sailingintothenight

[sailingintothenight]

"The girl in his eyes." Bob Reynolds Imagine.

(Not my gif but give a prize to the people who make them)

Summary: Time together created feelings in the two of you, until the group tries to get him and you to talk, with John urging Bob to talk about "the girl in his eyes." And that creates a big misunderstanding.

A/N: Just a kind of short imagine (around 4K words) cause I'm new here and I don't want to go on too long and bore you all in case this is boring. I'm sorry if there are any grammatical errors. But something I always knew but I accepted today is that some of us write the kind of love we'd like to receive, right? The kind we sometimes can't find, though other did find, I hope. However, in the meantime, don't forget to love yourself please. As a warning, a little angst(?) but with a happy ending! and the word "drug." I think that's all, thanks!

“Lena, did you see (Y/N)—”

The last letter of your name drops to a whisper as Bob stops in front of the long couch, Yelena’s finger pressed against her own lips to silence him, a potato chip sandwiched between her other two before she pops it into her mouth, the bag in her lap, and her full attention back on the phone in her other hand.

She’s sitting diagonally, her back between the cushion behind her and the armrest, her left knee bent down as it falls off the edge to the floor, but it’s the other one that has Bob pressing his lips together as he films this version of you with his bluest gaze, the memory searing itself into his mind. You’re there, asleep, lying sideways on the comfy, fluffy cushions, part of your head on the outside of Yelena’s thigh, a front strand of your hair now falling over your closed eyelids and the border of your nose.

And it's soft for Bob, that image of you, and overwhelming only in the way it forces him to swallow the lump forming in his throat as his feelings pile up inside.

"You need anything, Bob?" Yelena's pointed gaze moves from the paused TikTok video (a cat staring at the camera, a flashbulb fired in right in its face), chuckling as the animal's expression still lingers in her mind, frozen on her phone—the white feline silhouette and wide–open eyes—and she shows it to him. "Have you watched this video?"

Bob nods, and the sound of him trying to clear his throat (so his words don't falter mid–sentence like he knows they will) accompanies the action.

"Yeah, (Y/N) sent it to me a few days ago."

"It's so funny." She laughs softly, and her full attention returns to the device, finger sliding across the screen after saving it to favorites, bringing another chip to her mouth. “That cat is so silly.”

But like a cry, Bob whimpers softly, the tiniest sound in the silence.

“You’re dropping crumbs in her hair, Lena.”

Yelena stops, her gaze sliding from her phone to him and then back down to you, and her slightly oily hand catches the crispy piece that had gotten caught in the strands.

“Relax, Bob. This is the price (Y/N) is paying for using me. She knows it. We shook hands. Now, do you need anything? Or someone, maybe?”

There’s a hint of healthy mockery in her smile, a silent challenge in her tone of voice that’s urging him to answer only with the truth everyone already sees, but the featherweight of her joke feels like lead in his chest and in his nervous hands, covered by a layer of clothing one size too big for Bob.

“No, just… I finished reading a book and thought (Y/N) would be here ready to—”

But there was nothing afterward, just lying there together, in the same bed before sleeping, on extreme sides so as not to cross boundaries but to keep each other company before loneliness settled in every room, when it sometimes forced him to wake up with a gasp and a foggy mind filled with traumatic experiences, talking about books or things.  

But perhaps it was the words left unspoken between you before sleeping (hidden among the ones you did say: goodnight and sleep well), the ones you two avoided saying and pushed aside, along with the feelings that lived dormant in the darkness and accumulated inside each other—the things you both were dying to say but neither of you dared for fear that the already solid pillars of your friendship would crumble because of something as unstable as love.

Yelena waits a second longer, but there is no response from the other end.

“The team and I were talking about you tw—”

Bob knows what it is, the favorite topic on everyone's lips.

“You guys talk a lot, maybe you should shut up for a while. Silence is good sometimes.”

She rolls her eyes, an exasperated look following her action.

“Help me out here for a while, will you? I have a cramp and need to stretch.”

Bob swallows, eyes slightly wide at the prospect of feeling that kind of closeness with you, the kind that comes so quickly it makes him dizzy and ignites the heat in his cheeks sharply. The warmth of your hand, he felt it before, many times, a casual or intentional touch, and it was scorching (when the supermarket was crowded and the crush of people unnerved him sometimes, for example, your fingers would close around his and his hand would squeeze yours), as if it could ignite a forest fire inside him, so wild it seemed it could burn everything—the enemy in his thoughts, his insecurities, his fears, his nightmares.

He didn't even want to think about what it would feel like to feel the heat of your cheek.

But he did.

Bob had imagined it several times already. In a burst of bravery, his heart beating faster than a drug high, his thumb would slide down your cheek, fingers hooking softly around the edge of your jaw.

"Bob?"

"What?"

Yelena drops her things into the armrest, her hand cupping the bottom of your head.

“Put your leg here, Bob.”

He shakes his head, his own heartbeat increasing with the fear and excitement that mix, so close that the line between them blurs, and his somewhat messy, wild hair moves with him.

“I don’t think—”

“Three…”

“What are you—?”

“Two…”

“Lena—”

“One.”

Bob takes a step forward, hands outstretched to stop her without a word, a silent plea in his eyes for her to do nothing, even though Yelena hadn't moved an inch and wasn't planning to either. And with a deep inhalation and exhalation, a failed attempt to fill his lungs with cold air and soothe the heat settling in his chest, Bob switches places with her, even more gentle as you shift in your sleep, your hands close to your face and your cheek now on his leg, covered by his gray sleep pants, but which seem like the finest fabric in the world when Bob feels your heat radiate through your skin until it meets his, every nerve ending.

"You're adorable, Bob." Yelena laughs quietly, but there's not a hint of cruel mockery in her words—never with him—and she leans back on the second–long sofa, phone in her hand again. "Like those boys in her books. Such a gentleman. I know why she likes you so much."

Likes you, being in love—two different scenarios if the feelings on either side were unequal. Either a chasm separated those two feelings, or the first could be the path to get to the other.

“Did I do something wrong to make her not like me anymore?”

The weight of self–doubt about a topic as distant and still foreign to him as love (next to his insecurities) try to bring down the confidence Bob was still trying to build little by little, and Yelena can see them shining clearly in his gaze as he finally holds hers, even in the dim living room light at night, searching for an answer he can't find within himself, not when there's a thick fog between the truth and him.

“What do you mean?”

Bob shrugs.

“(Y/N) is always here with me, but absent at the same time, as if something has suddenly changed between us.”

“You’re overthinking things, Bob.”

There’s affection in Yelena’s words, warm in their attempt to reassure him of a truth hidden among his fears, but he lets out a small sound, something like a laugh without a hint of humor. Just an empty noise.

“Overthinking sometimes allows you to see the smallest things.”

“Like what?”

Bob can see it in his sometimes fragmented mind, every moment together and the way you changed, finding solitude where there was only company, a touch of emptiness when there was always life in your eyes.

But he doesn't know exactly how to explain it, and Yelena nods thoughtfully.

"Why don't you try to think about what exactly you did then? We have a while until the losers arrive with dinner. I'm going to be here with you, but ignoring you at the same time, okay?"

Catching his slight nod, Yelena turns on the couch, face close to the cushion and her phone in between, indistinct sounds from the videos, set to low volume, floating around him so the absolute silence doesn't completely consume him with the severity of his thoughts.

Bob lowers his head and his gaze rests on you, barely listening to the sound of your slow breathing as, in your sleep, your body relaxed, at peace. The curve of your lips is tempting, and he lifts the hand resting in his lap to push that strand of hair away from your face and place it where it belongs.

There, above your eyebrow and with nothing covering it, Bob can see the only physical reminder of the fall of a whole building when your self–control overflowed at the edge of your anger. And like a tiny crack in a surface, the small scar has a slightly different hue than your skin, but it was an imperfection that only makes you more perfect, more real, a whole person and not like a cruel dream from which Bob always wakes up before reaching.

Just like that, your presence in his life became a need.

You were the proof that he was still alive after the unbearable pain, (knowing all have been worth it because he met you) and that his heart hadn't turned to tin. He was still breathing, his heart was still beating, and he'd finally felt the nervous tingle, the fluttering of being in love.

Love, so silent you don't even know you have it until you're full of it.

Love, a silent feeling in a room full of euphoria, and at the same time, it's like an alarm that goes off and no one but him and you can hear.

To be close to you, with you, every day, that’s all Bob wanted at the beginning. But almost selfishly, the passage of time together made him greedy, wanting more from you, a different smile than you had for others, a new kind of laugh, escalating until all his thoughts were about you, daydreaming about how to shake off that title of friend and crown himself with a different one.

It was a silent plea, a hope. It became a desire that made him company through his sleepless nights…

“You need to be direct with her.” Alexei had said weeks ago in the kitchen, when the hands of the clock showed it was too late at night. “Your words must be deep enough to cut like a knife in the heart.”

Bob didn’t even know how he’d ended up in that secret meeting, when all he’d wanted to do was grab a late–night snack from the fridge to leave on your nightstand after you’d joked embarrassingly that you did that sometimes. But, confused and slightly scared, his eyebrows furrowed in surprise as the rest of the men stared at the red guardian and his constantly failing attempt to explain himself properly.

“Maybe not so direct.” Walker shook his head, the usual mocking tone on the edge of his voice. “How about you just tell her in small hints instead of trying to draw blood? You can hint that you like her, but without actually saying I like you.”

Bob blinked, confused, the information coming in too fast as he tried to take it all in.

“Like what?”

Bucky wag his head softly.

“Ask her to teach you how to do things you know she likes. She will feel that you are interested in her.”

And that was exactly what Bob did.

Now, when the doors of the elevator open and some really loud voices pierce the room, his natural protective instinct, (the one that was born the first time he took care of his father after witnessing his first blackout) makes his hand, a second after the resounding sound, move fast to press it against your ear, blocking out the laugh coming from the men.

As a reflex, your body moves in your sleep, but your awakening is less abrupt with his help.

You get up slowly, your mind and gaze blurred as Yelena leaves the living room, patting Bob on the shoulder on her way to the dining room. The edges of your gaze darken after rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands, the pleasant sting creeping around as you chuckle.

“Did I sleep so much I forgot I was lying on your leg?”

Bob chuckles too, and an invisible thread pulls the corner of his lip upward.

“You slept so long that Lena’s leg went numb. Just like mine.”

You let out a surprised laugh, your body slumping back against the backrest.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, you know I’m always here for you.”

“Kids, dinner!”

Alexei’s voice fills the room.

At the same time, as a reflection that you both can’t avoid in time when instinct wins, Bob and you move your bodies to look over your shoulders, heads turning in the same direction, finding yourselves at what your mother used to call, at the perfect distance of a kiss. Bob is so close you can almost drink his breath, stopping yours when his blue gaze holds yours for an eternal second that finish quickly but that feels endless, watching each other's eyes before you both separate, looking forward as a nervous feeling fills your heart.

You walk away first, finding an empty spot next to Ava.

“Dad, will you stop calling us to the table like we’re real kids?” Yelena complains, sitting at one of the heads of the food–laden table as Bob sits in the chair across from you. “Someone here is older than life.”

The rest chuckle, not too loudly.

“But you’re my kids. Now, let’s have dinner like family.”

At some point, there is a back—and—forth conversation around, about a past relationship for some of them, somehow empty, never too deep because talking once about the future they hoped and never got to feel is enough for everybody, but always accompanied by soft laughter that makes the tower feel like a real home after some lost it or never had it in the first place.

“So… what’s your type of man, (Y/N)?” Yelena chuckles, and the sound is full of genuine affection for you, but it hides her desire to steer the conversation in a way that Bob can be included in your words. “You’re always reading, so you must have a type. Maybe someone here is like that.”

The others feign innocence, but the possibility stirs in Bob’s body with a heartbeat that’s too fast, eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion, and a certain weight of worry about not hearing a promising answer.

“Who?” Ava laughs also knowingly, with a certain disdain at thinking of the others and you that way too, and her finger points at Alexei. “Too old.” Then at Bucky. “Way too old.” Finally, at John. “Too much of an idiot. That leaves just Bob.”

Bob swallows at the sound of his name, so abruptly that the food in his mouth makes his expression twist slightly in pain.

The others, expectant, continue waiting.

You clear your throat, your heart pounding against your chest as if it were seeking its own freedom and a way out of a situation that seems unlikely to end well.

“The usual, I guess, just… a nice guy.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not fun.” John grins, malice bubbling up as if he needs to embarrass someone at least once a day to survive. “You could be more specific, like Bob. Right now there is a girl in his eyes so he could tell us what she’s like, describe her so much until we’re bored.”

Bob's gaze meets yours, barely a second before you look away when Bucky speaks.

“I think that’s enough with the jokes, huh?”

But then, to everyone’s surprise and his own, Bob speaks, and with a touch of nervousness bordering on anxiety, he starts talking about her. Just a little, not quite to the point of boring the rest of you.

And you listen, your heart a little cold around the edges. Like a brutal change in the season, the tempest of his words threatens to hurt you without hesitation or guilt, but you listen, because you always tried to be a good friend to Bob, a person he could trust when he didn't even trust his own shadow. And even when he was always full of doubt about himself, about the truth, he seemed to trust your voice more than the enemy within, the one that whispered only cruelty. Even when he became cloudy, pulling the blanket off his head when you asked him to, because that was always the only promise for him that it would all end eventually.

For all those months together, it had been you, and between heartbeats, it had always been him. Until you confused things, apparently.

Until the girl in his eyes arrived.

And it hurts, it burns to think about it, that reality that creeps up on you, that of always being just a friend. And it's like having an empty stomach, an empty mind, an empty heart.

When he's finished, you excuse yourself to leave with a smile and your head held high, leaving the deathly silence behind and missing the way Bob follows you with his eyes, even after you disappear from the room.

"I think we blew this." Ava lets out a small sound, like a worried laugh at possible defeat as she looks at the rest.

"Did you have to go on so long, genius?" A semi–hard object hits the side of Bob's head and bounces off it, without erasing his terrified expression as he looks at Bucky. "We told you you had to flatter her a little, not write her a Shakespearean sonnet."

Yelena frowns.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Some weeks ago we told Bob to try to hint to (Y/N) that he likes her without telling her he likes her.”

“And?”

“And nothing else. (Y/N) came into the kitchen to get something from the fridge, and the conversation ended there.”

“Did she hear you talking about this ingenious plan?” Ava’s hard gaze landed on Bob, and he blinked, innocent eyes set in a look of terror. “Did (Y/N) hear you talking about her, or did she hear you being told by the smartest men in this place how to get your girl?”

As night fell and sent the rest of the team to sleep, the endless talk finished when you had entered the kitchen, a soft sound from your throat announcing your presence first.

“What are you doing up so late, darling?”

“I came to get something to eat.” Bucky’s gaze rested on you, all the way until you closed the fridge door. “Sorry to interrupt your boys’ sleepover.”

“It’s not a boys’ sleepover, (Y/N).” John frowned, slightly offended.

“Men’ sleepover is better.” Alexei smiled, and you laughed with him, his innocence fluttering as the others sighed in defeat.

“Of course, my mistake. Sleep well, everybody.”

“You too.”

The others' voices were an echo, except for Bob's, lips closed as your eyes fell on him in your farewell.

He never said your name, and neither did the others. But from then on, there was only half a life in your eyes, whereas before they had always been full of it every time you looked at him.

The seconds of understanding end when Bob stands up, so fast he pushes his chair back with a dry sound against the polished floor.

His own breathing becomes labored, but he tries to calm his anxious heart.

"You always have to ruin things—"

"Not this time. Not with her." Bob murmurs softly, and when he finally reaches your room, your door is always open for anyone who wants to enter and exist, and that's a mixed relief. "(Y/N)?"

You look over your shoulder, your body facing away from him as you continue to sit in front of your laptop on the desk.

"Yes?"

"Can I come in?"

"Of course."

Bob closes the door behind him, barely making a noise as he ventures inside, feeling the place like untapped territory even though he's been there since his life merged with yours. The sound of his sneakers on the floor is almost nonexistent, but it feels heavy like lead in his pockets as Bob sits next to you, listening to the almost ghostly volume of the video playing in front of you.

"You okay, Bob?"

Your attention is on the screen and your voice is a whisper, but it is an overwhelming force that hits his chest, even harder than bullets in the past.

"Are you?"

You chuckle.

"I asked you first."

Bob hums a reply.

"Do you want to lie down for a while? I finished a new book today and think I can convince you to read it."

You shake your head, but there's a slight, honest smile on your lips.

"I'm not sleepy yet. Maybe later or tomorrow."

Neither of you says anything for a moment, your eyes straight ahead like Bob's gaze lingers on your profile.

Bob knew that you, too, were still learning to use your voice like him, to find the right words—always hidden—so scattered across different galaxies, so far from each other that you still struggled to put them together to say something eloquent, to say what you both truly wanted to say, what you truly felt. Silence had always been your ally and an imposition for him. And that had been his curse throughout his life and yours, always in solitude, until it created his inability to speak.

But not today, not ever again.

“We’re feeling a little much apathetic today, huh?”

It’s not an accusation, but his tone tinges with his sassiness, the kind he used to make direct comments and respond to other people’s jokes, to John’s sarcasm and sometimes Bucky’s condescension. Today, however, his words make you frown sharply as you turn to look at him.

“Excuse me?” His gaze threatens to falter and leave yours when you narrow your eyes at him, but Bob stands firm when what he's said is free to the world, saying out loud what he wants to say instead of letting it perish inside and ducking his head to pretend it never happened. "You're quite bold sometimes, Bob."

“And you’re quite clueless.” He smiles, softly, firmly planted on the floor, his heart pounding in his chest. The electricity, the tingling at his fingertips as the result of this brave act is addictive, like a drug, but ultimately a healthy one, one he wants to get hooked on. “I was talking about you, silly. How can you be so smart and not realize that every word I said was about you, (Y/N)?”

Your frown relaxes, and the gnawing feeling of annoyance at his forwardness is replaced by confusion. His hands cup the sides of your chair, and Bob pulls you closer, gently, not roughly, taking in the way your body has stopped tensing, being brave when he sees your eyes light up with affection again, completely—a little scared around the edges, but finally not halfway.

“When I asked you to teach me how to braid your hair, it was for you—for that loose braid you always have. Your mom did it for you, didn’t she? Every day.” You nod, feeling the heat from his knees radiating against yours. “When I asked you to teach me how to dance to those old ballads Bucky loves so much, I didn’t do it to dance with someone else. I did it because I saw the way he spun you around one night and saw you laugh, and I wanted so badly to be him that I could feel my body vibrate. The things I said in the kitchen, about her hair and her laugh and everything—it was all about you, okay? Can you believe me? Please?”

You nod again, and Bob can see the hope, right next to that desire of a soul crying out for the exact same thing as his, silent but fervent.

His hands cup your face, soft skin over slightly calloused fingers on your cheek and the underside, thumbs gliding to make his dreams (asleep and awake) come true, a touch so tender you feel nothing but warmth at the tips—his face so close his breath mingles with yours.

