Tom Holland & Y/N Gyllenhaal - The Stolen Moments (Series Masterlist)
A/N - I wrote months ago and I never did anything with it, until now. So here is a miniseries. This is to celebrate 4k followers: thank you so much! Every Saturday through October at 8pm BST, a new chapter will be posted
I do not know Tom, Jake or any of the other celebrities mentioned in this story: it is a work of fiction. Also probably incredibly factually inaccurate. 3rd person. Factually incorrect. A lot of this fic is reader x dad!jake, however Tom is present in conversation in the chapter he isn’t featured in, and this is still a romantic Tom x Gyllenhaal!reader
Series Warnings - swearing throughout, pet names, protective fathering and a close father and daughter relationship, talk of fame and papparazzi, eventual smut, some triggering topics inc. mental health and absentee parents: please read every warning at the top of each post because your media consumption is your responsibility. Due to the serious topics and the nature of this story, it is 18+. Detailed warnings will be posted at the top of each individual chapter.
Summary - Gyllenhaal!Reader x Tom Holland. After a chance encounter in Central Park, fate seems to send your once-upon-a-time, almost-summer-fling barrelling straight back into your arms. Your dad still seems to see you as his little girl, despite your age, which leads to enough upset for the both of you. But will stolen moments with Tom be enough this time around, with your protective dad always keeping his eye out and ready to avenge you?
A/N & WC - The final installment! I do not know Tom or Jake, nor do I claim to. This is a work of fiction. Series masterlist. 8.4k words.
Warnings - Protective parenting, almost attempted violence?, angry dad!jake, himbo Tom, Ryan to the rescue while being crazy, Jake being an oversharing parent, talk of sex, sexual health, pregnancy and birth control, smut: semi-public touching. 18+
Summary - When morning arrives, neither you or Tom are ready for the fallout about to be caused by your dad's discovery, but these stolen moments are about to become your life at long last: can your dad accept that after all you've been through?
At long last, Jake thinks, things quieten down, and no more footsteps echo through the floorboards. Some indecipherable whispered words, followed by some soft snores, and he unravels himself from the duvet cocoon.
“It’s getting late, isn’t it Atticus?” he coos, scruffing the only dog still awake behind his ears. Atticus, naturally, says nothing in return, but looks up at Jake with those big, imploring eyes. “I know buddy, I’ll go see her now.”
Keeping his footsteps light, he makes his way across the house and to his daughters room. The door is pulled shut, only the faintest sliver of an image visible through the crack, the moonlight casting shadows on her sleeping image. She looks cold, though, with bare shoulders and no blanket to cover her. Upon instinct, he pushes open the door ever so slowly, cautious for it not to creak, and slips in through the gap, his foot placements careful. In this moment, he just sees her for what she always has been, his little girl. So small, so angelic, so breakable.
“Heya pumpkin,” he whispers, crouching down at her side of the bed.
He lays a gentle hand on her arm, her flesh cold, goosebumps rising beneath his touch. She’s freezing. With the other hand, he opens her bedside drawer and ferrets around for a jumper, pulling it out.
“Hm, dad?”
She begins to stir. Eyes half lidded, she looks up at him.
“I’m sorry to wake you, sugarplum, go back to sleep, just put this jumper on first.”
“Dad…” she protests, voice feeble, actions even weaker.
Prying her head and shoulders from the pillow, though, she manages to get the jumper onto her cami-clad frame and her body settled back down in its lethargic state. She hums noncommittally, a tired smile on her face, a guilty one at that. There’s a bruise forming on her neck, one that Jake eyes. He always wants his daughter to be open about things like this, boys and all, but he knows well enough that this tends to be a mother’s area of expertise. Nevertheless, in the morning, he’ll work on getting her to be more open with him, putting out an ice pack for it, maybe buying her some more concealer, or just reminding her that she doesn’t have to be ashamed of anything. He won’t be angry, he’ll never be angry with her.
Kissing her forehead, he speaks very quietly, “Go back to sleep pumpkin. Sleep tight.”
Much to his chagrin or relief, he can’t tell which right now, her mysterious partner is still asleep, his head buried into the mattress with the pillow obscuring his features.
“I’m sorry I disobeyed you dad, I really like him.”
“Shh,” he quietens her, stroking a hand through her hair. “We’ll talk in the morning, don't worry, sugarplum. Love you.”
“Love you.”
And while he’s still kneeling there beside her, she’s out like a light. He quietly makes his own way out, but has to remind himself with each step that she’s an adult. He paces the hallway unwittingly while trying to make his way back to his room, repeating the same things in his head.
Remember your parenting morals, he tells himself, remember your ethos. Let her come to you, let her trust you, let her be her own person.
These things, these lessons are more important than anything, and they’ve maintained his relationship with his daughter for almost twenty years. One incident with a boy won’t ruin that, no matter how much he frets for her wellbeing. Every second of every day, when working or relaxing, at home or out with friends, she’s on his mind, his little girl, now spreading her wings of independence. An hour later, he finally crashes, Boo and Atticus in bed by his side.
However, only five hours later, his alarm goes off. Blending a smoothie with all of the doors shut, he drinks it, and tugs on his workout clothes. Y/N is still asleep, as is her mysterious beau, but that doesn’t ease his fears. Does he even dare to leave them in the house alone? Well, he has to go for a run and get some groceries; perhaps picking up a few extras wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world.
———
Y/N begins to stir as she hears movement around her, feels a cold emptiness on the bed beside her, and then the jingle of a belt.
“Tom?” she mumbles, though it comes out as more of an incoherent noise.
“Shh, go back to sleep sweetheart, I have to go and see Harry.”
“Tommy, no,” she protests, making a small grabbing motion with her hand.
After he came to see her in the night, she was perfectly aware somewhere in the back of her mind that Jake hadn’t gone out that night. No way would he have been able to clean her room (and the rest of the house, apparently, judging by the bathroom looking a damn sight better than it normally does) and keep the dogs at bay, and be home, in his pyjamas, to see her off to bed before she was even properly asleep if he’d been out: only possible deduction? She needs to be absolutely mortified.
Briefly she contemplated asking Jake to stay and sit for a little while when he came in to see her, seeing as Tom was asleep and had snatched all of his warmth away from her, curling himself into her mattress and hiding under her pillow as though he knew Jake would be coming in. She might’ve done what he did the night before, asked him to tell her something good as she fell asleep, perhaps about a new job he’s auditioning for or something he saw on his run, but she decided against it, and on the tip of her tongue it was to ask him to read ot her like he used to. Countless nights when she couldn’t sleep, he’d read books to her, his favourite American classics, books like Divergent or Harry Potter that she wanted to read, but her favourite always was Great Gatsby, and remembering a single phrase from that just fueled her desire to hear it again. Only, she couldn’t. His talking would wake Tom (he’s a light sleeper, she remembers as much from the days they’d be on night shoots and he’d be knackered and nap on set, only to flinch awake with the slightest movement) which was just generally unviable, lest Tom have his head ripped off by his mate. How he didn’t recognise the bathroom and the hallway, though, is a miracle she’ll forever thank God for.
Faintly, in her own faint slumber, she heard the door go twice, the second time about half an hour ago, and then ten minutes ago, the shower went off. Which only means one thing, and it isn’t going to be easy to work out.
“Tom, you can’t go. Dad’s home.”
“What?!” he hisses. “I thought you said he’d be out!”
“Last night, yeah, but he came in to say goodnight to me, and he just got out the shower. When did you wake up?”
“Just before I started getting dressed, Y/N.”
He sounds tired, exasperated, even though he’s likely only the latter considering he slept like a log and it’s now considerably late if her dad is back from his jog. She pulls her phone out to check the actual time, but her attention is instead drawn to the dozen texts flooding her screen.
Uncle Ryan: OH MY GOD YOU SLEPT WITH TOM?! Yr dad texted and said so, but I didn’t think he’d DEFILE my bby niece on the first date. Wait, I don’t care abt that. How was it? Was it gooood? Were you safe? Love you kid! Give me all the details u can’t give yr dad ;) I’M KIDDING tell Blake instead. does he know it’s Tom yet? I can’t keep it in much longer. LOVE U LOTS LIKE JLLY TOTS <3<3<3<3
Uncle Hugh: Your dad said you had a boy to stay over. How are you kiddo? Future with him? H :)
Blake: Sorry about Ryan hon, how was your date? He says it ended with a sleepover, all the juicy details. <3
Taylor: Why did Jake text me asking me to lecture you girl-to-girl on safe sex? Did you have a boy over last night? I’m proud of you babe!
Aunt Maggie: Don’t scare your dad like that, you know what he’s like. Who's the mystery boy? All the best from us, come and see us with the gossip and an update on college when you fancy.
Grandma: Do I spy a son in law? G-ma <3
Pops: I hope your father meant to send that other text to someone other than myself. Please don’t be pregnant, I’m too young to be a great grandad.
“Why are you smiling, baby?”
