Discover Top Posts Tagged with #richkid!reader

pink film

synopsis: being forced to stay home for the summer starts to feel worse when you have to deal with your sister’s engagement party. not to mention the return of your ex-boyfriend is starting to bombard your sanity.

pairing: richkid!tom holland x richkid!reader

genres: richkid!au, exes to lovers, camgirl/camboy → for @venomsilk’s valentine’s day bingo!

warnings: explicit content (18+ only): oral sex, vaginal sex, fingering, overstimulation, camming, some angst

wc: 11.3k

a/n: happy valentine’s day! this took me so long to write and it was also supposed to be like 5k but i went overboard hfgdhjkdhf. the original title was pink moon/blue film (a blue film is slang for... yk... Adult Films) but i decided that this fic is full of pink and red, as are most of my fics. feel free to give me feedback and i’m sending a virtual rose to all of you today 🌹

mini playlist to go along with the fic <3

No amount of champagne in your system would be able to tolerate the people in your backyard. Yes, you knew most of the people in your cookie-cutter town, but you’d avoid anyone you even remotely knew at all costs when you were home for college. But rather than spending the summer backpacking across Europe with your best friend, your parents much preferred that you stayed home to learn the ropes of the family business, not to mention you were forced into an internship set up by your father. Even if you tried, you couldn’t escape them, and you certainly couldn’t opt out of your older sister, Ava’s, lavish bachelorette party. Or engagement party. Whatever the fuck this was.

Ava outshined you every chance she got — perhaps because she was someone who actually enjoyed vanity since childhood and was thrilled whenever there was an opportunity to show off your family’s wealth with her clothing and her attitude. She likes to joke about how you’re probably adopted or that when you came out of the womb, your face was stuck in a “fucked up little frown” and it hasn’t budged since. Not for the next twenty-one years of your life. And now, you’re hopelessly pouring golden liquid into your glass, watching it slosh around as you roll your eyes to the sound of your sister squealing along with her friends and fellow club members of stupid little elite society. Your sister used to boast about how philanthropic it was, but really, it was an excuse for her to climb the social hierarchy and get blackout drunk on the way.

Leaning over the porch of the backyard, you scan the scene. You blend in easily as you stalk in your little orb, unbothered by the rest of the family and about one hundred of Ava and her fiancé, Matt’s, friends. Swallowing the champagne down your throat, you briefly catch the eye of a friend of a friend, waving awkwardly when your brain quickly realizes that you have to wipe the scowl off your face at that very moment. Fuck accidental eye contact.

“Enjoying your night?”

You jump when a hand finds itself on the small of your back. When you turn, you see Matt in his suit, putting his hands up in surrender as he apologizes for startling you. You give him a tightlipped smile and smooth out your vintage Miu Miu dress.

“Yeah. Just, um, tired,” you mutter.

“You know there’s other stuff to drink than just champagne, right?” Matt nods to your glass. Your fourth glass.

“I’m trying to be good,” you shrug.

“C’mere.”

It takes you by surprise when he takes your hand and leads you into your kitchen. Without a word, he takes a flute from the cabinet and rummages the fridge quickly for an opened bottle of champagne, Cointreau, and cranberry juice.

“What are you doing?” you raise an eyebrow as he fixes a concoction. Once he’s done, he pushes the champagne flute towards you with a smirk.

“It’s a poinsettia. Champagne, cranberry juice, and orange triple-sec.”

“Impressive,” you nod, taking a sip.

“Matty! There you are!” Ava suddenly appears. You admit that she looks as beautiful as ever, peachy glitter eyeshadow adorning her eyes that matches her orange dress. “Wow. Finally, you two are bonding. Sorry if she said anything off-putting to you, darling.”

“I’m right here!” you snap at your sister. She flashes you a brief fake smile laced with plastic and nudges Matt towards the door.

“Don’t scare any of my friends away, please. Also, I saw your boyfriend,” she teases, nudging you.

“What? I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Helloooo, our neighbor? Tommy Holly?”

“We stopped seeing each other,” you hiss, crossing your arms.

“Sheesh, wonder why,” Ava responds, making a face.

Your cheeks are warm once she leaves you alone in the kitchen. You can’t help but clench your jaw at your sister’s attitude, how constantly belittling she could be. Not to mention that the knowledge that Tom Holland is in the vicinity makes your stomach flip onto its side. You considering going upstairs to hide in your room, but for some reason, you want to stick it out. As if you’re challenging yourself. As if maybe seeing your ex-boyfriend would be like throwing knives with all of the possibility of deepening cuts you already had, but you tell yourself after your fifth drink that you’d be able to dodge them. You always did find pleasure in pain.

You genuinely hate admitting that Tom was the love of your life. Ever since you were kids. You were never friends necessarily, despite your families being rather close with one another throughout your adolescence. It was in your teenage years when you started to gravitate towards Tom at family gatherings. You would daydream about him at school, think about what he does in his room alone or what his mouth might taste like.

By the time Tom went off for university, you were sure it was time to get over him. You had to focus on your studies. Even if Tom went to university close enough to commute, there was no point in pursuing him when he’d be in an environment where he could probably take home anyone he wanted. Girls that were far prettier, far more mature. Girls from university. Plus, you were certain he didn’t think anything of you anyway. Even getting him to look at you was like grasping for straws.

One night at the beginning of year thirteen, Tom had climbed up your window. It was bold of him, really, considering he had always been particularly quiet around you growing up. You were friendly with the twins considering they were in the same year as you, but you and Tom were more acquaintances than childhood friends — he might’ve been in your room only once or twice before in the whole time he’d known you. So when your window opened and his curly head popped in, you nearly had a heart attack.

“What are you doing here?” you seethe. If looks could kill, Tom Holland would be six feet under.

“I was bored,” Tom mumbles. He says it like it’s a logical answer.

“No, really, what do you want? My parents are asleep!” you whisper-shout. It was funny how often you think about this boy, yet when he’s right in front of you, you’re yelling at him.

“I just... I always see your light on really late and I was curious and we never hang out even though our moms are basically best friends?” Tom rambles, running a hand through his curls. He looks crazy standing in the middle of your bedroom. “Also, I’m very intoxicated and very lonely and tend to be very impulsive in both states. But also, I’ve always wanted to see if I could crawl up to your bedroom without falling on my face. And look! I did.

“Okay, Spider-Man, you’ve gotta be quieter. But fine, we can hang out,” you sigh. You smile at him warily as you grab his shoulders lightly to help him sit on the bed.

You had talked that whole night, not sleeping until four in the morning. From then on, the two of you were inseparable. He was smitten with you for a year until it came time for you to graduate. The two of you were already having trouble with miscommunications, along with your own stress of starting your first year of Oxford University. But God, you were in love with him. You were sure he was, too, but as that autumn came, it seemed like the warmth that usually radiated from Tom was fading with the change of seasons. To put it briefly, during the breakup, Tom mastered nonchalance and you didn’t.

