Peter Parker/Tom Holland Imagines

Stunned (Tom)

This is something I've been writing in my spare time. Uh. I'm sure you know all the short forms but just in case

Y/N- Your name

Y/L/N- your last name

Y/B/N- your brother's name

Y/Bf/N- Your boyfriend's name

Just for this imagine, the reader is Indian Muslim(LIKE ME!!!). Also, she is on a vacation in London. Read on.

"I am 16 years old, for God's sake! (I'm 14 but in March 2018 I'll be 15 and almost a half so I just increased it a little to 16) I think I can manage going to the library right. Next. Door by myself. I'm not a child!" You yell at your mom as you storm out of the hotel.

Fuming, you stomp over to the quaint, cosy little place which is mostly empty except one guy in a hoodie and the sweet caretaker, Martina.

Breathing deeply to calm yourself down, you smile at Martina as you check out Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Coming here was a daily pilgrimage for you. You'd been delighted when you saw the bookshop/library the first day. It was, you mused, a hat trick today.

You walk over to your favourite red armchair and just feel like you're in the Gryffindor Common Room. Well, except the silence. You doubted the Common Room was ever quiet. 

As you settled in, your eyes began roaming over the pages, hungrily devouring the excellent literature. You idly wonder why J.K. Rowling didn't get a Nobel Prize.

You were just reading how Ginny had a hard, blazing look on her face as she  threw her arms around Harry after winning the Quidditch Cup when some numbskull knocked hard into your chair and being clumsy and no exactly thin and with no sense of balance, the book flew and so did you. Well...you didn't fly, you fell. Hard.

You might talk big talk that you're a sarcastic hard bitch but in real life you're really polite. Only the sarcastic part was true.

"Um, I'm sorry. I don't have any sense of balance." You apologise as you get up,  red faced.

The boy standing in front of you laughed. As you stand, you take a good look at the boy, no man, you chasten yourself as you look at his physique. You could barely see his face, being covered with large sunglasses and an oversized hoodie but you could see a little of his brown wavy hair. He looked really really familiar and so did that necklace.

"What are you apologising for!? I'm the one who knocked into you and made you fall, darling. I should be begging for mercy." A British accent said.

You KNEW that voice. You'd seen countless interview, and what but vids featuring it.

"Oh My God, you're-" You start to shriek but clearly realising his name would be coming next, he clapped his hand over his mouth. Only when he was somewhat assured you wouldn't scream did he remove it.

"No one can know." Thomas Stanley Holland whispered. You roll your eyes even though your insides seemed to be walking into a blender. TOM HOLLAND IS HERE, IN FRONT OF YOU! DO. NOT. FREAK. OUT. Yeah, thinking that would help. It drove all the thoughts you might have had about Y/Bf/N from your brain.

"Ok, Peter. No one will know you're Spider-Man." You laugh. "Mr. Holland, the only Hollander and person in this place is me. There is no need to act so dramatic. And please say 'quackson'." 

Tom removes his glasses and you see him rolling those beautiful brown eyes. You nearly sigh but just catch yourself.

"There are precautions, Miss. And as for the request, it's annoying. No one cares that I can say croissant now, everyone just wants the stupid quackson. It's endearing but annoying. Still: quackson." He ends with an air of resignation.