#ironwriting

[mendespideys]

the intern ▿ pt. IV

Pairing: reader x ceo!tom holland

Summary: you’re finishing your last year of university in london, and what better way do to that than with an internship at holland and osterfield’s?

Warnings: language, mentions of drinking, partying. also tom being a cheeky bastard

a/n: i received a message about this chapter not working because of inappropriate content and it turns out that it was flagged. i have no idea why and i want you guys to be able to read it, so i’m reposting it. this is not the re-written part, but those will be up soon!

You groggily sit up in your bed at the sound of the front door slamming shut. The light shines through your blinds, and you realize it’s more than likely later than you had first assumed. Throwing the covers off your body, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed and make your way out to the living room of the small apartment.

Cecelia is in the kitchen, her heels and purse scattered on the floor, as she pushes the button on the coffee machine. You yawn, your bare feet padding against the hardwood floors as you walk closer to her. Grabbing a hair tie from the counter, you quickly wrap your hair into a messy bun, sitting down on the bar stool.

“How did your night go?”

She turns around to look at you, a wide grin plastered on her face. You chuckle, picking at the flaking nail polish on your thumb. You watch as she adjusts her dress before leaning on the counter, getting ready to recap her entire night for you whether you want to hear it or not.

“Despite my head killing me, it went very well,” she starts, her eyes meeting yours. “But I wanna hear about yours. How did you get home if you didn’t have your wallet on you?”

You groan, looking at her pleadingly. She just shakes her head, determined to get the story out of you. As soon as you had texted her last night to let her know you had gotten home safe, you knew she was going to ask the moment she saw you. You had hoped she would be too drunk to remember, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

“Tom.”

Her eyes widen at the same time the machine beeps, signaling that the coffee is ready. “Tom? Your ‘one-night stand turned internship boss’ Tom? Ooh, do tell.” She pours herself a cup of coffee, a gleeful expression on her face, which makes you want to punch it away.

“I called him. He picked me up and took me home. There’s nothing more to the story,” you shrug innocently, hoping your lie is solid enough because there had been way more to the story.

“Hello?” Tom’s voice is hoarse it crackles through the receiver on your new phone. He’s silent for a second before continuing, sounding more awake now. “Y/N? Are you alright?”

You sigh softly, hating how comforting his voice sounds. “Um, hi, Tom. Did I wake you? I’m really sorry- I just, uh,” you stutter, trying desperately to stop your teeth from chattering.

“Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

You tell him the cross streets and he promises he will be there as soon as possible. You wrap your arms around yourself, attempting to keep the little body warmth you had left. You consider going back inside to wait, but the loud music and drunk teens seem less tempting than the sobering cold. Several young adults join you, but they quickly jump in taxis or friend’s cars. Next time I’m bringing a jacket, you think to yourself, watching as a car pulls up to the curb next to you.

The passenger window rolls down, and Tom’s face appears, looking at you with concerned eyes. You ignore him, jumping into the car, welcoming the warmth with open arms. You kick your heels off, curling your legs in your seat to warm them. The window rolls back up as you buckle in, still not looking at Tom, scared of what might await if you do.

“Are you fucking crazy? What are you doing out here, in the cold, dressed like- dressed like that?”

“Forgot my wallet,” you mumble weakly, leaning your head against the door and closing your eyes. “Can you just drive me home, please? It’s freezing.”

You can hear him rummage around briefly, but you don’t have to open your eyes to investigate because two seconds later, soft indie rock fills the car. He doesn’t say anything, just putting the car in drive and as the car moves, you feel the exhaustion of the long day take over. You can’t bring yourself to stop it, the quiet music and steady heat lulling you to sleep.

The sound of a car door being shut wakes you up. You moan quietly, not wanting to open your eyes. The car beeps as it gets locked, and you sigh contently, nuzzling further into the comfort surrounding you. Your head hurts already, and you know you’re going to have a long day tomorrow.

“Darlin’, I need you to tell me what floor you’re on,” Tom’s gentle voice makes your eyes shoot open, suddenly realizing what is going on.

“Second. 2B,” you mumble, lying undeniable still as Tom carries you effortlessly up the stairs, your bare legs slung over his arm. “I, um, I can walk.”

Tom doesn’t say anything, placing you down gently when you reach the door of your apartment. You don’t dare look at him as you search through your purse, a small aha escaping you as you grasp the keys and pull them out. You unlock the door, the click of the lock turning echoing through the empty hallway. Reluctantly, you turn to look at your savior.

“Thank you,” your voice is raspy, so you clear your throat. “I’m really sorry I woke you up.”

Tom hands you your heels back, shoving his hands into the pocket of his sweats. Another look you hadn’t seen on him, but one you knew you could grow to love. You take them, shooting him a small smile, but he just nods.

“’s alright. Just don’t go outside by yourself like that again. I’ll see you on Monday. Night.”

You watch quietly as he walks back down the stairs, the hood of his sweater bouncing. You mumble a response, fully knowing he can’t hear you. Sighing, you step into the dark apartment. Two minutes later, you’re wrapped in the covers on your bed, willing yourself not to think about how Tom had immediately responded to your call of help, or how he had carried you upstairs, letting you sleep for as long as possible. Eventually, you’re able to fall back asleep, the smell of Tom still lingering in your nose.

“So he just picked you up and dropped you off? Nothing else happened? Bollocks!”

“I swear, nothing happened. He drove me home, carried me upstairs and then he left.”

“He carried you upstairs?”

You groan, realizing your mistake too late. Cecelia raises her eyebrows multiple times, teasing you. You shake your head, picking up your phone from the counter. Turning it around, the screen lights up at the motion, and you notice you have an unopened text message. Your pulse immediately quickens when you see his name.

“Shut up,” you mutter, a small chuckle escaping you as well, knowing she means well.

Let me know if you ever forget your wallet again. I’ll add chauffeur to my resume

Cecelia notices your sudden silence, grabbing the phone from your hands before you can stop her. You watch her as her eyes trace the words of the simple text. She whistles, handing you the phone back before taking another sip of coffee. You pull your leg up on the chair, resting your head on your knee.

Fuck you, Tom Holland.

“He just loves teasing you, doesn’t he? Cheeky bastard that one.”

XXX

You had left the text unanswered the rest of the weekend, having no clue what to say to him. He hadn’t followed up on it either, so you figured the whole situation would remain a secret between the two of you - well, three if you count Cecelia.

You desperately hope so as you enter the building of Holland and Osterfield’s on Monday morning. As you walk up the stairs, you re-read the email you had received from Harrison late the previous night. You double check the information and the time, nodding pleasingly when you realize you’re on time. You stop on the third floor this time, taking in the unfamiliar environment. You stop in front of the meeting room Harrison had told you to go to, knocking quietly.

A woman you have never met before opens the door, and you realize you’re the last one. You smile sheepishly, stepping into the room, trying to ignore the questioning stares of some of the workers in the room. Your eyes involuntarily find Tom immediately, sitting next to Harrison who is standing at the head of the table opposite from where you’re standing. Harrison glances up as the door is closed behind you and smiles.

“There you are! Everyone, this is our new intern Y/N. She’s helping us out with marketing for the next six months.”

The small crowd murmurs a few greetings, and Harrison tells you to sit down and comply. You aren’t sure exactly why he had invited you to the meeting in the first place, but you tell yourself it’s a great way to learn something new. Placing the laptop bag in your lap, you give Harrison your attention. When he starts talking, you briefly let your gaze flicker to the left to look at Tom. He doesn’t seem to notice it, staring down at the notes displayed in front of him.

You notice he isn’t wearing a blazer today, only a faded charcoal-colored button-up shirt. A black tie dangles from his neck and you wonder momentarily if he hated dressing up for work as much as you do. He shuffles the papers a little, the shirt tightening around his bicep as he does so. You instantly look away, not wanting the sight to stay in your head longer than it had to. Returning your attention back to Harrison, you listen as he talks about the charity gala they are hosting in a few weeks.

“Um,” you speak up quietly, instantly regretting interrupting him. “I think it would be more beneficial to personally invite the honor guests and then advertise through newsletters and e-mails.”

Harrison purses his lips, considering your suggestion. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, I assume the honor guests are well-established business owners, politicians, you know, the usual. I also assume most these people are older than all of us in this room. I think they would appreciate the gesture of a personal letter in the mail. With all due respect, Mr. Osterfield, most people didn’t make it as young as you and Mr. Holland. I just know that my grandparents would respond better to a letter than an impersonal e-mail.”

You hear a few other people mumbling agreements. You meet Harrison’s eyes for a moment before looking back down at your hands, reminding yourself to apply a new coat of nail polish when you get home. There is a brief silence, and you wonder if maybe it had been a bad idea to speak up like you did.

“I think she’s right. Let’s send the honor guests invitations and we’ll notify the other businesses through e-mail like planned,” Tom speaks up and you immediately look at him. He just nods at you, and you give him a small smile.

“Okay, that’s settled then. Y/N, would you help me with those invitations later?” he asks, looking at you expectantly and you nod hurriedly. “Now, let’s talk about the next marketing campaign.”

Harrison’s words drown out, and you glance down at the papers in front of you. You stifle a yawn, suddenly wishing you could cuddle up in bed with Tom. You shake your head, needing to get rid of the thoughts. That doesn’t work as well as you hoped it would when Tom takes over his portion of the meeting. His words are impossible to comprehend, the thoughts in your head taking over. You quickly excuse yourself, opening and closing the door before anyone can say anything.

Hurriedly, you make your way upstairs and toward your desk, scolding yourself the entire way. You had never crushed on anybody this way before. Does it count as a crush? Your thoughts are messy and most of them unwelcome as you plop into your chair with a loud sigh. Pulling out your computer and earbuds, you welcome the loud noise of the song as you press play. You try your best to focus on the lyrics, pulling up the chat window and clicking Cecelia’s name.

you: dude i just interrupted harrison in a meeting and tom stood up for me and i wanna kms

A few minutes pass by and you pray that your best friend is on her computer, needing someone to vent to, or rather, someone to help you make sense of your jumbled thoughts. A small icon pops up, notifying you that she’s writing and a relieved sigh escapes you.

cecelia: bollocks! tell me what happened

you: tom isn’t wearing a blazer today and he looks really good and i just. ugh. f*ck me

ceceilia: i bet that’s what you were thinking when looking at him

you: shut up. i gotta go. i ran out of the meeting because i couldn’t stand it and i have to do my work

You exit out of the chat window, pulling up the document you started on Friday. Harrison had asked you to compile a list of potential businesses to contact in regards to the gala. You finish it faster than you would have liked, but you attach it to an e-mail and send it to Harrison anyway. He responds not even five minutes later, asking you to meet him in his office.

You unwillingly get up from your chair, making your way down the hall. You attempt to ignore your increasing heartbeat as you get closer, not knowing what to expect. You had interrupted him and caused quite the scene as you ran out of the conference room. You definitely didn’t earn any more respect points by doing that. Your knock on the door is timid but he appears to hear it anyway.

He tells you to come in, so you open the door cautiously, a nervous smile dancing on your lips. Harrison is sitting at the chair behind his desk when you close the door behind you, but your eyes are more focused on Tom leaning up against the desk. He looks at you quizzically and just for a moment you think you see a form of concern in his eyes. Harrison clears his throat and startles you out of your moment with Tom.

“Are you alright, Y/N? You seemed to leave us in a hurry? I know meetings can be boring but...”

You quickly shake your head, meeting Harrison’s eyes. “No. I’m sorry. I, uh, stomach bug. I wasn’t feeling too hot.”

Your excuse is so weak that you don’t even buy it yourself but Harrison just nods. “Okay, well, I hope you feel better. Why don’t you, uh, take the rest of the day off? You can work on those personal invitations at home and send me a few different versions, and then we’ll pick the best one. I saw that you’ve done a fair share of graphic design.”

You nod slowly, wondering if your face betrays how confused you feel. “I can stay-”

“I’ll take you home,” Tom speaks up for the first time since you entered the room, giving you a tight-lipped smile.

“O-Okay. Um, I’ll get right on those invitations, Mr. Osterfield.”

Tom walks you to the elevator, neither of you saying anything, the only sound is the elevator jostling as it moves. The ride back to your apartment is just as quiet, the radio making the tension a little less awkward. You hadn’t talked to him since he had dropped you off at your apartment, and you weren’t quite sure what to say.

“Thank you,” you state suddenly, deciding to elaborate after receiving a look laced with confusion from him. “For taking me home on Friday. I never really thanked you. I don’t wanna think about what could’ve happened if-”

“Yeah, I don’t want to think about that either. Don’t understand why you’d be walking around in a dress like that anyway,” he interrupts, not taking his eyes off the road once.

“Oh, shut up, like you were complaining last week. That dress wasn’t any better.”

You pause momentarily as the words leave your mouth. That was the first time either of you had mentioned your night together after the interview. You glance over at him, noticing the way his knuckles are turning slightly white from gripping the steering wheel. He doesn’t smirk like you had expected him too.

“Well, I was there to take you home that night. To make sure you were okay and no one touched you. I watched you from the moment you walked in,” his words are stern, almost slightly possessive, but then a smirk finds its way to his lips. “Besides, I don’t recall you complaining either. Unless you count complaining about me taking too long to-”

“Okay, okay,” you grumble, feeling your cheeks heat up at his words. He chuckles just as he pulls up in front of your complex.

You unbuckle slowly, grabbing your bag in one hand. There is a slight pause in the music, which makes the sound of you opening the door appear even louder. You slide out of the car, your heels clicking against the cobblestone of the street. Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you dip your head back in to take one last look at him. He has a confident grin on his face now, the seriousness of his voice totally gone.

