Tom Hiddleston and Loki Imagines - Bk. 1

Tom - The First

Are you kidding me?

Yet again, another pair of jeans barely held as your fastened the button together. At this point, you wanted to cry. You were trying, really and very hard to lose weight, even if it was just a few pounds. Yet, there you were, gaining, even moving up yet another clothing size.

Eeerrrrrrkkkk!

There your jeans went, tearing right at your inner thigh. Another $30 down the drain, making a grand total of $150 in losses. Frustrated, you threw them off, hot tears running down your face.

Why couldn't I just be a little bit smaller? A little bit thinner? A little bit better?

But in reality, you wanted to be more than just better. You knew that Tom had asked you out a couple of times, and you were waiting for the days to pile up, waiting to get a call. You were waiting for him to tell you, "Things aren't just working out," waiting to know that the reason for not making another date was because of your weight.

Maybe things would come to end sooner. You couldn't even find a pair of jeans to wear to your current date, which you were now seven minutes late to.

Giving up, you shove on a pair of sweatpants as you dial his number. He answers almost immediately.

"Hello, darling. I'm pulling up at the restaurant now."

"Okay," you whisper, trying to hide your tears from him. It doesn't exactly work.

"Are you okay? You don't sound...like yourself."

"Yeah, I'm fine," you lie. "Listen, I can't make it today."

Although you didn't want to admit it, there was a sadness in his voice, a disappointment that was surreal.

"Oh, alright. Are you sick, can I bring you anything?"

Pants that fit me? A barrel to hide my shame in?

"No, I'll be okay."

"Are you sure? You don't sound okay."

"I have to go."

Without hearing him out or heeding to him begging you not to, you hang up on him, tossing your phone to the other side of the room. It didn't break like you desperately, but halfheartedly, wanted it to, wanting to hear something snap like your sadness had done to you, wanting it to break and tear like your jeans and heart.

Maybe you were scared. Scared to hear him call again and innocently pester about your troubles. Scared to have him comfort you like you knew you needed. Scared for him to not leave you and having the reason being that he was a good person who didn't want you to be unhappy but maybe, just maybe, that he was making it worse for himself. Scared that you might have made a gateway for him to leave you but at the same time unknowingly forced him to stay in a relationship that he might have wanted to leave.

Scared to lose or be loved all for the same reasons.

The doorbell rings, but you don't budge. You didn't want to see anyone, didn't want to talk, didn't want to explain yourself. But when the knocking doesn't stop after five minutes and your phone rings twenty times, you knew you had to do something. Wiping your eyes, you pick up your phone. Out of the twenty, Tom had made fifteen of those calls, the other five being from another loved one.

He had left voice messages, one right after and two after every third call.

"I wanted to ask you something before you hung up. Also, I know there's something wrong. Please call me back."

"(Y/N), you couldn't have disappeared off the face of the earth three seconds after our call ended. Answer your phone."

"I'm really worried now. I've contacted (loved one). Please answer at least one of us, we're concerned."

And as you were listening, five more calls and another voice mail.

"I'm scared, (Y/N). Are you alright? Have I done something wrong?"

Reluctantly, your finger finds its way to the call button. Tom almost immediately answers.

"(Y/N), thank goodness! Are you hurt? Is everything alright? Did-"

"Tom, I'm not in danger. Calm down." You hear him sigh of relief on the other end.

"Then, please enlighten me: are you ignoring me?" You get up from your bed and exit your room, making your way downstairs.

"No, I just...I just.." He lets there be a silence before continuing.

"You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"

"I know, but..." You open your front door, and there he is, phone still to his ear.

"But?" As you end the call and put your phone to your side, he does the same. "Please, tell me...what's wrong?"

As you go to shake your head, the tears start coming, and Tom's immediate action is to take you into his arms. You love it but hate it, not wanting for him to feel obligated or like it's his duty to comfort. He doesn't let go, not wanting to end his embrace until you felt at peace.

"You're shaking," he whispers into the crook of your neck.

"Am I?" You hadn't noticed, too concerned about Tom's actions to worry about your own reactions.

"Yes." Lifting up his head, he nuzzles your noses together before resting his forehead on yours.

"(Y/N)?"

"Yes?"

"Look at me." Hesitantly, you raise your eyes, and when you do, he holds your cheeks in his hands, locking your gazes.

"Look at me, look into my eyes, and tell me why they're so red. And don't you dare lie to me, because I know you're far from fine."

He watches as your eyes go from dry and red to glassy and blinking out tears, all within seconds. You confess everything to him, not just about the jeans, but what they represented: your emotions, thoughts, and desires, torn at the seam, broken in pieces. With a steady ear, he takes it all in, all your insecurities not just about your weight, but about the weight you both carry in the relationship.

And when you're poured out what's left of your heart, he mends it, placing a gentle kiss onto your lips for the first time. And you're terrified, and he knows it, for he makes another first.

"You're right. You're not good enough for me. Because you're so much more than that, (Y/N), you're so much more than $150, so much more than any closet or clothing store or anything that can have a price-tag. The only number you should be concerned about is the number one: because that's how many of you there are, how many girlfriends I have, how many women I want to marry, how many hearts and people you and I make together." He strokes your cheek.

"You're so much more than 'not good enough.' You're so beyond anything I could have imagined, so much more wonderful and compassionate and thoughtful and considerate and so very much humble. And I never thought I could have the privilege to even find a person, but here I am...having the honor to love them."

And to confirm what you heard, he kisses you again, repeating the words in a whisper against your lips, "I love you."