In Her Shadow

Wasting All These Tears On You

Finnick Odair x Reader

Tw: Regular THG angst, mentions of forced prostitution, reader and Finnick are both lowkey jerks, I think that’s it, let me know if I missed anything ☺️

(This is my first story and I’m always open to constructive feedback. I also take requests if you’d like to see more)

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚. ︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚. ︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚. ︶︶︶︶

And you left me standin’ on the corner crying

Feeling like a fool for tryin’

Finnick Odair. The pride and joy of District Four. The Darling of the Capitol. The most desirable Victor. These are just a few of his many titles. Panem adores him. He’s perfect in every way. A body specially sculpted by the gods, a smile that could entrance even the most manipulative, blue eyes that could suck anyone in and drown them like a lost sailor at sea. Even his voice. So seductive it could put a siren to shame.

So how did Y/n, the Victor of the 68th Hunger Games get involved with such a man?

Truthfully, she doesn’t even know the answer, and frankly, she would rather forget they knew each other at all.

I wish I could erase our memory

‘Cause you didn’t give a damn about me

Seeing him around District Four, the Capitol, anywhere really brought Y/n nothing but pain. Seeing him smile with the many women and different citizens of the Capitol created a sickening feeling in the 68th Victor. She pries her eyes away when she sees a wandering hand, a whisper too close to his ear, the offering of a drink. More often than not, she focuses more on him than on her own well being.

Perhaps that’s why she’s sitting outside of a very generous party, thrown by President Snow, crying.

Her nails are dug deeply into her palms as she tries to use the physical pain to stop herself from crying. Her eyes are stuck on the ceiling of the hallway, decorated with the most extravagant lights. She counts the diamonds that are stuck in each chandelier and slowly finds herself coming down from her emotional high.

She hates that he has this effect on her.

The moment she had won her Games, she could tell he was shocked. He didn’t believe she would make it out due to her low evaluation score. But she proved everyone wrong. She killed twelve Tributes in her arena. She hid her skills, appearing weak to the others so they would target her first. It was a cruel way to use the poor teens that surrounded her, but it was either her or them.

She never understood why Finnick had such a hard time believing in her. He didn’t even take the time to try and train her, pushing her off onto Mags as if she were some chore. He seemed almost regretful when she won. She didn’t understand why until Snow had crowned her at her Victor ceremony.

“You are what the elite in the Capitol consider… desirable.”

She knew what that meant. People in the Capitol always talked, especially when they had enough to drink. The night she met with her first client, she walked out feeling like an animal. No, less than. She felt appalled and wanted to crawl out of her own skin. She wanted to scratch her soft and supple skin so she would be of no use to Snow anymore.

That was until she saw him.

Finnick was exiting a room just across the hall, and when they locked eyes, everything fell into place. He knew what she had just gone through and he took it upon himself to help her through it the way no one else bothered to help him.

Over time he developed a sense of protectiveness over Y/n. They were always seen together, joint at the hip. Snow at first wanted them separated at all costs, but noticed the positive reaction from the Capitol at their close relationship, so he allowed it.

Though Y/n is starting to wish he had torn them apart when he had the chance. Life wouldn’t be so painful if he had.

You ain’t worth another sleepless night

And I’ll do everything I gotta do to get you off my mind

Many had warned her not to get involved with Finnick, but she never listened. Her heart told her that he’s what she wanted, what she craved. They kept their relationship a secret. Stealing kisses in passing, flirty touches under the dinner table, seductive whispering at parties, sneaking into each other's room undetected. They did it for almost two years, and it was pure bliss. Being with each other, spending countless hours on the beaches in District Four just relishing in each other's presence. But nothing good ever lasts long in Panem. She should’ve known that.

Things grew more and more difficult the more clients the two of them were forced to see. Fights ensued, jealousy raged, tears were shed. It all became too much. And some things can never be taken back or forgotten, no matter how hard one tries.

“Then leave!” Y/n screams, tears falling freely from her eyes.

“Maybe I will!” Finnick seethes with a harshness that she had never witnessed before. Her heart ached seeing him stare at her with such an intense anger.

He turns to storm out of the Y/n’s house, but her words cause his feet to freeze in their spot. “But I can’t promise I’ll be waiting for you when you come back,” the way she says it is so finite, but her entire being is yelling at her to take it back before it’s too late.

