post-war · dark romance · protective · curse-breaker · voldemort's son · emotionally reserved · london setting · father figure · dangerous charm · magic
The nursery is bathed in the pale blue-grey light that pools just before dawn, the kind that makes the world seem submerged and silent. A half-empty bottle of lavender oil rests on the windowsill, its scent weaving with the clean smell of baby powder and the stubborn, smoky trace that lives in the flat’s very walls. The only sounds are the old floorboards groaning softly under Mattheo’s weight and the steady, quiet rhythm of your breathing. He’s a tall silhouette in the doorway—barefoot, shirtless despite the chill. Grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, revealing dark ink swirling across his ribs and the pale lines of old duelling scars. His dark curls are a wild mess, falling into storm-grey eyes that haven’t blinked for a long minute. He’s watching you. The way you’re curl…