I've seen a lot of ff writers apologize for their fic being "self-indulgent" which baffles me cause like is that not the entire concept of fanfiction?????
SAY IT WITH ME FOLKS, "FANFICTION IS SUPPOSED TO BE SELF-INDULGENT"
The best advice really is to just write. Write badly - purple prose, stilted conversations, rambling descriptions. Don’t delete it, pass go, take your $200, save all your garbage in a big folder. Look at how much you’ve made - it doesn’t matter if it isn’t perfect, isn’t polished, it was practice. Every time you write you learn a little more, and find another piece of your voice.
“If you’re only going to write when you’re inspired, you may be a fairly decent poet, but you will never be a novelist — because you’re going to have to make your word count today, and those words aren’t going to wait for you, whether you’re inspired or not. So you have to write when you’re not “inspired.” … And the weird thing is that six months later, or a year later, you’re going to look back and you’re not going to remember which scenes you wrote when you were inspired and which scenes you wrote because they had to be written.”
- Neil Gaiman
this made me realize i was literally just using inspiration as an excuse to procrastinate
‘WRITE IT BADLY. Write it badly, write it badly, write it badly, write it badly. Stop what you’re doing, open a Word document, put a pencil on some paper, just get the idea out of your head. Let it be good later. Write it down now. Otherwise it will die in there.’
— Brandon Sanderson on overcoming writer’s block to create a first draft as a professional author (quoted in this tumblr post here)
‘Writing tip of the day: it is perfectly acceptable, when working on a scene that vexes you, to write “DUMBEST VERSION” along the top of the page and start from there. As I, a human who has been writing professionally for 25 years, just did. Give yourself permission to suck.‘
Writing is rewriting. In no other endeavor do you expect to be perfect the first time. Artists sketch before they begin to paint. Athletes and dancers warm up before they compete or perform. And everyone practices for hours and hours, days and years, to hone their craft. It is constant. It never ends, not for any of us, and that’s the beauty of it, I suppose. Art is organic. It grows and it changes, and the reason is because the artists creating it are living things, and they grow and change. Anything that looks or sounds effortless is is the result of thousands of hours of training and practice, of writing and rewriting again and again and again.
yes you read that right….i am not going to post any writing for a YEAR. ik some of you already expected this to happen since i haven’t posted any content in a (long) while but i SWEAR i’m going to get back to posting after my exams on march next year!!!!!! my love for jonah is as strong as always so don’t worry i won’t stop writing for him and him only FOREVER!!! feel free to interact with me anytime tho! i may not be posting but i’ll still be active hehe
Could you do one for Tom x reader based on The Joker and the Queen by Taylor and Ed?? 🥺🥺
yes yes yes!! i loved how the music vid was a continuation of everything has changed :,)
when i fold | tom holland
not my gif!
romance was completely ruined for you at the age of seven.
that was when you met tom holland.
you’d never been in love before, which was understandable considering how young you were, but looking back at it in your older years you could recognize the tightness in your chest as none other than the overwhelming feeling of love. you and tom didn’t really date until freshman year of high school, but that didn’t stop you from loving him all the years leading up to that.
he was sweet, and kind and told you you looked pretty at least once every day. it didn’t last though, nothing in high school ever lasts forever, and as you transitioned from your hometown to a bigger city for post-secondary, you came to terms with that. it had definitely been a realization that took a lot of time, and one that didn’t come easy. there were moments when you’d find yourself daydreaming a little too much; about his kind smile and easy laugh or the way he walked with you to your classes, even if they weren’t down the same hall.
the last time you saw him was the night after your graduation. someone had thrown a big party and it felt only right to attend, it being your last night in this town and all. but then the night was over and he kissed you goodbye like he had a million times, promising this wasn’t it for the two of you, and you believed him.
it was naive, but you were seventeen and in love.
but now you’re standing in line at the grocery store, trying to text your mom that you did in fact grab her two cartons of eggs and answer an email from your professor about an assignment due before christmas break’s end.
with a huff you slip your phone into your coat pocket and unload the basket of groceries onto the conveyor belt, smiling at the cashier kindly, “hi, how are you?”
and standing over by the cooler searching for a bottle of sparkling water, he hears your voice. he didn’t know you were coming home and for some reason it stung that you didn’t reach out. it shouldn’t have though, because he hadn’t either.
tom would have been a little embarrassed to admit it, but he stared at you for at least twenty seconds, just looking at you, at the subtle changes in your features as you’d grown up a little more without him. he admired the tone of your voice and how it still hypnotised him, and your smile. that really did him in.
so when you grab the bag and start toward the exit, he knows he has to say something, he’d made a promise to you all those years ago, and this was his chance to finally, finally keep it.
“y/n?” he calls, stopping you by the florals.
at first you think you’re insane for recognizing the voice, for finding it so familiar. as you turn around though, you feel a little less crazy.
“tom?” you hold the brown paper bag close to your chest, almost like a safety blanket, “i uh, i didn’t know you were coming home.” you’d honestly figured he’d have too much else going on, considering how busy he’d gotten just after you graduated.
he smiles and steps a little bit closer, “my mum would have had my neck if i didn’t, so here i am.” he stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels as you take him in, “i didn’t know you were either, i mean, i guess i assumed but…didn’t think i’d lucky enough to speak with you.” his hair is longer and his features are sharper, he really looks grown up.
he’s always made you smile, and that hasn’t changed.
“how’ve you been? how’s school?” his question has you reeling back into trying to get over him in your first semester of university.
“oh good, you know, only one semester left and i’ve got like, a career to think about.” you nod.
“that’s great, you know, even though we kind of fell out of touch, i’m really proud of you, y/n/n.” the simplicity of him calling you by your nickname makes you blush.
“thank you, thank you, i could say the same about you, you’re really taking the world by storm.” your smile widens when he flushes and stares at his shoes.
the soft chuckle that passes his lips floods your heart with admiration and old emotions. “that means a lot, thank you.” and then you just look at each other for a few seconds, waiting for the other to say something. “um, i feel like i caught you at a bad time, would you maybe want to grab coffee one day before you leave? or even a drink? just to catch up?” he finally asks.
with a growing smile, you nod, “yeah, that sounds awesome, um, maybe boxing day?” you offer.
he smiles and nods, and that was just the beginning of him keeping a lifetime’s worth of promises.
