Tom Holland Imagines

Tom Foolery

Alternatively called "Be careful what you wish for, Tom." Alternatively called "Instagram's been hacked." Sorry, not sorry. Also, NWH comes out on the last day of my finals, so guess what I'll be doing when my brain is 100% grey matter smoothie? Good job Sony/Marvel for releasing it right before winter break for a lot of public and private American school systems (elementary through college) because a lot of people will be done with school and need a break. But then also that's probably less COVID safe. So... have a Halloween chapter, but please don't expect anything from now until December (you may be graced with some surprise appearances, but I'll definitely be back in time for the movie to come out. Maybe. I will have finals...)

Warnings: fluff (of the cavity-inducing variety), angst, panic attacks, and referenced r*pe (scenes in which Tom talks about filming The Crowded Room), and language. This one is a bit longer than most. Happy reading! Also, this is a song fic. Go listen to All My Loving by The Beatles and Vienna by Billy Joel.

Tom made a grave mistake. Probably. Definitely. It had been two months since the No Way Home trailer was released, and Tom hadn't changed his Instagram password. Which meant that Harry still had it. And with their history of brotherly love, it was only inevitable that something came of it.

You should have known better when Tom asked you to help decorate a sponge so it looked like a cake the day before Halloween.

"Just stack a bunch of sponges on top of each other with frosting in between!"

"Tom...I really don--

"It's a sponge cake, ok? Just make a sponge cake. Sponge with buttercream or whatever. Easy peasy. Half the baking is already done, anyway."

"This is a horrible idea, Tom. Everyone's gonna murder you!"

"Hey, I had one idea of messing with Harry's camera. At least I'm only feeding him plastic."

"That's not..." you sighed, giving up.

"It's Halloween, what do you expect?"

"I expected a slightly more mature 25-year-old, Tom."

He pouted that innocent and endearing little pout and you caved.

"You're insufferable, you know that, right?"

"But you love me."

"And I love you," you corrected. "How many sponges are you looking for?"

Making the buttercream was easy, decorating it took patience; the way it didn't want to stick to the sponges (Tom had bought special orange ones for the occasion) meant that you spent a significantly longer amount of time complaining than getting anything done. A myriad of thoughts, ranging from "this is stupid" to "Tom is stupid" to "I am stupid" to "Harry is stupid" swirled in your head as you lathered the pallet knife with more buttercream.

"Tom, this is a waste of food."

"Y/N, this is a perfect opportunity to fuck with Harry."

"You can fuck with Harry all you want, I mean, please don't fuck Harry, because incest, but you don't need to drag me into this."

"Course I do, darling. If I present him with a cake, it'll inevitably look and taste like trash. But you...you can bake. So it'll be a surprise."

"Good luck when he gets his revenge," you laughed.

"What the fuck, man!" Suffice to say, Harry was less than impressed. "I just wanted to eat cake in peace, and I get a fork full of sponge. Literally, sponges. Plastic little bits of sponge. I wanted flour, Tom, and sugar, and butter, and eggs, and everything else that is in a cake because when I see a cake, I expect a cake. Not this fucking monstrosity."