She hums, stretching her arms, pushing herself a little more upright. “My uncle’s going crazy, dad told him you stayed over.”
She holds her phone out with Ryan’s texts on the screen, and even Tom lets a small chuckle slip out as he’s buttoning up his shirt.
“You’re gorgeous, you know that right?”
“No.” She frowns, a flush heating her cheeks. “Come back to bed if I’m that pretty.”
As much as her low cut jumper is tempting him, and her endless legs poking out from beneath the comforter, he keeps his resolve firm, and stands his ground. “Your dad's in, I don’t want him to catch us.”
“Not even one kiss?” She pouts.
His smile meets his eyes now, any appall or shame evaporated, and her bed looks so damn comfy. He captures her lips softly, sucking on her lower lip and eliciting a delectable moan that only encourages him to delve deeper, deeper, until he’s breathing entirely her air and he only holding himself up by his forearms on her bed spread, her nails raking down his back, her legs wrapped around his waist, drawing his pelvis ever closer to her. He could never say no to this. The bedroom door slams open, and the clack of paws on the floor alerts Tom, snapping him up from Y/N’s body. She closes her legs upon instinct, smiling, relieved to see it’s only Boo Radley.
“You have a dog? He’s so cute!”
“Two, Atticus!”
The alsatian joins them not a moment later, wagging his tail and hitting the door. Boo is happily cradled in Tom’s arms, though, and being held correctly for once. Tom could swear he’s seen these two before, they look so familiar, but perhaps she’s shown him a picture and he just... forgot. Still, he can’t refute the niggling in the back of his mind that even someone as oblivious as himself can identify as suspicious.
“Pumpkin, are you up? D’you want a breakfast burrito?”
Well, if she wasn’t up before she certainly is now, his bellowing carrying through the entire house.
“Just a minute dad, and yes to breakfast.” She flicks back onto her phone, another text from Ryan showing up in response to her annoyed: say nothing dude! Yeah, he stayed over, it was really good. I’ll call u later :) <3
Uncle Ryan: Yr dad needs to know, please pumpkin! He loves you so much and he deserves to know if yr fucking his friend, even if said friend doesn’t know yr related. You should tell him too. I’m not one for the ‘right thing’ but you know it is. Only if you see a future tho. Can I tell him? Soften the blow?
Ok, Ryan is far too excited about this. The awful yet delightful thing is that she does, and that’s what’s making this exponentially more difficult than it should be. She wants to argue, dispute what he’s saying, but every word is true.
Y/N: no!!! I’ll do it, speak later.
“Make that two!” she shouts, and turns to Tom, kneeling on the floor, fussing the dogs with great joy. “You’re staying for breakfast, I have to tell you something.”
“But—”
“My dad doesn’t have to eat with us, but he already knows someone slept over. Get over it, spiderling.”
She smirks at her humour, getting up from the bed, but her playfulness swiftly transforms into pain, feeling the dull throb between her thighs, needing to clutch to her bedside locker to keep herself upright.
“You really didn’t play last night, did you?”
And Tom, the cocky bastard he is, takes great pleasure in responding, “No I did not. Want a hand darling?”
He supports her as she limps out of her bedroom and around the house the long way (avoiding the main hallway and the living room, just in case) and into the kitchen: spotless. There’s not a thing in sight that shouldn’t be there, no dirty dishes or dish cloths left on the counter, no dust or stains or cups in the sink. even the floor is clean from dribbled dog water and spilt biscuits.
“Dad?”
“Be there in a minute, Y/N,” he shouts, his accent forced into a broad New York one.
He’s still in disguise mode. Suddenly, she feels deceitful, and the feeling crawls over her whole body like an infection of spiders. This is all going to be a ghastly shock for the pair of them, and could potentially break their friendship, not to mention ruining her relationship with both her (hopefully) boyfriend and her treasured father. All she wanted was to be happy, to be an adult, to make her own decision on how her life will go (not that she’s never had a choice: she always has, but this one just feels worse than all the rest).
It’s unexplainable what it does to her, but her appetite is gone, despite the luscious scent of bacon and eggs filling the air.
“I think I’ll pass on the burrito,” she says, nuzzling closer into Tom’s side.
“There. There, I heard it, proper New York innit?” Tom exclaims, his London appearing.
“Can be at times.” She chuckles half heartedly.
“What’s up darling?”
Sighing, she sidles up into her usual seat at the breakfast bar: no one else has ever sat at that seat, no family, no friends, none of her dad's girlfriends. It’s always been her seat, and for some reason, that makes her rather prideful.
“Nothing, just thinking.”
“Are you sure? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
She reaches for the coffee cup just behind her plate, wrapping her hand around the ceramic, letting the warmth seep into her skin and bone. “No, you didn’t at a— DAD!”
Tom startles at the sudden volume, and Y/N places her hand on his arm in apology, to soothe him, the vine hairs tickling the pads of her fingers.
“What, Y/N?”
“I’ll fuckin’ swing for you when you get your ass back in here!”
Before Tom can even ask the question, she lifts her coffee mug up, revealing a stack of unsavoury packets. A morning after pill, a box of condoms, vitamin K cream, aspirin, but worst of all, an early stages pregnancy test.
Jake appears a moment later, his own cup of coffee in hand, a t-shirt clinging to his form, his beard now entirely shaved off. Apparently that’s what he was up to, ready to make a good impression. Even if it is a little patchy.
“Just want you to be safe, honey. I wasn’t sure if you used any protection or if this would be a one time thing, and I had to stop for butter and OJ on my run anyway.”
“Dad, I’m not five, I know to use protection, and you know I’m on birth control anyway!”
Tom’s surprise is palpable, donning his signature shocked face with wide eyes, clenched teeth, tensed muscles, and his head a mile away from his backwards slanted body. Not even at seeing Jake, because if he has then there are no physical signs of it, merely at the openness between them. Jake doesn’t show any sign of having seen Tom either, embedding Y/N into an even further trap.
“I wanted to be sure you didn’t make my same mistakes, you’re too young for a child, trust me, so please just take the pill, but scrap the test and stash the condoms.” He takes a pause, gulping down breath before he blathers and babbles on a little longer, those worry lines on his forehead prominent. “And I wasn’t sure how much you drank, though I hope it was nothing since you’re not legally allowed to, and if it was too much I’ll kill him for doing anything to you.”
She chuckles, watching her dad standing in the doorway, his eyes solely focussed on her too, oblivious to Tom’s presence. He brings the bottom of his shirt up, tugging the fabric from beneath, and wipes his freshly shaven jaw with it. She throws the aspirin at him.
“Dad I’m fine, I had soda and no-alcohol beer, and I won’t be pregnant but I’ll take it anyway, ok?” He nods, smiling. “Are you okay?”
He takes long strides across the cold tiles, his bare feet not even reacting as he wraps his arms around her body.
“Never better, provided you are.”
She elbows him sharply, and takes a swig of coffee, followed by a bite of her burrito. Definitely too good to turn down over stupid, petty anxieties.
“Tom?” she asks, swivelling in her stool, but he’s gone. “TOM!”
“Bathroom, babe,” he calls.
In daylight, this isn’t right. This bathroom is far too familiar, and not just from last night. The dogs know him, he’s definitely seen them and fussed them before. Something about all of this is just… off. And that dread is only confirmed when he takes a misstep in the labyrinth she calls a home, and ends up in the bottom end of the living room instead of in the back hallway to the kitchen. Just two days ago he was sitting on that sofa there, drinking beer quite happily with his friend Jake. His immediate thought is surely not the right one, Jake has a live-in PA? It wouldn’t surprise him, Jake’s just that kind of person with how much he works, he perhaps needs the organisation. But that doesn’t explain why Y/N said she hasn’t seen him for a while. Or perhaps it’s just a coincidence, or he’s going loopy. God, he hopes there’s a logical solution, because right now he’s tempted to get on the phone to Harry and get a cab home as an escape from these mind games. Not that last night wasn’t fabulous, but this is spooky.
“He’s called Tom?” Jake asks rhetorically, pouring himself a glass of water as he moves to the countertop, watching Y/N eat her breakfast. “That’s a coincidence, isn’t it?”
“No, lots of people are called Tom. I can think of five famous ones off the top of my head.”
Perhaps being abrasive isn’t the answer right now, but it was her default answer, and now she can’t take it, or her wide doe eyes of shock, back.
“Sweetheart, I need to head back soon, but I’m lost.”
There it is. Jake’s face pales, and he drops his half-empty glass of water, savouring the sound of it breaking, because it brings his speedily whirring mind a fraction of a second of release, the sound ricocheting around the room.
“Y/N, please don’t tell me that’s who I think it is,” Jake says, threateningly calm.
His answer is handed to him on a silver platter when she sheepishly looks down at her burrito, and takes a big bite.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you Tom!” he screams.
Tom then appears in the doorway, having followed the sound of the ear splitting cry that could frankly break glass, but his heart only syncs when his brain goes dead, inconveniently at the very second he meets Jake’s eyes.
