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lillianofliterature · 5 years ago

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a stranger’s gift | tom hiddleston x reader

a/n: inspired by my obsession with simplistic aus/scenarios. Also, for the sake of this fic, we're pretending Tom lives in New York for a time. He was actually living there for a time because of Betrayal (his play on Broadway). And you guys, cakes are EXPENSIVE in New York! I got the prices and cake flavoring by referencing an actual bakery that's in New York. It's a hefty price - but for a good reason. Their cakes are stunning and I'm sure they're as delicious as they look. gif not mine, found on google. dm to claim or remove.

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK.

summary: sometimes the simple kindness of a stranger can change the course of one's life. in your case, it meant getting a free cake in the midst of a lonely birthday celebration - and perhaps a little spark of romance to ignite the candles.

warnings: none

word count: 6.3k

music: Sisters by Christophe Beck

Tom's slender fingers plucked a tin of English Breakfast blend off of a shelf decorated with dozens of teas in dozens of differently colored containers. His eyes swiftly read the names of each one as he silently mulled over his next pick. After plucking a few more tins from the shelves, he turned and left the small aisle of the bakery, excusing himself politely between other customers. With a glance upwards at the signs that dangled above each designated aisle, he spotted one with a bright red arrow that directed him towards the front cashier.

When he reached the front of the store with his arms full of his carefully selected tea, he quickly took his place in line. Luckily, he was only third in line, so he would quickly be on his way back to his apartment full of books - and be able to continue his date with Shakespeare. He hardly noticed the woman in front of him, apart for the vague passing of his line of vision as he surveyed the menu of desserts and the working hands of bakers through the kitchen window behind the counter. From his place in line, he dropped his gaze to quietly admire the delicacies that were meticulously decorated in the display case by the counter.

He could feel his mouth water as he read the labels of individual slices of natural strawberry cakes topped with browned butter frosting and flecks of gold leafing, chocolate cupcakes filled with crème and doused with cream cheese icing, sugar cookies with the bright layers of royal icing and decorated with the steady hand of a professional artist. It was marvelous.

His vision blurred out of focus as the woman in front of him leaned in front of the display case, obviously tempted to taste the very desserts he had been admiring. He smiled at her, although it was only directed to the back of her head. He agreed silently with himself that coming to a bakery was one of the best experiences to have in New York - it was filled with people with a deep sense of passion for sweets, teas, coffees, and a plethora of fruit-based breakfast meals, typically sprinkled with crystalized sugar. In the late morning, it was the most enjoyable.

People were coming from their morning shifts, late shifts, from the comfort of their sheets, or for their break hour from their jobs - in Tom's case, it was his only day off from filming that week, which called for a day filled with tea, books, and possibly a box of sweets.

He took a slow step forward as the man two spots ahead of him took his pastry box and headed for the glass doors of the entrance. With the jingling of the golden bells above the door, the man was gone, and the woman in front of Tom began her request for her order. Tom couldn't help but eavesdrop as he waited.

"Um, hi, I need to order a birthday cake." You began with shy tint to your voice. Without a second's pause, the cashier pulled a piece of paper out from under the counter and pressed a pen to the paper as he jotted down the date.

"Who's ordering it?"

"Me."

"Yeah, but I need a name to place it under." The man looked up with an expectant expression, obviously unsatisfied with your vague reply.

"Oh! Right. My last name is (L/n)," You stammered, and Tom watched as you clutched your hands together behind your back, fidgeting visibly. He felt pity for you; a slip-up in simple conversation was always embarrassing, especially in public.

"Alright, what type of cake?"

"I'd like a cookies and cream cake with mocha cream filling, please." You watched patiently as he jotted the information down in the respective lines of the order form.

“Size?”

“Six inches.”

“Alright, and-“

“You know what? Make it an eight-inch.”

". . .Any additional icing?"

"Mm, how about cream cheese frosting."

My goodness, Tom thought with a smirk. She does have a sweet tooth.

"Color preference?"

"Uhm, what colors do you have?"

"Let me get you the booklet." The cashier excused himself and went to the edge of the counter, near the coffee machines. After a few seconds of perusing behind the counter, he came back with a spiraled book of laminated pages. He flipped it open and pulled on a labeled tab. "So, since you want cream cheese frosting, there's a limited color choice since it gets pretty watered down with regular food dyes and the gel dye only comes in so many colors."

"That's okay, I'm not picky." You feigned a bright smile, finally pulling your hands forward and placing them on the counter as you leaned forward to look at the swatches of frosting on the pages. Tom couldn't help but notice how you stood on the tips of your toes to lean across the counter, and it pulled his lips into a smile. When you turned your head slightly to peruse the colors on the right page, he admired the gentle curve of your cheek and the delicate shape of your nose.

