#‘if I give too much detail I’ll be killed for being cringe and high maintenance’

[cerealmonster15]

Ppl who order commissions r so strong. I start thinking for longer than 10 seconds about having to hypothetically describe what I’d want to another living breathing perceiving individual and I mentally back out of the idea SO fast. A similar thought process to my avoidance of getting food at places like burrito or sandwich shops where you have to communicate several parts of your food order to the worker for like, a minute. I’m sure your art sandwich is beautiful and I want to eat it but I cannot bring myself to communicate such desires without feeling an overwhelming feeling of shame that I invented and put there for no reason. You know how it is. I like black beans but if I have to say that out loud I’m going to catch fire.

[bellesque]

One Kiss (Tom Hiddleston x Reader)

Also available on my AO3.

Rating: G Word Count: 2.5K Tags: Fluff, Best Friends to Lovers, you’re angey and tom calms you down Summary: Whenever one of you is upset, you and your best friend Tom head to your favorite ice cream parlor to vent and eat your feelings. Usually you feel better afterwards. For some reason, this time, a cone of your favorite flavor and a rant doesn't quite do the trick.

A/N:  Hey y'all. Life's been keeping me busy, but I'm back with another Tom oneshot! This was inspired by a conversation I had with a friend about being calmed down by someone she likes. I hope you enjoy!

YOU’RE SEEING RED.

You grind your teeth, feeling the muscle in your jaw twitch as you stalk away. You knew not to engage, not to start fights with people unless you knew you could finish them, but this time they had crossed a line. The safest and smartest course of action for you right now is to literally walk away from it before you do something you regret.

You’re not sure where you’re going exactly. All you know is that you need to get away from Point A and get to Point B, wherever the hell that is.

Rounding the corner to get to your car, you huff at the memory of the things that were said about you. Of the things that were said to you. It all sends a fresh bout of roiling anger to pulse through your veins.

The car door swings open way too wide and you get into the driver’s seat, slamming the door with more force than necessary. You exhale, your eyes scanning your reflection through the rearview mirror. Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes filled with cold rage, your mouth is pressed into a hard line. It’s only now you realize that you’re actually shaking—and then, without warning, you feel hot tears well up in your eyes.

Angrily you swat at your face, your eyebrows scrunching together in frustration. Damn it, why do you have to be an angry crier?

Taking a few shuddering breaths you manage to get your emotions under control, although the frustration still lingers like a gentle nudging.

You can’t stay like this forever. It’s in your nature to feel things and then let it pass, but it isn’t completely out of your system yet; you need to vent.

You try calling your closest friends (all 3 of them), only they’re all busy. It’s fine. You don’t hold it against them, knowing everyone has their own life to live. Only it bothers you a little to think that some of them simply brushed you off and changed the direction of the conversation.

Which leads you here, in the parking lot of your favorite ice cream place. You came here in the hopes of cooling off by buying yourself your go-to ice cream, except you’re short on cash. Which means no ice cream for you, and your irritation levels are still pretty high.

The interior of the car begins to feel suffocating as your mind stews in dark thoughts. You climb out and lean against your car, observing the vehicles passing by on the highway that stretches before you with your arms crossed and your expression sullen.

And then someone calls out your name tentatively.

“I didn’t order anything,” is somehow the answer that spills from your lips, and you don’t bother turning around to check if the person has left or not.

He comes into your peripheral vision, but you don’t look at him until he says, “I knew it was you!”

“Oh. Tom. Hi.” You hastily shuffle your features into a polite smile, an alien action considering you want to be doing anything but that. You’re still a little (considerably) mad.

Tom is an acquaintance to you, a friend of a friend who you met at a small social dinner. You haven’t communicated with him since you were introduced all those months ago. You’re surprised he even took the time out to say hello to you today, seeing as you’ve barely had any interaction with him. He could have easily just went about his day without sparing a second glance at you.

He shifts on his feet, hesitating, before he pulls you in for a half hug. As all awkward encounters go, you’re not sure what to do. You can sense him wondering if his hug of greeting is crossing any line so you make it a point to pat him on the shoulder, letting him know that it’s not a big deal. You’re even rather touched at the action; Tom has always been the portrait of a perfect gentleman, and though you barely know him, you know the kindness and concern he has for others is genuine. The man’s hugging you, all warm and amiable, for goodness sake.

