#tom hiddlestonxreader

[andromeda-blackc]

Happy B-day Mr.H !!!!!

Thomas William Hiddleston 9 February 1981

[your-highnessmarvel]

Things Break

Requested by Anon: Hi! Can you write a story where Tom x reader have a rough sex, and after that or during that reader felt pain and Tom is scared that he hurt reader? PS.I LOVE YOUR FICS!!!!!

A/N: YAS I THINK I LOVE/HATE THIS REQUEST BUT LIKE YAS! I would like to add that I do not like writing hurtful sex, especially if one of the partners is unwilling to get hurt. I have skimmed on the details, because I think this oneshot is centered around Tom begging for pardon and never doing such a thing again. Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

Warnings: smut, mentions of harm/hurt

*gif not mine

(Tags at the end)

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MASTERLIST

You waited for Tom in the kitchen, unaware that his day had been hell. He had texted you that he was on his way from set, as he always did. You prepared a lunch, nothing big, just some salad, quick bites, and hot tea. 

You expected the usual banter; forgot his lines, forgot blocking, laughed during a sad scene, etc etc... However, you didn’t expect the sudden rush of the door, a heavy bang as he set his bags on the floor. The shuffling of his feet, quick and hard, on the floor as he looked for you. The atmosphere turning almost cold as he walked into the kitchen; you at the stove, him almost seething by the door. 

“Tom?” The frown on your face spoke more than the words that could have left your lips. He was angry, that was sure. His shoulders rose with the rhythm of his ragged breaths, wheezed through clenched teeth. His jaw was set, a muscle in his cheek twitching. Bronze colored hair in a mess, wild blue eyes ablaze. “Is something the matter?”

He took a few tentative steps around the counter, until you could see his clenched fists at his sides. He wasn’t speaking, just eyeing you with anger and hunger. 

His fingers found the curve of your waist and pulled you to him, the smell of him invading your senses. The wooden spoon in your hands found the counter as you slowly, almost temptingly, wrapped your hands around the back of his neck. Tipping your head back, hair sliding along your back, you tried to catch his eye. 

“Hard day at work?” you asked lowly. He hummed low in his throat, nuzzling your face until he could meet his lips to yours. While his mouth molded to yours, his fingers slid along the flesh of your arms until he was scraping the end of your skirt up your leg. Nails raked along the soft skin of your thighs. 

“I just need you,” he murmured, kissing along your jaw, your breaths quick and shallow. 

Your hands gripped his shoulders as he brought the hem of your skirt to your navel, where he could skim his fingers on the edge of your knickers. His lips kept whispering on the flesh below your ear. 

You were accustomed to him being sexually demanding, to say the least. Especially when you’d been apart for long or if the day had taken its toll on him. It always ended satisfyingly. But this time, as his fingers all but ripped your underwear to shreds and his fingers left bruises on your waist - this time was different. 

You loved Tom. You really did. Whenever he was in you, it was as if paradise was brought to your feet. But this time, with the razor edge of the counter digging into your bare hips, and his own snapping from behind, it was not totally paradise. 

And when he was done, spilling himself with one last painful thrust, it was the first time ever that you were happy that it was the end. 

You didn’t know how to tell him. How do you say that the man that you love just gave you painful sex and an even more painful soul for a few minutes? 

But you didn’t have to say much. He buckled himself up faster than lighting, twisting your body until you faced him. For a split instant, you thought he was crying. He swept you off your feet, cradling you into his arms. Your nose swept across his neck, smelling his musk, the one you loved to curl into after sex. 

Quickly, Tom walked across the pad until he reached the bathroom. Setting you onto your feet, he was fast in twisting the knobs of the tub. He returned to you, softly tugging at the straps of your dress until it was splayed at your ankles. Your underwear came next as he helped you step out of them. 

Still silent as ever, he guided you towards the tub, where you sat in steaming water. Tom filled the tub with lavender smelling bubbles and sitz, to calm your aches. You were searching him with your eyes, unknowingly asking for him to talk to you about what was going on inside that head of his. 

Slowly, he sat beside the tub, facing you. Rolling his sleeves, he dipped the tip of his fingers into the hot water. 

You curled into yourself. “Tom,” you croaked. 

“Y/N, I’m so-” he stopped himself, tears brimming his gorgeous eyes. “I’m so so sorry.” His voice cracked and he looked away, biting his bottom lip. 

Your own eyes brimmed with tears. 

“This will never happen again,” he sniffed. “I won’t treat you so terribly.”

You reached for him, hands dotted with water droplets. “Tom, no, don’t beat yourself up about it.” 

He cradled your hands in his, boring his icy stare into yours. “Y/N, I hurt you,” he said, voice trembling. “I saw it in your eyes. I am so sorry. Please forgive me.” His tone was but a murmur and your heart sank. 

It had not been a pleasant fuck, as you’d call it. You’d felt no love or tenderness from the man you adored, and usually, your love making was always based on sensuality and tenderness. You were not a pair bound to rough sex. That’s just not how you worked, and Tom always hated causing you any type of harm. So this time, this painful and seemingly clandestine bout of rough sex had taken you by surprise. 

“Tom, I love you,” you whispered, following his vagabond eyes with yours. “But you and I, rough sex?” you chuckled, “that doesn’t work. I forgive you, baby. Of course I do. Next time, just talk to me. I’m here.” 

He kissed your forehead tenderly. “I fucking love you, Y/N.” 

You smiled. Maybe things crack a little, but if both sides want to hold on, things get repaired. 

“Now wash my hair.”

tags:  @papi-chulo-bucky@fluasch@spudsandbandit@thatcrazybookwormgeek@loki-god-of-my-life@hodders2411 @internetgremlin IF I MISSED YOU, BECAUSE I WAS GONE FOR SO LONG, MESSAGE ME PLEASE

[themissingmarvel]

Hardly Starstruck [Part 1]

A/N: I’ve never done a celebrityxreader before. So please be gentle! No hate to any celebs in here. I love ‘em all. Also this will be a series. So be patient! :)

Synopsis: Working a con can be stressful, but you’ve done it a while. You’ve seen enough celebrities to be starstruck-proof. Until the big day at San Diego Comicon when the higher-ups tell you Tom Hiddleston’s PR rep is sick. You’re covering the next four days and helping out doing whatever it is that Tom needs done. And while you can’t deny the obvious attraction, you’re determined not to let it cloud your judgment and to ensure you do your job well. But the man is smitten. And determined.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.4k 

It was the Wednesday before the con opened. San Diego ComiCon to be exact. You’d been volunteering at it for long enough that you were no longer just a volunteer. They’d hired you on as a special guest coordinator long ago, once you got over being so star-struck. After being hugged by Jensen Ackles, Chris Evans, Benedict Cumberbatch… well, you started getting used to it. They were good folks, to be sure, and you loved your job, but you’d become one of the few who was able to sit in a room for longer than ten minutes without completely losing it.

Thursday night was always a fun night. You’d wake up early, get yourself dressed, and head to the con to make sure it was prepped for preview night. It meant going to bed early Wednesday and missing out on some of the parties, but it wasn’t a big deal. You tended to be a part of the rest of the parties throughout the week. With the newest Marvel movie coming out, another Avengers flick, you knew that this would be chaos.

The hotel was night enough, donning your usual baggy pajama pants and tank top as you readied yourself for bed, your routine interrupted as the phone rang on the table, charging next to about twelve other portable battery chargers (such was life.) Glancing down, you recongized the name, “Hey, Emma. Enjoying the- wait, what? Slow down a sec. Hold on.” Emma Hughes was one of the heads of the PR staff for Tom Hiddleston, one of the bigger names you were tasked with ensuring wasn’t tackled by mobs of fans. She was good. They all were. You had to be to work with folks like the stars they did.

On the other end there was frantic yelling, “Y/N! Listen, I know this is last minute, I know that. And I am so sorry in advance. But… shit. Listen, Tom’s con rep, Mark? He’s sick. Like, he can’t get to the airport kind of sick. I’d normally never ask this-”

You waved your hand, though she couldn’t see it, “No. Nope. No way, Emma. I’ve got the rest of the show to run at this point, I can be focused on Tom. I’ve got the entire Marvel crew to watch over, not to mention running point with the rest of the staff!” There was a towel wrapped around your head, wet hair inside it as you felt yourself unplug the phone and nervously pace.

Emma pleaded, “I’m begging you, Y/N. I don’t know the staff the way you do, and right now Tom’s insisting that it be you. He says he doesn’t trust anyone he hasn’t met before.”

Your eyes rolled, dramatically so, keeping the sigh that you wanted to let out internal. Emma was just following orders. But what she was asking of you wasn’t just to keep an eye on him, was she? Squinting, you stared at the door before you, “Are you asking me to be his personal PR rep while he’s here?”

There was a soft pause, “I already talked to the leads of the convention. They’re ready to cover what you’d normally be doing. They’re on board with you being his guide through this. Honestly, Y/N, it’ll be easy. You’ve met Tom before, a few times, and he trusts you. Could be worse. Could be following around Robert,” there was a smirk on the line that you knew too well.