“Jake, I— I’m so sorry… I had no idea she was your daughter,” Tom stammers.
All the colour in his face is gone.
“You knew she was someone’s daughter and you still slept with her!”
“Dad!” she scolds, but it’s too late, and he’s off on a run around the house, chasing a slightly sprightlier Tom around the house with frequent verbal threats along the lines of murder.
Shit.
Concern nags at Y/N while she listens to the thundering footsteps on the wooden floors, the muffled sounds on the carpet, only for it to grow louder again, the screams, the threats, the yelps when Jake gets too close… she scarfs down her burrito, washing it down with her coffee, and texts the only person she can think of.
Uncle Ryan, get on facetime. Dad’s lost it.
Before the text tone has even finished sending, her phone is ringing, and his face is on her screen, eager, eyes wide and vying for attention.
“Ryan I swear, talk some sense to h—”
“Where is he? What’s happening?” he asks excitedly. Far too excitedly for the circumstances, but that’s Ryan in a nutshell.
She thinks his cheeks must hurt from how wide his smile is. She narrows her eyes and forces a half smile as she pushes herself off her seat, wincing visibly at the dull ache that was previously dormant between her thighs. It keeps on as she walks slowly out the kitchen.
“You had sex, missy!” Ryan says, pointing out the obvious, “ I thought your dad was kidding… Either that, or you sprained an ankle.”
“Nope, real sex Uncle Ryan, I’m twenty years old, I have sex.”
“LALALALALA I’m your uncle I don’t wanna hear! But Blake does,” he adds with a waggle of his eyebrows. This man is insane.
Affronted, she gasps, pulling her face of feigned appal that he’s so used to by now, “You brought it up!”
“Just— show me your dad.”
The scene is worse than before, charging between the bedrooms now. Jake has a pillow, and both of the dogs. Atticus is agile in weaving between two men, his paws and claws clacking on the floor with every leap and bound, his tongue hanging out his mouth as he smiles, expectant for the next run. Boo Radley, however, keeps getting trapped beneath Atticus, and has almost been trampled on by Tom twice already, only rescued by his attractive dexterity as he flings himself into a door frame to save the soft little dot. Jake looks awful. He’s already been for a run today, so his stamina is already down, and heavily told through his red face and the sweat stains on his shirt. Y/N knows Tom could keep going for hours, really, but last night apparently wore him out too, as his energy is starting to drop.
“Has he lost his mind?!” Ryan asks. “Dude’s half his age.”
“And twice his energy. Dad went on a run to the birth control store today,” she adds sarcastically, watching as Ryan’s face cracks up.
“He’s right. You need to be safer.”
“Shut up Ryan, I’m on birth control. Now are you going to help me or not?”
He nods, and she knows what’s coming intuitively, so places her phone on the nearest sideboard, and edges backwards, clicking her volume up to the maximum.
“JAKE! Leave the boy alone.”
Well, that gets their attention, seeing as Jake instantly stops running and advances towards Y/N, lifting her small frame off the floor, her feet dangling in the air.
“Why did you call Uncle Ryan?”
“You were chasing my boyfriend with a pillow,” she deadpans, searching Jake’s face for some kind of reaction.
He acquiesces, bending to kiss her forehead, “Sorry kid, I’m sorry. Can we sit?”
She nods, and back grounded, reaches to stuff her feet into her slippers, returning to find a sheepish looking Tom, his thin lips looking like they’re trapping in a frog.
“Ryan?” she asks, and he nods in response. “Yeah, he’s full on like that.”
“He’s scarier than he was as deadpool,” Tom frets, his already tenor voice cracking.
She chuckles, slipping her hand into his, “He’s very protective. Is he gone?”
“Jake cut him off, he’s in the living room.”
———
As it so turns out, she doesn’t even need to be there as she spends the next ten minutes just watching the two of them bicker, sometimes standing on the floor or the sofa, other times holding their fists up and sitting on the couch like old men, but the majority of the time they’re using the dogs to mediate. They go over the same points again and again, about how she’s Jake's daughter but that Tom really likes her, and no matter how many times she reminds them that she’s actually here, they keep going. At last, she threatens them with a call from Aunt Maggie this time, and it’s like Jake slips into ‘mature dad’ mode, which has been sorely missing since that first glimpse of Tom. In the end, it was all for nothing, as they end up just agreeing she’s legal, and to let her decide. All while forgetting she’s in the room and able to participate in such a discussion.
“Thank you! Fucking hell, that took long enough.”
Tom wraps his arm around her waist, while Jake sits on her other side and toys with her hair, holding her protectively, scowling at Tom slightly. Having had enough, she shrugs away from them both, and makes her way back into the kitchen, draining a glass of ice cold water that does nothing to alleviate her anger while waiting for them to appear, tails between their legs, and she’s not on about the dogs.
“I wondered whether either of you would tell me about you two on set, the ‘stolen moments’,” Jake announces.
“What?!”
“You don’t think I’m that stupid, do you? My daughter-slash-PA disappears at the same time you do, and she’s a hell of a lot calmer all the time on a huge set away from home where she knows no one? Come on, the hell do you take me for.”
“Dad, are you not mad?” she asks, failing to hide the bewilderment creasing her face. He can see the gears turning inside her head with every word.
“Why would I be? You found a loophole, I’m assuming, and if it was just a fling, why would you want to tell your old man that you’re going around getting off with his mate and co-star?”
“No, what? I mean I did. No sex, and you already knew him, you liked him. There was nothing in the rules about that.” Her throat makes a squeaky sound. “I just— I can’t believe you knew!”
“Well, a girl’s gotta think she’s got some secrets, hasn’t she pumpkin?” he teases, one blue eye winking, and scruffing her hair up while she pretends to slap his arm away.
“Jake, are you not angry about… that?” Tom then asks, despite his question having already been answered.
“Only a bit, but she could do a hell of a lot worse than you—and a hell of a lot better,” he whispers to Y/N under his breath, thus earning a proper slap that resounds around the room, and coaxes Boo to them. “And I know you’ll do her good.”
“I already did.” Tom says, smirking insolently.
“Yeah, about that, I’m still not happy you defiled my daughter on the first date. And that mouth on you, I’ve a mind to slap it off.”
She gasps, all but sobbing. Her face turns as red as a tomato. “I thought you were out, that’s the only reason we came back here.”
“I was supposed to be,” Jake shrugs “but I was too worried about you. Out in the big city on your first proper date with a boy I thought I didn’t know, I needed to be on your beckon call. And anyway, Atticus, Boo Radley and I had some TV to catch up with.”
“Dad I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be. While you were out, I checked your birth control was still in date, put an extra condom into your top drawer, and went out this morning to get you this,” he reinforces the fact again, and pushes the morning after pill across the breakfast bar to her. Again. “I expect to see you take it. Believe you me, you are not ready for a baby.”
“Thanks dad, I know I’m not. You’re the best.” Tears begin welling, stinging in her eyes. If there was a prize for dad of the year, decade, century, millennia even, Jake would win.
“I still hate you for fucking my daughter though.”
“I didn't know she was your daughter, dude!”
“How could you not, Tom?” she asks, “it’s not hard to work out, look at everything that happened over on press and when we were filming, and these few days you’ve been in the city.”
A brainwave crashes over Tom, and she can see what he’s thinking very very clearly.
“No, none of my dad’s public girlfriends are my mom. Don’t even speak.”
Except, it didn’t take long for all of them to scare, to fret, to realise they were too young to be tied down, to become a step mother before they’ve even lived themselves. They didn’t want to be tied down to a child, was the reality, but neither Jake nor Y/N could blame her for that, and now they’re just distant memories.
“Her mum wasn’t famous. Just someone I knew at college. I hope she’ll make better choices than I did, and it says a lot that she chose you as her first serious boyfriend then.”
“Y— you’re serious about me?”
She swallows thickly “Yeah, I’ve liked you since that day you kissed me on set.”
———
That takes her back: Venice. Their first day. They’d built a whole set outside on a beautiful river, and erected cordons stretching for miles in order to fit the massive cast and crew. Due to the heat, an empty building undergoing renovation had been allocated for a cool down and for everyone to unwind between takes. They’d been all through Prague already, which had been incredible, with Tom and Jake always buying her food and drinks to keep her cool and calm, and there were plenty of parties that she was able to let loose in, not to mention a very luxurious, very comfortable hotel.
Venice was much calmer, much sunnier, more pious, cleaner, beguiling almost, and their next stop, Y/N didn’t know, but she was extremely excited.
Around the back of this building, just five minutes drive from the hotel and backing onto a beautiful garden of serenity with golden flowers, the sun beaming down on them in spades. Jake was taking a nap inside as they were filming a scene with Tom and Zendaya, but Y/N couldn’t sleep. She was too warm, too excited, too eager to learn more and take in all of this, to absorb the beauty of the city. Out back, she was sitting in the grass just beside the patio, milling amongst the flowers, slathering sunscreen on while donning her dad's sunglasses, she was taken away into a world of her own. All the shouts of ‘cut!’, the lines, every movement of the cameras were heard through the archway connecting the building to the garden, an alley for them to escape in moments of need.
