Okay so like a have an idea for a Minho x reader fic
Basically they're both in the maze running together right, bickering because this man never stops doing that for some reason, and then reader[can be she or they idc] passes out from all the continuous running and he gets all worried <3
I know it's like rlly basic but I love this type of fic 💔
Also you can have Minho hear some grievers close by and he gets stressed like "holy shit, how will we outrun them" but he finds an empty corridor to bring them into and they have a Lil moment after she/they wakes up <33
I LOVE YOUR WRITING RAGHHH
try to keep up
⤷ pairing: minho x reader ⤷ word count: 4.2k ⤷ summary: there's never a dull moment when running the maze with minho as your partner. you say he's irritating, but who's there to save you when you collapse? ⤷ warnings: passing out, a loooot of banter between these two, minho trying to be nonchalant n shit after reader wakes up, just two idiots bickering
a/n: lucky for u, i also love this type of fic. never gets old. ty for requesting!!
Running the Maze is one of the only times you really feel free, even though you’re far from it.
The sun warms your skin, a breeze tussling your hair as you run. The sounds of your footsteps echo through the ivy covered corridors, a sound that’s a breath of fresh air compared to the typical hustle and bustle of the Glade filled with nothing but a bunch of rowdy boys.
It’s almost peaceful, which seems insane to say considering what your job really is, but it gives you a sense of purpose. The only thing that would make it a lot easier is if you were running in silence. Unfortunately, that’s one thing you’ll never get to have.
As if reading your thoughts, Minho’s voice cuts through the air.
“Can you at least try to keep up?”
You snort. Your feet pound on the stone floor of the Maze as you run, not quite side by side with Minho but only a couple feet behind him.
“Can you at least try to keep up?” you mimic, voice pitching higher as you do.
Minho rolls his eyes ahead of you, although you can’t see it. “That’s real mature.”
“Wasn’t trying to be,” you bite back, resisting the urge to smack the Keeper in the back of the head.
He huffs. “You’re like a shuck-faced child,” he grumbles, adjusting his harness slightly as he runs.
“Well maybe if you weren’t so unbelievably irritating—“
“Left.” He cuts you off, taking a sharp left turn around the corner of one of the walls.
Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “I know we’re going left, slinthead.”
“Then why are you half a step behind?”
“I’m not—“ you push harder, matching his pace now, breath already coming sharper than usual. “You think everyone’s slower than you because your ego is bigger than your running ability.”
Minho huffs out something between a laugh and a scoff. “Please. If my ego was truly that big, you’d be eating dust.”
“I might as well be. You kick it up like a horse,” you mutter.
“That’s a new one.”
“Only cause calling you insufferable was getting repetitive.”
He finally glances back at you, eyes sharp but amused. His dark hair is already damp with sweat. “You know you could just admit you can’t keep up.”
You shoot him a look. “You know you could just admit you’d be bored out of your mind without me.”
“Bold of you to assume I’m not already bored.”
“Then stop talking.”
“You started it.”
“Me?! You literally haven’t shut up since we left the Glade.”
“That’s because someone has to be the entertaining one. And it’s not you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. That’s a load of klunk and you know it.”
“I’m just being honest,” he says with a casual shrug.
You groan, exasperated. “You have to be the most irritating shuck I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.”
“You love it, though.”
“I do not,” you insist, even as the edges of your vision flicker faintly. You blink hard, shaking it off.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Keep telling yourself that.” He throws you another look over his shoulder. “Pick it up. We’re gonna be cutting it close.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you shoot back, lengthening your stride. “Next time I’ll just grow longer legs.”
“You could also just run faster.”
“I’m going to kill you. I am running fast.”
“Not fast enough.”
You scoff. “You realize not everything is a competition, right?”
He glances back again, a smirk plastered on his face. “Everything is a competition.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“And yet,” he says, turning forward again. “You’re still losing.”
“I am not losing!”
“Then why am I ahead?”
“Because you started ahead!”
“That sounds like an excuse.”
“That is an excuse!”
“Exactly.”
Minho barely has time to duck before your hand swings toward him. He grins and you huff, pushing yourself harder just to wipe that stupid satisfaction off of his face. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re slow.”
“I am not slow!”
“Say that again when you’re actually next to me.”
You surge forward, closing the gap until your shoulder nearly brushes his. “There. Happy?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Took you long enough.”
“Oh my—“ you cut yourself off with a frustrated laugh. “You are unbelievable.”
“So I’ve heard.” A pause. “You still love it though.”
