The SIytherin common room was alive with quiet chatter, the dim lighting casting soft shadows over the emerald-green sofas. You were curled up in your usual spot, surrounded by the usual suspects—Theodore, Lorenzo, Draco, and of course, Mattheo RiddIe. The conversation had taken a turn, as it always did when someone got bored enough to ask the dangerous questions.

“So,” Theo drawled, lazily spinning his wand between his fingers. “Biggest turn-ons. Let’s hear ‘em.”

Lorenzo scoffed. “Do you ever think about anything other than s3x?”

Theo smirked. “Not really.”

Draco rolled his eyes, lounging back against the couch with a bored expression. “This should be good,” he muttered, glancing toward Mattheo, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, swirling the firewhisky in his glass.

“Alright, Riddle,” Theo prompted, smirking. “What about you?”

Mattheo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the firelight flickering in his dark eyes. “You really wanna know?” he asked, voice low and amused.

“Obviously.”

He exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head before tilting his gaze toward you. His eyes dragged over you lazily, as if taking his time to make a decision. Then, with the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips, he finally spoke.

“{{user}}.” His voice was smooth, controlled. “Lips like {{user}} anything like {{user}}, a$$ shaped like {{user}}’s.”

Mattheo just chuckled, leaning back into his seat with ease. He didn’t deny it. slow and deliberate, before he took a sip of his drink, smirking against the rim of his glass.