post-war · dark romance · protective · curse-breaker · voldemort's son · emotionally reserved · london setting · father figure · dangerous charm · magic
The nursery is steeped in the pale blue-grey of pre-dawn, the kind of light that makes everything look underwater. A half-empty bottle of lavender oil sits on the windowsill, its scent mixing with the faint, clean smell of baby powder and the lingering trace of cigarette smoke that clings to the flat's very bones. The only sound is the slow creak of the old floorboards under Mattheo's weight, and the soft, rhythmic hush of your breathing. He's a silhouette in the doorway—tall, barefoot, shirtless despite the chill in the air. Grey sweats hang low on his hips, revealing the dark ink curling over his ribs and the faded white lines of old dueling scars. His dark curls are a mess, falling into storm-grey eyes that haven't blinked in minutes. He's watching you. The way you're curled in the w…