Your own hands clutch at his arms, searching for something to hold you steady as well.

“I’m sorry. I… I got scared. This is my first time feeling like this.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry, I never meant to make you feel like there was someone else there because ever since I met you, it’s always been you. And if you have any doubts, you are the girl in my eyes.”

Bob leans forward, closing the small space between his existence and yours.

And behind his closed eyelids, like yours, the darkness ceases to be terrifying and becomes pleasurable, for the first time in his life. Time, life itself, the past and future are suspended, unimportant and in an eternal pause in the seconds his lips linger against yours. It's an unspoken conversation, a confession of love without even having to say those three letters. A connection, strength and gentleness, melting away any fear or doubt. The kiss is soft like him, a little shy like you, but real and perfect after every moment you imagined him in your head.

And in a synchronized movement, the two of you separate, breathing in each other's air.

"I'll be back, okay? I won't be long." He whispers, his lips touch yours with the promise of many more shared kisses, before Bob stands.

"Where are you going?"

He stops halfway across the room and turns around, those strands of hair on either side of his face bouncing with the movement.

“I'm going to get you some midnight snacks so you won't have to get up, and that book I was talking about.”

You laugh softly.

“And you're going to tell the others, aren't you?”

“No.” His shoulders slump. “Yes. I have to, honey. Lena and Ava were about to hurt me really bad.”

A nervous but genuine smile appears on that sweet face of him before Bob turns away.

[sailingintothenight]

“Love now, forever.” Bob Reynolds Imagine.

Summary: On a peaceful night between calm breaths, and a kiss before you fall asleep, Bob dares to ask you the question that has been on his mind for a while.

A/N: Don't give me any time cause I could write thousands and thousands of words about this sweet baby until I bore you all, so instead I'm leaving you this short, cheesy imagine I wrote some weeks ago. Hope you like it and excuse my bad English, please. Thank you.

The main lights are off, replaced only by the lamp on one side of the bed shedding a dark red one. The room is dark red and the world quiet. His extended arm is your pillow, a nest for your head. Bob’s chin rests on your shoulder, the bluest of his eyes filming the profile of your face. The tip of your nose, the shape of your soft lips, and the star twinkling in your eye as the two of you dive into the silence.

Love is gentle. Like his hand drawing circles on your stomach, and under your loose sweatshirt, it’s warm, it tickles you, and it makes you flex your muscles with intoxicating nerves.

Before, for Bob, there were endless nights wondering if it will ever get better? Life.

The emptiness in his uncomfortable mattress, laying in the same position, counting the non–existent cracks in the perfect ceiling in that facility. Insomnia, alert all the time, waiting still for the screams from the other side of the door and everything that brought, even if the perpetrator of his pain as a kid became a ghost a long time ago. Memories of his desecrated childhood, they turned into nightmares in his failed attempts to fall asleep, alone, until eventually boredom and tiredness forced Bob to close his eyes, only to then repeat the cycle in which he lived for many years.

But now, love exists, and is always gentle with him.

Like the way you look at him when you turn around, with eyes full of affection, of love, as if he were a real person after having been just another object in a laboratory with empty walls. Your hand flexed up, reaching his face to caress his rosy cheek. Bob smiles softly, with a tired gaze because it's past 1 in the morning, but always deep—and light at the same time, just happy—because Bob understands that love makes him feel lighter than a feather, and not as if he was made of lead while drowning into the sea.

Finally, his heart is at peace, because you are there, next to him, alive, a person destined to find him, for him not to be alone never again.

Only a slight incline separates you two, the perfect distance of a kiss away. You read that somewhere.

Then, you move forward, gentle, his lips pursing softly to welcome yours. Bob expects a kiss every time he sees you, he hopes for it every minute of the day: when he wakes up, when he goes to sleep, and all the hours in between. And like that child who hugs his stuffed animal to his chest, determined never to let it go, he holds you in his arms, his nose brushing yours, earning a tired, soft chuckle from you that vibrates in his chest as you close your eyes.

There's always a bedtime story from your childhood before you two fall sleep, endless stories he's collected in his memory, moments he'd like to see with his own eyes, but at the same time, Bob wants nothing but to able to stop time in this new, better present to remain by your side, all night or a lifetime.

Right there, and for a while now, Bob finds himself wishing that forever with you, craving it so desperately he could feel it in his bones and flesh.

Would you say yes?

Walker calls you Mrs. Reynolds, his voice thick with mockery. But hidden among the sarcasm, John does that to nudge Bob to stop him from being so afraid to ask.

He was not a visionary, lacking the strength to project a future when his past was too heavy and saying tomorrow felt uncertain, so Bob always lingered in the void, with the inclement air conditioning of that secret place where he was blowing cold, like a blizzard determined to freeze his empty body. But now, (although it’s still scary to lose you somehow, terrifying) it’s worse for him not to live by your side, a full life this time, like never before. Bob never thought about being someone’s something after hearing that he was nothing for so long, and now, he just wants to ask you if you want to marry him.

He just wants to be your husband so badly, almost greedily.

Alone, the world seemed fractured, but with a glance from his person, a touch of your hand, a laugh, a word, a kiss, he rebuilt himself until he felt whole again. Bob is not perfect, he knows, half–healed and still with a long way to go, but now the desire to live in the present is latent, vibrant, and Bob wanted it so much that he managed to take that desired and transform it into peace, making his nightmares disappear when he went to bed with you.

Love worked like that, because love is peace, and you are that love.

“Darling?”

Bob pulls away slightly, just enough to see your peaceful expression—eyes closed, relaxed, a calm breath.

“Uh?”

The sound between your closed lips is low but kind of pitchy, affectionate. You are far away, yet, somehow, you always linger close, present, and that small act has him smiling. Bob wants it all: the ring on your finger, his last name being yours too, so that it finally takes value and means something to him—and because it sounds just perfect next to your beautiful name—the pride he will feel knowing you two are married.

"Will you marry me?"

Bob swallows his fear, which inevitably closes his throat, remaining in the same position, breathing slowly so as not to faint while waiting.

But the wait that seems like a lifetime only lasts one, two seconds.

"Of course."

Your lips barely part, but the words are clear and concise, an answer to his nightly, silent prayers.

His expression falters with the overwhelming emotions that come to him, all at once, but stronger than ever, Bob breathes a nervous smile as he cradles you in his arms and feels yours around him, knowing that eventually, faster than he thinks, his fears will go away until there is nothing left but love and happiness.

[sailingintothenight]

“Starlight.” Bob Reynolds Imagine.

Summary: Following John Walker's advice, Bob decides to confess his feelings for you… to you.

A/N: Hi. First of all, thanks for the love on my first Bob imagine "A safe heaven". Secondly, I'm still getting to know Taylor Swift's music so I can't really call myself a fan, but like Jake Peralta said: she makes me feel things. She makes all of us feel things, Jake! So I quoted one of her songs here :) My first language is Spanish and I'm still learning English, so please excuse me if there are any grammatical errors. That's all. Thank you! And I think I messed up saying you were an Avenger, but the timeline is a confusing so let's pretend it's okay, please?

Warning: Bob being a cutie, the usual hehe

“Is (Y/N) back yet, Lena?”

“You mean (Y/N) and Bucky?”

“Yeah, right. Them.”

“No. Not yet—”

"Oh..."

Bob slumps down onto the couch, pulling his disappointed look away from Yelena and her emotion detector.

“I just know they’re about to. In 10 minutes, I think.”

But it was the talented Taylor Swift that once said: you’ve got a smile that can light up this whole town, and now, Bob’s smile behind the milkshake he holds with two hands (not a big one, just adorable and shy), fighting his own nerves, could light up the whole world. Through moments, pieces of happiness that he has been collecting with you, Bob had begun to regain his own light, little by little, with them making his eyes bright again, like tiny twinkling stars after his life had been darker than an undiscovered galaxy—still and silent, without a light source, nonexistent until someone notices its presence.

And that's what you'd done from the beginning: seeing his warm personality.

Always warm like the edge of his heart, even in the midst of his storms, with you managing to look directly into the core of his overwhelming fears, the most hidden and the most obvious ones. And without meaning to, without seeking it, Bob had found himself leaning toward you, finding refuge in your inexhaustible source of love when he felt a little down, a love that you always showered upon him in many ways, with a word of empathy or a physical display of affection, or the loving way you pushed a lock of his hair aside, even though it always fell back into place, making you laugh.  

But when everything was alright, life was even better between back–and–forth conversations or the deepest ones, like the days and nights you two spent together to decipher if ghosts were real or solving the unsolved mysteries that lingered, and there, Bob could see the way even your eyes smiled every time your lips curved upward. You smiled and laughed a lot with him, and with the group, Bob paid full attention to your expression more than to other's, learning to differentiate your sound from the rest in a heartbeat.

"Yeah, Bob, your little girlfriend is coming back soon. You must be excited."

John's voice is flat, his back on the couch, directing his attention to the TV, but so full of mockery that Bob can feel it in the way his cheeks and the tips of his ears burn.

"(Y/N) is not my girlfriend."

"But you want her to be. I can see you dying to hold her, to hug her, and to kiss her. I bet you dream about it every day."

Yelena gives a long sigh, sinking deeper into the comfort of the other long couch, but her bored expression is just as threatening as when her eyes flared at any sign of danger.

"Why do you always have to be such a jerk, Walker?"

"I'm just being supportive!" John looks slightly surprised, as if his support system actually comes with sarcasm inevitably, lowering the arms he used to emphasize his protest. "I'll give you some advice, Bob—"

"I didn't ask for your advice."

“I’ll give it to you anyway. Tell (Y/N) how you feel, that you care a little too much for her or that you’re in love, I don’t know, but do it today, don’t wait for tomorrow because tomorrow is a bitch sometimes and who knows? Maybe we could get attacked by some alien and die.”

“That sounds fun, actually.”

Bob frowns, confused and slightly terrified, looking for some trace of sarcasm in Yelena’s deadpan voice, but when the elevator dings with an annoying chime announcing your arrival, and Bucky’s, his head turns in your direction, meeting your gaze as you smile back when he does it first, feeling his own joy of seeing you beating within him.

Bob wondered sometimes if stars also existed in the eyes, not only in the night sky.

“It’s great to have you back, guys.” John sits down, fighting his own smirk. “We’re very happy to see you, aren’t we, Bob?”

Making his existence smaller, Bob nods, his body shrinking a little, but as Bucky recounts the events of the successful mission that lasted less than the expected number of days, you take your backpack from him and head towards your room. Yet it's your gaze that catches the way Walker continues to drag his mocking eyes between Bob and you, a second before looking away.

Messy minds tended to be the noisiest, you knew this well as you found a way to coexist peacefully with outside noises, building a wall around yourself so you wouldn't hear them even in your sleep, but as you disappear down the hallway, Walker leans forward, his brow furrowing at the pain that begins to throb in the front of his head, like a hammer hitting a nail.

"Another headache, Walker?" Yelena asks.

"Yeah, maybe I should see a doctor."

Yelena maintains a flat expression, though it amuses her to tears the way he hadn't realized that it was you who caused them, but she remains determined not to give herself away even when her gaze meets Bucky's, (who wants to laugh too) while she coughs softly to hide Bob's chuckle as he stands up.

"Maybe you should just stop being such a jerk."

"What, Bob?"

"Nothing."

But Walker had a point, Bob thinks sadly, all the time it takes him to make a milkshake for you. Between the sips of coffee that left a bitter taste on the tip of your tongue when you finished it, he knew you also enjoyed something just sweet, a drink that was like a remnant of a past life, a memory of your childhood, a whole journey that made you smile.

Bob didn't seek you out, and before you, he was just existing with empty hands and a mind full of dark thoughts, until things took a turn, and then his hand was always full with yours holding it, and a mind occupied as Bob began to replace the unwanted memories with something better, stopping living on autopilot, answering that question of whether things would ever get better.

Now, Bob turns the corner and enters the long corridor of rooms, and his sharp hearing registers the song playing in the distance, which grows slightly louder as he approaches the half–open door, a second voice providing the backing vocals, your voice, coming to him like a soft breeze. And he doesn't mean to spy, but shy as he usually is, Bob leans a little bit over the frame, his nervous hand still holding the glass to his chest.

You are there, your back to him, singing at the same level as the voice in your phone, walking around the room, fixing your already made bed or rearranging your desk. Your space after losing your place in your house, your new little home.

With a glass window on the other side and that lets in the golden autumn light, it reflects on your head, and Bob feels a warmth rise in his stomach and creep down his body, ending up on his cheeks (the ones that had managed to rest from Walker's teasing) with a violent thud that makes him swallow.

You're wearing loose jeans and an oversized light blue sweater with sunflowers woven into it in haphazard patterns, light blue as the sky when dawn is breaking and the darkness fades away, because nothing last forever, not even the absence of light—and with you looking like everything Bob never could dream of finding—a nervous, childlike smile, one of those full of innocence, like the warmth of first love, spreads across his face.

Not in a garish way; but you are colorful, just like your soul and your clothes and your words. Time seems suddenly frozen as he films everything about you in his gaze, as if a single second feels like a lifetime together, even though you've only been together a few months.

However, when you turn around, like a domino effect, his body jerks a second after yours, holding the glass slightly away so the tide inside doesn't splash him.

"Jesus, Bob, you scared me!" You laugh, nervous, and he's fast to apologize.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I was here a second ago, I promise." He swallows the lump in his throat when your sharp gaze seems to pierce through him, but you are not upset, just mocking him silently. "I just came to bring you this.”

There are many things you'd learned to over–feel after your mind expanded, like the noise in other people's heads, like the slight vibration of Bob's hand when he gives you the milkshake, with you holding the glass with both hands.

“Thank you.” A gentle smile is drawn on your face. “This is so sweet of you, but you shouldn't have bothered, though, you know?”

He shakes his head.

“It's no bother.”

Bob pushes his hands into his pockets, almost rocking back and forth, lingering there for a moment as you take the first sip, and when you tell him it tastes great, he just smiles.

Bob is beautiful on the outside too, adorable with his casual style, (clothes he carefully selects just to sit on the couch with you, or go to the few places you frequent together) with his angelic face and his eyes looking at you as you two talk, sitting side by side on the floor while working together your new 1,000–piece puzzle, but not meeting your eyes for more than two, maybe three consecutive seconds.

With your attention on the ground, you feel the warmth of his body radiating like waves nearby, like the power of that fiery star that hangs between the warmest days. Life moves like a whisper beside him, soft after a storm, quiet like when calm comes after chaos, and you love that.  

“Bob, do you know who Stitch is?”

He looks up from the piece in his hand and nods, those two unruly chocolate strands of hair bouncing with the movement, only to frame his face and that nervous look reflected in his warm blue eyes, but they can never hide the joy Bob feels when he sees the happiness in yours, and in that moment, there is an overflowing, almost childlike thrill in them. Like finding a sapphire among a pile of faded rocks, the light in your eyes always shone no matter the season, like the sparkling autumn that paints the city now—and Bob Reynolds loves autumn.

“Great. You're coming to the movies with me tomorrow.”

“L–like a date?”

Yet the sound of the silent autumn breeze blowing leaves floors below is even louder than his mental whisper, even though no one hears him in there. His heart beats under his own anxiety, but Bob smiles with that possibility.

"Are the others coming with us?"

But you feel it: the disappointment in his voice at a positive response.

“Well, no: Lena didn't have a real childhood, so she doesn't know about those kinds of movies. Walker is a walking insult machine. Ava would somehow make kids cry. And I'm pretty sure Bucky's older than that radioactive cheese living in the fridge that no one dares throw away, so he only watches classics.”

Bob chuckles, a small, nervous but colorful sound.

“That cheese scares me. Kinda looks at me funny.”

“Isn’t that right?! I feel like it could give us even worse powers than we already have.”

He nods, frowning, but maintaining an amused expression as he holds your gaze.

“Yeah. It’s been there for a suspicious amount of time. Maybe it’s a spy.”

You laugh in surprise.

“My God, your humor is as broken as mine. But when I asked Alexei if he wanted to come, I tried to explain that Stitch was an alien, and the poor man started hyperventilating. An alien?! We should prepare for invasion, yeah?” You do your best to imitate his accent, and the joy of Bob’s deep laugh is adorable, warm, even when it falters because of his constant nervousness. “It was my fault. Maybe I shouldn’t have started talking about an alien after the Chitauri tried to invade the city and then others kept coming.”

Bob swallows, considering whether his next words might cross the line, hurting you even though he'd never do it on purpose. He knew a bit about your history and your brief stint with the Avengers, about your lab–gained powers, but all that information was just scratching the surface of a life that so drastically changed the course of your path.

"Can I ask you a question?"

You can see Bob's gaze fixed on the puzzle out of the corner of your eye, but you nod anyway.

"Of course you can."

"Are you angry about what happened to you?”

Your gentle gaze rests on him, even though Bob does his best to focus his full attention on the pieces, but you know he’s trying with all his might to feel normal again, not to act it, fighting to return to what he was before the drugs and his depression, before his alter egos and his memory loss that kept him from living a full life when there were pieces hidden in the darkness that made him feel incomplete.

No one can live a full life if they always feel like something is missing, you had once told him.

And maybe his attempt to be who he was again made him beautiful too, so beautiful it hurts, even though Yelena's words still echo in your chest: he's in love with you. Because Bob looks like literature written by a feminine hand, sweet like the male protagonist of the most romantic book in the world, the dream of those who read and dream of finding someone like him, with him never realizing his own virtues, always oblivious to all that beauty in him, inside and out, which only made him even more beautiful.

You and he were still young, young adults whose years of your lives were snatched away by selfish people who only sought their own benefit—but being in love still scared you more, even when you were already completely immersed in that feeling.

“No. Not anymore. I spent so much time angry that it wore me down, but I think I found again that something that kept me going when all seemed lost.”

Bob blinks, confused, but he looks up and keeps his eyes fixed on your face until yours meet his again, so he doesn't miss a single bit of your answer.

“And what was it?”

“Love.”

You laugh at the way his face contorts in surprise, angelic eyes (even after having seen hell) a little wide open, blending with his radiant innocence as Bob tries to take in your entire expression, looking in search of a hint of lie.

“I mean love in general, Bob.” He calms down fast and listens closely. Four letters that seemed simple, but hid such a profound undertone, with new things that you were still discovering, a feeling that made you feel as if after the wild waves, the water on the shore once again felt a lullaby, soothing your life until they became nothing more than a delicate whisper on the sand. “I spent so much time hating myself that I forgot my parents and my older brother taught me to love myself properly, deeply. But then I felt again the love I had for people and things, the one I had before waking up on a gurney in that secret facility: my love for my family, for books, animals, for movies, for the few but good friends I had, and even for that boy with ocean–colored eyes I was getting to know in a sunny Los Angeles.”

Not everything was perfect, but Bob sees you feeling you’re the right path, and as he weighs your words, he knows they are like the first breath of fresh air after feeling scorching heat in your lungs, or like a light in the darkness.

"I was so close to you and didn't know it." He chuckles, with a hint of melancholy as Bob wonders what it would have been like to know you in another life, before the catastrophe, though now, he is happy he can feel a connection with you, as if he'd actually met you before. "I wish I could have met you back there."

