faestria

His love language is definitely physical affection, he constantly wants to be touching some part of you. Which leads to quite a bit of kissing. Expect to find his mouth all over you 24/7

He will never admit it, but he loves it when you touch his scars. No matter where he got them from, it feels comforting. Like your fingers are soothing any bad memories.

On the same note, you're presence soothes anything negative within him. Whether he's frozen, convinced he's going to become just as awful as his father, or if he just had a bad day- when you're there, he can relax.

Now, he can sleep on his own, of course he can, but he very much prefers if you're there. He doesn't care how many rules he has to break and how many of his mates he annoys, he wants you in his bed. His arms are always tight around you, as if you might want to leave him while he sleeps. He also can't fall asleep without saying 'I love you'. Because he wants to remind you, but sometimes he needs to hear you say it back and assure him you still want him.

He could give you a quick kiss, but it takes self restraint. Because why would he only kiss you for less than three seconds when he could have you pressed against him, or a wall, or his bed, his mouth on yours?

He adores your name, and loves the feeling of saying it. But he will often call you by a petname. Angel, Love, and Pretty are his favorites.

In his free time, he likes to smoke, or drink if his friends manage to procure a bottle of something decent. It's not a life threatening habit, but he still does it often enough it's become part of his scent. But he would never consider forcing you to partake. He's glad you're healthier than him. But he'd be lying if he didn't say it wasn't sexy as hell if you ever did smoke with him.

It took him so long to become vulnerable with you, small steps and cracks in his mask that surmounted to him trusting you more than anyone.

He would do anything to protect you. Sometimes you think he would've made a fine Gryffindor with his loyalty and chivalry and bravery. He's fought Deatheaters and defended your name without being asked or expected to.

Honestly though, he's quite private about how obsessed he is with you. Some people might notice with how often he'd look at you. But the only person who really knew was Theo. And he doesn't often show it in public with grand words or makeouts in the corridor. Instead, he'll keep his knee pressed against yours, or an arm on the back of your chair. And if someone mentions you, he stops zoning out to listen. If it's an insult, he won't hesitant to make it clear that he does NOT play when it comes to you.

Interested, knowing your dormmates would walk in without bothering you knock, you slip from your bed and pad across the stone floor to the thick wooden door. It's a Hogsmeade weekend, despite it being late, many people are still at the village, waiting until they absolutely have to come back at 9.

You adjust your night gown to adopt some semblance of being put together before pulling open the door.

You freeze

"What are you doing here?" You breathe out, staring at the boy in front of you.

His curly hair is more wild than usual, falling across his forehead, windswept. His lips are parted as if he's about to speak, or rather, he might be catching his breath after hurrying here. But there's that awful look in his eyes. They're bloodshot - sleepy.

"Angel," he whispers, seeming to be drawn out of his haze as his focus lands on you. He glances down the corridor, pushing his hair off his forehead.

"What are you doing here, Mattheo?" You repeat, feeling the familiar sadness rise in your chest.

"Needed to see you," is his only response. "Please, Angel, let me in."

You make no move for a long moment, before your resolve breaks and you find yourself stepping out of the doorway.

Without wasting a moment, he steps into your dormitory.

"Can I touch you, pretty?" He asks, voice quiet. He makes no move to close the foot of distance between you. He never does - not until you allow him.

Your heart clenches violently. You give him the slightest of nods.

And then his arms are wrapping around your waist. He clutches at your nightgown, face pushing to nuzzle against your neck.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you," he murmurs, breath hot on your skin. His nose nudges your throat, but he doesn't kiss you yet. "Can never stop thinking about you. All the time, Angel. Pretty Angel."

He's babbling. And you're painfully, tragically used to it. How he stumbles towards you, kissing your skin, whispering sweet nothings.

How he acts as if it didn't happen the very next day.

And you hate yourself for giving in every time, for accepting the praise and affection, for that cracking feeling in your chest each time he ignores your looks once he's sober.

"You look terrible," you whisper, keeping your eyes trained on a stone in the floor, refusing to meet his eyes when he pulls back.

"You told me I looked handsome." He presses a ghost of a kiss to your temple. "When you found me at the astronomy tower." His hand is firm against your lower back, the other brushing away a stray hair on your forehead.

