Imagine Loki being nervous before speaking to you, having liked you for a long time, and for him to practise in front of a mirror, saying things like: “You look beautiful!” ‘no’. “hi y/n, you look lovely..” ‘no no’
The thirty days had come and gone, and not a single living situation had played out. The places that you could afford while sticking to your savings plan were about as safe and clean as the free motel you were staying in, and the places that were safer would eat up not only what you made, but what you had saved up until this point.
And you figured eating was an important aspect of living in London.
So when you set breakfast down in front of Tom on the thirty-first day since the impending confrontation in your motel room, the looming question hanging over your head for the past four weeks was finally given life.
“So, Miss Y/L/N. Have you found a place at all to live?”
You knew that he was trying to do good. You knew, deep in the recesses of your mind, that he was just concerned about his employee, and that he believed himself to be a concerned boss.
But the fiery, independent side of you wasn’t having it.
“Not that it is any of your business, Mr. Thomas, but not. Not as of yet.”
The question caused him to place his fork back onto his plate.
“I believe, at this point, it is my business,” he states.
“I have one more place I am looking at,” you lied.
“Mhm,” he hums as he wipes his mouth with his napkin, “and when do you plan on going to see this place?”
“After work this evening,” you continue.
“At 6:30 at night?” Tom questions.
“Believe it or not, the world does not stop when you enter into your nighttime routine, Mr. Hiddleston,” you bite.
You were getting tired of his constant hovering.
“You know that there’s another option…” he trails off lowly.
“Mr. Thomas,” you sigh as you slap your rag down onto the kitchen counter and turn towards him, “risking looking like an insubordinate employee, if I do move in and you continue to hover half as much as you have in these past four weeks, I am pretty sure I would find a way to bury you in your basement.”
His eyes began to light up at your change of attitude.
Tom had grown quite accustomed to your fiery side. He enjoyed the fact that you interacted with him in a way no one else usually does. People don’t try to question him or anger him or make him feel out of place.
You, however, did not care.
And he enjoyed riling you up greatly.
“I don’t have a basement,” he states matter-of-factly.
“I would dig you one,” you growl in between your teeth as you turn back and continue wiping off his kitchen counter.
“Well,” he chuckles lowly as he picks up his fork and stabs at a piece of egg, “there is a room here that is prepped for your arrival should your last place of inquiry fall through this evening.”
Your heavy sigh indicated your thorough frustration with the subject as you plant your hands into his counter and lean heavily into your palms.
“Might I ask though,” he says before he sticks the piece of egg in his mouth, “as to why you are so against moving in? You spend most of your time here anyway. You have no friends. No family.”
He just didn’t know when to shut-up.
At his words, tears began to rise behind your eyes as you suck in a low bout of air through your nose, trying your best to quell your rising emotion as your brain begins to flood memories to the forefront of your mind.
Memories of your father running around with you in the front yard and your mother rolling around with you in the mud. Memories of riding four-wheelers with your older sister and crawling into bed with her during thunderstorms.
You had been silent for longer than you were expecting, and it prompted Tom to stand from his seat.
“All I was saying is that-”
“I have no one, so who gives a shit about what I want with my life since there’s no one there to live it for?” you breathe, turning around as the brewing tears begin to stream down your face.
It stopped Tom in his tracks as his face of confidence fell into one of shock and sorrow.
“Y/N, I didn’t mean t-”
“It is ‘Miss’…” you correct as you breathe and lower your gaze as you swallow hard, “and…Mr. Thomas…just because I have no one doesn’t mean that the plan for my life is somehow…null and void…because I have no one to live it for or alongside.”
“I swear, I wasn’t-”
“You know what your problem is?” you snicker as you shake your head and put your hand on your hip, “You talk to much. You think that by being around someone, you can learn them by simple…simple osmosis.”
Your voice was getting louder and louder with each statement you made.
“But that isn’t how people work, Mr. Thomas. People don’t…they…they aren’t books. You can’t just…read the first few pages and suddenly know how it’s all going to work out. It takes time. And conversation. And experiences.”
Tom stood his ground, concerned that even the slightest movement towards your emotionally-fragile state would cause you to run.
And that, he most certainly did not want.
“You think that because I am a woman in this world who has no on: a dead family, a druggie sister, no boyfriend, no children, no future…that somehow you can some swooping in with your rugged frame and your charming smile and your soothing voice and your mesmerizing eyes and you can somehow…make it all better?”
More tears were brewing as Tom’s eyes began to redden with your admissions.
You truly were alone in this world, and he had just insulted every independent act you had ever taken since then.
He prided himself in treating women with equality, and here he was attempting to strip you of yours.
“I’m sorry, Miss Y/N. I didn’t know,” he says lowly, and with great sincerity.
“And that’s the problem,” you breathe as you turn back towards the kitchen counter and continue scrubbing at a burnt spot on the stove.
And as he watched your body bob with every strong stroke you took to try and clean up the spot, he brought his hand up to run through his hair as he mind began to whirl with so many things.
Questions. Statements. Ways to apologize.
All useless once you had hurt someone like he had just hurt you.
“All I ask is that you give it some serious thought. Your independence wouldn’t be stripped of you: you could come and go as you please. Weekends off, vacation time. You would be nearer to your garden so you could upkeep it like I know you want to. You would have a room and a bath all to yourself. You could decorate it any way you like. Clean it or don’t, I do not care. But you spend the bulk of your time here anyway, and that was the only point I was trying to make.”
His words rang deep in the pit of your chest as you finally get the burnt grout up off of the stove.
“I suppose,” you begin, “I could cancel the showing of the last place.”
Tom smirked at your deep want to keep your ruse going.
“You can begin moving in immediately, if you wish,” he states.
“I could begin packing tonight,” you say lightly as you move on to rinsing off the dishes in the sink.
“Wonderful,” he says with a broad smile on his face.
NOTES/WARNINGS: Another fic as a result of homemadecupcakes request.
The baby screamed loudly as it declared to the realm their heir to the younger prince of Asgard had arrived. The healers took him away to give them the time needed to care for you, as you had had considerable difficulty bringing him into the realm.
“Where…” you whined miserably as the healers set about healing the minor wound the baby had made as he was pushed from your body.
“He is just being cleaned up Your Highness, nothing to fret about.” One of the younger healers soothed.
Imagine Loki trying to prank Thor by doing something relatively harmless to Thor’s newly adopted pet (ie, dyeing its fur) then getting concerned that he might have actually hurt it and bringing it to the vet where he meets you. You ultimately assure him the pet is fine, even suggesting a way to improve the prank without risking hurting the animal at all.
You give Loki your personal number so he can tell you how it goes or call if he has future concerns for the pet.
Loki ends up calling you and asking you on a date.