Hiii Could You Maybe Do A Minho X Fem Reader Where Like Reader Was The First In The Glade And Then She

hiii could you maybe do a minho x fem reader where like reader was the first in the glade and then she like helps him adjust when he comes out of the box?? i love ur work so so much thank u :)💗💗

to bet on losing dogs - m.

pairing: minho x fem! reader

summary: the newest greenie isn’t as tough as he seems.

word count: 5,216

tw: violence, grievers, all sorts of dystopian shit. talk of death.

a/n: i’ve recently plummeted back into a raging maze runner hyper fixation so i’m so happy you requested this. anon! which is good because there is literally zero minho content on this god forsaken app. i will take a stand and make a change. btw, the gif is not mine <3

YOU WERE THE FIRST GLADER. Ever. You woke up within the box, the screeching sound of metal grating against metal piercing your eardrums until they bled, your mouth dry as though someone had stuffed it full of fresh cotton. There was only a single rational thought within your blank slate of a mind, the unanswered question of self-concept Who am I? bouncing around the empty walls of your brain.

By the time you had reached the end of the caged elevator’s journey, the tears were rolling down your face like wet ink staining a canvas, blotting your forest green shirt with specks of salty confusion. The brilliance of the sun’s rays stung the lens of your eyes when the traps of the box opened, the warmth soothing your trembling limbs like a soft blanket on a winter’s day.

The packages of supplies labeled W.C.K.D. only bewildered you further, but without a soul to answer your endless questions, you were stuck to fend for yourself with what they had oh-so-greatly gifted you. You remembered your name by the end of your first day: Y/N. It felt familiar on your tongue, but it translated like a foreign language to your brain, as though it weren’t real.

In your first two weeks in the Glade, you had been able to build a very small hut for yourself, and despite its rickety foundations, it managed to keep you sheltered from the heinous growls that echoed from the other side of the mysterious walls. You strengthened its base as the days went on, and by the end of the month, you had built yourself a home.

Alby was second to arrive in the box. Its alarm had startled you like no other, the penetrating ringing reverberating off the walls of the glade and breaking you out of whatever activity you had been distracting yourself with. You were met with a thousand questions overflowing off of his tongue, and you were nervous to reply with I don’t know to majority of them, guilty you couldn’t sooth his anxiety.

One by one, the Glade began to grow. Every month a new Greenie (as you and Alby had nicknamed) was welcomed into the Glade and every month you were greeted with boys who turned to you to soothe their emotional damage. Didn’t they know you had no more to say than Alby? Or Nick, the third to arrive?

The Maze had not been explored much. You and Alby had taken a trip within it on his fourth day in the Glade, but at the sound of the Grievers within, you both had fled. It wasn’t until Nick showed up that the pair of you ran it’s path only once before rushing back to the Glade. You, Nick, Alby and George (another Glader) ran the Maze majority of the time, but after George was stung by a Griever, he turned violent and behaved strangely. In the end, you were forced to banish him for attacking another Glader.

The next Glader to arrive was a boy who stood a foot or so above you, long legs and arms curled up to his chest when the doors of the box revealed him to the Glade. Dusty blond hair covering his forehead, he had gotten to his feet and stared at you all, bewildered. He remembered his name right of the bat (Newt), but seemed to have a difficult time accepting the idea of being stuck in the Glade. You often worried for him.

Newt became your partner for the Maze. Nick preferred to run alone, claiming he could remember better when he could focus solely on the Maze, but you and Newt had decided it was a safer bet to stick together. Newt had a drive to solve the Maze that you had only recognized within yourself, but you often worried for him; he’d spend hours at a time mapping the Maze over and over and over. You grew, however, to love him.

The next boy to arrive had the most subdued reaction to the glade. You and the other boys stared down at him from the edge of the box, watching as he blocked the sun with his palm and stared up at you all like a cub lost from his pack. Alby had nudged you with his elbow, and you sent him a look before lowering yourself into the box.

