His English Heart- A Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction

Quite Frankly

So this occurs during the New York Comic Con, as I’m sure you’re all familiar with. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, perhaps you should Google a picture of Tom from there really fast so you understand why Jo’s… well, doing what she’s doing.

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“Who let him up there… like that?” You groan into your hands, cringing at the sight of Tom.

Luke shifts in his seat beside you uncomfortably, “I didn’t notice.”

You have a love/hate relationship with Luke. He’s a sweetheart, and is always looking out for Tom, but sometimes… he’s just- ugh.

“He looks like a creepy Daniel Day Lewis,” you complain, a bit too loudly and a few fan girls turn around to look at you. Ignoring them, you continue, “I told you to force him to shower- the man can’t take care of himself apparently.”

You’re grumbling, trying to fix this situation. But it can’t be done. He’s already up at the panel, answering questions, making playful banter. He’d been so excited about being at Comic Con that he’d shirked some responsibilities, like taking a shower that morning.

And shaving.

Quit. Picking. At. Your. Beard. Thomas.

You just want to scream it over the noisy crowd.

It’s like no one has noticed but you. His greasy looking Loki hair that’s been slicked back slightly (obviously his doing, you’d never let him out like that), his unkempt beard that’s a different stinking color than his hair (your OCD is flaring like nobody’s business) and he’s so pale. It all doesn’t fit together, and you wonder how he’s sitting there smiling like it’s nothing.

You know that you shouldn’t be so obsessed over appearance- but it’s your job to make him look good for the public. You’re wearing a geeky Star Trek t-shirt and jeans, your green sneakers and your brown hair is up in a loose ponytail; you’d even decided to break out the hipster glasses you owned (they weren’t prescription, just glass lenses).

But Tom, just. Tom.

You’ll berate him for this afterwards. Ask him what in the world he was thinking.

He’ll just give you that face and you’ll forgive him like always, saying, “Never do it again.” But he will, and the cycle will repeat.

Right now though, you need to focus on something else…. Like that line forming for the question platform.

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It luckily only takes twenty minutes to reach the front of the line and step up. So many questions had been for Tom, and Tom only. So you were going to go against the norm- no matter how much the room may hate you for it.

“My question is for Chris Evans,” You say like you’re nervous. Chris’s ears perk up, as well as Tom’s and you can see both of them fighting off a smile. As well as the rest of the panel.

“Yes?” Chris asks, letting a smile slip.

You pause, and pretend to take a deep breath, “How are you? Are you well?”

You hear the room chuckling as Chris does the same, “I’m pretty good. What’s your name Miss?”

“My friends call me Jo,” you stare him down and give him a look that will have him rolling on the floor later, “But you can call me tonight.”

Ignoring the erupting laughter of the crowd around you, you let your eyebrows jump up and down and you send him a quick wink.

Tom restrains Chris with a hand and leans up to his microphone, “Dibs.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” you start, glaring at Tom, “Mr. English Accent-”

Tom stops, his eyes going wide.

You hope he can see the playfulness that your trying to convey with your own eyes, “-Talking with Cap right now. You’re Jotunn. Chill.”

That gets some “Oh burn!” and cheers from the crowd and you allow the satisfaction of the comeback wash over you.

“Well, Tonight,” Chris chuckles as he leans back into his mic, “How are you today?”

“Just swimming, thank you,” you reply cheerfully, bouncing a bit in your spot.

“Did you have another question , Jo?” Tom asks and you pretend to tear yourself away from Chris to look at him.

“Yes,” your tone is dripping with annoyance and you cross your arms over your chest, allowing one leg to support your weight, “Mr. Pure Imagination- do tell me if you’ve ever heard of a razor?”

It got so quiet in that room that you could’ve heard a pin drop; before the entire panel erupted into laughter. It was hard not to start laughing yourself.

“I have,” Tom chuckles, “But I’m afraid that I wasn’t properly instructed this morning on whether or not to shave.”

You lean into the mic and whisper, “You should have.”

His smirk makes you want to giggle, but you hold it in and say, “Goodbye Chris, it was nice getting to almost speak to you.”

Turning on your heel, you ignore the steaming fan girls and head for the lobby doors- just to leave Tom and Chris to manage the damage.

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“Hmmm,” you hear before something crashes into your side, wrapping around your waist, “Feisty today, aren’t we?”

You love this warmth that he emits so easily, and so carelessly. What have you done to deserve this?

He walks with you through the lobby of your hotel, hand remaining on your waist, “I would’ve never thought Joanna ‘Tonight’ McCallister would’ve been so… cavalier.”

“That was not cavalier,” You snort, “That was being a teasing flirt.”

“A flirt, eh? So you were flirting with me?”

You deny your face it’s right to burn bright red.

“No, I was flirting with Chris. I was telling you to shave.”

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