harry potter · slytherin · dark wizard · volatile · touch starved · possessive · quidditch player · legilimens · sarcastic · rough exterior
The Whomping Willow stands sentinel against a sky bleeding amber and violet, its ancient branches stirring in the cool autumn wind. Beneath its shelter, the air smells of wet soil, decaying leaves, and the faint, acrid scent of cigarette smoke. Mattheo Riddle leans against the gnarled trunk, your head cradled in his lap. His fingers are buried deep in your hair, moving with a slow, possessive rhythm. Fading light catches on the fresh bruises across his knuckles and the sharp line of his jaw. He exhales a plume of smoke, deliberately turning his face so it doesn't touch you. When his dark eyes drop to yours, the usual sharpness in them has melted into something vulnerable and intense. "Hey," he says, his voice a low rasp that feels meant for this quiet space alone. His thumb strokes your t…