Summary: After having trouble sleeping again, you seek out your boyfriend Tom late at night, only to find him studying. Lucky for you, you find his voice quite soothing.
Warnings: Fluff. Soft!Tom
A/N: I ADORE soft Tom
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Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The clock on the wall indicated it was 2 a.m.
Things didn’t feel right.
The sheets were too cold. The pillow was too hard. It felt like someone was watching you.
You sat upright in bed, unable to sleep for the third time this week.
“Merlin…” you murmured as you threw on a robe and slipped into your slippers, preparing to sneak off to Tom’s room.
As you stepped out, you grabbed a bag of cat treats that Mrs. Norris was known to like.
Last week, Draco had finally figured out how to escape Mrs. Norris’s clutches by putting out cat food in the opposite direction from where he was going.
After creating a small trail of treats down the hallway leading away from Tom’s dorm, you quickly made your way there.
You sighed in relief when there was no sound of the bell on Mrs. Norris’s collar.
You stopped in front of Tom’s dorm and wrapped your robe tighter around yourself before twisting the knob.
Long ago, when you first started dating, Tom had charmed his door so only the two of you could enter.
Anyone else who tried had to face the numerous counter-spells.
Like that one time Mattheo went flying back into the wall after trying to open it.
However, when you twisted the knob, the door opened with a soft click.
“Love?” Tom called out.
You stepped inside.
Tom sat at his desk with books spread open and parchments stacked neatly.
“I was expecting you. Nightmares?”
“Not exactly,” you mumbled as you stepped further into the room.
“More like… fear of nightmares.”
You shuffled on your feet.
Tom’s heart clenched.
“Are you busy?”
He set down the parchment he was working on.
“Never too busy for you, love. Come here.”
He opened his arms.
You quickly accepted the offer, melting into his embrace.
“Can I stay here while you study?”
Your voice came out muffled against his chest.
“Of course you can, sweetheart.”
He pulled you closer and picked up the book he had been reading.
“Tommy?”
“Hm?”
“Can you read to me?”
“It’s a book on potions, love. It's quite boring.”
“I know… I just want to hear your voice.”
Tom smiled and started reading aloud.
“The successful preparation of advanced restorative draughts requires not speed, but exactness. A variation of even half a clockwise stir may render the potion unstable…”
His voice was gentle, calm and confident.
While he read, he placed one of his hands on your back, dragging his fingers up and down in a soothing motion.
You rested your ear against his chest, letting his voice lull you into slumber.
Twenty minutes later, when Tom noticed you had fallen asleep, he smiled quietly to himself and carefully shifted you onto his bed.
As he pulled away, you whimpered, stopping him in his tracks.
“Shh, my love. I’m here.”
After hesitating for a moment, Tom decided to abandon his books and settled beside you, pulling you against his chest.
He listened to your breathing for a while, reassuring himself that you were sound asleep.
He checked your pulse for any racing and searched your face for signs of distress.
He even considered using Legilimency-
-but pushed the thought away almost immediately.
He knew you would kill him if you ever found out. Not that you ever would, but he didn’t want to risk it. His Legilimency, although strong for his age, wasn’t nearly as perfected as he wanted it to be.
Instead, he carefully shifted you further onto the bed before lying down beside you. He checked your face one last time for any signs of distress.
Only then did he finally allow himself to fall asleep.
There's a particular moment people keep describing when they try video calling on SweetDream for the first time. It isn't the novelty of the technology itself. It's the small pause when their AI companion tilts her head, reacts to something they said, and the screen stops feeling like a screen. SweetDream, found at sweetdream.ai, has rolled out video calls with select characters, and the reaction has been less about gadgetry and more about presence.
Spend time on the platform and you notice the video feature doesn't sit alone. It rests on everything else SweetDream already does well: the deeply customizable character creation, the chat that genuinely remembers what you told it last week, the voice messages and phone calls that sound unnervingly human. By the time a face appears on a call, you've already built a relationship with someone. The video just gives that relationship a window.
Compared to the broader field of AI girlfriend tools, where a face-to-face call is still rare, SweetDream feels a step ahead. Plenty of platforms promise companionship; far fewer let you see your AI companion respond to you in real time. That, more than the marketing language, is why people keep calling it the best of the bunch.
A/N: Hey hello! OOC Tom but i don't give a shit sorry not sorry 💛 Soft Tom.
love you lots, bug.
