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MAZE RUNNER

angst : 🌩

fluff : 🌸

requests : 📩

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

NEWT:

Oneshots: > Ink. 🌩 (synopsis: In his last moments of clarity, Newt writes a letter to you, fearing the end as the Flare tightens its grip on his mind, but clinging to the memory of your voice.)

> Always 🌸 (synopsis: Newt and reader having a moment to themselves where they feel safe together)

MINHO:

Oneshots:

> Well, Shuck 🌩 🌸 (synopsis: Minho and OC get trapped in the Maze overnight. With no way out and no clear path to safety, they keep their spirits up by finding comfort in each other.)

THOMAS:

GALLY:

ARIS:

JANSON: (yes, Janson, because Aidan Gillen is incredibly fine)

Shorts:

>> The escape: Backup plan (Pt. I) 🌩 (synopsis: 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.)

>> The escape: Backup plan (Pt. II) 🌩 + a tiny bit of romance if you squint (synopsis: Lauren (OC)’s narrow escape from Janson)

Oneshots:

>> Dr Pepper 🌸 📩 (synopsis: The tension rises when Janson finds an error in the reader’s work.)

>> Slip of the tongue 🌩️ 📩 (synopsis: A single slip up reveals that you happen to know more than you should and that makes you a threat— to Janson.)

>> Tether 🌸 📩 (synopsis: 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.)

This will be updated, please give me time to populate it. Thanks loves 🤍

HARRY POTTER

angst : 🌩

fluff : 🌸

requests : 📩

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

SIRIUS BLACK (POST AZKABAN):

oneshots:

>> Here 🌩️ 🌸 (Synopsis: A chance encounter in Grimmauld Place leads Sirius Black and a former classmate to find solace in each other’s company.)

>> The Ghosts 🌩️ (Synopsis: Sirius gets haunted by the memory of his childhood)

REMUS LUPIN:

oneshots:

>> More than enough 🌩️ (synopsis: After a difficult visit with her parents, a struggling student at Hogwarts finds solace and comfort in Remus Lupin, who reminds her that she is more than enough just as she is.)

HARRY POTTER:

DRACO MALFOY:

oneshots:

>> Drowning 🌩️ (Synopsis: Sharing a moment with Draco over the misery of their families.)

>> Dance with me 🌸🌩️ (Synopsis: Two broken souls find solace in a quiet dance, their shared pain speaking louder than words ever could.)

RON WEASLEY:

oneshots: >> Finding Your Sky 🌸 (Synopsis: When Ron Weasley feels down about his studies and his fallout with Hermione, a quiet Gryffindor steps in to help him regain his confidence, leading to a renewed friendship.)

NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM:

oneshots:

>> Merlin. 🌸 (Synopsis: falling for the clumsy doofus)

CEDRIC DIGGORY:

SEVERUS SNAPE:

WEASLEY TWINS:

—> FRED WEASLEY:

>> In her shadow 🌸 🌩️ (Synopsis: In the shadow of Cho Chang’s perfection, you find the fire to rise—and Fred Weasley lights the spark.)

—> GEORGE WEASLEY:

>> Melody 🌸 (Synopsis: George helps you play piano)

OKAY IF YOU LIKE MAZE RUNNER PLS REBLOG THIS POST I JUST WANNA KNOW ABOUT MY FELLOW FANS

REBLOG THISSSS

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.

The Ghosts

Sirius Black

Angst, a whole lot of it

Summary: Sirius gets haunted by the memories of his childhood

AN: cried while drafting this, hope you enjoy

Inspired by:

Story under the cut

Grimmauld Place loomed like a mausoleum, heavy with silence and shadows that seemed to cling to Sirius Black like a second skin. The house had always been oppressive, but post-Azkaban, it felt suffocating. Every corner whispered memories he couldn’t suppress, no matter how much firewhisky he drank or how hard he tried to forget.

Tonight, he found himself in the drawing room, his eyes drawn to the cursed tapestry like a moth to flame.

There it was, the family tree. Black and gold thread wove generations together, its branches curling in endless, snarling pride. His gaze landed on the burned spot where his name had once been—a violent black hole scorched into the fabric, as if even the memory of him had to be eradicated.

A bitter smile tugged at his lips.

“Might share a face and share a last name, but we are not the same.”

The words echoed in his mind, lyrics that felt plucked from his soul. He thought of his mother, her cold, sharp voice still cutting through years of silence. “You are no son of mine, Sirius. Do you hear me? No son of mine!”

He stepped closer to the tapestry, his fingers hovering over the charred fabric. The edges of the burn were jagged, almost alive, like the fury that had once consumed her as she’d banished him from the family. His shoulders tensed, the weight of those years pressing down harder than any Dementor ever had.

“How could you hurt a little kid?”

The memories came unbidden.

He saw himself at six years old, clutching a wooden toy broomstick with trembling hands. His father loomed over him, eyes blazing with the kind of fury Sirius had never understood. “You’re a disgrace to this family, Sirius,” Orion hissed. “No Black would ever stoop to such… rebellion.”