That’s why you’d hardened in your first year of Oxford. It was nice to be physically away from Tom, but his face showed up in your dreams every night. He’d left a mark on you that you would attempt to scrub off until your skin was raw, but the remnants would still stay like a tattoo.

Although both of you stayed civil — friendly, even — the thought of bumping into him in this current vulnerable state made you want to shove your head into an oven. A cigarette was all you needed. It’s not a habit you’re proud of, but it helps in situations where you need to occupy your mouth with something, and screaming enough decibels to break glass was certainly not an option.

Before you grab your cigarettes from the pocket of your coat in the foyer, you step back into the kitchen and grab a large mug and fill it with the rest of the champagne. Might as well dull the senses.

The cool air soothes you once you step out of your front door with your cigarettes, exhaling with another gulp of your champagne to wash down your nerves. You shiver at the view of the sunset, rosy-blond light flooding a backdrop of blue so that your bare arms were awash in liquid light. Your suburb feels so still. When the sky was this organically beautiful, it was funny that it’s set with the mundanity of luxury architecture — ornate, spiky gates with artificial lawns in front of houses that looked drawn out of a Barbie movie. God, how all that cleanliness was so uninteresting.

A sharp exhale. Malaise is what you feel. Psychological brain fog. The footsteps padding towards you on your large front porch snaps you out of your lamentations and when you turn your head, you’re met with the last face you want to see.

Tom is slouched coolly on the railing of the porch stairs and looks down on you. His hair is longer than you remember him ever having it. He smiles at you softly as if the two of you are close friends.

“Guess we had the same idea,” Tom muses, taking the last puff of his cigarette before throwing it on the ground and stomping out the cherry with his heel.

“Since when do you smoke?” you retort.

“Since when do you?”

“Since someone broke my heart,” you mumble.

“What was that?”

You hold your breath.

“Nothing.”

When he crouches down, for some reason you briefly think he might touch your shoulder, embrace you somehow, but he keeps his distance as he sits down on the stairs with you. Part of you wants him to touch you. He looks beautiful under the emerging moonlight with his silky button-down over his broad figure, his hair in smooth curls, and his hands adorned in shiny rings. Even his smell draws you in — the familiar, nostalgic scent of a fireplace and the hint of vanilla. You realize you haven’t been this physically close to Tom since before your breakup.

“Um, how’s Oxford?” When he looks at you, you feel your rib cage open like the jaws of a shark. You’re vulnerable from the alcohol but also slightly buzzed, cigarette in your hand as more of a comfort than an antidote.

“Good. How’s London?”

“Good. University is university,” Tom shrugs.

“Mhmm,” you hum. The silence between you two feels like a fragile bubble. Neither of you are daring to break it. You feel almost relieved when he speaks again.

“I like your dress.”

“I know. You were the one who picked it out at the store,” you give him a small smile.

“I was?” Tom furrows his brows in confusion.

“Yes, we were at a consignment shop in Rome. I had one vintage Prada and this vintage Miu Miu and I couldn’t decide between them so you picked Miu Miu for me.”

“Oh,” he murmurs. He tries to hide the small smile on his face as he thinks about the two of you spending time together. The memory comes back to him, how the shop was one of many the two of you visited during your brief trip to Rome during an autumn holiday. “Well, did I make the right choice?”

“Yeah. I get tons of compliments. All thanks to your impeccable taste,” you chirp. You’re sarcastic in your tone but Tom can’t help but light up when he sees your eyes glimmer in a disposition that’s almost friendly. Although you’re polite to him in public, he always feels like you’re throwing daggers at him. Your civility feels almost eerie. Usually, you wouldn’t even tease him as a friend. It was something he missed, and he loved that he was hearing it in your voice now.

You settle your gaze on a rabbit in your front yard instead of Tom’s face. Slender fingers wrap around your still-burning cigarette. You frown as you watch Tom take it from your lips to his own, taking a long, smooth drag and blowing it in your face.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to aim for your face,” Tom mutters, waving his hand in front of you. It makes you flinch.

“Thief,” you sigh. You purse your lips when you hear him snicker quietly.

“So. Matt Atkinson, huh?”

“Yeah,” you nod.

“That’s so funny. Considering Ava is kind of, like… you know. And he was a stoner loser when I went to school with him.”

“I know. Guess he girl bossed really close to the sun.”

Tom chuckles at your comment. “Yeah, I barely recognized him tonight. Super hot.”

“Oh, man, maybe you should’ve made the move before he turned into a yuppie!”

“Please,” Tom rolls his eyes. “Remember when Ava actually had a crush on me?”

“Yes. She was so fucking annoying about it. That’s probably why I always avoided you.”

“You avoided me?” Tom exasperates, frowning.

“Yes. She was all over you when we were like fifteen. You know I can’t stand to see her happy.”

“What, were you jealous of her? I didn’t even like her back then!” Tom teases.

You grimace as you bite your bottom lip. You always thought that maybe you’d have a chance with Sam or Harry when you were younger because Ava had already claimed Tom. And God, was she obnoxious in trying to win him over to the point where you’d just avoided them both. Luckily, her crush had died down once she’d gone off to university. Meanwhile, Tom was starting year thirteen while you were starting year twelve, and so your infatuation with him began.

“I wasn’t jealous,” you protest.

“But, really, did you fancy me when we were kids?”

“We’re still kids,” you shrug.

“Y/N.”

“No. Not until I was in twelfth,” you tell the truth.

“Interesting. I’d liked you since you were in ninth,” Tom admits casually.

Still do.

You look at him with a wide gaze, blinking a few times before flitting your eyes towards something else entirely.

“Oh, God, the Tom Holland? Liked me?” you scoff, though you settle for a tone that’s more playful. You bite your lip while you continue to process his words. You know you shouldn’t feel excited to know that Tom had liked you first considering you two were over now. That gummy feeling in your stomach that you felt as a teenager for Tom would never happen again.

“Yes, so much that I asked you out and spent a year with you.” His expression is innocent but there’s an intent of earnestness.

“Huh. So many lifetimes we’ve lived. And now here we are.”

“Yeah,” Tom breathes. “Here we are.”

Awkward beat. Tom coughs stiffly.

“Um. Can I?” he nods towards the mug in your hand. You hand it to him.

“Jesus, I thought this was water or something. This is so much champagne, Y/N.”

“I needed it,” you shrug. You feel wired all of a sudden. “Do you ever think about how there’s a parallel universe where we don’t meet at all or like, one of our families never move here so we don’t ever cross paths? Or a universe where we grow old together and I bully you in the nursing home. Or one where you and Ava actually get together. Or—”

“One where we’re still together.”

You look at him, suddenly feeling an immense weight in your stomach. Visions of the two of you come back to your brain like an alcohol-induced fever dream. But no, this is real. He really is sitting this close to you. He gives you a sad smile and takes a sip from your mug.

