Characters: Tom Hiddleston x Reader
Summary: A date with Sebastian Stan brings your friendship with Tom Hiddleston into a whole new light.
A/N: This is a fic based on this (paraphrased) request from an anonymous user: I thought maybe a jealous Tom who is in love with his best friend and he helps her go on a date with some other famous Marvel boy (maybe Seb Stan) would be nice! But in the end of course they stay together.
I hope that you enjoy this, Nonny!
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You walked out of your bathroom, holding your arms out from your sides and giving a spin to show off a casual but cute outfit of a blue fit and flare dress that went down to your mid-thighs.
“It’s alright, I suppose,” Tom replied from where he was sitting on your bed, propped up against the headboard with his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle in front of him.
You huffed and stormed back into the bathroom, loudly calling your response through the closed door, “‘Alright, I suppose’ isn’t good enough! You said that he was really into me, and I haven’t been on a date in ages!”
Throwing on your last outfit choice - your go-to when you didn’t have a clue on what to wear - you stomped out of the bathroom, a little less excitement in your spin before you turned back to your best friend with your arms crossed over your chest. “Well?”
With a heavy sigh, Tom rose and walked over to you, turning you around to face the full-length mirror leaning against your wall. His hands settled on your shoulders, warm and comforting, and the fondness that lied beneath his azure eyes set off a flight of butterflies in your stomach. His chin came to rest on top of your head so that his soft words vibrated through you, “You are breathtaking in whatever you wear, darling. You know my thoughts on the matter.”
And you did. Throughout your friendship, he had been nothing but amazing, layering the sincerest of compliments about anything and everything on thick. But there was never more to them. The man could compare you to all things beautiful under the sun in his velvet baritone timbre, but it didn’t mean much when paired with nothing but a platonic hug where his hands remained firmly where they were supposed to.
You had given him every opportunity to further your relationship, cuddling up to him during your movie nights, hugging him for much longer than was appropriate, even holding hands when you were pulling him around town in his ridiculous disguise of a baseball cap and sunglasses - that fooled no one, by the way.
But either the vastly intelligent man was too dense to realize the hearts in your eyes, or he didn’t feel the same way and was saving your dignity by ignoring them.
Which meant it was time to try to move on from your unrequited pining. Waiting for him was like waiting for a god to take notice of you. Why would he deem to love a mortal when he gallivanted around the world with beautiful women who looked to be created by the most discerning eye.
So when he had introduced you to Sebastian Stan at a party, you put the yearning you held for your British best friend in the back of your mind. Soon enough, you were cracking jokes one right after the other, laughing and talking quietly in a corner of the room.
And when he asked if he could take you on a date - nothing too serious - you had agreed.
The doorbell to your apartment rang, and you reached up to pat Tom’s hand gently on your shoulder. “Showtime. I need to throw on my shoes; can you grab the door?”
Tom pressed a light kiss to your temple before exiting your bedroom, leaving you to scramble to throw on a pair of comfortable shoes for the evening. You didn’t have any idea what Sebastian had planned, and it was better to be prepared for any scenario than have aching feet the whole night.
Finally dressed, you snagged your bag before leaving the bedroom, coming into the living room to see Tom and Sebastian talking quietly. You cleared your throat, quirking your brow at the slightly guilty uptick to Tom’s brows when they both turned to you.
“Hey there, sweetheart. You look great.” Sebastian smiled at you, open and kind, holding his arm out to you.
The tension between the two could be cut with a knife as you took your place under his arm, glancing at Tom. You could just ask him about whatever that was later. “You gonna hang out here to mooch off of my cable?”
He shrugged his shoulders and dropped his chin, looking up at you through light lashes with a sheepish grin. “If that’s alright. The hotel doesn’t have all the channels, and Bake Off is tonight.”
You hugged him quickly, squeezing his bicep when you pulled away. “There should be all of the episodes of that and Countdown recorded for you. I’ll see you later, then. Don’t eat all the cookies while I’m gone, ya hear me?”
