THE HOLLAND BOYS AND HARRISON OSTERFIELD IMAGINES

"Sit in my lap." / "Really? Right now?" part two - Tom Holland Imagine (prompt)

Written by: @/bby-calum

request: part two to this tom request/prompt that some people asked for

word count: 720

“Thanks for these,” you said, dropping the pile of clothes into Tom’s lap as he sat in his set chair reading his script. Disturbed from his concentration, he looked up at you, his mouth curving into a sheepish smile. You were about to walk away when Tom called your name.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked. You shrugged your shoulders. “Come by my place after you finish work, we can, uhm, run some lines and stuff. I’ll make you dinner.” He was so nervous, his words came out shaky.

Tom had no idea what was happening to him. His usual confident and carefree self was disappearing, being replaced by a nervous wreck whenever he was around you. He’d spent all night after you left him in his trailer thinking about you, wishing you’d stayed. He’d phoned Harrison in the early hours of the morning because he just needed to talk to someone about you. They came to the conclusion that Tom was developing feelings for you. According to Harrison, this had been happening for quite a while, but only now was Tom realising it. Harrison had said that Tom mentioned you in conversations whenever he could, he was always gushing about working with you in interviews, he watched you closely during set breaks, always wanting to be around you.

“Run some lines with you? Really?” You rolled your eyes. “Are you going to make up lines and stage directions again to try and get in my pants?” Tom fought back the redness of embarrassment burning his cheeks. He sighed. “Fine. I’ll come over, but only if you cook me that casserole again.”

Smoothing out your shirt after you knocked, you heard Tom moving around inside his apartment to get to the door.

“Hi,” he smiled, wiping his hands on the apron he was wearing. He was a little sweaty from the heat in the kitchen. His face was slightly flushed and his hair was a curly mess. “Come in.” You handed him the bottle of red you brought along with you as you stepped into his home. He led you into the kitchen diner and pulled out a chair for you to sit on at the table. Grabbing two glasses from the cupboard on the far left, he opened the bottle you gave him and poured you both equal measures.

“It smells great in here.” You were a little overwhelmed and didn’t really know what to say to him. He seemed so different than the Tom you knew from set. At home he was quieter, less cocky, and  seemed more at ease, like this was who he really was underneath his confident and bubbly exterior. He stood on his tip toes to reach for something on the top shelf in one of his cupboards and his shirt rode up a little. You could just about make out the contours of his toned abs and you couldn’t help yourself but sneak a small glance. You cleared your throat, looking away quickly as he turned back around. He kept up the small talk until he served dinner. Placing the dish down in front of you and taking the chair opposite, Tom was deciding the best way to tell you his thoughts.

“You know, uhm, when you left me alone in my trailer that day,” Tom started, stuffing his mouth with a forkful of casserole before continuing, “I was actually- I was pretty bummed out.”
“Because you wanted me to stay and sit in your lap. Was that a euphemism by the way?”
“No, I, erm, I don’t actually know why I said that to you. I’m sorry. I- er, it was pretty rude of me actually,” Tom stuttered. “I wanted to make you dinner to apologise. And also ask if you would consider this as our first official date? Fuck. I said that too soon. Fuck. Shit. I’m sorry. Ignore that.”
You almost choked on your sip of wine. “A date? Tom you are full of surprises you know?” Tom ran a hand through his floppy hair. “Are you okay, Tom?”
“I’m just- you’re making me really nervous.” He looked pale. “My head just goes crazy whenever I think about you.”
“So,” you dragged out. “You like me?”
“Yeah.” Tom breathed out. There was a brief silence. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah.”