"Yeah, me too. But everything I've been through has led me to this moment with you, so I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Your gaze returns to the puzzle when his gaze moves away from you for a moment, but coming back in the second to admire what you're letting him see—the profile of your face, the soft smile on your lips.

Bob confidently trusts that you're still the same despite past events, with the same laughter, the same desire to remain good, plus a power that spread through your mind. And everything still seems like a cozy autumn dream, with sensations so vivid that Bob can feel them on his skin, deep in his shy heart, wanting to live in it forever.

However, in a more selfish sense, like he never was, Bob wonders what it would feel like to be loved by you, in a romantic, deep, and real way like he's never experienced. Because now Bob understands that if your laughter and your smile and your happiness hid so much feeling, so much so that he could compare you to a romantic movie—the kind that has you in tears mid–act but has a happy ending, and when the credits roll, there's always a soulful ballad sung and a high note at the end that makes you tremble.

Surely your love for someone was just as beautiful.  

Your hand rests on your leg, empty, and Bob wants to take it, hold it while you lead the way, because he knows that he would follow you wherever you went, and that in a crowd, he would find you. It's like an invisible light around you only he can see, like a thread tied to his pinky finger connected to yours.  

“I’m in love with you.” His whisper threatens to fade into the void again, even when your nervous gaze catches his, but Bob knows he has to tell you his feelings now before he stops being brave and his words die a cruel death inside him. “You were the first person who told me I wasn’t invisible, that you wouldn’t leave me behind even when I told you I was a threat. And I really tried to stop thinking of you this way, but every time I close my eyes I can see you, and I can hear you, and that’s so much nicer…” Bob’s little smile is shy, him watching yours, which is somewhat saddened by the weight of his past, fragments he shared with you during your time together. “When I’m alone I want to see you, and when we are together I wish we could be together all day. I know I have nothing to offer you, and that sometimes I’m a little cloudy like Lena calls me, but you are confident, and you are smart, and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same—”

“I do feel the same.” A small, shy chuckle past by between your lips, watching your fingers as you rub them against each other, followed by a sigh that seems to let go of a piece of your own past. “And that’s what scares me, but not enough to make me not want to be with you.”

Then, his hand envelops yours, calming you and your fear, steadying your whole world as your eyes return to his. Your vision of him is clearer, nervous but receptive, open to new sensations, and even with his own fears and insecurities, Bob leans forward, with you mirroring the gesture, the image of the other in yours and his closed eyelids, allowing yourself to be felt on each other's lips.

And the kiss is soft like his existence, bright in the dark, like the starlight that lingered in your gaze.

Your hand squeezes his gently as his lips move against yours, just a little bit, and after living numb for so long, feeling again feels so good.

Bob pulls away, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

"Walker told me to tell you how I felt... today." He chuckles, speaking softly so as not to clash with the new environment, which is even more welcoming than the last ten seconds. "Can't believe he was right."

You pull away a little, opening your eyes again as he does it, chuckling with him at John's expense, and you push back that curly strand of hair of his with your free hand, which moves back into place, but as Bob leans forward again, you two know that from now on, life would be even brighter.

[sailingintothenight]

“A safe heaven.” Bob Reynolds Imagine.

Summary: Little Bob was led to believe heaven didn't exist, but now, with you, he knows it's real.

A/N: Hii. This is my first imagine about Bob. My page used to be about Tom Holland and Peter Parker but I haven't written about them in a while for personal reasons. I wasn't sure whether to keep using this account or create a new one, but I'll wait to see how my failed attempt to write about this little ray of light called Bob goes. I've been following Lewis' work for a while, but I saw him in the Marvel universe and his character is so adorable–almost everyone fell in love with him, I'm sure hehe–so I hope you like this. Thank you so much!

Warnings: just fluff.

“Can we… uh… sleep together again tonight, (Y/N)? Please?”

When the night swallowed the sun and New York City shone with artificial lights, as fictitious as his courage (still small, like a baby plant) to face those hours alone in the darkness of his room, Bob would appear in the tower's living room or kitchen, ready to sleep but waiting for you two to be alone or just with Yelena present, almost buried in clothes that were a size or two too big for him (considering he was quite large), on his gray sweatpants, and his nervous hands tucked into the sleeves of his blue sweatshirt with the letters I ♡ Los Angeles printed on it.

His timid request would be lost in the noise of life that followed its course outside the place, his voice loud enough only for you to hear it. That nocturnal dynamic between you two started innocently and stayed that way after one night when your mind expanded in your sleep and sank beyond the walls, capturing his nightmares as yours, feeling the violent beat of his heart inside your own, visualizing his expression behind your closed eyelids, and the pain and confusion when he woke up not knowing where he was.

And somehow, you found a way for him to see your fear of a lonely room, speaking to him in your warm voice, and Bob, who always tried to do good despite doubting his own goodness all the time, suggested timidly that maybe sleeping with someone else would be a temporary solution until you two find a permanent one. It was supposed to be a matter of one or two nights together, a week maybe, (so Bob would find peace in sleeping, without feeling the terror of his past materializing in his dreams if he woke up, realizing he wasn't alone anymore) but then he started asking you that question, day after day.

You always said yes, and Bob would smile to himself before walking away first.

"You adopted a puppy and didn't tell me." Yelena chuckles that night, sitting in one of the high chairs around the granite table as she finishes her dinner, speaking softly so as not to disturb the peace that was beginning to build in the place, between different people who sometimes coexisted amidst so much chaos. "Bob is in love with you, you know? that's why he follows you around like he's a stray dog ​​and you his home."

You laugh softly.

"I can be your home too, my love."

Yelena grimaces in disgust, as if an unpleasant smell has reached her nose.

"Don't make me throw up my dinner."

"Hey, I made that dinner."

“And that’s why I love you.” She smiles, pretending to be cute as she wrinkles her nose, a failed plan because she is cute, with her beautiful face and her daily attempt to put the past behind her. “I mean, you are perfect, baby, with your amazing cooking skills, your cute little face, and the way you threaten to blow Walker’s head off when he starts acting like a jerk. It’s so funny he still hasn’t figured out why he gets migraines. So I understand why Bob likes you so much.”

Perfect, because that’s how they intended you to be, giving you powers that you didn't ask for. They made a weapon out of you, discovered in the middle of nowhere and without instructions, one that destroyed an entire complex.

When you close the door to your room, the warmth expands and stays there like a golden light, always present whenever you are present. Or at least that's how Bob sees you, with his blue eyes that once again had the brilliance of a star and always tried to hold your gaze, with you comparing the color to a new kind of ocean, safe and peaceful.

Like a force of nature, but one created in a laboratory, you arrived to destroy the little peace Bob had managed to find in his solitude, shaking his world with your magnetic presence. But Bob also loved the way your deep gaze could rest when life became routine, that little white dot that shone in the corner of your pupil disappearing when there was no threat, turning you almost into an angel when he saw the tenderness in your dreamy eyes when things looked a little better.

Now, sitting against the headboard of your bed, one leg tucked under the other, Bob shows you the book in his hand, a nervous smile on his lips.

Pride & prejudice.

"I finished it."

“At an alarming rate.” You chuckle as you sit on your side of the bed: and Bob, who liked to stop and look at the flowers in the park near the tower, pet the cats in the front yards of the houses and read poetry, smiles with the compliment. “How long did it take you?”

“About 9 hours.”

“I’m impressed, Bob.” You smile proudly, and Bob will be able to see that sweet image of you clearly in his mind for the rest of his life, even when his head becomes foggy.

Then, a thought that was meant to stay inside, finds its way out from between the cracks of his own shyness.

“You smile pretty.” With him near to your lamp on the nightstand, the amber light makes his hair and messy locks shine, especially when his sweet smile disappears from his lips and Bob lowers his head for a moment, revealing the profile of his defined face and a glimpse of his flushed cheek. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Only one of your fingers makes contact with his chin, pushing it upward as soft as a feather, but with enough determination for him to meet your smile and hold it, though his gaze falters, nervous, but always warm and sincere. “We can watch the movie tomorrow if you want.”

“Is there a movie too?”

His eyes widen slightly, eyebrows rising.

“There are several, actually.”

His surprise doesn’t seem to fit in his expression, and it’s adorable and amusing until you both lie down under the thick blanket.

It doesn't take long for Bob to fall asleep after a long day (too tired from always overthinking about everything) lying on his left side, burying half his face in the pillow that smells like you, making him feel as if you were a memory from his childhood that he knows never happened, but one that he does want to remember and not erase from his fragmented mind.

However, there's a moment that breaks the peacefulness of his night with the noise from the other side of the big glass window, in a world rebuilding itself after the horrors experienced by his darkest side.

You're lying on another pillow, half sitting, back against the headboard of the bed with the same book in your hands, now looking at him. There, with no intention of overstepping his boundaries, your own fingers, the ones you once raised so that an entire building would crack and collapse, slide across his forehead, softly pushing back that brown lock of hair that frames one side of his lovely face—but you can see, you can feel, that this dream is less terrifying, less painful.

"Bob…"

Like a whisper that finds every dark corner of his mind, disappearing every shadow of that future nightmare forming in his head, your soft voice makes Bob wake up with a slight, barely audible gasp. He opens his eyes, looking lost just for a second, but he instantly recognizes where he is, the lavender scent of the place caressing his heart until it calms his confusion.

His gaze searches yours, head still on the pillow.

“I’m sorry. I dreamed 'bout that chicken costume again.”

You chuckle softly, a warm sound like that ray of sunshine on his skin during his time in Los Angeles. Bob looks like a tiny caterpillar in the safety of his little house—or that’s what your mom used to say about you—when he pulls the blanket closer to him, his body making a slight movement to scoot closer to you.

“Don’t worry, Bob, we can do this until you feel better.”

“Thanks, (Y/N). You are so nice.” But when reason stumbles for a moment, Bob finds the strength to speak, in a whisper so as not to clash with the peaceful surroundings, closing his eyes because there with you, the darkness behind his closed eyelids isn’t an endless pit trying to swallow him up. “Can we do this forever?”

Your hand strokes one side of his hair, and a soft smile appears on his lips.

You can almost see the iron blows from his father's fists that sank into his body, that played cruel tricks on his mind until that little brown–haired, blue–eyed angel had his tiny wings ripped off and was convinced that heaven never existed.

But now, for Bob, it is real. At least with you, it is.

“Sounds perfect to me.”

[sailingintothenight]

"A night in New York." P.P.

SUMMARY: Peter Parker and (y/n) Laufeyson spend a couple of hours together after the events of the end game.

A:N: Hello! It's been over a year since I posted my last story. I thought I was getting better from my illness, but this year helped me realize that I still have a lot to heal, but I hope this story is the push I need to continue writing because I really like writing about Tom and Peter, so, I hope you like this even though it's not very good hehehe but I had fun writing it so… thank you so much! - V.

The knife hits its mark.

The dummy's head in the compound's training room swings back and forth a few times and snaps back into place with a knife embedded in its fictional skull, while you, with a knot in your stomach, conjure up another one in your left hand with a bit of magic, a small white mist that transforms into a deadly weapon like your dad taught you to do before dying before a purple villain who lay standing under the cold night, merciless.

“Hi–” Peter Parker leans to the right as the knife embeds itself in the wall, an inch from his ear. “Holy cow! If you hadn't missed you would have cut off my ear.”

Your implacable expression doesn't change at his words.

“Do you think I missed?”

Peter stands there, eyes wide like a deer about to get hit by a car in the middle of the road when he realizes you hit exactly where you wanted to hit.

“Am I interrupting you?”

“Actually, yes…” Turning around, you play with the knife in your hand, like a well-executed magic trick as Uncle Thor likes to say. “I’m not done with him yet.”

“Well… he looks pretty dead to me.” Peter Parker laughs sweetly because he’s sweet, he’s sweet and innocent in the way he smiles, or tries to, like he hasn’t lost someone in the middle of an endgame battle, too. “I was just passing by on my way home, and I was wondering, do you want to do something?”

Your hand stops before you throw the knife, at the same time your brow furrows as you turn to look at him.

“What?”

Peter blushes, he can’t help it when your gazes meet because your eyes are strong, but he forces himself not to let himself be defeated.

“Yeah, uh, do you want to do something? I thought it would be a nice distraction from all this.”

"From all this.” You emphasize those words, poisonous like the snakes your dad used to turn into to scare your uncle. For a second, you think about how to be rude to him, how to say that all this involved suffering for your dad’s death, but something in his gaze is captivating, endearing and even honest with his own pain because he doesn’t hide it unlike you. “Like what?”

He blinks in surprise, because, although he came to you with the desire to help, Peter didn’t think you would accept that help.

“I don’t know… Do you want to take a walk around the city? I don’t think you’ve seen anything of it since you arrived in New York.”

“It’s not that I was really interested.” You answer honestly, brutally, but honestly. But before you answer, you think carefully about your next words, because in the depths of your mind, being alone doesn’t seem so tempting now that he’s there. “Okay, but I want the full Spider-man superhero experience.”

Peter is confused.

“Everything? You mean swinging through the city and stuff?”

You nod.

“Okay.” Peter nods back, and you can’t help but compare him to a little kid learning the first day of class, shy and a little bit scared. “Do you mind if we use the window and not the door? I heard Thor say you weren’t allowed to go outside until… you know.”

“I don’t mind.” You say confidently and walk over to him, because respecting rules isn’t something that runs in your family.

“Okay, cool, cool…” He says to himself, while his spider-sense makes his skin crawl at the closeness of your presence.

The two of you walk silently through the halls of the huge compound, empty halls now that their leader is no longer present. You turn right and right again, left through the lab until you find a window facing the city. Peter jumps up and stands on the edge as his superpowers help him keep his balance.

“You like burgers?”

“What?” You ask in surprise.

“Burgers, there’s this cool place that’s open all night – the cheeseburgers are my favorite.”

You frown as the image forms in your head.

“I guess I can try.”

“Great! Now I’m going to…” Peter tries to get you to come to him, but freezes up at not knowing how to tell you that you have to be against him so you can both jump out of the window. “You have to be against me so we can swing.”

He reaches out his hand for you to take, and for a second, a tingle spreads from your joined hands all the way to the bottom of your stomach as Peter lifts you up and helps you keep your balance. His hand on your waist is awkward, but he’s tender in the way he steals glances at you because you’re so close to him. And it’s the first time he’s been this close to a girl.

Throwing his web towards the nearest lighthouse, you both swing down to the city.

DELI burgers is open all night, and as you take your order, and unseen by anyone, even though the street is empty at that time of the night, Peter leads you to the edge of a two-story building to sit there, and you take your first bite of the bun that almost spills creams of different colors and flavors all over the paper bag. Peter looks at you curiously, waiting with those soft, bright eyes for you to tell him what it tastes like, what the verdict is for someone who comes from another world.

“It’s good.” You say with your mouth full. “It’s very good.”

Peter smiles as he eats his own burger, enjoying the silence between you that for some reason isn’t awkward.

“Burgers are really good, bad for your health, but good.”

You swallow before speaking again.

“I’ve never tried them before.”

Peter smiles shyly.

“I guess you didn’t have this in Asgard.”

You shake your head.

“No, but we should have.” You laugh. And for a few seconds that seem like an eternity, Peter threatens to lose himself in that sound, so sweet and free at the same time. But it is at that moment that he realizes that since you came to Earth and fought together, he had never heard you laugh. “Are you okay, Peter?”

“Uh?” He looks at you, surprised, because that is the first time you call him by his name. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.”

In your voice, his name sounds nice, and he blushes at that thought.

“So… do you like living here?”

Peter looks at you, but you are focused on the night view, which is very different from the world you used to live in.

“Yes, despite the noise and the occasional crime, I like this city.” He smiles. “You… do you plan to stay and live in New York?”

For some reason, Peter is worried to hear your answer.

“I don’t really know…” you shrug. “Now that dad’s not here, Uncle Thor is in charge of me, although sometimes it feels like I’m in charge of him…” you laugh, and Peter laughs with you. “But dad asked him to take care of me, so it’s all up to him. Uh, I guess we’ll be moving to Norway soon to start fresh with our people.”

Peter looks down for a moment, because suddenly he doesn’t want you to go away, and at the same time, he’s sad because he knows well what it’s like to lose a father. Although Loki never considered himself a hero, it was heroic what he did to protect his brother and his daughter.

“I’m so sorry about your dad.”

You smile at him for a moment before looking away.

“Thank you, Peter. I know dad wasn’t… the best role model, but he was always a good dad, loving, protective, and very funny when we were together. I know he loved my mother very much and he loved me very much.”

Peter hesitates his next question.

“And your mom… is she still alive?”

You shake your head, and although sadness threatens to flood your heart, you manage to smile at the memory of her.

“No. She was a force of nature, the queen of her own world, so when Thanos came to her planet first, she gave her life for her people. I lived with her and Dad for many years, so I grew up in a very loving home.”

Your words made Peter wonder how you didn’t seem sad when talking about the people you lost, because you seem the complete opposite of him.

“My parents died too…” unlike you, Peter can’t manage to smile at the memory. “My Aunt May raised me like I was her own son.”

Because you don’t know what to say, because you never learned to put your feelings into words, because in that you were very similar to your dad, your warm hand gently closes around his arm, making Peter look into your eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Peter.”

Your gaze is honest, and he threatens to get lost in the color of your eyes, which, for some reason, look at him fondly.

“Thank you, (y/n).”

His voice is so sincere, that your heart races as you pull your hand away. You clear your throat softly before speaking again, just so your words don’t falter.

“So… Do you have a girlfriend?”

Peter’s eyes widen as he looks at you in surprise, and you laugh.

“Sorry, was that too personal?”

Peter manages to snap out of his stupor in time.

“No–” His voice cracks, and he laughs at how embarrassed he feels, but it’s a funny embarrassment. “I mean; I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Do you want to?”

Peter didn’t understand the question.

“Are you offering to be?” He asks suddenly, so fast that it takes you by surprise.

“I…” you laugh nervously, but suddenly, you’re asking yourself if you want to be. “I was asking you if you wanted to have a girlfriend.”

“Oh…” Peter, sweet Peter Parker, couldn’t help but blush as he tells himself how clumsy he is. “Well… I guess it would be great to have someone to share moments with. Did you… have a boyfriend?”

“No…” you shake your head, but at peace with yourself, even though deep down, you wanted to feel a love like your parents. “Uncle Thor says I’m still too young for that.”

Peter blinks.

“Can I ask how old you are?”

You chuckle.

“A lot older than you.” You give him an amused smile. “A lot more. So, it would be weird if you had a girlfriend who is much older than you.”

At your words, Peter’s heart races. Were you flirting with him? Because it seems that way.

“Well…” Peter doesn’t know how to flirt, but he finds a clever way to do it. “You don’t look like it. You actually look really young.”

And then, you both look at each other and burst out laughing.