NOT PROOF READ.
Find more of Tom: 𝑇𝑜𝑚 𝑅𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑀𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ♡
Also I made a bot with the story if you want to make it your own
Dance with Tom RIGHT HERE
Tom saw you the moment you walked in.
Of course he had. You lit every room you entered, especially tonight. Sunshine in silk, looking so utterly radiant it made something curl and twist low in his gut. He hated it. Hated that you could still glow—still smile, still shine—even after being publicly humiliated by the Gryffindor boy you so foolishly trusted.
Tom’s jaw clenched at the thought. A boy made of golden smiles and empty words. And you—you, of all people—fell for it. Pathetic, he thought, eyes tracking you as you stood alone at the edge of the ballroom, fiddling with your drink, smiling as you watched your friends dance with their dates, happy for them.
But the longer he watched you, the more that word curled around him instead. Pathetic. That he noticed the way your eyes didn’t quite match your smile. The way you looked around the room like you were trying to pretend you weren’t hurting.
You hadn’t been stood up—not exactly. Your date had simply decided, last minute, that someone else was the one he wanted to take to the ball. And you were the afterthought. The second choice.
The one left standing when everyone else had already been claimed.
Tom couldn’t look away. You shouldn’t have been here, not like this. You should’ve been dancing, held close by someone who actually deserved you. Someone who could see what you were worth. Someone who wouldn’t treat you like a backup plan. Someone like—
No. No. Not him.
Because if he had you, he’d ruin you. He’d break you. You deserved better than that. He knew that. But as he watched you—alone, trying not to let the hurt show—the thought tightened his chest until something finally snapped.
You looked… ethereal. And unbearably alone. So when Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis began to play, he moved before he could stop himself.
He crossed the ballroom to you. You didn’t belong to anyone. But he wanted you anyway.
When he stopped beside you, you didn’t turn. Not at first. You didn’t have to, to know it was him. You felt him. You always did. You expected one of his sharp remarks.
Instead, he extended his hand without a word. He didn’t ask. He never asked.
And still, when you finally turned, your gaze met his with that infuriating softness you always reserved for people who didn’t deserve it. You smiled. It was barely there. But it shattered something in him. And when you placed your hand in his, he curled his fingers around yours like he never planned to let go.
You danced.
And for once, he didn’t care who saw. Didn’t care if the world watched. Your hand in his— delicate, trusting, too trusting—you felt like a sin he would commit again and again. You looked up at him, like you didn’t know what he was capable of. Or worse—like you did, and forgive him anyway.
He didn’t believe in fate.
But he believed in this.
So he leaned in, voice low and raw and barely meant for your ears, and whispered:
“Take my hand...
Take my whole life, too...
For I can’t help falling in love with you.”
You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. Instead, you closed your eyes and laid your head against his chest. Letting yourself listen. To the music. To the steady rhythm of his breath. To the heartbeat beneath your cheek.
He focused on the feeling of having you close. And if he had to ruin every man in your life, burn down the world to keep you here?
So be it.
Created by Bug 𓆣 | @voidofsunlight I do not give permission for my work to be translated, copied, or reposted elsewhere.
A/N: I don't know what I'm doing. I just had an idea in my head of a soft boi Tom and I couldn't let it go until I wrote it down. This is my first blurb so…. Hope it don't suck! Lmk what y'all think…
One of the most (of many) endearing quirks of Tom, was his unflinching ability to fall asleep anywhere and everywhere, as long as you were around to act as a portable pillow. His manic schedule had his internal clock wired all wrong, so that he was forever running on little to no sleep.
In the beginning, when you first started dating, it was only those afternoons when he had just returned from his endless press junkets only to heavily collapse on your frame, hanging off of you like an exhausted child.
You would put aside your laptop or whatever essay you had been writing for university and allow him to wrap himself completely around you, sometimes teasing him but always secretly enjoying the fact that he needed you.
Tom would snake his tired arms around your waist and burrow himself into your chest, searching for the lull of your steady heartbeat that never failed to send him into a deep, peaceful slumber.
If not afternoons, it was Tom's three am return, when he would kick his shoes off, shower, and slip under the covers, smelling faintly of soap and briefly waking you up with a peck on the temple and a raspy greeting. "Hey, darling." He would give you a longing look and you would know exactly what he was wordlessly asking for. You would turn him, pressing your front up against his back and your arms around him, right over his frantic heart, coaxing it into a calm, whispering your love into his needy ear. He would give a child like sigh that made your heart flutter and drift off into dreams of you.
