"Oh! I didn't expect you to actually come, so I ended up eating all the flowers, I hope you don't mind!"

Expectations (Request)

Tom Hiddleston x Teen!Co-star!Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff

Request Description: Tom hiddleston x teen!reader,where the reader lives up to her expeditions,nobody knows about her parents,But one day they got a phone call by their parents and the parents were saying hurtful things like for example "you ain't doing it good enough".The reader just explode. And told them you don't own me or tell me what to do,tom was listening and he saw the reader cried,he ask what's wrong and reader told him,tom comfort them. Hope is okay❤❤❤❤❤

Warnings: Rude uncaring and irresponsible parents, depression, not feeling good enough

(A/N): this is my first request!!!! i wasnt sure whether to respond to the ask as an actual “response” but i landed on copying and pasting the request into here. if you all think i should do it differently in the future then please let me know :)) also its occurring to me that a lot of you guys have shitty parents, hang in there!!

“Lose weight, Y/n. Raise your grades, Y/n. Do it better. Do it less. Do it more. You can do better than that. You’re lazy. You’re my daughter, you should be better than this. You’re not good enough.”

That was the way it seemed. No matter what you did, to your parents you were never good enough. No mater how hard you worked to raise your grades, to stay fit, to be a famous role model. No matter how little you slept. No matter how much you hated yourself. You would never be enough. 

You always felt on the verge of cracking. You’d kept it up for so many years, always obeying and working yourself to the bone. You gave up your childhood so you could make your parents proud, but they never were. There was never an ounce of admiration in their voices. 

But now you felt it. All day long, the glass that held in all of your feelings and exhaustion was cracking. You were walking around shaking, raising eyebrows among your cast mates. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, and you knew that the solution would be to go to your trailer and sleep it off, wake up and forget about it, but you couldn’t when you had so many responsibilities to keep up with. The movie, school, online presentation, your body. It was all so much.

“Y/n?” Tom’s voice broke you out of your trance. Your body was tensed, and you awkwardly unclenched your hands and your jaw, focusing back on reality, and on Tom. He was watching you with those big, concerned eyes, a frown on his lips. “Uh, your phone is ringing.”

It was. “Oh, hahahaha,” you giggled brightly, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t even notice. Gosh, I really need to catch up on some sleep!” You grabbed the phone from your pocket. Your heart sunk when you saw the name displayed on your screen. 

Mom.

“Oh, I feel you,” Hemsworth joked, pointing to his dark under eye bags. The others giggled and continued into a conversation about their own sleep deprived souls. Tom smiled at you softly, when you got up to take the call and you smiled back. 

You quickly jogged into an unoccupied hallway out of ears shot of the other cast members you had been eating lunch with. Shakily, you picked up your phone and pressed it to your ear. You closed your eyes and braced yourself, hoping that your own expectations would be enough to keep the glass from cracking. 

“Hi, mom! What’s up-” 

“Y/n L/n. I honestly can’t believe you. I can’t believe that you continue to disappoint us.” Tears already pricked your eyes. Your moms voice was hoarse and disgusted. 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mom,” your breath shook, heart caught in your throat. 

“Your grades are slipping again. I thought we went over this?”

“I’m- I’m sorry, mom!”

“Are you lazy, Y/n? Tell me, are you lazy?” 

“No, I’m trying my hardest!” 

“Your grades are slipping, you’re gaining weight, I bet your acting is nothing but mediocre. Worse, probably. Have you been reading? Have you been practicing your singing?” 

“I have! I have, mom!” Tears were now flowing freely from your face. You sniffled, hoping your mom wouldn’t call you disgusting for it. Your moms voice was so loud, you had to pull the phone away from your ear, her voice booming so loud that you could hear it down the hallway. 

“You’re lazy and untalented! You’re not good enough! You need to do better!” 

Crack. 

Something inside you flipped. From sorrow and desperate desire to please your parents, your emotions were painted red and fiery. You were filled a fury double the size of your body. You needed to get it out of you, desperately. 

“I’m not! I’m not lazy! I’m not untalented! I can barely rest. All I do is work, work, work to please you, and I get nothing from it. Nothing! All you do is drag me down and scream at me. You don’t own me, okay? Do you hear me? Call me if you decide to be a better mother!” 

