Hi There,

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.

New Years

Encanto x reader

fluff, comfort

Summary: On a lonely New Year’s Eve, the Madrigals bring warmth and joy, but it’s Camilo’s heartfelt care that makes her truly believe in love again.

AN: Happy new year, happy holidays! Also, this is sappy. Be warned... but I'll make sappy any time I need it, and I needed it-- so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing this.

story under the cut

The night air was crisp, a perfect blend of cool breeze and the lingering warmth of the day. From your perch on the balcony, the world below sparkled with the chaos of New Year’s Eve celebrations. In the Encanto, every home glowed with lights and laughter, the air heavy with the scent of roasted arepas and sweet empanadas. The Madrigals’ Casita, as always, stood out like a beacon of magic and life, bursting with energy. Yet here you were, leaning on the cold wrought-iron railing, a quiet observer in a sea of joy.

From your vantage point, you could see families giggling as they ducked under tables to eat their twelve grapes, one for each wish. Couples leaned into each other, their faces lit by the promise of midnight fireworks. And you? You were alone. No grapes, no kisses, just the sharp sting of solitude wrapped in a world full of celebration.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, the sound quickly carried away by the distant hum of music and chatter. It wasn’t that you weren’t happy for them—the Madrigals, the villagers, everyone—but it was hard not to feel the weight of loneliness pressing on your chest. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, wishing, just for a moment, that someone would notice the quiet shadow you cast.

And then, like magic—or perhaps because it was the Encanto—they did.

“What are you doing out here, all by yourself?” Mirabel’s voice rang out, soft yet inquisitive, as she leaned against the balcony doorframe. Her round glasses glinted in the dim light, and her wide smile carried an infectious warmth.

You turned, startled, only to see her stepping closer, holding out a small cup of warm chocolate. “You can’t spend New Year’s like this,” she said gently. “Come on, at least have some hot chocolate with me.”

A bit later, Luisa found you sitting by yourself in a quiet corner of the Casita. She didn’t say much—she didn’t need to. Instead, she handed you a heavy woolen blanket, freshly warmed from the hearth, and sat nearby, her calm presence a silent reassurance that you weren’t alone.

Isabela, ever the perfectionist, passed by next, pausing to tuck a newly conjured flower into your hair. “There,” she said with a soft smile. “You’re part of the party now.” Her graceful departure left the faint scent of jasmine in the air, a little gift that lingered with you.

Later, Antonio bounded over, his arms wrapped around a cheerful toucan that squawked happily in your direction. “The animals said you looked sad,” he said with wide-eyed sincerity. “But you don’t have to be! They like you.” He placed the toucan on your shoulder, and for a moment, the bird’s antics pulled a genuine laugh from your lips.

Pepa’s voice carried through the bustling crowd as she handed you a small plate of twelve grapes. “Eat them,” she insisted, her eyes kind but firm. “One for every wish. And don’t forget to make them count!”

Julieta’s warmth came last but not least, as she gently pressed an arepa into your hands. “Food makes everything better,” she said, her tone motherly and soothing. “You’ll see.”

By the time Camilo arrived, the night was already alight with fireworks, laughter, and cheer. He had just rushed back from the village after a long day of work, his usual playful smirk replaced by a look of earnest concern. He found you leaning against a pillar near the edge of the balcony, the glow of fireworks reflecting in your eyes.

“There you are,” he said, slightly breathless but with a relieved grin. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You blinked, startled by his sudden arrival. “Camilo? Shouldn’t you be out enjoying the party?”

He shook his head, stepping closer. “The party doesn’t matter if you’re not enjoying it too.” Without waiting for a reply, he draped his ruana over your shoulders, the warmth of it immediately chasing away the chill in the air. “You’ve spent enough of tonight alone.”

His presence was magnetic, pulling you out of your shell without effort. He began to talk about the funny things he’d seen in the village, mimicking people’s voices and gestures until you were laughing so hard your sides hurt. When he saw you relax, he leaned against the railing next to you, his tone softening.

