Tom Holland & Peter Parker Imagines

In Denial | T.H

Summary: Tom loves you but thinks pushing you away is easier than admitting the truth.

Roommate/FWB!Tom - Sexual references and angst.

Words: 2.2k - One of my little drabbles. This idea came to me when I was angry and started writing- i expanded it from there. If it seems similar to one of your pieces then flick me a message for credit or removal.

Trouble was the perfect word. Tom Holland was the definition of trouble with his toffee brown curls that you often thought about between your fingertips and the freckles that decorated his cheeks. You had to wonder, did he spend hours on his hair or simply roll out of bed and look that good? And god, his smile- the one that was sometimes crocked and half-assed but always seemed to turn you into a flushed mess.

They all told you not to do it. Your parents were disappointed, friends shook their heads and promise to be there for you when it all turned to shit and you were definitely on edge-, but you did it anyway.

Things got better, and they'd get worse. No graph was completely linear, it had bumps and turns and would sometimes skyrocket down before racing back up and that was the same for the two of you.

They got worse when he'd come home drunk out of his mind, rambling on about how difficult his day at work was and you'd have to sit and listen before he'd pass out either on the couch or in the comfort of his own bed. They'd get worse when you both forgot to do the grocery shopping and you were all out of the good coffee and the cookies that you really liked and were left to fend off of rice and old cans of beans that'd probably been sitting in the back of your cupboard since you first moved in.

Things got better, however, when you felt his lips against your neck, fingertips tugging at the hem of his your shirt and deep, breathy moans slipping through the walls at early hours of the morning. When your casual morning conversations turned into your thighs pressed against the kitchen counter and palms gripping the sides while the pleasure you were receiving was almost ten times better than that first bite of eggs on toast. When your tea and talk breaks at dawn turned into the living room pillows scattered across the floor, your nails leaving red, blotchy marks down his already purple and blue chest.

They got better when his prying and pestering turned into a steady silence as he'd hold you under the covers, fingers running circles down your arm and his clothed biceps turned into a pillow. They were especially good the day he surprised you with your favorite donuts and milkshakes for breakfast- reasonably unhealthy but yum none the less that you gorged on the moment you woke up. He climbed into the bed with you, wrapping the duvet around his waist and flicking the television onto Netflix.

Your roommate broke your heart that day, climbing out of the bed only moments later to take a phone call and he didn't end up coming back until exactly seven hours later, practically busting the door down with an already shattered fist. The blues and purples painted his knuckles like they would a canvas. And if you thought that was bad enough you got a grand surprise when you unbuttoned his shirt to see the same picture, only this one was much more colorful with yellows and reds and blacks all blending together. To put it simply, it looked like a finger painting done by a third grader that only had an eye for the dirty, swampy colors.

"You should be at work." He seethed out, wincing when you began to press the ice pack to his chest with a shaky hand.

Truthfully you were up for hours feeling sick to your stomach, wondering if he was out with someone, only thinking about the type of girl he was getting it on with in the corner or maybe even in the middle of a dance floor. You'd felt sick to your stomach, nerves churning and bile sitting in the very back of your throat just waiting for the moment he'd climb through that door, drunk off of his face. You reminded yourself that if you were correct, he'd be the one leaning over the toilet bowl tomorrow morning, mind coursing with regret.