clucks his tongue.

“Princess, this is the deal you made. Sorry you’re sore about it—oooh,” his admonishment becomes a sharp intake of breath as he tugs the collar of your shirt down hard enough to tear it, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze.

“You’re so pretty, baby.” He says, his words punctuated by the sound of ripping fabric.

“Fuck you,” you spit. “I’m not her. I didn’t make a deal!” You hiss. You try to go for his face again, but Peter neatly pins your arms above your head. “Peter, Peter please—”

“You are, though,” he says softly, dropping a kiss on the tip of your nose. “You’re her. She’s you. In here,” he shifts your wrists to one and, anchoring them as he drops a finger to the valley between your breasts. Peter brushes the halves of your shirt aside. “I know you know, princess,” he says patiently. “I know you feel it. How heavy your soul is, how many lifetimes its had.” You hate the pitying way he clucks his tongue, the way your stomach tightens with anger and fear because he’s right. You’re heavier than lead—and you hate that he knows it.

“Aren’t you ready to rest?”

You can practically feel it, the collar around your neck. Peter twists your nipple, and when you gasp, he presses his mouth to yours.  He’s warm, like sun filtering down onto your skin. Peter tastes of summer rain as his tongue sweeps over your own. He groans into your mouth, and there’s a sick, terrible tightness that grows in your stomach at the sound.

You’ve never had time for relationships, your lifestyle hasn’t been particularly conducive to romance. Beyond a couple of clumsy, regrettable hookups in bars, your own hands are the only ones to have brought you any pleasure. You don’t like the way your cunt pulses and aches as Peter’s thigh presses into you, the way heat travels like white lightning down your spine when he twists your nipples between his fingertips.

“I hate you,” you grit out against his mouth.  You don’t know why tears gather in your eyes as you say it. “I hate you!”

Peter hums. “I know, princess.” His tongue is soft on the skin of your throat, and when you swallow, he grins again. “But you won’t, always.”

There’s nowhere for you to go, stuck between Peter’s hard chest and the wall. It feels like he wants to touch you forever, caressing your face, pressing his fingers into your hips, cupping your breasts through the torn fabric of your shirt. His questing fingers dip into your panties, moaning softly against your skin when he finds you wet.

“See?” He says with a chuckle. “I think you’re starting to like me a little already.” You can’t help but feel disgusted and betrayed by your body as the little circular motions of his fingertip around your clit coax more wetness from you. You whimper, trying and failing to close your thighs around his hand.

Peter leans away from you, finally releasing your wrists from their position above your head so that he can cup your chin, forcing you to look at him as his other hand works steadily between your thighs. His sweet, chocolate brown eyes are both soft and warm like honey, and yet brilliant and burning suns in his eye sockets, rivulets of gold running down his cheeks as his smile widens.

You’re not sure which is real as your cunt clenches around the invading length of his fingers. It’s not supposed to send heat rushing through you when Peter’s teeth drag down the line of your throat, humming with pleasure as more wetness drips down his wrist, smearing against your inner thighs.

“You’re so tight, princess,” he laughs softly against your skin. The breaths that escape your throat are ragged and hard even to your own ear, each punctuated by the slick, wet noise of him stretching you open around his knuckles. “If I didn’t know you’d already let someone else have was rightfully mine, I’d think no one had fucked you before.”

Peter pulls his fingers from you, holding them in front of your face so that you can see how wet they are before he sucks them between his lips.

“Tastes sweet, too.” His weight lifts from you, and you watch as Peter takes a single step back. “Take it off. All of it.”

“Peter—”

He grabs for you then, patience worn thin at last. You slap at his hands, pushing at them unsuccessfully as Peter wrestles you to his chest, holding you as easily as he would a willful child. He tosses you to the bed, and the air leaves your lungs in a hoarse shout as your back meets the firm mattress. Peter tears your leggings down your thighs, threads snapping and tearing in his grip, and tosses them away, forgotten. Your head is caged between his hands, and there is no place else to look but at him.

“Still running, huh, princess?” His voice is cold as he stares down at you. You don’t know how eyes so bright could be so dark. So empty. “Maybe we should make it so you can’t. I think that would be best for everyone.” You know he isn’t giving you a choice, and your face cracks with horror at his words.

“Peter, please.”

He nudges your thighs apart with his own, the fabric of his jeans scraping against your skin as he slots his hips down against yours. Peter reaches between you, and your eyes widen at the sound of his zipper.

“What are you so afraid of, princess?” He asks, and you swallow a surprised  moan as the hot, heavy length of his cock presses against your slick folds. Peter hisses with pleasure, his head lolling back while he slowly rolls his hips into yours. His chin drops to his chest as Peter fixes you with a knowing look. “That you might like it?”

His cock bumps against your clit with every pass, and you whine, writhing underneath him. You hate that it feels good—better than good, better than your own hand ever has. There is something molten and hot in your veins, and Peter put it there—infected you with the hot pleasure in your belly. He draws back, only to drive forward sharply. His cock pushes against the tightness of your entrance for a moment, and then slides neatly inside.

It punches the air from your lungs in a ragged cry, the burning stretch of his cock inside you driving you to tangle your fingers in the sheets as you gape up at him, wide eyed. You’re so full, every bit of extra space inside of you is full up of Peter, and he groans, drawing out only to sink back in even deeper. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes as Peter splits you apart, his cock throbbing.

