Happy BELATED Birthday 😭. I Should've Wished This Yesterday Instead Of Crying Over Biology Nooooooo

Heart of the Forest

Newt Scamander x Reader fluffy (I mean, obviously... it's Newt) Summary: When a magical creature escapes into the Forbidden Forest, Newt Scamander unexpectedly finds himself with an unlikely companion on a wild chase that tests his patience, courage, and perhaps, a bit of his heart. Story under the cut

The forest was dense with fog, the ground carpeted with moss and scattered leaves that crunched softly underfoot. Newt adjusted his coat, glancing at his companion—you. You were brushing dirt off your coat with an expression that spoke of annoyance, though Newt pretended not to notice.

“This way, if I’m not mistaken,” he murmured, pointing toward a faint glow in the distance. A hint of worry creased his brow; the glow wasn’t natural, more like the bioluminescent trail left by the creature he was tracking. “Mind the roots,” he added, just as you tripped over one with a huff.

“Noted,” you replied, a touch of sarcasm in your voice. “So, remind me why we’re chasing after a creature that could practically disappear into thin air?”

Newt’s eyes sparkled as he replied, “Ah, the Erthrach tends to hide when it feels threatened, but it won’t stray far from familiar territory. It’s rare and endangered; we must make sure it’s safe.”

The two of you trudged deeper into the forest, your combined breaths clouding in the crisp night air. You watched Newt, fascinated by the quiet determination in his gaze. He was focused, even a bit anxious, though it was clear this sort of mission was his element.

“Do you always do this alone?” you asked, unable to mask your curiosity.

“Mostly,” he admitted, glancing at you with a small smile. “Though I must say, it’s… rather nice to have someone along this time.”

The forest grew darker, and for a moment, a prickle of unease brushed your skin. But just as you were about to voice it, Newt froze, his hand coming up to signal you to stop. Ahead, the faint glow was moving, darting between trees with surprising speed.

“There it is,” he whispered, and before you could even blink, he was off, rushing forward with a grace and speed you hadn’t anticipated. With a muttered curse, you followed him, weaving through the trees as the glow moved erratically, zig-zagging through branches and shrubs.

Just when it seemed like Newt had it cornered, the creature leapt, soaring over a fallen tree and vanishing into a thicket. You skidded to a stop beside him, panting. “Looks like your friend’s faster than we thought,” you said, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

Newt chuckled, a glint of excitement in his eyes. “You’d be surprised how clever they are. But we’re close.”

Without warning, he took your hand, leading you around a dense clump of bushes. His grip was warm, steady, and oddly comforting against the cool night air. “Stay close. These woods can play tricks on you,” he said, his tone softer than before.

The creature’s glow was brighter now, illuminating the small clearing ahead. Newt held a finger to his lips, signaling silence. You both crouched, watching as the tiny Erthrach hesitated, sniffing the air before settling down near a patch of glowing mushrooms.

With a practiced flick of his wand, Newt conjured a shimmering, gentle light that drew the creature’s attention. It tilted its head, inching forward until it was close enough for Newt to carefully slip a small, enchanted net around it. He cradled it gently, murmuring soothing words until its glow softened, the creature visibly calming in his arms.

“There, there,” he whispered, his face soft with relief. “Back where you belong.”

As he rose, still holding the creature, he offered you a grateful smile. “Thank you. It’s not every day you find someone willing to chase an Erthrach through the forest.”

You shrugged, feeling a rare warmth at his words. “Someone’s got to keep you from tripping over those roots,” you teased.

Newt laughed, his eyes shining with a warmth that went beyond his usual shyness. He adjusted the creature in his arms, glancing back at the trail with a new lightness. “Perhaps I’ll make it a habit, then. You’re rather good at this.”

You both began the walk back, Newt’s shoulder occasionally brushing yours as you wove through the trees. And as the forest closed in around you, the stars peeking through the canopy above, the warmth between you was as bright as any spell Newt could conjure.

Dance with me

Draco Malfoy X reader Comfort, angst

Summary: Two broken souls find solace in a quiet dance, their shared pain speaking louder than words ever could.

Inspired by:

AN: Really wanted to match the vibe of this song. Sinking, but having a lifeline that’s barely there. I wrote this so you can imagine it both as a sibling-like (platonic) relationship and also maybe a romantic relationship. Either way, there’s comfort.

Story under the cut

The Slytherin common room pulsed with the kind of chaos that came after a hard-won victory. Cups clinked together in celebration, laughter echoed off the stone walls, and the sound of music hummed low and steady under it all. But neither of you cared for any of it. Not really.