“Minho, give me a new running partner. I’m serious.”
He laughs as the two of you turn down another corridor. “Oh please. You really would rather run with one of those other shanks?”
“…On second thought, never mind.”
“That’s what I thought,” he hums, and you roll your eyes. You open your mouth to fire back, but the words get caught in your throat. Your chest suddenly feels tight—too tight—and the air in the Maze suddenly feels thicker.
You suck in a breath. It doesn’t feel like enough.
Minho notices immediately. His brows knit together as he glances at you. “Hey,” he says sharply. “You good? Don’t start slowing down on me now.”
“I’m not—“ you start, but your foot catches slightly on uneven stone. You stumble, recovering quickly, waving him off. “I’m fine. Just tripped.”
“On nothing?”
“There was a crack.”
“There’s always cracks,” he says matter-of-factly. “You never trip on them.”
“So observant. Well I just did.”
“Yeah, which is why I’m asking—“
“I said I’m fine.”
The words come out more strained than you’d like them to. You push forward, trying to regain your rhythm, but your legs feel off. Heavier and jelly-like at the same time, like they don’t quite want to cooperate with the rest of your body.
Minho doesn’t try to speed ahead this time. He stays right next to you, watching intensely. “You’re breathing weird,” he states.
“I’m literally running. How else would I be breathing?”
“Not like that.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno. Like you’re not getting enough air. Or like you’re about to pass out.”
You let out a short, sharp laugh. “I don’t pass out.”
“That’s not how that works. You planning to be the first exception in history?”
Actually, you think there’s a pretty good chance that you might pass out. A feeling of dread lingers in the back of your mind. That’s the last thing that you want to happen in the Maze, let alone when you’re running with the Keeper.
“I’m planning,” you say, trying to force your pace faster, “to finish this run without you narrating my every step.”
Minho matches you easily, obviously slowing down some to run next to you. His expression shifts, less teasing and more focused now. “Fine. Then keep up.”
“I am keeping up.”
“You were.”
“I still am.”
“You’re not.”
“I—“
The Maze tilts, just for a second. You blink hard, shaking your head like that will fix it. The walls swim back into place, but your stomach drops with the motion. Your nails dig into your palms, trying to keep the sudden rising nausea at bay.
Minho catches it this time. He grabs your arm briefly, steadying you. “Okay, no,” he says. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” you insist, pulling your arm back. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what? Stop you from face planting?”
You hadn’t even noticed you were swaying on your feet. “I didn’t—“
“You almost did.”
“I said I’m fine! Drop it!”
Your voice comes out louder than you anticipate, echoing faintly off the stone. For a second, neither of you speaks.
Then Minho exhales through his nose, seemingly frustrated. “You’re not fine.”
“I’m fine,” you groan, even with black dots dancing across your vision. “Let’s just start heading back please.”
He doesn’t respond, but he slows his pace slightly as the two of you run. You notice immediately, feeling a twinge of irritation.
“You don’t need to slow down. I’m not going to drop.”
“Then stop acting like you are.”
“I’m not—“
Your foot hits the ground wrong. Or maybe your legs just stop moving. The world lurches sideways, and this time it doesn’t snap back into place.
Minho’s voice cuts through the grating ringing in your ears. “Hey-“
You try to correct, to catch yourself, but your balance is gone. Your vision tunnels, going dark around the edges, the Maze narrowing into a blur of gray and green.
The air feels too thick again. Your breath hitches as you try to take a deep breath, but your lungs refuse to fill.
Everything goes black. Your knees buckle, legs dropping from underneath you. You barely register the impact before the ground rushes up and everything goes with it.
“Hey. Hey!”
Minho is on you instantly. His brain hasn’t quite caught up yet, but his body has. He quickly drops beside you, grabbing your shoulders, turning you onto your back.
“This isn’t funny.” He frowns, part of him hoping that you’re just playing a cruel prank on him. “Get up.”
No response. Your eyes stay closed, body unmoving. His eyes quickly scan over you, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding once he notices the faint rise and fall of your chest.
Something cold still shoots down his spine.
“Hey,” he tries again, shaking you just enough to attempt to get a reaction out of you. “Come on. We don’t have time for this.”
Nothing.
Minho’s grip on your shoulders tightens. “Seriously,” he says, panic creeping in at the edges. “Knock it off.”
Still no response.
For once, the Maze is quiet. Too quiet. Minho swallows hard, taking in the appearance of your paler-than-normal skin and the thin sheen of sweat covering your forehead. He runs a hand through his hair, cursing relentlessly under his breath. For once, he truly has no idea what to do.
