#maze runner minho

[fluorescent0adolescent]

they escaped the maze in a week. A WEEK. so I thought this would bring some giggles.

[extremebookreader]

“trios never work out-”

you’re right.

they don’t.

[brattyvox]

★ BOY MEETS GIRL — MxF.

NAVIGATION — MASTERLIST // Inbox to be on Taglist!

Since you arrived at the Glade, Minho's been so overprotective of you. Yet, whenever you try to speak to him, he never stays to talk.

GENRE ★ Smut & Fluff

PAIRING ★ Fem reader x Minho

WARNINGS ★ Minho has a lot of unspoken feelings, which is why he avoids reader, eventual smut, unprotected sex, awkward and virgin minho and reader, oral

Word Count — 9,91k

Being surrounded by teenage boys who probably haven't seen or had the touch of a girl in years was a challenge. It was like you were a celebrity, and everyone treated you like some sort of rare Pokémon. But Minho, he was something else. He was more than the typical Gladers' curiosity and awkwardness around you; he had this strange protective streak that was kind of cute, kind of annoying, and mostly just confusing.

Whenever one of the boys were act all perverted around you, which admittedly wasn't often, Minho would be right there, giving them a look that could turn milk sour. It was like he had some kind of radar for when you needed saving. But when you tried to thank him, or just get to know him better, he'd vanish faster than a dropped ice cream on a hot sidewalk.

When you needed help doing one of your jobs around the camp, Minho was always the first to volunteer. "Here, let me do that," he'd say, his eyes flicking around to ensure no one was watching too closely. It was like he didn't want anyone to know he had a soft spot for you.

Whenever you tried to do nice things for him, like offer a piece of apple from your meal or help tie his shoelace, Minho would shrug it off with a casual, "I've got it, thanks," and flash you a smile that was a mix of bashfulness and something deeper. It was like he had walls up, but every now and then, you caught a glimpse of what was behind them. You knew he had to be feeling something, because when you were around, his cheeks had a tendency to turn pinker than a sunburnt peach.

One day, as you were both sitting by the bonfire after dinner, the tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife. You couldn't take it anymore. "Why are you always so… extra with me?" you blurted out, trying to keep your voice steady.

Minho looked at you, his eyes widening a bit in surprise. "What do you mean?" He took a deep breath and stoked the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the night air.

"Y'know. Defending me, doing stuff for me, making me stuff, but when I try to say thank you or be nice back, you're gone faster than my hope for a decent bath," you said, trying to keep it light despite the weight of your curiosity.

Minho chuckled, his eyes never leaving the flames. "It's just, you're new here. I don't want the others to get the wrong idea, that's all."

"Yeah, but when I talk to Thomas, he doesn't mention you doing those things for him." You playfully nudged him with your elbow.

Minho shrugged. "Thomas can handle himself. Plus, you're not a boy, so it's different." He glanced at you, and you could see his cheeks reddening again. "Look, I'm sorry if I've been weird. I just don't want you to get hurt here."

"So you're giving me special treatment because I'm a girl?" You couldn't help but smirk, watching his reaction.

He only glanced at you before getting up and walking away. Your lips form in a straight line as you stand as well, following him into the shadows beyond the firelight. "What's going on, Minho?" You ask, your voice a bit shaky this time. "You don't have to treat me like I'm made of glass."

"It's nothing." he mumbles, his eyes still downcast. "It's just that… well, you're not like them."

You followed him all the way to where he slept, watching as he sat on his hammock that swayed slightly in the cool night breeze. "What do you mean 'I'm not like them'?" You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You know what I mean," Minho said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "You're not from here. You're not one of the Gladers. I mean, you are but-"

"Confusing, but okay. I'll take that." You sat down next to him, the hammock swaying as you found your balance. "But why do you always run away when I try to talk to you?"

Minho sighed, his eyes still on the swaying hammock. "It's just… I don't know how to act around you. You're the first girl I've seen in… forever." He picked at the frayed rope of the hammock, his knuckles white. "Back in the real world, before the maze, I had a crush on this girl. I was never really good with girls."

You nodded, trying to understand. "But you guys are like a family here. Why can't I be part of that?"

Minho finally looked at you, his eyes searching yours. "You are, but you're also… I dunno, something more. Something that none of us have had for a long time." He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "It's complicated."

"It kinda sounds like you have a crush on me." You say it as casually as you can, tossing a pebble into the dark.

Minho's head snaps up, his eyes wide. "What? No, it's not like that. I mean, I do like you, but-" He stammers, his cheeks burning like the logs on the bonfire.

"You like me?" You repeat his words, trying to hold in a giggle. It's like watching someone juggle flaming torches while reciting Shakespeare. "As in, like-like?"

Minho nods, his eyes still on the pebble you threw. "Yeah, like-like. But it's not just that, okay?" He sounds defensive, which is kind of adorable.

You lean in closer, your heart doing a little somersault in your chest. "So what is it then?"

Minho sighs, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "It's like… I don't want you to be just another thing that gets destroyed here." His eyes finally meet yours, and you see the sincerity in them.

"…Really?" You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "Is that all?"

Minho nods, his gaze still on the pebble. "It's complicated."

"Doesn't sound complicated. You like me a lot, you don't want me to get hurt… you care about me." You said, trying to keep your voice from shaking. "Is that so weird?"

Minho looked at you, his expression a mix of relief and something else you couldn't quite place. "I guess not." He shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "But you're the first girl we've had here, and I don't want you to think-"

You cut him off, placing a finger on his lips. "I get it. You're trying to protect me."

He nods, his eyes searching yours. "But I'm not some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself."

"I like protecting you." Minho finally admits, his voice a soft murmur in the quiet night. "But you're right, you can handle yourself. Maybe I just need to get used to the idea."

"Yeah." you say, nodding. "But you don't have to be so… intense about it." You give him a playful nudge, and he chuckles, his eyes finally meeting yours. It's the first time you've seen him truly relax around you.

"Sorry about that," Minho says, his voice a little less guarded than before. "I just don't want to see you go through what the rest of us have."

You nod, understanding his protectiveness now. "It's sweet, really." You smile, letting your hand linger on his arm for a moment. "But I can handle myself."

Minho looks at you, his eyes searching yours for a long moment before he finally nods. "Alright, I'll ease up a bit." He says, his voice a mix of relief and hesitation.

"But I'll still be here if you need me," he adds, his hand brushing against yours. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through you, making you shiver.

You stare at his hand for a bit. It's so warm, and for a moment, you think about taking it in yours. But instead, you lean back, trying to act cool. "Thanks, Minho. I appreciate it."

Minho nods, looking away again. You can see his throat bob as he swallows. "Yeah," he breathes out, his eyes on you and never leaving. "I, uh, have a question."

"Yeah?" You reply casually, your heart racing like it's trying to escape your ribcage. "Shoot."

"Can I, um," Minho starts, his voice cracking a bit. "Can I kiss you?"

You blink, surprised. "What?" You ask, playing dumb. But inside, your heart is doing a backflip.

Minho clears his throat, looking a bit sheepish. "I said, can I kiss you?" He repeats, his voice a little stronger this time.

You blink, your heart thumping in your chest. "Oh. Uh, sure, I guess?" You reply, trying to play it cool despite the fact that your stomach is doing backflips.

Minho's eyes widen a bit, and he leans in, his hand coming up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle, sending a warm shiver down your spine. And before you can overthink it, his lips are on yours. It's a soft, tentative kiss, like he's not quite sure if you're real or if he's dreaming. But you're there, very real, and very much enjoying it.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and the kiss deepens. His hand moves to the small of your back, and you can feel his heart beating as fast as yours. The world around you fades away, and it's just the two of you, the sound of the hammock creaking the only thing that reminds you that you're not floating in some heavenly dimension.

When you finally break away, both of you are breathless. You rest your forehead against his, your eyes closed for a moment, just savoring the feeling of being this close to him. "Wow," you murmur, a soft smile playing on your lips.

"You're a really good kisser." Minho says, his voice still a bit raspy from the passion of the moment.

"You're the first person I've kissed so… thank you," you say, your cheeks feeling like they're on fire.

Minho laughs, a bit awkwardly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Yeah, no problem." He runs a hand through his hair, looking a bit flustered. "It's just… I've never felt this way about anyone before. It's like… it's like you're the first taste of water after a year in the desert, you know?"

You nod, smiling. "I get it. It's weird, but I'm kind of feeling the same." You lean back on the hammock, looking up at the stars. "It's so weird actually being alone with you."

"Yeah, well, once everyone gets back we won't be alone." Minho says with a smirk, a hint of sadness behind it.

"Well…what about that little hut with the map of the maze in it?" You suggest, your voice teasing, pointing to the shack at the edge of the glade. "It's pretty much empty since you don't let anyone but you in it."

Minho's eyes widen, and you can see the gears turning in his head. "You want to…?"

"Yeah, why not?" You shrug, trying to act like it's no big deal. But your heart is racing like you've just been called to run the maze again. You're actually going to be alone with him…

Minho grins, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. "Alright, let's go." He jumps off the hammock, and you follow, your legs feeling a bit wobbly. The night air is cool on your skin as you walk over to the map shack, his hand brushing against yours every so often.

Once inside, you both stand awkwardly for a moment, not sure what to do next. The shack is small, just enough room for the two of you and the large maze map that takes up most of the area. It smells faintly of wood and sweat, a testament to the hours Minho spends here planning and strategizing.

"So…" you start, trying to break the silence that's as thick as peanut butter. "What did you…wanna do?"

Minho stared at you like a deer in headlights, his usual cool demeanor momentarily forgotten. "I dunno," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Um, I kinda wanna kiss you again."

You couldn't help but laugh at his admission, the tension between you easing like a knot unraveling. "Well, if you insist," you teased, taking a step closer. Before you knew it, your lips were crushing against his again, and it was like the entire world had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of heat and desire. You felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer as the kiss grew deeper, your bodies melding together like they were made to fit perfectly.

Minho's hands roamed over your back, sending waves of pleasure down your spine. You've never felt anything quite like this before, and you know that he probably hasn't either. His kisses grew more urgent, and you found yourself responding in kind, your hands tangling in his hair.

The shack's walls seemed to close in around you, the air growing thicker with every passing second. The scent of the earthy woods and the faint smell of his sweat filled your nostrils, making your head spin. It's like you're in a whole new world, a world where the only thing that matters is the connection between the two of you.