Draco stood off to the side, leaning against the wall, his tie half-untied and his gaze fixed on the middle distance. His jaw was tight, and even from across the room, you could see the faint shadows under his eyes. He looked like he always did in moments like these: exhausted. Frayed. Like a rope pulled so tight it was about to snap.

You knew that feeling. You lived it, too.

Your steps carried you through the crowd, ignoring the drunken shouts of your housemates and the occasional hands reaching out to pull you into the revelry. A few people called Draco’s name, too, but he didn’t respond. He was waiting for you.

When you reached him, his shoulders relaxed just slightly, and the tension in his posture shifted. Without a word, he grabbed your wrist—not too tightly, just enough to pull you away from the noise. He led you out of the common room and into the quiet of one of the unused corridors.

The silence was almost deafening after the chaos of the party. The dim torches cast flickering shadows on the stone walls, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

“You alright?” you asked softly, leaning against the wall beside him.

He exhaled a shaky breath, his head dropping forward for a moment before he looked at you. His gray eyes, usually so sharp and guarded, were softer now. Tired. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low and raw. “I think so. Maybe.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that, and you knew better than to push. Instead, you nodded, your shoulder brushing against his. “Rough day?”

He let out a dry laugh, humorless and bitter. “Something like that. Winning isn’t everything, you know. Doesn’t fix…” His words trailed off, but you didn’t need him to finish.

“I know.”

And you did. You understood the way the weight of expectations crushed you, the way it felt to carry burdens that weren’t really yours to bear. That was why he always sought you out, and why you always found your way back to him.

After a moment, he tilted his head toward the faint sound of music drifting through the stone walls from the party. “Dance with me.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” he muttered, but there was no bite in his tone. Just weariness. “It’s quieter here. Less… them.”

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

He stepped closer, one hand hovering awkwardly near your shoulder before settling on it. His other hand reached for yours, and you let him take it, the warmth of his palm grounding you. The song was slow, haunting, and it filled the empty corridor like a whisper of something lost.

You moved together, not quite in time with the music but in time with each other. It wasn’t graceful or practiced; it was clumsy and raw and human. The kind of thing you could only share with someone who knew all the broken pieces of you because they carried their own.

For a while, neither of you spoke. There was no need to. His grip on your hand tightened slightly, and you leaned into it, letting the silence wrap around you both like a shield.

“They don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice quiet.

“No,” you agreed, resting your head against his shoulder. “They don’t.”

But you did.

And that was enough.

Outplayed

Stephen Strange x Spy!Reader

Fluff, flirting

Summary: A spy seduces Doctor Strange to steal crucial information and distract him for long enough to draw what she wants from him

Story under the cut

The dim light of the café cast long shadows across the wooden table where you sat, carefully stirring your coffee as you watched him from the corner of your eye. Doctor Stephen Strange. The Sorcerer Supreme. But here, in this low-key corner of the city, he wasn’t the all-powerful, stoic hero. Here, he was just a man, and you were here to take advantage of that.

Your mission was clear. He had information you needed, and you'd go to any length to get it.

"Mind if I join you?" His voice was calm, controlled—a stark contrast to the excitement thrumming beneath your skin. You didn’t even have to glance up to know that the air had shifted the moment he took a seat.

“No, not at all,” you said, offering a smile that you hoped was warm and welcoming, but you knew it came across as something else entirely—calculated, like you had an agenda. Which you did.

“Good,” he replied smoothly, taking a sip of his own drink. "I wasn’t sure if I was being followed."

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, your eyes finally meeting his, and damn, there was that glint—sharp, almost knowing. "I’d say you’re paranoid, but you wouldn’t be wrong, would you?"

He arched an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair slightly, as though already analyzing you. Smart. You could see it in the way his fingers rested on the rim of his cup, in the way his eyes tracked every small movement you made. He was more aware than you’d like.

"Let me guess," he said, his voice low, tinged with amusement. "You're here to ask me questions."

You leaned in, careful to let your lips curve in a way that could either be interpreted as playful or dangerous. "It’s a bit more complicated than that," you purred, your voice a soft lull, an invitation he couldn’t resist. "I need something. Something I’m sure you’re just the man to provide."

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze never leaving yours. "Is that so?" he asked, his tone full of that subtle challenge you knew too well. “And what exactly is it that you think I can help you with?”

You didn’t flinch. No, you were too good at this. Too smooth. "You know exactly what I need," you said. "Information. A little bit of knowledge that only you have."