“That’s a wrap for scene seventeen, take five!” the director called.
The words bypassed Y/N like faint background music, as she just lay there, relaxing.
“Mind if I sit?” an augmented English accent said softly, followed by a half cough.
“There’s water on the patio, get a glass.”
He did, she heard him fidget around with the glasses and the jug, sloshing water everywhere, cursing when he spilt it on his hands.
“What are you doing out here? Not out front with all the action?”
She shrugged nonchalantly, watching the clouds move by, something she could actually see here, unlike in the city, the Italian sun heavy as it was beating down on her.
“Jake’s asleep, I’m able to catch a break, have a look.”
She pointed up to the sky, and then the world around her, so quintessentially Italian.
“The view’s beautiful,” he cooed.
Only, when she looked up and pushed her sunglasses off her face, she saw that Tom’s chocolate brown orbs weren’t looking at the view or the sky at all, but actually at her, his eyes fixed on her lazy smile, her twinkling eyes, her floaty sundress with the thin shoulder straps.
Instantly, her cheeks began to heat, blood rushing to flush them red: she giggled. “Thank you.”
To hopefully hide it, she pulled her sunglasses back down from her head, or rather tried to, only for the nose pads to become tangled in her hair. She inwardly cursed her dad for giving her the genetics which cause such clumsy situations, but swiftly moved on, pouting her lower lip out as she peered up, desperate to see what she was doing, when Tom appeared beside her, placing his glass down on the grass beside them.
“Let me help,” he offered, kneeling, “Jake’s?”
She nodded meekly, as best as she could, but the metal tugged on her hair, causing her to wince.
“Hey hey hey,” he whispered, “Don’t move, just let me—”
He began to fidget around with it, pulling as gently as he could at her hair from the roots, prying the locks from the joints of the nose pads. Every so often, she’d whimper, and every time, he’d extend a genuine apology, his soft eyes detaching their focus and looking into hers instead.
“There.” At last he plucked the glasses away, and slipped them into her hand.
“Thank you.”
“No worries, can I sit?”
She nodded, and lay back on the grass, spreading her hair out in a halo around her on the soft green grass. Tom joined her with little reluctance, lying partly on his side, propping himself up on his elbow, holding his head up with his hand in his soft brown locks, observing Y/N. Every movement of her chest with her breath, every slight smile, every flutter of her lashes beneath the tinted shades, every point of her finger and extension of her arm to show him something in the distance or a cloud in the sky. It was endearing, her excitement, but he was always more interested in her.
“What are you looking at?” she asked at last, laughing slightly at his intensely concentrated face. “And aren’t you supposed to be on set?”
“You. I’d rather be with you.”
“Tommy…” she breathed, turning on her side to face him.
It didn’t last, she was barely in the position for half a minute before he was leaping onto her, pulling even more at the spaghetti strap that had slipped off her shoulder and was now brushing the enticing skin of her arm. His lips attached themselves to hers, sucking the cute, surprised gasp from her, stealing all the breath from her lungs in the process.
The way he kissed her, so tenderly yet with so much passion, his lips gliding over hers, his tongue nudging eagerly at her lower lip as something else nudged just as eagerly lower down.
She acquiesced, submitted to him more willingly than she’s ever done… well, anything before. Her dad would be absolutely ripping his hair out to see this, and not even the aspect of ‘my co-star is snogging my daughter’, but rather ‘my daughter is doing something without argument’.
“Can I?” Tom asked breathlessly, moving his lips to a hidden part of her neck, his hand hovering suggestively over her chest.
She rolled onto her back and slipped off her other strap before reaching around to grip Tom’s hair, milling it between her fingers. The hair stylists were gonna have a field day with her if they ever found out…
“Please,” she gasped, arching her back off the floor and into him. “Just, be discreet, someone might come, and I don’t have a bra on.”
He lifted his head up, his eyes wide and lust-blown, wanton, his lips swollen from their bruising assault on hers and her skin. Then, he had the audacity to lick his lips.
“Naughty you, going commando.”
“Anything to make the boys wink…” she trailed off, gasping when he pinched her nipple through her dress, “You in particular.”
“How is that allowed? No bra at work?”
“Z does it. Why should it matter whether I wear a bra or not? It’s their problem if they’re looking at my tits anyway, and it’s too warm for any accidents in that area.”
“Is it?” He smirks, pulling at her pertbuds, eager to run his tongue over them. That can wait for next time.
“Bloody beautiful darling.”
“Just, kiss me Tom.”
He did just that, palming at her breasts, tweaking her sensitive nipples under the material if he felt particularly daring for a moment, his heart skipping a beat with every jolt of electricity that passed from her skin to his. Their tongues danced at a tantalising pace, so heavily opposed to the desperate rutting of his hips against her core, her legs wrapped around his hips, their lips never separating, scarcely even for air.
But every moment has to come to an end.
“It’s been fifteen minutes, where the fuck is Tom?” Harry exclaimed, his voice carrying through the archway.
Y/N’s body seized up, going rigid against him, her tongue stopping dead in Tom’s mouth with her lips still glued to him. Somehow, at three pm, while working, he still tasted of beer.
“Your job to find him kiddo,” Zendaya teased, her slender figure waltzing past the archway when Y/N allowed her eyes to turn skyward for a moment.
“Get off me before he catches you,” she hissed, unravelling her legs, pushing gently at Tom’s shoulders, pulling her lips away from his.
She struggled to ignore, even momentarily, the emptiness where his body was on top of her, his mouth tasting her, his hand covering her.
“Why would it be bad if we get caught?”
“Because I’m Jake’s PA, and younger than you are. Now sort your hair out, you still look like Peter, and you won’t be fired on my account.”
He winked at her, pushing himself up, and adjusting his clothes. “If anything it’s the other way around.
“Jake wouldn’t let me be fired, dickhead,” she protested. “I’m too good a PA.”
“Yeah,” he smirked. “I bet he’d love to learn that you’re off making out with Spider-Man in your spare time.”
Her face fell, her lips aching for him. “He can’t find out, Tom, swear you won’t tell him, or anyone else on set.”
“What's in it for me?” he asks, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “I bet you’re a pretty good fuck.”
“If you’re always this cocky, you’ll be lucky to ever find out,” she snapped back confidently.
“Well, if I keep my mouth shut, can we do this again?” he questioned again, subdued.
This was the first time he’d let his guard drop, hope shining through, no hyper-sexual bastard, no superstar asshole attitude; just Tom. And that’s who she likes, and always did. Deep down, something fluttered in the pit of her stomach, something new, unfamiliar, but it was more than pleasant. Tom, when he’s just being himself, is charming and suave and so caring, a true gentleman, so perhaps there are worse people to sneak around with.
“Yeah, definitely. You know where to find me.”
His Cheshire cat-like smile grew until it must have been pulling at his cheeks, “Oh yes I do.”
He leant down and kissed her one final time, smirking as he walked off, far too smug in his actions, his peppy walk filled with swagger. Despite his attitude, at least his ass looked good, so she admired it from afar, only letting excitement control her actions in flailing limbs and squeals of excitement after he was out of sight completely. For the rest of the trip, a Tom induced smile was never once wiped from her face.
———
Her face glows with heat, the memory eliciting a giggle, a sweet sound, one that sends something new, emotional shooting through Tom. Jake, however, still doesn’t look happy, resting his arms on the countertop, his dark brows low and furrowed over his angry blue eyes, cooking up a thunderous storm.
“I saw that. you’re lucky I didn’t come down and kill you in true Quentin style.”
“Shit,” Y/N curses, burying her head in her hands, “how much did you see?”
“Just the final kiss before you left, Harry’s scream woke me.”
Tom holds his hand up briefly, the cuffs on his sleeves clinging to his bicep as he does so. She laughs a little, forcing his hand down as he cuts in, “And you knew the whole time? Why did you never get angry? Or mention it to us?”
He shrugs, “She wasn’t serious with you. Once again, a loophole, and I trusted her judgement. Perhaps that trust has weaned considering you fucked him, Y/N but oh well.”
“Stop being so crass dad!” she scolds, smacking him then with a tea towel, catching his freshly shaven face.
“Oh, while I remember, is my face ok?” Jake asks, completely stealing Y/N’s attention momentarily.
Standing on her tiptoes, she cups his jaw, forcefully turning his head, running her thumbs over the remaining stubble. She pokes him in three places.
“It’s a bit patchy there but other than that you’re good to go. I didn’t mean for you to shave it all off at once.”
“Well, you didn’t specify that, sugarplum, so I did it all today, probably why it came out patchy,” she says, and turns to Tom, “You should’ve heard the rumours.”
“There were rumours? I didn’t know there were rumours,” Tom panics.
“Harry knew. Just ask him. The only person I didn’t want to know was dad, other than that, I didn’t care.”
