authorsnote: soo this is just somethin that came to mind. for the past couple of months I've been reading and writing A LOT of tomione and this sprung to me and demanded to be written!
I do hope you enjoy, and if you like tomione I'm gunna shamelessly recommend my multific: Paradox, if you like tomione, time travel and angst (with a smidge of fluff) go check it out on my page!
anywho lemme know watcha thought of this, d'you want more modern au tomione? do review, but most importantly do enjoy!
songrecs: brutal - olivia rodrigo
Hermione Granger was a good girl.
She was the kind of girl whose skirt was always an inch over the required length. She was the kind of girl whose patent shoes were always shiny. She was the kind of girl who was always polite, always civil, and always had a smile for an authority figure.
She was a good girl.
She always sat at the front of the class, books out, perfectly painted shiny pink nails never fiddling or twitching, always still and waiting for class to start. She always had her hair perfectly curled (and slept with rollers in every night), her lips a pretty pink (Mac No2, Pretty in Pink), her cheeks with just the right amount of rouge and her clothes ironed and pressed.
She did not mess around; she did not lounge at the back of the class like the rebels. She went to Winter Formal with her boyfriend Ronald and had been Homecoming Queen two years in a row. She had let him get to second base twice and no more. She wore a promise ring on her finger and smiled with pearly white teeth.
Hermione Granger was a good girl.
Until he came.
He lounges in the reception area, legs open, a disdainful look on his place, his arrogance practically suffocating the air, his entire demeanour screams, 'I'm better than this'.
He dresses just like the rebels she would roll her eyes at (were she not so polite, 'Pretty is as pretty does' Her Mother would say before hitting the tanning bed'), leather jacket, scuffed shoes, ratty jeans. He has a dog tag at his throat and a raised eyebrow when she looks over at him.
He is trouble. She can tell.
Hermione Granger is not trouble, she does as she's told, she hands her homework in a day early, she helps out on at every school event, is on the Prom Committee, and Cheerleading Team, she smiles all the time, she goes to Church every Sunday and volunteers for bake sales. Right now, she is in reception waiting for Headmaster Dumbledore because she's a Prefect, and so any new student she is given to show around.
But this is the first time she's felt nervous about it.
She finds out his name is Tom Riddle, when their introduced just moments later. He's been kicked out of three schools, is promptly told by the school receptionist to put his cigarette away and smirks his entire way through Headmaster Dumbledore's welcome speech.
She doesn't hate anyone, no, good girls don't hate, but she decidedly dislikes him.
Still, she does as she's told and leads out of the reception area, heading for the cafeteria, to show him where everything is, a pretty smile on her face the entire time, her satchel at her side, her books clasped in her hands, her hair a perfect curl.
She tries to fill the empty silence with welcome talk, since Tom Riddle apparently can't do anything but strut and smirk.
'So, Wicker Prep was established in 1832'
'We're first in the country for academic excellence and GCSE scores'
'There's a lot of teams you could join, I know the Debate Team and Gardening Club are looking for members'
'This is our state-of-the-art science lab'
She's cut off in the least expected way.
He's kissing her.
In fact, he cut her off mid-sentence, when she'd just been saying, 'And here is the English Department, do you know Princess Anne visited…' when she's shoved into the wall between History and English and feels lips on hers, a hand at her neck, a thigh shoved between her legs.
It's unexpected, but what's more so is how soft his lips are, how is hand grips at her collar, how he tastes like mint and apples, and how she finds a warmth blooming in her chest and between her legs, a breathy little sigh leaving her lips.
She still shoves him back and slaps him across the face, hard.
"How dare you" She practically screams, composure forgotten for a second. She regains it quickly, smooths her skirt, straightens her curls, tries to hide her blush. "You can't just go around kissing people!"
"Why not?" He drawls, of course he drawls, and she glares. "You look like you could use kissing"
"I have a boyfriend" She splutters, and he laughs, he has the audacity to laugh.
She goes to glare but he's already turned away and is walking off. Normally she'd turn away herself in a huff, stomp off and report him, but she can't resist yelling something after him.
"If I wanted kissing, you'd be the last person I'd ask"
He just laughs again, and her cheeks are flaming as she hurries to History class, 10 minutes late. She's never late.
Over the next month she does a lot of things she's never done before.
The next time she even looks at him is in Geography, a week later. The teacher asks her to go to the supply closet and grab some maps and sends Tom with her, encouraging the new student to learn the layout of the school.
She ignores him the two-minute walk there, and as always, he saunters after her.
"How long are you going to ignore me for?" He asks.
She's not usually petty, but this time she's petty enough to keep ignoring him.
They reach the closet without another word; she steps in and so does he.
