Vian

A person who has random obsessions

[pik0u-pi3]

I practically speedran this portrait, but I really wanted to draw Vil! :D

Um pls ignore his lack of clothing lol… I promise I didn’t have freaky intentions. I just got too lazy to add his uniform, and ultimately decided to give up on this one.

(I should start adding actual backgrounds to my art… maybe)

[itsameaera]

Helloooo how my favorite writer doing can I pretty please request an Leona, malleus, and Idia (well you can pick anyone you want really but Leona is my favorite boy💐 and tbh who the hell would the reader get jealous over with a man like Idia what an anime character I love Idia I swear) x reader where the reader gets jealous in like a passive aggressive way not like in a toxic way but in a bratty way if that makes sense and the writing format can be whatever you want I would eat anything up you cook

And sorry for the basic request I’m craving some jealousy that isn’t the boys getting jealous you know 

【❝Bubblegum Bitch❞】

【Synopsis: In which the twst boys experience the wrath that is their partner’s jealousy】

【Featuring: Leona Kingscholar, Idia Shroud, and Malleus Draconia】

【Tags: gn reader, established relationship, sassy reader, crack ig (?), a tiny bit of angst (?), fluff (?), idrk how to tag this lol, Leona is having the time of his life, Idia is turned on and scared at the same time, Malleus is ignoring anyone that isn’t you, no beta, possible typos/spelling errors, please let me know if I missed any tags】

【Word count: Leona (353) Idia (411) Malleus (387) Total (1.1k)】

【a/n: hi how anonnnnn I’m doing well, ty for asking! Oo, I had so so much fun writing this! As a snarky, passive-aggressive girlie myself, I imbued ready with some of my less-than-admirable traits lol. As we all know, I have beef with Idia, but I must admit that his part was my favorite to write. Anyway, I hope you’re doing well yourself! Thank you so much for the request and that kind words. Enjoy! <33333333】

【Divider by: @/cursed-carmine】

‧₊˚ ┊ Deep down, Leona just wants to be wanted and seeing you get jealous only confirms to him that you do indeed want him. Simply put, he likes it when you get jealous — not only does it stroke his pride, but it helps him feel loved in a round about way. Given how much Leona likes it when you get jealous over him, he may or may not go out of his way to make you envious every now and again. (He doesn't do it all the time, and he makes sure not to overstep any boundaries. It's a bit of a cat and mouse game — pun intended — for him, so let him have his fun.)

‧₊˚ ┊ Even though he's merely a second prince, there are plenty of people who would seek to get close to Leona just to curry favor with the throne. Most of the time, Leona can't be bothered to humor them, but if he sees you getting jealous of some unimportant politician sweet talking him and taking away his attention from you, then he'll lean into it a bit just to get under your skin. Admittedly, he likes seeing you squirm and get all pouty, but he keeps that to himself rather than irritating you any further. Leona doesn't do this often, but when he does, he knows it'll produce the results he's looking for. (Bro is over here playing 4D chess typa mind games fr.)

‧₊˚ ┊ Leona lovessssss it when you get all sassy and bratty. Talk back to him, get sarcastic, get passive-aggressive, get possessive, he loves it all, so take out your frustration on him as you please! Depending on his mood, Leona will either feign ignorance or tease you for getting so worked up. His main goal is to get you to act on your jealousy — usually in the form of you marking him as yours in some way. Is this all incredibly convoluted? Absolutely, but Leona is too proud to just come out and ask you to mark him or anything like that, so this is what you get. (Play stupid games, win stupid prizes lol.)

‧₊˚ ┊ The last thing Idia ever wants to do is incur your wrath, but he honestly finds it kinda hot whenever you get jealous. Like, he can't believe someone as lovely as you would ever get jealous over some child like him, so he finds it quite flattering that you care about him so much. That being said, Idia hates upsetting you and tries to avoid doing so as much as possible. In his mind, you'll leave him as soon as he hits the wrong nerve, so he moves pretty cautiously so not to end up fumbling you. On occasion, when Idia is feeling bold, he will purposely try to make you jealous.

‧₊˚ ┊ Since Idia is an antisocial shut-in, he doesn't have many prospects vying to steal you away from him. Instead, you'll likely find yourself getting jealous over how much attention he gives to that idol group he likes. Idia makes no effort to hide how much she adores Premo, and will talk your ear off about the group whether you're interested in listening. This is how he triggers your jealousy. Idia will go on and on, gushing and fawning over the group like he's dating them and not you. Most of the time he does it without really thinking, but if he's feeling a bit more devious, then he'll do it just to see if it bothers you. Jealousy = Love in Idia's mind, so it offers him a kind of reassurance about your relationship. (He could very well just talk to you about his insecurities, but that's cringe, so he jealousy-baits you instead lol).

‧₊˚ ┊ Idia, despite being too proud to open up about his feelings, is unafraid to grovel at your feet for forgiveness. He wants to see you jealous, but he hates when you take it out on him, which he, honestly, should expect. The moment you take on a sharper tone with him and get all mean and passive-aggressive, he folds like a soft piece of paper. Idia will literally get on his knees and beg for your attention, whining and whimpering like a pathetic puppy. Don't forgive him so easily, because he likes it when you're difficult. Ignore him, give him the silent treatment, tell him to fuck off, and he'll only beg harder. Bro has no shame when it comes to you, so you can at least put him through the ringer as punishment for his antics. (I'm a pathetic Idia believer, if you couldn't tell.)

‧₊˚ ┊ Malleus is a hot commodity. Not only is he a future king and one of the top five most powerful mages in the world, but he's also incredibly attractive too. Needless to say, you're going to face plenty of competition. Malleus, however, never pays them any mind. Dragons mate for life, so you're the only one for him and nothing will ever change that. Still, that doesn't stop potential suitors from trying their hand at wooing Malleus. (Seriously, he wishes they'd stop trying, it's so annoying.)

‧₊˚ ┊ Most of Malleus' peers are too unnerved by his power and status, so it's not them you'll have to worry about. It's usually the noble fae of Briar Valley — the ones that seek to power climb and see their bloodline seat the throne — that foolishly try that hand at winning Malleus' heart. He's used to it after years and years of having to deal with similar antics from many a simpering noble, but the same can't be said for you. Although Malleus shuts down any attempts from them, he sometimes has to hold a conversation out of politeness or political responsibility, which, in turn, may spur your jealousy. (He never purposely tries to make you jealous, so there's no secret plotting or agendas here lol.)

‧₊˚ ┊ Although dragons are known to be possessive, Malleus takes no pleasure in your jealousy. He'd much rather you feel loved and happy and secure in your relationship, not jealous of some nobody he likely can't stand. Malleus will let you get all petulant and passive-aggressive with him for two reasons — 1) because he wants you to be able to communicate what you're feeling even if it's in a somewhat harsh manner and 2) because he thinks it's cute when you get all sassy with him. He'll let you rant and rave until you're blue in the face only to ask you if you're done yet. If not, then you're free to continue expressing your frustrations, but if you are, then he'll sit you down and remind you that you're the only one for him. (Don't even try to give him the silent treatment or anything because it will put him in a bad mood and cause him to spawn like, seven tornados and a monsoon, so it's in your best interest to not ignore him lol.)

[cloud-ette]

ᴍᴏɴ ᴄᴏᴇᴜʀ, ᴘᴏᴜʀ ᴛᴏɪ - ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪꜱꜱᴇꜱ ʀᴏᴏᴋ ɢɪᴠᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ

Warnings: mention of NSFW themes

Hair ➷ Rook cannot live too far away from your hair, not without feeling his heart breaking. He needs it: the way it changes shades under the waves of light and shadow, how it seems to breathe with you at every movement, its softness, all of this is a string attached to his soul, and it pulls harder and harder. Yes, he has, he must feel it: under the fingertips, against the cheeks and his chest. And of course he peppers it with kisses, wrapping his arms around you to keep you the closest possible to him and giving in to his love for your pretty head. The boy feels no shame in moaning and melting in a blushing mess, right now he would not be able to stop himself for anything in the world.

He's having the moment of his life.

Back ➷ Let's be clear: every single part of your body is a masterpiece, an undeniable work of art, and Rook praises and worships every single inch of you. However, it's not a secret the sight of you with your back turned on him, undressing slowly under the soft glow of the bedside lamp and revealing your skin inch by tantalizing inch, or asleep on your belly with your back offered and unveiled, stirs something in his mind and soul.

The boy enjoys the whole show: helps you with the clothes if you need it, or simply lays down on the mattress and follows every single change of light on your body as it slips across the skin and nestles in your curves, giving space to shadows before reclaiming it again. However, he cannot resist that much before springing into action rather to be a passive spectator, and before you can say something or think about it, he presses the lips on your spine, following its path up and down, and inhales your scent while gently licking every back bone and smiling as soon as you start giggling and moaning.

If you are asleep, he tends to use his fingertips rather than his mouth, to not wake you up; at least until dawn, where it's time to start the day. His duty is to watch over you and protect you from the dangers of being late, among all, so he has to be sure you'll be up at the right time... and bringing you back from the dreamland with a good shower of back kisses is something worthy of doing.

Palms and breasts ➷ Two body parts that seems so unrelated, but not in his mind, since they are your most sensitive spots - the best ones to torture you. After all, Rook has the patience of the hunters and the same skills of a beast of prey, so he takes his sweet time to map every single nerve on your soft palms and explore your breasts and nipples with the same thoroughness. If you squeak so loudly and tremble so much, and still ask for more and spur him on, he's morally obligated to obey and please his love muse; lingering almost sadistically on your poor flesh, sucking and licking above and under, rolling your peaks in between his teeth or sinking them in the softest spots, but always with care and that sweet, reverent touch of his. In the end, hands and chest wear a new dress: made of teeth marks and hickeys, saliva and sweat, and love - something not a million showers could wash away.

Thighs ➷ The doors of his favorite temple? Of course he thanks them for their hard and hot work. No bites here: just a soft, almost shy - not at all - trail of kisses on the quivering, yielding flesh of the inner thighs, his nose buried against them right after. Since he's here, you could think it's only a matter of seconds before he starts giving care and attention to your crotch and other regions nearby; but, well... he has to torment you a bit, right? To tease you a bit, and wait until you are begging for it - if not by words, by the signals your body and scent give. Yes, it's true you have a love slave; but one who wants to bring you right where he wants you, before fulfilling your desires and turning your dreams true. And the prospect of a punishment just spurs him on in his mischievous intent.

Ankles ➷ Some of the hottest, sexiest ones he could give you. Sometimes they come after he helped you wear your shoes and he holds your ankle still to land a slow, tender kiss on it, but usually they are the gifts you receive after you playfully pin him down on the floor and threaten him to stomp on him. The way his pupils widen in excitement and he gasps cannot be described: and he begs, begs and begs for it, rolling around in a puddle of hearts at the thought of your foot wrapped in the most elegant stiletto, or even bare if you like it more, and tormenting his palms, chest or throat.

He doesn't put up a fight, he gives up immediately: take your pleasure with him, Rook is satisfied already just to be able to kiss and give affection to the tool of his torment, and thanks you for it a million times.

[rollomai]

RUGGIE BUCCHI X GN!READER

"cause after all this time...im still, into you."

“This windish meadow with you„

The wind always seemed stronger in the Sunset Savannah.

It rolled through the endless golden grass until the meadows looked like an ocean, every blade bending and rising in glittering waves beneath the afternoon sun. The air smelled warm—dry earth, wildflowers, and the faint sweetness of ripe fruit growing somewhere in the distance.

You laughed as you ran.

"You're too slow, Ruggie!"

"I'm lettin' ya win!" he shouted back, though he was already catching up.

"You liar!"

The two of you had raced across these fields since before either of you could remember. Bare feet had eventually become sandals, childish giggles had deepened into older laughter, and scraped knees had become stories told around evening fires.

But somehow...

The meadow never changed.

It always welcomed the two of you back.

You darted around a large acacia tree, nearly slipping as Ruggie lunged for your sleeve.

"Gotcha!"

"You cheated!"

"I call it strategy."

"You tackled me!"

"Same thing."

You both collapsed into the grass, breathing hard.

The wind rushed over your bodies, cooling the sweat on your foreheads.

For several long moments, neither of you spoke.

You simply stared up at the impossibly blue sky.

"...Remember when we were seven?" you asked quietly.

Ruggie snorted.

"When you thought clouds were giant sheep?"