“You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “you mean a lot to us. To me.” He glanced at you, his eyes earnest. “I didn’t want the year to end without making sure you knew that.”

The weight of his words settled over you, warm and comforting. He reached out, his hand covering yours as the fireworks reached their peak, painting the sky in brilliant colors. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that moment.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant cheers. “For everything.”

Camilo smiled, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “You’ll never have to feel alone, not as long as I’m around.”

As the clock struck twelve, you felt a peace you hadn’t known in a long time. Surrounded by the Madrigals’ love and Camilo’s unwavering presence, you knew this New Year’s would be the start of something beautiful.

Melody

George Weasley x Gryffindor!Reader

Comfort, fluff

Summary: George helps you play piano

AN: I was playing a piece and this came to mind ITS SO CUTE 😭

story under the cut

The Gryffindor common room was unusually quiet, the fire crackling softly in the hearth as the amber light spilled across the piano’s polished surface. You sat on the bench, determined to make the music sound right this time.

Your fingers danced across the keys—well, stumbled, really. You played the same section again, but no matter how you adjusted your hands, the notes sounded jumbled and wrong. Frustration tightened in your chest, your shoulders tensing as you pressed harder.

“Easy, love,” a voice drawled behind you, smooth and teasing.

You startled, your hands slamming against the keys in an ugly, discordant crash. Whipping around, you found George Weasley standing there, his grin crooked and far too smug.

“George!” you snapped, pressing a hand to your racing heart. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Admiring the show,” he quipped, strolling closer. “Though it sounds like the piano’s losing this duel.”

You narrowed your eyes, heat rising to your cheeks. “I’m trying to practice.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” he said, his voice light as he rounded the bench. Without asking, he slid in beside you, his knee bumping yours. “Here, let me see.”

You froze as he leaned in, his arm brushing yours as he placed his hands on the keys. His chest nearly touched your back, his warmth and the faint scent of pine overwhelming your senses.

“This part,” he said, his tone lower now, softer, as if the quiet demanded it. “You’re hitting this note.” He struck it, his finger lingering before moving to the correct one. “But it’s this one. Feel it?”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his voice rumbled near your ear. “Yeah,” you managed, barely above a whisper.

“Go on, then,” he said, leaning back just enough to let you play.

You placed your hands on the keys, but your fingers trembled slightly, and the notes wavered.

“Relax,” George murmured, leaning over again. This time, his hands slid to either side of yours, his fingers brushing yours as he guided them. His arms caged you in, but his touch was gentle. “Don’t think so hard. Just… feel it. Like this.”

He played the melody slowly, his fingers gliding over the keys with an effortless grace that left you mesmerized.

“Your turn,” he said, tilting his head so his breath fanned against your cheek.

You nodded, focusing on the keys despite how close he was. You played the first few notes, and when you faltered, his hand moved over yours, correcting your fingers without a word. The warmth of his palm sent a shiver up your spine.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice a low hum. “See? You’ve got it.”

You tried again, and this time, the melody came together perfectly, the music flowing like water under your fingers. A smile broke across your face, and you turned to him without thinking.

“Perfect,” George said, his grin softer now, his eyes warm as they met yours. “Told you you could do it.”

You blinked at him, realizing just how close he was. The firelight cast soft shadows over his freckled face, and there was a quiet sincerity in his expression that made your heart race.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice barely audible.

“Anytime,” he said, leaning back slightly but still close enough that you felt the space between you keenly. “I’d hate to see a piano reduced to tears.”

You laughed, the tension easing as you rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously helpful,” he corrected, his grin returning to its usual mischievous tilt. “And speaking of helpful, what are you doing here alone? Shouldn’t you be off saving the world or something?”

“It’s a free period,” you said, shaking your head. “I just wanted some quiet.”

“Well,” he said, standing and stretching lazily, “I’d say you’ve got the right idea. Though if you ever need another pair of hands…” He wiggled his fingers dramatically.

“Thanks, George,” you said, smiling despite yourself.

