#i thought i had an east coaster accent ;_; just a sprinkling of one. from my relatives! and from living there for 5 years

[non-un-topo]

With the help of some instagram reels, I realized last night that in the eleven years I've lived here I've developed a bit of a Toronto accent and idk how to remedy this

[babyleclerc]

Cold December Night

Pairings: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Style: One-Shot

Prompt?: Anon: #41. “Does that stocking have my name on it?” Where Tom Hiddleston can’t stand the reader but he’s the host of this years MCU xmas party and he wants everyone to feel loved and special, so he makes her a stocking of things he knows she’ll love and maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t hate her after all. Btw, you’re a fantastic writer! Loads of love! -V xx

Warnings: Language, but otherwise just FLUFF. Are y’all seeing a theme w this challenge yet? lmao 

Word count: 1.2K

Summary: You’re attending Marvel’s annual Holiday Party rather begrudgingly, and the night seems to be a lame one until you realize that a certain Tom Hiddleston has made you a stocking with all of your favorite things inside. Small cameo by ScarJo & Chris Evans.

A/N: Phew! Day 5 of this challenge with just a minute to spare until midnight! ;) I literally wrote this in pieces throughout the day today and just fell in love with this idea. I’ll be dreaming about Tom making me a stocking for Christmas all night... Anon/V I really hope you enjoy this one, thank you for requesting it! I had a blast writing it. :) xoxo

The most wonderful time of the year, my ass. You thought to yourself for the hundredth time that night. Ordinarily, the song was right - Christmas was your most favorite time of year – the snow, the music, late night chats by the fire with good food, cocoa, and even better company. But this year, oh man, this year had been mapping out to be one of the worst and weirdest Christmases ever.

It’s not that things weren’t good for you. Things were fine, to be clear. You’d landed your first real gig in the upcoming Infinity War movie and your career was finally taking off. You’d made friends with Scar, Seb, both Chris’s, and the like… but something about L.A. just wasn’t settling well with you. Maybe it was the fact that there was no snow on the ground (not at all what you were used to around Christmastime, being from Ohio), or maybe it was the fact that it was 80 degrees yesterday, or maybe… just maybe…it was that you had to attend this year’s annual Marvel Holiday Party with a certain Englishman who hated you.

…Yeah, that was probably it.

“Hey, Y/N.” Scarlett pulled you away from your thoughts, bringing you back into the room where the party was finally starting to get some life to it. “Didn’t see you come in. Beer?” She asked, holding one out in offering.

“Hey, Scar. Nah, I’ll pass. Gotta drive home later.” You say, though in reality your refusal of the alcoholic beverage had nothing to do with the driving home aspect and more to do with the fact that your nerves were wreaking havoc on your stomach and you weren’t sure you could handle the buzz that a few beers would bring. Better to just avoid it altogether.

“You sure it’s because you have to drive home and not because of a certain someone, whose name rhymes with bomb?” Scar sees right through you and raises a brow, assessing you beneath her cool eyes.

“No comment.” You scowl as Scar smirks.

“And what are a buncha gorgeous ladies like you doin’ in a place like this?” Chris’ Bostonian accent rang loud and clear as he slung his arms sloppily around both you and Scar’s shoulders, his heavy, muscular body weighing you down just slightly.

“You a little drunk there, bud?” You ask, grinning. A drunk East Coaster, now that’s what you were used to around the holidays. Right up your alley.

“Not drunk, just merry.” Chris drawled out the word, flashing you a lopsided grin.

And the night continued like that: you joking with Chris and Seb, and Scarlett’s cold commentary hilariously sprinkled throughout. Through the night, you had happily managed to avoid the Englishman who paid no attention to you, and instead insisted on being the most gracious host known to man. Ensuring everyone had a drink in hand at all times, had enough food, was warm enough and not bored, etc. You almost admired how gracious and warm he was – that was, until he would lock eyes with you and his smile would fade slowly to a thin set line.

You sighed. You almost admired him. Leaning over to grab your coat, you almost successfully had it on and were about to head out the door before Scar stopped you, her hand gently resting on your shoulder.

“I think you’re forgetting something.” She said quietly, nodding towards the tree. You furrowed your brows, not understanding what she was saying. Scar rolled her eyes, nudging you towards it, where Tom was standing – laughing heartily at someone’s joke. His features looked radiant against the light coming from the fireplace.

You swallowed hard and did as Scar suggested – slowly walking towards the tree. Tom’s eyes flickered to yours from the movement, only momentarily, before continuing his conversation with whomever he was talking to. As you approached the tree – you saw what Scarlett was talking about. Your eyes widened as they settled on the lettering in disbelief.

“Does that stocking have my name on it?” You blurt out rather loudly, interrupting Tom’s conversation. Tom hesitated, before excusing himself from the small group and joining you by the tree.

“It isn’t polite to interrupt, you know.” He scolded, folding his arms across his chest as he towered over you. Not menacingly, just tall. You’d never noticed how tall he actually was because he always kept a solid three to five feet distance between the two of you at minimum. At all times. Now, you were well aware of how tall he was – and how good he smelled – and it was messing with your brain.

“I don’t need a lesson in manners.” You snap after a minute, bending over to pick up the stocking in question. “Is this for me?” You ask incredulously.

Tom shifted slightly and ran his hand across the back of his neck. Was he feeling uncomfortable? Tom was never uncomfortable.

“It’s just a small tradition we have within the Marvel family. The host always gives the cast their own stocking filled with a few small gifts.”

You gape at him, not believing your ears. “You mean to tell me that you filled this stocking with stuff that I actually like? Or did you just run to the dollar tree and grab anything you could find?”

“How cheap do you think I am, Y/N?” It was Tom’s turn to roll his eyes, and a small hiss of disapproval came from his mouth.

You grimaced, not meaning to offend. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that I’m just… surprised.”

Tom scratched the back of his neck again, and shrugged his shoulders. “Like I said earlier. It’s tradition.”

“Yeah, but, it’s not like you had to do it, you could have just not given me one.”

“That wouldn’t be fair…nor would that be very neighborly of me.” Tom counters, the corners of his mouth bending into a slight frown.

“You’re not my neighbor.” You say, though a small smile plays at your lips.

“Touché.” Tom shifted his weight awkwardly, his word just hanging in the air for a moment. “Well, er, I’ll let you open that and see you later.”

“Sure,” You say, glancing up to meet his cool blues, locking eyes with him for the first time, well… ever. “See you later.”

As he walks away, you sit down next to the fire, beginning to pull apart out item that Tom had put into the stocking for you. For being so cavalier about the situation – he sure had managed to get you everything you had sincerely loved. Things that you had discussed on set with other people, secrets you thought only your core cast of friends knew about… yet Tom had somehow managed to bottle it up into this stocking perfectly.

You snap your head up, searching for him wildly. How had he known what to get you? How had this stocking been put together so perfectly? For a man who claimed to hate you, he sure did pay a lot of attention to your likes and dislikes.

Finally spotting him across the room, he locks eyes with you, glancing from the gifts in your hand, then back up to your glowing eyes. You know he can’t hear you, so you just kind of point at them awkwardly, mouthing a “How?” with an inquisitive gesture to go with it.

Tom just smiles at you and gives a small shrug before mouthing, “Happy Christmas.”

And a happy Christmas it had turned out to be, indeed.

Fin.

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