Always

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.

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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.

DIVERGENT

angst : 🌩

fluff : 🌸

requests : 📩

This is a SFW blog, so no smut (because I'm not quite there yet)

Peter Hayes:

oneshots:

> Lucky 🌸 (synopsis: Peter Hayes has always thrived on cruelty, sneering at others’ weaknesses to make himself look stronger. But when you—a quiet, seemingly small Dauntless initiate—beat him in a trial, he’s forced to see you in a different light.)

> Friction 🌸 (synopsis: A fierce sparring match between the reader and Peter Hayes blurs the lines between rivalry and desire.)

Home

Camilo Madrigal x Reader (both of age, established relationship)

Fluff

Summary: Camilo finds peace and belonging with you, and as the two of you share a quiet evening together, he realizes that home is not a place, but the person by his side.

Story under the cut

This was inspired by the song ‘Home’ from Good Neighbours

The golden light of the setting sun spilled into the quiet streets of Encanto, bathing everything in a warm glow. The Madrigal household was bustling with its usual energy, but tonight, you and Camilo found yourselves tucked away from the chaos, seeking a quiet corner of the world just for the two of you.

You sat together on the stone steps of a small garden behind Casita, the vibrant flowers swaying gently in the evening breeze. The laughter and lively chatter of the family drifted from the house in the distance, but here, in this small sanctuary, everything felt peaceful. Almost like the world had paused just for you.

Camilo stretched out beside you, his head resting comfortably in your lap, arms loosely folded across his chest. His usually mischievous expression was softer tonight, his face tilted up towards the sky where the stars were just beginning to appear. The fading light cast a soft glow on his features, and for a moment, the trickster you knew so well seemed completely at ease.

"You know," he murmured, voice quiet, almost as if speaking too loudly would break the spell of the moment, "I could get used to this."

You ran your fingers through his curls absentmindedly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. His hair was soft, and the way he leaned into your touch made your heart swell with a warmth that felt like it had always been there, waiting to bloom.

"Used to what?" you asked, though you already knew what he meant.

"This." He sighed, eyes still focused on the dimming sky. "Being here with you. Not having to be anyone else. Just... me."

There was something so simple yet profound in his words, the way they settled into the quiet air between you. Camilo, the boy with a thousand faces, always shifting, always changing to fit the needs of everyone around him—finally at peace, just as he was.

You let the silence stretch, comfortable and full, the only sound between you being the soft rustling of leaves and the distant murmur of the evening. There was no need for anything more. The world felt whole like this—complete in the way his head rested in your lap, in the way the air seemed to hum with a gentle, unspoken understanding.

After a while, Camilo shifted, turning his head slightly to look up at you. His golden-brown eyes shimmered with something softer than usual, something tender that made your heart skip a beat. "You know, you kind of remind me of Casita," he said, his voice teasing but with an edge of sincerity.

"Casita?" You raised an eyebrow, amused. "How so?"

"Well," he grinned, his trademark playfulness sneaking back into his tone, "being around you... it just feels like home."

You felt a warmth rise to your cheeks at his words, but before you could respond, Camilo sat up, his face just inches from yours now. The smile on his lips was soft, genuine. It wasn’t one of his usual exaggerated grins or cheeky smirks—it was something quieter, something real.

"And I mean it," he added, his voice a little lower, eyes never leaving yours. "Whenever I’m with you... I don’t have to put on a face. I don’t have to be everything for everyone. I can just be me."

You swallowed, heart racing as you held his gaze. The weight of his words hung between you, thick with the kind of vulnerability that came so rarely. Camilo was always quick with a joke, quick to shift into someone else when things got too serious—but not now. Not with you.

He reached for your hand, his fingers brushing yours softly before intertwining with them. His touch was warm, grounding, like the sun itself had wrapped you both in its embrace, refusing to let the moment slip away.

"You feel like home to me too, Camilo," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the soft breeze.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world around you seemed to fade into nothing, leaving just the two of you in your own little universe. The sky had darkened now, the stars twinkling above like a thousand tiny promises, but all you could focus on was the boy in front of you—the boy who, despite all his masks and faces, was always himself with you.