“Hi,” you said carefully, holding your hands partially lifted at your sides to show you were no threat to him. He slowly got to his feet, staring at you oddly. “You okay?”

He blinked, jet black hair sticking up every which way, his chest heaving up down, but his breath remained silent as though he were trying to hide his fear from you. When he said nothing, you inched closer and said, “This is the Glade. C’mon, let’s get out of the box—”

“Where am I?” he croaked, his voice torn. He had a very smooth voice despite the shakiness it held from his fear; his tone was leveled, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not hide the hidden specks of panic that laced it. You had heard it too many times to miss. “Who... who are you?”

“Y/N,” you replied simply, holding out your hand. He eyed it unsurely. “I promise, we’ll explain as much as we can. But... let’s get out of the box, okay?”

“Where am I?” he said again, clenching his honed jaw. “Where did... how did I get here?”

“We all got here from the box. It’s okay,” you softly said. “Your name’ll come to you in a bit, I promise. Happens to all of us.”

“Minho,” he muttered. You blinked. “My name. It’s Minho.”

“Good to meet you, Minho,” you grinned, extended your hand again. “Let’s get out of this shuck box, ‘kay?”

He stared at your hand, dark eyes flickering between it and your gentle face. You watched him take a deep, steadying inhale, letting the oxygen flood his lungs. Without a word, he took your hand and let you guide him out.

In his first few days in the Glade, Minho was what you might describe as stone-faced. The small bonfire you held for him was filled with flutters of chatter coming from the other boys and you, but he sat silently amongst the crowd, staring into the flames. He seemed to have no interest in speaking to the others, and he had only said a few words to you before falling silent again.

“What d’you think his deal is?” Newt had asked. You shrugged, unable to find an answer.

“Hard time adjusting, maybe?” you said unsurely. Newt shrugged his shoulders too and said nothing. There was nothing more to say, anyway.

You and Nick gave Minho the full tour, and he silently tested out all of the jobs you and the others had formed. It took a lot to keep things going with so few of you, but everyone adjusted rather quickly to life in the Glade. Minho, however, seemed unsatisfied with all his jobs, and continuously appeared unsettled by his very presence in the maze.

On his third night in the Glade, on your way to your room from the showers, you spotted Minho crouched on the outside of his room. There were so little Gladers that each one had their own little shack, with a cot and blankets, as well as makeshift desks and wardrobes. Minho sat beside the closed door of his, one knee drawn up to his chest, drawing in the dirt with a small stick.

You halted when you approached his shack and nudged his extended foot with your own. He tilted his head up to stare up at you, eyes glassy and overtired. You pursed your lips in a half-smile and quietly greeted, “Hi.”

“Hey,” he muttered, lowering his chin and returning to drawing in the dirt. Your half-smile turned into a half-frown at his defeated expression. Tilting your head to the side like a confused dog, you crouched down in front of him.

“What’s up?” you asked. He shrugged. Sighing, you took a seat beside him, the plush grass cushioning you. “You doin’ okay?”

“I guess,” he said half-heartedly. “Just tired.”

“Hm,” you nodded. “Nothin’ else goin’ on? You don’t have to talk, but... gotta make sure my Gladers are okay!”

You had hoped to crack some kind of smile from him at this, but he only pursed his lips and bowed his head more, resting his chin on his bent knee. He gave a heavy sigh before asking, “How long have you been here?”

“About six or seven months, give or take,” you answered. Minho shook his head in disbelief.

“Seven months,” he ran a hand through his hair, grasping at his scalp. “Seven months...”

“S’not so bad,” you shrugged. “I mean, yeah, it... it shuckin’ sucks. But there’s some good moments. You just gotta look for ‘em. Getting to know the other Gladers helps, y’know.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I just gotta adjust. Shit’s crazy.”

“Hey, language!”

He gave you an incredulous look, lips twitching up. “For real?”

“Yeah,” you grinned. “Can’t have you shanks using foul language.”

