PAIRING:Tom Blyth x Reader
REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way ,I love writing them all!)
A/N:ok so… I was literally re-watching The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes and like… TOM BLYTH??? excuse me??? my heart cannot. so then I lowkey went down the rabbit hole rereading like 90% of the fics with him, got stuck on TikTok watching edits for HOURS, and somehow here I am writing for him again. if you have any ideas, prompts, or things you want to see me write
The flash of cameras was constant, relentless. Y/N adjusted the strap of their dress, trying to ignore the throng of photographers screaming Tom’s name.
“You look… amazing,” Tom said, sidling up with his usual smirk. His hand brushed theirs,a touch that was supposed to be staged, casual, nothing more. But the warmth lingered longer than necessary.
Y/N rolled their eyes. “You think that’s going to distract them from the obvious fact that we’re a PR stunt?”
Tom grinned. “Maybe. Or maybe it’ll make them ship us even harder.”
Y/N groaned. “Ship us? We’re not a couple, Tom. This is fake dating, remember?”
“Fake dating, sure,” he murmured, leaning in close, voice low. “But… I’m good at faking things. Sometimes I wonder if I’m also good at faking feelings.”
Y/N froze. “What was that supposed to mean?”
Tom raised an innocent brow, leaning back just enough to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Nothing. Just… maybe these staged kisses aren’t as fake as they seem.”
Y/N sighed, shaking their head. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here you are, holding my hand for the cameras.”
They posed, smiled, waved, and pretended. But when the photographers’ flashes died down, the air between them felt different,charged, almost electric.
Later, in the quiet of Tom’s dressing room, Y/N sank onto the couch, running a hand through their hair. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
“Crazy enough to make fake dating feel… real?” Tom asked, sitting beside them. He nudged their shoulder gently. “Look, Y/N, I didn’t mean to… you know. Make it feel real. But it did.”
Y/N stared at him, heart hammering. “You’re saying it’s… not fake for you?”
Tom laughed softly, the sound low and teasing. “Not for me. I mean… it was supposed to be fake, right? But now… I don’t know. Maybe I’m enjoying it too much.”
Y/N tilted their head, studying him. “You’re enjoying it way too much.”
He leaned closer, whispering, “Maybe because I like you. Maybe because I’ve liked you longer than I realized. And maybe… I’m tired of pretending.”
Y/N’s breath caught. “Wait… are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” Tom said, eyes locking on theirs. “So… maybe we stop faking it. Maybe we see where this goes. No cameras, no scripts. Just… us.”
Y/N hesitated, heart racing, before leaning forward. “You know this could be a disaster.”
Tom smirked, brushing a strand of hair from their face. “Disasters are fun.”
And with that, Y/N laughed, their lips meeting his in a kiss that wasn’t staged, wasn’t for the cameras. Real. Finally real.
The following days were a whirlwind. Every red carpet, every gala, every carefully posed photo brought them closer. The more they pretended for the world, the more their private moments became charged with laughter, teasing, and stolen touches. Y/N found themselves laughing at Tom’s ridiculous antics, like when he dramatically swooped them into a dance move during a group photo, spinning them nearly into the nearest photographer, only to grin sheepishly as if nothing happened.
“I almost broke your ankle!” Y/N exclaimed, brushing off imaginary dust.
“You’re exaggerating,” Tom said, shrugging. “A little chaos keeps life interesting.”
“You’re incorrigible,” Y/N muttered, but the way their lips curved into a smile betrayed their amusement.
Backstage, the banter continued. “You know,” Y/N began, leaning against a table while Tom balanced on the edge of a chair, “this fake dating thing is getting out of control.”
“In what way?” he asked, pretending to look innocent while his eyes sparkled with mischief.
Y/N groaned. “Every time we pretend, I… I don’t know. I start forgetting what’s pretend and what’s real.”
Tom grinned and crouched to meet their gaze. “That’s the point, isn’t it? Pretending is supposed to be fun. But I’ve got to admit… it’s dangerous when it starts feeling real.”
Their laughter echoed, soft and private amid the chaos of the crew bustling around them. Tom reached for their hand, a casual gesture that made Y/N’s heart stutter, and squeezed it gently. “You feel it too, right?”
“I… maybe,” Y/N whispered, caught between denial and admission.
