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heavenlyholland · 3 years

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bittersweet | secret’s out

summary — mixed and conflicted feelings between you and a man you recklessly hooked up with, that ended up in a unexpected pregnancy, can leave things feeling too good to be true, and moments felt bittersweet.

a/n: alright so here’s the intro to bittersweet !! i’ve worked on this for over the past month, almost two now, planning the plot and storyline down, brainstorming ideas and of course writing, and i am so so so excited for you all to read it !! before we get started, i want to thank some beautiful people who took time out their days to beta read and edit my work, so thank you @veryholland @kelieah @parkerpeter24 and @hollandsmushroom !! you all are such blessings and i really appreciate you giving up time to fix all the little mistakes i made while writing lol !! but anyway, i hope you enjoy reading the intro !! sending you love <3

warnings: suggestive content, swearing, mentions of abortion, angst

pairing: tom holland x reader | word count: 8.8k

reblogs and thoughts are GREATLY appreciated! requests are open!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

No one ever intends on getting pregnant, unless you’re a married woman who’s ready to settle down, or already has, and has an actual plan for what they want to do in their lives and the future.

You, however, did not fit that stereotype, but the one cliche that fits you perfectly was the drunken hookup at a party, which led to you getting knocked up.

All you could remember was meeting this guy, who had some sort of reputation and persona built for him- something to do with his family name and money. You couldn’t quite put your finger on who he was exactly, emphasizing the drunken part of the hookup.

You didn’t want to resort to plan b, even though you could if you wanted, but something inside of you was urging you to keep the little bean growing inside of you as if it was a sign from the universe that this was supposed to happen.

You had gone through your rebellious and adventurous phase and you still hadn’t quite gotten out of it, so maybe, just maybe- and you kept telling yourself this as you contemplated on the decision that would affect your future- this would be a good thing, to settle you down and ground you from the chaotic reality of the world. It made you wonder how shitty of a lifestyle you were living- constantly partying, drinking, hooking up, all the kinds of fun that people your age usually partook in. But then again, it got you thinking. Some people did settle down around this age. But were you too young? Were you still too irresponsible to take care of such a significantly life-changing thing like this? There were so many questions that were left unanswered, before you could even decide to go through with something as drastic as it all was.

His name had something to do with the Netherlands…Was he Dutch? You thought to yourself as you paced back and forth in the living room of your apartment. You were trying to the best of your ability to remember who the “special” guy was, lucky enough to take you back to a hotel room and engage in sexual activities.

You loved going to parties, formal ones at least. The environment, the drinks, the drunk decisions that you knew you would regret in the morning, meeting new people, hooking up- all of it was right up your alley.

With your work situation, you were invited to many events with a variety of well-known business-people, as well as celebrities. You were fortunate and grateful for your job, knowing that you could be in a much more harsh situation, but luckily your job paid well and gave you many exciting opportunities.

Tonight was no different than all the other times you had spent your Friday nights at venues that cost more than you could possibly imagine. Dressed in your favourite champagne coloured dress, that fits your figure in all the right ways, you walked up to the bartender, ordering a drink that looked appealing to you.

As the night went on, and the more drinks you consumed, you eventually got to the point where things began to feel a bit different, but not bad enough that you weren’t able to comprehend the things in front of you. Everything became more funny, and your extroverted alter-ego came out when meeting new people throughout the night.

You had made a few new friends as the hours passed, deciding to become drinking buddies for the night and ordering too many rounds of tequila to count. By the time however many shots were downed, your new found friends had gone off to either hook up, get more drinks or go and dance- which was not your forte.

As you stood at the table you were once situated at with your friends, you decided to go and get one last drink for the night, knowing if you pushed yourself to continue, you would really regret it the next morning. You walked up to the familiar spot at the venue, heels clicking against the floor faintly because of the music blaring through the speakers, loud enough to feel the vibration of the bass in your bones.

Noticing that the current bartender was already occupied with mixing drinks and handing out orders, you leaned onto your forearms against the cold surface, leaning your body weight into your arms to let some pressure off of your aching feet due to the heels you were wearing. You looked around, taking in the sight beneath your vision; people dancing, laughing, and drinking together, all enjoying their time at the event.

“I was wondering if you could tell me,” you heard a voice from in front of you, making you turn your attention to where the noise had come from. When you looked over to the opposite of where you were standing, your eyes were met with a young brunette man, slyly grinning at you, “If you’re here, then who’s running heaven?” he asked you, almost making you choke on your own breath. You let out a loud laugh, your hand coming up to cover your open mouth, shocked at what the man had just said to you.

Relaxing your fit of giggles from the pick-up line, you stood up straighter, allowing yourself to get a more indepth look at the appearance of the man in front of you.

“I’m sorry, but that was the most stupid pick-up line I have ever heard,” you said through another laugh, earning a grin from the unknown man.

“Damn, I thought it was a good one,” he jested, flashing you a quick smile. You couldn’t help but feel a shiver run down your back, goosebumps forming on your skin from the smallest action.

You let out yet another loud laugh, “Yeah, if you’re in fourth grade.” Earning another laugh from the nameless man. “But, hey, I like a man who tries, and can make me laugh,” you pointed out, pointing your finger at him with a raise of your eyebrows.

“Is that so?” he questioned, leaning in further, closing the space between the two of you nearly all the way.

You hummed, “Mhm, I also like when they know how to prepare a good drink or two,” you smirked, playing with a strand of your hair and wetting your lips with your tongue.

“Oh no, I’m not a worker here- my family’s hosting the event, I’m just…” His voice fading away as he thought about the right word to describe what he was doing.

“Doing charity work?” you questioned, filling in the blank and earning a shrug from his shoulders as he brought his attention away from you, and to the drink he was surprising you with. You watched intently as he poured the ingredients together, following the steps as if he was an actual bartender. Once finished, he handed you your new drink, pulling out a small glass and a bottle of Scotch and pouring a small amount, before sliding around the side of the counter, and reaching you. He held out his arm for you and you wrapped your arm around his bicep, following him to where he was leading you.

“So if you’re not a bartender, what’s your status here?” you asked, having to raise your voice over the loud chatter and music.

“Could ask you the same thing, love,” he jested, nudging your side with his elbow, smiling at you. “No, but I’m the eldest son of the event organizers. Nikki and Dom?” he asked you, asking if you knew who they were, to which you nodded your head. “Yeah, they’re my parents,” he explained, and you followed along with a nod of your head again.

The man, name still unbeknownst to you, had led you out to the balcony of the building, escorting you to the couch that was empty, looking out over the busy city on the warm summer night. “What about you?” he asked, looking over at you as you both plotted on the cushions next to each other.

“Oh, I come to these because of my job,” you explained simply, shrugging your shoulders.

“So you go to venues like these often?” he asked you, feeding the conversation to get to know each other more.

You nodded your head, “Yeah, for the most part. S’not like I go to every single one, but when I get the chance to, I go,” you said, gaining a hum in response.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The night went on, eventually learning each other’s names, which you couldn’t remember the next day. But the one thing that stuck with you, was what happened once you both got comfortable with each other.

“Why don’t we take this to somewhere more comfortable?” he asked you, pulling away from your lips, his breath uneven, a side effect of the makeout session you both had just gone through. You bit your lip because of how intense the events that just took place were, and nodded your head. Standing up from your seat on the couch outside, following the man, hand-in-hand, as he led you somewhere more private.

He pulled you into a room, down the hallway of the building, closing the door and quickly locking it behind him before pushing you back onto the desk that was in the room, in front of floor-to-ceiling windows. You giggled at his eagerness, connecting your lips again, intoxicated and obsessed with the feeling of bliss and utter pleasure as his hands roamed up and down your body. He hoisted your dress up above your hips, fingers digging into your hips as you reached up to hold his cheek and jaw as you deepened the kiss. He let out a low groan, making you squirm on the spot. You interlaced your own fingers behind his neck, pulling him down closer to you so that you were leaned back on the desk, his two large hands holding you up as you continued to immerse yourselves in each other’s lips.

You both pulled away from each other, again, to catch your breath, looking into each other’s lustful and dark eyes. You began to unbutton his white dress shirt, eager to get to the point to satisfy each other’s needs. He kissed you again, not being able to get enough of your lips, letting you blindly undress him the best you could. Opening his shirt to reveal his broad chest and chiseled abs, you roamed your hands up and down his torso, feeling the bumps and dips and curves of his muscles beneath your hands. He pulled away from you, letting out a louder, more long groan.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he mumbled against your neck, diving down to attack your skin, kissing, sucking and nipping at your sensitive skin, earning whines and breathy exhales as he worked downwards, your hands tangled in his brown curly hair, tugging on it when he sucked on the right spot.

The last thing you remember was his fingers reaching for your dress’ straps, pulling them down to the side to let your dress fall off your body, exposing yourself to the man. Vividly remembering the last action before being welcomed into a state of satisfaction, pleasure, and euphoria, he laid you on your back, against the cold wood surface of the desk, his lips attaching onto your skin.

Screw it. You thought, pulling out your phone from the pocket of your oversized hoodie, dialing up the one person you knew could be some sort of help in this sticky situation.

It took a few rings of the familiar facetime ringtone before the connecting sound went off and you were welcomed by the chirpy and enthusiastic voice you knew too well.

“Hey girly!” you heard through your phone, pulling you away from your gaze out the window, coming back to your senses and out of a state of overthinking and worriedness. “What’s up? Why’d you call?” Natalie asked, shining her infamous bright smile. She set her phone up against something in her room, taking a step back from her phone to tie her blonde hair up into a messy bun, pulling a few strands out to finish the look.

“Hey…” you had let out nervously, your voice trailing off into unease. Natalie furrowed her eyebrows together, instantly plopping back down onto her nicely made bed, now concerned with the unusual change in emotion from you.

“Alright, what happened?” she asked with a roll of her eyes. You trusted Natalie with everything you had in you, and the feelings were reciprocated. You had known each other since grade school and had become inseparable since.

“Well, something bad happened,” you said, again in the same tone as before, trailing off- dreading what was to come. Dreading how Natalie would react if she would think differently of you, if she would help you, if she wouldn’t care- too many possibilities ran through your mind, and you hadn’t even broken the news.

Natalie gasped, her jaw-dropping practically to the core of the Earth, “Oh, my god,” she let out even louder than her tone at the beginning of the call, beginning to think about what you were about to say, she furrowed her eyebrows in concentration. “Your ex is back in town with a new girl!” she guessed, making you roll your eyes, tilting your head back.

“No,” you chuckled, still nervous as to what was to come.

“What? That was a pretty good guess. Hmm, oh!” she exclaimed, pointing her index finger up, an imaginary lightbulb appearing above her head. “You got pulled over for speeding, and tried to flirt your way out of it, but only made it worse by flirting and ended up getting a ticket anyway!” she guessed quickly as if she was one of the spokespeople at an auction.

“That’s... oddly specific,” you explained, furrowing your own eyebrows in confusion.

“Hey, it was a strong guess!”

“I’ll give you that, although- you’d think I’d flirt my way out of a ticket?”

“Haven’t we all done it?”

“Um, no…”

“Anyway, seriously what happened!”

“Alright, okay.”

“Y’know it’d be funny if you told me you were pregnant because of a hookup with someone you met at one of those fancy parties you go to.” Natalie jested, making your head immediately shoot up from your lap. She cocked her head back in confusion at your reaction.

“What? No. That wouldn’t be funny. I don’t think that’s funny.”

“Oh c’mon, as if.” She rolled her eyes as she let out a loud cackle. You stayed silent, picking at a hangnail that had formed on your thumb from your nervous picking. Natalie’s laughing began to die down as she came to realize you weren’t laughing with her, and you were more quiet than usual. “Wait…” she trailed off, piecing things together before letting out a loud and shocking gasp. “You’re actually?” she asked in shock.

You slowly nodded your head, not daring to look up because of how embarrassed you felt, tears beginning to fill your eyes, so many thoughts entering your head at the possibility that Natalie would disapprove and be disappointed at your reckless actions.

“This isn’t a prank, right? Like- you’re not fucking with me right now, are you?” Natalie asked cautiously.

“Of course, I wouldn’t lie about something like this, Nat! Why would I lie about being pregnant?” you snapped, voice louder than anticipated as you looked through your phone at your best friend to see her shocked expression.

“Oh, my god…” her voice faded away, “Do you- do you know who the father is?” She asked softly, knowing this wasn’t fun and games anymore and that it was serious.

“No!” you snapped again, too many emotions running through your body. “I don’t know who the Dad is, and that’s why I called you because…” you said more calmly this time.

“Because you want me to help you figure out who he is.” Natalie finished for you.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, not caring if your mascara had run from your tears that were now freely falling down your face.

“What? Why would I be mad at you, y/n?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows together and looking at you like you were crazy.

“Well, I made a mistake, and- I was scared you were gonna be mad that I was so reckless,” you explained.

“Babe,” Nat cooed, pouting, “I would never be mad at you because of something like this. Do I think that is going to teach you a lesson on how reckless you are? Yes,” she joked, earning a small giggle from you, “But I would never be mad over you getting pregnant,” she explained sincerely.

“Well, thanks, I guess. I just really need help to figure out who the Dad is, so I can break the news to him and crush all his dreams and future,” you said sarcastically.

“Hey, c’mon, who knows. Maybe he’ll be happy about it?” Natalie asked awkwardly, knowing that no one would be happy to find out that the hookup they had, led to a pregnancy.

“I doubt it.”

“So do you remember anything from when it happened?” she asked, now invested in the whole situation. You stood up from your seat on your couch, pacing around your living room, carrying your phone along with you.

“No, and that’s the issue,” you whined, mentally facepalming yourself because you couldn’t remember. “All I remember was that he had brown hair, and his name had something to do with being Dutch,” you explained, shrugging your shoulders as you set your phone down onto the island counter of your kitchen, propping it up against the paper towel holder.

“Dutch? That’s quite specific, don’t you think?” Nat asked you, you shrugged your shoulders again, frustrated and overwhelmed. You opened your silver fridge, pulling out a chilled water bottle, opening the plastic cap and taking a sip from it as you turned back around to look at your phone.

“I don’t know, is it?” you asked, raising your one eyebrow.

“In a sense it kind of is. But, seriously, you don’t remember anything, at all?” she asked you again, trying to pry you open to spill the truth, in case you were hiding something from her. But in all seriousness, you were as clueless as she was with the evidence of who your baby Daddy was.

“Nope, I don’t really remember anything before or after the sex. All I remember is the actual sex,” you pursed your lips, leaning your chin on your hand that was resting on the cold counter.

Natalie laughed, “I can’t believe we’re talking about your sex life right now.”

“Oh, come on now, it’s nothing compared to the other things we’ve talked about,” you reasoned, to which Nat agreed, nodding her head and bringing her lips to form a straight, thin line. “But wait, y/n, if you remember the things before and after, why can’t you just assume that it was the same guy?” she asked you, and to be fair, you hadn’t thought about that scenario.

“Well, I guess I didn’t think of that, but what if it wasn’t him?” you asked anxiously, fiddling with your fingers and the sleeve of your hoodie.

“I don’t see how it couldn’t be him, you were at his parents’ event, he had some correlation to them, and he relates to something to do with being Dutch?” Natalie lists out all of the contending factors to your answer. “Nikki and Dom Holland hosted a charity event for sick kids last month- that’s what you attended, right?” she asked, your screen previewing a blurred screen with the word “paused” shown on it.

“Mhm, yeah,” you hummed, biting your lip nervously.

“Then it’s got to be him, y/n. I think you should find a way to reach out to him,” she shrugged, her face appearing on your phone again. “If it isn’t him, then we continue our search for your mystery baby Daddy,” she nonchalantly spoke.

“Alright, well, I’ll find a way to reach him,” you smiled nervously, Natalie returning the smile with sympathetic eyes.

“Okay, keep me updated please.”

“Of course, you know I will.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The next few days were uneventful. Other than you casually cleaning up around your apartment, and doing anything else to keep yourself preoccupied and away from the thoughts that tried to consume your mind. Any time a single thought regarding the situation you were stuck in entered your mind, you shook your head and shifted your thinking to something else. Whether that was reading a book, or simply doing anything other than getting your mind wrapped around the thoughts and possibilities. It felt as if you were in quicksand; feeling as if you moved, or in your situation; thought about it, you’d sink and get trapped, ultimately trapping yourself in your thoughts which you knew would consume you and begin to eat away at you. You mentally cursed at yourself for falling into this habit so quickly, and coping with your emotions this way, but what else was there to do? You couldn’t tell people, simply because it was too early in the pregnancy to assure you that you were having the baby, and you still had to build up the courage to reach out to your baby Daddy. Hell, you needed to figure out what you were even going to say to him.

You knew you weren’t going to last any longer, and you had to tell him, or else it was going to continue to eat away at you like a parasite feeding off of an animal. You tried to distract yourself, going to your local farmer’s market, watching your favourite TV show, baking desserts, and of course working, which luckily you got to do from home, but nothing would completely have it leave your mind. God forbid it didn’t help that the pregnancy test that you had taken was sitting on your bathroom counter, staring you down and being a constant reminder that you needed to do something about your situation. Most days you sat on your couch, or laid in your bed, thinking about all of the possibilities, including all the good, and all the bad ones.