“You didn’t run out of the meeting because of a stomach bug, did you?” He raises an eyebrow mockingly, almost knowingly, as you shut the door. You watch in slight horror as he takes off, the sound of his car accelerating bringing you back to reality. Ignoring your flushed cheeks, you trudge toward the entrance of your complex. There was no way he knew why you had run out. He couldn’t know. Could he?

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Hi, congrats on the milestone!🥳🎉 I was wondering if I could have a male Marvel or Star Wars ship please? I’m a creative person, and I love drawing and painting. I also listen to a lot of music and like to read. I’m easily distracted, and a bit shy around new people, but people I know and am close with, I’m kinda crazy. As for who I ship you with, I’m going with Mr. Tony Stark. I‘m not to sure why, but I’m trusting my instinct. (1/2)

I think, you could potentially help Pepper keep Tony in check, and make sure he doesn’t  doesn’t get into too much crazy stuff. Or at least try to. I also think you could probably exchange dry humor with him, and witty remarks, and that might just be a normal interaction between you. I also think Tony would know he can always count on you, despite you getting into your own head, because that’s most likely something Tony has done countless times before. Hope I shipped you decently! If not, sorry!

I ship you with Luke Skywalker

Listen to me; young Luke is an actual ray of sunshine sand covered hick who just wants to make friends

He would help bring you out of your shell, after taking a look at some of your drawings and paintings

He might not be able to articulate exactly why, but he knows you’re talented and would support you at every opportunity he has

He might push your limits a bit when it comes to social interaction (he wants you to meet and hang out with the rest of the pilots ASAP), but it all comes from how great he thinks you are and a complete bewilderment that you would feel the need to hide it

He’s confused, but he’s got spirit, is what I’m getting at

You did a lovely job, thank you!  A dare say we’ve potential got another blog canon ship.  IronWriter? Tonnie?  IronShenanigans? Thoughts?

(19/30)

[ao3feed-clintxnat]

Love can be tricky, man.

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2lst3eF

by Ironwriter

It's a little juvenile.

Words: 877, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Marvel (Comics)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov (Marvel)

Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov

Additional Tags: Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff, this is my first fic, which I wrote years ago, but I can't delete this one without posting, I hope you guys will like this one and my future fics, Drabble, based on the comic's

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2lst3eF

[mendespideys]

The Intern pt. VIII

Pairing: Reader x CEO!Tom Holland

Summary: You’re finishing your last year of university in London, and what better way do to that than with an internship at Holland and Osterfield’s?

Warnings: Brief mention of death, I guess?

A/N: I realized that I fricked up the dates, so this will December 7th and not December 24th like mentioned previously. I honestly forgot about Christmas. Oops. I also want to clarify that I adore Paddy and Tom’s parents, but this is just how the story ended up going so... Please, don’t hate me ☺︎

Add yourself to my tag list here! 

series masterlist

< previous | next >

ONCE FRIDAY ROLLS AROUND, you’re barely able to contain your nerves. Cecelia had already gone off to work when you woke up, taking the morning shift so she could join you at the gala. Tom giving you a day off had helped tremendously; you had been able to get ahead on your homework with at least a week and you had gotten some much-needed rest. On Monday night, after trying on the gowns, Cecelia had practically forced you into bed at 9:00pm, seeing the redness in your eyes. You had happily obliged and sleep came easy that night. 

Throwing the covers off your body, you slide toward the edge of your bed, stretching your joints. Glancing at your phone after clicking the home button, you sigh, realizing it’s only barely eight in the morning. That means you have almost eleven hours until Tom’s driver comes to pick you up. What could you possibly do to keep yourself preoccupied until then?

The answer? Anything and everything you could think of. Once the bathroom, kitchen and living room was vacuumed, dusted and mopped, you moved on to organizing your closet. After going through all of your clothes and filling a whole trash bag with unwanted clothes for donation, you walk back into the living room. You purse your lips, trying to think of something to do. An unpleasant sound coming from your stomach quickly makes the decision for you, and you head toward the kitchen. 

Once your beans and toast had been consumed, the time seemed to move too fast. An hour later, Cecelia had come home and the two of you shared some nachos as you took turns doing each other’s hair. You decided on something simple, not liking a lot of attention, and your friend had loosely curled your hair, pinning the front strands of your hair back with a beautiful hair clip. You had attempted your best at the braided updo Cecelia had requested. It came out mediocre at best, but your friend had looked impressed nonetheless. 

“Y/N, love, the ride’s here,” Cecelia coaxes you out of your nervous trance and as her words sink in, you’re about to slip right back into it. She shakes her head, grabbing your hand to pull you up from the couch. “C’mon.”

You watch as she locks the front door, grabbing the skirt of your dress in your hands so you can walk down the stairs. You can’t pinpoint the exact cause of your nervousness. Being Tom’s date, Cecelia meeting Tom again, mingling with the high-status people of London - they all play their part, you assume. For some strange reason, you also feel anxious about the gala going as planned. After all, you had been planning this event alongside Tom and Harrison for a long time. You realize you’ve been moving automatically when the cold air hits you and you find yourself outside. 

Cecelia links her arm with yours, the two of you very careful with your dresses. Neither of you knew the exact price tag, but you both agreed they were more expensive than anything you guys could afford. The driver is already waiting outside of the car, open the door and helping you both inside when you’re close enough. The ride is mostly filled with Cecelia’s eager chatter. You remain quiet for the most part, your unexplainable nerves getting the best of you. Your best friend seems to understand and leaves you alone, much to your relief. You’re able to calm your increased heartbeat with numerous pep-talks, but once the car comes to a halt, your heartbeat quickens once again. 

The door on Cecelia’s side is opened and she shoots you a quick smile before letting the driver help her out. Inhaling deeply, you reach for your own door handle. The door is slung open before you can even touch the handle, and a pair of gentle eyes meet yours. You smile timidly at the older man and the stranger holds his hand out and you find yourself grabbing it almost automatically. God knows you need help getting out of the car. With your free hand, you gather most of the satin skirt to keep it from brushing against the car. 

You and Cecelia follow the crowd, making your way up the stairs leading into the children’s museum. Now that you knew the reason behind the event, the location made a lot more sense and it had proven to you, once again, that Tom isn’t your regular, heartless player. You clutch your shawl tighter, desperately praying for the guests in front of you to hurry up before you catch a cold. Eventually, they move along and you’re able to step inside. You welcome the warmth, forcing yourself to loosen your grip on the fabric covering your bare shoulders. Your eyes wander around, recognizing a few decorations from one of the meetings, before resting on a familiar face. 

The first thing you notice about Tom is his hair. It’s styled, almost too perfectly, combed over to the right. He looks great; professional, yet handsome enough for you not to be able to take your eyes off. He smirks as you and Cecelia step toward them. You smile, greeting your two bosses by their first names. Cecelia and Harrison exchange a greeting, having met each other once before. 

“I knew you would look good in blue,” Tom states almost arrogantly. 

“What Tom means to say, Y/N, is that you look beautiful. You both do,” Harrison looks between the two of you as you flush, not noticing how Tom’s smile hardens. “You two head inside and grab yourselves a drink, look for your assigned seats. We’ll be in as soon as we’re done greeting everyone.” 

Finding your seats had been easier said than done. Eventually, Cecelia suggested the idea that maybe, just maybe, you’re supposed to sit with Tom. You had quickly thrown the idea away but a few minutes later, you find your name written on the seat next to Tom’s. Cecelia had smirked, deciding to keep her comment to herself. Tom, Harrison, and Harrison’s mother had joined you not too long after you sit down and the conversation flows easily from there. Harrison’s mother excused herself a few moments later, making her way to the stage to officially welcome all of the guests. 

You pick at your dessert silently, too full to even taste it. The three-course meal was more food than you could handle and you had barely been able to finish your dinner. No one brought up the topic of the two empty chairs labeled Sam and Harry and although the curiosity was killing you, you had a hunch the topic was sensitive. A hand rests on top of yours and you turn your attention to Tom, pausing your mindless prodding. He just raises his eyebrows and you instantly know he had watched you pick at the untouched plate of Banoffee pie. 

“Let’s dance,” Tom doesn’t ask and before you can politely decline, he’s on his feet and holding his arm out for you. Cecelia silently urges you to take him up on his offer and with a sigh, you place your fork down and scoot your chair back. 

Luckily, other couples have made their way to the dancefloor already. Realizing that not everyone will be focused on you, you relax slightly as Tom leads you into the small, moving crowd. He comes to a stop and places one hand on the dip of your hip, his other hand grabbing yours. If he notices the clamminess of your skin, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t mention your slight shaking either, and you can’t quite decide if that’s positive or negative.

“This would’ve been a lot easier if you didn’t get such a big dress, you know,” you mutter. “I really can’t dance.” 

“Relax, darling,” Tom instructs softly, gently pulling you closer to him. Your body reacts immediately and you pray he doesn’t notice your flushed cheeks. “We’ll just sway.”

And you do. The two of you begin swaying slowly from side to side and you quickly forget about everyone else in the room, focusing on Tom’s grip on your waist. A part of you knows that this is wrong - it should be wrong. Tom is your boss, not even your real boss, just overseeing a stupid, required internship for your degree. You shouldn’t be this infatuated with him. Not only is it wrong, but nothing would ever happen between the two of you and you would just be setting yourself up for heartbreak. Closing your eyes briefly, you push the thoughts away, wanting to enjoy this moment - or, whatever it is -  with Tom.

The picture of Tom’s freckled, younger brother pops into your mind. You remember suddenly what this gala is for and how difficult this day must be for Tom. You can’t fully comprehend or understand how he feels, and frankly, you’re grateful for that. Just the thought of not being able to see your parents or sister again is extremely painful. The song changes, the tempo still the same, and you keep swaying clumsily. Rubbing your lips together to spread the nude lipgloss, you look up at Tom. 

“I’m sorry,” you offer gently and his questioning eyes meet yours. “About Paddy. About your mom and dad. I’m really sorry for your loss, Tom.” 

His face hardens at the mention of his younger brother’s name and you instantly wish you can take the words back. The pain in his eyes is enough to make your own eyes water. Slowly, his hand falls from your hip and you immediately miss the warmth from his touch. He untangles his hand from yours shortly after, taking a step back. You feel the urge to close the distance, to touch him, to do something but you know you can’t. Licking his lips, Tom mumbles out an excuse and strides out of your view, blurring into the sea of people. You gather the skirt of your dress in your hands, willing the unshed tears away before you reach the table. 

You sit down quietly, ignoring Cecelia’s worried look. Having a best friend that could read you easier than the instructions on the Mac n’ Cheese box could both be a good and a bad thing. Harrison looks behind you, more than likely expecting his best mate to follow. When he doesn’t, Harrison looks at you. You mouth out Paddy’s name, not wanting to bring it up again. The blue-eyed man winces slightly before pressing a quick kiss to his mother’s cheek and excusing himself from the table. Cecelia easily falls into a conversation with Harrison’s mother and you listen half-heartedly, wondering if you had ruined your relationship with Tom. 

♥︎ tag list: // @errorloadinghappiness // @chamilsanya //  @moose-munch //  @all-the-best-people-are-weird // @starkviibes // @quackson-queen // @hollands99 //  @safetypin-inspace // @aquzrius // @tom-hollands-eyelash // @greenarrowhead // @obsesivesun // @pignolithecookie //  @justmesadgirl //  @satellitespidey // @unhealthyobsessionwithmarvel // @butithasntkilledyouyet //  @smexylemony // @95lover // @spirito-della-tartaruga // @shannonxbarnes // @softspideyboy // @slut-for-fandoms // @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell // @blueeyedbesson // @phoenixherron // @attractiveoctagon // @hermionedeservesbetterthanron // @theclearblues // @blisshemmings // @inneedoftomholland // @competativekook // @love-untiltheresnoloveleft // @spinneret-holland // @whatanight13 // @sherizaraiyah // @thesamebutwonderfullydifferent // @whatdafricklefrackle // @imagine-that-100 // @theirmidgardian // @lucille-lovely // @livingincompletesilence // @spider-tay // @tomhollanders2013 // @haz-thetics // @notes-from-my-journal // @life-still-confuses-me // @spideymood // @parkerstan // @embrace-themagic // @hazeyholland // @notimeforthemessenger // @alilblogger // @elentiya02  // @whileinparis // @marvel-language // @lizziemariejackson // @allofthebitters // @tominhoodies // @meaganjm // @notunlimited // @marvelismylifffe // @inspiredbynewt // @takemyvirginitystone // @parkerssweb // @tom-hollands-eyelash // 

[mendespideys]

The Intern pt. IX

Pairing: Reader x CEO!Tom Holland 

Summary: You’re finishing your last year of university in London, and what better way do to that than with an internship at Holland and Osterfield’s?

Warnings: nsfw, if you squint and brief mention of a car accident. i was also too lazy to proofread

A/N: I think some of you might like this chapter ;)) nothing too important happens, but still important for future chapters. let me know what you think - i love hearing your thoughts!

a lil note: some of you might have noticed that i changed my url to @ sunsetspidey ☼ most, if not all, of my writing is tagged under #ironwriting, so you can still find it! 

After what feels like an eternity, Harrison makes his way on stage with Tom hot on his tail. The guests quickly notice and the constant murmur of people talking quiets down as the two young heads of the company step toward the microphone. Harrison speaks first, once again thanking everyone for coming. He mentions specific companies and people, some of which you recognize from your work. You try your best to listen to him but you find yourself focused on Tom, trying to decipher the look plastered on his face. He doesn’t appear to be angry or sad, but he doesn’t look happy either. His eyes look almost empty. Harrison steps away, allowing Tom to take his place.

