A scrapbook of my obsessions

SUMMARY: Soulmates shared everything. Including scars. When Umbridge's detentions begin exposing soulmate pairs throughout Hogwarts, one bloody sentence on the back of your hand changes everything.

A/N: For my lovely, wonderful @obsessedwithceleste. Astra loves Cel and hopes this came out good<3

Tagging: @delulugirl2000

Soulmate AU

The soulmate bond had always been cruel in its honesty.

From the moment you were born, your soulmate’s scars appeared on your skin like quiet promises. A small scrape on your knee at age six. A faint burn on your forearm from some childhood accident. Tiny, whimsical marks that told you somewhere out there, someone was living.

You were both sorted into Slytherin in first year. You and Mattheo Riddle had been in the same friend group since then — you, Mattheo, Theo, Draco, Blaise, Enzo, Pansy, and Daphne.

No one knew who their soulmate was yet. The scars were still small and meaningless.

Until the summer before fifth year.

Voldemort had returned. The world was darker. And one night, you stood in front of your mirror at home, staring in horror at the new scars that had bloomed across your back — thin, angry lines like someone had been whipped or cursed.

You traced them with trembling fingers, heart aching for whoever was on the other end of this pain.

You didn’t know it was Mattheo.

Fifth year brought Umbridge.

The pink toad took over Defense Against the Dark Arts and quickly turned it into a nightmare. Detentions became frequent. Her quill wasn’t just a writing tool — it carved the words you wrote into your skin with blood.

The first time Enzo got detention, Susan Bones showed up the next morning with the exact same cut on her hand. The soulmate reveal spread like wildfire.

You tried to stay out of trouble.

But one afternoon, you spoke back when Umbridge insulted Harry.

Detention was immediate.

That evening, you returned to the Slytherin common room with fresh, stinging words carved into the back of your hand:

I must not support liars.

The common room was nearly empty — most people were still at dinner.

You sat by the fireplace, cradling your bleeding hand, trying not to cry.

Footsteps echoed from the boys’ dormitories.

Mattheo came down the stairs, absently scratching at the back of his own hand with a scowl.

When he saw you, he froze.

His eyes dropped to your hand.

The exact same words were carved into his skin, still fresh and bleeding.

The air left the room.

Mattheo’s face went pale.

He crossed the room in seconds, dropping to his knees in front of you.

His hand reached out, hovering over yours like he was afraid to touch you.

“...It’s you,” he whispered, voice cracking.

You stared at him, tears finally spilling over.

All those years.

The small scars on your knees. The faint burn on your arm. The thin lines that had appeared across your back last summer — Mattheo’s scars.

And now this.

“You’ve been carrying my scars this whole time?” you choked out.

Mattheo looked wrecked.

He gently took your injured hand in both of his, staring at the bloody words like they were a curse.

“I thought...” His voice was hoarse. “I thought my soulmate was someone else. Someone who didn’t have to see all the ugly parts of me. The scars from my father. The ones from... after he came back.”

You lifted a hand to cup the side of his face.

“I saw them,” you whispered. “The ones on your back. The one across your ribs. I’ve had them since last summer. I stayed up all night wondering who was hurting so much.”

Mattheo let out a broken sound and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck.

You clung to him just as tightly, both of you shaking.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped against your skin. “I’m so fucking sorry you got stuck with me.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, cupping his face.

“I’m not,” you said fiercely. “I’m not sorry it’s you, Mattheo.”

He stared at you for a long moment, eyes glassy, before pressing his forehead against yours.

“All this time,” he breathed. “I’ve been hating the world... and you’ve been walking around with my pain on your skin.”

You gave him a watery smile.

“And you’ve been carrying mine.”

Mattheo kissed you then — desperate, trembling, full of six years of unspoken everything.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours again, breathing you in.

“I'm not hiding anymore.” he whispered. “Not from you. Never from you.”

You nodded, tears still falling.

“I'm not, either.”

He gently lifted your bleeding hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it, right over the cruel words Umbridge had carved.

Then he stood, pulling you up with him.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go clean this up. I’ve got scars to take care of now.”

You smiled through your tears and let him lead you toward the dorms, fingers intertwined.

For the first time, the scars didn’t feel like burdens.

They felt like proof.

Proof that even in darkness, you had found each other.

“What?”

The confused frown on your face triggers a slight frown on his as well, as Tendō’s words echo in his head: ‘You know, Waka-kun, you have to make yourself clear. But don't be too straight—you can sort of come off as rude sometimes, so be really careful.’

“My apologies. That must have been rude of me. Assuming the gender of your partner. Please allow me to rephrase that. Do you have someone you're in a relationship with? Or someone you like?”

You stare straight at his unblinking face from across the table. The notebooks and textbooks you two were working on are still spread open on the desk. You both even have your pens in hand, having previously been writing in the quiet space of the library. At least, that was before he dropped that question just like that. Without a single warm-up. He suddenly raised his olive-colored eyes to you across the table, fixing those unblinking, intimidating eyes on you as he patiently waited for your response.

“What?” is the only thing that can come out of your lips again.

