Reblog If You Are Insecure About Anything Below:

send help

Y’all I wanna write but I’ve been having writers block 😭 I want some requests so badddd like it’s been so long since I’ve posted anything. I promise I’m still active but I genuinely don’t know what I should be writing about. I’ve been caught up in school so I haven’t had much time to watch or read anything new either 😔

so please pleaseeeee if y’all have any ideas, even unusual ones, send them in! I have no problem with it and in fact I highly encourage it! No judgement on my end, I swear.

In her shadow

Fred Weasley x reader

Angsty, but comfort from our lovely Fred

Summary: In the shadow of Cho Chang’s perfection, you find the fire to rise—and Fred Weasley lights the spark.

Story under the cut

The parchment was crumpled in your fist, the creases cutting deep as you glared at the words on the page.

Defense Against the Dark Arts: Outstanding.

Charms: Exceeds Expectations.

Transfiguration: Exceeds Expectations.

Potions: Acceptable.

Herbology: Acceptable.

Astronomy: Acceptable.

History of Magic: Poor.

It wasn’t a bad set of results—not really. But when you looked over at the Ravenclaw table, where Cho Chang was holding court like a queen on her throne, it felt like nothing.

“Perfect marks again!” someone gushed, loud enough to carry over the hall.

“Professor Flitwick said she’s the best he’s ever seen,” Marietta chirped, practically hanging off Cho’s arm.

And there she was, smiling so delicately, tilting her head just so, pretending to be modest while soaking up every ounce of attention. Perfect bloody Cho Chang.

Your teeth ground together as you shoved the parchment into your bag, shoulders tense with fury. It wasn’t just that she always came out on top. It wasn’t just her stupid perfect grades or the way she walked like the whole world owed her something. It was the rumors. The lies she’d spread about you last year—saying you were desperate, a pathetic little mess chasing after anyone who so much as looked your way. And people had believed her. They still did.

The laughter around her table grew louder, and it felt like every single word was aimed at you. You shoved back from your seat, ignoring the curious stares of your friends, and stormed out of the hall.

The briefing room for the Advanced Magical Research Programme should have been a chance to prove yourself, to rise above all of it. But the moment you stepped inside, you saw her—front and center, poised like she already had the spot locked down.

Your stomach sank. You froze for a moment, your hand tightening on the strap of your bag as rage bubbled up again. She didn’t even look your way, too busy laughing with a group of Ravenclaws. And Merlin help you, if she smirked even once, you might lose it.

You slumped into a chair at the very back of the room, as far from her as possible. Your jaw was tight, your fingers trembling with the sheer effort of holding yourself together.

“Alright,” came a familiar voice to your left, light and casual. “What’s all this, then?”

You didn’t need to look to know it was Fred Weasley.

“Fred,” you muttered, keeping your gaze locked on the table in front of you. “Not now.”

“Not now?” he repeated, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “What’s wrong? Didn’t they have your favorite pudding at dinner?”

You shot him a glare. “I’m serious.”

Fred leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. “Yeah, I can see that. You’ve got that whole I’m going to set something on fire look about you. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, but he followed your gaze to the front of the room. His face darkened when he spotted her.

“Chang,” he said, his voice low. “Say no more.”

You exhaled sharply, folding your arms tightly across your chest. “She’s perfect, Fred. Always. Top marks, favorite of the professors, and now she’s here, too. Why do I even bother?”

“Alright, stop right there,” he said, sitting up straighter and turning toward you fully. His voice lost its usual teasing edge, replaced with something firm, unyielding. “Do you honestly think you don’t deserve to be here?”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to answer.

“Look at me,” Fred said, his tone sharp enough to cut through your haze of anger. When you met his eyes, they were steady, unwavering. “You’re here because you earned it. You don’t need to compare yourself to her—or anyone else.”

“But she’s—”

“Annoying,” Fred interrupted. “And maybe a bit shiny in the way magpies like. But you? You’re a firecracker, and I’ve yet to meet anyone who could keep up with you when you’re not busy doubting yourself.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by his intensity.

“She doesn’t win because she’s better,” Fred continued, his voice softening slightly. “She wins because she’s louder. She makes sure everyone sees her. You don’t need that. You’ll blow her out of the water the moment you stop giving a damn about what she’s doing.”

You didn’t know what to say, but something in your chest eased. The knot of anger and jealousy loosened, just enough for you to breathe again.