For the briefest moment, his expression flickered—a flicker of something unreadable—before it was gone, hidden behind a cool smile. “You seem awfully confident.”

You let that linger in the air, then allowed your own smile to bloom, teasing but still sharp. "Confidence has always been one of my strengths."

He laughed softly, but the sound was cold, like it wasn’t truly a laugh at all. More like a warning. "You don't think I know exactly what you're up to?" His eyes glinted as he leaned in a little, his voice dropping just a touch. “How long did it take before you realized I could see right through you?”

Your pulse quickened, but you didn’t let it show. “You don’t know a thing about me,” you countered, your voice low and deliberate.

He tilted his head, studying you with that calm, unnerving gaze. "I know enough."

It was like a game now, a cat-and-mouse dance you both played so well. You were too good at getting what you wanted, and he was just... too good, period. You could feel the tension tightening in the air, crackling between you, but you weren’t about to give up so easily. Not when you were so close.

Then, just as you leaned in slightly—just enough for him to feel the heat of your presence—you slid your hand across the table, brushing lightly against his. Not a hard touch, but deliberate, calculated. A little touch of intimacy meant to throw him off.

His breath hitched ever so slightly.

And there it was. The briefest of breaks in his usually steady composure. The smallest crack that you were quick to notice. That was all you needed.

"Careful, Doctor," you said softly, locking eyes with him as your fingers grazed the sleeve of his coat. “You’re getting distracted.”

He swallowed, eyes narrowing as he locked onto your face. For a second, the playful tension vanished, replaced by something deeper—something almost... predatory.

"You think you’ve got me figured out?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, lips curling slightly at the corners.

You held his gaze, leaning in just a fraction more, testing him. "I think I’ve already won."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, challenge, and... acceptance. He wasn’t falling for the act. But at that moment, you were okay with that. Because while he’d been focused on you, your hand had already slipped his Sling Ring off his finger, carefully palming it like you had done this a hundred times before.

You straightened up, your expression softening just enough to be disarming. “Thanks for the chat, Stephen,” you said, standing up, giving him a coy smile.

“Wait—” He reached for you, but you were already turning, already walking out, Sling Ring safely hidden.

You didn’t look back, but you could feel his gaze on your back, that quiet realization creeping in that, for once, he'd been outplayed.

Lose and Let Go

Finnick Odair x Troubled!Reader

Angst and comfort

summary: Finnick helps the reader find themselves again after having lost so much.

AN: I really need some comfort fics. Can’t find them so I’m creating them myself

Inspired by:

Story under the cut

The moonlight cast pale silver onto the beach, the gentle roll of the waves the only sound filling the air. You sat at the water's edge, knees pulled to your chest, tears streaking your face. It was the kind of ache that made it hard to breathe—the kind that gnawed at your heart long after the loss.

The one person you thought you’d never lose was gone. It wasn’t death, but it may as well have been. You had to let them go. But the worst part was that you didn’t know how to keep going, how to love yourself after losing so much.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Finnick’s voice broke through the quiet, soft and understanding. He settled beside you, his presence warm against the cool night air.

You shook your head, though you knew he saw the turmoil in your eyes. "I feel... empty. It’s like I gave everything away and now I don’t know what’s left."

Finnick was silent for a moment, the kind of silence that wasn't uncomfortable but allowed the weight of the words to settle. "I know that feeling," he said, his voice laced with a kind of sadness that only someone who’s seen too much could carry. "Giving away parts of yourself, until you’re not sure what’s left. It’s hard. But sometimes... losing someone forces you to find the parts of yourself you buried for them."

You stared out at the waves, his words sinking in. "It’s like I lost everything, though. What if there’s nothing left to find?"

Finnick’s hand rested lightly on yours, a grounding touch. "There’s always something left. You just have to give yourself time to see it. It’s painful now, but that emptiness? It’s the space where you’ll start to heal."

You didn’t respond, but the tears fell silently, rolling down your cheeks like the tide. It wasn’t comforting in the way you wanted—Finnick wasn’t telling you things would magically be okay. But his truth, painful and real, felt more grounding than any comforting lie could.

"I’m not going to tell you it’ll stop hurting," Finnick continued, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "But I will tell you this—learning to let go doesn’t mean you lost yourself in the process. It just means you have a chance to find yourself again."

His hand stayed on yours, a quiet reminder that you weren’t alone. And as you sat there in the moonlit silence, the waves lapping at your feet, the rawness of it all began to feel... bearable.

