Series Warnings: SMUT, fluff, angst, friends with benefits
You didn’t go home after your fight with Tom. You knew if you did, you’d end up just crying your eyes out while your thoughts spiraled. As you drove away, you called Kaitlyn, but she didn’t pick up. Seeing as though it was almost midnight, she was probably already asleep. So you just drove until you ended up at a pub you used to frequent back when you were at uni. The neighborhood had gone a bit downhill since then, but you didn’t care. You could drink, and have a natter with a stranger to distract you.
You couldn’t decide whether you were more angry or crushed by what had happened. You felt so bad that you had embarrassed Tom, but there was absolutely no reason for you to feel any remorse for Evelyn, and the fact that he would even suggest that you ought to was not only infuriating, but added fuel to the insecurities you’d been battling all day.
When you walked into the pub, you were surprised but pleased to find that it wasn’t nearly as busy as it used to be on Saturday nights. Most of the current patrons were older men, seemingly drinking their problems away. Just as well, seeing as though that’s exactly why you were there as well.
When you sat down at the bar, you ordered a shot of tequila and a pint, and then checked your phone. You had a missed call from Tom as well as a text.
You rolled your eyes. You were in no mood to talk. What was there to talk about anyway? You’d already apologized to him, and there was no way you were going to budge on the subject of Evelyn. If he wanted to talk to someone, he could go talk to her, if he wasn’t on his way to do so already.
As soon as the bartender put the shot in front of you, you threw it back, grimacing at the taste as you swallowed. After washing it down with some beer, you began to feel a little better. Well, maybe not better, but it numbed the pain slightly, which is all you could ask for at that point.
“You alright, love?” asked the bartender. She was a stout woman in her late fifties, and she gave you the impression that she was the feisty yet kind type.
“Peachy,” you joked as you raised your glass in her direction before taking another swig.
“Wanna talk about it?”
You sighed. “Yes, but I shouldn’t.”
“Well, all I ever hear about from these codgers–” She gestured toward some of the men sitting on the other side of the bar. “--are complaints about their bosses or wives. And it’s the same complaints every week, so I’d love something a little different if you got it.”
You chuckled as you toyed with the empty shot glass in front of you. “I’m afraid I haven’t got anything terribly unique. My boyfriend and I just got into it over another woman.”
“Did he cheat on you, or did you cheat on him?” she asked, matter-of-factly.
You shook your head. “No, no, nothing like that. It’s complicated I guess.”
“I’m all ears,” she said, clearly intrigued by your ambiguity.
There was something about her that made you want to open up, but how were you supposed to vent about it without giving away your secret?
“Can I get another shot?” you requested.
She gave you a cheeky smirk as she poured you another. Meanwhile, you quickly thought of a work around.
“Alright, darling. Tell old Mary what happened.”
You downed your shot before you began. “Well, essentially, my boyfriend, er, Fred, works with a woman who is not only gorgeous, but also a perfect match for him in, like, every way. And today, they both got angry with me for, erm, some artwork I’d done, even though she’s the one taking credit for said artwork.”
“Okay…” Mary responded in confusion. “I guess I’m a little lost. Are you all painters or something?”
“Sure,” you half-heartedly confirmed, pointing your finger at her in confirmation while you sipped your beer.
“So, why exactly is she taking credit for your artwork?”
“Great question,” you grumbled, as you thought of a plausible explanation. “Basically, er, Fred, prefers my art, but I’m poison to his career, so E– Ethel takes the credit.”
“Well that’s fucked,” Mary told you, pouring you another shot without you even asking. You were beginning to really like this woman.
You threw your hands up in the air. “Thank you! It is fucked!”
Just then, you felt your phone buzzing continuously in your pocket, indicating you were getting a call, but you ignored it. Shortly after that, you got a text, but you ignored that too. Mary must have heard all the buzzing.
“Guessing that’s the boyfriend?”
“Probably,” you shrugged.
“Good,” she said. “Fuck ‘em.”
“Yeah, fuck ‘em.” You raised your glass to her before downing the rest of your beer.
You continued to drink and chat with Mary, but when you received two more texts, you couldn’t ignore it any longer. You checked your messages.
