#tom my beloved | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

smolvenger · 6 months

Text

Yggdrasil (Loki x fem! Reader Oneshot)

Summary: Your husband, the god of mischief, has made the ultimate sacrifice for his friends, and the world...he lives, but now he is alone...that is until you choose to join him in his solitude and make a life there.

Warnings: MAJOR spoilers for the ending of the Loki series. Angst, but fluff and hurt/comfort. YN becomes a goddess in her YN-y moment. Brief mentions of sex and pregnancy, but no smut at all. Fix it Fic goodness. Canon and Norse mythology is not a code and more like a guideline. Is it accurate? I don't know. And this is fic world. Accuracy don't mean shit. I just want my boy to be happy after all that and do my part as a Loki fic writer after...THAT.

Word Count: 2K

@fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr @asgards-princess-of-mischief @huntress-artemiss @ijuststareatstuffhereok89

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

You walked over to the tree. It was incredibly beautiful. The vines reaching out. The colors are everywhere. The trunk of it twisting, twisting round. The blueness and soft greens that surrounded you. Light purple flowers high up, blossoming. You had heard of it in stories. Maybe dreamed of it once. But here…here in person it was even more beautiful.

“Hello there, Yggdrasil.” you greeted with a smile.

There was a breeze in the wind. It rattled the leaves above. The starry sky. It didn’t feel too cold here- it felt sweet, crisp. An early autumn night. You took several steps closer until you were right before the trunk. Your voice lowering.

“But I know who you really are…who is in there…” you continued.

The search had been long. It had been a month. A month since you saw him. The look on his face, and felt his sacrifice, his steps going forward. Now here it was-in person. Here he was.

It shivered in response. You went up, gently placing a hand on the bark.

You felt the curves of your lips to a gentle frown. A voice that was not begging…only requesting. Soft, but grounded. As grounded as the tree was though in it’s magic it seemed like it floated where it grew.

“Please…take me to him…it is all I want, all I wish, all I ask for…please allow me to see him…even if it’s only once…”

Was your prayer answered? Even heard? You sucked in a breath, feeling your chest grow tight with anticipation. The delicate lines of both despair and hope on a thin line.The golden band around your finger felt tight- shimmering amidst the dark wood of the tree.

The vines relented. They thinned and opened up- as easily as silk. There was a glowing opening within the tree. You felt it- a stillness. As if you were waited. Expected.

Inside it, you took your steps into the heart of the tree. It felt like the cool mist, the light rain as you walked through-like the light rain that poured the first night you let him into your bed. Your heart raced, your palms clammy.

Was this a mistake? The wrong one? It had to be…it had to! It couldn't have done that unless… it was really…no- was this it? Would Yggdrasil kill you? Destroy you for knowledge so intimate, so secret?

Branches, vines, leaves- so much wood here. There was a green light that glowed about it, shining everywhere- how perfect for him, you mused.

Your head turned. Throat going dry and tight with dread, fear. You searched around. Eyes skittering through the thick vines.

You looked around-nothing but the greenery…

Then…there was a voice. Breathy, baritone, low, rich-and it whispered your name in echoes.

The greenery opened up. You saw first horns. Then…

There, on a throne, surrounded by vines, there he sat. Pale and handsome. He was always handsome to you. Despite the lines of care, his drooping eyes…it was him. You knew that face- caressed it, kissed it so many times.

His eyes then lowered to you. Its blueness seemed darkened, dimmed. Then he looked at you, squinting. He whispered your name again, to you. You felt everything in you freeze. You wanted this. Processed it. It was real- very, very real.

“Is…is that…” he began to whisper.

Tears brimmed up your eyes and you cupped your mouth, as you felt them drop down your hand already.

“Loki it’s you!” you cried out.

Sobbing hard, you ran into him, almost tackling him into a hug. Crying so hard your whole body shook with each tearfall. So much your face felt hot, even as it scratched against his cloak- against the long vines. You felt his hands wrap around you. And you heard him just say your name again- an incantation. A spell to bring you back. A spell that worked. You cried as he held you, the vines around him shivering.

“What…what is it…why…why did you come here?” he asked.

You released the hug. Wiping off your tears with your sleeve like a little child. Your tone returned to the old teasing.

“You silly man! What kind of wife abandons her husband?”

Loki’s mouth opened, but he said nothing. His face was in awe.

“I came here for you! I figured out how- and I did!” you replied.

He let out a deep sigh. He lifted his white hand, caressing your cheek. You leaned into it, enjoying the intimacy, his touch that you had been deprived of, that he had been deprived of too for so long.

“You know I cannot leave this. Ever. I…I must do this, my love…I had to…to save all of them…to save you…I…I must make sure…their stories all…all are happy…are managed, well…even yours.” he voiced. His face serene, though a tear fell down across his cheek.

You then took his hand and clutched it.

“Loki, the many times you comforted me when I cried. Stood by me. Protected me when I was in danger, scared. Saved me, even. And you know how…how lonely I would get in Asgard. Who else would run to my side to comfort me…but you. I shall do that for you!”

His eyes widened.

“But…you cannot give up your home, your life!” he replied.

You shook your head.

“I will make a new one here- we will make a new one here…Thor and Frigga gave me their blessing before I left. They saw how happy we made each others…and that is what they want. I told them what you did. The people you saved…and they’re…they’re proud of you.”