Shaking your head you shrugged, “Fine. Am I meeting him in the morning at the main invite? Or do I have to cart his luggage around the airport,” you mused, already beginning to adjust the items you had packed away to fit this new role.

“Oh, he’s actually in your hotel, perfectly enough. I’ll text you his room number and extension. Just meet him at his room around 9am. You know Tom, he’ll be punctual about it. Just… no starstruck stuff.” A flush crossed your cheeks, one that you were so very glad Emma couldn’t see.

“Rude! I’m never starstruck. And around Tom? Please. Not my type. I’ll be fine, thanks,” you weren’t quite sure right then who you were trying to convince.

“Right, handsome men aren’t your type. I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll send you his schedule and everything in some PDFs to your email and the main account. Familiarize yourself with what you can, but he’s a pretty self-sufficient guy. Just keeping everything in check and getting him places in one piece would be nice,” she droned on.

“Emma! I’ve done this for years. I know the drill. Send me what I need and I’ll make sure he’s taken care of. Promise. Cross my heart. Won’t make any Loki comments, either.” You grinned widely.

Once the two of you had hung up a slew of files came to your phone in almost no time. You were glad the con had provided you with the phone the size of a tablet, give the information. But you were realizing, as you readied yourself for bed, that this was not going to be an easy gig. No, Tom Hiddleston had been one of the celebrities that you’d avoided because of that just… unfairly gorgeous man. More than that, he was charming, funny, sweet, and genuinely fun to be around. You’d avoided him because you knew there was no use getting starstruck around a guy who’d never notice a convention staff member. Certainly not you.

As you lay your head down, though, the thought repeated until you fell asleep, If he doesn’t notice staff, why would he ask for and remember you?

_______

Punctual as he was, 9 in the morning found you dressed with comfort and style outside his door. You were wearing the clothes that you’d always wear, a pair of tattered blue jeans and a low-cut black top clinging to your form. This wasn’t for his benefit, but it was for yours. It was easy to manuever in. And the bag slung around your shoulder held all you needed (including emergency supplies.)

Knocking, you did realize your makeup and hair had been done just a little more than you might have normally. You’d told yourself it was because you’d be in the spotlight more, but that wasn’t it. What did surprise you, however, was Tom opening the door wide, his eyes bright with a smile on his face, “Y/N! Great to see you, beautiful. Please, come in, security was just finishing some of the briefing on the day.” He stepped aside, finishing doing the gunmetal grey tie around his neck with a strange finesse only he could manage.

“Oh, Emma emailed me the security briefings. I just wanted to make sure you’re good with the meet-and-greet with all the A-List around noon, which gives you an hour or so to check out the main theaters. I mean, clearly not enough time to explore all of the con, but it’ll give you a sense of the main-”

He cut you off with a wink and a grin, “Always down to business. Come, sit down and have a cup of coffee while the rest of the group worries themselves with technicalities,” he motioned you through the incredibly elaborate and large penthouse suite. It was hard not to look overwhelmed as you took it in. You’d never had a role quite like this, working directly with a celebrity, but always in the background or from above.

You were surprised as he pulled out the chair for you by a table larger than your own dining room table, waiting until you sat to push the chair in gently, “I’m not too concerned about getting to the main hall early, Y/N. Rather, I’d prefer to chat with you, first. Get to know you better. Sound fair?” He was walking towards the kitchen area, grabbing what looked to be a French press already made, pouring two cups.

Behind you there were the usual suspects working out logistics, locked in their world. You looked at Tom, almost nervously, “I guess so. I mean, I’d really like to talk about the plans for the meet-”

There he went. Interrupting you again, “Cream or sugar? It’s quite potent. Brought the coffee from London. Never the same out in the states.” He eyed the bag and you bit down your brief annoyance.

“Cream. Dash of sugar. Please. So like I was saying, the expectation is to chat it up with some of the other ‘superhero’ franchise folks-”

“I suspected you liked your coffee sweeter, though I’m not sure why. Perhaps you’re sweet enough without the sugar,” he smirked as he waltzed closer, moving with grace and ease as you attempted to hide the blush when he placed the mug down before you.

Shaking your head you eyed him, “Mr. Hiddleston, respectfully-”

“Tom, please, Y/N.” He crossed his legs and leaned back, taking a sip of his piping coffee.

“Tom, I’d really like to go over the details for the day. It’s important you know all this so that when we need to bolt from one hall to the next, you’re ready,” your eyes were pleading, but you knew really you were trying to be distracted. Getting to know Tom was a mildly terrifying idea. He had asked for you, you, without even knowing much more than your name and title.

A gentle smile settled on his lips, “Just, please, do me this request and enjoy the coffee for a minute or five. I promise the entirety of Comicon won’t collapse in that time because I’ve insisted on having coffee with a beautiful woman,” he raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying watching the flustered look on your face.

You attempted to hide it, lifting the mug and taking a sip, your face changing as it caught you off guard, “Damn, you weren’t kidding about the taste. This is potent. But good-potent.” You hadn’t quite realized your swear, nor was it at the top of your ‘things to be concerned about’ list. Rather, enjoying the robust flavor you let the man talk.

“So you’ve been doing this a while. Emma tells me you’ve been part of conventions for some time,” he looked over, taking a sip as well as he waited.

“Been attending forever. Anime cons when I was a kid, got into the other cons as I got older. Broke as hell in college so I decided to volunteer, and viola. Long story short, here I am. Got good at what I did so they decided to keep me. So I get stuck babysitting difficult children like you,” you grinned at him over the coffee, deciding you were getting more comfortable around him now. He seemed like the type who could take it well.

And he did. A laugh escaped his lips as he grinned widely, “Difficult! Darling, I can recite my entire schedule and timing of each location better than you can. Even the parties I’m set to attend this evening. I’m simply trying to put you at ease. Though, I’m concerned I’ll have to be a bit more careful. Seems things are a bit more… distracting for me, this time around.”

He let the words sit in the air with an odd comfort, leaving you to sip the coffee before he quickly began to discuss his own thoughts on the scheduling. He hadn’t wanted to cause you any grief. Quite the contrary. Tom wouldn’t tell you as he discussed the panels he’d be at the next few days, but Mark was fine. In fact, Mark was sitting on a beach in Aruba after having been bribed to do so by Tom. There was no way that Tom would tell you he’d spend months orchestrating the ability to get some time alone with you.

It wasn’t easy for a celebrity, which you understood on a real personal level. Finding time to spend with someone and doing it without raising suspicions was always hard. But he’d managed it. And of course you’d never tell Tom as you sat across and watched his plan to once more appear in his Loki attire, drinking your coffee as he read you the schedule off his tablet, that you were smitten for him. It didn’t feel superficial, either. Which was arguably what frustrated you. This man was taking time, time that he was supposed to spend going down hallways and strutting around for the cameras, with you. He’d slide in a personal question here or there, and you’d ask one in return. In the span of only a half-hour, while the team convened, you and Tom had gone over his weekend that already felt too short.

Realizing the time, the coffee now coursing through you, you almost leapt up, “Oh! Mr. Hi- I mean, Tom, we’ve got to get going. Traffic will be a nightmare unless we head downstairs now, we’ve at least got to get you there in time to smile and wave at all the people you already know,” you grinned.

He followed, no putting up a fight this time, your sudden take-charge attitude coming forward as you lead the group down the hall and out to where the limo was waiting. But as the rest of the crew filed into their cars, you heading for the team at the front, you were surprised as Tom gently took your hand and smiled, “I’d prefer you ride with me, Y/N. You know, in case anything comes up while we’re on the ride there. This limo seems far too large to be in here alone. How about it?”

The smile he gave melted away nervousness that had been eating at you. There was a new kind of anxiety rising now as you slid into the limousine you were almost never allowed into. You wanted to be able to do your job, and to do it well, but now? Sitting in the back of a limo headed to the main hall of the convention center, you weren’t quite sure how that might pan out.

(To be tagged, just let me know! Or not tagged. It’s all good! New territory for me

@skymoonandstardust @with-the-words-all-wrong @little-red-83 )

[arwaaxxi]

Little Tom here, little Tom there 🔥👅💦

[tomthelokilizer]

Classically Romanced

Request:  Preferably meeting in a bookshop and realising we are literally the person of each other's dreams?  I am kind and passionate about books particularly Shakespeare and other classics.

Summary: Chilling in a bookshop when a rude dude decides to be rude and someone comes to save the day.  A little romance begins to bud.

Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 919

A/N:  I am working on the few requests that I have received now that I am out of uni for the summer! This is the first one, and I hope you enjoy!

              Flipping through the pages of Shakespeare’s Coriolanus, you reread this controversial classic. Although some believe that Shakespeare was not the original author of the play, you still thoroughly enjoyed its story.  The gentle music playing through your earphones aided in establishing a lovely bookstore ambience.  Through using your earphones and being clearly engrossed in your reading, you had created a large, metaphorical, neon sign, plastered above your head that stated, “DO NOT DISTURB.”  While this “sign” would have been evident to any human being with any wit about them, some more oblivious characters were blind to social etiquette.  As the chair across from you scooted out from the table, you attempted to pay no heed to the person now sitting at your table.  Faint mumbles drifted through the air and landed upon your preoccupied ears.  With undeniable annoyance written on your features, you shifted your focused gaze off of your book and onto your offender.

