HARRY POTTER

About me 🕊️

>> I go by Lauren (she/her, I’m straight)

—> Lauren is not my actual name, but it’s the name of my oc which I’ve used for a while to keep my identity safe online

>> I am 18

>> I am a student— currently in school

>> I am Asian with French roots

>> Contributing to this blog is a hobby

>> My English is not perfect, but I try

>> I write what I feel like (I’ll list characters and fandoms down in my masterlist** over time)

>> I am currently: OPEN/closed to asks and requests

>> I 𝘿𝙊 𝙉𝙊𝙏 write smut. (It is uncharted territory for me and I personally don’t think I’m at that level yet, but if necessary, I will try.)

>> I ONLY write for fictional characters and universes (I prefer to create stories that respect the boundaries of real-life individuals. Writing for real people, especially those unaware of such content, can feel intrusive to me, so please refrain from requesting non-fictional character scenarios.)

>> I’m a human too so please be nice. (People pleaser problems, I have to set boundaries for my sanity)

>> I want this to be a safe space where we can all come together to read and talk/write about ideas, thoughts, characters and what not so I don’t want to be strict but I’m just going to put out here that I will not tolerate bullying. (I mean in writing, if you want angst—sure) but I hope you get what I mean

—> but that being said (even though I would not like to), if I have to block your account, I will.

>> Lastly, this is my first time doing all this so go easy on me, but do drop by some constructive criticism where you see fit.

>> Okay maybe not lastly but this is my last point now, promise. This is important to me so I hope you respect it. If you want to use my writing or my fics, at least credit me and drop me a text about it. I’d appreciate if you did both but generally, crediting my work should suffice.

MASTERLIST **

Wattpad

Spotify

** Not much content yet, I’m afraid; but I’ll populate it in time to come. Please have some patience because I am still a student with other priorities and a personal life, thank you

(Enjoy and have a lovely time 🥰)

Credit to @cafekitsune for the banners

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 🤍

^^

HUNGER GAMES

angst : 🌩

fluff : 🌸

requests : 📩

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

Finnick Odair:

oneshots:

> Lose and Let Go 🌩 🌸 (synopsis: Finnick helps the reader find themselves again after having lost so much.)

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.

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 🥲

Hi there,

I’m reaching out with a quiet hope in my heart. These days are heavy, and my family is living through a reality filled with uncertainty—but I’m still here, doing my best to hold on and keep going.

If you have a moment, please check out my pinned post.

A simple share could help it reach someone who might be able to make a difference.

If you’re able to give, even the smallest kindness can bring light into the darkest places.

Your time, your voice, your compassion — it all matters more than you know.

With deep gratitude,

@nadinfamily

^^

Sending prayers. I know some of you may be tired of seeing these posts but honestly, they are recurring for a REASON. They need help.

So if you can, donate. If not, spread the word.

Dance with me

Draco Malfoy X reader Comfort, angst

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

Inspired by:

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

Story under the cut

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

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

You knew that feeling. You lived it, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you did.

And that was enough.

Hello Lauren!

Would I be able to request a one shot between Janson and the reader? I have seen the two posts you have of Janson x Reader and I was disappointed as the second one shot was left at a cliffhanger as I am a simp and can never get enough of Aidan Gillen and his on screen performances. Preferably with some fluff and angst here and there, perhaps a kiss.

Thank you!

Dr Pepper

AD Janson (Maze Runner) x OC (Lauren Patellio)

Fluff, tension, lil’ kiss

Summary: The tension rises when Janson finds an error in the reader’s work.

AN: I LOVE YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS— I THOUGHT I WAS THE BLOODY WEIRDO FOR CRUSHING ON RATMAN AND I TOO LOOKED UP SO MANY OTHER OF HIS ON-SCREEN PERFORMANCES BUT HE DOES NOT HAVE MANY SO IM SO STOKED TO HAVE SOMEONE ELSE ON THIS!! I sort of changed it up this time, I hope that’s alright…. BUT STILL, LET ME KNOW IF YOU’D LIKE ANYTHING CHANGED!!

(Inspired by my Cherry Dr Pepper flavoured chapstick)

Story under the cut

The hum of the lab equipment barely registered as he entered, the faint chemical tang in the air sharper than usual. She was seated near the vending machine, her back to the door, utterly engrossed in the mess of equations and notes sprawled across her workstation.

