His English Heart- A Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction

Fangirls

It’s not annoying at first, but the continual wracking of your body starts to irritate you.

“Up, up, up, love!” his cheery voice exclaims, and you slam your eyes as tightly shut as you can muster. You feel a quick kiss pressed to your cheek and a breathy laugh, “I’ve asked you to get up four times now.”

“Looks like it’s going to take four more,” you murmur, rolling away from him. You just wanted to go back to sleep. How he was able to just bound out of bed in the morning and be ready to go running or get to work or eat breakfast never ceased to amaze you. Yes, you did get up when you had to be on set somewhere- but this morning? This morning all you had to do was make sure he’d shaved and put on a nice, ironed shirt and pleated pants before going to his Thor: The Dark World signing.

“Come on,” he pleads, attempting to rip the blankets off the bed, but you snuggle them closer underneath your chin. The boxer shorts and tank top you’re wearing are not going to be enough coverage to keep from freezing. It felt like the air conditioner had been on full blast all night long.

You risk a quick glance in his direction, seeing him all dressed and ready to go, “I give you my seal of approval,” you say into the pillow. You almost give him a thumbs up, but think better of it because he’d more than likely try to take the blankets again.

“Don’t make me come in after you,” he says dryly.

“I’d love to see you try.”

“Oh, would you?” a weight lands at the foot of the bed, climbing its way up until you feel him hovering over you, “Time. To. Wake. Up.”

He punctuates each word by getting softer, nearing closer and closer to your ear. It’s then that he presses another kiss to your cheek, “Don’t make me resort to desperate measures, missy.”

“Missy?” you ask, eyes still shut, brows furrowing. He’d never called you that before.

“Maybe that’s what I’ll call you when I’m cross,” you hear the grin as he sits up beside you.

“Are you cross?” the word is somewhat foreign on your lips, but you’re getting used to his slang, gradually.

His weight shifts a bit more before you hear, “I’ll be in a moment if I don’t see you get dressed.”

“You better start calling me ‘Missy’ then…”

The bed was too warm and too comfortable to get out of yet. After running around the Con yesterday, going to Hall H and hearing a million screaming fans blow the roof off, and then getting Tom into and out of his costume and makeup- plus dancing at the Nerd HQ for a few hours, it wasn’t any surprise you were tired. And you were still the victim of jet-lag. Tom seemed to adjust fairly well to it, and usually you did as well, but this time was different.

It’s been a while since you’d been under the influence of the Pacific time zone.

There’s a moment of silence before you’re attacked. Your eyes snap open as his fingers play down your ribs and across your stomach like a piano, causing you to jerk and squeal like an eight-year old. It’s not long before you’re gasping for air and begging him to stop, the blanket effectively kicked off the bed. He’s laughing loudly repeating that he told you he’d push himself to desperate measures.

“Please!!” you giggle, trying to grab his hands, “Tom!”

He stops momentarily, leaning over you and grasping your wrists, “Will you get up?” his eyes carry the mirth and zeal of the morning, but his face is trying it’s hardest to look menacing. It never really worked on you.