"They looked like sheep."

"You tried countin' them."

"I still do." You laughed out loudly, nudging his arm with your elbow as your voice sang sweetly inside his ears.

He smiled.

"...Yeah."

Silence settled again.

Comfortable.

Easy.

The kind only people who had known each other almost their entire lives could share.

You turned your head toward him.

"You've changed."

"Hm?"

"You're taller."

"So are you."

"You still steal food."

"I borrow food."

"You stole my lunch yesterday."

"You weren't eatin' it."

"I looked away for three seconds!"

"You snooze, you lose."

You laughed so hard your eyes watered.

Ruggie watched you instead of laughing.

Watched the way your nose scrunched.

The way sunlight caught your hair.

The way your smile had somehow stayed exactly the same despite the years.

...

He'd loved that smile for far longer than he'd ever admit.

Maybe...

Maybe since he was ten.

Maybe before that.

He wasn't sure.

It had happened so slowly that one day he'd simply realized...

You weren't just the person he wanted to spend every day with.

You were the first person he looked for.

The first person he wanted to tell good news to.

The person whose laughter made difficult days easier.

The person he wanted beside him whenever life felt unfair.

It had become love so naturally that he couldn't even pinpoint when friendship had crossed that invisible line.

He'd never told anyone.

Not Leona.

Not his grandmother.

Not even himself out loud.

Because saying it...

Made it real.

And reality was cruel.

He was a hyena kid from the poorest corner of the Savannah.

You deserved someone who could give you everything.

Someone who didn't have to count every coin before buying bread.

Someone who wasn't always worrying about tomorrow.

Someone who wasn't...

Him.

So he buried it.

Every day.

Every year.

He buried it beneath jokes.

Teasing.

Easy smiles.

Because friendship—

Friendship he could keep.

Love...

Love was dangerous.

If he confessed...

Would you smile awkwardly?

Would you apologize?

Would you avoid him afterward?

Would these afternoons disappear?

Would these races end?

Would this meadow become somewhere neither of you visited anymore?

He couldn't survive that.

Losing you entirely was infinitely worse than loving you quietly.

"...Ruggie?"

"Hm?"

"You spaced out."

"...Did I?"

"You've been staring."

"Oh."

He looked away immediately.

"Heh... sorry."

"What were you thinking about?"

You asked it so innocently.

Like there wasn't a hurricane inside his chest.

He smiled.

"Nothin'."

"Liar."

"You know me too well."

"I do."

You grinned.

"I always will."

His heart squeezed.

Always.

Such a dangerous word.

People promised forever so easily.

Children did.

Adults learned better.

He wondered...

Years from now...

Would you still run through these meadows with him?

Or would someone else hold your hand?

Would someone else make you laugh until you couldn't breathe?

Would someone else hear your dreams before he did?

The thought hurt more than he expected.

He hid it with another crooked smile.

"So."

You sat up suddenly.

"Race to the river?"

"You just wanna win again."

"I will win again."

"Confident."

"I'm amazing."

"Delusional."

You gasped dramatically.

"Take that back."

"Nah."

"You asked for this."

Before he could react, you shoved him sideways.

"HEY!"

Then you took off running.

"Oh, you're dead!"

He sprang after you, laughing.

The meadow echoed with your voices.

Your footsteps crushed flowers beneath your feet.

Birds scattered into the sky.

The sun painted everything gold.

For a little while...

It was enough.

Enough to pretend nothing had changed.

Enough to pretend his heart didn't ache every time you smiled.

Enough to pretend he wasn't memorizing moments he feared wouldn't last forever.

You reached the river first, throwing your arms into the air.

"I WIN!"

"You cheated somehow."

"I literally ran."

"Suspicious."

"You just lost."

"I allowed ya to."

"You sound pathetic."

"I sound generous."

You rolled your eyes before sitting on the riverbank.

He joined you a second later.

Your shoulders brushed.

Neither of you moved away.

The river shimmered beneath the sunset.

Orange.

Pink.

Gold.

You skipped a pebble across the water.

"...Promise me something?"

He blinked.

"What's that?"

"No matter where life takes us..."

You smiled at the horizon instead of him.

"...We'll always come back here."

His breath caught.

The wind lifted your hair.

For one terrifying second...

He almost said it.

“I love you„

The words reached his lips.

He could almost hear them.

Almost.

Then he swallowed them back down.

Like he always did.

"...Yeah," he answered softly, eyes full of longing as he stared at you.

Oh, you.

You and him with your childish promises. Your shy glances. Your sheepish smiles.

The sun catching in your hair the same way it did when you both were 12 and he realized his heart skipped beats far more than it should have.

He looked away, eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at the glistening water.

"I promise."

It wasn't the promise he truly wanted to make.

He wanted to promise he'd always love you.

Always protect you.

Always be by your side.

But those promises required answers he was too afraid to hear.

So instead...

He settled for the only promise he knew he could keep.

Returning to these meadows.

Running beside you.

Laughing with you.

Being your best friend.

Even if his heart had quietly belonged to you since the two of you were children.

And as you leaned against his shoulder without thinking, pointing excitedly at clouds that still looked like sheep...

Ruggie smiled.

A gentle, bittersweet smile.

If loving you from afar was the price of never losing you...

Then he'd carry it.

Silently.

For as long as the wind continued to dance through these endless golden meadows; with you.

A/N: !!!!AAAHHHH !!!!YAAAAYYY!!!! Im so HAPPI!!!! I finally finished this fic after four whole days of procrastinating it!!! Anyways, its late, I'll post another fic tomorrow!!! Thank you aaallll!!!

[fuwafujrf]

Jamil Viper headcanons

i'm so bad at ts it's embarrassing. after spending my teens reading headcanons and fanfictions one would assume i'd be good within this topic, well you've been wronged. i don't even got a layout for ts. how do headcanon writers do ts, hell naw. first time writing any hc stuff at all, take my computer away, i wont improve, i hate english. word count: around 251 words (lazy pos author bruh) taking care of his s/o's hair

Jamil would tell you to sit on the floor of the living room after having seen enough of you not taking proper care of your hair,, treating it roughly and such (getting noodle hair from bleach..ahem.. Shoutout to my bleach warriors)

Jamil would give you that 3 hour kinda hair treatment. Jamil treats his own hair like royalty, and he absolutely demands his partner do the same. (demand is certainly a stretch but he'd make sure his partner has a good routine.)

Expensive hair masks, for three hours you'd sit between Jamil's thighs switching between the living room and bathroom floor.

As he massages the treatment into your scalp, his voice is a low, rumbling murmur in the dark. "If you keep using that cheap supermarket shampoo, I am going to confiscate it. Look at these split ends. Do you want to go bald? Because I am not dating a bald person. Stop moving."

But his touch completely contradicts his sharp words; he is incredibly careful not to pull a single strand.

The hours are spent with quiet muttering, at most, while Jamil strokes your scalp caringly late into the evening.

 Kalim is already fast asleep, and it's way too late for Jamil to be awake when he has an early morning, but it's the only quality time you've both had in weeks due to his busy schedule.

You almost fall asleep multiple times, only to be woken up by Jamil teasingly smearing soap into your ear and playing it off like he didn't do anything. (man’s a bastard.)

been seeing too many noodle hairs recently, please use purple shampoo guys. please pull out the hairdye safe shampoo too. please everyone i've seen running around this week, im begging. (i actually finished this one and put this in my drafts way before my first headcanon post, im so happy a few people liked it, made me feel so much better about my writing (rambling) skills :))

[scarletttries]

How the Weak Hero boys ask you out

Pairings: Yeon Sieun, Ahn Suho, Oh Beomsoek, Park Humin (Baku), Go Hyuntak (Gotak), Seo Juntae Geum Seongje, Na Baekjin x reader (all fluff) 

Author's note: I've started watching Weak Hero and all the boys are so cute, I wanted to try my hand at writing some headcanons for them 💞 let me know if you think I should write more 🌸

Yeon Sieun

- Sieun spends weeks trying to convince himself not to ask you out. That it would just be a distraction, or worse, a detriment to your friendship. It's only when he realises he has absolutely no choice, because of how much of his time he spends with his thoughts wandering aimlessly to you with nothing he can do to stop them, that he decides to make a plan.

- He keeps a mental note of the times of day you seem happiest, wanting to catch you in the best possible mood and help his chances of a positive outcome to his question. You notice him lingering a little more closely than usual, thinking it's just his protective streak shining through, or his unusual way of growing closer with people.

- Eventually he catches you on a Friday afternoon, the sun bright in the sky on the kind of perfect day that just makes everyone smile. Except for Sieun, who looks positively alarmed as he gives you a small wave with one hand, a delicate bunch of flowers clutched in the other. He extends them to you in his signature silence before softly asking if you want to do something together over the weekend, as a date. He's careful to get the word date in there, to make sure there's no room for you to misinterpret his feelings.

- When you smile and nod, he feels like a huge weight has been lifted off his chest, thanking you for your time and hurrying home to plan the most statistically perfect first date possible with a subtle smile twitching across his lips. 

Ahn Suho

- You and Suho are so used to spending time together that it makes asking you on a date strangely difficult. You don't bat an eye when he invites you to come eat dinner with him at the end of his shift, or to spend an evening riding on the back of his moped and helping him get less lost as he makes deliveries, so how can he make it clear that what he's asking now is different to all that. 

- It's obvious that something's on his mind as he stands in your doorway that night, delivering your favourite food, despite you not placing an order for it. When you ask him what's wrong he starts by brushing it off, making a joke about how nothing's wrong when he's with you. 

- When you roll your eyes at his terrible attempt at flirting, you notice he looks so much more serious than usual as he speaks, steadying himself with a deep breath before crossing the invisible boundary of your friendship and reaching his hand out to gently grasp yours. 

"The next time we eat together, it's my treat. Because it's a date, okay?"

He's not so much asking your permission, as telling you the way he feels, and waiting to see how you react. Luckily, as soon as you agree all the tension in his body releases as he starts practically vibrating on the spot, pulling you into a hug before he realises he needs to get back to work!

Oh Beomsoek

- Poor sweet Beomsoek would need you to put in most of the work for him to ever feel ready to ask you out. He just can't picture a reality where you'd want him in the same way he wants you, that you'd choose him over any of the guys he's sure you could have if you wanted.  

- It's obvious how deep his insecurities run when your friendship with him deepens, the way his eyes light up in pure surprise every time you ask him a question, or acknowledge his existence, his whole face beaming when you make sure he's included in yours and your friends' plans

- It might feel tough given how shy he can be, but you'd need to dial up the flirting to make it clear that you're expecting him to ask you out - make a point of inviting him to sit next to you and then bump your knee against his, ask to hold his hand when you're walking down the steep hill outside your school, and send him lots of texts and selfies when things remind you of him. Eventually, even Beomsoek will realise he's in way too deep not to at least try and take you on a date. 

- Definitely feels more confident behind a phone than in person, so would ask you out via a message that he types and re-types a hundred times to try and get the wording perfect, forcing himself to hit send before he chickens out entirely. And when you react with a little heart emoji, he'll spent the next hour smiling at the screen and blushing like all his dreams have come true. 

Park Humin (Baku)

- Baku is so sure that you're meant to be together, that he feels like asking you out is just a formality. Instead, he's the type of guy that just starts spending more and more time around, trying to show you how good of a boyfriend he'd be to help influence your decision when the time comes for him to suggest a date. 

- You two would be friends anyway, but you'll notice that he starts spending way more time with his arm draped over your shoulder, walking close by your side every second the two of you are together, no matter who else is around. At even the slightest breeze, he's holding out his jacket for you to thread your arms through, and now your phone is getting a near constant stream of his thoughts and memes and anything else he can justify sending you to make sure you're thinking about him as much as he thinks about you. He'll even make a joke about how offended he is that he isn't your lock screen, insisting on taking a bunch of selfies together so you can use one and then send him one to match.

- Eventually after a couple of weeks of this act, long enough that half the school thinks you're already together, he'd casually announce that it's probably time you two made this thing official, and asks if he can take you out this weekend. He's exuding confidence as he speaks, but you can tell from his puppy dog eyes that this man would drop to his knees and beg if it meant you'd say yes. 

Go Hyuntak (Gotak)

- Like Sieun, Gotak would start off just desperately wishing his feelings would go away, and being almost annoyed by how much he likes you and how many times a day he finds himself thinking about you and smiling out of nowhere. Matters would only get worse when he tries to ask Baku for advice and now has to deal with his best friend constantly poking him whenever you enter a room, and watching his chest tighten in response. 