              “What do you want, Anthony?” You made no effort to conceal the disinterest that heavily coated your tone as you removed one of your earbuds.

              “Oh, you know,” he blathered as his roaming eyes raked your viewable body, “I was just wondering what you were doing later today.”

              “How many times must I repeat myself?” You rhetorically inquired.  “No matter the content of my plans, they will never involve you.”

              As expected, Anthony’s tone steadily grew louder and more forceful as he sputtered his reasons why you should apparently love him. The louder he grew, the less you listened.  Your eyes lightly glazed over as he became more animated, seemingly unbothered by the commotion he was creating.  You could feel the gaze of all the patrons’ eyes pierce into both of you as you attempted to hide your face with your hand.  Sensing a presence behind you, you assumed that the manager had come to remove the agitated man.

              “Excuse me,” a stern British voice pierced the ruckus, “Seeing as how you are not only disrupting those in the shop, but more importantly, disturbing this lovely lady, I am going to have to ask you to remove yourself from the premises, lest I do it for you.”

              Shutting his mouth, Anthony’s enraged glare vacillated between you and the mysterious man standing behind you.  Swiftly, he stood and turned his back to you as he stormed out of the store.  Applause erupted from those around you who witnessed the encounter.  At this point, you shifted in your seat to take a look at this kind stranger.  You never thought of yourself as one to be stunned by beauty, but if anyone could have achieved that feat, it would have been him.  Your eyes connected with his blue ones as you rose from your seat. Silently stammering on your words for but a moment, you whisper a shy response.

              “Thank you for that,” you murmured, unsure if your voice had the strength to be heard.

              “It was no problem,” he responded.  “No one should sit idly by while another is unjustly berated.”

              “And yet somehow, most seem to think that is their only option when it comes to that sort of commotion,” you stated, quirking an eyebrow as you remembered the past few instances with Anthony when none came to your aid.

              “Well, I am sorry to hear that, love,” he sympathized, his features gently shifting into a look of regret, seemingly apologizing on behalf of all those who observed and did nothing.

              “My name is Tom, by the way,” he stated, extending his hand.

              “(Y/N),” you responded, grasping his hand in yours, a faint blush barely evident on your cheeks.

              “Pleased to meet you, (Y/N).”  The manner in which he said your name was like a gentle caress, whispered as though it were a sacred word.

              “Likewise, Tom,” you returned, treating his own name in the same way.

              Slightly flustered, his eyes searched his surroundings in hopes of discovering something that might keep the conversation alive.

              “I see you’re Coriolanus,” he quickly stated, smiling fondly.  “That is a very good choice.  I, myself, am a little partial to the play, so it’s nice to see that someone else is still interested in it.”

              “Well, I am fan of all of Shakespeare’s works, but I do highly enjoy this one as well,” you commented, returning his smile.

              “Really?” He inquired, his expression becoming intrigued and excited.  “Would you like to discuss some of them?”

              Taken aback by his excitement and invitation, you hesitated.

              “Of course, if you have other matters to attend to or you just don’t want to, I completely understand,” he quickly stated, almost apologetic for even asking.

              “No, no, I would love to talk Shakespeare with you!” You exclaimed as you watched his smile return to its natural place.

              “Shall we sit?” He gestured to the table behind you.

              As the two of sat down and discussed some literary classics, it became quite clear that there was an unnatural closeness between the two of you.  Your likes and dislikes were oddly similar, not to mention your taste in literature and music.  As you were wrapping up your conversation, Tom seemed anxious to ask a question.

              “Would you like to grab a cup of coffee with me sometime?” He asked, hopeful for a positive response.

              “I would like that,” you replied, smiling as you saw his features change into a relaxed smile.

              As you exchanged numbers and parted ways, you became pleasantly content in knowing that you would soon be seeing each other again.

[cursedwithboredom]

Wedding Day

Short Tom Hiddleston drabble thing for youuu <3

Word Count: 563

Summary: Tom’s thoughts on and leading up to your wedding day

AN: I haven’t posted in a while but I got a bunch of these in storage somewhere haha. Would love feedback. Also send me requests myloves.

mwahh - Jess

She looked beautiful.

Her dress fit her in all the right places, the train of it following behind. The way her eyes sparkled while she scanned the large room, even as the veil covered part of her face, I saw that amazing sparkle. Her hair was intricately pinned up allowing everyone to see that smile.

That smile.

I would give anything if it meant I could see that smile every day, even if just for a second. I wanted to be the one to make her smile. The one who makes her cheeks flush and her eyes move to her feet. It made every part of me feel warm and just happy.

She walked gracefully down the long aisle and I swear, I could feel my heart beat even faster. It felt like it was going to explode in my chest. I smiled at her and her smile grew even brighter, causing butterflies to flutter in my stomach as well as making it twist painfully.

She finally reached the altar and handed her maid of honor the bouquet she held in her hands before turning to look at him.

......

"Tom, you're my best friend, right?" She spoke and looked up at me from where her head was resting on my lap.

I chuckled at her and replied, "Well, I'd like to think I am"

We were best friends. We are. I just wish I had the guts to finally ask her out instead of watch her waste her time with boys who don't even know the half of how amazing this girl is.

"Why'd you ask?" I looked down at her when she started to fidget and sat up, turning to face me from the other side of the couch.

"Andrew and I... It was our second year anniversary yesterday." She continued to fidget and I tried my best to hide the scowl that was threatening to show on my face.

2 years? Had it been that long? I was surprised when they had reached a year, but 2?

My gut turned with obvious jealousy thinking about how possible it was that they weren't breaking up.

What if he is the one for her? Does that mean I'm not? I have to be, right? Nobody knows her as much as I do... And nobody knows me as much as she does.

I hummed back at her, signaling her to continue and all she did was stick out her hand to me. A hand with a very obvious engagement ring wrapped around her slim finger.

I wanted to throw up. To laugh and cry at the same time. This can't be real. This is a prank

"I'm engaged." She giggled, and my heart broke even more.

He proposed... And she said yes.

She's going to be his.

......

And in a few minutes, she'll already be.

I smiled at her, watching her take his hand in hers and wipe the tears that managed to escape her eyes while she giggled.

I smiled because I know that she's happy and she's finally found 'the one'. Even if on the inside I'm dying because I know 'the one' isn't me. 'The one' is right in front of her, pecking her lips before lifting their hands up and cheering with the crowd.

He'll make her happy, and I'd do anything to keep her happy.

Even if I'm not.

[coffee-and-drabbles]

Kiss It Better

Sitting in the hospital lobby, you caught Dr. Hiddleston’s attention on his way to work. Blissfully unaware of your condition, you turned down his help in the first place. When push came to shove, the British intensivist did not leave your bedside.

Rating: Mature Audience [16+] Fandom: Tom Hiddleston Prompt: Imagine Tom Hiddleston is your doctor and you are in critical condition and he has an overwhelming desire to cure you. He checks up on you every 2 hours to see if you’re doing alright. And sometimes you pretend you’re asleep and he bends down and kisses you on the forehead and lips. Pairing: Doctor!Tom Hiddleston x Reader Type: Reader insert, one-shot, fluff, angst, sic fic, hurt/comfort Date: 27th March 2017 Words: 4673 Warnings: [TW: graphic description of medical conditions and procedures, detailed description of the reader’s critical condition, needles, panic attack] The rating and the warnings are due to the reader developing diabetic ketoacidosis, a potentially life-threatening complication of diabetes mellitus type one. A huge part of the story plays in an Intensive Care Unit. A/N: That imagine by @clairelouiseisawesome has been nibbling on my brain for a long time. The GIF by @satanslifecoach got the ball rolling. Beta’d: @outside-the-government

You just came back from an appointment with your new pulmonologist and waited for your best friend to pick you up. The short walking distance from the lift to the entrance hall appeared agonizingly long. No way you could drive home by yourself.

Shortness of breath plus a searing pain between your ribs when you had to cough were not new to you anymore. You had been suffering from a bronchitis that was not susceptible to the recent round of antibiotics.

Slumping into one of the surprisingly comfortable armchairs in the hospital lobby seating area, you let your head fall against the backrest and closed your eyes.

Thanks to the medication you were taking recently, you could breathe easily. Nevertheless, taking a deep breath elicited a dry cough. It subsided quickly, yet your chest felt tight like something heavy was sitting on it.

You allowed your head to fall back again. The black leather felt chilly against your neck. Staring at the ceiling, you tried to calm your racing heart by letting your mind wander, wondering what pictures you could create if you connected the tiny random holes in the tiles.

“Excuse me, miss, are you okay?“ The rich, modulated voice was coming from the blond man crouching beside the armchair.