"I'll take the green. With the gold accents. Oh! And those cream dollops on top," You pointed to the picture. "And do you have any logos? Like Marvel or something?"

Tom’s smile grew as he cocked an eyebrow, thinking to himself, A Marvel fan?

He pictured the finished cake in his mind; the colors resembled his counterpart Loki, who often adorned himself in lustrous shades of green and gilded armor. Had your choice in color been intentional? Or was it just a coincidence?

"Yeah, but we usually put them on kids’ cakes. Do you want a printed picture or do you just want this add-on?" He pulled an organized divider of decoration samples out and held up a plastic piece shaped like the Marvel logo, but the bright red sort of clashed with the shade of green you had chosen.

"How much extra for a print?"

"Twelve dollars." He replied blandly, still holding up the logo. You cringed at the hefty price.

"Ehhh...I'll just go without."

"Do you want to have something written on it?"

"Yeah, can you put 'Happy Birthday (Y/n)'? With some gold flakes around it?" He scribbled your request down on the sheet.

"Do you want the writing in the same color?"

"How about this one?" You pointed to a sparkly black icing swatch.

"I'll be right back with your copy of the order form, miss," As the man stood up to his full height from leaning over the counter, he glanced behind you. "Sorry sir, we're low on staff today, it'll be just a minute."

"Take your time." You followed the sound of the stranger's voice, only to accidentally make direct eye contact with its owner. As you took in the man’s features, you lost all ability to think coherently or breathe properly.

The man had wavy blondish-brown hair, with eyes so bluish-green they seemed like pure crystals. He was taller than you and had a slender frame, but obviously hid some muscle beneath his black button-up. He nodded down at you and smiled broadly, adjusting his grip on the tin cartons of tea sachets he held in his arms. You could make out the label of a few, one being an English Breakfast blend.

He was, in fact, Tom Hiddleston in the flesh. The very man who had played your favorite character for nearly a decade in the Marvel franchise; the one you had had in mind when designing your cake. He had been the leading man in almost all of your favorite movies to date and you knew that he was currently starring in a play on Broadway, and yet, nearly 8 miles away from that very street full of rising stars and shimmering stage lights, here he was. In a bakery not but a ten-minute walk from your very own apartment, granting himself the pleasure of indulging six different tins of tea, and looking you in the eyes as if it was nothing monumental.

"Sorry for taking so long." You gushed, embarrassed by how slow you had been in ordering your cake - you hadn't realized there was a line forming behind you, and that Tom himself was leading that very succession. Your nerves were in even more of a bundle knowing that he was even there, much less waiting for your order to finish up.

"Don't worry about it, dear! You're perfectly fine. I'm in no rush." He shook his head dismissively.

"Thanks." You managed to say before turning back to the counter as you felt your cheeks flush. You were used to the wide mix of accents in New York, seeing as the city was so diverse from people traveling from all over the world to both visit and find residence in the Big Apple, but the rich English accent mixed with the tone of his voice made your skin shiver. It sounded like the sweetness of warm honey as it dripped from his tongue - just as it always had in his films, but in person, it was even more intoxicating.

You pleaded inwardly with the cashier to come back soon - you were practically squirming under the pressure of your nerves. You hated holding up lines, even more so when you couldn't do anything to speed the process up – especially when a handsome actor was at the mercy of your leisure.

"Whose birthday is it?"

"Hm?" You turned back around and met those wonderfully bluish-green eyes again. "I’m sorry?"

"I asked whose birthday you're celebrating."

"Oh- uh, mine. Today's my birthday."

"Oh," You could see his face fall, although his polite smile still decorated his pleasurable features. It was obvious that he was doing his best to try and hide his disappointment. You didn’t blame him; a grown woman designing and buying her own birthday cake was a pretty disappointing situation. "You're purchasing your own cake?"

"Yeah, I don't have anyone to celebrate with this time." You forced a smile, but you could tell you weren’t selling it very well. Tom felt it was a rather sad smile, especially with the way your eyebrows dipped together. In an instant, he considered the exact meaning of your explanation; did you not have any family in the area? Or were you perhaps without a family at all? Had there been some sort of fallout? Or did you just have very selfish friends who hadn’t taken the time to notice your birthday? Amongst his vast assumptions of the situation, a sincere feeling of deep empathy arose in his heart, no matter the case. "That's a shame. I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's alright; I just live here alone is all. My family lives pretty far away." You explained with a courteous smile. Tom was relieved in part to hear that it was the more pleasant assumption that brought you here. The simplistic nature in which you held yourself reserved rather intrigued him, but the dullness in your mood and the lack of excitement in your tone made his heart dip with sadness. You seemed to be rather unimpressed with yourself, which made him remorseful for you, especially when you were standing in the midst of such a sweet-smelling bakery, unable to find even a limited amount of genuine delight.