He blinked rapidly, more tears falling down. You lifted two of your hands- cupping his face lovingly. He had no choice but to look in your eyes.

“When we were married, we promised, before the AllFather and AllMother to always stand by each other...I will honor the vows I made on that altar, as you honored your vows to me,” you declared.

The wind rustled above. Inside, there were a few violet buds that dangled, moving slightly. Willing the flower to open.

“My darling….Asgard will lack its princess.”

“A mere consort? No! I am not an heir to anything! A mere accessory to a throne, a part of a painting…and nothing eles? And alone? Loki, I don't need a palace, gold, riches, and titles…I only ask to be loved and safe…and Loki…you will be alone…now- you won’t be. I will stay by you. We will face this new part of your life together!”

There was a slight grown from the wood. Both of you looked about, your hands dropping. He nestled into the green cloak he wore around him. His helmet perfect for him- never once slipping off his head.

“It’s quiet here…there’s no one…nothing…a life of nothing…but making these stories” he mused.

“Then let me stay…let me help…if only…if only to be with you…I will live here. If not near- then give me access. I will stay here, come by every day. Visit for hours…just to be with you.”

“My darling…sweet, sweet wife…I was alone and I…I don’t have to…”

There were tears in his eyes.

“Thank you…thank you, my dear…”

He pressed his forehead to yours. The cold metal of the forehead touching your own. You only held hands. Felt each other- the love in your systems bursting forth.

A vine went to you, grazing against your arm. You lifted a hand.

“Which one is this?” you asked.

“This one…a man named Steve…or Marc…he’s three at once, it’s very complicated….” Loki explained.

You lifted a finger to touch it. There was a ripple. The vines shook, some of them went to you. You wondered…you lifted a hand. It allowed you to touch it. There was a small, reddish glow, it went up and through.

“You just…just…made something happen…something will occur for Steve…he’s about to learn what gifts he truly has…my dear…has this happened before?”

“No- not until now…”

“You think that…you have a certain…gift?” he asked.

The vines reacted in turn. You realzed as you touched them, you could help move these stories. Turn them- touching made something happen and Loki would tell you.

“My dear…you have a gift. One of fate…”

“Then…I guess I cannot leave now. You will help with stories. I will help with fates. We both have work to do.”

He smiled.

“Asgard now has a new goddess…” he said. You went up, and kissed him. You cried as your lips touched. And there was a shudder that went through the trees and rattled through the forest like a wind.

It was an adjustment. Making a home just outside of the remains of the earth. Fortunately, you knew enough magic to get by. To transport and conjure food. Even gather some from the nearby village. Enough to make a garden, a home.

And every day, you walked out to Yggdrasil. Vanished for hours. Then returned.

For the villagers, it was odd that a goddess of fate was just going about the streets getting groceries among them. You merely shrugged and laughed it off.

You said your husband was busy. Quite busy. He had an important job-crucial one. Yet people wondered at you- the mysterious goddess who lived in a cottage by the woods, whose husband never appeared, and vanished into the forest. The forest at the end of the world, mind you- every day and returned with a smile on her face as if nothing happened.

It was quiet and simple. No opulent balls and feasts of Asgard. But no fathers with clear favorites and tears and bloody battles with countless corpses and heartbreak either.

How often you polished the horns on his helmet and washed his cloak by the river. Then he would tell you all about what happened. Fates and stories. You would mend them, mind them. Determine what worked, what did not. And you would laugh and cry so hard over every story on earth of each person you would feel like a rag rung out…yet in a good way.

And you would wrap your arms around him. Sit on his lap on the throne, as you did back then so many times before. Kiss him and nuzzle into him. Feel his touch- remind him through the brush of your fingers through his dark curls. I am here, I am here, I am here.

It was like being remarried- A honeymoon fortress of oak, willow leaves, and flower petals. The newness of your husbands role, his abilities. As well as yours. But without everything else…no, you didn’t need anything else. Only each other.

It was a month later, you knew the change. You felt it. The suspicion. The inkling you felt since you began your journey. Counting on your fingers from when it last happened, and your journey to him began, the timing was right. The intuition. The small ringing of a bell in the back of your head getting louder, and louder with each passing week. The one reason on the backburner that was never confirmed. And now it was. You both wanted it. Hoped for it. Now, though the circumstances could have never been guessed, you would both receive your wish. The confirmation long awaited.

On Yule, you teasingly adored the tree in ribbons. Loki inside scoffed, rolling his eyes. But it only made you laugh harder. In Spring, you collect its flowers and put them in vases. In Summer, you cooled beneath it’s shade. Loki made sure your story was hte one most preciously protected, guarded. You made old charms from the flowers with his magic- for your safety and good health. Flowers worn over your head in crowns, on your neck. And in Autumn, you watched as they oranged and swirled. How lovely they were surrounding you as you held each other.

A year and a half went by before you knew it, as swift as mortals lives. the cottage had an infant girl living in it. She had dark hair, and your skin and eyes. And she was starting to walk. You held her up by both hands in the grass before the forest.

“Come along Freya! There’s a good girl! A step at a time!” you cooed at her.

Who knew what her powers would be. What she was goddess of. But here, she wasn’t a goddess. She was just a baby.