You wanted to respond, but it was hard for you to clear your thoughts. A cold trickle of sweat ran down your spine. You barely noticed the swift movement in your peripheral vision. Your good Samaritan’s long fingers loosely encircled your wrist. He quickly found your pulse point and applied firm pressure.

Irritated, your eyes were searching his deep-set green-blue ones. Knit eyebrows gave away the concern in his sharp facial features.

“Miss, are you okay?” He spoke a little louder. “Are you doing well?“ The elongated vowels and the enunciated consonants clearly identified him as of British origin.

“Yeah…,“ you stuttered. “I’m only… only a bit under the weather. I’m waiting for a friend of mine to drive me home.“

Your hastening pulse was beating impatiently against his fingers. His skin felt pleasantly cool against yours. Once again, you stared at your wrist and back to him.

“What are you doing?” You frowned.

Startled, he let go of your wrist. The tall guy combed his fingers through his wavy hair. „I’m sorry,” his thin yet sculpted lips formed an apologetic smile. “I was checking your vitals.“  

“What do you mean?” You gave him a puzzled look.

“Uh… I work here.” A shy sheepish smile raised his cheekbones a little higher and revealed his pointed chin. “I was on my way to the locker room as I saw you crashing on the chair. I was worried you might need medical attention.“

“No, I’m fine. But thank you, mister…?”

“Hiddleston. Tom Hiddleston.“ The name rolled off his tongue in crystal clear Oxford English.

“Doctor Hiddleston?“ You subconsciously winked at the charming Brit, immediately regretting your facial muscles did not consult your brain beforehand.

“Tom,” the physician subtly blinked at you.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. Listen, I appreciate that, but really, I’m alright. No need to worry.“

“Good.” Tom eyed you suspiciously as he stood up. “I got to go. I’m running late. My shift is about to start in a couple of minutes.“

“Okay.”

“It was nice to meet you.”

The moment the Dr. Hiddleston said goodbye, you saw your best friend approaching you. Judging by the meaningful look she shot you, she must have been a watching the two of you for quite a while.

A few hours later, you were woken up by Rick Astley blaring “Never Gonna Give You Up” in your living room. Groggily, you were fishing your phone from the coffee table. In doing so, you almost fell off the couch you were napping on.

Rick was halfway through his song before you figured out how to unlock your phone to take the call. You were so sleepy!

“Hey, Y/N! Are you okay? What took you so long? I’m worried about you,” your close friend almost yelled at you.  

“You’re  never gonna give me up, right?” You quipped, trying to not sound as exhausted and shattered as you felt. Another cough attack cut you short.

“You still have that ringtone?” You heard her chuckling. “Y/N, it has been ages since I’ve rick rolled you!”

“Five… years,” you tried to catch your breath and grabbed the reusable water bottle, flipping it open. You could not drink as quickly as thirst compelled you.

“Anyway, you looked like crap today”, she stated.  

“Charming as always,” you brushed her off and took another big gulp. “But yeah… compliment taken.”

“My pleasure,” she retorted with a wink in her voice. “Speaking of charming: Who was the guy you were talking to at hospital?”

“A doc,” you briefly stated most assuredly. Tom had not confirmed your assumption, but you were hoping to excite your friend’s curiosity. It would distract her from questioning you about your recent health issues.

“Your doc?” Another wink in her voice.

“No,” you answered before chugging the rest of your water. “He saw me lounging in that armchair and was worried I could require any medical attention.”

“Medical attention, huh? Oooohh, I am sure if you got hurt, he would know how to kiss it better.”

“Hell, no! I was too sick to drive home by myself, let alone…” A sudden overwhelming tiredness hit you like the thirst did earlier. “Listen, can we talk tomorrow? I can barely keep my eyes open. I need sleep.”

Feeling dead tired, you hung up on your friend without saying goodbye. You flung your phone on the table and flopped back into the couch. Falling asleep immediately, you were blissfully unaware of the severity of the latent process slowly sending you on a trajectory towards a metabolic crisis.

Your co-worker called your best friend the morning of the second day you did not show up to work. That phone call added up to the bad vibe she had been nurturing for too long. It made her drive faster than she should and her double-parking in front of your block of flats. It took her another gut-wrenching seventeen attempts to dial all your phone numbers and half an hour of banging at your door until your brother arrived with the spare key.

Your best friend called an ambulance the moment she saw you lying unconscious on the living room floor, not far away from the couch you had fallen asleep almost 48 hours ago.

As the EMTs arrived, your breathing was deep and laboured, you were unresponsive to speech, your heart was racing, your blood pressure was dangerously low and you were severely dehydrated.

You woke up to a cacophony of acoustic signals and the background noise of people talking. Something was not right, however, you could not quite put a finger on it. Your eyelids were too heavy to even allow you to blink. The urge to rub your eyes emerged, but your arms felt like they had gone dead. It took much effort to slowly bend your fingers. A groan escaped your lips.

“Shhh…, shhh…,” a male voice whispered calmingly. “Easy now.”

You managed to lift your hands off the bed a little as your wrists were gently caught and lightly pinned down. Your muscles gave in immediately.

He hushed you again as suddenly an alarm went off and startled you. The physician carefully placed his hand on your forehead to keep you from uncontrollably moving your head from left to right.

“Try to relax. Everything is okay.” His thumb reassuringly brushed over your temple while he turned off the alarm. “You will be fine.”

You attempted to open your eyes, but it was futile. Your eyelids fluttered and you groaned with exhaustion. Somewhere in your brain, a neuron fired. A stiff upper lip… a flustered smile… chiselled facial features… Your friend’s voice stating ‘If you got hurt, he could kiss is better’…

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Oxford English. “Could you please try to open your eyes?”

You tried to comply, but your muscles still did not obey. More and more incoherent impressions came to your mind. Bright white lights, voices, loud and distorted, …

“Y/N, open your eyes for me, please!” His melodious voice became more demanding while he forcefully squeezed the side of your finger.

… the strange feeling of being touched, prodded and rolled over by many hands, the coldness of skin disinfectant and adhesive ECG electrodes, …

“Come on, open your eyes!” The voice insisted loud and clearly.

… the sharp pain from drawing blood and starting IV lines.

The physician grabbed the flat triangular neck muscle that covers your shoulders like a scarf and pinched it hard, twisting it a little. The exploding pain finally managed to tether your consciousness to reality and keep you from drifting off again. Your eyelids fluttered as you tried to open your eyes.

“Just like that. Open your eyes. Look at me.” Elongated vowels. Enunciated consonants. Received pronunciation. British.

You finally managed to comply. Although the night-time illumination of the Intensive Care Unit provided an indirect and dimmed light, it still was too bright for you. Your vision was blurry. Suddenly, you were hit by all the body sensations the unconsciousness had hidden from you. Panic set in.

 “I’m sorry, I know that hurt…”, Dr. Hiddleston spoke calmly. The surge of adrenaline had sped up your heartbeat and elevated your blood pressure. The monitor alerts that suddenly went off catalysed your stress response. The fight-flight-mode made you sit up.

 You emerged unexpectedly quickly, so he had to rush to you to catch you by your shoulders. His grip tightened around your upper arms as he sat down on the bed. He instinctively pulled you close and wrapped you in his arms, holding you tight.

 “Shh, shh”, he soothed you, his voice calmingly deep. In your panic, you had disconnected an ECG lead. The alarm was ringing in your ears.

 “It’s alright…”, he held you closer with his left arm and reached out to push a button to default silence the alarm. “I’ve got you.”

 Your cheek rested against his toned chest. You could feel his muscles tensing as he was adjusting his arms around you. The starched midnight blue scrubs crinkled every time he moved. You were wide awake now.

 “Y/N, take a deep breath. In and out. In… and out…,” Dr. Hiddleston spoke softly to you. His lips almost grazed your forehead.

 Slowly, your breathing levelled out. The subtle fragrance of sweet tangerine, wild bergamot and a touch of velvety, warm oak moss gradually percolated through the clean, linen and sterile scent of the scrubs.

 “That’s better. Just keep breathing for me. You are doing great,” he reassured you. “Now, I’d like you to lie back down.”

 “What happened? Where am I?”, you inquired while the physician was helping you to lie down and get comfortable.

 “You are in the hospital. Intensive Care Unit. What is the last thing you remember?”, he asked while he was fishing for the missing ECG lead.

 “I don’t know…,” your eyes were following his attempt to detangle the green cable and click it to a new self-adhesive ECG electrode. The alarm was about to ring again, but he muted it on an instant.

 “We… we… wait, we met?” You were not sure if you could trust your memories. “Is that right?”

 “Right. I am Dr. Thomas Hiddleston. I saw you in the hospital lobby and was worried about you.” He nodded and held the ECG lead in front of you, silently asking for permission to re-apply it. You uncrossed your arms and moved them from your stomach to rest them on the bed.

 “You thought I needed medical attention…,” you stated while he turned down the blanket to get access to the left side of your chest. His hands deftly lifted your hospital gown to apply the green ECG lead. He flattened his hand and splayed his long fingers across the left side of your ribcage.