- If it had been before the injury to his knee, maybe Gotak would have been confident that you'd say yes when he asked you out, but now he's not sure how much he has to offer, or if you'll even think he's someone worth considering. He's not really the type of guy to gradually build up a friendship with you either, noticing you a few times and already trusting his gut that he knows enough about you to feel this way. 

- He'd be so direct and straightforward when he asked you out, looking almost grumpy about the situation as he stands in front of you in an uncomfortable position of vulnerability. It would definitely be a surprise considering you've only hung out a couple of times, maybe exchanged a few smiles, but when you agree to go out with him, his cool guy facade would immediately drop and he'd start smiling like a little kid, telling you how much fun this was going to be. 

Seo Juntae

- Juntae is a lot braver than most people give him credit for, and when he sets his mind to something, he's going to do his best to make it happen. So when he falls head over heels in love with you, he's going to make a plan to at least try and win you over. 

- It starts casual, making sure he talks to you at least once a day - maybe just saying 'hi' with a sweet smile when you pass him in the hall, or talking about the weather at first. Then he moves to more personal stuff, still subtly though. He'll tell you that your outfit reminds him of something from a manga, and then ask you if you read any. He'll say he can't decide what snack to get, asking your favourite and then getting you one as well. Over time he gets a clearer picture of you as person, and every new bit of information just makes him more determined to ask you out, even if it leads to rejection. 

- By the time his actions (and feelings) become obvious, he's moved onto giving you compliments and asking if you remembered to bring an umbrella today or if you want him to walk you home so you can share him. If you were to call him out on his flirting, he'd just grin and hide his face in shyness, but never deny it. Thankfully, you won't have the chance, because as soon as he's sure he can do it without making you uncomfortable, he'll be asking you on a date. 

- He won't care if your friends are nearby and could potentially hear you reject him, and he'd make it very clear that there's absolutely no pressure because he has also really enjoyed becoming your friend more and more recently, but as soon as you see his sweet little smile you know you'll never be able to say no to him. 

Geum Seongje

- While most of the boys in this group might end up overthinking asking you out, Seongje is an absolute under-thinker. He'd meet you once, like your vibe and then the second you make him laugh he'd make up his mind.

- Definitely the kind of guy who tells you when you're going out with him, rather than asking if you want to. You'd just get a DM from him out of nowhere with a time and a day, telling you to be ready for him to take you out. 

- When he shows up at your door, never explaining how he knows where you live, and he sees that you took his text seriously, opening your door looking even prettier than he remembered, it would just boost his confidence more, his fingers threaded through yours before you're even off your porch. 

Na Baekjin   

- He's calculating and methodical with everything he does, and asking you out is no exception. He'd wait until he's studied you closely enough that he's confident your feelings align with his own, carefully studying your social media to work out the best date options and gifts he could bring to guarantee this goes well for you both. 

- It's be almost intimidating as he calls you into his little office at the bowling alley, shutting the door behind you before presenting you with a drink from your favourite café, stating calmly that he'd like to the two of you to visit it together at the weekend as a date. 

- His face is completely unreadable as his unblinking gaze waits for your response, just the slightest twinkle of joy in his eye as you nod your head and agree that would be nice. If you're really lucky, on the date itself he might actually smile for you, but when he does it's very worth the wait.

If you enjoying my writing and love a touch of romance, please consider buying my romantic/thriller novel as the best way to support me and my writing: It's only $3 for the e-book or $9 for the paperback! Or if you want to support me another way - why not buy me a coffee or commission something special?

[geblek888]

🦇💞 (^^♪

Reference:

twt @/eai12ai, tiktok @/cosupure.ai

[natypoyaamur]

Redesign my old designs of Neige's outfits (based on Snow White dolls)

[heliads]

want you, need you - minho

Ever since you became a Med-Jack, Minho can't seem to stop collecting random injuries that absolutely require your attention. You might be catching on.

masterlist

The Med-Jack hut is either overwhelmingly busy or frustratingly slow, no in between. There are days when every single room in the place is crammed full of patients– somehow, every Slicer manages to cut themselves, and every Builder breaks a bone– and you wish you had picked any other job than this one. The busy days are rough. You start wondering what might happen if you stopped being able to put people back together as quickly as they fall apart. You think about the endless cycle of injury and healing until everyone wears out entirely, a map of bandages and skin pressed thin like dead leaves.

Those are the hopeless days. Then, you’ll have a dry spell, when everyone manages to get their stuff together and no one complains of sprained ankles or excessive sunburns. At that point, you start twiddling your thumbs and mindlessly organizing and reorganizing the medical supplies. By the end, you almost start wishing people would get hurt just so you’d have something to do. It’s an uncharitable thought, certainly, and one you regret once you’re stuck in the middle of another hurricane of aching Gladers, but when there’s nothing else to do, it comes nonetheless.

You’ve found yourself in the middle of another boring week. For the past few days, the Slicers have remembered how to hold their knives so they chop the animals and not themselves, the Builders hit their nails with their hammers instead of their thumbs, and the Runners don’t give themselves cramps and stay in perfect health.

Well. Not every Runner.

Even during the most boring stretches of your admittedly short career as a Med-Jack, you can guarantee that you’ll have one specific patient. Just like clockwork, every few days a certain dark-haired, teasing someone shadows your door, complaining of overworked tendons, pulled hamstrings, heatstroke, and every other medical condition under the sun. If Minho can think it up, he’ll say he’s got it.

It’s honestly becoming ridiculous. For someone who’s such a capable Runner, it is truly remarkable that he survives so many ailments. One would think he would give up running entirely if it gave him this much grief. Yet every day, Minho sets out for the Maze with a cheerful disposition, and at least two times a week, he appears in the Med-Jack hut, sporting some new injury that materialized at some point during the day.

So, when you look up from labeling the medicine cabinet for what must be the dozenth time this month, and realize that you haven’t seen the Keeper of the Runners in a few days, you know that it’s about time for him to come down with the flu, a severe migraine, or maybe both at once.

True to form, you’ve barely finished going through the medications on one shelf of the cabinet when Jeff, one of your fellow Med-Jacks, comes into the room. “You have a patient,” he says impatiently. “Guess who?”

You roll your eyes, although you can’t help a small smile. “Can’t you handle Minho yourself?”

Jeff gives you a look. “I tried. He told me he wanted to wait for a professional. Figures.”

You snort. “You’ve been here longer than I have.”

“I told him that,” Jeff complains. “This might surprise you, but he didn’t care.”

“Tell him again,” you say, turning back to the pill bottle you’re labeling. “I’m busy.”

Jeff heaves a dramatic sigh. “I’m not wasting my time with that. He’s your problem, go fix him.”

You shoot him a confused glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” Jeff retorts, reaching over to grab the bottle out of your hands. “Ever since you started here, Minho randomly comes over all the time. You know he used to hate visiting the Med-Jacks before you arrived? Now he can’t stop showing up.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you protest weakly.

Jeff sighs again, so deeply you swat him on the shoulder. “That’s klunk and we both know it. The data doesn’t lie, Y/N.”

“There’s no data,” you argue, but Jeff’s already waving you out of the room. 

You make a face at him, then go down the hall until you find Minho waiting in one of the smaller rooms meant for patients. He’s poking at some supplies on a small table in a corner of the room, but he straightens up excitedly when he sees you.

“Doc! I’m so glad you’re here.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “What have you done to yourself now, Minho?”

“That’s no way to treat a patient,” Minho frowns exaggeratedly. “Whatever happened to bedside manner?”

“You got bedside manner the first ten times you showed up for no reason,” you tell him pointedly. “After that, you get whatever I feel like. You should be happy I’m still giving you bandages. We only have so many, you know that? Maybe I’ll start charging you a fee.”

“I can pay,” Minho says lazily, leaning forward so you can feel his breath hot on the side of your face. One of his hands starts to curl around your side, pulling you closer to him.

Dangerous, he is. You idly push him away with your palm, pretending to examine the supplies he’d been poking at earlier so you have time for the heat to leave your face. “How about you just tell me what’s wrong with you this time?”

Minho sighs dramatically. “Well, since you care so much, I’ll have to tell you that I’ve broken an ankle. It hurts so bad. This might be it for me, Y/N.”

You arch a brow. “Which ankle?”

He pauses a moment, thinking. “Left.”

“You’re standing on it just fine right now,” you point out.

Immediately, Minho shifts all of his weight onto his right leg, grabbing the back of a nearby chair for support. “No, I’m not. Look, I can’t bear the pain. It hurts.”

You just look at him. Minho looks back at you, unable to stop the corners of his lips from curling up into a proud half-smile. “Do you really expect me to believe that?” You ask.

He gasps. “Y/N. Are you trying to discredit your own patients? Some Med-Jack you are. I bet Clint would trust me.”

“Then go talk to Clint,” you say, making for the door.

Minho hurries over, flinging out an arm to close the door before you can open it. “Wait, wait. I didn’t mean it, sweetheart. You’re the only Med-Jack for me, I swear it. Clint is nothing to me.”

You take an obvious glance towards his feet. “That ankle sure seems to be healing fast, huh? You moved over here like it was nothing.”

Minho leans his back against the door. “Alright, you got me. Nothing’s wrong with the ankle. Still, my lungs have been feeling exhausted lately, that might be something–”

“That’s because you run everywhere,” you say, grinning in spite of yourself at his antics. “Come on, Minho, you’ll have to get a better excuse someday.”

“My bad for wanting to see you,” he returns. “I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever. I miss you,” he adds a little quietly.

It makes you smile in earnest this time. “So you’re here to be a good friend, then.”

“Yeah,” Minho says, and you might be kidding yourself but you swear he sounds almost disappointed, “A good friend. That’s me.”

You tap him gently on the arm to get him to move from the door. “How about I promise to find you straight after my shift ends, and you agree to leave without using any more of my medical supplies? Jeff’s going to kill you if we run through anymore bandages, I swear it.”

Minho pretends to think this over. “Straight after? You promise?”

“I promise,” you repeat. “So? Do we have a deal?”

“We do,” he intones solemnly, and at last lets you open the door and usher him out, but only after extracting one more promise that you won’t delay to talk to Newt or anyone else once Jeff lets you out.

When you get back to the storage room, you find Jeff waiting for you, grinning knowingly from ear to ear. It bothers you for some reason, not the fact that he’s on this topic again but worse, the thought that he might not be entirely wrong for it.

“Wipe that look off your face,” you mutter.

Jeff’s grin just broadens. “How was your star patient?”

“Fantastic,” you assure him, “And I’d be fantastic too, if you could stop bothering me with whatever weird thing you’re thinking about right now.”

Jeff shrugs exaggeratedly. “Of course. I don’t know why anyone would think about Minho being unable to go three days without talking to you. That would be crazy.”

“It would be,” you add darkly. People in the Glade have said that you have a tendency for killer death stares. However, Jeff seems to be impervious to it, because he just keeps sitting there, proud as anything, as if he were in the right about this.

As if. This isn’t the first time your friends have tried to suggest there’s something going on between you and Minho, and the honest truth is that nothing has happened at all. Yeah, Minho’s your best friend, and yeah, your days are significantly better when you see as much of him as possible. What about it? It doesn’t mean a thing. Life is hard. If you want to talk to the boy who makes you laugh like no one else, you should be able to do it in peace.

You can’t deny that the rumors stay on your mind, and recently, you haven’t been able to deny them with as much conviction as usual. You’re not blind, Minho is good-looking, and maybe you start thinking about something past friendship when he makes another excuse to get in your personal space when you’re sitting together by the fire or walking through the Glade. 

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before, but as good as it might be to have Minho in every way that matters, you’ll still be perfectly happy with just the one. You can’t risk your friendship, even if, two drinks of Gally’s brew into a Bonfire Night, you start thinking about what it would be like to kiss him, or worse still, when Minho drops by the Med-Jack hut again, you convince yourself that maybe he’s not just doing it because he’s a good friend but because he wants you just like you want him.

It can’t be, though. For one thing, Minho is notoriously confident. If he liked you, he would have told you by now. You’ve seen him argue with Gally for the fun of it, not to mention the fact that he chose to be a Runner of all things. Minho lives on a constant adrenaline rush. Compared to what he does on a daily basis, confessing his feelings has to be nothing major. If he wanted to tell you, he would, and he hasn’t, so obviously there isn’t anything to tell at all.