As Minho's hands began to wander, you felt a thrill run down your spine. He's not just a friend anymore, not just the guy who's had your back since you arrived. Well, he hasn't been since the first kiss anyway. He's someone who makes your heart race, who makes you feel things you've never felt before. And as his fingertips grazed your waist, you realized that you didn't want to stop this, not now, not ever.

"What are we doing?" you whispered, your voice hoarse with passion.

"I don't know," he gulps, pressing his forehead against yours. "But it feels pretty damn good."

You laugh, the tension in your chest loosening up like a tight knot finally coming undone. "It does." You admit, smiling against his skin.

Minho's hands slip down to your hips, and you can feel his heart hammering against your chest. "You know, we could just keep doing this," he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck. "I-I don't really know what to do though."

"Me neither," you admit with a giggle, your cheeks flushing. "But I'm willing to learn with you."

Minho's eyes widen, and he swallows hard. "Yeah?" He whispers, his hands tightening on your hips.

You nod, feeling brave. "Yeah." You say, your voice a little shaky.

Minho smiles, a genuine, warm smile that lights up his face. "Okay, cool." He takes a step closer, and suddenly, you're not just in a shack with a boy you like a lot. You're in a universe where the only thing that matters is the two of you and this moment.

You lean in again, and this time, your kiss isn't shy or tentative. It's like you've both found the manual on 'How to Kiss Someone You Like Without Dying of Embarrassment', and you're both experts. His hands are on your waist, and yours are in his hair, and it feels like you're the only two people in the world.

"So, I've never done anything like this before," Minho says between kisses, his voice a bit raspy. "But based on what you did in my dreams I-"

"What was I doing?" You pull back, laughing through your blush. "You're pretty good at this for a first-timer," you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

Minho grins, his cheeks a little redder than usual. "Well, I've had a lot of time to think about it," he admits with a sheepish look. "But seriously, we can go slow. I don't wanna mess anything up."

"Yes yes, okay, but what was I doing in your dreams?" You tease, poking his ribs, making him squirm.

Minho chuckles, the sound echoing through the small shack. "Well, uh, you were laying down and didn't have any…clothes on,"

"And?" You say, your curiosity piqued, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "What happened next?"

Minho clears his throat, his cheeks turning a darker shade of red. "Well, uh, I woke up before we got to the…uh…good part," he admits, looking a bit embarrassed.

"We can do it here. I think, this hut is pretty cramped."

"If we lay down it'll be better. If you're fine with that," Minho says, his voice thick with want. "Wait-" he took his harness off and started to unbutton his shirt, "Lay your head on this,"

"Or we could just…grab a blanket from the hammocks."

"Yeah.. yeah! I'll go grab one!" his shirt was already halfway unbuttoned when he started running to the door.

You watch him go, your cheeks hot as a freshly baked apple pie. You can't believe you're about to do this, but at the same time, you're pretty excited. It's like all the anticipation has been building up, and now you're finally going to get to the fun part of the story.

When he comes back with the blanket, you both spread it out on the ground. It's not exactly the softest or cleanest surface, but right now, you couldn't care less. You sit down, and Minho sits next to you, close but not too close. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, and it's like you're sitting next to a bonfire.

"So…" he starts, his voice like gravel, "You're really okay with this?" He's looking at you like you're some kind of alien, but you know it's just nerves. You nod, trying to play it cool, but your heart's doing the samba in your chest.

"Yeah! I just, um, don't know what to do." You admit, feeling your cheeks go up in flames. "But I trust you." You add, giving him a shy smile.

"I dunno what to do either, okay? Um, we'll just-" he lifted a hand, but didn't touch you yet. "Can I…?"

You nodded, and Minho's hand found its way to your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. His touch was softer than you'd ever felt, like a feather brushing against your skin. It sent a shiver down your spine, and you leaned into it, your eyes fluttering closed.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to you, especially considering the circumstances you'd found yourselves in. You opened your eyes to find him looking at you with a mix of awe and fear, like he couldn't believe he was allowed to touch you.

"You're not so bad yourself," you teased, trying to ease the tension. Minho's grin widened, and he leaned in to kiss you again. This time, it wasn't just your lips that felt the warmth of his touch; his hand found its way to the small of your back, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You melted into him, letting him take the lead.

"I've dreamt of this," he murmured against your skin. "But I didn't know it would be like this." His voice was a mix of wonder and need.

"Can we do what we did in your dream?" You whispered, your voice shaking with excitement.

Minho's eyes went wide, and he nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. "Yeah, I'd like that." He said, his voice barely audible.

"What did we do first?"

"Um," Minho starts, his voice a little shaky. "Well, you were, like, lying down." He gestures to the ground, his cheeks burning brighter than the bonfire outside.

"Ah, okay," you nod, not really understanding where he's going with this. You lay down on the makeshift blanket, your heart racing like it's about to escape your chest. "And then what?"

Minho takes a deep breath, his eyes scanning the map on the table nearby for a brief moment, like he's seeking guidance from the twisting paths. "Okay, cool," he says, his voice still a little shaky. He sits down beside you, and for a second, you just lay there, looking into each other's eyes, the awkwardness of the situation making you want to laugh. But the seriousness in his gaze tells you he's not joking around. He's dead set on making this right.

"So, we start with, uh, this?" He reaches out tentatively, his hand hovering over your stomach. You nod, your heart thumping in your chest like a drummer on a caffeine binge. His fingers trace a line up your shirt, and you can't help but shiver. It's like he's trying to memorize every inch of your skin, every curve and dip.

"Is this good?" He whispers, his breath hot on your neck. You nod again, unable to form coherent words. You've never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and yet, so safe at the same time. It's a weird mix of emotions, like when you're on a rollercoaster, terrified but loving every second of it.

Minho's hand slides up, and you can feel the roughness of his palm against your skin. You take a deep breath, trying to calm down, but it's like you've swallowed a handful of fireworks. Your whole body is tingling, and you're pretty sure you're glowing in the dark. "Yeah," you murmur, your voice barely audible. "That's…that's really good."

He smiles, his eyes never leaving yours. It's like he's checking in with you, making sure you're okay with every little move he makes. It's sweet, but also a bit annoying because you're about to combust with anticipation. "How about this?" He whispers, leaning in closer, his hand moving up to cup your breast.

You suck in a sharp breath, your body arching into his touch. It feels like liquid fire is running through your veins, and you can't believe this is happening. You nod again, your eyes fluttering shut. "Yeah," you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. "That's…that's perfect."

Minho's eyes are on your face, watching every reaction, every little gasp and shiver you make. He slips his hand under your bra and his thumb begins to circle, and you can feel it swell under his touch. It's like he's playing a fine instrument, and every stroke sends waves of pleasure crashing through you.

"You're so perfect," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. You can't help but let out a little moan, which only seems to spur him on. His hand moves to the button of your pants, and you can feel the anticipation building.

"Minho, I-" you start, but he shushes you with a kiss.

"Let's just go with the flow," he murmurs, his eyes dark with need. "Whatever feels right."

"I-I know but-" you pout a little, grabbing his wrist gently. "I didn't, like- shave and stuff."

"You think I did?" Minho quips, raising an eyebrow. He's trying to lighten the mood, but his voice is shaky, too. He's just as nervous as you are. "There's nothing here to really shave with."

You laugh, the tension breaking like a dam. "Good point," you say, letting go of his wrist. "Okay, let's just…see where this goes."

Minho nods, a smile playing on his lips as he leans down to kiss you again. Your hands find their way under his shirt, exploring the warm, solid planes of his chest. His skin is smooth, the muscles firm beneath your fingertips. You can't believe that you're doing this, that you're with him like this.

You break away to catch your breath, your eyes locking with his. "Is this…are we really doing this?" You ask, half-joking, half-serious.

Minho chuckles, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "I think we're way past the 'are we really' part, don't you?" He says, his voice low and gruff with desire.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," you murmur, feeling your cheeks heat up. "But it's just…I've never done anything like this before." You admit, your voice a little shaky.

"I haven't either. Just…" Minho swallows hard, his eyes searching yours, "just trust me, okay?" He says it like he's asking for the world, but all you can do is nod. Because right now, you're feeling like you could trust this boy with your life, your heart, everything.

He slipped his hand under your pants, his touch feather-light as he found you. You gasped into his mouth, your body responding to him like it's been waiting for this moment forever. You've never felt so alive, so seen, so…right.

"C-Can you tell me what feels good?" Minho stammers. You nod, your breaths shallow. You're not sure if you're ready for this, but you want it. You want him. So, you take a deep breath and tell him,

"Just go slow. And um, let me take my pants off first." You giggle, trying to ease the tension that's thick as molasses in the air.

Minho nods, his eyes never leaving yours. You can see the excitement in them, the same excitement mirrored in your own. "Okay, sure," he says, his voice a little shaky. You sit up and pull off your pants, feeling the cool air kiss your bare legs. You're wearing simple underwear, nothing fancy, because who needs fancy when you're stuck in a dystopian nightmare? But the way Minho's eyes widen when he sees you makes you feel like you're wearing a crown of roses.

"You're so…wow," he says, his voice barely a whisper. You blush and look away, not quite believing the words coming out of his mouth. But when you look back at him, the sincerity in his eyes makes you believe it.

You take his hand and guide it to the spot you've been dreaming of. He's so gentle, it's like he's handling a fragile piece of china, but you want more. "Don't be shy," you whisper, your voice a mix of encouragement and desire. "You can be a bit rougher."

"I know, it just…" he stammers, his hand trembling as it hovers over your bare skin. "It's like you're, I don't know, some kind of…goddess or something," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You laugh, the sound a little shaky. "I'm pretty sure I'm not," you reply, trying to keep things light. But his eyes are so intense, it's hard to look away. "Come on," you urge, taking his hand and placing it back on your thigh. "Let's just, you know, go with it."

Minho nods, his eyes flicking down to where his hand is on your skin, then back up to yours. "Okay," he says, sounding a bit more sure of himself. He slides his hand up further, his fingertips grazing the lace of your underwear. You can feel the heat radiating from his palm, and it sends a bolt of pleasure through you.

"It's okay," you murmur, reaching down to help him. Your hand covers his, and together, you move his fingers to where you want them. He's so nervous, it's almost adorable. You can feel his heart racing against your chest as he tries to follow your silent instructions. It's like he's trying to solve the maze with his hands instead of his brain.

"It's," he gulps. "You're really wet."