“As my best mate, Harrison just said, we are extremely grateful to have you all here. I would also like to thank everyone who helped make this event possible. Harrison, his marketing team, our charity director, Lilian, our intern, Y/N, who designed the beautiful invitations that a lot of you received.”

Tom’s formal ‘thank you’ speech drowns out at the mention of your name. Cecelia and Harrison’s mother both smile at you and you flush, feeling other eyes on you as well. Although you feel incredibly flattered, you had never expected or anticipated a thank you - let alone in front of everyone. Clearing your throat, you redirect your focus back to Tom as the cheery mood falters a bit.

“As many of you know, this gala has a special place in my heart. I, um, lost my parents and younger brother in an accident a little over a year ago,” Tom explains and you hear a soft gasp escaping your best friend. She quickly looks at you and you just nod, looking back at your boss as he continues,

“My brother was only fourteen and he was taken way too early. I started a foundation in his name. A foundation created to help young children, sick or healthy, do things they have always dreamed of. This foundation was created to help them live out the dreams and do the things my younger brother never had the chance to do. So, please, don’t be shy with your donations. I can promise you that there are hundreds of children out there who will appreciate every single penny. Again, thank you, and please enjoy yourselves!”

You quickly wipe at your eyes, careful not to smudge the eyeshadow Cecelia had worked on, wondering if you had been the only one who noticed the slight crack in Tom’s voice. Your best friend croaks out a laugh, quickly using the back of her hand to remove the escaping tear. The crowd erupts into an ovation, your table quickly joining in on the celebration. A few other representatives from other businesses share short speeches, mostly just encouraging everyone to donate and to show Tom and Harrison some support. You’re not really paying attention, too busy trying to figure out where Tom was. You had to apologize. 

“I’m so proud of you, boys. I think you’ll get a lot of donations,” Harrison’s mother gushes as the two heads of the company sit back down at the table. 

“Y/N, come here, would you? I wanna show you something,” Tom whispers, leaning in closer so you can hear him. 

You can smell his cologne - the same one he wore the night you met him - and nod, not trusting your voice. He scoots his chair back, holding his arm out for you. You grab it, allowing him to help you up from the chair. Too scared to ask him where he’s taking you, you follow him silently. Tom doesn’t make an effort to release his arm from your grip, so you don’t either. You can’t help but feel slightly tense, but Tom doesn’t appear too bothered and you conclude it must just be you. You walk with him through the crowd and a hallway with different photos of animals until you reach the elevator. 

Watching curiously as he presses the button for the third floor, you try to ignore the itching feeling from the uncomfortable silence. Still not being sure if he was upset with you or not was gnawing in the back of your head and your frustration was quickly growing. The elevator moves too slow for your liking and your thoughts become overbearing. Tom leans back against the railing in the bright elevator as you twiddle your thumbs, inwardly debating whether or not to speak up. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, not being able to hold it any longer. Tom looks at you questioningly. “About bringing up your family and-”

The elevator comes to an abrupt stop and the doors open with the sound of a small bell. You stumble slightly in your heels and Tom immediately reaches out, but you’re able to steady yourself. He shakes his head, motioning for you step out. You follow his instructions and he follows you. You’re about to continue your apology but the view stops you. You look around the dark-painted hallway and the various butterflies scattered around on a string of fairy lights. The beautiful decorations continue down the long hall and you stare in awe, breathing out an almost silent ‘wow’.

“I, uh, took Paddy here once. He loved it. You kinda remind me of him in some ways, no offense, so I thought you’d like it, too,” Tom explains quietly. 

You nod. “I love it. It’s so beautiful.” 

The two of you begin your exploration. You have no trouble understanding why his younger brother had loved it so much. Walking through the dark walls and looking at the various butterflies and other insects was an adventure in itself. Neither of you said much, just taking in the atmosphere and reading the different plaques with information about each species. An occasional ‘hey, look at this’ or ‘that’s awesome’ is exchanged but nothing more. Neither of you mind. It’s comfortable and once again, you seem to forget the fact that Tom is your boss. 

The expedition continues and you lose track of time. It feels like you’ve been away from the crowd for hours, but it feels like you’ve only been with Tom for minutes and you don’t want it to end. A shiver runs through your body and you curse yourself for not being able to handle any cold. Although, the airconditioning seemed to be running, which was unnecessary in the middle of the December. The exhibition is quiet, so naturally, when you hear rustling, you look up to investigate. Tom is shrugging off his blazer and before you can question him, he hands it to you. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how cold it must be for you. Here you are.”

You hesitantly take the article of clothing he was offering, a sigh of relief escaping you as you slipped into it. The warmth was instant and you welcomed it with open arms. It also smelled just like him, but you would never tell him that. Tom chuckles and you glance up at him. Even with your heels, Tom still towered a few inches taller than you. The dimly lit hallway casts shadows on his face, but you’re still able to see his features. His comforting eyes meet yours and you can’t bring yourself to look away. Normally, eye contact like this would you squirm uncomfortably, but it was different now. It was uncontrollable and innocent, and you enjoyed it. 

It happens before you can read the situation. Tom leans down slightly and without even realizing, you tilt your head upwards and your lips meet. It feels just like the night when you had met him, if not better. It’s soft at first; gentle, and almost a little hesitant. The little angel on your shoulder continuously scolds you, telling you how wrong this is. Thankfully, the little devil also perching on your shoulder quickly silences him. Your kiss deepens. An arm wraps around your waist and Tom pulls you so you collide with his chest. Your fingers tangle within Tom’s shirt, definitely crumbling the fabric, as your lips move together with hunger. 

Briefly distancing himself, he steps backward before pushing you up against the wall. A sound of surprise escapes you, but it’s muffled by his lips. His tongue asks for permission and you accept, not being able to control the sounds of pleasure leaving your mouth. His large hand cups your cheek, his fingers tangling in your loose curls. He accidentally loosens the strand of hair being held back by the hair clip, but you barely register it, too preoccupied with the countless emotions consuming you. Your lungs ache from the lack of oxygen and despite not wanting to, you pull away. The two of you stand silently as you try to catch your breath. Tom’s close enough for you to feel his warm breath everytime his chest falls, but you want him even closer. 

“How does my apartment sound, darling?” The slight cockiness in his voice excites you further. 

“Perfect,” you mumble almost instantly, your mind still not clear from the feeling of his lips against yours. 

♡ my beautiful readers ♡

the intern: // @errorloadinghappiness // @chamilsanya //  @moose-munch //  @all-the-best-people-are-weird // @starkviibes // @quackson-queen // @hollands99 //  @safetypin-inspace // @aquzrius // @tom-hollands-eyelash // @greenarrowhead // @obsesivesun // @pignolithecookie //  @justmesadgirl //  @satellitespidey // @unhealthyobsessionwithmarvel // @butithasntkilledyouyet //  @smexylemony // @95lover // @spirito-della-tartaruga // @shannonxbarnes // @softspideyboy // @slut-for-fandoms // @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell // @blueeyedbesson // @phoenixherron // @attractiveoctagon // @hermionedeservesbetterthanron // @theclearblues // @blisshemmings // @inneedoftomholland // @competativekook // @love-untiltheresnoloveleft // @spinneret-holland // @whatanight13 // @sherizaraiyah // @thesamebutwonderfullydifferent // @whatdafricklefrackle // @imagine-that-100 // @theirmidgardian // @lucille-lovely // @livingincompletesilence // @spider-tay // @tomhollanders2013 // @haz-thetics // @notes-from-my-journal // @life-still-confuses-me // @naeniiie-blog // @greenarrowhead // @johnmurphys-sass // @sunshine96love // @twinklestqr  

permanent: @spideymood // @parkerstan // @smexylemony // @blueeyedbesson // @embrace-themagic // @hazeyholland // @notimeforthemessenger // @alilblogger // @elentiya02  // @whileinparis // @marvel-language // @lizziemariejackson // @allofthebitters // @tominhoodies // @meaganjm // @notunlimited // @marvelismylifffe // @inspiredbynewt // @takemyvirginitystone // @parkerssweb // @tom-hollands-eyelash // @dangerousluv1 // 

tom: @tomhollanders2013 // @people-leadingcauseofstress // @theirmidgardian // @lucille-lovely // @naeniiie-blog // @twinklestqr //

[mendespideys]

the intern ▿ pt. v

Pairing: Reader x CEO!Tom Holland

Summary: You’re finishing your last year of university in London, and what better way do to that than with an internship at Holland and Osterfield’s? 

Warnings: Language and I think that’s it?

A/N: I’m so sorry it has taken me this long to update. I just recently got back to Arizona from spending 2 months in Norway, and I also just started University. It was a lot to adjust to. I promise I’ll try to update more frequently from now on!

Also, huge thanks to the lovely @hollandandi who helped me out with this! I love you ♡

series masterlist 

< previous | next >

Clutching the cold railing desperately, you catch yourself from taking a tumble down the stairs. Sometimes, wearing heels was a real struggle, but it seemed to be the appropriate attire at Holland and Osterfield’s, so you kept your disapprovement to yourself. The December air hits you like a tidal wave when you push open the door to your apartment complex, the sudden change of temperature making your eyes water. You instantly feel your cheeks turn red from the harsh cold, and you make it your goal to hurry to the Tube stop. 

A car horn being honked stops you in your tracks, and you turn around, your heart frantically thumping in your chest. You spot the familiar black Audi with its engine running and with a huff, you make your way over. You see his amused smile as you get closer and you narrow your eyes at him, annoyed that he found your discomfort entertaining. He stays silent as you pull open the passenger door, but throws you a quick grin when you’re finally able to climb into the SUV.  The door slams shut and he leans forward to slightly lower the music playing from his phone. 

“Why do you find my misery so amusing?” you inquire, turning to look at him as you buckle in. 

“It looked hilarious from my point of view, darlin’,” Tom defends, effortlessly maneuvering his way out from the parking spot. 

“I got scared. Sue me,” you mumble, feeling your embarrassment bubble but you try your best to ignore it. “So, enlighten me. Why is Tom Holland picking me up at 7:45 in the morning?” 

Tom’s fingers clench slightly around the steering wheel, but you don’t really notice. You lean back into the comfort of the leather seat, peering at your employer through your lashes. He glances at you quickly before directing his gaze back at the busy road in front of him. You glance at the clock on the dashboard, finding yourself wondering how long Tom had been waiting for you.

“You were late. Thought I’d give you a ride,” Tom states confidently with a small shrug. 

“You didn’t know I’d be late, though,” you counter, raising an eyebrow as you turn to look at him again. “How long were you waiting?”

Tom clears his throat, “If you’re going to keep interrogating me, you can walk. Can’t you just be appreciative like normal people?” 

“Sorry,” you mumble, deciding to let the subject go. For now. “I really do appreciate it. I would be freezing my ass off and I’d be late if it wasn’t for you.”

Tom nods but doesn’t reply. You bring your phone out, debating to text Cecelia but you decide against it. You could tell her later. The car ride ends quicker than you want it to. You had recognized one of the songs playing from Tom’s Spotify and the two of you had immediately started sharing knowledge of other artists and bands. Tom had relaxed and the environment had been comfortable. For a second, you had forgotten he was your boss. You had forgotten about the weird coincidence of him being outside of your apartment - if it even was a coincidence - and you had forgotten about the workload waiting for you. 

The SUV comes to a stop and soon after the music stops. The silence suddenly feels heavy and you unbuckle, leaning down to pick your laptop back up from the floor. The driver door shuts and you allow yourself to sigh before making your way out of the car. The unwelcome cold hits you once again and you shiver involuntarily. Letting the door shut behind you, you glance up at the tall building as you step away from the car. You don’t know if it’s your lack of attention or your general clumsiness, but the second you start walking, the thin heel of your shoe slips and you wobble, your arms flailing as you try to catch your balance. 

An automatic shriek escapes you. You shut your eyes, positive you’ll hit the snow-covered ground any second. A strong grip tightens around your waist and you feel yourself regaining balance. You open one eye at a time, taking in what had happened. A few pairs of eyes are looking at you and you flush, knowing you had just made a fool of yourself. A low chuckle brings you back to the situation at hand and you glance over your shoulder to inspect your savior. Tom’s coffee-colored orbs are close enough for you to see the underlying concern although his face reads amusement. 

“You alright?” 

You nod slowly and he releases his grip, letting you go. Clearing your throat, you smooth down the front of your coat, needing something to do with your hands. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find his concern flattering, but you wouldn’t let yourself read into it. You would have been worried if you saw someone about to fall, too. Huffing loudly, you clutch the strap of your bag looking up at Tom. He shoots you a tight smile, extending his hand toward you. You glance at the to-go cup in his head, the hot liquid inside steaming. 

“Here,” he states simply, gently shaking the beverage. “You seem like you could use it more than me. It’s tea.” 

Hesitantly, you take it from him. The left corner of Tom’s mouth curves into a half-smile and you mumble out a thank you. He nods, and the two of you start walking into the extravagant building, ignoring the intrusive stares of the surrounding people. As you walk through the revolving doors, you sigh softly, welcoming the warmth with open arms. Neither of you says much as you make your way to the fourth floor. Tom greets a couple of people while you pretend not to notice their questioning looks. 

