Link to Chapter 1 / Link to Chapter 2 / Link to Chapter 3
Wordcount: 1797
Summary: Since Toms´ sister Emma has been your friend since childhood, Tom was a part of your life for about 25 years now. Forming a deep and trusting friendship had been easy. You could count on each other no matter what. SO, when your flat got flooded Tom was the first to offer help and take you in.
But what will living together stir up?
Note: Tags are open!
Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!
A cold struck me down this week. So I hope this chapter is alright and not lacking in any way due to feverish-epsiodes.
Chapter 4
It really got chilly outside this time of year. Autumn slowly made room for winter and the sky turned from blue to orange and red in the most wonderful hues. You were all bundled up and headed towards your office in the city to check in if something needed your immediate attention. You mostly worked from home since being a lector for some well-known writers allowed you to be. It was not often that you needed to be in the city for work but today it turned out to be good you dropped by. You had two new authors who asked if you would take them in and one of them was a favourite of yours. You had read all of his books right after they came out and you really loved them. In the midst of your state of glee your phone vibrated.
Grinning, cause this goof of a man was your best friend and it always was easy to joke around with him you put your phone away and started to pull up the details on your new contract. Because you would definitely take this author on.
When Tom heard the front door open at half past two, he sprang into action.
“Sorry I am a bit late.” You said, hanging your coat and taking off your shoes. “I had to…ah, almost spoiled the news..” You said and walked into the living room.
Your jaw dropped a second, then you began to laugh whole-heartedly.
“What have you done?” You asked still laughing.
Before you lay Tom, with a big grin on his face. In front of the fireplace, draped on top of a thick and very soft looking rug.
“Back-friendly. Come on…try it out.” He grinned and patted the spot next to him.
“You are such a…”
“Good roomie? Wonderful best friend? Gem?” Tom interjected and wiggled his eyebrows.
You rolled your eyes and went down to lie next to him.
“And?” Tom asked impatiently.
“Give me a moment.” You snickered and rubbed your back against the rug…tried to get comfortable.
“(Y/N)!” Tom exclaimed.
You could not stop grinning. “It has a nice feel to it. But. I need to test it over a longer period of time…” You declared.
Tom threw up his arms in defeat but then grinned. You practically saw the idea light a bulb in his head.
“Pizza-Picnic-Party!”
Laughingly he tugged you against him and rolled the both of you around.
“TOOOM!” You yelled, giggling.
A little out of breath he stopped half on top of you.
“So, what news do you have to share?” He asked with a sweet grin on his face while looking down on you.
His handsome face just merely away from yours left you short-winded for a second. The sweet grin on his face and his stunning eyes, that always knew his way directly into your soul, let you act on autopilot. You put your hand on his cheek and smiled up to him. Tom softly pressed his face into your touch and closed his eyes for a second. He relished in the warmth of your soft hand against his stubbled cheek. When he opened his eyes again you blinked and tried to form a clear thought. What had he asked you before you were captured by his nearness? His eyes?
You really had to try hard to remember…ah yes.
“I got 2 new contracts.” You blurted out.
Tom, similarly captivated by you slightly shook his head.
“Huh? Ah…hey! Congratulations!” He smiled and had to willingly remove himself to lie next to you again. “Anyone good?” He asked and sat up to grab another log of wood for the fire.
“Yeah.” You grinned and couldn´t hold the news back any longer.
Tom hugged you. Happy for you. “You adore his books!” He said into the hug and leaned back to smile at you. Laughing you added “Lets see how long I adore them when I have to edit them.”
Tom chuckled and let go of you.
“Alright. This is it. We are now having that Pizza-Picnic. I´ll order, you´ll get a bottle of wine.”
And that was what you did. It was almost eleven at night when you grinned at your best friend and spoke
“This rug really is comfortable…” Tom grinned and clinked glasses with you. “Everything for your back- health…”
You snorted “Says the man 5 years my senior…”
“Oi! My back is fine. Thank you very much!”
Laughing you got up. “I know you have a fine back…” Your eyes widened “…healthy…I meant healthy! Time for bed!” But Tom already grinned lopsided and jumped up. Before he could say anything, you grabbed the two empty glasses and went into the kitchen hollering “I´m tipsy…don´t get hung up on that statement.”
But Tom being Tom couldn´t stop himself.
When you wanted to beeline it from the kitchen towards your room he leaned in the hallway and said. “Let me walk in front of you…in case you topple over…”
“I won´t!” you sighed but Tom grinned. “I thought you were tipsy…”
“I am not lookin at your backside if that’s what you are tryin to get at…” You alleged.
Tom turned halfway. “Oh…if that´s so, you better hold on to me. Walking with closed eyes is hazardous.” He grabbed your hands and wrapped them around his midsection. Tugging you close against his back. With absolute seriousness in his voice he said “And now….left, right, left right…” and started to walk towards your room. By the time he opened your door the both of you were laughing.
“You are ridiculous.” You grinned. Tom turned around and shrugged his shoulders.
“I am just looking after you.” He winked and planted a kiss on your forehead. “Sleep well, darling.”
“Good night, Tom.” You smiled and giggled when he walked out, ridding himself of his shirt, working those hips. “FINE.” You yelled. “I surrender…You do have a fine back!”
With that you closed your door and rolled your eyes, still laughing.
~
When Tom came back from his morning run, he found your door open, your bed empty.
“(Y/N)? He hollered but got no answer. When he walked into his room to grab a change of clothes he smiled as he found a note on his bed.
Had to head out to the office. Don´t wait up with dinner I might be late.
XOX (Y/N)
So today was the day you got a new book to edit. You tended to work till you´d drop the first days. Tom huffingly shook his head and went into the shower. After a quick breakfast he decided to make some work calls himself but soon ran out of things to do. He was in between projects and enjoyed his well-earned downtime after working non-stop for the last three years. Tom grabbed his scarf, ballcap and jacket and pulled out his mobile.
“Sister mine…” He greeted when his call got accepted. “
“Jog my memory, will you. Where do (Y/N) and you grab that monster of a chocolate cake?”
On the other end Emma laughed. “You mean the cake we are only allowed to eat once in a year…”
“Yes, that one.” Tom grinned and added “Give me the secret address and I won´t tell that you had it already thrice this year.” Chuckling loudly when Emma yelled an exasperated “THOMAS WILLIAM HIDDLESTON!” into the line he added “Your secret is safe with me….and I will drop a cake by your house on my way to (Y/N)´s office.”
Emma, already sold, said “I´ll text you the address, brother mine.”