For another, and this might just be in your own head, but Minho is so brave and capable that he seems to eclipse everything around him. Maybe it’s just the force of your own perspective, but you swear the entire Glade orbits around him. When he gets back from a run, he’s immediately swarmed by Gladers asking him about how it was, if he saw anything important. He’s always the first person people talk to, the immediate choice for a dinnertime companion. Minho could have anything he wanted in the Glade. So why would he want you?

You’ve managed to force the whole thing from your mind as best you can. Minho is your friend. At least you can have him like that, even if it kills you sometimes to look at him and imagine all the ways you would love him if he would just give you the chance. Any good medic can keep their feelings internal when they need it, and you’re the best there is.

You meet Minho later that night as promised, and you do your utmost to pretend everything is normal. You stay with him until the sun sinks below the horizon, until the Doors slam shut, until the moon begins its familiar path across the sky. You talk the whole while, idle chatter that occasionally drifts off into comfortable quiet. You’ve never been able to do that with anyone before, feel so at ease that you can stay silent for minutes at a time and have it not be awkward, but with Minho, it’s so simple. Then again, you can hardly remember anyone at all. Maybe there was someone in the past who mattered to you just as much as Minho does now. Even without your memories, though, that feels impossible. Minho could have no substitute, not to you.

You’re expecting the next day to pass in a breeze of idle hours, but around midafternoon, your dreary day of organization and the occasional bad paper cut is harshly interrupted by the sound of chaos outside. There’s shouting for a Med-Jack, and then several people are rushing someone in. It’s a Runner, apparently, you hear the details as you run for supplies. The Maze started moving during the day and he got hurt.

You can tell from the way people start nervously looking at you that it’s bad. At first, they don’t say any names, but then you burst into the chamber that serves as your operating room and you know that it’s worse than you could have possibly imagined, for not only does it seem like there’s enough blood to drench the Glade, but the victim isn’t Ben or one of the other Runners, it’s Minho. Your Minho. Your Minho, bleeding out on your table, who will need you to save him.

You stand there for one fragile moment, drenched in horror, then spring into action. Clint and Jeff have surfaced by now, and you direct them to anesthetize Minho. You want him to feel as little of this as possible. After carefully cutting open his shirt to determine the source of all that awful blood, you determine that it’s not as bad as you thought, more of a broad surface wound than a deep puncture. That much blood loss is dangerous, though, and he’ll need several stitches to close the flesh.

About an hour and a half later, you’re done. You and the other Med-Jacks lean back, panting heavily. Your hands and clothes are smeared with red, but color has crept back into Minho’s cheeks, and he’s starting to breathe evenly again.

“How long until he wakes up?” You ask Clint.

He checks a nearby clock, then Minho’s pulse. “Fifteen minutes, probably, but he won’t be fully conscious for up to an hour.”

You nod. “That’s good. Clear out, you guys. Get some rest.”

Jeff stops by you on the way out. “You can stay with him if you want. He’d be glad to see you when he wakes up.”

You let out a slow breath. “Thanks, Jeff.”

He pats you on the back then leaves to wash up. You spare the time to scrub your hands and get on a fresh change of clothes, but head back to Minho as soon as you can. Ben was with him when the accident happened, he said that everything happened so fast he hardly knew what went down. You don’t want Minho to wake up alone and confused, covered in bandages and unable to shake the scent of blood.

Once the immediate danger is over, you’re left sitting in a chair by Minho’s cot. His chest is swathed in bandages, but no red has flowered through them yet, which is a good sign. As you watch, the fingers on his right hand start to twitch. Clint said he would start to stir around now, and you’re glad to see the signs of movement. Watching him there– so still, so motionless– it made you wonder if he would wake up. It made you wonder if there was any way you could survive if he didn’t.

Minho is starting to make small sounds of distress under his breath, so you lean over and take his hand, squeezing it carefully but comfortingly. “Hey, hey. It’s me. You’re safe.”

You hear the ghost of your name in his whisper, and then Minho starts to quiet down again, restless rustles turning back into quiet breathing. You check his heart rate with your free hand and are glad to see it returning to normal, shaking off the lethargy of the anesthesia.

Minho sleeps for a little longer. Afraid to upset him, you keep your hand in his. You can tell when he wakes again, because his fingers start to press against yours. Consciousness comes upon him like a wave beating upon the shore. All of a sudden, his eyes are blinking open, and then he’s trying to sit up too fast and is forced back down to the cot by a bout of dizziness.

“Easy,” you tell him, pressing him back. “Don’t try to sit yet. The meds aren’t out of your system.”

“Y/N?” Minho asks, voice hoarse.

Hearing the scratchiness of his voice, so totally removed from the usual confident cadence of his words, makes your throat close up. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”

“Hey, Doc,” he says roughly. “Jeff won’t give me klunk about the bandages now, will he?”

“No, he won’t,” you say, torn between laughter and outright sobs. “How do you feel? Any pain?”

“All good,” Minho tells you. “What about Ben? Is he okay?”

“Ben is fine,” you assure him. “You’re the one we’re worried about, Minho. I knew the Maze was dangerous, but like this–”

He cuts you off, squeezing your hand. “Hey, all in a day’s work. I knew the risks when I went in.”

You shake your head, hot tears starting to well up in your eyes. “No, no. This isn’t fair. You’re not supposed to get hurt during the day. Minho, I didn’t even know anything happened, and then they brought you in, and there was so much blood– I thought I was going to lose you, and I didn’t even get to tell you–”

Even in the midst of your tears, you have the presence of mind to stop yourself before you give yourself away. It’s just– the thought had not abandoned you the whole time he slept, even the whole time you operated, that you could lose him without ever having him at all.

Minho shakes his head as best he can. “I’m okay, sweetheart. I’m okay.”

“But you almost weren’t,” you whisper. “What if Ben hadn’t been able to get you back in time?”

You take a ragged breath, trying to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use. Your shoulders shake, and Minho leans up slightly, as if drawn to it. To you.

“You’re pretty even when you cry,” Minho says, one hand weakly rising up to brush a tear from your cheek. “How is that fair?”

You laugh haltingly, in between the tears. “Barely awake five minutes, and you’re already flirting.”

He grins. “It’s all I want to do.”

If this were any other day, you would be able to brush off that comment, but something about this moment, this space– no one else in the room, Minho’s palm still tenderly cradling your cheek, your heart still erratic from the stress– you can’t help but turn the words over and over in your mind. All I want to do. All I want to do.

“Minho–” You start.

“Shh,” he says. “You already know that. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen through it. My smart girl. All those times I came to see you. Don’t say you haven’t realized.”

“Minho–”

“Newt says I’m being stupid. That I shouldn’t keep trying to have something that isn’t mine. But I’ll tell you something, Y/N, I’m selfish, and I’m greedy. I want you, and I don’t want to think about you with anyone else but me.”

Your breath is harsh in your chest, heart beating so loud you’re certain they must hear it echoing all across the Glade.

Minho’s eyes are fixed directly on yours. He sits up carefully, enough to reach his other hand up past your waist to the small of your back. “Tell me you don’t want me, or I’m not going to stop trying to keep you. Tell me to stop.”

Your lips part as you try to form an answer. Minho’s eyes dart down to the movement, and they only rise to your gaze with great reluctance. “I don’t want you to stop,” you tell him at last. “I want you, Minho. Only you.”

Two years now, you’ve known Minho. You’ve seen him proud and defiant, laughing and joyous and as happy as anyone could hope to be. Still, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile as brightly as he does right now, right before he kisses you.

Every touch is electric, and this is the most powerful of all. Your mind is reeling from the moment your lips meet, sending you far beyond the reaches of the Maze to the sky itself. You could be floating forever if you wanted, and you only start to gradually come back to earth when he slowly breaks away.

“Minho,” you say, hesitating over every syllable.

“Y/N,” he mimics, lips turned up in an irrepressible smile.

“They’re going to want to know that you’re awake. I promised I’d get the others,” you tell him.

He considers this for a moment. “They don’t need to know immediately, do they?”

You smile. “No.”

Minho’s eyes glint. “Then kiss me again. You can tell them after.”

It seems like a fair deal to you. You kiss him to make sure of it.

maze runner tag list: @blondsauduun, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss,

@hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver, @il0vebeingdelulu

all tags list:

@wordsarelife

[pebbles4dinner]

ཐི❤︎ཋྀ How my heart bleeds

– In which Newt almost dies from the Flare (he survives dw), but the letter he left Y/N and the love they share might just break their heart and mend it at the same time.

Genre: Fluff (ish)

WC: 2,040

Inspired by the song bleed by malcom todd and sweater weather by tnbh (and that one kuroken fanfic i forgot the name of)

Y/N hesitated at the edge of the small wooden table in the room they’d been given for the night, her fingers brushing the envelope Newt had left. It wasn’t unusual for him to leave notes, but this one felt heavier somehow, as if it carried a piece of his heart.

She carefully opened it, the paper crackling softly under her fingertips. The handwriting was unmistakable, a little slanted and imperfect, just like him, with loops and quirks that made her smile despite the nervous flutter in her chest. She could hear his voice in every word, every pause, every careful sentence he’d crafted just for her.

 Dear Y/N,

My strong, stubborn, beautiful Y/N,

If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t make it. And… I am so, so sorry for that love. I never wanted things to be like this. I never wanted to leave you, to leave you with the ache in your heart I know this letter will bring you. Just thinking about it makes my chest tighten, makes me wish I could turn back the world and keep breathing just to hear your laugh and snarky remarks one more time.

But I couldn't control my outcome no matter how hard I would've fought,love. I can’t fight it anymore, and I can’t pretend the Flare isn’t taking me if it has its way. So I’m writing you this, because I need you to know… in case I don’t get to say it to your face, and in case you never see me again.

I know you’re probably sitting there, maybe shaking, furious even, that I made you read this, and for thatI’m so sorry. I wish I could take away the fear in your eyes, the weight in your chest. I wish I could tell you in person, hold your hand, see you cry and try to laugh at all the awkward situations . But I can’t.

I love you. I love you so much that it hurts to think of a world where you don’t know it. I love you in ways I didn’t know were possible, in ways I’ve never said out loud because I was too terrified it would all be taken from us. I love you for every look you gave me, every word you spoke, every stubborn, brave thing you did that made me fall harder every day.

I’m proud of you. Proud of the way you survive, the way you fight, the way you keep going even when it feels impossible. I’ve watched you carry burdens no one should ever have to carry, and yet you’ve still carried me in your heart. You’ve made me feel alive when the Flare wanted to steal that from me. You’ve made me feel human when I was barely holding onto what was left of me.

I can’t imagine leaving you. The thought of never seeing your face again, never holding you, never hearing you tell me it’ll be okay… it’s unbearable, it scares me to think about what is to come without you, and empty spaces in the afterlife where your soft touches and gentle words would’ve filled. And yet I can’t promise I’ll survive. So I write this letter, as my last words to you, and as the last piece of myself that I can leave behind as a human whit emotions that deeply loathe for you.

Please don’t hate me for leaving you like this. Please don’t let it destroy you. I need you to live. Even if I’m gone. Even if it feels impossible. I need you to laugh again, to breathe, to feel the warmth of life even when my absence is cold in your chest. I need you to survive, Y/N. I need you to be happy, because you deserve it, even if I can’t be there to give it to you.

Every time I wanted to tell you I loved you and couldn’t, every time I was too weak or too scared, I wrote it down. I’ve left those scraps for you in the box this letter came with. Every word, every memory, every small piece of my soul is there, waiting for you. Open them when you’re ready. Or never. I’ll understand. But know this, even if my body fails, my heart has always been yours, when the last beat of my heart stops it doesn’t mean I won’t be there, because i will, This letter, the notes, the necklace are all parts of me that have made me grateful to have been loved by you. And every letter means just as much.

I’m terrified of leaving you. Terrified that you’ll feel abandoned, that the world will feel colder, and emptier without me. But I also need you to remember that I am alive in your memories, in the moments we shared, in the quiet ways that can never truly be taken. You will carry me, even if I can’t carry myself. And I will carry you, always.

Thank you for existing in a world that tried to tear us apart. Thank you for giving me the smallest light in the darkest time. Thank you for letting me love you, even if it was only for a fleeting, impossible while. I never deserved someone like you. But you gave me everything anyway.