You, of course, had been woken up that morning with a call from your family wishing you a happy birthday, and while it had easily been the highlight of your morning, the ecstasy of their voices wore off as you locked your apartment door and scrambled down the steps of your complex in an effort to arrive at work on time. You were expecting a call from your best friend as well, but it would most likely come in the evening when (he/she) got off work for the day.

But it just wasn’t enough, as ungrateful as that seemed. You had no one in the flesh to celebrate with.

"Well, happy birthday, then. I believe you deserve to good wishes from someone, even if it's from a stranger." He said with an almost wistful smile. Your mouth opened partly in shock and partly in an effort to form a decent ‘thank you’, but before you could speak, the voice of the cashier pulled your attention back to the counter.

If only you knew, you thought, realizing that he was far from a stranger to you. But I suppose he is sort of a stranger, even if I’ve indulged every one of his films and fantasized about a frost giant for the last decade. At the very least, I’m a stranger to him.

“Here’s your copy of the form,” He slid the form across the counter and you studied it mindlessly until he spoke again. “The total comes out to be fifty-three eighty-six, with tax. You can pay for it now or when you pick it up later.”

“Later is fine.”

“Can we get a number or an email so we can notify you when it’s finished?” He asked, his fingers twirling the pen around in his hand as he waited. You gave him your number and folded your copy of the form so it would slide easily into your purse. “Alright, Miss (L/n), it should be ready in a few hours.”

“Great, thank you.”

“Have a nice day, ma’am.”

“You too.” You smiled, stepping away from the counter and turning to face the stranger behind you. After shoving your wallet back into your purse, you smiled up at him bashfully. “And thank you for the birthday wishes. It was very kind of you.”

“Of course, love.” He stepped forward and began to empty the armful of tins in his arms. They clinked together onto the counter successfully, with the exception of one that clattered onto the ground. Swiftly, you bent down and picked it up as he muttered, “Ah, blast.”

When you stood and handed it to him, his fingers grazed yours just enough for his warmth to spread over your knuckles. You felt your cheeks burn as your fingers tingled from the sensation.

“Oh! Thank you very much. I seem to be a bit of a klutz today!” His laughter echoed in a strain of giggles, pulling a chuckle from your own lungs. Your lips parted absentmindedly in a quaint smile as you noticed how his laughter invigorated the gleam of happiness in his eyes and widened the bright smile he wore.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m always a klutz.” You smiled coyly, turning towards the exit once more. Your gaze fell to the ground as you fought the overwhelming sense of childlike infatuation as it made your thoughts swirl and prance around each other in an unbridled jumble of warm fuzziness.

When your fingers enclosed around the bar of the door, you glanced back in the direction you had come from just enough to assuage your curiosity. When you did, you noticed Tom as he turned his head to mouth a ‘goodbye’ and wiggle a few fingers in an effort to wave to you as he prepared to swipe his card. You dipped your head forward slightly and returned the gesture with a fluttering of your delicate fingers.

Did I really just meet Tom Hiddleston? Tom freaking Hiddleston?

The bells above the door chimed contentedly as you stepped outside into the noisy streets of New York City. You glanced up at the darkening sky as a gust of cool air blew tendrils of your (h/c) hair out of its neatly brushed style. As you watched the oncoming front of billowing storm clouds creep under the bright yellow hues of the sun, you dug your hands deeper into your jacket pockets. It felt as if a blackening weight had welcomed itself upon your shoulders in an instant, stealing the magic of meeting Tom and your skin brushing his. All too quickly, your thoughts returned to gloomier matters.

Of course it would storm today.

You typically didn’t mind the rainy weather on most days. In fact, you thought New York was most beautiful when rain made her flickering lights shimmer brighter and the streets glisten with the busy reflections of the city. But if there was one day you would prefer to be on the more pleasant side in terms of weather, it would be today. This time around, you were in need of at least one favorable turn-up; what with being alone in an overly crowded city, the unbelievably slow progression of the novel you were writing, and the dreaded responsibility of working.

You were in dire straits for at least one ray of hope.

A ray of hope, you smiled to yourself as you repeated the phrase in your head. In an instant, Tom’s gentle smile and calming laugh filled your mind. Those bright eyes pierced your memory and aligned with every scene from every one of Loki’s close-ups. You had dreamt of those eyes so many times. You never thought you would see them in person – you never thought you would see him in person.

A blushful smile painted itself delicately upon your lips, bringing a warm tint to your cheeks and brightening your sorrowful expression. As you thought more and more about the encounter, however, a sense of panicked regret twanged in your stomach in the same way that something sour bursts across your tongue - twisting your face into a contortioned mix of pleasure and pain.