“It’s nice to see you,” you say when you pull away.

Tom smiles, his chin dipping minutely in acknowledgment. “And you too. Did I hear you correctly earlier, did you really not get any ice cream?”

“Oh, uh…” You let out a sheepish laugh. “It’s… fine. It’s nothing. I just…” You look around the parking lot. “Like coming here for no reason…? Ha, no, actually I, uh, needed to let off some steam.” Your babble makes you cringe. Maybe it would have been better if Tom hadn’t stopped to be polite. It would have saved you from wanting the earth to swallow you whole right now.

There’s a subtle shift in the expression Tom wears as he studies you, so slight that you could miss it entirely—only he stands close enough for you to notice the concern in his eyes and the knitting of his brows.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” he says, and the sincerity in his tone almost kills you. “I should have seen that you wanted to be left alone. I hope things turn out alright.” He lays a comforting squeeze on your shoulder. “It was nice meeting you again. Hopefully I can see you another time under better circumstances.”

And before he can take three steps away from you, you call out to him. “Wait.”

You catch up to him and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I was being rude. I actually wouldn’t mind the company?” Your statement comes out like a question: a silent invitation for him to stay with you.

It’s ridiculous, you think at the back of your mind. An overstep, considering you just brushed him off earlier and he likely has other plans. But the way Tom simply beams at you, offering to pay for your ice cream (“You wouldn’t come here to just sit in the parking lot. My treat”) abates your aggravation by the smallest degree. You need a friend. He may not be the one you anticipated, but you’re grateful all the same.

He asks about your day and you find yourself pouring out your frustrations, being vague at the beginning until you’re telling him every little thing that’s happened today that went wrong. And he listens with patient understanding, his attention solely focused on you as he sympathizes and empathizes in all the right moments. It’s cathartic, the way you’re able to release everything through words, and Tom doesn’t interrupt you whatsoever. By the end of it, with your stomach full and your heart light, you realize that the afternoon with him was spent fixated on your woe-is-me ranting.

“You don’t deserve that,” you tell him afterwards. “I’m sorry for dumping all that on you. But I’m also really grateful, so, thank you.”

“Don’t apologize. I know what it’s like to need to let things out.” He gives you a genuine smile as you rise to your feet. “I presume now we’ll be keeping in touch?”

“Not just about this situation, I promise,” you grin. “But really—thank you. You really calmed me down.”

“Always happy to help,” he replies, his kind eyes crinkling, and you hug briefly—this time not awkward at all—before parting ways.

Over the next few weeks, you keep in correspondence with Tom. You learn about his work and he talks about his day and vice versa. You talk about your favorite movies, your favorite books, analyzing and exchanging theories. What once was mere acquaintanceship has blossomed into friendship, and you know it isn’t one-sided when Tom calls you, his voice nettled, and you immediately suggest to meet up at the ice cream parlor.

“But I mean,” you add, in fear of… something, you’re not quite sure, “only if you want to.”

“I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

And so it begins. The ice cream parlor becomes your unspoken sanctuary for when times get tough and one of you needs to get something off their chest. It’s a good friendship, you think, the fact that you’re there for each other in the hard times as well as in the best and goofy times.

You’re happy and content to have someone like Tom in your life. A constant, nonjudgmental, and low-maintenance friend. He isn’t there for just the times you need to vent, no, your friendship has turned out to be something wholesome. You find yourself seeking him out when you have something you want to share, be it something good or something bad, and almost always your mood lifts when you’re with him.

Which is exactly what you need right now.

It’s been a pretty bad day altogether: from the moment you woke up this morning it seemed as though everything was going downhill. You want to have a good cry, to scream and yell. So much has been building up inside you that you’re tired of fighting and you really just need your best friend.

Wow, he really has become your best friend.

It’s the middle of the night and you’re waiting in the ice cream parlor parking lot, a ball of angry energy. You’re pacing—something you don’t do very often—just to calm down a little.

It doesn’t help.

Tom arrives shortly, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. Good, because he knows you need this time to stew a little. Instead he makes a beeline for the ice cream shop’s interior, and he comes out with two cones in each hand. He hands one to you wordlessly.