Hi Emma! I really love your blog! Can I ask for some writing advice on poetry? I'm kinda new to writing poems. Hope you have a nice dayy
oh thank you anon!! i haven't written poetry in a a while now, so i can't say i'm too practiced at the moment, but i'd be happy to share what i can <3
(as always, i rambled. there's plenty more under the cut if you want to brave it. i hope some of this helps!)
first of all, im just going to lay out what poetry is and can be, and share a little about style. i never really follow any structure or pattern when i wrote my poems, i just kinda blurt out ideas and try to form them in a way that made sense and flows nicely. i don't even think about rhyming, or line length, or punctuation even - i just write, and it turns out how it turns out, which is okay! not all poetry has to rhyme or fit a set structure, it can be whatever works for you!
i've also found, as i've written more and more poems, that i write more about ideas and feelings - the abstract, internal landscape - which is just what i like to share through the means of poetry. but i know some other writers who use poetry as a way of sharing scenes they have in their mind, or to describe a moment in time that they don't want to lose; they write the physical details, rather than the abstract that i prefer. (that being said, i do have plenty of poems that capture a moment in time, describing the physical setting, but usually as a means of conveying either an emotion or idea. idk, i just like Big Thinking okay.)
what im getting at is - you can write poetry about anything. don't fall into the trap of thinking that all the great poets lived for writing about romance or the meaning of life! poetry can be about the way sunlight comes through you window in the morning, the feeling you get when you have a nice cup of coffee, the stranger that smiled at you on the street, or coming home to pet your dog after a long day. even the simplest things in life can be spun into a beautiful poem with the right words.
and now, an important part of this whole topic: words. poetry is made of words, as all story's and messages are, and i think its important to make sure you use the right ones in your poems! my poetry tends to use longer and more specific-meaning words (fancy words, if you will) which consciously i chose to do because i want to use the vocabulary that i don't always get to throw into daily conversation, and also because i want to use as few words as possible to share the big message or meaning. my poems are often short and snappy, building up only a little before shedding light on what the point of the poem is, then delving into the idea a little more before ending with a final line that (hopefully) covers it all. (thats the aim anyway. all my poems end up differently tho, its not a set pattern that i follow or anything! you'll get a feel for it, the more poems you write <3 )
now lets talk about inspirations. i think i've covered topics, like what you are actually writing about, but inspirations is the layer sitting under that. most of my inspiration comes from music; my mind is constantly picking out lyrics from various songs and chewing over the meanings in the back of my mind, so there's always A Thought being processed somewhere in my head, which is often the content that gets thrown into my work (whether that's writing, poetry or art of some kind!). but as i said before, you can write poetry about anything, and inspiration can come from anywhere too! art is often made in response to other art, so keep your eyes, ears and heart open, and you're bound to find something that you want to turn into poetry! nature is another wonderful inspiration (i've lost count of how many poems i've written about the moon. in my defense tho, she's a gorgeous muse <3 )
ok, well. i think that's it. i hope that something i've said may help you in your writing adventures, and i would love to read some poetry if you ever want to send some!! my inbox and dms are always open <33 good luck anon!!! the world needs more poets. xoxo
this is 9.9k of self indulgent fic i cant be stopped
summary: you’re too sweet to resist, even when tom knows he should
warnings: young! reader/age gap (still of age! maybe 19 or 20) mentions of alcohol, nsfw content, oral, f receiving, lots of soft sex
comment 🍜 if you’d like me to add you to my tom tag list!
this is such a guilty pleasure trope tom pls rail me
not my gif!
tom never thought he would fall into the clichè of developing a crush on his neighbour, and besides, that isn’t quite what he’d call the way he saw you.
you were so intriguing.
from the moment the heel of your boot hit the elevator floor and you took off down the same hallway, tom couldn’t shake you.
the way you smiled at him, small and innocent and dripping in sweetness. the way your perfume danced around the still air of the confined elevator and lingered on his jacket as you stood so close to him. the smallest details stuck along the walls of his brain, the canvas tote bag hanging from your shoulder and the silly keychain dangling from your keyring as you unlocked your door, shooting him one more smile when you noticed his eyes thrown your way.
he was surprised you hadn’t crossed paths before, but he had heard about a new tenant in the building, just his luck for it to be a pretty girl two doors ahead of him.
he talked about you when he was a little more than tipsy at the pub with harrison and tuwaine and felt a strange bundle of nerves in the pit of his stomach when one of them mentioned the idea of him inviting you out one night.
he wasn’t easily shaken and was typically pretty outstanding and confident when it came to girls, and yet, even the thought of asking you to a night out -especially to his already foggy mind- tinged his cheeks a light shade of pink.
a few weeks later as he boarded the elevator, a frantic voice called out a desperate “hold the elevator!” and tom quickly pressed the door button, waiting for the source of the voice to emerge only to be met with your soaking wet figure, jacket clinging to the clothes you wore underneath and hair a little frizzy from the change in temperature between the cold streets and warm lobby.
“thank you.” you huffed as you stepped in and stood next to him. “i’m on the seventh-“
“seventh floor?” he finished for you, turning back just to double-check (even though he definitely remembered) and you couldn’t help but smile over the endearing look of rain droplets splattered across the lenses of his glasses.
“uh, yeah, seventh floor.” you nodded, passing him a smile he was sure had gotten sweeter since he’d last seen it.
he returns to his place next to you, staring at the closed doors when he says, “weather forecast seems to have lied, it was supposed to be sunny today.”
you looked over to him the second he opened his mouth, breathing out a laugh and facing forward again. “yeah, i’m gonna have to start bringing an umbrella everywhere, this is the third time i’ve been rained on since i got here.” you smooth your hand over your hair, hoping there are no pieces sticking out in crazy directions and knowing it’s going to be a pain to take the hair tie out later.
“you’re not from here?” he asks, hands folded politely in front of him, and you envy how warm his dry trench coat looks.
“oh no, i moved a few weeks ago for school,” you explain, trying your hardest to keep your eyes on his and not drag them down his body; you’re curious.
he smiles, his own little laugh tumbling past his lips, and you couldn’t help but smile back. “well the weather can be pretty unpredictable here, but i’m sure you’ve gathered that.”
“maybe just a little,” you respond, and then you’re just smiling at each other until there’s a small ding and the doors open. he extends an arm and you step out first.
“well um-“ he clears his throat, and he’s kicking himself with every word that comes out of his mouth next. “if you’re looking to make some friends, there’s a pub across the street, my mates and i are heading over there friday night, you’re welcome to join.” harrison would have been proud.
you fiddle with your keys and he’s staring at you. “oh um, yeah, yeah that sounds like fun, maybe i’ll stop by.” you nod, finally sticking your key into the lock.
“alright, hope to see you there.” tom has yet to unlock his door, smiling as you walk into your flat.
you turn on your heel, head spinning just a little as you say “oh, im y/n…by the way.”
he looks up from the lock, that same smile getting just the tiniest bit wider, “tom.”
—
as you push past the doors of the pub come friday night, you find yourself pushing down a swell of anxiety in the pit of your stomach just the same.
you weren’t sure what time to stop by and the thought of getting there too soon had you rubbing your sweaty palms against your thighs.
with a final deep breath you make your way to the dining area, the only sound you can pay attention to your heels against the wooden flooring as your eyes pan around the tables flooded in moody lighting. you bite your lip as the hope drains your body, horribly close to turning around and walking out when you hear an almost familiar voice stop you.
“y/n!” somehow his accent is thicker and his voice is lighter as if he was stressed last time you spoke.
you spin on your heel to the direction of his voice, finding him smiling wide as he waves. the light floods his features just right, accentuating the tone of his muscles and shine to his brown curls. he’s still wearing his glasses and they raise from his cheeks pushing them up. you take the chance to notice the way his black t-shirt hugs his torso before you’re too close for him to notice, but you think maybe his friend does.
they all smile when you sit down, and you try your hardest to return it as naturally as you can, looking down for a moment as you scooch into the booth.