Camilo smiled again, that same soft smile that made your heart flutter. He pulled you closer, pressing his forehead gently against yours. "Then I guess," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, "we’re home."

And in that moment, as the world around you faded into soft darkness, you knew that no matter where life took you, as long as you were with Camilo, you’d always be home.

AN: this is shorter than my usual but I’m a bit pressed for time so I haven’t gotten to proofread this as much as I’d like to.

Bullet Train?

ANYONE WATCHED BULLET TRAIN YET? LIKE HOLY SHIT IT IS MY HYPERFIXATION RIGHT NOW AND I KID YOU NOT, THE CHOKEHOLD TANGERINE HAS ON ME IS ABSOLUTELY FATAL 😭 Is there like a community or anything for bullet train because it seems quite scarce 🥲

Here

PostAzkaban!Sirius Black x Slytherin!Reader

Angst, fluff (comfort)

Summary: A chance encounter in Grimmauld Place leads Sirius Black and a former classmate to find solace in each other’s company.

AN: **spoilers, please skip this and head on over to the story if you don’t want spoilers** So I had no intention to sneak in the kiss but as I planned this out, I realised it flowed and sort of fit the vibe I was going for so I hope yall enjoy it.

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The dim lighting of Grimmauld Place cast long shadows across the hallway as you quietly made your way down the worn floorboards, your hand lightly brushing the wall. You hadn't been here long, only a few days helping with Order business, but the house still unsettled you. It was filled with history and weight—just like the man who lived there.

You paused at a door you hadn't noticed before, curiosity tugging at you, but before you could move, a low voice came from behind.

“You always had a habit of poking your nose where it didn’t belong.”

The sarcasm was unmistakable. You turned to find Sirius standing behind you, arms crossed, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His dark eyes held that familiar glint of mischief, but there was something else there too—something quieter, wearier.

“Sirius,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “I wasn’t—”

“Exploring?” he interrupted, stepping closer. “Just taking a leisurely stroll through my family’s personal mausoleum?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, folding your arms defensively. “I wasn’t snooping. Just... familiarizing myself.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Right. Because walking around in the dead of night is the best way to get acquainted with a place.”

There was a beat of silence as his teasing words hung in the air. You studied him for a moment—the same Sirius Black you remembered from Hogwarts, but different, aged in ways that went deeper than the lines on his face. He still had that sharp wit, the biting humor, but you could see the exhaustion behind his eyes, the pain he kept hidden beneath the surface.

“Old habits die hard,” you said softly, stepping back from the door.

Sirius chuckled under his breath, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

The tension between you wasn’t hostile, but it was there—an unspoken understanding, a shared knowledge of darker times. He watched you closely as you moved toward the small window at the end of the hall, the moonlight barely illuminating the worn wood beneath your feet.

“I never really noticed you much at school,” he said suddenly, his tone less teasing, more thoughtful. “Slytherin, right?”

“Not exactly in your inner circle,” you replied quietly, looking out at the moonlit street. “But we had classes together.”

“I know.” He was closer now, though you didn’t turn to face him. You could feel his presence, the warmth of him standing just behind you. “You always seemed... different.”

You smiled faintly at that. “Not all Slytherins fit the mold.”

There was a pause, and then you heard him exhale softly. “I missed a lot, didn’t I?”

You finally turned to face him, catching the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes before he looked away. “We’ve all missed things.”

Sirius leaned back against the wall, arms still crossed, his usual smirk replaced with something more thoughtful, more tired. "Seems like all I’ve been doing since Azkaban is missing things. Time. People. Myself.”

His voice trailed off, and the rawness of it surprised you. There was no bravado here, no sarcasm to cover up the scars. Just him. Just Sirius. And for a moment, you saw the man beneath the layers of wit and pain.

“You’re still here,” you said quietly. “That counts for something.”

He gave a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Some days, I’m not so sure.”

