#janson x reader

[ashrista]

Most people hate Gally, from what I've seen. But I think Gally is just afraid of the Glade's order being disrupted and everything falling apart and being destroyed. He was just wants to keep everyone together.

[tisayemate]

Is it possible to get another Janson x reader? Dude has no redeeming qualities but he is hot 😳 haha

Competitive edge.

AD Janson x AD! Reader fluff summary: You and Janson can’t stand each other, and working in the same place only makes it worse. Petty moves turn into real consequences, tempers snap, and somewhere along the way things cross a line neither of you meant to cross.  AN: HELL YEA!! and so sorry for replying so late!! Saw this request earlier and it slipped my mind-- but thank you so much! Happy new year, hope this was what you were looking for. story under the cut

You knocked on Janson's office door at 7 AM, two coffees balanced in one hand.

He looked up from his desk, surprise flickering across his face before smoothing into polite neutrality. "You're here early."

"Big day. Thought we could both use the caffeine." You set one cup on his desk, took the chair across from him without waiting for an invitation. "Truce? At least until after the Ava briefing?"

He eyed the coffee like it might bite him. "What's in it?"

"Dark roast, no sugar. Relax, Janson. I'm not that petty."

"Could've fooled me." But he took a sip. His shoulders dropped slightly—good coffee, and he knew it.

You hid your smile behind your own cup. The files you needed to see were right there on his desk, angled just wrong for you to read upside down. If you could just get him distracted for thirty seconds...

"So." You gestured at the stack of folders. "Ready for today's assessments?"

"Always." He leaned back. "You?"

"Please. I could do these in my sleep."

"Confidence. I like that." His tone was mild, but his eyes were sharp. Watching.

You shifted in your seat, letting your elbow bump the desk edge. The movement was natural enough, but it made him glance down at his coffee, checking if you'd jostled it.

In that half-second, you caught three names on the top file. Thomas. Teresa. Aris.

"Actually," you said, standing smoothly, "I should get going. Just wanted to—"

Your hip caught the edge of his desk. The coffee tipped. Spilled across the files in a dark wave.

"Shit!" You grabbed for napkins, but the damage was already spreading. "I'm so sorry, I don't—how did that—"

Janson was already on his feet, rescuing what he could. The top three files were soaked through, ink bleeding across pages of carefully compiled data.

"It's fine." His voice was tight.

"Let me help—"

"I said it's fine." He looked at you then, really looked, and something in his expression made your stomach flip. He knew. Maybe not the specifics, but he knew this wasn't an accident.

"I'll just..." You backed toward the door. "Sorry. Again."

His smile was thin and dangerous. "Don't worry about it. These things happen."

You were halfway through your third interview when your assistant knocked on the observation room door.

"Sorry to interrupt, but there's an issue with your samples."

"What kind of issue?"

"They're... contaminated. All of them. Someone left the refrigeration unit door open overnight."

Your stomach dropped. "All of them?"

"Every sample from this week. They'll need to be recollected."

Three days of work. Gone.

You found Janson in the commissary an hour later, sitting alone with his lunch and a satisfied expression.

"Heard about your samples," he said as you approached. "What a shame."

"You." The word came out flat.

"Me what?"

"Don't play stupid. It doesn't suit you."

He took a bite of his sandwich, chewed slowly. "I have no idea what you're talking about. But if someone on your team made an error, that's hardly my fault."

"My team didn't make an error."

"Then it was an equipment malfunction. These things happen." His eyes glinted. "Just like coffee spills."

You wanted to throw something. Wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. Instead you smiled. "You're right. These things do happen."

"Glad we agree."

"Although it's interesting that the refrigeration unit has a automatic lock. And an access log."

His expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his eyes.

"I'm sure when I pull that log, it'll show a perfectly innocent maintenance visit. Nothing suspicious at all." You leaned on the table. "But we both know, don't we?"

"Do we?"

"Game on, Janson."

His smile widened. "I'm counting on it."

The briefing room was tense. Ava stood at the head of the table, reviewing preliminary reports on the holographic display.

"Janson. Your interview completion rate is impressive."

He inclined his head. "Thank you."

"However, your cooperation metrics are abysmal. The subjects actively avoid you when given the choice."

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"By contrast—" Ava turned to you, "—your interviews take three times as long, but your compliance rates are significantly higher. The subjects request you specifically."

"I focus on building rapport," you said. "They've been through trauma. They need to feel safe."

"They need to provide useful data," Janson cut in. "Rapport is secondary to—"

"Rapport IS useful data," you countered. "You can't get honest responses from people who hate you."

"I don't need them to like me. I need them to cooperate."

"Which they're not doing."

"Because you're coddling them—"

"I'm treating them like human beings—"

"Enough." Ava's voice cut through. "You'll each continue your current approaches. We'll evaluate effectiveness after the next round. Dismissed."

You gathered your files, jaw tight. Janson did the same, his movements precise and controlled.

Neither of you spoke until you were in the corridor.

"Coddling," you muttered.

"It's an accurate description."

"You're just mad because they actually talk to me."

"They talk to you because you bribe them with false promises and extra dessert."

You stopped walking. "Excuse me?"

He stopped too, turning to face you. "I reviewed the meal logs. Your subjects get supplementary rations. Special accommodations. You're buying cooperation."

"I'm meeting their basic needs so they're not too hungry and scared to function—"

"You're compromising the integrity of the research."

The accusation landed like a slap. "Take that back."

