Tom Holland Imagines

Bottled Up Emotions | Tom Holland (AU)

Imagine #18

Word Count: 1747

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THIRD PERSON:

Y/N sat her computer desk, doodling cute drawings here and there on a clean sheet of paper in her sketchbook. Her tongue sort of sticking out while her teeth lightly bit down on it. The song If I Were A Boy playing softly in her ears as she hummed at a low volume.

It was going on eleven o'clock at night and the poor girl had been sitting in the same spot for three whole hours waiting for her boyfriend to come over. Yesterday, they had planned to have a cliché couple's night which consisted of dinner, watching movies, and whatever else they could do together. Turns out, Tom had other plans since it was no show for him at eight o'clock tonight.

A sleepy yawn came from the girl, her hands beginning to rub her eyes lazily. Setting her drawing pencil down on the desk, she slid the wheel-y chair out from the desk and made her way over to her twin size bed.

Y/N couldn't help, but feel somewhat annoyed with the way her boyfriend had been treating her lately. From canceling out on their nights together to even missing a small singing gig she had at a popular pub around the corner from her apartment. She was absolutely heartbroken by the way he'd been acting, but she didn't know how to tell him especially since they barely see one an other anymore.

Shrugging it off, she slowly shuts her eyes while mentally praying that she would see him tomorrow so he could explain why he bailed out on her- again.

***

Y/N'S POV:

I spring up from my peaceful sleeping position once the sound of knocking comes from my apartment door. Groaning, I get out of my bed, trudging down the short hallway and to my front door, the knocking echoed throughout my tiny place I consider a home.

My drowsy eyes check through the peephole since I wasn't trying to let an intruder into my home at this time of night. I silently whine once I notice the giggling figure through the hole, his knuckles continuing to tap against the wood.

"What the hell?" I murmur, opening the door so the knocking could stop.

His uncontrollable, ear-spitting laughter causes me to tug him inside and the lock the door behind him. The laughter slows down as he sighs, gazing into my eyes with a pouty expression on his face.

"I've been searching everywhere for you, my little honey bunches of oats!" He exclaims, his hands waving around frantically.

My eyebrows furrow together, "What do you mean? I've been in my house the whole day, Tom."

Suddenly my eyes stare closely at his own, noticing that the whites of his were a bloodshot red color. My nose scrunches in disgust as my arms fold over my chest.

"Are you high?" I question.

"What? No, never." He states, stalking off into the direction of my kitchen and I stroll right behind him. "Do you have any pickles or waffles- ooo wait, those sound like a good combination right about now."

I knew he was lying and that he was high because no one even eats those two things together.

"I found the pickles, but you don't have waffles. What type of person doesn't have waffles in their house?" Tom's blabbers as he begins to eat a few from the glass jar.