When Tom wanted to end the call Emma interrupted in singsong “Oh Thomas, when I don´t get that cake I´ll tell (Y/N) that you were the reason Leonard didn´t go to the school dance with her.”
Tom snorted. “He was an arsehole and we had fun together, didn´t we?” He grinned when his sister huffed but good naturedly said. “Drop of the cake. Love you brother!”
“Love you too sis!”
Seconds later he had the address and got into his car.
~
With a smile on his face and a really decadent cake in a box he walked into your office. He knew his way around and after the years mostly nobody noticed him anymore. There weren´t a lot of people in today, so he could walk right towards the glass doors you only closed when working intensely. Some meters before he stopped with a frown on his face.
“Who´s that?” He asked himself under his breath.
A pretty decent looking man was sitting at your desk, leaning in, showing you something. Tom’s jaw clenched. The man smiled at you, stood up and came around to stand next to your seated form, bending down while putting a hand on the back of your chair.
Tom recognized the weird feeling creeping up from his stomach, closing up his throat and clenching his jaw but he did not want to think about the why just now. He was busy enough not to compress the cake into its constituent parts.
Almost on autopilot Toms body started to walk again. He knocked on the glass door once before entering directly with a smile plastered on his actor face.
“Hey darling, I thought….oh sorry. Did I interrupt a work meeting?”
Tom chose his words carefully and kept the smile on his face throughout. He put the cake on the papers. Right where the man had pointed at before.
“How rude of me… I´m Tom Hiddleston.” He held out a hand to your flabbergasted look. The man shook it. “Nice to meet you Tom, I am Oliver Jones.”
“Ahh the new author (Y/N) edits.”
Oliver smiled “Yes, I had the luck to get her to sign a contract. Are you too writing a book, that she edits?”
Tom smiled and waved his comment away. “No, no…(Y/N) and I live together.”
Oliver took his hand off your chair. “Oh…”
Feeling like you were invisible in this conversation you cleared your throat.
“Tom?”
“Yes, darling?”
“I´m working…”
Tom smiled at you and pointed at the cakebox.
“I know and I know how much you love this cake….so enjoy!” He opened the box and you gasped, forgetting that you were about to correct Toms statement.
“How did you get the address? Does Emma…”
“My sister has her own cake. Enjoy yours. I´ll pick you up at 7. We´ll have dinner and after that you can keep working at home.” With that he bent towards you and kissed you right on the mouth.
“Was nice meeting you Oliver.” He lifted his head in a goodbye wave and walked out.
His lips burning, his heart racing and his mind was screaming alarm messages at him… all while his soul sighed in sheer pleasure.
He probably had to admit to himself now, that this had nothing to do with just friendship anymore... He had been jealous...
Okay people, Part 2 of the “you’re my home” drabble from last night is here! I am really happy with how it turned out and I promise if you hang in there, it is a happy ending. Thank you to everyone who liked Part 1 and requested, nay, demanded Part 2. I am overwhelmed in a good way. I did tag a couple of people who specifically asked for Part 2. You will not be tagged in anything else unless you tell me otherwise.
Part 1 is HERE
-
Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x reader
Word Count: 2351 (yeah I made it long!)
Warnings: Umm, swearing. I don’t want to say more because it will give away the ending.
Three months. Three months since that day. Since your world crumbled around you. Since Tom kicked you out and sent your things to your mother’s. That’s where you stayed until you got your bearings. For the first few weeks, you lay in bed replaying the conversation over and over, torturing yourself. You looked for a sign from Tom, a text, a call. But none came. It was only under threat of termination you dragged yourself back into your office. But there was no joy in your work anymore, no joy in your life anymore. What you needed was Tom and without him in your life, there seemed little point in carrying on with work, socializing, and friends.
“Hello?”
You blinked as you looked up and saw your boss peering over your cubicle wall.
“Can I see you in my office?”
You didn’t move.
“Now.” he said more pressing.
You lifted yourself from your chair and followed him. This was not a good sign.
The ring remained on the floor for three weeks before Tom retrieved it. He realized he should get rid of the damn thing, pawn it, sell it, something but his heart wouldn’t let him. Getting rid of the ring meant no second chance, and Tom wasn’t ready to face that reality yet. Instead, he put the ring back in its place in the nightstand, hidden in the back underneath some papers.
Tom’s schedule didn’t allow for moping. There was a new film to promote and rehearsals for a new production on the West End. By all outward appearances, the breakup didn’t affect Tom in the slightest. But those closest to him knew better.
“How are you doing today?” Benedict asked his friend from across the table.
These lunches became routine every week for the two of them when both were in town. Benedict asked the same questions and Tom gave the same answers. But it got Tom out of the house on his off days, which was saying something.
“Fine, Benedict. Just like last week,” Tom spat back, stabbing at his food. “And the week before that, and before that.”
“Calm down, Tom. It was a simple question.” Benedict leaned back from the table.
“How much longer do we have to continue this charade, Benedict? How long?” Tom’s anger rising.
Benedict took a moment to choose his words with care.
“When I believe everything is fine. Until then, the charade shall continue.”
Tom huffed before returning to his meal. He knew Benedict meant well, but he wanted people to leave him be. How could he move on when everyone insisted on drudging up the past? Relationships end, he went through break-ups before and after a mourning period, he always bounced back.
“I don’t understand why you and Luke, my mother, insist on checking in on me like I am some child. I will get past this, let me work through this.”
“It’s been three months, Tom. Luke told me you decline almost all invitations out and cancelled a trip to L.A. for next month. Whatever this is, is not working through it, mate. It’s stagnating.”
Tom shot a murderous glare at his friend. They ate the rest of lunch in relative silence, only talking work. Tom paid the bill, thank Ben, and walked towards home. Tom’s eyes welled with tears and pushed his sunglasses up on his nose. This spontaneous crying was now a regular occurrence.
As he crossed the threshold, he heard the phone ringing. He ran to pick it up.
“Hey mate, how was lunch?” Luke cheered on the other end of the line.
“Fine.”
“That seems to be a stock answer these days. Care to give me a real one?”
Tom seethed at the phone.
“No.”
“Call her.”
“No.”
“Fine. Text her.”
“Luke…” Tom shot back, “it’s over. Let it go.”
“You first.”
Tom sighed into the phone.
“I assume you called for some other purpose than to harass me about my love life.”
“Yes. You’re scheduled for an interview on Thursday regarding the play.”
“Of course. Email the information and I will look at it.”
“You got it.”
Tom ended the call and headed upstairs to the shower. The hot water stung his skin. Tom didn’t mind. The physical pain distracted from the aching in his heart. In these quiet times, Tom’s mind wandered. He thought about you, about that night, torturing himself with every detail. Tom thought back to those first few weeks when he would hold the phone in his hand, hovering over your number, only to toss the phone on the bed.