You stepped forward, your hand reaching out without thinking, lightly brushing against his arm. He stiffened at the touch, his gaze snapping to yours, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d crossed a line. But then, something shifted in his expression—just the smallest crack in the walls he’d built around himself.

“You’re not alone, Sirius,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “You don’t have to be.”

He stared at you for a long moment, the weight of your words settling between you. There was something in his eyes that spoke of years of isolation, of mistrust and pain, but also something else—a longing, buried deep, for connection.

Sirius let out a breath, his usual defenses faltering. “And what about you? Why are you here, really?”

You smiled faintly, stepping just a little closer. “Maybe I’m trying to remind you of what you still have.”

He looked down, shaking his head slightly, though there was a hint of something softer in his expression. “You’re too kind for this place. Too kind for me.”

You felt your heart tighten at that, the quiet self-deprecation in his voice cutting deeper than any of his sarcastic remarks had. Without thinking, you took another step closer, your hand finding his, your fingers brushing lightly against his.

Sirius looked down at the contact, then up at you, his gaze intense and searching. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you heavy with something unspoken. Then, almost imperceptibly, he squeezed your hand back, his touch tentative, as if he was afraid to let himself feel it.

“I’m not looking for a savior,” he murmured, his voice rough.

“I’m not offering to save you,” you replied softly. “Just to be here.”

His eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place, but before you could say anything more, he closed the distance between you. The kiss wasn’t hurried or desperate; it was slow, careful—two people finding their way through the darkness together. His hand came up to cup your face, the touch surprisingly gentle, as though he wasn’t quite sure this was real.

And in that moment, you knew—he didn’t need saving. He just needed someone to be there with him, to remind him that there was still light, even in the shadows.

The Life I Never Led

Obi Wan Kenobi x Padawan!Reader

Fluff, comfy cozy comfort 🥰

Summary: Obi-Wan begins to notice the quiet weight his Padawan carries, and in his own way, makes sure she doesn’t carry it alone.

Inspired by:

AN: I just auditioned for a role in a play using this song and I’ve just been so obsessed with it! Please, please go watch Sister Act if you haven’t or even just listen to the soundtrack because it’s so damn good 😭 I was inspired by this song and thought, hey. Why not write something based on this? Anyways, please enjoy.

Story under the cut

Obi-Wan had never been one to eavesdrop. It was unseemly, unbecoming of a Jedi Master.

And yet, as he passed by her quarters that evening, he found himself pausing just outside the door, breath held.

Because she was singing.

Not humming absentmindedly, not muttering a tune under her breath, but singing.

“I’ve never talked back, I’ve never slept late…”

It was soft, almost hesitant, as if she weren’t quite used to letting her voice carry. But it did. And it was full of something else, something he rarely ever saw in her.

“I’ve never sat down when told to stand straight…”

Longing.

“I’ve never let go and gone with the flow, and don’t even know really why…”

His fingers curled slightly at his sides. Force.

Obi-Wan had always known she carried… something. Not anger. Not defiance. But a distance—a quiet resistance that never quite settled. She trained, she listened, she fought when she had to, but she did not believe in the way Jedi were supposed to.

“I’ve never asked questions or taken a dare…”

That was untrue. She asked questions all the time.

Just never the ones that mattered.

“I’ve never rebelled or stood up and yelled, or even just held my head high…”

His jaw tightened. She did hold her head high, even if she thought she didn’t.

“And all of the feelings unspoken, all of the truths unsaid, they’re all I have left of the life I never led…”

Obi-Wan exhaled quietly. So that’s what this is.

He had suspected, of course. It was hard not to. The way she lingered when the Temple doors opened to the bustling city beyond. The way she watched non-Jedi with something unreadable in her gaze. The way she trained—not for peace, not for duty, but because she had been given no other choice.

And the way she never spoke of it.

He could have stepped inside. Could have said something.

But no. This was hers. A moment she hadn’t meant for anyone to hear.

So, silently, Obi-Wan turned and walked away.

The next day, he watched her.

Not openly, not in any way she would notice, but watched nonetheless. The way she fought during sparring. The way she moved—sharp, disciplined, but always holding something back.