“Go,” he says, and at the single encouragement you launch into a long-winded detailing of your day. You’re grateful that the shop’s not particularly busy today—your voice is taking on a pretty loud volume in the parking lot, rushed and strained and emotional. You expect to feel the calmness wash over you as soon as you’re finished with your story and your ice cream.

Only you’re still mad.

“Tom. Tom, I’m still mad,” you say, the urgency in your tone almost comical.

He’s thoughtful and quiet, sitting on the hood of your car. “Well, love, sometimes—”

“I don’t really need a speech right now,” you snap. Shit, this is bad. You’ve never once taken out your frustrations on Tom, but that’s also because usually some ice cream and yelling does the trick for you. You’re in foreign territory, and you don’t like it. “I’m sorry, I’m just super stressed.”

“I can see that,” he comments, his blue eyes fixed on you as you begin to pace again.

“It’s just—” You catch yourself before you can rehash everything you just told him. You round on him. “Tom, calm me down. Don’t talk me down, just…”

He rises to his feet, and you continue pacing. “Fuck, why am I so mad?” you hiss, mostly to yourself.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know!” You stop, raising your hands up in annoyance. “Distract me, anything to get my mind off it. You should be good at that, you’re supposed to be my best friend.” It’s not his fault you’re still nettled, of course it isn’t. You know that. But your emotions are getting the better of you, and everything is starting to spiral. You’re sure Tom is going to be upset with you after this. He doesn’t deserve this version of you. And so you begin to berate yourself, your anger now directed at you and your stupid tendency to—

Tom grabs you by the shoulders and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

All the fight from your body seems to dissipate at that very moment, and you stare up at him, dumbfounded. A warmth begins to spread across your body, and it’s not from the previous frustration you were feeling. Your best friend, Tom Hiddleston, he—

You blink. “Did you just—”

“Did it work?” he asks, his voice just barely above a whisper. His gaze is soft, tentative, scanning every inch of your face for any sign of emotion. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Dumbstruck, that’s what you are. You didn’t think something as simple as a forehead kiss would render such an effect on you. “Did it take your mind off things?”

“Y-you caught me off-guard,” you answer, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

“Then I guess it did.”

Your cheeks are warm. Damn it, you never expected to be quieted in such a way. But he’s right—you’re no longer upset, but now all you can think about and obsess over is the way his lips gentled the roaring tigress in you.

You look back on all the times you spent together: how he’s been there for you, and you for him. Silly moments and silly photos. The fuzzy feelings you tried to quell whenever they’d come up. But now they’re here, at the fore of your consciousness, and you fidget.

What are the odds…?

“I’m still a little upset, though,” you say, your voice a little shaky as you take one step closer towards him. You’ve never felt this bold, your heart slamming against your ribcage. Looking up at him, seeing the wonder and longing in his eyes, you think—shit, you hope you’re not wrong—that you both are feeling the exact same way.

His arms settle around your shoulders. Safe, tentative, unsure. “Oh?” He brushes a lock of hair away from your face. Platonic? Could be, to some outsiders. But it’s the way he’s looking at you that gives you the confirmation you need. Here, in this moment, you’re in your own little bubble, the air that was once thick with frustration now thick with tension.

“Yeah, just a little.”

“Do you need another distra—”

You plant your hands on his shoulders and tiptoe, bringing your face to his and kissing him full on the lips to silence him. His arms snake around your waist, delighting you, and your fingers find themselves entangled in his gorgeous curls. It’s not how you picture first kisses to go, but it’s somehow exactly how you pictured kissing Tom would be like. Soft. Sweet. Like coming home.

You pull away, slightly breathless, and Tom rests his forehead against yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he mutters, his eyes closed.

“Hey now, I kissed you,” you tease, giggling. His eyes open, and his grip around your waist tightens.

“Well, we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?” And he pulls you in for another kiss, just as sweet as the first. You think you will never get enough of this, if this is going to be your new life together. You didn’t realize how many romantic feelings you’ve suppressed, but now that they’re finally out in the open it only feels right. To be here, in his arms, in the parking lot of your favorite ice cream place.

You gently place your hands on his chest and your lips part. “I don’t think the staff would appreciate a makeout session out here,” you grin.

Tom’s hand finds yours, and he brushes his thumb over your knuckles before bringing them to his lips for a kiss. “You’re right. Another round of ice cream?”

“I’m in.”