The frown on his face gets deeper.

‘I don't believe I said it wrong the second time. Could it be that she simply doesn't understand?’

“I mean someone you're dating—” he quietly offers further explanation, until you interrupt him, raising your palm into the air.

“I know what you mean, Ushijima. I just don't know why you're suddenly asking me that question while we're having a lesson.”

“Ah, I see. I should have waited until after the lesson was over,” he agrees, nodding his head understandingly while you seriously shake yours.

“No. That's not what I…” You let out a soft sigh before bringing your raised hand to your forehead, resting your elbow on the surface of the table as you slowly massage your temple.

It isn't the first time you are tutoring a fellow student at Shiratorizawa, but it is definitely the first time you have been this stressed out by a single student. Just one.

A third-year student at Shiratorizawa Academy, captain of the boys’ volleyball team, wing spiker, team ace, number one in the Miyagi prefecture, and ranked among the country's top three aces: Wakatoshi Ushijima.

The boy who your homeroom teacher specifically requested you to consider tutoring, just to keep him from falling behind in his academics while he continues rising in his sport.

That was fine and all, but tutoring Ushijima proved to be far more difficult than you thought. It isn't actually about the material—he is a good student who catches on to things quickly and always tries to clarify what he doesn't understand. They are all good qualities every tutor looks for.

But skipping past his intimidating aura and impressive reputation, there is also his communication style. It is… blunt, direct, rough, and straight to the point. Sometimes, it's just hard to take.

Take, for example, the day you first met. Not even five minutes in, he laid out his demands: “If after today's lesson you don't prove to be capable enough to guide me, I'll be letting the teacher know I require a replacement. I don't need someone who will waste my time.”

‘How rude,’ you had thought back then, mere seconds after you introduced yourselves. And now? He's asking if you're seeing someone? To say you think he's weird would be a massive understatement.

“No, Ushijima. I don't have a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or anyone I'm dating.”

He silently nods his head as he watches you get back to your notes, then returns to his as well.

‘That’s good.' he remarks internally, before Tendō pops up in his thoughts again: ‘But Waka-kun, wouldn't it be funny though if she had someone she likes? Hahahaha.’

His lips curl into a tight frown.

‘That would be very inconvenient.’

He lifts his head back up, but gets interrupted before he can even speak. You didn't even take your eyes off your notes. It is like you can see him without even looking.

“No. I don't have anyone in particular that I like either.”

“I see…” he responds.

You don't raise your head, but your eyes flicker to his side of the table as he returns to his books.

‘That must be all of his questions.’

Your eyes return to your own page, but you pause, staring at the lines, entirely unaware of where exactly you stopped thanks to the tall distraction sitting across from you.

Suddenly, he drops an even more surprising question that snaps your head straight back up.

“Then, would you like to become my girlfriend?”

A long, heavy silence passes between the two of you. His olive eyes remain unflinching as he patiently awaits your response. He is obviously dead serious.

“What?”

mattheo takes care of a sick sweetheart!reader

i missed writing for them :(( thank you for your request !! <3

masterlist

“Oh, honey.” That’s a new one. Your brain latches onto the brand new nickname and the deep voice that says it before it can even process the fact that there’s another person in your room.

"Mattheo?" Your voice comes out as a croak as you strain to look up.

You've spent the entire day bed ridden — curled into fetal position, slipping in and out of sleep — only lifting your head to change shows from Gilmore Girls to New Girl to Gossip Girl.

You sent a text to Pansy in the morning, asking her to tell Mattheo and the others about your plague.

Okay, it was more like a common cold. But with the way you were feeling, you would not be surprised if you were to be diagnosed with something far more deadly.

"Yeah, it's me, baby." He says gently, you can barely make out his figure in the dark of your room but your body relaxes at the sound of his voice.

You're sure you look like hell warmed over, except, there's really nothing warm about you right now. You shiver under the sheets and clutch the blanket tighter.

Mattheo sits on the side of the bed, placing the back of his hand over your forehead. You roll over and hide your face in your pillow.

"I look terrible." It's muffled from the pillow, Mattheo huffs out a laugh.

Your relationship is by no means new and it's settled to a point where you feel nothing but comfortable and safe around him. Still, this is not exactly the prettiest state you want to be perceived in — even by your person.

"Come on, I need to check if you're alright." He coaxes you gently, "I even asked Madam Pomfrey for her thermometer."

You turn your head back to look up at him.

"You did?" He chuckles.

"Yeah, I think it's the first time she's ever seen me without blood on my face."

You laugh at that, the sound slowly dissolving into a coughing fit. He rubs a hand over your chest, soothing you.

"You okay?" He says gently, hands still on your chest. You nod weakly. "Can you open your mouth for me, baby?"

You do as he says and he gently sticks the thermometer under your tongue, waiting for the results.

He frowns. "39.4" He mutters under his breath before gently taking out the thermometer. He sets it down on a piece of tissue on your bedside table.

"It's not too high, you'll be okay." He reassures you quietly before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. Your eyes close at the warmth before they quickly open and widen.

"Mattheo, you can't be here." You say urgently, trying to push him off of you.