He lingered for a moment, his gaze soft as he looked at you. “You’re better than you think, you know.”

The sincerity in his voice made your breath catch, and before you could respond, he flashed you a wink and started for the door.

“Don’t forget to keep playing,” he called over his shoulder. “You’re a natural—once you stop overthinking everything.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, you stared at the piano, your cheeks still warm. His words echoed in your mind, wrapping around you like the notes of a melody you couldn’t quite name—yet.

i love your writing so much !!

Thanks, comments and notes like these— even the likes and reblogs just makes writing more worthwhile. It’s an honour to be able to share my writing with other people who enjoy and relate to it. Side note, this is the first message I’ve ever gotten in my inbox so I’m very flattered, thank you 🤍. In the meantime, I haven’t been posting for the past few days… exams 😭 but I’ll be back soon enough. For the time being, what are we looking for? (I’ll put a poll down below)

I’m trying to tailor my writing to suit different people’s interests so I can cater to a wider audience at this point. Thank you for your patience and support all the way

As always, have a great day

—tisayemate 🤍

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.

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. 

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.

The escape: Backup Plan

(Pt. I)

Janson (Maze Runner) x OC (Lauren)

Angst

summary: Lauren (OC) who’s a doctor in the facility tricks Janson with a decoy of the cure and makes a quick escape, hoping to stay ahead before he discovers the truth.

—————————————————————————————————-

Inspired by:

The sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway, distant but growing louder, as Lauren tightened the straps of her bag, her mind racing. The real cure—tucked safely in her hidden compartment—was still with her. But the decoy she’d left behind in the lab, the one Janson had taken, would buy her just enough time.

The only thing that mattered now was getting away before he realized.

She bolted down the narrow corridors, her breath steady but sharp, the pounding of her feet a steady rhythm in the sterile silence. Lauren wasn’t the same quiet, passive figure Janson thought she was. No. She’d learned to be smart, to adapt. To stay ahead.

As she rounded another corner, the cold bite of reality sank in. She only had moments before Janson would discover the truth. He would soon know that the cure he thought he’d stolen was useless—a placebo, a trick.

And when he did…

Suddenly, the corridor ahead felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in. She turned again, winding deeper into the facility, her heart racing but her mind sharp, every step purposeful. She knew where she was going. She knew the escape routes. She knew every blind spot in the surveillance.

The temporary vial wasn’t even worth what she carried.

A cold voice cut through her thoughts, sharp and unnerving. “Lauren.”

Her heart jumped. Janson.

He emerged from the shadows, his face a mask of calm fury. The temporary vial sat in his hand, his knuckles white around it. He was close enough to see, but far enough to not catch her—yet.

“I thought we had an understanding,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with menace. He stepped toward her, his eyes narrowed. “This—” he held up the vial, “—isn’t what I asked for.”

Lauren clenched her jaw, willing her pulse to slow down. She wouldn’t let him see her fear. Not now. Not when she had the upper hand.

“That’s the cure, Janson,” she lied smoothly, her eyes unwavering. “Everything you need is in there.”

Janson’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes—doubt, suspicion. He stepped closer, his pace deliberate, each step calculated. “You really expect me to believe that?”

Lauren took a step back, her mind spinning. She couldn’t run yet—not until she was sure she could shake him. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, the weight of the real cure pressing into her side, reminding her that she still had control.

For now.

Janson’s cold gaze flickered down to the bag, his voice growing colder. “I’m not stupid, Lauren. You think you can outplay me?”

Lauren’s chest tightened, but she kept her face neutral. “It’s all there,” she said, her voice firm, “but you’ll never understand how it works.”

Janson’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he studied her. He was testing her, weighing the truth of her words, but she was too good at this. She had to be.

“You’ve always been clever,” he said, taking another slow, deliberate step toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. “But you’re making a mistake.”

Lauren didn’t move. “You already have what you want. Walk away.”