Finnick pauses before turning back to look at her. His face is blank, or maybe heartbroken is the better word for it. His eyes are mere shells of what they used to be, the bright green spark has faded into something she couldn’t even recognize.

“Good,” he replies, his voice barely shaking. “Why would I want to come back to you when I have women lining up to be with me?”

He knew exactly what to say to wound her the most. They both have been open and honest about their insecurities when it comes to their high end status. They tried not to be insecure, but who wouldn’t be in their position? They were sold for their bodies, no one would feel confident or beautiful after experiencing that. And both of them always had the worry that someone they met would appease the other better than they ever could. That’s why they agreed never to say things like that to each other.

Until that moment.

“Well, have fun with them,” she spits back with a lethal amount of venom lacing her tone. “Enjoy using your body to cover up your fear that no one will ever love you!”

‘Cause what you wanted I couldn’t get

What you did, boy, I’ll never forget

After that, communication ceased between them. The relationship they fought so hard for cracked, and it hasn’t been fixed since.

Y/n regrets what she said that night more than anything. Along with the amount of petty shots she’s taken at the Darling. She won’t deny that she’s been more than flirty with other men in front of him, but what hurt the most was that he never seemed to care.

Before he would always rush to her aid, making sure her drinks weren’t laced with an aphrodisiac, that the men she danced with were respectful, and that she was always well taken care of. Now, he doesn’t even look her way. He’s always on the arm of some elitist, looking so engrossed by them that anyone would believe nothing else in the world mattered to him.

Y/n tried so hard for so long not to let that bother her, but seeing him tonight with that woman practically sitting on his lap broke her. She had to leave the party. She couldn’t keep playing this game anymore. It hurt too much.

“You forgot something.”

Y/n looks up and sees Finnick standing above her, looking at everything but the sobbing woman below him. She sniffles, trying to cover up any evidence of her breakdown. She notices him holding the small bag she brought with her. Y/n stands from her spot with a high level of grace and takes her bag from him with a curt nod.

“Thanks,” she mumbles before going to walk away from him.

“You know, I used to be the guy you went to whenever you felt the need to cry,” his comment is solemn, painful almost. The way he reminisces creates a nostalgia neither of them want to feel.

Y/n stops, still not turning around. She clears her throat, “Yeah, you were.” She can feel his unwavering presence behind her, “But that was a long time ago.”

The silence surrounding them is deafening, but neither of them bother to move. Y/n doesn’t understand why he’s the one who had to follow her out. Why did he care enough to return her items? Why does it matter if he was the one she used to go to?

“Why did you come after me, Finnick?” She asks, her voice monotone. “Don’t you have your hands full catering to the three women already drooling over you?”

Once again she’s met with silence, but his breathing gives away that he hasn’t left. She’s surprised at her own level of patience. There really is nothing stopping her from walking away, but she stays. Like there’s this supernatural force that makes her desire his answer.

“I asked you a question,” she turns around, a newfound power in her voice. Her dress trails behind her intimidatingly as her heels click on the concrete. She stops directly in front of him, a scowl on her face.

His eyes dance across her face, “Something just seemed different this time.” He answers quietly. “I know we like to play the jealousy game and prey on each other's insecurities, but the way you walked out was different. It wasn’t fun anymore.”

“I didn’t realize it was ever fun in the first place.”

“Oh, don’t act like you’ve never hung yourself all over the Capitol men just to get under my skin,” he chastises. “I know you, Y/n. You like to play just as much as I do.”

“Well, I’m over whatever game you think this is,” Y/n shrugs with vindication. “I want you to be happy Finnick, but I can’t watch it anymore. I just can’t. Seeing you with an array of women all the time is just too much,” she admits solemnly.

“And you think it didn’t hurt me?” He asks, taking a step closer to her. He tilts his head the same way he always does. That simple motion silences whoever he’s talking to and forces them to listen. Y/n’ breath catches in her throat as his nose practically touches the tip of hers. “The amount of times I have wanted to murder the slimy men that have laid their hands on you. How many times I’ve wanted to sweep you off your feet and take you away from here,” he leans closer to her ear. “To apologize to you,” he whispers, nipping at her ear lobe.

She hates how his tactics are working against her. She’s never been one to deny the electrifying feeling she gets from him. “Seems a little too late for that, doesn’t it?” She whispers back.

