bmaybewriting

[bmaybewriting]

If any of y’all fuckers release infinity war spoilers I am personally going to go to your home and cut you into little pieces. This has been a PSA

[bmaybewriting]

So I feel like writing another Hiddle-fic and I want it to be Cold War espionage because drama and ya.

[bmaybewriting]

Warm Winters

:) I’m gonna do a fluffy story with the Hiddleston man. (Of course) but im starting this at 1:50am and I just got a boost of “hells yeahs you can do this, so I’m gonna do this!”

I also get to flex my Icelandic so that’s lowkey rad. (It’s not remotely perfect but it gets the job done)

——————

“Love, it’s wonderful that I can see you again, but Iceland? Really? That’s where you want to rendezvous?” You and your beloved boyfriend are trying to meet up for a brief holiday, you’re in Baltimore and he’s in London. You opted to literally meet him halfway.

“Yes! Iceland is beautiful this time of year!”

“Darling, it’s also cold-“ he starts, only to be interrupted by you.

“Tom, don’t you remember Auður? Her husband is Sigurdur—anyways, they have a holiday home by lake Thingvallavatn,” you linger off, finally realising you interrupted him.

“Yes but, it’s also -2 degrees, love. -2!” He says,

“But Tooom! Who says we have to go out! Their pantry is stocked and Auður said it was alright! We can stay indoors, in front of the fireplace and read, or watch TV, or yunno, spend time together?” You were whining, just a tad. You’re often lucky he’s so patient with you.

“Fine, love; when do you propose we meet?” You almost jump up and down with glee.

“Whenever it’s most convenient? Auður and Sigurdur are on Holiday in Seychelles at the moment, so we will have the house to ourselves. I have a key.” You say, partially explaining.

“Wonderful love, I’ll set up flights tomorrow at noon. And I promise to email the information this time, and not forget.” He says, and you can almost hear his smile over the phone.

“Thanks Tom, I really appreciate it,” You say, after a second’s hesitation.

The three words I love you have been on the tip of your tongue recently, and you’ve been refraining yourself. But it’s always there, just waiting to slip. But that’s a large advance in your relationship, one that you’re nervous to make.

“Of course, love, see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, see you tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

He hangs up first.

——

You give a tight-lipped smile to the flight attendant, saying “have a good day!” As you get off the plane. Tom’s flight was delayed one hour, and you promised you’d wait for him.

Keflavík International, what a joy. There’s a mix of languages being spoke around you, and you can only understand bits and pieces.

“My apple-“ in Norwegian

“Wow, she’s pretty-“ in German, between a couple of guys, looking at you. You didn’t try to eavesdrop but... it just happens.

Typical Airport things, you settled into an unpleasant resting bitch face while walking to what is supposed to be Tom’s gate. You check the arrivals board, and the plane is on schedule. You sit down and wait.

An hour later, you have befrended a Danish man, named Mathias. Your communication is something to behold, you’re speaking choppy Icelandic and he’s speaking fluent Danish.

“Du er faktisk fantastisk samtale, hvem venter du her?” He says, slowly. You understand it as something along the lines of “You’re fantastic company, what are you doing here?”

“Ég er að bíða eftir kærastanum mínum.” You say that you’re waiting for your boyfriend. You wait a fraction of a second before asking: “er möguleiki að þú talar ensku?” Is there a chance you speak English?

When he nods you almost collapse in relief.

“Thank god, I’m not fluent in Icelandic, and certainly not in Dainish. I’m certain I didn’t always make sense!” You say, an embarrassed smile across your face.

“Not always, but you didn’t do bad.” He responds, his accent surprisingly thick for an English speaker.

“Do you not speak English much? You have a very thick accent.” You enquire.

“No, my family prefers to speak Danish. It’s how it is, I guess.” He responds with a shrug.

You glance around and see Tom, you wave and grin at him excitedly.

“Excuse me, my boyfriend just arrived. It was a pleasure to meet you.” You say, holding your hand out for him to shake it.

“Likewise.” He shakes your hand and smiles.

You walk up to Tom, suitcase in tow;

“Hello, Mr. Hiddleston. How was your flight?” You teased.

“As okay as flights can be, love.”

“That’s nice to hear, I guess. Do you want me to drive. This is a Right-Side-Of-The-Road country, you know. I feel like I’m more qualified.” You smile up at him

“I think you would be more qualified, but don’t scare the wits out of me like last time. There’s a reason I usually drive.” He returns the smile

“I know, I know. I rented a cheaper car than normal. I didn’t want to be too flashy.”

“That’s okay, dear. Whatever keeps us safe.” He says with a chuckle.

“That’s not funny, you know.”

“It most certainly is,” he continues, grinning down at you. You playfully pout and get the car keys from the desk.