Tom stood under the water until it ran cold. He changed into pajamas bottoms before checking his email.
“Fuck!” Tom recognized the name of the journalist for the interview.
The name of the screen was the same one you spoke to all those months ago. His stomach did a flip. He called Luke back.
“Tom, did you get the email?”
“I can’t do the interview.”
“Wait, it’s all set up…”
“Cancel it for me. Make up an excuse. Tell them…”
“No.”
“What? The last time I checked you work for me.”
“And it is my job to look out for your career and by extension, you. I’ve been making excuses for months. I’m not canceling the damn interview! Pull it together, mate!”
Luke ended the call without another word. Tom threw the phone on the bed, cursing.
-
“So Y/N, management has noticed a significant downturn in your work product these past several months.” your boss started as you sat down in his office.
“I had some personal issues,” you muttered, looking down.
“I’m aware. Some vague notion of a boyfriend and a bad breakup.”
You sniffled at the mention of Tom.
“I’m sorry…” you explained, but your boss held up his hand to stop you.
“Listen. The company tried to accommodate… but there is no easy way to say this.”
You held your breath for the inevitable.
“We’re letting you go.”
You dropped your head and let the tears drop onto your blouse.
“I understand,” you choked out, “I’ll go pack my things.”
He walked you to your cubicle where a security stood standby to escort you out. It doesn’t take long to pack your things into a banker box. Security took you to the front door before taking your key card. You stumbled out the front door and headed to the nearest Tube Station. As you crossed the intersection, you didn’t notice the truck barreling down the road until it was too late.
-
Tom forced a smile as the interviewer shook his hand.
“Nice to have you here.”
“Happy to be here.” Tom lied.
Tom did his best impression of a happy, well-adjusted actor. After what seemed like hours but in reality only minutes, the interview ended. He got up to leave but the journalist grabbed his shoulder.
“Tom, this isn’t part of the interview but how is Y/N, I haven’t heard from her in months.”
He winced.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“I hope that has nothing to do with the article I printed.” he prattled on.
Tom narrowed his eyes.
“Why?”
“Y/N drank a lot that night. She wasn’t aware of what she was saying.”
Tom’s face paled. You never mentioned alcohol during your fight.
“The next morning she called me, begging me to not print anything. But by then, my colleague already told my editor. It was out of my hands.”
Tom sat back down afraid of fainting. As if on cue, Tom’s phone rang. It was your number.
“Excuse me.” Tom ran out into the hallway.
“Y/N.” Tom answered, his voice trembling.
“Is this Tom?” a strange voice asked on the other end.
“It is. Who is this?”
“It’s ED at Charing Cross. There’s been an accident.”
Tom dropped his phone as his knees gave out. It took him three minutes to pick up the phone and only two to get into the car to get to you.
-
Once Tom got to Charing Cross, he shouted at the nurses to tell him your room number. Under normal circumstances, they allowed only family but they made an exception for him. He entered the room to see you hooked up to machines. The only sound in the room was the ventilator and the beep of the heart monitor. Tom crumpled into the chair next to the bed. He took your hand into his. It was cold.
“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” Tom strangled out as the tears flowed down his face. “It’s my fault. You never should have been out there on the street.”
His pleas answered by the steady beep on the monitor.
“I fucked things up. That night. I should have listened to you. Given you a chance to explain. I know now it wasn’t your fault, that you tried to fix it. I’m sorry. If, no, when you pull through this, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Please wake up.”
Tom sobbed not caring about making a scene.
“God, I have a ring. But I need you to wake up so I can give it to you. I need you to wake up so you can be my wife, be my home.”
“I didn’t know, mate.”
Tom whipped his head to the door to see Benedict.
“How?”
“Luke. You bought a ring?”
“Yeah. Even after we broke up, I couldn’t bear to get rid of it.”
“Because that meant it was over for real.”
Tom nodded and Benedict stood up by Tom, squeezing his shoulder hard.
“I can’t lose her, Ben. Not again. Not now, not after finding out the truth. That she…”
Tom broke into tears before finishing the sentence. Benedict squeezed again as Tom turned to bury his face into his friend’s chest.
The doctor walked in soon after to update Tom.
“First 24 hours are critical.”
Words sailed past Tom but Benedict asked the questions.
“But will she wake up?”
“It’s hard to tell. She suffered significant internal injuries. We stopped the bleeding and made the repairs, now it is up to her.”
Tom squeezed your hand. Nothing.
Benedict asked a few more questions and then the doctor left. Benedict stayed to make sure Tom was okay and took his leave.
“Call me if you need anything. Any time day or night.”
Tom squeezed Benedict’s hand.
“Thank you.”
“She’ll pull through. She’s a fighter.”
“I hope so.”
Tom called your mom, but she was on vacation out of the country. She booked a flight back but she wouldn’t get in until tomorrow night. Tom sat in the chair all night, only leaving to use the bathroom and grab a coffee. Nurses came in to check your vitals throughout the night. If anyone recognized Tom, no one said a word.
“It helps for them to hear your voice.” one nurse suggested.
Tom thanked her. He pulled out his phone and opened an app.
“You always loved when I read to you.”
Tom read you poetry into the night. Around three in the morning, Tom was at the point of exhaustion. His tears long dried up. He climbed into the bed next to you, cradling you in his arms. His voice was hoarse from all the poetry.
“Another summer day is come and gone away in Paris and Rome.” Tom sang in a whisper.
Home was your song. Tom played it for you before every work trip. He said it was to remind you no matter where he went or how long the trip, you were his home. He would always come back.
“Let me go home. I’ll be home tonight. I’m coming back home.”
Tom sobbed into the pillow. Your eyes fluttered open. There was something in your mouth, preventing you from speaking. With great effort, you placed a hand on Tom’s cheek, stroking his stubble. Tom looked at you shocked. He jumped from the bed.
“NURSE!”
-
It took a month for your release from the hospital and another three months to rehab from your injuries. Tom proposed two days after you woke up. He said he wasn’t living another second without you. He came to the hospital every day. Now six months later, the two of you were standing in a church in front of family and friends getting married.
“… why they may not be lawfully joined together, speak now or forever hold their peace.”
Tom looked back, giving everyone his most threatening Loki look.
The ceremony continued on without a hitch. Everyone cheered when the priest announced “you may kiss the bride.” Tom and you walked out of the church hand in hand into the Jaguar waiting to take you to the reception. Tom kissed you again in the backseat.
“My wife. I like the sound of that.” Tom kissed you again and again.
