His English Heart- A Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction

Premiere

Important: They've been dating for a few months here. I'll be back-tracking a bit later, but seeing as how Thomas was at the "Life of Pi" premiere tonight, I thought it was fitting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was crowded tonight. Masses of people ebbed and flowed in the expansive space, and you wondered how order was maintained. Well, with all the yelling and shouting, maybe it wasn't as organized as previously thought.

Cameras. Everywhere.

"Over here!"

"Tom!"

"Mr. Hiddleston!!"

And then the few, sparse cries of, "Joanna!"

It was scary.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Tom nervously smiles, grasping your hand in the back of the sleek, black limousine.

"Facial hair makes you feel older, doesn't it?" The completely random, out of the clear blue sky question tumbles from your mouth before you can reel it back in. Your tongue is burning with questions. That's what tends to happen when you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. Or when your nervous. Or scared.

Tom's brow furrows and he gives you a confused look, "...I suppose..."

Why does he always wear that tie? Blue and black stripes. It doesn't look bad at all. It's very nice on him. He's very dashing in that suit. Where did he get this one? Is it the one with Capt. James Nicholls sewed on the pocket inside? Who's the designer? How much did it cost?
Do I look nearly pretty enough to be seen beside him?

What if my hair is parted weird? What if a few hairs decide to sit on my forehead and not go where they're supposed to? What if I have on too much makeup? Or my shoes look funny? Or I'm too short to be standing next to this frost giant?

Tom must've noticed your deer-in-the-headlights look because he immediately springs on it.

"Love, calm down," he gives you a small, reassuring smile and puts his hands on your upper arms, "You'll be fine."

Your frenzied breathing and your scared-out-of-your-wits staring isn't helping things along.

"You'll be more than fine," he continues, "You look lovely, and they'll love you," his hands move to your cheeks, forcing you to look him dead in the eye, "I promise."

Your palms are sweating and you attempt to dry them on your dress, looking down for the briefest second. This fear is enough to make your voice sound like it belongs to a five year old girl.

"What if they don't, though?"

You start picking at an imaginary thread on the skirt of the lacey dress.

"Joanna," his tone is firm, accusatory, "They will. They've got no reason not to."

"Don't they always make fun of what women wear though? That'll be something. I knew I shouldn't have gotten this dress."
His thumb runs over your cheek softly, "You look perfect, my love. That dress is exquisite, and no one could pull it off, but you."

You raise your eyebrows, seriously questioning his sanity. The navy blue dress matched the stripes on his tie so much it was freaky. It had thin straps at the top, which were really there for just show. The torso section was so tight when zipped that you wondered why they'd bothered with straps. The woman at the shop where you'd gotten it said that it was supposed to fit like this, so you didn't argue and bought it: for the bottom. It reached just below your knees, the skirt covered in lace of the same color. You realize now that your pale, white shins are going to be a wonderful sight to see.

And being only 5'6", on top of wearing ballet flats, you were sure to look like a frightened child next to Tom.

"But my shoes-" you begin, breathing in deeply, yet shakily.

"Look darling," he assures, "I know you don't like heels, and flats are gorgeous on you."

"But I'm so short," you glance down to where your hands are laying in your lap.

He sighs, taking his hands away from your face and intertwining them with the ones on your lap, "I wouldn't want you any other way."

You take a moment to appreciate his hands. Those long fingers, pale white and warm. They aren't rough, but they aren't smooth either; some sort of in-between that felt amazing. His knuckles were large and tinted pink from where he'd used them for sparring with Chris Hemsworth last week. And his palms were always open- just like his arms, whenever you needed them.

It catches you off guard. Scares you more than this night is. It's so quick and fleeting that you rip the train right off the track as fast as possible. Because the notion is so hilariously silly. So funny that you laugh aloud.

For the briefest moment, you'd imagined a solid gold band around that finger that held the only vein that ran right to his beating heart.

"What's so funny?" He asks with a chuckle, bowing his head to peer into your down-set eyes.

You recover from the thought, clearing your throat and straightening your neck, "Nothing. Just nerves."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The divider that separates the two of you and the driver slowly comes down. An older gentleman with white hair and a gentle, accented voice says, "Mr. Hiddleston, we'll be arriving in a moment."
"Thanks Richard," Tom smiles ahead, "Will it be a long wait in line?"

"It's moving fairly quickly tonight, sir. I'd say around, five minutes, maybe."

"Wonderful," Tom sighs happily, "Thank you again."

"My pleasure, sir," you see Richard's smile before the divider works it's way back up.

"You have got this," Tom says, his voice full of reassurance and confidence, "I know it."

"How's my hair," you ask, wondering about the curly style you'd done it in.

"Bouncy," his nose scrunches, which turns into a full-tilt smile, "And beautiful. I promise that you don't need to worry."

You usually don't care about your appearance. As long as your decent for work or whatever social function you had to attend, you were fine. But this. Was just.

Never in your life had you freaked out like this.