About a week and a day later, after the continuous daily schedule of you dragging yourself to get up and go on about your day, you looked in the mirror of your bathroom, taking in your appearance and seeing how exhausted you looked, you glanced down to the test that changed your life, and then to your stomach. You placed your hand on your stomach, closing your eyes and just thinking about what the future would hold for you.

You proceeded to get ready for your day, taking a shower and changing into a comfortable, but stylish outfit and making yourself a healthy breakfast. With a piece of avocado toast and a side of fresh raspberries that you had bought from the farmer’s market, you sit at your island counter and mindlessly scroll through your phone. Once done, you cleaned up your plate in the sink and made your way to your home office, completing your tasks for work that needed to be done. That had taken a good portion out of your day, and when you finished the last thing on your list, you shut down your computer and made your way to your living room to take a quick cat nap.

You had closed your eyes not even for a solid five minutes before you were awoken by the sudden urge to throw up. You gagged, hand coming to your mouth as you quickly shot up from the couch and made it as quickly as possible to the bathroom before you hurled into the toilet bowl, bringing up the remains of your breakfast, snack, and lunch from before. After getting what needed to be out of your system, and feeling the sweat start to bead on your forehead, you sat back onto your heels and placed your hands on your thighs. Catching your breath and wiping the tears that had fallen from your eyes with the back of your wrist, you carefully stood up and reached underneath the sink cabinet to grab the mouthwash to clean your mouth out. Cleaning up the remains in the toilet and putting away your mouthwash, you left the bathroom, went straight into your bedroom and laid under your covers, you pulled out your phone from your pocket, opened it and went straight to the call app, dialing Natalie’s number.

It only rang twice before she picked up, her cheering voice putting a small smile on your face as you heard, “Hey future Momma! What’s up?”

“Mm, don’t know if I like that name yet.” You stifled a laugh and pursed your lips. “I was just calling ‘cause I’m bored.” You trailed off, “and I just threw up.” You talked through your phone, hearing a faint gasp through the speaker.

“Seriously? Aweh, I’m sorry, y/n. Was it bad?” Natalie asked you, you shrugged, even though she couldn’t see you.

“Eh, it was just throwing up- no different than if I were to have a hangover,” you jested, earning a giggle from across the phone.

“For real though, you okay?” Natalie questioned, concern lacing through her voice.

You hummed, “Mhm, just tired now… and my boobs hurt,” you groaned as you had tried to turn onto your stomach, quickly leaning back into your position on your side, avoiding the dull ache.

“Yikes, symptoms starting to hit you now?” Natalie seethed, thinking about how uncomfortable it would feel.

“Yep,” you responded, giving a tight-lipped smile.

“Anyway, any updates on your baby Daddy?” she asked, making you cringe at the term.

“Not yet, but y’know, I was looking on Instagram today when I realized we had exchanged socials,” you said through a monotone voice, seeming unfazed at the discovery.

You heard Natalie gasp and almost scream at your words, “What?!” she asked you loudly. “y/n! This is great news! Now you know who it is and now you can tell him!” she exclaimed, happily.

You sighed, “Yeah, I guess.”

“What do you mean, ‘you guess’, y/n?” Natalie asked in confusion. You could practically hear her facial expression through the phone, rolling your eyes and smirking. “This is your chance to get it all figured out,” she explained.

“Yeah, but like- don’t you think it’s a bit weird to randomly text the guy who probably doesn’t remember me, and even weirder to tell him that I’m pregnant with his kid?” you asked, cringing at the thought of how wrong things could go.

“Well, why don’t you just text him and see if he remembers you, if he does- which I’m sure he will because that pus-” Natalie ranted, making you gasp at the end of what she was saying and cutting her off because you knew where the conversation was headed.

“Nat!” you said, raising your voice, your jaw dropping.

“Sorry, sorry,” she snickered, “you know what I was getting at though. Ask him to meet up somewhere, and go get a coffee or something and spill the beans,” Nat said.

“I mean- it’s not a shit plan,”

“My plans are never shit, what do you mean!”

You giggled, “I’m kidding. I’ll think about it though.”

“You better.” Natalie protested.

“Mhm, I will, I will,” you laughed, “anyway, I’m gonna go and make something to eat for dinner, and hopefully not throw it up this time. Wish me luck,” you said.

Natalie laughed, “Good luck, babe. And text him! Trust me, one little text won’t do any harm!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You had lost track of how long you had been staring at the screen of your phone. Specifically, at the message you had sent. Your hands were slightly shaking, heart pounding in your head, and your knee bouncing quickly up and down.

It had taken you longer than it should have to send a simple, ‘Hey, it’s y/n. I don’t know if you remember me from the one charity event we met at, but I just wanted to reach out to you to see how things were.’, but knowing what you had to tell him, you kept writing out things to say and deleting it because it wasn’t good enough. To be fair, no message would ever be good enough with what was to come.

You turned your phone off, not being able to handle the nerves that began to form in the pit of your stomach, you felt like throwing up- and that was the last thing you needed right now. You distract yourself by putting on a movie and grabbing a bag of ketchup chips that you had impulsively bought at the store, due to your cravings that sprung at you within the blink of an eye.

You were intently watching what was happening in the movie, beginning to distract yourself away from your nerves, when the familiar sound of your Instagram message notification went off, immediately pulling you away from the TV and straight towards your phone. Unlocking it and opening the app, you go to the messaging section, seeing the bolded text next to the person’s profile picture, that as of right now, dreaded to look at.

You inhaled, swallowing most of your nerves down, clicking on the message to read his response.

From @TomHolland96: Hey Love. I do remember you, and I was thinking about our encounter for the past while to be honest. Things are good, busy with work as usual, but I’m going on a business trip in the next few days, so I’ll try to sneak in a quick vacation.

To @TomHolland96: That’s funny, I was thinking about it too, and how we never really kept in touch. But anyway, that business trip sounds exciting, where are you headed?

You murmured to yourself as you read his message, scoffing at how you were given no choice other than to make plans before he left. Breaking you from your thoughts, you look down to see the new message from him.

From @TomHolland96: My bad, work gets busy- parents are always hounding me to do things, and such. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t stop thinking about our little situation we had ;)

From @TomHolland96: I’m headed back to London, where my family’s head office is for the company. I work out here as the representative, pretty much the head of the office if you asked anyone.

You rolled your eyes at his cockiness, vividly remembering the same cockiness and flirtiness when you had first met.

To @TomHolland96: Gosh, your neck must get sore from holding that head of yours because of how big it is. But anyway, are you free at all tomorrow? I was wondering if you wanted to catch up.

From @TomHolland96: I actually have quite a tight schedule tomorrow, but I’m free around lunch, so we can meet then. Where were you thinking of going?

To @TomHolland96: Okay, great! How about Glenrose park?

From @TomHolland96: Sounds good, see you then, gorgeous ;)

After liking his message, you had practically thrown your phone across the room, standing up off of the couch and shaking out all your nerves. You were nervous to say the least, you had been since the moment you had found out you were expecting, but you also had started to feel exhilarated now that you were getting together with Tom. You didn’t know what to expect, but as you got ready for bed, anticipating the day ahead of you, you reminisced over the events that led you to this exact moment. Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was all too good to be true.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The next morning, you were up before your alarm, focused on what was on the agenda for the day. You showered, got ready and dressed in a pair of light washed jeans with a beige knitted sweater. Putting in your favourite earrings, clipping in your favourite necklace that was gifted to you from your grandmother, and you slide on your last pieces of jewelry, exiting your bedroom to begin putting together your breakfast.

Time had been moving faster than you would have preferred, and it was soon approaching noon, meaning that you would have to face Tom for the first time since your first encounter with each other. You made sure you had all of your belongings, including your purse, phone, and keys, and made your way down to your building’s underground parking lot. You pulled your coat closer to your body as you entered the cool parkade, strutting along to your parked vehicle. You quickly unlocked the doors and slid in, immediately turning it on and blasting the heat to keep you warm. Although it was still considered summer, the brisk September weather was starting to roll in, meaning fuzzy socks and hot chocolate, carving pumpkins and raking leaves.

Leaving early to give yourself enough time to pick up an order from the local cafe, for Tom and you, you hummed along to the quiet music that played through the speakers of your vehicle. Traffic was light, since most people were at work or in school, leaving you ahead of your schedule.

You parallel parked your vehicle outside the cafe that was located on the corner of the street. You grabbed what you needed from the passenger seat, turning off your car and mindfully stepping out of your vehicle. Entering the familiar spot, you’re immediately welcomed with the warm scent of chai and cinnamon, with a mix of coffee brewing and freshly baked goods. You were a regular at the cafe, always stopping before work in the mornings, as well as sometimes sitting down to work in the seating area, or to catch up with friends after a long awaited time.

You had ordered a pumpkin spiced steamer, avoiding coffee as a reminder of why you were out today and even coming to the cafe. You also had ordered a lemon loaf as a snack to tide you over for your venture out.

The drive from the cafe to Glenrose was just under fifteen minutes, theoretically meaning you’d arrive on time, so without wasting a moment, you thanked the employee that served you your order, and left for your vehicle, thickly swallowing back the nerves that were quickly creeped into your veins.

As expected, it didn’t take nearly as long as you would’ve hoped it had to get to the park. You parked in the marked off area for visitors, turning off your vehicle as you sat there, fiddling with your fingers, trying to gather yourself before facing the man you dreaded to see, the one who had been equally responsible for the situation you were in. You let out a quick breath, shaking your hands and opening your door, pulling your purse and warm drink with you, carefully getting out. As you stood straight, you felt the brisk breeze against your cheek, feeling a shiver run down your spine, making you shiver into your coat.

You walked from the parking lot, to the actual park, following the path to the seating area, keeping a careful eye out in case you spotted the familiar face you were here to see. You checked your phone to see the time, reading it was a few minutes past noon, meaning he could be here any minute. You stood under the large oak tree in the middle of the park, looking down at your feet as you moved your leg around to rustle the orange and brown leaves that had fallen off the tree as a sign of the seasons changing.

“You must be y/n, if I remember correctly,” you heard from behind you, making you turn around quickly in surprise to see the one and only, standing opposite you, dressed in a beige and white striped shirt, along with black dress pants and shoes. He wore an expensive rolex on his wrist, with his brown locks slicked back into a professional look, a few strands falling loose and onto his forehead.

You opened your mouth in shock, startled from his approach, but quickly turned your open mouth to a smile, “Yeah! Hey, it’s so nice to see you,” you nervously laughed. You reached out to shake his hand as he went in to give you a hug, both of you now awkwardly trying to agree on a way to greet each other, eventually agreeing to just hug each other. As he stiffly brought his arms around you, you were welcomed to his musky, but sweet scent, filling your senses, leaving you a bit distraught, being reminded of why you were here and what you were eventually going to tell him. You pulled away after a short moment, going to sit at the wooden table and chairs under the tree.

“So, how are things? It’s been a while since we last saw each other,” you spoke, taking a sip of your drink.

Tom nodded as you talked, taking a sip of his own coffee that he brought with him, “I’m good, yeah, quite good- just busy with work, y’know. A lot of meetings and projects to work on.”

“Oh, okay, I see. What do you do again?” you asked, trying your best to remember if he had previously told you his profession.

“I’m actually one of the executives of the branch here for my parents’ company. They’re based at home in England, and I work out here with some mates and my brother,” he explained, and you nodded your head, following along, honestly intrigued that he had such a professional job at such a young age. “What about you?” he asked, looking back into your eyes.

You cleared your throat, “I’m the director of public relations at a company that does something similar to what yours does,” you laughed at the connection, “hence why I was at the event your company held, and we… you know…” you trailed off, hiding your face into your hand as you felt heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment.

Tom chuckled to himself, rubbing at the nape of his neck. “Hey, we don’t have to make that seem like a bad thing,” he reasoned, “what we had- and may possibly still have- was pretty amazing. I felt like I knew you as if I had known you my entire life, after what- two hours? If that’s not the universe telling me something, I don’t know what it is,” he said, making you giggle.

“Is that you trying to subtly flirt with me?” you smirked, breaking a bright smile. As you looked at Tom you noticed how his cheeks were tinted a light shade of pink, and how his eyes would squink and wrinkles would appear whenever he smiled or laughed.

You continued for the next half an hour, soberly and properly getting to know each other. Joking with each other, and slightly flirting with each other throughout the conversation.

As you had just stopped uncontrollably laughing at something Tom had said, you see a young woman walking down the path with a stroller, reminding you of your sole purpose for why you were here with Tom currently. You needed to cut to the chase, and get on with what you were eventually going to say, rather than procrastinating. Sitting up straight, your mood switching from a comfortable state to anxious and on edge within a second.

You cleared your throat, restlessly rubbing your clammy hands together, “Hey, uh, there’s actually something I wanted to tell you,” you said hesitantly, adjusting yourself in your seat.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. What’s up,” Tom said happily, making you mentally scoff in your head at how hard this was going to be for you. Tom’s life was perfect from all that you had learned in the short time this afternoon. But he was stressed and busy with work, and that’s what scared you the most. You were about to throw a life-changing sentence at him, not knowing how he was going to respond to it.

You took a slow and shaky breath, closing your eyes for a moment to make sure you weren’t going to cry in a public place.

“What I’m about to tell you, Tom? Is… scary. Truth be told, I have no idea how you’re gonna take this- and I really dread this, and I wish it didn’t have to be like this, but a part of me does, and it’s giving me hope, but honestly? I’m really scared,” you rambled.

Tom sat across from you in pure confusion. With his eyebrows furrowed together, his head slightly tilting to the side. “Darling, what do you mean? You’re confusing me a bit.”

“I’m pregnant,” you let out randomly. Tom’s head cocks backwards in shock, his eyebrows raising and eyes widening at the studden, and a shocking statement.

“Wow, y/n, that’s great to hear!” Tom responded slowly, interlacing his own fingers together and resting his forearms on the table in front of him. “Kinda bold since we, I guess- just properly met,” he nervously chuckled, not quite sure why you would tell him such a personal situation.

“No, Tom, I’m pregnant,” you reiterated, emphasizing on the word ‘pregnant’ while locking eyes with Tom. You tilt your head down and give him a knowing look, biting the inside of your cheek.

Tom inhaled, confused at how quickly your mood and expression had changed. He looked to the side and out to the park, watching people walk and play with their dogs and elderly couples strolling along. Exhaling through blown up cheeks before looking back at you, “So you’ve said, y/n, really, congrats,” Tom said.

“Are you just not hearing what I’m saying?” you asked, growing annoyed that it wasn’t clicking for him. Your heart was racing, you could hear it in your ears, and feel it all throughout your body. Your stomach had practically fallen to the core of the earth, and butterflies filled the emptiness- but not the good ones. You felt like throwing up, and if you tried hard enough, you probably would be able to. But, all you could focus on was Tom not putting the pieces together. You stared at him, watching his confused features sit there, all confused and dazed.

His eyebrows furrowed together, “Yes, I am, and what else do you want me to say, y/n?” Tom asked more frustratedly, his voice raised, his arms thrown up in defeat.

“You don’t understand, Tom- you’re not hearing this right, I’m. Pregnant,” you emphasized, in a voice that sounded like you were “dumbing” your words down for him to understand as your tongue poked the inside of your mouth in annoyance.

“You’ve said that like a million times, love, I get it. You’re pregnan-” he argued, but before he had the chance to finish his sentence, you cut him off,

“It’s yours, okay? Happy now? That’s what I meant when I reiterated the words, I’m pregnant, Tom. It’s yours,” you blurted, tears immediately welling in your eyes, you bite the inside of your lip as you watch Tom’s reaction unfold in front of you.

Tom exhaled a nervous and shocked breath, “Wow, I- I don’t know what to say… How long have you known?” he asked, showing a more sympathetic look through his eyes when meeting yours.

“About two or three weeks now- I would’ve told you sooner, trust me, but I needed to find out who the Father was, and I needed to gather myself- I didn’t expect to get pregnant-” you rambled, the same mix of emotions hitting you all at the same time.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I get it,” Tom assured you, reaching his hand down to rest on top of yours and lightly hold onto your hand, rubbing your soft skin with his thumb. “Just take a few breaths to gather yourself, you’re getting yourself worked up, and your gorgeous self doesn’t need to cry,” he subtly flirted, making small butterflies erupt in your stomach.

You looked down to your lap and back up, a single tear falling down your face, “S0 you’re not mad?” you questioned, eyebrows turning downwards as you frowned, wiping away the tear that wet your skin.

“Why would I be mad, y/n?” Tom asked you.

“Well- I just threw this on you out of the blue, probably completely changing your life forever,” you jested sarcastically.

“y/n, it happens, it’s not the end of the world. Yeah, it’s going to change a lot of things- but nothing’s wrong with that, okay? It’s not your alone’s fault- it never will be, I mean- it takes two people to get pregnant,” he jested, earning a small giggle from you, “and even if you don’t believe that everything will be okay right now, I’ll make sure to tell you,” he told you.

“Okay, well, thanks. I’m just glad you’re not mad,” you smiled weakly. “I really thought I was about to get to know you, and then go and fuck up your life,” you sadly giggled.

He let out a breath, “Yeah, yeah, of course. I’m obviously going to have to tell my parents about it, and they’re probably not going to take it as well as me, but y/n,” he said more seriously, swallowing thickly and looking deeply into your eyes, “no matter what, I promise you things will be okay.”