Janson paused, letting his eyes trace over the scene in silence. The way she worked—pen tapping idly, lips pursed in thought—was fascinating. She looked like she was untouchable, lost in her own world of formulas and data.

She was good, no doubt. Competent. Sharp. But she wasn’t flawless.

And tonight, that mistake was glaring.

“You missed a variable.” His voice cut through the quiet like a knife, smooth but unrelenting.

Her pen skidded across the page as she startled, spinning around to face him. For a moment, her eyes were wide, her lips parted in surprise. Then she masked it with a glare.

“God, could you make a little noise when you walk?”

Janson didn’t move. He simply stood there, arms crossed, letting her irritation wash over him. “Would you have preferred I knock?” he asked dryly, his tone making it clear how little he cared about her preferences.

Lauren narrowed her eyes, turning back to her work with an air of dismissal that almost made him laugh. “Some of us are actually trying to get things done.”

“I can see that.” He stepped closer, his boots deliberately heavy now, the faint echo of each step slicing through the lab’s sterile silence. His gaze dropped to the notebook, his smirk deepening when he saw the same glaring error.

“Dedicated, aren’t you?” he murmured, his tone laced with amusement.

She didn’t look up, but he caught the subtle clench of her jaw, the way her pen stilled for just a second too long. “If you’re just here to waste my time, Janson, I suggest you leave. Some of us actually have deadlines.”

“Deadlines,” he repeated, dragging the word out like it amused him. He stepped around her desk, leaning slightly as his shadow loomed over her work. “You mean like the one you’ll miss if this entire experiment collapses because of a basic miscalculation?”

She finally looked up, her glare sharp enough to cut. “I don’t make basic mistakes.”

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile. “Don’t you?”

Before she could fire back, his hand moved. Quick. Precise. His fingers curled around her throat—not to hurt, but to hold, to command. He tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet his gaze as he loomed closer.

She didn’t flinch.

Her pulse thrummed against his fingers, but her eyes burned with defiance.“Does this little display make you feel powerful, Janson?”she asked, her voice cool despite the tension crackling between them.

His thumb brushed over her jaw, slow and deliberate. He leaned in, his lips hovering close enough to catch the faintest scent of her chapstick.

“No,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with something darker. “It’s that face you make that’s far more interesting.”

Her lips quirked, a daring smirk tugging at the corners. “Then you’ll be disappointed to know I’m not scared of you.”

His laugh was soft, almost inaudible, but it carried a weight that pressed against the air between them. “Are you?”

And then, he kissed her.

It wasn’t a gentle meeting of lips—it was calculated, like everything he did. His mouth pressed against hers with purpose, his hand tightening slightly on her throat as her breath caught. He didn’t rush it; he let the moment stretch, drawing it out until the faintest hint of surrender flickered across her features.

When he finally pulled back, his hand lingered on her jaw, his thumb tracing the line of her cheek as his gaze locked on hers.

“Dr. Pepper,” he said suddenly, his smirk returning, sharper than before.

She blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He gestured faintly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Your chapstick. Dr. Pepper. Good choice.”

Her eyes narrowed, heat rising to her cheeks. “I—what does that even—”

“Sweet,” he continued, cutting her off. “Unexpected. Like you.” His fingers finally dropped away from her throat, his smirk softening into something almost…genuine. “But you’re still wrong about your stabilizing agent.”

Lauren’s mouth opened, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but he was already moving toward the door, his coat shifting with the turn of his shoulders.

“Next time,” he called over his shoulder, his voice laced with that infuriating calm, “try not to let distractions cloud your focus.”

Hours later, when the lab was empty and the air felt heavier with the weight of the day, she stepped out into the breakroom to grab her things.

And there he was.

Janson leaned against the counter, a bottle of Dr. Pepper in his hand, the cap already twisted off. He met her gaze as he raised it to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip.

When he pulled it away, his smirk was back, paired with a faint glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Told you it was a good choice,” he said simply, his voice low and teasing.

She didn’t respond. She just shook her head, biting back a smile as she walked away.

Damn him.

i am actually going to scream

i searched for sirius x reader not poly!marauders x reader so start actually giving me some sirius fics and stop giving me poly fics

Maybe do a scene where he actually slams a clipboard on the table 😂

I saw your post...and I thought...

"Why not make that scene..."