Most of the people addressing Tom’s presences are women. They are all incredibly attractive and their narrowing eyes makes you feel uncomfortable. If you didn’t know any better, you would say they were jealous. Tom didn’t seem to notice, happily responding to his employees, but never stepping away from you. He stays close as you slowly make your way toward the silver doors, and it helps the little confidence you have left. Only when the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your desired floor, does Tom speak again,

"Have a good day, Y/N. Hope the tea helps.” 

Before you have time to respond, he’s striding down the hallway toward his office. You stand glued to your spot, watching him silently. He doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. When the door to his office closes behind him, you’re brought back to reality. A faint blush makes its way to your cheeks as you realize how pathetic you must have looked, and you turn on your heel, trudging toward your own desk. 

An hour or two later, after playing around with various designs, you e-mail Harrison to let him know you have prepared three different versions of the invitations, attaching all three of them before pressing send. A blur of excitement and nervousness brews in the pit of your stomach. You have average knowledge of graphic design, and creating the invitations was more fun than work, but the pessimistic part of you keeps telling you that Harrison will hate them. They were far from perfect, but you had put quite the effort into creating them, and you just hoped one of them would be good enough. 

A redhead that you don’t recognize stops in next to your desk. You spot her out of the corner of your eye, so you pause your typing and direct your attention toward her. She smiles at you, but you can’t quite decipher if it’s genuine, and she extends her hands. You glance questioningly at the bright red Santa hat in her hand and she quickly explains that it’s an office tradition to have do Secret Santa every year. Although you find the concept slightly childish, you shrug and reach toward the hat containing the names. The woman simply moved on before you could even open the note, and when you did, the name Ned was scribbled down with black ink. 

The first task was figuring out who he was. You didn’t socialize much with the others, most of them almost ten years older than you. After some asking around, you were finally able to locate him. At the memory of the whole ordeal, you glance over your shoulder, only to notice that Ned isn’t in his seat. It had turned out, that Ned had been in the same office as you this entire time. You take note of the small LEGO figures placed neatly on his desk before getting back to work. Twenty minutes later, Harrison e-mails you back, asking you to meet him in his office. 

You make your way down the hallway, the chunky heels of yours clicking against the floor. Remembering the first time you made your way to Harrison’s office, how nervous you had been, you chuckle at yourself. Over the past month, you had grown quite close to Harrison. The two of you would often debrief and he would need to sign off on your hours at the end of every two weeks. Of course, the two of you never met up outside of work, but you no longer felt nervous about being called into his office. 

This confidence falters slightly when you open the door and Tom is sitting on Harrison’s desk, his legs dangling off the edge. Despite him picking you up this morning and the two of you bonding over your shared music taste, you can’t quite shake the awkwardness of being in the same room as him. Harrison being there as well makes it worse because you’re positive he can sense the slight tension. You smile timidly, wishing you hadn’t left your phone at your desk so you could use it as a distraction. They both look at you as you stand there quietly, and you feel yourself flush from the attention. 

“I saw the invitations,” Harrison informs, glancing up from his computer screen to look at you. “I showed them to Tom, too.”

“Oh,” you clear your throat. “I’m sorry they’re not good. I really tried-”

“Y/N, they’re great,” Tom interrupts and Harrison nods in agreement. 

Your cheeks heat up, once again, at the compliment. Although you had wanted them to like your work, you had told yourself that it was a long-shot and that they would end up hiring a professional graphic designer. Tom studies you for a moment and you avoid his gaze, slowly moving a little closer to Harrison’s desk. The blue-eyed man turns his computer around and you see the three different designs you had created. You analyze them again, already seeing a couple of things that you would change. 

“We think they’re all great, so we want to know which one you are the proudest of,” Harrison sends you a smile and you nod, pursing your lips as you pretend to be thinking. You had already chosen your favorite before you sent them. 

“This one,” you declare, pointing to your favorite invitation. It was fairly simple; black and white with red details. 

You were unsure of what color to choose at first, but you decided to go with red in the spirit of Christmas. It was simple, yet sophisticated. You had kept the intended audience in mind while designing it, and out of the three, you like this invitation the most. Harrison nods at your choice, listening as you put words to your thoughts and explain why that was your first choice. 

“Okay, it’s settled then. That’s the invitation,” Harrison looks at Tom briefly. You can’t tell if it’s for approval or agreement, but Tom nods nonetheless. “How’s your Secret Santa going?”

“Horrible,” you mutter, an annoyed groan escaping you. “I have a guy in the marketing department but I barely know him and he’s probably at least five years older than me. I noticed he likes LEGO so I might buy him that. Why do you guys do this anyway?”

Tom smirks, apparently finding your despair amusing. “For this. To see people like you fuss over what to buy a stranger. I find it kind of amusing.”

You scoff, narrowing your eyes at him momentarily. “Well,” you pause with a huff. “It fucking sucks. Now, excuse me, I have to go back to my desk and finish my work.”

The smirk on Tom’s face only grows bigger as he looks at you, fiddling with a pen absentmindedly. He had ditched the blazer he was wearing this morning, the sleeves of his white button-up rolled up to reveal his skin. You watch his fingers move along the pen easily, the movement causing the veins in his arms to be more prominent. Licking your lips, you look back up at him, ignoring your impure thoughts. 

“Just remember that someone pulled your name out of the hat, too. Careful who you unleash your anger at,” Tom smirks, almost innocently. 

With another huff, you walk out the door, trying your best to ignore their snickers. You watch your dark yellow heels as you walk, the color contrasting the black of your stockings. London was growing colder by each day and it was now too cold to walk from your apartment to the tube and from the tube and to the internship with bare legs. Sitting back down at your desk, you resume your assignment, trying to avoid the thought of all the homework you had waiting when you get home.

tagging these beautiful people: @spideymood // @parkerstan // @smexylemony // @blueeyedbesson // @embrace-themagic // @hazeyholland // @notimeforthemessenger // @alilblogger // @hollandandi // @elentiya02 // // @errorloadinghappiness // @chamilsanya //  @moose-munch //  @all-the-best-people-are-weird // @starkviibes // @quackson-queen // @hollands99 //  @safetypin-inspace // @aquzrius // @tom-hollands-eyelash // @greenarrowhead // @obsesivesun // @pignolithecookie //  @justmesadgirl //  @satellitespidey // @unhealthyobsessionwithmarvel // @butithasntkilledyouyet //  @smexylemony // @95lover // @spirito-della-tartaruga // @shannonxbarnes // @softspideyboy // @slut-for-fandoms // @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell // @blueeyedbesson // @phoenixherron // @attractiveoctagon // @hermionedeservesbetterthanron // @theclearblues // @blisshemmings // @inneedoftomholland // @competativekook //  

[mendespideys]

the intern ▿ pt. vi

Pairing: Reader x CEO!Tom Holland

Summary: You’re finishing your last year of university in London, and what better way do to that than with an internship at Holland and Osterfield’s? 

Warnings: Very vague mention of sex and I didn’t proofread 

A/N: Add yourself to my taglist here! I fixed a few things, and I’m happier with how the story is moving along now. I hope you guys like it ♥︎ 

series masterlist 

< previous | next >

IGNORING THE AWAITING HOMEWORK seemed to be easier said than done. So did ignoring the image of Tom’s forearms. For some unexplainable reason, your brain kept connecting the image of his arms from earlier to the memory of his arms from the night the two of you had shared. You remembered how they had caressed you and how he had been holding himself up while thru-

You shiver involuntarily at the thought, bringing yourself back to reality. Get yourself together, you instruct silently. You lean back into the chair, slowly looking around the room. Everyone is still preoccupied with their work and you sigh. No one had caught you daydreaming about things you definitely shouldn’t be thinking about at work. Clearing your throat silently, you make your way toward the bathroom. Every step you take makes you cringe, the sound of your heels sounding twice as loud in the quiet office space. 

You quickly find an open stall, locking the door and sliding down on top of the toilet seat. You weren’t quite sure where all of these thoughts were suddenly coming from. You find Tom attractive, there’s no question about that, and sure, you had found other men attractive before, too. However, you struggle to remember the last time you were this infatuated with a man. That night, when you met Tom, you had spotted him looking at you long before he made a move. His strong jawline and messy hair had caught your attention, but when you were close enough to explore his other features, you quickly decided that his dark brown irises were your favorite. 

The door to the bathroom opens, bringing you out of your distracting thoughts. Two gossiping voices break the silence and you spot two pairs of heels from underneath the door to your stall. They keep talking, but you can’t bring yourself to listen, having trouble dealing with your own almost-drama. That is until you hear Tom’s name, however. Sitting there silently, you listen intently as the two women continue to chitchat.

“I know! Did you see the girl he was with this morning?” One of them asks and you feel your heartbeat quicken at the question. 

“Yeah. She barely looks over twenty. Do you think they slept together?”

“Possibly. Karen told me that someone had seen them arrive together. Poor girl almost fell flat on her arse, but Tom caught her apparently.”

You wince at the memory, realizing that more people had seen your almost-accident. The rest of their conversation all blurs together and before you know it, they’re done touching up their makeup and you’re alone once again. With a deep sigh, you gather yourself and step out from your hiding spot. You glance at yourself in the mirror, almost too tired to care about the dark spots underneath your eyes. With the additional stress of the internship and dealing with whatever was going on between you and Tom, there had been countless sleepless nights. If you weren’t at Holland and Osterfield’s, you were either at school or trying to catch up on homework. 

Knowing you’re about to be done for the day anyway, you ignore your messy appearance and head back toward your desk. Plopping back into your chair with a sigh, you silently start a debate with yourself on whether or not to tell Cecelia about the gossip. Having finished the invitations and the list of RSVPs Harrison had asked for you, you decide to get started on your homework. You log into the all-too-familiar website, navigating your way to the assignment with the closest due date. 

You’re halfway done when the normal buzzing of people chatting quiets down. Curious, you glance up from your computer to inspect the cause of the sudden change. You nearly choke on your breath when you see Tom standing in front of you, his lips pulled into a tight smile. You furrow your brows at him questioningly, not trusting your voice to ask him aloud. 

“You were done twenty minutes ago. Do you really love being here that much?” Tom asks and you can easily detect the teasing in his voice, but you’re too tired to play along. 

“Oh. I lost track of time,” you explain, closing your laptop and gathering your things. Tom is still standing there silently as you stand, throwing your bag over your shoulder and smoothing down your skirt. 

“I’ll take you home,” Tom offers, although it sounds more like a statement than a question. 

Being twenty minutes late, you know you’ll have to wait another forty-five minutes for the Tube, so you just nod and follow him silently. Instead of letting the curious stares get to you this time, you ignore them, feeling slightly confident about Tom offering you a ride home. The two of you don’t talk, but you don’t mind. There’s a brewing pain in the back of your head and all you want is to fall asleep. It doesn’t feel awkward, sharing the silence with Tom, and you feel relieved. 

He opens the door for you when you reach his car, and you climb into the SUV while mumbling thanks. Tom places his own laptop in the backseat before effortlessly getting behind the wheel. The car starts and he fumbles briefly, trying to connect his phone to the speaker system. A few moments later, a song by Ed Sheeran fills the car. You hum in appreciation and Tom chuckles, buckling in before starting to pull out of the parking lot. 

“Did the tea help?” 

“Is this gonna be a regular thing now? Picking me up and taking me home?” You counter, not too keen on talking about this morning. 

Tom stays silent, and you wonder if you’ve overstepped an invisible boundary. Being friendly with Harrison and small gestures like this from Tom makes it easy to forget that they’re both your bosses. You glance at him, watching as his tongue quickly traces his bottom lip. He looks at you momentarily, 

“If you want.” 

YOU’RE IN THE MIDDLE OF writing your fifth page of notes, a now turned-cold plate of noodles next to you when Cecelia walks through the door. You mumble out a greeting, focused on finishing the last paragraph. She puts her backpack down on the floor as you finish the last word, finally looking up at your friend. She studies your work as you stretch your hand.

Tom hadn’t said much after that and neither had you. He wished you good luck with your homework and headache, and you wished him a safe drive home. After some rest and Tylenol, you were feeling a lot better. Although it was the last thing you wanted at the moment, you had reluctantly sat down with your three hundred pages books. You were determined to get ahead on your homework, knowing you would be busy with the upcoming gala and Christmas. 

“How was work?” you ask, allowing yourself a small break.

“Tiring,” she shrugs, shrugging off her coat. “Had the usual amount of tossers. Oh, and Harrison- is that his name? He stopped by.”

You watch as she rummages through the fridge as if she those words hadn’t left her. She puts her ingredients down on the counter and walks over to her backpack. She pulls out an all-too-familiar invitation, the red details standing out against the white, placing it on the counter in front of you. You glance it before meeting her eyes.

“Harrison stopped by? Like, did he know you work there or was it purely coincidental?”

She shrugs, going back to making her food. “Dunno. He was in my serving section and I recognized him from those photos, you know, and I introduced myself. He said you never mention me and he gave me that invitation.”

“He invited you to the gala? Just like that?” You question, ignoring her statement about never mentioning her.

“Well, yeah,” she shrugs. “I didn’t think much of it. Don’t even know if I’ll go.”

You sit there dumbfounded for a moment, watching her silently as she pours the egg mixture into the pan, her omelette beginning to sizzle. Sliding down from the bar stool, you close your notebooks, letting her know that you’re taking a shower. She just nods, scrolling through something on her phone. Your stocking-clad feet slide on the floor as you walk into the shared bathroom, locking the door behind you. Turning on the water so it has time to get warm, you undress, relishing the feeling of not wearing the formal attire you had been too busy to change out of.