You nodded your head quickly, squeezing Tom’s hand that was still holding yours. You both stood up out of your seats, and grabbed your empty cups, tossing them in the nearest garbage disposal.

“y/n?” Tom called out from behind you, making you turn around from where you were standing. He walks up to you and reaches for your hand, linking his fingers with yours. “I promise you.”

“Promise me what?” you asked, looking at him and tilting your head to the side.

“Things will be okay,” he said as he pulled you into a hug. His free hand reaches up to hold the back of your head against his chest before he places a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Yes, and please let me know what your parents say, okay? Text me,” you tell him, nodding your head in reassurance.

“I’ll call you,” he said, taking you by surprise.

“But you don’t have my numbe- oh.” You gave him a straight lipped look, rolling your eyes at how he sneakily gave himself the opportunity to get your number. You exchange contact information, and Tom walks you to your vehicle, parked in the lot and you bid your goodbyes. Tom blows you a kiss and you smile sadly.

Although you felt reassured and happy that Tom took it easy, something about the hesitancy in his voice when bringing up his parents and telling them, made you feel like it all seemed bittersweet.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“Mum? Dad? Can you come sit for a minute? There’s something I need to talk to you both about,” Tom called out to his parents, his heart beating in his ears, hands growing a bit sweaty.

“Coming, darling,” his Mum, Nikki called back, walking through the archway and wiping her flour-covered hands on her black apron, leaving visible prints on the fabric. Tom sat in the one armchair in the living room of his family’s home. His Mother follows him in, sitting opposite of him. Soon after his Dad walks in with a wine glass in hand. He sits down next to his wife, placing the glass full of red wine on the coaster in front of him.

“What’s up, son?” his Dad asked, crossing his one leg over the other. Tom rubs his hands together nervously, puffing out a breath before sitting up straight in his seat.

“So, I met up with a girl today at my lunch break,” he started, his parents nodding along, confused at what their son was trying to get at, “and we had actually met at your event last month- and um, shit this is so embarrassing, but we- we hooked up,” he said, looking between his Mother and Father.

“What are you trying to get at, sweetie?” his Mum asked him, making Tom bite his lip anxiously.

“The girl- she’s… pregnant,” he let out quickly, wanting to rip the bandaid off quickly, knowing the reaction they were going to have.

“What?” his Dad almost shouted, standing up from the cushion he was sat on, walking over to where Tom was sitting.

“We were drunk, and got carried away, and she reached out to me today to tell me,” he explained, resting his forehead in his palm, feeling ashamed of his actions, countering his earlier reaction with you at the park earlier.

“How could you, Thomas!” his Dad continued to shout. His Mother still sat back on the couch, staring off into the ground, trying to process what her son had just told her.

“It’s not like we planned it, Dad,” he argued, making his Father shake his head.

“But you still went around and got with some girl you don’t even know-” his Father continued.

“We got to properly know each other today, Dad! God, are you not listening to me?” Tom said, his frustration growing by the second. He was now standing as well, mirroring his Father who stood across from him.

“Why would you go out and ruin what you had! You had a good life, Thomas, and now all of that’s flushed down the drain,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. There was silence in the room, but the air was thick, filled with tension and unease. “Go to your room,” his Father spoke bitterly.

“You’re treating me like I’m some child, Dad. I’ve got this figured out, and I plan on figuring it out as time goes on!” Tom yelled, voice shaky. He never got worked up, wanting to present the tough facade to everyone he knew, but deep down, he hated yelling, and arguing with people.

“Because you’re acting like one. Now go, I don’t want to talk anymore.” He said sternly, making shoulders drop, slumping over his body. This attitude brought back the painful memories of when he disappointed his Father as a kid, and teenager, always trying to do his best to make his Father happy, but seemingly never being good enough.

His Father began to walk away before stopping in his tracks and turning back around one last time, pointing his finger, “I’m disappointed in you, Tom. You’re not going to involve yourself with that girl. You can’t jeopardize your career and life by getting a girl, who you don’t even know, pregnant,” he said, making Tom’s head shoot up from looking at his feet.

“What?” he asked in disbelief, eyes beginning to fill with tears.

“You heard me.”

“Dad- you can’t- I can’t do that to her,” he protested.

“I don’t care, son. You’re going to figure out whatever legal agreements need to be made, but I don’t need you distracted from work over some stupid slip up.”

“No.” Tom shook his head, tears now beginning to fall from his eyes and down his face. He glanced over to his Mother who was still sitting on the couch, watching the argument unfold in front of her. “I’m not doing that to the innocent girl, whether you like it or not.”

“If that’s the choice you want to make, then your project’s over,” his Father said furiously, referring to the biggest project of Tom’s job that he had been planning for the past year. Tom felt a drop in his stomach, he felt sick. He couldn’t believe the punishments being given to him by his Father, all because he told him that he got you pregnant.

“It’s your choice, Tom. You choose what you want. It’s your life after all,” he said sharply. Leaving the room, off to who knows where, leaving Tom to stand in the living room, not knowing what to do with himself. His Mother stood from her seat, walking over to her son and bringing her hand up to his cheek, caressing his soft, but wet skin.

“I really hope you make the right decision, my love,” Looking at Tom with sad eyes and a slight frown on her face.

That was all that she had said after Tom broke the news. As she left the room, most likely heading to bed or following his Father to where he went, Tom fell back into the chair, silently crying into his hands.

This couldn’t have possibly gone any worse than it had, and Tom didn’t know what he was going to do, or how he was going to tell you what happened. He was lost, he thought he had planned it all out, but truth be told, it was far from it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x fem!reader #tom holland x pregnant!reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland oneshot #tom holland oneshots #tom holland series #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #dad!tom au #richkid!tom au

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uglypastels · 3 years

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Plan, Interrupted // t.h.

(a/n) there's nothing like coming up with 50 different fic ideas while trying to write one for months, haha, but after getting the prompt from the amazing @worldoftom I could not not write this!! Thank you so much, B, for thinking of me and helping me brainstorm :') and thanks to @duskholland and @lilbeatlebear for the constant support (gods know, I needed it haha) and an apology beforehand for any kind of questionable choices in the writing. idk what i was thinking, but i do think it turned out pretty well.

word count: 22.5k

warning: (enemies>lovers... if you squint... maybe) shitty family drama, rich people behaviour, chaotic driving, alcohol consumption, swearing, public nudity, smut > 18+, minors please DNI (intoxicated, semi-public making out, oral (m), d/s dynamics but also switch, riding, and idk how to do this.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces.

“What do you guys think? Does this one make me look fat?” Your sister asked as she spun around for what felt like the millionth time. You let your head fall back as you tried to reach for the last drops of champagne that had stayed behind in your tall glass.

“y/n!” You almost knocked your own teeth out as your mother nudged you in the arm.

“What?” you hissed back at her, putting the glass down on the little table. Its relatively modest surface was occupied mainly by your plate, which used to hold several small (too small, in your opinion) pieces of wedding cake testers. Honestly, you did not understand why you had to be there anyway. No one listened to your opinion. Obviously, the red velvet with cream cheese filling and blueberry jam was the best. Who, in the actual fuck, would want to eat carrot cake at their wedding?

Well, your sister. That’s who.

“So, what do you think?” your sister just kept on twirling, whipping her veil over her head dramatically.

“It’s ugly,” you said, not even looking at the dress. For the first six dresses, you tried to look for the differences, but at some point, it all just started to blur into one big ball of organza, glitter and lace. And it was all just so white.

“y/n!” your mother gasped once again. It seemed to be the only word leaving her mouth lately.

“I’m sorry, it is.” You shrugged, “I liked the first one better.”

“Oh, let her be, momma,” your sister waved your mother off, interrupting her before she could snap your neck off, “she’s just sour because she doesn’t have a wedding to plan… or even a boyfriend for that matter.” She started twirling in Ugly Dress No. 35 in the shade Eggwhite Puke before she saw the glare you gave her.

That was the reason you were there. Not for moral support, not for your opinions or ideas, but to make sure that everyone around you knew that your sister was the pretty successful and happily engaged one; meanwhile, you were alone, bitter and getting drunk on cheap champagne in the middle of the day.

You were going to say something, even had a thought of throwing some bits of frosting at her, but at that exact moment, you got a text message from your friend, asking if you wanted to go out for drinks. How could you possibly say no to that?

“I gotta go, see ya later,” you said while responding to your friend you would meet her at your regular meeting spot. Then, without even looking up at the rest of the bridal party or waiting for their response, you made sure to leave quickly.

New York had been getting warmer and warmer, and the streets of the Upper East Side were bustling with people trying to get from one destination to the other. For once, you were glad to get sucked into the stream of commuters, actually feeling free compared to what you had to endure in the bridal shop with those familial piranhas.

Your phone started vibrating in your pocket as you crossed the street, avoiding a cab that didn’t know what a red light was. You picked up the phone, and it was your friend, the same one who had just texted you a minute ago. You were still flipping the cab driver off when your friend asked where you were.

“Oh my god, Rebecca, I’m literally two minutes away. Calm down.” You said as you walked at a faster pace, keeping up with everyone around you. Though, apparently, you had been still walking a bit too slow for some, as a man caught up to you, bumping into your shoulder.

“Look out, asshole,” you mumbled, but the man apparently heard you because the next second, he turned around. For a second, you were scared he was going to kill you (this was New York, after all). Then you were surprised by his perfect jawline, which was a bizarre observation to make about a stranger who could still kill you.

You remembered that you were still in a phone call with your friend, and you made sure that the man could see if you had a witness to whatever might happen. But, unfortunately, he stood still in front of you.

“What did you just call me?” Oh, he had an accent. So he wasn’t American, good. And it also explained why he stood in the middle of the road. Anyone else, who was from here, would have just kept on walking…. Or would have pushed you even harder.

“I called you an asshole,” you smiled sweetly, feeling a surge of confidence come out of nowhere. “Now excuse me, I got places to be.” The confidence clearly worked because you passed by him and left the man standing, most likely making him unsure of what had just taken place. You made your way through the rest of the street wearing that Bad Bitch attitude, feeling like no one could come even close to you.

"Ok, what the hell was that?” Shit, you still had Rebecca on the phone.

“Sorry, some fucker bumped into me. He actually stopped and called me out. Can you believe that? Ugh, men.”

“I know what you mean, honey. But… was he hot?” Of course, that was the only thing Rebecca could think about. But, unfortunately…

“Not only that, Beck, he had an accent.” you were exactly the same. That’s why your friendship worked so well. Rebecca gasped at the news.

“Can you go back? Get his number oh my god, y/n-”

“I am not doing that. Did I not just tell you that he was an asshole? Besides,” you looked behind you to see if he was anywhere in sight, “he’s probably far away now. And I’m almost there. No point in going back.”

“So what if he’s an asshole? We both know that it’s the problematic ones that are the best in bed,” she said, almost matter-of-factly, to which you could only roll your eyes. Half because her words were absolutely ridiculous, and a half because, though absurd, still very accurate.

You were nearing the restaurant now and could already see Becky sitting at your usual spot, at the high bar bench that faced the window. It was the best spot to look at the people on the street and judge them with great velocity.

She waved at you as you walked inside. Then, before you could say anything or even give her a hug, she sat up straight with a solemn expression laid across her face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked exactly what you had been planning on asking her.

“Nothing?” you asked yourself, more like, “why would anything be wrong?”

“Because I could practically hear your eye-roll back there, and the only reason when you’re so against hooking up with hot foreign guys is when you’re angry… and the fact that I snatched you away from your sister’s wedding dress shopping gave me a few ideas on how you might be feeling. So, I already ordered for you.” It was then that you noticed the large cup of coffee on the table next to you. With a relieved sigh, you sat down and took a large sip of the hot drink, which most definitely burned your tongue, but you didn’t care at that particular moment. The extra hint of... spice didn't go unnoticed by you either.

“So, what happened?” Rebecca watched you drink, most likely concerned for your tastebuds and mental wellbeing.

“We had to look at a hundred ugly dresses. She had decided to go for this Princess Diana on crack look; it’s actually ridiculous. I drank as much champagne as possible, and my family did not miss a single opportunity to tell me that I’m the lesser child.”

“You’re not, though,” she reminded you, though you didn’t need it. Maybe it was a delusion, but you never saw anything in your sister that made her so much better than you… except for the fact that now, she will be Mr and Mrs Stone Cold Bitch. You drank your coffee, with the interludes of pouring your frustrations out on poor Rebecca.

“I just… I wish something would happen that would take them all down a notch. I- I want to fuck up the wedding.”

Rebecca thought about your words for a moment. “I’m invited to this wedding, right?”

“I think so?”

“Then yes, you should definitely do it.” This was followed by a gasp, “you should totally sleep with her fiancé!” The exclamation made a few people around you look up from their own conversations.

“No. Ew,” you had met your sister’s husband-to-be, Derek, and you had never been particularly impressed, “besides, I don’t want to ruin their marriage, she’s still my sister, and I still love her, but-” you halted.

“But what?” Rebecca blinked; her cup of coffee was only an inch from her mouth as she awaited the rest of your sentence.

“I also want her to be miserable for a bit, my whole family for that matter. I want something to happen that will make everyone talk about it. Something that people who weren’t even invited will talk about-”

“You should get a streaker!” she almost shouted, once again a bit too enthusiastically considering you were in a restaurant for a late brunch. There were more conspicuous glares thrown your way.

“A what?”

“A streaker, you know, a naked guy with a trenchcoat.” Rebecca saw your apprehensive face, “Imagine, beautiful reception, and suddenly this naked guy comes running in! It’s gonna be hilarious and most important… no one will be able to forget it.” Her words stuck well in your mind. You could already imagine it: your entire family freaking out as some stranger runs in, ruining everything. It wouldn’t be surprising if someone fainted out of pure shock. Drinks would be spilt, food would be dropped… pure chaos.

It could be perfect.

“That is actually a great idea,” you grinned at your best friend. “But how will I get someone to do it?”

“Please, this is New York; you could throw a rock and hit five perverts walking down the street who’d be willing to do it.”

“But that’s the thing, I don’t want some pervert that will go and harass my cousin or some shit, just a quick run through the ballroom and leave,” you explained, leaving the both of you to think about options for a moment.

“Hire an actor.” Rebecca said, finally, “take out an ad in the paper or something; I’m sure someone would be interested and hey, if they act, chances are they might be slightly good looking too.” She nudged you in the side suggestively, but you ignored that last bit. Her suggestion, however, just like all the previous ideas, had been pretty good. You could write up a little ad, maybe even search through craigslist (although that still leaves a high pervert probability).

Eventually, together with the help of Rebecca, you wrote up a quick ad. Not too long, since news ads were expensive. You also thought it would be wise to get a prepaid phone to set up as a contact, so no weirdos had a way to contact you directly.

“Ooh, I feel like we’re in a spy movie,” Rebecca squealed as you left the store with the new phone.

“Calm down, Becks, this isn’t Ocean’s 8… more like… Wedding Crashers.”

“Still cool,” she shrugged.

Later that day, you found yourself behind your computer, trying to find out how in the hell does one put an ad in a newspaper or any kind of shared media that people might be reading. You had to make sure it wasn’t something widely known, so none of your family might accidentally stumble upon it, but read widely enough for someone to read it and catch interest. You had sat down at your desk, a large glass of red wine at hand. It had been a while since your champagne binge at the wedding parlour, and you could feel your mind unfogging throughout the day, which was highly unnerving. To go through with this plan, you could not be thinking clearly. It was an insane idea, and you could not start thinking over the consequences now.

After going through the ideas you and Rebecca had come up with and a few drafts, you managed to format a simple, hopefully compelling, message:

Be Naked At My Sister’s Wedding

My sister is having an outdoor wedding in New Canaan, CT, in July. I want someone to be naked in the woods and run through the wedding in order to ruin it. I will protect you from my family.

If interested, for further information, please contact:

Followed by the number of your freshly bought burner-cell phone. The glamour of taking out an advertisement in the press was that, as long as you paid enough money, you could get anything printed, and no one would even be questioning it. Another great point- it was anonymous!

You looked at the message, and maybe the alcohol had not hit yet, but the longer you looked at it, the worse you felt. It all just felt a little bit off. You couldn't do this to your sister. As much as she pissed you off, this wedding was an important day for your family, and you couldn’t be the person to ruin it for all of them. This was insane.

You had your finger on the button to send the ad off to the printers, then stopped. But you couldn't delete it just yet either. Not sure what to do, you saved the file with the ad draft and turned your computer off.

⤐

Although you had felt confident about pursuing the plan at first when talking about it with Rebecca, the following days only made you more uncertain. You had hoped to take a few days before doing anything. It was better; you had learned through experience that it was never good to act on initial emotions. In the restaurant, when the plan came to be, you had still been angry and upset at your family. You wanted to see them rot in the pits of hell.

Now, that need was not as high. You were feeling better, so you decided to put the plan away for now. But it didn’t mean, however, that you didn’t stop thinking about it.

That weekend, you had a few errands to go through in the Theatre District, so you had decided to go search for a little kiosk that might be selling the kind of reading material that you were searching for. Something local to the area that was sold and read thoroughly by its targeted audience. Clumsy you had never saved the original page that you wanted to send the ad to so you were in need of a new backup.