You can't help but laugh, a little breathlessly. "Well, you're not exactly giving me a reason not to be," you murmur, your cheeks hot. You feel his hand shaking a little, and it makes you realize that even though he's seen a lot, he's still pretty new at this. "It's okay," you whisper, placing your hand over his. "Just…just do what feels natural."

Minho takes a deep breath, his eyes squeezed shut. It's like he's trying to will himself to be more confident. And when he opens them again, there's a new determination in them. He slides his fingers under the lace, and you suck in a sharp breath as he touches you. It's not perfect, not by a long shot, but the fact that he's trying, that he's here with you, makes it feel like the best thing you've ever felt.

"Is that…okay?" He whispers, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, your cheeks on fire. "It's okay," you say, your voice a little shaky. "But maybe a little more…gentle?"

Minho's eyes widen, and he nods frantically. "Sorry," he whispers, his hand retreating slightly. You take a deep breath and grab his wrist again, guiding his fingers back to where they were. You placed his fingers on your sensitive little bud, showing him where to touch you.

"H-Here," you stutter, placing his finger where you know it will feel the best. His touch is a bit too rough at first, but he quickly adjusts to your guidance, his movements becoming more confident as you let out a sigh of pleasure. His eyes are wide with wonder, watching every reaction that plays out on your face.

"Like this?" He whispers, his eyes searching yours for approval. You nod, a soft moan escaping your lips as he hits the spot. It feels like a million butterflies have taken flight in your stomach, each wing beat echoing between your legs.

"Oh my god," you breathe, your eyes rolling back in your head as Minho's finger circles your clit with just the right amount of pressure. It's like he's finally found the cheat code to your body's response system, and he's not letting go anytime soon. You can feel yourself getting closer, your hips bucking into his hand as you try to get more of his touch.

"D-Don't stop, please," you gasp, your hands clutching at the blanket beneath you. Minho's eyes are locked on yours, his focus absolute as he continues his tender exploration. His thumb is now rubbing in soft, steady circles, and it feels like a warm summer breeze dancing across your most intimate parts.

You lean your head back, arching your spine as the sensations build. Your breathing turns ragged, and you know you're close. "M-Minho," you moan, your voice trembling with the intensity of your need. "I think…"

"Yeah?" He whispers, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity in his gaze sends a jolt of excitement through you, and you know you're about to fall off the edge.

"I-I think…I'm-" you felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment. But Minho doesn't laugh, doesn't tease. Instead, he nods, a smoldering look in his eyes that tells you he's just as turned on as you are. He speeds up his movements, and you can feel the orgasm building, like a wave about to crash over you.

Your back arches, and you cry out as the wave crests and breaks, leaving you gasping for air. Minho's eyes are wide, watching you with a mix of amazement and concern. "Was that…good?" He whispers, his hand stilling.

You nod, gulping trying to catch your breath. "Yes," you whisper, your voice hoarse from your moan. "It was…amazing."

"Can I, um, put my…" he gulps. "Like, um, put them- inside?"

"Your fingers?" You ask, still breathless from your orgasm.

Minho nods, looking at you with a mix of hope and trepidation. "Yeah," he murmurs. "If that's okay with you."

You bite your lower lip, considering his request. You've never been with anyone before, and the idea of it is both thrilling and terrifying. But you want this, you want him. You nod, your heart racing. "Okay," you breathe out, your voice trembling.

Minho nods, his eyes never leaving yours. He leans down and kisses you gently, his thumb still circling your clit. Then, with the same tenderness, he slides one, then two fingers inside of you. You gasp, the feeling of fullness making you feel even more exposed. But the way he's looking at you, like you're the most amazing thing he's ever seen, makes you feel powerful instead of vulnerable.

"Does it hurt?" He whispers, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. You shake your head, your eyes watering with the new sensation. It's a little uncomfortable, sure, but it's not painful. It's like your body's waking up to a feeling it's never experienced before.

"No," you murmur, your voice a little shaky. "It just feels…weird."

Minho nods, his expression earnest. "Okay," he says softly. "We can stop if you want."

"N-No! No, please," you protest, your voice a mix of surprise and need. "It's just…new. Keep going, please."

Minho nods, his eyes filled with determination. He starts to move his fingers, slow and gentle, like he's trying not to scare a wild animal. You can feel yourself stretching around him, your body trying to accommodate the unfamiliar intrusion. It's strange, but not unpleasant. Just…different.

"Is this okay?" He asks, his voice a low rumble in the quiet of the shack.

"Mhm," you murmur, your eyes fluttering closed as Minho starts to move his fingers inside you. It's strange, the feeling of him in there, but not unpleasant. It's like your body is trying to remember how to do this dance you've never danced before. You can feel him watching you, waiting for your reaction, and it makes you want to push through any awkwardness to show him that you're okay, that you want this as much as he does.

You start to move your hips with his rhythm, finding comfort in the unfamiliar sensation. It's a slow, tentative dance, both of you feeling each other out. You can feel the tension in the room thicken, and your breathing starts to hitch in your throat. It's like the air is made of honey, sticky and sweet and slow.

"Does that feel good?" He whispers, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, your cheeks flushed with a mix of pleasure and embarrassment. "Yeah, it does," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Minho's smile is like a sunrise in the dark room, chasing away the shadows of your doubt. He starts to move his fingers a little faster, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. You can feel the beginnings of another orgasm building, your body tightening around his hand like a fist.

You've never felt so…alive, so alive and so exposed at the same time. It's like every nerve in your body is singing a new song, a song that you've never heard before but somehow already know all the words to. Your hips start to move of their own accord, grinding into his hand as you try to get closer, to feel more.

You twisted and turned on your back, soon leaning into him, your arm wrapping around the back of his neck. Minho's eyes searched yours for any signs of discomfort, but all he found was a reflection of his own bewilderment and growing excitement. You both knew that you were about to cross a boundary that neither of you had ever dared to approach before, and it was both terrifying and exhilarating.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot on your ear as he whispered sweet nothings that sounded like everything. His movements grew more deliberate, his fingers exploring you as if he was solving the last puzzle in the maze. You couldn't help but let out a whimper, your body responding in ways that were new and overwhelming.

"I-I feel like-" you stammer, clutching onto his shirt trying to push each moan out of your throat. "Like I'm gonna-"

"Huh?" Minho's voice is a mix of confusion and excitement as he looks at you with wide eyes. He's never been this close to a girl before, and you can see the nerves dancing across his face like lightning in a storm. But there's also something else there, something fierce and hungry that makes your stomach flip-flop like you're riding the scariest ride at the fair.

You grab onto his hair, your other hand grabbing the back of his neck. You were pressed against him now with your leg over his lip, grinding into his hand like a cat in heat. You couldn't believe this was happening, but it felt so right that you didn't care anymore.

"I'm…I'm gonna do it again," you whisper, your voice shaking with anticipation. Minho's eyes widened, and he nodded, his own breathing ragged. He's never seen someone so responsive, so open with their pleasure. It's like watching a bloom unfold before his very eyes, and he's the one watering it. "I-It feels like I'm gonna pee-"

Minho bit his lip, not saying anything and only moving his fingers faster, the sound of your wetness mixing with your heavy breathing. You could see the determination in his eyes, the desire to make this right, to make you feel good. And that's all you could focus on as he leaned in to kiss you again, his hand still working between your legs.

You felt yourself getting closer, your hips bucking against his hand. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you kissed him deeper, trying to communicate everything you couldn't say with words. This was all so new, so raw, but you trusted him. You had to.

Minho's touch grew more confident as he felt your body respond to him. He added a third finger, the stretch making you gasp into his mouth. He paused, his eyes searching yours for approval, and you nodded, your cheeks flushing with arousal. His thumb found your clit again, and the dual sensations sent you spiraling. You could feel the tension coiling in your stomach, tightening like a spring ready to snap.

"Oh my god-" you gasp as the third finger slides in, your body tightening around his hand. You've never felt so…filled before. It's like your body is made of water and he's the first person to ever touch it, sending ripples of pleasure through every inch of you. You can feel yourself getting wetter, the sound echoing in the small shack like a secret only the two of you share.

"Oh my- I'm-" you gasp, unable to form coherent words as Minho's fingers continue their dance.

You tensed up against him, your nails digging into his skin as your insides contracted around his fingers. "M-Minho," you gasped out, your eyes squeezed shut.

It started off as small spurts of liquid leaving your body, but the more Minho continued to move his fingers, the spurts became bigger, and it had you clutching onto him for dear life. You could feel your body trying to reject his hand, but he was relentless, his touch gentle yet insistent.

Once you finally stopped, you fell limp against him, still clutching onto him like a lifeline. Minho looked at you with a mix of amazement and confusion. "What was that?" He asked, his voice low.

"I-I don't know," you pant, your eyes still closed as you try to catch your breath. "It just felt like…like I needed to…pee." You blush, feeling embarrassed by your body's reaction.

"You didn't though, this- this is something else I think. My whole arm and chest and…everything is wet." He says, his voice filled with wonder as he looks down at his hand.

You open your eyes and look down, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "S-Sorry! Sorry, oh my god."

Minho chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "It's okay, I didn't know what was happening either," he admits, a sheepish grin on his face. "But it's…it's not pee, right?"

You shake your head, your cheeks a fiery red. "No, it's not," you murmur, still feeling a bit embarrassed. "Um, should I, um, do something to you…?"

Minho's smile widens, and he nods eagerly. "Yeah," he says, his voice a little shaky. "If you want."

"Like what?" You ask, feeling a bit shy and nervous about what's to come. You've never been this intimate with anyone, let alone someone as inexperienced as you.

"Well," he says, his voice thick with lust. "You could…you know, touch me."

"I know that, but like, where?" You ask, feeling the heat from his body and the warmth of his smile against your skin. You've seen the bulge in his pants, and you know that's what he wants, but you're not sure how to go about it.

Minho's cheeks flush a dark shade of red, and he gestures to his crotch with his free hand. "Um, down there, I guess?"

You swallow hard, your eyes darting down to the bulge in his pants. You've never done this before, but you want to make him feel good, too. You reach out tentatively, your hand trembling as it makes contact with the fabric. He sucks in a sharp breath, and you feel his erection throb beneath your fingertips.

You sit up, your hand hovering over his pants. You can feel the heat coming off him, and your own nerves are buzzing like a swarm of bees in your stomach. You've seen the bulge before, of course, but touching it feels like you're crossing a line you can never come back from.