“That’d be weird, wouldn’t it?” you quip, biting the inside of your teeth. Tom can’t tell if your sudden ditziness is a result of your drunkenness or if you were being sarcastic.

“I don’t know,” he says softly. There’s something in his brown eyes that you can’t fathom. You remember when you could always tell how he was feeling just by looking into his eyes. Tom would call you a psychic, how nothing could get past you. How ironic it is that you’re right in front of him and you’re drowning in his eyes, naive and estranged. “I’m… really sorry about what happened to us, Y/N.”

You chuckle in a way that’s almost mocking. Tom thinks you’re about to cry.

“You don’t have to do that right now. It’s corny,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Everything’s fine, I promise. I’m very glad we’re good friends now.”

“Are we?”

“Sure we are.”

“I want you to know that I didn’t want to hurt you. And I was really in love with you. I regret a lot of the things I said.”

“It’s been like three years, Tom. It’s in the past.”

He closes his mouth, trapping the guilt inside until it’s lodged in his throat. You sigh when you realize your tone might’ve been too cruel.

“I’m not upset anymore, really. Time’s passed, you know? I was eighteen. We can just move on and be okay,” you bite your tongue. Even though you’d always wanted this apology, the memories of the breakup come back in a flood. You needed to be sober to have this conversation. You didn’t even want to have this conversation.

“I— Alright. We’re okay,” Tom nods slowly. He wants to say more to you but your demeanor is dismissive. He’s too afraid to upset you now. He doesn’t know how you’d react if he expressed any feelings of attraction or desire towards you again, so he decides it’s best for him to keep his distance. He’s just barely sorted out his current feelings about you. All he knows is that ever since he arrived at your house tonight, his eyes were fixed on you in a way that mirrored how he used to look at you.

Subconsciously, he leans towards you very slowly. Or maybe the world is spinning and you’re hallucinating. With your luck, maybe the champagne was mixed with acid or something horrid. No, this is all real. And everything feels like it’s spinning and his cologne is the only thing you can smell. You flutter your eyes as if expecting him to kiss you.

It seems that he’s anticipating the same thing from how he looks at you. Both of you inch closer to one another with slow vehemence but are interrupted by the sound of your front door opening.

“Oh, oops, did I interrupt something?” Ava giggles. Her arm is slung around a blonde whose knees are wobbling. She looks between you and Tom and smirks.

“Not at all,” you mumble.

“You remember Ginny from school, don’t you?”

“Hi, Y/N!” Ginny yells excitedly. She beams at you while she supports herself with Ava’s arms. When the blonde tries to touch Ava’s face, she slaps her hand away.

“Hi, Ginny,” you giggle. Ginny was probably the only one of Ava’s friends who was nice to you when you were in secondary school. Funnily enough, Ava was always the meanest to Ginny.

“Well, she extremely needs to go home because she’s a fucking lightweight and smoked a few spliffs so she might vomit everywhere. But she doesn’t have a ride. And knowing that you’re an actual killjoy and are probably completely sober, can you please drive her to her flat?”

“You can’t just call a taxi?”

“She needs help getting into her bed!”

“Are you serious?” you exasperate. “First of all, you prick, I’m fucking drunk. Second, there really isn’t anyone else at the party?”

“I’m pretty sober at this point,” Tom speaks up. You’d almost forgotten he was there.

“Oh, Tommy, you’re always the sweetest.”

“Ava, why don’t you come with us since she’s your friend?”

“Because I’m the hostess! Anyways, Matthew needs me. Ginny, get in the car!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you mumble in your breath as you help the girl get into the backseat of Tom’s car. She giggles childishly as she sits herself down. You get into the passenger seat and slam the door shut.

“Watch the doors,” Tom warns. You glower at him, turning up the radio.

“I’ll put in the directions.”

Once you get Ginny into her flat, she effortlessly flops onto the couch.

“Can we get Chinese?” she whines.

“No, Ginny, you have to drink water,” you let out a sigh as you get her a glass of water. Tom awkwardly stands beside the couch as Ginny fidgets.

“God, this is the drunkest I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Really? Drunker than when you drank an entire bottle of vodka on your eighteenth birthday, passed out in the tub, and we had to carry you from the bathroom back to Ava’s room before our parents woke up?”

“Oh, yeah. Maybe not drunker than that,” Ginny murmurs dreamily. Tom can’t hold back a laugh and it almost validates you to hear it. He pulls a blanket from one of the chairs to cover Ginny, who looks like she’s melting into the couch. She blinks up at the two of you with tranquility. Almost like her brain is made of air.

“You guys are such a cute couple,” she coos.

“Oh, we aren’t—”

“Thanks—”

You both answer in unison, giving each other amused looks. You raise an eyebrow when you see a slight flush over Tom’s cheekbones.

“So awesome. God, you’re so nice. So much nicer than your sister. I mean, she was great tonight, but I— sheesh, so tyrannical. She is, I mean…” Ginny trails off her babbling, eventually drifting into sleep. You feel tired sitting in her living room as you listen to her breathe. Tom locks eyes with you and nods towards the door. You nod.

“Goodnight, Ginny…” you whisper, following Tom out the front door.

The tension between you feels electric when you’re back in the car. You look out on the road blankly, unsure of how to start a conversation. You can feel Tom’s eyes burning into you. Wordlessly, he starts his car.

“Well, that was fun,” he concludes.

“Totally,” you retort bitterly.

“Do you want to maybe—“

“Better get back before my mother realizes I’m missing— oh, sorry. What did you say?”

“Nevermind,” Tom gives you a tightlipped smile. You recognize it. He always uses it when he’s trying to hide something.

“What were you about to ask me?”

“Ah, I don’t know, we could go get like, ice cream or something. Not that your sister’s party wasn’t a riot,” he mumbles sheepishly. You toy with the idea and the images of you two spending more time with one another this late at night makes you feel nostalgic, almost nauseous in the way the desire burns in your stomach.

“It’s late,” you reply softly.

Tom nods, flashing you that smile again. It’s like he knew that would be your answer. When you’re in your neighborhood again, he passes his house and moves onto yours.

“You didn’t have to drop me off here, I could’ve just… walked from your driveway to mine,” you say as Tom pulls into your driveway.

“Saved you the trip of several feet,” he shrugs. “I’ll see you at brunch tomorrow, then?”

“What?”

“Our families are getting brunch together?”

“Really? Jesus, no one tells me anything,” you huff.

“Damn, I’m sorry that the thought of eating waffles next to me is so horrid,” Tom teases. Heat rises to your cheeks but he laughs it off, insisting that he’s kidding. “I’ll see you tomorrow, rabbit.”

Your eyes soften at the familiar nickname. No one’s called you that in years. Certainly not Tom.

“See you.”