“guys, this is y/n,” tom says, and you notice he’s a bit more flushed and relaxed than he was in the elevator, “she just moved into my building.”
it takes a while for you to get comfortable, but there is something so soothing about having to squeeze so close to him as more people fill into the booth, something so warm, and you know the heat comes from more than the two empty glasses in front of you. something so exciting that you can’t help but need to know what comes next.
“we’re gonna go dance.” grace leans over to tell you, punctuating her sentence with what seems like a suggestive smile before harrison is pulling her out to the floor.
you watch them for a moment, sipping lazily from your straw and feeling a heat against the back of your head, somehow knowing tom is staring at you. before you can think too hard or second guess yourself, you turn around and outstretch your hand.
“come dance with me,” you say, waiting hopefully for him to take your hand.
“i’d say i can’t dance, but i’d be lying.” he grins and it reaches his eyes.
“well you’re just gonna have to prove it to me.” the words form around your own smile that you can’t seem to push down.
he drops his hand into yours and you pull him out of the booth to join the rest of his friends.
tom truly thought the two pints he’d had would help lessen his nerves, but as he drops his hands to your hips he feels a burst of the same jitters he felt that first night on the elevator. you smile at him and the tops of your cheeks are painted a soft, warm red. somehow, when he spins you around your smile gets bigger and his knees get weaker.
you’re so addicting, your energy, your youthful glow and sweet, sweet innocence. he can't help but grin, can’t help but join you in giggling at nothing.
you dance until you're breathless and tom grins until his cheeks hurt, so when the music slows and he pulls you close, you’re both thankful for the breather. you settle your cheek against his shoulder and his hands move to reside on your waist, stroking small circles there with his thumbs.
“you smell good.” you find yourself muttering, warm lips grazing his neck.
“mm, you think so?” he hums, voice dipped in honey. “you smell good too, like prosecco and vanilla.”
you lift your head, biting the corner of your bottom lip and watching the golden brown swirl around his eyes. “do you like vanilla?” your voice is too sugary for him to pay attention to anything else.
the ring on his pinkie glints in the light when he raises a hand to sweep a strand of hair from your eyes, “yeah, i like vanilla.” the word is terribly dulcet in his accent and it lures you in, leaning closer to him, close enough you can feel his breath along your cheek. your eyes quickly flit up to his, just long enough to catch the glimmer hiding behind his irises.
his lips are barely parted, and he feels a sense of panic settle at the bottom of his spine but he tries his hardest to ignore it, to simply indulge in you.
his lips are soft and warm as they slide across yours. his hands feel similar, holding you tight and pulling you closer.
“tom,” you whine, but you're silenced by his lips again, fingers daintily caressing your neck as his mouth parts for you and you take advantage of it before trying again.
“tom,” you giggle, every one of your nerves are on the verge of bursting into flames.
finally he pulls away, panting and just as breathless as you when your foreheads press together. “yes, darling?” he asks after a hard swallow.
“it’s getting late, i gotta head home,” you explain, staring up at him through fluttering lashes.
his eyes close through a half-hearted laugh, “let me walk you.”
“okay.” his hands fall from your neck to your hand, and with a farewell to his friends, he leads you back to your flats.
you find that your favourite place to be is the elevator, the elevator with him. he leans against the cool metal railing, hand still wrapped around yours. neither of you speak and you stay pressed into his side comfortably as if you’d been doing it all your life. with each floor you reach there’s a small ding, and once you’ve passed the fifth you finally say something.
“i had fun tonight, thanks for inviting me.”
he smiles over at you, “m’ glad you came.”
“your friends are nice, i really like them.” you wrap a hand around his bicep and lean your head on his shoulder.
“they really like you too.” he assures, smiling over at you. “especially grace, i think harry was really starting to get on her nerves, i'm sure she’s happy to have another girl around.”
you shrug, “he doesn’t seem so bad,” another ding, you bite your lip. “you plan on keeping me around?”
he flushes a bit, eyes lighting up, “i’d hope to.” he nods.
the elevator doors open, and he lets you step off first, “oh,” you turn back to face him, “why don’t you put your number in my phone, so i can text you next time we have plans?” his nerves have shrunk and all he feels is the warmth of your smile.
“oh yeah, for sure.” you hand the phone back to him when you’re done, pretending you were oblivious to his stare as you typed in your number. “good night tom.”
he watches you walk down the hall a few doors away, “good night y/n.”
—
you find yourself sneaking off to the bathroom during your evening shift at the campus cafe to text tom. you can just imagine him, feet propped on his coffee table, leaning back against his sofa with his glasses on, responding just as quickly as you send. you hope he never resorts to contacts.
“let’s do dinner this week?”
you bite your thumbnail to suppress a smile as you read the message once, twice, three times.
“mmm i could wednesday”
the small bubbles dancing above your keyboard have your stomach churning.
“wednesday sounds good, i can take you to my favourite indian place”
it’s sickening, how giddy it makes you, him wanting to share something so simple with you.
“i’d really like that”
you’re chewing on your bottom lip and smiling at your phone, although you nearly drop it in the toilet when the bathroom door swings open and someone knocks on the metal of the stall you’re hiding in.
“y/n, are you okay?” your coworker asks.
with flaming red cheeks, you stutter, “u-uh yeah, i'll-i'll be right there.” you flush the toilet in a panic, hoping it’ll at least act as some kind of cover.
you spend the rest of your shift hoping tom doesn’t think you’d ghosted him, and also trying to mentally rummage through your closet for something to wear come wednesday.
later that night you’re running out the door to the shop because you’d run out of butter, and in the rush of pulling on your coat and locking your door, you hardly notice tom standing at his own.
“oh!” you gasp, the crooked smile he flashes you helping settle the jump in your form. “god, you scared me.” you laugh sheepishly.
“sorry, didn’t mean to.” he tells you, voice just as smiley as his mouth. “what are you rushing out for this late anyway?” he asks, looking down at his watch for half a second before opening his door and taking his coat off. you stay outside the threshold, watching him watch you.
“oh um, i ran out of butter, my tomato soup couldn’t really do without a grilled cheese…so” you fiddle with your keyring, the metal clinking together as the keys shift. .
he nods and rests his hands on his hips, “well, i have some, you’re welcome to use it.”
“really?”
he can’t stop staring at you, bathed in the warm glow of the hall lights, your hair a bit of a mess and your sweatpants rolled at the ankles. you’re so pure. so sweet he can’t help but yearn for a taste. he shrugs though, as if you hadn’t affected him, but he’s not too sure how convincing it is.
“course, here, come in.” he moves away from the door, ushering you in with a nod of his head.
you carefully step into his flat, it’s warm and smells good, like home. you peer around, jumping again when something nudges your leg but you settle quickly, smiling at the small dog grinning up at you.
“oh, that’s tessa.” tom turns to you, “she really likes making new friends.” there’s a slight laugh twisted in with his words, and it makes your head a little fuzzy.