This way, if the plan was set in motion, you had a place to send your advert in. just as a precaution. The wedding was less than a month away, and you were intending on having it all very well planned out if the opportunity just so happened to take place.

You had found a little kiosk at the corner of the sidewalk. An old man smoking a cigarette was looking through a Vogue magazine that must have been at least a few years old. The sight of the outdated article made you a bit apprehensive, so you decided to keep walking in search of another vendor.

This one, you found only a few blocks later. It was a woman selling magazines, and she was eating a candy bar. Her bright red hair was in stark contrast to the dark inside of the vendor’s booth.

“How can I help ya?” she said, smacking her chocolate-covered lips.

“What would you say is the best-selling magazine here? That is like… local to the neighbourhood?” You asked, already looking at the extensive showcase.

“Hmm,” the girl stuck her head out from over the counter to look as well. “I’d probably say that one,” she pointed at a magazine right at your eye level. It was independent publishing, from the looks of it. On the cover was a large mask, which looked very intriguing. Interested in it yourself now, you decided to buy a copy and being led by the growling noises of your stomach, you decided to buy one of the candy bars that the girl had been eating.

“Make that two,” you added to your purchase quickly. The girl gave you your total, which you promptly paid for and then stashed your newly bought items in your bag. Then, with a quick smile, you said goodbye to the redhead and made your way to get the rest of your business done.

Once you had everything else taken care of, with a few shopping bags occupying your arms and not really feeling like walking all the way back to your apartment, you stood at the side of the street, trying to catch a taxi. The cars passed by you without a second of hesitation. It felt like you had never seen so many occupied taxis next to each other at the same time. After what must have been an eternity, one cab finally stopped at your feet. You got inside and told the man your destination.

The man, thankfully, didn’t make any attempts at conversation, even when you got stuck in the usual traffic jams. Feeling a bit bored, you decided to look at some of the articles in the publication you had bought. The pieces that the issue covered were spread over several topics, making it hard for you to determine the purpose or target audience. It wasn’t really something you would have ever picked up under any other circumstance. But, you had to admit, they were all very well written.

It also made one thing clear- none of your family had ever heard of it. Perfect.

You couldn’t be bothered to read the articles at that point, merely flipping through them. The advertisements were on the last few pages, and you realised that many more people had ideas like you, all with the same kind of audience in mind. For example, people were looking for actors to play roles in their college films; a woman was looking for a date for a wedding; another ad sounded very much like the writer was looking for a hired gun, but you decided to ignore that one.

But the longer you looked at all these other advertisements, the more you started to doubt this plan you had concocted. You had too much to drink that day, that was for sure, and you hadn’t been thinking clearly, which was sort of the point. When you looked at these cries of attention on the glossy pages, it got you to believe that maybe this was a bit desperate. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea. Now, you still had time to stop it. You had not sent anything in yet, and maybe that had been for the better.

You kept that idea in your mind, started reading a review about the off-off-Broadway production of Bob Ross - the Musical and were debating whether or not you should buy tickets for it next week when the driver pulled up to the curb of your destination. You paid him, feeling generous on the “No talking”- tip and got out. Your apartment was half a block away, which felt doable to do with your nose in the pages of the magazine. Was it a magazine? The format didn’t precisely expose that, but it didn’t feel like a journal or a newspaper either. Anyway, you made your way down the street reading and almost bumped your forehead against the door of your building once you had arrived.

“Oh, miss y/n!” Charlie, the security man of your building, quickly got up from his seat as you walked through the main hallway. You glanced up from another article (Pizza Rat- Myth, Legend, or Nuisance?) at the sound of your name.

“What is it, Charlie?”

“Your sister is here to see you. She, uh, came in just a few minutes ago. I thought you’d ought to know.”

Shit. “Thank you, Charlie,” you smiled appreciatively. Charlie nodded and sat back down as you made your way to the elevator. What, in the actual fuck, was your sister doing here? Hadn’t you made it perfectly clear that your apartment was yours and not a hospitable resort for your family? You did not want them there. If they wanted to meet up, they could reserve a table at Le Bernardin. But that was, supposedly, a disadvantage of living off of your parents and getting an apartment with their money. It was never an exclusively-you situation. They, and for some reason also your sister, felt entitled to unpredicted visits.

Not feeling ready to be stuck in a room with your sister, you remembered the candy bars you had bought at the kiosk and quickly unwrapped one of them. You were mid your first bite when the elevator doors opened. Once you stepped out, you were greeted with the image of your sister lounging on the large white sofa, a glass in her hand, flipping through magazines. She hadn’t looked up at the sound of the elevator ding, so you quickly stashed your newly purchased piece of reading into your bag while holding onto the candy bar like it was life support.

Right as you closed the zipper of your bag, did she look in your direction.

“Ah! There you are!”

“Yup, here I am. Here you are, too, I see.” You smiled with gritted teeth.

“Yes, sorry if this isn’t the best timing-”

“It actually really isn’t-” you tried to say, but she didn't listen and just kept on yapping.

“I just had to come and see you. After the dress shopping- well, I wanted to know if you were doing OK. Make sure we’re still good.” She put her glass down on the table, only an inch away from a coaster, and it was then that you noticed a white and blue cardboard box on your coffee table. Your sister saw the look you gave the strange new object and reached out for it in glee.

“Oh yea, I almost forgot. I popped by Lady M and got us a few goodies- although now I’m thinking, you must be good.” You noticed the glare she had shot you as you were taking another bite of the candy bar when saying that, and it made your blood boil. It was as if the opportunities to ridicule you were actually coming at her. As if she was a beacon, or a giant magnet, for bitchy comments.

As your sister started to munch away on a bonbon, you sat down in one of your chairs, as far away from her as possible. You stared, probably a bit too obviously, as she sat there. Was it too much of an expectation to think she had something to say to you?

“So why are you here exactly?” you said, trying not to look at all the candy in the take-out box and just focus on the one you were eating.

“Mm, I told you already,” your sister wiped the corner of her mouth, “I wanted to see how you are. You seemed really upset yesterday.”

“Well, I was; one can only take up so much in a day. Was kind of tired of how everyone was belittling me, you know?” As you said that, you felt your shoulders slack, and your back hit the rest of the chair. Your sister moved over on the couch and leaned up to you. Her face showed a small smile, but it was a kind one. One filled with compassion- a sure rarity in your family.

"Oh, honey, please don’t think that.” She patted her hand on your leg, and for a brief moment, a surge of guilt flew over you, feeling horrible that you had been this close to ruining her big day… but just for a moment.

“You know how mom is; she isn’t as… understanding when it comes to certain things. But you know I completely support you.” She gave you a sweet smile, which was confusing since you had the feeling as if she had just insulted you. You didn’t know where the insult was hiding, but you could sense it nearby. Your sister picked up another piece of fancy candy that most likely cost more than the number of calories it had in it, which to you, never felt like a good diet.

“What do you mean?” you eventually dared to ask.

“Oh, you know, not many girls would be so comfortable being single, especially when there’s so little else wrong with you.” You could feel a muscle in your face twitch at each word that came from your sister’s mouth, and it only got worse the longer she went. The guilt now trickling out of you at a steady pace. “So it’s really quite commendable how you parade your bachelorette life like that. God knows I would never be able to do it. I mean… I’d probably not even dare to leave the house knowing that nobody wanted me… So it is, truly, very… empowering, in fact, mhm.” she looked up at you from her fourth bonbon.

You wanted to scream in her face but instead opted for a polite, very much forced, smile while your fingers were wringing themselves around the corner of a throw pillow. A pillow, which also gave you a great urge to smother her with it. To think that there was a second in which you had thought that maybe this could be a normal conversation. That your sister actually was concerned about you.

No, that would have been absolutely ludicrous. And now you were stuck listening to her stating these backhanded comments at you. The longer it went on, the more you had to hold yourself together not to say anything back. You had to keep it together, but that band that held it all in one place was without a doubt getting tighter and tighter until- you finally snapped.

"Can you shut up for like one fucking second,” you sneered, making your sister look perplexed. The bonbons in the box were almost all gone.

“Excuse me?” She blinked in bewilderment.

“Just shut up. I’m so tired of hearing you talk, the whole family actually. Why can’t any of you accept that I’m happy with what I’m doing? Why, whenever someone has something to say about me, it has to be these unbelievably pretentious comments that actually make me want to-”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” your sister waved you off. She wasn’t even listening to you. You could tell.

“I’m serious.”

“You know what,” your sister scoffed, “maybe mom was right.”

“About what?” Oh, yet another conversation about you that had been held behind your back. You were absolutely ecstatic to hear what the topic of this one was. Would it have been your presumed alcoholism? Perhaps another entirely different fictitious addiction? Or maybe your mother finally managed to convince your entire family that you had joined a convent, which seemed to be the only acceptable reason for you not to be in a relationship.

“Mom had suggested that maybe it would be better if you, uhm, didn’t come to the wedding.”

“Excuse me?” Now it was your turn to blink at her in disbelief.

“Of course I was against it, how could you not come to the wedding? You’re my sister! But momma believes that your energy might be slightly… off-putting.” And apparently, this was the moment she decided it was time to go (perhaps because she ate the last bonbon) and got up to grab her jacket. You followed her like a disgruntled chihuahua.

“How can you uninvite me from your wedding?”

“Just the ceremony, you still get to come to the reception, of course. And you can still sit at the main table during the party, c’mon, y/n.” She put on her jacket.

“You’re actually doing this?” This hurt. Sure, you hated your family sometimes, certainly at this moment, but that’s what families did! But what made you a family was that you could put this hatred aside. So, for example, at the wedding of your back-stabbing bitch of a sister and her good for nothing husband… you wanted to be there and support her in any way you could.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, y/n. We both know you can be a bit… testy, sometimes. I mean, look at you now. Mom said that's precisely how you would be. Of course, I was trying to prove her wrong, but…

“Oh, so all that I care for you bullshit was just that? Bullshit?” you asked, confused. But, of course, it made perfect sense. Your sister and mother had put on a bet to see if she could crack you and make up a reason not to invite you to the wedding. Fucking parasites, each and every one of them.

“No, not at all. I did want to see if you were ok. But you have to admit, y/n, that you haven’t been in the greatest state lately. I mean, just look at yourself now. But I would still love it if you came to the party. After all, we are sisters.” She then proceeded to extend her arms in the form of an embrace. When you didn’t move, she, somewhat aggressively, pulled you into the hug. Once she pulled away, she gave you another one of those psychopathically sweet smiles and finally went off to the elevator. As she walked away, her “Toodeloooo” echoed through the corridor.

Once you heard the doors of the elevator close, you fell face-first onto the sofa and screamed as long as you could until your lungs started to burn.

That night, after your sister had left and a few glasses of wine later, you found the website of the writing you had purchased. It had taken you a while, but you found the section in which you could send in an advertisement. Maybe another "You" would have given up after hearing the news you got degraded to a second-class family friend, but after everything that had happened with your sister, you were adamant about ruining everything. Perhaps a mental professional would call it a concerning obsession, but that is precisely why you didn’t do therapy.

⤐

The wedding would be taking place on July 30th. You had sent out the first ad somewhere at the end of June. The first one, because clearly one did not suffice. You had not received any results from that. The longer it went on, without any results, the more you started to doubt your plan. It was very much possible that this was a sign not to go through with it.

A sign you decided not to listen to. In fact, as the days went by, you felt more and more in need of ruining the damn wedding.

While waiting for a phone call from the ad, all you were getting were messages from your family. It was possible that you, in a slightly drunken state, had sent a not so nice message into the family group chat. After this fiasco, your family felt obligated to get the situation cleaned up.

Not for you, though. No, god no, that would have been ridiculous. Your mother could simply not have her excellent reputation smudged, especially not by her own daughter. So, by making your sister and father spam you with repetitive messages and trying to call you, she really thought she was doing something. If only any of these messages actually included an apology, not just attempts at getting you to be quiet.

y/n don’t be so dramatic and just come to lunch with us.

It is really not a big deal; I mean, cousin Fred isn’t coming to the ceremony either.

Oh, for god’s sake, y/n, get over yourself!

You were particularly fond of that last message, even thinking about putting it as your new alarm sound. You could not put it together that your family was putting you on the same level as crazy cousin Fred, who you had not seen in probably ten years, and the last you heard about him was that he had been stuck in some sanatorium after being rescued from a ferret-worshipping cult in Iowa. But now that you thought about it… the cult didn’t sound like a bad idea.

But the days passed, one after the other, and you had received no responses from your ad. Finally, one night, after a long phone call with Rebecca and about half a bottle of Chardonnay, you started to question everything.

“Maybe I deserve it,” you had also just ordered yourself some food and were stuffing fries into your mouth as you talked, “Am I that intolerable, Beck?”

“I wouldn't say intolerable, no. But listen,” you had the feeling she sat up straight, so you did the same, “Maybe you deserved to get kicked out of the ceremony, I mean you have been acting a bit like a bitch but!” she interrupted herself exactly where you were planning on stopping her. Somehow, her words just didn’t feel very supportive at the moment.

“But,” she continued, “there is no excuse for them to treat you like complete shit, which is clearly the reason that you have been so upset, and, I’m sorry, but your entire family are morons if they don’t see that.”

“Thank you,” you sniffed, “I needed to hear that.”

“You’re welcome.” What followed was a minute of silence as both of you ate until Rebecca asked her next question, “So have you heard from anyone yet?”

“No,” you sighed heavily, “Absolutely nothing.”

“I’m sure someone will contact you.”

“I highly doubt it; it’s been four weeks. The wedding is in three days. If someone calls me now, it would be a-”, and at that exact moment, almost as if it was some cosmic joke, you could hear the burner cell phone ring on your kitchen counter. “Are you fucking kidding me?” you mumbled as you got up to check it.

“What? What just happened?”

“I think someone’s calling.” You said, feeling very detached from everything that was happening.

“Oh my god, oh my god, keep me up, put me on speaker!! Did you answer yet?” Rebecca kept on rambling, making you even more nervous.

“No- wait.” Before the person had a chance to hang up, you rushed to answer them; as you said, “Hello?” you put your regular phone down and put your call with Rebecca on speaker so she could hear what you were doing.

“Hey, is this the person that put in the ad about the uhm wedding performer?”

You couldn’t help but smile at their choice of words. It was smart, in case he had called the wrong number.

“Yes, this is them.”

“Ok, great, I was wondering if the job is still up for grabs?” Now that you had a little bit of time to process what was happening, you couldn’t help but think that the voice, the accent, sounded really familiar, but you couldn’t seem to place it.

“YES, I mean yes, yes it is. Would you be available in… three days, so next Saturday, that is.” You had prepared for this moment, imagined being cool and collected, making sure that the person who you were hiring to do this was not some kind of creep, but yet, here you were, basically begging the guy. He sounded a bit shocked at the sound of the date.

“Oh, that’s quick, but yeah, I should be, yeah.”

“Great, but uhm, would you be available to meet tomorrow maybe? I kind of have a plan of how I need all this to go, so if we could just go through everything, make sure you know-”

“Yeah, that’s totally fine, darling. Just send me a time and address, and I’ll be there.” He didn’t seem too bothered about it. You, however, needed a second to comprehend that little nickname.

“Ok, cool, I’ll send you the address later and well, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you then,” and with him having said that, you hung up and immediately went on to text him when Rebecca erupted from the speaker of your regular phone.

“Honey, what happened to the third degree you wanted to do to him? Calm and collected, remember?”

“I know,” you send the text with your address as you spoke to your friend, “but at this point, I’m desperate. This guy might be the only chance I have, so I need to take it but don't worry, I got a plan.”

“Just make sure to follow this one through.” After this, the two of you talked for a little bit more until you could feel your eyelids get heavy and you fell asleep on your couch.

⤐

Unfortunately, the morning came sooner rather than later, and the pain that throbbed through your head was more than a little indicator of how badly you slept. Not to mention you had forgotten to take off your bra before sleep, so everything hurt.

Groggy, in pain, and still tired, you sat up on the couch, trying to find something around you that you could drink but only found an empty wine bottle. Then you saw the clock and the panic set in. it was almost 2 pm! And you had agreed to meet your… What were you even supposed to call the guy? Employee? Hired staff? You decided to just refer to him as “man” before you found out his name. That was something you had planned on doing in your original plan, but it was too late for that.

To set plan B in motion, you got up and ran to the landline, which you only really used to call one number.

“Lobby, how can I help you miss y/n?” Charlie sounded ready to do whatever you’d throw at him.

“Charlie, hi. In a bit, around 2.30, a man will be coming in. I need you to get as much information about him as you can, but like… subtly, you know?” In moments like these, you were glad the phone wasn’t stationary, as you could take this time to run around your apartment, cleaning up all the mess you had made the night before. Even for strangers, it was important to make good first impressions. There was still so much to be done, though. You most definitely needed a shower, find something nice to wear, prepare all the things you needed to talk about- god, why was revenge so difficult?

“Uhhh…” Charlie mumbled. “Miss? Is everything alright?” He must have heard you stumbling around the place, bumping into things as you tried to find the blueprint of the hotel and venue. It was genuinely ridiculous how easily you could obtain this kind of information on the internet.

“Yes, yes, everything’s fine. Can you just get him to answer some kind of contact sheet? Make it look like it’s for security, I don't know. Just name, address… that kind of stuff. Nothing too weird, oh, and if you could stall him a bit too, that would be amazing.”