“And if she so much as thinks about messing with you again,” Fred added with a wicked grin, “well, let’s just say George and I have a whole line of products that haven’t been properly tested yet.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, and Fred’s grin widened.

“There she is,” he said, nudging your arm. “Now, keep your head up, yeah? Don’t let her get in your way. You’ve got this.”

The briefing ended not long after, and as you walked out of the room, Fred fell into step beside you.

“Let’s grab a Butterbeer,” he said, casually slinging an arm around your shoulders. “You’ve earned it.”

For the first time all day, you felt lighter. And as you glanced back at Cho, her head high and her smile as fake as ever, you felt something shift.

Let her have her moment. Let her think she’s untouchable.

Because the next time she tried to get in your way, you’d be ready. You’d tear that bitch off the pedestal so fast, she wouldn’t even see it coming.

Hello again Lauren! I'm positively giddy about the newest post you wrote, and would like you to create another one, perhaps some angst this time. I watched Death Cure and Scorch Trials with my friend, and I was swooning over Aidan Gillen, but my friend didn't get me. If they wanted to cast a rat looking person, they casted the completely wrong person, I mean, Aidan Gillen is the hottest person in that movie, no denial.

Slip of the tongue

AD Janson x Runner!Reader

Angsty, confrontation

Summary: A single slip up reveals that you happen to know more than you should and that makes you a threat— to Janson.

AN: You ask for angst, I deliver. I hope this is better bcs I wanted something different from the usual Doctor-Lab setting.

story under the cut:

The hum of the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, the sound blending into the sterile silence of the interrogation room. You sat at the cold metal table, posture composed, hands folded neatly in front of you. No fear, no fidgeting—just enough calm to look cooperative, but not weak.

Janson stood across from you, his presence filling the room despite his unassuming posture. His pale blue eyes studied you like you were a specimen under glass, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I’ll ask again,” he began, his voice smooth, controlled. “You woke up in the Box. No memory, no understanding of who you were or where you came from. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you adjusted well to the Maze,” he continued, tilting his head slightly. “Better than most.”

You shrugged. “Instincts, I guess.”

He nodded, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “Instincts.”

The silence stretched, heavy and taut, as though he was waiting for you to slip, to flinch. You didn’t.

“And when the Griever serum was administered,” he pressed, stepping closer, “you didn’t recover any…memories?”

Your heart skipped, but you kept your face neutral. “No. Just the same flashes everyone else got. Useless stuff.”

Janson hummed, circling the table now, his boots echoing faintly in the small room. “And yet, you seem remarkably…intuitive. Observant.”

“Survival’s a good teacher,” you replied, your voice even.

“And yet,” he said, pausing behind you, “survival doesn’t explain everything, does it?”

The tension coiled tighter in your chest, but you didn’t respond.

Janson moved back into your line of sight, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “So tell me, how did you know about the Control Rooms?”

Your blood ran cold.

“What?” you asked, the word coming out too fast, too startled.

“Control Rooms,” he repeated, his tone calm, but the weight in it made your stomach drop. “The ones monitoring the Variables. Something you shouldn’t even know existed.”

“I don’t—”

“You slipped,” he cut in, his voice low and deliberate. “You mentioned it when Ava was briefing us. Quietly, but I heard you.”

Your mouth went dry, the memory flashing back. A careless comment, a muttered observation during the chaos of a group debriefing. You hadn’t thought anyone had caught it, let alone him.

“I was just guessing,” you said quickly, your voice firm despite the fear clawing at your chest. “Everyone knows you were monitoring us—cameras, sensors. It wasn’t hard to piece together.”

Janson didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, placing his hands on the table, his face inches from yours. “A guess?”

“Yes.”

His lips twitched, just barely. Not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Before you could respond, his hand shot out, gripping your arm in a vice-like hold. The chair screeched against the floor as he yanked you to your feet.

“Hey!” you protested, struggling against his grip. “What are you doing?”

Janson didn’t answer. He was already pulling you toward the door, his pace brisk, his silence more unsettling than any threat he could have made.

“Where are you taking me?” you demanded, your voice rising with panic.

He didn’t respond, his grip tightening as he dragged you into the hallway. The bright, sterile lights overhead did nothing to ease the sense of dread clawing at you.

“Janson, stop!” you snapped, trying to pull free. “You’re hurting me.”

He ignored you, his jaw set, his eyes forward.

The corridors blurred together as he led you deeper into the facility, each turn making you feel more disoriented, more trapped.

“Janson, please,” you said, your voice breaking now. “I don’t know anything. I swear.”