The bathroom quickly heats up, the steam surrounding you. Why Harrison had decided to invite Cecelia was beyond you. Technically, you hadn’t even been invited yet. Actually, you weren’t sure if you were meant to go at all. You try to erase Tom’s teasing smirk from your mind as the water runs down your body. And, for a moment, you wonder how different things would be if you hadn’t met Tom that night at the club. Would he still be teasing you? Would Harrison be so nice? Does he even know what happened between the two of you?

You exit the hot bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar to let out some steam. Cecelia is sitting on the couch, her laptop in her lap, and an empty plate on the table in front of her. You plop down next to her, wrapping the bathrobe tighter around yourself. Grabbing your phone from the table, you unlock it effortlessly, navigating your way to Instagram.

“Do know what this gala is for?” Cecelia asks so suddenly that you’re forced to stop your actions to look at her.

“Some charity. They’re looking to raise money, I suppose,” you explain with a shrug, not too interested. “I just do what I’m told. I don’t question anything.”

“Yeah but,” she looks up from her laptop to meet your gaze, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Do you know what charity?”

You groan, annoyed with her sudden interest. You loved being in the apartment with Cecelia because she understood how little you liked to talk about your internship and the whole Tom-thing. Thankfully, she still doesn’t have a clue about him picking you up or driving you home. You send her a pointed look, as if to explain you’re not currently in the mood to chat about it.

“No,” you admit grumpily. “I don’t. Why are you so interested all of a sudden? I thought you weren’t gonna go. Besides, I’d rather not talk or think about Tom right now. He’s distracted me enough already.”

She just purses her lips, turning her laptop toward you. You realize it’s an informational article about the gala and as you start reading it, you wonder why she had decided to look it up in the first place. You skim through the lines as fast as you can, not really comprehending the information, but Cecelia gets impatient and points a bright red fingernail toward the bottom of the text. You squint, reading the last paragraph word-for-word.

This will be the fifth charity event hosted by Holland and Osterfield’s. The two young heads of the company have often shown their support to various charities and businesses, but this time around, the support hits close to home. The company is throwing a gala to raise money for the ‘Paddy Holland Fund’, a charity founded by the young Tom Holland himself just little over a year ago. Bring your tissues, folks, because it might get emotional.

♡ tagging these amazing people: @hollandandi // @spideymood // @parkerstan // @blueeyedbesson // @embrace-themagic // @hazeyholland // @notimeforthemessenger // @alilblogger // @elentiya02 // @whileinparis //  @errorloadinghappiness // @chamilsanya //  @moose-munch //  @all-the-best-people-are-weird // @starkviibes // @quackson-queen // @hollands99 //  @safetypin-inspace // @aquzrius // @tom-hollands-eyelash // @greenarrowhead // @obsesivesun // @pignolithecookie //  @justmesadgirl //  @satellitespidey // @unhealthyobsessionwithmarvel // @butithasntkilledyouyet //  @smexylemony // @95lover // @spirito-della-tartaruga // @shannonxbarnes // @softspideyboy // @slut-for-fandoms // @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell // @blueeyedbesson // @phoenixherron // @attractiveoctagon // @hermionedeservesbetterthanron // @theclearblues // @blisshemmings // @inneedoftomholland // @competativekook // @love-untiltheresnoloveleft // @spinneret-holland // @whatanight13 // @sherizaraiyah // @thesamebutwonderfullydifferent //

[mendespideys]

the life of a youtuber // t.h.

pairing: reader x tom holland 

prompt: “stop looking at me like that.”

summary: the reader, a youtuber, joins the ‘pregnant for twenty-four hours challenge’, and tom didn’t know he could fall for her even harder until he saw her. 

a/n: this was supposed to be for @spiderboytotherescue’s 4k writing challenge. i ended up losing track of time but i figured i would post it anyways! congrats, amber 💞

side note: i absolutely hate how this turned out, and i kinda don’t want to post it but i haven’t posted anything in what feels like weeks so.. here you go

masterlist

“Hey, guys, welcome back to my channel! I’m doing a vlog style video because we’re doing something very interesting today,” you announce, your voice sounding exaggeratingly enthusiastic. Pointing the camera down at the box in front of you, you continue your introduction, “I decided to jump on the bandwagon, so we’re gonna be pregnant for twenty-four hours!” 

Pushing the red button on your Canon, you place the camera down on the floor once it stops recording. You flip open the lid of the box, taking in the sight of the fake pregnant belly. Tessa scurries over, her claws scraping against the hardwood floor. Understanding what’s happening, you quickly pick up the camera and press the record button, focusing the lens on the Blue Staffy. She sniffs the prop curiously, bumping into it with her wet nose. You giggle, catching it all on film. Eventually, she loses interest and you pause the recording once again, putting the camera aside. You grunt, grabbing the skin-colored prop from the box, not expecting it to be as heavy as it is. Pushing yourself off of the floor, you bring it with you into the bedroom. The bed bounces slightly as you drop it down next to your three pre-selected outfits. After getting the camera from the living room, you press record, making sure the outfits are in frame. 

You quickly film a clip explaining how you picked three outfits, hoping they would still fit you with a fake bump. The sounds of Tessa playing with one of her many squeaky toys fill the apartment, mixing with your own as you struggle to strap the belly on. Releasing a sigh of relief once it’s finally on, you throw your mustard yellow button-up maxi dress on, finding the whole ordeal a lot more difficult than it normally would have been. Picking up the PowerShot from your bed, you hit record once again, making sure the settings are all equally adjusted before turning around toward the mirror. A genuine gasp of surprise escapes you, seeing the dress wrap almost perfectly around the prop strapped to your body. You film yourself in the mirror, following the length of your frame from your feet to your head. 

“It’s kinda freaky how real it looks, huh?” you ask your subscribers, turning to your side and wrapping your free arm underneath the protruding belly. “This is so crazy! I think I’m gonna with the dress for now because this belly is bigger than I expected, and I don’t think my shorts will fit.”

Continuing to film yourself in the mirror, you explain to your viewers how you’re going to meet up with Tom on set for lunch. You feel your nerves begin to bubble at the thought of showing Tom your dramatic change. He had been gone for hours at a time the past two weeks and you hadn’t been able to tell him you were planning on filming this video. Turning the camera off, you throw it into your black backpack along with your wallet and phone charger. You give yourself one last look in the mirror, still mesmerized by how real it looks. Although you probably wouldn’t admit it out loud, the fake look was beginning to grow on you. Closing the door to the bedroom, you step back into the living room, catching the attention of Tessa. Her large body snakes off the couch and she trots toward you, her tail wagging. You pet her head gently a couple of times, saying your goodbyes, before grabbing your car keys off the counter.

After parking at their filming location for the day, you rummage through your bag to make sure you have everything before exiting the car. Unlike the first time you had visited Tom on set, the security easily recognizes you this time without even having to show them your ID. The very first time you had visited Tom on set while filming for Captain America: Civil War, it took you ten minutes to try to convince the security guard that you were Tom’s girlfriend. Eventually, they had to call Tom over himself to verify your identity and once he did, the security guard wouldn’t stop apologizing. You chuckle quietly to yourself, remembering the memory vividly. Turning your camera back on, you press record, eager to catch the reactions of your friends.

After meeting Tom back in late 2014 at one of Harrison’s parties, the two of you quickly began dating. You were already growing quickly on YouTube at the time but kept your relationship out of the spotlight for months. You had been there through the entirety of his audition process for Spider-Man and you couldn’t be prouder of him. A few months ago, after a dinner filled with laughter, memories, and fairy lights, he had asked you to be his forever. The proposal was absolutely perfect and you could tell he had put a lot of planning into it, which made the gesture even more special. With both of you having busy schedules, you had decided to take it slow and plan whenever you had time. You had already been out dress shopping once but with no luck and Tom had asked Harrison to be his best man even before he asked you to marry him. Still, it felt surreal to be engaged to Tom. Just thinking about it made the butterflies in your stomach celebrate.

Remy is the first cast member you spot and as you get closer, you realize he’s chatting with Tony. You focus the camera on the two young men as you approach them, barely able to contain your excitement. You can tell they’re wearing their character clothes you glance around quickly, making sure they’re not about to start filming. Tony sees you first and as his facial expression changes, Remy turns around, too. Sending them a smile, you give them a small wave, waiting until you’re close enough to verbally greet them. Tony grins, wrapping his arm around you for a quick hug. He doesn’t say anything and you don’t either, wanting their genuine reactions. For a second, you wonder if it’s still as noticeable as when you left the house. Remy pulls you in next, the two of you greeting each other until he pauses mid-hug. He pulls away, gripping your upper arm gently as he looks down. His eyes double in size as a gasp escapes him.

“You’re- When? Tom never said anything. I swear-” Remy rambles and Tony joins in, their words mixing together.

“Guys! Guys, chill. It’s fake,” you giggle, giving the belly a few pats. “It’s for a video. See?”

You motion to the camera in your right hand and the two boys fall into silence. Still focusing the camera on them, you explain the video concept once again. They continue to gush about how real it looks and you feel a sense of accomplishment. After showing your friends and family the belly, you were planning on testing everyday activities and if people would treat you differently. If the belly looks real enough for them to believe it, multiple strangers probably would, too. The three of you catch up for a moment, talking about random things. Eventually, your patience thins out and you ask for Tom, itching to catch his reaction on camera.

They join you on your journey to find your fiancé, claiming he’s going to flip his shit and they don’t want to miss it. With determination in your step, you begin to walk over to where he’s supposed to be filming his next scene, recording the entire time. You hear him before you see him, his American accent is clear as day. A few seconds later, you hear Jacob and you assume they’re filming a scene with Peter and Ned. You watch from afar, making sure your camera is turned off, not wanting to get in trouble with Marvel. Tom’s lack of constraints is a well-known fact and the company and production crew always go to great lengths to make sure he doesn’t spill any valuable information, so you figure it’s best to keep the camera off for now. As you get closer, you notice Zendaya is standing off to the side, looking between the two men playing their characters. You realize she’s in the scene, too, and you watch intently as Peter, Ned, and Michelle bicker amongst each other.

Sensing the scene nearing its end, your nerves pick back up. You couldn’t quite put your finger on the exact reason behind your jitteriness but the suspense of waiting for Tom’s reaction made it twice as bad. Turning the camera back on as soon as Jon confirms the scene is over, you try your best to keep your composure. You don’t walk any closer just yet, explaining to the viewers that Tom still hasn’t seen you and that you’re currently on set to capture his reaction. Remy and Tony are chatting eagerly amongst themselves and you vaguely hear them placing a bet on Tom’s reaction, which makes the whole situation even more comical. Deciding it’s time, you head toward your fiancé and your two friends. Zendaya notices you first, Tom and Jacob facing the opposite direction, and you give her a small wave.

“Thomas,” she exclaims dramatically, making Tom jolt. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re having a baby?”

You can only imagine the look of confusion plastered on Tom’s face at Zendaya’s sudden outburst. The beautiful actress sends you grins toward you, returning the wave. You wonder briefly if she was just playing along or if she genuinely thought you were pregnant, but you before you could decide Tom’s surprised eyes met yours. He had seen you just last night before bed but the look of confusion is authentic. Coming to a halt in front of the small group, Tony and Remy in tow, you purse your lips together, barely able to contain your wide grin. Tom looks so genuinely confused that you find it incredibly difficult to muffle your laugh. A few moments pass and he notices the camera in hand, realization washing over his features. By now, seeing you with a camera in hand was second nature and it made sense that he didn’t question it.

“That looks so real,” Tom whispers in amazement, his eyes trained on the fake bump.

You rotate slowly, showcasing it from every possible angle, a string of giggles escaping you. “It does, doesn’t it? I’m doing a twenty-four-hour pregnant challenge for my channel.”

“Girl, you had me all excited!” Zendaya whines, grimacing in your direction. “I saw you walk in during the scene and I was about to stop right then and there, but then I noticed your camera.”

Tom inches forward, close enough for you to see the small freckles decorating his nose. Catching it all on film, you watch with admiration as he hesitantly reaches out to touch the pretend bump. The groups awe aloud and before you can stop it, the familiar heat spreads across your cheeks. You swear you hear the sound of someone’s camera, but you’re too preoccupied with looking at Tom to investigate. Although you physically can’t feel his hand, you can’t help but notice how perfectly it fits against the bump. The two of you had discussed marriage and babies multiple times, but it was more small comments here and there than an actual serious conversation. Tom always told you stories about him and his siblings, and you knew he wanted a lot of kids. You wanted kids, too, but you had never decided on a number, figuring you would want to experience motherhood first. Seeing Tom interact with the bump - fake or not - made your biological clock tick faster. Just by the look on his face, you knew you wanted him to be the father of your kids and the sooner, the better.

The others took turns feeling the huge jelly-like shape strapped to your body as well. It felt slightly odd, having them all put their hands where a potential real bump could be someday, and you made a mental note to explain that to the camera later. After all, this was meant as a test to see how it feels to be pregnant. The entire time, Tom’s gaze lingers on you; his dark orbs following your every move. You don’t know whether to find it slightly concerning or very adorable. The group continued to gush over the realness, but you were too caught up on Tom’s focus on you.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you state softly, but loud enough for him to hear over the continuous chatter.

“Like what?”

You can’t tell if he’s being serious or playing dumb, so with a sigh, you elaborate, “Like… I don’t know! You keep looking at me funny.”

“Sorry, darling,” he apologizes automatically. “I didn’t mean to- It’s just… It looks so real.”

“I know,” you shrug. “Is it weirding you out?”

Tom shakes his head immediately. “Quite the opposite, in fact. I can’t wait for you to be pregnant for real.”