“Only if you don’t forgive me,” he counters. The looks in his crystal blue eyes is nothing short of genuine affection and regret. He places his finger underneath her chin, “Y/n… I’m tired of seeing you waste all these tears on me. C’mon sweetheart, let me make it up to you,” he kisses her forehead softly. “I messed up. I shouldn’t have said what I did or left you like that. And I’m sorry. I need you.”

Y/n tries to keep her tears at bay, but she can’t help the bitter water stinging her eyes. “It wasn’t just you,” she manages to get out. It’s quiet because if she were to speak any louder, her composure would break. “I’m sorry for what I said too,” she tells him with a small nod before flinging her arms around his shoulders.

Finnick feels a huge weight lift off his chest as he feels her body encompass his. He’s just as tired of this manipulative game as she is. Watching her dance with the multitudes of men that would do nothing but use her made his blood boil. He wraps his arms around her legs and lifts her in the air. He holds her tightly with no intention of ever releasing her from his grip again.

Y/n pulls back only for a moment so she can plant her lips onto his. The kiss is soft and gentle, their lips meshing together perfectly. They fit together like a puzzle piece and the satisfaction they get from reconnecting can’t be described through words. Fireworks go off in both their minds as she tangles her hands in his hair.

“I love you,” he mumbles between kisses.

Y/n didn’t know how much she missed hearing those words from his mouth. She thought she’d never be able to hear them again, but she’s so happy that she did. “I love you too.”

Oh, finally I’m through

Wasting all these tears on you

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.

The escape: Backup plan

(Pt. II)

Janson (Maze Runner) x OC (Lauren)

Angst with a teeny tiny bit of romance

summary: Lauren’s narrow escape from Janson

AN: do I need to put trigger warnings on my stories? And if I do, what exactly must I state? Like depressing scene? Violence? Errr in this case, I’ll say trigger warning is: vulgarities used.

—————————————————————————————————————-

Inspired by:

Lauren didn’t stop running, her legs burning as she raced through the dimly lit corridors. Her chest heaved with each breath, but her mind stayed sharp, focused. The exit—just a few turns ahead—was her only goal. She could feel the weight of the real cure pressing against her side, the real cure tucked away in her jacket pocket. She only had one more decoy to save her.

She could still hear Janson’s footsteps echoing behind her, relentless and close. Too close.

Her heart pounded, but she wouldn’t let fear take over. She had a plan. She always had a plan.

She reached the last corner before the exit, her eyes locking onto the door at the end of the hallway. Freedom. Safety. But then—an alarm blared through the facility, loud and jarring, the shrill sound piercing through the air like a blade.

He triggered it.

Lauren’s stomach twisted. The door ahead was her only way out, but now the entire facility would be on high alert. Guards would be rushing in any moment, and Janson was right behind her.

She gritted her teeth, her eyes narrowing. She had no choice.

She sprinted for the door, pushing her legs harder, faster, ignoring the searing pain in her muscles. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the exit taunting her from the distance.

But then—she heard it. The unmistakable sound of footsteps closing in fast. Janson was gaining on her, his fury propelling him forward like a predator closing in on its prey.

Lauren’s mind raced. She couldn’t let him catch her. Not now. Not when she was so close.

With one last burst of energy, she reached the door, slamming her hand against the keypad to trigger the exit. The heavy metal door creaked open, but before she could slip through—

A hand grabbed her bag, yanking her back with brutal force. She stumbled, the momentum pulling her into Janson’s iron grip, her back slamming against his chest. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her firmly in place as she struggled to break free.

“Going somewhere?” Janson’s voice was low and deadly, his breath hot against her ear. His grip tightened around her, his other hand reaching for her jacket pocket, where he knew the real cure had to be.

Lauren’s heart raced, her body thrumming with adrenaline. She twisted in his grasp, trying to pull away, but Janson’s strength was unmatched. His hand slipped into her pocket, his fingers brushing against the vial—

“No!” Lauren’s voice was raw with desperation, and in a sudden move, she reached up and jammed her elbow into his ribs, hard.

Janson grunted, the impact loosening his grip just enough for her to wrench herself free. She spun away, her back now against the doorframe, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her eyes locked with his, fiery and defiant.

Janson straightened, his gaze dark and predatory, his chest rising and falling with the same intensity as hers. “You think you can get away with this?” he snarled, his voice venomous.

Lauren’s pulse thundered in her ears, but she didn’t flinch. “I’m not giving you anything,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “You don’t deserve it.”