He ignores you, staying put and pressing one more kiss to your hairline.

"Why's that?" He murmurs, soothing a warm hand over your head. Your eyes flutter close again before you slowly pry them open to look at him seriously.

"I'll get you sick."

"I don't care."

He says it so firmly, you believe that he truly couldn’t care less. Still, no matter how much you want him here, your guilt won't fade.

"M'serious." You insist, even as he tucks your blanket in even tighter and adjusts the pillow under your head. He pulls your chair over to the side of the bed and sits in it.

He pushes your hair away from your face, ignoring your protests towards him getting any closer. "I made you some chicken soup."

"All by yourself?" You ask with wide eyed wonder, he smiles down at you.

"Well, no." He laughs. "Don't worry, Theo supervised."

"I wasn't worried." You say, then add. "You cook very well."

"Yeah, you think so?" He says, gently cradling your face with his palm, thumbs soothing your cheekbones.

You hum, leaning into his hand. "Like that steak dinner you cooked us last month, that was lovely."

"I'm glad you thought so, we'll have to do that again."

"I like anything you make." You say honestly, your brain far too tired to filter your thoughts from becoming speech.

"Well, good." He grins. "You can try my soup after you take a nap."

You nod serenely, before moving your head to rest it on his arm, as if he was a pillow.

"Comfy?" He teases, you nod. Your eyelids grow heavy and your head keeps lolling to the side as you fight to stay awake. He chuckles.

"Go to sleep, baby." He says, petting your arm.

"You can..." You interrupt your slow speech with a yawn, "you can leave if you need to."

Your eyes close fully and you let yourself slip into sleep. Not before you hear his familiar, low voice again.

"I'm not going anywhere."

cw: suggestive content, mostly fluff, jack is a #wifeguy

wife!reader who is adored by night shift. when she visits, mateo literally greats her as “hey mama”

wife!reader who bakes sweet treats for jack to bring in when he works

wife!reader who jack talks about so much at work that one time you visit there’s a patient currently being discharged who greets you by name. you’re obviously very taken aback by this but the older woman noticed your shock and throws out “your husband was my doctor! he would not stop talking about you. he’s great.” because of course jack gushes about you to his patients. with pictures.

Summary: You trusted Soldier Boy. Ran missions with him. Slept next to him in cold bunkers. Loved him in the way people like you didn’t dare admit. But then he left you behind. And now, face to face for the first time since that day, you're ready for answers. But what happens down the line when you're recoverd from the heartbreak and forced to join him on missions yet again?

Warnings: betrayal, angst, heartbreak, lonliness

WC: 2.5K

A/N: prompt came from this long list of mine! title used from my Title Challenge here

Pairing: female! reader x Soldier Boy

Read on ao3!

--

The room was dim, thick with smoke and the hum of fluorescent lights that hadn’t been changed in decades. Your heart thudded like gunfire in your chest, but your hand was steady on the trigger. Soldier Boy stood across from you, blood smeared across his jaw, knuckles bruised, but none of that compared to the look in his eyes.

Like you’d gutted him.

“Do it,” he said, voice gravel and ice. “If you’re gonna shoot me, sweetheart, make it count.”

You didn’t lower the gun. “You left me to die.”

The God of War Laufey gameplay trailer came out just yesterday- and I was genuinely so hyped. Not only was the combat and visuals an absolute masterpiece, but the lore potential was insane. The mask Faye looked at was the mask Odin was trying to look through- meaning Odin was trying to study the 'Everywhen'/Afterlife of the gods. There's crossovers between different mythologies- and not only that, but we get to see HER memories of Kratos from HER perspective. We get to see her life- her legacy- from HER perspective. Not just her best traits- but also her flaws, her deeper thinking, her fears, and perhaps even a further look into her life before she met Kratos. But the MINUTE I hop on YT or social media? Every video and their mother is yelling "WAAAAAHHHH THIS ISN'T REAL GOD OF WAR BECAUSE THE MAIN CHARACTER IS A WOMAN, THIS IS FORCED DIVERSITY" The mere existence of a woman protagonist to you is 'forced diversity?'

I'm genuinely sick of people doing this. Y'all did this with Ghost of Yotei. Y'all did this with Supergirl. Y'all did this with MJ in Spiderman 1 and 2's Insomniac games because she was an important character. Y'all did this with almost ANY character who was a minority in literally ANY way, shape or form- and it's genuinely exhausting to see. If y'all don't like the upcoming God of War game because you prefer the source material? Okay- fine. Just as people are allowed to like things, people are also allowed to dislike things.

But if you don't like it JUST because Faye's a woman? Feel free to block and unfollow me- I don't give a damn. Because that's not an 'opinion,' that's just straight up sexism. If you call the existence of a realistically written woman main character in a game 'forced diversity,' it'd be easier for you to say that you consider women accessories or novelties and not actual fucking people.

CHEERS LADS (and ladies of course)

Over the weekend I hit 2000 followers! yey! This piece is a Thank you to each and every one of you! I’m so grateful for all your support over the last year or so. Here’s a heath to the company!