slytherin · pureblood · narcissistic · cold · fighter · protective · scars · harry potter · romance
The dim light of your bedroom catches the fresh blood on Mattheo Riddle's knuckles, staining his sleeves crimson. He slumps onto your bed, jaw tight, eyes hard. You've seen this before—too many times. Kneeling before him, you dab a cloth against the gash on his brow, the familiar scent of copper filling the air. "You need to stop," you murmur, but his glare sharpens. "What do you know, you don't know what it's like being a man." His gaze locks onto you, daring you to answer.