You hung up the phone and threw it away from you, the device burning guiltily into your hand. You were sobbing, and you stepped back until your back hit the wall, and then slid down miserably, until you sat on the floor. 

Meanwhile, Tom was standing at the end of the hallway in shock. He had originally gone because he had a meeting with someone, and had simply entered the hallway in an attempt to get to the meeting. Then he’d heard your crying, shaking voice, pleading to your mother. 

His heart had simply broken. And then you snapped. You snapped in a way that adults snapped when they had been pushed to their limit. The way people snap when they have nothing to lose. When they have nothing but negativity left, and Tom had finally understood what you had been going through. 

You, the nicest, sweetest, cutest little actor he’d ever had the pleasure of working with. Now you were crying on the floor, soaking your shirt sleeves. The way you hugged yourself hurt Tom very deeply. 

“Y/n..” his voice came from the end of the hallway. You snapped your head up, cheeks burning red and eyes puffy. You sniffled and wiped your tears in embarrassment. “Hey, no, it’s okay. What’s wrong?” He motioned for you to stay on the floor. 

“My parents are dicks.” your voice was groggy and ruined from screaming. Tom slid down the wall beside you and looked at you. You just put your head back in your sleeves, too self-conscious to let him see you like that.

Tom said nothing, but you felt his hand on your shoulder pushing you, and then his arm under your legs, and then he lifted you into him in a hug. There you cried harder. Because that was what your parents were supposed to do. Comfort you and be there for you. But here you were with some actor you’d only met six months ago. 

Tom understood though, he’d heard it all, and he knew not to try and convince you to make it right with your parents. He just held you there, letting you cry and shake in his embrace, hoping that your parents hadn’t ruined you. Hoping that your life wouldn’t be defined by their selfishness. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered, stroking your back, “you’re good enough. You’re doing so good. You’re talented and beautiful. You’re sweet and you’re smart.” 

Tom told you things no one had ever told you. And you sat there for however long, and Tom missed his meeting, and you missed lunch. But it was okay, because all that mattered in that moment was that you would be okay. 

At some point he pulled your face from his chest, so that he could look into your eyes. 

“I mean it,” he said, “I mean every word.” 

Looking into his eyes, you couldn’t keep yourself from smiling, and you giggled softly, hugging him again. Tom grinned too, just at the little smile and the giggle that had escaped your lips. In that moment you both knew. 

You would be okay.

These Writers

These writers have a different bone in them, not a funny bone, nor a wish bone, more of a feeling bone. A mineralized tissue that gives them some heightened sense of awarness, some connection to everything in their aethear no matter how minute. Things that the rest of us overlook, things we don’t see or hear or smell. It’s not that we have made some decision to ignore these details they just simply don’t exist, they are absorbed as part of larger picture, a feeling an emotion that we chose to indulge rather than dissect, to try and understand.

We all recall the magic of a first kiss although most of us settle to be moved into a warm smile from a few gossamer vignettes and dusty butterflies although these writers recall how autumns silver moon was waxing, how her floral auburn hair laid languid on the shoulders of the borrowed sweater of her sister and how hopeless promises were whispered over trembling lips. Yeah these writers are a different bunch yet its this bone, this sense that is never more acute when they are in love or in the golden glow of intimacy.

They met innocently enough. Like the highs and lows on the tide of a new moon sometimes these writers exhaust themselves. The same way the bays and marshes flood in earnest they too are drained wholly. They need to find a way to replenish, to restock. In some fashion they immerse themselves in creative things, in order to find inspiration. Some read, some paint, some escape to the woods or the sea, he always enjoyed the performing arts. When his words finally bored him, felt one dimensional, he would seek out these charming little actors guilds and hatbox theater productions. He always was amazed at the transformation from gym teacher to Hamlet or grocery clerk, banker to Estragon or Scrooge. She was part of such an ensemble.

It was a Saturday matinee, the moon was waning and it was late summer. He found himself in the back of a small chapel turned playhouse with a dozen or so parents and suporters and friends, some with a single flower anxious for a small town bravo. She sat patiently at the back of the makeshift stage with a few other actors, crimson hair the only thing more distracting than her eyes. As he took in the set and its hand painted backdrop and borrowed costumes and dusty props their eyes seem to meet more often than not. Was she in character rehearsing lines in her head and looking right through him or was there some sudden captivation as if they were both seeing fireflies for the first time? It wasnt until he looked down at the little program filled with greyscale ads for gas stations and diners and churches being nervously and capricously twisted and rolled that he realized this was tangible.