Sebastian guided you out your front door with his hand on your lower back, giving you just enough time to hear Tom’s answering shout of “I make no promises!” before the door closed and he was leading you to his car.
Everything was just slightly off.
The touch of his hand on your hip when he walked past you to retrieve his ball on the miniature golf course was a bit too timid.
Your hands didn’t fit properly when your fingers were laced together, his squeeze too tight and his knuckles pinching yours.
The sound of your name on his lips was too harsh without a lilting accent to draw out the vowels and soften the consonants, more like a handshake and less like a caress.
His eyes were just a shade too dark when he gazed down at you, reading the hesitation in the worry of your bottom lip in between your teeth and the lines between your brows.
And when he pulled you in for a hug, your bodies didn’t align comfortably, your arms not knowing whether to go around his neck or his waist, your hands just awkwardly patting his cool leather jacket until he released you. He smelled pleasant, like woodsmoke and light musk, but it wasn’t right.
“This isn’t working, is it?” he asked quietly, letting his hand capture yours as you pulled away from him, twining your fingers together.
You squeezed his hand softly, and took a chance, standing on your tiptoes to press a light kiss to his lips. He reciprocated, just barely moving against you, allowing you to set the pace. When you pulled away you sighed, shaking your head. “It was a nice kiss, but there’s no…”
“Spark,” he supplied for you with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s okay, though. Wanna know why?”
You followed him as he led you to his car by the hand. The touch was friendly now that any expectations of romantic activities had been squashed. It didn’t stir any feelings deep in your belly, or make heat spread throughout your limbs, or cause your heart to race in your chest. No, it was just nice. “What’s that, Seb?”
He opened the door for you, that easy smile back on his handsome face once again. “I think I do know someone who could spark your interest.”
“Honey, I’m home!” you called out into your dimly lit home, dumping your keys and bag on a table in the entryway.
When you received no response, you rounded the corner into the living room, following the soft music coming from your ancient record player Tom must have unearthed from the cobwebs it had been buried beneath. He was sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees and his head cradled in his hands.
“Tom?” you asked quietly, concern lacing your voice as you came around the couch to sit down at his side.
He heaved a heavy sigh when your hand stroked down his spine comfortingly. The muscles in his back were tense, hard as marble, unyielding beneath you. “How was your date?” he asked, the last word poison dripping from his tongue.
“Definitely no love connection there. I think we’ll make great friends, though, in time,” you replied, arching your brow as you tugged on his arm to try to see his face. “What’s gotten into you? Are you okay?”
He let you pull his arm away, following the motion by turning his whole body to face you. The expression on his face was unreadable, his brow furrowed as his eyes flitted over your face. When they came to rest on yours, it felt like he was staring into your very soul, piercing you with the intensity of his ocean-eyed stare.
Whatever he found from his inspection, it wasn’t what he had been looking for, and he stood up, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “I’m fine.”
You stood as well, walking around your coffee table so that you were facing him once again. When he tried to turn away you caught his hand with yours, twining your fingers together. A comfortable, natural fit. He squeezed your hand gently. Your heart beat that much faster for the contact, but you ignored it. There would be time for your overeager emotions later when Tom wasn’t clearly upset about something.
“I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what’s wrong. You’ve been in a mood all day, Hiddleston. Spill it,” you implored him, not unkindly, but leaving no doubts in your tone that you were going to let up.
“No, no excuses or half-truths,” you insisted, cutting him off before he could wiggle his way out of the situation with a distracting smile and a well-crafted argument. “Please?”
That seemed to do the trick, his shoulders slumping in resignation and his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. He released it to place both of his hands on his hips. “You know that you are, without a doubt, my dearest and closest friend, yes?”
Not knowing where this was going, but trusting him to lead you there, you nodded slowly. “Of course.”
Open vulnerability lifted the inside of his brows and reflected in his bottomless blue eyes as he finally looked at you, so startling that it made your heart skip a beat in its sprint against your ribcage. “I am not content with the current state of our friendship.”
