slytherin boys react

tom riddle: showing up drunk at your door

a steady, firm knock rips you from your sleep. groggy, you walk to the front door and pull it open. there, standing before you, is his disheveled and clearly intoxicated figure, swaying slightly in place.

his head tilts lazily, a sly smirk playing on his lips as he takes in your disoriented state. "good evening," he slurs, voice thick with alcohol.

"are you... drunk?" you manage to ask, still half-asleep and confused.

he lets out a rough chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. "i'm afraid i've had a bit more than intended, yes." he stumbles slightly as he steps forward, eyes drifting over you with a flicker of something you can't quite read. "apologies for disturbing you," he mutters, his voice low. "i didn't have anywhere else to go."

"your own?" you ask, skepticism creeping into your tone.

he gives a dry laugh, his gaze lingering on your face. "not an option," he says, his eyes steady despite his drunken state. he pushes himself off the doorframe, moving closer. "this was the only option i had for the company i was seeking." he says. you step back, creating distance, but he follows. inch by inch, he closes the gap, until he's standing right in your room, his presence overwhelming in the small space.

"may i?" he asks, voice softer now, almost pleading. his dark eyes watch you intently as he steps further into the room, his movements unsteady. the alcohol is clearly getting to him, his facade of control slipping. he trips, nearly colliding with a table, but catches himself at the last second, frustration flashing across his face.

"tom- be careful," you say instinctively, your voice carrying a hint of concern. you reach out without thinking, your hand landing on his arm to steady him.

he glances at you, his eyes a strange mix of annoyance and vulnerability. "i don't need your help," he mutters, trying to pull away from your grip. as he does, he stumbles again, this time losing his balance entirely. he crashes to the floor with a heavy thud, his limbs sprawled awkwardly. he groans, looking up at you, irritation and defeat warring on his face.

"perhaps i spoke too soon," he mutters, attempting to push himself up before letting out a sigh and giving up. he lies there, his limbs splayed out, looking utterly defeated. his eyes, half-lidded, flicker with a struggle to maintain his pride and composure, but his body refuses to cooperate.

he looks rather pathetic, lying on the floor and struggling to even get up. you stifle a laugh at the sight of him, normally so composed, now reduced to a helpless figure on your floor. as you try to step around him, his hand shoots out with surprising speed, grabbing your ankle and tripping you.

you stumble, losing your balance, and fall on top of him. he grunts as you collide with his chest, a low, guttural sound escaping him. his eyes, previously dull and unfocused, suddenly seem to clear, locking onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

you find yourself straddling him, arms braced on either side of his head to stop yourself from crashing down entirely. in this intimate proximity, every detail of his face is visible, the sharpness of his jaw, the faint shadows under his eyes. his hands, which had grabbed your ankle, are now firmly gripping your waist, fingers pressing into your skin with a possessive force.

he tries to speak, his voice ragged and strained, but the words die in his throat. he clears it and tries again, the roughness in his tone undeniable. "get off me," he says, his words laced with both command and desperation.

"let go of me first," you reply firmly, trying to remain calm despite the unease creeping up your spine.

his grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your sides. "no," he mutters defiantly, his gaze holding yours, refusing to back down.

you raise an eyebrow, disbelief creeping into your voice. "how am i supposed to get off when you're holding me like this?" there's an edge of irritation in your tone now.

he glances down at his hands, realization flickering in his eyes. for a brief moment, it seems like he might let go, but then his grip tightens again, as if some deep, primal instinct prevents him from releasing you. "you..." his voice wavers as he searches for the right words. "you look... quite compelling like this... this feels undeniably... satisfying."