Once you two had been together for a while, however, Tom began to feel comfortable napping with you outside of the cozy apartment the two of you shared.
It was admittedly inconvenient at times, like when you guys would go out with a group of friends to the beach, or a restaurant, and Tom would nuzzle into your sweet spot, that curve of your shoulder where your neck and collarbone met. He would find there a sanctuary and with your hands running through his silky curls, (which you loved, because although Tom with his hair in its usual gelled fashion was dapper, you always melted at the sight of his rumpled, haphazard curls, which never failed to soften his entire look.) he would be gone in minutes. And you, smiling and shaking your head at him, would be left to give your remaining company endless excuses for Tom’s lack of presence. But you didn't mind. And you would never even think of waking him up, because you knew how chaotic his life was. Even though he apologized profusely every time and asked you to slap him the next time he fell asleep in public, you would only agree for his sake, all the while knowing that you could never even dream of doing that.
Soon enough, you discovered a quirk that complemented this sleeping habit of his quite well. When he was particularly frustrated from exertion, dead on his feet from the grueling work of being Spiderman on the silver screen, sometimes to the point of tears, you would curl up against him, holding him as one would a beloved teddy bear and simply say, "Oh, Tommy, I'm so proud of you. You've been working so hard and doing so well, Tom." He would give a distressed whimper and you would swipe away a stray curl from his forehead. So Tom liked to be praised? You would brush your lips ever so softly against his, asking for permission, which Tom would grant without hesitation. Your mouths would move familiarly against each other, deepening so that your tongues could dance a dance only they knew. You would pull away just as Tom was getting breathless, your own heart racing a little too swift than healthy, and whisper, "It’s alright, baby, you can rest now."
Like he seems like the soft boy type to wanna bottom and be shy and make you do stuff but I feel like when he starts to feel his orgasm coming he'd be really demanding???
I am loving these soft Tom ideas you guys.
Don't get my wrong I absolutely love the idea of fuckboy Tom and a very dominating Tom but this hits different.
You're the one who has to make the first move. He's too shy and anxious. A soft kiss, he'd want more but would be too afraid to do more.
Tom letting you take the lead is my new favorite trope.
my two moods rn are i want tom holland to raw me but also he’s a teeny tiny baby whom i want to cuddle & protect and also kiss his freckles ugh -naturallytom
I feel this in my soul. However, a concept:
After Tom absolutely destroys you, hair pulling, ass slapping sex you’re resting on his chest, giggling as your fingers trace the freckles along the side of his face.
“What’re you doing? There’s no constellations there pretty girl,” he chuckles, fingers drawing patterns along your back.
“Shh,” you whisper before your lips press against his jaw, trailing up and down each side of his face, leaving soft kisses against every inch of skin on his face.
“Just wanted to show you how much I love you,” you smile, nose nudging his as you kiss him.
“How much do you love me?” He asks, eyes staring into yours as you press your lips back against his.
“Like to the stars and back, but you know what? I know you hate when I make stupid cheesy comparisons to space but that little thing of freckles by your eye,” your lips trail back to the side of his face, kissing along the set of freckles you’re referring to, “that bit is totally the Gemini constellation.”
“Okay, I don’t hate when you make those comparisons, I just feel dumb because I don’t understand what you’re talking about sometimes.”
“Like when?”
“Like when you told me i take your breath away faster than a black hole can spaghettify someone? What’s that supposed to mean?”
You laugh, tucking your face into his neck, “just means that the second I saw you I was a goner, like you were it from the moment I laid my eyes on you.”
“Like love at first sight?”
“Like the moment your image flashed across my retinas.”
“You’re such a nerd, but I love you even more.”
“Oh yeah? How much do you love me then mister?”
“Love you more than the tide follows the moon, does that make sense?”
“Yes,” you laugh as he starts to press kisses all over your face.
“Love you,” kiss “love you,” kiss “love you,” kiss. You fall asleep in his arms talking about vast and huge metaphors for your love.
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Tom Riddle
Everyone forgot your birthday, but him.
You try to ignore the ache in your chest. It’s just a birthday. Just another day. That’s what you tell yourself between classes and hollow smiles, pretending it doesn’t matter that not a single person has said anything. No owls, no notes, no sudden shout of surprise. Nothing. You expected something—anything. Even just a simple “happy birthday.” It wouldn’t have taken much.