Not her skill. Not her strength.

Something deeper.

The match ended with a sharp clang as their sabers locked. She was breathing heavily, strands of hair falling loose from where she had tied them back. But there was no fire in her eyes, no satisfaction in the fight.

There never was.

He deactivated his saber first. “You never fight for the sake of victory.”

She blinked at him, still catching her breath. “What?”

Obi-Wan tilted his head slightly. “Other Padawans fight to win. To test their limits, to sharpen their form. But you—” He studied her, watching as she stiffened under his scrutiny. “You fight because you feel you must.”

Her grip tightened around the hilt of her saber. “…Isn’t that what Jedi are supposed to do?”

Obi-Wan hummed, expression unreadable. “Perhaps.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Is this another lecture?”

He let out a quiet breath, then, in a tone far softer than she expected—“I heard you.”

That made her freeze.

Her eyes darted up to his, cautious, searching. “Heard me what?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just looked at her, gaze steady, unwavering. Then, finally—

“Singing.”

She inhaled sharply. “Oh.”

Silence stretched between them.

She dropped her gaze, fingers fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. “You weren’t supposed to.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I did.”

She pressed her lips together, shifting her weight. “It was just a song.”

Obi-Wan stepped forward slightly, voice quiet. “Was it?”

Her breath hitched.

He saw it then—that flicker of hesitation, that warring battle behind her eyes. The part of her that wanted to say something, that wanted to let it spill free, but held it back as she alwaysdid.

So he made the choice for her.

Without warning, he reached forward and pulled her into his arms.

She sucked in a breath, body going rigid. “M—Master—”

“Shh,” he murmured. His grip was firm, grounding. Not a gentle pat-on-the-back hug, not an awkward one-armed embrace, but solid. Steady.

She didn’t move at first. Didn’t react. Then, slowly, something in her posture unwound. Her hands gripped at the fabric of his robes—not clutching, not clinging, but holding.

For the first time, Obi-Wan felt her breathe.

They stood like that for a moment.

Then—

“I thought you weren’t a hugger,” he mused, voice tinged with dry amusement.

She let out something between a scoff and a weak laugh, muffled against his shoulder. “I hate you.”

“Mm.” He smirked. “Sure you do.”

She didn’t pull away.

And he didn’t let go.

Christmas at The Burrow

Harry, Hermione, the Weasleys, Sirius, Remus (and all the other good characters) X Reader

Fluff

Summary: A bad day melts into laughter, love, and chaos at the Weasley’s on Christmas.

AN: Merry Christmas and a happy new year ya filthy animals!

story under the cut

The Burrow, as usual, was glowing with warm light and the sound of clattering dishes, laughter, and chatter spilling out even before you reached the door. You hesitated, your earlier frustrations from the day clinging to you like a stubborn shadow. But before you could even raise a hand to knock, the door burst open, and Fred’s grinning face appeared.

“There she is!” he crowed, pulling you inside as George popped up behind him.

“Late as always,” George said, shaking his head dramatically. “It’s a wonder you ever make it anywhere at all.”

“Oh, leave her alone,” Ginny said, sidling up to you and taking your coat. “Come on, sit down, get comfy. Mum’s been waiting to stuff you full of food all day.”

“I have not! I’ve just made a bit of stew and treacle tart, that’s all,” Molly called from the kitchen, where she was stirring something that smelled divine.

“Stew? Treacle tart?!” Ron perked up from the table, where he was already halfway through a biscuit.

“Save some for the rest of us, Ron,” Hermione scolded, though her soft smile was already directed at you. “Come on, sit with us. You look like you need a good laugh.”

Harry leaned forward from his seat, glasses slightly askew. “We’ve been plotting how to cheer you up all day,” he said, grinning. “And we’re excellent at it, if I do say so myself.”

“We are excellent,” Fred corrected. “Harry’s role in the operation is just sitting there looking tragic.”

“Oi!” Harry protested, though he was laughing too.

“Enough of this nonsense,” Sirius’s deep voice boomed from the armchair near the fire. He stood, a cheeky grin plastered across his face, and made his way to you. “Come here, kid.”