He reaches over and brushes a few stray hairs away from your forehead, his hands trembling slightly as he does. You’re still breathing, he notices, and that’s all that matters. He exhales slowly, placing an arm under your shoulders and lifting the upper half of your body up, bringing you to his chest. Your head lolls against his shoulder, and it pains him to feel how limp your body is.
As he moves to slide his other arm under your knees, he hears it. The first sound is faint, a metallic scrape somewhere deeper in the Maze. His whole body goes rigid, head whipping around to look down the corridor.
Nothing’s there. Not yet, anyway.
Minho looks back down at you, limp in his arms, head rolling weakly against his shoulder as he crouches beside where you collapsed. Your breathing is shallow, and he realizes that you should’ve come to by now.
Then the sound comes again. A mechanical shriek tears through a corridor, even closer now.
“Of course,” he mutters, panic flaring hot in his chest. “Of course right now.” His eyes dart down both ends of the corridor, his Runner instinct beginning to kick in. Adrenaline surges through his veins. There’s a Griever nearby, and you’re unconscious. Perfect.
He grabs your shoulders, giving you another quick shake. “Hey, come on,” he hisses. “Wake up. Right now would be really great.” To his despair, still no response, though he wasn’t really expecting one.
Another screech, closer this time.
His head swivels to look behind him, then he looks back at you. “Shuck,” he whispers furiously, jaw clenched so hard he fears he might break teeth. The sound of metal legs clanging against stone echoes nearby again.
He sucks in a breath, then slides his other arm underneath your knees, hauling you up into his arms as he stands. “Can’t believe you’re making me do this right now,” he mutters jokingly, though his heart hammers fearfully against his ribcage.
Minho staggers into motion, breaking into a run down the corridor. Fast, but not fast enough. Every step is a struggle. You aren’t heavy, not really, but dead weight is different. Awkward. Slowing him down as he tries to be careful and not jostle you around too much, though it makes no difference anyway–you won’t know this happened regardless.
Another shriek splits the air behind him.
His breath comes sharp and ragged as he scans ahead, trying to put his mapping abilities to use to remember where to go. Panic scrambles his thoughts and he curses, turning a corner sharply. He takes another turn, right this time, trying to put as much distance as possible between you and the Grievers.
Then, he sees it. A narrow corridor, empty, shrouded in shadow that offers at least a little bit of cover. He veers down the stretch of stone sharply, hastily making his way toward the far end of it. Once he makes it a little more than halfway down, he crouches against the wall, pressing the two of you into the thick ivy. His grip tightens, holding you closer against him. One arm presses your head into his chest, the other keeps your body braced against his.
Metal scrapes stone again, this time far too close for comfort. Minho holds his breath and squeezes his eyes shut, not daring to make a single sound. The clicking and whirring of the creature strikes fear into his heart, the sound almost deafening.
Time passes agonizingly slow, and he can only imagine how late it’s getting. Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, the sounds fade away into the distance. Once he deems it safe, he exhales a shaky breath, head dropping forward with exhaustion.
“Holy shuck,” he whispers to himself, blinking away sweat that drips into his eyes. He pulls you away from him, easing you down onto the cold stone ground, still crouched directly next to you. For a second, he just stares. At your face. At how still you are. An uneasiness rushes through him, not used to you being this quiet.
He swallows hard, running a hand through his hair. “You are the absolute worst, you know that?” he mutters, though his voice shakes slightly at the end. With a sigh, he drops down onto the ground beside you, forearms resting on his bent knees. His head tips back, resting against the wall behind him. “Unbelievable,” he says with a laugh, though it’s weak and humorless.
After a few moments, he glances back down at you. He’s almost afraid to look away, like you’ll stop breathing if he doesn’t keep his eyes on you. Your head is tilted towards him slightly, hair damp with sweat, expression peaceful despite being unconscious.
“This is such a stupid place to die,” he murmurs. “So don’t. Don’t wanna have to leave you here for Griever food.”
Silence.
Then, a small shift catches his eye. Minho straightens instantly, leaning over you. Your brow furrows, and your hand twitches weakly against the ground.
“Hey,” he says, leaning in closer. “Hey.”
Your face twists slightly, like waking from a bad dream. Then your eyes flutter open.
The first thing you see is towering stone overhead. The second is Minho hovering over you, eyes wide with anticipation. You blink slowly, trying to orient yourself.
“What…” Your voice is hoarse. “What happened?”