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do. But how will I know it’s the right person, miss?”

“Well, he’ll be here to see me but… oh, he has a British accent!”

“Ah, right, got it.” You could hear him scribbling down the things you had just said. Charlie was a great guy, but not always the brightest. You hung up the phone, and with less than thirty minutes until the man would arrive, you rushed into the bathroom. It must have been a new speed record of washing up once you got back into your bedroom to look for a decent outfit. It had to be something decent, but not too professional since this wasn’t exactly Wall Street business that you were up to.

You had just finished drying your hair, buttoning your shirt and putting glasses of water on the dining table (somehow, all these things were done simultaneously) when you got a call from the reception.

“Miss, there is a Mr Holland here to see you.” Mr Holland. You liked the sound of that.

“Thank you, Charlie, you may send him upstairs.” Usually, you would hang up now and wait for your guest to arrive with the elevator, but instead, you stayed on the line a little bit longer: “Did he fill out the questions?”

“Yes, but I will admit it was very strange, and I think he saw through that.”

“Doesn’t matter, just bring it over once he leaves, ok? And thank you.”

“Anyday, miss.” And with that, you hung up. It may have taken another minute for the elevator to reach your floor. The doors opened with a ding, and for a second, you didn’t know what to do. The man that walked into your apartment was the last type of guy who you would have imagined to go up for a job like you had described in the ad. He was firmly built, not too tall, but his height suited him just right. His hair was styled in soft dark brown curls, slightly gelled back though, and he wore plaid trousers, a green shirt with a denim jacket on top. He had his hands in his pockets as he walked up to you, but you could see the edge of a watch peeking out.

“Hi. Mr Holland, I presume,” you extended your hand for him to shake, which he did, firmly and with a kind smile. You noticed his eyes taking in the room, looking from one side to the other, most likely feeling a bit overwhelmed by the Upper East Side-ness of it all.

“Just call me Tom.” Tom Holland. A nice, sensible, sounding name.

“y/n.” you pulled your hand back and led him to the table, where you had everything laid out in preparation. The sight of this most certainly surprised him. You looked at him, trying to figure out if you had ever met because you could swear you had seen this man somewhere before. You just couldn’t point out where exactly.

“Before I begin explaining the plan,” you sat down as he did opposite of you. “I must ask you why you wanted to do this.”

“This must be the most formal prank I have ever encountered,” he said with a breezy chuckle, but then he saw the stern expression across your face, telling him you were taking this all very seriously. “Well, I’m behind on my rent and haven't had a proper job in a while, so basically, I need the cash. And, sorry if this offends you, but my friends dared me.”

“So, not a pervert?” You imagined yourself taking notes as if you were performing an actual job interview, but unfortunately, you had neither pen nor plain paper on hand. Tom smiled.

“I don’t think anything I can reply to that will actually convince you that I’m not, but no, I am not.”

“I suppose you’re right, but I’ll take your word for now.” you took a second, trying to figure out what to begin with, telling him. “Well, might as well start then. Like I said, the wedding is on Saturday, with the reception starting at 4-”

“Why are you doing this?” He interrupted you, clearly not having listened to a word you had just said.

“Pardon?”

“You know my reasoning, but I’d like to know yours. Call me old fashioned, but I would like to know why I will be running through a wedding without any pants on. Is this a hate crime? Cause I’m not interested in any of that-”

“Believe me, no hate crime involved.” You tapped your nails on the glass of the table.

“Well then, someone must have royally pissed you off, haven’t they? If you are willing to ruin the most important day of their life?”

“My sister, yes, and she’s a grade-A asshole, so-’ and then it clicked. You knew exactly where you had seen Tom before. And from the look on his face, he must have recognised you at the sound of the vulgarity that escaped your mouth. It was as if you were both transported to the busy street all those weeks ago. You could basically feel him bumping into you.

“It’s you," you whispered, more to yourself.

“Well, shit.” He leaned back in his chair. You both mirrored each other’s expressions, which could only be explained as disbelief. What were the chances that the man who was supposed to help you ruin your sister’s wedding was the pompous dick that dared to push you aside on the street?

“You know what,” he took a sip from the glass of water you had so politely set up on the table, “Somehow, I’m not at all surprised that it’s you.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you glared at him.

“I could tell back then, just by the way you looked at me, that you were just another spoiled rich girl that must have watched a few too many reruns of Gossip Girl. So let me guess, your sister got the nicer Porsche for her birthday?” Oh, so that’s how you were gonna play it? Really? Suddenly, you didn’t think you needed Tom that much, after all. You were sure that someone else would call in a second… or maybe a bit later… Oh, who were you kidding? He was your only hope.

But fuck, from the way you were looking at each other, clearly there was no joy in this brand new collaboration. Most definitely not for you, but he was here already so you might as well take advantage of the opportunity. This was, however, a tricky situation and you could not have him fuck it up, so you needed him on your good side.

“I’m sorry, ok, I was having a bad day and took it out on you. If you want to leave, go ahead.” you pointed him the way to the exit, where he had just walked through a minute ago. You saw Tom’s mouth twitch. His gaze flickered between you and the elevator. You could tell he was outweighing the scenarios. He didn’t like you, which was fine, but he needed the money. He had made that very clear. His eyes locked with yours again, and he spoke up. Or maybe he was considering the reaction of his friend when they'd hear that he walked out? Surely, that would be very humiliating.

“You’re lucky I need a good laugh, myself, love.”

“There really is no need for nicknames, Tom.” You ignored the heat rushing through your face at the sound of it and made yourself look as unbothered as you possibly could. You didn’t need him to know he was getting to you, and you didn’t need your own mind to know it.

Detach, Denial and… what could you add to that?

Tom put his hands up in defence, and you noticed that wristwatch of his again.

“If you’re struggling so much, how come you got a Rolex?”

“Gift from my parents when I moved here, not that it’s any of your business.” He smiled, slightly condescending, which was fair. You looked at the silver band as he turned it around his wrist a bit.

“Well, ok then, as you’ve noticed, I got some stuff here,” you quickly changed the subject to divert the tension. Which seemed to work as both of you looked around at the various notes and papers that you had spread around the table earlier. Tom picked up a piece of paper that lay near his hand and started reading through it.

"I will say, this must be the most elaborate prank I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling pretty proud of yourself, even though you, personally, would not have called it a "prank".

“Wasn’t a compliment,” he put the piece of paper down, looking unimpressed, “pranks shouldn’t be 12-step programmes. They should be easy. I run in, run out, done. Don’t see what’s there more to it.”

“Maybe that’s all you need to do, but I need to ensure that, one, you don’t get killed by my family and, two, that they don’t kill me. For that, I need to make sure that this shit goes well and that you don’t fuck anything up.” Formalities, you had decided, were gone since the moment he called you a spoiled rich girl. He had no right to say something so true.

“What makes you think I’m the one who’s gonna screw up?” He challenged you by leaning forward, his brow raised. You had no response to this, so you decided to simply ignore it.

“So, like I’ve said, the reception will be at 4.”

“When’s the ceremony?” He asked.

“Why does that matter?”

“So I know how long I will have to wait before it’s time to show up.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll drive us both to the reception,” you said. “And I’ll make sure you have a room in the hotel for the night… or a way of transport back to the city in the evening. Whatever you prefer. It might be for the better actually if you can leave quickly. Safer, even.”

“Are you telling me you’re not invited to your own sister’s wedding?”

“No, I don’t think I said any of that.” You were attempting to sound aloof as if you had no idea what he was talking about. But of course, he was the struggling actor here, so he saw right through you.

“Fuck, that’s harsh… sorry.” That almost sounded compassionate; his features seemed to soften, and you tried to match that energy. There was no need to stay cold toward each other.

“Thanks, not that it’s any of your business,” you jumped on the opportunity to throw his own line back at him, which didn’t go unnoticed by the look of the slight smirk he gave you. It was not your intention or in any part of the plan to tell the guy what your reasoning was for this whole endeavour, but it might have been wise. This way, you didn’t look like the complete bad guy for wanting to ruin your sister’s special day, and you even might have gotten someone on your side for a change. Not that it was much better. You still didn’t like him.

“Not to jump to any conclusion,” he said, preparing to jump to conclusions, you thought, “but why hire me to do this? I mean, this feels like a joke very much below your level. Why not hire someone to be your fake boyfriend and out show everyone? It's not that uncommon. Plenty of ladies looking for a good looking fella to prance around with for the day. My mate Harrison is basically making a business out of it.”

“Because I'm not interested in lowrate escorts, but I'm also not that great of an actress, so I don’t think it would have fooled anyone, and besides, I don’t have anything to prove to my family. Showing up with a date would just be conforming to their bullshit. I’d much rather make them miserable this way.” You didn’t care to mention to Tom that the idea of a fake boyfriend had simply never crossed your mind.

"You’re mental, aren’t you?” He looked at you with fascination as you drank some of your water.

“You can still walk out if you want to.”

⤐

Somehow, Tom wasn't too scared off by your manic side and stayed for the remainder of the afternoon.

Saturday came about much sooner than you wished for. Before you knew it, you were waiting in your car for Tom to get in. It turned out that it was actually for the better that you weren’t welcome at the ceremony, as it was supposed to start in half an hour, and it was still an hour drive when you started the engine.

Tom lived in what you could only assume was a small apartment above a Chinese restaurant. Thankfully, there had been no need to drive into any small side streets to get to his apartment. Instead, you waited in a designated parking spot, right at an intersection. Waiting, the time went by even slower than slow, it felt like, and you were about to text Tom to hurry up when you heard a knock on the window.

With a shriek, you jumped up, your hand immediately bolting to the automatic door lock. But when you managed to take a breath, you noticed it was Tom that had scared the living shit out of you. It was a sunny day, and though his eyes were covered with a pair of sunglasses, you could tell he was smiling brightly at you with his whole face. He tapped on the window again, and you quickly unlocked it. However, he didn’t step in but opened the backdoor to throw the overnight bag on the seat, it falling right next to yours. Only then he finally got in.

“Sorry, my friend was late, and I needed to wait for him because I can’t leave Tessa alone.”

“Who’s Tessa,” you asked, looking in your back view mirror for any oncoming traffic, but the view was blocked by a couple of guys carrying an old couch, making you go look over your shoulder as you tried to get your car back onto the road.

“My dog.” Tom said, grabbing his phone, “here’s a picture.”

“She’s cute.” you glanced for as long as you dared to look while waiting for a green light. Tom showed you his lock screen, a picture of a very adorable grey dog, the breed not entirely known to you.

“Yeah, she’s the best,” Tom finally took his glasses off and put them in the inside pocket of his jacket. “You don’t have any pets, do you?”

“Nope,” god, driving in New York was always so fucking stressful. People, bikers and cars coming at you from every possible angle, even the ones it shouldn’t be possible to appear from. It was as if you lacked about a hundred pairs of eyes each time you hit the road. “Sorry, I’m just- fuck,” you pushed your hand into the claxon as some asshole in a BMW cut you off.

“Maybe I should have driven?” Tom chuckled.

“What? So you can steer us onto the wrong side of the road? No, thank you.”

“That is actually really rude of you,” he retorted but had not seemed very hurt by your comment. You drove on for a few blocks until a roadblock surfaced, showcasing roadwork ahead. Two lanes had to merge together, assuring you would be arriving late. The cars moved at a snail’s speed.

"Would you want any pets? Doesn’t it ever get lonely up in your white marble post-modernistic castle?”

“I don’t know,” you could do nothing but indulge Tom in the conversation as you waited for progress in the traffic, “My mom is allergic to anything cute, so I grew up without any pets, and I guess I’ve never missed what I didn’t have.” That was a lie. You always wanted a pet. Didn’t really matter what, but your parents were very strictly against it, even now. Even though you were an adult who lived on their own, they would not have it and since they paid your rent…

“Well, if you want, I can let you walk Tess one day,” he suggested. “As a favour in return?”

“How about the favour will be that I pay you 400 bucks like we agreed, huh? I’m not gonna babysit your dog too.” Finally, the cars upfront started to move, and you had maybe moved five inches before another fucking BMW got in your way. Your blood might have actually reached the boiling point, and you began to lose feeling in your hands at the tightness of your fingers around your gear shift- but then, suddenly, you felt a soothing touch over your knuckles. Glancing down, you saw Tom’s hand over yours. His thumb moved in slow motions over your skin. When you looked up at him, he was sitting casually in his seat, eyes on the road, most likely not even aware of what he was doing. You also got to notice, and even appreciate, his outfit. It consisted of a very sharp, dark grey suit. Under the jacket, he had a white button-up, no tie.

“It’s going.”

“Huh?” you blinked.

“The traffic, the cars are moving.”

“Oh shit," you quickly moved the gear, getting the car back into motion before another damn BMW could sneak in. Perhaps it was your harsh movement, but Tom pulled his hand away, putting it on his thigh, and you couldn’t help but steal swift glances at it every now and then (when it was safe to do so, obviously).

After what was supposed to be 20 minutes but turned out to be 45, you finally drove out of the city onto the interstate. It would be another 40 minutes or so before you arrived in New Canaan, so you tried to get comfortable behind the wheel. It wasn’t easy, and Tom must have noticed.

“If you need a break, we can stop somewhere, and I can drive- I promise I know which side of the road is the right one.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m fine.” Immediately, you felt much better. Or, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“So, wanna tell me what’s up with your family?” He quipped.

“Alright,” right then, you noticed a sign mentioning a gas station, “actually, you can drive for a bit.” You were ready to take the exit.

“Ok, I get it. No family talk.” he tapped his leg for a few seconds, enough for you to start thinking that he had dropped the topic. “Wanna know something? It might make you feel better.”

“Sure…” you were just doing your best to focus on the road, which wasn’t as challenging considering that you had about half an hour of driving straight forward.

“I stole this watch.” He confessed, referencing the Rolex that he showed from underneath his sleeve.

“Oh, great, so I’m stuck in a car with a criminal.” Your heart was beating a bit faster, without a doubt. Has that been his plan all along? Make you drive out to the wedding, where he could rob each and every one of your family members? Was that what his bag was for? Or was it maybe filled with unregistered weapons? So he could rob and kill you. Oh god…

“You’re too dramatic, love. I stole it from my dad before I moved here.”

“Still sounds like a criminal offence, especially if you fled the country.” Suddenly you realised you had to change lanes unless you wanted to take the exit back to New York, which didn’t feel like a lousy idea…

“I didn’t flee… my parents weren’t exactly too happy when they found out I wanted to go to New York and become an actor. We didn’t end things on great terms, and the last thing I had done before leaving was to go into their bedroom and steal my dad’s watch. I don’t even know why.”

“It’s a nice watch,” you commented, making Tom laugh. But suddenly, you had a feeling about where his story was going. "Are your parents… ok?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re great. Dad found out about the watch and wasn't too happy, but what can he do about it when I’m 3000 miles away.” He smirked and let the chair fall back a bit, getting himself even more comfortable. You slapped him across the sternum.

“Aw, what’s that for?” He grabbed your hand to stop you from hitting him.

"You dick, you made it sound like they had died or something.”

“No, I didn’t. Blame your interpretation for that.”

You managed to slap him lightly once more before bringing your hand back to the steering wheel. There you were, thinking he was trying to lecture you on the importance of family and love or some other kind of bullshit. Actually, it was for the better he didn't. You might have had to push him out of the car for being a total dweeb.

The short silence was getting to you, “Ok, so, what is the plan once we’re there?” You had gone over the plan in vigorous detail during that first meeting at your place, making sure Tom knew exactly what he had to do. Like you had told him then, you had three goals.

Make your family miserable.

While not getting caught,

And preferably not getting Tom into too much trouble (pain).

But you wouldn’t exactly have sleepless nights if you didn’t manage to fulfil the third goal.

“Ok,” Tom thought for a second, “when we get there, you get a key to your room and I'll meet you there a bit later. Then, I drop my stuff off and wait for the best man’s speech.” You had heard from your sister that Lorenzo, the best man, had planned a speech of about 15 minutes, so if Tom made his way downstairs at the beginning of that, he would be just in time to make his big entrance at a good moment in the party.

“Once downstairs, I need to take the path up to the woods and do my thing. Wait a few more minutes and- showtime!”

“Showtime,” you smiled back at him. “Then what?”

“Uhh, I get the fuck out of there. Into the broom closet.”

“Where I will stash you a spare change of clothes, which I assume you have with you?

“In the bag,” he pointed to the bag on the backseat. “I change as fast as I can and sneak out, then go back to the room.”

“Perfect.”

“You know, we can still go for plan B,” plan B is what Tom liked to call his whole “fake dating” idea, which still sounded as ridiculous to you as the first time he suggested it to you. There would be no way that anyone in your family believed you were together. Absolutely absurd.

“In your dreams.”

⤐

You kept on driving in silence for the next ten minutes before you finally arrived at the venue. It was a beautiful building, surrounded by ideally kept flora. Trees and bushes trimmed with impeccable precision, and what you heard in the background must have been a peacock. So yeah, it was that kind of joint.

It was a little past four when you stepped out of the car, and you could see the wedding party making their way from the ceremony to the reception. Your sister was nowhere to be seen, but you knew she must be in her room, changing into her second dress for the party.