Janson’s eyes narrowed, and the tension between them thickened like a coiled wire about to snap. His fingers twitched at his side, as though ready to grab her, to pull the truth from her by force if he had to.

But he didn’t know. He didn’t know that the real cure wasn’t in his hands. And she wasn’t about to tell him.

The silence stretched between them, charged with unspoken threats and barely-contained fury. Lauren’s muscles tensed, ready to move at the first sign of weakness.

And then Janson’s lips curled into a thin smile—cold, calculating.

“You’ve always been good at hiding things,” he murmured, stepping so close now that she could feel the heat of his breath on her skin. “But you can’t run forever.”

Lauren’s pulse spiked. She knew what was coming.

She made her move.

Without warning, Lauren spun on her heel and bolted, her feet flying down the corridor before Janson could react. She heard him curse behind her, his footsteps thundering after her, but she was faster. Smarter.

She raced through the labyrinth of hallways, her mind laser-focused on her exit strategy. She had a backup route. A plan. One he didn’t know about.

Janson’s footsteps grew louder behind her, his anger palpable in the air. He was close—too close—but she wasn’t going to let him catch her. Not this time.

Lauren veered to the right, darting down a side passage that led deeper into the facility. She could hear his frustrated growl, the sound of him picking up speed, his determination bleeding into every footfall.

She turned another corner, her eyes scanning for the emergency exit she knew was just ahead. If she could just reach it, she’d be free. She’d be safe.

But then—

The mechanical sound of a gun being cocked stopped her, the barrel stopping mere millimeters from her skull. She gasped, stumbling as Janson cornered her into the wall, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Lauren panicked, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. She could feel the vial pressing against her side, the real cure, still safely hidden. He didn’t know.

He couldn’t know.

“I’m not giving you anything,” she spat, her voice defiant despite the fear gnawing at her insides.

Janson grabbed her, tightening his grip with his face inches from hers, the anger rolling off him in waves. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” he hissed. “You think you can outsmart me?”

Lauren glared up at him, refusing to back down. “You won’t get it. No matter what you do.”

For a moment, Janson didn’t move. His eyes bore into hers, cold and calculating, as though he was weighing his options.

Then, without warning, he slammed his hand against the wall beside her, caging her in. His other hand reached for her bag, ripping it from her shoulder in one swift motion.

He rifled through it, his movements rough, angry—until he found the vial.

For a split second, Lauren’s heart froze. But she didn’t falter. She knew what he had in his hands.

Janson held it up, his eyes narrowing as he studied it. “This is it, then?” he said, his voice dripping with skepticism.

Lauren swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep calm. “That’s the cure,” she said, her voice steady. “The only one.”

Janson’s gaze flicked back to her, suspicion flashing across his face. But then, slowly, a twisted smile spread across his lips.

“I don’t believe you.”

In that moment, Lauren knew she had him. She’d planted the seed of doubt, and now it was taking root. He didn’t know what to believe. And that was her advantage.

Janson pocketed the vial, his grip still tight on her arm, his eyes scanning her face for any sign of a lie. But Lauren was too good at this. She had to be.

“You’ll regret this,” he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. “One way or another.”

And with that, he released her, stepping back as if daring her to make her next move.

Lauren didn’t hesitate. She turned and ran, her heart pounding in her chest as she made her way toward the real exit, the one he didn’t know about.

The real cure was still safely hidden, and now, she had the upper hand.

For now.

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 🤍

^^

Heads up

tomorrow, 2nd November, I'll ditch tech for the whole day. That means no post for tomorrow... sorry :(

anywho I will pick up again afterwards (hopefully) because I'm still in the midst of my exams and while I'm coming close to the end, I can't just stop the grind after my last paper. Learning is a long-term thing you get me? So if, by any chance you happen to look at my blog and I happen to be... active... *gasp, shocker* pls pls, tell me to get off my ass and get off of Tumblr. This is basically just a challenge I've put myself up to so... yes. Also, comfort fic recs are highly appreciated. Thank you for the notes, hearts, boops and messages.

love yall and have a great day!