Tom takes a deep breath, in through his nose, holding it, blowing it out through his mouth with a slight whistle; what he’d always do before an intensely emotional scene. “If it helps, Jake, I really like Y/N and I’d never take advantage of her. I already told Mr Reynolds this, b— but you should hear it too.”
“Aww,” she coos, her face falling into one of sweet, drunken infatuation, “You really mean it?”
“Of course I do. In all honesty I… I wanted to ask you out the whole time we were away, but the whole time I was scared he’d snap my neck in half, especially on press…” he takes a beat, half smirking: he knows just how to rile Jake up right now, while also simultaneously dropping his defenses. “They determine what’s couth and uncouth,” Tom mocks.
Excitedly, Jake jumps up and down and screams, “I had to bite my tongue to stop myself saying ‘my daughter decides what’s couth and uncouth’!”
“And I would’ve corrected him.”
“Yes you would, pumpkin.”
Jake kisses her temple, but she turns away, and into Tom instead.
“Dad out of the question, what d’ya say?”
“I like you, of course I do.”
“No bluff?”
“No bluff.” He chuckles. “Cards on the table.”
Another pun, one that takes her back long ago to their poker nights. Good Lord she’s never had a migraine quite like it. The lot of them, all playing poker: Jake, Tom, Harry, Jacob, Zendaya, Y/N; except, she fell asleep around midnight after their third game, woken every time they screamed and tossed lager everywhere in their joy. They all did wonder why Jake ended up carrying Y/N to bed instead of Tom, especially if they all had the inkling they were sneaking around together. It was fun, Tom taught her how to bluff, and she earned twenty euros. She also nearly exposed her true identity multiple times, though, which wasn’t a highlight and set her nerves right on edge.
“Can I?” he whispers, her eager nod enough of a response for him to lean in, brush the flushed skin of her cheeks with the rough pads of his thumbs, and trap her lips in a wanton kiss.
It’s sweet, lingering, but Jake’s gruff cough sounds distantly behind them, “Dad still here, pumpkin.”
Her hands on Tom’s shoulders, she nudges him away, curling her hair behind her ear sheepishly. “Sorry, dad.”
“It’s ok honey.”
This, innovatively, is the moment Tom decides to puzzle everything together, and paint on his bewildered face, his wry eyebrows cocking at a certain angle as he eyes Jake imperiously. With a certain possession, he winds his arms around Y/N, and pulls her to him.
“I— I’m sorry I just cannot see you being a good or responsible dad at all. Did you do the baby things?”
“From the day she was born, I was the only one there,” Jake tells him impatiently, drumming his fingers on the countertop. What does Tom think he is? “I fed and changed and bathed her, raised her from when she was able to fit into my one hand. I did everything, and I wouldn't change a day for the world.”
“Apart from maybe this one.”
“Yes, definitely. The past twelve hours, for sure.”
“I already said sorry!” Y/N whines, turning away and trying to straighten out her thoughts between all the memories and complicated feelings swirling around within her. If anyone else has been in this position before and left with themself still intact, they must be a damn saint, because the only possible thing she can currently think of to say, to protect her heart from damage, is: “Well, Tom. You’re mine.”
“I am?”
“Mine,” she growls, kissing him again, softer this time, despite biting his lip as she draws away, her lips tasting of him, the pressure still there after she draws away.
Jake takes a stride. “And if you’re hers, that also makes you mine, so I suppose you’re now a sort of son-in-law, if I’ll be seeing you around here more often.”
“No, please God no,” Tom pleads, the broad London prevalent in his words as he shifts uncomfortably. “I mean yes, I’ll be around if she wants me here, but nooo. Can we just stay friends, Jake? I swear I’ll never hurt her—”
“I know,” Jake assures, “Y/N is my only daughter, I love her more than anything else, more than you’ll ever know, and if you break her heart or upset her in any way I will kill you.” He takes a longer pause than he probably should after such a threat, but as Tom gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, they realise the message and reality of the promise, not threat, is sinking in, because Jake genuinely would kill Tom, should anything happen to Y/N; he’d hurt anyone, should they hurt his little pumpkin, that much has always been the case. “But I trust you, as my friend, and I trust my little girl's judgement.”
Taking Jake's hand in hers, even as she’s nuzzled into Tom’s muscular side, his breaths echoing through her ears, she traces the veins. The absence of a ring is striking. Jake’s always said he wants to marry, but he’s never found the right woman. He was never scared, the way he says in interviews; they are. They don’t want the responsibility of a daughter, and with his most recent girlfriend, especially not a daughter just five years younger than she is. That’s why they didn’t work.
Y/N knows she’s always been a burden on her dad, dragging his career down, stopping him from finding true love, and every day she hates herself a little bit for it. Never has she wanted to prevent her dad from doing anything, and he’s always assured her that she’s the best thing that ever happened to him, but that doesn’t ease the pain of seeing him so alone when he’s at that point where he needs someone. Soon, she’ll be moving out, after she’s got her degree, and though she has no plans of moving out of the city, ever, Jake’s never lived alone. Most of the time she was at school, he’d be working, or staying with a girlfriend, or having mates over for a lads night, or pissing Maggie off by sleeping on her couch. He’d only spend the odd night alone with just the dogs. He can’t do that now, he needs the companionship, and maybe now he can see that she’s willing to settle down with a good man who’ll take care of her the right way, Jake will finally allow himself that same chance, to find the woman he’s always dreamed of. That’s all she can hope for. Focussing on his ring finger, she twines her fingers with his, and holds his hand, feeling the hairs on the back soft beneath her touch.
“I love you, dad.” She sighs, her eyes welling with tears of sincerity, squeezing her dad's hand with all her might.
“I love you more, pumpkin.”
“Never be angry, please, but Tom’s my prince now. Is that ok?”
Jake heaves a sigh, pondering over his words for a moment before he’s sidling up next to them, embracing them both in his bulky arms. She knows he’ll say yes, she knows he’ll love her and accept her anyway, accept her relationship, let her make her own mistakes, but that doesn’t make this conversation any easier. Hurting her dad is the last thing she wants to happen, especially as she practically sees his heart break behind his ocean eyes. She wilts, her grip on him the only thing to keep her grounded. The way any father would say it, single fathers especially, Y/N truly is Jake’s whole world, his entire motivation, his heart and his soul and his conscience, the one who keeps him in check, the one who always takes care of him. She needs to take care of someone else now, though, and as a tear drops down his freshly shaven cheek, he realises that it really is okay, because despite it all, she’ll always be his little girl.
“Yeah, that’s okay.” His voice breaks, betraying him, becoming a faint whisper, “Anything, as long as you’re happy.”
The Stolen Moments: Chapter 1 - The City to Call Home
A/N & WC - I don't know Tom or Jake, nor do I claim to. This is a work of fiction. Series masterlist. 3.8k words.
Warnings - allusions to street harrassment and sex, lots of worldbuilding and context, pop culture references.
Summary - You stumble upon an old friend just when you least expect it, and you know in your heart that this time will be different. But does he truly feel the same way you suspected he did so long ago?
Y/N is special. And not in an ‘I’m not like other girls’ type way, but rather a ‘my dad is a world famous actor’ type way. Not that anyone knows this, of course. Y/N likes to keep herself to herself, her cards close to her chest, and her business private. As does her papa. Her fathers endless pits of money helped with this, as did a fake name and foreign boarding school, leading her to be up there with the most educated Gyllenhaal’s, following on the family legacy of studying at Columbia. Now, back again in the city that never sleeps, Y/N needs to make friends, and stat. However, only having her father and his famous, older contacts in the city, growing up with an absence where her mother should’ve been, hasn't been the easiest task. Lectures also haven’t started this semester (they’re on later this week, and her nerves are high), and no one will appreciate her if they don’t think she’s a legacy. Secret daughter issue number one. It ranks just above ‘I have sick pictures with Ryan Reynolds that I can’t post without risking exposure’ and ‘I have all of this money and all these cool dresses I’ll never get to wear.’
It wasn’t that there was a privacy clause in the custody agreement or anything—there was no custody agreement—but because Jake made the executive decision, as her father, to keep her out of the spotlight until she decided against it, which meant no paps, no birth announcement, no events, not until she could decide for herself. And at age 11, the age her dad did his first movie, Y/N decided, given the choice, that she wanted nothing of the life her father and aunt were bred into. It just isn’t worth it. And announcing a daughter now, with him aged 40 and her aged 20, it just wouldn't be good, especially not with all of the technology. Only very few in his inner circle have the knowledge, her family and Jake’s closest friends, and a few old colleagues. It’s safest this way, she reminds herself, and soon enough she’ll have her own flat, and won’t have to ask her dad to hide every time she tries to see anyone.