“That’s it,” he praises you, fingers digging into your left hip as he lays into your swollen, aching cunt. “See, princess your mouth can lie,” Peter pulls out slowly, glorying in the slick noise of his exit. “But this sweet fucking pussy?” You let out a garbled moan as he thrusts back into you with abandon. “She can’t.”

Every thrust jars you, leaves you raw and panting under the onslaught. Peter’s hands are everywhere, pinching and twisting your nipples, holding your hips still as he rocks into you, his cock pushing up against your cervix. You want to resist it, the sharp pleasure building at your core, but every thought is eaten by it, eroded until it’s all you can focus on.

“Feels like you need this,” Peter pants, hooking his arms underneath your thighs as he presses them to your chest. “Needed me.” You keen as his cock punches into you, dragging along your swollen, sensitive walls. You shake your head defiantly, and Peter’s fingers press into the meat of your thighs hard enough to bruise.

“I—don’t—need—you,” you grit out through his thrusts. Peter’s face darkens, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he seems to dig into you deeper, and the pleasure begins bordering on pain.

“It isn’t nice to lie, princess,” Peter says lowly. “I can feel you squeezing me like your life depends on it.” You know he’s right, you can already feel the pleasure building in your blood, tension tightening in your belly. Peter slides a hand between you, his fingers plucking at your clit as you whine.

“N-no-fuck, I—” You try to deny it, but the words devolve into babble. You’re falling, crumbling under his assault as your cunt clenches tightly around him. Pleasure, sickly sweet and unwelcome floods through you, curdling your resistance as you drown in it.

It feels good to let go.

Peter’s hips still against you and he groans low, his head dropping to his chest as his fingers squeeze your hips.

“Don’t worry, princess,” his breath washes over your cheeks as his hand comes to rest on the swell of your belly. “I think the baby will look good on you.”

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instead of you [part thirty-four]

pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, nudity, angst, mentions of vomit (reader has emetophobia)

word count: 2.2k

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on ko-fi!!

“Oh fuck, I-” Tom sputtered, frozen to the spot with wide eyes. His reflexes kicked in a second later and he spun around, squeezing his eyes shut and covering them with his free hand as you attempted to cover yourself with your hands. “I’m so, so sorry!”

“It’s fine! You’re fine!” you cried as you yanked your towel down from the hook it was resting on. You wrapped it around yourself and secured it like a sleeveless dress.

“Where did you want your, uh, clothes?” he asked, holding them out to you, eyes still closed.

“Here, I’ll just take them. You can open your eyes now, by the way.”

Tom opened them hesitantly, like he couldn’t tell if you were being serious. He relaxed a little when he realized you were wearing a towel, but still appeared on edge. He handed you the folded stack of clothes, gaze lingering on your bare shoulders. You weren’t sure if it was because he couldn’t meet your eyes, or if-

“I’ll just wait out here,” he said quietly and backed out of the bathroom.

You rushed to get dressed, pulling the t-shirt and shorts on in record time. You didn’t have time to think about how Tom had seen and touched your bra and underwear because you were too busy thinking about how he had just seen you naked, which was arguably far worse.

Back in the main room, Tom was sitting on the bed with his hands in his lap. He scrambled to his feet when he saw you, awkwardly shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay.” You were out of breath. It was like you had just run up several flights of stairs.

“No, it’s not!”

“It was an accident.”

“Yeah, but...” he trailed off. “I don’t know, I feel like after what happened yesterday, this is the exact opposite of what we talked about.”

Right, the distance thing.

“But this doesn’t count,” you said automatically. “Unless-”

“Unless what?”

Unless you liked what you saw.

“Nothing, nevermind.”

Tom looked like he wanted to press further, but didn’t. Probably because he knew he wouldn’t like what you’d say. “Sam sent me to bring you the clothes because he still wasn’t feeling great, and he didn’t want you getting anxious over... you know,” he explained.

“That was nice of you.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t like I could tell him that I was trying to stay away from you.”

Ouch.

You frowned. If Tom noticed he didn’t acknowledge it. He rocked back on his heels nervously, hands still in his pockets.

“Sam also told me to tell you I love you.”

“What?” you gasped.

“He said, ‘tell y/n: I love you’.”

“Oh.” Why the fuck had he phrased it like that? “Got it. I, uh, won’t make you say it back to him. I’ll just text him.”

“Thank god.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I should get going... the twins are probably wondering what’s taking me so long.”

“Probably,” you agreed.

“I just stuck around because I wanted to apologize again.”

“You really didn’t have to do that.”

“I felt like I needed to.”

You walked him to the door in silence, lagging behind as Tom reached the threshold.

“See you downstairs?” he asked, turning to face you one last time.

“Yep.”

“It’s going to be just the two of us again,” he added. “Since Sam and Harry are still feeling a little under the weather.”

Dread settled in the pit of your stomach. You could tell Tom was feeling the same.

“It’ll be fine,” he said unconvincingly. “Just one more day.”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine.”

“Uh huh.”

“Guess I’ll... see you down there.”

Tom seemed to remember that he was supposed to be leaving and grabbed for the doorknob behind him, missing a couple of times before finally getting hold of it.

“Yeah, see you.”

As soon as he was gone, you snatched your phone off the dresser to give Sam an earful only to see a bunch of messages that you had missed.

S: i’m still not feeling great so i’m gonna send tom to bring you your clothes

S: hope that’s ok

S: did you fall back asleep??

S: doesn’t really matter anyway bc i’ll just give him my key

You wanted to  bang your head against the wall. If you had just taken your phone with you to the bathroom this would have never happened. You sighed to yourself and texted him back. You figured that you might as well tell him what happened. It’d be one less secret you had to keep from him.

