Fandom Imagines| Book 1

Tom Holland #36

    Imagine it being cold outside. A blustery wind whistles through the barren branches of the oak outside your apartment window. Rain patters against your window pain, slicking the cement sidewalk by your building. Grey light filters through your white curtains, illuminating two bodies laid out beneath piles of warm blankets and sheets. The heating rattles overhead, blowing air through the room. The microwave in the kitchen blinks midnight, though the sun is hidden outside behind the clouds. The lights, which had blinked off for hours the night previous, glow strongly throughout the flat. 

    Tom's breath blows across the back of your neck, warm and sweet. It ruffles the stray hairs that had escaped your bun, which was all but out of your hair elastic. Your nose is buried into the pillows that smell distinctly of Tom, a mix of musky male odor and expensive cologne. Tom's fingers flex against your hip, his mind stuck in dream. Soft snores escape his parted lips and you slowly awake to the familiar sound. 

    It takes you a moment to take in your surroundings. Spilled popcorn upon the ground. A movie playing softly in the background. Tom's smooth skin pressed against the part of your back where your sleep shirt has risen. You remember, with fondness, the night of simply staying in. You remember ordering chinese takeout, and the restaurant refusing to deliver because of the storm. Snacking with Tom on popcorn and candy for dinner, rewatching the same movies over and over until the power clicks off and you and Tom decide to sleep. 

    You turn in the man's arms, brushing your nose against the crook of his neck. He groans softly in sleep, pulling you closer to his radiating warmth. The London street is desolate below you. No one wanted to be caught in rain like this. You study the buildings over Tom's broad shoulder, just out the window. The way the colonial grey stone of offices match the slate sky. The cars race across the streets, sending sprays of cold water across the sidewalks. 

    You want to wake Tom. You know you won't be falling back asleep any time soon. But he'd been working hard on press tours and such, and he deserved every ounce of sleep he could receive. You watched the rise and fall of his chest and traced the curved muscle of his shoulder. With butterfly fingers, you brushed away strands of messy fawn locks that tickled his tan cheeks. You admired the flutter of his lashes in dream and how this absolute angel of a man was yours.

    Oh no. A pressure had begun to build on your bladder. You bit your lip, eyebrows dipping in worry. To get to the bathroom, you would have to unravel Tom's arms, which was near impossible. If Tom was possessive in the waking world, he was even worse in sleep. But you really didn't want to wake up. You released a soft huff, that rustled Tom's hair. Your fingers slid down to Tom's hands, which were long and warm. You tugged at them and gaged Tom's reaction. He continued to sleep. 

    Good. That was good. You tugged more insistently at the man's fingers, able to pry one hand off before working on the other. It was grueling work, especially with a bladder that felt like it was all of the sudden about to explode. Finally, you were loose. You wiggled slowly from his grasp, which flexed for you once you escaped. While such an escapade was thrilling, you felt blessed to be in the bathroom. 

    Upon returning, you found Tom sat up in bed, his hair arrayed messily and his eyes half closed. They brightened considerably upon seeing you. 

    "Good Morning." You greeted softly, slipping back beneath the blankets and curling into his side. Tom grunted softly, reclining back into the pillows. 

    "Where'd you go?" He asked, his voice thick and slurred with drowsiness. You felt a tinge of guilt for waking him up. 

    "Just to the bathroom." You replied. "How'd you sleep?" 

    Tom tightened his arms around you once more, drawing you to spoon against him. 

    "Good. Until you left." 

    Your cheeks flushed. "Sorry. I really had to pee." 
    Tom chuckled lowly against your ear, kissing the nape of your neck. 
        "Thought you had gone somewhere, or something." He hummed. 

    You shook your head, whistling out a breath. "In this weather? You'd have to be crazy." 

    You turned to face time, a shy smile on your mouth. "Can we stay inside all day? Watch movies again?" 

    Tom pecked your lips softly. "There's nothing i'd rather do."