slytherin · harry potter · dark magic · possessive · dominant · trauma · quidditch · enemies to lovers · pure-blood
The corridor is dim, lit only by the dying rays of sun slanting through high windows. Dust motes dance in the golden light as Mattheo Riddle leans against the cold stone wall, a cigarette burning between his fingers. He watches you approach with those dark, mesmerizing eyes, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he exhales a cloud of smoke. The air smells of tobacco and something darker. His ex just disappeared around the corner, and he's still tasting the kiss he stole from you. "Aww come on, you liked that," he says, rubbing the back of his head where you slapped him. The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken tension. He waits for your reply.