Y: your brother saw me naked

S: WHAT

Y: i didn’t see your messages!!! it was an accident he felt really bad

S: he should

Y: sam!!!

S: what! i’m justified in being upset

Y: it’s not like that and you know it

It was a half-truth, but you were trying to do some damage control. You didn’t think he’d have such a strong reaction.

S: still!! you’re my fake gf not his

Y: he was doing you a favor

Y: don’t yell at him

S: i wasn’t going to yell at him

Y: ...

S: fine i won’t say anything

Y: good, because it’s literally not a big deal

You ended the conversation by telling him to get some rest and that you’d see him later and then went to meet his parents downstairs. He texted you back saying to have fun and that he hoped to join you in your room later that night.

The day was spent exploring a botanical garden in the heart of Tokyo. You and Tom created a scavenger hunt game where you would give each other different plants to find and then time how long it took you to actually find it in the greenhouse. His parents bought lunch and brought it to the outdoor part of the garden to have a picnic.

They’d gotten a pitcher of American-style lemonade for you. You hadn’t even realized how much you missed home until you took your first sip from the clear plastic cup.

And in the evening you wandered the grounds of the Imperial Palace as the sun set behind the castle walls. The Hollands booked an official tour, but the tour guide let you all do your own thing after the walkthrough since you were his last group of the day.

You and Tom walked around the courtyard in silence together while his parents chatted with the guide about the history of the grand doors. Neither of you had anything to say to the other. Casual niceties and small talk were exhausting and you’d already spent all day exchanging them. But you had to keep it surface level with each other. You’d agreed.

Night was encroaching on the city, casting shadows off of the palace roof onto the pavement below. They cut through the golden light that lingered from the sinking sun, cloaking half the courtyard in darkness. The line that divided the halves ran right between you and Tom, leaving you standing in the dark while Tom’s figure was illuminated with the light. If you were in a novel, some college lit student would write an entire dissertation on the ironic metaphor of it all with an argument about the tension written in between the lines.

-

The next day was a free day. Sam ended up spending the night with you and you both slept in late. You woke up with your head resting on his shoulder and he smiled fondly over at you, setting his phone down on the nightstand. You were confused until he rolled over onto you, resting the weight of his entire body onto yours.

“I missed you!” he cried dramatically.

“I was just asleep!” you choked back.

“I meant the past two days,” he clarified.

You tried pushing him off of you, but he was too heavy. “Missed you too, idiot.”

“It sure doesn’t seem like it!” he scoffed. “You’re trying to push me away!”

“You’re heavy!”

“Excuses, excuses,” he tsked, but ended up rolling off of you back onto his side anyway. You gasped for air and he just rolled his eyes at the theatrics. “What do you want to do today?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that question. You’re the one who missed out on all the activities we did.”

“You know I don’t really care about all that stuff. I have more fun when it’s just the two of us anyway.”

“I’m flattered.”

“You already knew that, and the bar isn’t very high.”

Your jaw dropped. “I’m offended on behalf of your family and myself!”

“What happened to being flattered?”

“You literally insulted me in the next breath!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“You think you’re so fun to be around?” you demanded.

“Oh, we’re going there?” Sam raised an eyebrow and propped himself up on one of his elbows.

“You already did!” you shot back. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue. With a big sigh, you rolled over away from him stubbornly, muttering, “you are fun to be around.”

“I know I am.”

“You’re such a dick!”

“I know I am,” he repeated. You could hear the smirk in his voice.

You surrendered and flopped onto your back, a declaration of peace.

“I wouldn’t have gotten myself into this mess if you weren’t fun,” you added.

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, but it hasn’t been so bad, has it? The trip, I mean.”

You don’t know the half of it, you thought to yourself.

“No, it hasn’t been.”

“We can make anything fun,” he decided.

“We’re the life of the party,” you agreed sarcastically.

“We are!” your best friend insisted. “How do you think we got nicknames?”

“By making fools of ourselves,” you snorted.

“And that’s fun.”

“I’m banned from four frats because of our reputation.”

“That’s because they can’t handle Drunk and Drunker.”

“No, it’s because I stole shit from them and got caught.”

Sam shrugged, brushing your explanation off. “Okay, but think about all the times you got away with it! I still have that old Delta Chi composite hanging in the living room of my apartment.”

“I wonder if they’ve realized it’s missing by now.”

“They’ve had to, right?”

“I dunno, academics aren’t really their forte.” You pushed Sam’s chest, changing the subject. “C’mon, what should we do today? It’s our last day in Japan.”

“Why don’t we walk around the city? See what we find.”

It was mid-afternoon by the time you finally made your way out of the hotel. You wanted to take it easy since Sam was still recovering from his bout of food poisoning, but he assured you that he was perfectly fine. You walked together aimlessly for blocks, stopping in gift shops and bodegas to look at the trinkets and souvenirs on display. You bought a miniature snow globe with tiny little torii in front of Mt. Fuji, and a cheap silver ring with engravings of cherry blossoms all around it. You convinced Sam to buy a case of sake to send back to his apartment in the states, and he also got a keychain with the Tokyo Tower dangling from it.

You ended up at a quirky techno-themed diner for a late lunch slash early dinner. The servers were actually robots that zoomed around taking orders, and delivering meals. Apparently restaurants like this were really popular in Japan, and you could see why. The colorful atmosphere was warm, and it was bustling with activity. You finally convinced Sam to let you pick up the tab this time. You grabbed the check as soon as the pink robot spat out the ticket, inserting your card in the slot where their “mouth” was before Sam could change his mind.

