Tom Hiddleston and Loki Imagines - Bk. 1

Tom - Class Dismissed

"I have your finals graded," Mr. Hiddleston announces, "so before you run off and celebrate, I suggest you look at your papers."

You squirmed in your seat. This was it, the grade that would either make or break you. Because you came dangerously close to academic probation last semester, your parents threatened to cancel your summer plans to (bucket list destination). All you had to do was get straight As and a plane ticket would be in your hands the next day.

As you waited the hour and fifteen minutes for class to end, you were wondering why Mr. Hiddleston was holding class. Looking around the lecture hall, most the students hadn't even shown up. Then again, why were you even there?

Well, maybe it had to do with the face that his British accent made Shakespeare come alive even more. Or that his chiseled jawline was sharp enough to cut any tension, let alone tangible objects. Or that his sparkling eyes could look straight through you, giving you a peace and aura of understanding.

Before you knew it, the lights were off and your professor had popped in Macbeth, your favorite Shakespearean play. Intently, you tried to watch it, but it was hard when Mr. Hiddleston was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and periodically eyeing the class, especially you.

You had only gotten but so far when he turned on the lights, the brightness temporarily blinding you. The other students started to rise and form a crowd by the door as Mr. Hiddleston, one by one, called out individual names.

"Luke," he starts to call out. "Andy...Leigh-Anne...Liam..." As each student got their paper, you could hear whispering.

"Thesesus?"

"Macduff?"

"Capulet?"

"You got that too?" What's going on? Why the references?

Soon, everyone had gotten their paper, all except you. Instead of directly giving it to you, he flips through it as he walks to you.

"And last but not least, (Y/N)." Mr. Hiddleston hands you your paper. "Very impressive." A red A+ catches your eye, and you mimic his smile.

"Thank you, Sir."

"You seemed pretty tense all during class today," he notes, crossing his arms. "Is everything okay?"

"No, I just—" The thud of your notebook hitting the ground catches you off guard. Why am I so clumsy today? You go to pick it up, but there was Mr. Hiddleston, right at your feet being ever so much a gentleman.

"Are you sure? You're never this nervous." He noticed me?

"There was so many people in this class, how—"

"It's hard not to." Mr. Hiddleston puts his hands in his pockets. Your throat instantly dried, as if it were the Sahara Desert. You've never seen him like this before. Usually, he owned the front of the room, walking between the chalkboards and manning his slideshows with confidence, but now...now he seemed so timid, shy even.

"What are your plans this summer, (Y/N)?"

"I-I-I...w-w-well..." He chuckles.

"Don't worry. The semester is over. I'm not your professor anymore. And you're graduating, so you'll be out of here." Your heart started to race. There was no doubt he was devilishly handsome, but he handpicked you from about fifty people.

"I still don't understand. Why me?"

"You're very passionate about Shakespeare," he explains. "And I just so happen to admire that. You talk about depths which I never even fathomed, and you go about it in a sophisticated but witty matter. And outward beauty just so happened to be a bonus."

"Mr. Hiddleston, I—" There went your notebook again, and for a second time he bends to pick it up, and once again your knees almost give out when his eyes meet yours.

"Just Tom, love."

"Just Tom,'" you repeat. He goes to hand you the notebook, but as soon as you reach for it, he pulls it back.

"So summer?"

"I'm actually traveling." His eyes soften.

"Oh...alright then." You give him a kind smile.

"You had something in mind?" Tom chuckles bashfully, a hand running through his hair.

"Actually, I...I was to be performing Coriolanus in town for a few days, and, well...since you were so attentive to class—"

"Tom, did you want me to come see you?" He smiles.

"It would be nice to have a familiar face in the audience." You give him a playful smirk.

"I'm surprised of you." His eyebrows wrinkle, not understanding your disappointment. "Not even a meal first?" He laughs.

"Well that can be arranged." You go to take your notebook once more, but he holds it up. "Dinner tomorrow?" You shake your head.

"Lunch?" you bargain.

"Brunch, and I get a goodbye kiss for today." Goodness gracious, you are smooth.

"Brunch, a goodbye kiss, and you let me know about dates for the play."

"Done," Tom says before crashing his lips on yours, his hand sneaking into your hair. The bristles from his fade tickled your chin as you melted into him. Your heart fluttered as his other hand traced the outline of your jaw, his fingers dancing on your skin. Before he broke the kiss, he hums against you and bites on your bottom lip.

"Tease," you comment softly, his response being a chuckle.

"I'll see you in my office tomorrow at 10:30." Handing you back your notebook, Tom walks out the room. You hold it close to your chest as you look at your paper. Your smile grows when you see the note he had written on your paper.

  Virgilia, to quote John Ruskin, "perhaps [the] loveliest" of Shakespeare's female characters. x

*****

A/N: It's official! GUESS WHO'S GETTING HER S.H.I.E.L.D. BADGE?! (Can you hear me screaming?! :D)