Insecure - Tom Hiddleston Imagines Geared Towards Battling Insecurities

"Pinocchio," "Voldemort"

A/N: Guess who's finally getting over writer's block!

Finally feeling some Wattpad creativity again, so hopefully I'll be back on schedule.  Goodness, a month without updating this?  I am ashamed.

Let me make a disclaimer and acknowledge that I am using the name "Voldemort" for the sake of the relevant reference.  I have neither read the HP books, nor, to be perfectly honest, have any desire to read them. Not my cup of tea, not my taste.

So let's see if I can get back into the swing of things...

****

"Darling, are you coming?"

"In a minute!"  You sigh.  For ten minutes now, you had been staring in the mirror, trying to mold your nose as if it were clay.  Pulled it too much, it looked like it took over your face, pushed it in, it not only flattened but made your forehead way bigger than it was.  But with each maneuver, your nose didn't change in size or shape, but rather in color, getting redder, and moisture, from the tears that were falling down.

You hated it.  It was the first thing people noticed about your face, sticking out like a sore thumb.  And what made it worse was that it was the gateway to the other imperfections: your eyes were too (big/small), your ears were uneven, your eyebrows were disappearing, your mouth wasn't centered, and your whole head-shape in general was unique, if you wanted to be nice about it.  But your nose?  Maybe you could get away with the other things, but this?  Too much.  Too noticeable.  It was the stumble that led to your downfall.

But you were going to the beach, and, for Tom, that meant surfing together and wiping out together.  Sitting under the umbrella all day was not an option, so makeup wasn't either.  Natural wasn't going to apply to bronzers and foundations and eye-shadow; today, it meant it's true definition: your bare face, no additional features, what nature freely gave.

Maybe a hat will do.

You couldn't find one of the ones with the huge brims, but you did find the straw fedora Tom wore to Wimbledon.  Adjusting it on your head, you didn't particularly like the way it lay on your head, but it would have to do.  If anything, people will notice the hat more than your face.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you rush downstairs to meet a growing-impatient Tom.  He chuckles when he sees you nearing the front door.

"If you wanted a matching fedora, you could have told me."

"Just trying it out for the day.  I hope you're not mad."

"No, but your hair is making it puff up.  I'm afraid it'll fall off."

You sigh, removing it, quickly scanning the room for Plan B.  Sunglasses?  No, rested on your nose. Sunblock stripes?  No, would have to go on it.

Noticing your shifting eyes, Tom holds your hand with his left, feeling your forehead with his right.  "Are you alright, love?  The heat hasn't gotten to you, has it?"

You are about to say "yes," but not only would that be lying to him, but it wouldn't wouldn't solve anything.  You couldn't avoid water all the time, especially since Tom rarely had vacations like this.  He wanted to spend it with you, and it wasn't fair to him to rob him of his moment.

"You wouldn't understand, Tom."

"Try me."

You start to speak, but every time you did, the words were as fleeting as your thoughts.  Goodness, if only you had his perfect genes?  Not only did he act like a prince, but he looked like one.  Bright eyes, sharp cheekbones, glowing smile, and his nose only accented his raw beauty.  One look could melt, could kill, could make anyone weak at the knees, could reboot a dying heart.  His nose wasn't a downfall but a crown jewel.

How on earth would he, of all people, understand what it feels like to be unpretty?

Not knowing how to tell him everything, you let out your breath and walk past him, heading for the car.  You sit, thinking he was following you, but when a moment turned into five minutes, you hopped back out the car.  But there he was, in the doorway, looking at you with a sad ponder.

"Are we going or not?"

He walks over to you, scanning you up and down as he circles around you.  Instantly you felt exposed, as if under a spotlight on an empty stage in the middle of a packed field.  But it wasn't a crowd of strangers; it was the person you cared about most in the world.

Tom stops back in front of you, holding your hands and bringing them up in front of his face.  After peering at them, he looked at your forearms, then turned and lifted up your arms to make sure he had completed his study of them.  His hands slid to your cheeks, a gentle tender hold as he examined your head, turning it from side to side as needed.  After another five minutes, his eyes met yours once again.

"Okay, I give up.  I have looked you up and down, seen every feature, every vein, every scar, every bump, and not even in the slightest do I see this inadequacy you seem to think exists.  So please, point it out to me so I can take a second look."

You bring his hand to your nose, and immediately his fingers take to it.  You could feel his fingerprint, each of the grooves as it dances along the ridge, along the length, and along the curves of your nostrils.  He did no sculpting, no molding, for it was not clay he was working with, but a masterpiece, something that should not be tampered with.  After a few moments tracing your nose with his fingers, he caressed it with his own, letting his nose dance around yours with a nuzzle before leaving a sweet kiss on it with his lips.

"I stand by my first analysis: you are not simply inadequate, but rather, you are simply beautiful."