Both of you agreed to call it an early night after wandering for another couple of hours. The shops were beginning to close for the evening, and you had a flight to catch in the morning. It didn’t make sense to stay out and chase the sun since you’d be rising with it soon enough.

Dusk settled on the city like a fine layer of dust. Stars began to shine weakly through the fading sunset as night turned the sky purple.

Sam took the lead back to the hotel, revoking your GPS privileges after you got lost twice. He put on a movie while the two of you got ready for bed together. It was one they played on cable all the time back home, dubbed in Japanese with English subtitles. But neither of you really paid much attention to it. Sam was too busy brushing his teeth and washing his face, and you were already half-asleep, fighting to keep your eyes open. If anything, the movie playing in the background was making it harder to stay up.

You had almost drifted off when a buzz from your phone underneath your pillow startled you awake. You groaned, cursing yourself for forgetting to put it on Do Not Disturb. You checked the notification anyway, just in case it was important.

You squinted at the screen and tapped on the message. It was a text from Tom.

T: i need a favor

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part two: i don’t know where i stand | tom holland x reader

pairing: childhood!best friend!tom holland x female!reader

summary: it’s summer, and you’ve just moved into a new flat after a bad breakup with your now ex-boyfriend. when a celebratory trip to the nearby pub turns into an awkward meeting with your childhood best friend tom, old feelings you thought were gone gets brought back.    

warnings: mentions and drinking of alcohol

word count: 4.0k

a/n: a little longer this part- hope you all like it! as always english is not my first language so if you see any spelling/grammar mistakes, no you didn’t 🤪 feel free to send me an ask or a message if you want to be tagged ☺️ happy reading! 💗

series masterlist

“Hi, y/n”

Tom greeted you with a short hug before his dog curiously started sniffing your leg. He was dressed in a moss green tee he’d tucked into his blue jeans. His t-shirt hugged his torso, highlighting his broad shoulders.

“This is Tessa”, he gestured towards his dog, “I hope it’s okay that I brought her with me. I thought we could get coffees and maybe go for a walk? There’s this big park not far from here”.

You squatted down and scratched Tessa behind her ear while he talked. She was a beautiful dog. A blue Staffy from what you could tell. Her fur was soft like butter, and she was giving you the biggest smile.

“She’s pretty cute right?”, Tom was eyelevel with you, giving Tessa’s head a pat.

Keep reading

In this together

A Harry Holland fic

On the topic of Jr. (Chapter twelve)

Summary: the Early bird gets the worm.

Series Masterlist

Taglist

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A/n: this was not edited in depth so there is probably many mistakes 😅 but whatever 😝❤️ (also not me on my 💉 so being extra impulsive and posting a chapter I literally just finished and didn't put out a teaser for 😅)

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: talk of pregnancy related pain (a breif description of bodily fluid)

Last part / next part

The weeks that followed the dinner fiasco were some of the most odd of your life, and that was saying something. Sundays, which had been spent with the hollands almost religiously, became a day of relaxation and laziness, neither you or Harry wanting to do anything before the start of a new week, though you're sure you both had your separate reasons.

Niki swung by a few times during the few weeks for quick visits and to offer a multitude of apologies on her husband's behalf even though everyone had assured her she didn't need to do that.

Sam had gone back to school shortly after the whole thing had transpired and Tom had left for the states for a new project he was working on, leaving the impromptu visits to just Paddy, Harrison and tuwaine. But even with the three of them visiting often, things still seemed rather lonely.

You watched as the phone on the counter lit up again with Harry's father's contact. It had been two months since the Ill fated dinner party, and Harry had not spoken to his dad since. It broke your heart knowing there was a wedge between them when there didn't need to be, and you couldn't help but feel a bit responsible for it. "Har," you called out to where he was sitting in the living room working on his newest project.

"Hmm love? You call me?" He asked as he took one of his airpods out and turned his attention to you.

"Your dad is calling again," you motioned towards his phone knowing he wasn't going to pick it up.

"Let it ring," he said before going back to his work.

You nodded, before grabbing your own phone to shoot a text to the only person you had been able to talk to about all of this stuff.

Y/n: still won't answer…

You rubbed the phone against your chin as you waited for the ping and vibration of a response.

Sam: he'll come around, give him time

You frowned at that, you knew logically that things would eventually get better but you couldn't help the feeling of wanting to speed things up.

Y/n: the baby is due in six weeks, Sam… I don't want them estranged for that..

The next response came quicker than the first.

Sam: he will come around before that, I promise.

You took a deep breath as you glanced at Harry buried in his work, you hoped Sam was right.

Yn: I hope so.. I just feel like this is all my fault.

Sam: don't. Don't put this on yourself, he was an asshole and he deserves the silent treatment Harry is giving him.

You rolled your eyes not stopping the chuckle that left your mouth.

Y/n: I just don't want Harry to miss out on having his dad around after the baby is born, you know. For support.

Sam: he'll come around love, I promise you.

Sam: Actually, on the topic of Jr.

You groaned as you read the nickname Harry's twin had adopted to calling your unborn child.

Y/n. Sam, quit calling your nephew Jr.

He ignored that text entirely.

Sam: ANYWAY, I'm coming back to town in a few days, probably going to be staying a while.

Your eyes grew wide at the surprise, you had not known he had planned on returning home until the holiday.

Y/n: you want me to fix up my old room for you? I moved into Harry's so it's empty if you want to stay.

