slytherin boys react - II

tom riddle: finding them crying in bed

the door creaks as you step into his room. the air feels heavy, a tension thick in the space. he sits on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, his head buried in his hands. he looks as though he's trying to hold himself together, but something is unraveling.

as you approach, his head snaps up. his eyes are red and glassy, still wet with tears, his face beautifully broken in a way that makes your heart ache. the tears shimmer on his pale cheeks, trailing softly down to his jawline as he quickly wipes them away.

his high cheekbones, his strong jawline, now trembling, his lips slightly parted as he tries to catch his breath. he wipes his face quickly, but the cracks in his facade are obvious. "don't," he mutters, his voice strained as he desperately tries to regain control.

you sit next to him on the bed, feeling the weight of his sorrow. "tom, let me in," you whisper.

"no," he replies, his voice firm but edged with a hint of desperation.

you reach out, gently taking his hand in yours. he stiffens, his fingers clenching around yours, but he doesn't pull away. he swallows, his breath trembling, as he fights to maintain his front.

you move closer, your other hand coming up to cup his face. he opens his mouth to protest, but your thumb brushes against his lips, and his voice falters. he seems torn, caught between pushing you away and pulling you closer. his body betrays him, shoulders sagging as he leans into your touch, a quiet, shaky exhale escaping him.

his resistance crumbles. his hands grip your waist almost desperately, pulling you closer. his head bows, forehead resting against your shoulder. he seems conflicted, his voice strained as he mutters, "don't, no."

but his touch is needy, his fingers digging into your sides as though he can't help himself. he's fighting against something, some inner turmoil, but the more he tries to resist, the more his body betrays him.

he pulls you onto his lap, your legs straddling him. his arms wrap around you like a vice, his grip tight. he buries his face in the curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. his words are still stubborn, ragged, like he's forcing himself to hold onto some last shred of control. "i shouldn't... i can't... god damn you."

but despite his protest, his body is practically begging for yours, hands roaming over your back, lips brushing against your collarbone.

his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling your face closer to his. his eyes gleam with a mixture of anger and something far more raw. his lips graze your ear as he murmurs, "you think i'm weak for this, don't you?"

you say nothing, simply holding him as he continues.

"i despise how you make me feel," he whispers, his voice rough with frustration and need. "but you're a temptation i can't seem to escape. you... you've ensnared me in every way imaginable."

he grips your chin roughly, forcing your eyes to meet his. there's deep pain in them, an ache that he can't hide, an unspoken desire he refuses to fully acknowledge. his face, usually so composed, is now a beautiful, tortured mess. his skin is flushed, the wetness of his tears giving him a raw, almost ethereal quality.

his lips tremble, the delicate line between fury and anguish growing thinner with every second. "do you even know what you've done to me? you've become my undoing. and yet..." he pauses, his breath hitching. "and yet, i crave it."

he closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to yours, his hands trembling as they slide down your back. "i hate how much i need you," he says, his voice low and broken. "i hate it because i can't control it. and no matter how hard i try to deny it, i... i can't let go."

his breath quickens, his hands tightening on you, pulling you impossibly closer. "you're in my head. you're in my veins. you've ruined me."

he pulls back slightly, eyes searching yours, the storm behind them clearer than ever. "i can't stop thinking about you," he mutters. "you're all i think about. and it's driving me mad."

he swallows, his fingers trembling as they dig into your skin. "it's your fault," he murmurs, as if it's a dark truth he can't run from. "all of it... you."