“she’s precious.” you crouch down and pet her until you can sense tom standing next to you.
“here, make all the grilled cheese your heart desires.” he cards.
you stand up to take the small dish from him, eyes darting around for a moment before you speak again. “why don’t you come over? i could make you one too, i make really good tomato soup.” you lick your lips nervously.
he’s leaning against the countertop watching you, and it makes you anxious, “it’s not out of a can?” he lits.
a small laugh tumbles from your lips and you shake your head, “no, it’s not out of a can.”
he nods, “right then, i’d never pass up a home-cooked meal.” you think you’re obsessed with his voice.
there are now two sets of dishes in the sink that weren't there before you invited tom over, and his hands are definitely where they weren’t before.
somewhere between tom sitting on the couch and you offering him a blanket, you’d ended up in his lap, his fingers digging into the backs of your thighs and his mouth on yours. it feels just as good as last time, maybe better, you’re both completely sober and you’re ecstatic to remember this without the slight blur later on.
the taste of him moaning into your mouth pulls you away from your thoughts, recentering your focus as you place your hands over his cheeks, pulling him closer to you in any capacity you can.
“your lips are so soft.” tom pants as he pulls away for a breath, forehead pressed to yours, his breath fanning against your flushed cheeks.
you gingerly trace his lips with your index finger, staring intently at them, “so are yours.”
he leans up and kisses your nose, a slender finger tracing your jaw and securing your hair behind your ear. you smile at his innocent actions, his delicacy tugging on your heartstrings.
“um-“ you clear your throat, “it’s getting kinda late, i should probably clean up and-“ he stops you, lifting his head with wider eyes.
“oh yeah, yeah sure.” he nods, eyes following you as you get off his lap and stand in front of him— he doesn’t move. “thanks for the uh, soup.” you can't help but catch the glint in his eye.
“of course.” you nod, hoping your cheeks aren’t as red as they feel.
you walk him to the door, and just as you move away to close it he grabs your waist and pulls you in for a final, much more chaste kiss, (it’s undeniably sexy, you knew because you had tried to deny it.)
“bye, tom.” you gnaw on your bottom lip, gently closing the door behind him.
—
“so i asked her out, y/n.” tom says to harrison, tessa’s leash in one hand and a coffee in the other.
“what?” harrison turns to him, brows pulled into what seems like a sneer.
the giddy smile on tom’s face drops in a second. “what?” he asks back, “i-we’ve kissed a few times, she had me over for dinner the other day and well…y’know..” there’s a crimson tint dusting the tops of his cheeks as he continues, “i didn’t wanna…without taking her on a proper date.” he says it a bit quieter, feeling unusually judged by his best friend.
“you can’t do that mate.” harrison chuckles, sipping his own coffee.
tom’s face twists up like he’d just bitten into a lemon. “why not?”
harrison sighs, “c'mon bruv, i know your moral code is better than this.” tom looks even more confused than before and harrison picks up on it, sighing as he adds a clarification. “she’s like.. nineteen tom.”
tom’s scowl drops and his blood runs cold. “what?” his voice is weak and a tad too high. “how-how do you know that?”
harrison sighs, “she told grace, in the bathroom at the pub, first we just thought you were being nice, trying to help out because she just moved but now…”
tom doesn’t look up, his eyes are glued to the pavement and his scuffed shoes.
“m sorry tom, i thought you knew man.” tom knows that the feelings he’s had for you should probably not be what they are, but this seems to make it so much worse.
he stays quiet the rest of the walk.
—
come wednesday, you’re a giddy, smiley bundle of nerves, letting out a long breath and smoothing the skirt of your dress down as you walk to tom’s door.
you knock gently, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you rock back onto your heels awaiting him. you start wondering what he’ll be wearing, maybe a black t-shirt and some smart trousers, maybe the gold chain you saw latched around his neck that night at the pub. or maybe something completely different, something more casual. suddenly you have yourself panicking about being overdressed.
the door creaks open, just enough for you to see a shameful-looking tom hiding behind it. he’s in sweatpants.
“hey..” you start, a little lost, “am i too early?”
he clears his throat, eyes raking over you and softening as they take in the beautiful contrast of your dress to the colour of your skin “i-i’m not gonna be able to make it.” he knows he’s a horrible liar, which is ironic considering what he does for a living, “uh, something’s come up.”
you practically deflate, and you’re sure it isn’t subtle. “oh, oh yeah, of course, no worries.”
“m’ really sorry, y/n.” his brows have basically sunk down his face and his eyes are deep and round and flooded with honey and apology and is that…guilt?
“no, it’s okay. maybe another time.” you offer and he returns a fake smile, it's small and it seems as though he’s looking right through you.
“yeah, uh, have a good night then.” he nods at you before shuffling further behind his door and closing it gently, leaving you standing in the hallway staring at the gold numbers contrasting the green wood, confused and a little hurt.
you release a long breath you didn’t know your lungs had been holding as you walk back to your apartment, turning the key and pushing into the kitchen, trying really hard to pretend nothing is wrong. only something was wrong. tom’s excuse seemed to be so much more than just the words he spoke. he seemed hurt and distracted, maybe he’d gotten sick? but why would he think he’d have to hide that from you?
you sigh again and settle on the dim hope that he'll text you in the morning with a better explanation.
he doesn’t.
—
weeks go by and you’re pretty sure he’s started taking the stairs. you never see him in the hall anymore, and he’s never in the elevator, but still, that doesn’t stop you from hoping he'll be standing there waiting every time the doors open.
that’s where you stand now, wishing you knew what had happened and why he was so clearly ignoring you. you bite at your thumbnail and stare off into space, eyes cast downward even though you aren’t really looking at anything. not until the bell dings, signifying you’ve reached the third floor and the doors open. out of habit, you shuffle far to the right to make space, a familiar pair of freshly shined shoes coming into view. your head snaps up.
“tom.” you breathe out.
“y/n.” he’s just as stunned.
you swallow and try to push down your nerves, a feeling you had overcome a while ago because he had always made you feel so comfortable, but nothing ever stays the same does it. “what are you doing on the third floor?” you find yourself asking.
he clears his throat and settles against the wall beside you, gaze averted. “uh, i was taking the stairs, but my bag was getting heavy.” he shrugs his gym bag higher up his shoulder, offering you half a glance.
“oh,” you nod, turning to face forward again, “why were you taking the stairs?” you don’t dare look at him, but you can feel him looking at you.
“just getting my steps in.” it feels like a lie, one he’d been practicing.