Why didn’t I introduce myself? I only muttered a few meager sentences.

I should have complimented his career and told him about how much he means to me as an actor! How his words inspired me to become a writer!

And I’ll probably never see him again. That was my one chance and I spent it yammering on about my sad existence and eating a cake all alone.

Oh! What he must be thinking about me; a woman ordering an entire cake for herself?

I should have stuck with the six-inch.

With a discouraged droop to your shoulders and a heavy sigh, you flipped your hood over your already-askew hair and made your way back to work. On top of all of the social stress accumulating in your mind, you were aware that returning to work wouldn’t help matters any. You doubted your floor advisor would approve of your taking an extended break, even if today was your special day. Office hours still existed from 9 to 5 with expected punctuality and two minimal breaks, apart from your thirty-minute lunch hour, birthday celebrations or not – and you would be expected to uphold a bubbly appearance and carry on the “spirit of the company”.

But as the rain began to trickle down in plumes of chilled mist, you wished for nothing more than to be curled in your bed with every blanket in your possession, with a pleasurable book or movie to entertain you, and an entire cake waiting to be devoured with a single fork.

You most certainly didn’t feel motivated to return to work of all places.

The clicking of your shoes on the dampening pavement lulled your thoughts to a state of rest. With your mind already settled into a state of glumness, you resolved to accept the reality that this time, there was no surprise party waiting for you back home, no special dinner out with friends or family, and no unexpected gifts. Nothing was going to happen that didn’t mirror exactly what happened every day: minimal sleep, loads of unbearable work, and avid amounts of stress.

And worst of all, no one to help you forget it all, even just for a day.

“You’re all set, sir. Enjoy your tea.”

“Uhm, thank you, but actually, I was wondering, is there any way I could cover the expenses for the lady’s cake? The one who ordered before me?”

“Uh, I mean, sure, if you want to.”

“Yes, please. I’d like to pay for it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, quite.”

“Alright. Let me pull up her order real quick,” - the cashier mulled over the monitor, tacking away a few command codes until your ticket joined onto Tom’s - “It comes out to fifty-three eighty-six.”

Without hesitance, Tom swiped his card through the machine and waited patiently for his receipt. As it fed slowly from the printer into the cashier’s hand, Tom folded his wallet up and slid it into his back pocket. With a gentle tear, one copy of the receipt was Tom’s for the keeping, and another required his signature. As Tom quickly scribbled something resembling his name, the cashier offered one more option for him to consider.

“Would you like to leave a note with the purchase?”

“Yes,” a delighted smile spread across Tom’s face, “Yes, I think that’s a fantastic idea.”

“One-hour rush, people! Busiest time of the day! Remember to keep those smiles taut and those voices peppy! We’d hate to lose that five-star customer service review!” The voice of your floor manager echoed through the room as she walked from her office to the printing room, violating your eardrums with her overly-joyed chorus of passive-aggressive commands.

It was unhealthy, in your opinion; no human in their right mind should be that excited about managing a dingy lit office floor cramped with grey cubicles. You whiled away your last hour with the most polished manners you could muster, trying your best not to glance too much at the time on your monitor, and blocking out the voice of Effie Trinket as it issued pointless remarks throughout the floor.

As the hour dissolved into mere minutes, you tapped your pen against your desk, silently hoping this costumer would comply so you could both get on with your night.

“No, ma’am, I’m sure you aren’t lying. I just need to make sure that the receipt is in your possession so I can give you your rewards back in full. Without the receipt code there isn’t much I can do for you in accordance to our policies.” You said, listening intently for your costumer’s reply. You flinched as a barrage of frustrated insults blared over your headpiece. Thank the heavens this was your last customer.

“No, no, I didn’t call you a liar, miss. No, I- ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down for me. I’m only trying to help you, here,” You planted your face in your hands, pulling the mouthpiece away from your lips and you groaned. The woman’s voice grew incessantly louder. “Yes, I am qualified to work this position, ma’am, I just can’t overlook the policy, even in this situation, or I could risk my own job. I’m sorry. Is there anything else I can d-”

Click.

“Well, there went one of our stars.” You mumbled, pulling off your headset and scooting away from your desk. You let yourself slouch as you mindlessly logged out of your monitor and quickly shoved your things in your purse. You lumbered out of your stuffy cubicle, flicked your desk lamp off, and made tired strides towards the elevator. You tried your best to avoid eye contact with your coworkers as the atmosphere of the room filled with the sounds of people shuffling about and making their way to the lobby. Just as your fingers pressed against the orange button of the lift, a bright voice rang in your ears. You turned to find Effie Trinket herself – your floor manager, Karen.