Y/N has plans today. Well, not exactly plans, as it’s an empty shell of an idea, something she’ll have to do alone owing to the fact she can’t leave the apartment with her father, lest they be photographed together and broadcast with all the wrong rumours. No, today she’s going for a walk around Central Park, and maybe a little more around the city, should time favour her. The park, she used to think, would be a brilliant place to make friends. That has proven not to be the case, as over the years, the only people who’ve propositioned her there are men twice her dad's age, and it tends to be far more vulgar than a coffee invitation.
“I’m off out, Dad.”
“Ok pumpkin,” he replies, appearing from the kitchen. “Keep your phone on, keep alert, call me if you need me. I’ll be in.”
“I know, Dad,” she huffs.
“Just looking out for you like a dad should do.”
“I know, but you need to stop fretting.”
“Never,” he says, brushing a kiss to her temple.
He hands her her keys with a forced smile, ignoring that annoyed face she does so well. He’s fared through all the difficult teenage years, mostly while working six days a week on set, so that worked out about as well as one can imagine. Never once did he hold it against her, and as soon as she reached fourteen, she'd always come onto set under a new guise for each film, if she was at home, at least. Lighting assistant, learning the ropes of filmmaking, and most recently, Jake’s PA. That was… interesting, when working on such a demanding film. Keeping up their lie was quite the task.
———
The city is as (un)welcoming as ever. Maybe that’s why it’s become her home, despite being away, because of the anonymity. Unlike small European villages, one isn’t expected to make conversation with every other person. Being impolite is the norm, it’s expected, and you’re only weird if you actually try to make conversation with strangers on street corners.
She’s able to get through all the crowds of people and into the park in record time, the greenery there to greet her. Even now, as a fully vetted adult, she still likes to think she’s in Enchanted when she comes to the park, taking Giselle’s route. Over the bridge (definitely not as pretty as the film makes it out to be), around the stunning old water fountain, around all of the stone paths fencing in the fields of rolling green. Half the city can be seen from here, the highest peaks like endless towers in the distance, office workers like ants in their windows. The park is just… surreal. One day she won’t have to worry about her dad being papped, and she’ll be able to see the park with him in broad daylight. Proper father-daughter things. One thing she’ll always treasure more than her privacy, her education, the city she calls her own, is her dad: he’s always been there and has always been the most brilliant father, offering her every opportunity she could want and more, giving her leniency with care, letting her make her own mistakes, flying out to see her every possible chance. Unlike so many city kids, her dad was always there, and so the city didn’t need to raise her. She had one better.
She’s always been an adult worthy of respect in his eyes, his little princess. His pumpkin. Perhaps that's why her standards are so high for both boyfriends and friends, because she knows to expect nothing less than exceptional treatment. On the off chance a manager met her, the second they showed anything less than the utmost respect for her, not only as his daughter but a young lady in the budding society, they were fired. That’s how good a dad Jake is, despite all his nuttiness. And the way she’s always chosen to repay him? Sticking to his rule book. It was the least she could do to repay him for everything he’s done.
Rule one: no dating until they’ve been vetted by Jake under whichever disguise he chose. And following that, no sex if he’s in the house unless he’s been assured of her safety in various aspects, and given chance to escape.
Rule two: No drugs under any circumstances (besides weed, that he’ll provide for her) and no drinking until she’s twenty-one. This one he’s always been lenient on, encouraging her to have a glass of wine with him in an evening so that she doesn’t go off the rails when she can legally drink, but even then he’s assured her he’ll be there should she ever go awry.
Rule three: Always be a good person. Say thank you to those who hold the door, say please to every waiter, smile at a stranger who you think may need it, do a good deed, feed a stray dog, give money to those in need, because they sure as hell need it more than she and her dad do.
Three mundane things. Three simple tasks. Three things she’s always done well with. It’s nothing too outlandish or garish, nothing like her friends at boarding school had. Dad’s always been lenient with her, and they grew together. He fumbled through his twenties while she was a toddler, and that taught them both a fair share of life lessons, the best one to always stick together.
She’s had one boyfriend before, just the one during her last summer home from boarding school, and it didn’t last. Jake eased her through her breakup and heartache, similarly to Sam and Daniel from Love Actually. They have the Thames, Y/N and Jake have the Central Park Reservoir, solely at dusk when they can’t be seen.
Well, there is him. There’s always been him. But that’s a no go. Her dad's friend? No way. Dad’s too protective, it’s too risky for all parties involved, and her dad won’t lose another friend over her. Not that this one ever was a friend, or that she blames him after the incident five years ago, where Jake lost a man he’d previously trusted as a friend, said man had lost his whole career, and Y/N lost her innocence. That day, she learnt that no man can compare to her dad, except maybe one, on the off chance he still thinks of her the way she does him in stolen moments she has alone with her brooding hormones. Surely he wouldn’t have kissed her that way had he not harboured some caring feelings for her, that much she knows, and she trusts her fathers view of this man. Maybe one of the only ones she’s trusted since then.
She was taken to set like so many other days that summer, thinking nothing of it, until he made an advance. A married man, twenty years her senior. Jake left her for ten minutes, thinking her sharp tongue would be enough to warn anyone away while she did her job, but upon his return, when he saw the tears streaming down her face, marring her cheeks with mascara stains, and that monster standing far too close to her, he knew he’d made the worst mistake of his life. All he saw was burning white. Someone had hurt his little girl, and that someone was going to need stitches by the time Jake was done with him. However, he ended up needing a little more than just stitches, since he came out with a broken jaw, broken nose, and two broken ribs, not to mention his career and reputation in shreds. Her dad quit the film there and then. No one tried to stop him, for any of it. No one would’ve been able to. From that day on, as he drove off site on his way to the ice cream parlour, crying ever so silently with Y/N in the passenger seat assuring him that it wasn’t his fault, he swore he’d never let his little girl get hurt again. He’s always seen to that. And a set relationship? Another reason why she and a certain superhero wouldn’t have worked out.
Tom knows. She told him, one of those days. Perhaps that’s why he never made any further move on her, for fear his new friend would break his jaw too. Secrets. They’re awfully destructive, aren’t they? Nonetheless, she shuts it down, silencing the memories and the voices in her head in favour of walking, and savouring her day out.
———
Y/N must’ve been walking for an hour, stopping at her favourite spots like the Bethesda Terrace, feeding the ducks at the edge of the lake, hopping on the carousel, grabbing an Italian roast from her favourite coffee stand. Next stop: the Shakespeare Garden.
“Y/N? No way, how are you?” A voice startles her from her reverie, her daydreams. More specifically, a tenor-pitched, British-accented voice.
She’s halfway to the garden, wrapped up in her coat and scarf, her coffee warming her hands. She hadn’t expected to see anyone today, obviously, given the state her hair is in, but this guy has seen her look far worse. Then again, think of the devil and he shall appear.
“Tom, long time no see. I’m good, thanks, and you?”
“Oh yeah I’m good, I’m good. Why are you in the city?”
“Oh, um, I’m here now for college, at Columbia,” she answers, half a truth, brows furrowing. What did she actually tell Tom when they were on set together? “And you’re here for… work?”
“Press, yeah, and I’m gonna see some mates in the city while I’m here, and live out my Gossip Girl fantasies, or at least the ones I didn’t get a chance to when we were filming here.”
Isn’t filming in the city just a throwback and a half? She was fresh out of school, barely on her own two feet, working with her dad all hours of the day, travelling over Europe as soon as term ended. Looking past that and paying attention to the other part of what he said, she draws her lower lip between her teeth in an attempt to stifle a giggle, a blush rising up onto the apples of her cheeks no matter how much she wants to fight it. Probably the cold, she reminds herself. “I was doing just that.”
He joins in her laughter, a hearty sound. He puts his one hand onto his diaphragm, and she remembers how that very body once felt beneath her hands, the one time she disobeyed her dad… on a technicality. So tan, so muscular, Tom’s body just ripples of its own accord and it’s heavenly.
“How long are you in the city for?”
“Just the week. While I’m here though...” he begins to shuffle on the spot, averting his gorgeous chocolate eyes from her view, runnin a gloved hand through his choppy chestnut locks, “I’d love to take you out for dinner.”
Her heart catches in her throat, alongside her coffee, tickling, causing her to let out a rather indelicate splutter, clutching at her chest as she coughs. His already pale face blanches
“Are you ok? You’re not obligated to or anything, I just thought—”
“I’d love to, Tom.” She smiles.
Placing a reassuring hand on his arm, he seems to calm down, his breathing that had suddenly turned sharp calming down a little more. He’s always been anxious, that much she learnt two years ago. He eased up when with her dad, though, becoming his naturally humorous self, the one she was able to see, working in close proximity with Jake when he was on set with Tom all day every day. It’s not often there’s people of her own age that she can spend time with while working with her dad, so Tom was a blessing in disguise, and under a fake name.
“Are you free for a walk now? I don’t have any plans…” she asks, her voice timid.
“I would l— one second.” His phone begins to ring, the tone he has customised for his brother, “but the boss needs me back at the hotel, you know what Harry’s like.” Yeah, Harry doesn’t like Y/N much, especially not after catching them together in a dark corner of the set when he was supposed to be doing an interview. “Can I get your number? In all fairness I don’t know why I didn’t get it last time I saw you.”
