Professor Hiddleston

Professor Hiddleston (only part)

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

Warnings: Eventual Smut at the end! NSFW! Reader is a college student so she's over 18! 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, insomnia and mental health. Some hurt/comfort. Prof Hiddles being both serious and silly/goofy in one fic because get you a man who can do both.

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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 professors. 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 tats. Then there was 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 sag or a goofy scientist from the movie. He had long, thin grey hair, and wore bow ties with black glasses and giant fur 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 some tea.

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

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

Everyone was gossiping, chattering and sipping on their iced coffees when they fell silent. Every single back stood up straighter at the sight of him. Young, tall, attractive. Long, curly reddish blonde hair. A faint 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 really were men enough.

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 but deep 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... so... handsome. 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 monologue. 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. Kind of disappointing actually.

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?!