Hey 💌 I’m Saja — A Mother Trying To Hold Onto Hope Through Days That Feel Impossibly Heavy.

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)

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.)

Writing Tips Master Post

Character writing/development:

Character Arcs

Making Character Profiles

Character Development

Comic Relief Arc

Internal Conflict

Character Voices

Creating Distinct Characters

Suicidal Urges/Martyr Complex

Creating Likeable Characters

Writing Strong Female Characters

Writing POC Characters

Building Tension

Plot devices/development:

Intrigue in Storytelling

Enemies to Lovers

Alternatives to Killing Characters

Worldbuilding

Misdirection

Consider Before Killing Characters

Foreshadowing

Narrative:

Emphasising the Stakes

Avoid Info-Dumping

Writing Without Dialogue

1st vs. 2nd vs. 3rd Perspective

Fight Scenes (+ More)

Transitions

Pacing

Writing Prologues

Dialogue Tips

Writing War

Writing Cheating

Worldbuilding:

Worldbuilding: Questions to Consider

Creating Laws/Rules in Fantasy Worlds

Book writing:

Connected vs. Stand-Alone Series

A & B Stories

Writer resources:

Writing YouTube Channels, Podcasts, & Blogs

Online Writing Resources

Outlining/Writing/Editing Software

Writer help:

Losing Passion/Burnout

Overcoming Writer's Block

Fantasy terms:

How To Name Fantasy Races (Step-by-Step)

Naming Elemental Races

Naming Fire-Related Races

How To Name Fantasy Places

Ask games:

Character Ask Game #1

Character Ask Game #2

Character Ask Game #3

Miscellaneous:

1000 Follower Post

2000 Follower Poll

Writing Fantasy

Home

Camilo Madrigal x Reader (both of age, established relationship)

Fluff

Summary: Camilo finds peace and belonging with you, and as the two of you share a quiet evening together, he realizes that home is not a place, but the person by his side.

Story under the cut

This was inspired by the song ‘Home’ from Good Neighbours

The golden light of the setting sun spilled into the quiet streets of Encanto, bathing everything in a warm glow. The Madrigal household was bustling with its usual energy, but tonight, you and Camilo found yourselves tucked away from the chaos, seeking a quiet corner of the world just for the two of you.

You sat together on the stone steps of a small garden behind Casita, the vibrant flowers swaying gently in the evening breeze. The laughter and lively chatter of the family drifted from the house in the distance, but here, in this small sanctuary, everything felt peaceful. Almost like the world had paused just for you.

Camilo stretched out beside you, his head resting comfortably in your lap, arms loosely folded across his chest. His usually mischievous expression was softer tonight, his face tilted up towards the sky where the stars were just beginning to appear. The fading light cast a soft glow on his features, and for a moment, the trickster you knew so well seemed completely at ease.

"You know," he murmured, voice quiet, almost as if speaking too loudly would break the spell of the moment, "I could get used to this."

You ran your fingers through his curls absentmindedly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. His hair was soft, and the way he leaned into your touch made your heart swell with a warmth that felt like it had always been there, waiting to bloom.

"Used to what?" you asked, though you already knew what he meant.

"This." He sighed, eyes still focused on the dimming sky. "Being here with you. Not having to be anyone else. Just... me."

There was something so simple yet profound in his words, the way they settled into the quiet air between you. Camilo, the boy with a thousand faces, always shifting, always changing to fit the needs of everyone around him—finally at peace, just as he was.

You let the silence stretch, comfortable and full, the only sound between you being the soft rustling of leaves and the distant murmur of the evening. There was no need for anything more. The world felt whole like this—complete in the way his head rested in your lap, in the way the air seemed to hum with a gentle, unspoken understanding.

After a while, Camilo shifted, turning his head slightly to look up at you. His golden-brown eyes shimmered with something softer than usual, something tender that made your heart skip a beat. "You know, you kind of remind me of Casita," he said, his voice teasing but with an edge of sincerity.

"Casita?" You raised an eyebrow, amused. "How so?"

"Well," he grinned, his trademark playfulness sneaking back into his tone, "being around you... it just feels like home."