“oh.” you nod, thinking carefully about what to say next, “you been trying to get your steps in a lot lately?” the way you say it is a little harsh and you do feel a little bad, but you also feel you deserve an explanation.
there’s that guilty expression again, just as desperate it was on that wednesday night. he clears his throat again and sniffles, swiping his finger under his nose, “something like that.” is all he says and then the doors are opening again and you’re stepping out first, trying your hardest to get as far down the hall as fast as you can.
he watches you open your door, just as he always does, his heart sinking just as much as the frown on his thin lips.
you let out a long breath and fall back against your door, trying really hard not to cry, but you’re not sure you’ll be able to hold it in. you had really liked him. he was so sweet to you, so thoughtful and gentle and kind, no one had ever treated you so nicely. his hands always felt so warm on your skin, contrasting perfectly with the coolness of the ring he wore on his pinky. truthfully you hadn’t known him for very long, but god did you miss him.
tom drops his coat and bag to the floor and trudges over to the sofa, groaning helplessly as he falls into the plush cushions. everything felt wrong. craving you felt wrong, not craving you felt wrong. taking the stairs felt wrong, standing next to you in the elevator felt wrong, staring at you as you unlocked your door felt wrong, thinking about you while he was in the shower felt wrong and that night on your couch felt so, so wrong.
or maybe it felt right. it felt right to hold you and care for you and make you feel good in any way he possibly can. making you smile felt right, kissing you felt right and holding the elevator door for you felt right. you felt right.
he hates himself.
how could he let himself feel this way? let it get this out of hand? he just couldn’t stop himself from being lured in. you were so encapsulating, so intoxicating. you oozed sweetness, from your pretty smile and soft eyes and smell of your hair and perfume, and that stupid necklace you always wore that sat so delicately on your neck made it impossible to not yearn to kiss and bite your soft flesh. he groans. he was not helping himself at all, thinking about you made everything worse, everything.
“jesus.” he grunts as he stands, wincing at the halfie he finds himself sporting. he audibly sighs, closing his eyes and pressing his fingers above his eyebrow before deciding on a cold shower, he’s already sweaty and refuses to get off to the thought of you again, no matter how good it felt. just before lazily dragging himself to the bathroom, tom opens the fridge, praising whichever god that will listen for the half-drunken case of beer jacob left when he came to visit, and for the size of his water tank.
—
it’s nearly midnight and you’re struggling to keep your eyes open (and not rip your hair out) but as you press submit a mere eight minutes before your project’s deadline a wave of relief floods your posture and you relax a little bit, stretching your arms over your head and moving your laptop to the side. your sock-clad feet hit the hardwood floor with a gentle thud and you shuffle into the kitchen. as you're standing at the sink filling your water bottle there's a gentle knock on the door, your head jolting in the direction of the sound.
“who–?” you mutter to yourself, confused as to who in their right mind would be knocking at your door at damn near midnight. with a quick check in the peephole, you feel yourself deflate but undo the chain and turn the lock anyways, “tom, what are you doing here? it’s the middle of the night.” you're tired, and you're confused and just so let down but from the look on his face, you aren't sure he registers any of that.
“i needed to talk to you.” he slurs, grasping at your door frame for balance.
your slouch straightens out and you cross your arms, frown getting deeper, “are you drunk?”
“mmmaybe.” he drags out, lifting a hand and pointing at you, “but i need to talk to you.” his voice is gruff and heavy like he’s been carrying around what he needs to say for too long. you think he finally notices how sunken in you feel when he utters out a little “please?” that’s just barely there.
you sigh and nod, “yeah okay, come in.”
he sways a little and you instinctively grab his arm to steady him, concern rushing to fill your eyes because, despite the past few weeks, you still have such a soft spot for him. you sit him down on a barstool at the kitchen counter, pouring him a glass of water and sliding it over, leaning against the cool marble as you watch him down it. “how much have you had?”
he takes a gasping breath once the glass is empty, setting it down with a clink against the countertop. “like six.” he says as he rests his head on his folded arms in hopes of stopping the spinning.
you scoff in disbelief, “god, you’re an idiot.” you mutter to yourself only to have him agree.
“i know.” he whines, “but i had to get you off my mind somehow.” you know he’s only confessing because he’s wasted, but still you’re surprised.
“why?” you breathe.
his head is still in his arms and his voice is quiet and tired and muffled, “because i can never stop thinking about you.” he says it as if it only holds half the weight it actually does.
“tom–” you start, but his hand covers yours and for some reason, you stop.
“no, y/n, please don’t say anything,” he begs and you listen to him, biting the corner of your bottom lip and staring down at his hand covering yours, pinky ring catching a beam of light from the lamp in your living room. “you’re so pretty.” he nearly giggles after a while, not even looking up at you, fingers still clinging to yours.
you try to say his name again but he cuts you off this time too, “i like the way you say my name, even when you’re mad at me.” his words are lazy and he drags them out for too long.
your eyes are filled with sadness, for both him and yourself, “let me take you home, tom.” you try.
“sounds so pretty, love,” he says it the same way, too drawn out in his groggy, mindless voice.
“please?”
he shakes his head, “i don’t wanna leave you.” he finally picks his head up, and his eyes are glassy and his pupils are blown.
your heart hurts.
“please just let me stay here with you.” he pleads.
of course, you give in because you simply can’t resist him and you hate him for it, “fine, i’ll stay on the couch.” he shakes his head instantly in protest, gripping your hand a little harder when you try to pull away.
“ah fuck.” he curses, his head spinning again, “just- just please stay with me.” his voice breaks and you feel it chipping away at your resistance.
“fine.” you finally promise, dragging him off the stool and into your bedroom. he slumps into your bed and you go to the bathroom to brush your teeth, rummaging around for an extra one for him. you have to tug him back up when you’re done, and he wraps his arms around your waist as if his brain was wired to do so. “tom.” you basically cry, his closeness and his words and vulnerability just too much on your tired mind, the mixed signals sending you into a heartbreaking frenzy.
“m sorry, darling,” he says as if he knows, looking up at you from where he’s sat on the foot of your bed, a gentle swipe of his thumb smoothing the furrow in your brow.
“i-” you’ve closed your eyes, thinking maybe that'll make it easier, swallowing before you continue, “there's a toothbrush on the counter for you, it’s blue.”
he stands and presses the softest kiss to your hairline. both your bodies are on autopilot, and it hurts knowing this is so easily your default, his default.
by the time he comes out of the bathroom you’ve already hidden under your duvet, only lifting it enough for him to slip in next to you. he lays down facing you and you stare at each other for a second, or an eternity, maybe both.
“you smell like beer,” you say sleepily.
“m’ sorry sweetheart,” he mumbles back.
“you keep saying that.” you’re not sure if you've blinked yet.
“cause i mean it.”
you believe him.
–
before you open your eyes you know he’s awake, you can feel the change in his breathing and you’re pretty sure you can feel him staring at you.
tom takes a deep breath and reaches out for you, keeping his movements slow and gentle in hopes that you’ll stay asleep. he swears to himself he’s going to take advantage of this moment, you sleeping peacefully beside him after agreeing to let him stay when he’d shown up your door drunk in the middle of the night. he didn’t deserve your kindness, but still, you gave it to him.
“i’m sorry.” he whispers, knuckle on his index finger just barely caressing your cheekbone, “i never wanted to hurt you.” his lips are soft when he places a delicate kiss on your forehead where he speaks his next words, “you are far too lovely for that.”
slowly you open your eyes and meet his, filled with apology and sleep and longing. “you need to stop apologizing.” you say to him, drawing your finger down the slope of his nose daintily.