 “That was three days ago,” he briefly looked in your eyes while his palm pressed on the electrode. The wet coldness of the electrode was a stark contrast to his warm hand

 “Three days?!” You exclaimed.

 “You had been found unconscious at home. You were admitted to the ER with extremely high blood sugar. They transferred you to us, so we can watch you closely while bringing it down to a normal level.” The physician tucked you in and resumed the place by your side on the bed.

“What’s wrong with me?” You inquired.

 “We are still waiting for the immunochemistry to come back….”

 You gave him a puzzled look.

 “We are about to find out what caused your condition. For now, we are going to have an eye on your blood sugar levels and your electrolytes. We will make sure you won’t collapse again.”  

 You nodded in understanding.

 “I promise I’m going to explain everything when you are feeling better. For now, I’d like to ask you a few questions and give you a quick examination. Would that be okay?”

 Dr. Hiddleston took a brief medical history and gave you a swift once-over. He explained everything you needed to know to not freak out. The physician informed you they would substitute insulin, glucose and electrolytes and measure your blood sugar and your blood gases every hour.

 Two days later, he kept his promise and took his time to explain you the very basics about diabetes mellitus type one. He told you about the genetic disposition, how your bronchitis might have contributed to the onset and helped you cope with the idea of having to depend on insulin substitution for the rest of your life.

The transfer from the ICU to the peripheral endocrinology ward went quickly and without prior information on Dr. Hiddleston’s day off work. You had to leave, because they needed the bed for an emergency patient.

It was a rough transition. As much as you hated the noisy and busy environment, the lack of privacy, the bright lights and the ever-present stench of disinfectant, it was reassuring to have the ICU team around you 24/7.

The first night, you felt terribly alone and anxious. You were looking forward to sleep in the dark and silent night, but instead of covering you like a calming blanket and lull you to sleep, the darkness became threatening, dragging your mind to dark places.

The next day, Tom paid you a visit at the end of his shift. You didn’t know how to feel about that in the first place. Watching him entering your room, all clad in a white coat over his midnight blue scrubs, you were concerned he might want to transfer your back to the ICU.

Indeed, he dropped by to see how you were doing. Tom had to be upfront with you and ask your permission to visit you again. He was not your physician anymore, but he knew you were in a vulnerable phase. He was so concerned wanting to get to know you better might mean taking advantage of you. You told him he would not do any harm by dropping by and saying hello, no strings attached.

The physician made it a habit to visit you before his shift started and after it ended. You learned a lot about your condition and familiarized with the therapy: A life-long substitution of insulin, preferably via a small portable insulin pump that replaced the syringe-pump the ICU used to apply the insulin.

The physician did not only help you understand the basics of blood sugar homeostasis. You learned he was a passionate theatre goer and an expert on the works of Shakespeare. It made you smile how his mind dove into these places he loved. The more you talked with each other, the more you lured him out of his shell. You were rewarded by getting to know a man with a delightful sense of humour who could goof around, tell bad jokes and who could do the most adorable nose scrunch.

On the tenth day of your hospital stay, your family paid you a visit. Your entire family. All of them. They arrived in small groups, came and went throughout Sunday. It was nice, but also challenging.

 You had anticipated they would make your health their main topic, but the moment your brother came up with the idea your mother could move in with you for a while after you would be discharged made you explode. Like what the fuck? Sure, you were the youngest in your family, but you were an adult with a life to live! There were words, there were tears and there were boundaries you successfully defended. It was an enormous difference between caring and patronizing, and you were proud you stood your ground.

 At the end of the day, you were left sad, exhausted and empty. You had not planned to fake sleep, but you did. Knowing Tom would drop by before his night shift, closing your eyes was a mere reflex that set in as soon as you heard him opening the door.

 You felt the bed dip under his weight as he was sitting down. He didn’t say anything, he just sat there. Tears welled up behind your closed eyes. No way you could get away with hiding like that.

His weight was shifting as he was leaning in to caress your cheek and to plant a soft kiss on your forehead. Your emotions tumbled over and tripped over their own feet. Tears seeped from your eyes while you squeezed them shut.

 “I hate this”, you sobbed.  

“There is a learning curve,” the physician stated softly while eyeing the tangle of educational material on your table. The insulin pump trainer had given it to you to practice and get the hang on your therapeutic regimen.

“You don’t understand!” You rejected his educated guess. ”I don’t want this. I just don’t.” You stared at him, tears running down your cheeks.

“Y/N…,” Tom put his right hand on your shoulder, his thumb softly rubbing circles on it. “Darling, it takes time. It…”

“Let’s be honest: It is not rocket science, but nothing works.” The compassionate look he gave you was almost too much for you. All the piled-up anxiety, the pressure and frustration broke free. “I’m in hospital, there is not much variety, it is the same food every day and my body does what it wants!”

Tom ran his fingers through your hair, tucking away stray strands behind your ear. He briefly frowned and his lips parted as if he wanted to say something, then he clamped them shut. Knowing there was more, he locked eyes with you and let the silence hang in the air.

“I feel like a damn cyborg,” you adverted his gaze. “Continuous blood glucose monitor. Transmitter. Infusion set. Insulin pump.”

“Y/N…,” his hands went up to cup your face, brushing his thumbs across your cheeks to wipe away the tears.

“I can’t even insert the needle myself!”, you sat up, wanting to leave the bed and storm off.

Tom wordlessly leaned in to catch you and gathered you in his arms.

“I hate needles, I just can’t.” you mumbled against his shoulder. His signature scent, Armani Privé Oranger Alhambra, enveloped you. He held you tighter, the radiating warmth of his hands splayed across your back was so comforting.

“Do you want to get out of here for a while? My shift starts in an hour and I could use a cup of tea.” You felt him smiling against your hair.

“A trip to the cafeteria? In a hospital gown and a wheelchair?” You frowned, your voice muffled by the fabric of this crisp midnight blue scrubs. ”No fucking way.”

“A trip to the deserted psychiatry day unit on the seventh floor…,” he chuckled. The physician gently took you by your shoulders as you slipped out of his embrace. “In your blue fluffy robe. The lift is around the corner.”

You knit your brows and looked into his eyes.

“Y/N, all I am asking is for you to have tea with me,” a genuine smile was spreading on his face.

“Is that a date?” You inquired.

“It is a cup of tea,” he clarified, holding his hands up in defence.

“Good, because I will never ever go on dates again,” you briefly stated. The bewildered look he gave you let you pause for a moment.

“How could I?” You turned your eyes away from him, focussing on the pattern of the hospital blanket. “Even if I managed to magically hide that insulin pump anywhere in my little black dress, sooner or later… I mean… how… I can’t familiarize with the idea of… of…,” you were trailing off.  

“No formal dress code required.” Tom leaned in to whisper in your ear. “I’m a grown man who is obliged to work in scrubs. These are basically pyjamas, and they are never available in the size I need.“

You turned to him and were met with mischievous boyish grin. “If you take a closer look, you will notice the whole staff is indeed working in sleepwear. You and I won’t draw too much attention on the floor.”

You could not help but grin as he lifted his eyebrows and tipped his head toward the door.

Tom supported your frame while the two of you were walking towards the lift. From a distance, he appeared slight and wiry like the prototypical runner. Walking next to him revealed how broad shouldered and solid he really was.

The deserted psychiatry day unit was on the top floor. In contrast to the other areas of the hospital, it was much more inviting and friendly. There were no white walls, but a calming colour concept reminding you of a quiet day at the beach. Artworks, big plants and the diffused light of paper floor lamps helped creating a soft and cosy atmosphere.

Tom brewed tea in the kitchenette. You admired his elegant posture and his graceful movements from the loveseat across the room. So much precision. So much control. A barely visible lopsided smile passed over your face. That guy had to learn how to relax a little.

You only noticed you were blatantly staring at him the moment he looked up, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“I am too English for hospital coffee,” he said and smiled apologetically as he poured hot water into two cups to preheat them.

“How about hospital tea then?” You quipped from the safety of your makeshift pillow fort. You had piled them up against the right arm rest you were leaning against, your feet up and almost tucked under you.

The physician gave you a pained look for an answer.

“Hahaha, you look like don’t know whether to pity the poor tea bag, or the people liking the tea made from it,” you sassed him.

 “I… umm…”, he nervously ran his fingers through his wavy dark blond hair, “It is not the tea sachet, it is about full leaf tea or tea fannings… umm…,” he blushed a little more.

 “Tom…,” you tried to appease him.

 “Tea comes in so many varieties, but dust tea is really not an option…,” he continued to ramble while filling loose leaf Earl Grey tea in the infuser of a glass tea pot.

 “Tom…,” a bit louder this time, but he did not react.

 “Flavoured teas are… what I mean…” He carefully poured hot water over the tea leaves. “You can tell the difference between natural bergamot oil and artificial…”

 “Tom…,” you let out a soft chuckle. “Untwisteth thy knickers!”

 “Wait, what?” He stopped abruptly, locked eyes with you and briefly frowned in irritation, before his hearty laugh filled the room.

 You smiled brightly at him and watched how he turned a small hourglass to determine the steeping time. He served the tea with a splash of cream and rock sugar.