You felt a warmth rise to your cheeks at his words, but before you could respond, Camilo sat up, his face just inches from yours now. The smile on his lips was soft, genuine. It wasn’t one of his usual exaggerated grins or cheeky smirks—it was something quieter, something real.

"And I mean it," he added, his voice a little lower, eyes never leaving yours. "Whenever I’m with you... I don’t have to put on a face. I don’t have to be everything for everyone. I can just be me."

You swallowed, heart racing as you held his gaze. The weight of his words hung between you, thick with the kind of vulnerability that came so rarely. Camilo was always quick with a joke, quick to shift into someone else when things got too serious—but not now. Not with you.

He reached for your hand, his fingers brushing yours softly before intertwining with them. His touch was warm, grounding, like the sun itself had wrapped you both in its embrace, refusing to let the moment slip away.

"You feel like home to me too, Camilo," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the soft breeze.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world around you seemed to fade into nothing, leaving just the two of you in your own little universe. The sky had darkened now, the stars twinkling above like a thousand tiny promises, but all you could focus on was the boy in front of you—the boy who, despite all his masks and faces, was always himself with you.

Camilo smiled again, that same soft smile that made your heart flutter. He pulled you closer, pressing his forehead gently against yours. "Then I guess," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, "we’re home."

And in that moment, as the world around you faded into soft darkness, you knew that no matter where life took you, as long as you were with Camilo, you’d always be home.

AN: this is shorter than my usual but I’m a bit pressed for time so I haven’t gotten to proofread this as much as I’d like to.

Here

PostAzkaban!Sirius Black x Slytherin!Reader

Angst, fluff (comfort)

Summary: A chance encounter in Grimmauld Place leads Sirius Black and a former classmate to find solace in each other’s company.

AN: **spoilers, please skip this and head on over to the story if you don’t want spoilers** So I had no intention to sneak in the kiss but as I planned this out, I realised it flowed and sort of fit the vibe I was going for so I hope yall enjoy it.

——————————————————————————————————————

The dim lighting of Grimmauld Place cast long shadows across the hallway as you quietly made your way down the worn floorboards, your hand lightly brushing the wall. You hadn't been here long, only a few days helping with Order business, but the house still unsettled you. It was filled with history and weight—just like the man who lived there.

You paused at a door you hadn't noticed before, curiosity tugging at you, but before you could move, a low voice came from behind.

“You always had a habit of poking your nose where it didn’t belong.”

The sarcasm was unmistakable. You turned to find Sirius standing behind you, arms crossed, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His dark eyes held that familiar glint of mischief, but there was something else there too—something quieter, wearier.

“Sirius,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “I wasn’t—”

“Exploring?” he interrupted, stepping closer. “Just taking a leisurely stroll through my family’s personal mausoleum?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, folding your arms defensively. “I wasn’t snooping. Just... familiarizing myself.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Right. Because walking around in the dead of night is the best way to get acquainted with a place.”

There was a beat of silence as his teasing words hung in the air. You studied him for a moment—the same Sirius Black you remembered from Hogwarts, but different, aged in ways that went deeper than the lines on his face. He still had that sharp wit, the biting humor, but you could see the exhaustion behind his eyes, the pain he kept hidden beneath the surface.

“Old habits die hard,” you said softly, stepping back from the door.

Sirius chuckled under his breath, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

The tension between you wasn’t hostile, but it was there—an unspoken understanding, a shared knowledge of darker times. He watched you closely as you moved toward the small window at the end of the hall, the moonlight barely illuminating the worn wood beneath your feet.

“I never really noticed you much at school,” he said suddenly, his tone less teasing, more thoughtful. “Slytherin, right?”

“Not exactly in your inner circle,” you replied quietly, looking out at the moonlit street. “But we had classes together.”

“I know.” He was closer now, though you didn’t turn to face him. You could feel his presence, the warmth of him standing just behind you. “You always seemed... different.”

You smiled faintly at that. “Not all Slytherins fit the mold.”

There was a pause, and then you heard him exhale softly. “I missed a lot, didn’t I?”