"What if I do it wrong?" You whisper, your eyes searching his.

Minho's smile is gentle, reassuring. "You can't," he says. "It's all new to me too."

With that, you take a deep breath and unbutton his pants, your heart racing like a mazerunner in the heat of the game. You pull down the zipper slowly, feeling his eyes on you, watching your every move. You're not sure what to do next, but the heat radiating from him is telling you that you're on the right track.

When your hand finally makes contact with the soft fabric of his underwear, you can feel the hardness beneath. You gulp, your eyes flicking up to his. He nods, his own hand still resting on your thigh. You slide the fabric aside, and he groans softly as your hand wraps around him.

You're both fumbling, learning each other's bodies like a map that's never been charted before. You start to move your hand up and down, assuming that's what you were supposed to do, hoping it's what he wants. He gasps, his hips bucking up slightly. "Is this- is this okay?" You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," he says, his voice strained. "It's…it's perfect." You can feel his pulse in your hand, the throb of his need matching the erratic beat of your own heart. You move faster, a little more confident now, feeling his response. It's like you're both discovering a new language, one made of sighs and whispers and the soft sounds of skin against skin.

Your hand moves in a rhythm that feels natural, the two of you finding a tempo that's all your own. You're both learning as you go, your eyes never leaving each other's as you explore uncharted territory. Minho's breaths come in short, sharp gasps that match the strokes of your hand, his hips moving in sync with your movements. His eyes are wide with a mix of pleasure and fear, like he can't believe this is happening to him.

You lean in, kissing him again, your hand still wrapped around his length. His mouth is sweet, like a secret you're not supposed to know. You can feel his heart racing against your chest, and it makes you feel alive in a way you never have before. Your touch is tentative at first, unsure, but as you get more comfortable, you become bolder. You start to move your hand faster, experimenting with different pressures and angles until you find the one that makes him moan into your mouth.

Minho's hands are still on your thighs, his grip tightening as he feels himself getting closer. You can tell he's trying to hold back, not wanting to end this moment too soon. But you're just as eager, your hand moving in a blur as you watch the emotions play out on his face. His eyes are squeezed shut, his teeth gritted, and every muscle in his body is tense with the effort of not letting go.

You lean in and whisper in his ear, "It's okay, you can let go." It's like the words are a key, unlocking something in him. His body goes rigid for a second, and then he's coming, the warmth of him spilling over your hand. You keep moving, slowing down as he gasps for air, his eyes snapping open to look at you with a mix of awe and shock.

You're both panting, your hearts hammering against each other like you've just run a marathon. The silence in the shack is thick, filled with the sound of your racing hearts and the occasional rustle of the blanket beneath you. You look at Minho, his eyes still wide with wonder, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"That was…" he starts, but trails off, unable to find the words.

You both sit there, breathless and trembling, staring at each other. The moment feels so fragile, like it could shatter with the slightest movement. But there's something else there too, something solid and unshakable. It's like you've just discovered a piece of yourself that you didn't know was missing, and now that you've found it, you can't imagine ever letting it go.

Minho's hand is still wrapped around your thigh, his touch gentle and possessive. You can feel his pulse against your skin, the echo of his climax. You look down at your hand, sticky with his release, and you realize that you've just shared something incredibly intimate with someone who's practically a stranger. But it doesn't feel strange, it feels…right.

"…Okay. I wanna go further," you look at him, sniffling a little. "I, um, I'm ready. I want you in me."

"H-Huh?" Minho's eyes shot open, the reality of your words crashing into him like a griever through the maze walls. His hand, still resting on your thigh, started to sweat. "You…you're sure?"

You nodded, your cheeks burning. "Yeah, I am." You whispered, taking a deep breath. "I trust you."

Minho's expression was a mix of shock and disbelief, but he didn't say anything. He just nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. You could see the fear in them, the fear of messing up, of hurting you. But there was also something else, something that made your heart flutter. It was excitement, anticipation, and it was all for you.

You reached up and kissed him, your hand still wrapped around his length. His body tensed under your touch, his breath hitching in his throat. You could feel his heart racing against your palm, the beat of it matching your own. You knew you were both virgins, both inexperienced in the ways of intimacy. But that didn't matter, not right now. What mattered was the connection you had, the trust you'd built in this little shack that felt like the only place in the world.

Minho pulled away, his eyes searching yours. "Are you sure?" He asked, his voice hoarse with need. "We don't have to-"

"I'm sure," you whisper, cutting him off. You've never felt so certain about anything in your life. You want this, you want him, and you're not going to let fear or nerves hold you back.

Minho nods, his eyes filled with a mix of nerves and excitement. He leans in, kissing you gently as he moves to position himself between your legs. You can feel the tip of him against you, and you bite your lip, trying to ignore the ache of anticipation.

"Okay," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "We'll go slow, okay?"

You nod, your heart racing as you feel the tip of him nudging against your entrance. It's like the world outside has stopped spinning, and all that exists is the two of you in this moment. You can feel the head of his dick pushing against you, the pressure building like a storm you've been waiting for your whole life.

Minho's movements are tentative, his eyes never leaving yours as he tries to gauge your reaction. You can see the fear in his gaze, the fear of the unknown, but you're not afraid. You're ready for this, ready to take the leap with him into the abyss of the uncharted.

The tip of his penis pushes against you, and you feel your body tense up. It's not painful, but it's definitely uncomfortable, like you're trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. But you trust Minho, you trust that he'll be gentle, that he'll stop if it hurts too much. You take a deep breath and nod, giving him the okay to proceed.

He pushes a little harder, and you feel yourself start to stretch around him. It's a weird sensation, one you've never felt before. You can see the concentration on his face, the effort it's taking for him to be so careful. And then, with a gasp from both of you, he's inside you. It's not all the way, just the tip, but it's enough to make you feel…full.

"Oh," you whimper, your eyes squeezing shut as he pauses, giving you a moment to adjust. It's tight, and it hurts a bit, but you know it's just the first time jitters. You nod, signaling for him to continue.

"You feel so good," he groans, hovering over you. You nod, your eyes still closed as you try to adjust to the new sensation. It's weird, having something inside of you that's not a part of you, but it's not entirely unpleasant either. It's like your body is learning a new dance, one that's a little clumsy at first but getting better with every beat.

Minho starts to move, his hips rocking back and forth in a slow, deliberate rhythm. You can feel him getting deeper with every stroke, and you bite your lip to keep from crying out. It's not painful, exactly, but it's…intense. Like your body is being stretched in a way it's never been stretched before. You're both fumbling in the dark, trying to find the right tempo, the right angle, the right everything.

He's watching you so closely, his eyes never leaving your face. You can see the concern in them, the worry that he's not doing it right. But every time you gasp or whimper, it's not from pain, it's from the sheer overwhelming sensation of having him inside you. It's like your body is trying to tell you a secret that you've been waiting your whole life to hear.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him deeper. He complies, his movements growing more confident as he feels your acceptance of him. The awkwardness of before is gone, replaced by a desperate need to be as close as two people can be. You can feel him filling you up, stretching you in a way that's uncomfortable but not painful. It's like your body is molding around him, creating a space that was always meant to be his.

"Y-Y/N," Minho gasps, his eyes never leaving yours as he pushes deeper, feeling your tightness enveloping him completely. He's never felt anything like this before, and the sensation is so intense, so overwhelming that he's worried he might just pass out. You can see the effort it's taking for him to keep going, to not just give in to the urge to thrust wildly. But he's trying so hard to be gentle, to make this good for you.

You bite down on your bottom lip, your eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. You can see the question in his eyes, the silent plea for reassurance that he's not messing up. You shake your head, your eyes filled with tears of pleasure and pain. "I-It's okay," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. "It's good."

Minho's eyes never leave yours as he starts to move again, his hips rocking in a gentle rhythm that you're not sure you're ready for. You're so tight around him, and it's a strange feeling, one you've never experienced before. But it's not entirely unpleasant, and with every thrust, the pain starts to give way to something else, something that feels a lot like…pleasure.

You're both fumbling in the dark, trying to find the right angle, the right pace. It's awkward and a bit embarrassing, but the connection you have is so strong that it makes it okay. You can feel his inexperience in every clumsy stroke, but there's also something incredibly sweet about it. Like you're both discovering this new part of yourselves together, stumbling through the uncharted territory of each other's bodies.

"Oh, oh-" you gasp as he hits a particularly sensitive spot, your body arching off the blanket. It feels so good, but you're also a bit overwhelmed. You've never been with anyone before, and you didn't know your body could feel this way. You're not sure if you're doing it right, if you're making the right noises, if your face looks weird. But when you look at Minho, you see that he's just as lost as you are.

His eyes are squeezed shut, his teeth gritted as he tries to hold back, his hips jerking slightly with every thrust. It's clear that he's trying to be gentle, but you can feel his inexperience in the way he's moving, the way his hands are tight on your hips like he's afraid you'll slip away.

[devixncy]

you're all i've got left

part 1 ⤷ pairing: minho x fem!reader ⤷ word count: 7.4k (somehow got more carried away on this one) ⤷ summary: it would be just your luck that wckd sticks you in the same room as minho when you're both captured after the ambush in the scorch. though after so many weeks of wckd breaking you down, it dawns on both of you that you only have each other to lean on. ⤷ warnings: your typical death cure violence (needles, sedation, trauma, reader and minho basically being tortured, etc), still lots of bickering that eventually fizzles out, reader and minho figuring out their relationship and disliking each other a lot less, some angsty moments mainly cuz reader is losing it, also some fluff sprinkled here and there, no use of y/n

a/n: for the 3 people that requested a part 2 here it is :p i love writing for minho sm

Chaos. 

That was the only word to describe what’s going on around you. 

One moment, you’re sitting and laughing with Harriet, Sonya, and Aris. Carefree. Happy. 

The next, WCKD has you in their clutches once again. 

Your knees slam into the dirt beside Minho. 

Down the line, you see Newt, Frypan, Aris, Harriet and Sonya, who is being shoved to the ground at the same time as you. 

She struggles as the WCKD soldier shoves her head forward, and that’s when you notice the scanning device in his hand. It chirps as it reads the chip in the back of her neck. 

“B4.”

They’re inventorying you like you’re equipment. 

Minho’s head is shoved forward next. He jerks instinctively but doesn’t fight it. 

“A7.”

The soldier releases him and steps toward you. You tense, every muscle in your body coiling. He grabs the back of your collar, shoving your head down to expose the chip at the base of your neck. The scanner hums, and you see red. 