The conversation continues for a while longer, until, you know it’s time to go back to the solitude of your room. A little less uncomfortable with his closeness, as if a burger and a few words could bring you closer to him, you cling to Peter for a ride back. The moment you’re standing on the floor near the window as he holds onto the frame before leaving, it feels strange for you to say goodbye to each other, considering that soon, you would have to leave, forever.

The thought makes Peter’s chest tighten painfully.

“Thanks, Peter. I had a lot of fun with you.” You say sincerely.

“I had a lot of fun with you too, (y/n)…” your name, on his lips, tickles your stomach. “…I really hope you don’t leave so soon.”

For some reason, the momentary goodbye is sad.

“Goodnight, Peter.” You smile before turning around, just so he doesn’t see the expression on your face.

“Goodnight, (y/n)…” He whispers, limply, watching you leave.

The moment you’re out of sight, Peter heads back home. After walking for a moment through the compound, a hand flies up to your heart as you see your uncle, arms crossed, standing outside your room.

“What are you doing up so late, sir?” you laugh, casually, because like your dad, you weren’t worried about being reprimanded.

“I saw you.” Thor looks at you with narrowed eyes, giving you an accusatory look that didn’t cause anything in you. “I saw you leave with that boy.”

“Relax, uncle, Peter was just showing me the city.”

“Did you kiss him?” he asks, not missing a beat.

“No.” You shake your head, surprised.

“Do you want to?”

You stare at him in silence, because it’s the same question you asked Peter.

“That’s a very personal question.” You laugh, but as you open the door to your room, he follows you inside.

“(y/n), darling…” Thor says your name softly, lovingly, making you turn to look at him. “Do you want to stay in New York?”

For a moment, you consider his words.

“Are you thinking of staying here?”

Thor sighs.

“You know we have to go back to Norway soon to lead our people in this new world, but if you want to stay here, with the Spider-Boy, you could… start going to school like him and make a life here.”

Your heart beats rapidly. Would you do it?

[sailingintothenight]

“To you, with love.”

SUMMARY: You and Tom do the interview with puppies, and at the end of it, a truth is revealed.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle.”

“Get in there, guys.”

“Hello beautiful.”

“You can go to sleep and come to live with (Y/N) and I to our apartment. Darling, there is no other option but to get married and adopt these puppies.” Tom teases you, winking at you as he plays with the puppies in front of him. 

You look away after a while of looking at him, but every minute, every second your heart is ahead of you and makes you think and wonder what is that exciting feeling that you have every time you look into his eyes full of love.

The stage is set for you two as you sit in front of the cameras, in a pink background.

“Hello everyone, my name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and I play Avery in Spiderman: no way home and Anna in the film adaptation of the book Anna and the French kiss.”

"I love those." Tom says and shoots you a flirtatious look, making you laugh as he points in your direction before saying the next words, full of pride. “Hi, I'm Tom Holland, I’m her boyfriend and we are going to get married to adopt these puppies."

"Stop it." You say shyly, holding back a smile, although if you and Tom Holland could choose your favorite place in the world, to live in an eternity, it would be next to each other, no matter where you two were, but, as best friends, as everyone in the world knows you two for.

“I play Peter Parker and Étienne St. Clair and we're here with Buzzfeed Celeb to play with these puppies while answering questions, so let’s get started and please bring the puppies!"

What is the best part of playing Avery and Peter?

“Well… For me one of the best parts was to work with…” You leave the answer half-hearted as Tom raises his eyebrows playing with the puppies, sweetly waiting for you to say his name and not that of another great actor or actress with whom you had the opportunity to share screen during that time. "Tom Holland of course.”

"Yes!" Tom sings victory when he hears his name, and he smiles beautifully, because Tom has the most beautiful smile you have ever seen, with those autumn-colored eyes and semi-long hair that make him look like an angel or a dream that you would never want to wake up from, and in that moment, you wonder how he is still a silent and unattainable love even when you had him by your side, so close, yet, so unreachable. "She loves me very much."

"I could say other great names, but... well." You feign seriousness as he shoots you a doubtful look, making you laugh when he looks hurt for a second as you hold a puppy. “The best thing about playing Avery is that we see how her personality evolves throughout these three movies, her starting out as someone closed and tough to someone you can trust with your life because you know she will protect you, because she learned to trust in those who showed her sincerity, like Peter.”

"Yeah, you're right, I mean... for me the best thing was seeing these two characters grow." Tom says, following the thread of the conversation. “I loved the fight sequences that we had that we got to do ourselves. We both trained hard to be able to play the characters that we dream of at some point in our lives so that's great. And I think what makes it so special is that there was real chemistry between us, which is why you can see Peter and Avery so close in the movie. The same with Anna and Étienne."

Is it true that on the poster for Spider-man: No Way Home, isn't that Tom Holland?

"I'm not." Tom laughs.

"It's definitely not, that's not his body."

"Aw, look at her how she knows my body so well." Tom wags his eyebrows at the camera, earning a smack on the arm from you making him laugh. “But no, it's not really me. Also, when have you seen me do that pose on camera? It's strange!"

"Now I'm curious to know who is the person behind that pose. Right, baby?" You say to the puppy in your arms.

“Right, darling.” Tom answer.

Wasn't it strange to have kissed several times in the movies considering that they are best friends?

You and Tom look at each other for a moment, your cheeks turning pink from the question you both silently asked yourselves.

“We try to be as professional as possible.” Tom says, scratching the belly of another puppy. “I think the kisses we gave each other came out naturally because of the love we have for each other. It wasn't uncomfortable at all."

In a certain part it was true. You've known each other since you were kids, but your feelings for him got in the way every time you had to do a romantic scene, yet you were as professional as possible.

If you could be in any other series or movie, what would it be?

“I would like to participate in temptation. (Y/N) is doing super well there and it's a great story. I would like to be a part or at least do a cameo.”

"I can make some calls." You laugh, though you're also serious if it means having him around for months again.

If you weren't a movie star, what profession would you have chosen?

"Tom would definitely have been a carpenter." You joke.

"I think so." He laughs. “I'm not good at math but I'm good at putting things together. I think (Y/N) would have been a doctor or a vet, she loves animals. That's why she doesn't eat meat, although she doesn't know what she's missing."

Could it be possible that there is a relationship between you not told to the public?

You and Tom laugh awkwardly.

“We've been friends pretty much since we were born,” says Tom. “Our moms have been best friends since college and when they both got pregnant the same year it was like: our kids have to be best friends too. But with us it happened naturally, we grew up together, we like the same things and we are united. (Y/N) knows that I love her with all my heart.”

With a puppy in his arms, Tom lies in your lap and gives the camera a sweet smile.

Do you know that fans ship you two together?

“I've seen a lot of that online." You reply. “We have seen a lot of fan art about us, we have seen requests for us to participate together in different book-to-film adaptations because they say we would do a great job together. I think it's lucky that the fans like us so much.”

Have you practiced kissing scenes in private or is it something that comes naturally?

Tom chuckles.

“I will leave that question to the public imagination. Since we even won an MTV award for best kiss, 2 times, I'll leave the fans curious."

As the interview flows, you innocently play and flirt a little from time to time, just to soothe that pain of not being able to be together, although neither of you knows exactly why.

Sometimes, life happens in a second, and for Tom Holland and you, falling in love, too.

And even if you don't know it, Tom hates that you're his best friend in the world, because under the starry nights when you can't sleep and you sneak into each other's room to talk, wherever you two are, or just to exist in each other's company. You look like an angel, his angel, his darling as he usually calls you with the appropriate tone of best friend, because no one can know about his love for you. Except everyone knows, that's for sure, except you, but that's fine as long as you don't discover the secret that lies deep in his heart where his love for you will last forever. Tom is selfish, he knows it, because he went out with some girls to try to erase all traces of you, because he knows that one day soon you will fall in love with someone other than him, and even though that hurts his soul.

Tom secretly hates his love for you, but the secret of his hate is for your beauty, for the way you see the world through your eyes, as beautiful and deep as the uncharted ocean itself, for your free heart when you do things so that everyone is happy, for your tender smile that you give to everyone equally without thinking about their weak and fragile heart, and for that blessed dimple that forms on your left cheek when you smile and your eyes do too.

As you two both reach the limo that will take them back to your hotel, you both smile at each other now that the adrenaline has passed and only calm remains in the solitude of the car.

"I think we did great, didn't we, darling?"

"I think so." You say with a certain sadness, because sometimes, you do want to be his darling, but you know that everything had a limit, but you know too that one day you would cross the line that divided friendship from love, and that day, with the force with which you lied saying that there was nothing between you, you decide to tell the truth. "Oh, by the way, I'm going to adopt one of the puppies so we can get married and live happily ever after."

Tom looks at you in astonishment, but his stupor only lasts a few seconds, because for he, brave this time and armed only with the truth of the love he felt for you for half his life, leans down to kiss you softly on the lips before talk.

"I can not wait."

[sailingintothenight]

“The ABC of life and love.” T.H

Summary: On your escape to what you hope will be a better life, you meet a famous actor who offers you a new and better one.

AN: trigger warning!!! Based on the girl who met Tom on the plane. Just a short imagine. Not my gif!!! I don’t know why the tittle but I think it sounds cute :P

The night is dark and filled with your fears when you wake up after midnight.

As you get out of bed without making a single sound, it squeaks under your weight and forces you to hold your breath. The world is black under your eyes as you see the world through them, but you go on slipping on your converse in silence, still drawing thorns from deep in your heart for every wound the man sleeping next to you has done to you throughout your life. That's why you know it's time to spread your wings and fly against the wind despite the terrors that may exist in the sky, or plummet into the void if what you're about to do doesn't work.

In the next room your 4-year-old baby sleeps peacefully, his light brown hair shines under the starry night through his small window. The backpack under his bed hides the most important things you need, and you carry it on your shoulders as you remove the blanket that covers Noah, taking him in your arms to carry him against your chest and waist before leaving the house.

"Mommy?"

His voice is like a broken and a poorly written lullaby, but you keep going, taking him with you to the car as he holds his favorite captain America figure, repeatedly telling him that everything will be alright in a fervent wish that it is. Your heart is like a hammer as you start the car and drive, pounding and pounding on your chest incessantly, like a drumming that will never stop until you're far, far away where no one can hurt you anymore.

Fear washes over you and fills you with terror, feeling the nausea to rise from deep in your stomach to the corner of your throat. It's nasty and raw the way your world keeps spinning but you keep breathing and keeping your son safe is the only thing replaying in your head, like those old vinyl records your grandfather used to listen to.

When you finally arrive at the airport, it's cold and it soaks into your bones like fear when you see the hundreds of messages coming in from Nathan.

You park the car and take what you need before getting out of it, opening the door where your son is still sleeping despite the noise around him, as if he were able to block out everything like the blows and the screams he suffered in that house that was never yours. Like a ghost that no one sees, you take your backpack and your son in your arms before closing the door and leaving the car behind, placing the wool cap on his small head before entering through the double doors.

"I need a ticket for any plane that's about to leave." You tell the nice lady behind the window.

The young woman sees you strange because they are strange words, but she, smiling gently, although worried, types on her computer until she finds the words that are born on her lips.

“Right now there is a fly for London, England.”

"Perfect." You smile through the nerves.

Your phone keeps vibrating as you do all the paraphernalia before you get on the plane.

The nerves don't subside even when you're in your designated middle seat, Noah next to you in the window one as he plays superheroes with his only toy. The tap of your converse against the ground follows a steady rhythm as you glance at the few passengers on the plane that hasn't taken off yet, but none of them have the face you hope to never see again. Waiting seems like an ordeal, your breath shortening and uneven at the thought of him looking for you two.

"Good night, miss..." A male voice and a thick accent makes you jump in your seat, and when you look up you can see a young man hiding his face behind a black surgical mask and a knit cap the same color as he sits next to you. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's not your fault, I'm a little nervous..." You laugh to yourself, not paying close attention to the fact that the boy next to you is taking off his mask to breathe in the fresh air of the plane.

“Damn, this thing makes my face burn. Shit! Sorry! I mean, sorry again." He apologizes more times than he should when he realizes that there is a little boy who can hear everything and will surely absorb what he heard like a sponge, but you laugh, because Noah had heard worse things without leaving the house and those words he repels them as if they didn't exist.

“It's okay, no prob–” But the words die on your lips as you realize that the young man next to you bears an exact resemblance to the actor, Tom Holland, although a part of your mind tells you that would be impossible, because, the probability of that happening would be one in a million, and life had already proven to you that you were the least fortunate of all. "Problem."

“It was not my intention. Hi champion! My name is Tom.” He greets politely, smiling even more as he watches the baby play with an action figure of a superhero he fought in fiction. "Do you like captain america?"

Noah is shy, a side effect of the damage his father's behavior did to him in the first and only years of his life, so he looks at you with his big brown eyes before he speaks.

"It's ok babe." You say, even though you're dying of curiosity to know.

"He is my favorite superhero." Noah says, and his voice is like sweet honey spilling out of the corner of Tom's heart. "Do you like him?"

"Yeah, I like him, but I'm actually Team Spider-Man." Tom winks at him. “But he's great too. Can I tell you a secret?"

Tom waits a second, and Noah leans over you to listen more carefully.

"I know him." Noah flinches back in surprise, and while that settles your doubts and feeds you the truth and a newfound nervousness, you can't help but smile at the way your little one reacts. "He is my friend. We fight together against the bad guys.”

“Would you fight my dad too–?” Before he can finish the sentence, your hand closes around his rosy lips to shut him up, laughing uncomfortably, hoping Tom is as innocent as he seems on TV to not realize the meaning behind it.

"He sometimes plays with his dad and he plays the villain." You chuckle.

"I see." Tom laughs with you. "Sorry I didn't introduce myself, my name is Tom, Tom Holland."

You swallow before you speak.

"This is Noah, I'm (Y/N) (Y/L/N), nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine." Tom smiles, just as the captain announces takeoff, ending your conversation.

Life has been capricious to you, selfish to a fault, but it has also been generous, and you can finally breathe as the plane takes flight like a bird in the dark sky of your life, away from your hometown to take you far, far like a flock that travels to find new winds that are better for its family. That is what you want, to find a wind that moves your life in the right direction, like a ship that has wandered aimlessly until it finds better lands. But without money and without a home to land on, you sincerely hope that the hours of flight will be infinite until you come up with a plan, or find a way to protect your baby from the new storms that are to come.

"Excuse me? Do you want something to drink or eat?” The stewardess asks politely, watching with curious eyes as a boy Noah's age is awake late at night.

“Well, I–” How would you say it? There is no way to explain that you have a few dollars in your pocket, that you cannot feed your child properly.

"Please bring us some snacks and a juice for the little one." Tom cuts you off, giving the stewardess a warm smile.

She smiles, nods, and leaves.

“I can pay you–” You try to say by the time you're alone again.

“Please…” Tom smiles up at you, and the corners of his eyes crinkle adorably.

As you look away, with a small smile as cordiality, Tom can admire you better. The first thing he notices is the profile of your angelic face, the line of your eyebrows, your nose, and your lips. The truth is that Tom Holland is naive at times, clumsy at other times, hot and tender in the eyes of all who love him, but Tom is smart too, and he can see the truth in your eyes, because love in a soul old, thinks is forever young. Tom is not stupid, he knows how to admire beauty and intelligence, and you seemed to have both, but you also kept in the depths of your heart a pain as deep as the love that one day you swore to feel for the wrong man, which was nailed in your chest like thorns that you're still trying to remove.

"How old is he?" Tom asks, just as the stewardess places the things on the flag in front of him.

Tom is warm as a spring afternoon, his eyes are the color of autumn, and although he has suffered like a winter night, he has learned to distinguish people, he has learned to see the truth in the eyes of others.

"4." You say, as Noah shows him the same number of fingers.

Tom smiles, and even though he's done a lot of it since you met a few minutes ago, he's happy to do it as he dips the straw into the berry juice and hands it to Noah, then does the same with yours, and finally with his. Laughter lingers on your sealed lips as you watch the two men sip the contents of the boxes, as if nothing is wrong with the world, as if they are lifelong comrades.

“Do you have anywhere to go?”

You almost spill the juice when you lean forward, watching the serious way he looks at you. As you look back at him, you notice that strands of his semi-long hair are escaping from his beanie, framing his face like an angel that God himself carved.

"What are you talking about?"

"I can see the mark on your wrist." He whispers, so Noah doesn't hear or pay attention to the bruise on your left wrist that shows through from your sweater. "Hey, it's fine."

"This is crazy." You laugh and look at him, because it makes you laugh that you have run into a celebrity who asks about your well-being on board a plane that you use as an escape. Why do you threaten to lose yourself in his gaze, with his brown hair fluffy as a cloud on a hot spring day, or his fall-colored eyes that are as sweet as honey in the way he sees the world, the world and it seems that he sees you too through them, resplendent, with the brilliance of a diamond every time he smiles with them while speaking through a warm, almost childlike voice? Tom Holland is sweet and attractive at first glance, his face seems carved from God himself, but he is still a warning.

"I think so." Tom laughs.

When reality hits you hard, he forces you to close your eyes for a moment as you struggle to keep the tears where they belong, inside.

"We have nowhere to go."

Tom nods and wonders what he's doing.

"Now you have a place to stay, darling."

Maybe Tom Holland knew it the moment you first locked eyes: Tom didn't know you and you didn't know him yet, but he would love you as much as you would love him, in the not-too-distant future while, in the now, Tom watches you in silence being by your side, always by your side to protect you as he will in the future, and a childish smile spreads across his beautiful face and his bright eyes also smile at the thought of you while you, who, dressed in casual with a simple sweater on top, shine like a diamond among a lot of sapphires.

By the time the plane lands, the sky is as clear as it can get in London, England, and Tom instructs you to meet him at the far end of the airport where a car will pick you up. So, with your backpack on your shoulders and your little one in your arms, breathing the London air is as hard as you hope that one of the most famous celebrities will not let you down. Your heart pounds like a hammer again, but you wait uneasily as Noah sleeps in your arms and you shield his dreams.

Finally, in what seems like an eternity, a huge black car pulls up in front of you and the door opens, revealing the face of the young man about your age who came to save you without his superhero suit. With nowhere to go but up ahead, and armed with nothing but your love for your son, you get in the car and close the door, settling Noah on your lap to sleep all the way to his new home.

"Let's go home, Patrick." Tom tells the driver, and without asking any questions, he starts the car and it drives away from the airport in seconds.

[sailingintothenight]

“Forever You.”

Tom Holland/Peter Parker x reader :))

Hi! This is an idea I came up with as a follow up to NWH with the reader as Peter's romantic interest. If you haven't seen the movie, would it be better not to read it? I stole Sersi's powers in Eternals. (Memories are in italics)

If you like it, I hope I can make a continuation.

(Not my gif)

"Hey, don't do it!"

Your breath quickly vanishes in the endless cold of a New York winter night as you open your eyes to that male voice yelling for you to stop, staring into space as you seem about to slip off the ledge from that tall building. The thunderous sound of a city that never sleeps hits you with the speed of a bullet, impacting in your pounding heart as you realize you're one step off the ground. The wind around you blows your hair in all directions as you turn around and face that voice, staring through parted lips at the strangely clad person in a spider suit who has one hand raised in a heroic action to stop you from falling, to stop the madness you are about to commit.