You try to take a steadying breath, "Alright."

Thinking you'd covered up the shake in your voice, it shouldn't have surprised you that Tom heard it anyway.

"Joanna," he says once again and you look up from your hands.

"Hmm?" you start, but you're silenced. In the best way possible.

To be perfectly honest, you hadn't seen that one coming. And you can't keep yourself from falling into it, either. The stubble on his chin tickles and scratches at your skin, but you hardly notice. His lips move against yours in a way that you'd never known before he'd come into your life. He was so gentle, and sweet, yet with an underlying hunger you could very nearly taste. Just thinking about what he might be holding back makes your heart leap in your chest- and that image of a golden band reappears.

He pulls back, all too soon in your opinion.

"I love you," he whispers in your ear, "And you need to be calm."

Becoming calm after that- well, he should've thought twice about his approach.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You'd like to think it'd be relatively easy, stepping onto a long red carpet, and people would lazily snap a few pictures.

It's complete chaos. Loki would love it here.

Yes. That is Loki's earth job. It's perfect for him.

He'd be a member of the Paparazzi Mafia. Probably the leader.

You file it away to share with Tom later- if you survive.

"Come on," he smiles brightly, reaching in the interior of the limo for your hand. You see the flashing lights everywhere and hesitantly give him your sweaty palm.

You plaster on your best smile, acting like this is the coolest and most amazing thing you've ever done in your entire existence on the planet earth. When, you really want to be at home, watching a movie with Tom and Cora and seeing everyone tweet about this premiere. Tom was all excited for this movie, and even though you were attending its opening, you just weren't as enthused.

That tiger would eat the boy. He had no reason not to.

That's what you gathered from the internet summary and the trailer. You'd told Tom that he should've taken someone else who was dying to see the movie, because it wasn't anything you were interested in. He just smiled and told you to find a dress, walking away smirking when the conversation had ended.

People yell, politely (which did amaze you) for Tom to look over at their cameras, and with his arm safely hooked around your waist, his fingers pressed into your hip, he helped you figure out which way they wanted you to turn.

"It's not so bad," he whispers in your ear, which in turn makes a million cameras flash in unison.

You feel your body relax under his touch and his voice, taking the rigidness out of your bones. Your smile feels more genuine, because he wants to be here. He wants you to enjoy this. To see what he does regularly and to like it.

And, to a certain extent you do. You just don't want to end up being ridiculed.

He's got you melded to his side like he's protecting you, and you've never appreciated his embrace more than this moment. He's like the shelter in this hurricane of chaos; grounding you to him.

A few people call out for him to kiss you, and you feel a blush rise to your cheeks. It was one thing to kiss privately- you'd do that any day of the week, as long as you weren't being watched. There was just something about kissing in public that seemed awkward to you; like it was taking something away from the relationship. Like it was something for only you and him, that no one else should worry about.

He knows how you feel about that.

But it'd do more harm to not kiss him right here, right now- and if he kisses you anything like what happened in the car.... Well, your not so sure that you couldn't rethink the whole kissing-in-public thing.

He looks down at you and your flushing red face, his eyes full of an emotion you couldn't decipher, excitement, and apology. He understands that you don't want to kiss him in front of cameras.

Knowing this- this small thing, that he cares enough to feel bad about his job in order to keep you happy, starts to turn gears in your head. And you smile at him. Really and truly smile. Hoping that it's enough to reassure him that it's okay, you understand completely.

You just want him to be happy tonight.

And he kisses you. Nothing long, nothing that you could get lost in, but not so fast that you were left wishing that he'd stayed a little longer. You couldn't count how many flashes went off in that amount of time, behind your closed eyes and shallow breathing.

You still get those stupid butterflies after all these months with him.

After another few shots, he leads you farther up the carpet, past the main "Life of Pi" sign where you have to stop and take even more photos. Another kiss, and he laughs when it's over- because you almost didn't get the memo to stop.

You keep walking, the large doors opening to the inside of a warm theater beckoning you to enter. Tom's pace quickens noticeably as you near the doors, and he bends down and gives you a peck on the cheek.

"I told you there was nothing to worry about."
His grip around your waist tightens, pressing you more firmly into his side as you walk. Most of the photographers are snapping pictures of the people behind you now, thankfully. This piece of knowledge, Tom's warmth, and the fact that you get to spend the next two hours in a dark theater ease your mind.

You let out a large breath of relief, closing your eyes and lean into Tom's frame. Your head rests on his shoulder for a small moment, before you're forced out of the peace and into the bright lights of crowding people all dressed up in their best.

Now you have to go suffer through this movie.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote this in a few hours today. Sorry if it isn't up to par, but I'm just not feeling great. Oh!! I don't own "Life of Pi." Just thought I'd mention that. I also don't own Thomas. Sadness.

Please drop me a review! Tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, what you thought should've happened, constructive criticism... anything really! :D Just so I know you guys are still enjoying this. See you later Lovelies!