Minho lets out a breath so hard it’s almost a laugh. “Seriously?”
You frown faintly, trying to sit up. Dizziness hits immediately, and you sway slightly, a wave of nausea washing over you. Minho’s hand shoots out, pressing against your chest to push you back to the ground.
“Woah, no. Don’t. Take it easy, shank.”
You blink at him, dazed. “Why are you–”
“You passed out.”
Your brows pull together. “I what?”
“You passed out,” he repeats, sharper this time, because if he doesn’t sound annoyed he’s going to sound relieved, and that might be worse. “Mid-run. Just dropped.” He pauses, removing his hand from your chest. “And I know you knew something wasn’t right. So what’s your excuse for not telling me?”
You stare at him, choosing to ignore the question. Then your eyes flicker to the narrow corridor around you. “...Where are we?”
“Hiding.”
“Hiding from what?”
“Take a guess.”
Your eyes widen. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Minho says. “Oh.”
You swallow hard. “Did you–”
“I carried you here.”
There’s a pause.
“You carried me?”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
“I’m not shocked, I just–”
“You were unconscious,” he snaps. “What was I supposed to do, leave you there?” The words come out harsher than he anticipated. Your expression still softens, though. He looks away. For a moment, neither of you speak.
“Thank you,” you finally say, voice quiet.
Minho scoffs, though it lacks any real bite. “Yeah, well. Don’t make it a habit.”
You finally force yourself up, pushing yourself into a sitting position. Instinctively, his head turns toward you, hands lifting as if he’s ready to steady you if you need it. You push through the pounding in your head, turning your body so you can lean back against the wall next to him. Your head tips back, resting against the stone, face still pale.
Minho notices your lack of color immediately. “Still dizzy?”
“A little.”
He frowns. “Then sit still.”
You give him a tired look. “Bossy.”
“And alive,” he shoots back. You let out the faintest breath of laughter, and the sound hits him harder than it should have. But you don’t respond, and silence envelops the corridor once again.
The silence drags on. You sit beside him in the tangle of ivy against your backs, shoulder pressed lightly to his, your breathing steadier now but still not one hundred percent. The stone behind your back is cold, providing slight relief, and the air is damp and stale. Neither of you make any effort to move.
Minho keeps staring straight ahead at the wall in front of him. Like if he looks at you for too long, something might crack.
“You doing okay?” he asks after a while, knowing you have to get moving soon.
You nod once. “Yeah.”
He glances over immediately. “You sure?”
“I said yeah.”
“You also said you were fine before you passed out.”
You give him a weak, tired smile. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“Nope.”
His answer comes so fast it almost makes you laugh. Almost. Instead, you tilt your head back against the wall, eyes half lidded. “You’re being weird.”
He frowns. “I’m not being weird.”
“You are.”
“How?”
“You keep checking if I’m okay every five seconds.”
“That’s because five seconds ago, you were unconscious.”
“Ten minutes ago, actually.”
“Same difference.”
You smile faintly. Minho notices and immediately narrows his eyes. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re smiling.”
“No I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Maybe I’m just happy to be alive.”
“Yeah, well,” he mutters, shooting you a look. “You’re welcome.”
You meet his eyes. “Thank you,” you say again softly, completely serious. Minho shifts, suddenly very interested in the wall across from him again.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Whatever.”
“No, seriously, Minho.” Your voice stays soft. “You saved me.”
He shrugs, but the motion is stiff. “Anyone would’ve done it.” You raise a brow. He glances over, immediately defensive. “What?”
“You know that’s not true.” It’s certainly not. If you’d been running with any other shank, you would’ve been as good as dead.
“Yes it is.”
“Minho.”
He exhales sharply through his nose, annoyed—not at you, but at the fact that you can always hear what he isn’t saying. “I wasn’t gonna leave you there,” he mutters.
Something flutters in your chest. He almost sounds offended at the idea of leaving you behind. You look at him for a second before speaking. “You were scared.” It’s not a question.
He scoffs. “No.”
“You were.”
“There was a Griever.”
“You were scared for me,” you say, a teasing edge in your tone.
“I was scared of getting caught and ripped apart by a Griever while carrying your dead-weight through the Maze.”
A smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “So dramatic.”
He looks at you then, finally, something sharper in his expression. “You stopped moving.” The humor leaves your face. His jaw tightens. “You just dropped. And I couldn’t wake you up.” His voice is low now, much too quiet for someone like Minho. “I had to watch your chest to make sure you were still shucking breathing.”