"Why? It's true."

"It's not—" You stepped closer, voice rising. "I work twice as hard as you do to get real results, and you can't stand it because it makes you look lazy and incompetent—"

"Lazy?" His voice dropped dangerously low. "I complete more interviews in a day than you do in three—"

"Completing interviews isn't the goal, you asshole, getting actual useful information is—"

"And you think treats and sympathy get useful information? You're delusional—"

"I'm effective! The data proves it! You're just pissed that I'm better at this than you—"

"Better?" He laughed, sharp and cutting. "You're manipulative. There's a difference—"

"Oh, that's rich coming from—"

Footsteps. Ava's voice, getting closer. "—need those reports by end of day, I don't care if—"

Janson's eyes widened. So did yours. If Ava heard you two fighting like this, unprofessional and loud in the middle of the corridor—

He moved.

His hand caught the back of your neck, pulled you forward, and his mouth was on yours before you could process what was happening.

The kiss was hard. Desperate. His other hand found your waist, pressing you against the wall as footsteps approached. You froze for half a second—shock and anger and something else entirely—then your hands fisted in his jacket because if this was the cover story, you'd sell it.

Ava's footsteps passed. Paused.

"Get a room," she said, voice bone-dry. "And then get back to work."

The footsteps continued. Faded. Gone.

Janson pulled back. His pupils were dilated, breath coming fast. You were breathing hard too, heart hammering against your ribs.

"You—" Your voice came out rough. "What the hell—"

"She was coming. You were yelling." His hand was still on your waist, thumb pressing into your hip. "Would you prefer I'd let her hear you accusing me of sabotage?"

"You did sabotage me—"

"I didn't sabotage anything. I simply accessed the refrigeration unit during a routine inspection and may have... forgotten to fully close the door." His smile was infuriating. "An accident. Like your coffee spill."

You shoved him. He let you, stepping back with that satisfied expression firmly in place.

"This isn't over," you said.

"I certainly hope not." His eyes dropped to your mouth, just for a second, before meeting yours again. "That would be disappointing."

He turned and walked away, leaving you against the wall with your lips still tingling and your mind racing.

What the hell just happened?

And why did part of you want it to happen again?

[tinkerbelldetective]

Evil rat man mf

Reader is an older immune, think >=24; not a prisoner, not an accomplice, but a secret third thing (just there, lmao [reader was over on the bench!]). Almost might take place before the events of The Scorch Trials, possibly Maze Runner itself idk.

**

A gray sweatshirt hangs from his hand.

"Take it."

His eyes flicker at you quickly before going back to... whatever it is he occupies himself with.

Janson is strange; you can't quite get a read on him. You don't trust him, not completely, but still, you find yourself seeking him out. There's moments where his good deeds seem genuine, moments where it is clear it's misleading, and moments when the leashed rabid dog comes out to play (that part is terrifying).

Your fingers close around the softer than expected fabric, tugging it over your head. It fits nice, just right kind of loose while being snug enough that you don't feel like it's losing its purpose.

"Thank you," you murmer, still hovering, still absentmindedly gazing out the window of the building. The view outside is a stunning blue, the sky shimmering like the dark blue of the Atlantic.

"What are you staring at?"

Maybe in a different world, such a sudden break of the silence would have normally startled someone, but seldom is anyone totally at ease in the world you live in, and seldom are you not able to sense Janson's presence. You glance at him, finding his eyes moving between you and the world outside.

"You don't stop long enough to look, Janson."

"Really?" He steps closer to you, nearly boxing you in against the work table, but there's just enough room you could side-step him if need be. "And how would you know what I spend my time looking at?"

"You've lost all whimsy," you state, voice serious, but eyes light. The corners of his lips quirk upwards quickly for a split second, his eyes flicking down before returning to meet yours.

Sliding his finger under your chin, he raises your face upwards.

"This whimsical enough for you?"

You can feel the smirk against your lips like you can suddenly identify the smell of the sweatshirt you're wearing. His left hand circles you, where each of his fingers burn into your back, not quite holding you down, but with pressure hard enough to make it clear exactly who you're with.

He pulls away, watching as your eyes open slowly, not even hiding the half-baked smirk on his lips. Yet, there's something in his eyes that's softer, more fond, and it's meant only for you.

His right hand drops from under your chin, but his left still presses into the sweatshirt, keeping you close. Standing on the tip of your toes, you press your lips to the corner of his before stepping away, his hand falling from your back.

The radio beeps to life, reminding you of the strangeness of the reality you live in, and you move towards the door. He growls, snatching the walkie up from his hip, eyes never waivering from your disappearing form until he's forced back into the job.

[multibadassfandomimagines]

“So, what was it like being the only girl in the glade for a while?”-Janson

“It sucked.”-Y/N

“Right, short answers, cool.”-Janson

For anon, sorry it’s short... I blame writers block

[ashrista]

I'm going to cry. I FINALLY BOUGHT THE MAZE RUNNER SERIES.

[ashrista]

If Thomas was an idiot:

Thomas: Why are we always running?

Minho: Because if we stop, the Grievers will catch us.

Thomas: But why do the Grievers want to catch us?

Minho: To kill us...

Thomas:Why are they killing us...Let's go chase them and killed them!

Minho: Good idea.

[ashrista]

“Newt is dead. Accept it.”

[ashrista]

So what do you think it would be like if Aris had a little sister? (They are in different mazes)I'm waiting for your answers please!