“You better, stuck with me now.”
“With pleasure.”
Tom reached into the front seat as the driver took off. He pulled a bottle of champagne and two flutes. He popped the cork and poured two glasses.
“I better not,” you pushed the offered glass away.
“Darling, are you…” Tom let the words hang in the air.
A smile spread across your face and you nodded.
“I took the test this morning.”
Tom pulled you into an embrace.
“I’m going to be a father.”
You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes.
“Thank you.” Tom said as he kissed your forehead. “And you,” he pointed to your stomach, “Be nice to your mother. She’s gone through hell.”
“Tom! Language.”
The two of you fell into a heap of giggles before discussing names and nursery themes. You danced the night away with your husband and no one was the wiser, but Benedict swore he knew that night. No one believed him.
So. In honour of Tom’s 36th Birthday I decided to do something a little different by finally posting my silly little tribute to That Plaid Shirt over on AO3. But for anyone else who wants a little giggle you can read it below the cut.
That Plaid Shirt (You Know The One) ~ A Tom Hiddleston Fan Fic by TheHumming6irdWrites
Characters: Tom Hiddleston. The red plaid shirt. Various other garments from Tom’s wardrobe.
Rated: Teen and up.
Tags: Painful attempts at humour (Seriously! I apologise). Very, very mild innuendo involving buttons. One use of ‘bloody’.
My master just got another letter. He scowled when he opened it and looked down at me, unconsciously rubbing at my buttons.
“Time to put you away again for a while old friend” he sighed regrettably, making his way into the bedroom and selecting another shirt from the wardrobe.
I tried my best to appeal to his good nature.
I really did.
I tried to not let him unbutton me.
But it’s hard to put up a fight against those long, nimble fingers when your button holes have almost doubled in size after years of wear and tear.
“I know, I know! But if I keep getting these therapy bills I’m going to have to seriously consider that Bond offer… or worse, Playgirl!” he sighed, inhaling a deep breath as he hesitated over my buttons. I swear if he breathed any deeper the already straining buttons might actually ping off all by themselves!
Inexplicably they just about managed to stand their ground. Somehow, those faithful buttons always knew how to cling on for dear life.
Because we all knew what was coming…
First there would be another wash. Washing away our mingled scent of sunshine and sin. Another long, gentle soak in bubbles and softener. Another softening of my seams. Another barrage of abuse to my already threadbare fabric. Another weakening of all those worn out threads holding my valiant friends in place. We actually had a near-miss just the other week. But our dear master, not content with being an actor, raconteur, humanitarian and all round good egg, is quite the sartor. He had that wayward button sewn back on quicker than you could shout ‘Oxfam’. Of course there are two who always feel a tad left out. They never get any attention. He never buttons them you see. I try to tell them that’s a good thing. They will outlive the rest of us. And besides, they allow what I’ve heard some fans call ‘peekage’. They seem to like that almost as much as they like me…
But I digress.
Once I’ve been lovingly washed, it’s into the tumble dryer where I have to cling on to every distressed fibre – quite literally - of my being so as not to fall apart. I’ve seen lesser shirts fall at this hurdle.
But not I. I’m made of tougher stuff you see. I’ve been around for five years now!
For some unfathomable reason our kindly master always forfeits the iron when it comes to me. I know from what the other shirts tell me that the iron flattens their fibres. I tell myself he doesn’t do that to me because he knows the searing heat will shorten my lifespan. I like to think it’s that. But the truth is, I think he just likes the way my fluffed up fibres feel against his skin.
A little moan of pleasure always slips through his lips you see. I’m not one to brag but I’m the only shirt that makes him moan. My little blush of pride actually helps to keep my colour from fading. Mostly.
Unfortunately, there’s always someone to rain on your parade. My collar is that dude. He’s always so bloody disgruntled about the state of himself. He hates that he’s not been ironed. He thinks he’s letting our master down being so saggy and more often than not crumpled. But I try to pep him up. I remind him that it’s his master’s choice and that it makes him stand out from all the other haughty collars in the wardrobe. Not that he buys it of course. Collars can be such a buzz kill at times. They’re so stiff and unbending in their opinions. The sad fact is, my collar is so damn soft and limp now that it couldn’t even get it up if I was covered in Gucci!
And that brings me back to his wardrobe.
In recent months the Gucci shirts have started to make an impression in our happy home. They’re fancy. A bit too showy for my tastes. But they make him feel good. And yes, the fans seem to love them too.
But they’ll never be me. He’ll never get bills from therapists and demands from lawyers to cease and desist over those shirts.
And that’s why now, I’m being stroked soothingly by my masters trembling hand as we stand before the wardrobe once more. He knows me so well. He knows my heart is breaking at the very thought of being discarded yet again.
And I know his heart is breaking just as much. I can feel it, pounding hard and fast under my patch pocket.
Patch always gets the rawest deal. She has the unenviable job of having to sooth our master’s heartache. She uses her double thickness to blanket him in warmth, hoping to calm his heart-rate. And it usually works.
Today is no exception, though, not for the first time I can sense a hesitancy on my master’s part.
He knows this hurts me just as much as it hurts him. Perhaps that’s why he takes the time to stroke me so lovingly one final time before those trembling fingers finally slip through my gaping holes and caress my buttons. As he reaches the final one I feel the first drop land on my front placket.
He’s crying.
Again.
Though it breaks me to see him so heartbroken, I can’t help but to also feel a perverse sense of pride that I am the only shirt he has ever cried over. I know it’s wrong. But he’s all that I have. I do my best to sooth him one final time, puffing up every fibre as he reluctantly peels me apart. As we separate from our intimate embrace I sag against his still shaking hand. It’s just too much to bear.
I miss him already.
And yet we both know he has to do this. Too much of me is just not good for the world.
We’ve been through so much together. We’ve travelled the globe. Seen some of the most amazing countries. Met incredibly brave people as well as making new friends. Naturally, there has also been the occasional foe, but thankfully those are few and far between. But we’ve always managed to delight audiences together. I’ve been lucky enough to even rub shoulders with his family and cast members on occasions.
He trusts me you see.
Especially when he’s out of his comfort zone. In fact, even when he’s had to pack on muscle for a role, he’ll still squeeze himself into my softly constructed walls, causing my seams to scream for mercy and my poor, unfortunate button friends to cling on for Queen and country. I know I’ve already said it, but they truly do such a sterling job of avoiding any potential embarrassment of our master by somehow – and as yet I have still to understand how - avoiding a complete wardrobe malfunction.
That job is made harder when Ray’s around. He’s actually my best mate. My master likes to hook Ray onto my front placket and I don’t mind one little bit. We work well together. Best buds we are.
