❝ HE'S PSYCHOTIC, OBSESSIVE, AND MY WORST NIGHTMARE.
OF COURSE, I'M THE ONE HE CHOOSES ❞
[ DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON AU]
[ TEACHER!TOM HIDDLESTON AU ]
[ BOOK ONE IN "THE NEFARIOUS" SERIES ]
[ ORIGINALLY...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
BY THE TIME MR. HIDDLESTON AND I were exiting the school, it had dawned on me I had a weekend to look forward to. I didn't have any set plans as of yet, but that wouldn't stop me from enjoying two days off to sleep in or venture into the city. A pleasant smile arose to my lips, also in part due to the pun the man next to me had made.
Puns aren't my favorite source of humor, but I would without hesitation listen to Mr. Hiddleston speak in puns all day if it meant just listening to his sultry voice.
After Mr. Hiddleston questioned me, a large break ensued. Our idle small-talks grew more and more in engaged conversation, something I was not upset with and it appeared he would have agreed. Eventually, two red ink pens were set aside for laughs, teasing, and a series of friendly banter. At one point, I was shocked to find an English teacher of all things could draw tears of laughter or gasps of comical shock. We talked about everything, but the questions never dug more than skin deep, the extent reaching the retelling of our most embarrassing moments.
I made sure to note that mere mention of a "school dance" and "a stuffed badger" is the best way to turn his face into a blushing, flustered mess.
When we make our way to the staff parking lot, I decide to check for any texts or important emails, specifically ones from my mother or universities. To my dismay, no emails regarding application processes are present on the screen, but there is a message from the former. According to a notification from twenty minutes ago, Mom is still at work and would still be by the time I get home, which implies I'd have to attempt to make dinner for us alone. No biggie, but I don't enjoy cooking, unless it's baking. Unfortunately, I don't think Mom would be too pleased with a cake or pie for dinner. I don't realize the downturn of my brows as I read the news, but Mr. Hiddleston does.
"Are you alright?" He asks kindly. Mr. Hiddleston doesn't sound like he is trying to pry, which I can't help but appreciate: my nosy self can't seem to keep out of people's business. It's something I ought to work on, but gossip that doesn't concern me in the slightest is too delicious.
I tear my gaze away from the screen, shoving the phone back into my pocket. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good. My mom's working late tonight, so I either have to risk burning the house down for a plate of spaghetti or just order out. No big deal," I reply with a small laugh to my words.