——

“There’s a reason they say Lake Thingvallavatn is one of the prettiest lakes ever,” You say, swerving slightly towards it, off the road.

“Yes, but I would like to enjoy it alive, dear.”

“I suppose I would too,” you say, slowly getting the whole car in the lane it belongs in.

“So babe,” you start, “what would you like to do when we get at the house?”

“Oh I don’t know...” he puts his hand on your thigh. You glance over at him and you can see his slight smirk. “Fuck?” He says, voice as smooth as chocolate.

Your cheeks redden and you immediately look back at the road.

He slyly grabs your thigh and gently squeezes is. You flash him a coy smile and go back to focusing on driving.

——

Upon arriving at the lake house, two things are glaringly obvious. 1: Tom both wants to be all lovey-dovey and sexy as fuck and he’s doing a fantastic job at it, and 2: You want to curl up by the fire and enjoy the warmth it is kindly providing. Neither of you want to have sex by the fire, knowing you both, that is good judgement.

You’re mixing a salad, when Tom elegantly slides up behind you and sets his hands on your waist, while nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck.

“Tom?”

“Yes?”

You smile and keep working on your salad, happily chopping cucumbers.

“Yes, love?”

“Are you trying to say something without actually saying it?”

“Perhaps?”

You stop cutting and look back at him, still smiling. He leans down sensually kisses you, you kiss back, pausing to laugh.

Eventually he stops, “Mmmm, I’ve really missed you, love, more than you know.”

“Hmm, sounds like someone’s horny,” you say and lean back into his chest, gently grinding your ass against him, “Feels like it too...” you smirk.

Now, finally, it’s his turn to be flushed.

“Babe, I feel more like sleeeping than sexing, that okay? It’s like 2 in the afternoon babe, we have a couple hours of chilling... and I still smell like recycled air and... I’m just not feeling it right now.” You go back to chopping, “Plus I’m making lunch!”

He rubs your waist and nods, “okay hon, do you need any help with your salad?”

“Not really, actually, but talk to me about work, or how everyone in the acting community is doing. Spend time with me?”

He smiles and leans up against the clear counter next to you. “Well, work is okay. I can’t really tell you all the details until after everything’s done, naturally. But it’s doing really good.”

“Well that’s good, babe.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he deadpans, and then starts up like he didn’t.

“Everybody on site is good too, nobody is trying to kill anybody...”

You snort “That’s... equally impressive and good.”

You both are quiet for a moment or two, enjoying the company.

“How’s... your PhD?” He asks, out of the blue.

“It’s... going. I guess. I don’t know, I feel kind of burt out, motivation less I guess. I miss living, having a lot of time to do whatever... without the stress of homework and essays and studies.” You respond, frowning. “I hope you don’t mind me working a little on our vacation. I don’t want to be swamped.” You look up and smile at him.

He softly smiles back and this time, the silence is perfectly comfortable.

Yet, short lived.

You were chopping lettuce when it happened, a slice across your finger. It was looked worse then it was, as you kept saying to Tom, who was losing it.

“Tom, seriously I just need some soapy water, or rubbing alcohol. And a band-aid, gause would work too.” You say, calm as can be, you’re a little clumsy.

“Babe, okay, you’re okay for a couple seconds, right?” He speed walks to the bathroom, where you hear rustling and bottles moved, along with a mumbled “where the fuck is it?” Moments later he emerges.

“Love, I’m okay, seriously. I just need the alcohol and the band-aid.”

He makes a face and says that he’s going to help you and that’s not changing until you’re not bleeding.

“Fine, you win.”

He smiles and cleans your finger, carefully going around the cut and gently over. You jolt, he stops, looks at you, sees your nod and then keeps going. He gets the band-aid and wraps it around your finger, even kissing it when he’s done.

You smile at that and return to your salad, where he gently pushes you away and continues cutting for you.

“You’re too sweet.”

He laughs, “no you”

“No you”

“No you”

“No, you.”

“You win.”

At that, you stop and do a little victory dance, “Yes! I knew it.”

——

“You know what we could do, babe?”

[bmaybewriting]

Feelings -

Inspired by one (2?) of those writing prompts things? I have really cute ideas so I’m just rolling with it.

Totally a Hux x reader thing? Not lovey dovey and certainly no smut. But… it’s a joy to write.

——————————————

You’ve always had a hand guiding you through life, whether it’s important choices or where to go… you know someone-or something-is there. Sometimes it’s like they plant a thought, a kernel of knowledge into your mind, to help you. It manifests differently-perhaps in one situation it’s about what choice to make, maybe it’s information about somebody. Whoever, whatever, they are. You hope they know their guidance is appreciated. Your guidance has never led you the wrong way… until today.

—

You’re a resistance pilot, you’re one of their better pilots to be honest. In part, it is due to your guide, but you’re also one hell of a pilot. You’re running a solo mission, nothing large, you’re just scouting around-recognisance, so to speak.

