How could I not? • Tom Holland

Prologue

Summary: Where you get the shock of your life, and a look back on the events that caused it.

NSFW CONTENT BELOW

A gentle hand weaves itself in your hair, tugging at loose strands and curling them between coarse fingertips as Tom grunts with each movement, warm breath fanning across the side of your neck and you hated the fact that you loved it more then you swear you'd ever let on. Letting on meant admitting your feelings and letting go of the denial you'd been working so hard at building up.

Tom chants your name like a prayer and you whisper his between sharp breaths, basking in the feeling of having him inside of you, meeting your walls perfectly and with every thrust, you grow closer to your end. It inches closer, making you arch your back perfectly in time with one of his thrusts.

It was dark, sure, but you could still picture the blissed-out look on his face with his eyes screwed shut and lips parted slightly, seething with pleasure as he fits his way to the end.

You enjoy it and you enjoy him, having him practically chest to chest until your hearts are beating together in rhythm with one another, breath heavy and the smell of sex circling the room and you only feel slightly guilty about the fact that this was one of your closet friends. How were you supposed to focus on the guilt building a bonfire in the pit of your stomach when it felt this good?

"You nearly there?" He grunts, rolling his hips against yours. His rough voice breaks through the sound of skin on skin and the bed creaking with each movement. You were just glad the little old lady next door was deaf.

This was definitely one of the messier, more needy times. There were times when you'd take your time with one another, making sure you touched and kissed every inch until you were practically crying out for your orgasm and whoever was crashing in the spare room was sneaking out the front door in disgust. Then there were times like this where it was quick, both of you needing a release as soon as possible and every action up until now had been committed with that thought in mind.

"Nearly there, fuck." You whine, burying your head in his neck. He's warm, skin slick with a thin layer of sweat. He fills you up perfectly still after nearly six months of sleeping together.

Everything was good, it was great.

-

"Do you feel any better today?" Toms' voice is hushed through the phone, quiet so he doesn't wake up his roommate, Harrison, but the concern is evident. You could tell he'd just woken up because his voice was thick and raspy, similar to how it was when he'd wake with a groan, face pressed into a pit of sheets beside you.

"Not really," You murmur, voice slightly muffled by the blanket that was pulled up to your chin. Your room was only illuminated by your phone with his contact name glowing brightly. A photo of the two of you pulling faces is the background. You're wrapped up in one of his shirts, a goofy grin adoring his features. "I was up early again this morning and my head hurts alot, I'm sorry."

Your throat was still burning from your last chuck but surely an hour from now you'd feel fine. A little woozy, but fine.

"Hey, don't apologise. We can catch up whenever you're feeling better, yeah? We're in no hurry. Just miss you is all." The boy speaks through the phone, playing with his nails on the other end. A scolding cup of coffee sits in front of him, additional with his favourite creamer but he suddenly seemed uninterested. "Maybe you should see a doctor?" He decides.

You're quick to shake your head, no, not wanting to see a doctor just yet. "A doctor won't be necessary, I think I just caught one of those ugly stomach bugs from someone. I'll be okay, don't worry about me, yeah? Go have fun with the guys and make the most of me being ill."

Maybe you just didn't want to see a doctor because you feared your suspicions being confirmed by a professional. Maybe you didn't want to see him because you were riddeled with guilt.

He huffs. "It's no fun without you but we'll try. Get well soon, yeah?"

You have to force a reply, muttering a small: "I will."

You hang up the phone, throwing it in frustration before throwing the covers off of your body. You hated lying to him because yeah, you aren't alright and more dread than you could comprehend simmers in your chest.

As you force yourself out from beneath the sheets, you're hit with a sudden wave of both nausea and the drastic change of temperature– but not the same kind of nausea you'd been suffering from for the last few weeks, but the kind that hits when you're overcome with too many nerves to process. It was the kind that arrived only moments before a speech in front of your ninth-grade class, or the kind of nerves that tormented you the night before your first date with the boy you'd been pining after and the ones that refused to leave as you wait patiently for the next episode of your favourite show after waiting weeks and your favourite characters life is still on the line.

It had been twenty-seven minutes since you'd taken the damn thing. Twenty-seven minutes since you'd finally forced yourself to drag the thing out of the bathroom cupboard and put it to use and yet the instructions told you three minutes. Still riddled with fear you plonk yourself down on the lid of the toilet, breathing out a stressed sigh and take the plastic thing in a fist.

The pregnancy test is heavy in your hand, growing heavier when you see two barely visible pink lines flashing before your eyes. You don't want to believe it at first so you shove it away and grimace upon hearing it clatter against the countertop, probably knocking your toothbrush or falling into the sink.

Your head falls into your hands and suddenly you can't breathe. Your lungs feel as if they're closing up and your lips part, palms are clammy and gripping your night robe for a little more support. You feel bile rise in the back of your throat, threatening to spill at the realisation that you were pregnant with Toms baby. Tom, your close friend. Though maybe it was another round of morning sickness looming over you.

Of course, you'd known before you even took the test. All the signs seemed to add up perfectly yet somehow you'd managed to convince yourself that it wasn't true and that the test would come back negative. Maybe you could take another test. Maybe then would your suspicions be proved wrong but it had to be just past twelve am and you didn't really feel like trekking down to the nearest 24/7 pharmacy at this hour.

"Fuck." You curse, tugging at strands of hair with strained hands. Of course, there was only one person that you'd been sleeping with. Meaning Tom was the father, the other half to the equation. "Fuck!"