And so, I leave you my heart. Every beat, every whisper of it, every piece of me that could have been yours for longer. I love you, Y/N. I love you until the end of everything. And I’m so, so sorry that I may never get to say it aloud.

If the Flare takes me… know that I’ll always be with you. Know that nothing can ever change that. Know that I loved you with everything I had, with every ounce of strength, with every shred of hope, with all the pieces of me that are still yours.

Yours, forever,

even if it’s only on paper,

Newt

Y/N’s hands shook as she reached the end of the letter. She read it again, and again, wanting to commit this one last piece of Newt to memory. Somehow, Newt had accounted for how she would feel, even when his own world was crumbling inside him, ensuring that she wouldn’t be completely lost once he was gone. She pressed her fingers on the lid of the box. Even though she knew what was in there, the thought of it terrified her. Terrified of what it would do to her heart. She sniffled, and opened the lid.

Inside the box were hundreds upon hundreds of pieces of paper, different colors and shapes, some post-it notes, some torn scraps, some bits of fabric he had written on in haste or while shivering from fever. There were countless, perhaps as many as the stars in the sky. To Y/N, it appeared as though there was one for each day they’d shared, perhaps even more.With shaking hands, she pulled one of the notes from the top of the box, then another, then another.

‘I love you, when you shivered under that thin blanket in the maze and I wrapped my jacket around you, just to see you smile’

‘I love you, when you whispered my name in the dark after I saved you from the trap and I thought the world could end in that moment and it would still be perfect’

‘I love you, when you laughed at my ridiculous British accent attempts and I thought I could stay like that forever’

‘I love you, when I noticed the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were nervous, and I swear it made my chest hurt’

‘I love you, the first time you handed me food after I’d gone days without proper meals, and I wanted to cry because of how thoughtful you were’

‘I love you, when you rested your head against my shoulder for a moment of warmth, and I wanted to freeze time just to hold it forever’

‘I love you, the night we watched the stars from the ridge, and you admitted you were scared, and I held you close because I was terrified too’

‘I love you, the way you said my name softly in your sleep, and I wanted to memorize it forever’

‘I love you, just for being you, for surviving, for daring to love in a world that tried to teach you not to’

‘I love you, just because’

There were countless more, each unique, some memories Y/N had almost forgotten, but apparently had meant more to Newt than she’d realized. Y/N couldn’t believe this. Couldn’t believe how much he had thought of her, how much care he had poured into preserving their moments, even when he believed he would be lost forever. Even when he was sick, infected, certain of death, he had found a way to leave a piece of himself for her. Only Newt would be so gentle, so thoughtful, putting love into every word, every scrap of paper, that it almost felt like he was still there with her.

Clutching a handful of the notes to her chest, Y/N let herself feel it all, grief and love. The emotions hit her like a tidal wave, uncontrollable and overwhelming, tears streaming down her face as she sobbed quietly, clutching the fragments of Newt’s heart as if they were lifelines.

A soft cough made her flinch.

“Y/N…”

Her head snapped up, and there he was. Newt, pale and ragged but alive, sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes brimming with a mixture of fear, relief, and love. “I… I wanted you to have it,” he whispered, voice trembling. “In case… in case I didn’t make it. But I did”

Y/N dropped the notes in her lap and threw herself into his arms. He held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, and for the first time since reading the letter, she let herself cry not just grief, but relief, love, and overwhelming happiness all at once.

“I thought I lost you,” she sobbed, her voice muffled against his chest.

“You didn’t,” he murmured, his own tears falling freely now. “I’m here. I’m here because of you. Every word, every note, it’s all true… I mean it all. I’ve always loved you. I still do. More than you’ll ever know.”

They clung to each other, shaking with sobs and quiet laughter, the tension and fear of the past weeks melting into a fragile, trembling peace. Y/N lifted her head slightly, her fingers brushing the tears from his cheeks.

“I… I love you,” she whispered, barely able to get the words out through the lump in her throat.

Newt’s hands cupped her face, thumbs wiping her tears as his own heart spilled through his gaze. “I love you too, Y/N. Always have. Always will.”

For a long, suspended moment, they just looked at each other, breaths mingling, hearts hammering in unison. Then, slowly, as if they were drawn together by every letter and every heartbeat they had shared, they kissed soft, desperate, trembling. A kiss full of everything they had felt, everything they had feared losing, everything they had survived.

They pulled back only to rest their foreheads together, tears still streaming, laughing and sobbing at the same time, holding each other so tightly it felt like they would never let go.

“I promise,” Y/N whispered into his chest, “I’ll never let you go again.”

“And I’ll never leave you,” Newt replied, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “Not ever.”

The box of notes lay forgotten on the bed, spilling tiny pieces of their shared history, but they didn’t need it now. They had each other, alive, here, holding on, and for the first time in what felt like forever, that was enough.

(imagine a cute divder here i don't have one)

so umm.. Hi this is like one of my first projects in all honesty i just started this blog because i wanted to practice my writting skills since my grades for AP Lit are terrible so yayy this is for the funsies. aside from writting i get very lazy in my grammar so i try to tripple check my works if you guys have any critism and ways to improve IM BEGGING YOU GUYS I RLLY NEED ADVICE

[lostbookreader]

Imagine: Newt Confesses He Can't Sleep Without You

Tonight was the first time in the last couple days you have actually left the Medjack hut since getting injured. Being a runner definitely has its downsides that's for sure. You're side aches as you make your way over to the bonfire, not wanting to miss out on the monthly tradition of celebrating the new greenie. And you missed Newt.

Alby dragged him away from your bedside earlier because he claimed the second in command should be there for this. Which you encouraged of course but you were still upset with having to send him. Minho yelling at you drags you from your thoughts.

"There she is! Everyone's favorite runner makes a reappearance!" He rushes over, throwing his arm over your shoulder.

You flinch at the pressure on your side but still smile. "How much have you drank shank? You reek of it!"

Pushing him away, he stumbles acting hurt but still comes back and gives you a kiss on your cheek. Which makes all the boys holler but you just roll your eyes. High fiving a few of the boys on your recovery. Yet your eyes are searching for a certain pair of brown eyes.

A hand grabbing your hip from behind you is your answer. Turning around and smiling when the honey brown eyes appear.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Newt asks with his eyebrows furrowed.

You try not to think about the hand that is still touching you or the thumb that's tracing the bandages over your broken rib. Ignoring the goose flesh that breaks out across your skin at the faint touch of his fingertips.

"I didn't want to miss out on the festivities." You say with a small smile, "Plus Clint gave me the go ahead to start moving around. Just had to promise not to break another rib."

Newt lets out a small scoff but smiles along with you. "Okay I guess that's fair. At least now I'll have someone fun to talk to tonight."

"Hey! I was keeping you plenty entertained to keep your mind off her." Minho interjects.

Newt shakes his head and leads you gently to your guys normal log. "Sure you were Min."

You gently lower yourself down to the ground to lean against the large log and let out a small breath at the pinch in your side. Newt's eyes are on you the whole time and you can't ignore the way he runs a comforting hand down your back.

"You don't have to watch me like I'm going to shatter into a million pieces you know." You mutter, leaning your head back to look at the stars.

"Course I do. This is what? Your eighth injury just this month from the maze?" He counters, looking up at the stars with you.

"It has not been eight injuries," You scoff, looking over at him and your breath catches when your eyes meet his.

"Yes it has!" Clint calls out from his spot not far from you and you break the eye contact with Newt to glare at Clint.

"It definitely has." Newt confirms, "I should know. I've lost way too much sleep without you since you've basically moved into the Medjack hut."

"You have not," You counter, jabbing him in the ribs. "You've probably gotten better sleep without me laying on you."

Newt laughs at your actions of poking him and grabs your hand to stop you as he laces his fingers with yours. Glancing at your interlocked hands before looking back at you.

"I honestly haven't." He admits, his eyebrows furrowing once again and looks towards the stars. "I can't explain it but when your around I sleep so much better. It's like my mind quiets and can ignore the fact we're stuck here in the Glade."

You're heart pumps a little faster at his confession but its the same for you. It's always been something the Gladers tease you two about but you and Newt have shared a bed for as long as you two can remember. It just started happening.

The first night was when you went through a period of not sleeping because of nightmares. Being too scared to close your eyes to deal with the terrors your mind came up with after your first griever encounter. So Newt offered to try laying with you to see it helped. Which it did.

For him, it started when he climbed the wall and broke his leg when he tried to end his life. It freaked him out more than he admitted to the other Gladers but he couldn't keep it from you. After that, you two just decided to share a bed. Protecting each other from your own minds.

"But," He continues, looking back over at you. "It is nice not having to fight someone for the blanket."

Now you turn your glare to Newt this time. "I do not hog the blanket. I actually have to try and fight you for it."

You both burst out laughing and argue about who is more of the blanket hog until your breathless.

"Okay fine. Maybe I do hog the blanket." Newt admits as he throws his arm around you and pulls you into him so you can lay your head on his chest.

"Ha! I win." You smile, nestling your head into the crook of his neck where you normally lay.

"I only do it so you cuddle me more." He whispers into your hairline and you can feel the smirk on his face.

"You do not."

"I do!" He places a kiss on your forehead and you can't help the smile that cracks. "Makes me feel like I'm protecting you more."

"Maybe I let you hog the blanket so I have no other choice but to cuddle you." You mutter, eyes fluttering shut as you listen to his heartbeat. Noticing how it starts beating faster at your confession, but you can't fight the urge to sleep. So you don't get to see his face and how red he got at it as you drift away into the blissful sleep.

[devixncy]

hiiii! can i request for newt x fem!reader please? (it can also be gn!reader if that's what you prefer) where the reader almost gets stung by a griever, gets super scared but doesn't tell anyone. newt finds her alone during her breakdown and comforts her. something fluffy and slightly angsty? Thanks!!<3

when the fear fades

⤷ pairing: newt x fem!reader ⤷ word count: 2.8k ⤷ summary: after what happened to alby, you think there's no way it can happen again. you're wrong, and you have an encounter with a griever on your run. you try to keep it to yourself, but the memory is swallowing you whole-until newt finds you. ⤷ warnings: poorly written panic attack, mention of slight injury, sliiightly angsty, fluffy, newt's a sweetheart:)

The Glade isn’t quite alive yet when you step up to the entrance of the Maze. 

The sun is just beginning to peak over the walls, slivers of the first rays of sunlight spilling onto the grass and hitting the stone. The air is beginning to warm, the biting chill from the night dissipating. 

It was familiar, something you see every morning, but your stomach still flutters with that pre-run tension. 

You tighten the laces on your boots for the second time, checking them out of habit. 

“Oi,” a voice calls out. 

You turn to find Newt standing there, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His eyes flicker over you in that quiet, assessing way of his. 

“Come back here in one piece, you hear?” 

“Always,” you say and grin. 

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You know he worries about you, and how could you blame him? 

“Be careful,” he insists, eyes softening. 

“Always am,” you say with a nod. 

The doors groan open moments later, stone scraping stone as they slide apart. You give Newt a small wave before jogging into the Maze, not looking back. If you did, you’d see the way he watches until you disappear around the corner. 

Your boots hit the ground in a steady rhythm, the sound echoing in your ears as you focus on your breathing. You twist and turn around the corners of the Maze, knowing it like the back of your hand at this point. Every section, every wall, almost every crack in the stone is engraved into your brain. 

It feels futile, running these same sections daily and never finding anything new, but you don't ever say it aloud. Being a Runner is the only opportunity you’ll probably ever have to get out of the Glade. 

The sun now shines brightly overhead, the heat almost taunting you as if it knows that you still have a lot of running to do. You assume it’s about midday, since it’s directly overhead. 

You start to slow your pace to take a quick break, feet scuffing the ground as you come to a stop. Leaning against the wall, you tilt your head back and close your eyes, taking deep breaths. The vines behind you brush the exposed skin of your arms, sending a shiver down your spine. 

Today, you’re running section four of the Maze. It isn’t a big deal, but you’re solo this afternoon. Minho is busy running with Thomas after he was appointed Runner. 

After what happened with Alby, Newt wants everyone to run in pairs. With the number being uneven now, though, you volunteered to run by yourself for the day. You know these sections well, and Minho trusts you, so the Keeper allowed it albeit reluctantly. 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous, a nagging anxiety in the back of your mind that lingers no matter how hard you try not to think about it. The thought of Grievers being out during the day makes your skin crawl. The chances of it happening twice have to be low, though. Right?

