Tom Hiddleston & Loki Imagines (xReader)

Tom: Something Just Like This

*Written prior to Tom/Zawe engagement*

—

This.

This was everything.

A perfect vacation, culminating in a perfect visit to your perfect fiancé, which ended with you both sitting on a blanket on the beach, staring out at a perfect sunset.

Your flight was leaving in a couple of hours, and you were trying to squeeze in as much time together as possible. This would be the last you saw of each other until your wedding.

Two weeks from now.

The breeze picked up. You snuggled closer to Tom, stealing his warmth. He tightened his arm around you.

"You've been awfully quiet up there, Mr. Hiddleston," you commented teasingly after several minutes of total silence from him. Neither of you minded silence—love doesn't have to be loud—but you sensed something was off.

"Have I?" he asked absently, staring out over the ocean waves. They sparkled cerulean in the warm golden sunlight.

"Yeah, you have." You craned your neck to look up at his face. It was thoughtful, and slightly... troubled? "What are you thinking about? You okay?"

Tom shifted uncomfortably on the blanket. He glanced briefly at you before looking away again. "I..." He started, hesitated, and finally changed his mind. "Yeah, no, I'm fine."

"Really? Because if that's what 'fine' looks like, then I hope you never aren't fine."

He fidgeted.

"Come on, Tom," you prodded. Literally—you gave his arm a playful poke. "Talk to me. I can't help if I don't know what's wrong."

He sighed. "It's just..." he groped for how to word his next question. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

You laid down on the blanket, ankles crossed and your head pillowed on your hands, looking up at the orange and pink sky. "Go through with what?"

He pulled your left hand out from under your head ("Hey!") and held it in front of your face. Your engagement ring glittered in front of your eyes, reflecting the sun's fading rays like sparks from a fire.

"You have two weeks left," Tom said softly, hesitantly. "You can still change your mind, if you wanted."

You shot upright. "What?!" Your throat went dry and your eyes widened in shock. "Tom, what's going on? What's the matter?"

He avoided your eyes. "You know me inside and out, (Y/N). My good points, my bad points, my idiosyncrasies—"

You snickered, in spite of the context. "That's the truth. Dancing in the middle of the pudding aisle at the supermarket is definitely an idiosyncrasy."

"Hey, there were fans!"

"There were fans, so you samba-ed with a giant chocolate pudding?" You threw a handful of sand at him. "I fail to see the connection. But go on."

Tom tweaked your nose, then was solemn again. "Anyway. I just... I don't want you to do anything that you'll regret. I mean, out of all the 8 billion people in the world, you choose to be stuck with me?"

You arched a coy eyebrow. "My, my, my, what's this? Is the great Tom Hiddleston getting cold feet? Is he nervous?" A grin spread across your face.

Tom took a second to admire your beautiful smile before snorting (somehow making it sound polite), "I'm only human, (Y/N)."

"Good. Don't wanna marry an alien. But there's more to this, isn't there?"

He focused on a shell half-buried in the sand, absentmindedly digging it up with his fingers. "I'm no one special, (Y/N). As wonderful and unique and magnetic as you are, you could do so much better than me."

There was unmistakable sadness in his voice.

You took his face in your hands and turned it to you. "No, I don't think I could. Where is all this coming from?"

He looked away from you. "There are so many people out there. Meaningful people. Scientists, doctors, relief workers, missionaries, philanthropists—the list goes on. They have all these special skill sets and are actively making a difference in the world. But me? I'm just an actor. What do I do that's useful?"

You rested your head on his shoulder with a sigh. "This is about what your dad said, isn't it?"

"He asked why I would want to spend my life pretending to be someone else when I could be my own man. And sometimes I wonder if he wasn't right, after all. I wonder if, instead of acting out the life of a superhero, I could have lived one. Been a doctor, run for office, built homes for the poor. Maybe even gone into the military. But I haven't done anything. I haven't made a difference anywhere. Volunteering for UNICEF... I could have done more than that. At times I think he was right."

Tom sighed, disappointed in himself. You rubbed comforting circles on his back.

"I want to give you the world, (Y/N). I want to give you a fulfilling, meaningful life that you'll never have reason to look back on with regret. How can I do that when I'm only a plain man who happens to deliver his lines decently well? When the best I can offer you is a front-row seat at the next movie premiere? You deserve so much more than that."

He looked genuinely ashamed.

You couldn't have that. This ray of sunshine was never supposed to go dark.

"Tom," you said, "look at me."

He turned from the dusky sky and focused on you. You held a hand against his cheek.

"If there is one thing I want you to get out of your head right this second, it's that you're plain. You are anything but. I don't care if you don't have doctorates or PhDs or a military uniform. I don't care if the only time you wear a lab coat is in a movie. And you don't need any special talents or skill sets. Do you know why?"

"Because you'll make up for whatever I don't have?" he guessed, a half-hearted attempt at humor.

You smiled. "No. You don't need any of that because you have a smile that puts everyone else's to shame. Because you have a laugh that makes me want to melt, and a voice that gives me shivers. You have a personality that cheers me up on my absolute worst days. Your consideration for others rivals the world's top philanthropists. You're a gentleman of a dying breed. You're strong, but you're soft. You're dedicated. You're there for me when I need you. You make me feel loved and safe."

There were tears in his baby-blue eyes.

"You keep trying to be an all-or-nothing superhero, Tom. You have a heart of gold. But I don't need a superhero." You took his hands and squeezed. "I need someone I can turn to when I'm hurting, someone I can kiss when I'm happy. I just need you."

He smiled his beautiful smile. It seemed brighter than ever.

"And as for the type of life I want: I want something with talking and laughing and sunsets and being side-by-side with my best friend." You nudged his arm with your elbow and looked out at the ocean. "Something just like this."

He slid an arm around your waist. "Thank you, darling," he whispered, kissing you gently. "So much. That means more than you'll ever know."

"Any time. You're my hero, Tom. Just the way you are." You lay back on the blanket, making yourself comfortable. He laid down next to you—only to shoot up again, spluttering, when you launched another handful of sand at him.

"Besides, who else can get a full English breakfast hot on the plate all at the same time? And I don't mind front-row seats at premieres, either..."