LokixReader Oneshots

Ping. The advertisement is sent. You've been a celebrity idol for about five years now, with adoring fans but a revolving door of managers. No one has lasted more than one month. It's become a game, seeing how long each manager can last before storming out of a tense conference with you and the contractor.

But this time, it's different--you don't have a choice. You need a manager who can double as a bodyguard, and fast. The last one quit, leaving you just two days before the next concert. No bodyguard means no security. You're cutting it close. Then, within 5 minutes, a response arrives.

***

Anonymous user: Hello? Is the application open now?

You blink, squinting at the screen. Professionalism, clearly not their strong suit, but there's no room for choice here.

Y/N ♡: Yes, the position for manager and bodyguard is open. Are you interested?

Formal language feels unnatural, but you're not risking an opportunity. Best play nice, for now. A response comes instantly.

Anonymous user: Yes, that'd be wonderful. There will be an interview, right?

An interview. Right.

Y/N ♡: Of course. When are you free?

One, two, three, four seconds pass--another response, just as quick.

Anonymous user: I am free now.

You glance at the bottom of your laptop screen. 11:45 p.m. Figures he'd be free at a time like this, but an interview now? He's willing, you have to hand it to him.

Y/N ♡: At 11:45 p.m.?

Anonymous user: Are you free now?

Y/N ♡: I'm free.

Anonymous user: Then where shall we meet?

You're going to need coffee for this. And an outfit. This is going to be a long night.

Y/N♡: How about the **** cafe?

The replies stop. Maybe they had second thoughts? You wouldn't be surprised; who schedules a midnight?

Anonymous user: I'll be there in 15.

Your stomach tightens. Coffee and clothes--now.

***

You stroll down the empty street to a rustic corner café. A modern touch meets aged charm, and the little bells on the glass door jingle softly as you enter.

With a slight tug of the hem of your shirt, you feel unease settle. After a quick scan of the shop, no one stands out as the likely candidate. You order your coffee, then take a stool beside the window. Despite the upcoming idol event, the place is quiet, aside from a few lingering fans.

A few minutes pass, and the door chimes again. A well-dressed man strides in, straightens his blazer, and extends a hand to you, sweeping hair out of his eyes with the other. His smile is warm, and his voice flows smoothly as he introduces himself, "Good evening. Apologies for the delay; I'm here for the manager position." 

You nod, gesturing for him to sit, then dive into the details: the contract, boundaries, and requirements. Part of you finds his calm, collected demeanour oddly intriguing, though you quickly push the thought aside. This is business.

As the interview wraps up, you rise from your seat. Without hesitation, he stands and pulls your chair out for you. Thanking him, you begin to gather your things when he hands you a card. "I realise I wasn't fully prepared for a meeting of this quality," he says, "but this was the best time available. Please, if you have further questions, don't hesitate to reach out."

As you step out of the café, the chill of the night seeps into your bones, sending a shiver through you. Your fingers graze the corner of the card in your pocket, and you slip it out, curiosity pulling at you. Tom Hiddleston.

***

The morning drags you awake at the jarring ring of your doorbell. Groggily, you check the clock. 6 a.m. You shuffle to the door, ready to glare down whoever dared disturb you this early. 

The same toothy grin greets you. "Did I wake someone?" he asks, a hint of humour in his tone. 

You rub your eyes. "Is that an insult?" Socialising feels unbearable right now.

He chuckles, stepping inside. "Alright, let's get you ready." Tom has everything laid out for the concert, right down to the outfit. He seems to know draining this life can be, and for now, you let yourself rely on that. It won't last, of course--eventually, you'll push him away like all the others. But for now, you let yourself enjoy it.

The last concert day arrives, and the air buzzes with anticipation. Every ticket sold. The crowd awaits, and you're ready to escape the restless schedule and weight of stardom for a good while. Concealer hides the exhaustion etched beneath your eyes, but barely. 

Tom gives you a faint smile as he hands you your jacket. "Just one last day, love." 

You shoot him a hard look. "Love?" He shuffles a step back, and mutters, "Sorry, it's just... a term of endearment. Platonic, of course..." 

An odd twist arises in your stomach. The 'Love' wasn't what made you pause; it was his quick reassurance that it was platonic. Does he treat all women this way, or was this just you?

You shake off the thought, huffing as you stomp outside. Just one more day, and then you're both free.

***

A few days pass. Tom hasn't been by, and life falls back into its dull, quiet routine. The end of the tour leaves you drifting. Nothing stirs that creative spark--not the shows, not the fans, not even a good coffee. You consider calling family, maybe putting on a show to pass time, but everything feels tiresome, like sleep might be the only comfort you need. 

Then the doorbell rings.

Peering out the window, you see someone lingering just outside your field of view. With a sigh, you walk to the door. "Tom? I didn't expect you. I thought my manag--" 

Your voice trails off as you take in the sight. In his hands is a bouquet of flowers, soft and unexpected. Tom shifts nervously, glancing at you before looking back down. "I... uh, was going to give these to my date," he says, a bit awkwardly. "But I thought... maybe you'd like them?"

Your chest tightens. These were meant for another woman. You shake your head, hardening your tone. "I don't want them." 

His brows knit together, etching deep lines on his forehead. "Y/n," he says softly, "what I meant to say was... I fancy you. When I said 'my date,' I meant you. I was hoping you'd give me a chance--to be my date?" He slides a hand into his jacket pocket, fumbling for a moment, but quickly pulls out a slightly melted chocolate bar. "I, uh, tried to keep it together... might need the fridge," he mutters, a little sheepish.

You hold his gaze, seeing a genuine, soft sincerity that takes you off guard. He's different--gentle in a way you're not used to, with something unspoken between his words. A warmth spreads over you, unexpectedly comforting.

"Yes," you murmur, the answer coming from somewhere honest. "I suppose I'll be your date."

// Hello lovely readers, this is the author. This one is a faster paced chapter, also coming from the actor instead, who knew? I hope this updated chapter was a pleasure to read, and I will continue updating the rest of these chapters for y'all. See you again~ //