Tom quickly got out, making his way into the reception, which was thankfully on the other side of the building, where none of your family was supposed to be at the moment (except for maybe a rogue nephew, but what would a 7-year old know?). It was his goal to stay as inconspicuous as possible. If anyone asked, he was a third cousin twice removed from the opposite side of the wedding. No one would be any wiser.

You got out of the car, seeing more of your, basically forgotten, family members who had just arrived for the booze and dance. You said your polite hellos and went off to the lobby. Tom was sitting in a lounge chair, somehow having gotten a hold of a cup of tea in the few minutes that you had been separated. You shot him a confused look but tried to ignore him, not wanting to seem as if you knew him. The woman at the helpdesk was nice; she most definitely felt overwhelmed at the rush that the wedding brought with it. (Apparently, some woman, you assumed your mom, had not been too happy with the linens that had been provided in her room and demanded them to get new ones… as in, from the store.)

You got your key, then as the actress that you were, made a bit of a show of dropping your key right in front of Tom as you said a polite hello to the “mysterious, handsome stranger”. Being the “gentleman” that he is, he then caught up to you quickly, handing you the keycard while keeping the spare one for himself. And just like that, you were in.

You got into the elevator, alone, your hand clutching to your luggage for dear life. It was only two floors, but your bag was heavy, and you had made the mistake of putting on your heels for the drive… Who even does that? So your feet were killing you before you had reached your room. And the journey to your room became even longer, when the elevator doors opened on the floor below, to reveal the wrinkly face of-

“Auntie Tua!?” you said in a panicked voice that might very easily be disguised as excitement. Aunt Perpetua was an ageless woman, but in the same way that fossils are. She always wore the most hideous dresses, of which the pattern hurt your eyes while your mouth struggled to keep your meal in at the smell of her bag. For some reason, it always smelled like sour cabbage combined with salmon. As it was the wedding, she had chosen to wear, in combination with her fishkraut purse, a bright purple dress with more ruffles than she had hair and a hat to match. Well, it was more of a fascinator with various plumage poking out at all angles.

“Ah, sweetheart!” she stepped into the elevator, the smell of salmon becoming more and more pungent. You smiled, trying to hide the tears that were already forming in the corners of your eyes.

“Not at the wedding, auntie Tua?” you asked, getting as far away as you could from the woman.

“Oh, I was, but it was terribly boring, so I left.” If you had a drink, you would be sure to spit it out. She left the wedding ceremony?

“Did anyone notice?”

“Yes, yes, your mother was not very pleased, but well, I’m not going to let anyone tell me what to do, especially a woman dressed in chartreuse.” your great aunt scoffed as if what she was wearing wasn’t a crime against society. You listened to her rant, not believing how an elevator could possibly be going any slower when the door opened again, and you slipped out, making sure to quickly press the “close doors” button again as you stepped through them to ensure dear aunt Perpetua was leaving.

You found your room quite quickly. Inside, you were, once again nearly scared to death, by the sight of Tom lying on the bed. Ah, there was only one bed, but that was fine because Tom was not meant to stay any longer than he needed to get changed in the closet.

“We got to stop meeting like this, love,” he smiled, sitting up. You didn’t trust your mouth to come up with any snarky comment in return, so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you glanced over at him. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing a set of very toned arms. Seeing the veins as he moved made you clench your jaw, but just for a moment.

You put your luggage next to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. Maybe you could just stay here for the rest of the evening, not even bother with the party. The duvet was so soft, so inviting to get underneath it and curl up and sleep. As a child, you had always wondered if you could hibernate, what would be a better time than this?

“You ok?” Tom asked, scooting over closer to you.

“Yup,” you nodded, “just tired.” What you wanted to do was to fall backwards onto the soft mattress, but what you had not considered was that Tom had moved relatively much closer to you, causing your bodies to collide. As soon as your shoulder touched him, you jumped back, excusing yourself with a soft apology.

“It’s alright, but you know, I’m still not opposed to my idea-”

“If you’re scared of running around naked in front of my family, you can just say so,” you said, “but then, I hope you understand that I won’t be able to pay you.”

“I’m not sure if this is extortion or prostitution… and, in all honesty, I don’t know if I’d be opposed to either in this circumstance.”

“Now, that made zero sense; you are just plainly idiotic,” you rolled your eyes, then proceeded to sigh, “but I guess I have to go; I don’t want to miss the show. I’ll see you there… or not.” So you said as you grabbed your shoes and made your way to the door. You had not even had five minutes to rest after your drive. But you couldn’t dare to be much later, for the reception must have been well on its way.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Tom caught up to you, standing closely, maybe a bit closer for what you were supposed to enjoy, but all that the proximity affected was the shortness of your breath. It surprised you to see him get so close up to you, and for a brief instance, you were confused as to what he was planning to do, but then, almost out of nowhere, he gave you a set of clothes.

Oh, right.

“I saw a great little storage room a corridor away from the help desk.” He winked and reached his arm out. His hand brushed over your side as he got the door handle and opened the door for you.

“Right, thanks.” That was all that you managed to mutter out before quickly trotting off downstairs to the party. You decided to go down the stairs this time, remembering that the staircase was closer to the storage room that Tom spoke of… or, that’s what you concluded after a first glance of the building.

It was one thing to plan out an elaborate plan of taking some sweet revenge on your family, but it was an entirely different thing to actually go through with it. That was certain. You only had a little purse with you. So you had to carry Tom’s clothes under your arm, only hoping you would not bump into anyone. But in fear of this happening, as you walked down the stairs, you tried to think of an excuse why you were carrying a pile of man’s wear on you. Nothing compelling could come to mind.

It was, thankfully, unnecessary, for you managed to get to the room that said “storage” and quickly slipped in. it was dark, but you just put the clothes behind a pile of towels and just as quickly left. Flawless. This was a foolproof plan, after all, and you were no fool.

Tom, on the other hand...

To your own astonishment and confusion, you had the feeling that you might be growing kind of fond of him, but at the same time, you didn’t quite know what to think of the man. While your first encounter could be called unfortunate by some, and both of you had your strong opinion on the other, you still couldn't pinpoint anything on him with certainty. He was, without a doubt, very charming, very good looking, amusing, and though his words did not always make sense, his actions had the right intentions… most of the time… hopefully, but…

There needed to be a but. There always was one. You had not met a man who didn’t have some baggage on him. Maybe his was that he was willing to get paid for ruining a stranger’s wedding by running naked across the dancefloor? It could be worse. God knows you’ve dealt with worse.

But, oh, what would you know of it? You had only met him, officially, three days ago. And though you did spend a reasonable amount of time with him in those three days, you could not set on any definitive judgments about him. It was simply impractical, and frankly, prejudicial.

That was the conclusion you had come to once you arrived at the large doors of the wedding party. They were clear, so you had an easy view of everything that was going on. But, to your surprise, you could not see your sister anywhere, meaning that she must have still been preparing for her big entrance and that the party had not yet begun.

Before anyone noticed, you slipped through the door and got another look at everything. It was a lovely looking celebration. With chiffon panels hanging from the high ceilings, and fairy lights twinkling in their midst, everything had a very soft look to it, but in that polished way, your family was known for. The room itself consisted of three parts. The biggest of it was the dining area, where about… too many round tables were positioned. Each filled with plates, glasses, cutlery, a floral centrepiece and more wedding junk. Then there was the dancefloor, a parquet area, with a bit of podium at the side where the band set up their instruments.

That would have been it, but your parents had paid for the extra mile, which included the window wall to be opened up, revealing the beautiful garden, which held space for the many more wedding party activities that were unknown to you.

One final thing about the room was that it had a sky-view ceiling, perfect for a summer evening and night. The view itself was uninterrupted, and if one were to look up, one would only see the clear blue sky of the day, but if someone, for example, Tom, would look out the window, one could easily see what was taking place downstairs. Something you had really been counting on when making your plan.

It was during these moments that you thought of taking a step back and reviewing everything. Was there a possibility for you to have taken it all a bit too far? Most definitely, but you did not really give a fuck. It was honestly a rather lovely philosophy to live by.

You quickly spotted Rebecca, almost having forgotten that she had, in fact, been invited to the party. It wasn’t even that she and your sister were close, but more the fact that your sister did not care about who was at her wedding, as long as it was big, flamboyant and preposterously narcissistic.

Rebecca was sitting at one of the furthest tables, having a lesser connection to the married couple, but she did not seem troubled by that. On the contrary, she appeared to be happily settled next to someone you thought might have either been your sister’s gay dog-walker or one of her work friends. Just as you walked past her, you could hear her laugh at one of his unfunny jokes.

“Oh my god, Steve, that is hilarious!” it was then that she noticed you walk by, “y/n! There you are!

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” you didn’t want to ruin her chances, however small they may be, of getting lucky later that evening.

“No problem, Steve here was just telling me about… sorry, what did you call it, again?” Oh, this conversation was going splendidly. But, before poor Steve had the chance to correct himself, you apologised once again and excused yourself to find your own seat. Apparently, your family had not completely disowned you (yet) as you found your place at the largest table with the little card sticking out of the floral arrangement saying “1”. You would be sitting surrounded by your closest family. Hooray…

What made it slightly more bearable to you was that when you looked up through the glass ceiling, you could see the hotel and there, behind one of the windows, was Tom. he was leaning against the window and must have had found the minibar, as when your eyes met, you saw him toast to you with a glass of champagne. You were about to raise your empty glass, a bit defeated, back at him when the band started playing behind you and the large doors opened, revealing the happy couple and your parents. So that was why you were the only one at the table?

The newlyweds twirled their way to the table, with their entourage behind them, as the rest of the party clapped and cheered. You got up and clapped along, but probably a bit off-beat.

“y/n! So glad you could make it!” said the groom’s mother as she sat down next to you, followed by her husband, the maid of honour, the best man, your parents and then finally the happy couple. It was a cosy little table. You were sitting right between the two mothers, also known as menopausal hell.

“We missed you at the ceremony, sweetie,” your mother brushed something off your shoulder.

“Then why did you uninvite me?” you said through gritted teeth. To this, your mother had no response. You decided to go for another home run. “I bumped into Auntie Tua in the elevator.”

“Oh, god, do not speak to me about that woman.” Your mother scoffed, glaring over to where your great aunt was sitting, right next to cousin Fred, who looked more weasely than ever. Your mother then extended her hand over you and started clicking her fingers frantically at a waiter walking by, showing him her empty glass. The man walked up and poured her the wine which he was carrying. You took the opportunity and handed him your glass as well.

“y/n, are you allowed to drink in the monastery?” If you had taken a sip, you were sure you would have spat it out. Instead, you did your best at controlling your breathing and put the glass down slowly before smiling as nicely as you could to the groom’s mother.

“I’m sorry, Mary, what was that? I might have misheard you, I think.”

“I was asking if you are allowed to drink alcohol? Since you’ve joined the monastery, I mean.” What in the actual fuck-

“I think there has been some kind of mistake, Mary, I didn’t-”

“She didn't join yet. We thought it would be better for her to do it after the wedding. Don’t want our girl to miss out on all the fun.” Your mother butted in, almost pushing you off the chair to speak to Mary. They were actually insane. Each and every one of them. You glanced up again, but Tom was gone.

“Ah yes, that makes perfect sense,” Bert, the groom’s father, chuckled loudly and… either had a spasm or winked at you. Either way, a horrific sight. You started looking around for another table you could join instead, but each seat was apparently already occupied. You considered excusing yourself to the toilet, anything to leave this torture, and you were already getting off your seat.

“You want to say something, y/n?” your sister looked up at you expectantly; suddenly, all eyes were on you, people thinking you had a speech prepared.

“Oh, no, I was just-” you pointed to the exit, “uhm, never mind.”

“Well, sit down, then,” your mother pulled you down to your seat harshly. You were still rubbing the spot on your wrist that she had grabbed when the best man got up, clinking his knife to his glass. All attention was on him now as he started his speech, talking on and on about how the love shared between your sister and her husband was to envy and how he wished them many good things. How love was all about having and sharing and giving and receiving.

You felt like could be said in one breath, but that’s probably exactly why he got to speak, and you weren’t even invited to the ceremony. Many people made crying noises and started sniffing, but you could not see a single tear in the room when you looked around.

⤐

The speech went on forever, but for once, you weren’t mad about that. Everybody was listening to the guy spilling his fake tears about two people, while you could only think about Tom. You hoped he had noticed the speech had begun and that he was making his way outside. Though you had not had a good look at what the garden looked like, the woods were beginning very near it all, giving Tom an excellent spot to hide while also being close enough to the party. There was a path leading up to the tall trees, and if he took that, he could make a beeline for the dancefloor and parkour his way through the tables.

Oh fuck, there were so many tables. What if he got stuck between them or fell and couldn’t make his escape?

And if he got caught… a thought that had not yet dawned upon you suddenly hit. He could get arrested for so many things. And once that happened, it would only be a matter of how invested the police were in the reason behind his streaking that would attach you to the crime. Because you could give Tom as much credit as you wanted, but there was no way he would lie to the police… or would he? No… he probably wouldn’t.

“y/n.” your mother hissed, slapping your arm a bit too harshly. You must have zoned out because when you looked around, people were clapping again. The speech was over. You joined in for the last few seconds while leaning into your mother’s side.

“You know, this is basically abuse, mother.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, clapping even louder, with a proud smile directed to the best man. More proud than she had ever looked at you, that’s for sure (and a bit exaggerated for dramatic purposes).

Next up was the maid of honour, a woman you had never seen before in your life, so you really questioned how much honour there really was. What honour did they even speak about, and why did the maid have it?

The speech, thankfully, was not that long. It included all the go-to points that should be included in a wedding speech, a cheer for the couple, and another wave of polite clapping, and finally, the wedding could begin as the meal was brought out. Knowing your sister, all the dishes were miniature and unpronounceable. So, while it might have consisted of four courses, it only took half an hour before people started to dance. Now you actually hoped that Tom got there a bit later cause you did not want him to spend so much time there. It could not be good for anyone.

As you thought that, you looked over to the garden and actually caught a glimpse of Tom, who was making his way to the woods. You then immediately looked at the room, trying to figure out if someone had noticed your accomplice, but no one had made any weird looks or nudged their neighbour, so you assumed the coast was clear.

⤐

Your stomach was beginning to flip as your anticipation built up in you. It could happen any minute, and you kind of wanted to be out of the room when it did. Well, sort of. You hadn’t figured it out yet. But, no, that was silly. Of course, you wanted to stay and see the horror on your family’s face.

People were dancing to a generic love song. It was a slow one. Couples holding each other close, moving to the rhythm of the music. Maybe it was a more suitable reaction for you to be jealous for not having anyone to dance like this with, but all that was on your mind was the thought that if it was any moment, this one would be perfect for Tom to show up.

Having had enough of your family and feeling pretty proud of yourself for withstanding them for so long, you got up and made your way over to Rebecca’s table. It had several advantages. First of all, it was far, far away from your family, and at the same time, much closer to the exit if you needed it in case of an emergency escape. There was also that from her seat, Rebecca had the perfect view to the dancefloor and the gardens, so you had a perfect-adjacent view when you sat down next to her. The table was also closer to the kitchens, meaning that whenever a waiter walked out, holding a new bottle of champagne, or wine, or whatever, you were often one of the first to get a refill.

“So, how’s the… thing going?” Rebecca asked.

“I hope well. But I have no idea. He could show up any minute.” Everyone from Rebecca’s table had decided to go to the dancefloor, leaving the two of you free to talk about whatever out in the open without the fear of anyone listening in- and that would be an advantage… #5? Not significant enough to keep track.

“Is there anything you need me to do? God, this is all so exciting.” Rebecca squealed before downing her drink. You were going to tell her to calm down, that, again, this was no Ocean’s Eight, but then you thought of something.

“Actually, yes. Tom will probably leave some clothes behind back there, so could you maybe take them and bring them to my room? So no one else finds it?”

Rebecca glanced in the way of the woods, where Tom was most presumably staying low.

“Sure thing.”

Not even before you managed to finish your drink did you suddenly hear gasps and the sound of someone running. The band singer stopped, almost dropping his microphone, but it took a moment for the rest of the band to catch on with what was happening. Rebecca grabbed your hand, and both of you extended your necks to look over the crowd. But it quickly dispersed, with more gasps following.

“Whoooo!” you heard the familiar voice shout out before almost jumping over the crowd and the tables in his way. There was Tom, very enthusiastic and very much naked, running through the room. He passed by your table, and you tried to look as scared as possible, but it was challenging when you saw him wink your way. Then, as quickly as he had appeared, so soon he was gone through the corridor.

“Did you know he was so-” Rebecca commented, turning around, hoping to catch a final glimpse of him, but Tom had already disappeared. You drank your drink quickly, feeling your throat drying up. When it was finished, you put your glass on the table and just shook your head “no”. You had no idea. The quick images that your mind managed to capture of his body flashed before you.

Tom had left the dancing guests in only what could be described as pure shock. You could see your mother looking sickly, holding on to your father’s arm, trying to remain stable. Your sister started sobbing and was already surrounded by her bridesmaids, who were trying to fix her make-up as she was still crying.

Then the fury hit, and a group of “brave” men started to barge their way through the room, ready to apprehend the naked criminal. It was only to your, and most likely Rebecca’s, amusement to see the entire group walk in the opposite direction than you saw Tom run to. The shock must have blurred their memory. Or their fragile masculinity prevented them from having a good look at where he had gone. Both worked in your favour.