Hey 💌 I’m Saja — a mother trying to hold onto hope through days that feel impossibly heavy.

I know you probably see a lot online, but if you could take just a moment… I’d be so grateful.

💫 A reblog of my pinned post could help our story reach someone who cares.

🌿 And if you’re in a place to give, even a small donation could bring comfort to my daughter and help us feel safe again.

@sajagz, thank you for listening.

Even gentle support creates strength.

From one heart to another — thank you 🤍

^^

Vaporised

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader (callsign Vapour)

Fluff

Summary: Vapour teaches Hangman to put his mouth where his money is.

AN: tomorrow’s my birthday!! (Yup, sharing the same birthday as Scarlett Johansson and Mark Ruffalo 🥹)

Story under the cut:

Hangman was in rare form that morning—if by "rare" you meant absolutely, maddeningly, always insufferable.

The squadron had barely settled into the briefing room when Jake "Hangman" Seresin made it his mission to antagonize everyone in his orbit.

"Rooster, you planning to keep that mustache after I wipe the floor with you today?" he quipped, leaning back in his chair. "Or is it aerodynamic enough to help you fly better?"

Rooster shot him a flat look. "Shouldn’t you be studying the rulebook, Seresin? I hear you keep forgetting what 'teamwork' means."

Jake laughed, loud and carefree. "What can I say? I don’t need teamwork when I’ve got skill. I’m just built different."

"Built irritating," Phoenix muttered under her breath, earning a smirk from Bob.

In the corner of the room, you—call sign Vapour—remained silent, arms crossed, and gaze steady on the whiteboard. You had no intention of getting involved in Jake’s antics. He’d teased you enough in the past, despite the fact you barely spoke to him.

“Awfully quiet over there, Vapour,” Jake called out, turning his attention to you. “What’s the matter? Saving all your words for your post-match excuses?”

You didn’t even glance at him. “I, unlike some, don’t waste words,” came your reply.

That earned a round of "oohs" from the others, and even Hangman seemed momentarily caught off guard before recovering with a grin. “We’ll see if your flying’s as sharp as your tongue.”

The reason you were called Vapour wasn’t a mystery to anyone. During a training exercise, you’d pulled off a miracle landing with barely a drop of fuel left, earning you the respect of the instructors and the envy of a certain cocky aviator. Jake had never stopped trying to one-up you since.

Today’s dogfight simulation would be the perfect battleground.

Up in the air, Hangman’s taunts were relentless.

“Vapour, you sure you’re up there? Haven’t seen you all game,” he teased over the comms. “Or maybe that’s just your style—light and forgettable.”

Phoenix groaned. “Do you ever shut up, Seresin?”

“I’m just providing commentary,” he replied. “Gotta make things interesting while I mop the floor with you.”

You stayed quiet, focusing on your maneuvers. You weren’t interested in banter—you had one goal: take Hangman down.

Jake was good. Annoyingly good. But he was also predictable. He liked flashy moves and big risks, and you had no problem using that against him. You let him chase you for a while, luring him into a false sense of control.

“Gotcha now, Vapour,” he said smugly, locking onto your tail.

“Do you?” you replied, your voice finally cutting through the comms.

With a sharp roll and a sudden cutback, you slipped out of his sights and got behind him instead. Jake’s curses filled the channel as you locked on and fired the simulated kill shot.

“Hangman, you’re tagged,” Maverick announced.

Silence.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Jake Seresin had nothing to say.

“Vapour!,” Rooster cheered. “Finally someone shut him up!”

You smirked, leveling your jet and heading back to base. 

Back on the ground, Jake’s usual swagger was noticeably absent as the team debriefed. Rooster, Phoenix, and the others took turns mocking him, clearly reveling in his defeat.

Jake made a beeline for you afterward, his expression unreadable.

“Vapour,” he said, folding his arms. “You got lucky.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Luck? Or maybe you’re just all talk.”

For once, he didn’t have a comeback. He just stood there, staring at you like he was trying to figure you out.

Before he could say anything else, you gave him a pat on the shoulder. “You know Hangman’s actually the perfect name for someone who just got left swinging in the wind.”

And with that, you walked off, leaving him standing there—thoroughly humbled.

Hello, could I make a oneshot request?

of course! My inbox is open, so please do give me your suggestions and requests 🥰

Resources For Writing Sketchy Topics

Medicine

A Study In Physical Injury

Comas

Medical Facts And Tips For Your Writing Needs

Broken Bones

Burns

Unconsciousness & Head Trauma

Blood Loss

Stab Wounds

Pain & Shock

All About Mechanical Injuries (Injuries Caused By Violence)

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Portraying a kleptomaniac.

