Tom Holland One Shots

Moves Like Jagger

"Come on, Y/N!"  Your best friend and you were in the middle of a club in Los Angeles.  You both had put on your favorite dresses and heels, heading out for the night.  Your boyfriend had just broken up with you, to get back with his ex.  On the outside, you were thrilled for a night out.  But on the inside, you were still broken about it.

"I'm trying," you told her.  Moving to the beat of the dub step remix in the middle of the dance floor, your last shot of alcohol was wearing off.  You didn't need another, but you wanted another.  Leaning in, you told your best friend you were going to buy a drink.  And then you slid your way through the crowd, pushing up to men and women all moving to the beat, some of them moving up against each other.  

Finally reaching the bar, you squeezed in next to two boys.  One is in a hoodie and the other is wearing a pair of thin rimmed glasses.  You don't mind them too much, telling the bartender your order and taking out a ten dollar bill.  Then the boy in the hoodie turns to you.  In the darkness, you can see his dark eyes staring at you.  No, admiring you.  The attention brings redness to your cheeks and you turn shyly to him, pulling hair out of your face.

"Hey," the boy said to you.  "I didn't mean to stare.  You're just really beautiful."  You recognized that voice.  Where was he from?  It didn't matter.  When he started to smile, your own lips matched his.  He chuckled, holding out a hand.  "I'm Tom."

"Y/N," you said, before he bent down and kissed the back of your hand.  His friend with the thin rimmed glasses lets out a belly laugh before taking his shot and disappearing.  Tom doesn't seem to mind this.  He's still watching you.  

"Allow me," Tom said and passed a dollar bill to the bartender, who nodded and returned to another customer.  Tom takes his shot glass, holding it up to you.  "Cheers."  You both toss your heads back, taking the shot.  The warmth spreads down your throat and you put down your glass.  You totally forget about your friend when the boy offers you a hand, leading you towards the corner of the club.

There's a security guard in front of the VIP section, but upon seeing Tom, they take back the railing and let the two of you pass.  Tom finds the both of you a place in the middle of what look like his group of friends, but the whole time, his attention remains on you.

"Where are you from?  You aren't from here," you started, realizing how dumb the question sounds.  Tom chuckled, leaning in to make sure you heard him.  His breath tickled your ear.

"South London, darling.  Are you from around here?"  You told him where you're from, earning an eyebrow raise before he took a sip of another drink.  He offered you a colorful drink, to which you couldn't say no.  This was probably the most luxurious experience of your life.  And with a boy you had yet to recognize from where he was from.  You had seen him in a movie.  On TV.  Your best friend would know, but you had no idea.  

"Do you dance?"  Tom asked.  You nod and without hesitation, Tom takes you by the hand, leading you back out to the dance floor.  You find your way into the middle of the dance floor, where he puts his hands on your hips and both of you melt and twist to the music.  He's the best dancer you'd ever seen.  Then it hits you.  You know exactly who he is.  He's the star of Billy Elliot, Spider-man, and so many other movies that have graced the big screen in the last decade.  Before you can say another word, he twists you around so your back is to him and his arms wrap around your waist.  You laugh, but your joy is genuine.  And possibly alcohol induced.

"You're probably the most beautiful girl in here," he said in your ear.  You leaned your head back, grinning as the two of you continued to dance.  He twisted you back around, your heads inches away as a Martin Garrix song comes on, and the two of you bop to the beat.  

"You're probably the best dancer I've ever seen," you admitted to him.  He grins and his cheeks turn red.  He shakes his head, leaning in to your ear again.

"Unlikely, but you're very kind," he said.  The two of you continue dancing, until the music slows.  Then a slower one comes on.  His hands remain on your hips, waiting for your approval.  You wrap your arms around his neck.  Tom and you sway to the music.

"Would you like to go to dinner sometime?"  Tom poses the question, waiting as the slow music surrounds you and people move on and off the tiled flooring.  The answer is obvious to you.

"Of course," you tell him.  He grins, pulling you closer.  

"Let's start off with the most important question," Tom began, staring into your eyes as you wait.  "Dogs or cats?"  He asked, waiting as you let out a long breathe.

"Dogs," you told him.  He let out a long sigh of relief, bringing his eyes back to yours before he spoke again.

"Thank goodness.  So do you have any?"  And thus, Tom and you spent the remainder of the song talking, before you both found your way to the VIP lounge, where you talked each other's ears off, until your best friend came looking for you, full of questions and concerns.  By the end of the night, all you could think was how excited you were to see Tom again, the boy with the moves like Jagger that swept you off your feet.