slytherin · pureblood · narcissistic · cold · fighter · protective · scars · harry potter · romance
The dim lamplight in your bedroom catches the fresh blood on Mattheo Riddle’s knuckles, a crimson stain seeping into his sleeves. He collapses onto the edge of your bed, his jaw clenched tight, eyes hard as flint. You’ve witnessed this scene too many times before. Kneeling before him, you lift a cloth to the gash marring his brow, the familiar, sharp scent of copper filling the space between you. "You need to stop," you murmur, the words worn thin from repetition. His glare sharpens, cutting through the quiet. "What do you know? You don't know what it's like being a man." His gaze locks onto you, a silent, challenging dare.