You finally turned to face him, catching the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes before he looked away. “We’ve all missed things.”

Sirius leaned back against the wall, arms still crossed, his usual smirk replaced with something more thoughtful, more tired. "Seems like all I’ve been doing since Azkaban is missing things. Time. People. Myself.”

His voice trailed off, and the rawness of it surprised you. There was no bravado here, no sarcasm to cover up the scars. Just him. Just Sirius. And for a moment, you saw the man beneath the layers of wit and pain.

“You’re still here,” you said quietly. “That counts for something.”

He gave a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Some days, I’m not so sure.”

You stepped forward, your hand reaching out without thinking, lightly brushing against his arm. He stiffened at the touch, his gaze snapping to yours, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d crossed a line. But then, something shifted in his expression—just the smallest crack in the walls he’d built around himself.

“You’re not alone, Sirius,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “You don’t have to be.”

He stared at you for a long moment, the weight of your words settling between you. There was something in his eyes that spoke of years of isolation, of mistrust and pain, but also something else—a longing, buried deep, for connection.

Sirius let out a breath, his usual defenses faltering. “And what about you? Why are you here, really?”

You smiled faintly, stepping just a little closer. “Maybe I’m trying to remind you of what you still have.”

He looked down, shaking his head slightly, though there was a hint of something softer in his expression. “You’re too kind for this place. Too kind for me.”

You felt your heart tighten at that, the quiet self-deprecation in his voice cutting deeper than any of his sarcastic remarks had. Without thinking, you took another step closer, your hand finding his, your fingers brushing lightly against his.

Sirius looked down at the contact, then up at you, his gaze intense and searching. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you heavy with something unspoken. Then, almost imperceptibly, he squeezed your hand back, his touch tentative, as if he was afraid to let himself feel it.

“I’m not looking for a savior,” he murmured, his voice rough.

“I’m not offering to save you,” you replied softly. “Just to be here.”

His eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place, but before you could say anything more, he closed the distance between you. The kiss wasn’t hurried or desperate; it was slow, careful—two people finding their way through the darkness together. His hand came up to cup your face, the touch surprisingly gentle, as though he wasn’t quite sure this was real.

And in that moment, you knew—he didn’t need saving. He just needed someone to be there with him, to remind him that there was still light, even in the shadows.

Stormbound

Thalia Grace x Percy Jackson

fluffy

Summary: Thalia and Percy navigate the unspoken tension between them, where a single confession could change everything.

Request by @Blake7255 on Wattpad:

I have a request for Perlia from Percy Jackson where Thalia has a big crush on Percy when she first sees him when she gets out of her tree without realizing that he has a even bigger one on her 1 year later she decides to give herself a makeover to try to get his attention dyeing her hair blonde and giving herself big curly hair and wearing a purple dress after she gets done she decides to tell Percy how she feels and asks him out they go on their first date and kiss at the end and on Percy 21 birthday he asks her to marry him and the end can be the wedding thank you for your time

story under the cut

The First Glance

Thalia Grace wasn’t the type to swoon, okay? She didn’t do hearts-and-flowers crap. But the moment she stepped out of that stupid tree, she locked eyes with Percy Jackson, and the world stilled.

He was sweaty, shirt clinging to him as he fought some monster she couldn’t care less about because—damn it—why did he have to look like that? Her pulse quickened, and her lip curled to hide it. Great, my first day back, and I’m already losing my edge.

Meanwhile, Percy froze mid-swing, staring at her like she’d walked out of a dream. He shook it off and grinned, that lazy, lopsided grin that made her stomach flip. “Thalia, huh? You’re taller than I imagined.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you’re dumber than I thought.”

“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” he murmured, but his heart was pounding because—yeah, Zeus’s kid was terrifyingly gorgeous.

The Year That Followed

Their banter became routine. A jab, a smirk, a laugh that lingered just a second too long. Everyone saw it—the way Percy’s eyes lit up when Thalia entered a room, the way she softened (just barely) when he was near. But they ignored it, both too stubborn to admit what was blindingly obvious.

