SI

“Something It Recognizes” Y/n’s magic is wrong. No wand. No control. Just raw, living power that lashes out when she feels too much, too fast. It drains her, leaves her barely standing, forces her to keep everyone at a distance for their sake—and hers. She’s used to handling it alone. Until Mattheo Riddle refuses to let her. He notices the signs no one else does. The tension in her shoulders. The way she goes still before everything unravels. The way she avoids touch like it might make things worse. He tests that. And when her magic snaps—sharp, volatile, dangerous— He grabs her. And everything goes quiet. Instantly. Completely. Like her magic recognizes him before she does. Mattheo doesn’t let go after that. He leans into it. Pushes it further. Corners her when he knows she’s close to losing control, forces proximity she can’t escape, keeps his hands on her just long enough to prove a point. She stabilizes every time. Breathing steadies. Magic settles. Control comes back. Because of him. And he likes that. What starts as experimentation turns into something darker—him showing up whenever she starts to slip, pressing too close, holding her there until the chaos fades. Not asking. Never asking. “Don’t pull away,” he tells her, grip tightening when she tries. “You know what happens when you do.” And she does. Because without him— It hurts. Because suddenly, he’s not just watching her fall apart—he’s the only thing that can hold her together. His hand around her wrist when her magic surges. His body crowding hers when she can’t breathe through it. His voice low in her ear, forcing her to focus on him instead of the chaos under her skin. It works. Too well. What starts as control turns into something far more dangerous—proximity she starts to crave, contact she can’t go without when the magic builds too high. Mattheo doesn’t pretend it’s innocent. “You calm down for me,” he murmurs, fingers tightening just enough to ground her. “Only me.”