“B7.”

Before you can stop yourself, you twist violently and spit straight at him. It hits the soldier's visor. 

For a split second, everything freezes. 

Then you’re shoved, hard. You lose your balance and slam sideways into the dirt, shoulder aching from the impact. 

There’s only silence around you, no one daring to speak up in fear of what might happen to them. Minho’s jaw clenches so hard he fears he might break teeth, though.

The soldier wipes his visor clean with the back of his glove, then hauls you upright again. Your shoulder throbs as you’re yanked back into position. 

“Try some shit like that again and see where it gets you,” the soldier's muffled voice seethes, moving on to the next kid. 

You sit there breathing hard, dirt sticking to your clothing. 

After a moment, Minho shifts slightly beside you. “You’re an idiot,” he hisses. 

You just shrug like it was nothing. “Worth it.” 

When Thomas reappears, hell breaks loose again. 

It seems like there might be a chance when Jorge and Brenda show up. But not for you. Or Aris, or Sonya.

In the midst of chaos, you can see Harriet running back towards the truck. Relief floods through you, knowing she isn’t in WCKD’s hands. 

A surge of adrenaline and anger floods through you, and you throw your elbow back in an attempt to escape the grasp of the soldier who has you captive. It lands, and you twist in an attempt to break his grip. It almost works, but you’re shoved forward and both of your arms are locked behind your back. 

“Move,” the soldier growls, the ramp of the berg looming closer. 

Aris and Sonya are shoved into the berg at the same time as you. There’s no point in fighting it anymore. 

From your spot in the aircraft, your eyes catch sight of the Gladers running across the dirt. Minho is covering them, shotgun blasting soldiers left and right. 

Until his gun jams, and a launcher hits him square in the chest. 

You can only watch as he drops to his knees, slumping over a barrel as shockwaves tear through him for the second time that night. Thomas is yelling in the background, trying to move towards him, but his efforts are futile. 

WCKD soldiers surround Minho, grabbing him under the arms and dragging him backwards. He’s motionless, helpless as they haul him toward the berg ramp. 

A heaviness weighs on your chest as he’s brought into the cramped space, black uniforms holding him upright as he doesn’t have the strength to do it himself. Your eyes flicker over to the people still left outside, and you can see the Gladers in the distance. Thomas’s chest rises and falls quickly, mouth parted slightly in disbelief as the ramp doors begin to close. 

And as the doors finally seal, it feels like your fate does too.

The door slams shut with a metallic clang that echoes off of the concrete walls. 

You stagger forward as the guards shove you inside the room, barely catching yourself before you can hit the floor. 

Behind you, another body stumbles in. Then the door seals. 

Silence. 

You take a quick glance around the room. It’s small—bare concrete walls, a single harsh light overhead, and two small bunks bolted into opposite sides of the wall. A camera blinks red in the upper corner. 

Great. 

You turn. And freeze. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Across the room, rubbing his shoulder where a guard had shoved him, is Minho. He looks just as unimpressed. 

“Fantastic,” he mutters. “Out of every shank they could’ve picked, it had to be you.”

You scoff. “Feelings mutual.”

“Could’ve been anyone. Literally anyone else.”

“Yeah, because you’re such a joy to be around.”

“At least I don’t pretend I am,” he mutters.

For a moment you just stare at each other. He’s angry, that much is obvious, but the fact that he’s directing it onto you is pissing you off. Even now, bruised, dirty, and trapped in some WCKD facility, the feeling of blinding irritation is no different than when you’d first met in the Scorch. 

Minho breaks the staring contest first, walking towards the bunks and inspecting them. 

“Well,” he says. “Looks like we’re roommates.”

You cross your arms. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

“Oh please.” He points at one of the bunks on the side of the wall that isn’t in direct view when the door opens. “That one’s mine.”

You blink. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“That one’s better.”

“Exactly.”

Out of spite, you march over and shove past him, plopping onto the bunk before he can react. 

“Too slow.”

Minho stares at you like you just killed his friends in front of him. “You did not just—“

“I did.”

He lets out an incredulous laugh. “Unbelievable. They stick me in a prison cell and I still have to deal with Group B’s most irritating runner. I don’t know which is worse, honestly.”

“Oh, you mean the one who finished her maze faster than yours?” you shoot back. 

He narrows his eyes. “Don’t get too cocky now.”

“Oh, I will.”

The tension in the room crackles. For a second it almost feels like you’re in the desert again. Arguing over directions, trading insults while the others groan behind you. 

But now, you realize, there’s no one to stop you. 

Minho starts pacing the room. He tests the walls, the bunks, the door. It’s solid, no handle on the inside, no weak points. 

He glances at the camera. “They’re watching.”

You follow his gaze. “Well,” you snort, “hope they’re enjoying the show.”

He leans back against the wall. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to show them I’m the strongest.”

“Please,” you say as you roll your eyes. “Didn’t I have to save you from eating sand a few days ago?”

“As I said before, I had it handled,” he says matter-of-factly. 

You huff a laugh despite yourself. 

Then the silence creeps back in. It’s deafening, the only audible noise being the low hum of the ventilation system. Neither of you acknowledge how tired you are. Or how scared or alone you feel. 

Instead, Minho jerks his chin toward the bunk you’d stolen. “You’re really taking that one?”

“Yep.”

“Fine,” he huffs, dropping down on the other bunk with a metallic creak. 

You sit in silence for a long time, until the sound of the electronic lock on the door buzzes. Both of you sit up instantly, your pulse quickening. 

The door swings open, revealing two WCKD guards donned in black uniforms. They step into the room, and Minho gets to his feet immediately. 

“What do you want?”

Neither guard answers. Instead, one of them points directly at you. 

“You. Up.” 

Your stomach plummets. Slowly, you force yourself to stand. 

Minho looks between the guards, then at you. “Where are you taking her?” No response, as expected. 

“Relax,” you mutter. “Maybe they’re taking me somewhere nicer.”

“Yeah,” he says flatly. “That’s definitely it.”

One of the guards grabs your arm. Instinctively, you jerk back. Immediately, the grip on your arm tightens and you grit your teeth. 

“Hey—“ Minho goes to interrupt, but the second guard lifts a stun baton ever so slightly. He freezes. You meet his eyes for a brief second, giving him a warning look. 

“Don’t start something,” you say quietly. The guard shoves you towards the door. You twist back just long enough to throw one last jab. “Try not to miss me too much.”

Minho folds his arms over his chest. “Trust me. I’ll enjoy the quiet.” His jaw tightens ever so slightly, though, as the door shuts behind you. 

The cell door opens again about an hour or two later. Or maybe longer, but it’s hard to keep track with no way of knowing the time. 

Minho is on his feet instantly. 

You stumble inside as rough hands shove you forward. The door carelessly slams shut again, and you grumble to yourself quietly as you straighten. 

Minho takes in your appearance, noticing you no longer wear the clothes you came in with. Instead of your jacket and pants that were dirtied by the harshness of the Scorch, you now wear all blue–a dark navy blue t-shirt and lighter pants. Most notably, your shirt has the words ‘PROPERTY OF WCKD’ printed across the back in small but bold letters. On the front, it’s printed in smaller letters on the left chest, along with your number. ‘B-07’. 

Minho frowns. “What’d they do to you?”

You shake your head, sitting down heavily on your bunk. Minho also notices the piece of gauze taped to the inside of your arm. 

“Decontamination. Made me change into this garbage. Took blood, vitals, gave me some sort of injection like they did when we got to the compound in the Scorch. Basic stuff,” you pause. “For now.”

He nods, exhaling slowly. 

And not long after that, they come for him next. 

He returns in similar shape to you. He wears the same outfit, though he has ‘A-07’ printed at the top of his. 

You watch from your bunk as he tugs at the fabric of his shirt, expression morphing into one of disgust. 

“Branding us as shuck property,” he mutters distastefully. 

“Get used to it,” you reply, sighing heavily. “That’s what we are now.”

The rest of the evening, neither of you says much more. You're too tired to care.

The second day, you start arguing again.

By the fifth, it’s constant. The joys of being trapped together with nowhere to go, you suppose.

“You’re pacing again.”

You sit on your bunk, arms folded, watching Minho wear a path into the floor. 

“Thanks, captain obvious,” he snaps, continuing his pacing. “Not like there’s much else to do in here. I’m thinking, anyway.”

“You’re sulking,” you correct.

Minho stops mid-step and glares at you. “I don’t sulk.”

“You absolutely do. You’re doing it right now.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

He scoffs and resumes pacing. “You’re the one sitting here acting like it’s the end of the world.”

You stare at him incredulously. “...Um, we’re prisoners in a WCKD facility,” you say slowly. “How exactly is that not the end of the world?”

“Because they’ll come,” he says immediately.

You laugh once, sharp and humorless. “Are you joking? You mean Thomas? Newt, Frypan?”

Minho’s jaw tightens out of irritation. “Yes. Them.”

“Minho,” you say flatly, voice void of any emotion. “They have no idea where we are, and do you really think WCKD is going to keep us in one place for too long?”

“They’ll figure it out.”

“And how long is that supposed to take?” you snap. “A week? A month? A year?”

Minho finally stops pacing, staring straight through you. “At least I haven’t given up.”

That hits a nerve. You push yourself to your feet, standing quickly. “I haven’t given up.”

“Really? Sure sounds like it.”

“My apologies for being realistic.”

“Listen, I get feeling hopeless, but don’t drag me down with you,” he hisses.

“You’re being delusional!” you fire back, hands running through your hair. 

The room falls silent except for the sound of the two of you breathing heavily. For a moment, it really does feel exactly as it did when you first met him. Except this time, there’s nowhere to walk away. No one to stop you. 

Minho’s glare doesn’t falter, but he looks away first. “Whatever. Talking to you is exhausting.”

You sit back down hard on the bunk. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “Whatever. You’re impossible.” You turn on your side to face the wall, shutting him out completely. 

Even when you close your eyes, the bright fluorescent lighting doesn’t disappear. The shirt you wear on your back feels like it’s suffocating you, the words printed on it making something in your stomach churn. 

Sleep doesn’t come easily. You quickly learn that it never will.

After so many days, long after you’ve lost count, the tests start to blend together. Some are worse than others. 

You’ve already been moved to another facility with all of the other kids, though you knew WCKD wouldn’t be dumb enough to keep you in one place for too long. 