That’s what you tell yourself anyway. 

You sigh and open your eyes. You adjust your harness out of habit, preparing to ease yourself back into your run. Pushing yourself off of the wall, you take a few steps forward. 

That’s when you hear it. 

There’s a faint click. Almost unnoticeable at first, like your mind is playing tricks on you. You stop dead in your tracks, ears straining as you listen. 

You hear it again, an unmistakable sound. There’s a couple clicks this time, louder, and sounding much closer than you anticipated. 

You’re standing right around the corner from where the Maze corridors intersect, having stopped walking right before you could see into them. Slowly, quietly, you peek around the wall. 

Your blood turns to ice. 

It’s just standing there like it’s supposed to be there—massive, bulbous body taking up a good amount of space in the clearing. Blocking your path. 

Your back hits the wall behind you, panic rearing its head. You have no time to think, because the Griever shrieks, the sound rattling your bones. 

It knows. It knows. 

You instantly take off in the other direction, wanting to put as much distance as possible between you and the creature. 

It shrieks again behind you, and you dare to look back. It’s behind you, snarling, mechanical limbs slamming into the stone. 

“Shuck!” You swear, heart slamming against your ribs. The muscles in your legs are burning, feet moving faster than you thought was possible. 

But as you try to turn a corner, you lose your footing on uneven stone. You hit the ground hard, breath knocked from your lungs as pain shoots up your leg. 

The Griever is on you in an instant. 

A metal limb slams down beside your head, pinning you in place. Its body looms overhead, clicking and whirring, stinger unfolding from its body. 

You couldn’t move. 

Your breath comes in short, panicked gasps as it pins you. Your limbs lock, terror freezing you solid. The air feels thin, your lungs refusing to pull in enough oxygen. 

The stinger hovers, lowering, seconds away from piercing your skin. 

This is it. 

Your mind goes blank. 

Then, suddenly, your brain kicks into action. 

Get up. Get up. 

You kick out hard, rolling to the side as the stinger slams into the stone where your chest had been moments ago. You push yourself up, ignoring the pain in your hands and your leg, and run—lungs burning, vision blurred, until you burst into a clearer passage and you don't hear the Griever directly behind you anymore. 

Still, you don’t stop running until your legs nearly give out. 

When you reach the entrance to the Maze, your pace slows, yet your pulse doesn't. You’re back early, and none of the other runners are back yet. That’s going to raise some questions. 

You swear under your breath, but the dull ache in your leg that’s coming back full force now that your adrenaline is wearing off formulates an excuse. 

As you should’ve expected, Newt immediately notices that you’ve returned. He jogs over, brows furrowing as he takes in your disheveled appearance. 

“What happened? Why are you back already?” He instantly starts fussing, eyes scanning over you. 

You swallow, pushing the actual event to the back of your mind before you start spiraling. “I’m fine. I tripped on some loose stone and hurt my leg,” you say, lifting your leg up slightly and showing off the dirty patch of fabric on your pants from where you hit the ground. It wasn’t completely a lie—you just hope he still buys it. 

His brows furrow, glancing down at your leg. He exhales slowly, looking back up to meet your eyes. “Alright. Off to the Med-Jacks with you then.” 

You almost protest, but he grips your upper arm gently, guiding you in the direction of the hut. You shut your mouth, letting him walk you over. 

Jeff checks your leg while you sit on the cot, starting with your ankle. He moves it in different directions to test your range of motion, and while you have full range, it makes you grit your teeth. He moves up to the knee, having you bend it. A pained hiss escapes your lips. You can move it, but the pain is undeniably there. 

“Well, you should be fine. You’re just going to be sore and probably have some major bruising up into the knee. Ankle may be a cause for some concern as there’s some minor swelling, maybe a low grade sprain, but nothing crazy,” he says as you stand up, gently putting weight on that foot. “I’m not telling you to stop running, just telling you to be careful for a while.” 

You grimace at that. You thought you were being careful enough already. 

“Thanks, Jeff,” you say as you head out of the hut, not wanting to be in there longer than necessary. You nearly jump out of your skin as you see Newt leaned up against the wall next to the door. 

“Relax, just me,” he says and raises his hands up in mock surrender, while you place your hand on your chest. 

“Jesus,” you mutter. 

His eyes narrow. You’re not usually that jumpy. 

“So? What’d he say?” He asks as you start to walk away, him falling into step next to you. 

“I’ll be fine. Just some soreness, maybe a minor sprain.” 

He nods, though his jaw tightens. “Alright. Go finish up, then I want you to rest.” You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off. “Uh uh. Rest. You wanna keep running, yeah?”

Your mouth snaps shut, grumbling to yourself quietly. You start to head off towards the Map Room, listening to him anyway because he is your Second-in-Command before he’s your friend. 

In the back of your mind, though, you know there will be no rest for you. 

As the sun dips low behind the walls and the Glade is starting to slowly darken, your chest tightens until it hurts. Like fingers are wrapping around your heart and lungs and squeezing, refusing to let go. 

While the boys are settling down for the night and the hustle of the Glade comes to an end, you no longer have any distractions. 

You slip away quietly. You need to be alone.

It doesn’t take Newt very long to notice. 

He scans the Glade once. Then another time. He usually can pick out your face in the crowd instantly, but you’re not there. He straightens, already moving—because despite what you said earlier, no matter how good you tried to hide it, something was wrong. 

You don’t realize how far you wander until the sounds of the Glade disappear completely. The laughter, the low hum of the boys all chatting amongst each other—all of it dulls until there’s nothing but the soft rustle of the trees and your own uneven breathing. 

Your back hits the stone wall, somewhere near the edge of the Deadheads. The stone is cool and unforgiving on your spine. 

Now that you’re alone in the quiet and finally facing reality, it’s like a dam breaking. 

Your knees give out and you slide down, hands coming up to press against your mouth as a sob tears itself out of your throat. It’s sharp and loud in the quiet. Your chest aches as your breathing stutters, each inhale feeling too shallow and useless. 

You’re a Runner. You’re supposed to be brave.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to control your breathing. It doesn’t help. 

All you see in the back of your eyes is the Griever towering over you. How you froze, the stinger lowering, the sounds it made, how it looked that close up. 

You curl forward, arms wrapping around yourself as your shoulders shake. Tears flow freely down your cheeks, and you don’t bother with wiping them away. What’s the point? They’re coming too fast, and no one else is out here but you. 

Or so you think. 

“Hey.”

The voice is soft. Careful, like you might bolt if he’s too loud. 

You nearly jump out of your skin anyway, not expecting a visitor. You scramble to wipe at your face, turning away instinctively. 

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, defensively, even though your voice cracks so badly it gives you away. “Just..just needed some air.” Dumb excuse considering the entire Glade is air, but it was the first thing that came to mind. 

Newt takes a careful step forward, not wanting to startle you any further. “Yeah,” he says gently. “I figured.”

He doesn’t call you out. Doesn’t push and ask why you weren’t honest earlier. He just lowers himself to the ground a few feet away, back against the wall, knees bent. He’s far enough away to give you space, but close enough that you can feel the heat radiate off of his body through the chill in the air. 

For a moment, neither of you says a word. 

You’re trying to steady your breathing, trying to get your hands to stop shaking, but nothing works. You feel embarrassed. Having a full blown panic attack in front of someone, especially Newt, was not what you had in mind when you came out here. 

Newt watches quietly, eyes soft, noticing the way you’re curling in on yourself like you’re trying to disappear. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says eventually. “But I’m here to listen.”

Something about that unravels you even more. A sob slips out before you can stop it, and then another quick one immediately follows, face crumbling as you press it into your knees.

“I thought I was going to die, Newt,” you whisper. “I ran by myself, I know I wasn’t supposed to but I thought it’d be fine. I really thought–it was right there, and for some reason I couldn’t move, and—”

The words tumble out fast and messy. Your breath catches hard as you cut yourself off.

“I didn’t think I’d be scared like that. And I didn’t think it would bother me this much. I feel so stupid.”

Newt’s jaw clenches, something pained flickering across his face. He’s not angry with you, just concerned. He shifts closer without thinking, one hand hovering between you.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Hey. Come here.”

You waste no time. You scoot closer and lean into him, head dropping against his shoulder as your body shakes. Newt’s arm comes around you and pulls you into him immediately, pulling you closer until you’re tucked into his side. 

“I thought there was no way that what happened to Alby could happen twice. And then I couldn’t get away and thought that was how it was going to end. And I’m sorry I went against what you told us,” you choke out. 

Newt swallows, tightening his hold slightly. “Shhh. Don’t apologize,” he whispers. “All that matters is that you’re okay. I’ll just blame it on that shank Keeper of yours,” he tries to joke. Your lips twitch, almost a smile, but you’re still too deep in your own head.

You shake your head weakly, face brushing against the fabric of his shirt. “It was my idea. He said yes, but I brought up running alone. It’s my fault.”

“Well it doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done. You’re safe, you’re alive, that’s what matters,” he counters softly. His hand comes up to rest between your shoulder blades, rubbing slow circles. “I noticed,” he admits. “When you came back. I could tell there was something you weren’t telling me. Your stubborn arse would’ve run on an injured leg no matter what. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You let out a shaky laugh through your tears. “So much for hiding it.”

“You’re terrible at lying,” he says gently. “Always have been.”

You scoff, but don’t say anything more. There’s a pause, and both of you are silent minus a few of your sniffles. Newt’s hand doesn’t slow on your back, and you’re grateful. His touch is grounding, bringing you back to reality. He leans his head against yours, cheek pressed against your hair. 

“You don’t have to be brave all the time,” he says. “Not with me. It’s bloody scary out there, I would know. You’re allowed to be scared. You don’t have to face it alone.”

You sniffle, letting your eyes close. “Thanks, Newt,” you whisper. 

By the time your breathing evens out, the Glade is asleep. The torches have burned out, and the insects have taken over as the sole sound of the night.

You were still curled up against Newt, though you’ve shifted a little. His legs are now straight out in front of him, your own thrown across his lap. Your head is nestled in the crook of his neck. His arm is still wrapped around you, though his other hand now rests on your knee, thumb rubbing small circles.

He doesn’t move once. Not when your shoulders finally stop shaking, not when you finally still. He stays exactly where he is, like an anchor. And in this moment of weakness, he is your anchor.

“Better?” he asks quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

You nod once. “I think so.” Your throat felt raw, eyes burning and aching from crying, but your initial panic has dulled to something manageable.

Newt shifts just enough to rest his chin on top of your head. “Good,” he murmurs.

The grass is cool beneath you, the night air brushing against your skin, but his warmth chases away any chill it might’ve given you. Your eyelids grow heavy, exhaustion finally catching up to you now that the adrenaline has been completely drained from you.

He notices immediately.

“C’mon,” he says softly. “Don’t want you sleeping outside.”

He hooks an arm under your legs, the other arm already secure around your back. He stands, careful not to jarr you too much. 

Your eyes remain closed, pressing yourself closer to him if that were possible. You let him bring you to the Homestead, knowing you’ll be disappointed once he sets you down. But right now, as long as you’re in his arms, you know you’re safe.

[devixncy]

Okay so like a have an idea for a Minho x reader fic

Basically they're both in the maze running together right, bickering because this man never stops doing that for some reason, and then reader[can be she or they idc] passes out from all the continuous running and he gets all worried <3

I know it's like rlly basic but I love this type of fic 💔

Also you can have Minho hear some grievers close by and he gets stressed like "holy shit, how will we outrun them" but he finds an empty corridor to bring them into and they have a Lil moment after she/they wakes up <33

I LOVE YOUR WRITING RAGHHH

try to keep up

⤷ pairing: minho x reader ⤷ word count: 4.2k ⤷ summary: there's never a dull moment when running the maze with minho as your partner. you say he's irritating, but who's there to save you when you collapse? ⤷ warnings: passing out, a loooot of banter between these two, minho trying to be nonchalant n shit after reader wakes up, just two idiots bickering

a/n: lucky for u, i also love this type of fic. never gets old. ty for requesting!!

Running the Maze is one of the only times you really feel free, even though you’re far from it. 

The sun warms your skin, a breeze tussling your hair as you run. The sounds of your footsteps echo through the ivy covered corridors, a sound that’s a breath of fresh air compared to the typical hustle and bustle of the Glade filled with nothing but a bunch of rowdy boys. 