She was Babbling as the grass tickled her feet. The loving, green dress you tucked over her. You held her tiny, chubby hand as she experimentally bent her knees. Then she made a sound of triumph.

Motherhood was not going to stop your gifts and powers as a goddess of fate. You touched the vines and turned fates however. But you had to give happy ones to the friends of him. The ones who meant so much to him, did so much for him. For Mobius, you made sure his sons grew up healthy and strong and happy, with long vacations by lakes and oceans. For Ouroboros, you gave him several awards and successes as a writer and the inspiration and motivation to create, pour water into his own well, and never lose the joy of it. You made sure they all were safe and content.

You scooped little Freya up your arms, giving her a kiss on the side of her head. She was behaving well- not crying loud to wake the whole village. Needing perhaps a cradle from the vines of Yggdrasil again in Norns Know what time of night if she was especially fussy.

You walked her again to the tree. She looked out with her wide eyes. One hand trying to touch the leaves, the vines, the branches. A thing of flowers bloomed for her. One leafy vine went over to graze her cheek. She kicked in enthusiasm, giggling in such pure joy.

You smiled at her and then at Yggdrasil. Seeing the portal open once again.

Knowing he was inside again- to see her. Meet her. Hold her as he did when she was a swaddled newborn to be brought- for him to just hold her. Despite the great loneliness of Loki’s inital fate, you all did everything to change it. He would meet Freya and watch her grow up. He would see her, hold her, love her. Again. Again. And again.

You turned your face to the baby with a smile, and then to the portal door and the god of stories waiting inside.

“Freya- let’s go see your father.”

404 notes · View notes

smolvenger · 7 months

Note

Greetings bestie 💖🫡

Requesting a Professor Hiddles story (you can choose what subject he's teaching) where he already has this friendly type of dynamic w/ Reader and she's nervous about finals week and he goes "Tell you what, if you ace all your exams I'll take you out to dinner. Anything you want."

…And then (surprise surprise) she wants to skip all that because she just wants him 🫠🫠

I shall leave spice level entirely up to you 😏

And for some ✨inspiration✨…

Hi bestie! Thank you for requesting a Prof! Tom fic! I loved writing it!

Exam Aid (Prof! Tom Hiddleston x Student! Reader)

Summary: When finals have gotten you down, your Shakespeare professor offers some help...and motivation...

Word Count: 5939 (woof)

Warnings: Eventual Smut at the end! NSFW! (Reader is a college student ((if undergrad or graduate that's up to you)) so she's over 18. Dom! Prof Hiddles and Sub! Reader, dirty talk, vaginal fingering, doggy style, doing it in an office. It's super filthy when it gets there, so be warned), mentions of anxiety and insomnia and mental health. My Shakespeare tastes and my IRL English Major college experiences are used and referenced bc it's my indulgent fic too and I do what I want. Some hurt/comfort. Prof Hiddles being both a dom and silly goofy in one fic bc get you a man who can do both.

Taglist: @huntress-artemiss@ijuststareatstuffhereok89@evelyn-kingsley@jennyggggrrr@five-miles-over@fictive-sl0th@ladycamillewrites@villainousshakespeare@holdmytesseract (smut starts at "I'm good at more than just kissing" and ends at "He looked at you with a sweet smile", for your comfort, bestie) @eleniblue@twhxhck@lokisgoodgirl@lovelysizzlingbluebird@raqnarokr@holymultiplefandomsbatman@michelleleewise@wolfsmom1@cheekyscamp@mochie85@muddyorbsblr

It wasn’t the actual week of finals. Oh no, you knew how the drill would go. It was the month or week before. It would be assigned. Every last essay thrown on top of you. And with professors without a touch of reality for students.

“Who the hell has time to read and finish A Tale of Two Cities in two days?!” you thought as you shoved your unabridged copy of Dickens in your bag. Promising yourself to get through as much as you can and then read the Sparknotes summary in the morning. You weren’t immune to it.

Throughout your time in college, you had many a professor. Professors came in varieties. There were creative writing professors who ranged from tiny women who would assign short stories that made no sense to blonde men with glasses and toothy grins who loved it when their male classmates wrote exploitative abuse. Mythology professors with Greek accents and tans. Then there were the mixed bag of literature professors.

The previous professor of the literature survey for Shakespeare also taught the American Literature Survey course. He was Dr. Rutledge. He wasn’t from this year, or even this reality. Either a wise old sage or a kooky scientist from the movie. He had long, thin grey hair, and wore bow ties with black glasses and thick tweed jackets. He smiled and would speak for hours in a tone half sarcastic, half serious. You knew he would go back home and cozy up with a whole copy of Moby Dick next to a fireplace as he sipped on tea or even scotch if he was feeling adventurous. When he brought up sex and seduction with the Scarlet Letter it was the equivalent of hearing a nun confess her last orgy.

So when you registered this year for the Shakespeare course, that was the sight you were expecting.

Since the first day in walked someone different. He may have been wearing a suit, but he definitely was not Dr. Rutledge.

Everyone was gossiping and chattering and sipping on their iced coffees when they fell silent. Every single back stood up straighter at the sight of him. Young, tall, virile. Long, curly reddish blonde hair. A goatee and glasses to show his maturity. Sharp suits that framed every inch of his lean but fit body. Eyes and cheekbones to die for. A jaw so straight it made the men taking the class question if they were.