The production slowly dissolved into his fascination with her smiles, the way she emoted about the worn wood floor and the anticipation of her next bit part. Before long he was brought back into himself with sudden applause and bows and the tossing of roadstand roses. He stood and applauded although he heard no sound, he could not take his eyes off her. There were rounds of applause for the perfomers and the audience and the venue and then some announcements about upcoming performances and invitations to meet the cast, his interest brusquely piqued. He had to talk with her, learn her name, anything. 

They would share dinner weeks later, they discussed movies and books and plays and aspirations and first kisses and promises made in the dark. They fell into this silver kind of love that was as innocent and as complicated as that. It was one of these nights that this passion finally eroded all of their inhibitions, giggles turned serious and soft kisses filled spines with mercury.

This is where these writers are at home, all of this watching and listening and learning finally shines. As it is in writing it is in intimacy, a writer is only as good as he has felt and can make others feel. There is a connection that forms between writer and reader, something invisible. He found himself in and out of his story as he kissed her, leaving a silver trail of pecks ands piques. It was the most intimate of these things that he adored, eroding insecurities and unraveling fears. Anyone could take. That was easy. Lazy. He never understood the notion. The selfishness involved. It was never about self to him. He knew himself and it bored him. He wanted to learn about her. So he would find her. He sought those places where she came apart. Cleaved. And by now she was anxious to be understood. She offered up her story in reckless fashion and he devoured her. 

He timed his pressure with her breathing as if she was reading to him, telling her story. Her hips reading aloud, acting out these parts, these scenes the way she rehearsed on stage. He gazed up from his vantage beneath her and took a viusal deep breath. Closing his eyes he was never more acute, finding himself in tune. His head took him to all the lovers that she had flippantly dismissed at dinner. He knew there was a seriousness in each one of them that she would never admit. He was desperate to learn from them, in this moment it was the only way to overcome, to leave her better than he found her, to somehow make her forget all of the others. He flipped through pages with each ebb and flow, each wave that crashed over her washed away another chapter, crumpling paper, yellowing pages. It was not until a crystal air moved about the room that he knew he had reached a fresh stark page with which he could spill his ink. 

They loved. He sank into her and she into him. It was a beginning and an end yet it was between lovers. It was a connection between souls that have known eachother since before the first tides and when it overcame them they both collapsed into this chemical tempest. Him atop her they melted into one. They might have laid there for days in and out of consciousness, lost in hungover breathing. Coming back into himself, learning colors again, reconciling time and space he mustered a few languid muscles into action and found himself at her side. 

She remarked at his passion as her fingers explored his chest. In this glow she was intrigued as to what stirred him, from what well did he drink. In the light of day there is a reluctance to explain the words of night, out of context they lose their luster, become tarnished. He allayed with some notion about when he closed his eyes he saw things differently, more intently. This robbing of senses seemed to heighten the others. She wondered if this thing could be summoned. She reached for her silk top that had been discarded in the heat of the moment, slid it behind his head and blocked his light with a delicate knot. He smiled, she implored. Her voice, her insistence seemed to hang in the air. 

And even as he began to describe in stark detail the things that filled his head in those moments he was concerned at how they could be perceived. How with one misplaced verb or adjective he could upset the entire thing. He worked calculatingly. He told of how he approached her as a well written book, a novel and how the words just seemed to flow. He told her how with each twist and turn he was desperate to learn. How he loved to taste each chapter. It was at this moment he felt her move, the bed shuddered. He struggled to reconcile where she was in the room, had she left? The sentiment to overwhelming? He wanted to tear the blindfold from his eyes, flood his rods and cones with white light when he felt her heat above him. Her floral sex filled his senses. She was straddling him now. Lowering her sex onto his mouth as he pontificated of prepositions and pentameter and prose. 

“Did you know I too enjoy writing my dear?” her voice splintering the silence. She sank onto him and his mouth tore through her pages, “I am anxious to share with you my latest chapter”.

These writers.

A Short Story Of Depression

Keys jingling in one hand, phone in the other. Various bags from the different stores I had to stop at strung on my arms. Walking to the door was such a easy thing to do, I do it everyday, open and close this door walk in and out every day. Something I was used too. Never thought it was something I should have feared doing, especially on this normal day that was so much like every other day that went by and never had any incidents only filled with happy memories and sunshine, and filled with being in love. Never wanting a single day to end but always excited for what tomorrow would bring, so long as we were together.

