So, 2017 is going to be a big year for you and Tom: New house, Homecoming premiere, wedding planning, oh and there's that whole illegitimate daughter coming to visit. Not a damn thing could possibly go wrong! The sarcastic, sweet, and sexy saga con...
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"Can you make it a double? Thanks," you said gratefully to the bartender. You knocked the whisky back with a grimace and licked your lips.
"I'm kinda meeting my daughter for the first time," you explained. The bartender gave you a painful look like he didn't care but was forced to be polite because, well, he's British. And in the service industry. So like, he was probably a better actor than Tom actually.
"Y/N, she's landed. Come on," Tom said, standing there with those ridiculous balloons. They hovered over him in pink and white, with "It's a Girl" splayed all over them. He showed up at the flat with them that morning and just thought it was the funniest thing.
"What the fuck are these?" you asked him.
"Balloons," he replied like you were stupid.
"I know they're fucking balloons, Tom. What the fuck are you doing with them?"
"It's funny," he shrugged. It was kinda funny.
Of course Tom didn't think about the attention it would bring him, waltzing around Heathrow with a bunch of balloons floating around his pretty little head. It garnered him looks and then it garnered him pictures and autographs. You were not in the mood for any of that shit today, so you took your ass to the nearest airport bar and drank your nerves away.
You looked at him and bit your lip anxiously. This was all happening. Like, she would be here at any moment and you weren't ready. You were a fuck up, a failure. Why did she even want to meet you? This was all too much.
"Can I get another?" you turned back to the bartender.
"Y/N, come on," Tom said, grabbing your hand and pulling you off the stool. He dragged you away from the bar. You begrudgingly followed, rambling.
"This is a mistake and I'm only going to disappoint her and I can just tell her that it's just not necessary and then like she doesn't have to have any regrets and I'm actually doing her a favor, Tom and-"
"Darling, darling, darling," Tom shushed you and pulled you to him.
The rush of air stirred the balloons in slow motion. They floated into your face and just kinda hung out, in that creepy way that balloons do. Like they hover and eavesdrop on you or some shit. And later they drink Chardonnay with their other balloon friends and talk shit about how they overhead Carol and her husband are getting a divorce. So balloons are basically catty bitches too.
You smacked a catty Bitch out of your face. "These fucking balloons, Tom. It's like IT up in here," you started to laugh nervously. The whiskey clearly didn't do shit.
"They all float, Y/N," Tom said in a very convincing Pennywise accent.
"I know something that floats in the jacuzzi tub," you said with a smirk. Yes, let's think about sex. Sex makes it all better!
Tom gasped and covered his mouth dramatically. "Y/N!" he hissed and gave you a light slap on the arm. Suddenly he sounded like Scarlet O'Hara. It's amazing how he can do that.
"Well, I never!" he exclaimed, hand over heart.
You giggled at his goofiness. He was doing it again. Making you laugh to calm your nerves. You loved him for it. You gave him an appreciative smile.
He looked you in the eyes and gave you a gorgeous grin.
"We good?" he asked kissing the hand he held.
"We good," you nodded.
"Good," he smiled then grabbed your waist, pulling you close. He nuzzled your neck and whispered.
"If you're real good, I'll take you to my lair later with all the other good girls."
You wrinkled your nose at him.
"Say what?" you burst out laughing. Lairs and girls? Are we rubbing the lotion on the skin or else we get the hose again?
Tom grimaced.
"Yeah that sounded a lot sexier in my head," he chuckled.
"Not sexy," you said with a smirk.
"Definitely not sexy," Tom agreed.
"Creepy," you shrugged.
"So creepy," he laughed.
You sighed and leaned your head on his shoulder.
"Thank you, Tiger," you said, giving his ass a little pat. Because, any chance to touch that ass is a chance worth taking.
"I got you, babe," he said, kissing your hair.
"You know that song's going to be in my head now," you groaned.
"I know," he said with his shitty little laugh.
"Dickhead."
Tom pointed at the cluster of passengers coming through arrivals. You lifted your head to look.
"This must be her flight. You need your sign," Tom said excitedly.
"Do I have to?" you cringed.
"Yes, Y/N. I put glitter on it even."
"Your level of extra is mind blowing, Tom." This kid went out and bought glitter pens for fuck's sake.
"Come on, it's funny," he nudged you then handed you the sign. It was bedazzled alright, with pink and silver glitter spewed all over it. The writing was in Tom's signature serial killer style and read:
