Tom Holland Imagines

The Girl with the Coffee-Foam Moustache

A/N: This was requested by the lovely @summererry! I hope that I did well, love! Tous mes bisous! This might be just a bit short and sweet but hopefully cute!

"hi ! i've seen you're open to requests for the Tom Holland imagines book (: here's something : i'm french and i've never found an imagine about a french girl, so this could be an idea, like meeting a 20 years oldish french girl who happens to connect with him in some way. idk haha ^^' i'm just gonna leave this here"

TOM'S POV:

I saw her for the first time outside a cafe in France. She was so beautiful I had to quite literally stop in my tracks. I don't even quite remember where I was going in the first place. But there she was...sitting on the patio of a tiny cafe with nose buried in a book. 

She had the shiniest eyes I'd ever seen with so much intellegence behind them. Her skin was pure and smooth. She was absolutely beautiful. There was no other word for it. I think perhaps what made her the most lovely was her imperfections. She wasn't the stereotypical "French Girl" from films or paintings with the bright red lips and the oversized sunglasses and the stripy top and too-good-to-be-true attitude. In fact, she wasn't wearing any lip colour at all and had a foam moustache from her coffee. She was wearing a slouchy, cream-coloured t-shirt and a felt hat and her sparkling E/C eyes were windowed by a pair of slim-frame reading glasses. 

I swallowed the lump in my throat and approached her, promising myself I had to know her.

"Erm, bonjour, miss! Je m-m'appelle Tom!" I attempted, stumbling horribly over my words. I had only taken a year of French in secondary and barely remembered any of it. The girl looked up from her book and removed her readers. She smiled at me and giggled. It was a wonderful sound.

"I can speak English, you know," she told me, laughing so that her perfect smile lit up my day like the sun. Her accent melted me. "Most French people can."

"Oh, well that's good because I can't speak French to save my life," I chuckled awkwardly, scratching my neck. 

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Tom. My name is Y/N," she stuck out her hand for me to shake,  not before hastily wiping her latte moustache on her wrist, which I found adorable. Everything about her was simply perfect. "Would you care to join me?"

"M-me?" I asked, quite surprised at her open sociality. 

"Well, yes, if you'd like. Books get quite lonely sometimes," she said, closing her novel and placing it gently in her bag.

We talked for a while about tiny things like the best flavour of ice cream, whether or not candles are better as decorations or lit, whether or not hot showers are better than baths. Y/N knew so much it almost made me feel stupid in comparison. But, was I infatuated with her! Everything she did was interesting. Even the way she wrinkled her nose when she laughed.

"You know, Y/N, I'd like to pick French back up again."

"Oh, really? I think that's a wonderful idea!"

"You do?" She nodded. "I was wondering...well...if maybe you might be willing to help me?" Y/N blushed a pretty shade of rouge. 

"I would love to! You know, the best way to learn French is to write it. Maybe we could be...how do you say...pen pals? Corrispondants?"

"I'd like that very much!" I replied. 

"Wonderful!" She wrote her address down on the back of the napkin under her coffee cup and handed it to me. "I look forward to talking with you. See you soon, Tom!" And with that, she stood, shouldered her bag, and walked off down the sidewalk.

A/N: I hope this was cute! I didn't exactly know where to go with it but I hope I did well enough.