“I think I might go to the ladies room,” you stated, a bit too loud, but that was kind of the point. At the same time, Rebecca said she was just going to hop outside for a cigarette. You had to give it to her, that was very smart because you had noticed a little smoking corner in the garden very early on.

And so, you made your way to the storage closet. Making sure no one was around to see, you knocked three times, slowly, in a way that Tom would know it was you. Finally, he opened the door just far enough for you to slip in.

“Oh my god, that was ama- Oh my god!” Oh, he was still naked. “Why aren’t you dressed yet!?” you couldn’t be too loud, in fear of being heard and getting caught, but your hissing conducted enough anger, in your opinion.

“Because I can’t find my clothes,” he hissed back. He had managed to wrap a towel around his middle- no, not even that, he was just holding it in front of himself. His chest was moving up and down with each deep breath he took. Now that he didn’t have layers of clothing on him, you could see the perfectly toned muscles that he had been hiding. They weren’t bulging, not even that refined, but you had to hold yourself back to not go up and touch him. It was that same kind of feeling a kid has in a toy store when the display has a “do not touch” sign on it. Simply ludicrous to expect a person to listen to it.

“Right, uhm”, but he needed the clothing to not get his head chopped off by your family, so you quickly started looking through the shelves. You hadn’t even realised how many towels there were when you had gone in the first time, for a brief moment even getting scared that you had left them in the wrong closet or that someone had taken them away.

But eventually, you managed to find the spare outfit. Tom took them from you, dropping them to the ground and quickly put on his underwear.

You didn’t really know what to do, so you started counting towels. Yes, it would have been best to leave the storage closet, but each time you tried, you could hear voices outside. People from the wedding talking about a "hooligan”.

“Oh, you’re a scoundrel, too, apparently,” you reported back to Tom about the things you heard outside. He laughed as he put his belt on. Why did guys always hop around when doing so?

He had just grabbed his shirt and was in the middle of putting it on when you heard the cold voice of your mother.

“I do not care if we have to tear this whole place down; you better find him!”

“Shit, my mom,” as if your mother would smell you through the door, you backed off, “what if she walks in here?” You both froze, looked at each other then stared at the door. Before you could think of a plan, Tom started unbuttoning his shirt again.

“What the hell are you doing? You know they are looking for someone naked, right? So undressing is the last thing you should be doing.” You wanted to throw his jacket at him, maybe even find a bucket to put over his head, but he kept his shirt open, and your mind went blank, just for a little bit.

Footsteps and your mother’s voice were getting louder, as well as your own heartbeat. And you might have seriously needed a cardiologist when Tom pulled you close. Basically, face to face.

“Do you trust me?”

“No?” you questioned yourself, feeling dumb at the response.

“I just ran naked in front of your whole family for you, and you still don’t- never mind, can you, for one minute? Trust me for the next minute?” He was looking into your eyes, his hand on your hip, and you could feel as he was pulling your skirt up. His eyes were nothing but sincere, so surely you could trust him… right?

“You can slap me as much as you want later, ok? Just- kiss me.”

“What?!” Fuck, that was definitely too loud. Too scared in the moment to think it through, you leaned in and kissed Tom as hard as you could. It was very messy and could not have possibly been comfortable for him, but you grabbed him by the collar and just went for it. He somehow had found the zipper on the side of your dress and had unzipped it halfway. You let go of the instinct that said to kick him in the nuts, trusting him for that one promised minute.

And there it was. The door opened, revealing you to your mother.

“y/n!” she shouted, making you pull away. You looked at yourself and Tom and realised that what he had created was just a scene of two people getting caught making out. Your mother stared at you, then gasped. “Have some respect for yourself.” Before walking away, leaving the door wide open for everyone to see. Obviously, her intention was to shoot some shame into you, but you were glowing. It worked. She had looked Tom right in the face and didn’t say anything. She had no idea who he was.

Tom passed you and closed the door of the storage room. When he turned around to face you, his cheek was greeted by a harsh slap from your hand.

“Oh fuck.” He rubbed the spot you had just hit. The smirk pulling at his lips did not go unnoticed.

“Sorry, but you offered, and I just couldn’t resist.” You got back to your zipper and tried to pull it up, but it must have got stuck on the fabric, as it would not budge.

“Here, let me help,” Tom stepped up, and you were ready to slap him again, but you knew that would make very little sense. So you put your arm up and let Tom handle the messed up zipper. He barely touched you, making you think that whatever he was doing would go nowhere since you needed to put some pressure on the fabric, but no, the next second, you could hear the sound of the zip go all the way up.

“Thanks,” you said, brushing some of your hair behind your ear.

“No problem,” he went on to button up his shirt, “and I’m really sorry for this. I just thought… since PDA often makes people nervous or something- but I'm really sorry if I crossed a line there or made you uncomfortable in any way.”

“It’s fine. Was a bit weird, but… I didn’t really mind.” You were becoming more and more aware of how close you still were to Tom. He must have noticed as well when both of you quickly stepped aside.

“We should probably… go.” He pointed back at the door, to which you nodded in agreement. Though scared of what hysteria might be awaiting you outside, you decided to rip the bandaid off and open the door. When you looked outside, no one was in the corridor, fortunately. You flattened out your skirt, making sure to look presentable, and must have taken, maybe, ten steps and had just turned the corner when you bumped into your sister.

“y/n!” she shrieked. The bridesmaids had done their best, but you could still see the streaks of foundation that had been washed down through her crying, as well as the layer of mascara and eyeliner around her eyes.

“Uh, hey, I was just going back to the-”

“Don’t bother,” she sniffed, “it’s over. Everyone is looking for-” she suddenly froze up, her eyes wide before narrowing them down. “Is that him?”

In a panic, you turned around to see Tom, who had just walked out. He was cuffing the sleeves of his shirt but looked up at the sound of your sister’s exclamation.

“Is he who?” you asked, your eyes switching between her and Tom as if it was a fast-paced Tennis match.

“Momma said you were canoodling in the closet; of course, I didn’t believe her but, hi.” She loosened up, flattening her hair and fluttering her eyelashes as Tom made his way over to you. He gave her a smile filled with charm as he extended his hand.

“Hi, I’m Tom. Congratulations on the wedding.”

Your sister shook his hand, her smile now a bit faded. Perhaps it was that Tom had reminded her that she was now, in fact, married and thus not allowed to flirt with him, or he had reminded her of the disaster that had just occurred. But she pulled herself together quickly, turning her attention to you.

“Are you guys here… together?”

“Yes,” Tom pulled you close to him before you had a chance to say anything, “yes, we are. Sorry, I’m late. Work, you know how it is.”

“No, I don’t.” your sister, who had never worked a day in her life, responded with a bit of a blank expression.

“Well, I hope I didn’t miss anything.” In the context given, Tom’s genuinity was actually hilarious to experience, especially in addition to the horrified expression on your sister’s face. You took his words and decided to play a bit off that. You looked up at your sister and tried to play off your notice of her ruined make-up.

“Wait, what happened?”

“You guys missed it?” Her lip quivered, ready to break out into tears again. She really had no idea where you had been for most of the wedding.

“I mean, I left the party like… when did you arrive, honey?” You looked up at Tom, who didn’t miss a beat in responding. He looked at his watch.

“Probably like half an hour ago, babe.” AKA ten minutes before the incident.

“Yeah, and then… well, we got a bit occupied,” you said bashfully. Your sister was ready to scream, from what it looked like. She looked at you, then at Tom, then back at you. Opened her mouth, prepared to say something. Then decided against it. She made another attempt before a bridesmaid showed up, hauling her off to the party… or, the remnants of it, at least. You were now standing alone in the corridor with Tom. Still side by side, his arm around you.

You stepped in front of him, looking happier than you had felt in weeks.

“God, I could kiss you right now!” You had done it. Like, actually done it. You had managed to fool not only your mother but the Bridezilla herself.

“Go right ahead,” Tom smirked. You blinked.

“Huh?”

“You said I could kiss you- well if you want to…”

“Oh, uhm, no, I didn’t mean it like- I mean… uhm- I mean-” you had no idea what you meant, and words were only getting harder and harder to form, but then Tom started laughing.

“It’s alright; I was just joking.” Was he, though? Or had you just made things really awkward? You didn’t know what to do anymore, so you decided to nod and smile awkwardly, and then proceed to make your way back to the party.

“y/n, wait.” Tom spurted out, making you turn around. He had his arm up behind his head, scratching his neck.

“Hmm?” You made your way back to him, even though that had been only a few steps. Tom looked at you but waited for a moment before he spoke.

“I uhh, wanted to apologise about the stuff I had said when we met. You know, about you being spoiled and whatnot.”

“You weren’t wrong,” you laughed it off, being very aware of your privilege and fortune in life.

“Maybe, but it wasn’t my place to say it. Besides, when I was upstairs, I could see you sitting at the table with your family and… again, not really my place to say anything, but I get it now; why you would want to do something like this. If my family was like that, I’d ruin my brother’s wedding too.”

“You have a brother?” Was that really the takeaway from his little speech? That was your response to all that he had said? You regretted it the second the words left your mouth- but Tom didn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah, 3 actually.” From his expression, you couldn’t tell if he saw it as a blessing or a curse. Well, knowing how siblings can be, you assumed a bit of both. Tom continued: “But anyway, I just wanted to say sorry.”

“You really don’t have to be, but… thanks,” and you kissed him on the cheek. He seemed a bit startled. Your lipstick was supposed to be long-lasting and not smudge, but a hint of the pigment stayed behind on his skin, merely looking like one of his cheeks was a bit more flustered than the other. So, not wanting him to walk around with that, you reached out to wipe the lipstick off. And you were in the middle of doing so when he reached up to put his hand over yours.

Surely, the lipstick would have been gone by now, but you were focused on his eyes, just like he was on yours. Neither of you noticed how you were moving closer to one another until your lips met in a soft kiss.

You could not explain your reasoning behind wanting to kiss him. In the last few days, there had been absolutely not one reason that would have made you eager to kiss him. Not one.... nope. There was nothing about him that drove you crazy and hot and bothered just looking at him. Not at all.

You could feel him flex his muscles at your touch, and the quick sensation brought back the images of Tom running through the dancefloor. It felt like a personal attack that you were able to have only seen him like that for such a small amount of time.

Tom squeezed your hip, and he was leading your bodies up to the wall, and you were prepared and more than eager to continue wherever this was going, but you had to remind yourself that this was the ground floor and people could walk in on you any second.

"Fuck," you gasped when your lips parted from his. "I'm sorry."

"That's not usually something one wants to hear after a kiss like that," Tom brushed his hair out of his face, "but indulge me, love, why are you sorry?"

"I shouldn't have kissed you without asking."

"Don't worry, I can take care of myself," he leaned in and softly kissed your jaw, "I'm not really the one to do something I don't want to do- and I don't think you are either. So just sat the word, and I'll stop." He kept peppering your skin with these kisses, leaving you in a frenzy. You could barely keep your eyes open, your vision getting slightly blurry as you couldn't bring yourself to focus on anything but his touch.

"We should... we should pro-" you tried to mutter out words, but it was getting harder and harder to do with Tom's hands and lips all over you.

"We should what, darling?" He paused his kisses to speak, and that one brief instant felt like an eternity.

"We should probably head upstairs." You really should have. After all, people could just walk by any moment. Neither of you was trying to hide anything, and it was just pure chance and luck that nobody, either guest or staff, had decided to walk through that corridor. And as much as you wanted to try and test that luck, the odds were most likely not in your favour, and you had already bumped into too many relatives in one day.

"Mhm, we probably should go,” he said and kissed you one last time. Only then did he take your hand and led you to the elevator. The fire in you started burning, and you didn't want to waste a second by just standing there. You tried to brush your fingers through his soft hair, but when you leaned in, he took a step back- out of the elevator.

"What the-" you sputtered out, confused and a bit annoyed. Tom just smirked.

"See you in the room," he checked his watch again, "in 5 minutes." And like that, the doors closed. Of course, you could have just opened them with a click of a button, but Tom clearly had something up his sleeve and you were intrigued, so you just clicked on the button for your floor and leaned against the wall with a sigh.

With no interruption from any salmon smelling aunties, the elevator ride went by much quicker this time, and you got out on your floor and made your way to your room. That is where you encountered Rebecca, knocking on the door. A pile of clothes under her arm.

"Ah, there you are. I think I got them all, so here- have you been making out?" She must have noticed something you didn't, or maybe she could smell it on you with her strange sixth sense because you had checked yourself out in the mirrored walls of the elevator and nothing seemed to be hinting at the fact you had just finished a pretty heavy make-out session with Tom. Rebecca smiled and pushed you playfully, knowing you too well and understanding when you didn't answer her question. Then she started looking around.

"Where is he?"

"He's actually coming up in a few minutes."

"Oh! Ok, ok, wait!" She pushed Tom's clothes into your arms and started to rummage through her bag. It took a bit, but eventually, she pulled out a handful of condoms. You gladly grabbed those from her, too, while managing to get your key out of your own purse without dropping anything and entered the room. Once inside, you dropped everything in your arms onto the empty chair in the corner.

⤐

Tom had given himself a window of five minutes, but having experienced men plenty of times in your life, you knew that would be more like ten to fifteen minutes before you heard the door opening. So, in that time, you tried to make yourself more comfortable around the room. Trying out different poses, figuring out which would be the most enticing for Tom to walk in on- which did feel a bit silly to do, but what else were you to do?

You had finally decided to simply, very casually, sit on the mattress when you heard a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” you said, though your original thought had been to shout “fuck off”.

“Room service,” the deep voice from the other side of the door said. You got up, ready to tell them that you had not ordered any room service and that they must have gotten the wrong room. But once you opened it, you were greeted with the handsome and sly smirk of Tom. He had his jacket hanging off his finger, over his shoulder, and in his hand a bottle of champagne.

“Sorry it took so long, I was trying to find where they were keeping the good stuff.” He walked in, unwrapping the gold foil on the cap. You looked with concern as he tried to pop it open, scared that he would shatter the window or possibly break your nose, but Tom was more skilled than you had expected, opening it with only a slight bang and barely anything spilling out. The cork fell right into his hand. He handed you the bottle, which you gladly accepted and took the first swing. Of course, you were already quite tipsy, and you knew Tom had drunk from the minibar before coming downstairs, so he wasn’t at his most sober either.

“What’s the occasion, actually?” You asked while handing him back the bottle.

“How about being a great team?” He drank. “The Bonnie and Clyde of weddings and revenge!”

“That might just be the lamest thing I’ve ever heard.” He didn’t deserve the champagne after that, so you quickly took it from him. After that sip, you put the bottle down and sat on the bed. Tom followed you, making you move back into the middle of the mattress as he pinned you in. His hands at your sides. He kept leaning in, and you leaned back until your head hit the duvet, and there was nowhere more for you to go but up for your lips to come up to his.

While you had been waiting for him, there had been a moment in which worries started to settle. You had been concerned about what it would be like once you were alone in a room with him. There was the obvious possibility of things being extremely awkward between the two of you. A little time had passed since the kiss in the hallway and either of your minds could have changed during. But it couldn't be further from the truth.

The kisses were haste and messy, and you were ready to tear off Tom’s shirt off his body when he pulled away from you.

“Mm,” he wiped his mouth, “I should probably tell you that the following services might cost you a bit extra.”

“Fuck off,” you smiled, kissing his neck.

“Mmm, as delightful a that sounds, I’d much rather,” Tom grabbed you by the leg, hiking your skirt back up like in that broom closet, “fuck you.”

Simply said, you had no comeback to that. There was nothing in you that wanted to stop that from happening. From your racing heartbeat to the heat that you could feel taking over you, it was becoming more and more of a necessity that needed to be taken care of. And Tom hadn't missed it. He was smiling as he kissed you; you could tell that he found your need for him entertaining. Especially when his hand had found its way under your skirt. The touch of his fingers against your panties made you buck your hips up at him.

"You're so wet for me, already," his words were slightly mumbled as he spoke against your lips, but you could hear him clearly. "What exactly has got you so hot and bothered, hmm?"

"I don't know what you mean," you tried to play coy, not give in to what he wanted, and it seemed to work.

"That's not the answer I was looking for, baby," Tom put his mouth up to your neck, and with each word passing his lips, and with each small puff of air, you felt the shivers go down your spine. And he just kept on going:

"Cause see," he stayed still, his mouth at your side and keeping the distance that he knew would get you riled up, "I saw the way you looked at me earlier. Or rather... where you looked. I bet you haven’t stopped thinking about me fucking you since, have you?"

He was unapologetically confident, which wasn't a bad look on him. He knew he looked good, and he wasn't afraid to flaunt it. That was probably why he had no problem stripping and running across a room filled with strangers. He had nothing to be self-conscious about.

At his words, you did think back to the party, seeing him, his body, running up to you. You couldn't deny that your eyes had wandered off a bit south, and yes, he was most definitely right that that image, and the idea of what was about to happen between you two, stayed to linger in your mind.

"So what if I did look at your cock, hmm?" you tried to sound as aloof as possible while Tom had occupied himself by kissing your neck and giving the most attention to your sensitive spot. It was getting harder and harder to do as his fingers were rubbing circles against your clit. Your disinterest was beginning to be even harder to prove when you dug your nails into his shoulder, biting down a moan.