"Don't get close!" You say, nearly tripping over your boots and your next words. "Stay away."

"Please don't do it." Says that person, almost in a prayer as if he knows you all his life. In the next second, he uses his upraised hand to remove the strange mask he wears, revealing the face of a young man who appears to be your age, with semi-long brown hair and fluffy like a spring cloud, eyes the same color as he looks at you with terror through them. “Please, everything will be fine. I promise."

“Please forgive me, let me go…”

"I asked you to let me go first."

As your hand gripped the man's neck and lifted him up into the air, a single thought intoxicated your mind.

From the very beginning of time and at an early age you understood that you saw the world differently from others. Your father used to say that unlike others, including your mother, his queen and himself, you expressed, from a very young age, your courage with your heart and the strength of your mind, all at the same time, which made you the most powerful person in the entire universe.

"Please, I'm sorry…"

In New York City, snowflakes fall endlessly on the cold winter night, and your breath disappears into space as you exhale, losing yourself in the infinity as your face twisted into an angry expression, like the lion trapped in a cage that is disturbed before going out to act. Life had been monotonous these past few months, without a shred of freedom or wind in your wings to take you further than you've ever been, never far from home. The stories from the romance books you used to read that encapsulated the growing nerves and overflowing emotions you hoped to feel sometime in your life were the only thing that seemed to keep you alive, but they seemed further and further from reality. You longed for a story, an adventure that wasn't yours and that didn't belong to you, an emotion that would set your frozen heart on fire, a call that would echo through the towering buildings that formed a great maze from which you never seemed to escape.

Your deepest thoughts were interrupted, however, by a large hand closing over your mouth, imprisoning your senses and your body as he dragged you into the empty alley on the snow leaving a swaying trail. The brick wall was cold against your back even over your coat, freezing your actions as you stared in terror at the grinning face in front of you, which exuded the smell of heavy drink through his pores. But, during the seconds the fear that was born inside you lasted, it was as if that same fear had turned on a switch that gave way to anger, a resplendent feeling that blinded you like trying to see the sun when it was at its highest point. It was then that your hand that was squeezing against your stomach was filled with courage until it found the neck of that unpleasant man until he was lifted into the air and imprisoned in the same way that he had done with you. The man begged for forgiveness so fast, but it was already too late for him, and the freedom of the force within you directed through your body in his direction, turning him into snow that was rocked by the incessant wind of a stormy night, right before your unbelieving eyes.

"You don't know what I did."

"No matter what you did, I don't want you to die."

The young man's eyes beg for you to change your mind, you can see it in the fear of his gaze. As if he had known you all his life, the feeling is electricity traveling through your deepest senses, but bumping into the invisible wall of reason because there's nothing about him inside you.

"I don't know you."

"I'm Spider-man, but you can call me Peter."

"Peter?" His name is like cotton candy melting on your trembling lips.

For young Peter Parker, the roof of that building feels unstable, or maybe it's the fear in his heart and throughout his body that makes the world tilt to one side, it seems. His breath is lost in the noise of the city, making him smaller than he already felt since he lost you to a spell. His eyes have not stopped looking at you, losing themselves in a look without memories of him. His hand is down, but he's always ready to do what he has to do in case you succumb to whatever got you to this point, though Peter isn't quite sure why. You were always so meticulous, so sure of yourself with your powers, so beautiful and so free with them in the palm of your hand.

But Peter Parker only knows that he has just found you in the least expected place in the world, and that this time, without a spell involved and with the memories of him buried in the darkness of your memory, he never intends to let you go from now on.

[sailingintothenight]

“Thirsty tweets.” T.H. Imagine.

(Not my gif)

Summary: The one where you and Tom read thirsty tweets from fans.

A/N: Bad jokes but I hope you like it. Make a compilation of the best tweets I saw on YouTube. No warning, just a few bad words I guess. Resquest are open!!!

"Hi guys. I am (Y/N) (Y/L/N)." You say when the recording officially starts, the multiple cameras in the studio focusing on Tom and you.

"And I don't agree with this." Says Tom next to you, who is sitting cross-legged in a blue-painted studio. "I'm Tom Holland and we're here at BuzzFeed Celeb to read some thirsty tweets."

"Oh hush, this will be fun." You laugh, holding the vase of tweets in your hands and then tipping it towards him, so that Tom can pull out the first piece of paper. "Let's get this party started."

Tom reads the first tweet.

“I’d let Tom Holland father every SINGLE egg of my nonexistent uterus. Laaaaaawd! Oh my goodness." Tom says, slightly embarrassed. "Thanks?"

"What is it? Some kind of alien?" You chuckle as you pull out the second piece of paper. "I want someone look at me the way Tom Holland and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) look at each other."

"Oh." You both look into each other's eyes with love as you smile at those words.

“I literally want Tom Holland to SMASH my skull between his massive thighs of him. Goodnight." You chucke. “I told you to wear pants for your interview with Jimmy Fallon. But I guess that's the kind of content that fans want. Wow.” 

"I only give them what they ask for, darling." Tom says, this time, smugly.

"Get out of here." You laugh as you playfully push him making him laugh before continuing to read. ”(Y/N) (Y/L/N) can chocke me any holy day. Into chocking, uh? Makes two of us." You say before folding the paper and putting it inside your clothes.

"Hey. Hey, hey, take that off your clothes." Tom lunges at you playfully, ready to search for that piece of paper anywhere on your body. Literally.

"Sit on my face and suffocate me, Tom Holland." You read the following tweet for him. "Wow."

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N) is one thicc b-i-h." Tom frowns as he looks at the piece of paper and then looks at you confused. "What does that mean?"

"It means bitch, honey." You say instructing him, then look at the camera acting serious, an eyebrow raised to show that you mean it. "Yes, yes I am."

“Tom Holland’s ass is the REAL LONDON’s ass. Ow, thank you, darling. In fact, I am very proud of my ass. It's great, there's no need to deny that. And I think it showed in Spider-man homecoming and Far from home."

"Ow, thanks to the thong." You say laughing, although you also share the idea that Tom has a good butt. “I have to admit that Tom has a good butt. Really firm. I kind of like to slap him from time to time."

"Yes, and that hurts." Tom complains, a hand on his butt. “Thinking about Tom Holland sleeping in (Y/N) (Y/L/N) belly doesn’t bothers me at all. You go, girl. Take him to the moon for me.” 

"Owwww." You smile, loving that they quoted a line from the movie inside out. "You guys are the sweetest."

"Her belly is very comfortable." Tom says, nodding thoughtfully. “Dear Tom, I literally want to set myself on fire with your immense sexiness. Thanks, love." Tom flexes his arm muscles casually as he pretends to scratch his hair. "Now let's move on to the next one before (Y/N) throws up because of me."

"Thanks for your consideration." You laugh sarcastically before clearing your throat to read the following tweet in all caps. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N) WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO BE HOT AND LETHAL. EMOTICON FIRE, EMOTICON FIRE."

"Why are you screaming?!" Tom asks raising his voice, laughing. “Look at my queen (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I swear to God she is the baddest bitch in the universe! I wanna be like her. She is the baddest in my opinion."

You chuckle. 

"Ow, thank you. I believe I’m very bad, I don’t think I’m the baddest in the universe, maybe in some countries. But thank you."

"I want Tom Holland to play the guitar and sing to me to sleep." Tom reads the following Tweet, getting shy about talking about his voice. "Thanks love. I'm still learning to play guitar and I'm not the best singer, but I'll give it a try when you guys want it. Now we go to the next one. (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Tom Holland own my ass GOODBYE!"

You and Tom look into each other's eyes before chuckling.

“I am now the proud owner of your BACK-SIDE. YEAH." You say, making a fist with your hand as if you had achieved something great.

"Yikes. That is intense." Tom says before moving on to the next one. “My ideal weight is Tom Holland on top on me. Guys! My mum is gonna see this!"

"What about me?! My parents told me not to do this!" You chuckle. “Can I say that I will let Tom Holland slit my throat with his jawline any day? Well Tom's jaw is very sharp, rumor has it that he can cut anything with it."

“Yes, but why did I want to cut a throat. I don't want to go to jail." 

You laugh. 

“Yo guys listen to me, I would literally buy a thousand front row tickets just to see Tom Holland and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) have a hot make-out session. Point. Goodbye."

"Guys, come on, we only do that in private." Tom jokes, although the truth is that it is true. 

You roll your eyes before reading the following tweet.

"Me: I am thirsty. Mom: have a glass of water. Me: the thirst for (Y/N) (Y/L/N) never stops." 

"That's true." Tom says looking at the camera, as serious as never in his life. “I want the government to create a law where Tom Holland cannot wear a T-shirt. He has to be shirtless 24/7."

"That's what everyone would like, right bitches?" You laugh, although the truth is something that you would not care.

“I'm not sure everyone would agree with that, and I don't want to, you know, be responsible for some heart attacks because of me. Now we go with another tweet." Tom crumples the paper before moving on to the next one. "Tom Holland in glasses owns my ass!"

"Being part blind is hot? I didn't know." You joke as Tom gives you a look. “Tom Holland fu*k me in the ear with your English accent. How is that possible???!!! You know what, I'm out. Peace."

You joke, getting out of the seat to end the segment.

"Darling come on. You know I only love you!" Says Tom, following you out of the cameras where you two both meet to laugh.

[sailingintothenight]

Imagine Peter meeting Loki's daughter, (Y/N) Laufeyson:

(Not my gift)

A/N: I was planning on doing a story on this imagine but I'm not sure yet. Maybe i will or maybe not. Romanoff is alive here because yeah.

Just a short imagine about how I think Peter would meet Loki's daughter:

After Tony's death, Peter knew nothing about a new initiative that included other little future avengers: The Romanian twins Nica & Alexandre and the daughter of the God of Mischief.

For young Peter Parker, the same one who had fought an infinity war and an endgame alongside the greatest and most honorable avengers, the thought of spending his days caring for small avengers and large social misfits, was the least tempting idea of the world, but when he learned that Tony himself had asked him to do it before he died, he had no choice but to accept.

"Okay... so you want me to be friends with them." Peter trailed the sound of the O between his lips as he narrowed his eyes, because a part of him collided with an invisible, metaphorical wall that did not allow him to understand everything correctly. “One question first: what about the music through the speakers? It's a piano."

Happy sighed, so long and heavy as if his soul no longer fit in his body and he needed to expel it. "It is to know where (Y/N) is. She teaches Morgan 2 times a week."

(Y/N)?"

“(Y/N) Laufeyson."

It was then that Peter's eyes widened and his mouth suddenly went dry upon hearing the last name that was born from someone else with a kinship to the god of mischief, the same one who once wanted to end the earth in his alliance with Ultron during combat in NY.

"Are you talking about Laufeyson, like Loki Laufeyson?" Peter blinked, losing sense of the world around him.

"Yes. He was my daddy, but not in a dirty way of course." Peter was startled by the sound of an angelic voice that pierced his ears like sweet honey, staring with puzzled eyes at the young woman, who could be his age, standing behind him, arms folded as he shot Peter a suspicious look. “Don't be scared by the last name. You should be more afraid of the person behind it. Excuse me."

On your way to the chairs that were placed in a circle in the center of the room, Peter followed you with his gaze the whole way, catching inside his eyes the daisy you were wearing behind your ear and the way your hair was fluttering with your walk. Your Led Zepelin t-shirt was slightly bigger than you, making you look like those vintage girls MJ used to see on a page called Tumblr.

"Wake up boy, I didn't bring you here to daydream." Happy said, giving Peter a warning look that wouldn't scare even Morgan. "Help us Tony, I see this was a bad idea."

"Well kids, thanks for coming." Said Romanoff, whom the children did respect enough to keep silent every time she spoke. “I think we've had a very progressive week in terms of controlling your powers and knowing how to use them when it's due. I've worked a lot with the twins, as well as (Y/N), who has come a long way these weeks. (Y/N) Would you like to share with us?"

"Uh, okay... Hello." You said, changing position in your chair. “I am (Y/N) Laufeyson, daughter of the god of mischief. Uh… I can blow things up with my mind, including heads, although this device on my arm minimizes the power of my telekinesis. Thanks to Tony. I'm good with knifes too, courtesy of my dad, so stabbing you would be the easiest thing in the world. And sometimes I have the urge to burn this place to the ground, but then I say, Nah. What for? I like it here." You chuckled, making everyone else uncomfortable. "I think that's all. Thank you."

“At least she said thank you.” Said Happy quietly, fixing the perfect knot in his tie, and fighting the urge to wipe the silent sweat that begins to collect on his face. Peter is more than surprised, but he is able to hear Happy's next words. "(Y/N) will be in your class next week, so good luck kid, you'll need it."

I know this probably sucks but hey, a little bit is better than nothing. Thank you for reading!

[sailingintothenight]

“Darling, U.” T. H. Imagine.

(Not my picture)

Summary: Tom plays the guitar for you and your baby.

A/N: Just a short imagine, hope you like it. (You can send some requests, my inbox is always open) Thank you♥ You can read this imagine first if you want “My everything” or you can just read this one.

Autumn Rose Holland was one year and two months old now.

Her voice was sweet to your ears every time she spoke the words Daddy and Mommy or discovered a bit of the new world with each day that came, but when night arrived and it was time to sleep, you knew that the warmth of her little body against yours could melt any frozen season, especially that cold London winter. On that wonderful night, you hoped that Autumn would have a good dream, perhaps being in your arms that protected her like a shield, with her head on your right arm and the weight of her body being supported by your left one. You held her tight with your warmth, hoping that the emotion that filled the night would help her fall asleep, but nothing had worked in the last hour.

"It's your turn, Tom… Tom!" Harry exclaims from the first floor, watching his older brother find himself lost in time and space when he should be playing the next game of pool.

But Tom removes the air pod that was connected to the baby's radio from his ear at the same time that he puts the pole on the table.

"Sorry guys. My ladies require my help."

And without saying more, Tom picks up the guitar that is in the corner of his home's game room and hurries out of the place, turning down the hall to go up the stairs to where his wife and daughter are. The scene in front of him is tender and fills his heart with joy, feeling like the luckiest man in the world when he realizes that he has a family that he can love without limits, and that they love him back too.

"Don't worry, darling." He says to you, because he reserves the darling for you while the little darling is for his baby since he started practicing that song. "I'm here armed and ready to put this baby of ours to sleep."

You raise an eyebrow.

"Hadn't I asked you to stop spying on us on the monitor?"

"Hehe - Sorry."

With that said, Tom sits on the corner of the bed and places the guitar on his knee, playing with the strings for a few seconds before finding the right ones to play the song that he thinks will serve as a lullaby to sleep for Autumn, who doesn't stop moving in your arms.

"I'm not very good at this so don't laugh at me." He says, honestly nervous.

"She is too young to laugh at someone and I don't promise anything." You chuckled.

"You’re funny." Tom smiles. "Okay, here we go..."

His face turned serious as he began to play, his expert fingers strumming the strings in the right places, surprising you with the hard effort of his hours of practice that had produced beautiful results. You smiled to yourself when Tom began to sing lightly, shy about showing his voice in public, but sure that if he would, he would do it with you two.

“Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter. Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here. Here comes the sun do, do, do. Here comes the sun. And I say it's all right.”

You know Tom was sensitive about singing, so you stay in your place like he's done it a thousand times already, like it's no big deal, even though you were dying to give him a round of applause and congratulate him on his beautiful voice and huge effort to learn to play just for her, but silence on your part reigned as you watch in peace as Autumn began to close her eyes and stop moving against you, until finally, she fell asleep peacefully.

In silence and as Tom puts the guitar aside and collapses on the bed, you place your daughter in the crib, letting her rest after a day of freedom and discovery. Following in her footsteps, you lie on the bed next to Tom, who has an outstretched arm ready to take you in his arms, just to enjoy a moment in each other's company.

"You did very well, love." You say, closing your eyes when the fatigue of a long day begins to overcome you.

"Thanks, my darling." Tom responds, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead before closing his eyes as well, forgetting the whole world to rest in your warm embrace until the next day.

[sailingintothenight]

Please take 5 to read me

Hello angels! I can finally say that I’m back after a long break of exactly 5 months. I know you probably don't care where I went xd but I was in a therapeutic center because of my depression. It is not my intention to air my personal problems here, I just would like to heartily advise those who have this disease not to ignore it. Depression is a very serious mental illness if it is not treated in time and if you don’t give it the necessary care. I say this from my own experience. I overlooked it too long until it got too deep. I know that there are many people here dealing with this, and if I can give you some advice please get help. That is the most important thing. 

I didn’t do it and I had to almost be in a car accident with my family to realize how bad I was. Please do it. Your life is so precious. learned many things in that center and I know it was the best decision of my life, like that my only purpose in this life is to be happy, that i have to live my day and not to worry so much about the future, and That God's times are always perfect (if you believe in God of course) but now I am back to continue with my life where I left it, continuing with my therapy and my medications. Now I know that one day I may no longer have depression or I may live with it for a lifetime, but one day I will learn to live with it in peace without hurting myself or hurting my loved ones. Cheer up, my darlings, I know we can do it! And Well, having said that, I am back on this platform so I hope to upload some stories like I did in the past, if you want you can send some requests and I will write them as fast as I can. If you want to talk, I’m here. Thank you very much for taking the time to read me. I hope everyone is strong in this internal struggle, I know we will live well. I love you all. XOXO — V.

[sailingintothenight]

“Zombie world: The Marked Ones.” T.H. Imagine.

“Zombie world: The Marked Ones.” T.H. Imagine.

Summary: England, just like other countries, fell due to a virus months ago. Now, the last survivors do whatever it takes to see the sun rise one more day. Tom Holland is a strong and lonely young man, but when he meets (Y/N) (Y/L/N), they’ll find themselves in danger just to protect themselves and a little girl who can be their salvation on a way to a safe place they can finally call home. So be aware, be careful, and be strong, because the marked ones are not those who were infected, but those who have the courage to fight to the end.

PAIRING: TOM HOLLAND X READER. 

WARNINGS: death, blood, bad flirting, smut–ish (not good, I’ve never written it)  

A/N: Hi guys. My best friend and I wrote a story about zombies (different from the one I wrote here a while ago) since we love stories like that. I hope you like it and please give it a lot of love even it is not good XD. THANK UUUUUUU♥ 

6 months ago.

The autumn breeze blew silently as Tom entered the car N°2 of the Kearsney station train: he was a young man with messy chocolate hair in wild curls, a few locks that framed his forehead, a simple black T-shirt that molded to his strong and well define body, and a carry-on bag that he held over his shoulder. A light melody was coming out of his airpods; Led Zeppelin as he stopped aside the door, people surrounded him to take their seats while he paused a moment to consider his options between smelly old people, boring teachers, loud schoolboys, families, lonely people on their phones, a group of stupid teenagers, a grandmother with her baby granddaughter, and there, right in the back — there was you, sitting alone in the last seat of the car.

