wholly spoke

Puppy Love • Tom Hiddleston

Summary: you’ve been dating Tom for a few weeks and finally decide to invite him over. There’s just one problem, your dog might not approve.


This is was just a little something which took me about fifteen minutes to write. Enjoy !



-



You’d had Magpie since you were a teenager, diagnosed with severe anxiety and in need of a service dog. You’d found the beautiful German Shepherd in the local pound and immediately fell in love. You trained her, spent time with her, and took her everywhere. In return, she kept you calm, sensed when you were about to have an anxiety attack, and learned how to retrieve your medicine.

You’d met your boyfriend, Tom Hiddleston, a few weeks ago at one of your friend’s birthday parties. The two of you immediately clicked and after two weeks of seeing each other he had invited you to his house. So, naturally, you’d decided to invite him to yours the next week.

Here was the dilemma, Magpie didn’t like new people. In fact, she was so protective of you, she would growl and bark at everyone who walked through the door, especially men.

You warned Tom beforehand, but he brushed it off with a smile.

“I love dogs, it won’t be a problem” he assured you.

Speaking of the devil, the doorbell rang to your flat, causing you to glance at Magpie.

“Please behave,” you murmured to her. You backed her up into the kitchen. “Stay” you commanded, knowing she would. She was very well trained.

You opened the door to a grinning Tom dressed in a baby blue sweater and black jeans. He greeted you with a charming smile and sweet kiss to your lips before entering.

“Aw, Tom,” you cooed, accepting the bouquet of pink roses he held in arms. There was definitely more than a dozen.

“I thought you would like them, darling” he smiled shyly.

Upon hearing the different voice, Magpie burst into the foyer with a snarl, barking incessantly.

You expected Tom to be apprehensive as your past boyfriends and visitors had been. However, he crouched down to the carpeted floor and beamed at the dog.

“Hello, girl!” he spoke enthusiastically. Gently, he outstretched his hand to Magpie, who stalked forward with precise caution. Carefully, she sniffed Tom’s hand.

You watched on from next to Tom as he began to stroke her fur. Magpie immediately calmed, stepping closer to Tom and letting him pet her.

“She seems pretty sweet to me, what were you so worried for?” Tom glanced to you with a smirk.

“She’s not like this with any strangers. This is how she behaves after the third time visiting” you spoke, wholly in shock as the scene playing out before you.

Magpie fell to her side, begging for a belly rub just as she would had you been petting her. You scoffed.

“This is amazing. She truly likes you” you grinned.

“I have to say I’m quite pleased” Tom murmured as he made kissy noises and rubbed Magpie’s tummy.

Without another word, you leaned forward and kissed Tom’s cheek with as much affection as you could muster.

Tom turned to you with confusion written on his face. “What was that for?” he smiled.

“You’re just perfect” you confessed while giggling.

Tom wrapped an arm around you while using his other arm to give Magpie attention. You noticed a light blush settle across his cheeks.

“Thank you, love. You’re perfect, too” he told you. He kissed your forehead gently and rested his head against yours.

That’s when you knew that, if Magpie approved, Tom Hiddleston was one extraordinary man….

FICLET: Phase

written for the destielficletchallenge. My counterpart for this prompt was winchysteria.  Prompt: Person A is a scientist who created Person B.

AU. Word Count: 4350. Rated T. 

Warnings: Drug use/abuse, psychiatric disorders/trauma/mistreatment/abuse, unreliable narrator

A prodigy, he’d been called; the new face of neuroscience, the one who would single-handedly save the world from neurological disorders. A Ph.D by the age of twenty-five, articles in more journals than he could count, whispers about a Nobel Peace Prize as he slid comfortably into his late twenties with the achievement of a sizable new grant to study the subconscious and various sleep disorders.

The grant money had long since run dry. He’d been on a kindly forced “extended sabbatical” that was approaching its third year. Dean refused to think about what would happen when his access to the meager and barely sufficient instruments he had to resort to was revoked. He was so close.

He arranged himself on the table, and his brother – medical assistant, lab assistant, EMT and the only person left who didn’t call Dean insane, at least not where Dean could hear – fastened the safety straps on his arms and across his thighs. “Sam?” Dean asked, raising his brows to feel the tug of the adhesive on the monitoring wires at his temples.

“Yeah?”

“Two hours in phasic REM tonight. Deep. Don’t let me start coming up after I hit REM the third time. Keep me there.”

Keep reading