Honestly he's so fine I definitely would be folding like a lawn chair ...💀💀💀

Tether

AD Janson x Reader

Bit of Angst, tension (lots of power play)

Not exactly proofread

Summary: She’s composed, controlled, impossible to crack… until Janson steps in, asking questions no one else dares to ask, and watching far too closely when she answers.

Story under the cut

The room is freezing.

But you never shiver.

Because shivering gets noted. And nothing in WCKD goes unrecorded.

You sit like you always do. Neutral, composed, spine aligned with the back of the steel chair. You fold your hands just loosely enough to look relaxed, but never so tight you look scared.

You’re not scared.

You’re watching.

That’s the key to survival here—watch more than you speak.

Play helpful. Play small. Play invisible.

It’s why you didn’t flinch when the guards dragged in Thomas last night. Or when Minho screamed his throat raw. Or at least, tried not to.

You watched the cameras. You watched the mirrors. You watched him.

Because Janson doesn’t operate like the others.

He doesn’t threaten.

He studies.

Ironic. The least likely to hurt her was the biggest threat of all.

When the door opens today, you know it’s him before he steps in. The air shifts. Thicker. Heavier. Like he brings the storm in with him.

He closes the door. Doesn’t bother to announce himself. You don’t look at him until he sits down across from you.

“I’ve read your file,” he says, calm as ever. “But files lie.”

You tilt your head—just a little. Feign interest.

“So I prefer asking the subject directly.”

Your lips press into a polite line.

Good. Keep the act warm. Cooperative. Non-threatening.

He opens a folder. But he doesn’t look at it.

“What did you whisper to Newt before the lights went out two nights ago?”

You blink slowly. “I told him I was cold.”

“You weren’t.”

A beat.

“You never show discomfort. Not even when they turned the vents up to freezing.”

You offer a ghost of a shrug. “Maybe I was trying to comfort him.”

“You don’t comfort people. You observe them.”

His voice is soft. Accusing.

Too accurate.

You breathe through your nose.

“What’s your point?”

He watches you for a moment. Silent. Like he’s peeling back skin.

“You play quiet. Play cooperative. But you never give.”

You open your mouth to speak—

—but he slams the clipboard down like a gavel, fast and loud.

SLAM.

You jerk slightly, then lean back just enough. Your thighs press against the edge of the chair. You shift. It’s subtle, practiced. But your lip catches between your teeth for half a second. Just one.

And it’s one second too long.

His eyes catch it. And stay there.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t speak yet.

Just watches you bite your lip and recover.

“Interesting,” he says finally.

You shake your head. “Reflex.”

His brow lifts. “That wasn’t fear.”

His tone is lower now. Controlled. Curious.

“That was something else.”

You meet his eyes again, voice cool. “You’re imagining things.”

“No,” he says. “I’m not.”

He leans in.

You feel it in your chest. The weight of his gaze. The way the air closes in like it’s watching, too.

“Tell me something, then,” he says, voice just above a whisper. “If you’re not afraid of me… if you’re so calm, so unbothered… why are your pupils dilated?”

Your throat tightens.

“I’m in a cold room. Low light.”

“Wrong,” he murmurs. “That light hasn’t changed in sixty hours.”

Silence. Thick. Loaded.

He tilts his head slowly, examining you like you’re some rare, caged creature on the verge of revealing its real shape.

“You’re trying to stay in control,” he says. “And it’s beautiful to watch you fail.”

Your nails dig into your thigh under the table, but your face? Still smooth. Still even.

“What do you want from me?” you ask, voice quieter now.

He breathes out through his nose. Almost a laugh. But it isn’t kind.

“I want you to stop pretending.”

Another pause.

“Because the moment you do…we’re going to get somewhere real.”

He stands. But not to leave. Not yet.

He leans both hands on the table. Closer now. Close enough that if you wanted to, you could flinch. Or slap him. Or maybe—

But you don’t.

You can’t.

So instead, you say the only thing you can.

“I’m not pretending.”

His eyes darken. Something shifts in them. Some quiet little thrill.

Because you’re lying.

And you both know it.

He leans down, voice curling against your ear like smoke.

“Then why does your heartbeat sound like a fucking metronome?”

And then—

He walks out.

Leaves the door wide open.

But you don’t move.

You don’t chase.

You just sit there.

Heart hammering.

Pulse ringing.

Still pretending.

Still calculating.

But this time…

not so sure you’re winning.