She glares at him but doesn't say anything, she wants in and out as soon as possible. She pulls the light string only to find no light flickering on. She tugs it again and nothing. Great.
She shouldn't be surprised when the door thuds shut, she is though and flinches in response, darkness engulfing the tiny room.
"What are you doing?" She demands, but she knows what he's doing, knows and doesn't go for the door, why doesn't she go for the door?
What's wrong with her?
Hermione Granger is usually a good girl.
Though she doesn't feel like one as Tom Riddle grabs her at the waist and pulls her too him.
She has no idea what's wrong with her when instead of shoving him away she if anything steps in.
She isn't so gauche to wind her arms around her neck, but she doesn't push him away as he backs her up to the metal shelves, shoves her against them and kisses her.
These aren't like the kisses she had with Ron, gentle and sweet, and only a touch insistent, no, they are very different, very different.
He is possessive, as though he wishes to devour her with his kiss. His tongue is soon in her mouth, and when she tentatively touches it with her own, she feels the legs clench together. He kisses her like he owns her, like she owes him this kiss and he's here to collect. He demands from her, as though he expects her to accept this and thank him for it.
She's never felt so scared, or so flustered or so wanted. Her cheeks are on fire and so's the place between her legs.
A whine leaves her lips, and his laugh breaks her out of it, and then she pushes him back, and he laughs again.
"I told you not to kiss me" She said furiously, reaching for the door now, she's leaving his laugh having broken the spell. What is she doing? She's leaving.
She doesn't.
"Did you?" He's backing her up again, into the shelves, his hands either side of her head, trapping her in, though one moves, and she hears the lock of the door. She feels like a rabbit caught in a trap, her heart thudding. "I don't think so"
She goes for what's known, hand raised, but even in the dark he catches her wrist before her hand connects with his cheek.
"Ah, ah" He teases, "Not again"
His lips are on hers before she can put together a retort or yank her hand away.
This time she doesn't push him away, this time she does wind her arms around his neck, this time he puts her thigh between her legs, and she hates herself for rubbing against him. This time he messes her hair, bites her bottom lip, and lifts her up, her legs wrapping around his waist.
This time she feels for the first time in her life like a bad girl.
Damn.
It's only a day later when she's leaving cheer practice, trying to forget the indiscretion that had her running from the supply closet straight to the nurse's office, straightening her blouse, thankful she'd come to her senses and pulled away before Tom could get under her clothes.
She got the sense Tom Riddle wouldn't play it slow or gently ask permission. No, he'd trap her, take her, have her. Her cheeks sting pink at the thought.
She's still in her uniform, blue and white, perfectly pressed, the words, 'WICKER WARRIORS' emblazed across it. Her hair is in a perfect ponytail, her socks are tucked just so and her trainers are as white as her teeth.
A perfect princess, a good girl, like she should be, like she needs to get back to.
But of course, he's there as she runs under the bleachers to grab her bag, the rest of her team having long left whilst she stayed for an extra lap.
"Granger" He drawls, and she feels both the urge to run and approach him, so she does neither.
"Tom" She says, feet planted firmly in place, hands screwed into fists to stop them shaking or reaching for him.
It doesn't matter, he as always, makes the first move.
This time his hands are in her hair, and he's shoving her back against the metal wall holding the bleachers up. One hand moves quickly to hike her thigh up, his fingers biting into the delicate skin there. An almost embarrassing moan leaves her lips, and she tilts her head back, and his lips find her neck.
She shrieks later when she gets home, ruffled, having gone to 2nd base (on only the 3rd … whatever it was they were doing, she'd made Ron wait six months), promise ring long forgotten, and a giant, purple hickey at her neck.
He did it on purpose, she knows it.
The next day at school she wears a scarf and intends to avoid Tom Riddle for another week.
But of course, he's not having that.
She makes it four days and then he's dragging her into the girl's bathroom, locking a stall and backing her up into the wall, her eyes wide, a bunny trapped in the headlights. He even unties her neck scarf and throws it to the side, the hickey at her neck still pink and purple, like the pattern of her cardigan.
"Tom" She whispers, "We can't keep doing this" She insists.
He rolls his eyes, "Why not?"
She holds up her promise ring, shame coiling in her insides, "Because I'm a good girl"
His smirk is sharklike, and she knows she's in trouble.
"Yes, you are" He agrees, and her heart thuds, hands shake, breath quickens as he leans down to her, lips ghosting hers, hands gripping her waist like he owns her, maybe he does, he claims to with his next words. "My good girl"
His.
It's only a week later, and she is, in every way.
Hermione Granger is a good girl. Tom's good girl.
sooo thoughts?
I do hope you liked, this was different for me but I really enjoyed it! let me know if you did too, I love your reviews!
speak soon