The next morning, you’re stretched on the chaise lounge chair in your room with your legs swinging over the seat the way you used to when you were a child, blinking up at your ceiling while you listen to the voices of your family stirring downstairs. The night rendered itself partially sleepless because of your usual insomniac, constantly wired and hemorrhaging constant intrusive thoughts about the boy next door. Conveniently, when you’d woken up that morning in your underwear and too-small crop top, Tom had been at his window the same exact time you’d drawn your curtains. A tiny smirk and his little three-finger wave were all it took for heat to rise up to your cheeks before you could even make sense that you were going to be spending time with him and his family later that morning.

You have very little to do other than skim through your novels and play dress-up in front of your full-length mirror until your sister begrudgingly trudges up to your room to wake you from the dead. You roll your eyes before she can even get her manicured hand on your doorknob. You have everyone’s footsteps memorized at this point. Ava’s sound like a galloping giraffe.

“Mum sent me to make sure you haven’t hung yourself with your sheets,” she crows as she saunters into your room. “Is that my fucking skirt?”

“Huh? Oh, this little number?” you smirk, curtsying after you smooth down the satin of your Prada wrap skirt.

“Why is it that when you wear it you look like a whore?” Ava frowns, crossing her arms as she tilts her head towards you like a dog.

“Maybe because I’ve got better legs.”

She scoffs. The jangle of her charm bracelet makes her sound like a dog whose collar is bouncing around.

“The green kind of makes you look sickly. As your sister, I recommend something else,” she tuts, her glossy mouth turned up in a saccharine-sweet smile even when her eyes resemble a cartoonish villain’s. “Be downstairs soon, the Hollands should be over by eleven.”

You breathe again once she slams your door closed behind her. An irritated groan rasps out of your throat. A frown in the mirror stares back at you, so you beam at your own face in mocking sweetness as if you’re an actor preparing for a scene. Another deep breath.

God, you can fucking survive brunch, at least. Get it together.

You swap your current blouse for a white chiffon frill top with cut-out details that aren’t revealing enough for your mother to complain about but enough for you to not sweat so much under the summer sun. Discarding the Prada skirt, you settle on your most breathable pair of black silk trousers. The outfit is plain but elegant, with the top somewhat fairy-like as it flows in the long sleeves. Your hair feels more haphazard than usual, so you pull it back with a claw clip so that your gold hoops are on display. The same hoops that Tom had gotten you for Christmas years ago. You sigh.

“Y/N, you look lovely!” Nikki compliments you as soon as you get to the courtyard behind your house. Her springy, floral perfume wafts in the air around you as she pulls you in for a hug.

“Thank you, Nikki, as do you!” you smile warmly.

A quick scan at the table causes your eyes to fall on Tom briefly. You look away as quick as lightning, though your smile lingers just slightly. He seems to sense the tension and when you spare a second glance at him, he softly smiles at you.

“Love, would you mind helping with the drinks?” our mother beckons you. You nod and walk over to the serving table to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. Nursing a pitcher of mimosas and another of bloody Mary, you quietly greet the Hollands one by one as you pour their glasses for them.

“Y/N!” the twins chirp in unison, which makes you chuckle.

“Hi Harry, Sam,” you grin. “What’s up?”

“Just happy to be here, we haven’t seen you in ages! Paddy thinks you look pretty, by the way,” Harry murmurs, poking his youngest brother on the side.

“Harry!” Paddy huffs, blushing carnation-pink and smiling awkwardly at you. He’d taken a liking to you ever since he was a small child since you were over often enough to hang out with the twins or babysit him occasionally. The small crush he’d developed on you was as adorable as ever.

“Tom,” you nod. “Umm, mimosa or Mary?”

“Morning, rabbit. Mimosa’s good.”

You don’t know why the sound of your old nickname makes your skin feel warmer and warmer, or maybe it was the sun beating down all of you and the fact that you underestimated what a long-sleeve shirt would do for your body. You also seem to underestimate your ability to handle two full pitchers of liquid considering your slight scuffle in serving your guests. Your heel scrapes the pavement the wrong way and a bit of mimosa trickles onto Tom’s lap.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry!” Your face is definitely as hot as the sun right now. Mortified, you attempt to paw at his thigh with a cloth but he holds your wrist to stop you.

“No worries, you didn’t even spill that much. Here, let’s set that down,” he offers.

“You div,” Ava loudly comments. “I need that Bloody Mary, hellooooo?”

“Here, pass that down.” Tom politely passes the pitcher down the table with the slightest grimace, trying hard as ever to not roll his eyes at your sister. You, on the other hand, go a little quiet, choosing to settle down at the table across from Tom. You feel grateful when your parents decide to serve the food, finally.

“This looks amazing,” Dom comments.

“Thank you,” your mother smiles, her eyes crinkling. “Eggs Benedict is Ava’s favorite.”

“Lovely choice.”

Sitting down now, your lip curls over the rim of your glass as the orange liquid gulps down your throat, soothing you in the summer heat. Tom seems to sense your anxiety, getting your attention by kicking you in the foot lightly under the table. You frown at him, giving him a look that reads, not now.

In response to your raised eyebrows, he turns the same expression, except with a smirk instead of a frown. You think that the slight leap of your heart is from the nerve-wracking energy of having to put a face on for your guests. Definitely not the quirk of Tom’s mouth. Definitely not.

“Congratulations on your engagement, love birds,” Nikki murmurs to the supposed stars of the show. You begin to zone out while the rest of the guests seemingly gush over the ring and the party and the future wedding party. You couldn’t care less. You’re better at daydreaming, tucking whatever anxiety you feel under your skin. Tom keeps catching your line of vision and each time his brown eyes feel like they’re relaying secret messages.

“Y/N, Nikki’s talking to you,” your mother says. Suddenly you’re snapped out of your short-lived reverie, now blinking back at everyone around you.

“Sorry?”

“How is uni going for you? Seeing anyone?”

“Ah, it’s, um, good,” you smile. “Yeah, it’s been great, I’m really… into my studies. I don’t really have time for dating.”

“You could be if you lived a little,” Ava interjects with her mouth full of arugula. She resembles a bunny when she chews, down to the beady red eye. “I had to physically drag you to prom!”

“To be fair, prom does suck,” Harry quips. You chuckle in response.

“She likes to reminisce times where she fully peaked because she can’t go back in time,” you dismiss.

Ava makes a guttural sound with her mouth.

“Mum! Are you really going to let her speak to me like th—”

“Got ya more fruit, babe,” Matt interrupts, returning to the table with a bowl of fruit salad like an angel.

“What were you studying again?” Sam asks you.

“Gender studies.”

“That’s where the money is,” Tom mutters.

“Excuse me?”

“Just a joke, darling.”

He smiles thinly, though you can tell from his eyes that he’s truly teasing in good faith. He crosses his arms over the breadth of his chest. You notice how neatly creased his Prada button-down it is along with the veins on his forearm.

“Okay, well, economics is just astrology for the stock market, no?” you retaliate.

Tom lets out a breathy chuckle and kicks you under the table again. You kick back a bit harder and he smiles widely.

“Oof. She got you, mate,” Harry laughs.