“I — you just called me a ‘shank’!”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Who’s in charge?” you asked rhetorically. Minho pursed his lips and said nothing, sending you a look. “Yeah, I thought so.”

And then, finally, Minho cracked a grin. He shook his head and said, “Didn’t know this place had a dictatorship.”

“Yeah, you shanks should be calling me General Y/N.”

Minho scoffed, his eyes bright as he looked at you. “Yeah, right.”

By the end of his first week, Minho shed a few of the layers he had worn in his first few days. You caught more and more glimpses of his true personality as he adjusted, smiles and jokes becoming more frequent until they seemed to be the only things that left his lips.

For his first two weeks in the Glade, Minho worked as a Builder. He didn’t prefer to work with Gally, whom he had declared as ‘a shank’ (he was catching onto Glader slang, finally!), but it was the job he felt he could manage whilst doing an adequate job. Regardless, you could tell he was unhappy.

One morning, just as the sun woke up from where it rested behind the metal walls of the maze, you caught Minho staring at the closed doors that governed the Glade. He wore a pair of too-big sweatpants and a simple blue shirt, his hands slumped into his pockets and his eyes flickering over the ivy that traced the edges of the walls.

Fixing the harness over your shoulders that strapped your pack and pocket knives to you, you sauntered over to stand beside him. He didn’t turn to face you, however you caught his eyes drift over to side-eye you various times as you stood wordlessly beside him.

“What’s it like?” he asked after a prolonged moment. “In the Maze?”

“Hm,” you buckled your harness and sit into your hip, crossing your arms over your chest. You saw Minho’s eyes flicker to the knives strapped to your shoulders before moving back to the walls. “Scary. Confusing. But... mostly scary.”

“Are you... are you guys close to finding anything?”

You pursed your lips. “I hope.”

Minho frowned and lowered his eyes from the Maze walls to the grass by his feet, where blades of green curled over the fabric of his dirty sneakers. His eyes flickered back to you again, before he turned his head to you and said firmly, “I want to be a Runner.”

You did a double-take at him, brows raised. “No.”

He furrowed his brow. “What? Why?”

“Because, you’re a shuckin’ Greenbean,” you said matter-of-factly. “No way you’re goin’ in the Maze.”

“I don’t like the other jobs. This is the only job I want to do!” Minho tried to reason, his voice becoming frantic. You were still thunderstruck by his first statement. “C’mon, Y/N, please. Gimme a chance.”

“No,” you shook your head. “Minho, you’re doing fine as a builder, I don’t see why—”

“Because I want to fucking get out of this place!” Minho fired, his fists clenching and his cheeks turning a dusty red. You blinked at his outburst, and he paused before softly continuing with, “I’m goin’ crazy, Y/N. I can’t just sit here and build shit while I know there’s a solution to the shuckin’ Maze somewhere out there.”

“Minho...”

“Please,” he was begging at this point, his voice cracked and his face desperate, “I need to do something.”

“Let me be honest with you, Minho,” you told him carefully. “We’re betting on losing dogs out there. We’ve been running that Maze for seven months and haven’t find so much as a clue to how to get out.”

“Let me help,” Minho breathed, stepping so close to you that you were sure he was about to drop to his knees and grasp at your legs. You pursed your lips. His brows tilted upwards in desperation, his black hair a wild mess and his olive skin dewy from sleep. “C’mon, Y/N. You know that I can help. You know how good my memory is. I’ll spend hours making maps of that shuck Maze, I swear it—”

“Fine,” you muttered. Minho fell silent. “I’ll talk to Newt and Nick. See what they think.”

“Thank you—!”

“This doesn’t mean you’re gonna be a Runner,” you lifted a finger. “I only said I’d talk to them.”

“Works for me,” Minho sighed in relief, crossing his arms over his chest and staring up at the metal walls that towered over the pair of you. With a great rumble, the two walls began to steadily separate, the ivy at its edges rustling from it’s force.