And the fans love us together.
But he does like to tug at my buttonholes… I wonder what Ray will do while I’m away. My master needs Ray you see. Those baby blues get dazzled by all the flashing lights. And they help shield his sadness when I’m shut away. But those other stiff shirts aren’t keen on him hanging around them. They’re much more straight-laced than me you see. They like to be tucked in, tied down. Buttoned up.
Not me. I do what I want. I’m a free spirit.
That’s why he loves me.
*
And so, this is where you find me now. Once more hung in the vacuous hole in his bedroom. Hidden amongst the infamous Ralph Lauren Barracuda, the Armani leather jackets, the blue Crimson Peak press Ralph Lauren shirt, the Armani Exchange cardi, the frankly infamous blue Reiss T shirts (yes there are more than one), and perhaps most recently the black Reiss Funnel coat… Anyway. You get the gist.
These are his old favourites, the ones he wore almost to death. They watch on desolately as he begins to favour the other, newer models. The new jackets, the new T’s, the new knitwear. And the new shirts… all of those in his trademark colours of blue, white and occasionally striped.
Just as I find myself doing of late.
The fans also love those shirts of course. And I’m not one to pass judgement on a fellow garment. We’re all just here to do our job. To serve our master. To keep him warm.
But I know, deep down, I’m special…
Whenever he’s stressed I’ve always found myself pulled back out. Like a comfort blanket. And as soon as I’m back, draped over his shoulders, I can sense his happiness permeating through every seam, every thread, and every fibre. I know together we’re invincible.
He loves me you see…
I’ve lost count of how many days I’ve hung here, waiting. I know Christmas has come and gone. Any residual warmth has long since left me. I’m cold and miserable.
Wait! He’s here.
I stand to attention. Well, as much as butter soft fabric can ever stand to attention. I fluff up my fibres once more. And I wait…
He’s close now. So, so close. He’s flicking through the hangers, searching for something.
And then the sound of ringing halts him.
He sighs and turns, picking up his phone from the nightstand.
I panic and try to create some movement in my tired, worn seams. Try to attract his attention. It’s useless of course. I’m only a shirt.
And then I hear his cultured voice once more. God I miss him so much!
“Hi mum. Yes. Thanks. No… you don’t have to sing to me down the phone! I’m thirty six now. Not six! Ehehehe… sorry. Yes. I’ll see you later. Love you too.”
It’s his birthday!
I feel an overwhelming urge to hug him and I tense every single fibre, every single thread, every single seam, every single inch of baby soft fabric and somehow, somehow I can feel myself swaying on the hanger.
And that’s when he touches me.
“Hello my old friend! It’s been far, far too long”
A/N: My entry for the fabulous @evanstanwrites 700 followers challenge.
Prompt: I either dress like I’m going to a red carpet event or like a homeless drug addict, there’s no in between.
Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Female Reader
You and Tom have been dating for some time and you feel like the relationship has gone stale. You decide that Tom’s wardrobe needs an overhaul based on his worn out and ratty clothes. But will Tom appreciate the gesture?
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 2277
Warnings: Swearing, implied smut if you squint super hard.
Tag List: @winterisakiller @nonsensicalobsessions @hiddlesbitch1 @drakefiance
***
“I think Tom and I’s relationship is getting stale,” you complained while you stirred your coffee.
Your best friend stared from across the table in some state of disbelief.
“I don’t buy that,” she replied, “the two of you are always trying new things.”
You grumbled as you picked at the blueberry scone on the plate. You let the crumbs coat your fingers as you thought about the first year of your relationship with Tom. The start had been thrilling and adventurous. The two of you had met at a BAFTA event. Tom looked devastatingly handsome in his single-breasted tux. The beginnings of his now full beard just starting to show themselves.
The two of you had wined and dined those first several months, whether at restaurants or at your respective homes. But all that faded into the background, once you moved in with Tom. Fancy suits and pretty dresses had given way to threadbare shirts and workout clothes. “Well, I think the honeymoon phase is over. Most nights are TV on the couch and snoring in the bedroom. He doesn’t even try anymore.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well… when we first got together, we both put such effort in our appearance. But now, I’m lucky if he is wearing pants without holes in them!”
“Maybe he is trying to tell you something,” your friend replied with a wink, trying to lighten the mood.
“Yeah, that he needs new clothes! I swear Tom will wear something into the ground and just wish he would put more of an effort sometimes. it is like I am dating a hobo and not a world class actor.”
“Trying telling him that.”
Your eyes lit up as an idea popped into your head.
“I have an even better idea!”
You paid the bill as you said your goodbyes. Your best friend noticed that glint in your eyes. Your ideas rarely worked out. She just hoped you didn’t anything too stupid or crazy. But there was no use in trying to stop you.
As soon as you got home, you rushed into your shared closet. Instead of telling Tom you wanted he dress nicer, you thought you just show him. Tom was out of town for a few days, completing some reshoots on his most recent project. Just enough time to put your plan into action. First off, you grabbed all the jeans from his side, throwing them on the bed. Carefully examining each pair, you threw out any pairs with any holes. That left about three pairs. You repeated the process with his sweaters and shirts.
Once done, you turned to the dresser. The workout clothes were the worst. Nearly everything had stains, holes, or rips. There was only one outfit worth keeping. You realized you would need to replace much of Tom’s wardrobe. But first you needed to get rid of the old clothes to prevent their re-entry into Tom’s wardrobe rotation. It took several bags and three trips to the dumpster. Just as you shut the door, the phone rang. It was Tom.
“Hello, honey!”
“Hello, darling. You sound out of breath. What on earth are you doing?”
You panicked. You would rather not tell Tom your plans just yet for fear he would make you fish the clothes out of the bin.
“Just some spring cleaning. Just wanted the place to look nice when you get back.”
“That’s unnecessary, darling, but I appreciate the thought. I love our home as long as you are in it.”
You winced as the sweet words came from his mouth. Should you go through this? Maybe you should just talk to him? You thought about digging out his clothes.
“Y/N? You okay?”
Tom’s voice snapped you out of your mental quandary and back to reality.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired. Hey, I was thinking about picking up some new clothes. Just to replace some worn-out things. Need anything?”
Tom contemplated a moment before responding.
“Not that I can think of. But have fun and don’t forget to pick out a dress for Ben’s party on Saturday.
Shit! You had forgotten about Benedict and Sophie’s party. You can’t remember the occasion, but the dress code was cocktail wear. Your worry melted away into joy. This would be the perfect time to make your point.
“Thank you for reminding me. I think I will pick out something new.”
