Insecure - Tom Hiddleston Imagines Geared Towards Battling Insecurities

Fandoms

A/N: For the purposes of this, I'm going to use one of my favorite fandoms as an example for reasons as you will soon see, and also because my dad calls me this person a lot (for reasons you will also understand as soon as the fandom is mentioned). I do not plan on doing a comprehensive list of every single fandom this can work out for. It's the principle of the idea that I hope can be taken away from this.

*

It all started with a book.

To be more specific, it all started with the first book you ever bought on your first trip to Barnes and Noble. Even more specific, it all started with the first book you read all by yourself without someone reading over your shoulder reading it aloud to you.

It was also that book that you cherished so dearly that would become the very thing by which people scorned you.

On July 25, 2010, you were ecstatic as you huddled in front of the television, waiting to see how this updated series would bring the words off the page and into the twenty-first century. Sure, there had been a 1984 series that you often would watch reruns of and there was the movie Robert Downey Jr. had did earlier, but you couldn't pass up this television series.

"(Y/N), this is ridiculous," your mother said as she passed by.

You turn your head, which at the moment was wrapped by the softest blanket you owned. Tilting your chin, you really get a good look at her: hair disarrayed, dark circles, red puffy eyes, calluses broken and wore on her fingertips, light dirt residue on her knees and in her fingernails, pollen from red roses you knew all too well.

"You went to see Dad, didn't you?"

"You're not Sherlock Holmes, stop psychoanalyzing everything."

But it was more than that. It wasn't just a fandom.

Sherlock Holmes was monthly Friday evenings with your father. You would come home from school, and he would have taped all the episodes from that month so you binge watch it until morning. It was the nights of take-out and whatever wacky dessert you could make the biggest mess with. Sherlock Holmes was the "don't tell Mom I gave you coffee" nights and the "are they going to deviate from the book" nights. It was the nights where the bullying at school from deducing others didn't matter, because it was the nights where your passion was celebrated and treated as something not to be criticized, but acclaimed.

Fast forward.

People still don't get it. All they see is a twenty-something year old who should've gotten her act together and figured out that there's more important things to life than fictitious murders and knee-weakening jawlines. All they saw was a girl who wouldn't grow up from being a six-year-old girl who's dedicated twelve days out the year to relive the years she needed to mature from.

All they saw was a child in a grown-up's body.

And, unfortunately, you had been having one of those types of days the night of that milestone date. Thankfully, it was the premiere of the new season, but part of you didn't want to be reminded of the constant ridicule you got at work. (One your new clients' last name was Holmes, and their telephone number ended in 2212, so of course you had to have a moment.)

"Maybe it'll be worth it," Tom encouraged over the phone, as you still debated on going. "You'll be around people who are also excited about the start of the series again, so if anyone was to say anything, you have me and a theater full of people ready to pounce."

You had to laugh; you couldn't imagine Tom actually hurting someone off script.

But you went, and you did feel a bit better. The entire time, Tom held your hand, and he even brought his favorite scarf for you to wear. When he pulled it out, you smiled, for you two always debated who owned it, Loki or Sherlock.

"Tonight, you win," he whispers, delicately wrapped the wool around your neck and over your shoulders.

You knew Tom was super supportive, kind, and would always look after you. But never in a million years would you expect for him to do what he did that night.

After the premiere, instead of walking you to your car, he takes you hand and leads you to his.

"This is new."

"Yeah, well I left something for you here." Unlocking the door, he reaches to the passenger seat and pulls out a dark blue gift bag, the tissue paper black, grey, and yellow. You giggle.

"And what's this?" His eyes fall.

"I thought you would have remembered."

It takes you a moment, and then you realized. It was the anniversary of your dad's death, and, even worse, it fell on one of those monthly Friday nights. You hadn't even noticed, and you always noticed.

Maybe because, after almost a year of dating, being with Tom made you feel okay.

"Open it when you get home, and let me know what you think."

"When I get home?"

"You'll see."

So you did.

When you open the bag, you smile. You expected the scarf, a perfect match to the one that he owned. You expected something with the IOU apple, which happened to be a mug. You even expected the Sherlock-inspired candle, which you knew because he had been asking weird questions about what type of smells put you at peace.

What you didn't know what to make of was the picture: from left to right, it was Benedict, you, Amanda, and Tom himself.

It was a simple picture, all four of you standing in the apartment set. Benedict and Amanda were both in character, for both were wearing the iconic looks and facial expressions. But you knew this picture never took place because this would definitely be something you would have on your office desk or in your home somewhere. Plus, you have never met either of them, although Tom has been trying to plan a double dinner date with Benedict and Sophia so you can finally meet.

So what's the catch? And why the near-flawless photoshopping?

You would ask Tom about it, but his answer would consist of only two words: "Deduce it."

It would take you a week. To be precise, it would take you one hundred forty-seven hours and twelve minutes, thirteen cups of coffee, seven cups of tea, and one near breakdown since you received the gift to figure out what it meant.

And when you did, you sped to his house, knocked on his door frantically, and, upon it opening to you, cried into his shoulder. He laughs, kissing the top of your head.

"For waking me up at four in the morning, it had better be a yes."

You nod frantically. "Yes. It's definitely a yes."

*

A/N: You'll get it in time. If you're stumped, someone will probably comment what the picture meant. You have everything you need and more. (Deduce it.)