“I heard that last phone call, (Y/n), and I have to say, it was a little disappointing,” Karen said, her expression dramatically downcast with a pouted lip. “You could practically hear how tired you look! Just remember; the customer is always right, okay? Okay!” She patted your shoulder in a patronizing manner as she bobbed her way back into her office.

What I wouldn’t give to see that hair sprayed rat’s nest deflate just for one minute. Just one, you thought as the doors of the lift glided open and a dozen people shuffled inside. You reminded yourself to breathe evenly as your shoulders rubbed involuntarily against others. The air was hot, silent, and awkward, but everyone was thinking the same thing: Why do I even work here? The paycheck isn’t even that great.

With a ding, the doors opened, and you hopped out in a hurry to avoid being forcibly shoved out. The clicking of shoes echoed through the lobby as you neared the doorway and plucked your umbrella from the stand. With one fluent movement, you shoved the door open and held it behind you for a lingering moment for the woman after you, and shook your umbrella open before leaving the dry space of the concrete awning.

You had been right; it was raining, and with little mercy. Something about the gloomy downpour felt a little more appropriate now than it had several hours since you had left the peaceful ambiance of the bakery. Any hope of optimistic pleasure had been beaten out of you after nearly a hundred phone calls with impatient strangers.

Raindrops pattered onto your umbrella and dribbled off the edges, making small dashes of chilly water tickle your ankles as they hit the concrete. You walked in silence as you swiped through the notification center on your phone; nothing interesting had popped up in the last few hours, only weather alerts and another system update notice. No calls or texts. No birthday wishes or invitations.

It wasn’t until you dropped your phone back in your pocket and stared at the glittering reflection of the cityscape in the puddled streets that you remembered that an entire cake was waiting for you back at the bakery. The same bakery you had met Tom Hiddleston in the same morning – which you were still struggling to believe.

The ghost of a sweet voice enriched your memory of the day, even if it was mostly full of embarrassment and undeserved stress. Warmth flooded your cheeks as you recalled the richness of his velvety tone in person and his gentlemanly demeanor that lived up to his reputation.

Your shoulders shrugged together as your posture dipped in delicate cadence to the girlish fantasies rolling about in your mind, followed by a fond smile. You wondered if he had given your meeting a second thought, or if he had mulled over the conversation you had briefly shared as you had, or if perhaps he had thought you pretty.

But then you remembered that you had hardly made any conversation with the man, and what you had said had been vulnerable and awkward, and you felt a wave of fresh embarrassment flood your nerves. You huffed a bleary sigh into the chilly rain and felt your body slouch. You had a knack for ruining your own mood quite efficiently.

When you finally reached the café with soggy shoes, you caught your reflection in the tall windows, and your temperament deflated completely. Your hair was a damp mess, your foundation and concealer had long worn off, and the outfit you had chosen didn’t flatter you as well as it had in front of your mirror with groggy vision that morning. Had you looked this exhausted when Tom had seen you?

The bells chimed above you as you entered and shucked off the droplets of rain from your umbrella before the door closed behind you. You slipped it into the crowded vase beside the welcome mat, surveying the quiet bakery. A polite ‘hello’ from the nearest waitress floated in your direction somewhere in the mingling conversations of the room, which you replied to with a smile. The line was a little longer now that the after-work community had fluttered in, but in your slumped attitude, you felt no irritation in the matter.

You observed the bustling streets outside as the line slowly progressed, your eyes wondering to the personalities that filled the tables and short aisles of the spacious shop. Your mind wandered over the events of the day and to the rich flavor of sweets that awaited you until you were next in line. Promptly, after rehearsing your words in your head, you requested to pick up and pay for your order. It took only a few minutes for the clerk to bring out your cake.

When she popped open the lid to the paper box, you let out a pleasant gasp.

It was stunning.

“Is it to your liking?”

“Oh, yes, very much, thank you,” you gushed, admiring the Loki-inspired palette before she folded it shut and secured the edges to each other, “It’s perfect.”

You began to dig around in your purse for your wallet, ignorant to the tiny envelope taped to the top of the box. “How much do I owe you?”

“It’s already paid for, ma’am,”

“What?”

“Um, It’s been paid for. You don’t owe anything.”

“I’m sorry, but – I- I don’t understand. I didn’t pay for it when I was here earlier today.”

“Well, our bill shows that it was paid for shortly after the order was made, along with several tins of tea.”

Tea? I didn’t buy any tea.

Your eyes widened as you remember a certain handsome stranger with six cartons of tea in his arms, one of which you had helped him pick up.

The tea. Tom.

Tom paid for my cake.