No introduction of “hi, I’m-” No icebreaker games. He only stepped forward, to his podium. Held onto it, everyone leaned forward. He had all of you in the palm of his hand. Then, with his clear, bright baritone voice, he spoke-

“Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York…”

His voice…something about it. So…rich…Goddammit, he picked that one, the opening speech of Richard the Third. If he picked Romeo’s balcony declaration or something like that, you would be in even more danger of falling onto the floor in a horny heap of suppressed yearning. But no…it was Richard the Third’s monolgoue. Of all the characters he was playing, of all the characters in the Shakespeare canon you could thirst after, it was fucking Richard the Third. Definitely not known as a hunk or even a likable person according to canon.

But the way he said it- threatening, villainous even. He leaned in and confessed his true feelings about the royal family and his plot to destroy them and rule over them. You could already feel something stirring inside you. And it was eight am in the morning.

As he finished the monologue, speaking it so naturally it was as if it were his own words, the class burst into applause.

With a casual bow, brushing his curly blonde-red hair out of his face, he introduced himself.

“Hello class- good morning. I’m your professor- Professor Hiddleston, and I will make this as fun and engaging as a morning class on Shakespeare can be.”

From then on, you enjoyed the class. You tackled it on- after all, you wanted to have some fun. You loved Shakespeare. But Professor Thomas Hiddleston…was a bonus. Thank the lord he wore suits. And if not suits, white shirts with the sleeves rolled up. He might as well as taken it off for you.

You went through various sonnets. Then explored the poetry- Aphrodite and Lucretia. Then the plays. Even plays that the undergrads thought the most dull he made intriguing. He made everything clear with Shakespeare’s life too himself- how the Bard lost a son named Hamlet. How Shakespeare was accustomed to the great courts and low brothels Prince Hal tasted both of.

When theatres did productions or there was the odd movie adaptation in theatres, everyone went to go see it. Then he had a showing of lesser-known film adaptations. Showing how Orson Welles framed the shot of Falstaff to make the large knight seem even larger. The Bollywood Othello where at long, long last Emilia survived and she was the one to kill Iago, much to the class’s cheering.

“Are there any other movies we should watch?” he asked.

One kid shot up and suggested Shakespeare in Love. He raised an eyebrow.

“ It was not Shakespeare’s invention to have the lovers die. Romeo and Juliet was a a known story in Elizabethan era England and everyone knew back then that the lovers died. It’s like someone just suggesting that Superman comes from another planet- we all know he does. Not because of him having an illicit affair as his poor wife was left to raise their surviving children far off and alone!”

“What about Anonymous!?” cried one kid, trying to be cool.

He let out a deep, ragged sigh.

“There is more than enough evidence to suggest Shakespeare wrote the plays. Every criticism says he can’t write it because he was uneducated. However, if you look, there are hysterical inaccuracies in his geography And no one questions the authorship of Maya Angelou because of her lack of formal education! Just because he was not a nobleman, does not mean he was not aware of things as you are! Every Anti-Stratfordian argument boils down to classicism.”

It was the best class you took. Having him teach definitely helped. And he would invite people for coffee talks and of course, you would bolt to join. Yet you enjoyed it- seeing him so relaxed. Warm in his coat as everyone circled around to talk about plays they knew of but hadn’t read in this class.

“Well- all of us went through our high schools. We all read Romeo and Juliet- what do you think?” he questioned them one autumnal day.

“They’re just brats! Ugh!” one guy snarled out.

That you couldn’t take. You set down your drink, glaring at him.

“They’re not!” you cried out passionately.

Eyes turned forward to you. You wished youcould have slapped him, but you stopped.

“Well, Y/N…why do you think that? Why are they not brats?” the professor asked.

“I think…the plays aren’t meant to be realistic. Of course, they fall in love immediately- so do Rosamund and Orlando but no one calls them brats! It’s not Romeo and Juliet who get everyone killed! It’s not their love that hurts anyone- it’s just the feud and Paris l thinking he is entitled to Juliet’s body after her supposed death! No one knows about them- only they, the nurse, and the priest know about it! They’re innocent! Juliet calls Romeo her ‘friend!” Her one and only friend! That’s how alone she is without him! They are just innocent victims of a greater scheme. Hamlet and Othello fall prey to their own flaws- but Romeo and Juliet are just two young kids caught in the crossfire!”

You didn’t realize how passionate you were. You felt your face get hot with embarrassment as the class gaped at you. But the Professor was nodding his head. He gave you a small smile as you sat down.

“That was…very good. Next time, use the text and a few sources, and you have yourself a good essay, Y/N,” Professor Hiddleston said.

You liked how he challenged you. He would only want you to do better. He wouldn’t blow smoke up your ass, but he would support you. You would ask after each other. He told you a bit about his life- about how much there was to grade. How he got the job. Little things- but little things only added up to how much you liked him. Even…even…no, you couldn’t you would never say it aloud. But your bedtime fantasies…you were more than mere friends…but that was only for fantasies.

You tried to let those regular Shakespeare classes comfort you. But finals were taking a toll on your sleep, and your health. You were so wound up and stressed, trying to read and perfect essays that you had trouble going to bed. Your brain kept churning- unable to think of anything else but your work. You couldn’t realx- you worked so hard to get into this school, this degree. If you didn’t pass then…you would be a failure and all that work to go to this school would be for nothing.