You don’t say anything. He laughs once under his breath, humorless. “So yeah,” he says, looking away again. “Maybe I was scared.”
The admission sits between you, heavy and fragile. You swallow. “Minho…”
“I thought—” He cuts himself off, jaw flexing. “Doesn’t matter.”
You turn toward him a little more, ignoring the lingering dizziness and forming headache behind your eyes. “It does matter.” He doesn’t answer. You watch him for a second, then quietly say, “I’m okay.”
Minho huffs. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”
But he still looks tense, wound too tight. Your eyes flicker down to the hand he has clenched into a fist resting on the stone beside him. Carefully, slowly, you reach over, fingers gently uncurling his fist. He freezes, and you almost pull back. But then he loosens his grip, allowing you to slip your hand into his. His fingers intertwine with yours, giving your hand a tight squeeze. His thumb brushes once against your knuckles, and your heart skips a beat.
“You know,” you murmur after a moment. “For someone who acts like I’m the most annoying thing to grace the Glade, this is a very sweet gesture.”
Minho drops your hand instantly, and you find yourself immediately missing the contact. “Oh my god,” he groans, leaning his head back against the wall. “And there it is.”
You laugh, soft and tired but real. “What? I’m just saying.”
“No, you’re ruining it.”
“Ruining what?”
“The moment.”
You grin. “So you admit there’s a moment?”
“No.”
“You literally just said–”
“I think you’re imagining things. You sure you’re feeling okay?”
You laugh again, and Minho shakes his head, suppressing a smile at the sound of your laugh. He’s never been more relieved to hear a sound. “There’s the annoying part,” he mutters.
You nudge his shoulder lightly with yours. “You held my hand.”
“You imagined that.”
“I definitely didn’t.”
“No proof.”
Your hand raises into the air, palm facing him. “This hand says otherwise.”
He bats your hand away lightly with a groan, then scrubs his hand over his face. “I take it back. Should’ve left you behind.”
A dramatic gasp leaves your mouth. “Wow. After all that emotional vulnerability?"
“Now you’re just making things up.”
“You admitted you were scared.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You held my hand.”
“Didn’t happen.”
You smile, studying his face. “You’re blushing.”
“I am not blushing.”
“You are. Your face is red.”
“It’s hot in here, if you haven’t already noticed.”
“We haven’t even been moving.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Your smile only grows, and you smack his shoulder playfully. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“Cute?!”
“Very cute.”
He stares at you, looking incredibly offended. “I save your life, and this is what I get?”
“Yes.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” you say slyly, “you saved me.”
He points at you. “If you say that one more time, I’m leaving.”
“No you’re not.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Yes.”
He stares for another second before exhaling through his nose, trying and failing not to smile. “You are impossible.”
“And you like me anyway.”
He stands abruptly. “Okay, we’re leaving before you get any more insufferable.”
You blink up at him, tilting your head. “But what if I’m still dizzy?”
“You can walk.”
“What if I faint again?”
“Then I guess I’ll have to drag you out of here.”
You hold your hand out, looking up at him expectantly. Minho looks at it. Then looks at you, who’s innocently batting your lashes at him. He sighs dramatically, grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet. As you stand, your knees wobble, still unsteady on your feet. His grip tightens immediately.
“Easy,” he murmurs, steadying you. You shake him off, taking a tentative step forward. The walls on either side of you shift slightly as you do, and you hold your breath. You shake your head, trying to clear your vision.
Minho’s having none of it. Suddenly, you’re swept off of your feet and hoisted into two strong arms, one secured under your knees and the other firm around your back. You squeal, not expecting the movement, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.
“Minho!” you huff, one hand releasing his neck to lightly slap his chest. “I can walk, you know.”
He just shakes his head, picking up his pace until he’s jogging. “No you can’t. We’ll get back faster this way anyway. You know, because I am the faster one.”
You roll your eyes, wriggling in his arms so that maybe he’ll put you down. Instead, he just tightens his grip, and you quickly give up. Even if you’d never admit that he’s faster than you, he most definitely is stronger.
“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, resting your head against his shoulder.
He grins, glancing down at you. “And you like me anyway,” he mocks, repeating your words from earlier.
Instead of firing back, you go quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” you say with a smile. “I do.” With that, you pick your head up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
And you can only burst out laughing when his face turns red. “Now you’re blushing!”
He grumbles quietly under his breath, looking straight ahead again, though his smile widens. “Yeah, whatever, shank. You just wait.”
Your stomach flutters and you giggle, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.
You could get used to this.