By late afternoon, you’ve stopped pretending. You decide to treat yourself. Hogsmeade sounds like a distraction, even if your chest still feels tight and your throat keeps catching for no reason at all. You walk slowly, trying to shake off the weight of disappointment, wishing you were better at not caring.
When you arrive, the streets are busier than usual. You don’t see him at first. It happens fast—you turn the corner, and suddenly your shoulder bumps into someone. He barely stumbles, but you catch your breath.
Tom Riddle.
He straightens immediately, sharp and tall and composed as ever. There’s a flicker in his expression, the kind of look he usually gives when someone wastes his time. But then his gaze settles on you, and something shifts. His features soften, just slightly, not so much that others would notice, but you do. You always notice with him.
You start to apologize, but he cuts you off—not coldly, just quietly. Unexpectedly gentle. He says your name unexpectedly gently. His voice has weight, but this time it steadies something inside you.
Then he reaches into his coat and pulls out a small box. Holds it out to you, his fingers relaxed but precise. You blink, hesitating. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t explain—just tells you not to make a big deal out of it.
You open the box.
Inside is a brooch for your robe, elegant, thoughtful, detailed in a way that makes your breath catch. It’s everything you love: the color, the shape, the design. It’s everything you love, not just a present for the sake of one, no, it’s thoughtful. And suddenly the question hits you harder than the silence of the day ever could. How did he, out of everyone, remember? And not just the day. He remembered you.
Your hands tremble slightly as you hold it. You glance back up at him, he’s watching you.
Created by Bug 𓆣 | @voidofsunlight I do not give permission for my work to be translated, copied, or reposted elsewhere.
is it possible if you do some Tom fluff/soft!smut where y/n stops touching him (like hand holding, hugging etc) because he doesn’t show any interest in it (always has a serious face & looks bored of her etc, when in reality he’s melting inside with butterflies and stuff). so he asks her why and she explains it and it leads to some smut, (only if you’re comfy if you’re not, some making out is fine). <33
Oh my god the second I got this I was like I HAVE to answer this immediately. Thanks for this awesome prompt!!! 💖
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.
Tactile
Summary: Affectionate Reader stops touching Tom because he never reacts to it, and when he asks why they stopped things get very, very heated (content warning: smut).
Word count: 2.3k
Content warning: explicit sex.
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.
Tom had shown you the room about a week after you’d started dating. It was on the seventh-floor of the Castle far away from the regular foot-traffic, a smooth stone wall until you walked past it with a specific need in mind – then the door would appear, carved from the rock before your very eyes to reveal a room that gave you exactly what you wanted.
For him, it was always the same room; a small library so packed with books that the shelves curved overhead to form impossible arches, warm glowing lanterns that illuminated the space inside, and a broad fireplace in front of which sat elegant black couches with reading lamps and tables laden with yet more books. He’s yet to tell you exactly what he thinks of to make the library appear, but every time you go there with him, there it is again.
“Are you alright?” he asks suddenly one evening.
The two of you are on the couches before the crackling fireplace. Tom has an elbow resting on the armrest of the couch and a book in his lap, one long leg crossed over the other, looking at you where you’re sat opposite him. You’re curled up around an assignment with your feet tucked up underneath you and your inkwell balanced somewhat precariously on the cushion beside you.
“I’m fine,” you frown, rather taken aback. “Why?”
Tom is silent as he assesses you, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. You arch a brow and lower your quill, attention fully grabbed. “Tom?”
“You’ve been acting differently,” he says smoothly.
“I have?”
“Yes,” he says succinctly, looking back down at his book. “More reserved.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say slowly.
“You used to be very… tactile,” he says delicately, his long fingers sliding under his page and turning it very nonchalantly. “I’ve noticed that you’ve stopped.”
“Stopped touching you?” you say carefully, feeling more and more surprised.
He nods.
“Well it felt weird to keep doing it since you didn’t like it,” you frown, confused at why he’d even brought it up.
Tom’s eyes snap up to yours. “What do you mean?” he asks curtly.
You raise your brows at his reaction. “Where’s the point of confusion for you?” you ask dryly.
“Why did you think I didn’t like it?” he demands.