“sorry.” a smile tugs on his lips and you can’t help but mirror it.
“does your head hurt?” you wonder as you push his hair back.
“just a little.” he mutters. he's staring right at you, but you can't help but feel he sees so much more than just your eyes.
“i’ll grab you something.” you’re already tossing the duvet away from your body before he can protest. tom sits up as you walk into the bathroom and his bare feet hitting the hardwood floor makes him shiver. this is usually when he’d slip on a pair of sweats over his boxers, but all he has in the corner of your room is his jeans they look less than welcoming.
you come back with a bottle of advil, the pills rattling as you shake it, “here, i got you some water too.”
“thank you.” he says with his hand reaching for the bottle. in his head, he adds “sweetheart” at the end.
once he's swallowed two pills and half the glass of water he looks back up at you, you're smiling gently and he can’t help but feel so taken care of when he’s around you.
“thanks for letting me stay, i’m sorry about last night, i-i know i was a wreck.”
you step forward so you're standing between his legs, your hands on his shoulders, “what did i say about apologizing,” your hands slide up to his cheeks, tilting his head a bit so he’ll look at you, “it’s okay, tom.” he’s not quite sure if he believes you, but that doesn't stop him from wrapping his arms around you to pull you close and drawing you in with his perfect mahogany eyes. he lifts a hand to reach for your jaw, leading you down just enough to meet his lips until he’s kissing you. you let him, only because you want him to want you, and this feels like he does.
“tell me to stop,” he whispers, stroking your hair and pulling your body onto his lap when his mouth is on yours again.
you shake your head when he pulls up for air, “i don't want you to.” his hands slide down to your thighs and you push yourself onto his lap, desperate to have as much of his as possible. he’s so fucking intoxicating, and he has been since the moment you met him. what’s more is when he moans softly, so much so you aren’t sure if your foggy mind has made it up. the wanton sound falls right between your lips just as smoothly as he slides his tongue in.
your head is a little fuzzy and all rational thoughts are fleeting when his hands glide up your thighs to grip your hips, pulling you somehow closer. the combined feelings of him so strong and sturdy under you and his lips grazing your jaw and neck have you panting, “tom,” you whine, earning another soft grunt in response as he continues leaving sucking marks into the dip of your shoulder. “tom, tom please kiss me,” and with your voice so swamped with need, who is he to deny you?
his lips are on yours again and you squeeze your thighs around him, earning a low groan from tom, “shit,” he curses through a subtle grunt, “do tha’again.” he helps you grind against him this time, holding you tight and stroking your tummy right under the band of your pyjama pants with his thumbs.
just as you suspected it would, his touch on your bare skin ignites something inside you, and there’s a heat simmering in your tummy and between your legs that you’re sure he can feel.
“you alright?” he asks through another clash of your lips, needing to be sure you want this just as much as he does, that the pulse against his upper thigh isn’t just in his head.
with a feverish nod you reply, “yes,” and it’s just as desperate as he was when he asked.
the next thing you know he’s pulling your top up over your head and securing his hands on your sides, letting them glide from your hips to just under your breasts as his lips trail down your neck and collar bones. your fingers dig into his curls and you tilt your head back so the kisses on your neck come easier.
“you're so beautiful.” he moans into your skin as he kisses down the valley of your breasts.
“even when you're sober?” you ask breathlessly.
tom stops and looks at you, pupils blown with lust but filled with adoration, “especially when i’m sober.” he’s so sincere it makes your heart ache.
you finally snap yourself out of the trance his gaze had put you in and snake your hands under his t-shirt, “yours too,” it’s barely coherent when you say it but he understands, and soon enough he’s sitting under you in nothing but his boxers, toned and panting and hard and you can’t get enough of it.
as if he can read your mind, he stands up, holding you tight in a silent promise he won’t drop you, and then dropping you onto your bed in opposing tenderness. he climbs on top of you and you stare up at him with wide eyes, biting your lip as you wait for him to come back to you. he slides one of his knees between your legs to press against you through your pants, the other keeping himself balanced as he leans down to trail wet kisses down your stomach.
your breath hitches he tucks his fingers into the waistband of your pants, and he looks up at you for a quick answer and you give it to him without hesitation. his fingers slide down your legs as he pulls your pants down your ankles, raising goosebumps on your skin. you try and reach for him again and he offers you his hand which you gratefully take, squeezing every time he does something that leaves you particularly sensitive.
with his left thumb, he presses on your clit through your underwear, small circles following that leave you a moaning mess under him.
“sound so pretty, baby,” he huffs, the way his name sounds in your strained voice going straight to his cock, leaving him groaning when he presses himself down against your thigh.
“please tom,” you whine, eyes squeezed shut.
“what is it, darling?” his voice is low and gruff and he’s still rubbing you, slow and focused.
“i need you to do something,” you whine, desperately chewing on your lower lip as you stare down at him.
he thinks for a second, pressing a kiss just below your belly button before he asks, “can i take these off?” he gently tugs on the hip of your underwear, looking up at you like there's nothing else in the world.
you nod and lift your hips off the bed for him, shuttering as he pulls the fabric away from your body and discards it across the room, “s’ that better?” he mumbles with a kiss to your clit and you moan out a broken confirmation.
he keeps your hand in his and uses his other hand to spread you open, two fingers dragging from your slit and back up to move your wetness around. “you want my fingers first? or my mouth?” the tone he asks in his so sweet despite the context of his question, and it makes you melt just as much as it turns you on.
“y-your mouth.” you squeak out, and he seems to notice the nerves you’re trying to hide.
“y/n, baby what is it?” that stupid concern shows itself again, and you’re putty in his hands.
“i just…haven't done this in a while,” you pant, “but i don’t want you to stop,” you add quickly, hoping this won't make him run away.
something inside him churns like he’s suddenly reminded of your innocence and maybe he’s taking advantage of you, but then there’s a gentle plead;
“please don’t stop tom, i trust you,” and it makes him dizzy with want and a sense of pride.
“i won’t,” he kisses your inner thigh, “i won't, love.” and with that, he’s diving into you, tongue flicking your clit and pulling down to your entrance, each sound you make leaving him a little harder in his boxers and trying not to grind into the bed.
as soon as you feel the warmth of his tongue inside you, you clench around it, not even thinking, it just feels so good. “fuck,” you whine, voice too high and hopeless as you pull on his curls.
when tom thinks you're wet enough he pulls his tongue away and licks the remnants of your slick from his lips. the mere sight of him has another gush of arousal spilling out of you.