And rebellion had meant what, exactly? Laughing at something Regulus said? Mispronouncing an ancestor’s name? It didn’t matter. The punishment had been swift. A hex, a slap, a night locked in his room with only the portraits on the wall to keep him company—ancestors who sneered and hissed, calling him a traitor even then.

He clenched his fists, shaking his head to dispel the memory. He wasn’t that boy anymore.

“I can run, but I can’t hide from my family line.”

Except he could never outrun it, could he? His reflection in the mirror showed the same sharp cheekbones, the same stormy grey eyes that his mother had once wielded like weapons. The blood coursing through his veins might as well have been chains. Even in Azkaban, he hadn’t been free of them.

His lips twitched into a sardonic smile. “Free,” he muttered, the word tasting bitter on his tongue.

He laughed then—a hollow, rasping sound that bounced off the cold walls of the room. He was 36 years old, and it still bloody bothered him. All of it. The tapestry, the memories, the scars no one could see. He felt like a child again, stuck in the same damned house, walking the same damned halls, haunted by the same damned ghosts.

“Pathetic,” he said to himself, his voice laced with derision. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, shaking his head. “You survived Azkaban, and this—this—is what keeps you up at night? Some bloody thread and scorch marks?”

But the laughter didn’t stop. It bubbled out of him, bitter and raw, until his chest ached and his throat burned.

Because the truth was, it wasn’t just the tapestry. It wasn’t just his mother’s voice or the ghosts in the walls. It was the inescapable reality that no matter how far he ran, he would always carry them with him.

Sirius sank into a nearby chair, his laughter finally subsiding into a strained silence. The house creaked around him, indifferent to his misery.

He tilted his head back, staring at the cracked ceiling above him. “Cheers to you, Mum,” he muttered, raising an imaginary glass. “You win. Even from the grave, you win.”

And yet…

The corners of his mouth twitched again, not with bitterness this time but something quieter. A tired acceptance, perhaps. Because while he might never be free of the Blacks, he could choose to make sure no one else suffered what he had.

The thought gave him no comfort, but it gave him purpose. And that was enough to get him through another night in Grimmauld Place.

Reblog if you are insecure about anything below:

-weight

-appearance

-intelligence (or lack of) 

-skills (or lack of) 

-weird hobbies

-friends (or lack of) 

-body

-personality

-family

Who ever reblogs this will get a message in their inbox.

Always

Newt (Maze Runner) x Reader

Fluff

Summary: Newt and reader having a moment to themselves where they feel safe together

The sun had started to sink beyond the maze walls, casting the Glade in a warm, golden glow. Shadows stretched long across the ground, softening the harsh edges of their surroundings and bathing everything in a warm light. You and Newt had found a quiet moment, away from the chaos and the routine of the Glade, to just be.

He had his arm around you as you both sat in the soft grass, leaning against the sturdy trunk of a tree near the edge of the forest. A gentle breeze tugged at the wild curls of his hair, and he absentmindedly ran a hand through it, his eyes drifting dreamily along the distant horizon.

“Feels like we’re on top of the world, doesn’t it?” you murmured, breaking the silence with a soft, contented sigh. You nestled closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Newt looked down at you, his eyes alight with a warmth that made your heart flutter. “With you here, love,” he said, voice tender, “we might as well be.”

You laughed softly, nudging his shoulder. “That’s corny, even for you.”

But he just grinned, unbothered, letting his hand fall to trace gentle patterns along your arm. His touch was light, calming, grounding you in a way only Newt could. It was as if the whole world faded away, leaving only this small, perfect moment with him.

As you both watched the sky darken and the first stars appear, he shifted to look at you more closely. “I know this place isn’t much,” he started, a bit hesitant. “But… I want you to know that with you, even the Glade feels like somewhere special.”

You felt your cheeks flush, warmth blossoming in your chest. He was like that—always making you feel like you were someone irreplaceable, like you were everything to him. You lifted a hand, brushing a lock of hair from his face, letting your fingers linger along his jaw. “It’s you that makes it special for me, too,” you said softly. “No place could ever be too dark, not with you in it.”

For a moment, he looked at you in that way he sometimes did, the way that made you feel like there was nothing else he saw. His fingers intertwined with yours, holding your hand firmly as if he’d never let go.

“Promise me,” he whispered, voice carrying an unspoken worry, as if something beyond your view haunted him. “No matter what happens… you’ll be here, with me.”

You gave him a smile, squeezing his hand. “Newt... we can't guarantee—"

He lifted your chin ever so gently, cutting you off. "Promise me."

"Always."

He took your hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles, his eyes lingering on yours with something deeper—a quiet understanding. A silent promise.

And for that moment, everything felt whole. You knew there would be dark days and shadows still to come, but as long as you had this, as long as you could hold onto each other, it was enough.

Yet, somewhere in his gaze, you thought you caught a fleeting hint of something—fear, perhaps, or the kind of acceptance only seen in someone who understood that some things, no matter how much love could try to hold them, couldn’t last forever.

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.

Lose and Let Go

Finnick Odair x Troubled!Reader

Angst and comfort

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

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

Inspired by:

Story under the cut

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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