“Aw, you guys are the cutest! This is so going on Instagram,” Zendaya gushes and once again, you feel your cheeks heat up.

If you weren’t sure before, you definitely are now. Tom is the one. He’s the one you want to be with; to marry, to have kids with, to grow old with. He’s the one you want to fall asleep on the couch with and the one you want to wake up to in the morning. You want to continue getting lost in his eyes until the skin around them wrinkles. It is almost silly, really, but his laugh is your favorite sound in the entire world. It’s just something about that melodic sound that makes all your worries melt away. His familiar scent is your favorite smell, and it instantly calms your nerves. You had always known you wanted Tom to be by your side in parenthood. From the moment you saw him with Paddy to all the kids he had the opportunity to meet through his role as Spider-Man, you knew he would be the perfect dad. Now, the day you could call him yours forever couldn’t come fast enough.

[mendespideys]

the intern ▿ pt. I

Pairings: reader x ceo!tom 

Summary: you’re finishing your last year of university in london, and what better way do to that than with an internship at holland and osterfield’s? 

Warnings: mentions of sex, language, tom being a teasing bastard 

Words: 1.5k+

a/n: inspired by this picture right here bc damn. based on the prompt “i banged someone last night and they’re interviewing me for a job” from this list and the first episode of grey’s anatomy

here is my masterlist | let me know if i should continue this here ☺︎ 

series masterlist

next >

When you wake up, your initial thought is to fall back asleep. It feels too early, you conclude, turning around in the sheets. As you do so, your eyes widen, realizing why you had awakened in the first place. Taking in your surroundings, you also realize that you don’t recognize the room you are in. 

The memories of the previous night hit you like a ton of bricks, and you stumble out of bed, in search of your clothes. Stumble was the right word because two seconds later you bump into the nightstand, knocking your phone down on the carpet. 

As if it was second nature, your head whips toward the other side of the bed, your muscles tensing as the sleeping figure stirs. You wince, painfully aware that you had woken him up. He turns on his side, his bare chest peeking out from the white comforter. Licking your lips, you take in his muscular build and messy hair, mentally patting yourself on the back. 

“Where are you going?” He blinks a few times, a yawn escaping him as he runs his fingers through his hair. 

“I have an interview in,” you click the button on your phone, your eyes widening. “45 minutes. Shit. Besides, this how one night stands work.”

You turn around, fishing your dress up from the floor with one hand. You try to ignore the sounds of the bed creaking as your date from last night moves around. You pull the red dress over your head, slipping on your black heels - surprisingly keeping your balance this time around. 

“You can stay for breakfast, darling,” he suggests softly, his voice raspy. “I can drive you to your interview. I actually have to be at work in thirty minutes anyway.”

You shake your head, grabbing your purse and slipping your phone inside. “Thanks, but no thanks. I really need to go home and take a shower. This interview is important to me.” 

He shrugs as if to say suit yourself, effortlessly throwing on a navy colored shirt. He follows you to the front door quietly, his bare feet padding against the wooden floors. You grab the door handle, turning around to take in his ravishingly good looks one last time. If this had been any other day, you definitely would have taken him up on his offer. 

“Well,” a smirk spreads across his lips, and you wish you could feel them against your own. “Thank you for last night, love. Good luck with your interview.” 

You just nod, swallowing thickly, unable to form a normal sentence. You walk out into the hallway, realizing that you’re on the top floor. You’re already planning the fastest route back to your apartment when you hear his door close behind you. 

XXX

Taking one last look in the full-length mirror on your wall, you nod to yourself. You can do this. You’re too much of in a hurry to care about the apple falling off the counter as you grab your purse. Locking your door, you inhale deeply; one last attempt at calming your nerves. 

The nerves come back in waves as soon as you walk through the revolving doors at Holland and Osterfield’s. The view that met you was more than enough to take your breath away, but you’re too anxious to enjoy the beautiful foyer. After announcing your arrival and purpose, you are directed toward the fourth floor. As the elevator doors close, you give yourself one last pep-talk. 

Sitting in the office was the most nerve-wracking thing you had experienced in a long time. You nervously tug at the hem of your dark grey pencil skirt, wondering if it was a little too short. After glancing around the room again, you focus your gaze on the bookshelf on the wall. You can just barely read the book titles, but it helps calm your jitters. 

“You like reading?” 

The oddly familiar voice makes you jump in your seat, and you stand up, wiping your clammy palms on your skirt. Turning around to meet your potential boss, you extend your hand toward him. You can physically feel your eyes widen in shock when you look at him. His stern expression changes, too, and a smirk suddenly makes its way to his lips. 

“Y/N,” your name falls from his lips with ease, and you hate how good it makes you feel. “Good to see you again.” 

The sly smile on his face fuels your sudden frustration. Just my fucking luck, you thought, looking at the man you had left this morning. Yesterday when you met him, he had been wearing black jeans, a black shirt, boots and a suede brown jacket. The bad boy exterior had been swapped out, and you couldn’t quite decide which side you preferred. 

You nod. “You as well,” you trail off, realizing you had either forgotten his name or he hadn’t given it to you at all. 

“Tom Holland.” He finally takes your extended hand, his touch lingering. He clears his throat, walking toward the chair behind his desk. He motions for you to sit back down and you comply. 

“So, Y/N,” he starts, flicking through the stack of papers on his desk. You realize they contain information about you, suddenly itching to see what was written. “It says here you go to Imperial College London. Impressive.” 

You nod, not entirely sure how to reply. “Yeah,” you confirm. “I have been going to ICL for the past two years. I will be graduating in June.” 

“I can’t help but notice your thick American accent. Although London is lucky to have you, I can’t help but wonder why you chose to come here. Enlighten me, would you, Y/N?” 

You hate how your name sounds so much better in a British accent, especially the way it falls from his lips. You fold your hands in your lap, suddenly regretting leaving the top button of your blouse unbuttoned when you feel his eyes watching you. 

“Well,” you begin, trying your best to avoid his curious eyes. “My aunt lives in London, so I used to come here every summer until I turned thirteen. I’ve always loved London, and well, ICL just seemed like the perfect university for me to attend.” 

Tom nods, seemingly more interested in your appearance than your answer. You study the stripes on his tie, attempting to organize your thoughts so you would be prepared to answer his next question. 

Crossing your legs, you use your right hand to throw your hair over your shoulder. Tom licks his lips, quickly glancing back down at the notes in front of him. 

“What brings you to Holland and Osterfield’s? Why is this the company you want to intern with for the next six months?” He raises a questioning eyebrow, leaning back into the comfort of his chair. 

You take ahold of your bottom lip with your teeth, trying to figure out the best way to answer his question. Truth to be told, his company had been the last on your list, but they were the only ones that had replied to your e-mail. 

“Mr. Holland,” you start, meeting his eyes. “Your company is very extraordinary. I find what your company does and stands for especially inspiring. I know that Mr. Osterfield and yourself started out young, which makes your success that more impressive. I would love to work for a company like yours.” 

Tom smiles at your answer, nodding. You glance at his hands as they write additional notes on the papers in front of him, an unwelcome redness spreading across your cheeks as you remember how they had touched you last night. The memory sends a shiver down your spine, and you shift uncomfortably in the chair. 

“Harrison tells me you’re a marketing major. He’s the one who runs the marketing department of the company,” Tom informs you, looking back up from the printed notes. “Unfortunately he wasn’t able to make it in for your interview. He said you know all the basic marketing stuff?”

You nod, validating his information. You glance toward the black, elegant watch on the wall. It had only been ten minutes, and you were already more than ready to go back to your apartment. 

“And do you usually sleep around?” 

Your head whips toward him. “No! I-I, uh,” you sputter, embarrassed. The question had fallen from his lips so nonchalantly. “I believe that’s none of your business, sir.” 

Tom grins teasingly with a shrug. “Fair enough.” 

He pushes his chair back, standing up and straightening his blue blazer. You feel his eyes on you as he walks around his desk. You stand up quickly when he stops in front of your seat expectantly. You pick up your purse, slinging the strap over your shoulder. 

Tom buttons his blazer, the fabric tightening around his abdomen as he does. You bite your lip, remembering his bare chest from the morning. You suddenly wonder what would have happened if you had stayed at his place. 

“Well, Y/N, I look forward to working with you.”

You frown, meeting his eyes. “That’s it?” 

“Yes,” he states simply. “Unless you have any questions for me, I expect to see you here on Monday. 8 o’clock sharp. Bring your laptop and good looks.” 

You shake his hand, willing the heat in your cheeks to go away. If you had known the interview would be this easy, you wouldn’t even have bothered with the three mock interviews you had done with your friend the day before. 

“Y-yes, Mr. Holland. Thank you so much! I will see you on Monday.”

[mendespideys]

masterlist

here is a collection of my mediocre writing. enjoy!

S E R I E S   M A S T E R L I S T

S O C I A L  M E D I A  A U s

B L U R B S

✧ tom holland blurbs

✧ peter parker blurbs

✧ harrison osterfield blurbs 

O N E S H O T S

▹ shawn mendes

▹ tom holland 

▹ harrison osterfield

special to me

- the one where harrison confesses his feelings for you

M A R V E L 

▹ peter parker 

[mendespideys]

the intern ▿ pt. II

Summary: you’re finishing your last year of university in london, and what better way do to that than with an internship at holland and osterfield’s? 

Warnings: mention of sex, some embarrassment? i think that’s it

Words: 1.7k+

a/n: i’m sorry this took awhile. i’m also sorry it’s short and really bad. i promise it will get better with the next chapter 

series masterlist

< previous | next >

Balancing the three cups of steaming Earl Grey, you enter through the same revolving doors you had entered through three days prior. As you do so, the clicking of high heels against tile and constant murmur of people talking greets you. This time, you are early enough to admire the beautiful architecture of the big hall. 

The foyer is modern, and it is easy to understand that the two heads of the company are on the younger side. The same young woman is seated behind the welcome desk, but she doesn’t smile at you this time, focusing her eyes on the screen in front of her. 

You head toward the elevator, deciding that would be the safest route to the fourth story with three cups of hot tea in your hands. The metal doors slide apart, and you step inside not having time to push the designated button before you hear someone call out to hold the elevator. 

Harrison Osterfield slips inside just as the door closes. You only know it’s him because you recognize him from the pictures you had found online. After your quite humiliating interview with Tom on Friday, you had gone straight home to Google the two men behind the success. You found more information than you bargained for. 

“What floor?” 

You look up, not realizing you had been lost in your thoughts. “Oh, uh, fourth, please,” you mumble, unsure if you should introduce yourself or not. 

“Hey, you’re Ms. Y/L/N, right? I’m Harrison Osterfield,” he extends his hand, biting his bottom lip when he realizes your hands are full. “Tom told me all about you.” 

Your eyes widen involuntarily. What had Tom told him? Did he know you and Tom had slept together the night before your interview? You inwardly scold yourself, already feeling your cheeks heat up. You nod to confirm his assumption. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Osterfield. I hope he only told you the good things,” you smile, composing yourself. “Here. I brought you a tea. I wasn’t sure how you liked it, so I left it plain.” 

Harrison grins, happily taking one of the teas from the tray on your hand. He brings it closer to his face, inhaling the steam escaping through the lid. You follow his movements closely without realizing. His captivating blue eyes meet yours, and you can’t make yourself look away. 

“Mm,” he hums, his lips curving into a smirk. “Earl Grey. My favorite.” 

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors open with a ding. Harrison holds his arm out, motioning for you to exit first. With a grateful smile, you walk out, your heels clicking against the grey ceramic tiles. He follows you out, telling you to walk with him. You comply. 

“Your company is very impressive, Mr. Osterfield,” you compliment, struggling to keep up with the man’s long strides. 

“Please, call me Harrison. I know I’m getting older, but I’m not that old,” Harrison shoots you a smile and you can’t help but laugh. “I’m the one who’s impressed. I took a look at your portfolio and the classes you’ve taken over the weekend.”

You glance over at him and he’s already looking at you when you do. Biting your lip, you look down at your black heels, pretending to focus on where you’re stepping. You can feel the unwelcome heat spread across your cheeks, and you curse yourself for being so easily affected. 

“Thank you,” you catch yourself, a small giggle escaping you before you can stop it. “Harrison.” 

The two of you enter a larger room with five or maybe six desks, you didn’t have time to count them, too busy taking in the atmosphere. You follow Harrison toward a plain white desk against a wall. The desk faces the window and as you look outside, you realize once again how beautiful London truly is. 

“Well,” Harrison begins, raising his eyebrows. “Get comfortable, I suppose. You’ll be spending a lot of time here.”

“What do you- wait, this is mine?” 

He just nods, his lips pulling back and exposing his pearly white teeth as he smiles. Gently setting the cardboard to-go tray down on the desk, you look around your new workspace for the next six months. Maybe working here isn’t going to be so bad after all?

“One of the best views of London,” Harrison notes, watching you admire the view once again. “Of course, this has nothing against-”

“Tom’s office, I know,” you interject, catching yourself too late. “I-I mean, Mr. Holland’s office. I noticed the breathtaking view on Friday.” 

You notice a smirk growing on his lips, but he composes himself and nods with a gentle smile. It dawns on you then that they both enjoy teasing others, and you understand why they are best friends in the first place. Another picture from Google pops into your head suddenly, one of Tom and Harrison together at a club, and you quickly shake your head to make it disappear.

“Yeah, Tom’s office is pretty neat,” Harrison affirms, his eyes meeting yours once again momentarily. “He’s not here today though. Has a few meetings. I best be off. I’m expecting a call in ten minutes. If you need anything, my office is down the hall from Tom’s and to the left.”