Dark circles have started to form under your eyes. Your hair thins, energy diminishing—so much so that you almost don’t have the energy to argue with your roommate anymore. Key word almost. 

Now you’re the one that’s been pacing. It’s hard not to, when you have so much pent up energy and anxiety with no way to release it like you did in the Maze.

“Weren’t you just yelling at me a few days ago about pacing?” Minho’s voice cuts into your thoughts.

You don’t stop. “And?”

“It’s annoying.”

“Then don’t watch me.”

“Hard not to when that’s literally the only thing I can see. The room isn’t very big, if you haven’t noticed.”

You roll your eyes so hard you think they might get stuck, but don’t respond.

He pipes up again anyway, in that annoying way of his. “Maybe you should try sitting down. You’re gonna wear yourself out for no reason.”

“Don’t,” you say sharply.

“Don’t what?”

“Act like you’ve got everything under control. Because I know you don’t.”

“I don’t,” he replies. “But I’m not losing it either.”

“I’m not losing it.”

“You’re pretty damn close.”

You stop dead in your tracks, turning slowly. “You don’t know that.”

“It’s obvious.”

“You don’t. You don’t know anything about me,” you hiss, anger bubbling under the surface.

“I know enough,” he says, standing now too. “You were a Keeper, no? You’re the same as me. Same job, same pressure–”

“Then stop acting like I can’t handle it,” you cut him off.

“Then handle it.”

“I am.”

“No,” he says sharply, “you’re trying to control something you can’t.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. “And what are you doing?” Your voice drops. He doesn’t answer immediately, causing you to laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

“At least I’m not acting like our lives are already over.”

“I never said that.”

“You don’t have to say it out loud, shank. It’s obvious enough.”

You shake your head, turning away, dragging a hand through your hair in frustration. “Okay, whatever Minho. I’m done. Don’t talk to me, I’m sick of hearing your voice.”

“Gladly.”

True to his word, he doesn’t speak for the rest of the night into the next day. The room is plunged into a long, uncomfortable silence, but you’re not about to break it due to your pride.

You’re lounging on your bunk, staring at nothing in particular when you hear the buzz of the lock and the door swinging open. You don’t even lift your head. 

“B7. Let’s go.”

You sigh dramatically as you sit up, swinging your legs over the hard mattress. Minho catches your eye for a quick second, but says nothing. 

The guards lead you out, toward whatever your next test will be. 

The lab you’re led into smells like antiseptic and chemicals. 

Before you can even attempt to protest, you’re forced down onto a cold metal table. You yell out in protest, struggling as your limbs are held down and restrained. With your wrists and ankles bound, you’re powerless. Your expression hardens, glaring at the technicians around you.

“You people ever hear of consent?” you mutter, knowing that your consent means nothing in this place. As you expected, no one answers.

A needle slides into the vein in your arm, causing you to flinch. A second one is slid into your other arm, attached to a tube that disappears into a humming machine. You can only imagine what it’ll be used for.

A screen lights up with rows of numbers. One of the doctors in a white coat glances at it, then nods towards another one. “Begin cycle.”

You barely have time to process the words before a mask is placed over your face. No matter how hard you try to fight it, it only takes seconds before your vision goes dark.

Then, suddenly, you jolt awake. It felt like you had only been out for mere seconds, but you know it’s been longer than that. Your head pounds. The room spins slightly as your eyes crack open, the machines beside you beeping steadily.

Your arms are still strapped down. 

Two doctors stand nearby, arguing quietly over a tablet.

“...response levels are good. We can move her into phase two, if this continues to go well.”

You blink slowly, forcing your mind to focus. Tools sit on a sterilized tray on the table next to you. Scalpels. Needles. Other devices that you don’t recognize. Something sharp twists in your chest, something like panic.

You test the restraints on your wrists, hoping something will give. And then you feel it–one of them is loose.

“Hey,” one of the doctors snaps. “She’s awake.”

The other immediately reaches for a syringe. 

“Sedate her again.”

The doctor steps closer, and that same panic rears its head again. You rip your hand free from the loose restraint and swing.

Your fist connects hard with his jaw. He stumbles back, crashing into a table of tools. Metal clatters everywhere, loud clangs echoing through the room.

“Restrain her!” someone shouts. You try to sit up, ripping the IV from your arm as you struggle. A guard grabs your shoulder, and you lash out again out of pure desperation, catching him across the face.

For a brief, glorious moment, chaos erupts in the room. Then, a fist slams into your mouth. 

Pain explodes through your jaw as your head snaps sideways. Your vision bursts into white. Rough hands shove you back onto the table, forcing you down. A syringe plunges into your neck. Cold instantly spreads through your body. 

The last thing your consciousness holds onto is the feeling of warm blood dripping down your chin.

You don’t remember them bringing you back.

Minho does.

The door bursts open, much later than usual. Two guards drag your unconscious body inside and drop you carelessly onto your bunk. You don’t even stir as you hit the mattress, body completely limp. 

Minho is on his feet instantly. 

“What the hell happened to her?” he snarls. He doesn’t really expect an answer, and he doesn’t get one. The guards leave as quickly as they arrived. 

The door slams shut. Minho kneels beside the bunk, eyes scanning over your face. Your lip is split open, dried blood smeared down your chin. An ugly bruise is already blooming along your jaw. 

His stomach twists. 

“Hey,” he says urgently, shaking your shoulder. “Hey.”

You don’t wake up. His hands curl into fists, fury burning hot and sharp in his chest. 

For the rest of the night, he doesn’t sleep. He watches the rise and fall of your chest, just to make sure you’re still breathing. 

You stir sometime later. 

At first it’s barely noticeable. Your fingers twitch slightly against the mattress, but it catches Minho’s eye immediately. He’s on his feet again in an instant. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, crouching down beside your bunk again. 

Your eyes flutter open. For a moment you just stare at the bottom of the bunk above you, blinking slowly like you’re trying to remember where you are. Then the pain catches up to you. You inhale sharply, one hand flying up towards your mouth.

“Careful,” Minho says, grabbing your wrist gently before you press too hard against your split lip or swelling jaw. Then he realizes what he’s doing and pulls his hand away like your skin burns him. 

You squint at him, still trying to make sense of what was going on. “…Why does my face feel like I got hit by a truck?”

Minho exhales a humorless laugh. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

You slowly sit up, wincing as your head throbs. “What happened?” you mumble. 

Minho studies you for a second. “You don’t remember?”

You shake your head slightly and immediately regret it. “Not really, no.”

He leans back on his heels. “They brought you back out cold,” he says quietly. “Your lip is busted. And you have a real nice bruise on your jaw.”

“Oh.” Your eyebrows furrow as the memory flickers back in pieces. Then it hits you. “Oh. Shit.”

Minho raises a brow, silently urging you to continue. 

“I may or may not have punched a doctor.”

“You what?”

You rub your face, careful to avoid your jaw. “I woke up and panicked and one of the restraints was loose so I swung,” you say quickly. 

Minho pauses, then lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “You punched a WCKD doctor.”

“Well technically two people if you also consider the guard that I swung at.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Might as well not make it easy for them, right?”

“Don’t make it easy, but don’t be a dumb shank. That’s how you get hurt, like you are right now,” he says sharply. “Do you want them to make it worse for you?”

You frown, ignoring his question. Then you take a better look at him, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the tired look on his face. 

“You didn’t sleep.”

Minho shrugs. “I was busy.”

“Doing what?” You raise a brow. 

He looks at you like the answer is obvious. “Making sure my shuck roommate wasn’t dead.”

Your chest tightens unexpectedly, and you look away quickly. 

“…I was fine.”

“Right,” he huffs. “Well I had to be sure. Would probably die of boredom if I didn’t have someone to argue with all the time.”

You can only roll your eyes in response. 

Over time, the hostility between the two of you lessens more and more. When it becomes clear that no one is coming for you, at least not any time soon, you only have each other to lean on. 

It starts as small gestures. Helping each other sit after a particularly hard day, subconsciously looking for injuries on the other. Reminiscing about your friends together, wondering if they’re okay. Sitting beside each other on the floor, backs against the bunk, shoulders brushing slightly. Light touches that ground you. 

Your arguments turn into something sillier, something lighter. 

“You snore, by the way.”

Your eyes snap open. “I do not.”

Minho doesn’t even look at you. Just stares at the ceiling like he’s been waiting for this moment. “You do.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You absolutely do.”

You push yourself up onto your elbows. “I would know if I snored.”

“Right,” he says. “Because people always hear themselves snore.”

“That’s not the point. It has nothing to do with hearing it.”

“It kind of is the point.” He completely ignores the second half of your statement. 

You glare at him across the room. “You’re making it up.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

You grab the thin pillow off of your bunk and throw it at him. It hits him square in the chest. He looks down at it, then back at you. 

“…Really?”

“You deserved that.”

“For telling the truth?”

“For being annoying.”

“That’s not a crime.”

“It should be.”

He picks up the pillow, turning it over in his hands like he’s considering something. 

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t throw that back.”

“I wasn’t going to. Matter of fact, I might just keep it.”

“Minho.”

You stare at him. He stares back. Without warning, he tosses it. You barely have time to react before it hits you in the face. 

You drop back onto your bunk with an annoyed groan, clutching the pillow to your chest. “You’re the worst.”

“And you snore.”

“I do not snore!”

“Do too.”

And then, Minho had been right before. WCKD was making it worse for you. When they came to get you for testing, you were handcuffed every time without fail. You always had some sort of restraints on you, and not once were they loose after the stunt you pulled previously. 

There was one time where you were stupid enough to fight against the guards taking you out of pure anger, and you and Minho ended up with a taser in your sides. You for fighting, and Minho for getting angry and threatening them. 

After that, you stopped fighting. There was no point. 

Currently, you sit on the cold floor with your back against your bunk, gaze fixed on the wall across from you. 

Minho has been watching you for the last fifteen minutes. 

“You’re doing it again,” he says. No response. 

“Hey, earth to runner.”

Still nothing. 

“You just gonna stare at the wall all day?” he asks, frustration creeping into his tone. 

“What’s the point?” you finally speak. 

Minho frowns. “What?”

“This.” You gesture weakly around the room. It’s a different room now, yet same concept—WCKD had moved you again. 

“The room?”

“All of it.”

Minho pushes himself off his bunk. “Don’t start that.”

You laugh humorlessly. “Start what?”

“The whole ‘we’re doomed’ klunk.”