He finally stopped, spinning to face you. His expression was cold, calculating, but there was a flicker of something sharper in his eyes—something dangerous.

“You expect me to believe that?” he asked, his voice quiet but cutting.

“It’s the truth!” you insisted, your chest heaving.

He stared at you for a long moment, the silence heavy and suffocating. Then, without another word, he turned and dragged you forward again.

The hallway ended at a heavy metal door. Janson entered a code on the keypad, the soft beep sounding louder than it should have. The lock clicked, and the door opened with a low hiss.

“What’s in there?” you asked, panic bubbling in your throat.

Janson didn’t answer. He pulled you inside, the door hissing shut behind you.

The room was dimly lit, the faint hum of machinery filling the space. It was empty, save for a single chair bolted to the floor in the center.

He released your arm, gesturing to the chair. “Sit.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding. “Janson—”

“Sit.”

The authority in his voice left no room for argument. Slowly, you moved to the chair, sinking into it as your hands trembled slightly.

Janson stepped back, his gaze fixed on you like a hawk watching its prey. “You’re smarter than you let on,” he said quietly. “That much is clear.”

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry.

“But if you’re lying to me,” he continued, his voice dropping, “you’ll regret it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

He didn’t wait for a response. He turned on his heel and left the room, the door sealing shut behind him with a final, ominous hiss.

And you were alone.

The hum of the machinery grew louder in the silence, pressing against your skull as you stared at the door, your chest tight with fear.

For the first time, you realized just how dangerous Janson really was.

𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

started: 18/10/24

Marvel

Maze Runner

Hunger Games

Harry Potter

Note: I write for PostAzkaban!Sirius Black and Professor!Remus Lupin (not in the marauders era, because there just aren’t enough people who write about the older men)

Fantastic Beasts

Star Wars

Top Gun

Divergent

Disney/Pixar (animations)

Other movies

(will be consistently monitored and updated, hang tight)

Lucky

Peter Hayes x small!Reader

Idk what to call it at this point. Not fluffy enough to be a fluff or angsty enough to be angst. Just for your amusement ig.

Summary: 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. 

AN: in this one, I imagined it to be that reader is small in size and often undermined but you could imagine it and tailor it to your preference. (Maybe that she just SEEMS weak or smth)

The lights of the Dauntless training room cast long shadows across the stone floor, the sound of fists hitting punching bags and the grunts of effort filling the air. You stood off to the side, small and unassuming compared to the towering forms of the other initiates. But looks, as you’d proven time and time again, were deceiving.

You cracked your knuckles absentmindedly, watching as Peter Hayes towered over some poor recruit, a smirk curling his lips. Peter thrived on being intimidating. He fed off the fear that shimmered in the eyes of those around him, always sneering, always two steps ahead of his peers—if not in skill, then in sheer malice. He was, in many ways, the embodiment of Dauntless’ harshest traits.

But today, things were about to change.

"Alright, fight time," Eric barked, pacing along the sidelines like a predator circling its prey. His cold gaze swept over the group before landing on you. His lip curled in an almost-smile. "You."

Everyone’s eyes snapped to you, and you didn’t flinch under their scrutiny. If anything, you felt a rush of adrenaline course through you. The room grew quieter, expectant, as Eric nodded toward Peter. "You’re up against him."

Peter's smirk widened. He didn’t even try to hide his amusement. "Really? This ought to be good."

You rolled your shoulders back, stepping into the circle without a word, feeling the weight of all the eyes on you. But you were used to being underestimated. It was your advantage, your weapon.

Peter sauntered forward, cracking his neck as if the fight was already won. His confidence radiated like a toxic cloud, infecting the room with tension. His smirk deepened as he came to a stop a few feet from you, towering over your smaller frame.

"You sure you’re up for this, sweetheart?" he drawled, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

You ignored the taunt. There was no need to respond. The game had already begun, and Peter just didn’t know it yet.

"Fight!" Eric’s voice echoed through the room like a gunshot.

Peter moved fast, closing the distance between you in a single step, his fist swinging toward your face with brutal force. But you were faster. You ducked, sidestepping at the last second, causing him to stumble forward.

His eyes narrowed as he straightened, his smirk faltering for just a second. "Lucky."

But luck had nothing to do with it.

The next few seconds were a blur of motion. Peter lunged again, his movements aggressive, fueled by arrogance. Each time, you dodged or blocked with fluid precision, making him look clumsy. The others watched in stunned silence, whispering among themselves as you began to gain the upper hand.