At least after a sleepless night, you had something to look forward to- to distract yourself. But even lately in those classes, you curled into yourself. The heaviness of your exhaustion and the jolt of your anxiety over finals in an unending cycle of misery. You were so…tired…and done…and drained…you knew it would pass with time…

After class, as everyone filed out, Professor Hiddleston walked over to where you slowly gathered your things. He held out a hand to you.

“What is it, Y/N? You’re usually smiling and happy here. But you seem very grave lately…has something happened?”

You shook your head.

“Not really just…finals…I want to do well. I can’t get C’s- I want to do them perfectly! I want to! I want this degree! Now I…I’m so scared of failing…I wanted this school so much, now I…I…” you began to mutter.

You felt tears wriggling out of your eyes, and your breath shook as you uselessly tried to hold them back. He handed you tissues from his coat pocket. You felt like a trashbag- crying in front of this fucking Greek God. But he looked at you kindly. You wiped your eyes. Snot threatened to release from crying and you blew your nose. Ugh, he would think you were especially gross after that. But his gentle smile did not change. You wrapped up the tissues and tossed them aside- then he handed you the little plastic package.

“Is it mansplaining if I give you some advice?” he asked.

“Oh, no…it’s not…” you said.

“Break your studies apart, Y/N. Ten little minutes at a time. A break. Then ten more. If you take time to focus, it will help you. Or if you make it fun and play music or make little drawings, then you have a picture as well…I know it means a lot…but if you rest, you will recover…and you must think smart, not hard,” he advised.

“Okay…” you nodded.

“Y/N, there are counselors here…they will help you and you don’t have to pay anything. They; 've helped me, and so many others, they should help you…” he suggested. He got out pamphlets from a corner of his desk to give to you.

“I’ll see one…Why are you so kind to me?” you asked impulsively, looking up.

He put his hands in his pockets, glancing down, and then back up.

“If I may be frank, you remind me so much of myself when I was a student. I had a thesis I had to write on Shakespeare’s problem plays…and it consumed me. I wish someone had given me that advice at that time-I only want you to suffer a little less. Don’t be so hard on yourself- like I was on me…”

You nodded up at him, adjusting the straps of your bag and gathering your things in your arms.

“And I’ll..I’ll make it fun- I’ll think of a reward for after…” you said.

He placed his hands in front of him, his lips tightening, and then in a rushed exhale, he spoke.

“Y/N…how would you…you…you like dinner? After finals?”

You perked your head up. Was this real? You blinked at him, saying nothing.

“Y/N…make me a bet…Go to counseling, break apart your studying, get through your finals, and do as well as you can…and I will take you out to dinner, how does that sound?” he asked.

You smiled at him, your heart beating fast. But yet…you were touched. You put a hand over your chest and released an exhale.

“Professor that…that sounds wonderful…” you answered.

“Ah, excellent. Now- is that a deal?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

You gave him a smile and a small laugh.

“It’s a deal,” you replied.

You managed to get a counseling session scheduled for tomorrow. You went inside, sat, met the kind therapist, and smiled as you vented and cried out your feelings. When you went back to where you lived and spent your emotions, you crashed onto the bed. It was the best nap you had ever taken.

You followed his advice. You broke down studying or writing essays and researching. You took more breaks. You had made flashcards with doodles for the tests and were catching on quickly. Your research was more fruitful and your essays were getting better in your eyes. You found you slept a bit better at night.

Each day as you sat in at 8 am, the Professor would smile at you and nod. You felt more like yourself again despite the looming deadlines. And they didn’t seem like a matter of life or death anymore.

Everyone knows the week before finals are hell. To study and work so much with no time off from usual classes. But… you would still miss that 8 a.m. Shakespeare survey- and the handsome professor in his suits.

“Y/N, don’t be scared- you will be phenomenal,” He gave you a wink that turned you into jelly.

Damn him. To think you would have dinner with him. You turned around to peek at him erasing the markerboard and glimpsing his curved bum, how his hair curled at the back, and his broad back.

Yeah, now that was motivation to do well.

You studied and wrote with enthusiasm. You completed it all in due time. The essays were to your satisfaction. When you settled at night, you cuddled his pillow. Remembering his smell- be it his shampoo or cologne, the mild, citrus scent. Fantasizing about him. Of dancing slowly at a formal event with you in an evening gown. Feeling his hand on your back and his head lowering down to touch your forehead. Of sharing ice cream. Being a damsel in distress for him to rescue. Then you thought of his body…. And the images changed to something naughtier. Wearing short skirts and showing up to his class. And him noticing. And lifting it up…

You conked right to sleep.

Finals week began. The entire campus knew it was stressful and went ridiculously out of their way to cheer up the students. But it was a lot of fun, you had to admit. Having dogs on campus to pet. Discounts on coffee. That Monday morning the cafeteria was packed with the free breakfast they offered. Once you brave the long lines for free food, you headed out to your first final.

Professors, to your amusement, dotted around the campus. If they didn’t have a class to be in, they were handing little care packages while dressed in silly costumes. The sight amused you and made you smile.

Then walking up, you turned to the right and jumped at the sight with a happy, surprised gasp that became laughter. Professor Hiddleston himself wore a light, frilly tutu made for girls a quarter of his age over his pants, little costume fairy wings over his shirt, and had a headband with little stars on top like ears.