“I do,” she husks under her breath.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing.”
This technically isn’t breaking any of her dad's rules. He already knows, loves and approves of Tom, even if he doesn’t quite know in what capacity he’s approving the relationship between the two of them. It’s only for a week, she can lie about who she is with him for another week surely, she did it for months before, and she’s done it for years at school. Y/N Foner, people really aren’t that bright, it’s just her grandma’s other surname. Nonetheless, Y/N taps her number into Tom’s phone, adding just her first name at the top, a clever omission.
“I’ll text you as soon as I can check my schedule with Harry.” He bends in and brushes his lips over her cheek, a chaste goodbye. “I’ll do it right this time.”
“You mean wine and dine me before you try to bed me?”
He chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck upon instinct. “And perhaps there’ll actually be a bed this time.”
She joins him in his laughter, taking another sip from her coffee. He looks good this way, more bulked out, healthier. Jake would approve.
“Well, I’d best be going.”
“Yeah, it was good to see you.”
“And you, of course. I’ll see you soon.”
She nods, and makes her way to turn away from him, but is stopped by a hand on the small of her back. “May I hug you? I— I was never sure if it was a ‘you’ thing or a ‘Jake not wanting people touching his PA’ thing.”
A laugh breaks from her, opening her mouth in a wide smile. She’d forgotten about that, and it brings back a fair few memories. “It was a Jake thing, don’t worry.”
He wraps his broad, tree trunk like arms around her tiny-by-comparison body, squeezing for a second before holding her at arm's length. Brushing a tendril of hair from her face, they’re oblivious to these thousands of people moving in the world around them, the leaves falling, the ducks in the lake. It’s just a moment, the way it should be. Until a pigeon begins pecking at his shoe.
“You look so beautiful.”
“Stop.” She blushes, swatting his hand away, a coy smile playing on her cold lips. “Thank you, save that for dinner!”
“Why save it a second longer, darling?” He shouts, already now moving away from her and into a receding crowd of people, “I’ve been waiting for two years!”
She rushes into the Shakespeare garden, light on her feet, grateful to find it empty, giving her free rein. As if today couldn’t get any better.
She thought coming to her favourite spots in the park would suffice, putting a smile on her face, but it was seeing Tom so chipper that did that. Darting around people, dashing out of the view of their photos, she prances around all of the plant beds and up the steps, stopping at her favourite flowers to think, what would Tom and I look like if we had our photo taken out here? If today was anything to go by, very cute, especially in a wintery shoot. He hasn’t gotten any taller, but he’s bulked to twice what he was before. She can’t help but letting her mind stray to that place where they’re locked away, the stolen moments, the quick fixes that barely kept them going, his touch electrifying her, his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet-
A small squeak escapes her mouth, shocking her enough to almost scurry away, mouse like. His lips still hold that same quirk they always did, the permanent smirk etched upon them, the perpetual softness that could be oh so bruising. Repression is an awful thing when one is repressing such delightful feelings as these; letting them all just come flooding back is the hugest relief of her life, letting her be free, happy. Even in those brief secret rendezvous, he still made her feel like a princess. Stealing extra food from the cart for her, getting her a coffee, triple checking for consent, always pleasuring her first despite the fact she never let them have sex.
That couldn’t be what he wants, no, it couldn’t possibly. He’s better than that. Well, obviously he does want it, he even said he plans on doing it right this time, with a bed instead of tangled electrical wires or his hoodie, but he’s surely doing it for more than just sex. Then again, she knows from her dad, just sex is still sex. Is Tom gonna be one of the stories her dad told her? God she hopes not, squeezing her fists at the mere thought, clenching her fingers before releasing them, flexing them into the cold air. Is it chivalry, what he’s doing? Or is it just a ploy?
“Why do you have to be so smart, dad?” she asks the sky, her voice projecting farther than she’d hoped for.
Some heads turn, but she ignores them. Again, dad is right, and she’ll have to take a risk and learn the hard way if this goes badly. Remembering how his rough fingertips felt on her body seems to be enough for now, silencing her mind, letting her body speak. She should probably be getting back home, because if the memories keep coming, God knows what’s on it’s way next, but being in public for the inevitable won’t go well. Pulse elevated, pupils dilated, she’ll need a damn good excuse to silence her dad. And that’s what she begins to equate as she makes her way out of the garden, walking back the way she came with her head down and her legs moving faster than her brain can think. Coffee is long unrequited, Tom’s got her intoxicated enough without the need for caffeine, that woody smell he always has is so prominent. She wonders if his neck still tastes the way it once did, so indescribably Tom, enough to get her high from a single kiss. Whipped is the right word, she thinks. If one man can unlock so much, surely she’s falling. She only hopes her dad finds the same happiness.
She knows Jake isn’t perfect, he’s far from it especially where tabloids are concerned, but the way he treats women has always been her expectation. Tom was the only one who ever came close. Despite Jake’s reputation as a womaniser, he’s always refused to sleep with a woman until the fifth date minimum, and even then only when he sees a future. That’s where Tom and I went wrong, Y/N thinks, they had no future, all he knew of her was a lie.
———
Nothing, not even thinking about how lonely her dad must be can wipe the smile off her face as she returns to the flat, skipping her way through the park. Tom’s back, and he wants to take her to dinner. It was just a holiday fling, she thought back in the day, just a stolen snog here and there, nothing to write home (or tell her dad) about, hence why she didn’t leave with a broken heart. But now he’s got achingly more handsome, and she’s not sure her heart can take it if she doesn’t just snatch up this chance. Her dad won’t mind if it’s just one date, surely, and he won’t be able to deny her the inevitable glee that Tom’s compliments and mere presence bring. The world is smiling back at her, the moody city of anonymity, the cold sun glowing on her, beating down its presence on her to remind her she’s still here, and she’s got a date. An actual proper date. Maybe she won’t have an epic love story like Chuck and Blair, but who cares about that when Jake Gyllenhaal is your dad and Tom Holland just asked you on a date? Y/N certainly doesn’t care, so treats herself to some donuts on her way home, buying enough for the dogs and her dad. What started off as a simple walk has now turned into a brilliant day, a brilliant week perhaps all things provided. Nothing can ruin today.
The Stolen Moments : Chapter 2 - Tell Me Something Good
A/N - I don't know Jake or Tom, nor do I claim to. This is a work of fiction. Series masterlist. 2.4k words.
Warnings - allusions to self pleasure & sex, drunk Jake, Tom being a himbo.
Summary - Keeping secrets from your overprotective father has never been your strongsuit, especially not when said friend you're getting close to is your father's friend. You're skating on very thin ice.
FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS, Y/N lets herself more than happily revisit those months.
The time she spent with Tom on set is unrivalled as the best period of her life. Seeing Europe and her dad every day was brilliant, sure, but she got to hang out with the most popular man of the moment. And to make it better, he wanted to spend time with her too, stealing a second every chance he got to sneak a kiss. His touch ignited a fire on her skin, his breath when it fanned over her neck setting her heart alive, his kiss leaving her desperate for more, his fingers securing desire in their wake. He was everything to her during that time, not something she thought she’d be able to forget as easily as she did. Repression, perhaps. Being unable to talk about it with anyone. Of course she could’ve told her dad, but he’d have been hurt above all else that she hadn’t told him earlier, and she never likes seeing Jake hurt. All it took was one look, one touch to remind her the way Tom can make her feel. It’s worth it, all of it is. The two years they spent separated won’t matter as soon as she sits at that table with him, it’ll all come flooding back, as natural as ever. After all, if one touch can stay with her for days, all while awaiting confirmation, what can a whole night do?
Tom Hx: Tomorrow night, seven. Sorry it took me so long, it’s my only night off, I’d love to see you if your still up for it?
Y/N: *You’re. Yeah, I’d like that. Can I call you later to iron out details? I have class soon.
Tom Hx: Brilliant. I’m meeting someone now actually so that works for me. You’re as beautiful as ever.
Y/N: you can’t even see me.
Tom Hx: That doesn’t stop you from looking lovely :)
Y/N: Flattery won’t get you into my bed, Tom.
Tom Hx: Worth a shot ;) talk later x
“Dad! Where’s my coat? I’m gonna be late for my lecture.” She shouts carelessly, only just appearing from her room.
“Baby, it’s past noon. You should already be on the tube!”
“I know, but I’ve lost my fu—”
“Language,” he warns, his impatient voice growing closer. Hypocrite.
“—Forking coat.”
She should be out, she knows this, but she was too busy flinging items of clothing out of her wardrobe for the past half hour and trying to remember the exact texture of his lips on hers, though two years of repression seems to have done a number on her. She can’t seem to remember every ridge and line on his body, sadly, and upon this realisation, she kicked her arse into gear, just as the door com went, meaning that they more than likely have a visitor. She knows well enough not to shout when Jake has someone in the house. Tom’s screwing with her mind and all she knows, far more than she ever let him before.