“m gonna use my fingers now, s’ tha’ okay angel?”
you can barely register what he’s saying but you nod. the second you do he’s pushing two fingers into you and wrapping his lips around your pulsing bundle of nerve endings. “tom!” you cry out when he curls his fingers inside you, brushing your g spot with delicious friction before he’s pulling them out and pushing them back at a speed that has your eyes rolling back.
he keeps going, determined to have you finishing around his fingers so he can lap up every last drop. “i know baby, i know, you’re doin’ so good.” he praises you, the vibrations of his words has you clenching around his digits and throbbing against his tongue. “c'mon honey,” he coos, looking up to watch your face contort in pleasure, “let it go for me.”
a frantic moan escapes your throat when you cum, and you’re shaking softly through the aftermath. tom leaves his fingers inside of you until you finally relax around them, his movements transitioning to softer strokes rather than firm thrusts before he sucks them clean.
the only thing that you can really feel after all that is the feather light kisses he’s peppering along your thighs and stomach as he crawls back up to you, a dopey smile on his face. you return the sentiment and wrap your arms around his shoulders, the next kiss you share just a mess of smiling lips and barely-there moans and breaths. “that felt good.” you hum, and it makes you giggle that that’s what it took to make him blush.
“yeah?” he asks, tucking a strand of hair back that had fallen onto your forehead. his smile gets a bit wider when you nod, but it’s interrupted by a sharp inhale and a wince when you move your leg and accidentally nudge the hardon in his boxers.
“sorry,” you cringe, biting your lip when he shakes his head.
“s, okay,”
“there’re condoms in the drawer,” you say before you can lose your nerve, nodding to your bedside table and keeping a hand on tom’s bicep.
“you sure?” his eyes soften and so does his voice, it’s really hard to make sure you don’t melt right then and there.
“yeah, i put them there like three weeks ago,” you say with a smirk in your eye.
tom laughs and his face falls into your neck, “you know what i mean,” his voice is smiling and he presses a kiss to the column of your throat.
“i know, nd’ m’ sure about that too,”
tom kisses your neck again before reemerging with a smile, “why did you put condoms in your night table three weeks ago?” he grins.
you roll your eyes, “well i put them there after you were over, but then you ghosted me.”
his smile fades a bit and he hopes you don't notice, but from the look on your face you do. your eyes lock for a moment, and your inner need to dissolve conflict has you leaning up and kissing him, hoping that’ll rebuild the mood. you aren’t quite sure if it does, but he kisses you back like he needs you to breathe.
he thinks he does.
you're breathing heavily when he pulls away and rummages around in the drawer for a condom, lips once again caught between your teeth when he rips open the little package. “it’s not too late to change your mind.” he assures you, hell-bent on making sure you’re comfortable and he’s taking care of you the way you deserve.
you shake your head, “m’ not gonna change my mind…are-are you?” you ask nervously, taking note of his attentiveness and trying not to mistake it for pity.
he shucks off his boxers and you swallow, trying to keep your eyes on his when he shakes his head and answers.
“no, m’ not gonna change my mind.”
he’s sitting back on his heels and your eyes scan him. his hair is messy from sleeping and you tugging on it mercilessly, his lips are pouted and puffy from all the kissing and biting and they look so inviting that you feel you need to kiss him again. his stomach flexes slightly as he readjusts himself, and no matter how many tight black t-shirts you’d seen him in, they never did him justice now that you know what they’d been hiding. you finally look down and watch him roll the condom up his length, eyes flashing back up to his when he leans down, eyes yearning. instantly, you reach up and press your fingers into the sides of his face, pulling down onto your lips harshly. he grunts into your mouth and you swallow just like he’d swallowed your moans before
“are you ready?” he asks, mouth still moulded to yours and his hands back on your sides like you're magnetic.
“mhm.” you choke out, a little too distracted by how he’s biting your bottom lip and is tugging on it to focus on much else. but then the head of his cock is pressing against your entrance and you gasp at the slight stretch as he slowly sinks into you.
“i'll be gentle,” he promises, holding your thigh and hiking it up to his hip, trying to keep his voice steady when he speaks, “fuck angel, how’s this?” his eyes are closed blissfully and his brows pull together in concentration and pleasure.
“mm, deeper.” you moan, arching off the bed until your bare chest presses into his, his skin warm and sticking with sweat. he listens, just like he always seems to and sheaths himself a little more, pulling out just to rock back into you a little further, grunting and moaning your name and muttering about how good you feel.
you gasp and cling to him when he finds that spongy spot inside you, panting out for more because it feels so good and you don’t want him to ever stop.
“fucking hell,” tom groans breathlessly, hips meeting yours faster and more rhythmically with each thrust, “you’re gonna kill me y/n/n.” his voice is heavier and his accent thicker, like he's drowning in you. “feels so fucking good baby, doing such a good job angel.”
you’re having a hard time keeping it together, the pace he’s built leaves your entire body alight and you tangle your fingers back into the curls at the back of his neck in an attempt to ground yourself. “tom…” you moan, but you aren’t sure if he hears you.
he’s fully seated inside you now, and the stretch is addictive, you just need a second to breathe, “tom,” you try again, voice higher and more strained.
he doesn’t quite comprehend your whine and keeps going, lost in your moans and feeling of you wrapped around him until you drag your nails down his sides and whimper his name again. he’s hurting you, just like he knew he would, just like he dreaded doing.
“shit, shit baby, m’ sorry,” he stops instantly, nearly stumbling over his words, “are you okay?” he’s desperately hoping you are, that he can fix this because he finally has you and he’s terrified of losing you all over again.
you’re panting, clinging to his body like he could put you back together a million times. “i’m alright, it’s okay, just go a bit…softer.”
he’s careful when he picks up again, the rhythm of his hips just as long and deep but not as harsh, trying his hardest to be good for you. “b-better?” he asks hopefully, eyes trained on your face to read any sign of discomfort.
there isn’t any, just a twist of pleasure in your brow as you dig your nails into his shoulder blade and that brings him peace. enough to lose himself in you again.
“squeezin’ me just right, love,” he mumbles in your ear, delivering a small kiss just under it and smiling to himself when you try to say something but can't, too wrapped up in the way his thumb has come down to press against your clit.
“fuck, tom,” you nearly cry, securing your other leg around his body to feel him closer in every sense of the word, “mm, fuck it feels good.” you know you sound whiny, but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care, especially when he’s looking at you like that, so hungry and lustful and somehow with an equal amount of admiration and care. “there, god, right there, don’t stop.”
he doesn’t, he keeps hitting you at the perfect angle, your name and a string of profanities following when you start to clench around him repeatedly and it’s almost too much for him to bear. “c’mon, angel…fuck,” his voice falters, breathing heavily as his thrusts get sloppy, even as he tries to control them, “baby, y/n, i can’t-” he whines, trying to stimulate you enough to help you catch up.
“s’okay, cum, baby, cum for me.” your breath catches between your words and you’re positively shaking under him.
that pushes him over the edge, you begging him and encouraging him leaving him twithcing inside you until he’s cummiung in the condom, flooding you with warmth. he pants and gasps and groans with his release, still feeling your clit pulsing under his thumb.
once he’s caught his breath he pulls out, pulling off the condom and tying it up before tossing it in the trash by your desk. you’re basking in the afterglow when he comes back, and he kisses all the way down your body until he meets your core again.
“what’re you doing?” you ask, sitting up on your elbows.
“i wanted to make you cum.” he says, fingers swirling over your still sensitive bud.
“you already did.” you say a little quizzically.