Peter’s frustration grew, evident in the tightening of his jaw, the wild swing of his fists. He wasn’t used to losing—especially not to someone who looked like you.

Finally, you saw your opening. Peter’s guard dropped for just a moment, and that was all you needed. You spun on your heel, sweeping his legs out from under him with a swift kick. He crashed to the ground with a grunt, the air knocked out of him as you stood over him, victorious.

For a moment, the room was still. Peter lay on the ground, eyes wide with shock, while you stood above him, not a single drop of sweat on your brow.

Then, slowly, Eric’s voice cut through the silence. "Impressive."

It was one word, barely a compliment, but from Eric, it might as well have been a standing ovation. His expression remained unreadable, but the flicker of approval in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. Eric wasn’t one to show emotion, especially when it came to initiates, but even he had to respect what you’d just pulled off.

Peter groaned, pushing himself to his feet, his cocky façade crumbling as he wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. He glared at you, anger boiling beneath the surface, but there was something else there too—something he would never admit. Respect.

"You got lucky," Peter growled, brushing himself off.

You met his glare head-on, unflinching. "No, I’m just better."

There it was—plain, simple truth. And Peter, for once, had no snarky reply. He clenched his jaw, still trying to nurse his bruised ego, but the look in his eyes told you that he knew. He knew you weren’t someone to mess with.

Later, after everyone had left the training room, you sat alone, wrapping a bandage around a scrape on your hand. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving you with a dull ache in your muscles and the satisfying knowledge that you’d bested Peter Hayes.

But you didn’t have long to savor the victory.

"You really think you’re something, don’t you?" A voice sneered from behind.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Peter’s smug tone was unmistakable. You rolled your eyes, continuing to bandage your hand.

"I mean, you got lucky once, but let’s not pretend like you’ll always come out on top," Peter continued, stepping into your line of sight. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, that infuriating smirk plastered across his face again. "You’re just a little fighter who had a lucky day. Don’t let it get to your head."

You glanced up at him, unfazed. "Sure, Peter. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Peter’s eyes narrowed. "Don’t act like you’re better than everyone. We both know you don’t belong here. Just a little girl playing soldier."

The words were meant to sting, but they rolled off you like water. You had heard worse, from worse people. Peter’s insults weren’t anything new, and they certainly didn’t get under your skin the way he hoped they would.

You stood up, facing him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "It’s cute how you think you can still intimidate me after I wiped the floor with you today."

Peter’s face darkened. "Watch your mouth."

You shrugged, turning to leave. "I don’t need to watch anything. I’ve already seen enough."

Peter opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. For the first time, it seemed like he had no comeback, no witty insult to throw at you. You walked away, leaving him standing there, simmering in his bruised ego and thinly veiled frustration.

As you left the room, you couldn’t help but smirk. Peter might never stop trying to tear you down, but you weren’t going to let him win. Not today, not ever.

be my sweet little pastry? - ♡

tangerine x reader

summary, tangerine meets you in your bakery and he’s determined to make you his.

since the cold weather soon arrived in the cities of london, that'd meant you're bakery would open just in time for the cozy seasons. people wanting to enjoy a nice pastry and a warm cup of a sweet substance as they relished in someone else's company.

located between two other stores, your bakery stood. love at first bite. a cheeky little name that made you smile whenever you'd hear it. amusing and clever, just the right amount. so with the seasons beginning to bloom, you had opened.. nervous for people's opinion, but also determined, driven by ambition to at least make people smile with a sweet treat.

so with that, you'd finally set everything how you wanted. each pastry sat nicely behind the glass that showcased it, seats and tables scattered around the small shop, the menu displayed, hanging by the ceiling, and finally, you. standing happily behind the counter as you attempted to one of the customers, handing their pastry wrapped in a small box tied with a pink bow. ౨ৎ

the day had nearly gone as a success. so many customers had complimented the cozy looking shop, their eyes growing wide as they took a bite into a pastry they didn’t expect to be so, wonderful. it brought a smile and perhaps a small blush on your cheeks. managing a bakery with only a couple co-workers wasn't easy, but it was manageable.

it wasn't until the second handle of the clock that hung on the wall ticked at exactly 8pm. the shop closed at 9pm. how lovely, it was almost time to close. a small sigh leaving your lips as you glanced outside. to admire how the night sky would look, maybe watch as people walked by, if the weather had changed.. but no.