Playing a character with cancer.

How to portray a power driven character.

Playing the manipulative character.

Portraying a character with borderline personality disorder.

Playing a character with Orthorexia Nervosa.

Writing a character who lost someone important.

Playing the bullies.

Portraying the drug dealer.

Playing a rebellious character.

How to portray a sociopath.

How to write characters with PTSD.

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How to play a serial killer.

Writing insane characters.

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Tips on writing a drug addict.

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Writing a character with paranoid personality disorder.

How to play a victim of rape.

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How to play the stalker.

How to portray a character high on cocaine.

Playing a character with ADHD.

How to play a sexual assault victim.

Writing a compulsive gambler.

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How to play a character with social anxiety.

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How to play someone creepy.

Portraying sexually/emotionally abused characters.

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The escape: Backup plan

(Pt. II)

Janson (Maze Runner) x OC (Lauren)

Angst with a teeny tiny bit of romance

summary: Lauren’s narrow escape from Janson

AN: do I need to put trigger warnings on my stories? And if I do, what exactly must I state? Like depressing scene? Violence? Errr in this case, I’ll say trigger warning is: vulgarities used.

—————————————————————————————————————-

Inspired by:

Lauren didn’t stop running, her legs burning as she raced through the dimly lit corridors. Her chest heaved with each breath, but her mind stayed sharp, focused. The exit—just a few turns ahead—was her only goal. She could feel the weight of the real cure pressing against her side, the real cure tucked away in her jacket pocket. She only had one more decoy to save her.

She could still hear Janson’s footsteps echoing behind her, relentless and close. Too close.

Her heart pounded, but she wouldn’t let fear take over. She had a plan. She always had a plan.

She reached the last corner before the exit, her eyes locking onto the door at the end of the hallway. Freedom. Safety. But then—an alarm blared through the facility, loud and jarring, the shrill sound piercing through the air like a blade.

He triggered it.

Lauren’s stomach twisted. The door ahead was her only way out, but now the entire facility would be on high alert. Guards would be rushing in any moment, and Janson was right behind her.

She gritted her teeth, her eyes narrowing. She had no choice.

She sprinted for the door, pushing her legs harder, faster, ignoring the searing pain in her muscles. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the exit taunting her from the distance.

But then—she heard it. The unmistakable sound of footsteps closing in fast. Janson was gaining on her, his fury propelling him forward like a predator closing in on its prey.

Lauren’s mind raced. She couldn’t let him catch her. Not now. Not when she was so close.

With one last burst of energy, she reached the door, slamming her hand against the keypad to trigger the exit. The heavy metal door creaked open, but before she could slip through—

A hand grabbed her bag, yanking her back with brutal force. She stumbled, the momentum pulling her into Janson’s iron grip, her back slamming against his chest. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her firmly in place as she struggled to break free.

“Going somewhere?” Janson’s voice was low and deadly, his breath hot against her ear. His grip tightened around her, his other hand reaching for her jacket pocket, where he knew the real cure had to be.

Lauren’s heart raced, her body thrumming with adrenaline. She twisted in his grasp, trying to pull away, but Janson’s strength was unmatched. His hand slipped into her pocket, his fingers brushing against the vial—

“No!” Lauren’s voice was raw with desperation, and in a sudden move, she reached up and jammed her elbow into his ribs, hard.

Janson grunted, the impact loosening his grip just enough for her to wrench herself free. She spun away, her back now against the doorframe, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her eyes locked with his, fiery and defiant.

Janson straightened, his gaze dark and predatory, his chest rising and falling with the same intensity as hers. “You think you can get away with this?” he snarled, his voice venomous.

Lauren’s pulse thundered in her ears, but she didn’t flinch. “I’m not giving you anything,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “You don’t deserve it.”

Janson’s eyes flicked to her jacket pocket, where the real cure still lay hidden, and a slow, dangerous smile curled at the corners of his lips. “You really think you’re in control here?”

In one swift move, Janson lunged forward, slamming his hand against the doorframe beside her head, trapping her between him and the exit. The tension in the air was electric, charged with anger, fear, and something else—something darker.

Lauren’s heart pounded in her chest, but she met his gaze with unwavering determination. “I know what you are.”

For a moment, Janson didn’t move, his breath coming in sharp, measured bursts. His eyes burned into hers, filled with a mix of fury and something dangerously close to admiration. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, his presence overwhelming and suffocating.