Turning your head, you spotted Nick and Newt approaching the opening walls, both clad in their full running gear. You could see Minho staring at the interior of the Maze with a time of expression you only recognized as eagerness. You tenderly placed a hand on his upper arm and gave him a look.

“I’ll talk to them about it,” you told him pointedly. He nodded, however you watched his eyes dart between where your hand was on his bicep and your eyes. He gulped. “But... you should probably get to building, yeah?”

Minho pursed his lips but nodded nonetheless. “Okay.”

“Good that,” you smiled and turned to face Newt and Nick, unaware of the pink petals that had bloomed on Minho’s cheeks and the red tinge on the tips of his ears. “Morning.”

Nick yawned an incoherent greeting.

“Too ruddy tired for this,” Newt muttered, rubbing his eyes childishly. “What are you two shanks doing at the doors this early?”

Minho and you shared a glance. Newt furrowed his brows.

“Just talking,” you said.

“Hm,” Nick rose an eyebrow at Newt, who only pursed his lips and pretended not to be paying attention, staring at the walls. “Okay. Well. It’s running time.”

“I know,” you crossed your arms over your chest, narrowing your eyes at them. “I’ve been here. So technically you shanks were late.”

“On time, actually,” Newt checked his watch. You rolled your e/c eyes.

“Whatever,” you said dismissively. “Let’s just go. See you, Minho.”

"Bye,” Minho gave a half-hearted wave, watching the three of you jog out into the maze. He watched your figure disappear behind the ivy-coated walls, resisting from running out and following at your heels. With a heavy exhale, he turned and tiredly made his way towards the other side of the Glade. He didn’t feel like dealing with an angry Gally today, anyway.

---

BY THE END OF THE SECOND YEAR in the Glade, Minho had become your partner as an official Runner. After Newt’s ankle was injured (neither he nor Minho hadn’t told you the details of what happened and you didn’t pry), Minho stepped up, the responsibility falling onto his shoulders. You missed Newt’s company, but you enjoyed the time spent with Minho. He seemed to enjoy it, too.

“New Greenie today, huh?” Minho said when the pair of you ran back into the Maze, your running slowing to a walk as you reentered the small society. You hummed, lifting a hand to wave over at Newt, who stood at the edge of the gardens.

“Yup,” you sighed, the heavy pants from sprinting coming to a standstill. “Remember when you were a Greenbean?”

Minho rolled his eyes, lips twitching up as the pair of you made your way towards the gardens to meet Newt, who was leaning against one of the garden posts, arms crossed over his chest. He lifted his hand up to wave. 

“Yeah.”

“You were all moody,” you teased, to which he began to shake his head in denial. “Oh, you totally were. Moping around the whole shuckin’ Glade—”

“I didn’t mope—”

“You so did!” you laughed, bumping your shoulder with his. A heavy blush coating his face, Minho grinned and avoided your eyes. “You sulked at like every single bonfire. Didn’t he, Newt?”

“Didn’t he, what?” Newt asked once he was in earshot, grinning. “Brood every where he went?”

You and Newt laughed to which Minho who narrowed his eyes in a playful glare at the both of you.

“Shanks,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“It’s okay, we love you anyways,” you teased, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and , and Minho casted his eyes to the side, a cherry red blooming across the apples of his cheeks; he whipped his head to the side to get his hair out of his face, and when he finally glanced back up, he was met with a curious glance from Newt. Minho gulped and glanced back down.

“You go on, Y/N,” Newt called after the three of you had crossed the other side of the Glade, headed towards where Frypan was cooking up dinner. “Save us a seat, yeah?”

“O...kay?” you said slowly, walking backwards and staring at the pair of them oddly. Newt seemed calm, but Minho’s eyes were casted downwards as though to avoid you at all costs. Brows twitching downwards, you shrugged and turned back around, heading the other direction. Minho watched you disappear, eyes following you as your figure became smaller and smaller in the distance.

“Mate,” Newt snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Want to tell me what that’s about?”

“What what’s about?” Minho gave him a look. “What’re you talking ‘bout?”

