⋆°·☁︎Yule ball corruption
⋆°·☁︎Tom Riddle x bookworm!reader
Summary::You slip out of the ballroom. He follows. He doesn't ask—he takes.
Warnings::18+,smut, semi-public,piv,mild choking,dirty talk
The ballroom was suffocating.The ballroom pressed in from all sides—walls too close, air too thick, voices swirling into a dizzying hum. Every breath felt like a battle.
Too many bodies, too much heat, too many fake smiles. You’d slipped away from the glittering chaos—the chandeliers, the clinking glasses, the endless sweep of violin strings. Just long enough to breathe. Just long enough to feel like yourself again.
But he found you anyway.Tom Riddle.
Silent as a shadow, sharp as a promise.
The way he looked at you was dangerous—too still, too precise. Like a predator biding his time. Like he’d been waiting for you to run, not to chase you… but to corner you. Just to see what you’d do when there was nowhere left to go.
He said nothing as he followed you down the corridor—only watched, lips slightly parted, like he was debating what part of you to taste first.
It wasn’t until the two of you stood alone—just outside an abandoned classroom, the corridor dim and hushed—that he finally spoke. His voice cut through the silence like it had been waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
“You’re not running very fast.”
You turned to face him, breath catching in your throat, heart refusing to settle. “I wasn’t running,” you said, though the words didn’t come out as steady as you hoped.
“Good.” He moved closer, his presence crowding you until you could feel the heat radiating off him. His voice was calm but edged with something fierce. “I don’t like chasing.” It was less a threat and more a statement of fact—he expected you to stay.
You opened your mouth to answer, but he was already kissing you—rough, confident, tongue sliding against yours with no hesitation.
He backed you into the classroom, wand flicking to lock the door behind you before he pushed you against it. His hands moved fast, finding the zipper at the back of your dress and dragging it down in one smooth motion.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he muttered, pulling the dress down your arms. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
Your answer was a gasp as his hand cupped your breast, thumb brushing your nipple through the thin lace of your bra.
“I watched you all night,” he murmured into your neck. “But you weren’t thinking about them, were you?”
“No.” The single word slipped from your lips like a fragile breath, barely louder than a whisper, but heavy with everything you couldn’t say.
“You were thinking about this. About me.”There was a quiet intensity in the way he said it.
His hand slid between your legs, pushing aside your panties to find you soaked. A slow, dark grin spread across his face—like a predator savoring the hunt before the kill.
“Already?” he said, sliding a finger through your folds. “You want to be fucked that badly?”
You nodded slowly, the tip of your tongue grazing your lip as a flicker of uncertainty danced behind your eyes.
He didn’t tease long. His fingers were inside you in seconds, working you open with practiced ease—two fingers curling, fucking into you slow and deep until your knees buckled.
You moaned, clinging to his shoulders. “Please.”
He pulled back just enough to undo his belt and drop his trousers, his cock hard and thick, tip flushed.
“Take it.”there was an edge to the command—no room left for argument.
He lifted you in one smooth motion—legs around his waist, back against the door—and pushed into you with a low groan, burying himself to the hilt.
His voice dropped low, a rough hiss slipping between clenched teeth. “Fuck… you feel so good.” He stayed still, like he was trying to hold himself together.
You were already trembling. He started to move—slow at first, dragging every inch of himself out before slamming back in. You cried out, and he growled, hand slipping up to your throat—not squeezing, just holding you there, watching your eyes flutter shut as your body opened for him.
“That’s it,” he said, thrusts deep and steady. “Take it. All of it.”
Every time he slammed into you, the door rattled behind your back. The sound of skin on skin, his breath in your ear, the building heat between your thighs—it was overwhelming.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he rasped, panting against your neck. “Like your pussy was made for my cock.”
Your hands clawed at his back, your voice broken. “Tom— I’m gonna—”
“Yeah?” he sped up, hips snapping into you harder, his thumb rubbing fast, brutal circles over your clit. “Come for me”
You came hard, eyes squeezed shut, body shuddering in his arms. Your walls clenched around him, and he cursed, thrusts turning rough and erratic as he chased his own high.
“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up,” he growled. “Want you dripping with me.”
And then he was there—grinding deep as he came, moaning low and sharp your neck. You felt the heat of it inside you, the way he pulsed as he emptied himself, still buried to the hilt.
Neither of you moved for a while. Just heavy breathing. Sweat-slicked skin. The aftermath of something you could no longer undo.
He finally leaned back, brushing a thumb along your jaw.
