Can you do a Tom hiddleston one where the reader tries so hard to suck in her chubby tummy that she passes out one day? Charming Tom to the rescue where he boosts her self confidence and makes her feel better? Stretch marks cellulite and all?
I can most certainly do this! I hope you enjoy it. Here is your one-shot, comin’ ‘atcha!
Just a little while longer.
You knew the cameras could be unforgiving, and even though you had strung yourself up in a corset, you could feel the extra 10 pounds that you had accrued bursting from the seams, threatening to rear it’s ugly head any chance you got to breathe from your diaphragm.
Smiling for all of the flashes, Tom bends down and gives you a light kiss on your head, causing you to tilt your head up and meet his loving gaze.
But what you see is just a twinge of curiosity.
He had been getting on you lately about how your diet was slowly changing, and how you were spending a little more time at the gym. You knew that he was just worried, and it’s why he was concerned about going public with your relationship…he knew just how brutal the media could be about one’s looks, and he was trying to shield you from it.
“I’m comfortable enough!” you had declared, “I’m a big girl, Tom.”
And here you were, jamming yourself into clothes you couldn’t fit into, robbing yourself of oxygen just to look like you belonged by his side.
Panting a bit for breath, your chest starts to move quickly as Tom wraps his arm around your waist, scooting you into the building and off to the side as your vision starts to warp.
“Darling? What’s going on?”
And that’s the last thing you remember.
“Y/N! Y/N, can you hear me!?”
Coming to, your eyes fluttering open, you take in a deep breath from your stomach as you try to blink your fuzzy vision away. Panic rising in your throat, you start to claw at anything beside you, throwing yourself over onto your stomach in an effort to quickly get up off of the ground before the cameras got to you.
After all, you had to be perfect for them. For his fans.
Feeling arms wrap around you, covering your stomach and breasts respectively, you look down and realize that your corset is laying on the floor beneath you, your dress dangling off to the side.
Oh. Dear. God.
And in one fell swoop, you are rushed through a door, into a darkened room, with nothing but the sound of your quiet sobs and Tom’s breathing.
“Y/N, what in the world?” he implores, his forehead against yours as he runs his hands up and down your arms, “What in God’s name are you wearing!?”
“Oh god,” you whisper, tears streaming down your cheeks as you try to breathe deep, quelling the emotion swirling in your chest.
“Why in the world are you wearing a corset?” he pleads, his eyes searching yours in the darkened room, illuminated only by a small bulb at the top of the tall closet ceiling.
“I just wanted to fit into the dress,” you whisper, your sobs getting the best of you as you let out a little whimper.
“Is this what this…th-th-this…mess has been about? The extra time at the gym and the lightened portions and the refusal of the desserts I’ve made for us? So you can fit into a stupid, lifeless, pointless dress?”
Grasping your face in his hands, he pulls your salty lips in for a passionate kiss, his tongue imploring for entrance as you raise your hand and grab his hair, tilting his head as you deepen your kiss.
“You’ve been miserable,” he whispers into your sobs, blinking back his own tears as he tries to center your mind, “you’ve been hungry and moody and tired…and I haven’t seen you as much as we haven’t made love and I…I thought that maybe…maybe you didn’t love me. You know, love me anymore, that is.”
And that was it. Wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close, you unleash all of the past weeks’ emotions onto him, realizing that…in your haste to be perfect for your announcement of your relationship…you had neglected the only person that actually mattered.
“Oh, my love,” he coos, pulling the bobby pins out of your hair and running his fingers through it as it falls to your shoulders, “I am so sorry you have felt so much pressure to look a certain way. This is why I didn’t want to do this…you told me you could handle it and I should have put my foot down. Please forgive me, Y/N…please, please forgive me.”
“My body isn’t perfect like yours,” you whisper into the crook of his neck, your body nestling into his.
“Enough,” he declares, standing up as he takes you with him, stumbling over your heels.
“Take them off,” he states, pointing to your feet.
Furrowing your brow, you kick them off, feeling Tom’s hands migrate to your stomach as he starts to finger the stretch marks you have accrued with the weight gain you have experienced.
“I am over watching you abuse this body. This beautiful, luscious, soft, perfect body, that I adore so much…the body that I roll over and squeeze close to me at night, the curvy body that covers mine from the harshness of this world. The warm body that keeps me comfortable on these cold London evenings. The body that I kiss…” and as he pauses to kiss the side of your neck, your body begins to shiver, “…and suck,” and at his pause, you feel his teeth graze against your neck, “…and taste,” he growls into your ear, “…this body that is attached to this woman; a woman who stimulates my mind as well as my groin…” he stops, giving you a lustful smirk, “…this woman, with this body, and her stretch marks and her stomach and her divots and her scars, this woman is perfect to me.”
Standing onto your tip toes, tears pooling in your collarbone dips, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for another kiss, hearing him moan lightly as you grind your hips against his, feeling his pants tighten under your touch.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I’m so, so sorry, Tom. I love you so much.”
“I know,” he says back, his voice low and steady, “just promise me one thing.”
“Anything,” you plead, your forehead resting on his chin.
“Zip your dress back up without that corset, hike those incredible breasts up, and show all of the men watching what they can no longer have.