The two of you said your goodbyes and hung up the phone and wiped sweat from your brow, not sure if it was from the physical exertion or the act of lying to Tom. Convincing yourself the lie was for the best, you set off to finish your tasks.
***
You spent most of the next day in stores. First up was Nike, where you dropped what felt like a small fortune replacing Tom’s jogging attire. All black naturally. Now if you just get him to stop layering all at once in the winter. You hit up John Smedley and picked up two new sweater, one blue and one blue-gray. It was a new color for Tom, but you thought it would bring out his eyes. Not like he needed any help.
You scoured the shops for the perfect dress for Saturday; you finally found it at Coast. It was low cut but tasteful and the color complemented your skin tone and eye color. If this didn’t get the blood flowing, you didn’t know what would. You lugged all the purchases and set out putting it all away. You had just clipped the last tag and folded the last shirt when you discovered a key turning in the lock.
“Tom!”
You rushed down the hall and took a running leap at him. Tom dropped his bag just in time to catch you as you slid across the floor into his arms. He steadied the two of you before clasping your face and pulling you into a deep kiss.
“I have missed you,” he breathed as the two of you parted.
“I missed you too,” you replied, and you pecked his lips again.
Tom headed up to the bedroom to unpack, while you headed to the kitchen to start on supper.
“Y/N!”
You heard Tom call to you across the house. His voice sounded neither happy nor mad but there was a tone of concern. You shuffled up to the bedroom to face the conversation you had been dreading. You arrived to see Tom staring into a drawer.
“What is all this?”
“Workout clothes,” you quipped back, ignoring the real question.
“I noticed. What happened to the old ones? Like my Nike sweatshirt and shorts.”
“I replaced them. With the same stuff. Just without the holes and stains.”
You avoided eye contact.
“But I liked the old ones.”
You could pick up an edge when he said liked. You may have miscalculated his attachment to the old clothes. Too late to go back, you trudged forward into what was looking now like an argument.
“I know but they looked so ratty so I threw them out,” you mumbled as you headed into the closet, hoping he wouldn’t hear or notice your words.
How wrong you were.
“You.. WHAT?!?”
Tom appeared at the door of the closet. His nostrils flared and a crimson color reached up his neck. You thought to cower, but you screwed up your courage.
“I. Threw. Them. Out.”
You enunciated each word, putting emphasis.
“Why in the hell would you do that? They were perfectly suitable clothes. You had no right to get rid of them!”
“They were not perfectly suitable! They were holey and ripped. You looked like a hobo! I’m tired of thinking like I am dating a homeless drug addict. I’m dating Tom fucking Hiddleston! You are better than this!”
“I either dress like I’m going to a red carpet event or like a homeless drug addict, there’s no in between!”
“Well, if I have to choose, I would rather take the red carpet! I think you don’t care anymore and where does that leave us?!”
As soon as the words left your mouth, you collapsed into tears. You had never said it or even thought it, but it was true. If Tom didn’t think you were the effort to dress up, then perhaps your relationship was on its last legs. And the thought of your world without Tom in it was too hard to bear.
Tom’s expression softened and his anger turned to concern.
“Y/N…” he started with hesitation. “What does my clothes have to do with our relationship? They are just clothes. And if you have seen any paparazzi photos, you would know I perfected the ‘homeless drug addict’ look years before I met you. But my feelings have and never will change.”
You gave him a weak smile.
“Except that I feel like I will hate my credit card bill next month,” Tom quipped as he gestured at the new clothes hanging in the closet.
You started laughing, and he stepped forward to envelope you in a hug. The two of you embraced and kissed. Tom held you out at arm’s length.
“Now why don’t you show my some of these new purchases? See what kind of damage you have wrecked before I send someone to go digging through the trash.”
With glee and pride, you took Tom around to show him each purchase, explaining your reasoning for each. Tom nodded and made the odd comment, but mostly was silent. You pointed out all the items you kept, including his well-worn gray boots.
“So…” you asked, turning your head as though preparing for a blow.
“I think…” Tom ran his hands through his beard in contemplation. “You put a lot of thought and effort in this. Thank you.”
With that, he kissed your forehead and headed back out to finish unpacking.
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much. I appreciate your effort and I love you for it.”
What a letdown, you thought as you left to return to the kitchen to finish dinner. You had expected more, but you were happy he was not still angry. As you finished up dinner, Tom’s favorite, and called him down to dinner. He came into the room, hands behind his back.
“It looks lovely, darling.”
“Your favorite.”
“I noticed. I also noticed that with your little clean out, we have more space in the closet.”
You cast your eyes downward.
“Yeah. I might have gotten a little overzealous. Sorry.”
You sniffled as you could feel tears threatening to reappear.
“Well, it is just as well because your new dress will take up a lot of space and my clothes as well.”
You put your utensils down, confused.
“I don’t understand. I already have my new dress for Saturday. You saw the bag hanging in the closet.”
“I don’t mean that one.”
With that, Tom slid a small red box onto your place setting. There was no stopping the tears now. With trembling fingers, Tom opened the box to reveal a beautiful solitaire ring.
“The plan was to do this on Saturday at Ben and Sophie’s but they will just have to deal with the disappointment. Y/N,” Tom kneeled down. “Despite your itchy trigger finger when it comes to my wardrobe, I love you with all my heart. And I can think of nothing I would want more than you as my bride. Will you marry me?”
You nodded your head as words failed you.
“Is that a yes?” Tom teased.
“Yes, you idiot! Of course, I will marry you.”
You throw your arms around his neck and he lifted you in a deep embrace. Tom lowered you so he could place the ring on your finger. A perfect fit. You stood there admiring your new hardware, and then you felt Tom nuzzle against your neck.
“What do you say we go to the room and celebrate properly?”
Tom swept you off your feet, literally, and carried you into the bedroom for some proper celebrating.
***
The following morning, you lie awake in bedroom admiring the ring in the light. It was a dream. You feel the rough scratch of whiskers on your shoulder. You turned to see Tom, now awake, but just.
“Tom?”
“Hmm, yes?”
“Where were you hiding the ring?”
Tom’s mouth stretched in a Cheshire cat grin.
“Well, until this trip in my workout clothes drawer, but I was afraid you would find it, so I packed it with me. Looks like I was right.”
“I guess you were. How mad are Ben and Sophie going to be?”
“Furious, I’m sure but they will get over it once I ask Ben to be my best man.”
You giggled and thought about Benedict getting mad at Tom only to turn around and forgive moments later at the request of being Tom’s best man.
“I’m sure. And I will ask Sophie to let the kids be attendants.”
“Sounds like an excellent plan.” Tom got out of bed. “Now if you don’t mind, I am going to go for a run.”