“What am I talking about? You tell me, Minho,” Newt crossed his arms. Minho mimicked him, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning into his hip as though to mock him. Newt huffed. “Your face is still bright red, y’know.”

Minho’s gaze faltered; he gulped and dropped his arms. “I was just sprinting around the Maze, you shank, of course my face is gonna be red.”

“You’ve been back for a good, long while now...” Newt drawled. “I’m pretty sure it would’ve gone away by now.”

Minho’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly as though searching for another excuse, and Newt only watched with an all-knowing expression, as though he had already read Minho’s mind and was just waiting for him to crack.

“What do you want me to tell you, Newt?” Minho threw his arms up and began to walk off towards Frypan’s. Newt followed tiredly. “I mean, really. You tryna get some kind of information outta me?”

“I dunno, Minho,” he hummed, the wind blowing his blonde hair off his forehead. “D’you have somethin’ to hide?”

“What could I possibly be hiding?” Minho murmured. Newt let out a laugh.

“Gee, I wonder,” he sassed. “Maybe that you like Y/N.”

“‘Course I like Y/N,” Minho muttered. “Everybody likes Y/N.”

“C’mon,” Newt nudged his shoulder. “Quit beating around the bush and just admit you’ve got a crush on her.”

“I do not!” Minho said hastily. Newt rolled his eyes. “Really, I don’t!”

“Okay,” Newt shrugged, a funny look on his face. “Suit yourself.”

Minho said nothing more as they opened the door to where they were having dinner, pointedly brushing by Newt as he went to grab a bite to eat from Frypan. When he brought his food down to the table, he realized Newt was sitting in the spot beside you that he usually occupied. Sending him a subtle glare, Minho sat across from them.

“You good?” you asked him, your mouth partially stuffed with food. He pursed his lips in a smile and nodded his head. 

“Yeah,” he told you. Newt, after sending Minho a glance, then leaned over and whispered something into your ear. Minho watched your face change as you listened; he tightened his fist around his fork. 

“Slim it,” you giggled (since when did you giggle?), a tinge of pink brushing over your face. Newt pulled away, smirking, and sent another look at Minho, who only clenched his jaw. Unbeknownst to Minho, you had been sending fleeting looks over at him as though afraid of being caught. Your blush had lingered the entire meal.

Newt continued his outwardly flirtatious behavior with you throughout the entire meal; to the others, it seemed the pair of you were getting pretty comfortable, however every whisper and gesture had something to do with Minho. Your face was a scarlet red by the end of dinner, and Minho had accidentally broken two wooden forks from how hard he was clenching his fists.

“Go talk to her,” Newt shoved his shoulder against Minho’s when they stood up to put their trays back near Frypan’s station. You were sitting at the table still, knee up on one bench, laughing gleefully at something Winston said. Minho said nothing in response to Newt for a moment, simply watching you; your eyes trickled across the room and met his for a moment, your smile lingering. “Don’t be a shank.”

“Slim it,” Minho muttered, shaking out his wrists at his sides. “I don’t even want to talk to you right now.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you wait,” Newt laughed. “Quit waiting.”

“You’re a real shank, y’know that?” Minho sent him a side-eyed glare. Newt only laughed again. “I’m tempted to grab one of those forks I broke and stab it right in your shucking—!”

“Hey,” you had approached stopping right in front of them. Minho slapped his rudely gestured hand to his side and clamped his mouth shut. Sending him a very strange look, you furrowed your brows at him and slowly asked, “You okay?”

“Mmhm,” Minho hummed. Newt sharply elbowed his side, to which he grunted and sent him another glare. “Are you?”

“I’m great,” you rocked back and forth on your toes. “Well, erm... bonfire’s gonna start in like, five minutes or so. I’ll see you out there?”

It was a general question, however your eyes were pointed at Minho; he nodded his head, cracking a grin. “’Course you will!”

You smiled and turned on your heel, sparing Minho another glance even as you walked away from him. He stared off at your figure, watching you disappear around the bend and sighed when you vanished from sight. Newt pat him twice on the back.

