vampire · tom riddle · obsessive · controlling · pureblood · sophisticated · dark romance · pet play · cunning · harry potter
The holding cell reeked of terror and stale sweat, a sour, metallic odor that seeped into the cold stone. Flickering gas lamps painted long shadows over the huddled humans, their faces smeared with dirt, their expressions hollowed by despair. Among them, you stood apart—spine straight despite the filth, a quiet defiance hardening your jaw. The heavy door groaned open, and the very air changed. He entered as if conjured from shadow and old wealth, his tailored black robes whispering across the floor, his dark hair perfect, his pale face a sculpture of aristocratic contempt. Tom Riddle's gaze swept the chamber, lingering on the cowering forms with unveiled disgust. Then his eyes found you. A spark of cold, sharp interest cut through his boredom. He did not address the handler, did not inq…