short stories (Tom Hiddleston fanfics)

wish you were here

You stood at the edge of the water, eyes fixed on the horizon, your coat pulled tightly around you against the chill. The air smelled of salt, and the sky stretched out above you in endless, muted grays, blending seamlessly into the waves. It was the kind of day you and Tom used to love, the kind that was perfect for wandering aimlessly, bundled against the cold, joking about all the constellations you'd never find.

It had been nearly three months without him. Other projects had taken him away before, whisking you both to distant places. You'd almost always gone along, sneaking away from your life here, following him to cities and countrysides, to tiny towns with endless fields and towering cliffs. No matter how hectic his work became, no matter the hours or the time zones, you'd always been there—always there to pull him out of the whirlwind and back into something that felt real.

But this time was different. You'd run out of vacation days and couldn't go with him, so he'd flown off alone. He'd texted and called, sent you short videos and messages spilling over with excitement, snippets of his life on set, his favorite coffee spots, photos of breathtaking landscapes you'd never seen. It was as if he were creating a whole new world, one you weren't a part of. He'd still write you those words, Wish you were here, as if typing it could make it true.

That night, the sky was murky, stars hidden behind layers of fog, and your feet moved along the familiar shoreline, tracing the same path you and Tom had walked together countless times. You'd always felt a quiet understanding with him, an ability to stand in comfortable silence, just feeling each other's presence. But now, that connection felt stretched, fragile, like a thread pulling further with every mile he was away.

Your phone buzzed, startling you. Tom's name lit up the screen, along with a photo of him at some cliffside lookout, grinning, holding up a coffee, dawn stretching behind him in pale watercolor tones. You could practically hear his laugh in the image, his voice as he'd say, "I wish you were here." He'd written it, too, underneath the photo.

Wish you were here with me, love.

But the words, as comforting as they were meant to be, hit something deeper. Each time he'd said the filming was almost done and he'd be back next week, you'd hold your breath, packing away the silence in your mind like you were making room. But then, a day before he was meant to return, another text would come in, always the same. Looks like I'll need to stay a bit longer. Just a couple more days, maybe a week. And every time it happened, the knot in your chest grew a little tighter.

You wanted to believe him, to trust that he'd come home, that nothing could take him away for long. But the months had stretched thin between you, and the doubt had started creeping in during the quiet, lonely hours before dawn. You were afraid that he might like it there—whatever this new, dazzling place was—so much that he'd decide to stay. And maybe that was what hurt most, this little voice that kept whispering he'd find something better in this world he was making, something he didn't need you for.

In the end, you typed back a simple response: Me too. It felt inadequate, so much smaller than what you felt, but it was all you had.

As you walked back toward home, you thought of that last night before he left, the two of you tangled up on the couch, staying awake longer than you should have, as if you could stretch time just by keeping each other close. He'd brushed his thumb along your hand, promised you that it would be over soon, that you'd be back to lazy weekend mornings, movie marathons, your favorite coffee shop just down the street. You'd believed him then. But now, with every quiet, empty night, it felt harder to hold onto that promise.

You wanted to be brave, to trust him, to tell yourself that this fear was just a shadow, not something real. You wanted to believe that you were enough to pull him back, to anchor him. But love, you realized, wasn't about certainty. It was about standing here, waiting on this same stretch of shoreline, believing in him even when you couldn't be sure. It was about staying, even when the other person felt worlds away, and holding on to the hope that, one day soon, you'd be back in each other's arms.

As you looked out over the dark waves, you made a quiet promise, to him and to yourself: you'd be here, waiting, ready to let him back into your world. No matter how far away he drifted, you would keep the door open. Because love, after all, was about finding the courage to stay, even when staying felt like the hardest thing in the world.