It came to a head one night during a campfire. Percy, oblivious as ever, was joking with Annabeth, and Thalia’s stomach twisted. She hated how her chest tightened whenever he laughed with someone else, how her eyes darted to him even when she didn’t mean to. Get it together, Grace.

Later, when she caught him by the lake, she couldn’t help herself. “You and Annabeth sure are cozy.”

Percy turned, confused. “Annabeth? She’s like my sister.”

“Sure she is,” Thalia snapped, hating the heat in her voice.

He stepped closer, brows furrowed. “What’s your deal, Thalia? You’ve been acting weird.”

“My deal?” she shot back, stepping closer too, electricity crackling in the air between them. “You’re the one who—” She cut herself off, clenching her fists. “Never mind. Forget it.”

Percy stared at her, his voice softer now. “Thalia…”

She shook her head and walked away before he could see the storm in her eyes.

The Makeover

Thalia hated feeling vulnerable. That’s why she decided to take control. If Percy couldn’t see her as more than his sparring buddy, then she’d make him.

The golden curls were Aphrodite’s idea. “Blonde will make his heart stop,” the love goddess had said with a wink. Thalia hated that she was probably right.

When she finished, she barely recognized herself. The purple dress felt strange, too soft against her skin. But her reflection smirked back at her. Let’s see you ignore me now, Jackson.

The Confession

When Percy saw her, his mouth opened, but no words came out. He blinked, twice, as if trying to process what he was seeing. “Thalia… you… wow.”

Her heart raced, but she played it cool. “You like it?”

“Uh… yeah, you could say that,” he stammered, cheeks flushing. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion.” She shrugged, stepping closer, her confidence wavering only slightly. “I just… wanted to try something new.”

He was staring at her like she’d hung the stars herself, and it made her stomach flip.

“Look, Percy,” she started, her voice quieter now, “I need to say something, and I need you to not laugh.”

“I’d never laugh at you,” he said, his voice steady now, serious in a way that made her chest ache.

“I like you,” she blurted. “And not in the let’s-train-until-we-drop way. I mean, I really like you. I think I have since the day we met.”

Silence. The kind that stretched too long and made her want to bolt.

Then Percy took a step forward, his voice low. “Thalia, do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that?”

Her breath hitched. “What?”

“I’ve liked you since… forever,” he admitted, his hand brushing hers. “I just thought you’d deck me if I told you.”

“Not deck you,” she said, her lips twitching into a smirk. “Maybe zap you, though.”

He grinned. “I’d take it.”

And when he kissed her, it wasn’t soft or tentative—it was a storm, wild and consuming, leaving them both breathless.

The Proposal

On Percy’s 21st birthday, he knelt on the same beach where they’d shared their first kiss. Thalia stood before him, arms crossed but eyes shimmering.

“What are you doing, Jackson?” she asked, though her voice was lighter than usual.

“Something I should’ve done ages ago,” he said, pulling out a ring shaped like a thunderbolt. “Thalia Grace, will you marry me?”

For once, she was speechless. She stared at him, her mind racing, her heart pounding. Then, with a shaky laugh, she muttered, “Took you long enough, Seaweed Brain.”

The Wedding

The wedding was chaos, of course. Leo set something on fire, Apollo flirted with the entire bridal party, and Zeus glared at Percy the whole time.

But when Thalia walked down the aisle, curls bouncing, blue eyes locked on Percy’s, none of it mattered.

“You ready for forever, Jackson?” she whispered when they met at the altar.

“With you? Always,” he said, grinning.

And when they kissed, the sky erupted in lightning and waves, a perfect storm for a perfect pair.

TOP GUN

angst : 🌩

fluff : 🌸

requests : 📩

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

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin:

> Vaporised 🌸 (synopsis: Reader shuts Hangman up by beating him.)

Lucky

Peter Hayes x small!Reader

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

Summary: Peter Hayes has always thrived on cruelty, sneering at others’ weaknesses to make himself look stronger. But when you—a quiet, seemingly small Dauntless initiate—beat him in a trial, he’s forced to see you in a different light. 

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

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

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

But today, things were about to change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But luck had nothing to do with it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.