tom riddle: drunk texting them after breaking up

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the phone lies forgotten on the bed as you slowly doze off, the alcohol in your veins making it impossible to stay awake any longer

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

the phone lies forgotten on the bed as you slowly doze off, the alcohol in your veins making it impossible to stay awake any longer.

the door to your room creaks open, and he quietly lets himself in, the dim light from the hallway barely illuminating the space. he looks at you lying on your back, your face peaceful and oblivious in your drunken sleep.

a pang of worry shoots through him as he watches you, his eyes fixed on the steady rise and fall of your chest. he moves closer, careful not to wake you, and sits down on the edge of your bed, never taking his eyes off you.

his fingers itch to reach out, to feel the softness of your cheek under his fingertips, but he resists, not wanting to disturb your rest. instead, he just watches you sleep, the room silent except for your soft breathing.

he sits there for a while, simply watching, but then suddenly, you start to gag in your sleep, making a strange noise, a half-cough, half-choke. panic spikes through him as he watches your body jerk and spasm, struggling to breathe.

he jerks you awake, gripping your shoulders tightly. "wake up," he says, his voice urgent. "wake up, you're choking."

you jerk awake, startled and confused to find him in your dorm. before you can even speak, he's already grabbing you, lifting you up effortlessly and marching you toward the bathroom. "bathroom. now," he says firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

he practically carries you into the bathroom, setting you down firmly next to the toilet. "sit," he orders, his tone brooking no disobedience.

still groggy and disoriented, you try to process what's happening, but he doesn't give you a chance to protest, pushing insistently at your shoulders until you're sitting on the cold tile floor.

"lean forward," he instructs, and you find yourself obeying, your head hovering over the toilet bowl.

he steps back, crossing his arms as he watches you with a mixture of worry and irritation. "try to throw up," he says bluntly.

you look up at him, wide-eyed and dazed. "what?" you manage weakly, barely able to form the word.

"try to throw up," he repeats, his eyes never leaving yours. "you need to get that alcohol out of your system. now."

despite the confusion and fear swirling in your mind, you find yourself complying. you lean forward, bracing yourself against the toilet bowl, and try to force yourself to cough. but nothing comes out.

he kneels beside you, his hand resting on your back. "try harder," he says, his voice low and firm. "you need to get rid of it."

a wave of nausea washes over you as you try again, your body shuddering with the effort. but still, nothing happens, no matter how hard you try.

he sighs, his hand moving in slow circles on your back. "you're stubborn, you know that?" he mutters under his breath. "even when you're half-drunk and half-asleep, you refuse to obey me."

he shifts slightly, moving closer, his arm now wrapping around your waist. "lean back against me," he says, his tone gentler now. "stop fighting it."

you're too tired and dizzy to protest, so you let yourself lean back against him, your body relaxing into the solid warmth of him behind you.

his hand rubs circles on your stomach, his touch firm but soothing. "let it happen."

you feel his breath against the back of your neck, warm and steady, as he continues to rub your stomach in slow, calming circles. and slowly, bit by bit, the nausea rises in your throat.

you lean forward again, and this time, your body responds, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet. he stays beside you the entire time, his hand rubbing your back as you retch and cough, his other arm holding you firmly against him.

when the wave of sickness finally passes, he stands up, flushing the toilet and grabbing a towel. he dampens it with warm water and gently wipes your face and mouth, his touch surprisingly tender.

he helps you up, steadying you as you sway drunkenly on your feet. "can you walk?"

you nod shakily, trying to take a step forward but stumbling immediately. he sighs, rolling his eyes in irritation. "of course you can't," he mutters, before sweeping you up into his arms in one smooth motion.

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