You turned on your side as Tom got dressed. As he headed out, he leaned over to kiss you. You turned to see Tom wearing some very ratty jogging clothes. You shot up in bed.
“Where the hell did those come from?”
Tom grinned and chuckled. “You forgot about my travel clothes, darling. And you will never get a hold of these.”
You lept out of bed and took chase after your fiance.
“Give those to me, Hiddleston!”
“Never!”
And with that, Tom slammed the door and headed for his daily jog while you sulked, staring at the front door.
Summary: After a long weekend at the Denver Comic-Con, you were just looking for a quiet evening. That plan is out the window when all the planes are grounded at the airport and Tom arrives at your door. With no other rooms available in the city, Tom asks to share your room for the night. Just one problem, there is only a king bed in the room.
WC: 2614
Warnings: light swearing, mention of erection
“Finally.“
The hotel door slammed behind you as you let a sigh go. The past three days had been a whirlwind of panels, interviews, and autographs. It was only through multiple cups of coffee you were still standing. The Denver Comic-Con was the latest stop in the unending promotional tour.
You throw your shoes off and flopped onto the king bed in your room. You contemplate what to do first, a hot shower or order food as you massage your sore feet. The growl from your stomach decided for you and you lean towards the nightstand to pick up the phone.
“Room Service,” a cheery male voice answered as you hit the auto dial button.
“Hi, can I get the grass-fed burger, Caesar salad, and the caprese pizza, please?”
“Charged to Room 1415?”
“Yes, please.”
“It will be 30 to 40 minutes.”
“Thank you.”
You hung up the phone and allow your head to sink into the pillows. You seriously contemplated falling asleep right now and hope you wake up when room service knocks. But you decided to wash the layer of the day off your body.
As you head to the bathroom, you shed your clothes piece by piece, tossing them on the floor along your way. You make a mental note to make sure you pick it up before room service gets there. You flicked the shower water on and turned it up as hot as tolerable. Once the water warmed up, you stepped in and let the near scalding water pour over your body. The tension left your shoulders and neck and the grime of the day, both literal and figurative, washed away. You wanted to stay under that hot water for an eternity but after about ten minutes you turned the water off and stepped into a fluffy bathrobe. As you exited the bathroom, you got an insistent knock on the door.
“That can’t possible be room service,” you muttered as you look through the peephole.
Instead of your food, you see a lanky ginger-haired gentleman rocking from side to side in front of your door.
“Tom?” you questioned as you open the door.
Tom turned on that smile.
“Y/N. I hope I am not interrupting your evening. Do you mind if I come in for a minute?”
“Yes, come on in,” you stepped aside to allow him entry to the room. You noticed he was carrying a small duffel bag with him. “I thought you were flying out tonight.”
He pivoted around to face you.
“Funny thing. They grounded the flights. Someone thought flying drones in the air space was a good idea. After four hours, they sent everyone away.”
“Didn’t that same thing happen at Heathrow in December?”
“The same thing. They are calling it a copycat.”
“I am so sorry. If I can help, just say the word,” you commented as you turn to let him out the door. Tom does not follow.
“Well, that is the other funny thing. Because of the comic-con and the big education convention, there is not a spare room in the entire city.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“I am serious. Not even my original room was available. I thought about sleeping at the airport when I remembered you were staying a few days…”
Your eyes widened, realizing what Tom was asking.
“You want to stay… HERE?!”
Tom looked at the ground, scuffling his feet on the carpet.
“If you don’t mind.”
You looked to the single king bed in the room. Tom followed your gaze and then both of your faces reddened.
“I could sleep in the chair.” Tom gestured towards the armchair in the corner.
It was at least half his size and looked uncomfortable.
“No, that is not fair… We can…”
A knock interrupted your thought.
“SHIT!” you hissed as you pulled the bathrobe around your body, “that is room service.”
Tom held up his hands.
“I will handle it. Why don’t you go into the bathroom and make yourself decent?”
He made the last remark with a slight smirk on his face as his eyes raked over your still robed body. You throw him a dirty look as you grabbed your pajamas and shut the bathroom door.
Tom thanked the person who brought the food as you pulled a comic book t-shirt and well-worn pajama pants.
“Were you expecting company?” Tom yelled through the bathroom door.
You remembered your hunger induced over ordering.
“Are you judging me?” you retorted as you opened the door, smiling.
“Nope. I have always appreciated people with a healthy appetite. I must admit I am famished myself. Airport food is not my favorite.”
You suppressed a giggle as Tom eyed the burger. You gestured for him to dig in. Tom dug into the burger without a second thought and moans of satisfaction escaped his lips.
“Enjoying yourself?” you mumbled as you shove a forkful of salad in your own mouth, “I also appreciate a man with a joy for food, even such a high esteemed actor as yourself.”
Tom rolled his eyes. This was an ongoing joke between you two throughout filming. You mention his fame and him shutting you down every time.
“Please, Y/N. None of that tonight. I am far too hungry and weary to fight you off.”
“Fair enough.”
***
The two of you eat the rest of the food in relative silence. Tom regal the tale of his ill-fated trip to the Denver airport and you shared crazy fan stories from the con. After every morsel and you bellies were full, the matter of sleeping arrangements came up once.
“So…” Tom started, looking once again towards the bed. “I am taking the chair.”
Your face once again reddened. You screwed up your courage to be an adult rather a hormone raging teenager.
“No, that is silly. You are like twice the size of that chair and it looks uncomfortable,” you wrinkled your nose, “Plus it is not like you and I have never shared a bed before.”
Tom had been a perfect gentleman and did everything in his power to make you comfortable during your first ever love scene. At the end of the day, the scene had made the film a hit. After that, you harbored a crush on the dashing Tom Hiddleston.
“True. So sharing the bed.”
You swallowed and nodded your head as if solidify your decision.
“Yep,” you get up and move the empty dishes to the door, “do you need to use the shower? You are more than welcome to use any of my toiletries. I promise there is nothing too girly smelling in there.”
“Thank you.”
Tom headed into the bathroom, taking his bag with him and the shower started soon after. You attempted to contain the mess of clothes on the bed. Not that it mattered.
You shoved all the clothes into the drawers and when the water stopped, you jumped underneath the covers. Tom strolled out. His shaggy locks were wet, and he was wearing pajama bottoms with a plain white tee. You could smell your soap wafting off of him. It was intoxicating.
“I took the right side. Is okay?” you commented, while playing with the edge of the sheet.
Tom laughed. “It’s fine, it is your room and I am the interloper.”
Tom slid into the bed on the left side and adjusted the pillows behind him.