Shit. He genuinely seemed quite worried. You supposed you could at least let him know you were alive. You were about to text him back when he called again, so while Mary was busy with another customer, you answered. “I’m alive, alright?”
“Fuck, Y/n, I’ve been worried sick,” Tom’s exasperated voice came over the phone. “Where are you?”
“Soot and Nail.”
“In Bloomsbury? Are you with anyone?”
You rolled your eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Yes, I would, so I know you’ll get home safely.”
“I’m with Mary,” you replied matter-of-factly, as if he should know who that is.
“Who’s Mary?”
“The bartender.”
“So you’re alone at a bar in Bloomsbury,” he summed up, sounding less than pleased. “Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you.”
You began to protest but he hung up. Like he would actually risk being seen in public with me, you thought, audibly scoffing as you took another drink.
Not fifteen minutes later, however, you were proven wrong when, in the middle of mixing a drink for a man a few seats down from you, Mary leaned in and whispered, “Is that Tom bloody Hiddleston?”
You turned toward the door, and sure enough, there was Tom, looking tired and frustrated. “Wow, Mr. Tom Hiddleston in the flesh!” you said, over enthusiastically, as he approached you. Some of the other patrons turned their heads, but given the general demographic of the bar at the moment, they didn’t pay much mind. Meanwhile, Mary looked utterly confused, but you were too drunk to care. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Making sure you get home safely,” he told you, clearly aggitated.
You feigned ignorance. “Why me? We’re just acquaintances after all, Mr. Tom Hiddleston.”
He lowered his voice, his irritation becoming more apparent. “You know why, and stop calling me that.”
“But what would your girlfriend, Evelyn, think of you giving another woman a lift home at this hour?” You turned to Mary. “You know he’s dating the Evelyn Dawson, right?”
“Yeah, mate, congrats,” Mary said, clearly still confused. “You two make a beautiful couple.”
You looked at Tom while you gestured to her as if she’d just proven your point.
Tom leaned toward you, lowering his voice even more. “Can we talk?”
“Sure!” you replied at full volume. “Talk away!”
“In the car, please?” he urged you. Mary took that as her cue to busy herself elsewhere.
You gave him an insincere smile. “Oh, I’ll be taking a cab home, but that’s very kind of you, Mr. Hiddleston.”
“Are you really that angry with me?”
“Not at all. I just don’t want to upset your girlfriend more than I already have.”
“Will you stop?”
“What? I’m only trying to maintain your image.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. You’ve made your point. Can we please go now?” He gave you that pleading look that even when you were sober you couldn’t resist.
“Fine. Yeah,” you conceded with a sigh.
“Thank you,” he said, relieved.
“Can I get one more shot and my check, please?” you called to Mary.
“No. No more shots,” Tom told you.
You didn’t listen. You downed the shot of tequila as soon as Mary set it in front of you and then closed out your tab. “Mary, darling, it’s been an absolute pleasure.”
“Likewise, love,” Mary replied with a chuckle. “Good luck with Fred and Ethel.”
“Who are Fred and Ethel?” Tom whispered in your ear.
“Nevermind,” you whispered back, followed by rather loudly saying, “Lead the way, Mr. Hiddleston!”
When you got outside, you stumbled on the front step of the building, but Tom caught you, holding your elbow in one hand and wrapping his other arm firmly around your waist from the side. “Easy now. I’ve got you.”
“No need, Mr. Hiddleston. I’m perfectly capable,” you informed him proudly, despite the fact that you were leaning on him for support.
“Be that as it may, I’m still going to help you to the car. And there’s no one around so you can stop with the ‘Mr. Hiddleston’ nonsense,” he added with irritation. “Not that you needed to ever call me that in the first place.”
“I’m sorry, would you prefer, Mr. Dawson? I’m sure Evelyn would simply love you taking her surname when the two of you get married.”
Tom sighed frustratedly. “I’m not going to indulge this.” He opened the passenger door of his Jag and helped you get in, before assuming his own position in the driver’s seat. The two of you were silent for a while before you finally spoke up.
“I really don’t see what all the fuss is about. I can take care of myself.”
“We’ll talk about it when you’re sober.”
