A C T O R S || OS

96. Tom Holland | Safe With You *

By : hufflepuffhollander | Tumblr

summary | as an a-list celebrity, there can be a lot of threats out there. luckily, you have a bodyguard that keeps close by, in more ways than one. but always being watched comes with its own problems.

cw | celebrity fem!reader x bodyguard!tom au. language, angst, a punch or two, slow burn smut (dom!tom, cockwarming, unprotected sex), happy ending fluff. 4.4k words.

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You waded through the crowd of people that had gathered at the arrivals gate, barely having time to get off the plane before being swarmed by fans— taking videos, asking for selfies, trying to reach out just to touch you. You were exhausted, and it was nauseating. You put on your best facade, smiling for the photos and saying hi to the masses. But it soon became overwhelming; fans have no boundaries with celebrities, as if they aren't regular people who need space, and eventually your path was blocked and you lost sight of the exit. Just when you felt like you were drowning, you heard the voice of your saving grace.

"Hey, back up, give her space," he used his muscular body to push the bodies out of your way. "Come on, everybody, move!" he shouted as the situation grew worse, his firm tone scaring enough people to finally let you through. You shoved your sunglasses up the bridge of your nose and took his hand as he led you through to the car waiting for you outside, slamming the door shut before anyone could try to climb in with you. Finally immersed in the quiet, you took a loud sigh of relief and shook off the accessories you were wearing to attempt to hide your identity. Obviously, they weren't doing a very good job.

"God, these fuckers don't listen," he huffed, patting the driver on the shoulder twice to make him go. The cheers of fans began to dwindle into silence as you pulled away from the airport.

"Thank you, Tom, for back there," you said, smiling awkwardly at him.

Tom Holland was your bodyguard; he had been for the last several months. You didn't ever want one, didn't want to feel like you needed protection from those who essentially made your career—but after your last movie came out and topped the box office charts, you felt more and more unsafe as your popularity grew and the likelihood of people recognizing you in public skyrocketed.

While Tom was amazing at his job, never afraid to fight off swarms of fans to keep you out of harms way, things had been overtly strange since last weekend. Against your better judgement, you had drunkenly hooked up with a B-lister you met at a party, and Tom was stuck standing guard on the other side of the door while you did it. There was no doubt in your mind that he had heard, well, everything—that proving to be the biggest drawback thus far of having a personal security detail.

"It's just my job, y/n," he replied, sitting back in his seat and spreading his hands out on his thighs. His sleeves rolled up as he stretched, revealing a lengthy, bright red scratch down his forearm.

"Oh my gosh, Tom, what happened to you?"

"Just a fan that got a little overexcited. It's no big deal."

"No big deal? You're bleeding," you exclaimed, reaching into your bag and pulling out a tissue, dabbing at the trickle of blood coming from the cut.

Tom's breath hitched in his throat as your fingertips grazed his skin, intently watching you tend to him. You had always been so sweet, so unlike any other celebrity he'd worked for, and he hated himself for really, truly adoring you. This was his job, just a contract with a paycheck, and he couldn't afford to risk mixing feelings with his work. Unfortunately, though, hearts don't always sync with brains.

"Thank you, love."

You looked up at him sitting next to you and smiled kindly, hoping this was the moment you could finally push last weekend past you.