“Would you like to watch a movie or something?” you picked up the remote.
“No thanks, darling. I am tired from the day. I bet you must be too. This is your first comic-con circuit, right?”
“Yeah, I guess I am tired too,” you lied.
You leaned over and switched off the light and plunged the room into darkness. You settled yourself into a night of sleeping. You arranged the pillows behind your head and then took one of the extra pillows and tucked off to one side to lie on. You turned towards Tom’s side to see him propped up on an elbow, taking in your sleep ritual.
“What in earth are you doing, Y/N?”
“I am getting ready for bed. What are you doing?”
“Watching you getting ready for bed. Do you always hug a pillow while sleeping?”
You made out a hint of a smile on his face.
“It is not hugging, it is for support,” you huffed down and wrap your arms around the pillow.
“For emotional support?” Tom countered.
“No.” you said, “I thought you were tired.”
“I am. But I am not too tired to watch this ritual. It is adorable. If you need to snuggle something, I am available.”
You reached over and smacked Tom in the chest.
“You are incorrigible. I’m fine. Go.. to.. sleep, Tom.”
“Suit yourself.”
Your sleep was fitful that night, tossing and turning all night. Around midnight, you threw the pillow to the ground and the comforter off your feet. Tom breathed heavy next to you. Tempted to elbow him in the ribs and wake him, you decided against it.
***
You woke the next morning to something warm and solid pressed up against the entire back side of your body. You attempted to roll over, but you realized something pinned your legs to the mattress. Craning your neck around, you see Tom pressed up against your back and his legs intertwined with yours.
Tom’s body was radiating heat, and you snuggled close to his body. You could feel his breath on your neck and you sighed to yourself.
If this is a dream, I never want to wake up.
As you continued to sink into his body, you inadvertently ground your ass into Tom’s crotch. You feel his erection through his thin pajama pants. Not even the great Tom Hiddleston was immune to morning wood. A soft moan escaped Tom’s lips, and he reached around your waist, pulling you in closer. Tom’s chin nuzzled into the crook on your neck and his hot breath tickled your skin.
You tried to extract yourself from his grip but only turned yourself around and now you were face to face with a sleeping Tom. His long lashes threatened to touch his cheeks and you let a sigh out at the sight of him.
Damn, why does he have to be so handsome!
The change of position caused Tom to stir and you see his eyes flutter open. With sleepy eyes, Tom noticed the space, or lack thereof, between the two of you and smirked.
“Morning, darling.”
“Morning, Tom.”
“I see you abandoned your pillow and went for something more satisfying.”
You scoffed, attempting to pull away from his grip but not trying too hard.
“I woke up with you wrapped around me. Perhaps you have a crush on me,” you joked.
Tom looked you dead in the eye.
“Perhaps I do. Perhaps I have been hiding away a secret torch for you since you first walked onto set. And perhaps I fear you would not reciprocate my feelings.”
You lied there in disbelief. Was Tom confessing his affections towards you? You didn’t know how to react.
“Perhaps you are wrong.” you parroted him, “Perhaps I would reciprocate your feelings. Perhaps I have been hiding a secret crush for you since the day of that bedroom scene.”
You looked up at him, again attempting to wriggle away. This time with more effort. Tom yanked you forward until the two of you were chest to chest.
“Perhaps I will just kiss you and see what happens.”
You opened your mouth to come back with a snappy comment but Tom leaned in and his lips met yours.
The kiss was everything you had imagined, but better. A warmth flowed through your body and you snaked your arms around Tom’s neck and pulled him closer. The two of you parted, breathing heavy.
“Wow,” Tom smiled with pride, “your breath smells.”
Both of you burst out into laughing.
“Your breath isn’t minty fresh either, darling,” Tom placed a quick peck on your lips. “Let’s get up, get dressed, and head downstairs for breakfast, Y/N.”
“Okay but you get ready first. I am not ready to get up.”
“Fair enough.”
Tom bounded out of bed and rustled through his bag before finding clean clothes. Just as he reached the bathroom door, his phone buzzed.
“Do you mind checking that, darling?”
You nodded, and he disappeared into the bathroom.
You picked up the phone and saw a text from Luke.
Tom?! Where are you? You didn’t answer your phone last night. It took some persuading, but I got your suite back at the Hyatt. Please call me back. I hope you didn’t end up sleeping in the airport.
That little liar! Tom had manipulated you to spend the night. What a sneak! Your initial anger gave way to mischief and joy. If not for Tom’s little subterfuge, the two of you may have never gotten together. Still, you couldn’t let him get away with his little scheme scot-free.
You seated yourself at the edge of the bed, legs crossed and his phone in your hand. Tom came out in jeans and a shirt, a toothbrush in his mouth. He looked at you confused.
“Who was it?” he questioned, taking his toothbrush out of his mouth.
You smirked, “Oh just Luke.”
“What did he want, love,” he came over and placed a minty kiss on your forehead, “everything all right?”
“Yeah,” you wiped the remnants of toothpaste off your face, “he was just worried you slept in the airport, instead of your old suite in the hotel.”
Tom’s smile fell from his face.
“I can explain…”
You stood up and walked until you were toe to toe.
“Oh? And what is your explanation for lying about your sleeping arrangements?”
You suppressed a smirk and giggle and you can see Tom scrambling to come up with the right words.
“Well..” Tom held his hands up in defense and then sighed, shoulders slumping, “I couldn’t think of any other way to get you into bed with me.”
His blue eyes sparkled back you, hopeful. You let a Cheshire cat grin spread across your face and you pulled up onto your toes to place a kiss on his lips.
“You are lucky you are so charming, otherwise I might be more mad. Besides, we need to discuss this.” you waved your hands between the two of you.
“We are?”
“Yes. Now excuse me but I have to get dressed…”
Tom settled onto the bed as though you would strip off your pajamas right in front of him.
“… in the bathroom.”
Tom’s face fell.
“You wound me.”
“You lied.”
“I promise I will never make that mistake again, darling.”
“Good, now call Luke back while I get dressed.”
You closed the door and got ready. Tom dialed in Luke’s number.
“I’m fine, Luke. I promise. No, I didn’t end sleeping in the airport; I stayed with a friend. No, a female friend. It’s Y/N, if you must know. Yes, Luke. I understand. Oh by the way, I will spend a few days in Denver, clear my schedule.”
Tom could hear Luke grumbling through the conversation. He couldn’t resist send him into a tailspin before re-engaging in radio silence.
“Oh and Luke, if you hear any rumors of Y/N and I, they are true. The photos too.”
With that, he turned his phone off. The next few days were for you and you alone.