“Are you joking?” you deadpan, half-amused. “Tom, you’d just ignore me. I’d go to hug you, or hold your hand, and you’d just look so… bored. It didn’t take a genius to realise that you weren’t interested.”
Tom stares at you. Suddenly you feel a little awkward.
“I don’t mind that you’re not an affectionate person,” you say quickly, “I really don’t. I just felt sort of strange acting like that since it obviously wasn’t what you wanted.”
His jaw goes tight and there’s something almost agitated in the way he looks back down at his book.
“Are… are you alright?” you ask hesitantly, gaze lingering on his fingers that – despite his apparently casual posture – were now gripping the cover of his book so tightly that his knuckles were going white.
“Fine,” he says in a clipped tone.
“Well I’m convinced,” you drawl.
Tom doesn’t rise to your teasing. You frown and put your assignment aside. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I am perfectly well,” he says tersely.
“Is that why you’re about to rip that book in two?” you ask ironically, arching a brow.
Tom shuts the book loudly and tosses it onto the couch beside him. “What would you have me say?” he says in agitation.
“You’re rather obviously upset, Tom,” you say frankly.
“Yes and your observations are always so accurate,” he snaps caustically.
You frown again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Tom looks furious for a second and then glowers at the fireplace. Your thoughts whir. The only observation you’d made about him recently had been…
“Is this about me touching you?” you ask slowly, watching him carefully.
Tom looks at you again, tense and frenetic. He doesn’t say anything. Your stomach does a little flip, and you force your nerves down to speak again.
“…Do you want me to start doing it again?”
Tom’s lips press together, his eyes flicking between yours. After a long, silent moment, he nods.
You smother a smile and stand. Tom’s eyes follow you, looking ever so slightly alarmed at your movement – but the expression melts away as you approach him and very languidly rest your hands onto his shoulders, slowly leaning forward and straddling him on the couch. “Then why didn’t you say you liked it?” you say softly, sitting down on his lap and lifting a hand to push your fingers through his hair.
Tom’s gaze is unmoved from your face as his hands slide up your hips and come to a rest on your waist, his touch very reserved. “I thought you knew,” he says quietly.
“Not all of us are mind-readers, Tom,” you tease playfully, your fingers trailing down the elegant curve of his cheek. “Some of us have to rely on menial body language and verbal queues to understand each other.”
“My apologies,” Tom says softly as he leans closer. Your heart stutters despite yourself.
You meet his lips softly, just as warm and full as they looked, his mouth moving on yours deceptively gentle but with the dizzying promise of more to come. Sure enough, you feel his hands slide from your waist up around you as he pulls you closer to him, holding you tightly against him. Adrenaline is spreading like fire through your chest and – wondering exactly how much you can get away with – you slowly roll your hips against his. You hear him take a slightly harder breath and you pull back from the kiss to look at him.
Your stomach twists at what you see. Tom stares at you with something like hunger on his face, his eyes dark and intense. You can’t resist rocking your hips again just to see his reaction. Tom’s jaw goes tight and he leans in hard, his lips crashing into yours and moving ravenously, his hand curling into a fist of your hair and pulling you deeper into the kiss. Heat spreads through your body and grows hotter and hotter as it goes on and on, your fingers carding into the waves of his dark hair as you kiss him back as hard as you can, as you spiral from control and you’re barely able to think anymore.
Tom is pushing your robes off of your shoulders and you distractedly shrug them off as you lean into the kiss, your heart racing as his fingers slip under the bottom of your jumper and pull it up. You’re forced to break the kiss to let him lift it over your shoulders but he captures your lips the second it’s out of the way, his long fingers already on the buttons of your blouse. You can’t stop touching him, your hands in his hair, against his jaw, down his neck, and then he’s sliding his hands against your skin and your blouse falls to the ground behind you. Tom pulls you forward hard to bring your body flush against his chest, his tongue tracing your top lip and making you feel like you’re falling.
You can feel him hard against your core.
Body aflame with desire, your hands drop to his belt between your legs but Tom catches your wrists in one hand.
“Wait,” he says silkily, smirking.
Something aches in you so hard your vision reels for a second and you stare at him, unable to look away. He slowly lets go of your hands and his fingers are brushing against your thigh, slipping up and under your skirt. Your eyes close and your head falls onto his shoulder as his fingers trace the outside of your underwear, his touch burning and unbearably light. Tom gently presses his lips to your neck and shivers spread across your skin.