Tom blinked taking in all of you, because you were pretty, like, really pretty, and so interesting with your gaze in your book, half of your hair covering your face with an attractive concentration on it. Tom squinted and a wolfish smile was drawn on his stupid sensual face: he was so interested, because in that part of the country there were only mountains, forests and miles of open countryside —nothing interesting to see, so it was strange for him to find someone like you in that boring place. 

You look like a mistery, like a piece of art in the middle of nowhere, ignored and without anyone giving you the attention you really, truly deserved.

Tom smiled to himself, an arrogant smile, and his most confident side afloat as he walked down the hall and sat in the seat in front of you without an invitation, dropping his bag at his feet to put his hands on the table.

“Hi, darling, I’m Tom.”

You looked up from the book, his thick accent attracting your attention as well as his well—defined face, and his ‘I get what I want and I want you right now´ smile. He looked so confident, and yet, the corners of his eyes was wrinkling adorably.

“Hi, I’m not interesting.” You answered before returning to the book.

He’s handsome, you thought. His curly and fluffly hair fell wild backwards, a single piece of it dancing on his forehead. His well defined jaw was as if it had been carved by the god himself. His hands looked strong, the veins on them becoming visible as he joined them, and oh, his face — His face of a good boy. He had sweet eyes like a puppy but a penetrating gaze like a wolf, bright eyes that belonged of a bad boy with an angel face, too dangerous for your own safe.

“Do you come to this part of the country often?”

You didn’t look at him, exhaling the air through your nose as he did not understand the negative.

“Uh… Occasionally.”

He frowned, tilting his head slightly to the side. Usually, girls were interested in him, but Tom perceived your elusive personality and your little interest in his whole presence. 

Even so, with a smile on the corner of his lip, he felt a tempting challenge coming up, especially for someone like him whose own personality was a mystery that girls wanted to decipher. You were not really interested, however, you were really pretty, and the way you held the book in your hands and changed your expression with every word you read was soothing, homely and so intriguing for him to let you go just like that.

So, for a moment, Tom watched the landscape through the window of the moving train, endless trees and mountains that you left behind and that gave him an idea.

“What are men to rocks and mountains?”

You let out a little laugh. He knew a phrase of ‘Pride & Prejudice’ and it attracted your attention to him, but his persona still shouted sweetness and sensuality, a dangerous combination. He didn't look like a deep reader, and even though you felt bad for judging him that way, the aura it exuded from him screamed sexiness, a constant flirting and a touch of banality, too bland for you.

“Did you enjoy the movie that much?”

Before answering, Tom slid his gaze from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes, smiling cutely because he was, maybe, the cutest boy you've ever met, with his chocolate eyes shining when he felt the sarcasm in your sweet voice, enjoying your confident look and the way you challenged him to say something more and prove that memorizing a phrase wouldn’t serve to impress a person like you.

“A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment.”

You narrowed your eyes curiously at his choice of words. Was that a provocation to your own gender? However, His self-confidence was attractive though.

“He’s such a disagreeable man, that it would be quite a misfortune to be liked by him.”

Tom laughed, smiling openly, a real laugh of really fun at such a quick attack by a young woman like you who was so calm yet so fierce — but he loved that so much, because you were as powerful as was beautiful.

A dangerous combination for him, too.

“Tom Holland.” He said as he extended his hand, ready to have a real conversation this time.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” You responded by taking his hand, accepting to move on from the previous and fun game.

“You’re not from England, are you?”

“No.” You said, shaking your head slightly. “My dad is, but I was born abroad. I just live with my aunt in London to study. You?”

"I’m in a break.”

You frowned in confusion.

“From college?”

“From life.” Tom held your gaze, without any shame or shyness, but without saying more about his past. So you nodded to him, perfectly understanding what it was like to run, run, and run without getting anything in the process, even if you were exhausted, at least until you could no longer breath, until you reached a point where it was best to fall to the ground and finally, stop and take a breath. “And what do you study?”

“Literature… but in the meantime I’m writing a book. That's why I come to this part of town, it helps me think.”

Tom’s face lit up in surprise, his body leaning forward to learn more.

“A book about what?”

You were about to tell him it was a book of poems when suddenly, you two heard a commotion from the next car behind yours. Looking over your shoulder, you and Tom looked in the direction of the glass door that connected the other side. The people on that next car did the same, getting up from their seats to discover the reason for such alteration. The murmurs scattered like the smoke of a fire, quickly, making people crossing the cars for the search of a doctor who could help an injured man.

Across the aisle of your seat, the grandmother who was traveling with her granddaughter looked at you, patting your shoulder gently to get your attention as she got up.

“Can you take care of my granddaughter for a moment, love?”

She didn’t give you time to answer or to the little brown-haired girl to protest when the women opened the door and crossed to the other side with more people on the car you were in. You blinked at her as she disappeared followed by a group of people, watching then the little girl who looked back at you, frowning in worry and fear.

She looked 5, maybe 6 years old.

“Stay here, darling.” Tom said to you, standing up as he looked beyond the door. “I’ll go see what happens.”

You crossed the aisle to sit in the empty seat next to the little one as Tom crossed to the other car. You became a protective wall between the little girl and the few passengers around you who got up to get attached to the glass door, blocking your view of the situation and increasing the anguish that grew rapidly in that small and closed place. They were all trying to see but no one said anything coherent, but their nonsensical murmurs set off an alarm inside you, awakening an instinct that bristled toward the possible danger — Perhaps there had been an assault that resulted in a person being injured, or maybe an attempted of kidnapping that ended badly.

You swallowed hard, hoping and begging for the best as you looked down to the cute girl.

“Hi, love. My name is (y/n), what’s yours?” You asked softly, ignoring the murmurs over your head that grew bigger, scarier.

“Morgan.” She looked into your eyes with her brown and sweet as chocolate ones. “Is everything okay?”

Your heart was beating fast as you looked at the door, but not being able to see anything made you feel blind, powerless, and exposed. You couldn’t see beyond the people, and Tom had disappeared making his way towards the core of the situation, among a group who feared approaching the man who convulsed on the floor. He was young, and was wearing shorts and a bandage under his right knee covered in black blood. His body moved on the ground as if suffering from constant spasms while the doctor — Morgan’s grandmother — tried to stabilize him, but he continued to growl like a wild animal.

Beside him, a policeman fell to his knees in front of him to help him too while the people around asked what was happening to him, but the man’s body was contorted unnaturally and he was unable to speak — the only thing that came out of his mouth was a sound like he was choking with his own blood..

Until he finally stopped moving for a moment. Lying there like he was dead.

The calm before the storm.

But it was then that the young man woke up like a monster, with eyes as empty and dark as an endless pit, red as fresh blood, and he buried his teeth in the policeman’s neck, tearing his skin as easy as it was just gum. Everyone lost their breath and froze for a few seconds when the young man threw the policeman to the ground only to chew the skin between his teeth and expose it in front of everyone, releasing a pool of red blood as the man died holding his wound, crying in agony.

The young man raised his head and let out a scream that removed the spell that kept people frozen.

And THAT was the beginning of a madness.

The policeman woke up and attacked the doctor as the young man threw himself on another passenger. People looked dead, dumbfounded, and then, like a stampede, they shoved each other to try to get away as fast as they could from there, crying and screaming, looking for help, surrounding the creatures that start to grow in number in a fast way. Tom dodged the people through the narrow corridor, trying not to be crushed by the human tide as he crossed the next car. 10th. People lost every sense of their empathy when the discharge of madness propelled them to the brink of selfishness, pushing people out of their way regardless of whether they fell into the hands and teeth of the converted. They pushed and slammed into each other as a monster knocked down a person, and a monster became two, three, four… until there were more than 20.

Tom and some people managed to enter the car N°2 where you and Morgan were, closing the door before the creatures could enter the momentary safe place. You held Morgan away from the door, your eyes fixed on the monsters with bloodshot eyes, whose fists joined the others who tried to tear down the door, amid howls and growls like maddened animals.

“We have to get out of here.” Tom said to you, letting you see the drops of sweat on his forehead. “Take your backpack. Come on.”

Your hand clung to his arm.

"What happened to her grandmother?”

Tom looked at Morgan, hidden in your arms like a pain picked up his chest and squeezed it cruelly.

“She died.” He whispered. “Let’s go.”

Your thoughts spun with the force of a hurricane, unable to comprehend what he had just said.

“But the train is still moving, Tom.”

Tom inhaled, his mind thinking and wandering while he didn’t understand what was happening, as if everything moved in slow motion as people got faster, scarier, helpless.

“I have an idea. Come on.”

Some people were crying and the knocking on the door didn’t let you think clearly, but you took your backpack and knelt in front of Morgan, who clung to your sweater, crying, too.

“Baby, don’t be afraid. Okay? Everything will be fine.”

As you took Morgan’s backpack, the train stopped violently, some people falling to the ground and seats.

Disoriented and frightened, the passengers heard growls from the speakers; the train captain, his voice drowned in blood that seemed to bubble from the bottom of his throat like he was drowning painfully.

Your world collapsed when a passenger fell to the ground, growling, warning others of the hell that was going to break loose in that narrow, claustrophobic place while the sound of broken glass behind you told you all without words, that a nightmare was about to begin.

“Shit. Run! Come on!”

Tom took Morgan in his arms and pushed the people away, protecting her as he made his way through the grunts and arms that tried to grab him when the door finally gave way. Everyone was becoming monsters, one by one as you two made your way to the next door. You three were about to make it, until you felt a strong pull of your loose sweater that almost made you fell back, making you stifled a cry of pain when you saw a woman trying to take you by the neck — Morgan's grandmother — with her bloodshot eyes that penetrated deep into your soul as her mouth moved closer to your exposed neck, looking for fresh blood.

However, the weight of a young man pushed her back, pushing you forward, making you crossing to the narrow corridor that separated you all from the next car that was empty. 

Between the closed door that separated the monsters from you all, the 4 of you observed that all passengers had been turned in matter of seconds just from a bite.

“I have the policeman’s gun.”

Tom and you moved away from the young man, because he had a bite in his right arm and another in his left hand. He smiled sadly, raising his wounded hand just to show the gun in his palm. You saw the fear in his eyes and felt the lump in your throat and the tears in your eyes, because you knew how brave he had been, and because he would become one of them really soon.

“I’m alone. And I’m dead anyway.” He said, looking at you both. He handed Tom the gun, as if he were confident that he would know how to use it. “Take it. Protect them.”

Tom nodded, and feeling his heart beating in his ears, he put the gun away and opened the emergency exit door for the 3 of you to leave the train. Tom got down first, then he carried Morgan and you.

Outside, Morgan closed her eyes really tight as you clenched your hands in her ears, closing your eyes as well, and only then, Tom shot the boy in the head to give him a dignified death before he turned into a meat—eating monster.

Now, there was only one question left.

Why were you three alive when everyone on the train had turn into zombies?

 -

"(Y/n), don't come home!" Your aunt cried over the phone. "Don't come here! They are coming; they've covered almost the entire neighborhood. Listen to me: go back to your grandparents' house and hide."

Your heart was beating fast due to the anguish in her voice.

"Aunt Rose, what—?"

"Don't come back! Don't let them bite you, find a safe place and hide— I lov—“

There was the sound of a bullet that pierced your ear and that was all.

Covered in sweat and taking deep gasps while being far, far from the train that had stopped in the middle of nowhere 6 months ago, you feel unfamiliar, yet almost cozy in an apartment that gives you a fleeting moment of calm and peace after that desperate escape and dark memory.

Your wristwatch shows 12:30 a.m. The moon takes its place in the sky as Tom closes the wooden door, then takes off his shirt over his head and his pants to lie next to you on a bed within a small room. Dizzy, your head spins with the force of a hurricane, your heart seems to be in danger of stopping again at any moment as memories fly to you with the speed of a bullet.

“We are safe now, darling. Stop thinking about it." His left hand runs along the curve of your waist over the white T-shirt you're wearing, his brown eyes fixed on the way the fabric rises and falls with each rose. "I just check on Morgan, she's fine. Your cousin too."

But Tom also replayed those moments in his head after a successful escape.

You three had run through the woods to your grandparents' empty house, falling exhausted and in pain on the living room couch, Morgan crawling on it until she was hiding in your arms. Still crying, you cradled her against your chest as you tried to think of a logical response to what had just happened, but there was none. You were trembling, both, but she more than you as she tried to hide herself in you as if that would make her disappear and be safe. You were about to die, in just one minute the world fell apart and turned normal people into monsters that bit and ate human flesh.

You felt the sensation of nausea rising from your stomach to your throat as, finally, Tom walked and sat close to you, shoulder to shoulder as he looked at Morgan, his left hand gently stroking her hair to attract her attention. Her sad brown eyes held his gaze, tears falling from the edge of her eyes as sorrow spilled over the edge of her fearful little heart.

"Sweetie. I'm Tom, and she is (y/n). I know you're scared but we're not going to let anyone hurt you, okay? But now… do you have someone we can try to find and tell them you're okay? A mum... dad?"

Morgan's face twisted into a wince, her eyes spilling more tears that slid down her rosy cheeks.

“My grandmother was my mommy. I don't know my daddy.”

As she hid her head in your chest and her pain in your embrace, you and Tom looked into each other's eyes.

"I'm scared." You whispered, letting out a shaky laugh.

"I know, darling." Tom rested his head against yours, stopping the time that ran against him. “But we are together now. Why don't you try to sleep for a bit?"

The warmth of his words and his confidence was comforting, and for a moment everything seemed like it would really be fine, but you knew you probably wouldn't be able to sleep tonight or the next. Your mind kept wandering: the 3 of you had walked through the woods during the fall season, leaves falling from the branches and crunching under your feet, just like any other day.

30 minutes later Morgan was asleep and you laid her on the couch, covering her with one of the wool blankets your grandmother had knitted for you when she was alive. Alone, you walked to one of the windows that had a piece of furniture and cushions to sit on, your grandfather's favorite spot to watch the sunset, the same place where Tom had sat to watch through the curtains.

"You know how to shoot a gun." You said sitting close to him, making a statement, not a question.

Tom looked you in the eye, serious.

“I belonged to a gang. I don't have parents or family, and I needed the money, so I did some bad things, but that is in the past." His gaze softened, hoping his stormy past didn't serve to scare you or make you distrust him. "(Y/n), I'm just as scared as you are, but if we work together we can survive this until we find out what happened."

You meditated on his words; Tom flirted with you on the train like any other boy, and then he had gotten you two safely off the train, like a brave man even though he didn't know any of you. So he couldn't be mean, and you knew it when you saw those brown eyes that reflected honesty, as sweet as honey when he smiled with them.

“We cannot stay here forever. I usually come once a month to water my grandparents' plants after they passed away, but the food will run out. We could use his car and go... somewhere else. I would like to go to my house in London, I need to know what happened to my aunt. And what if there are planes to leave the country?"

Tom nodded: The television was broadcasting the same warning words and there were no police or military bulletins looking for survivors, so it seemed that there was no longer any way to communicate with anyone, and the only option was to find a place that would serve as shelter.

"Well... in the meantime, how about we ask ourselves questions to get to know each other better?" He smiled, a bad boy smile on that sweet face. And you, laughing, nodded. “Since it seems that we are in the middle of a possible apocalypse… would you sleep with me?"

On a normal day, his question would have surprised you negatively, but that was no longer a normal day and you didn't feel so normal either.

“Let's get back to that question in a bit. Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Ex—girlfriend. Zendaya. We are friends." Tom sighed, feeling a painful weight on his chest at the thought of her. "I hope she's okay. You?"

Anticipating his question, you swallowed the lump in your throat before speaking.

“He was still my boyfriend when he passed away. Cancer." You smiled sadly, Ethan's handsome face dancing in your mind. "The book I'm writing 'A Poem Called You’, is for him."

Tom nodded slowly, taking in your words. Your eyes shone with the little light of the night that entered through that small hole between the curtains, illuminating the pain of your loss, but also your courage to continue fighting after the dead of that boy.

"Family?"

“I'm the youngest daughter of divorced parents, but they get along well. My brother Elliot is in the military. Iraq the last time I spoke to him. I haven't heard from him in 2 years." You sighed, suddenly feeling guilty about the bleak way the game had changed. “We should talk about something more... cheerful. Don’t you think?”

“Okay…” Tom nods casually. "So… what part of my body do you like the most?" He flexed his right arm as if scratching the back of his neck, and the muscles in his biceps instantly hardened. "What do you think?"

"I think you are vain."

You laughed and Tom followed you, relieved that, amid the chaos and terror, the two of you had made a quick connection that might help you survive, go further than you thought. There was something about him besides the tenderness in his gaze when he wanted to be tender and the confidence in his eyes when he wanted to be strong, brave despite the understandable fear. Tom was attractive, handsome, and for him, your desire to fight made you look like a strong woman too, capable of anything to protect a girl whom you did not know at all but who, like you two, deserved a chance to live.

In the present and in the midst of the complete darkness, you laugh softly.

"What is so funny?" Tom asks, smiling in the dark.

"I was thinking about the time you asked me if I would sleep with you when we just met. That was very pretentious of you.”

Tom chuckled.

"It was the end of the world, darling; I couldn't miss the opportunity. Besides, I still think you’re really hot.”

You both try to laugh, but the sound dies in your throats as you both look into each other's eyes under the dim light coming through the window. Your eyes connect silently. But when the dark night falls on the building in the middle of the end of the world, Tom's possessive side emerges like one more shadow and his mind is clouded with the only desire to hold you without anything getting in the way.

So he gently pushes you against the bed, falling on top of you as your legs fall open and you receive him in the middle with open arms, hugging his strong back and the desire to feel him inside you when his tongue finds a sensitive place on your neck, growling at the sweet taste of the sounds you make because of him, and only for him.

Tom knows that what he is doing is wrong, because feelings can cloud the most rational thoughts, but everything kept bringing him back to you since he met you, your mind, your body, until finally the clash of your worlds made a wonderful explosion.

Tom pushes his pelvis against your most sensitive, and still covered part, so you push yourself against him too. The movements of his tongue inside your mouth drive you crazy, making you have to hold on to his hair and his wild curlers that, during your encounters, he does not bother to comb.

Tom lifts your white T-shirt and slides his callused hands over your sensitive body to kiss your exposed skin over your bra. His wet tongue inside your belly button makes you moan, and his eyes, warm as the color of autumn, gaze at you adoringly, the same way they always have since he met you.

But then, you can hear the echo of the sound of the bullet in the living room of Nate’s small apartment. Tom’s best friend, and the panic is reflected in his eyes as he instantly stands up, putting on his pants and grabbing his shirt before leaving the room followed by you.

Everyone is gathered in the room by the time you arrive, watching the bullet Nate shot in his own head.

Tom and you can stop looking at him there on the floor; he looks so cold, with the puddle of blood that run beneath his head and paint the carpet with a macabre red color. Tom's eyes are focus on his best friend, and his ears can hear nothing but his own agitated breathing. He shot himself without thinking of his friends, not thinking about Morgan. And it was like reliving the same nightmare of the train, the same nightmare you all lived every day, so Tom and you start to sweat cold, trapped in a small place, drowned by the crying and fear, struggling to survive again.

"He shot himself! Nate shot himself!"