The three dots signaling his response popped up, and disappeared a few times before the next response came in.

Sam: That's all right, I have somewhere.

You furrowed your brow as you thought about where he could possibly mean.

Y/n: oh. Where?

Sam: with a friend

A smile grew on your face.

Y/n: a friend or a 'friend'

Sam: guess you'll have to wait and see 🙈

You chuckled at him knowing you wouldn't know more until he was ready to tell you.

Y/n: cryptic lol

You set your phone down before letting out a long sigh. Harry seemed to be busy with the script he was working on and you didn't want to bug him while he was in the zone. You decided now was as good a time as any to go and check in on Ruby, your best friend. "Har, I'm going to head to Rubes," you said from the kitchen as you gathered your things.

"Ok love," he said, motioning for you to come to him. You giggled as you walked to him before he pulled you into his lap placing his hand on your basketball sized belly. "Be safe, I love you," he told you with a kiss, "and I love you," he leaned forward kissing your belly.

"I love you," you chuckled as you pushed up from his lap, "we will be back before you even finish I'm sure," you told him while you walked towards the door.

"I'll make dinner tonight," he told you, making you turn towards him.

"You don't need to do that-"

"You deserve it baby," he said with a smile before winking at you, "now get out of here before I change my mind and march you to the bedroom," he teased.

"You wish Holland," you quipped as you shut the door.

The second you got to ruby's apartment you were hit with the overwhelming aroma of cleaning supplies. "Jesus, rubes," you coughed as you opened the door. "Are you cleaning up a murder?"

The girl in question looked up from where she was scrubbing the floor on her hands and knees. "It needs to be perfect," she mumbled. Before going back to her feat.

"Girl," you said as you looked around the small place, "it is spotless in here, I'm not sure it can get any cleaner,"

She glanced up looking around the space before sighing and falling to her butt on the floor. "I'm nervous, ok? I've never had anyone over," she told you as she blew out a breath.

"Ruby, you have me over here all the time," you pointed out, not entirely sure what she could possibly mean.

"Sure, but I've never had anyone come to stay," she argued.

"Who's coming to stay?" You wondered, as you watched your best friend's eyes widen in shock.

"None of your business," she spat, "stop being so nosey,"

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up in your throat. "So it's a boy?" You teased as you lowered yourself to the floor beside her.

"Y/n," she warned.

You put your hands up in surrender at your friend as you studied her face. "He treats you good?" You asked her.

A small smile crept onto her lips, "so good," she admitted.

"Good enough for me," you announced.

She chuckled at you before grabbing your hand and squeezing gently. "What's up anyway? Why are you in my neck of the woods?" She wondered.

"I just needed to get out of the house," you explained as you leaned back against the wall, "I just don't want the baby to be born into a torn apart family," you sighed.

"Jr is going to have the best family a baby could ever wish for y/n, Harry and his dad will get past there differences, but right now Harry's angry, and understandably so, Dom disrespected you, and in turn he disrespected Harry, so let him give his dad the silent treatment a little longer, he's not hurting anyone," ruby told you.

You narrowed your eyes on her. "Did you just call my son Jr?"

"Oh my god!" She groaned. "Out of all that, that is what you gathered?" She laughed loudly before pushing herself up from the floor. "Come on then momma, let's get you baby ready,"

"Baby what?" You asked with a confused look.

"I'm going to pamper you, since that one might make his appearance at any time now," she told you as she helped you to your feet.

You shook your head at her but couldn't shake the feeling that you were missing something right in front of your face.

After hours of pampering and so much girl talk you felt like your brain might explode, you eagerly headed home to yours and Harry's place.

There was a delicious smell that wafted down the hall from your flat, that had your mouth watering before you had even entered the place. You unlocked your door, before stepping into the front room which led directly into the kitchen/dining area. Harry stood at the stove, sans shirt, humming the tune of whatever song was playing in the background while stirring the food on the stove.

You shut the door quietly, setting the stuff in your hands onto the table before approaching him and wrapping your arms around his slender waist and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "Smells good," you mumbled against his skin.

He chuckled and pressed a hand against yours Which were intertwined against his stomach. "Did you have a good time?" He wondered.

"Mmmm," you nodded, "pretty sure ruby had a secret boyfriend that's coming to stay with her, wouldn't talk much about it, but she was acting a bit crazy," you giggled remembering just how you had found her.

"That's good though, she deserves to be happy," he pointed out.

"Yeah," you agreed, letting go of him, "she really does," you took a few steps towards the fridge to grab a bottle of water. "I could get used to this, the domestication, I wouldn't mind this forever," you sighed, gulping down the water. You watched as Harry's body froze, and his head turned towards you.

"Is that what you want? Forever?" He wondered.

You felt your cheeks heat, not meaning to have inevitably started a conversation the two of you probably weren't ready for.

"I mean," you shrugged, turning away from him. "At least the next 18 years," you felt like an idiot, you should have just kept your mouth shut, you were really good at fucking things up with your giant babbly mouth.

"And what if that's not enough for me?" Harry wondered. You turned quickly to look at him, leaning against the counter with his arms folded over his chest and a grin on his face. "What if I want forever?"

You felt your mouth drop open, "like marriage?" You squeaked.

Harry shrugged and winked, "guess you'll have to wait and see," he chuckled as he returned to the food.

You stared at him for a minute trying to process what you had just heard. Sure you had thought about it, what you felt for Harry was the real deal, you loved him, you wanted as long as you could get, but the idea of forever? To have someone with you through everything? That was something you had never experienced, with no family, the idea was terrifying, but it was a good terrifying. The kind that makes your stomach churn with anticipation and your cheeks hurt from the uncontrollable smiling.