you met the gaze of a man.

tall, broad, and the most beautiful blue eyes you're grateful for have witnessing. he held your eyes, brows tugged in thought, almost anger before looking away to the sign just above the shop. your cheeks flush with the reminder of the name, not being able to help the smile on your lips. his frame now approaching, slowly pushing open the door, the bell above ringing softly. greeted by the lovely fragrance of baked goods as he stepped inside. scanning around, studying, learning.

and in that moment, you swore you could melt into a puddle on the floor. this man was the perfect portion of sophisticated and cunty, just from a glance. wearing a dress silk looking dress shirt, unbuttoned to see enough of his chest and the gold medallion, sitting happily on it. black slacks and dress shoes to finish adorning the look.

doe-eyes looking at him in almost admiration before he approached the counter. tearing your gaze quickly, almost embarrassingly before looking back. how could a man be so stunning?

"hey sweetheart," he started, his accent eminent in his voice, "you the owner of this lovely lil' shop?" teasing for a moment with a small smirk, finding the blush on your cheeks, extremely adorable. his flirting coming to him oddly natural.

your voice getting caught in your throat for a moment before nodding, trying not to stutter or say something stupid. "um.. yes," you manage to say softly, regaining your normal smile. "w-what would you like.. sir?"

he seems amused by your response, pursing his lips in thought as he looked at the displays with a nod. "just a slice of lemon meringue pie will do, love. to-go."

you couldn't help but feel your cheeks burn a little darker, feeling his gaze trailing over your frame. the look subtle, but definitely felt. would making conversation be wise? gosh, could you even muster a sentence? being under the gaze of a random man should leave you afraid, concerned. but it felt oddly safe. safe in this mans presence. just who exactly was he?

"so i take it you're new around here, yeah?" he questioned, meeting your gaze as you straightened behind the counter, boxing his dessert with gentle hands. his gaze on them briefly, not going unnoticed.

"today's my first." you said with a proud glim in your eyes, feeling that same ambition to thrive and grow. "london just started feeling like home, and now, here i am." you said with a shrug as you finished tying the bow on the box, gently sliding it to him on the counter.

his head tilting slightly as he saw the box. of course, pink with the sweetest bow tied on. this girl was a sweetheart, a sweetheart he had now grown determined to make his own.

"m'glad you feel that way," he smiled, genuine, his heart sparking the smallest warmth. a sign that he wasn't just cold, wasn't an empty shell of a man. "don't reckon you know that many lads around here.. so," he paused a moment, his card between his index and middle, offering. "would you take a chance with me? be my sweet little pastry?"

and like that, your words had dissolved into a silent gasp, almost as if being punched in the gut. this man was so different from any you've ever met. bold, determined, and blunt. your hand covering your lips, attempting to hide the smile behind it.

with a small smile, you reach for the card. his fingers grazing against yours, sending a shiver down your arm, and a warmth straight to your heart.

"i'd like that."

────୨ৎ────

thank you for reading my first post!! it's kinda sucky, but i tried! please leave any mistakes or corrections i can make in the comments. :)

Friction

Peter Hayes x Badass!Reader

Fluff, some fighting (but it’s the usual, dauntless-style sparring kind of fighting)

Summary:  A fierce sparring match between the reader and Peter Hayes blurs the lines between rivalry and desire.

AN: You have no idea how stoked I was when I got this idea like I really REALLY checked this one

story under the cut

The atmosphere in the Dauntless training center buzzed with excitement as members gathered around the fighting ring, anticipation crackling in the air like electricity. You and Peter Hayes faced off, adrenaline coursing through your veins, the crowd’s shouts fading into a dull roar. You exchanged quick jabs, punches landing with precise accuracy, each strike fueled by an unspoken rivalry that simmered just beneath the surface.

“Come on, is that all you’ve got?” you taunted, sweat glistening on your brow as you ducked and weaved, trying to avoid his powerful swings. The truth was, you were losing ground, and every passing moment made the pressure weigh heavier on your shoulders. Peter was relentless, his focus unwavering as he pushed you back against the ropes.

With each blow, you felt the sting of his punches and the laughter of your peers echoing in your ears. A mixture of anger and determination bubbled within you. You couldn’t let him win. Not like this.

In a moment of desperation, you remembered something, a playful strategy that could tip the odds. You feigned left, then swung around and pretended to stumble, drawing him in. As he approached, you executed your plan—leaning in close, you clung onto him, letting out a seemingly pained groan— which turned out more sultry than anything.