Janson’s eyes flicked to her jacket pocket, where the real cure still lay hidden, and a slow, dangerous smile curled at the corners of his lips. “You really think you’re in control here?”

In one swift move, Janson lunged forward, slamming his hand against the doorframe beside her head, trapping her between him and the exit. The tension in the air was electric, charged with anger, fear, and something else—something darker.

Lauren’s heart pounded in her chest, but she met his gaze with unwavering determination. “I know what you are.”

For a moment, Janson didn’t move, his breath coming in sharp, measured bursts. His eyes burned into hers, filled with a mix of fury and something dangerously close to admiration. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, his presence overwhelming and suffocating.

“But you know nothing of what I’m capable of,” he whispered, his voice low, almost a growl.

Lauren swallowed hard, but she didn’t break eye contact. “I know enough.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and loaded. Janson’s jaw clenched, his hand twitching at his side, as though he was fighting the urge to grab her, to force her hand. Lauren’s heart raced, her pulse hammering in her throat. She had seconds—just seconds—to turn the situation to her advantage. Her mind scrambled, searching for an escape, a distraction, anything. Then, in a flash of desperation and instinct, she made her move.

She lunged forward, her hand gripping the front of his jacket as her lips crashed against his.

The kiss was fierce, a clash of heat and adrenaline. Janson stiffened, completely caught off guard, his breath faltering for the briefest moment. Lauren pressed closer, her lips moving against his in a wild, reckless attempt to confuse him, to throw him off balance.

For an instant, it worked. His grip on the doorframe loosened, his hand hovering in mid-air as if his body couldn’t decide what to do next. His breath hitched, and she felt the tension in his body shift, softening, hesitating.

But Lauren wasn’t waiting for a reaction. The kiss was not a moment of surrender—it was a weapon. She pulled back abruptly, their lips parting with a gasp, leaving him stunned. His eyes were dark, searching hers, his chest rising and falling with the same intensity as hers.

For the smallest second, there was something between them—something dangerous, magnetic, raw. But then Lauren’s mind snapped back to reality. She used his stunned moment to duck beneath his arm, slipping out of his reach.

She bolted through the door, her feet hitting the pavement, the cold air biting at her skin as she ran into the night. The real cure still burned in her pocket. She had seconds.

Behind her, Janson stood frozen for a heartbeat longer, his hand hovering at his lips where hers had been. But the confusion only lasted a moment. With a low growl of frustration, he was after her again, the fire in his eyes darker than before.

“You little bitch!”

She could hear him cursing under his breath, the sound of his footsteps thundering behind her, relentless and determined. The facility lights flashed above her, casting long, ominous shadows across the courtyard.

Lauren ran harder, her lungs burning, her legs trembling with exhaustion. She was so close—so close to escaping. But Janson was faster, stronger, and he wasn’t about to let her go without a fight.

Suddenly, she tripped over a rock, her coat getting caught by the thorns on a bush. He gained on her, taking the opportunity to yank her back with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of her. She stumbled, falling to the ground, the cold concrete scraping her hands and knees as she hit the ground hard.

Janson was on her in an instant, pinning her down with his weight, his face inches from hers. His eyes were wild, his breath ragged as he glared down at her, his fingers digging into her skin.

“Give me the goddamn vial,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Lauren’s chest heaved, her heart racing as she struggled beneath him. But she wasn’t done fighting. Not yet.

With one last burst of energy, she reached into her jacket, her fingers brushing against the cold glass of the real vial. In a split second, she pulled it out, holding it up between them like a shield.

Janson’s eyes flicked to the vial, his breath hitching in his throat. For a moment, he froze, his grip on her loosening just enough for her to slip free.

Lauren scrambled to her feet, backing away from him, the vial clutched tightly in her hand. “This is it, Janson,” she said, her voice steady but laced with warning. “The real cure.”

Janson’s gaze darkened, his eyes locked on the vial as he slowly rose to his feet. He took a step toward her, but Lauren held her ground.

“One more step,” she warned, her voice trembling, “and I’ll destroy it.”

For a moment, they stood there, the tension between them thick and palpable. The weight of everything that had happened—everything they’d both done—hung in the air like a storm about to break.

Then, slowly, Janson took another step forward, his eyes never leaving hers. “You won’t.”

Lauren’s heart raced, her fingers tightening around the vial. “I will.”

And for the first time, Janson hesitated.

Lauren saw it—the brief flicker of doubt in his eyes, the way his hand twitched at his side as though he wasn’t sure what to do next.