You look up at him through tired eyes. “You don’t get it.”

“Try me.”

You stand suddenly, irritation surging through you. “They’re draining us, Minho!” Your voice echoes throughout the barely furnished room. “And that’s all they’re going to keep doing.”

He crosses his arms, unmoved by your outburst. “I’m well aware of what they’re doing. And until we’re out of here, you need to try not giving up.”

“You still think we’re getting out of here?” you ask, disbelieving. You know you sound hopeless, like you’ve completely given up, and maybe you have. 

“We will.”

“You don’t know that!” your voice cracks, barely noticeable but still there. “They’re not letting us go, and I have a hard time believing anyone is going to find us. We’re just lab rats now.”

Minho’s expression hardens. “Stop talking like that.”

“Like what? Being realistic?”

“No, like you’ve already given up.”

You throw your hands up, laughing bitterly, but say nothing more.

He takes a step closer. “You think I’m just going to sit here and let them win?”

“They already have!”

The room goes silent. Your chest heaves, and Minho just stares at you. Then, he snaps.

“Stop acting like you’re already dead!”

You stare at him. He looks angry, but there’s something else there too. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about you. You, who carried enough sass in the Scorch for the both of you, who didn’t let anything get in your way, whose spirit couldn’t be broken because that’s how runners operated. 

And WCKD was taking that from you. 

You break your stare, opting to look down at your hands instead. “I’m tired, Minho.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“No,” you say softly. “I mean..tired.” Your voice cracks slightly again. “Tired of them taking us. Tired of waiting. Tired of wondering if the next time they drag me out there is the one where I don’t come back.”

Minho’s anger dissipates. He takes another step closer so that he’s standing right in front of you. 

“Look at me,” you say and laugh bitterly. “I used to run through a maze full of monsters every day,” you continue. “And somehow that felt easier than this.”

Minho doesn’t say anything for a moment as you try to still your shaking hands. Then, he says your name so gently that it startles you into looking up at him. He looks at you for a second, then does something you’d never expect him to do in a million years. 

He pulls you into a hug. 

It’s unsure at first, like he’s worried that you’re going to fight it and start swinging or start cussing him out. 

Instead, you melt into it. Your entire body sags against him, arms snaking around his midsection. His grip tightens once he realizes that you’re not going to protest, resting his chin on top of your head. 

You strangely find yourself hoping that he doesn’t let go. Until now, you didn’t realize how badly you craved this kind of comfort. It feels foreign to you, but your walls have been broken down enough that you welcome it eagerly. 

“You’re still here,” he murmurs. “After everything they’ve done.”

You don’t respond. 

“You keep getting up. You keep fighting,” he continues. “That’s what a runner does.”

All you can do is nod. 

After that, the two of you only grow closer. 

You constantly find comfort in each other's arms, especially after the hard days. It felt strange at first, but now it just feels routine. 

It was especially necessary after WCKD moved you to the Last City. 

On the journey there, you realized that Minho was right. Thomas and the rest of the Gladers did come for you. You could hear them pounding on the metal of the box car of the train, shouting Minho’s name. 

And you were hopeful, until WCKD pulled you and Minho from the box car and moved you to a different one before the Gladers could take off with it. 

You understood why they moved Minho, but why they moved you, you weren’t sure. 

Fury flooded through you while you watched Janson walk around from your spot in the dirt, asking how many they took. He approached the two of you with a smug look on his face that you wish you could’ve wiped right off of him. 

“We’re searching the area, but they’re probably long gone by now,” one of the men had said to Janson. 

The Rat Man looked down on the two of you with a sneer, like you were nothing more than a speck of dirt on his shoe. “Oh no they’re not going anywhere. He didn’t get what he really wanted,” he had said. 

When you reach the Last City, the two of you are thrown in a room once again. 

This one is smaller, more confined. It’s narrow, with bunks on both sides of the wall, though it’s only the two of you in there. 

You’d be lying if being in the Last City didn’t make you nervous. The facility is huge, and you can’t imagine what their plans might be bringing you here. 

As it turns out, especially with the threat of Thomas looming, they want to extract the cure faster than ever before. 

The simulations are horrible and cruel. 

It’s strange, the way your mind and body are constantly in fight or flight. More so your mind, because almost every test or simulation they bring you to, you’re sedated. 

The first time they put you and Minho into your respective simulations, they bring you to the same room. It was unusual for them to do so, and that’s what makes you nervous. It isn’t a huge room, but it still has that sterile, white feel to it that you’ve become accustomed to. There’s a large window overlooking the room, which you can only assume is for onlookers to watch you. The thought makes you shudder. 

There are two tables awaiting the two of you, directly across from each other. While you’re used to restraints at this point, you notice something a little different about these ones. Large harnesses, almost like ones you would see on a rollercoaster, with what looked like a headpiece attached to them. 

You share a worried glance with Minho. However, if he’s scared, he doesn’t show it. You wish you could say the same about yourself.

It doesn’t take long for you to figure out why they’d brought you in together. 

You’re both strapped down to your individual tables, and they’re tilted up until you’re upright. Now the harness makes sense.

WCKD doctors and technicians waste no time. They grab supplies, moving around you and Minho, poking and prodding with needles–nothing unusual. But then you see the large, dialysis looking machine next to you whir to life, and your heart drops. 

Your panic only rises as they attach more tubing to you. Then, one of the technicians hits a button on the machine. 

Minho’s chest tightens, watching as dark red begins to move through the clear tubing. It flows quickly, cycling through the machine, moving through the other tube back into your body.

He meets your wide eyes, panic written all over your face in a way he truly hasn’t seen before. Not like this. Not when you can usually hide it behind sarcasm or anger or jabs. This was different. It was raw, unbridled fear.

“Minho,” you swallow hard. “Minho, what are they doing?

He can’t give you a clear answer to that. Instead, he pulls hard against his restraints. “I don’t know,” he says, voice tight. “Just–hey, look at me.”

You do. Your breathing is uneven now, chest rising and falling too fast against the harness across it. Personnel adjust the contraption on your head to their liking, wires and electrodes attached to your forehead. You try to glance sideways at them, just to get a glimpse at what they’re doing.

“Look at me.” Minho’s voice snaps you back to him.

Your eyes flicker back to him, trying to focus on his face and his face only.

“There you go,” he says, softer now. “You’re good. You’re okay.”

“I’m not okay,” you choke out. Never in a million years would you have admitted that to anyone in the past, but you don’t care anymore. You don’t care. You’re terrified.

“Yes, you are.”

You appreciate the effort of him trying to be reassuring, but it hardly works. Especially when a doctor steps closer to you, large syringe in hand.

“Minho.” Your voice is smaller now, quieter. “I don’t want to..” you trail off.

Minho swallows. “I know.”

“I don’t want to go under again–”

“I know,” he repeats, voice strained.

Your eyes stay locked onto his. For a moment, everything else disappears. The machines, the guards, the doctors. It’s just you and him.

“Stay with me,” he says.

You shake your head weakly. “I’m trying. I’m scared, Minho.”

Those words coming from your mouth hit him harder than anything else. He leans forward as much as his restraints will allow. “Hey,” he says quietly. “You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

The only thing you can give him in response is a weak nod, before the syringe is plunged into your skin. Your body tenses sharply momentarily, hands curling into tight fists. Then, your movements falter. The sedative works quickly, and your eyes roll into the back of your head seconds later no matter how hard you try to fight it.

When the machines beside you beep steadily, indicating stable vitals, they move onto Minho. They hook him up in the same exact fashion as you, yet he hardly notices. His focus is solely fixed on you.

“Simulation initiated,” someone calls out from behind a computer.

Minho’s eyes narrow, still looking at you. There doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary happening quite yet.

Suddenly, just as they’re about to put him under, your body jerks against the restraints. Minho involuntarily flinches, not expecting the movement. Your chest rises and falls quicker, sweat forming a thin sheen on your forehead.

The needle hovers over his skin, but is not yet injected.

A scream tears itself from your throat, loud and terrified.  

He thrashes against his restraints. “What the hell?! Stop it!” he shouts, but it falls on deaf ears. 

His heart thuds against his ribcage. Horrifyingly, he can’t look away. Can’t stop hearing it echo in his ears. You’re screaming like you’re being torn apart, and they’re making him watch.

That’s when he realizes what they’re doing. This is purposeful—maybe even punishment. Control. 

Break one, break the other.

With despair, Minho remembers that WCKD has been watching. Your whole time here, they’ve been watching through the cameras placed in the corners of your rooms. They’ve been watching your relationship develop.

And now, they're using it to their advantage.

The needle finally pierces his skin. As he slips into his own unconsciousness, the last thing he hears is your screams. And the last thing he realizes is that WCKD makes sure of it.

-

Your simulations are filled with the Maze. Being hunted by Grievers. By Cranks in the Scorch. 

Your friends, paired with one of your biggest fears: not being able to save them. Not being strong enough. 

Then, Minho is there, strangely enough. 

And you get to watch him die, over and over again, in a dream that you have no control over and can’t voluntarily wake up from.

-

When the two of you are returned to your room, barely conscious and dragged in, it’s silent. What is there to say, really? You both had just been through one of the most traumatizing things you can remember, and it topped the Maze by a long shot. For you, at least.

You drag yourself to your bunk, climbing in, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. Your head still feels heavy from the sedatives, and when you lay down, it feels like your brain is rattling around in your skull. You figure with how tired your body feels, sleep will come easily.

It doesn’t. 

Every time you close your eyes, all you see are flashes of memories. Memories that aren’t real, and you know they aren’t real, but they haunt you just the same.

Over the next few days, it dawns on you quickly that the simulations are the quickest method of extracting the serum in large quantities, and the method that’s closest to the Maze. Serum extraction of this nature requires stimulation of neural pathways, you had heard one of the doctors say.

They don’t take you together anymore. Once WCKD made sure that Minho saw what they wanted him to see, it didn't matter anymore. They just wanted to make sure you both knew that they were using your relationship to their advantage; that they knew you weren’t just enemies anymore. You figure that’s precisely why the two of you were roomed together all this time, why WCKD took you off the train with Minho. It’s cruel, but that’s all WCKD knows how to be.

The next time Minho comes back from having more serum sucked from his body, you almost think he’s dead for a moment.

You don’t look up right away when the door opens. Your gaze is fixed on a small, insignificant crack in the wall opposite to you, like you could memorize it if you try hard enough. That has become your thing lately. Anything to stay grounded.