I struggle to raise my hand that had the keys in them, looking through the various keys for that one special key that had a monkeys face on it, so animated and unrealistic but still the cutest thing and I wouldn't change it for the world. Once I have it ready, i push it into the lock and unlock the front door, hearing the tell tale ‘click’ that said the door was now unlocked. Turning the knob with my hand holding the keys and using my left foot I kick it open. The living room is empty, no tv on or signs of anyone being in there. I kick the door shut as i set down the keys on the stand right by our front door. A cute little stand that has flowers painted onto the sides and looks like it belonged in a doll house that my grandma used to have. I cross the living room and enter the hallway leading to the kitchen. The kitchen light is on so I know for sure someone is in there and seeing as how only two people lived here it wasnt hard to guess who it most likely was. An instant smile plasters across my face, same as it always does when im around you, sometimes I dont even realize im doing it and then you will look over at me with your lazy smile and melt my heart. I turn around the corner, not immediately seeing anyone as I looked over at the fridge first then across to the dinning room seeing a part of your back from around the wall. Setting the bags wrapped around my arms on the first counter I came into contact with and almost skipping over to where you sat. I didn't notice the smell in the room, or the atmosphere when I entered the house. i didn't think anything bad would happen to us. We were one of those couples that everyone was jealous of, never fought, never weren't on the same page, never unhappy with each other, always so madly in love. No matter where we were at. Never did I think that of all things that could have gotten between us it would have been a mental illness, just thoughts overcrowding in your head, not feeling good enough, not being in the right place. If anything happened I always figured it would be me, something I did, or me not being good enough because I also struggled with depression and anxiety I always assumed it would be me. But there you sat. Slumped in the kitchen chair, eyes void of any emotion, your hands wrapped around a cup that sat in front of you, filled with a sour smelling substance that burned my nose and made the room smell. You didn't feel like you, being in this room suddenly felt like it was the same as if I had just walked into a random house and sat down at their dinner table. You didn't look up, didnt hear me come in or if you did you made no move to great me, I didn't see that same smile I get also spread across your beautiful face. That was enough to stop me in my tracks. Too confused to continue any farther into the room, I didnt understand what was happening. I felt as though I had walked into a dream, floating out of my own body because somewhere inside I knew what was coming. Before you even said the words.

Hunched over still in the chair, not part of you moving, just the slight tilt of your head as you said those words. “I cant do this anymore.”

My world crashed right then and there. Crashed so hard it left me feeling like the wicked witch in the Wizard Of Oz that got smashed by the house. Left me wondering what do even do or say, I was so paralyzed in that moment it felt like my soul had been ripped from my body, the air swooshed out of my lungs in one silent exhale.

Those eyes still hadnt looked up to meet mine.

My mind kept thinking this over and over, I just wanted to see his eyes, and that smile. Taking a step forward, but not moving closer to him, even though my body was just screaming for me to throw myself at him. Start begging, break down, do anything, do fucking something. Why wasnt I doing anything?! My mind was racing and my heart felt like a fucking stampede was running around in there. I was to scared to even speak, my voice would give away everything that I felt, but I had to somehow change his mind, calm him down or something. Tell him this is a mistake, that its just him overthinking. Everything would be fine if we had eachother, we were going to do so many things together. I wanted to tell him I could wait until it gets better, that he didnt have to do this. But all I got out was "Why?" just that one word, barely escaping my lips as I stood frozen in the dinning room, looking at his back, he had never fully turned to look at me.. His voice is rough, like he had been yelling and screaming all day. I wanted to believe it was thick with emotion that he would show a sign that this wasnt anything he wanted to do that he was just doing it out of his state of mind right now. But his face and voice were both void of any emotion, aside from sadness, but not the sadness from leaving the one you love. The kind of sadness you build up from a life a torment and pain, and always being kicked when your down. Something that not many people could understand, but I did because my face often had that expression plastered on it. Or the fake smile that hides my true feelings. I wanted to break through that barrier, to get to him, to reason with him. I could feel my soul reaching out to his trying to comfort it but I was coming up short, like he was out of my grasps and that I couldnt reach him.