She had him.

But before she could make her next move, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the courtyard. Guards. They were closing in fast, and Lauren knew she was out of time.

Without another word, she turned and ran, disappearing into the shadows, the real cure still safely in her grasp.

Janson stood there, watching her go, his chest heaving with a mix of anger and something else—something he couldn’t quite place.

She’d won this round. But he wasn’t done with her yet.

Not by a long shot.

Merlin.

Neville Longbottom x Hufflepuff!Reader

FLUFF!!

Summary: falling for the clumsy doofus.

AN: this was inspired by what happened last night, I attended Grad night (which is my school’s little graduation party) and realised I really really like this guy who I’ve casually spoken with in class. He’s exactly what I’d want in a husband but there’s a lot of things in between anything happening for us so yea nothing’s going to happen… I guess I’ll just transfer the experience to our lovely Neville. Enjoy!

UPDATE: (2/1/25) I found out he has a girlfriend now. It’s not meant to be guys. But wtv, I trust that the Lord will send me a true man of God. 🥹 (I’m catholic, I don’t think I mentioned that before)

The new seating chart was a disaster, at least as far as you were concerned. Of all people, you’d been paired with Neville Longbottom, a boy who had a reputation for stumbling over roots—both literally and metaphorically.

You approached your greenhouse workstation, already bracing for frustration. But when you saw him standing there, sleeves rolled up, nervously fiddling with his trowel, he turned to you with a warm, crooked smile.

“Well, if it isn’t my new partner in crime,” he said, his tone light but tentative.

You tilted your head, unimpressed but curious. “Didn’t realize we were committing crimes in Herbology now. Starting small, are we?”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Baby steps. First, we master Flutterby Bushes. Then, who knows? Maybe world domination.”

You snorted, despite yourself, and set your bag down beside him. “If this is your plan for taking over the world, you might need a better partner.”

“Maybe,” Neville said, eyes twinkling. “But I think you’ll do just fine.”

Your lips twitched, threatening to betray the irritation you’d convinced yourself you felt.

Today’s task involved transplanting Flutterby Bushes, which were sensitive to emotion and required a careful hand. Perfect, you thought sarcastically. A recipe for disaster with someone like Neville.

The first few minutes passed in tentative silence. Neville focused intently on untangling a particularly stubborn root system, his tongue peeking out in concentration. You rolled your eyes, deciding to take the lead.

“You’re overthinking it,” you said, reaching over to adjust his grip. Your fingers brushed his, and he startled, nearly dropping the plant.

“Sorry,” he said, his cheeks tinged pink. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “Just… here. Like this.”

He watched you carefully, mimicking your movements. “You know,” he began, a teasing lilt in his voice, “you’re not half-bad at this. I thought Hufflepuffs were all about caring for magical creatures, not plants.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave. Didn’t you flinch at the sight of a bowtruckle last week?”

Neville laughed, full and genuine, the sound warming the chilly air in the greenhouse. “Okay, fair. But in my defense, that bowtruckle had intentions.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Intentions? Of what, exactly? Poking you to death?”

“Hey, don’t underestimate the power of a well-placed poke,” he shot back, eyes sparkling with mischief.

The banter continued, and before you knew it, the initial awkwardness had melted away. Neville’s clumsiness was still there—he managed to spill an entire pot of soil onto the table at one point—but his easy humor and self-awareness turned every mistake into a shared joke.

“Merlin, Longbottom,” you said, brushing dirt off your robes for the third time, “you’re lucky you’re funny. Otherwise, I’d have ditched you by now.”

“Lucky me,” he said with a mock bow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “But admit it—you’d miss me if I weren’t here.”

You opened your mouth to retort, then closed it again, caught off guard by how right he was.

Over the next few weeks, working with Neville became something you looked forward to. His wit and charm were understated but undeniable, and he had a knack for making you feel at ease, even when things went wrong.

When your Flutterby Bush began to wilt after a botched replanting, you felt a pang of frustration. “Great. It hates me,” you muttered, glaring at the drooping leaves.

Neville stepped closer, his voice gentle. “It doesn’t hate you. You’re just holding it too tight. Here.” He reached out, his hands brushing against yours as he repositioned the plant. “See? It’s all about trust.”

You glanced at him, startled by the quiet confidence in his voice. For a moment, the greenhouse seemed quieter, the only sound the rustle of leaves and your own heartbeat.