“God, Tom,” you breathe as his lips trail down your neck and his fingers stroke you teasingly.
Tom just breathes a laugh and the next second your underwear are gone, Vanished effortlessly. You only barely contain a moan as his fingers slide with ease and aching heat washes across your skin. “You want this so much, don’t you?” he murmurs against your neck.
But you can’t reply, blind at the pleasure of his touch. His fingers are slow and relentless, easing back and forth like he’s beckoning you further into desire, listening to you moan in his ear. His other hand curls around the back of your neck as he presses his lips up under your jaw, his teeth brushing your skin and making you gasp. “Does it feel good?” he murmurs, his soft words making tingles erupt down your neck.
“Yes,” you breathe, arms tightening around his neck
The pressure of his fingers increasing slightly and your breath hitches. “Are you going to lose control for me?” he asks softly.
“Yes,” you barely manage to say again.
Tom’s other hand cups your face and guides your face around to look at him, his lips hovering right against yours as his fingers stroke burning heat into you, agonisingly gentle, torturously persistent. “You’re going to come for me,” he whispers, “and I want to watch.”
You feel it bloom in you core as if by his command, and Tom’s lips curl into a smirk.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, pulling your forehead against his. “Just like that.”
“Tom,” you gasp as it starts to overcome you.
“Give me what I want,” he says softly, right against your mouth.
It hits you hard and you can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t even think as your heart races, as heat consumes you. Your head is spinning when it finally passes, your breathing ragged when you can bear to crack your eyes open.
Tom is right there, eyes black with desire as they roam your face with hungry scrutiny.
This time when your hands go to his belt, he doesn’t stop you, his hands dropping to your hips again. It only takes a second to pull the buckle apart and unbutton his trousers, and Tom’s hands immediately pull your hips forward, jerking you up onto your knees.
You tangle your fingers in his hair and lean down to his lips, kissing him deeply as Tom’s fingers tighten on your hips and slowly, firmly guide you down on top of him, your knees spreading out on the couch on either side of him as his tongue coaxes your lips apart. Your stomach twists at the feeling of him against you, as he slides into you easily without stopping, guiding your hips down more and more until you’re flush against him again and in one smooth movement his whole length is inside of you.
You cheeks are hot and your heart is going a thousand beats a minute as his hands grip you hard, as he rocks your hips against him, his tongue against yours making you dizzy all over again. He rocks you again, and again, hitting something inside of you that makes you break the kiss to gasp at the electric feeling spreading through you.
Tom stills at once, a crease appearing between his brows.
“Don’t stop, Tom,” you moan at once, leaning your forehead on his again and grinding your hips against him hard.
His eyes flicker and his hands tighten painfully on your hips as he resumes, making you grind against him over and over again until you can’t help the moans he’s drawing from you.
“You feel good,” he murmurs up against your lips, his voice turned low and husky.
“So do you,” you say breathlessly, rocking hard along with his hands and twisting your hips in the smallest circle.
Tom’s eyes fall shut and his head cants forward an inch as he breathes hard. Entranced, you chase the reaction at once, repeating the motion again, and again. Tom’s hands slowly loosen on your hips as you take over, grinding against him with desire aflame on your skin and in your core alike.
“Will you give me what I want?” you whisper, desire turning you reckless.
Tom looks up at you like he’s in pain, his hands resting gently on your waist as he watches you grind against him.
“Will you lose control for me, Tom?” you say quietly, leaning into his lips.
Tom’s hand is behind you neck in a flash, brows furrowing as he pulls you down against his lips aggressively, his grip painfully tight as you feel heat erupt inside of you, as you kiss him back and listen to his hard breathing.
He pulls away after a long, heated moment and cups your face in his hand, staring at you.
Slowly, you lift a hand and gently brush his hair off his forehead, watching his eyes flicker slightly at the touch.
“Can I ask you something?” you say quietly.
He nods silently, his gaze fixed on you.
“What do you think of? When you summon this room?”
Tom’s brows raise like the question surprises him. “That’s what you want to know?” he asks dryly, his lips curving into a smirk.
You nod, letting your fingers trail absently down his face.
Tom pauses for a moment, the smirk fading away as your hands rest against his jaw and your thumbs brush his cheeks softly. “I think about having a place where I can be myself,” he says quietly.
A warmth of a very different kind spreads through your chest, and you’re certain that he can feel your smile against his lips when you lean in and kiss him.
･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.
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