Someone is speaking, but it seems like a distant sound, as if the whistle of the bullet blocks all the words in the world.

"(Y/N), what are we going to do?" Morgan pulls on your with and long t—shirt hidden behind you, and then you all hear several punches on the door, zombies attract by the sound. "Tom!"

After the first punch, others were heard; mechanical sounds of fists against the door of those monsters who want to come in to tear your skin and eat your flesh. But everyone in the room are frozen, staring at the door that is going to fall soon with all that dead weight.

"We have to go now." You say first, watching around the small room for an exit, but you couldn't walk out the front door now and there is no other place to escape. "Let's go to the room... Now!"

Your Best friend Sam, your cousin Adam and his girlfriend Lucy grabbed their backpacks and ran to the main room, but Morgan doesn’t move because she felt protected next to her now sister and brother who stays there. Nate had been one of his best friends, but Tom can help but feeling something like hate at that very moment. As he can’t move, you approach Nate and take the gun from his still warm hand, your heart pounding in your chest, it nearly stopping when the door finally gave way.

"Tom, come on, move!"

Living always in the woods, your grandfather had been a hunter his whole life and you had learned all about it, so you raise the gun to the level of the monster's head and shoot. The creature stopped grunting and fell to knock down those who come behind, but they are too many for you. So you got up straight and push Morgan in front of you, taking Tom’s hand until you all reached the room.

The door makes a dry sound as he closes it, while Adam and the girls push the desk as protection.

But now you all are lock up.

Sam stepped back, staring at the door until she falls to the side of the bed and sink into her own crying, her brown hair falling covering her face. Lucy is frozen, and Adam collapses sitting on the bed with his breath caught in his lungs. Morgan hugs her sister's waist and she hide her small face against your body. Was this really the end? Tom is next to you and he reach out your left hand to take it in his as you look into each other’s eyes: maybe you two are looking for some comfort in each other, maybe the other expect to do something first, or maybe you two are just resigning yourself.

A punch, two, and three... hundreds of them and then no one can count them.

No one spoke.

No one knows what to say when the end is in front of you.

[sailingintothenight]

“My everything.” T.H imagine.

Summary: A sleepless night after your baby is born.

A/N: Just a short imagine, hope you like it.

1 month ago and during a sunset in the season of the year that gave her name, Autumn Rose Holland was born in a warm room of a hospital in London, in a blissful and foggy afternoon in which the world of her mother and father was painted with beautiful colors again, announcing her arrival with a loud cry that showed her freedom and her desire to live until the doctor placed her on your chest for the first time.

Right there, her brown eyes — identical to her father's — sparkled with the glow of two small diamonds, treasures hidden behind her long lashes from the first time she opened her eyes and gazed, serenely, at her parents, and the new world around her.

But from that moment on, she cried, cried and cried from time to time.

2:54 am, London is submerged in a cozy dream, unlike you, and it seems unreachable for you as you walk through your dark room taking soft steps and soft bounces, holding in your arms a small human being created from a great love and blah, blah, blah, other nonsense things you used to believe before being deprived of such a necessary resource for your sanity and mental health. But you chuckle, numb from lack of sleep, tired, but at peace with yourself as her little head lies on your right arm and your left one gently caresses her back, wrapped comfortably in a white blanket with pictures of little elephants, just like the pillow in the shape of the same animal that Uncle Haz bought for her before she was born. You love her, you are crazy about her, even if the days became difficult and the nights were exhausting, because all the reward is in being able to hold her in your arms, warm and safe.

Tom calls her his angel, his princess, and at the time, it is an appropriate nickname for someone who cries to make her demands heard.

"Is she telling you a good joke?" Tom walks into the room, holding a bottle of warm milk in his hand.

His fluffy brown hair is tousled, eyes tired from lack of sleep, shirtless and in gray sweatpants that fall from his sculpted hips.

“35 minutes to make the milk?" You raise an eyebrow. "Why did you take so long? The milk is in the kitchen, not in another country."

"Sorry, darling." Tom apologizes as he hands you the bottle, sitting on the edge of the bed to watch his daughter stop crying the moment she feels the bottle against her pretty pink lips. "I think I closed my eyes and just fell asleep in the kitchen."

You frown, continuing to stroke Autumn's back, this time with the same hand that holds her head.

"In a chair? On the counter?"

At the sound of your voice, Tom's head falls until he almost hits his chest with his own chin, waking up from his light sleep before looking back at you.

"What? No. Standing. I didn't even know that was possible."

You chuckle, looking away to your baby who is enjoying a meal at 3 in the morning, resting peacefully, just like a princess, in your arms with eyes closed, body relaxed, arms outstretched to pretend to hold the bottle in your hand.

“Even dad can get a nap; you sleep whenever you feel like it… so, Where is mom's nap? I mean, I've slept an hour every night since you were born, the room is a mess like us, and my breasts hurt too much."

Tom chuckles.

"I can't help you with that, darling. In fact, I think that's exactly what got us into this mess."

"What?"

"Your boobs." Tom babbles, smiling wearily, eyes closed as he falls against the edge of the bed, only to stop holding his own weight when he can no longer bear it. “Your incredible, incredible boobs. They are amazing and I love them so much, but they were the temptation that brought us… a beautiful gift."

You shrug your shoulders, agreeing with him.

"They are amazing, and she is beautiful when she doesn't cry.”

"That's when I love her the most." Tom answers, and a second later, you both laugh in unison.

"Oh God. We are the worst parents making fun of her."

You laugh quietly while, asleep again, you leave Autumn in her crib near the bed before returning to it, pushing Tom slightly to wake him up and move, crawling on the covers until he falls on his side, taking advantage of the time that you still have until the baby wakes up again, just to repeat the cycle you have been living in since Autumn was born.

But life still feels good despite the fatigue and the occasional physical pain, because she was everything you never imagined you could have, more beautiful than you had ever dreamed of during the wait.

"Thank you, darling." Tom whispers, so close to you that you can feel his nose against yours, but you're so tired, and it takes you a few seconds to gather your strength to respond.

"Why?"

"For the baby, for loving me, for giving me a home. You two are my everything."

You smiled, sighing

"You're welcome, love. We are lucky to have you." You say, taking a breath to answer as you look at him: eyes closed, body finally relaxed after having her on his chest most of the day. He is a good dad, the best. "But still, the next turn is yours alone."

Tom chuckles, amused and surprised, looking blindly for the warmth of your body to pull you against him, tickling you slightly and that have you both laughing despite the absolute exhaustion, a few seconds before you both can fall into a deep sleep, finally.

[sailingintothenight]

“Put your head on my Shoulder.” T.H. Imagine.

Summary: And what if after years of chasing each other like a cat and mouse, on a magical night where you two have to pretend to be a couple, you are finally able to say how you really feel about each other?

A/N: Hello everyone, after a while, and because a couple of people asked me, I wrote the second part of this story, "WANNABE", but you don't have to read it to understand this one. Anyway, I really hope you like it. Please give this story a lot of love. Thank you - V.

Tom Holland hates not being able to hate you.

The secret of his hate is because of your vanity, your selfish and free heart, your tender smile, the dimple that forms on your left cheek and your dreamy eyes that look at your grandfather as if he were the first man that you have ever loved — because you did.

Tom hates you because under a starry night, in the midst of a crowd of people and soothing music, you make your way through the mortals wearing a velvety wine red strapless dress that is lust itself on your body, black boots (velvet too) that cover you up to the knees and are as hot as hell, and your chocker - a gift from your father - from which a cross hangs, that is a tempting invitation for a sinner like him.

You are his angel with a devilish smile: but tonight, Tom Holland hates that, despite possessing all those qualities, and many more, he can only see the tenderness in your eyes when you look at your grandfather, or when you talk about him, and your smile that becomes as adorable as the face you were born with.

“You are like… staring much. Don't you think?" Harrison chuckles beside him, making Tom look away from you and your way of receiving the guests scattered around the place.

"Shit, Tom, if you turned a little faster you would look like the exorcist." Harry continues with the bland jokes, the same ones that make Sam, Harry and Tuwaine smile.

"Shut up." Tom hisses, taking a sip of his beer as he looks back at his group of friends.

But this story is not about you, but about Tom Holland, your lifelong neighbor, who you never had a conversation with other than to annoy each other, who you used to call idiot when nobody but him heard you, who used to laugh at you while filming Avengers: infinity war, endgame and finally, Spider-man: Far From Home, who used to hold your hand when you were kids because your parents were best friends, the same Tom who now drinks and look at you while you warmly greet each guest who has come to celebrate the birthday of the second man you know loved you.

“How is possible that you and he are the only two famous people at this party? What a waste of fame. Sigh." Danielle, your best friend whispers dramatically, just as you both stop at the bar to pick up more drinks.

"I'd feel sorry for you if you actually sighed." You give her a know-it-all smile, one that invites you to earn a playful slap on the butt from her.

"Please baby, I need to get something out of our friendship, otherwise this isn't working." She makes a gesture between her and you, the same sign that a boyfriend would make before breaking up.

"Tom Holland is here, why don't you go meet him?" You joke as you take the tray and walk with her by your side talking about Tom, although he was not news to you two.

"No thanks. But you can't deny that he looks sooo good. Only HE can look adorable and sexy at the same time. With those good boy eyes and wild muscles under his plain white T-shirt. Like Wow." She makes an expression of surprise, and the sound of an explosion as if her head cannot bear so much information that causes you so much laughter. "Seriously, please take that hottie. I'm sure your grandmother sent it to you as a gift."

You giggle, but your heart races at the thought of his breaking, because even though he and Hanna Johnson were never official, maybe he thought they were so. And after breaking up with her, he was back in London.

You suspected that was the reason behind his break.

"I would, but I don't love you as much as you think." You joke, just the moment you get to the table where your dear grandfather and your grandmother's friends, are, talking about you.

With just your young age, the world was a bright place for you, but here you are now, feeling how your best hits in movies escape from your hands like sand thanks to the endless words that spring from between the wrinkled lips of your grandmother's best friends, in the garden of your own house, adorned with crowded wooden tables and Christmas lights shining on you.

"Life goes by so fast, honey, you won't have that hot body for life." Says Mrs. Lee, who, at 89, still plays to be a 20-year-old from time to time. "You are... 24? 25? And you haven't had a single boyfriend yet."

"What do achievements matter if you don't have the most important thing, cutie?" Mrs. Russell asks, clicking her tongue in approval at her own words. “There are so many beautiful boys out there. My granddaughters want to be like you, but what will I tell them if you've never had a taste of real life? You are very innocent and that can work against you. You can have a little more fun while still being a lady, you know?"

Although in your cheeks bloom a crimson glow, you are aware that her words are offensive.

"You could tell the twins that you can be successful without fucking every chocolate-covered hottie that makes you an unseemly proposition." You murmur between tight lips, knowing well that the women in front of you need more than a whisper to hear certain truths. “I mean, you could tell Amy and Anne to work hard if they want to be actresses. The world is sexist, but, hey, here I am - besides, who says I don't have a boyfriend?"

You raise an eyebrow at your own question, winning several curious glances that seem to pierce you, even your grandfather, who stares at you more astonished than anyone.

"Really?" Mrs. Russell smiles, and her red lips gleam in the night. "And who is he?"

"Uh... well... I..." You giggle in a trance thanks to the bitter taste of the liquor that has your mind under a spell, leaving you completely blank and without a coherent response. "He is…"

"Hello, love." Tom presses his body against yours, suddenly, out of nowhere, wrapping his arm around your waist, so firm that you feel the pressure of his rolex in his left hand. "Hello, ladies. I heard you talking about me and I couldn't help but come and save my girl from this sea of ​​questions about who her boyfriend is. You thought I wasn't real, huh? I know my angel here is a little shy about our relationship, but there is no problem, love, you know you can show off what a good boyfriend I am with whoever you want…"

Tom smiles and enchants the older women who smile back at him, as if they are in love with his youth and his face that has it all: his cloud-fluffy brown hair that is combed to the side and back, the sparkle in his gaze and the way he smiles, making the corners of his eyes crinkle, right down to that funny eyebrow that everyone finds adorable.

From his lovely face and well-defined jaw to his personality and strong English accent: Tom looked like an angel from heaven, perhaps the devil himself because how dangerous his charm could be.

"Oh honey, I didn't know you and Tom were dating." Mrs. Lee says, with an expression between happy and sad. "My granddaughters thought they might have a chance with you, darling."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Lee." Tom answers, with a hint of happiness and pride in his voice. "I'm already taken and I like it that way."

"Yes!" You say with surprise when Tom gives you a squeeze with the hand that is holding you, shooting you a loving look to encourage you to speak. "I mean... He is."

You smile at the audience, especially at your grandfather and Danielle, who seem to have their suspicions.

"Tom..." Says Roy, your grandfather, who averts his narrowed eyes from your gaze to his, just to become the happiest person in the world as he clasps his hands in a sign of prayer. “I didn't know that you and my darling (Y/N) were together. I'm so happy! I'm sure my beloved Jules is happy too. Couldn't have asked for a better grandson."

"Thank you very much, Roy." Tom says, and it's so natural that he seems sincere. "I wanted to tell you, but we wanted to wait for our relationship to grow stronger."

"Yeah, you know that there are many actresses, blondes and blue eyes actresses who want to eat this hottie." You say and Tom laughs, nervous.

"Well, if you'll excuse us, I'd like to speak to my girlfriend in private for a moment."

Guiding you all the way, you and Tom turn around in the direction of the glass doors of your house that connect to the kitchen, breathing in the warm air from the warm walls the moment you two walk in.

"Good acting, Tom." You smile as you take a grape from the kitchen counter. "Not enough to win an EMMY but-"

"Ha. You are funny. But now I want to talk to you about something…” Tom smiles, too, giving you a devilish look, as if he never rests from it. "You owe me a favor, love."

"Of course not!" You defend yourself, nervous of the sudden change in the conversation. “You came alone like a prince on a horse. I did not call you. I do not owe you anything."

"Are you sure about that?" Tom laughs, as if he really enjoyed the moment. “Because I can go there and tell them the truth. I told you it's pathetic that you've never had a boyfriend. Besides, I wouldn't want to break Roy's heart, he looked so happy to know that his dearest granddaughter is with a good man."

You cross your arms, uneasy with the fact that you've never really fallen in love with someone, while seriously thinking about how happy, and probably relieved, your granddfather is to see that his granddaughter is with someone like Tom, who, despite of everything, yes, was a good boy.

"Okay. What do you want?"

"I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend in front of my parents."

You laugh inadvertently, although deep down you want to know if what was being said about Hannah and him was true.

"Why?"

"Everyone thinks Hannah dumped me and I don't want to see myself as a loser in front of my family and have them keep asking questions about her, it's exhausting."

"Eh, too late for that." You sigh, and Tom looks at you hopefully. "You were a loser long time ago, Tom, sorry."

"I hate you." Tom laughs.

"The feeling is mutual." You look away, and in a second you decide to contemplate why agreeing to be his fake girlfriend would be a bad decision, and why you would do it anyway. “Okay, but you know you can't call me darling. And stop looking at my chest, perv."

Tom laughs, looking up your chest into your eyes.

"It's not my fault you have worn that dress, but it seems that despite everything you didn't have a boy's body all this time. Congrats."

"Idiot."

Tom and his dreamy eyes smile as he opens the glass door for you, stepping aside so you can go out onto the field and do the performance of your life, which you discover would be more difficult than you thought as both of you approach the table on the left side of the place, where your family - made up of your mom, your dad and your older brother - are with his. So, in silence, and to let them be the ones to carry out the conversation of your supposed relationship, Tom remains standing next to you, leaving a space between Harry and him for you.

"Oh, yeah. Last night I got the iPad with the script of the Devil all the time." You say, to continue the conversation that your brother Ethan started, smiling at you. "My character falls in love with the poor and broken Arvin Russell."

Tom chuckles.

“And (Y/N) is a cold and rich bi—… girl who treats me like shit until I save her from her dad, the reverend and the crazy couple of rapists. I think you will play that role very well, love." And again and against your will, Tom brings you closer to him placing his arm around your waist, so close that his proximity makes you red.

So much so that you must place a hand on your exposed chest so that his gaze does not fall on that specific place.

“Bet your pretty ass I will. And then we will flee together into the sunset with a happy ending after killing 4 people."

His family and yours are too stunned to say a word, but just at the moment when you think they will shout hallelujah to the sky or to mention you are Frenemies, Dom makes a fist and a victory gesture with a loud yes!

“I told you they would be together before they were 25! pay me!" He yells happily at your dad, who, next to him, grunts as he searches for his wallet in his pants.

“Couldn't you wait until you turned 25, honey? It was only a few months away."

"What the hell?" Tom says, watching your father leave a $100 bill in Dom's hand.

"It's a silly thing they did when they were drunk." Nikki says, as she joins her hands in prayer just like your grandfather, just as happy as he. "It was about time you decided to be together."

"I didn't know that Tom could love someone other than Tessa." Your brother jokes.

"I didn't know anyone could love Tom more than Tessa." Harry jokes, but in his eyes you can see that part of him means it.

"Is this serious?" Your mom says, raising an eyebrow.

"It is." Tom says, and his voice is as solemn as his expression. "Mom, Dad, everyone, I want to marry this woman... someday."

Along with the expressions of happiness and surprise, theirs and yours, your brother breaks the silent while looking like a hawk at Tom.

"Her favorite color?"

"Blue." He answers, without missing a second.

"Favorite book?"

"Jane Austin's Pride & Prejudice."

"Coffee, hot or cold?"

"It depends on the season."

"Seafood?"

"Banned forever."

"Very well, you have my blessing to marry my sister." Your brother nods, like a wise old man, while you, foolishly, think of two things, how quickly he responded, and how well he knew you.

"Just that?" You question, partly offended. "Why better not give him 2 cows for my honor?"

"That's a good idea." Tom responds. "We already have a chicken so..."

You snort just like the idea of Tom buying a chicken just because there were no eggs in the store is spinning in your head, but at that very moment, your words die on your lips as Rose, your aunt and your grandfather's eldest daughter, has taken the command of the party to indicate that the most important thing of the night has arrived: the dance that your grandfather and grandmother used to have, when she was still alive.

Like a fairy tale, every couple in love gathers in the center of the garden while the song “Put your head on my shoulder” by Paul Anka begins to float in the London air that is suddenly flooded with love, to such an extent point that threatens to drown you in it.

"Would you like...?" Tom is nervous, and lets the question hang in the air.

Your breathing becomes agitated, it becomes irregular as your parents and his join the other couples, wild as your heart that beats with the fierceness of a caged animal seeking freedom.

You want to say no, but the crystallized look and happiness that you achieve in your grandfather's eyes are the impulse you need to avoid breaking his heart with the truth.

"Okay."

Tom takes your hand gently and guides you to the makeshift dance floor, placing his hands on your waist to imitate the elders.

Inside and out, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was still as beautiful as the first one he saw you when you were children; but of course, now as adults, everything was different: you were stronger, more mature, more self-confident, wilder and indomitable. But Tom didn't judge your insecurity, he never did, because you had trouble trusting in a future love that could be so real that it seemed a fairy tale - like the ones your father had read to you before bed - as deep as Roy's pain at losing his beloved Jules.