"And you talked to me more often then."

He frowns, glazed eyes sliding from your mouth to meet your own gaze "I talk to you," he protests, his voice still low. "I love talking to you, Angel." He lowers his head again, pressing a string of hot kisses over your throat, his curls tickling your skin.

"You only talk to me when you're high." You say it simply, though a hint of sadness creeps into your voice. "You ignore me, otherwise."

More kisses are being trailer from your neck, to your jaw, and finally to your mouth where he hesitates. "Angel, you don't get it."

"I don't get it?" You challenge, feeling anger seep around the sadness. "What? Are you scared your mates will judge you? Do you have a reputation to withhold? One I'd ruin?"

"What? No-" He cuts off, looking away and ruffling his hair again. "I don't give a fuck about what my mates think. I want to talk to you more - wanna be good for you - but I can't."

You put your hands on his chest, making to push him away, but you don't. "That's a shite answer and you know it."

"I don't have another answer!" But instead of slipping away from you, his arm tightens around your waist, and his already glazed eyes look glossier. "Fuck - Angel, 'm sorry. I know you're mad. But I want you so bad, pretty. I jus' don't know how. I can't do it, can't be good enough for you."

Your fingers curl into the material of his jumper, your nose filling with the scent of weed and his cologne, remembering how many nights you've spent with him wrapped around you, his fingers tracing your spine through your nightgown.

"Please," he murmurs, his nose brushing against yours. And he kisses the corner of your mouth. "Please understand. I don't wanna lose this with you. It's all I can do to stop from going mental, getting to have you."

But that's all he says.

There's no promises to try, to approach you when he's in his right mind. He can't commit to wanting you outside of moments like these.

And you hate that a part of you feels pity. Because, when he's high and vulnerable, he's told you how hard it is for him to trust people, to let them in.

But he won't try. He says he wants you - but he won't change this one habit for you.

"You need to go back," you finally whisper, tearing yourself away from him, body burning, yet feeling cold from a lack of him.

"Angel..."

You turn around, refusing to let him see the emotion on your face. "Riddle. Get out."

"Fuck," he says, barely audible behind you. You hear him draw a ragged breath, the sound catching on the end. But he leaves. The door shuts behind him and you're left in the silence of your dormitory, surrounded by his scent.

Personality -

Many, many people see him as an asshole. They think of him similar to Draco-just a dickhead who has a soft spot for y/n. I've always thought of him as a genuine person. He's brooding, moody, and can often act like an asshole. But underneath that, he has the loyalty and bravery of a gryffindor. He would stop at nothing to protect his closest friends and loved ones. He presents himself as closed off and uninterested as a mechanism to root out those who aren't worth his time. But once he develops a relationship with someone and respect towards them, there are cracks in the cold mask. I do agree with the fact he would have violent issues. He's distrustful, he has an evil father and everyone immediately assumes he's a monster. He holds grudges and isn't afraid to fight people with fists, words, or magic.

Romance -

Once again, contrary to popular opinion, he's not a fuckboy. Yes, he's not at all a virgin inexperienced and he's not against making out with someone he finds fit. But I don't see him being super interested in hook ups, he doesn't see the appeal. (i'm not saying it won't happen at all in something i write) He finds it hard to actually open up towards a person, especially when love is involved. He doesn't trust them. And he doesn't trust himself to treat them properly His love language is for sure quality time and physical touch. He's also not ashamed when it comes to PDA. (but it's not like he's gonna go stake his claim when his partner is mid conversation by kissing them)

His family -

He is not a Deatheater.

Considering I've watched Deadly Class and I adore Marcus, I can't see a character with his face being a Deatheater. He thinks it's all despicable.

On this note the only character I 100% see being a Deatheater is Draco and that's because it's canon. Maybe Theo if it fits the fic, but not really.He despises his father. He refuses to have anything to do with him and will deny any invite to being a Deatheater or a relationship. But the biggest thing is that he doesn't go shouting about this. People have no problem in calling him a monster, killer, and psycho. They assume he's his father's first pick. And he does nothing to stop the rumors. He doesn't encourage them of course, but he doesn't tell people to shut up. He can't find the energy in convincing everyone. Besides, it gives an opportunity for people to avoid him and he prefers being left alone.