Before you could say anything, Sirius pulled you into a firm, fatherly hug, holding you close like he’d known you needed it. “You’re with us now,” he murmured into your hair. “No bad moods allowed. Got it?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“That’s better.” He pulled back but kept an arm slung over your shoulder. “Now, sit. Eat. We’ve got plans, and you’re going to enjoy it.”

The plans turned out to be a mix of dinner, chaos, and ultimately, a movie night. After Molly served up her famous stew (with Neville nervously asking for seconds, clearly trying not to look greedy) and Fred managed to accidentally charm a bread roll to scream when bitten into, Ginny declared, “Alright, enough. It’s movie time.”

“Movie?” Luna’s dreamy voice piped up. “Oh, I do love Muggle contraptions.”

“Tonight’s feature: Home Alone 2: Lost in New York,” Hermione announced, holding up the DVD case like it was a sacred text.

“What’s it about?” Fleur asked, her lilting accent drawing curious looks from Cedric and Neville, who were already settling on the couch.

“Traps, chaos, and Christmas,” Harry explained simply, grabbing a bowl of popcorn and flopping onto the sofa next to Ron.

Soon, everyone was crammed into the Weasleys’ cozy living room. Sirius, with his arm draped around your shoulders like a comforting anchor, pulled you close.

The movie started, and it didn’t take long for the chaos to spread.

“Oh, that’s brilliant!” Fred said, pointing as Kevin tricked the hotel staff with his recorded messages.

“Can you imagine using that on Filch?” George added, cackling.

“Forget Filch,” Ron said, mouth full of popcorn. “I’d use it on Snape.”

“That’s awful!” Hermione scolded, though she was laughing along with everyone else.

“Well I know I’d pay to see it,” Remus mused, chuckling at the thought.

When Kevin’s elaborate traps started, Ginny groaned. “Imagine the cleanup after that. No thanks.”

“Cleanup?!” Sirius roared with laughter. “Ginny, it’s art! Pure, chaotic genius!”

“Poor burglars,” Luna mused, tilting her head thoughtfully. “They really should’ve worn helmets.”

As the Wet Bandits stumbled through the traps, Cedric winced every time something crashed or cracked. “That’s gotta hurt,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“You’d think they’d give up after the first house,” Neville added.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Harry said, grinning.

By the time the credits rolled, the room was filled with laughter and leftover popcorn scattered across every available surface. Sirius ruffled your hair affectionately. “Feeling better, kid?”

You nodded, smiling for what felt like the first time all day. “Yeah, I am.”

“Good,” Remus said from his spot by the fire, where he’d been quietly sipping tea and chuckling at the madness. “Because around here, happiness is non-negotiable.”

As you were pulled into a group hug orchestrated by Fred and George (complete with Ginny trying to shove Ron’s popcorn bowl out of the way), you realized that no matter how tough the day had been, you had a family here—a wonderfully loud, chaotic, loving family who could make you laugh until your sides hurt.

“Merry Christmas and a happy new year ya filthy animals!”

And as Fred squeezed your shoulder one last time before heading to the kitchen for a second helping of treacle tart, you couldn’t help but feel like everything was going to be alright.

Also, note that if yall want to make a request or suggestion, pop into my inbox and ask away! Completely fine. No need to ask if you can make a suggestion/request. I’m okay with most suggestions so feel free to speak whatever comes to mind. (I’ve been so excited for requests man yall have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this 😭)

Live and Let die

Obi Wan Kenobi x Padawan!Reader

Angst and comfort

Summary: Finding solace in him through suffering.

Inspired by: Live and Let Die by Wings. (Yes, from Shrek)

Story under the cut:

The bruises from the mission hadn’t even begun to fade, yet the sting of failure burned far deeper than any wound. You replayed the scene in your head—the split-second hesitation, the wrong move that cost lives. It didn’t matter that your mistakes weren’t intentional. The weight of them crushed you all the same.