"Looking forward to it then," you giggled as you grabbed some plates and began to set the table for yours and Harry's dinner.

A week had passed and things seemed to be as smooth as ever, the movie was finishing up production, and a few of the sets had been designed by you, making you feel a sense of pride over it, as well as the fact that your boyfriend was directing it.

You were in the middle of a conversation with one of the crew members when you felt a pain in your back, at first it was kind of dull, nothing like you imagined real contractions would be. So you chose to tough it through it, and finish out the day as there was only a few hours left.

You were standing inside Harry's trailer hunched over the table as a terrible pain rendered you practically useless, the same position you had been in now for well over an hour.

At first you had just thought it was a simple back ache from all the extra weight you were carrying, but as the minutes passed on you bagan to worry that something far more serious was going on.

You had read about how contractions would feel, and you liked to pride yourself on being overly prepared for things, but whatever this was, the pain you felt now. Well it was nothing that you were prepared for.

You heard the door to the trailer open, not being able to leave your current position, you were hopeful it was Harry.

"Y/n, darling," Harry's voice was filled with panic as you heard whatever he was carrying drop to the floor and he rushed to your side. His hand rubbed soothing circled along your back as he waited for you to speak, to say anything, but you couldn't think through the pain, you could hardly breathe let alone force words to pass your lips. "Breath my love," Harry mumbled against your ear as he placed a few gentle kisses to your head.

You let out a pained sob as there was a break in the ache. "It hurts," you cried. "It hurts so bad," tears were freely flowing from your eyes, as Harry helped you from where you were hunched at the table.

"Is it contractions?" Harry wondered as he held your quivering body in his arms.

"I don't know," you sobbed into his chest.

That was enough for Harry, he radioed someone on the crew and not even a minute later the trailer door was opened as the front security guard and two other men came filing in to help Harry get you into a dark SUV.

You felt defeated as Harry helped you into the back seat, sliding in beside you and barking orders to the man in the driver's seat. This wasn't the plan, you had a plan, and whatever was happening, was not a part of it in the slightest.

The drive to the labor center was short, being as it was just between the studio and your house, Harry flung the door of the SUV open and rushed to get a wheelchair.

You were thankful that you had Harry to help you through this situation because had he not shown up you're not sure if you would have left the hunched over position you had stood in for quite some time. It was too early, you still had five weeks left until your due date, but you knew, you had a feeling that this was it, and if to only cement that feeling, as soon as harry helped you out of the car and into a standing position you felt an odd sensation before liquid flowed down your legs soaking your pants and the floor beneath you.

“Harry?!” You panicked.

He looked up from the floor where his gaze had been frozen, “Was that- did your?”

You nodded as you felt your heart accelerate.

“All right then,” Harry mumbled as he assisted you into the wheelchair, “ Let's go have our baby.”

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(un)expected | tom holland x reader

pairing: actor! tom holland x pregnant! reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of grief, lots of anxiety and stress, mentions of hospitals and death, ! TW !: miscarriage

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instead of you [part thirty-three]

pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of sex, mentions of vomit (reader has emetophobia)

word count: 3k

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on ko-fi!!

As soon as the cable car reached the peak, Tom ushered you into the Men’s Room with your head buried in his shoulder so that no one could see you. He blocked the door with the trashcan once you were inside to prevent other people from coming in. Anyone else who had to use the bathroom would just have to hold it until they were back at the loading dock.

You were a goddamn wreck, and that was sugarcoating it. Your eyes were red and puffy from crying, your nose was running- you’d gotten some snot on Tom’s shirt, which would have mortified you way more if you weren’t having a meltdown, and you couldn’t catch your breath no matter how hard you tried.

Tom helped you up onto the counter and yanked a bunch of paper towels from the dispenser on the wall for you to blow your nose and wipe your eyes with.

“Thanks,” you murmured as you took them from him.

He slotted himself between your legs, eyes searching your face. He had this helpless look on his face and you just wanted to kiss it off, but that was what had gotten you here in the first place. It was clear that he didn’t really know what to say, and you didn’t blame him.

You, yourself, couldn't pinpoint the reason you were crying. It was either your paralyzing fear of heights that had sent you spiraling a few minutes prior, or the fact that you were falling for your best friend’s brother and had kissed him... also a few minutes prior. The most likely answer was a combination of both, but you weren’t ready to come to that conclusion.

You let Tom dab at your cheeks with a paper towel, let him attempt damage control, even though you were far beyond repair.

“I’m such a horrible person,” you groaned.

“No, you’re not,” Tom assured you in a hushed tone, but even if he believed what he was saying you knew it was a lie.

In his mind, you had kissed your boyfriend’s brother twice now. Once had been his fault, you were both drunk, and even if you’d shittly played it off like you thought you were kissing Sam, it was still Tom who had initiated it. The second time was on you. You were sober and you knew exactly what you were doing. But the reality was potentially worse. You’d kissed your best friend’s brother twice, when you were supposed to be pretending to be in love with him. You’d betrayed him, and if he ever found out you were afraid it’d ruin your friendship. And what made it worse, was that stupid list of rules you’d agreed upon on the plane before meeting his family. There was an entire clause dedicated to not flirting with Sam’s brothers. You were pretty sure kissing went way past flirting, not to mention all of the other things you thought about doing to his brother.

