Life Ruiner (Tom Hiddleston Imagines)

Kiss Me

It's Sunday morning, early, you think.

Rolling over in bed, you see the clock next to you on the table and sigh.

6am.

No one should be up at 6am on a Sunday.

You turn to the other side of your bed, reaching your arm out, only to find the space next to you cold and empty.

Of course.

No one but Tom would be up at 6am on a Sunday.

You frown, sitting up in bed as a yawn escapes you. As your hand flies to your mouth to catch it, your arm brushes against a t-shirt you don't remember owning. A soft shirt, soothing and cool. Oversized. Tom's shirt. You carefully run its material through your fingers and smile to yourself.

"Time to find Mr Hiddleston then" you say.

You climb out of bed, swinging your legs out of the duvet, shivering as your feet touch the laminate flooring around you.

"And buy a rug."

You walk over to a chair in your bedroom, buried under clothes, both yours and Tom's.

You'd always warned that your room at your parents' house had been messy before meeting Tom, and you really had tried to fix your untidy habits when you moved in with him, honest.

Eventually, however, you'd just corrupted Tom's tidy nature, and now your shared bedroom was very often covered in both of your clothes: clean clothes, dirty clothes, clothes torn off of one another the night before. All of the above and then some.

You smiled to yourself, daydreaming about passionate reunions after months away from Tom being on set, or travelling through work. Oh yes, those nights were the best nights.

Tiptoeing out of your bedroom, you walk towards the bathroom, only to hear a voice downstairs, proclaiming loudly:

"My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun..."

Tom was downstairs practising a sonnet for an event at the theatre next week. 'He must be nervous' you thought, still trying to decipher why such a mad man would be awake at this hour, on a Sunday of all days.

He repeated the line a few times, mumbling a little after each, too quiet for you to understand.

You smile to yourself, tip toe running into the bathroom to reach behind the door for something to cover yourself with.

Finding only Tom's dressing gown, you cuddle yourself in its size, its material practically drowning you as it slides smoothly over your shoulders.

You lazily tie the belt around your waist, and the material lies against your body, hugging every curve and bump, despite its larger size.

As you reach for the door handle, the smell of the dressing gown catches up to you, and you sigh in content. It smells of soft mint, and tea, and lazy mornings in bed.

So perfectly Tom.

You're nearing the bottom of the stairs now, when you hear him say:

"Coral is far more red than her lips red..."

"And how, my darling, would you know?" You say, looking towards him from the last but third step of the stairs. "I don't recall you saying hello to them this morning."

Tom stands in the kitchen, dumbfounded as he looks towards you over his shoulder. Turning slowly, you see him in his pyjamas, a t-shirt and checked trousers, childish and cute, yet tempting and beautiful. You're almost distracted by the thought of them on your bedroom floor, but are called back to reality as Tom says,