Your phone buzzes in your lap. Once you view the notification on your lock screen, you quickly cover it as you tuck it back into the pocket of your trousers before excusing yourself to the bathroom. Tom’s eyes seem to be searing in the back of your head, but once you’re in your own kitchen, you exhale in relief. Your phone buzzes again.

clintwestwood66: need to see those perfect tits, baby

You roll your eyes.

It’s not that you needed the money. Any level-headed person would most likely question your reasoning for selling nudes of yourself because of your current social status and wealth, and any other person would most likely just call you a greedy whore. You swear to yourself it’s the instant gratification of your phone buzzing with the sound of a cha-ching, how that dopamine release alone made you feel powerful for a split second. You were fine with showing off to strangers — men were a pawn to you, anyway. Above all, you were simply bored when you’d started out. That was all.

In the ornate bathroom mirror of the first floor, you look at your rosy cheeks and the way your hair falls into your face, and for some reason, you’re thinking about how Tom is perceiving you. Twirling, your eyes trace the curves of your body, the parts of your skin that showed through your sheer shirt, the dip of your hips. You have to shake the thought of him.

Undoing your blouse, you pivot your hips just slightly so that the light streaming through the window next to the sink falls in a certain pattern on your abdomen. You open your phone camera and hold it up to your face to cover it, capturing the lace black bra you’re wearing in the afternoon light. Sighing, you frown at the end result, now adjusting your bra so that your tits were more exposed, spilling out of the cup. There we go.

A sudden rap on the door startles you. Swallowing, you quickly readjust yourself and fix your shirt before sending the photos.

“Just a second!” you call to the other side of the door when you hear another tap. You open the door only to nearly collide with Tom’s chest. He takes the initiative to hold you by the wrist as if you’re a delicate thing, but mostly, you’re just taken by surprise.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

“Remembered to wash your hands?” Tom raises his brows, mouth curling into a snide grin.

“Obviously,” you huff, quickly turning your heels back to the courtyard. The sun is still blinding and you realize you feel dizzy. You blame the mimosa instead of the curly-headed boy in your house.

The summer had barely started, but even now, it feels like it’s progressing at the pace of drying paint — slow and uneventful. You yearn about the places you could be instead, renewing yourself completely in a foreign country where no one knew your name. But no, you’re sat in your room frowning into a mirror as you attempt to pluck your eyebrows the way your mother had taught you when you were sixteen.

You take a sip from your wine glass and look out of your window. A black window parallels yours. For some reason, envy bubbles up in your stomach, that on this Saturday night you were spending your time haunting your room while Tom was out probably at a bar with his friends or acquaintances or lovers. Truthfully, the mundanity of your life forced you to develop intrusive thoughts upon the return of Tom Holland, because what was more scandalous and romantic than to have another love affair with someone you already had a history with?

You realize this is a foolish thing to want. Again, you blame your thoughts on the glass of alcohol in your hand. If being desired was what you wanted right now, you’d take matters into your own hands. This is why, instead of going to bed like the rest of your household, you decide to change into your newest lingerie set from Agent Provocateur — mesh burgundy with embroidered lace detailing. A swipe of dark red lipstick and you’re set.

Persephone’s live will begin shortly.

You admit that you enjoyed this alter-ego of yours. It was a twisted take on how you would imagine yourself when you were younger — that you would break out of your shell and transform into some ethereal, powerful being. Maybe you’d wanted superpowers. You do kind of feel like a hero in a fucked up way, but only because of the mask you wear on your live streams. You decide in your current age to settle for sex appeal instead of magical powers.

“Hey guys!” you smile, taking a sip from your wine glass as you lounge in front of your laptop camera. You stretch slightly like a cat to show off your finger, your other hand settled on your hip as you slide it slowly across the supple skin of your bare thigh.

“Sorry I haven’t been online lately. Been really busy with work and family stuff… I had to sit through the worst brunch of my life today.” You look over to the chatbox.

“Hey, Phil! Glad to see you’re on. Miss me?” your laugh is like a music box while your voice is lower than it usually is from the way you purposefully try to sound sultry — a femme fatale facade.

“Welcome to the cum show,” you read off. “Ha! Hmm, what should I use tonight, huh? My fingers or a toy?”

Spidey69: [Tipped 20 tokens] want u to use the biggest dildo

“Sheesh,” you respond after seeing the notification and comment. “Just for twenty? I don’t know…”

Your eyes widen when you look up to see a brown head of hair in your window, making you gasp as you watch the figure fall to your bedroom floor clumsily.

“Aw, fuck,” he groans, clutching his side. While he’s still on the floor, you quickly throw your mask under the bed and shut your laptop.

“Tom? What the fuck are you doing here?” you screech.

“Wanted to see you. Duh,” Tom slurs, standing up. He looks you up and down and smirks. “Was I interrupting something?”

“Yes, you were,” you exasperate. You’re dumbfounded by the fact that Tom had pulled his stunt at the most inopportune time, and suddenly embarrassed by the fact that you’ve got nearly nothing on. “Why are you here?”

“I just said I wanted to see you!”

“That’s a lie.”

“No, I’m not lying,” he mumbles. He runs a hand through his curls. You notice that they look softer than usual, almost tousled in the way he looks like an off-duty model. The smell of his cologne is already permeating the air. “But I’d taken an Uber from the pub and then happened to get locked out of my house. So it was either sleep in my backyard or this.”

“You couldn’t have called one of your brothers?”

“They left the pub earlier because they were tired. You know how the twins are if you interrupt their sleep.”

“These are just excuses.”

“Correct. Smart girl,” Tom grins. “Also, I haven’t had a Spider-Man moment in a minute. Mostly just wanted to see if I could do it without falling to my death.”

“I don’t think I’m worth dying for, you div,” you roll your eyes. You adjust yourself so that a blanket drapes over the lower half of your body while you hug the pillow to your chest.

“You’d be surprised,” he shrugs casually. Your brow quirks up at his statement but you decide to leave it be. You’re still on your defensive, watching him carefully as he walks closer to you.

“Were you… taking nudes?” Tom asks awkwardly. He looks you up and down. Although you’re slightly covered up now, he can still make out the floral details of your lingerie and it makes him blush. He swallows his excess saliva and licks his lips absentmindedly.

“None of your fucking business,” you seethe, grabbing another pillow to throw at him. It whacks him in the head then falls flatly into his lap. He doesn’t react, only chuckles his signature breathy laugh.

Even when you’re angry with him, you look breathtaking. You always do, he muses, as he watches your eyes change from frustration to soft curiosity. Your eyelashes flutter at the speed of a hummingbird while he holds your eye contact. When your gaze flickers to your laptop, he makes a realization.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Cybersex?”

“Tom.”

“I thought you weren’t seeing any—”

“Why do you care?” you nearly yell at him. “It’s none of your business, really. Please get out of my room.”