“Argh! Nothing! Nothing! Nothing! This is so dull! I’m bored-“

Seemingly in response to your outburst, a whole First Order squadron appears right in front of you. It was almost laughable if it wasn’t for the sudden coursing fear in your veins. You frown.

“What lovely timing.” Is all you say.

You kick your ship into gear and warp out of there. No time for bullshit. When they show up behind you, you groan. You have three choices: Surrender, where you have a slight chance at surviving. Fight: very low chance at survival. Or Run: considerably low chance of survival, but it also could be your best shot. As could surrendering, you realise.

You mumble an unintelligible line of swears before deciding on Running.

“Fucking bullshit mission, bullshit First Order assholes, I don’t really wanna fucking deal with this.” You mumble as you get moving again.

“FUCK!”

Your ship is dead, something’s dreadfully wrong, it’s not responding. You hesitate on your next decision. Fight-which seems impossible. Or Surrender. Your best option. Your ship is stagnant as you go look what’s wrong. Someone is gonna show up on your ship, you can feel it.

You then get the brilliant idea to send out a distress signal, which to be honest, you’ve never used and honestly forgot how it operates-who receives the signal in particular. Oh, how fucked you are.

You send out the signal and return to the engine compartment. You frown as you see the mess of wires.

“Wonderful!” You say.

After 10 minuets or so of tweaking, you find yourself wondering why the First Order ships haven’t approached-or why no communication was made. Perhaps they actually recieved your distress signal. The voice in the back of your mind says otherwise, that they’re analysing what you’re up to… and once they see that you’re on a recon mission… that you’ll regret it.

Yeah, well, maybe tell me what to fix so I can lurch my sorry ass into motion.

And then you know what the problem is, like someone whispered it into your ear.

“Primary electrical system problem, right front of ship. Small disconnection, you should be able to fix it with electrical tape.”

“Good to know, thanks dude.” You say and get to work.

In no time, you’ve fixed the problem. When you get back to the pilots seat your ship lurches into action. It’s lethargic and sloppy, but enough to get you to a planet-and hopefully to a mechanic.

It appears as the First Order has reached a conclusion, that you’re a threat. They make contact immediately. Someone’s voice booming in your headset.

“Ship 1A-238Z, do you read.”

“Loud and clear, sir.” You suppose sir is a consistent sign of respect.

“We recieved your distress signal, and understand that you are indeed a Resistance vessel.”

“Indeed sir, what is your next plan of action. Do I need to brace myself for my imminent demise?” You almost laugh

“No ma’am. Not if you plan to surrender yourself and your ship upon landing on Jakku.”

“I prefer to live, so naturally I surrender. Can I expect an escort?” You sound so groomed, you almost gag. Your pal plants the thought that “they like how you speak, pragmatic and analytical. It’s respectable. It makes you look more ‘human’ in their eyes. Keep it up.”

“Yes.”

“Understood, over.”

“Over.”

You slowly go to Jakku, escorted by 2 TIE fighters and a cargo ship. This time you’re the cargo.

Upon landing on Jakku, you almost smile in relief. You’re alive. Who cares if the resistance is coming for you… you’re alive.

You open the hatch to the outside and make sure everything in your ship is in order. When you hear some storm troopers approaching and probably somebody of higher rank. You plant your feet at about shoulder width and put your hands up.

You get pat down and handcuffed. Which was to be expected. You give your ship a slightly mourning glance and look forwards. This sucks.

You almost laugh. The General is there. The God Fucking General of the First Order is there to witness your arrest. He stole your breath away, in all honestly, but that didn’t stop your arrogant bravado. You smirk.

“I didn’t know I was that famous,” You say as you pass him. He took your breath away.

“Watch out for that man, he has a power over you that even I can’t understand the depths of. He’s rather powerful in general. He can be your first and only love or the man to kill you. I urge caution.”

You nod in response to your mind voice.

Noted

You didn’t note a god damn thing. You planned on being incredibly reckless, actually.

The General gives you a nasty look, muttering something about “arrogant resistance scum”.

You assume he made a motion to the storm trooper on your left, as you were being hit upside the head with the butt of a rifle shortly after the comment.

Fabulous

—

You wake up with a pounding headache and cotton mouth worse than ever instance you can remember. While trying to return moisture to your mouth, you analyse your current situation.

Where the fuck am I?

You recall enough of yesterday’s? (Who knows at this point) events that you can assume enough about where you are. You try to calm yourself.

My arms are strapped down

So are my legs

And my head?

As it slowly dawns upon you, your previously silent amigo concludes that:

“Indeed, you’re in a torture chamber. You’re going to be interrogated, mind yourself for once, okay? It’s going to be invasive”

Wh-how the fuck would it be invasive?