“Take mine instead, it’ll go with your outfit. I know how particular you are about that.”
She comes face to face with her dad a second later, passing her his favourite black leather jacket, now ridiculously battered due to the fact he’s point blank refused to replace it for the past ten years. She just smiles up at him gratefully, he’s only been this good with fashion since she grew old enough to decide what she wanted to wear, most of that being his shirts and jackets, because they’re far more comfy than hers tend to be.
“Jake? You comin’?” A voice shouts from the living room. One that sends a shiver down her spine.
“Yeah in a minute buddy!” Jake responds, rolling his eyes, shucking his thumb over his shoulder, mouthing ‘Tom’s in the city.’ She nods meekly, struggling to bite back a giggle.
“And ‘dad’? What’s that about dude?”
“Nothing, want a beer?”
“‘D love one.”
But Y/N swats Jake’s hand with a warning scowl. “No day drinking, not when you’re out tonight. It’s bad for your cho—”
“My cholesterol, I know,” he finishes for her, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “And if you don’t leave right now, you’ll miss your lecture. Go!”
She shuffles into his body for a minute, letting his arms wrap around her in that sort of fatherly bear hug that always makes her feel protected, safe, like he needs to hit the gym again soon because he’s starting to get a bit podgy and soft, all of that muscle mass going to waste. She sets a note-to-self for after she gets home from school to get him back on a good diet and training regime since he’s got another big role coming up. She’s always been in charge of this, he’s always trusted her more than himself to deal with his health, because she’s always cared about it more than he does. They are, and always have been each other's priority. On this, she won’t let her infatuation with a certain Brit waver her.
“You know I just worry, pumpkin. Have a good lecture,” he wishes, warmth emanating from him, even as he watches her retreat, scurrying footsteps to the door.
He’s still more than reluctant to let her go around the city alone, but with college now in play, he knows she needs her freedom even if he is being annoying with all of his questions every time she so much as tries to leave the house. They’re a team, she presses him just as much, really, as she just demonstrated. She still waits, just outside the door, enough to hear him run the faucet long enough to get a cup of water, and then open the fridge to get Tom a beer, making his way back as Tom puts the game back on. Men.
“You have a daughter?! Is she really your daughter or is that some weird shit?” If looks could kill, Jake’s glare would’ve killed Tom in an instant, that she knows. “God-daughter?”
“Let’s go with that.”
“How old is she, my age?” Tom asks inquisitively, excitably, like the puppy he is.
“Well she’s old enough to have lectures and for me to be letting her off into the city on her own, take a guess.”
“Really? Um, I don't know, mate.”
Jake will never know what goes through this boy's head, but that’s just Tom. Jake’s job is to keep Y/N safe, and that also means away from Tom while he’s in the city. He knows well enough what Tom is like, and he’ll be damned if he lets that near his little girl. Again. He made her happy with the odd kiss in Europe, sure, but he’ll just leave again, and no matter how much he loves Tom, no one will do that to his daughter.
Y/N smiles at his vagueness in response to Tom’s question, but she knows the meaning of it. He’ll grow to accept it all, but should their date go well tomorrow, she needs to be honest with her dad and with Tom if anything is to go well.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a kid? That’s so cool, I wonder what her name is... When can I meet her?”
He huffs exasperatedly, “If I were you, Tom, I’d stop speaking now.”
He does, and the last thing Y/N hears before she really has to leave is the game, neither of them speaking. She can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, but she does know that she really has to run and completely forget about the possibility of Tom’s touch again if she wants to get to her lecture.
———
The rest of the day whirrs by, her mind filled with thoughts of Tom and daydreams of how it’ll go, her night clouded by the same thing, only slightly less controlled. Jake spends the night out again, and returns home at two, startling Y/N awake with his aimless stumblings in search of water. She knows well enough now that he doesn’t need her help, he’s a forty-year-old man for crying out loud, but that doesn’t stop her from pushing the not-so-safe-for-work thoughts of Tom and herself out of her mind in order to throw her comforter back and climb out of bed onto the cold wooden floor in search of her dad. Ever the caring daughter, she’d already set out a glass of water and the last of their aspirin on his bedside table, and she set out the oatmeal before he went out, ready to heat it when he got home.
“Dad, go to bed,” she instructs, finding him out on the open landing.
“Oh hi darling!” he says, reaching out to grab hold of her shoulders, almost shaking her with the force of it. “I’m so sorry, did I wake you?”
He’s not that drunk, she can tell. If she were to duck away from his grip, he’d still remain standing, perhaps he wouldn’t even sway. He’s never been a bad drinker, always sensible and taking it really well, never drinking with Y/N in the house when she was younger… that’s another thing that worries her about Tom, because at just a few years older than her, he can absolutely, unequivocally drink her dad under the table without trying or even seeming the slightest fraction tipsy. Does the man have a liver? Well, Y/N knows for sure that she’ll be checking Jake in to have another check over soon. Just on a precautionary basis. He’s upright, holding her gaze with gratefully un-glazed eyes and un-slurred words.
“Bed, now. You’re out for a run at 6am if I have anything to do with it, I’ll bring you some oatmeal.”
“Aww what would I do without you?” He pets her head affectionately.
“You’d die.”
Then again, so would Tom have that year they were out together on filming and press. She’s always been her dad's rock, but she really underestimated how much assistance Tom needs just to function like a normal person. Boarding school taught her good habits, as did her dad; doesn’t mean he can do them himself though, and Tom seems to be the same despite Harry’s levels of maturity and motivation.
Watching as Jake disappears into his bedroom, she heats up his oatmeal, adds a drizzle of honey, and slices some banana to go on top. He’s just drunk enough not to question why she’s sneaking fruit into his preventative hangover meal, so she’ll take advantage of it while she still can. He’s ready for bed when she goes inside, wearing a stupid gimicky t-shirt, the ones he’s ever insistent on buying.
“Sit with me,” he demands. She cocks an eyebrow at him disapprovingly, as though to say ‘look at the time!’ but he doesn’t budge. “Or I won’t eat my oatmeal.”
Rolling her eyes, she climbs into bed next to her dad, and tucks her feet under the comforter for warmth. He eats it, though, with no complaints, and drinks the whole glass she put out, downing the aspirin with it.
“Promise you me, never go out drinking when you’re my age. You’ll have your poor kid looking after you.”
“It’s not all bad, I like taking care of you,” she answers, looking up at him with brows furrowed. “You never had a wife to do it, so someone needs to.”
“Doesn’t mean it should be my little girl.” He sits himself up straighter, but as he does so, it’s like tiredness begins to pull at him desperately, gnawing for him to lie back down. A wave of dizziness that knocks the room twisting doesn’t help matters much. “I’m sorry pumpkin.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for dad, but please go to sleep or you’ll regret it in the morning.”
“Hmm, you need a husband to boss around. I think Tom would happily sign up for that job.”
“You think so?” she asks, perhaps a little too quickly.
“Yeah, you had him in order when we were on set.”
She chuckles a little, “I had everyone in order when we were on set. They were all scared of your wrath if they disobeyed my orders as your very delightful PA.”
“And the fact they all fancied you, every one of them.”
Gasping, she taps the back of his head, jolting him forwards on a sudden surprise, causing him to slide back down the headboard and onto the pillows. “Dad!”
“Why didn’t you go on a date with any of them? Enough of them asked you, if I recall.”
“Yeah, but you’re drunk now.” She snatches his bowl and glass up, along with any dirty mugs he may have lying around, throwing some stray wrappers in the trash while she’s at it. She walks them through to the kitchen, fussing the dogs on the way through, and has the full resolution that she’ll go back to bed and back to dreaming about Tom’s tree trunk arms and gorgeously veiny hands in just a minute, but Jake’s light is still on. Dutiful daughter, maybe that’s why she’s never found a boyfriend. “You ok?”
He hums, noncommittal, rolling on his side to face her, propped up in the doorway. “Tell me something good.”
She stalks over to him, bouncing on the balls of her feet like a fish out of water, trying desperately to avoid the cold floor and his dirty laundry (the epitome of not practising what he preaches), and eventually sits on the edge of the bed, gently threading her fingers into his hair, currently far too long for her liking: another thing she’ll have to tell him once he sobers up.
“Something good? I got asked on a date. I’m going out tomorrow evening.”
“That’s nice. You’ll have to tell me more in the morning,” he says dazedly, already slipping into a slumber. “Do you like them?”
She takes a beat, pausing to think about it, milling over all her possible answers on borrowed time. She knows the answer, of course she does, but it’s not that simple. Because what she feels for Tom goes way beyond liking him. “Yeah. Yes, I do.”
“That’s nice, pumpkin.”
Those are the last words he says before tiredness hits him like a truck and draws him under.
Y/N smiles to herself, a tired smile at that, and turns the light off, staggering back into her own bed, her dreams bound to be filled with a certain chocolate eyed, brown haired British boy who stole her heart those years ago.