“Yes, I am,” you insisted. “I kissed my boyfriend’s brother! Twice!”

“Technically, the first time was my fault.”

“But the second time- there shouldn’t have even been a second time.” Tom didn’t respond. “I’m the worst girlfriend ever!”

“You’re not the worst girlfriend ever. It’s not like we slept together.”

You gave him a look. “Well, I’m a pretty bad one.”

“I mean, I kissed you back. I’d say that makes me a pretty shitty brother.”

“We’re both awful people,” you seceded, sniffling. “Maybe we deserve each other.”

Tom’s upper lip twitched almost imperceptibly, but he shook his head.

“Are you going to tell Sam?” he asked.

“Should I?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I just- I know it’s wrong not to tell him, but I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I mean, you love him, right?”

“Yes.” You answered automatically, because for the millionth time, you did love Sam. But not in the way Tom thought you did.

“And you don’t want to break up with him?”

“No, I don’t.” You stared at the ground, suddenly fascinated with the dirty grout between the tiles. “Do you think he’d forgive me if I told him?”

Tom didn’t respond right away and your heart sank. “Probably. Eventually. But I don’t think he’d forgive me.”

You felt your eyes well up with tears again. “B-but you’re his brother. He has to forgive you.”

“Sam, uh,” he paused and you thought he might’ve been getting emotional too. “Sam hasn’t had it very easy because of me. I know he’s always kind of felt like he was living in my shadow, that’s why he went abroad for uni. He’s completely unique, you know? Of course you know, you’re his- anyway. He’s got his own talents and ambitions, and so many achievements! But he feels they pale in comparison to mine. I think most of it comes from people who used to pretend to be his friend or use him to get to me. I know h- I know he resents me for it.”

You shook your head. “That’s not true.”

“Why do you think he never told you what I do for a living? Why do you think I’m always joking about him being upset with me?” You pursed your lips, unable to give him an answer. “Exactly. And you, I’ve never seen Sam look at anyone like the way he looks at you. If he finds out I kissed you, more than once, if he finds out that I think-” he stopped short. “That’s just one more thing he thinks he’s lost to me. I don’t think he could forgive me for that.”

“He’d get over it eventually,” you tried.

“I don’t know if he would.”

You could tell Tom had been beating himself up over this for a while. Maybe you had more in common than you thought.

You weren’t sure if Sam would forgive you either if you were being honest with yourself. You knew Tom was right on some level. Sam had always been a little possessive of you, but it wasn’t until you met his brother that you understood why. You’d stabbed him in the back in spite of that, and yet part of you still wanted Tom.

You wanted to take him by the collar and kiss him again and again until you couldn’t think anymore. You wanted him to kiss you back, chasing your lips like he couldn’t get enough of you.

He was like the sun: blinding and brilliant and warm. If you lingered in his presence for too long you’d get burned.

“I have an idea,” Tom murmured finally after a painful silence. “You’re not going to like it.”

“What is it?”

“Maybe... tell Sam after the trip is over? I know it’s asking a lot, but it’ll just make things less complicated.”

“I... don’t think I’m going to tell him,” you said quietly.

“Wait, really?”

You nodded. “I don’t want to ruin you and Sam’s relationship.” And selfishly, I don’t want to ruin me and Sam’s relationship.

“Are you sure?”

“I think so.” You sighed and pushed your hair out of your eyes. “I’m sorry for kissing you.

“It’s fine. Guess we’re even now.” He gave you a weak grin.

“Yeah, we’re even. Consider your IOU voided.”

“Do you still have the postcard?”

“It’s in my backpack back in Tokyo.”

His smile brightened and he opened his mouth to respond, but at the same time the door to the bathroom rattled against the trash can as someone tried to get in.

"Sorry, mate, it’s um, out of order,” Tom sputtered out in a panic as he walked over and pushed the door closed with more force. He held his hand to it for several seconds as the person on the other side continued wrestling with it.

You gave him an anxious look, but he just returned the look and shrugged. He seemed entirely too calm for someone who was about to be discovered in the men’s room with a woman that looked like she’d just been railed. You looked like a mess for a completely different reason, but you knew no one would believe you if you tried to explain yourself. And after being recognized once today it wouldn’t surprise you if it happened again. Tom was pretty famous. Getting caught fucking someone in a bathroom halfway across the world wasn’t a great look for Spider-Man.

Maybe you should get down from off the counter. Sitting up there only made you look guiltier.

Tom didn’t let up until the knocking eventually stopped. He was stronger than you thought he’d be. He’d only used one hand to hold the door closed while the other person had seemingly thrown their whole body weight into it. He hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he said casually and helped you hop down. “Your eyes are still pretty red, you should splash some cold water on your face.”

You followed his advice and turned on the faucet, cupping your hands underneath the running water and bringing them to your face. The chill was a shock to your system, grounding you in the moment and helping soothe the burning of your cheeks.

You straightened up and made eye contact with Tom in the mirror who had been standing behind you the entire time watching. He handed you another paper towel to dry off with. You thanked him silently and turned around, looking to him for his approval.

He gave you a once over, uncrossing his arms and reaching toward you hesitantly. “Can I?” he asked, eyes flitting to yours. You nodded and he brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes. “There.” His voice had dropped to a whisper and you found yourself staring at his lips again. He was a walking distraction. He didn’t even have to do anything to have you at a loss for words. “I think... we should probably keep our distance from each other. At least, for a little while.”

You did your best to ignore the pang in your chest as you nodded in agreement. He was right, and you knew that. The fact that he was the one to suggest it should be a relief to you, but it wasn’t.