It’s almost peaceful, which seems insane to say considering what your job really is, but it gives you a sense of purpose. The only thing that would make it a lot easier is if you were running in silence. Unfortunately, that’s one thing you’ll never get to have. 

As if reading your thoughts, Minho’s voice cuts through the air. 

“Can you at least try to keep up?”

You snort. Your feet pound on the stone floor of the Maze as you run, not quite side by side with Minho but only a couple feet behind him. 

“Can you at least try to keep up?” you mimic, voice pitching higher as you do. 

Minho rolls his eyes ahead of you, although you can’t see it. “That’s real mature.”

“Wasn’t trying to be,” you bite back, resisting the urge to smack the Keeper in the back of the head. 

He huffs. “You’re like a shuck-faced child,” he grumbles, adjusting his harness slightly as he runs. 

“Well maybe if you weren’t so unbelievably irritating—“

“Left.” He cuts you off, taking a sharp left turn around the corner of one of the walls. 

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “I know we’re going left, slinthead.”

“Then why are you half a step behind?”

“I’m not—“ you push harder, matching his pace now, breath already coming sharper than usual. “You think everyone’s slower than you because your ego is bigger than your running ability.”

Minho huffs out something between a laugh and a scoff. “Please. If my ego was truly that big, you’d be eating dust.”

“I might as well be. You kick it up like a horse,” you mutter. 

“That’s a new one.”

“Only cause calling you insufferable was getting repetitive.”

He finally glances back at you, eyes sharp but amused. His dark hair is already damp with sweat. “You know you could just admit you can’t keep up.”

You shoot him a look. “You know you could just admit you’d be bored out of your mind without me.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m not already bored.”

“Then stop talking.”

“You started it.”

“Me?! You literally haven’t shut up since we left the Glade.”

“That’s because someone has to be the entertaining one. And it’s not you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. That’s a load of klunk and you know it.”

“I’m just being honest,” he says with a casual shrug. 

You groan, exasperated. “You have to be the most irritating shuck I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

“You love it, though.”

“I do not,” you insist, even as the edges of your vision flicker faintly. You blink hard, shaking it off. 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Keep telling yourself that.” He throws you another look over his shoulder. “Pick it up. We’re gonna be cutting it close.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you shoot back, lengthening your stride. “Next time I’ll just grow longer legs.”

“You could also just run faster.”

“I’m going to kill you. I am running fast.”

“Not fast enough.”

You scoff. “You realize not everything is a competition, right?”

He glances back again, a smirk plastered on his face. “Everything is a competition.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“And yet,” he says, turning forward again. “You’re still losing.”

“I am not losing!”

“Then why am I ahead?” 

“Because you started ahead!”

“That sounds like an excuse.”

“That is an excuse!”

“Exactly.”

Minho barely has time to duck before your hand swings toward him. He grins and you huff, pushing yourself harder just to wipe that stupid satisfaction off of his face. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re slow.”

“I am not slow!”

“Say that again when you’re actually next to me.”

You surge forward, closing the gap until your shoulder nearly brushes his. “There. Happy?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Took you long enough.”

“Oh my—“ you cut yourself off with a frustrated laugh. “You are unbelievable.”

“So I’ve heard.” A pause. “You still love it though.”

“Minho, give me a new running partner. I’m serious.”

He laughs as the two of you turn down another corridor. “Oh please. You really would rather run with one of those other shanks?”

“…On second thought, never mind.”

“That’s what I thought,” he hums, and you roll your eyes. You open your mouth to fire back, but the words get caught in your throat. Your chest suddenly feels tight—too tight—and the air in the Maze suddenly feels thicker. 

You suck in a breath. It doesn’t feel like enough. 

Minho notices immediately. His brows knit together as he glances at you. “Hey,” he says sharply. “You good? Don’t start slowing down on me now.”

“I’m not—“ you start, but your foot catches slightly on uneven stone. You stumble, recovering quickly, waving him off. “I’m fine. Just tripped.”

“On nothing?”

“There was a crack.”

“There’s always cracks,” he says matter-of-factly. “You never trip on them.”

“So observant. Well I just did.”

“Yeah, which is why I’m asking—“

“I said I’m fine.”

The words come out more strained than you’d like them to. You push forward, trying to regain your rhythm, but your legs feel off. Heavier and jelly-like at the same time, like they don’t quite want to cooperate with the rest of your body. 

Minho doesn’t try to speed ahead this time. He stays right next to you, watching intensely. “You’re breathing weird,” he states. 

“I’m literally running. How else would I be breathing?”

“Not like that.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Like you’re not getting enough air. Or like you’re about to pass out.”

You let out a short, sharp laugh. “I don’t pass out.”

“That’s not how that works. You planning to be the first exception in history?” 

Actually, you think there’s a pretty good chance that you might pass out. A feeling of dread lingers in the back of your mind. That’s the last thing that you want to happen in the Maze, let alone when you’re running with the Keeper.

“I’m planning,” you say, trying to force your pace faster, “to finish this run without you narrating my every step.”

Minho matches you easily, obviously slowing down some to run next to you. His expression shifts, less teasing and more focused now. “Fine. Then keep up.”

“I am keeping up.”

“You were.”

“I still am.”

“You’re not.”

“I—“

The Maze tilts, just for a second. You blink hard, shaking your head like that will fix it. The walls swim back into place, but your stomach drops with the motion. Your nails dig into your palms, trying to keep the sudden rising nausea at bay. 

Minho catches it this time. He grabs your arm briefly, steadying you. “Okay, no,” he says. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you insist, pulling your arm back. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what? Stop you from face planting?”

You hadn’t even noticed you were swaying on your feet. “I didn’t—“

“You almost did.”

“I said I’m fine! Drop it!”

Your voice comes out louder than you anticipate, echoing faintly off the stone. For a second, neither of you speaks. 

Then Minho exhales through his nose, seemingly frustrated. “You’re not fine.”

“I’m fine,” you groan, even with black dots dancing across your vision. “Let’s just start heading back please.”

He doesn’t respond, but he slows his pace slightly as the two of you run. You notice immediately, feeling a twinge of irritation. 

“You don’t need to slow down. I’m not going to drop.”

“Then stop acting like you are.”

“I’m not—“

Your foot hits the ground wrong. Or maybe your legs just stop moving. The world lurches sideways, and this time it doesn’t snap back into place. 

Minho’s voice cuts through the grating ringing in your ears. “Hey-“

You try to correct, to catch yourself, but your balance is gone. Your vision tunnels, going dark around the edges, the Maze narrowing into a blur of gray and green. 

The air feels too thick again. Your breath hitches as you try to take a deep breath, but your lungs refuse to fill. 

Everything goes black. Your knees buckle, legs dropping from underneath you. You barely register the impact before the ground rushes up and everything goes with it. 

“Hey. Hey!”

Minho is on you instantly. His brain hasn’t quite caught up yet, but his body has. He quickly drops beside you, grabbing your shoulders, turning you onto your back. 

“This isn’t funny.” He frowns, part of him hoping that you’re just playing a cruel prank on him. “Get up.”

No response. Your eyes stay closed, body unmoving. His eyes quickly scan over you, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding once he notices the faint rise and fall of your chest. 

Something cold still shoots down his spine. 

“Hey,” he tries again, shaking you just enough to attempt to get a reaction out of you. “Come on. We don’t have time for this.”

Nothing. 

Minho’s grip on your shoulders tightens. “Seriously,” he says, panic creeping in at the edges. “Knock it off.”

Still no response. 

For once, the Maze is quiet. Too quiet. Minho swallows hard, taking in the appearance of your paler-than-normal skin and the thin sheen of sweat covering your forehead. He runs a hand through his hair, cursing relentlessly under his breath. For once, he truly has no idea what to do.

He reaches over and brushes a few stray hairs away from your forehead, his hands trembling slightly as he does. You’re still breathing, he notices, and that’s all that matters. He exhales slowly, placing an arm under your shoulders and lifting the upper half of your body up, bringing you to his chest. Your head lolls against his shoulder, and it pains him to feel how limp your body is.

As he moves to slide his other arm under your knees, he hears it. The first sound is faint, a metallic scrape somewhere deeper in the Maze. His whole body goes rigid, head whipping around to look down the corridor. 

Nothing’s there. Not yet, anyway.

Minho looks back down at you, limp in his arms, head rolling weakly against his shoulder as he crouches beside where you collapsed. Your breathing is shallow, and he realizes that you should’ve come to by now.

Then the sound comes again. A mechanical shriek tears through a corridor, even closer now.

“Of course,” he mutters, panic flaring hot in his chest. “Of course right now.” His eyes dart down both ends of the corridor, his Runner instinct beginning to kick in. Adrenaline surges through his veins. There’s a Griever nearby, and you’re unconscious. Perfect. 

He grabs your shoulders, giving you another quick shake. “Hey, come on,” he hisses. “Wake up. Right now would be really great.” To his despair, still no response, though he wasn’t really expecting one. 

Another screech, closer this time. 

His head swivels to look behind him, then he looks back at you. “Shuck,” he whispers furiously, jaw clenched so hard he fears he might break teeth. The sound of metal legs clanging against stone echoes nearby again. 

He sucks in a breath, then slides his other arm underneath your knees, hauling you up into his arms as he stands. “Can’t believe you’re making me do this right now,” he mutters jokingly, though his heart hammers fearfully against his ribcage.

Minho staggers into motion, breaking into a run down the corridor. Fast, but not fast enough. Every step is a struggle. You aren’t heavy, not really, but dead weight is different. Awkward. Slowing him down as he tries to be careful and not jostle you around too much, though it makes no difference anyway–you won’t know this happened regardless.

Another shriek splits the air behind him. 

His breath comes sharp and ragged as he scans ahead, trying to put his mapping abilities to use to remember where to go. Panic scrambles his thoughts and he curses, turning a corner sharply. He takes another turn, right this time, trying to put as much distance as possible between you and the Grievers.

Then, he sees it. A narrow corridor, empty, shrouded in shadow that offers at least a little bit of cover. He veers down the stretch of stone sharply, hastily making his way toward the far end of it. Once he makes it a little more than halfway down, he crouches against the wall, pressing the two of you into the thick ivy. His grip tightens, holding you closer against him. One arm presses your head into his chest, the other keeps your body braced against his.

Metal scrapes stone again, this time far too close for comfort. Minho holds his breath and squeezes his eyes shut, not daring to make a single sound. The clicking and whirring of the creature strikes fear into his heart, the sound almost deafening. 

Time passes agonizingly slow, and he can only imagine how late it’s getting. Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, the sounds fade away into the distance. Once he deems it safe, he exhales a shaky breath, head dropping forward with exhaustion. 

“Holy shuck,” he whispers to himself, blinking away sweat that drips into his eyes. He pulls you away from him, easing you down onto the cold stone ground, still crouched directly next to you. For a second, he just stares. At your face. At how still you are. An uneasiness rushes through him, not used to you being this quiet.

He swallows hard, running a hand through his hair. “You are the absolute worst, you know that?” he mutters, though his voice shakes slightly at the end. With a sigh, he drops down onto the ground beside you, forearms resting on his bent knees. His head tips back, resting against the wall behind him. “Unbelievable,” he says with a laugh, though it’s weak and humorless. 

After a few moments, he glances back down at you. He’s almost afraid to look away, like you’ll stop breathing if he doesn’t keep his eyes on you. Your head is tilted towards him slightly, hair damp with sweat, expression peaceful despite being unconscious. 

“This is such a stupid place to die,” he murmurs. “So don’t. Don’t wanna have to leave you here for Griever food.”

Silence.

Then, a small shift catches his eye. Minho straightens instantly, leaning over you. Your brow furrows, and your hand twitches weakly against the ground. 

“Hey,” he says, leaning in closer. “Hey.”

Your face twists slightly, like waking from a bad dream. Then your eyes flutter open. 

The first thing you see is towering stone overhead. The second is Minho hovering over you, eyes wide with anticipation. You blink slowly, trying to orient yourself.

“What…” Your voice is hoarse. “What happened?”

Minho lets out a breath so hard it’s almost a laugh. “Seriously?”

You frown faintly, trying to sit up. Dizziness hits immediately, and you sway slightly, a wave of nausea washing over you. Minho’s hand shoots out, pressing against your chest to push you back to the ground. 

“Woah, no. Don’t. Take it easy, shank.”