He turned towards you and his face turned bright pink.

“Professor Hiddleston! What is this?!” you asked.

He opened up his arms to present his silly costume.

“We’re doing our anti-stress events! I am here to provide you with help with your stress!” he announced theatrically.

You put your hands akimbo and surveyed his costume up and down. If the class knew, they would lose it.

“And you’re doing it?!” you asked.

“Why not! I’m not a stick in the mud all the time! I can have fun!”

You laughed again.

“I should take a picture and send you to the group chat of our class!”

“I don’t see why not!”

He posed as you took a picture.

“And how are you feeling?”

“I feel better! Much better now- I feel like I’m ready…”

“Good! It will be done soon! A bit at a time!”

He handed over a stress-free care package. Exchanging smiles, you continued by with a lighter step in your shoes.

You went to every test outside of the pre-written essay. You knew what to do as you wrote short essays for the tests. You didn’t completely panic and wrote them as well as you could. When it came to every exam, you felt you knew and understood the material. The week flew by.

Sure enough, on that Friday, with shaking hands and a turning stomach, you looked up your grades. Taking in a breath right when the clock hit noon, you tapped a shaking finger on the mouse. The link buffered on your computer to view them. Then it lit up with revelation.

You passed them. You passed them all. In fact, you did very well.

Your heart was racing but—you realized…you didn’t have his number. Only his email address. With the still nervous feeling…you emailed him, your professor.

“Hello Professor,

My grades were announced- and they’re all spectacular. I passed all of them. So…you made that promise…are you available for dinner?”

You sent it off. You could only ruminate for five minutes- his response was quick.

“Of course, dear Y/N…

Here’s my number below… Meet me in my office. The parking lot isn’t far from it.”

You managed to text him immediately. You were giggling and pacing your room like a high schooler as your phone buzzed with his responses. You re-read them as you paced about with your phone in your face. The high of your crush floating you into the clouds. You were going to go to a nice restaurant- one wasn’t finalized yet, but something nice. And that meant you had to look the part!

You were so excited. You made sure your makeup was how you liked and that your hair looked clean. You put on a part dress-one with a shorter skirt. It was too perfect not to. It was cut only a little low to show some mild cleavage. The collar was wide enough so that it showed your collarbones. It was nice, but flirtatious and romantic. It hugged you in a perfect fit while making you feel amazing and sexy.

Sure enough, you went over to his office. The place was abandoned. All offices and buildings on the Friday of the Finals are in the early evening. You walked over and knocked on the door.

He opened the door and your heart almost stopped.

He was lovely. In his suit. His curls and that slutty goatee combed. Smelling fresh and clean. He still was in his blue suit- bringing out the blue in his eyes. Loving, beautiful.

“Ah, Y/N- please, come in,” he welcomed.

You followed suit. He closed the door. There was a second where you just looked at each other. Despite his goatee, you saw him biting his lip.

“Now, how about that dinner, Y/N…” he offered. “There’s La Gardeniera-suitable. A nice place for a special occasion as this…”

You gave him a shrug.

“I don’t care…anywhere…” you replied.

“Anywhere? ” he asked.

He put his hands in his pocket and looked at you. It was a simple office- white and brown as many are. There was a bright window, the blinds turned over, as the setting sun’s rays fell over it. There was a small bust of Shakespeare and a pitcher with cups of water. His desk had a neat stack of papers, and annotated books all over it. Cozy and comfortable- like how he made you.

“I just…I want to be with you…I don’t mind. Take me to a McDonalds and I won’t care…” you went on.

“Y/N…I…me?” he asked.

“Yes, you! We don’t even have to eat or…to, uh…I just…” the words were failing you and you felt your heart pick up. You looked down at the floors and then back up at him.

“You want to…to be with me…” he walked forward curiously. But you did not retreat. Did not back away. You only met him in his blue eyes, welcoming him.

“Y/N…are you sure?” he asked.

He took a step closer. He was right before you. And you did not retreat. You met his gaze. So close. The tension between you.

“Professor Hiddleston, I am sure…I just want to be with you…anywhere…you just…make me happy…” you finally confessed.

“You make me happy too…” he murmured

He leaned forward, seeking permission. You gave a shaky nod.

Then he kissed you.

Something in you released. So long it was boxed up- now wild and free. He immediately took his hands and ran them up and down you and you held onto him in the kiss. Feeling him as he deepened it with the wet sound of lips. Grabbing onto each other, releasing what had been held for so long. He released and then kissed you-again, then again. Like he was drowning and you were air.

“Mphm- what-what were the grades?” he asked before kissing again.

You caught your breath and took a break still close to his lips.

“Passed them. Flying colors,” you reported.

He kissed you again, moaning into it. Then he broke it again.

“Well now…my little student…doing so well…” he rasped.

You grabbed him and heart racing you felt him kiss you. His facial hair scratched against you. He kissed you back. He backed you up.

“You’ve been…good…” he breathed, pressing you there into it. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders.

“Mphm- this feels…feels so nice…you’re a good kisser,” you whispered.

“I’m good at more than just kissing, my dear-”

He held you, pulling you close. He backed you to the door-holding you against him. He then reached a hand and turned over the lock. It was sealed with a click. His hands then returned to you. He cupped your cheeks, then it slid down your neck, and your chest, and then settled on your wasit.

