Prompt: Teachers

Warnings: Sexual Content

Only Human

Hermione's was rubbing her tired, sunken eyes when Tom walked into the teacher's lounge. He was looking bright as usual, all dressed up to make the girls melt as they did every day. But Hermione didn't feel the way she knew Tom felt at the moment. A night of tossing and turning and the death of her best friend on her mind had left her both sleepless and restless.

"Thought you were still on Bereavement Leave," Tom said when his eyes saw her. He surveyed her frizzy hair that was in a sloppy ponytail, the fact that her ruby short-sleeved cardigan wasn't tucked in to her pencil skirt like it usually was, and that she wasn't wearing heels for the first time in months. He almost wanted to cringe at the state of her old, worn black flats.

Hermione poured herself a cup of coffee and ignored him. She would deal with him heckling her after the black coffee entered her system.

Behind her, Tom sat down a box of a dozen donuts. He did that every first Monday of the month to gain love from the other teachers. He liked getting sucked up to, and even though it was always a help for Hermione, who hardly ever had time to eat breakfast before leaving her flat, she resented it.

He pulled out a chair at the round table sitting in the middle of the room and shrugged out of his black pea coat, revealing a dark emerald green blazer, silver tie, and black oxford. He was always the stylish one. But Hermione guessed he felt he had to be exactly that since he was the youngest male teaching at this school.

Hermione let the scolding, bitter caffeine fill her mouth, traveling down her throat in waves of serenity. She sighed softly and turned around to lean her sore back against the counter as her eyes met with Tom's. His grey eyes were lighter today, a sign that he was starting the day off in a generally good mood.

Lucky him, Hermione thought with a scowl.

But Tom was staring too long, and the expression he wore almost seemed abnormal.

"Everything alright, Hermione?" he asked lightly.

"Peachy," she murmured. She sat down across from him, letting her coffee cup with a lion cress on it sit just before her on the fake wood. She reached over and picked the first donut she could touch - a cream-filled one.

She bit into it, her hunger awakening.

"You didn't sleep did you."

"So what if I didn't?"

"Dammit, Hermione. Quit pushing me away like that." His voice sounded hard, strained. She eyed his fists.

Hermione finished off the donut shortly after and just looked at Tom with a blank expression with only the bags under her eyes to tell the tale of the hard night she had.

"It's been months now that you've been this way with me. I'm trying to be friends with you."

She wanted to laugh aloud at the idea of Tom Riddle wanting friends. She found it funny that he still had no knowledge of the fact that she knew him back in high school. She even knew him in university. They never met. They never made eye contact. But she had watched him from a distance, heard every gossipy detail from her best friend Ginny and the others.

The Tom Riddle she knew was a hard man with a stone for a heart. He took pride in being better than everyone around him. He wasn't a good friend either, going through friend upon friend in the span of high school and university. She had watched him bring down any person that made him feel threatened or had so much as pissed him off.

And even though Hermione was mature enough to know that there was always two sides to a story, she saw it. She saw it the day they started their jobs together, the day that he introduced himself to her at orientation, the day that she had her classroom door open to where she accidentally heard the way Tom treated his students from across the hall.

How did the girls like him? How? She had overheard some of the students call him a jackass, a bastard, a thick-headed git, and even an arse. But they always went back around to, "He looks so sexy when he's angry though." Hermione often wondered if the girls pissed him off on purpose from that comment.

Nonetheless, the only kindness he had in him, if it was earnest, was now and all the times Tom offered to take Hermione out for a drink or for a coffee or even offered to bring her back lunch when he left the campus to stop somewhere for a salad.

"I know what you think of me," he finally said. He took a donut for himself - jelly. He didn't seem as upset as he'd normally be when he'd be disgusted. She knew he was disgusted, he was just being mild about it.

Hermione kept quiet and continued to sip on her black coffee.

"You judge me. And you probably think I can't be a gentleman."

"Spot on." About.

Tom suddenly got up, and after Hermione sat her coffee cup back down, her eyes followed him around the table and in front of her. She almost turned her body, but she kept herself in place as she watched him kneel down before her. He took her hand and she wanted to pull it away.

She didn't because for some reason, she saw truth in those cold eyes.

"Let me help you, Hermione. Let me get to know you." It wasn't a plea. He wasn't asking her to let him. He was demanding it.

And she wasn't so sure if she wanted to obey or not.

Hermione stepped into Tom Riddle's flat. It was too dark to really see anything, but she slipped out of her heels and felt his hard chest against her back, his arms around her, and his lips at her ears whispering things that made her shiver with pent-up arousal.

She heard the door shut behind them and the click of the lock. Was she truly ready for this?

Either way, it was past the point of no return.

He spun her around, kissed her breathless, and urged her backwards into the dark as he pulled her golden cardigan from the waist of her skirt, paying care to the buttons as he undid each and every one of them. Her shyness to the fact that an intimidatingly god-like man was paying this sort of attention to her left her hesitant before she reached out and unbuttoned his grey oxford with shaky hands after he had shrugged from his black blazer.

Hermione's back met with a solid wall and his body was there. He was everywhere, all around her. Their legs were between one another's, his chest pressed her breasts flat, his hardness against her thigh, his arms pinning her wrists beside her head in such a grip that there was promises for bruising.

He let her arms drop to her side after a while as he unzipped the left side of her skirt, quickly yanking it down her southern form and pulling the hem of her camisole up and over her head. She heard the metal clink of his belt and the drop of heavy fabric hitting wood floor. His arms were back around her and he pulled her up until her legs were wrapped tightly around his waist.

His lips were back on hers. Yes. They were moving now, and Hermione paid no attention to it as she focus on the shape of his lips, the way they molded against hers, how soft they were. Somewhere during them moving, her bra had dropped to the floor.

Hermione was suddenly falling and she slightly bounced off of a mattress.

So this is it.

In minutes, he was inside of her, pacing himself to enjoy the feel of finally seducing Hermione to where she'd give in. For months he wanted to fuck her, get to know her, make her his. And for weeks the woman had proved to be a stubborn bitch. He liked it, though. Often he had come across sex partners only for them to be so easily coaxed, so easily hurt. So Mary-Sue.

Hermione was strong-hearted, and he had no plans of letting her go any time soon.