“I thought you wanted to talk about it in the car. Well, here we are!” You looked at him expectantly, but he just kept scowling at the road in front of him. “Look, I know you’re angry about the scratches, but–”
“You really think that’s what I’m angry about right now?” he asked indignantly. “I was worried sick about you! But instead of responding to my texts or answering my calls, you decided to get pissed at a seedy pub.”
“I answered eventually,” you defended, waving it off like it was no big deal.
“Yeah, after hours of me trying you. Do you not get how this works?”
“How what works?”
“A relationship? You can’t just disappear on me, Y/n!”
“You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”
“You’re right, I can’t. But it isn’t fair for you to make me worry like that.”
“Oh, but it’s fair to expect me to apologize to Evelyn for something I did on accident, when the only reason it affects her in the first place is because she’s claiming to be your girlfriend?”
“I never said I wanted you to apologize, and this is completely different!” he argued as he parked the car in the drive of your house.
“Whatever,” you said, angrily exiting the car. You drunkenly stumbled up the path to your front door with Tom at your heels. “Go home, Tom. I don’t need your help.”
“Once again, I’d like to remind you of this whole relationship thing, and request that I help you to bed anyway,” he told you irritatedly. “Then I promise I’ll leave.”
You rolled your eyes at him before rummaging around in your purse for your keys. When you finally found them, you fumbled with them for a few seconds before dropping them on the ground. “Fuck!”
“I’ve got it,” Tom said as he bent down to pick up your keys. You held out your hand for him to give them to you, but instead he unlocked and opened up the door himself.
“I would have gotten it eventually,” you mumbled as you stepped into your house.
“Kind of like how you eventually answered my calls?” He shut the door behind him and dropped your keys in your catchall.
“Okay! I get it!,” you shouted. “I’m a piss-poor girlfriend!”
“No, you're not!” Tom took a deep breath in an attempt to gather his composure. “Look, I don't want to have this conversation right now."
"Then fucking leave already!"
"I’m not leaving you like this!”
All of a sudden, you felt the room start to spin. You put one hand on your stomach and the other on the wall for support. “Oh shit.”
“Are you okay?” Tom asked, concerned.
You simply shook your head in response as you rushed to the loo, slamming the door behind you as you heaved into the toilet. Tom had been right behind you before you slammed the door in his face.
He gently knocked on the door. “Sweets?”
“Do not come in!” you ordered between retches. “I don’t want you to see me puking.”
Despite your wishes, Tom came in as soon as you started heaving again, rushing to your side and holding your hair back with one hand while the other rubbed your back. “It’s alright, darling. Let it out.”
When you had nothing left in your stomach, you put your elbow on the toilet seat and rested your forehead in your hand. “Fuck. You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” Tom said gently as he moved to sit on the edge of the tub next to you. “I have seen you get sick before.”
Your head shot up to look at him. “What? When?”
“Remember the morning we both showed up to work very hungover and you smelled cigarette smoke in your hair?”
“Oh god, I completely forgot about that.” You laughed at the memory as you sat back against the side of the tub next to Tom’s legs. “God, why am I such a mess?” you groaned, letting your head fall back and looking up at the ceiling.
“You’re not a mess,” he reassured you, brushing your hair back from your forehead. You looked up at him skeptically. “Okay, right now you’re a bit of a mess, but in general you are not a mess.”
You gave a small chuckle and looked back up at the ceiling. “I really thought I could handle this whole Evelyn thing.” A few tears fell from the corners of your eyes down your temples.
“Hey, come here.” He gestured for you to rest your head on his thigh, and once you did, he began stroking your hair. “You shouldn’t even have to handle it in the first place. And I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you about the scratches on my back. I acted like a dick, and I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry I acted like a total brat tonight.”
“Admittedly, I deserved some of it,” he said with a nod. “But darling, you can’t just push me away or shut me out every time things get hard, okay? Just because we fight doesn’t mean I don’t still love you, or that I won’t worry about you getting murdered at a pub in the middle of the night.” He leaned down and playfully nuzzled your hair as he said the last bit, causing you to laugh. “Now, we should probably get food and water in your stomach.”
“Noooo,” you whined as he stood up and held out his hands to help you up. “I just wanna sleep.”
“I know, love, but you’re going to regret it tomorrow if you don’t eat first.”
“Fine,” you sighed heavily, grabbing his hands and letting him lift you onto your feet.