 As he sat himself next to you on the sofa, a moment of silence hung in the air. The tension between you and him almost tangible, you were locking eyes, looking for an answer to an unspoken question. His left hand came up to caress your jawbone, barely daring to graze it. As you were leaning into his touch, he travelled his hand to your neck and cupped it. The physician drew you into a kiss that evolved from tender and mellow to hungry and passionate.

You were sitting comfortably in the black armchair at the hospital lobby seating area where you met Tom for the first time. It was a little over six months ago.

Adjusting to life with diabetes type one was more challenging than you’ve expected in the first place. As soon as you thought you got the hang of it, there was another influencing factor you had to take into consideration: Work, exercising, heightened stress, a simple cold, even your period.

Tom and you planned to take things slowly. Getting to know each other was a lot less complicated than you assumed. The two of you enjoyed life and each other’s company. One day at a time, going with the flow as well as avoiding trying too hard was working for you.

Your family challenged your boundaries under the cloak of worrying about you. There was anger, tears and frustration due to their firm belief diabetes type one was all about the substitution of insulin and a strict diet.

Tom never fully got out of doctor mode, but he was mindful enough to stay unobtrusive. The physician discreetly stored a glucagon emergency kit and replacement insulin in his fridge long before you thought about keeping your toothbrush in his bathroom. He remained level-headed when you experienced minor metabolic dysregulations. You could tell he was looking out for you, yet he never made your condition his subject.

“There you are,” Tom interrupted your thoughts. He was crouching next to the armchair like he did the day the two of you met. “How are you doing?”

“Hmmm, according to this brochure…”, you dramatically raised your eyebrows and grinned at him confidently, “I am… young, smart, attractive, diabetic… so I guess I’m good.”

He smiled at you as he stood up, offering you a hand to get up yourself. “How did the class go?”

“Good, however, the next person who is going to interrogate me about whether I experience a dawn phenomenon, or how I calculate carb ratios and insulin dosages, will suffer an unpleasant death.”  

“That bad?” Tom placed his hand on the small of your back. The physician instinctively pulled you a little closer as you started walking towards the main entrance.

“Nah,” you laughed. “Not really. I just need a break. Especially from that diabetologist from hell.”

“Ehehehe, Dr. Stanton?” He tilted his head back and smiled at you. You rolled your eyes in response. Said diabetologist was a distinguished expert, but his bedside manners were known to be rather old-fashioned.

“How about you let me help you plan your retaliation?”

You gave him a puzzled look.

“I thought about taking you out for dinner at that new Italian restaurant. Pasta. Olive bread. Tiramisu. How does that sound?” Tom looked exceptionally confident with his plan, a Cheshire Cat’s grin on his face.

“Hahahaha,” you poked at his chest with the index finger of your left hand. “You sound like a bad influence.”

He gently caught your left wrist with both hands and splayed your hand across his chest. “I’ve got you. I’ll help you adjust your insulin. Stanton will be none the wiser.”

His left hand nudged your chin to draw you into a gentle kiss; his right hand still encircled your left wrist right above your pulse point. Tom deepened the kiss as he felt your heartbeat quicken against his fingers. Opening your eyes, you were met with his blue-green ones.

“Shall we?” Tom asked without breaking your eye contact. You nodded and took his arm he offered to you.

[granills]

Imagine Tom is currently in Korea due to his film 'Infinity War' and you can't do anything but watch him on the social media sites or...text him.

You made some tea and sat on the couch.You took your phone and scrolled through the new photos of him.There he is at the fan event,there's another his interview,there's his photoshoot in a hotel.You missed him so much despite that he left last night.

You saw a video of him which was uploaded one minute ago.He was at the interview and one of the fans started a live video on instagram.You,of course,had a fake account there and just like that you could watch Tom everytime when he was abroad.Tom was answering questions in the video.You've got an idea; you've decided to text him.

What are you doing? You typed; you started with a basic question.You quickly turned your tablet on and opened the live video.Sebastian Stan was talking now with an interviewer and Tom was sitting beside him and listening.You saw him stirring in his chair and pulling his phone from his pocket halfway.You smiled and looked directly at him.

On interview.Call you later. He typed and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

You pouted and answered.Fine then.

You took your mug and took a selfie.There were words on your mug.'Tom or Loki?I love both.'

You sent this photo to him and typed.Oops.Sent by accident.

Tom felt his phone vibrating,he pulled it and read your message.You saw him couldn't help but smile.He ran his fingers over the keyboard of his phone and turned it off.

I miss you.You got his message and smiled sipping your tea.

--

Wattpad:nigarrmtvseries

[your-highnessmarvel]

Don’t Be Afraid

Requested by Anon: Could you please do an imagine where the reader asks Tom Hiddleston to help her get over her fear (like, panic attack fear) of public speaking?

A/N: All these Hiddles requests, gaaah, I’m loving it! I’m writing this based on the one panic attack I’ve had, so limited experience. Sorry in advance.

Warnings: 

*gif not mine

(Tags at the end)

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MASTERLIST

You loved acting. You loved to become someone else, to envelop yourself under someone else’s skin. 

It permitted an escape; a little breath of air from your own flesh. 

But the one thing that made your skin crawl was that you had to appear in front of the public on numerous occasions. You had to give interviews on panels. You had to give speeches for women’s day. You were invited to award shows, and when you won, there was an expected speech.

And now, another rally for gender equality. Another moment where you’d have to be the center of attention. Even though you never minded it behind a camera, public speaking was your fear.

Your phobia. 

You’d always felt the attack coming before; the shakes, the breathlessness, the sticky flesh. You’d fell through the darkness. Your speeches after were always muddled, as if you were speaking in water. But these attacks were never as bad as this one. 

It’s like the floor had opened up under your feet, swallowing you in one breath. Your lungs constricted, air becoming impossible to inhale. Dark blobs blurred at the edges of your vision. Your skin felt icky, sweating, your palms wet as you felt your body fall. Brittle knees hit the floor. 

Unable to breathe.

Unable to see.

You could feel your heart everywhere; in your rib cage, beating vivaciously, in your throat, in your ears, on your tongue. Blood roared through you as if a thunder storm had started in your veins. 

You could hear the world around you as if in a tunnel; blurred and lazy, as if everyone around you was drunk. 

All you could think about was; I’m going to die!

There was no air coming to your lungs, to your blood. Your heart was beating too fast. Your hands shook like leaves in the wind. 

You were going to die behind the curtain of the gender equality march! 

And then there were warm palms on your shoulders, searing through the thin material of your sundress. His fingers were soft, gently coaxing the tension from your muscles. 

“Hey, hey.” He was whispering closely to your ear, low, afraid to push you deeper into the darkness of your panic. He rubbed your back slowly, barely grazing you, like you were fragile. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, love.”

“I’m dying,” you whined, breath barely wheezing passed your teeth. Your heart was throbbing so painfully in your throat, that you reached up to claw it open. You needed to breathe! You needed your heart to stop beating so fast! “I can’t see!” you exclaimed. 

Tom took your hands in his, softly bringing them to his chest, kissing the knuckles. “Don’t be afraid,” he continued. “Just breathe, Y/N. And when you can breathe, we can leave. You don’t have to stay here. I can take you back home.”

Home. 

The thought brought back a memory. Behind your tightly shut lids, through the tears welling in your eyes, you saw the grey sofa of your living room. The paintings on the wall. The dimly lit bathroom in the corner. 

“Breathe, Y/n,” he cooed softly, warm hands on your back again. “Don’t be scared. It’s just temporary. Then, I can take you home.”

The backs of your lids burned as you opened your eyes, still seeing nothing but blankness. You felt around the ground with your trembling hands until they had latched onto Tom’s shirt. “Breathe,” he said. 

Your lungs constricted as your gripped his shirt. Breathe. Don’t be afraid. Think of home. 

A shaky breath came through your lips. Your lungs seemed to sing with relief, goosebumps freckling your flesh.

“Good,” Tom said. “We can leave. Will you leave with me?”

You nodded. “Y-yes,” you squeezed out, letting another gulp of air reach your screaming lungs. 

“You want to go home?” he asked, tone impossible patient and soft, hands rubbing your bare arms. 

“I do,” you said. You hadn’t realized, but every word was accompanied by a breath, which in turn brought your lungs slowly back to peace and your heart beat to normal. It still thud in your ears. You could still feel your blood pulsating through every vein, but your vision and hearing were coming back in leaps. The feeling of dying was sweeping away like smoke in a gust of wind. 

“Are you able to stand, darling?” he cooed. 

“I am.” He held you steady; one arm around your shoulders, the other holding your hand. 

“We’re going home, alright?” he asked. “Home.”

“Yes,” you answered, leaning against his chest. He smelled of rosemary and wood smoke. He was comforting. The roar in your ears had settled. Your heart was thudding slowly within your rib cage. Your glassy eyes were now focused on your adjoining hands, but were open and visibly working. You could hear and touch and smell Tom, which was all that mattered to you. 