“I’ve…I’ve…God, I’ve wanted you so much…I…I don’t know if I…think I can…hold back…my dear, I-I-if you’re not…not ready, I’ll-”

“I don’t want to leave yet- let’s wait for dinner-take me. Fuck me here, now,” you begged.

You didn’t need to say any more than that. ou shuddered. He found your skirt and touched your leg, lifting it up. Feeling your skin, cold from exposure.

“All this…is all for me now…”

His hand reached over your leg. His long fingers possessively gripped each bit of flesh. Enjoying it- feeling you for the first time. Treasuring you and making his mark- you were his and his alone. He wrapped an arm around you and lifted you up onto that door. You let out a sound He then took your leg and guided it to wrap around his waist, holding onto him. You were so dripping wet you could feel his pants brushing your soaked panties. He held you easily-so, so easily. Just muscle and wall holding you and keeping you in place. He managed to lift you up- keeping you up with how pressed he was to you. How warm. Keeping him on you.

Your lips crashed again. You kept touching him. One hand finally touching his hair- his beautiful, long curls. The other kissing into him. In his suit, he began to ground against you now that you had nowhere to go away- not that you would leave. He kissed you with tongue and fire. You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him back, wet noises and messy, desperate need.

“Tom…Tom, I-” you murmured.

He touched your chin, shushing you.

“We’re still in my office, my dear. And you will call me Professor,” he said.

He reached a hand down- feeling hte seat of your soaked panties. Smiling from teh effect already.

“Yes…yes, I will…” you breathed out.

“Now- my little angel. She did so well…and she comes to me, so needy…so desperate-first for her finals and now for my cock-”

You held onto him, touching his tie. Pulling him up. You felt his erection stretching through his pants. The hooded eyes and soft voice, his hot breath. You gave him a smile- eager to have him.

“I’m going to rip your clothes off and fuck you senselessly- and I want you- I never heard a thank you- I want to hear your gratitude for how I take care of you in every way…how does that sound? Too much for you?”

“It sounds wonderful for me-Professor,” you purred in response.

He wrapped an arm to help you up and carried you- legs around his waist.

. He then backed you over to his desk. He kept one by you- so close, so close. He took a hand and shoved aside the books and papers. It didn’t matter- now there was you.

He pulled up your skirt. Desperately trying to find the zipper. Almost shaking in his long fingers. His erection seeping through his pants- he was so pent up.

“All that time. Wanting you. Feeling you near. Do you know how many nights I had to jerk off to imagine this- you! Seeing you- feeling you right there- my little beauty, angel, and siren at once.”

He shoved your dress off and down. Now in your bra and underwear. His hands went to under your straps- feeling them already- his bare flesh on your bare flesh. You were backed there.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you what?” he asked darkly.

“Th-thank you, Professor.”

He kissed you again. You were his little pet, his toy, his plaything. And you would please him- You held onto his shoulders. Grinding more into his body, He was still. Yet you heard his breaths, catching in his chest. He still remained clothed.

Then in a rush, he gripped your bra.

“You won't need these- not with me.”

With a strength that made you gasp, He ripped your bra in half. He breasted so fast, panting like a beast. Looking down at your breasts. Both large hands fondled them, moving them around.

“Th-Thank you, Professor,” you whispered.

“But there’s one thing- one thing keeping me- from what I need” he growled.

He reached down, and in a second, he ripped your panties apart again in half. You gasped at the feeling. The cloth in two- uselessly falling apart.

“No bra- no panties when I see you -easier access- do you understand…I have a need for you, do you get it-”

“Yes- yes, sir.”

“Close- but not it. You forgot. And you’ll be punished.”

He turned you around, so your bare ass was shown. He immediately spanked you hard- it clapped around you. You let out a shout.

“It’s thank you-Professor.”

“Thank you Professor!” you cried out, feeling the sting.

“And you will get it right!”

He spanked you again, harder. The momentum made you move against the desk, feeling your ass move with it. And feeling his greedy eyes all over your exposed skin.

“Th-Thank you, Professor!” you cried.

He pulled you back up but kept your back to his chest. He kissed your cheek, fondling you from behind, whispering in your ear.

“If you don’t want another punishment-Tell me what I am-”

“You-you’re my-my-”

The words failed you. He leaned you down again and spanked you.

“You’re my professor!”

He spanked you again.

“Say it again- and say thank you-”

“Yes- yes- thank you, Professor…”

He grazed over you. Feeling you. You were catching your breath. Dripping so hard. He put his hands against your inner legs.

“The more I do this- the more I see you, the more I’m with you, the more you- you torture me. I can’t stand it- I-I have to have you, Y/N- I have to, I have to-do you- do you want-”

You lightly turned your head over to see him and could have gasped.

He unzipped his pants and lowered them. Already his cock was large and twitching. It leaked so much, that his precum made you shiver. It drizzled down and made a path down his leg. You clutched onto the desk, smiling and bracing yourself.

“Yes- take me- take me on your desk, Professor…”

He smiled, and then his hand made you bend over it again. ‘

“Spread. Your. Legs.”

You were such a horny querying mess, he touched your legs so that they spread for him. Then finally, you felt him at your entrance, and inside.

You let out a long groan- and so did he. As he got in - inch by inch.

“Yes- yes all-ah!” you cried out as he got all of himself in you.