Then, he’s gone. You plop down in the white leather chair with a sigh, staring at the faint steam escaping the two remaining cups. Well, that had been a waste of money. Harrison, at least, seemed to appreciate the gesture. Opening your laptop bag, you pull out your Macbook, setting it on the desk. It isn’t until after you have logged in with the information they had sent you that you realize you have no clue what you’re supposed to be doing. 

You contemplate your options briefly; you try to figure it out by yourself or you go to Harrison’s office to ask. You’re halfway out of your chair when your laptop beeps, signaling a new e-mail. Sitting back down, you click on the notification bubble and wait for the e-mail to load. You ignore the slight increase in your heartbeat when you notice it’s from Harrison. Realizing it’s a list of tasks, you decide to get right on it, desperate to get away from your inappropriate thoughts. 

Three hours later, you’re standing outside of the building with your phone in your hand. One of the many attractive women working with the company had informed you that it was your turn to take lunch. You take a sip of the cold tea in your hand, having been too busy to enjoy it while it was hot.

“Cece, I swear, they’re both inhumanely attractive. I get flustered just at the thought of them.”

Your best friend Cecilia hums teasingly at the other end of the receiver, and you know she’s smirking. The two of you had never met until the first day you moved into your apartment. After finding her post online about needing a roommate, you e-mailed her and the two of you quickly came to an agreement. When you knocked on the door on your first day in London, the rest was history. 

“I still can’t believe you slept with him. Out of all the men in the bar that night, he was the one you went home with.”

“Yes, I know. Just my fucking luck. I slept with my boss the day before my interview. Tom’s not even here today. I even brought him tea-”

“You brought me tea?” 

Cecilia gasps loudly at the other end, having heard the question too. You whip around, too quickly it seems, because your fingers slip, the cup of tea falling and splattering on the ground. Tom’s lips curve into a smirk, his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. He removes them, cocking an eyebrow.

“I-I- Harrison, I mean, Mr. Osterfield told me you weren’t going to be here today,” you excuse weakly, inwardly scolding yourself as you hear your best friend’s faint giggle crackle through the phone. 

“I wasn’t,” Tom confirms, reaching up and effortlessly pulling the brown sunglasses off his face. “My meeting finished early. Besides, I figured it was best to check in on our new intern.” 

He smiles at you, almost innocently, and you swallow the frustration growing within you, figuring out it’s best not to yell at your boss on your first day of work. You merely nod, staring at the wet stain the spilled tea had left on the asphalt. 

Momentarily, the pictures you had seen while doing research pop into your head. You ignore the twinge of jealousy that comes with the various pictures of Tom with different women on his arm. There had been too many to count, and you had quickly ended your search. 

“Well, I’m fine,” you state sharply. “Actually, I better get back to work. Harrison has a few more things he needs me to do.” 

You bend down, not caring about your skirt riding up to expose more skin. Picking up the cup from the floor, you toss it into the nearby trashcan, not sparing Tom another look as you head toward the entrance. 

“Harrison, huh?” Tom’s voice comes out from behind you, slowing your movements. “Since when are you on a first name basis with my best mate?”

Turning around, you meet his eyes. He had put his sunglasses back on, but you know he’s looking at you through the lenses. Silently, you curse the universe for being so cruel toward you. It’s not enough to work with the guy had a spent a wild night with, he also enjoyed teasing you about it. 

“Since your best mate told me to,” you reply, turning back around and entering the building. 

As you trudge through the crowd of people, you briefly consider acquiring a new internship. It is only your first day after all. You quickly throw the thought away, knowing how unrealistic it is, but you desperately need to think of something other than the underlying tone of jealousy in Tom’s voice. 

He had no right to be jealous. The two of you had shared one night together, although it had been a night you won’t forget anytime soon, it was still just that; one night. You aren’t his and he isn’t yours. In any other situation, you know his envy would be flattering. 

It isn’t until you reach the elevator and reach out to press the button marked four that you realize you’re still on the phone with Cecelia. You slowly bring it up to your ear, hearing her call out your name questioningly. 

“These six months will be the death of me,” you inform her, watching as the silver doors close in front of you. “We’re going to the club on Friday.”

tagging people who told me they liked it: @chamilsanya  @spiderbiteholland @curlytoms @unhealthyobsessionwithmarvel @obsesivesun @hollandcentral

[mendespideys]

Accidental slip | t.h.

Pairing: reader x tom holland + best friend!zendaya

Summary: in an interview, zendaya accidentally outs your relationship with tom

Warnings: nothing, i think

Words: 900+ 

a/n: inspired by this list and the gif above. not really happy with this one, but oh well. just a short lil thing, i guess

masterlist 

You chuckle, hearing Tessa’s soft whining. Plopping down on the couch, you pat it a few times and the puppy happily joins you. Absentmindedly stroking the top of her head, you focus your attention back on the screen monitor showing the live interview Tom, Zendaya, Laura and Jacob currently were in. 

You just catch the last part of Jacob’s insult toward Tom, laughing along with everyone. For the past few weeks, you had been traveling around Europe with Tom, promoting his upcoming film. You were finally back in England, finishing up with the last interview in a while. Having been gone for so long, Tom had insisted on bringing Tessa and you couldn’t find it in you to deny his wish. 

“Zendaya,” the interviewer starts, and the camera moves toward your beautiful friend that you had gotten to know very well over the past year. “A fan from Twitter asks ‘what is the last picture you saved to your camera roll?’” 

Tom and Jacob look at her curiously, probably expecting something juicy. You laugh quietly while shaking your head. Boys will be boys. 

She purses her lips, fishing her phone out from her pocket. You watch the backstage monitor intently, growing curious yourself. “Hm,” she hums as she unlocks it and, you assume, opens the gallery application. “Let’s see.” 

“It’s probably a photograph of me,” Tom looks smug, but you all know he’s just joking. “Who can resist having my photos on their phone?” 

Zendaya pauses, bumping her fist into his arm. Tom widens his eyes in fake shock, rubbing the place where his co-star had just hit him. “Let’s see, let’s see,” Zendaya speaks up again, scrolling on her phone. “Selfies, family photos, Tom and Y/N looking disgustingly cute, and...” She drags out her last word, finally getting closer to her last photo. 

You see Tom stiffen as she says that, and he suddenly looks very uncomfortable. You vaguely hear Jacob say something, but you’re too focused on Zendaya’s words to register what it is. Tom shifts in his chair as you watch him. Had he caught it too? 

“Y/N?” the interviewer pipes up suddenly, and Zendaya pauses, slapping a hand over her mouth. “Who’s Y/N?” 

She quickly turns toward Tom, her eyes wide and apologetic. You see Tom give her a kind smile, letting her know it was alright and he knew it was just an accident. 

The interviewer repeats the question, turning the attention to Tom this time. You watch quietly from behind the scenes, wishing you could just hold his hand. As if on cue, Tessa shuffles around, plopping down with her head in your lap. 

“Um,” Tom starts, his cheeks a faint red. “Y/N is my girlfriend.” 

There. It was out now. You knew that in a matter of minutes, the news would spread like wildfire. The interview was live, and you all knew Tom couldn’t take his confession back. You feel yourself grow flustered, sensing the looks of other people in the room with you. 

The interviewer hums, obviously pleased they were the first ones to hear about this. You catch Zendaya mouthing an apology to Tom, and you quickly make a mental note to let her know you’re not mad at her. They continue the interview for another five minutes, but most of it is a blur. Without realizing exactly what you were doing, you had opened your Instagram and instantly regretted it. 

Thankfully, your Instagram had been set to private for a while now, knowing it would be easier to hide your relationship. Tom’s fans had their ways though, it seemed because you had nearly a hundred follow requests already. You clicked on Tom’s profile, seeing several fresh comments on his last picture of him and Tessa from the day before. 

“Darling,” Tom’s voice is soft, bringing you out from the maze of comments and speculations. You quickly close out the app, putting your phone down. “Are you alright?” 

Before you can answer, Zendaya charges toward you. “I am so sorry. I really didn’t mean to. It just slipped out, I swear!” 

You shake your head, giving her a smile. “It’s okay, Z. I know it was an accident. Cat had to come out of the bag one day.” 

“I know,” she mumbles, biting her lip apologetically. “I just know you guys wanted that day to be further away.”

Tom nudges her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll find a way to get you back, won’t we?” He smiles down at you with a teasing glint in his eye, holding out his hand. 

You laugh, shaking your head at Zendaya who was looking at you with wide eyes. Grabbing Tom’s hand, you let him pull you up from the comfort of the couch. He pulls you against his chest, quickly placing a kiss on top of your head. 

“I really am sorry, though, guys. I didn’t mean to let it slip.” Zendaya sighs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Laura walks in, shooting you a quick smile. 

“Well, a lot of the fans outside seems to be very interested in your new lady friend, Holland.” She sits down on the couch, giving Tessa the attention she wanted. 

Tom shrugs, gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’ll tell them more another day. I’m just happy I don’t have to keep pretending I’m single.” 

Placing his index finger underneath your chin, he forces your eyes to meet his. You smile, still a little flustered and nervous. He grins back. “No matter what happens, just know that I love you. Alright, darling?” 

[mendespideys]

Two cups of tea | t.h.

Pairing: reader x tom holland

Summary: tom is asked about the embarrassing story of how you first met, and you reminisce about what followed the next day

Warnings: mentions of drinking and throwing up. and umm, i think that’s it

Words: 1.4+k 

a/n: this is part 2 of five beers and a spider-man costume, which was written for @kathscribbless ‘s ( @upsidedownparker)  3k writing challenge ☼ based on prompt #22: “I’m really going to dread telling our kids how we met, this is so  embarrassing.” 

i hope you guys like it! here is my masterlist | part 1

You’re sitting backstage with Tom’s brother Harry, watching the monitor intently. Tom was in an interview with Benedict and had asked you to come along. Knowing he would be leaving back to England soon to start filming the upcoming Spider-man film, you had happily agreed. 

“So, Tom, how did you meet your girlfriend Y/N?” You whip your head back toward the screen at the mention of your name. Harry snorts out a laugh at the question, having heard the story himself just weeks ago. It definitely wasn’t your proudest moment. 

You narrow your eyes at him, attempting to look threatening, which makes him laugh louder. Feeling the stares of other people in the room, you clear your throat as a warmth spreads across your cheeks. You wince, the embarrassment from that night coming back.

The throbbing in your head only intensifies as you open your eyes. Wincing at the bright stream of sunlight coming through your curtains, you roll over with a groan. You grab your phone, checking the time. 9:32 am. It isn’t until you put the phone back down that you notice the unfamiliar handwriting on a note. 

“What the...” you mumble, grabbing the note with another groan, trying to decipher the scribbles. 

Hope you had a good night’s sleep. Text me when you wake up so I can repay you for ruining your costume - Tom 

You feel the involuntary heat cover your cheeks as the memories of the previous night fills your head. How you had fallen on your ass, yelled at a stranger, how you had called him hot - not once, but twice - and how he had driven you home. 

Muttering to yourself, you quickly add the phone number to your contacts, shooting him a quick text to apologize for your drunken mess. Five minutes later, as you’re taking off your sticky costume, your phone buzzes and you freeze momentarily. 

It’s okay. Up for a coffee later? 

You narrow your eyes at the text in front of you. How could he seem so calm, so nonchalant, about the whole situation? You agree quickly, and the two of you decide to meet at The Coffee Bean at noon. 

“Yeah...” You hear Tom drag out, and you watch as the interviewer looks at him curiously. 

Benedict laughs, as he takes a sip of his water bottle. “That’s a really funny story.” 

Harry snorts again, and you punch him in the shoulder, deciding that your stares were taken as empty threats. He fakes pain, rubbing his arm, still not trying to hide his laughter. You take a sip of your own water bottle, trying to shake off the interested stares from the publicists and agents in the room. 

Tom laughs at Benedict’s words, and you mentally plead for him not to tell the whole world the story of how you first met. Your phone buzzes in your hand, but you’re too busy ransacking your memories, trying to remember if there had been anything normal about the day you had met your boyfriend. 

You had shown up at The Coffee Bean at 11:46 and were relieved when you didn’t spot the familiar man from yesterday. However, the relief quickly subsided and melted into nervousness as the time passed. 

Checking the time on your phone for the umpteenth time, you hear a bell chime, alerting the workers that they had another customer. You sigh in frustration, realizing that it was only 11:54, and you still have six minutes left to wait. 

“Y/N?” You look up abruptly at the mention of your name and the familiar British accent. You nod, looking at the guy standing next to you. He looks at the free chair, and you nod quickly, telling him to sit. 

He fixes his baseball hat awkwardly, taking off his black Ray-Bans. You stifle your gasp, coughing to cover it up as you see his face. 

“Y-you’re Tom Holland,” you state, but it sounds more like a question. He nods with a gentle smile, but you notice the slight concern in his eyes. You quickly compose yourself. “I-I... You’re the one who helped me yesterday?”

You can hear Tom speak again, bringing your attention back to the TV screen in front of you. He rubs his neck, which you had learned he did when he felt uncomfortable or nervous. 

“Well, we met at a party,” he starts, his eyes flickering to the side of the camera. “A Halloween party. I took her home that night.” 

Benedict lifts his eyebrows at Tom’s statement and the interviewer looks ecstatic, obviously happy he was getting this scoop first. Tom shakes his head quickly, realizing what he had said.

“Wait - no. No, not like that. I took her home because she lost her ride. Then we had coffee the next day.” He quickly explains, looking flustered and you suddenly feel embarrassed for him too. The interviewer asks about your coffee date, eager for Tom to elaborate. 