Then, just as he reacted, you leaned into him, pressing your body against his for a split second. The shock on his face was priceless, and for that fleeting moment, his focus broke. You took advantage, shoving him backward with all your might. Peter stumbled, losing his balance, and you seized the opportunity, driving your fist into his stomach.

The crowd erupted in cheers as he went down, the satisfaction of victory surging through you. “Looks like I win!” you shouted, grinning widely as the Dauntless members clapped and hooted in approval.

With the adrenaline still pumping, you stepped out of the ring, heart racing. As you walked toward the changing room, the excitement of the match still lingered in the air, but you felt a surge of confidence. You had beaten Peter Hayes, and it felt incredible.

Just as you reached the door, you heard heavy footsteps behind you. You turned to find Peter storming toward you, his expression a mix of anger and something else—something almost dangerous.

“Hey,” you said, trying to play it cool, but the smirk on your face faltered under his intense gaze.

“What the hell was that back there?” he snapped, closing the distance between you. His voice was low and charged, sending a thrill down your spine.

“Oh, come on, it was just a little distraction,” you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly. “You can’t tell me it didn’t work.”

“Is that really how you think this works?” he shot back, his eyes narrowing, body tense with frustration. “You think you can just—just use that to win?”

“Why not? It got the job done.”

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. “You think it’s a game? That you can just toy with me like that?”

Your heart raced, the energy between you shifting. “Oh quit moping over it. I get that loss is hard, but surely you’re not that much of a baby.” You taunted, rather amused.

Peter’s gaze locked onto yours, the tension thickening. “Oho, you just watch it sweetheart, I’ll fuck you up.”

Before you could respond, he reached out, gripping your arm firmly and pulling you closer until there was barely an inch between you. “You might think you’ve won, but you need to understand your place.”

In that moment, the anger simmered beneath the surface, but there was something else too—a heated charge that pulled you into him, an undeniable attraction. Your breath hitched, and you could feel your pulse quicken, the distance between you collapsing as you stared into his eyes.

“Is that so?” you challenged, tilting your head defiantly.

His grip on your arm tightened, his breath warm against your face. “You think you can just flaunt yourself and get away with it?”

“I just did,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes, feeling the pull between you intensify.

Then, without warning, he closed the gap, capturing your lips with his in a heated kiss that sent a shockwave of electricity through you. It was fierce, demanding, a culmination of all the tension that had been building between you. The world around you faded away, and in that moment, there was nothing but the heat of his body against yours and the taste of adrenaline on your tongue.

But just as quickly, he pulled away, a frustrated growl escaping him. “Don’t do that again,” he warned, voice low and dangerous, but his eyes held a flicker of desire that made your heart race.

“No promises,” you challenged, your pulse racing as you stepped back, a triumphant smirk on your lips.

As he glared at you, you could see the battle within him, the tension lingering in the air as you turned and walked away, a rush of exhilaration coursing through you. You had ignited something between you, and this fight was far from over. 

🎶🤍✨when u get this, list 5 songs u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favourite followers (positivity is cool)🎶🤍✨

Home by Good neighbours

Youth by Shawn Mendes (ft. Khalid)

The monster by Eminem (ft. Rihanna)

Let her go by Passenger

Sex, drugs, etc. by Beach weather

And thank you 🥹

(one more thing, how do I send this ask to ten people— I’m sorry I’m still getting around to tumblr… do I just tag you in my post or?? Bcs like I’ve read though like 6 different asks for the same thing inception style and I still don’t know how to do it. I need a tutorial atp, this stressed me out more than I have to be)

So I’m just gonna tag y’all and pray that someone will teach me how to do this right:

@kitkat-moon

@h3arthese4

@ghostlyuniversityhandsthing

@peterhayesllove

@demonslikeme

@fclsebnnyodair

@im-a-whore-for-evan-peters

@xxx-ang3l-w1th-a-sh0tgun-xxx

@troyssix

@urfavfairyluvr

*Disclaimer, I don’t have too many followers, but to those I have, I love you all. I suppose it’s been a mistake on my part for not being interactive, but every follow, like and comment doesn’t go unnoticed. So I’ll try and make more friends on here (bear with me, this is not fun for an introvert) and I hope y’all could help…make the first move and reach out too. Because with exception of the first two that I’ve tagged, I haven’t spoken to anyone else and I really hope I can change that.

Any comfort fic recs? I need smth right now, can’t keep crying alone.

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.