Insecure - Tom Hiddleston Imagines Geared Towards Battling Insecurities

"You're Such a Nerd," "You're So Stupid"

"Y o u ' r e S u c h a N e r d"

You thought college would be different. People came here to be smarter, they would have matured, maybe for once you would actually fit in.

Boy were you wrong.

"Look at her, teacher's pet," one student sneered as you walked into the classroom. You hugged your books tighter to your chest, knowing they were referring to the paper sticking out of your folder. You had two weeks to write a paper for class, talking about the effects media has on its audience, and there you were, already having a complete rough draft to show the teacher, wanting any advice they could offer.

"I bet she wrote that in one sitting." You wanted to cry. It was true. It hadn't been too hard, especially since you understood the material very well and had ample evidence in your own experiences. You wielded your words like a sword, able to cut to the hearts of your readers. Essays were your strongest suit.

You sit down near the front of the class, wanting to maintain a focused mindset, but even through the teacher's lesson, you could hear the whispering with each contribution you made.

"She's too smart for her own good."

"There's no extra credit for brown-nosing."

"She doesn't belong here."

"NASA, we've found your alien. We'll ask it to take us to its leader."

You couldn't stand it. You had to get out. Escape. Find a way to make it to the door and just run away from everyone.

Scooping up your things, you don't even care that everyone was looking at you and that the teacher had paused within the middle of their presentation to figure out what was going on. You didn't care that the snide remarks didn't stop or increased in volume. You just had to get away.

Your phone rings, and you ignore it. You didn't feel like talking to anyone right now. No one understood you. No one knew how it felt to be degraded. Every. Single. Day.

A hand comes onto your shoulder. You turn around, and it's Tom, who had gotten a job with the college.

"Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Shouldn't you be helping with the theater students?"

"Class was delayed, but yours wasn't."

"How do you know?"

"Well for one thing, your eyes are red and you're crying."

Had you been? You didn't know, didn't even notice. He wipes the tears from your eyes, letting the salty water sink into his skin.

"There now. What's the matter?" You shake your head, not wanting him to make fun of you too. But he already knew.

"They're just jealous. They only wish they had even just half the brains you have. And I'm so proud of you for trying your best."

" Y o u ' r e S o S t u p i d"

Completely frustrated, you groan and you flop backwards. Three hours later, and you still didn't understand a thing. Why did the alphabet have to come into math? That's why it's math and not a language course!

"Come on, I know you can get this," Tom encourages. He had been up all night with you, not leaving your side. You didn't understand why — he had scripts to be memorizing, interviews to be preparing for.

"Tom, go to bed."

"We're still studying."

"I'm still studying. You need your rest." You go to move your materials, but he places a hand on yours. You go to move, but his hand keeps yours firmly in place.

"Tom—"

"I'm not leaving."

"Yes you are."

"And why is that?"

"You have more important things to worry about."

"You're more important—"

"Tom, stop kidding ourselves. I'm never going to get this! The exam is tomorrow." You had been studying all week, five hours a day, and you were stuck in the same rut. It was easy to feel hopeless, like none of it mattered and you were doomed to fail.

"Yes you can! I have faith in you." You sit back up straight.

"How? Tom, let's face it. I'm so helpless and lost when it comes to this. I feel so stupid—"

"Hey, you're not," he interrupts, putting his foot down. "And I'm not going to let you think that way just because you're aggravated." He sighs. "I know it's challenging for you, but that's why you're in the course. I know you can handle it. And even though you think you're not doing so well, I'm so proud of you for trying your best."

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(A/N): Yes, I know I used the same last line, but that's on purpose. Because I truly believe that he would say that, no matter what level or type of intelligence you think you have. He's always looking for the best in people, and that's all I think matters for him.