Your heart, which had been threatening to burst from your chest, now stopped beating and lodged itself firmly in your throat. Fear dug its icy claws in your lungs, and you clenched your jaw to stop your lower lip from quivering. You knew this day was coming. One day he would get too famous, too popular, wanting more out of life and his friendships than you and your mundane existence could offer him.
“Oh, okay. Sure, I get it…” you murmured, afraid if you spoke any louder that you would lose the tenuous grip you had on the burning on the inside corners of your eyes.
“No, darling, that isn’t what I meant,” he assured you, placing his hands on your upper arms, rubbing the tense muscles there soothingly. Each stroke tore at the barrier of strength you had quickly constructed around your barely-contained emotions. “It pained me to know that you were on a date with Sebastian tonight.”
A hot tear rolled down your cheek unbidden. “You introduced us, Tom.”
“I didn’t intend for you to hit it off.” His hand burned a trail up over your shoulder until it settled against your neck, thumb catching the edge of your jaw.
You pulled away from him, swiping the back of your hand over your cheek angrily to wipe away the evidence of your failing control. “Yeah, well, that didn’t happen. So, if you don’t want to be friends anymore, I’d appreciate it if you left, now,” you said thickly, words distorted around the sob that you held back in your throat. You thrust your hand out toward the front door.
The floorboards shifted, groaning beneath his steps, but they weren’t toward where you had indicated. Instead, his hand curled around yours, and a flutter of warmth trickled out from your hand from where his lips ghosted across the smooth skin. “That is not what I meant, and I beg your pardon for leading you to believe otherwise.”
Hope soared inside your chest, stilling your tears and lifting your eyes from where they had landed on the floor. He set your hand upon his chest, over his rapid heartbeat, covering it with both of his own. The vulnerability you had seen before was tinged with sadness pulling down at the corners of his mouth. “My stomach has been tied in knots since you walked out the door with him. I didn’t pay an ounce of attention to anything on the blasted telly all evening because the thought of you in his arms drove me to madness.”
He shifted so that his face was just inches from yours, eyes shining as he gazed down at you. “I’ve spent the entirety of our friendship hoping that you would one day open your eyes and see that I have always been here, by your side, loving you. I was driven to distraction tonight at the thought of you with him. I cannot continue this way, so I’m asking you, with my heart in your hands, if you have any similar feelings toward me.”
It took several beats of his heart for his proclamation to sink in, for you to fully grasp what he was saying. Could your Tom, the man who visited you in his every free moment, who ate all of your sweet treats when you weren’t looking, who pulled you into impromptu dances in the middle of your living room, feel the same way?
Laughter bubbled up from your throat, and your head fell forward to rest in the crook of his neck. The scent of leather and soap and warm spice washed over you. Home.
“Is my affection for you that hilarious?” he asked, clearly offended.
You let your free hand come up to snag your fingers into the loops of his dark jeans, tugging so that the lines of your bodies matched up. Perfect. You tilted your chin to kiss his neck gently. His breath hitched, and you hadn’t thought it possible, but his heart beat even faster beneath your joined hands.
“Darling?” His voice was low, intimate, hesitantly lined with hope.
You angled your head back to smile up at him. “We’re both idiots,” you explained. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, and his eyes darkened in response. “Idiots who need to shut up and kiss before we both explode fro-”
Your statement was cut off by his mouth crashing down onto yours. Years of mutual love and frustration were poured into your lips working against the other, rushed and less than graceful in your eagerness. Your fingers dug into the soft material of his shirt, and one of his hands came around to flatten over your lower back to hold you to him.
It was everything you had hoped for, everything that your date earlier hadn’t been. Passion and strength and fragility and love and fire that scorched through you, burning you up from the inside out. It was all you’d ever wanted. It was Tom.
You were both breathless when you broke the kiss, searching for air desperately in the small space between you. His nose rasped along the length of yours. “We are fools.”
You stood on your tiptoes so your rebuttal was delivered against his lips. “No, we were fools.”
And then there wasn’t another moment wasted to talking, as you had to make up for so much lost time.