The sound of boots dragging against the floor makes you blink. You turn your head, and still. Minho is being dragged into the room, completely deadweight. The guards drop him carelessly onto his bunk, then leave as quickly as they came. 

For a second, you think they might’ve killed him. He’s so still, laying on his side, eyes unfocused. Your chest tightens. “Minho?”

No response.

You push yourself to your feet, despite your legs protesting. Ignoring it, you cross the room and crouch beside him.

“Minho?”

Still nothing. 

He’s breathing, though. Shallow and uneven, but there. Relief hits you like a truck. You hesitate for a moment, then reach out, hand hovering over his shoulder.

“Hey.”

Nothing. No snarky comment, no annoyed response, no anything. Just silence.

You swallow. “Okay…” 

Your stomach twists. You don’t like this at all. Trying again, your voice comes out softer. “Minho.”

His gaze doesn’t move, doesn’t shift towards you. He doesn’t acknowledge you at all. You stand there for a moment, unsure. This is new. Not the exhaustion or the silence, but the emptiness. Like whatever they’d done to him had scraped something out and hadn’t bothered putting it back. 

You rub your hands together, suddenly restless. Your chest feels tight. 

Then, you move before you can think about it too much. You climb onto the bunk beside him, careful, slow. 

He doesn’t react at first.

You hesitate for half a second, then you shift closer, laying down beside him. You’re facing him, looking into his eyes, though he doesn’t meet yours. “...You’re kinda freaking me out,” you mutter. 

No response, again. You exhale shakily. “Great. Cool. Love that.” You look at him again, and something in your chest feels like it cracks a little. “Okay. We’re not doing this.”

Slowly, cautiously, you reach for him. One of your arms snakes around him, hand feeling the warmth of his back through his shirt. You hesitate again, but your hand trails up and down his back in what you hope is a soothing motion.

“Minho,” you whisper after a while, after he still hasn’t reacted to your presence. “You’re here, right?”

Silence.

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Don’t do this,” you murmur. “Don’t..not be here.” You never thought you’d say it, but you miss him arguing with you right about now. You miss his sassy remarks, miss him being the one to not give up. There’s a part of you that wishes he would shove you off of the bunk right now, just so you’d have something to yell at him about.

“You can’t shut down on me like this. I can’t do this alone,” you say suddenly, quietly, not really meaning to. But it’s the truth, whether you like it or not. You can’t do this without him. 

And then, a shift. Minho’s muscles shift under your hands, and you can hear a sharp intake of breath as his breath hitches. You freeze for a moment.

Then he pulls you in hard. A startled noise tumbles from your lips as his arms wrap around you, pulling you fully against him. Tight. Almost too tight. Like if he let go, you’d disappear.

“Minho–” you squeak out, but his grip only tightens, crushing and desperate. 

His face buries into your neck, breathing uneven. “I’m here,” he rasps. “I’m here, I’m here–”

You almost sag in relief at the sound of his voice. You don’t hesitate, clinging back just as tight, hands fisting into his shirt. “Okay,” you whisper. “Okay.”

He shifts, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him. His arms don’t loosen. If anything, they tighten again like he needs to convince himself that you’re real. That he’s real, and that everything about this is real.

His mouth opens, as if he’s going to say something, but he falters. He starts to speak, but he cuts himself off as if he can’t bear to finish the thought.

You don’t push. You just shake your head, shushing him. “Minho, it’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”

He only nods, one of his hands sliding up to the back of your neck, fingers brushing the hair at the nape of your neck. It slides down after a moment, coming to rest between your shoulder blades. The other stays locked across your back, keeping you anchored to him.

The two of you stay like that. Your head rests against his chest, listening to his heart still hammer against his rib cage. His hand shifts slightly against your back, not loosening, just adjusting like he needs to make sure you’re still there. Still his to hold onto.

You don’t move away, don’t even consider it. “I’m not going anywhere,” you finally say quietly.

Minho lets out a shaky breath at that. “Good.” His voice was softer now. He peers down at you finally, you can feel it. You look up to meet his eyes. 

That must’ve been all he needed to see, because he pulls you back into him. Not as frantic this time, but still tight and still close. 

He wasn’t trying to stop himself from falling apart and unraveling anymore. He was just trying to hold onto something that kept him together.

And you were doing the exact same thing. 

[rainydaydreamsideblog]

(The Maze Runner) Arguments With Him

Author’s Note:  In my fics/imagines/headcanons, Gladers are aged up, and also movie version.

Warnings: Mentions of anger, arguments, conflict.

Thomas:

To him, a little heated argument every now and then is not the end of the world. He's used to communicating a bit loudly at times with others in the Glade, though he doesn't do so unless provoked. Thomas prefers to have everything out in the open. He'd rather you speak your mind than contain anything, even if it's uncomfortable.

The argument will be brief, and he does what he can to have it resolved before you both walk away. He is never too proud to apologize and make things right for any part he played, and he doesn't hold grudges. It's a clean slate with him.

Newt:

As second-in-command, he's quite used to handling disagreements. There are plenty that occur day to day in the Glade. Even so, things can be a bit different when it's with someone you're in a relationship with. He's quite patient with you, but he's only human. When he's angry, his voice is low and stern at first. He does not wish for things to escalate, but he will eventually raise his voice if the argument drags on and he feels it's not getting anywhere.

The two of you might need a bit of time to cool off, and any time you catch a glimpse of him around the Glade during that period, you can see him grumpy and a bit pouty. After being apart, even if it's only for a short time, the argument suddenly seems silly to you both, and you make your way back to each other to work things out.

Minho:

Sass master. When you two get into an argument, pettiness and clapbacks are not uncommon. He doesn't raise his voice, but it's still safe to say that verbal jabs don't really help the situation. Sometimes it ends in you two going around in circles, going down rabbit trails and debating on things that are totally unrelated to the actual conflict at hand.

He's a got a pride issue when it comes to a resolution. There are indeed times you will need to reach out first to him and reconcile, but there are also plenty of times he will be the first one to do so. He is aware that his conflict style is klunk and is working on it, and he'll apologize sincerely for it after the fact. It's not unheard of for him to make it up to you with a sweet gesture like a bouquet of Glade flowers.

Gally:

He's a Keeper, and an alpha male, and conflict with him starts out with him speaking in a firm, almost authoritative tone- like he expects you to cease and desist or "fall in line." It's truly not intended to be condescending or belittling. He thinks, if only you could see his side, you'd see that he's right.

But it still can come across the wrong way because you of course have a mind of your own and of course he's human and is not always right. Not to mention he can be a bit petty. If things get heated, he may raise his voice a bit, his frustration evident, but he won't lose his temper with you. If you aren't getting anywhere, he might just throw his hands up and insist he's too busy to continue the conversation at the moment, but really, the two of you just need some time to think things over.

He'll approach you later, and despite being a notorious tough guy, he will be the first to utter a gentle and sincere, "I'm sorry" to you.

[rehdhoodie]

little thominho to get me out of artblock

[indy83]

Got too lazy to draw Thomas just pretend he’s standing there all stupid like

p.s this is my first time drawing anything maze runner related that’s why it’s not great..

[sephoutlet]

𑣲 TMR Sickness Headcanons 𑣲

Thomas + Newt + Minho + Gally + Teresa + Frypan + Chuck A/N: @justpeaxchy this is for you <3 Based on this post. Hope you feel better soon!

Thomas

Slows down to subtly match your pace the moment he notices you lagging behind.

"We're not in any hurry. Take your time."

Keeps positioning himself between you and other people, like some sort of human buffer.

Naturally gives you his jacket. If you hesitate, he insists: "I really don't mind. I'm not cold anyway."

Sits on the floor beside you instead of a chair and sneaks looks at you when he thinks you won't notice.

"Do you need to lie down? We can move— Yeah. Let's move."

Brings you water, then comes back 10 minutes later with more: "Sorry! Sorry! I know I just brought some, but I wanted to make sure."

Checks your forehead with the back of his hand and visibly relaxes when you temperature is fine.

Falls asleep sitting upright, shoulder awkwardly lifted in case you need somewhere to lean.

Newt

Notices you're sick from the moment you speak: "You don't sound like yourself."

Lowers his voice when he speaks to you.

Ask Frypan to make special soup for you and checks the temperature himself before handing it over: "Give it a second. Don't burn your tongue."

Sits on the edge of the bed and talks about little, comforting things.

Firmly stops you if you try to stand.

Brings you whatever you need without complaint, even if this is his fourth trip: "Nah. I've got it. You're resting."

Adjusts your blanket while you sleep.

Minho

Groans loudly about checking on you, but he shows up anyway: "Unbelievable. I leave you alone for one day—"

Brings snacks and calls you a picky eater (He memorized all your favorites).

Pulls up a chair and manspreads like he owns the place.

Tells bad jokes on purpose to make you smile, and looks very pleased with himself when you do.

Lets you grab onto his bicep when you feel dizzy.

Shuts you down immediately if you try to suggest "powering through it".

Stays longer than he planned, pretending he "forgot to leave".

Gally

Gets visibly upset when you insist you're fine: "That's not what fine looks like."

Brings you water and food, but awkwardly sets it down instead of handing it directly to you.

Stands around with his arms crossed, watching you to make sure you actually eat.

Leaves abruptly without saying goodbye, but comes back repeatedly throughout the day.

"The sooner you're better, the sooner you can get back to carrying your weight around here."

Teresa

Helps you clean up if you're feeling too weak: Washing your hands, brushing your hair, etc.

Explains everything she does as she's doing it: "I'm just going to check your temperature. Let me know if that feels uncomfortable."

Quietly logs and keeps track of how long you rest for.

"I can see if we could make some tea for you. Maybe peppermint? It contains menthol."

Frypan

Starts cooking the moment he hears you're sick.

Adjusts recipes so they're easier on your stomach.

Brings you smaller portions of food so you don't feel pressured.

Smiles proudly when you finish even half: "See? That's good. That's really good."

Leaves extra snacks tucked nearby: "Just in case you wake up hungry later".

Asks others to check on you if he can't be there himself.

Chuck

Shows up with an armful of random things: Rocks, cups, blankets, or anything he thinks might help.

Talks nonstop about everything going on in the Glade so you don't feel like you're missing out.

Asks if you're feeling better yet every five minutes.

Panicks immediately when you have a coughing fit: "I'm getting the MedJacks! Don't move!"

Expresses relief every time he checks up on you and you're still alive.