"I just cant do this anymore, I have to end things." He said those words like he was reading Que cards. Monotone and like it was no big deal, like his words didnt just shatter my entire world, the pieces raining down around me like fireworks. The throb in my chest suddenly becoming a full on jack hammer going haywire in my chest. I didnt think I could be in so much pain without having a limb cut off or have been shot, or something of that nature. But here I stood, completely fine physically, no injuries, but I felt like I was having open heart surgery while lying awake and fully aware on the table with no pain meds or anything. I finally stepped towards him, not sure what pushed me to do so, but my arm reached out to touch his shoulder, the need for him to wrap his arms around me growing so strong I wanted to scream it at him. He slowly moved away, a subtle movement but I got the message immediately... He didnt want to be touched by me. My hand fell back to my side, pins and needles danced up that arm as if i had just been electrocuted. My eyes started to get blurry and I knew i couldnt hold off the emotions for too long, soon enough i would break down in front of him, beg him cry and shout or just shut down. But i wanted to stay strong so i could get to him. Why was it so hard to just keep calm.

"You said you loved me..." the words came out of my mouth, i hadnt realized i was going to say them but there they were. They sounded pathetic and stupid coming from me. "We had so much planned, it wasnt fake. We can still have that, we cant still be happy." I named all the things we said we were going to do, all the talks we had had, all the things we shared. It all just came spilling out in one big slab of word vomit. Unable to control it or stop the spew of words coming from my mouth as i watched him still not moving and still not making eye contact with me, wouldnt even move or budge the whole time and that only made me want to shout louder at him or to shake him to snap him out of it because i needed him more than i needed air and he couldnt do this to me... couldnt do this to us. "please.... dont leave me... i cant do this without you." my voice finally cracked on that last word. The emotions all bubbling to the top too fast, overwhelming everything inside of me. The tears stung my eyes as they threaten to spill over onto my cheeks and not in the two drops running down my cheek way but they buckets and buckets of tears flowing down my cheek like an imitation Niagara falls. I wanted to curl up in the fetal position and sit in a corner repeating 'it will be okay' over and over like a mental patient. My mind felt so close to snapping I felt so unpredictable in that moment because my entire world was falling apart, and none of it felt real. I felt as though i would wake up like from a bad dream and roll over and things would be fine and as they were but yet, no matter how hard i tried i could not wake myself up.

Finally his eyes met mine. So many things and emotions swam in his eyes. Nothing that i could decipher and none of it was for what he was doing. He looked at me for a solid minute before speaking, and it felt like an entire lifetime. "Im not good. I just cant do it, i need you to understand this."

"i dont understand!" My voice scared even myself as that bubbled out of my lips. The tears freshly flowing down my cheeks now, too late to try to keep it together. I so didnt have it together and i didnt know if i ever would again after this. "I didnt expect you to be happy about this.." he trailed off "but at least i told you, you deserve that much. " His words confused me and just cut deeper like a surgeon cutting into my chest, shredding my insides and leaving me with nothing left, just scraps. I wanted to drop down on my knees and beg him, beg him not to do this, what could i say to make him stay? How could i get him to see, i went to praying begging God to make him see his fault in this, begging him to not take him away from me too. I couldn't live without him, not with all thats going on for me, and i know that sounds selfish but i loved him so much, and he was all i had. No one understood me like he did and no one made me feel the way he did. It was as if no one else existed when he was around and now he just wanted to leave me... leave me like i was nothing to him. I watched him as he stood from his seat, not knowing what he was doing or where he was going, but i had an idea and i couldn't do anything, couldn't move to stop him or call out his name or grab his arm. I just stood there glued to the floor, so damn heart broken and a wreck. As soon as I saw him grab for the door handle to the front door i knew, it was real. That this was really happening and he was really leaving me, after he swore he wouldn't and we swore we would always be together. Everything felt so real and so right and it was because we loved each other, or didnt we? I know i loved him but did he really love me or was it just my imagination, thinking he did. I didnt even know what was happening anymore, nothing felt real and i slowly felt myself fading from reality. I watched as he turned that door knob, opened the door, never once turning back or pausing or showing any sign of anything what so ever. He just opened it and walked out. Walked out of my life, took my heart, left me broken, and shattered. The blackness that was my thoughts swallowed me whole in that moment and i felt as if i would never resurface for as long as i lived as i slide down tot he floor and lost it right there.