“Okay, let’s go back down to the bus before they leave us here.”

Tom held your hand in the cable car on the way back down the mountain, but neither of you spoke. The bus was also silent. Minus the handholding.

There was only one more stop before the tour was finally over and you could collapse into bed and try to forget the entire thing. It was a bullet train that would take you back to Tokyo, but it was running a couple minutes behind so your tour group was ditched at the train station by the guides who left with the buses while you waited.

You were standing next to Tom on the platform when his mother pulled you aside suddenly, asking to speak with you for a moment. Your heart leapt into your throat as you followed her a couple paces away from the group. What could she possibly want to talk to you about? Did she know something? Was she going to confront you about how close you seemed to be with the son you weren’t dating? A million possibilities ran through your mind, but you honestly had no idea what to expect.

“Is everything okay?” you asked breathlessly.

“Oh, everything’s fine! I’m sorry if I worried you by asking for a word. I just wanted to let you know that I talked to Sam earlier today and he mentioned your... aversion to stomach illnesses so Dom and I looked to see if there were any extra rooms available at the hotel and we’ve booked you your own for the next few days until we leave. Sam can join you when he’s feeling better, but we didn’t want you to have to deal with that ickiness.”

“Oh my god, you didn’t have to do that!” you exclaimed, embarrassed that Sam had told his mom about your stupid irrational fear.

“Well, you and Sam were supposed to have your own room anyway, but someone,” she looked pointedly at her husband, “messed that up. We would’ve switched you both sooner, but nothing at the resort had opened up. It’s not a big deal, trust me, okay? We want you to get some good rest and I know you won’t be able to do that with the twins keeping you up all night. We know Tom will be fine with them, but you shouldn’t have to suffer through that.”

You clutched your hands to your heart. “That’s so thoughtful of you, thank you!”

“Of course! We just want you to be comfortable, love.”

You thanked her again, but she insisted that it was really nothing and let you get back to standing silently with Tom.

The train pulled up a few minutes later and everyone got their tickets stamped as they boarded and filed into their seats. You and Tom sat across from each other while his parents took the seats beside you- Dom next to Tom and Nikki next to you.

It had been a long day so no one was in much of a mood to talk, thankfully. You tried to nap, but you were still too on edge to relax. The events of the day had exhausted you, but not enough for your body to give in to sleep. It was like your brain was trying to protect you from letting your guard down.

Y: what did you say to your mom??

S: what do you mean

Y: she told me you talked to her about my “aversion” and now i have my own room??

S: oh yeah

S: you’re welcome ;)

Y: it’s EMBARRASSING

Y: they got me my own hotel room??? like? i don’t want them to spend extra money on me!!

S: technically they were already going to spend that money anyway but dad fucked up the reservations. they’re still saving money

Y: ig but still :(

S: look, i knew you wouldn’t get any sleep tn if you came back to our room. i still can’t keep much down and neither can harry. it’ll just stress you out- not to mention that you have a tendency to puke whenever you’re around people who are also sick

Y: ...

S: you know i’m right

S: i didn’t want you to be miserable

Y: i know...

Y: thank you. i love you.

S: always :)

S: and make some use of that alone time ;)

You rolled your eyes and slipped your phone in your pocket. His idea might help you relieve some stress, but you knew you’d be out like a light as soon as your head hit your pillow.

Your new room was much smaller than the one you shared with the Holland boys, but it was cozy. It was on a completely different floor, which made you feel a little lonely, but mostly you were relieved to have your own space. There wasn’t a kitchenette like there had been in the other one, which wouldn’t be a problem since you weren’t going to be doing any cooking, and a queen-size bed lay in the middle of the room. You almost cried when you saw it, thinking about how you’d get the whole thing to yourself for at least a night.

As tired as you were, you still took the time to shower the day off. You scrubbed yourself with the bar of hotel soap until your skin was raw and the bottom of the tub was full of suds. All of the sweat and grime was long gone, but you still felt dirty.

Eventually you gave up and rinsed yourself off before wrapping one of those big white towels around you and calling it a night.

You went to sleep naked, not having bothered collecting a change of clothes from the boys’ room. You didn’t want to venture in there if you didn’t have to, and you’d just text Sam in the morning to bring you something to wear anyway.

-

The morning came far too quickly. You felt like you had barely blinked and the sun had already risen. It was past nine, the Hollands had let you sleep in a little, but only barely. There were still plans for today, and you had to be downstairs and ready for them in a little less than an hour. You weren’t sure if the twins were feeling up to tagging along today, but you hoped they would. You didn’t know how you were going to spend another day alone with Tom- especially now that you had agreed to keep a distance from each other.

You texted Sam to ask him to bring up a change of clothes. His mom had left the second key to the room with him so that he could join you when he was feeling up to it so you told him that he could just let himself in and leave the clothes on the bed.

Instead of waiting around, you decided to be proactive. You pushed yourself out of bed, groaning at the stiffness of your muscles, and made your way into the bathroom to wash your face. You used the bar of hand soap sitting on the counter to lather up- against your better judgment- and then rinsed it off with cold water to wake yourself up.

As you dried off with a washcloth you heard the door to your hotel room open and close and you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Y/n?”

“In here!” you called back, not thinking twice about it. Sam had seen you naked plenty of times, and even though you had told him to leave the clothes on the bed you figured he might just want to say hi or something.

The bathroom door slid open and you turned towards Sam to ask how he was feeling, except it wasn’t Sam standing there. It was Tom.

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