You blink at him, dazed. “Why are you–”

“You passed out.”

Your brows pull together. “I what?”

“You passed out,” he repeats, sharper this time, because if he doesn’t sound annoyed he’s going to sound relieved, and that might be worse. “Mid-run. Just dropped.” He pauses, removing his hand from your chest. “And I know you knew something wasn’t right. So what’s your excuse for not telling me?”

You stare at him, choosing to ignore the question. Then your eyes flicker to the narrow corridor around you. “...Where are we?”

“Hiding.”

“Hiding from what?”

“Take a guess.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Minho says. “Oh.”

You swallow hard. “Did you–”

“I carried you here.”

There’s a pause.

“You carried me?”

“Don’t sound so shocked.”

“I’m not shocked, I just–”

“You were unconscious,” he snaps. “What was I supposed to do, leave you there?” The words come out harsher than he anticipated. Your expression still softens, though. He looks away. For a moment, neither of you speak. 

“Thank you,” you finally say, voice quiet.

Minho scoffs, though it lacks any real bite. “Yeah, well. Don’t make it a habit.”

You finally force yourself up, pushing yourself into a sitting position. Instinctively, his head turns toward you, hands lifting as if he’s ready to steady you if you need it. You push through the pounding in your head, turning your body so you can lean back against the wall next to him. Your head tips back, resting against the stone, face still pale.

Minho notices your lack of color immediately. “Still dizzy?”

“A little.”

He frowns. “Then sit still.”

You give him a tired look. “Bossy.”

“And alive,” he shoots back. You let out the faintest breath of laughter, and the sound hits him harder than it should have. But you don’t respond, and silence envelops the corridor once again.

The silence drags on. You sit beside him in the tangle of ivy against your backs, shoulder pressed lightly to his, your breathing steadier now but still not one hundred percent. The stone behind your back is cold, providing slight relief, and the air is damp and stale. Neither of you make any effort to move.

Minho keeps staring straight ahead at the wall in front of him. Like if he looks at you for too long, something might crack.

“You doing okay?” he asks after a while, knowing you have to get moving soon.

You nod once. “Yeah.”

He glances over immediately. “You sure?”

“I said yeah.”

“You also said you were fine before you passed out.”

You give him a weak, tired smile. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Nope.”

His answer comes so fast it almost makes you laugh. Almost. Instead, you tilt your head back against the wall, eyes half lidded. “You’re being weird.”

He frowns. “I’m not being weird.”

“You are.”

“How?”

“You keep checking if I’m okay every five seconds.”

“That’s because five seconds ago, you were unconscious.”

“Ten minutes ago, actually.”

“Same difference.”

You smile faintly. Minho notices and immediately narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re smiling.”

“No I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Maybe I’m just happy to be alive.”

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, shooting you a look. “You’re welcome.”

You meet his eyes. “Thank you,” you say again softly, completely serious. Minho shifts, suddenly very interested in the wall across from him again.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Whatever.”

“No, seriously, Minho.” Your voice stays soft. “You saved me.”

He shrugs, but the motion is stiff. “Anyone would’ve done it.” You raise a brow. He glances over, immediately defensive. “What?”

“You know that’s not true.” It’s certainly not. If you’d been running with any other shank, you would’ve been as good as dead.

“Yes it is.”

“Minho.” 

He exhales sharply through his nose, annoyed—not at you, but at the fact that you can always hear what he isn’t saying. “I wasn’t gonna leave you there,” he mutters.

Something flutters in your chest. He almost sounds offended at the idea of leaving you behind. You look at him for a second before speaking. “You were scared.” It’s not a question.

He scoffs. “No.”

“You were.”

“There was a Griever.”

“You were scared for me,” you say, a teasing edge in your tone.

“I was scared of getting caught and ripped apart by a Griever while carrying your dead-weight through the Maze.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “So dramatic.”

He looks at you then, finally, something sharper in his expression. “You stopped moving.” The humor leaves your face. His jaw tightens. “You just dropped. And I couldn’t wake you up.” His voice is low now, much too quiet for someone like Minho. “I had to watch your chest to make sure you were still shucking breathing.”

You don’t say anything. He laughs once under his breath, humorless. “So yeah,” he says, looking away again. “Maybe I was scared.”

The admission sits between you, heavy and fragile. You swallow. “Minho…”

“I thought—” He cuts himself off, jaw flexing. “Doesn’t matter.”

You turn toward him a little more, ignoring the lingering dizziness and forming headache behind your eyes. “It does matter.” He doesn’t answer. You watch him for a second, then quietly say, “I’m okay.”

Minho huffs. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”

But he still looks tense, wound too tight. Your eyes flicker down to the hand he has clenched into a fist resting on the stone beside him. Carefully, slowly, you reach over, fingers gently uncurling his fist. He freezes, and you almost pull back. But then he loosens his grip, allowing you to slip your hand into his. His fingers intertwine with yours, giving your hand a tight squeeze. His thumb brushes once against your knuckles, and your heart skips a beat.

“You know,” you murmur after a moment. “For someone who acts like I’m the most annoying thing to grace the Glade, this is a very sweet gesture.”

Minho drops your hand instantly, and you find yourself immediately missing the contact. “Oh my god,” he groans, leaning his head back against the wall. “And there it is.”

You laugh, soft and tired but real. “What? I’m just saying.”

“No, you’re ruining it.”

“Ruining what?”

“The moment.”

You grin. “So you admit there’s a moment?”

“No.”

“You literally just said–”

“I think you’re imagining things. You sure you’re feeling okay?”

You laugh again, and Minho shakes his head, suppressing a smile at the sound of your laugh. He’s never been more relieved to hear a sound. “There’s the annoying part,” he mutters.

You nudge his shoulder lightly with yours. “You held my hand.”

“You imagined that.”

“I definitely didn’t.”

“No proof.”

Your hand raises into the air, palm facing him. “This hand says otherwise.”

He bats your hand away lightly with a groan, then scrubs his hand over his face. “I take it back. Should’ve left you behind.”

A dramatic gasp leaves your mouth. “Wow. After all that emotional vulnerability?"

“Now you’re just making things up.”

“You admitted you were scared.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You held my hand.”

“Didn’t happen.”

You smile, studying his face. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not blushing.”

“You are. Your face is red.”

“It’s hot in here, if you haven’t already noticed.”

“We haven’t even been moving.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Your smile only grows, and you smack his shoulder playfully. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“Cute?!”

“Very cute.”

He stares at you, looking incredibly offended. “I save your life, and this is what I get?”

“Yes.” 

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” you say slyly, “you saved me.”

He points at you. “If you say that one more time, I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Yes.”

He stares for another second before exhaling through his nose, trying and failing not to smile. “You are impossible.”

“And you like me anyway.”

He stands abruptly. “Okay, we’re leaving before you get any more insufferable.”

You blink up at him, tilting your head. “But what if I’m still dizzy?”

“You can walk.”

“What if I faint again?”

“Then I guess I’ll have to drag you out of here.”

You hold your hand out, looking up at him expectantly. Minho looks at it. Then looks at you, who’s innocently batting your lashes at him. He sighs dramatically, grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet. As you stand, your knees wobble, still unsteady on your feet. His grip tightens immediately.

“Easy,” he murmurs, steadying you. You shake him off, taking a tentative step forward. The walls on either side of you shift slightly as you do, and you hold your breath. You shake your head, trying to clear your vision.

Minho’s having none of it. Suddenly, you’re swept off of your feet and hoisted into two strong arms, one secured under your knees and the other firm around your back. You squeal, not expecting the movement, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. 

“Minho!” you huff, one hand releasing his neck to lightly slap his chest. “I can walk, you know.”

He just shakes his head, picking up his pace until he’s jogging. “No you can’t. We’ll get back faster this way anyway. You know, because I am the faster one.”

You roll your eyes, wriggling in his arms so that maybe he’ll put you down. Instead, he just tightens his grip, and you quickly give up. Even if you’d never admit that he’s faster than you, he most definitely is stronger. 

“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, resting your head against his shoulder.

He grins, glancing down at you. “And you like me anyway,” he mocks, repeating your words from earlier. 

Instead of firing back, you go quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” you say with a smile. “I do.” With that, you pick your head up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

And you can only burst out laughing when his face turns red. “Now you’re blushing!” 

He grumbles quietly under his breath, looking straight ahead again, though his smile widens. “Yeah, whatever, shank. You just wait.” 

Your stomach flutters and you giggle, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. 

You could get used to this. 

[mimitofucool]

The maze runner head cannons : pt 1

1 . Tough landing

Thomas wasn’t exactly the type to let things be. So when Minho told him that he was in his words, “not that fast, but good enough.” Thomas took that to heart, not knowing Minho was playing around.

So the next morning Thomas was determined to make Minho eat his own words, which was by racing him. After discussing what to do for the day with the others and getting situated , they got ready to go running, and to Thomas’s luck, he was partnered with Minho yet again.

After the doors opened, Thomas speeded past Minho, leaving him in the dust. It didn’t take Minho long to realize what Thomas was doing, and soon catched up to him. “Listen shuckface, you won’t be able to outrun me. You might be good, but not ‘my level’ good.” Minho said, looking Thomas up and down.

And without a second Thomas ran into a wall due to him staring Minho up and down while running for some reason , his body falling to the ground with a hard “thud”. And not too long after that, Minho’s laughter filled Thomas already throbbing head, knowing he lost and Minho was maybe right for the first time.

Mimi speaks: this is my first ever fanfic! English isn’t my first language since I first leaned Spanish and then Italian, but hopefully this is good! Go follow my TikTok: mimitofucool where I posted more headcannons. Leave down below what else I should write !

[mimitofucool]

The maze runner head canons : pt 3

3 . Idiotic accent

Thomas finds anything funny, and I mean ANYTHING. So when he first heard his soon-to-be-friend, Newt speak, he was holding in his laughter. It wasn’t just the way he sounded, it was the way he spoke his words, saying things such as “bloody hell” and “mate” which were the cherries on top.

At first he kept the laughter in, but every time it got harder, so at the bonfire he finally let it out. “Listen mate, that new greenie is really a bloody mess-“, Newt started, but Thomas was soon to cut him off with his howl of a laugh.

After what felt like millions of years of Thomas running out of breath, and almost everyone finally looking away from the source of the annoying noise, Thomas at last stopped. “Ya done, or ya shuckface wanna keep goin’?” Newt spoke again, trying to hold back his cringing face after taking a sip of Gallys “wonderful” drink.

Mimi speaks!!: ello! I wanna know if people would rather want more short stories or reader x (chosen character) more? Lmk please and comment if you liked this one ! <3

Which one is better??

Short stories/ head canons

Reader x (chosen character) stories??

Voting ended onJun 16

[mimitofucool]

Minho is the type to…

Minho is the type to give you random compliments throughout the day. Either it’s your “amazing hair” or “beautiful eyes” that makes him get awestruck.

Minho is the type to work hard on his figure to “secretly” impress you. Whether it’s carrying heavy boxes for wayyy too long, or doing random push ups in the forest throughout the day.

Minho is the type to sprinkle you in kisses instead of makeouts. Makeouts are only a rare thing, since he wants to save them for a better time, with a better outcome……

Minho is the type to plan “dates” around the glade. Loving to climb trees and look at the sunset with you when he could and isn’t stressed.

Minho is the type to love holding hands. No matter who is looking he loves to have reassurance and ground himself.

Medjack ver:

Minho is the type to start calling you nicknames ever since you became a Medjack. “Hey doc,” and “my great special healer.”, were a usual.

Minho is the type to make sure he gets special treatment when he gets hurt. “Can you at least kiss it? It’ll make me feel better…” he’ll say with a slight plead in his voice.

Runner ver:

Minho is the type to always make you race him when placed together for running. “I can run faster than you ever could.” He would say before dashing off.

Minho is the type to carry your water bottle and food for you, not wanting you to tire yourself out while running.

Cook ver:

Minho is the type to absolutely devour his food whenever you helped made it, saying “It’s the best thing I’ve eaten all week.”

Minho is the type to ask for extras when you pass out the food. “Pleaseee, I’ll give you a kiss…”

Mimi speaks: would you guys like more of these but diff characters?? Vote 👇 below !!

More of these related stories??

Yesss

Nah headcanons are better

Voting ended onJun 19

[scaryslimedraws]

Made these fore funsies..... Hope someone can get a chuckle out of it....