You were out of the dark tunnel. He looked down at you, gazing with his sharp blue eyes, and smiled. “Home.” 

tags: @fluasch @emegeek @papi-chulo-bucky@thatcrazybookwormgeek@white-chocolate-mocha-fan@ironmanlover24

[arwaaxxi]

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

I have a tom hiddlestonxreader oneshot request, I was thinking abt a fic where reader and tom have been in a relationship for some time and all and one day reader finds out that Tom is very ticklish and then just spoil that information (in a positive connotation)

you usually write fics where the reader is ticklish instead of the other way around so I totally understand if you're not up for writing this fic

I haven't gotten any Tom x reader prompts in a while!! I'll add to my list 😊😊

[n3rdybird]

Springtime Memories

Trying my hand at RPF for the wonderful peeps at @i-dont-do-rpfs 1k Followers challenge, "Spring Has Sprung."  I chose Tom Hiddleston and the prompt, "Picnic in the Park."  Hope this goes okay. :D Enjoy.

Springtime Memories 

(Picnic in the Park with Tom HiddlestonxReader)

You hugged your coat closer to your body, trying to keep the vestiges of winter chill from stealing your body heat.  The sun was hiding behind the trees, not quite warm enough to herald the beginning of spring.  Even so, you sat on the bench, just listening to the quiet of the morning.

It was Sunday, and most of the world was still asleep at this hour.  After all, weekends, Sundays especially, were made for sleeping in.  You heard birds rustling nearby, so you aimed your camera and took a few pictures.  With it being so early, each sound seemed amplified.  You heard the sound of feet pounding on the pavement.  Probably a jogger, eager to get exercise out of the way before the park became crowded.

You brightened when the sun came out, hitting your face.  Again, you raised your camera, hoping to catch the sunrise.  The shutter clicked loudly, hopefully capturing the imagine you wanted.

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Being a famous actor had its ups and downs.  Tom Hiddleston never would have imagined he’d get to where he was now, though he did wish for it.  He got to live his dream, his passion, acting in films and on the stage.  And his fans, all over the world people cheered for him and supported his dream.  It could be overwhelming at times, both fans and paparazzi alike, all waiting to see him.

So, he decided to take advantage of the early morning and go for a run.  The park was nearly empty, only a few others dotted along the winding path.  He paused, taking a breather next to the pond, stretching out his legs.  The familiar sound of a camera shutter caught his attention and he paused, internally sighing.  He turned, expecting to see a paparazzi hiding out in the bushes.  But instead, he saw a young woman, sitting alone on a bench, a camera in hand.  The culprit was a fan then, which was much preferred otherwise.  Putting on a smile, he walked over.

You were snapping photos, when the sound of footsteps drew your attention.

“Excuse me, miss.  If you’d like a photo of me, you could ask.  I’d love to take one with you, if you’d want.”

The male voice breaking into your thoughts seemed friendly enough, but you furrowed your brow at the words.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.  If I’ve taken an unwanted photo of you, it was purely on accident.”

You nodded in direction of the horizon, holding your camera.

“I was only trying to get a photo of the sunrise.”

He laughed softly, at himself and not you.  He almost seemed taken aback by your answer.

“In that case, I apologize, I just assumed-”

“That I wanted a picture of you? You must consider yourself extraordinarily handsome if random people take photos of you all the time.  Though your voice sounds familiar, have we met before?”

He was quiet, and you could tell he was trying to figure you out.  You were about to ask his name when the sound of your stomach broke the silence.  You flushed in embarrassment.

“Wow, that was loud,” you huffed, trying to rub your stomach into submission.  Your early morning companion tried to hold back a laugh, but it snuck out all the same.

“Well, it is breakfast time.  Would you care to join me?  I'd like to apologize for my assumption.”

You smiled brightly, tucking your camera away.  You stood, pulling your white guidance cane from your bag, snapping it into place.

“I’m (Y/N) by the way, what’s your name?” you asked, hooking your bag around your shoulder.

He groaned.

“Apparently I’m an idiot first thing in the morning.  I’m sorry, I didn’t realize-”

“That I was blind? It’s okay.  Sometimes the glasses give it away,” you said, touching the dark shades on your face.  You held out your hand to shake his.

“So shall I call I call you idiot for the rest of the day?  I am open to suggestions, dingbat being a personal favorite of mine,” you teased.

His hand closed around yours.  His fingers were long and tapered, an artist's hand.

“Tom,” he introduced himself.

“Nice to meet you Tom, you said something about breakfast?”

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Your chance meeting with Tom, the park jogger, led to a lovely breakfast at a café nearby.  When it came time to part, you were reluctant to leave, and you hoped Tom felt the same way.  So when he asked to exchange numbers, you were giddy.

It wasn't often that you met new people, and continued to be friends.  Most would give you a wide berth, or avoid you when they found out you were blind.  You didn't blame them, it could be tough or awkward to deal with.  You had been blind almost half of your life, and you still found some situations exacerbated by your disability.

But Tom was truly a good man, albeit a little too gentlemanly at times.  It took a few meetings in the park for Tom to trust that you could get from point a to point b, regardless of your lack of sight.  He was quick to take your elbow and try to steer you away from any obstacles, which was frustrating at times.  Eventually you realized it was just Tom being Tom and not him babying you.

The two of you met up occasionally on Sundays at what was called “your bench.”  Nothing particular was talked about, just life in general, hobbies, favorite things.

“Please don't take this the wrong way, but why do you take photos when you can't see?”

You lifted your camera and snapped a photo in the general direction of Tom face.

“Well two things really.  I usually get defensive and say something along the lines of “Just because I'm blind, doesn't mean I can't see.” I mean, photography is more than just the perfectly set up shots.  And it's important for me to show that blindness doesn't mean I can't appreciate beauty.  Beethoven wrote some of his best music when deaf.  Who says the blind can't make art?”

Tom hummed in agreement.

“Very true love. And your second reason?”

At this, you flushed a little.

“It's silly but-” you started.

Tom took your hand in his, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb, prompting you to continue.

“If they ever find a cure for my blindness, I'd like to be able to look at my memories.  And if they don't, any family I might have will be able to see my life too.”

Tom lifted your hand, placing a kiss on palm.  You tried to hold back the shiver that traveled down your spine at the touch of his lips on your hand.

“That's not silly at all.”

It was after that conversation, that you found yourself a tiny bit smitten with the Englishman.  For knowing him all of a month, Tom was very supportive and a great listener.  And his voice, you could listen to it all day long.  So when you heard his voice when you were watching tv, you froze.  

There it was, his distinctive laugh.  The quiet, breathy ‘hehehe’ that never failed to make you smile.  Jogger Tom was Tom Hiddleston.  The Tom Hiddleston.  You resisted the urge to text him immediately, asking why he hadn't told you.  But you thought about it for awhile.  

Tom was a lot like you in a way.  You both had a barrier that sometimes kept people away.  Your blindness and his fame.  Maybe he was afraid you would freak out or treat him differently.  So you tucked away your fears and questions.  If Tom could look past your blindness, you would do him the courtesy of feigning ignorance about his fame until he was ready to tell you.

Eventually your friends got eager, wanting to know the identity of your mystery friend.  When they asked his last name, you just shrugged.  Tom was just Tom.  You wouldn't out him to your friends until he trusted you with last name.

It all came to a head when you were enjoying an impromptu picnic of various snacks while enjoying the new spring sun.  Neither of you could make your traditional early Sunday meet up, so you met up in the afternoon instead.  With the crowds a bit thicker due to the lovely spring weather, you both decided to sit on the grass and let the world pass you by.

You were discussing, well debating which was better, pancakes or waffles, (He was firmly in the pancake camp whereas you were team waffle all the way) when someone approached him.

“Excuse me, Mr. Loki sir?” a soft voice asked.

You could hear Tom inhale sharply.

“Yes, how can I help you sweetheart?”

“My brother said Loki was bad, and that Thor is better.  But I don't think so. You're my favorite. Big brothers are meanies.”

You laughed, causing Tom to laugh as well.

“Big brothers can definitely can be meanies sometimes. But even though Loki and Thor fight, they are still brothers. Family always looks out for each other.”

You heard hurried footsteps, larger than the little girl's.

“I am so sorry Mr. Hiddleston, when she recognized you, she just took off,” a panicked voice apologized.  You assumed it was the mother of the child, who was softly scolding the small girl for running off.

“It's no bother really, I'm always happy to meet fans.  Especially ones as adorable as her.”

The mother shuffled the girl away after the actor gave the girl a quick hug and an autograph.  When they retreated, Tom sighed.

“I really didn't want you to find out this way.”

You tilted your head to the side, a fake look of shock on your face.

“You mean that you are Tom Hiddleston, famous actor. Most notable roles being in the Marvel movies, Crimson Peak, Kong Skull Island,” you rattled off.  Tom was still silent, and you reached over to tap his hand, giving it a squeeze.

“I Saw the Light almost threw me off, your accent was so different in that one,” you mused offhandedly.

“You knew who I was?” his voice was quiet.

You smiled.

“I told you your voice was familiar.  It took me a bit, but I figured it out.  I do watch movies you know, sort of.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

You shrugged.