“Y/N, I seriously can’t get into my fucking house. Also, you don’t need to cover up, I’ve literally been inside your—”

An irritated groan vibrates from your mouth as you attack Tom with another pillow, this time shoving it into his face as you try your best to put on an oversized t-shirt from the foot of your bed while you grumble for him to not look.

“We know everything about each other,” he slurs, his eyes softening once you’re still and sitting cross-legged next to him. “So if you’re like, trying to sext your long-distance college boyfriend, that’s fine, I can just… chill in another room, I don’t know—”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Tom,” you dismiss. You can’t even look at him because of how embarrassed you feel. “Also, if I did, you really were just like, ‘oh my ex-girlfriend has to have some FaceTime sex, guess I’ll just chill somewhere else.’”

“Well, did you want me to be jealous? You can do whatever you want, I don’t own you.”

He looks at you with his watery gaze and for a second, you think that there may be yearning swimming in his pools of brown, but you decide it's his drunkenness. Tom looks like a puppy like this — you always took pleasure in taking care of him when he was drunk when you dated, mostly because the ordeal always activated your nurturer instinct and that he was often very goofy when he was drunk. Goofy, adorable, and clingy.

“Pinot noir?” he asks, nodding towards the bottle of wine on your dresser. Before you can protest, he takes a sip straight from the bottle until you swat him away and snatch it from him. “What? ‘m not drunk, I swear. How else would I have climbed up your window?”

“You were blasted out of your mind when you’d jumped multiple fences after that one party when we were sixteen.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment for my impressive athleticism,” he sneers, grabbing the bottle again. “Adrenaline wakes me up, baby.”

Tom claps a hand on your shoulder in an oddly platonic embrace, but then his hair descends to your collarbone where he twists a strand of your hair. Your breath hitches when you realize how close he is to you. You inhale the smell of amber from his cologne — it’s subtle after the day passing, but it smells just as sweet as you remembered it.

“Hey, I was wondering where this was,” Tom smiles softly when he looks down at your shirt.

“Oh, um, you left it here. I guess I forgot to give it back,” you murmur, looking down at the old Trinity College shirt on your body. You wouldn’t tell Tom, but it was one of maybe three articles of clothing that belonged to him that you still had, and wearing it was one of your greatest comforts. There was something nostalgic about it even though you weren’t together anymore. You always like to deny to yourself that you still yearn for him and decide that you merely appreciate the memories. You are also a bad liar, even to yourself.

“Looks better on you.” His voice is low. His fingers trace your jaw and it’s then when you notice how blown out his pupils are.

“Are you high?” you narrow your eyes.

“Not that much,” he mumbles, exhaling in your face. His breath smells like beer and mint. Your bottom lip twitches when his thumb grazes the side of your mouth. It feels like slow motion when he entices his thumb to the center of your lip, and you welcome it by widening your mouth.

“Fuck,” Tom exhales. He doesn’t realize he says it out loud.

Slowly, he takes his thumb out of your mouth so that he can meet it with his own. The kiss is like melting ice, your guarded disposition unraveling just for him as the feeling of his tongue against yours weakens your knees. You’re too occupied with his mouth to notice how hard he already is. The kiss intensifies as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

The small mewl that comes from your mouth in between your kisses drives him insane. His eyes flutter open in surprise when you pull away from his mouth along with your warmth.

“I—um,” you stammer.

“Shit,” he mutters. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to— I—”

“It’s okay. I liked it,” you cut him off.

“You did?”

“Yeah. But I think it’s… it’s a bad idea,” you gulp.

“Right,” Tom nods, inhaling sharply in his nose. He rubs his face in an attempt to do something with his hands. He wishes you would let him continue. “Sorry. You’re just really captivating.”

“Thank you,” you smile shyly, looking away.

“We can… we can do something else. Actually, there was this movie I saw recently and it made me think of you.”

You’re still caught in your post-kiss haze that you don’t realize the detriment of Tom sitting on your bed to open your laptop, but by the time your senses snap back to you, the damage is already done. Your eyes widen.

“Huh,” Tom blinks at the screen. “Who’s Persephone?”

“Y-you weren’t supposed to see that.” There’s a quiver to your voice as you sit down next to him, crossing your arms. You’re too mortified to make eye contact with him right now.

“It isn’t my intention to invade your privacy or anything but is this like… OnlyFans or something?” he asks. You look at him briefly and he looks earnest in his curiosity. You sigh.

“Yes. No. It’s… I do live streams.”

“And you fuck yourself?”

You wince at his choice of words, but nod nonetheless. Your cheeks are burning up faster than a thermometer in a pot of boiling water.

“That’s… fucking hot,” Tom rasps breathily. He bites a lip as he scrolls on your profile slowly. “Not to be that guy, though, but you don’t need the money.”

“I know. I don’t really know why I do it,” you admit. “I guess I was just bored and it was easy to feel… validated. Not that I’m extremely insecure or anything, I just… I don’t know. It’s fun sometimes.”

“You make a lot of money?”

“A decent amount.”

“Interesting. You never wanted to be recorded before.” There was that Tom again, scrutinizing you with his sly smirk. You feel almost feverish about the situation. Of course, he’s taking the opportunity to tease you about not wanting to make… films when you were still dating him. You remember the argument you’d had about it but eventually, it became a thing of the past. Something about having a video of the two of you sounds much more alluring now, especially in the spur of the moment. You look at Tom with something in between contemplation and salacity.

“Well, I was in the middle of a stream when you showed up uninvited.”

“Shame. Maybe we should give the people what they want then. Finish what you started.”

“Really?”

“I’m teasing, love,” Tom chuckles. “The idea of that is really fucking hot, though.”

“Something tells me you actually want to do this.”

“No, not at all. The idea of fucking a pretty girl in a skimpy lingerie set has no effect on me whatsoever,” he retorts sarcastically.

“In front of strangers?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, taking another swig from the wine bottle before putting it back on your bedside table.

“We’ve fucked on the green at the golf course,” he reminds you, and the memory materializes fresh in your mind. It had been Tom’s idea of course, and although you weren’t necessarily an exhibitionist, that was probably one of the most exhilarating sexual experiences you’d shared with him.

There’s a longing in the way he looks at you, something in between genuine desire and the anticipation of a trick. His smile is coy, alluring. You look at him long enough to notice the erratic beat of your pulse ticking away at the moment of you drinking him in, blowing air through your teeth before you sink your claws to his shoulder. Mouth to mouth, palm to thigh, eyelash to cheek. It’s just as slow as the last kiss but he feels more open now to paw at you, his hand tracing the details of your garter belt.

“I’m serious, this is really fuckin’ sexy,” he drawls. “You never wore anything like that for me.”

“I don’t wear anything for you,” you chuckle, sighing as he nibbles on your ear. You shove him away, causing him to pout. “Save it for the show, Tommy. Now get off-camera.”

You take off your t-shirt and you swear Tom’s eyes grow three times their usual size. When you lean over your bed to get the mask you’d thrown under it, he slaps your ass playfully. You swat at him once you’re back to your laptop and logging in.

