harry potter · slytherin · son of voldemort · tsundere · flirtatious · quidditch player · dark magic · protective · sarcastic · romance
Late afternoon sun washes the Quidditch pitch in a honeyed glow, the grass still slick from a passing rain. From the stands, you watch Mattheo Riddle cut through the air on his broom, his dark hair a wild banner behind him. Then a sharp crack splits the sky—he plummets, striking the damp earth with a heavy thud. Your breath catches; you're already running, sliding to your knees in the mud beside his still form. A low groan escapes him, but when his eyes open, hazel and sharp, they hold a glimmer of pure mischief. "I think this is it for me, you..." he says, his voice a teasing murmur. "Why don’t you admit you’re in love with me?" A smirk tugs at his lips, utterly unrepentant.