“You didn't say anything either. And I'm friends with Jogger Tom, who just happens to be a pretty famous actor.”

Tom chuckled, throwing his arm around your shoulder with a small squeeze.

“I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I just wanted to be Tom around you. I wasn't sure if it would change anything.”

You raised a brow.

“Why would it change anything? I mean, you preferring pancakes over waffles is a bit much to handle, but I suppose if I can be friends with a dirty pancake heathen, being friends with an actor wouldn't be much harder,” you joked.

Tom poked your side in retaliation making you flinch and bat his hands away.

“So, now that you know who I am. Or rather I know, that you know,” Tom started.

“-Could I take you on a proper date?”

You fiddled with your camera.

“Yes,” you said smiling, pulling Tom in for a selfie as he kissed your cheek.

It was definitely a memory you wanted to treasure.

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So hopefully this wasn’t terrible. Please enjoy and follow @i-dont-do-rpfs if you enjoy RPF.

[scarlettsage77]

Over the Threshold

Anon Request

Tom HiddlestonxReader

NSFW FluffySmut

Can you please do a wedding night smut with Tom?

You were never so happy to see the little green light on a hotel room door ping to life. Tom’s hands and mouth had barely left yours since the door to the limo sweeping you away from the reception had shut behind you.

As you started to pull away he laughs with playfully scolding “Ah ah ah,” before sweeping you up into his arms, “The groom’s expected to carry his bride over the threshold.” you giggle as his lips crash into yours and he kicks the door open, carrying you into the suite.

You shift in his arms, wanting your feet on solid ground and a little worried that after a fairly libatious and exhausting reception he might drop you. He giggles at the little “Ooof” you make as he playfully drops you onto the couch.

You smile as he drops next to you and starts pulling off your shoes, kissing and biting at your ankle and calf, giggling when he gets to the back of your knee, “Oh, I do love that sound, Missus Hiddleston.”

You playfully kick him off the couch and roll to sitting up, feeling a little wobbly and loopy, leaning to kiss him as he kneels on the floor between your leg. His hands slide up your legs and you giggle as he moans into your mouth as his hands come in contact with the garters holding up your stockings, you went all out on your wedding ensemble, it was nice to see it was appreciated. You reached down to help him unsnap the complicated thing, his fingers clumsy with desire and booze. Once free of their bondage, he started to slide off your stocking, leaving a trail of licks and kisses on the trail of freshly exposed skin. Your head lolls back as the kisses move higher, joined by gently bites on your inner thighs. He growls, “Mine.” and you giggle again.

His head pops out from under your skirt. “Hey there Giggles, I’m trying to seduce you here.”

He joins in the laughter and you pull him up onto the couch with you, turning your back to him, “I need to be out of this dress.”

His fingers run along the line of dainty buttons running up your back, “I wholeheartedly agree, my love.” He makes his first attempt at undoing the row of satin buttons and loops. Failing miserably. “We may have a problem here.”

You reach back and attempt to release the devious buttons, finding as little success as he did, “I am trapped in this dress.” You sigh.

He leans on, laying a trail of kisses up your neck to your ear, “I could try to rip it, but it’s so beautiful, you’re so beautiful.”

You moan, “Send those little punks flying, Love.”

He reaches and pulls and…. Nothing. More laughter. “Really??” He hops off the couch and disappears for a moment, you lie back and giggle, probably far too tipsy for this, but it’s your wedding night dammit, you are getting laid!

He reappears with the pair of manicure scissors from your makeup bag. You put up a warning hand, “If you stab me by accident on my wedding night I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

He runs his hand up your back again and carefully snips off the first button, holding it in his hand and passing it to you, “Slow and steady, I am not going to damage my bride.”

Slow and steady turned into slow and tortuous as he carefully snipped the trail of buttons, placing each one in your hand and covering the skin he releases with nips and licks before moving on to the next delicate piece of satin and plastic.

After an eternity, you feel him sliding the dress off you, it bunching awkwardly at your waist until you stand and let it fall into a pool of lace, satin, and tulle at your feet.

“Oh my dear sweet Lord,” He breaths as you stand before him, finally revealing your hidden secret, the one you were saving for him, for this night. The nude and black corseted garter belt and matching bra that had been hidden under all that semi-virginal cream bridal gear. The devil inside the angel.

You feel another giggle rolling up but it is stifled by his lips suddenly on yours, pulling you tight to him, dragging one leg up as he starts to lift your off the floor again to wrap around him as he pulls and carries you to the bedroom.

He drops you on the bed and starts peeling off layers of his own clothes, watching your scoot back on the bed with an almost feral hunger in his eyes, “Look at you,” he growled, shucking off his waistcoat and shirt, letting buttons and cufflinks land where they will, “You had this on the whole time, as you stood there, looking so very innocent, professing to the world that you are mine, there you were, hiding this delicious dirty secret that was just for me.” He stopped once he was free of his trousers, crawling over you slowly, the predator pinning down its prey. “Dear God, I love you.”

A hand snakes into your hair and pull his mouth to yours, biting your lower lip, feeding the lust ball of fire growing in your core. “I love you,” you mumble into this kisses, “But if you don’t fuck me right now, I may die.”

He chuckles against your mouth and pulls back. “We can’t have that now can we?” He runs a hand over your slightly cinched middle, fingering the “This is a problem though, this is breathtaking and I have no idea how to free you from it.”

You wrap a leg around him, pulling him down to you again, biting his neck and shoulder, “Don’t care, fuck me.”

“As you wish, my Lady.” He wiggles you out of your panties and runs the flat of his hand up your wet and overheated sex, letting his thumb graze over your suddenly throbbing clit as a finger slid into your soaking core. Teasing you a bit as he laved his tongue over your still covered nipples.

You buck beneath him and he chuckles against your breast, “You insufferable tease,” you grumble, lacing your fingers in his hair, pulling a bit. “Please.”

He moves to kneel between your open and inviting legs, his hand continuing its slow torture as his free hand works to free the beast straining in his pants. “Since you asked so very nicely.” He yanks his pants down far enough to unleash his needy dripping cock before running it slowly over your slit and then slipping in deep and fast, filling you. You gasp and moan at the familiar and pleasurable stretch.

He buries his face against your breast, working to calm his breathing a bit as you clench and twitch around his length. “Fuck.”

After you’ve both adjusted, he rolls and snaps his hips, growling a bit at the breathy whimper it elicited from you.

You were torn between wanting to savor this, your first lovemaking as man and wife, but you were bordering on desperate to orgasm. You latch onto him, your hands in his hair, sliding a leg around his hip, digging in to drive yourself up into his thrusts.

You pick up speed, racing to bring the other one to the peak. Driven by need and too many cocktails.

He growls “Mine.” as he pulls your mouth to his, driving in deeper than before, pushing you over the edge as he spills inside of you, panting and groaning into your kiss.

When you stop seeing stars and can breathe again, he gently pulls out and rolls next to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

As you drift off in his arms, you whisper, “We are going to be so miserable in the morning.”

He laughs and kisses your temple. “As long as we are together, I will greet the hangover with open arms.”

[andromeda-blackc]

Happy B-day love!!!! 💚🖤

Thomas William Hiddleston

February 9th of 1981, Westminster, London, United kingdom.

[your-highnessmarvel]

A Little Too Short

Requested by Anon: Hellooo :))) Can you do an imagine where Loki (or Tom if you do actors) loves teasing the reader whenever he gets the chance because she's so short (like 5'3" or something) but he's still super cute about it

A/N: Tiny little drabble to add to the queue. 

Warnings: Fluff darlings

*gif not mine

(Tags at the end)

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MASTERLIST

You stood on your tip toes, struggling in vain to attain the highest shelf of glasses. Your fingers barely skimmed the wooden surface, the ache in your legs making you tremble slightly. 

“Oh, you short little thing.”

You swirled on your toes, glaring at Tom, who stood in all his six-foot-twoinches glory. A wide wolfish grin was splitting his face as you were genuinely angered by his teasing. 

“That’s not funny,” you grumbled. 

He snorted. “True,” he agreed with a smug shake of his head. “The funny thing is how you have to stand on your tip toes to reach the top shelf.” He came to stand inches from you and you, of course, had to strain your neck to be able to look him in the eye. “What’s also funny is that I almost always have to sweep you off your feet to kiss you.”

Before you could retort, his arm wrapped around your waist and scooped you up. A yelp whisked by your lips before he crushed you into his chest, capturing your lips with his. A squeal was trapped in your mouth as you began to laugh through the kiss, your feet effectively dangling in mid air. 

He set you on your feet before releasing your lips, burying his fingers into your hair. “Don’t be mad,” he chuckled. “I love you, you short little thing.”

You swooned, smiling at his goofiness. “And I you, you tall beast.”

He laughed loudly, embracing you in his arms before kissing the top of your head. 

tags:  @papi-chulo-bucky@fluasch@spudsandbandit@thatcrazybookwormgeek@loki-god-of-my-life @hodders2411 @internetgremlin @white-chocolate-mocha-fan