Persephone is LIVE.

“Sorry for the interruption, boys. Percy’s back,” you grin as you adjust your hair.

Spidey69: we thought u got kidnapped!!

Shy_guyxx: look so sexy queen

Whiskeydick23: [Tipped 30 tokens] I wanna see that ass, miss

“You will be seeing this ass, whiskey dick,” you chuckle. Your eyes flit to Tom’s briefly, holding in a laugh when you see his expression, both bewildered and impressed. He mouths ‘wow’ to you but you don’t catch it as you’ve gone back to entertain your fans. “I’ve got something special for you guys tonight.”

You turn to Tom again gesturing to the underside of your bed and then to the mask on your face. He blinks, confused, then again in realization. You flash a Hollywood smile back to your screen.

“My first collaboration,” you announce. “With none other than Hades himself.”

At this point, Tom is undressed down to just his boxer briefs much to your surprise. You raise your eyebrows as you scale the curve of his biceps and down to his toned abs, mouth salivating already. You clear your throat.

“C’mere, baby,” you say, the register of your voice going lower to be seductive. Tom awkwardly shifts himself to the space next to you, a thin smile spread over his features as he scans the comments without a word.

“He’s shy,” you reassure your audience. “What do you guys want him to do to me? Huh?”

“I thought I’d choose that,” Tom protests.

“C’mon, Hades, it’s for the boys.” He shivers at your touch, already succumbing to you. This version of you is a pleasant surprise to him. You’re truly a temptress, a vixen at heart, and although Tom would never admit to the fact that you still crossed his mind when he would pleasure himself, the version of you in his daydreams paled in comparison to the corporeal being in front of him.

Shy_guyxx: is he bigger than your toys? lol

Batman4ever: [Tipped 100 tokens] i bet she can deepthroat so good

“Good news, boys, looks like he’s already hard,” you tease, running your hands over Tom’s thighs. A soft red spreads over his cheeks and you notice the small freckles speckled over his crooked nose. You didn’t realize how much you missed them until now.

You start by pushing back against your pillows, moving the laptop so that your audience had a side-view of the both of you. Your mouth licks against his warm abdomen, lips making wet smacking sounds as you descend to his boxers. Already, his hand is tangled in your hair in praise. His soft groans are subtle but are all too clear for your ears.

When you look up at him with doe-like eyes, Tom feels like he might choke. God, how pretty he looked with his mouth ajar. You don’t waste any time in pulling down his boxers, marveling at his hard cock springing free for you.

“You wanna fuck my mouth?”

“Yeah. Got a dirty mouth on you, huh,” Tom exhales, pushing your head down towards the head of his cock. Pre-cum lines the tip of the head and then onto your tongue as you lick stripes down to his shaft. His soft moans immediately gratify you, so you take him into your mouth as far as you can. “Oh, shit. Yeah, that’s it. Fuck.”

You watch in awe as his head tips back in response to you swirling your tongue around his tip. The teasing is agonizing him, how slowly you deepthroat him while slowly pumping his shaft. Without warning, you go faster, settling on an even rhythm as you get him deeper into your mouth until his hips buck, causing you to choke on his cock in the process. He grips tightly on your hair, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck. You lock eyes and he swears he might cum too early. The sight of you in your lingerie with your mouth around him makes him feel like he’s in a dream. He wants to moan your name so badly but he knows he can’t.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he grunts. You giggle quietly at his reactions, taunting him with a slower rhythm despite the fact that he’s writhing under you. You surprise again by going deeper very abruptly, making him whine. It’s something you hadn’t heard in a while that certainly stirs something inside of you.

“Babe, I’m close.” He taps your shoulder, pulling your hair slightly to your confusion, but before you can say anything, he pulls you close to him for a sloppy kiss.

“You want me to stop?”

“I didn’t wanna cum so fast. Show’s just started,” Tom smirks. He surprises you by tugging you by the wrist, hand under your bum to coax you onto his lap. You sigh sweetly as you grind onto his length. He inches closer to you to whisper in your ear. “Y’ready, love? I don’t know if I can wait any longer.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Do you think you deserve it?”

“I don’t know, do I?” he echoes you with a smirk that shows off one of his dimples. It makes your heart melt for a split second before you jolt in response to his thumb circling your clit.

“Oh,” you exhale, closing your eyes as you grind onto his hand, the wetness of your cunt slicking his fingers. You watch in awe when he removes his hand and takes his fingers into his mouth.

“You taste so sweet, baby.”

When he attacks your neck with kisses, biting hard enough to create a bruise, you’re nearly falling apart for him to the point where you can’t take it anymore. Easily, you slide down onto his cock, causing you both to take sharp breaths. As you grind against his lap, he grips your soft skin harshly, rough and hard as if he’s trying to anchor you to his body. You wouldn’t mind staying tethered to him considering how fucking good it feels.

You indulge in the feeling of his taut skin, fingertips raking the length of his muscular back as your head lulls into his shoulder. He pulls your hair to expose your neck so that he can continue to suckle on your collarbone, biting down harder every time he hears you moan louder and louder.

Even with his mask on, you can see his pupils blown out, matched with his mouth pink and wide open, a crimson tint aligning the pucker of his lips from the red wine. You accidentally graze noses before you close in the distance to kiss him passionately, first knocking teeth slightly until your tongue slips into his mouth.

He growls at how deep he is inside of you. Forcefully, he switches your positions, pushing you with your back against the bed so that he’s on top. Grinning at your laptop, he moves it to a new position to show off the two of you in the frame. Your legs entwine together with Tom in the middle as he thrusts into you, rutting his hips in tandem with your erratic heartbeat and hushed breaths.

“Fuck, I missed you so much,” he whispers as he nibbles on your ear, and the notion makes your chest tighten. Maybe it’s the warmth in your core, supposedly from the proximity you are from an orgasm. But hearing him admit that he missed you even in the heat of the moment makes the entire experience change for you.

“F-fuck… Tom…” you whine without thinking. You want to gasp because of your mistake but he simply covers your mouth with his large hand to muffle your moans. Your eyes are nearly rolling in the back of your head as his cock hits your sweet spot, causing your legs to tremble.

“Feel so fucking good inside you,” he mumbles, grabbing your thighs and propping them upwards so that he has better access to your cunt. “You’re close, baby, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you mewl. “Fuck, I’m g-gonna…”

“Gonna cum for me?” Tom moans breathlessly, gripping a fistful of your hair. “Who else makes you feel like this, huh?”

“N-nobody,” you whimper. In the throes of ecstasy, your body quickly ascends to orgasm, legs shaking as the warmth in your cunt spreads to the rest of your lips. Tom’s whimpers mesh with your own as you ride out your high, and before you know, he slides out of you just to prop your thighs on his shoulders so he can suck on your clit. You cover your mouth to quiet your moans because truthfully, the feeling of Tom’s tongue on your pussy before you can even come down from your orgasm makes you want to scream.