“Whoever paid for it left a note for you,” she added, removing to the small envelope attached to the box lid and handing it to you, “Maybe the person behind you or something? There’s a trend for that going around online.”

With quick fingers, you opened the tiny envelope and pulled out the delicate little card which read,

“I hope this small gesture can bring a little joy to your day. Happy Birthday!

P.S. If you need help eating it, just give this number a call. (###)###-#####.

(I trust that you won’t give this number out.)

Tom Hiddleston”

Alongside his invitation for company was a quaint little doodle of a smiley face. And he trusted you with his personal phone number? A woman he had only just met? The air in your lungs thinned as your eyes darted over the loose penmanship and scribbled name several times before you glanced back up at the cashier.

“Um…”

“Do you know them?” Her excited curiosity pulled your gaze back to hers.

“Uh, no...not personally.”

“A stranger, then? That was kind.”

“Yes,” you murmured, reading over the card another time, “yes it was.”

In a dense phase of disbelief, you managed to return to your apartment with your gifted cake in hand. After dipping out of your shoes and dumping your accessories by the door, you set your cake in the fridge with timidly careful hands – the value of this delicacy had increased immeasurably. It was no longer just a simple treat you had decided to give to yourself. It was the result of something simplistically spectacular, a desert made a hundred times sweeter by the giving heart of a stranger.

Except that stranger didn’t feel like one. He felt familiar. He felt like a friend.

After you quickly showered the grime of work off of your body and freshened your rain-dampened hair, you donned a comfortable pair of sweats and made for your kitchen. You peered into the cabinets and fridge for quite some time, searching for something that piqued your cravings and also offered a bit of healthy influence to your growling hunger – but why not just eat the cake? It was your birthday, after all.

You pulled the box out from the cool shelf and set it on the counter, preparing a dish and silverware, and hunting for a set of small wax candles you remembered having stashed in a drawer. When you found a pair of neon-colored candles, you pulled the cake out of the box timidly and poked the tip of the candles through the cream cheese frosting. You dimmed the kitchen lights, and with the flick of a match, you lit the candles.

You watched them twinkle for a moment, your thoughts drifting to the handsome stranger who had graciously picked up the tab for someone he barely knew – and you were beyond grateful to be that someone. With a quick puff of air, you blew the candles out, wishing quietly you would be able to see him again.

After you cut through the cake and carefully set a slice aside for yourself, you sat on your sofa in the still silence of loneliness and tried to delve into the delicacy. But you couldn’t. You thought back to the generous offer written hastily on the small card…

“P.S. If you need help eating it, just give this number a call.”

Surely, he hadn’t meant it? Tom was an incredibly generous person; someone generous enough to donate to charities, give back to his fans, remain humble after a decade of hard-earned success, and buy a stranger and very expensive cake…and offer his company?

If it hadn’t been for the number scribbled beside the offer, you would’ve dismissed it entirely.

Your social anxiety told you that it was simply a gesture of kindness, equivalent to when someone inquires after your wellbeing, but not truly seeking the honest truth, happy or not, just a simple “good, thank you, and how are you”. It was a social normality to politely check in on others but never impose upon them by pushing your honesty too far, whether you were doing well or rather horribly.

So, was this the same? Had it just been a polite gesture of kindness? One he hadn’t intended on you following through with?

But he left his number.

You poked at the slice of cake, unable to push past the chance that maybe, just maybe, he had been completely sincere in his offer – and maybe even hoped you would call.

With a disheveled sigh of determination, you pushed yourself off of the cushions and stalked back into the kitchen where the envelope sat primly beside the cake box. You opened it up and with shaky fingers, typed in the digits on your phone’s keypad.

What harm could trying do, in all honesty?

The quaint melody of Tom’s phone echoed in his apartment, sending him in a frenzy of overturned pillows and disheveled cushions until he found it buried beneath a stack of scripts and thin poetry books. He wondered briefly who it could be before answering the unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Yes, hi, is this Tom? Hiddleston?”

You cringed inwardly, scrunching your face as you fiddled with the unused napkin in your hand. The familiar English accent was already enough to prove that it was him.

“This is he,” Tom’s expression was one of confusion from the unfamiliar female voice on the other end of the call, “To whom am I speaking?”

“Uh, this is (Y/n). From the bakery. This morning. You paid for my cake?”

“Oh, yes! Hello, darling! Was it as scrumptious as it looked?”

“Well, you see, that’s why I’m calling you…I wanted to thank you, it was so kind of you to do that, and I actually haven’t tried it yet? Um, It’s just that, well,” you inwardly chastised yourself for babbling, “I can’t seem to eat it. I’ve been staring at it for an hour and I just can’t seem to get up to nerve to celebrate by myself… I’ve never had a birthday alone, you see, and I was just wondering if, um, if I could take you up on your offer? To help me eat it?”