Tom leaned in, brushing their hair behind their ear, his touch gentle. “Because I can’t stop feeling it. And I don’t want to.”
The next day brought interviews. Paparazzi asked the same questions over and over: “Are you two dating?” “How did your relationship start?” “Are you happy together?” Y/N learned quickly to keep a straight face. Tom, however, delighted in the teasing.
“Tell them,” he whispered during a pause in the interview, “that you’ve fallen for me.”
Y/N elbowed him lightly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous, yes, but charming too,” he said, giving a wink that made Y/N’s heart skip.
Every evening, after the interviews and photoshoots, they would collapse in exhaustion, usually tangled together on whichever couch or bed was available. The small touches, the quiet laughter, the whispered confessions, made the boundaries blur. They shared late-night pizza boxes and ridiculous online videos, arguing over who had the worst taste in memes but laughing so hard it hurt.
One evening, Y/N caught Tom scrolling through his phone, a sheepish grin on his face. “What are you looking at?”
“Just… fan comments,” he admitted, pretending to be casual. “People are… rooting for us. I think they want us to be real more than we do.”
Y/N smirked. “Maybe they’re onto us.”
“They’ll never know the half of it,” he murmured, leaning closer. “Because the real part… is just between us.”
And it was. In the quiet moments, the ones without cameras, scripts, or the world watching, they allowed themselves to feel everything,every laugh, every touch, every glance that lingered too long.
The turning point came unexpectedly. They were attending a gala together, pretending to hold hands for the photographers, when a group of young fans approached. One shyly asked for a selfie, and Y/N found themselves laughing as Tom exaggeratedly posed, pulling Y/N close. In that instant, something unspoken passed between them,a recognition that pretending was no longer necessary.
Later, as they walked alone down a quiet city street, Y/N glanced at Tom. “You know, this whole fake dating thing has been… confusing.”
“Confusing good or confusing bad?” Tom asked, teasing as always, but there was a softness in his gaze that made Y/N’s stomach flutter.
“Confusing good,” Y/N admitted.
Tom smiled, slipping an arm around their shoulder, holding them close. “Because we’ve been pretending for everyone else, but… we don’t have to pretend for each other.”
Y/N’s breath caught. “You mean,”
“Exactly,” he said, leaning down, his lips brushing theirs in a soft, lingering kiss. “No cameras. No scripts. Just us.”
The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter, whispered secrets, and tentative touches. Y/N found themselves drawn to Tom in ways they hadn’t anticipated. His teasing grin, the way he laughed at their jokes, the way he reached for them when no one was watching,it all made the world outside fade away.
Over the next few weeks, their relationship blossomed. Every day on set was a delicate dance of pretending for the public while slowly falling for each other in private. They shared breakfasts, long walks, and late-night phone calls that stretched until dawn. Tom would send ridiculous messages, and Y/N would respond with mock irritation, only to melt at his charm moments later.
One afternoon, while reviewing wardrobe options for an upcoming photoshoot, Tom leaned against the doorway, watching Y/N debate over a jacket. “You’re adorable when you overthink,” he said softly, not caring if anyone else heard.
Y/N spun around, cheeks flushed. “I am not adorable.”
“You are,” Tom insisted, stepping closer. “And it’s dangerous because every time I see you like this, I… I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.”
Y/N swallowed hard, heart racing. “Maybe you shouldn’t think about it, then.”
“Or maybe I should,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that Y/N could feel his breath. “Because every time I don’t, it’s worse than pretending.”
The weeks rolled on, filled with interviews, galas, photoshoots, and late-night confessions. What had begun as a joke, a publicity stunt, had grown into something real, undeniable, and utterly consuming.
Finally, during an awards ceremony, when they stood together on the stage holding a trophy for their film, Tom leaned in, whispering in Y/N’s ear, “So… ready to stop pretending?”
Y/N looked into his eyes, the city lights reflecting in the distance, and smiled. “Absolutely.”
Tom’s hand tightened around theirs as he pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to their lips. No cameras. No pretending. Just them, finally real, finally together, and entirely impossible to ignore.
And from that moment, everything changed.
They laughed, they teased, they loved,messy, imperfect, but completely theirs. No flash, no paparazzi, no script could capture what they had. And they didn’t need them to.
The fake dating had ended. The real love had begun.