When you wobbled upon standing, he grabbed you firmly by the waist. “Steady now,” he said with a chuckle. “Am I going to have to carry you to the kitchen?”
“Not sure what you expect to find there,” you told him, reaching toward the sink and grabbing the bottle of mouthwash. “I’ve not gone grocery shopping since I moved back.” You took a swig of the minty liquid and swished it around.
Tom looked at you confused. “What have you been eating all week when you’re not at my place?”
You leaned over the sink and spit out the mouthwash, rinsing your mouth with water directly from the faucet. When you stood back up you shrugged. “Take away.”
He looked at his watch. “I don’t think that’s an option at this hour, love.”
“The King’s Cross McDonald’s is open 24 hours,” you said, looking up at him expectantly.
He sighed in concession. “Okay, but only if we go to my place after.”
“I like your place better anyway,” you replied with a grin.
His eyebrows raised and a smile played on his lips in pleasant surprise. “Good to know.” But you hardly paid attention to his reaction as you walked past him to go back to the car.
…
On the way to McDonald’s, you almost fell asleep, but as soon as you got the food, the smell woke you right up.
“No eating in the Jag, remember?” Tom reminded you as he handed you the bag of food.
“I know,” you said indignantly, but you were drunk, and hungry, and those fries were practically calling out to you. Less than a minute went by before you peaked inside the bag.
“Sweets…” he warned.
You looked at him with pleading eyes. “Just one fry, please? They’re best when they’re piping hot.”
“I know you well enough by now to know that you won’t stop at just one.”
“I will too! Come on, baby, please? I think I deserve it, considering everyone has been falling over you and Evelyn.”
“Really?” he asked with laughter in his voice. “You’re going to play that card over a chip?”
“Not a chip. A McDonald’s fry. Completely different.”
“Alright,” he conceded. “You can have one, but that’s it.”
You excitedly reached into the paper bag and grabbed several fries in one go, Tom catching you as you took a bite.
“That’s like five fries!”
“Sorry!” you said with your mouth full. “I went for one and ended up grabbing five. I’m not just gonna put four back!”
Tom shook his head, while he tried to hide his smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Your lips curled into a smile as you chewed. “Does that mean I can have the rest?”
He was going to stand his ground and say no, but then he made the mistake of looking over at your adorably hopeful face. “Okay, fine.”
You practically squeaked with excitement as you dove back into the bag.
“But I draw the line at anything involving sauce,” he added quickly, holding his index finger up.
…
When you got back to Tom’s, you went straight to the sofa to eat the rest of your food, and he followed suit, sitting down right next to you.
“How’re you feeling, champ?” Tom asked when the two of you finished eating, giving you a playful nudge with his shoulder.
“Better, thanks,” you sighed as you leaned back against the sofa, sinking into the cushions.
Tom turned to face you, resting one elbow on the back of the couch behind your head and stroking your hair, while his other hand rested on your thigh. “Good.” He smiled thoughtfully down at you, his blue eyes scanning your face. “Can I ask you something, since you’re still drunk enough to answer honestly?”
“Ask away, Tommy boy,” you said playfully, not even bothering to argue otherwise.
“What was that about, when you talked about Evelyn and I getting married?”
“I mean, everyone seems to think that you two are the perfect couple, so at this point it seems kind of inevitable.” You spoke as if it was obvious.
Tom continued to look down at you with that same sort of amused yet adoring expression. “You can be very silly sometimes, you know that?”
“How am I being silly?” you defended, furrowing your brow at him.
“You should know by now that I would never marry her.”
“Why not? I think I’m being perfectly realistic in thinking that it’s not out of the realm of possibility.” The alcohol was allowing you to speak matter-of-factly, despite the fact that the thought actually tore you up inside.
“Because if I’m going to marry anyone, it’s not going to be her, and the fact that I even need to say that tells me that you’re more drunk than I thought.” He patted and squeezed your thigh as he playfully nuzzled your neck, causing you to giggle.
“You underestimate my insecurities,” you told him flippantly.
He lifted his head and leaned in close. “And you underestimate just how much I love you.” Rubbing the tip of his nose softly against yours, he closed the distance between your lips and kissed you tenderly.