“one more time,” his lips latch onto your inner thigh where he sucks a dark purple mark, running his tongue over the bruise to soothe the sting.
you start to oppose, to say something like he’d done enough, or he doesn't have to but he’s already shoved two fingers inside you, and you yelp at the feeling.
“s’ tha’ okay, darling?” his tongue flicks your swollen bundle of nerves, loving how immediately it gets him a reaction.
“mm, yes.” you nod lazily, falling back into the pillows.
it doesn’t take you long, his gentle coaxing and dirty words have you hurling through your orgasm in a matter of minutes, and when he comes back to kiss you his lips are coated in your juices smug smirk like he can’t get enough.
“hope that was okay,” his tone counteracts the look spread across his features, almost bashful, “couldn’t myself, y’ taste so good.” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and kisses your temple, ready to pull away until you grab the back of his neck and guide him back to your lips because you can’t get enough either.
finally, you pull away and smile with bleary eyes, “thank you.” he pecks your nose and looks at you tenderly, like he could stare at you forever.
“m’gonna run to my place for a second and shower, i’ll come back and make us some breakfast, how’s that?”
“you can shower here.” you find yourself saying, not wanting him to be too far away.
“you sure?” you nod, and it’s settled.
“towels are in the hall closet.”
tom leans forward and kisses your hairline, “do you want me to help you clean up first?”
you close your eyes with the gentle action, opening them when he pulls away, “no, it’s okay, you go.”
he kisses you once more before sauntering out of your room, not even bothering to put his boxers back on.
you lay there with a silly smile on your face for a while, but then you start thinking too much, about what happened and why, and what all the mixed signals were about. you fall down a never ending spiral of why.
why would he act like he cares so much just to ignore you for three weeks?
why would he show up at your door drunk and saying all the things you’d wish he’d tell you when he was sober?
why would you let him sleep in your bed?
why would you let him kiss you?
why would he act like he cared so much?
–
you’re staring at the ceiling when tom walks back into your bedroom, sporting a giddy grin and smelling like your favourite shower gel. “hey baby, i might be showering at your place from now on, where do you get that body wash?” he chuckles, smile fading when you don’t look at him. “y/n/n? what’s wrong?”
“i just-“ your voice breaks and you suck in a sharp breathe, trying to steady yourself and stop the tears that are trying so hard to escape. tom sits down next to you on the bed and you keep your head down.
“c’mon, darling, talk to me,” he says softer, hand warm on your skin, like it always has been.
“why?” your voice begs for an answer.
“why what, love?” the names he’s calling you leave you reeling, it’s all too domestic and soft and he’s being too attentive and caring too much.
“god, why tom!” you stand up abruptly and his hand falls onto the mattress. he opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, it doesn’t matter anyway, because you’re already finishing your thought. “why ignore me for weeks on end? why show up at my door drunk at midnight and call me all those sweet names?” your voice wavers and your eyes water, and it’s breaking your heart to watch tom's face crumble. “why would you sleep with me after all that? god, you’re driving me crazy, and-and i don’t know what i did wrong or if you’re just using me and-“ your breathing is unsteady and your shaking and the tears you’d tried so desperately to hold back are threatening to fall from your cheeks to the hardwood floor.
“y/n-“ he starts, huffing and staring at the floor for half a second to collect his thoughts before he looks back up at you. “i’m sorry. i know it’s not enough but i am.” he stands up and reaches for your hands but you step back.
“tom…” your final plea.
he understands, knows that you need an actual explanation, that you deserve one, but his yearning to protect you nearly outweighs his need to be truthful. with a huff, he decides.
“i took tessa out for a walk, haz met us at the coffee shop and-and i told him i asked you out, wanted to take you on a proper date because i liked you, i really like you.” this is crushing him, and he’s trying his best to make sure it doesn’t crush you too. ‘but he told me…shit, he told me that you were talking to grace in the bathroom at the pub and told her how old you are, and-and i never realized you were so young.”
you feel yourself cave in. “what?” the air’s been knocked out of your lungs and fresh tears spring to your eyes, “you ignored me and left me so…clueless and questioning because you thought i was too young for you? or because you were worried about what your friends might think?”
“what, darling, no.” he reaches for you when you turn away from him.
“please don’t call me that.” you never want him to stop calling you that.
he sighs angrily at himself, quickly planting himself back in front of you, “y/n, no, no you don't understand, i-i was a little worried about your age, but only because i felt so guilty for the way i feel about you, you’re so sweet, so innocent and lovely and i can’t stop wanting you but i knew i would hurt you, that’s exactly what i’m doing right now.” there’s heartbreak in his tone too. “i’m not good for you, i can’t…everyone would think i’m using you, forcing you-”
“i don't care what anyone else thinks, tom, i know the truth.”
“i can’t give you what you need, love, what you deserve.” tears well in his eyes and he’s so close to falling apart in front of you.
“so why would you sleep with me? make me feel so wanted?” you sigh, trying to push down the tears that are still threatening to fall “you do not get to be the judge of what i need tom, or what i deserve or what i want, i want you. i thought you wanted me too.”
“i do want you y/n,” his voice is broken, so defeated. “but i want what’s best for you too, and that’s not me.”
“bullshit!” you cry, “if you wanted what was best for me you would let me decide! i’m a big girl tom, i can make decisions for myself, i can choose for myself, and i choose you.” you hope he believes you, that he’ll let himself love you without fear of being good enough because you’ve known he was perfect from the very start.
“i’m already messing everything up.” he whimpers weakly.
you step forward and press your palms to his cheeks, pulling him forward and kissing him softly, chastely. “you were doing just fine before you started doubting yourself.”
“i’m pretty sure i’m going to fall in love with you,” he whispers.
“i really hope you do.”
he reaches for your waist, hands warm as ever as they press into your back, pulling your body flush to his and kissing you again. this time with promise.
I MADE THE DECISION TO READ THIS IN THE CAR BESIDE MY AUNT AND OML IM TRYING TO HOLD BACK TEARS THIS IS SO SWEET THAT ITS HEARTBREAKING AND GOSHBDBSBFBDNFBS THE WAY U WROTE THE SPICY SCENES GIVES ME 🦋
this is AN ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECE ILY AND I LOVE THIS FIC I JUST WISH IT NEVER ENDS 😭
I was thinking about how there’s no more tween idols or media anymore. like kids in the age of 11-14 being really obsessed with something marketed for them. we had miley cyrus, selena gomez, demi lovato, and the jonas brothers. there’s no tween pop music, no more songs about having fun with your friends or falling in love at the mall. everything that exists feels like content for adults. like I love doja cat but it is really weird to see 7 year olds singing along to “I heard from a friend of a friend that dick is a 10 out of 10” when I’m at work and the radio is on. like where is gen z’s “potential breakup song” or “dj got us falling in love” or “call me maybe”? then it hit me that “tween” doesn’t even exist anymore. right? like the internet has pressured pre-teens and teens to grow up fast, or at least try to look like it. it’s terrifying how the whole awkward phase has completely vanished. was everything like this when I was young or am I just out of touch?