“Well, yeah,” Tom shrugs at your question. “Were you expecting someone else?” 

You shake your head slowly, more vivid and humiliating memories coming back to you. You suddenly realized why he looked so familiar, why he had an annoyingly attractive accent, and why he had chuckled at your Spider-man costume. 

Remembering how you had thrown up on his shoes and how he hadn’t said anything, you feel the nauseousness in the pit of your stomach grow at the disturbingly embarrassing memory. 

“Oh, god,” you mumble, pursing your lips as you will the blush on your cheeks away to no avail. “I am so sorry. I can’t believe I threw up on Spider-Man. I can’t believe I threw up on Spider-Man wearing the sluttiest Spider-Man costume in history.” 

Tom chuckles loudly, and you stare at him with wide eyes, terrified he will catch the attention of the other customers. He clears his throat when he notices your distressed look, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Well I think it looked rather good on you, love,” he bites his lip, and you have to bite your own to stop the gasp of lust as he does so. Once again, you feel the familiar heat creep up your face, and you mentally curse him for being so calm. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, tugging at the hem of your denim skirt. “For everything. For helping me, and taking me home, and um, not taking advantage of me.” 

His brown eyes widen, with a sudden look of disapproval. He shakes his head quickly. “I would never. Although you did look rather fit in your costume, I would never do that. To any girl.” 

You nod, shooting him an apologetic look for even bringing it up. Relaxing for the first time in the past twenty minutes, you push the steaming cup of tea toward him. He smiles excitedly, happily taking the cup from you with a questioning glint in his eyes. 

“I remembered your British accent,” you explain before he can ask. “Figured you liked tea.” 

The conversation started there and didn’t stop until you both had ordered a second round of drinks. You had talked about anything and everything; his job, his family, your job, your family, Los Angeles, your friend that had taken you the party that night. 

It was extremely easy to talk to him, you realized, and you didn’t want it to end. Neither of you brought up the night before, and you were eternally grateful. You watched him as he told you about his dog Tessa, wishing he could look this happy forever. 

“So, yeah,” Tom breathes, once again bringing you back to reality. “We talked for hours in that small, crowded coffee shop. I suppose I should thank Y/N’s friend for bringing her to that party because I can’t really imagine my life without her.” 

“Aww,” Benedict teases, nudging Tom’s shoulder playfully. “Young love.” 

The interview finished up a few minutes later, but you hadn’t really been listening. You had decided to text your friend, telling her that although you were still mad at her for leaving you to fend for yourself, you were happy she had forced you to come. 

The couch dips at the weight of someone plopping down next to you. Locking your phone, you smile, immediately recognizing the cologne. Leaning against him, you quickly hide your face in his chest, trying to get away from the stares and whispers. 

“Thank you for not telling them,” you whisper softly, smiling when you hear the rumble in his chest from his laugh. 

“Of course, darlin’. Now,” he leans down, taking in the scent of your hair. “As a thank you, how about you dress up in your costume again for me when we get home?” 

[mendespideys]

You’ve got some explaining to do | p.p

Pairings: reader x best friend!peter parker

Summary: you and peter decide to play a game of truth and dare. it’s all fun and games until peter dares you to try on one of tony’s iron man suits

Warnings: use of adult words

Words: 2k (i got a little carried away, oops)

a/n: um, yeah, i don’t even know. not really happy with this, but please let me know what you think

masterlist 

“Hm,” Peter hums, cupping his chin with his thumb and index finger for emphasis. “Truth.” 

You purse your lips, not prepared for his answer. You had had an excellent dare in mind for your best friend, knowing that was usually his go-to answer. Having been friends for five years, you knew everything there was to know about him. You knew how his parents had passed, you knew about his first kiss, and most importantly - you knew about his late-night activities. 

You stare at your best friend, ransacking your brain for a question would continue to make the game interesting. Peter looks back at you with curiosity and anticipation. In fear of retaliation, you decide to go with a more humorous question. 

“Where is the strangest place you have peed?” You realize how stupid the question is now that it has been said aloud, but you shrug mentally. Too late now. 

Peter’s eyes widen as soon as your words were spoken, his cheeks puffing as he blows out a string of laughter. He tries his best to choke back his laughter, raising an eyebrow at your choice. You shrug, looking around his almost untouched bedroom. Tony Stark had kindly offered him a room among the other Avengers, but Peter spent most his nights at home with his Aunt May. 

“A flower bed,” Peter states, bringing your attention back to him. You raise a questioning eyebrow. “I was out, you know, saving the little guy, and I hadn’t used the restroom is so long. I just had to go, so I ended up peeing in a flower bed behind a house.” He elaborated, shrugging as if what he said had been the most casual conversation topic in history. 

“My turn,” Peter smirks before you even get the chance to question his confession. “Truth or dare?” 

Fearing an embarrassing question in return, you quickly choose dare. Peter lights up, a devilish grin forming on his face, and you immediately regret your choice. 

“I dare you,” he starts, tracing your movements with your his eyes. You remember him saying it helped him focus. “to try on one of Tony’s suits.” A sly smirk quickly grows on his face. Your breath catches involuntarily, and you cough trying to hide it. 

“Peter, no. I can’t I-”

“You either have to finish the dare, or...” he trailed off with a shrug, knowing you were fully aware what he was talking about. You sigh, defeated. Getting up from the comfort of Peter’s bed, you mutter, 

“I can’t believe I’m about to do this.” 

After a lot of complaining from you and teasing from Peter, you find yourself in Tony’s Hall of Armors. Glancing around, you ponder any possible excuse to get you out of this dare. Peter clears his throat, followed by a chuckle, making you stiffen. 

“Nervous much?” he leans against the wall, crossing his arms across his I Survived My Trip to NYC shirt, which he had ironically kept. “So, what are you waiting for?” 

“Shut up,” you grumble, hesitantly stepping forward. “I will take all the time I need.” 

You can feel his amused gaze following your every move as you walk among the many suits decorating the room. Feeling your heart beat in your chest, you clear your throat and stop in front of a random suit. Might as well get it over with, right?

It was easier said than done to get the suit on. Peter apparently found the whole ordeal hilarious, having to cup his mouth to silence his laughter. You both knew that if looks could kill, he would’ve died about ten minutes ago. 

“Okay, there,” you mutter, throwing your arms up for emphasis. “I put it on. You happy now?”

Peter grins, holding up his finger. He fishes around his pocket for a second before pulling his phone out. You shake your head already before he looks back at you. “No. Nu-uh,” you protest, purposefully digging your eyes into him as a warning. 

“Aw, c’mon,” Peter whines teasingly, “Just one picture.” 

You shake your head. “Peter Parker, if you as much click that shutter one time, I will blast you out of this freaking building.” 

Luckily for you, your best friend was blessed with enhanced senses. Because before you could even comprehend what was about to happen, Peter had dropped his phone to the ground with a thud, shooting his web toward the roof. You watch as he swings hastily, holding on to the dark concrete above you. 

Not even a second later, the red and gold armor around your wrist shoots out an orange burst of energy. The force of it makes you stumble backward, your eyes growing wide at the burnt mark on the wall where your best friend had been just seconds previously. 

“Peter, I-” you begin, quickly looking up at him. He stares back at you, his eyes open from surprise. “I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to, I-” 

You’re cut off by a sudden warmth at your feet. Looking down to inspect the sudden change, you gasp in horror. You look pleadingly at Peter for a second, feeling yourself levitate higher. The terror disappeared almost as fast as it came, growing into anger at the sound of Peter’s laugh. 

You look down, vaguely spotting the golden bursts underneath your feet causing you to fly. “Peter Parker shut the fuck up and help me down, or I won’t miss this time.”

Peter chokes on another fit of giggles at your empty threat, knowing you would never blast him. At least not on purpose. You shriek loudly, as the suit flies you even higher. Gulping down the growing lump in your throat, you wobble, desperately trying to find your balance in the air. 

“Peter,” you grit out through your teeth, squealing as you drop down about an inch or two. “Do something! Help me out of this thing before Tony hears or we’re both dead.” 

You glare at him. His shock had passed it seemed, seeing as he was still laughing and looking at you as if this was the best entertainment he could ever dream of. You curse him under your breath, pointing the arm blaster at him once again. 

He stops laughing abruptly, holding his free hand out in front him. “Okay, okay. I’ll help you. Just don’t shoot me.” 

You follow him with your eyes as he drops himself from the floor, gracefully landing into his famous Spider-Man pose. You roll your eyes, still not fully over his sudden athletic abilities. Peter straightens, running a hand through his brown curls. You catch yourself before he notices you staring, and purse your lips in expectation. 

Peter takes a few steps until he’s almost directly under you, holding his arm out toward the feet of the armor that you so regrettably had put on. You watch as the familiar white webbing comes out from his wrist. Feeling the suit move again, you let out yet another involuntary shriek as you hear Peter groan. 

“Y/N,” Peter starts, licking his lips, and you stop yourself before your thoughts go wild at the sight. “You need to stay still.” 

“Easy for you to say, Penis Parker,” you grumble, using the hated nickname Flash had given him when you had started high school. “You’re the dumbass who dared me to do this in the first place.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t actually think you’d go through with it,” he shrugs. “You’re usually not the adventurous, daring type.” 

You’re about to scold him, but again, you’re jerked to the side before you get the chance. Peter ducks suddenly, and the force of another blast causes you to wobble. You stare at the black spot you had just decorated the floor with. 

“Y/N, stop shooting that damn thing!” 

“I would if I could, Parker,” you seethe, suddenly not feeling too well. “Shut up and do something.”

Peter nods quickly, not missing with his webs this time. He starts pulling, and you can feel yourself getting closer to the ground. Sighing in relief, you can feel yourself relaxing the muscles you didn’t know you had tensed in the first place. 

“What on earth is going on in here?” You freeze and Peter turns around in surprise, dropping the grip he had on you. You yelp, feeling yourself float higher. “Kid, you better have a good explanation.” 

Tony looks pointedly at Peter. He looks like he is about to scold him, and even though you would love to see that, you figured it had to wait for another time. You squeal, and Tony’s gaze moves to you. 

Peter looks flustered, like a deer caught in the headlights, but follows Tony’s eyes. Tony rolls his eyes, striding over to his computer in the corner. “There is a reason why these suits are here and not being used.” 

You watch helplessly as he starts punching in numbers and letters. Peter looks at you sheepishly, and you know he knows he’s gonna hear it from you later. Your best friend walks closer to Tony, staring at the computer curiously. 

“That suit had a malfunction, hence why it’s not being used,” Tony elaborated. “Couldn’t quite get it to do what I wanted. What are you doing in here anyways, younglings?” 

“Peter dared me to try on one of your suits,” you state simply, smiling innocently as Peter turns to you with wide eyes. 

“Spiderling’s behind this?” Tony turns, raising an eyebrow as he looks at Peter. Peter clears his throat, fumbling with his hands - a nervous habit he had picked up a few years ago. 

“Mr. Stark, I-” 

You cut him off. “Although I would love nothing more than Tony scolding you right now, I would like to get down first. I don’t feel too good.” You mumble, starting to feel kind of oozy. How Tony did this for longer than ten minutes was beyond you. 

“Right,” Tony mumbles, pressing a few more numbers. “There, that should do it.” 

You sigh, suddenly feeling more in control. The control quickly subsides as you feel the energy holding you up give out. You shriek as you shut your eyes, preparing yourself to land on the floor with a clank. It takes a few seconds before you realize that you should have hit the ground by now. 

Opening your eyes one by one, you find yourself looking into Peter’s brown eyes. He grins innocently, but you’re too fixated on his eyes. You could see the slight worry within them, having seen it a few times before. You’re broken out of your trance by Tony clearing his throat. 

Peter drops you almost immediately, although he makes sure you can stand on your own before he removes his arms completely. His cheeks darken, and he rubs the back of his neck as he stares at his shoes. 

“Although that was disgustingly adorable, Tony starts, a slight smirk plastered on his face. “You guys have some explaining to do. Meet me in the common room in five.” 

Tony nods, seemingly happy with his work, and walks toward the door. He shoots you another look, motioning for you to start taking off his suit. You nod quickly. 

“Yes, sir, Mr. Stark, sir.”

“Sure thing.”

As soon as Tony’s out the door, you let out a relieved sigh. He didn’t seem too mad. Definitely nowhere near the amount of anger you feel bubbling inside of you. At the sight of Tony disappearing, Peter lets out a loud laugh. You drop the last piece of armor to the ground. 

The loud clank makes Peter look at you, and his eyes widen, clearly sensing your anger. He shoots you a grin so big that if it had been any other situation, you would have melted right then and there. Peter extends his wrist, quickly catching his phone with his sticky webs and shoving it back into his pocket. He takes off with a loud giggle. 

“Peter Parker, get your ass back here!” You bellow, almost tripping over the heap of metal on the floor. 

[mendespideys]

update on the intern

i’m so sorry that it has taken me so long to upload the next chapter... some of you know that i recently went back to arizona and it’s been kinda difficult to adjust to being back here and i just started university yesterday (on monday) 

i did have the next chapter ready to go, but i wasn’t happy with it. the beautiful @hollandandi gave me some great tips, so i am currently re-writing the chapter because i don’t want to post something i’m not happy with. ya feel?

the chapter will be up very soon though - i promise!

[mendespideys]

hi there

if you like peter parker/tom holland as much as i do, then i suggest you check out my masterlist 

i just posted a new thing today called the intern, which you should definitely check out if you like ceo!tom