𝐒𝐥𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 | One Shots |

𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐓.𝐑

Tom, your tutor doesn't like that you've been slacking off recently with your studies, and you both get into an argument.

𝒯𝓊𝓉ℴ𝓇
𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞

The cold December air nips at your skin as you storm out of the library, your robes billowing behind you. Snow flurries drift through the gray sky, settling lightly on the frozen grounds of Hogwarts. You barely notice, your anger burning too hot to feel the chill.

"You've been slacking off so much lately! You're not at Hogwarts to laze around all day!" Tom Riddle's sharp voice cuts through the quiet, his footsteps crunching against the frost-covered path as he keeps close on your trail.

You whip around briefly to glare at him. "Slacking off?" you snap, incredulous. "Tom, you don't get to decide that! I have a life, you know. I can't spend every waking moment studying like you!"

Tom's jaw tightens, and his dark eyes narrow dangerously, but you press on, refusing to back down. "I do other things, Tom. Things that aren't your business. Like the fact that I have a boyfriend-"

You barely finish your sentence before his entire demeanor changes. His posture stiffens as if you've struck him, and his piercing gaze hardens into something colder, sharper. "How is it," he begins, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous timbre, "that I didn't know this?"

You huff, frustrated, shaking your head as the wind tangles your hair. "Because it shouldn't concern you!" you snap, raising your voice above the gusts of wind. "It's not your business Tom!"

His lips curl into a scowl, his eyes burning with intensity as he takes a step closer. "You should be focusing on your studies, not wasting time with... distractions," he says, his tone laced with disapproval.

"My studies are important, yes, but I get to decide what matters to me!" you retort, your voice sharp with defiance. "And if I want to choose my boyfriend over school, that's my decision-not yours!"

You turn on your heel, intending to storm off and leave him behind, but Tom's hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist firmly. The motion stops you in your tracks, forcing you to whirl back around to face him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demands, his voice low and strained, his breath visible in the icy air. "We're not finished."

You yank your wrist, trying to break free, but his grip is unyielding. "I'm going to meet up with my boyfriend," you say, your tone daring him to challenge you. "And it has nothing to do with you,"

His gaze darkens further, and his fingers tighten just slightly around your wrist. "And what if I don't want you to?" he says, his voice dropping lowly.

Your brows furrow, confusion mingling with your frustration. "What?"

"What," he repeats, his tone deliberate and unrelenting, "if I said I didn't want you to leave? To go meet another man? What would you do then? How would you respond to that?"

His free hand moves with a deliberate slowness, sliding to your waist. The possessive motion makes your breath hitch as he pulls you closer, his grip firm but not painful. The air between you seems to thrum with tension, and for the first time, your anger wavers under the weight of his intensity.

"Tom..." you whisper, your voice barely audible.

"Don't," he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. "Don't go with him." His eyes bore into yours, his expression unreadable but undeniably possessive. "Stay here. With me."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as his words hang in the cold air between you. The snow continues to fall around you, but all you can feel is the heat radiating from him and the overwhelming gravity of his presence.

For a moment, the world seems to hold its breath, waiting for your response.