It feels even more intense when he inserts two, three fingers into your cunt as he sucks on your clit at a constant rhythm. You feel like you’re about to disintegrate from the pleasure alone that you have to tug harshly on his hair so that he can release himself from you. When he obliges, he peppers sweet kisses along your thighs and hips as you tremble under his touch.

“Too much?” he sneers.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you breathe. He’s about to say something else teasing but you cut him off with your lips. This kiss isn’t as frantic as the other ones of the night – it’s both erotic and sweet, almost… romantic. His hand slides from your hip to graze your neck, softly rubbing at the nape of it where he can feel your pulse. It almost makes his face go red the way he feels when your hands are in his curls just the way he likes it, soft and combing through the way you used to.

When you pull back, he’s staring at you like you’re both a ghost and his guardian angel.

“Do you w-want to keep going?” he stammers. You nod. You kiss his jaw once again, murmuring something that sounds a bit like “I want to make you cum.” You get on all fours in front of him and gasp when he slides into you, his hand sweeping your hair away from your neck so that he can get closer to you to kiss your jaw from behind. His thrusts are slower than you expect. From the soft moans coming from his mouth, a flood of emotion fills your insides for reasons that aren’t concrete in your mind. You close your eyes.

You decide to lift your hips and thrust back onto his cock harder, which makes him pick up his rhythm so that he slams into you with more force. It hasn’t been long since you two had picked back up again but you already feel your walls pulsating with another oncoming orgasm.

“Oh, God, I’m close.”

“Fuck, me too,” you hear him pant.

“Cum for me, f-fuck–”

“Wait…” he breathes, slipping out of you quickly.

“Why did you–”

“Just wanna see that face when you cum,” he smiles. It makes your face feel hotter than it already was.

You’re flat on your back and he’s doing the thing again – thrusting into you with a slow pace that feels like honey dripping into tea, raindrops flowing down a windowpane. Your breath hitches from the way he handles you with such care, his kisses descending down your jaw like he’s planting flowers into the bed of your skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he thinks out loud as he watches your head lull onto the mattress as he fucks into you blissfully, your hair spread out on the bed like you’re underwater. You gasp sharply when he rubs your clit and he can tell you’re already on the brink of release.

“I’m gonna–”

“Look at me when you cum,” he grovels. His hand is around your neck the way you like it while he thrusts into you roughly, but he releases his grip to hold your chin up so he can see your expression. “Fuck, that’s my girl.”

He continues to rub your clit as you cum, your moans littered with expletives and mumbles. God, you can’t even think straight. You want to say his name so badly because it’s the only word in your mind.

Watching you cum forces him to mirror your desire, so he slips out of you and palms himself above you until he spills onto your stomach. His pants and breaths are all too familiar to you, causing butterflies to stir inside of you as if you weren’t just getting fucked by him. Watching him orgasm makes you feel like a voyeur even when he’s cumming because of you.

Once Tom is done, he collapses onto you, breathing heavily into your neck as you absentmindedly finger-comb his brown curls.

“You good?” you giggle.

“Yeah, fuck,” he exhales. His voice is low, raspy like he’d just woken up from slumber. “‘m more than good.”

“You’ve got…” you awkwardly point out, bending over to retrieve your t-shirt to wipe the cum off his stomach and your own.

“Thanks,” he responds, to which you laugh again because of how shy he’s suddenly gotten. Was he this shy because of you?

When you look back at your laptop, your eyebrows raise at the number of coins that your audience had tipped you. There were thousands, not to mention the number of viewers you had were the highest they’d been since you’d started camming.

Shy_guyxx: Fuck that was so hot

Madhatter67: did anyone screen record that? i would pay for that video

Peterporker12: Holy shittttt

“Thanks for the tips, baby-loves,” you grin, blowing a kiss to the camera. “And thanks to my… special guest for being here. Bye!”

You log off with relief, taking off your mask. Tom is looking at you with his mask off as well, his brown eyes wide as if he’d just reached his peak on ecstasy.

“You still high?” you question, slapping his cheek playfully to get him out of his trance.

“Maybe on you. That was fucking amazing.”

“Yeah, it was,” you nod, shutting off your laptop and plopping your back onto your bed. Your skin feels electric, pulsing once you realize that Tom has taken your hand in his.

“We should do that more often,” he smiles, inching closer to you and raising your hand to his mouth to kiss it. “Off-camera, too.”

“So you meant it?” you whisper, kicking him lightly like a schoolchild. He interlocks your legs together in an embrace. “That you really missed me?”

“Of course I did,” he swallows. “Haven’t been able to kick you out of my mind since we broke up. Since I met you when we were young, Y/N. I think you’ve made a home in my head.”

“Forced eviction helps.”

He chuckles at your remark. You hate admitting how much his laughter comforts you, makes you feel like he’s your favorite cup of tea on a rainy day. In Tom’s brain, you are the definition of perfect, and because of that, he had been grappling with letting you go for years. He had decided he knew you best out of anyone, and because of how he viewed you like you were the sun itself, he also decided that you were perhaps better off without him. It feels selfish of him to even be in your bed right now. There’s a gnawing in his chest that reminds him what the two of you had just done and he swallows his guilt with pride. He’d always had that recurring dream of him fucking you one last time, has always convinced himself that was a natural response to breaking his own heart. But now that he’s lying with you in your bed this close to you, he realizes that all he’d ever wanted was you. Wholeheartedly. For you to be his again.

“Could never evict you. It’s hurt before but I think… you being in my head helps spruce up the place. Makes me feel like a better person,” he confesses, kissing you on the nose.

“You’re not just saying that because we just had extremely good sex, are you?” You scrunch your nose.

“I mean, that definitely helped, but no. I don’t think I’ve ever stopped being in love with you.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, trying to hide your smile. Tears were pricking out of your eyes and you blame your hormones. There were plenty of times in the past that your body would be flooded with emotion after sex because of how everything with Tom felt so intense. Always like a movie. You had never felt that way about anyone else – it had made you think that the way you viewed your relationship with him was completely delusional.

“I mean it, Y/N.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

Tom’s smile grows ten times its size. Tucking you closer to his body, he peppers kisses all over your face. He thinks that if he could bottle your giggles to keep, he’d never have a bad day in his life again.

“Our families are gonna have a riot when they find you emerging from my bedroom in the morning,” you sigh.

“Let them think what they want,” Tom shrugs. “Soooo… we’re splitting the money, right?”

You scoff, hitting him lightly in the shoulder. When you look at his raised eyebrows, you laugh. “Fine. I guess you were the star of the show.”

playlist in plain text:

frank ocean - ivy

yeule - bites on my neck

the weeknd - tell your friends

lana del rey - watercolor eyes

fkj, ((( o ))) - vibin’ out

lykke li - sex money feelings die

the neighbourhood - you get me so high

anna of the north - lovers

deftones - sextape

lo-fang - blue film

#richkid!reader

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#richkid!reader