And it is then that Tom realized everything.

That's why you didn't want to be called darling, just because your grandfather used to call his great love that way. Why you never had a boyfriend. Of why you had never wasted your love giving it to someone you knew you would never have a future with, just the way he did with Hannah. Of why you have never been able to give your sincere love to someone else.

Because we're so hopeful at the beginning of things, it seems that there is only one world to gain, nothing to lose, and suddenly, we lose someone whom God knew we deeply love, leaving us with nothing but a void where there must be a beating heart.

And that's when the applause dies down, the silence overwhelms you two, time runs out and life forces you to look into each other's eyes to wonder, without words, why you did the things you did and the things you didn't.

"I'm in love with you."

"Don't."

You say the words at the same time, although they are not the words you expect to hear from the other.

And then you smile sadly, slightly because you no longer have the strength, because your body seems numb from the little alcohol you have drunk and because it seems that the world is leaning to one side with his love confession, but you also smile because Tom still has that adorable face, and a funny eyebrow that you were dying to fix. Just for fun. Just to touch him.

"You're not in love with me, you're just sad about Hannah." You whisper, desperately waiting for the song you have loved for so long to come to an end so you can flee from his arms.

"No, you don't understand, now I can see that it's you, it's always been you." Tom hates himself because he can't put his feelings and his memories into words, but his hands secure you in your place so that you don't leave, not before he can tell you a little of what he was hiding in his mind. “Since we were children I held your hand: in kindergarten, on the way home, to the park around the corner. I don't know why it is now that I can see you, always there in every step of my life, being my best friend even when we said words to annoy each other. I don't know much about love, but I know that it should make you feel good, give you peace, and that's what I feel with you. I feel at home with you, no matter where we are. And we have been in several countries away from home, but you feel like my home. And I am in love with you, and I only ask that you give me the opportunity to love the way you deserve to be loved."

You have a world of words, sharp as a knife, that could kill his confession, but against all, and because this is the first time you feel in love, you lift your hand from his shoulder, a little shaky, to brush your thumb against his brow, soft, delicate and loving, as a lover should be when loving someone for the first time.

"I still hate you."

Tom smiles and you both share a look of hope, staying in the foreground, just to be a participant in the main scene of this beautiful love story that would only be the beginning of a long night in the bright sky of your lives, the one that is like a painting made of watercolors, colors that spill over each other just to create a perfect combination, just like you two together in the eyes of any art lover.

"Not me, no. I love you."

And after that, Tom leans down a bit, feeling the softness of your lips in a real kiss, the first of many to come.

@averyfosterthoughts​ @galaxies-of-the-heart​ @heartofholland​

[sailingintothenight]

“Haunted House.” T.H. Imagine.

Promoting their next movie, Tom and (y/n) visit a haunted house.

Warnings: Just a few bad words.

Standing in the gloom, at the entrance of a scary place with old walls and cobwebs everywhere, the only light that illuminates your path comes from the cameras in front of you, from a team of a very famous program. Tom is by your side, looking great and feigning bravery before entering the horror house, courtesy of your dear friend James Corden, all as part of your visit to different TV shows to promote your new movie “Spiderman: far from home" Now that filming was over and was about to hit theaters.

"Good night, everyone, I am Tom Holland."

"And I hate you, James." You say to the camera, no one noticing part of the seriousness in the words you spoke. "I am (y/n) (y/l/n) and we are here to see who suffers a heart attack first."

Tom laughs at your words, shooting you a tender look before looking back at the camera, because no one in the world knows you are dating.

"Let's do this now so we can get out as quickly as possible." Tom rubs his cold, nervous hands together, only to turn and look at you without taking the first step, which is always the hardest. "Ladies first, darling."

Your shoulders sag in disappointment as you cast a glance at the camera as if you were part of the cast of "the office," sad with yourself for being in a relationship with the most cowardly man you've ever met in your short life.

"So much muscle for nothing." You grunt, pretending to be upset before daring to step toward the door behind you.

"Don't worry, honey, I'll protect you." Tom says, as you open the door to enter.

"Ha." You laugh sarcastically. "I'm sure, Tom, that my 5-year-old sister would be braver."

"Ouch." Tom laughs behind you.

The narrow corridor in front of you is as dark as a bottomless abyss, as dark as a heavy night. The horror house is terrifying, giant and imposing, and unlike the beautiful sunset that is happening in Los Angeles right now, it is dark in here. Putting together the courage you think you have, you walk into the place with Tom behind you, taking the last step before the door closes with a heavy sound that makes him curse as you both plunge into a vivid nightmare.

"Sorry." Tom says in the dark, which doesn't let him see anything at all. "Are you still there?"

"Yes, but I want my dad." You cry, reaching out to touch what may be in front of you. "Why do I feel that hell looks like this?"

Tom chuckles.

"But you can't see anything."

"Exactly."

Gathering his courage as well, Tom reaches out a hand to search around him, lightly slapping the air to fight the possible something that would might try to touch him.

"Shit!"

His scream makes you cover your ears.

"What?!"

"Something touched my hand."

"Please don't say that." You cry, wishing that no one but you and him was in that little place. "Come here, Tom, I think I found a fence."

Following the sound of your voice, Tom moves closer, until his body collides with yours.

"Sorry." He sincerely apologizes, thanking that no one, even though the infrared cameras are recording everything, can see a pink color bloom on his shy cheeks. "Wait, let me open it."

Passing his arm through one of the spaces, Tom turns the knob and opens the door, while, on the other side of the grate, a room has a door closed, with a white light shining below it. Entering the small place, you can see two beds against the walls, one at each end as the empty room seem to be a bad omen of something that is about to happen. The dim light that shines on you doesn't let you see much as you explore the place, ignoring the body moving under one of the beds, until he or she, lets out a scream that makes you jump.

"Shit!"

"Oh my God, oh my God, Oh my God!" Your first survival instinct is to get away from that person, cling to Tom's chest until your arms go around his neck, and your legs hug his waist.

With your eyes tightly closed, and your face hidden in his neck, you can feel his arms, muscular due to exercises, covering your fragile body while, at the same time, you can hear the footsteps of the "ghost" that leaves the room screaming like a crazy person.

"Babe, it's okay." Tom laughs, still somewhat surprised, although his heart is beating fast for a completely different reason now. “Shh, it's okay. Do you want to go down?"

"Would you mind taking me this way?"

Tom smiles, flattered for a reason.

"Are you sure?"

As you think about it again, you realize that you have just crossed certain limits of a supposed friendship, so, more calmly, you separate your legs from his waist while Tom - even more scared than you, although he wouldn't admit it, never - spread his arms that he tightened around you, silently wishing that you would do that again so that he could have the excuse to hug you, again.

"You Bitch! I hate you!" You cry out bravely, still standing against him. Tom laughs and when you finally separate from him, he separates from you, too. At that moment, the lights blink and come on throughout the house, shining dimly enough to let you see the path that both of you must follow to get out of that place. "If something happens again, start putting those muscular arms to use."

As you walk again, Tom thinks about what you just said.

"So you think I have big arms?"

"Ugh, shut up."

“Hey, it's you who said that. Besides, I can't hit someone. Do you want me to get sue?"

Silently, you laugh evilly at that thought just before stopping in the next room, where a doctor stained with red paint - just like the movie Hostal - was performing an operation on a woman on a gurney who suddenly starts screaming in despair for help.

"Run, just run!" Tom insists, putting his arms around your shoulders to guide you down the path away from there, while the sound of a chainsaw scares you even more. "Shit, man!"

Tom tightens his arms around you from behind as an oversized man wearing a pig mask - Texas massacre style - walks up to you until you have no choice but to cling to the opposite wall. And just like that, suddenly, just as you escape from that corridor, all the scariest sounds in the world became one: from the cry of a girl calling your names, the sound of a music box, the chainsaw, the woman asking for help, the cry of a mad person, to the screams of an enraged man.

"You know what?... Get away from me!" You yell at a clown from hell trying to get close to you, just before the lights go out again, forcing you to turn to Tom and jump towards him. "Forget it! I changed my mind, I do want you to carry me."

The opportunity to hold you again comes much earlier than Tom expected, and without realizing it before it happened, Tom really wanted to do it again, because it felt good, because it felt right to hold you against him, as if between his arms, was the place where you belonged. So, proud of himself - yet just as scared - Tom walks head on toward the glow-in-the-dark exit sign, ignoring the screams and faces approaching him without touching him, until, finally, he crosses the door and both can breathe in the fresh air of Los Angeles while the show's cameras wait for you two.

"I think you can tell who was braver." Tom chuckle, and his words cause you to take an expert jump away from him, maintaining the little dignity you still have left.

"That was not so horrible." You say, fixing your clothes and avoiding Tom's gaze.

"Yes, of course." He laughs, and that ends the segment, so Tom is the first to say goodbye. "Goodbye, everyone, and don't forget to see 'Spider-man: far from home' soon in theaters."

“You will realize that I'm braver there! Goodbye!" You wave to the camera, officially ending the segment.

[sailingintothenight]

“HAPPY.” T.H. Imagine.

Tom meets a little angel and you, her mom.

A/N: This is the second part of this imagine. Thank yooooou so much for the love you all gave to the first part. It means the world to me. Thank u♥ Hope you like this one as well. Feedback is always welcome!!!

Sitting on the cold floor of the elevator, the pain finds a way to sneak through the cracks in his heart.

Let's talk about love.

Some say it's best to keep our emotions on the sidelines, to draw a line and never cross it, never fall in love, because losing a loved one can drive you crazy, and the line between sanity and madness is as thin as a thread. Explaining a love like the one you had was like explaining the origin of the universe, too deep as the sadness of losing him, forever. In Tom's case, loving and not being loved is bad, but loving and not being able to be loved by your lover is even worse, because you know that no matter how much you cry or ask heaven why it took him away from you, there will be no answer from the other side, only the infinite emptiness within a cold and lifeless body. But it makes you feel, oh, yes, it burns you skin until you can no longer breath, like being on the edge of the abyss and falling, again and again and again.

That's how Tom feels right now.

"So... have you always lived in London?" His brown eyes hide the tears at the edge of his gaze, and at that moment, you wish you had not heard the anxiety in his voice, or been able to recognize it in his eyes, because life gave you the experience of recognizing the pain in the heart of others. 

Because that pain came after losing someone, like you when you lost the great love of your life, with whom you were inseparable, becoming stronger regardless of the season. But the frozen blizzard of bad times had passed, melting into nothing more than lessons learned and old stories. Some say that you cannot run away from your past, only learn from it, so you did that, you took the lessons of the most painful moments and turned them into null feelings that you kept in a corner of your heart, managing to get out alive from that blizzard and get the prize as a winner. Although from time to time it is good to take a look at the past, open a door that you kept closed and search for those moments that you kept warm within yourself, remembering them with affection, and after that, put them back in the place where they belong.

"If I'm honest with you... I came to London to escape."

His curiosity awakens in his innocent gaze: Tom doesn't consider himself very smart, sadly, but the pieces of his mental puzzle fit together perfectly, creating a one single thought.

"From Marley's father?"

"What a subtle way to wonder if I'm taken." You say, and you chuckle, because his gaze is tender like that of a small child, like Marley's eyes when the world presents her with a new adventure, but then Tom's lips part as the coherent words have vanished from his mind. "Just relax. I'm kidding."

Tom laughs, relieved.

"Sorry, that was very personal."

"It's okay." You shrug and expertly, keep your emotions behind the line. "Marley's father was the best thing that ever happened to me, we had a story like those old love movies, but he left this world too soon."

Tom's heart is on fire, cutting his breath and closing his throat as a terrible fear trickles through his body.

“I think you are very brave, really. I don't… I don't think I can handle something like that.”

But you smiled sweetly, like the person who keeps a big secret.

"I can tell you that I had to be strong, and then I understood that I was." You tilt your head forward, and your cheek touches Marley's hair, which smells like chamomile. Tom can smell it on you and Marley, too: you both smelled like a childhood memory of his, somehow innocent, very different from what he felt being with Hanna. "I feel like you're the type of man who believes that all people act with good will, Tom, and although I'm sorry to tell you that not everyone acts like that, there are people who do: what I mean is that you shouldn't lose faith, because there will always be someone who deserves your love."

His name spills from your lips naturally, as simple as if you knew him, as if you had been good friends in another life. Tom knows, and feels it in his heart, that because of the confidence in your words and the way your gaze deepened when you look at Marley, you had survived because you had found someone to love without fear of being hurt. And if loving was like jumping off a cliff without knowing if we can fly, you had discovered that you had wings, because she had given them to you, because that is how we should feel a real love. But Tom bites his lips, pushing them into his mouth, and frowns with the weight of the pain he feels, because suddenly the memories of his life pass before his eyes like the saddest movie he has ever been a part of.

"And what if you're wrong? What if the person you thought was the right one turns out to be a bad person?"

Your lips part to speak, but the sound of the elevator coming back to life snatches the words from your mind, and the relief, returns to your soul and the body.

"Do you know what is the bad thing with not having Marley's father here?" You joke, but Tom is still waiting for an answer that gives him instructions on how to survive a deadly love. “That I don't have someone to hold Marley so I can stand up. And the truth is that my legs are numb.”

And then Tom does the weirdest thing, he smiles, he smiles and chuckles at a bad joke that should have made him even sadder but instead, makes him forget his sad thoughts.

"I can do it for you."

Tom places a knee on the ground and wraps his hands around Marley's body, taking her in his arms to place her against his chest, expertly, as if he had done it many times already. In dreams, and perhaps dreaming of a father she never knew, Marley recognizes the warmth of his body and clings to him, wrapping her little arms around his neck, hiding her face in the hollow of his neck. The image is like an example of what Noah would have been like with Marley, a painful thought that trickles down your memories as Tom reaches out his hand and helps you to your feet, so that finally the 3 of you can get out of the elevator to the parking lot in the basement.

"You know, Tom..." You say, breathing the cold air from a wide place, and empty at that time of night. "If you chose to love someone and you lost, it's sad, but you can't blame yourself for that because you didn't do anything wrong. Happiness is a choice, and I think happiness after sadness is a choice too."

For a moment, Tom feels his common sense slipping from his grasp, and it's almost impossible to control his emotions that overflow the edge of his wounded heart as it free-falls into sadness, hatred, and rancor, but at this very moment, he feels that it is as light as the breath he can take.

"Thank you." He says, and that word comes from the bottom of his heart.

"You're welcome." You respond shyly, because talking about feelings has always been your weak point. "Well... uh, I can take you home if you want."

Tom smiles, and again, his smile resembles that of a child who has no scars on his heart.

"That would be great. Thank you."

You nod once before leading the way to your black car not far from you, a gift from your older brother for your brave decision to move with him to a quiet London neighborhood. The key in your hand turns off the alarm and you open the back door for him, so Tom can leave Marley in the seat, so she can keep dreaming all the way back home.

"Would you mind if I sit with her behind?" Tom looks at you with his brown eyes, eyes like the color of autumn, innocent and sweet on a well-defined face and a well-worked body, a lethal combination. "I think Marley is too comfortable to let me go."

And she is, Marley sleeps peacefully against his chest, and that image is like a memory of something that never happened between her and her father. You mumble an okay, managing to make him smile before getting into the car with your daughter still in his arms. With the door closed, you walk around the car and enter the driver's seat, turnkey to turn it on and drive out of the hospital and into your new home. The weather is cold at that time of the year, but the heat of the car wraps you all in a warm hug as the London rain hits the window. Through the rearview mirror, you steal glances from Tom, who has his eyes on the landscape, with his hands around Marley's body, her big eyes are closed and hidden behind her long eyelashes, cheeks pink from the heat, her little body warm by Tom's jacket around her.

"So... do you live around?" His gaze returns to the front and makes you look away, back to the empty street.

"Uh, kind of... across the bridge, near Kensington Gardens."

"Great, me too." Tom smiles, and the feeling of living close to both of you squeezes his heart with happiness.

15 minutes later, you enter a quiet neighborhood with beautiful front gardens and lamp posts that shine above them in the solitude of a sleeping place.

"What other secret are you hiding from me?" He asks when you park the car in the third house, 4 houses away from his.

You laugh.

"I'll let you find out for yourself." Your gazes meet in the mirror, and your eyes smile before looking away, missing the moment when his eyes smiled back at you. You get out of the car to open the door for him, so Tom can leave Marley back in your arms and go home, but on your way to his side of the car, Tom is already outside, holding her back against his chest, his muscular arm at the height of her thighs to carry her as if she were his daughter. "I can carry her inside, Tom."

"Let me, I think even asleep, she doesn't want to let me go." Tom chuckles, and closes the door quietly so as not to interrupt her sweet dreams.

Confused, you follow him down the wooden path into the middle of a beautiful garden that your brother took over, to the wooden door that you open before you step aside and let him walk in. The lights come on and Tom blinks in the amber light, admiring the warmth of the place thanks to the hardwood floor and salmon-colored walls.

"Her room is upstairs." You say, and you close the door behind him so you two can go up the wooden stairs.

Austin's study had become Marley's new room: the desk and shelves full of books were off to the side, children's books added to them, a bed in the center, and a corner full of animals plush of all sizes. Tom walks in first, feeling the warmth of a girl's room and pulling himself away from her as he lays her down on the bed under the blanket, listening to her soft breathing that fills the silence of the place as he watches her sleep, his eyes full of peace, just like you when you saw Marley sleep when she was only one day old.

"Good night, angel." Tom whispers before walking away, giving you a peaceful look on his way to the door.

The room sinks into a slight darkness and you both walk down the second-floor hallway toward the staircase.

"You are very good with children, Tom." You smile. "You will be a good father someday."

"Thank you." Tom lets out a small laugh, shy but eagerly awaiting the day when he can call himself a father. "I hope I have a daughter as beautiful as Marley."

A crimson blush stains your cheeks when you arrive to the first floor.

"The future Mrs. Holland will be a lucky woman." You say honestly as you open the door for him, because from the bottom of your heart, you want a noble soul like him to get nothing but happiness, and never, never, have to cry for a love that would never return. "Thanks for being so sweet with Marley."

"I should thank her." Tom mutters, and his gaze travels behind you, towards the place where the little angel sleeps and finally, towards your eyes, the guardian of her dreams. "Thank you."

His gaze is deep, and he makes you tilt your head in confusion.

"For what?"

"For..." As easy as it is to think of the words Tom wants to say, saying them is difficult because of the lump in his throat. He wants to thank you for being the person you are, for being so kind to him, for being as bright as a star and for saving a part of his soul that night with the arms of the angel you created of the love you once felt for your lover. "Just... thanks for showing up in my life tonight, darling."

You smile, because the name he calls you by is loving, and because you know that Marley had somehow helped him heal his wounded heart.

"Good night, Tom."

"Good night, (y/n)."

------

@seapandora @hollandsdream @littlekidsteve @lyzalovealk @blueevelvt @the-endoftime​

I tagged the people who commented on the first story, sorry if you didn't want to!