You were supposed to be better. Stronger. Wiser. But instead, you were here, curled up in the shadows of the Jedi Temple’s gardens, your hands trembling as you wiped furiously at the tears tracking down your face.

“I thought I might find you here,” Obi-Wan’s voice cut through the quiet like a gentle blade.

You stiffened, dragging your sleeve across your face as if you could erase the evidence of your breakdown. “I’m fine, Master,” you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

Obi-Wan didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he moved closer, lowering himself onto the stone bench beside you. The silence stretched, his presence steady but unyielding.

“You’re not fine,” he said at last, his tone soft but resolute.

That broke something in you. “Of course I’m not fine!” you snapped, your voice trembling with the force of your emotions. “I keep screwing up, Master. Over and over again. No matter how hard I try, I always let someone down.”

Your fists clenched on your knees, your nails digging into your palms as you stared at the ground. “Do you know what they said?” you whispered, voice cracking. “They said I hesitated. That if I hadn’t—if I’d just been faster, stronger—people wouldn’t have died. And they’re right. I keep failing, and I don’t even know how to stop.”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed, his expression shadowed with concern. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on your shoulder. “Padawan,” he began carefully, “you’re carrying the weight of this entire mission on your shoulders. That’s a burden no one should bear alone.”

“I have to bear it,” you shot back, your voice rising. “If I don’t, who will? I’m supposed to be a Jedi, aren’t I? We’re supposed to protect people—keep them safe. But I keep failing. How can I call myself a Jedi when I can’t even do that?”

Your words hung in the air, raw and bitter. For a long moment, Obi-Wan said nothing. Then he spoke, his voice low and heavy with memory.

“There was a time,” he said slowly, “when I stood where you are now. When I thought every failure was a sign of my inadequacy, a mark of my weakness. I believed I had to be perfect. That anything less meant I wasn’t worthy of being a Jedi.”

You looked up at him then, startled by the vulnerability in his voice. His gaze was distant, as if he were seeing ghosts.

“But perfection,” he continued, “is an illusion. One that will destroy you if you let it. The galaxy is cruel, Padawan. You can do everything right, and still, it won’t be enough. You can’t save everyone. And that… is not your fault.”

Your chest tightened, his words both a comfort and a knife. “It feels like my fault,” you whispered.

Obi-Wan’s hand tightened gently on your shoulder, grounding you. “That is the burden of compassion,” he said. “We carry the weight of others’ pain because we care. But if you let it consume you, it will drown you. You must learn to let go—not of your care, but of the guilt that comes with it. We live. We let go. And we learn.”

Tears burned in your eyes, and you let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” Obi-Wan said firmly. “Because I believe in you. Even when you doubt yourself, I will never doubt the strength I see in you. But that strength doesn’t mean never failing. It means standing back up, no matter how many times you fall.”

His words cracked something open in you, the floodgates breaking as the tears spilled freely. Obi-Wan didn’t move away. He stayed beside you, his presence a steady anchor as you let yourself feel the weight of your grief and frustration.

When the tears finally slowed, you turned to him, your voice hoarse. “What if I mess up again?”

“You will,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “We all do. But you’ll rise again. And when you do, you’ll be stronger for it.”

You nodded slowly, his words a lifeline you clung to. The weight on your chest wasn’t gone, but it was lighter now. Manageable.

“Thank you, Master,” you murmured.

Obi-Wan rose, offering you a hand. “Come now, Padawan. There’s much to do, and tomorrow is another chance to grow.”

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. And for the first time, you felt like you could keep going.

STAR WARS

angst : 🌩

fluff : 🌸

requests : 📩

This is a SFW blog, so no smut (because I'm not quite there yet) Kylo Ren: > Resistant 🌩 (synopsis: After finding a Resistance spy on his ship, there is nothing more he'd want than to break her.)

Obi Wan Kenobi:

> Live and Let Die 🌩️ + comfort (synopsis: Finding solace in him through suffering.)

> The Life I Never Led 🌸+ comfort (synopsis: Obi-Wan begins to notice the quiet weight his Padawan carries, and in his own way, makes sure she doesn’t carry it alone.)