Tom’s lips bloomed into a full smile – he had hoped you would call.

“Of course, that sounds like a lovely idea. Would you like to meet somewhere?”

And so, after a few minutes of planning, you had agreed to meet Tom at a small café near his apartment building. You quickly changed into a casual outfit and packed the cake back up, climbed into your car, and found your way to the café – all while hardly believing that any of this was happening.

Would this be considered a date? Or was it simply a show of interest as a stranger who sought to become friends?

When you found a space to park, you felt your heart pounding harder with every minute that brought you nearer to Tom’s presence. With the cake box in hand, you stepped up the sidewalk to the café, and found Tom standing by the door like the gentleman he was.

“(Y/n), darling, there you are!”

“Hi, Tom!” Your cheeks flushed red as you approached him. Your shoulders dipped together in timid embarrassment – was it appropriate to call him by his first name?

“I trust you found your way safely?”

“Yes I did,” you offered a smile as he opened the door for you, “thank you.”

It was a quaint little place with a small crowd, dimmed with candles and warm rustic lighting, plants dotted every corner and table, a grey tabby cat mingled between tables, and the mix of rich drinks was overwhelming when you entered.

The table he led you to – with a gentle hand on your back – was in the corner, huddled by a shelf of old books and dangling vines. You had to admit, the air in the café was exceedingly romantic, but you held your hopes within your mind and focused instead on your grasp on reality itself.

You were about to share your previously isolated birthday dinner with Tom Hiddleston?

When two cups of tea and dishware had been brought to the table, you offered Tom a generous slice, which he took giddily. After a few moments of acquainting yourselves and nibbling politely on your slices, Tom attempted to assuage his curiosity.

“Now, I have to ask,” his smile was almost wolfish as he grinned at you from across the table, “Did you, by chance, plan to decorate your cake after a certain Marvel character?”

There was a hint of mischief in his eyes, which was all too familiar.

“Well, yes, actually. Loki has been my favorite in the MCU for as long as I can remember...he-well, you, helped me get through a lot in my life. I thought it fitting to spend my birthday with him.” You returned his grin, gesturing to the cake.

“In more ways than one, evidently.”

And so, in the generous gift that a stranger had bestowed upon you, a flicker of something wonderful, something beyond friendship, bloomed all around you.

You knew then that your life would never be the same - and perhaps Tom's wouldn't be either.

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haileygarciasunshine · 3 years ago

Text

Sleep Tight

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader

Written: July 1st, 2nd, 2021

Posted: July 2nd, 2021

Warning: Mentions of Anxiety, Mention of Bar.

Word Count: 1,360

Summary: Jealousy strikes again

Loki Masterlist

The roaring of the room around you was overwhelming. Most of the team had considered the last mission to be one of failure, while you remained positive and thought it was a success, with none of the team members gravely injured.

Sitting at the table, you gazed around the bar. Steve and Tony were playing darts while Bruce and Bucky sat at a nearby table laughing at Tony's missed throws.

Natasha was sitting in front of you while Wanda was beside you, about of the enamored in a discussion about the upcoming mission. Thor and Loki sat at the front bar, in a deep discussion.

Gazing at Loki, you couldn't stop yourself from thinking how handsome he looked. Catching your staring, you attempted to dart your eyes back towards the group playing darts. Your cheeks began heating up as your stomach fluttered.

The sound of Natasha chuckling in front of you caught your attention.

"What's so funny?" You leaned back against your chair crossing your arms along your chest, as you tilted your head slightly.

Lifting her eyes to yours, she held your gaze seemingly boring into your soul. Shivering slightly, you cleared your throat as you began shifting in your chair.

"Oh, nothing." Natasha taunted. She brought her gaze back to her drink. Stirring the straw, she studied the movements as if it was the most important thing in the world. "Just, you and Loki." She smirked glancing back up to your eyes.

With widened eyes, you felt your heart skip a beat. Your jaw falling open slightly, as you felt your mouth become insanely dry. As your mind raced a million miles, you furrowed your eyebrows together staring at the table in front of you.

"There's no... Us."

Scoffing, you glanced up in time to see Natasha roll her eyes. "Maybe not right now..."

Frowning, you opened and closed your mouth before deciding against any argument you had. Letting out a huff, you groaned internally.

"You wouldn't be bothered if I told you, G.I. Jane is trying to make moves on him?"

Placing your elbows on the table, you leaned forward silently challenging her. Holding your eyes, she raised an eyebrow at you, wordlessly urging you to look. A pit began forming in your stomach the longer you stared at her allowing your mind to form assumptions. Biting the inside of your lip, you sighed. A sly smirk began forming on Natasha's lips.

