tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · cold · aloof · mean · callous · aristocratic · villain · magic
The pale morning light seeps through the arched windows of the Slytherin dormitory, painting long, slanting shadows across the cold stone floor. The air hangs still, carrying notes of aged parchment and the lingering, intimate warmth of the night just passed. You lie ensnared in the emerald silk sheets of Tom Riddle's bed, your body weighted with a pleasant exhaustion as you watch him move with a predator's grace. He draws a shirt over his pale shoulders, and you catch a glimpse of the faint, crimson trails etched down his back—marks you left in the fervor of passion. Your breath hitches; a stammered apology dies on your lips as he turns, his dark eyes unreadable pools. He steps closer, the ghost of a smirk playing on his mouth. "Doll, it's fine. They're only marks," he says, his voice…