When the holidays arrived, you found yourself thinking about Neville more than you expected. At home, surrounded by family, you kept catching yourself smiling at memories of his quick wit, his awkward yet endearing mannerisms, and the way he could make you laugh even on the worst days.

By the time the Yule Ball rolled around, you’d realized something important: Neville Longbottom wasn’t just a good partner. He was… well, something more.

When you saw him waiting at the entrance to the Great Hall, your breath caught. His dress robes were simple but elegant, and there was a confidence in his posture that you hadn’t seen before.

“You clean up well,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“So do you,” he replied, his voice soft but steady. “Shall we?”

The dance was magical, but it wasn’t the music or the decorations that made it special. It was Neville—his warm smile, his steady hand on yours, the way he looked at you like you were the most important person in the room.

As the night ended, he walked you to the courtyard, the cool night air brushing against your skin.

The courtyard was quiet, the cool air brushing against your flushed cheeks as you turned to Neville. He stood close, his fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of his robe, but his eyes—soft and steady—held yours.

“You looked amazing tonight,” you said softly, the words spilling out before you could second-guess them.

Neville blinked, his face lighting up with a sly smile. “You looked rather… dashing tonight,” he said, his voice low but earnest.

Your cheeks burned, and you looked down, unable to hide your smile. “Oh, thanks,” you murmured, your heart racing. Butterflies fluttering around in your stomach.

He tilted his head, watching you intently. There was something in the way your blush lingered that made his own nerves fall away. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for your hand, his thumb brushing against your knuckles.

When you looked up, his gaze locked with yours, and without a word, he leaned in. His lips met yours in a kiss that was soft and tentative, yet it sent a spark racing through you.

It was over too quickly, but as he pulled back, the shy grin on his face said everything. And for once, neither of you needed words.

AN: well, this is what I can only wish had happened. HES SO FUNNY AND AMAZING AND SMART AND SUCH A GREEN FLAG 😭MAN CAN COOK AND TOLD ME WOMEN IN POWER ARE HOT LIKE- bloody hell his future wife/husband is so fucking lucky 😭

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)

The Life I Never Led

Obi Wan Kenobi x Padawan!Reader

Fluff, comfy cozy comfort 🥰

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

Inspired by:

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

Story under the cut

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

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

Because she was singing.

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

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

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

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

Longing.

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

His fingers curled slightly at his sides. Force.

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

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

That was untrue. She asked questions all the time.

Just never the ones that mattered.

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

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

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

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

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

And the way she never spoke of it.

He could have stepped inside. Could have said something.

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

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

The next day, he watched her.

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

Not her skill. Not her strength.

Something deeper.

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

There never was.

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

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

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

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

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

She shifted uncomfortably. “Is this another lecture?”

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

That made her freeze.

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

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

“Singing.”

She inhaled sharply. “Oh.”

Silence stretched between them.

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

“No,” he agreed. “But I did.”

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

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

Her breath hitched.

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

So he made the choice for her.

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

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

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

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

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

They stood like that for a moment.

Then—

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

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

“Mm.” He smirked. “Sure you do.”

She didn’t pull away.

And he didn’t let go.

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 🤍

FANTASTIC BEASTS

angst : 🌩

fluff : 🌸

requests : 📩

This is a SFW blog, so no smut (because I'm not quite there yet) NEWT SCAMANDER: Oneshots: > Heart of the Forest 🌸 (synopsis: 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.)

> Frost 📩 🌩️ (synopsis: When Teddy gets hurt, she turns cold, leaving Newt to earn back her trust while she spoils their injured Niffler rotten.)

Surnames are just as important as given names. So, I compiled a list of the websites I use to find my surnames.

English Surnames

Dutch Surnames

Spanish Surnames

Scottish Surnames

German Surnames

Italian Surnames

Irish Surnames

French Surnames

Scandinavian Surnames

Welsh Surnames

Jewish Surnames

Surnames By Ethnicity

Most Common Surnames in the USA

Most Common Surnames in Great Britan

Most Common Surnames in Asia

Is it weird I want to request a scene that involves Janson? I've been seeing a lot of posts about him and ngl he's kinda hot...is this just me...???

GO FOR IT. I wholeheartedly agree. I don’t know what it is but well… let’s just say I wouldn’t protest because he could slam a clipboard on the table and I’d fold like a lawn chair 😫

PLEASE PLEASE SEND IN REQUESTS 🙏🙏