"I mean," you wrangled out, "don't pretend like you haven't been staring at my tits the whole day."

"What can I say? This dress looks amazing on you." Tom leaned down and kissed your cleavage, right above the hem of the dress. "And I bet it will look even better on the floor."

"Ouch, nope. That was actually sad, try again." men and their dumb pick-up lines, way to ruin the mood. Unbelievable. And your reaction must have thrown Tom off a bit from his plan, as his arms tensed over you, but he quickly came back.

"You know what, sweetheart,” his hand moved up and down your thigh, “the more you talk, the more I want to take back what I said earlier. You're so fucking spoiled I just want to rip this pretty number off you, and teach you a lesson. Completely ruin you while you beg for me. How does that sound?"

Every instinct that went through your head felt like the wrong thing to say. You didn't want to give in with what he was suggesting, not wanting to give him that satisfaction, but at the same time, if you would play the brat, wouldn't that be precisely what he'd like? And wouldn't it be more fun anyway? While thinking through the possibilities, the imaginary timer must have gone off, and you had been taking a bit too long to answer for Tom's liking as he spread your legs and slapped your thigh. It wasn't hard enough to leave any mark of feeling behind, but the sensation was there, and it was enough to get you to respond.

"It doesn't sound... Too bad." You looked up at him with innocent eyes. Or, in a way that you, at least, hoped to resemble innocence. But the look that had been so successful over the years, with getting you exactly what you wanted, had barely any effect on Tom. He, instead, smiled sweetly at you, almost making you think you had him under your spell, but then he cupped your face in his large hand, squeezing your cheeks in a way that almost felt humiliating. Almost.

"You can play your little games when you're with some fuckwit you pick up at a bar, y/n, but I'm not here for that. So you better be a good girl and listen to me, understood?" He looked deep into your eyes, and with his hand holding on to you, you couldn't help but nod along. Who would have thought that he had a side like that to him? It was exhilarating, to say the least, and it made you eager to test his limits.

Your response wasn't good enough, however. His fingers squeezed the tiniest bit harder into your cheeks.

When he released, you mumbled out a weak "yes". To this, Tom raised his eyebrow. Maybe he wasn't sure if you were willing to continue or how far you wanted it to go, but that was all he did. Then his smile came back, and he let his thumb move over your lips. You tried not to move, not wanting to look too eager- you still didn’t want to give him that kind of satisfaction just yet, but you had also not really been used to wanting to please a guy so much. You were usually the type to find a guy in a bar to hook up with and, hopefully, get a climax out of it. But Tom- he felt different. When he touched you, you could tell that as much pleasure as it was giving him, he actually wanted you to feel that too. Still, you were never one to give up your place easily.

For a second, nothing happened, and that second was enough for you to comb your fingers through his curls, pull him down and kiss him.

What you also tried to do was wrap your legs around him and change positions, so you were on top, but that didn't seem to pan out. Tom stayed settled on his spot, one of his knees planted sturdily between your legs.

"That was pretty cute, I have to admit," he teased, making you want to push him off the bed, but then he started to hike your dress up further and further. Past your hips. He wanted it off you, just like you did yourself. Tom must have forgotten about the zipper that was on the side because when the dress began to get stuck over your chest, you had to help him awkwardly pull it down again, and he unzipped it. With the material now loose around you, you got up a little and let him take it off you completely.

Once you were only in your underwear, he finally took care of his shirt, pulling it off his back and disregarding it onto the chair where you had put down his old clothes. That reminded you-

"Ooh, wait." you tapped his shoulder and Tom, without question, immediately got off you. He lay down on his side and watched you get up. Then, before he could ask what was wrong, you made your way to the chair and pulled one condom off its long chain.

“Someone’s eager,” he laughed to himself, clearly amused at the long chain of condoms that you had prepared there. You didn’t care to explain. At the end of the day, you were both just happy that they were there. Walking back to bed, you were making sure to remember to thank Rebecca later.

Tom took your hand and pulled you on top of him, smiling. You had never been the one to fall for these kinds of little things, never even being the one to fall for someone in the first place, but every time he smiled, you couldn't help but feel a little flutter inside.

"You're really pretty, you know that?" You said, meaning it playfully but not hiding an ounce of truth behind the statement. Tom's eyes locked with yours. Then, for a second, they filled up with a glimmer of- something. You couldn't quite tell. He brushed some hair out of your face, and by the light smirk hooking at the corner of his mouth, you were prepared to hear some snarky comment in return.

"You're really pretty, too."

The moods between the two of you kept switching, to the point that your head felt like it was spinning... or maybe that was just the result of Tom helping you sit up on his lap, his hands over your hips, while you had leaned forward to kiss him again. The taste of the champagne lingered in both of you. As the kiss went on, you let your hips roll over his. To this, Tom responded with a quick but deep groan. One of his hands moved down to your ass, squeezing it gently. He was holding himself in for you; that much was clear. Which was sweet, but you missed that part of him that made you want to get down on your knees for him- again, a very new and strange feeling, but it was not unwelcome.

So, when he squeezed again, you made sure to let him know you enjoyed it. You then bucked your hips and moaned his name softly but audibly.

"Oh, fuck," he seemed to have enjoyed that. And if you had not gotten that, there was the fact that his trousers began to get tighter and tighter around his dick. You could feel him get harder with each move you made.

The trousers were really becoming a problem, both of you realised that, so in an unspoken agreement, you got off and Tom hopped off the bed. However, it was clear that the constant switching of positions was becoming a nuisance to both of you, and before Tom took off his clothing, he grabbed the bottle of champagne, taking a generous chug from it, and handed it to you.

You sipped slowly from it, not taking your eyes off of Tom. He had already lost his shirt earlier, and the sigh of his body was, simply put, fantastic. When he had run through the wedding party, everything happened so fast, and by the end of it, you were a bit sad that you didn't have more time. Was that objectifying Tom in a sense? Fuck, maybe?

When he took his last items of clothing and looked up at you, you were unapologetically looking him over, up and down, with a smile.

"Enjoying the view?" He said, not even trying to be shy about it.

"It's not bad."

"Do I really need to fuck that attitude out of you?" He raised a challenging brow, to which you only shrugged. Without saying another word, you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra. Tom's eyes were basically glued to your chest. You let it hang in your hand for a moment before throwing it aside. It was like a race flag going up, as the moment the bra hit the floor, Tom jumped back into bed, and you sat up. You met halfway, both on your knees in front of each other. Both naked, ready to take the next step... you just didn't know how.

"So..." you muttered out, regretting it immediately. Nothing made a situation more awkward than acknowledging the awkwardness- which was what you had essentially just done with that one word.

Or maybe that was all in your head, because Tom grabbed you by the hip and pulled you close to him, chest to chest.

"Not doing anything we don't want to do, right?" He asked, his voice now much more gentle and caring but never losing an ounce of desire through it. You looked at him and nodded, to which he kissed the corner of your mouth.

He kept peppering your skin with light kisses until he spoke again, in a tone sweeter than honey. "Gonna be my good girl?"

You were melting into his words and his touch. You could barely comprehend when his fingers found their way back between your legs. Your hips bucked up against him as he moved slowly, sensually, agonizingly and teasingly against you. A soft moan, or maybe more of a frustrated whine, passed your lips in need of friction.

"Answer me, love, and I'll give you what you want." He was smirking, loving the effect he had on you, and you couldn't even be mad about it yourself.

"Yes," you gasped out, and Tom didn't waste a second to press his fingers against your clit, rubbing circles, finding your most sensitive pressure points to bring you to that tip of ecstasy. He kept up with the motions, moving faster, slipping through your folds and going deeper with each thrust.

However, as good as it felt, the position the two of you were in felt a bit uncomfortable. You didn't really know what to do with yourself while your body was begging for some action.

"Mmm, Tom," you mumbled against his lips. They were bright pink and slightly swollen, but you thought he looked terrific. Not to mention his hair, which was now losing its styled shape, his curls coming up from all different directions as you grabbed them. And his eyes, once golden brown, now turning darker with need.

He didn't stop his movements but hummed, letting you know he was listening.

"Could I maybe-" an unknown shyness was taking over you, and suddenly, you had lost the ability to speak. And it didn't help that when your voice shut down, Tom looked at you with those eyes of his, pushed that rogue strand of hair out of your face and asked:

"What is it, darling?" So innocently, as if his fingers were not deep inside you and soaked in your juices.

You still didn't know how to say it, so instead, you let your hand wander down his body. Over his abs, to his hip and then finally over his cock. Tom hissed in a breath at the touch but got back into his mindset reasonably quickly.

"Wanna suck my cock, love?" His hand, in return, went up to your ass and squeezed it.

"You'd probably like that, wouldn't you?" The confidence was, thankfully, coming back into you. As much as you seemed to be enjoying letting Tom take control, that feeling of submission was still foreign to you. Not unwelcome, but strange. You were simply testing out the waters- both for yourself and for Tom. Who knows, maybe he would want to switch it up a little, too?

"I can give you a good time," You kissed his neck, just below the ear, "just tell me what to do." And you could practically feel the shivers that ran over his skin at your words. You were currently in a kind of mid-space. Taking control by letting him tell you what to do. It made sense for a tiny bit, but by the tension that had arisen between you and the heat in the room, it seemed to be working.

"How about you get down on the ground and let me fuck your pretty little mouth, then?" He kissed you once more to seal the deal, and once you pushed away, you made your way off the bed to sit in front of it, with enough space for Tom to stand up.

"You know," you got yourself a bit more comfortable while beginning to slowly stroke his length. "I don't usually do this." And you blinked slowly, letting your eyelashes flutter for Tom. You could tell what he was thinking. He was ready to see your makeup start running down your face as he made you his and that thought only made you more eager to get a move on.

"And what would this be?" He patted your head, moving his head softly over your hair.

"Letting a guy toss me around." You kissed his tip, still not breaking the eye contact that you had set up between you.

"Oh, if you think this is tossing around," he chuckled. His grip on your hair got tighter, "You've seen nothing yet."

You knew that, but fuck, you couldn't wait to see how far he was willing to go. Maybe not this time, things between you were still relatively fresh, and it was never good to go all-in for the first time. But... perhaps another time. If it would ever happen. What were you even thinking? Next time? You would probably never see Tom again. This was just what happened when two people got drunk at weddings.

Did you want more to happen, though? That thought hadn't crossed your mind before. And it still didn't feel right. But, no, it wasn't the time to think about these things.

You quickly let your head clear up from all the confusing thoughts and focused on what was happening at the moment. Tom was standing in front of you, hard and already leaking precum.

You gave his tip another kiss. You wanted to take your time. Well, not really. But you did want to tease the living fuck out of Tom, and sometimes that called for a bit of sacrifice on your part. Slowly, you took him into your mouth. Pulling out and each time you leaned in, attempted to go a bit further until he reached the back of your throat.

"Oh, fuck, yes!" He groaned, grabbing your hair and letting his hips move back and forth. You let your jaw slack, trying to relax as much as possible while you focused on your breathing while Tom sped up in his movements. The longer he went on, the more difficult it became to stay somewhat composed. Of course, it wasn't really necessary in a situation like that, but a girl could try.

Your knees started to burn as they dug into the small carpet you were sitting on. As Tom kept on going, he went deeper, making you gag slightly- but that only seemed to spur him on. And just like he wanted, the mascara was running down your cheeks. You needed to release the tension between your legs, so while still looking up at Tom, you started to play with yourself.

This kept going for a bit longer, and when Tom started to slow down, you were getting ready for a release, preferably your own, but then he pulled away. You gasped for air and clenched your thighs together, not wanting to think about the disappointment that no one had probably even come close to finishing.

Tom took your hand and helped you get up, and once you were up on your feet, he kissed you deeply.

"You look so fucking gorgeous." He looked over every inch of your face taking in the mess he had caused. And to make things worse, or maybe better, he took his thumb and wiped around the last remaining staining of your lipstick. The pigment must have wiped off for the most parts since the last time you had reapplied it, but Tom was making his own little masterpiece on your face. And he sealed it off with one more kiss.

You wanted to enjoy this moment, but all you could think about was the feeling of him against you. He was still hard, and you were gnawing for a release at this point, feeling like your body was on fire.

"Get the condom, please," you would never call yourself a beggar, but you had come close at that moment. Tom chuckled at your slight desperation and turned around, grabbed the silver packet, ripped it open with his teeth, and put on the condom a bit hastily.

The tension was growing, as well as the anticipation for that one moment of contact. But, of course, Tom stopped.

"Do you trust me?" He asked, his hand on your side.

"A bit more since the last time you asked," you couldn't help but smile, and he joined in.

"Good to know, but please, be honest. Do you?" You looked into each other's eyes. In the time that you spend together, at your house, in the car, at the reception, here, Tom had done nothing to offend your trust. On the contrary, he had helped you bring your plan to fruition; he treated you well and made you feel amazing.

"Yes, Tom, I trust you." You said.

"Ok, jump." And so, like he asked, you did. You jumped up a little, and he caught your legs with ease. While he held you, you couldn't stop looking at the way his muscles flexed as he carried you over to the window. Oh, so that's what he had in mind, then.

He pressed you against the window, and you gasped as your back hit the glass.

"Oh shit, that's cold," you said. Tom quickly pulled you away. Then, thinking fast while still being wrapped around Tom, you reached out for the large curtain and pulled it across to you, so you could lean against that instead of the glass. Half of the room was now set in darkness, but plenty of light still came from the other half of the window.

Tom pressed you against the curtain, this now feeling soft and warmer against your bare skin, and a bit awkwardly, he pushed into you. Your giggles that had filled the room while Tom had tried to position himself exchanged for a loud moan. If there was anyone in the room next door, there was no doubt that they could hear you.

"You're so tight, fuck," Tom groaned as he stretched out your walls. You held on to him tightly as he fucked you harder. With each of his thrusts, you were hitting the window, so you were glad that the soft curtain stayed between you, but the rings at which it was hanging kept rattling a bit dangerously.

"I- I think," you moaned instead of finishing your sentence, "I think we should move back to the bed before the curtains rip off-f-fuck!"

"Good idea, baby," Tom agreed, probably noticing the noise as well. "How about you ride my cock for a bit, hmm?"

Though the window idea was short-lived, it had been enjoyable, and it brought you to this moment. Tom sat down on the bed, his back against the headboard, and you quickly got on top, not wanting to waste another second. Things were messy between you two, far from perfect, but in a way, that's what made it so good. It was authentic and pure desire.

The new position hit in a new way, and it might have been even better. You had to try around for a bit before finding the right rhythm, but once you got there, each movement hit you with another wave of pleasure.

Tom had one of his hands on your hip, but he had made sure he was sitting up when you got on his lap, so he could give your breast all the attention they deserved. While he played with one in his palm, he had his mouth around the other. When he let his teeth graze over your nipple, both of you were surprised by the sound you made. It was a high pitched sort of moan caused by a sensation unknown to you until then. Tom got the hint and did it again, on the other.

"Fuck, Tommy," you grabbed for his hair and tried to change up the way you moved to get some more friction. Tom helped out a bit by meeting your hips with his thrusts, and each time you moved at the right moment, you felt him hit the perfect spot within you. You were getting close. But you didn't say anything, just kept on grinding. By the way that most of the evening had gone by, you had the idea that if you had announced your climax to Tom, he'd tell you to wait. Do not do anything until he gives you permission.

So, with another powerful thrust, you let your release flood over you. Then, with a high pitched moan and stars in front of your eyes, you rode your high on him. Your legs, as well as your arms, were shaking. Although you had planned on going on for a bit longer to help Tom get there as well, you simply couldn't. All you managed to do was fall over to the front against Tom's chest, your head on his shoulder. He held you close, still in you, caressing your hair.

"I'd have expected you to carry on for a bit longer, love," he smiled and kissed your temple. To this, you just swatted at his arm and laughed.

"Just give me a moment, unless you'd rather finish yourself off in the bathroom?" You smiled sheepishly.

That put the fear in him, and Tom shut up. But he kept on kissing any possible spot of your skin that he could reach from the position you were in. And, since he was still inside you, the tiniest movements from either of you caused a shockwave of stimulation.

⤐

"Did I actually ever apologize?" you whispered, not sure if Tom had fallen asleep.

"What are you talking about?" He mumbled, clearly confused.

"About calling you an asshole. Did I apologize?"

"Which time?" He snickered. "You tend to call me that a lot, I've noticed."

"I meant the first time. On the street."

"Hmm," he thought for a second, "I can't remember, honestly. But apology accepted." He kissed your shoulder and nuzzled in closer to you.

Maybe your first climax had come a bit early, but it sure as hell wasn't the last. It turned out to be a long and unforgettable night.

As the night had gone on, the bottle of champagne had finished and was now lying under the chair, haphazardly discarded. The curtain was still half-closed, and the floor was covered in thrown pieces of clothing.

Even though not all things had gone as planned, in the end, you couldn't wish for it to go any differently. Somehow, for once, things seemed to be working out in your favour.

Hell, while your entire family was still running around the hotel in panic and confusion, trying to find the man that had seemingly ruined everything, you were wrapped in his arms, falling asleep, not even realizing that both of you had found... something in each other. You still hadn't quite figured out what that something was, but it didn’t matter. It felt good, nice, and no matter how long it would last, you didn't want to let go of it just yet.

The End

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