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw the perky, slim brunette that was holding Loki's attention. As you continued staring at her, your mind began comparing you to her. It didn't take long before you realized, she was everything you weren't. Her hair was cascading down her shoulders in perfect curls, while she wore a pair of black heels in a snuggly fit matching black dress. The sound of her gentle giggled somehow, carried over the booming music at the bar. As she glanced at the bartender, you were allowed a peek at her features. Her makeup had seemed to be perfect while her bust was nearly out. All the while, you were wearing black leggings, booties, with a plain white shirt as you topped off your outfit with a black leather jacket you had borrowed from Natasha.

Subconsciously, you reached up and fidgeted with your necklace pendant. Your breathing began to quicken, while your bottom lip was yanked between your teeth allowing you to chew on it. Frowning, you suddenly felt as if you were underdressed. Your mind began filling your thoughts with things you were insecure about, drowning out the music and nearby laughter.

"Hey," Natasha spoke. Reaching across the table, she clasped her hand around yours. Flinching at the sudden contact, you lifted your widened eyes to gaze into her worry-filled ones. "I'm sorry," She muttered. Her features scrunching up. "I-I didn't mean to make you upset-"

Shaking your head, you offered her a forced closed-lip smile. "You didn't."

Frowning, she knew you were bothered by how quick your response was.

"I...I think I'm going to go." You mumbled more so to yourself.

"Y/N-" Wanda attempted.

Standing up, you had already made up your mind. "I'll see you guys back at the compound."

Turning on your heel, you didn't bother waiting for either of your friends to respond. You were more concerned with the sudden feeling of the walls closing in on you. Nearly running out of the bar, you were met with the brisk night air.

Walking down the sidewalk, you had blocked out the noise and lights around you. The more you tried to ignore the feeling creeping up, the more it was consuming you. Feeling yourself begin to gasp for air, you navigated yourself in the direction of the nearest ally.

Placing a hand on the wall, you fold at your waist nearly toppling over. Resting your back against the wall, your head met the brick with a soft thud. Squeezing your eyes shut, your breaths becoming shallow, while you were overwhelmed by the feeling of your body shaking. Maneuvering your body, you sat leaning against the brick.

The sound of someone's footsteps echoed through the ally. As the stranger neared, the more your body trembled, willing anyone from the team to search for you.

"Hey, focus on me."

Snapping your eyes open, your jaw fell open slightly as you gazed into a familiar viridescent pair. As you slowly gazed at him, you took in his kneeling form beside you. His features holding a concerned expression as his eyes bore into yours. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned against him. Loki's aroma filled your nostrils.

"Take my hand." He spoke gently as he extended his hand towards you.

Gazing at him skeptically, you took the chance. In the blink of an eye, you were on your bed back at the compound. Toeing off your shoes, they hit the floor with a thud. Your borrowed jacket hitting the floor not long after.

Yanking your blankets back, you hurried underneath them making yourself snug, positioning yourself to face the door. Loki was quick to lift the blankets, allowing him to slide beneath. Before you could question, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder while the other was lazily draped across your waist. Shifting around, you finally found a comfortable position. Your forehead rested against his neck, while you absentmindedly traced shapes along his chest. Your instinct was to throw your leg across his hips, but you decided against it in hopes of not crossing any line.

However, Loki surprised you when he gripped the back of your knee, guiding it along his hips. Your eyebrows nearly darted to your hairline at the unexpected gesture.

Shaking you from your thoughts, was the soft rumble of Loki's chuckle underneath you. His hand that had guided your leg, rested comfortably upon the side of your knee, his thumb occasionally tracing along the area.

Focusing on his breathing, you felt your eyelids begin to grow heavy as sleep washed over you. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let a content sigh escape your lips. Gingerly, you nuzzled further into his neck earning another rumble of laughter. The sweet melody transcended upon you, causing your stomach to flutter. Drowsiness nearly taking its hold on you. Attempting to fight through it, you had some unanswered questions.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Laying against his chest, you were able to feel his soft hum.

"How did you know where I was?" You slurred with your eyes closed, giving up the fight of trying to hold them open.

"I..." His voice trailed off, as you could practically hear the frown in his voice. "I saw you leave.." He let out a pained sigh. "I was worried about you."

Scrunching your eyebrows, you felt as if your mind was playing tricks on you.

"But-" You were cut off by a yawn wracking through your body.

"Let's sleep now, and we can talk in the morning."

"I'm not even that tired." You grumbled as you hugged yourself closer to Loki.

Once he felt that you were deep enough in slumber, he placed a kiss upon your hair.

"Sleep tight, pet."

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