“But you know nothing of what I’m capable of,” he whispered, his voice low, almost a growl.

Lauren swallowed hard, but she didn’t break eye contact. “I know enough.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and loaded. Janson’s jaw clenched, his hand twitching at his side, as though he was fighting the urge to grab her, to force her hand. Lauren’s heart raced, her pulse hammering in her throat. She had seconds—just seconds—to turn the situation to her advantage. Her mind scrambled, searching for an escape, a distraction, anything. Then, in a flash of desperation and instinct, she made her move.

She lunged forward, her hand gripping the front of his jacket as her lips crashed against his.

The kiss was fierce, a clash of heat and adrenaline. Janson stiffened, completely caught off guard, his breath faltering for the briefest moment. Lauren pressed closer, her lips moving against his in a wild, reckless attempt to confuse him, to throw him off balance.

For an instant, it worked. His grip on the doorframe loosened, his hand hovering in mid-air as if his body couldn’t decide what to do next. His breath hitched, and she felt the tension in his body shift, softening, hesitating.

But Lauren wasn’t waiting for a reaction. The kiss was not a moment of surrender—it was a weapon. She pulled back abruptly, their lips parting with a gasp, leaving him stunned. His eyes were dark, searching hers, his chest rising and falling with the same intensity as hers.

For the smallest second, there was something between them—something dangerous, magnetic, raw. But then Lauren’s mind snapped back to reality. She used his stunned moment to duck beneath his arm, slipping out of his reach.

She bolted through the door, her feet hitting the pavement, the cold air biting at her skin as she ran into the night. The real cure still burned in her pocket. She had seconds.

Behind her, Janson stood frozen for a heartbeat longer, his hand hovering at his lips where hers had been. But the confusion only lasted a moment. With a low growl of frustration, he was after her again, the fire in his eyes darker than before.

“You little bitch!”

She could hear him cursing under his breath, the sound of his footsteps thundering behind her, relentless and determined. The facility lights flashed above her, casting long, ominous shadows across the courtyard.

Lauren ran harder, her lungs burning, her legs trembling with exhaustion. She was so close—so close to escaping. But Janson was faster, stronger, and he wasn’t about to let her go without a fight.

Suddenly, she tripped over a rock, her coat getting caught by the thorns on a bush. He gained on her, taking the opportunity to yank her back with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of her. She stumbled, falling to the ground, the cold concrete scraping her hands and knees as she hit the ground hard.

Janson was on her in an instant, pinning her down with his weight, his face inches from hers. His eyes were wild, his breath ragged as he glared down at her, his fingers digging into her skin.

“Give me the goddamn vial,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Lauren’s chest heaved, her heart racing as she struggled beneath him. But she wasn’t done fighting. Not yet.

With one last burst of energy, she reached into her jacket, her fingers brushing against the cold glass of the real vial. In a split second, she pulled it out, holding it up between them like a shield.

Janson’s eyes flicked to the vial, his breath hitching in his throat. For a moment, he froze, his grip on her loosening just enough for her to slip free.

Lauren scrambled to her feet, backing away from him, the vial clutched tightly in her hand. “This is it, Janson,” she said, her voice steady but laced with warning. “The real cure.”

Janson’s gaze darkened, his eyes locked on the vial as he slowly rose to his feet. He took a step toward her, but Lauren held her ground.

“One more step,” she warned, her voice trembling, “and I’ll destroy it.”

For a moment, they stood there, the tension between them thick and palpable. The weight of everything that had happened—everything they’d both done—hung in the air like a storm about to break.

Then, slowly, Janson took another step forward, his eyes never leaving hers. “You won’t.”

Lauren’s heart raced, her fingers tightening around the vial. “I will.”

And for the first time, Janson hesitated.

Lauren saw it—the brief flicker of doubt in his eyes, the way his hand twitched at his side as though he wasn’t sure what to do next.

She had him.

But before she could make her next move, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the courtyard. Guards. They were closing in fast, and Lauren knew she was out of time.

Without another word, she turned and ran, disappearing into the shadows, the real cure still safely in her grasp.

Janson stood there, watching her go, his chest heaving with a mix of anger and something else—something he couldn’t quite place.

She’d won this round. But he wasn’t done with her yet.

Not by a long shot.

Reblog if you are insecure about anything below:

-weight

-appearance

-intelligence (or lack of) 

-skills (or lack of) 

-weird hobbies

-friends (or lack of) 

-body

-personality

-family

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