He eased you in at first. Your legs again over. He gave a few gentle, experimental thrusts. It was slow, even sloppy. Each intrusion, poking you inside. You were making an appreciative groan. You ground your hips further against him. The room was hot and smelled thick with sex.

“There…you can take…take all your professor's cock, can you?” he growled.

“Yes-yes I can..”

He then made a sharp thrust inside and you cried out.

“Oh!”

He then experimented- hips rolling towards your ass. You let out sounds like you never heard yourself make. He then had a hand to keep you down. To keep you down And then he began to pick up. Slamming into you. Keeping you still, close, on him.

“Nrg-nrgh- yes-there-fuck-there’s my-myfuck- good litlte student-nrgh-want to please me- hrng-begging-begging to-shit-yes-yes-darling-begging for me-”

You were moaning into it. Your body shakes forward and back from his thrusts. You felt yourself spiraling. Then he slowed. He leaned down and whispered into your ear. The pleasure was at a standstill, you caught your breath as you heard his hot voice right beside you.

“You have another order- cum only when I’m about to-cum when I tell you- yes?” he demanded

“Yes!”

“Yes, are you grateful!” He moved his hands to feel your arms.

“I am- th-tahnk you, Pr-Professor.”

He went back up and began to thrust again. Slow- then medium. You let out those pornographic sounds out as he did.

“Fuck- what you do to me, darling,” he breathed out.

He let out another gasp, his voice itching up in a groan and then back down. Then he slammed into you, letting out a loud voice.

“Who is going to let you cum? Who lets you cum when you’re a good girl?” he rasped.

“My-my- fuck-professor will- will let me-cum-yes!

“Not yet- not yet-mine is-if-fuck, it’s building.-”

He spread your legs wide and entered you. Then he grabbed your hips. He began to pound into you. The desk shaking- the wall quivering. Slamming against that wall with a thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud. He whimpered your name. You clung onto it, your knuckles popping out of you.

“Yes-Yes you are-beautiful little student- you are-g-grateful- fuck.-tight-so tight- shit-”

He was so deep, just rutting into you. He was an animal. Pure fucking you into the desk You felt the itch of his suit- the deepness of it. The papers scrambling away- scratching you. The pure ecstasy of it.

“And” thrust “tell me-” thrust “tell me this”- thrust “darling-”

He laced a hand, it reached your folds. You let out a whimper. He dug around- two fingers in-already feeling you. God- you weren’t going to last. He wasn’t going to like it, but you weren’t going to last. You let out a whimper as you felt him inside you.

“What” thrust “ is it” thrust”- “what is it- good” thrust “good girls do- ”thrust

“They-they-they get to-to-to come, Professor-”

“Yes! Yes-you're at my-my limit-gods-gods- what you do to me-You’ve been good-so good- I can’t-I can’t-so cum, darling-”

He strummed you. And you let out another intense gasp. He was strumming you. His fingers making you more open, his cock in, out, in out. You felt it build- he played with your clit so much. Trying the right place, You felt it rise, but not there. And he kept thrusting. A frustration in his rasp.

“Yes- dammit- why won’t you now? Why won’t-won’t you cum?! Cum, dammit- cum- darling- fuck, fuck- god- yes, gods, I’m there…I’m getting there, cum, dammit- why won’t you cum…”

With a new fury, he pounded against you into the desk- the filthiest, most intense thing you felt. The pleasure building up you, going up, up about to be out of control.

“I’m- I’m going to-I’m going to-I’m going to cum, professor I-I-I”

It would spiral up, yes, but you had yet to reach it. You ground your hips further, moving from his thrusts, as his fingers were there- finding you at the still of your high and just needing your brink.

“Yes- God, yes-cum, darling-I order you, your professor orders you-Yes- yes, cum, girl, dammit- do it, cum, darling- fuck, I’m about to- do it- CUM!” he deamnded like a yell.

With a last shout you cried- “PROFESSOR!” and you came.

Spiraling down from the pleasure. It broke into chills over you-your voice left you and yet your heart was racing. You could feel him gushing into you and yet you could also feel the cum from your own body between your legs, on his fingers. He panted. He then moved you over. You saw his hair wild and arrayed. You moved it out of his face.

He looked at you with a sweet smile then took your hand and kissed it. He sat you down on a chair and took off his jacket- putting it over you like a cape. Then he went over and got you a glass of water from the pitcher.

His voice had softened, he kept touching your face, checking for any accidental bruises or marks.

“How are you? Are you…are you alright, Y/N? I didn’t go too…too-”

“You were perfect- it was perfect,” you replied with a smile. The water wasn’t super cold- but it was fresh.

He let out a sigh of relief. He then cupped your cheek.

“You should see yourself how I see you. You’re glowing. Absolutely glowing-I had only hoped you were…were happy with it…”

He looked down at the ruined bra and panties.

“I’ll buy you another…” he muttered in apology.

“Oh- an orgasm and dinner and new bra and panties? You spoil me rotten already!” you teased.

He gave you a kiss on the forehead and then he helped you back to dressing.

“Here-we could…go back to my place and order something. At this rate, it might get late. I’m not that good of a cook-I was hoping a restaurant would impress you. I hope you don’t mind…”

“How could I, Professor?” you added, taking your hand in his.

276 notes · View notes