“It is physically painful to watch you interact with her, man,” he said honestly, shaking his head. Minho frowned. “Like, launch myself off the cliff, painful.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Minho pinched the bridge of his nose. Speaking mostly to himself, he said, “Okay. Just gonna talk to her. No biggie.”

Newt snorted but said nothing, striding forward, long-legs carrying him down the path you had previously taken. Minho shook his hand out at his sides again, exhaling sharply through his nose and closing his eyes for a moment before following at Newt’s heels.

By the time he ventured across to the other edge of the Glade, the mountainous fire was roaring, sparks flying and ashes trickling along the nearby grass. Glasses of Gally’s secret recipe was being distributed amongst the Gladers, and Minho swiped one on his way in; chugging half of it in a quest for liquid courage, his eyes scanned the area for you.

“Minho!” you called from behind him, sitting on one of the logs with a glass of the drink in your hand. Waving him over, Minho wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand and sauntered over, settling himself on the spot beside you. Swinging your legs back and forth, you grinned and asked, “You sure your doin’ okay? I just watched you down your drink, and, no offense, but no one likes Gally’s drink that much.”

Minho cracked a smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Just figured I could, er...loosen up a little.”

You scoffed, nudging his knee with your own. You moved it away, but the way your body relaxed left your knees touching from how close you sat. “Like you need to be loosened up. Well, actually... judging on you breaking two forks during dinner, maybe you do.”

“Ha-Ha,” Minho muttered, eyes flickering down to where your knee touched his. Feeling his neck grow hot, he took a deep inhale. His mouth opened, and although the words of his feelings ran line by line in his mind, no sound left his lips. You sent him an odd look; it was a rare sight, indeed, to see Minho speechless.

“Okay, what’s going on?” you asked him. “I know something’s up, and you can say it’s nothing all you’d like, but I’m not letting you leave until you tell me.”

Minho stared at you for a moment, dark eyes drinking you in, before he clenched his jaw and tried again. “I gotta tell you somethin’.”

“Okay,” you nodded your head. Minho gulped.

“And you can ignore it, if you want,” he added hastily. “Cause, like, I know we’re stuck in the Glade and this isn’t really the place for it, but I still kind of wanted to tell you even though it might—”

“Minho,” you said carefully, and he visibly sucked in a sharp breath as though he were in pain. You watched his chest rise and fall with each quick breath, his eyes now avoiding you entirely, focused on where his hands lay in his lap. Placing a hand onto his shoulder, you said, “Don’t stress, all right? S’just me. You can tell me anything.”

“Right,” With rose-colored cheeks, he turned his head to meet your eyes and breathed in through his nose. “Okay. Uhm.”

You stared back at him expectantly, eyes sparkling from the red-orange glow of the fire. 

Minho clenched his jaw a few times, blinking. He watched your lips part to speak again, and, impulsively, he blurted, “I like you.”

You said nothing, only furrowing your brows a bit.

“I like you,” he said again in a deep sigh. Ruffling a hand through his jet black hair, he squeezed his eyes shut and said, “I like you, and the reason I broke those two forks at dinner was because I was shuckin’ angry that Newt kept cuddling up to you like that, okay? And I didn’t want to tell you at first ‘cause I knew it’d make things weird, and I kind of really liked the way things were goin’ and I—”

He took a sharp inhale, cutting himself off. You had frozen, your eyes blinking wordlessly at him, and he felt his stomach twist. Internally groaning, he leaned over, slapping his hands over his face and avoiding your reactions entirely.

“Shuck, I’m sorry,” he muttered at your silence. “I’m sorry. That was embarrassing.”

“No, it...” your words fell short for a moment. “It’s not embarrassing, Minho.”

He scoffed, taking his hands off his face but now leaning down on his elbows, staring tiredly at the sparkling bonfire. “Just ignore everything I just said.”

“Why would I do that?”

He slumped his shoulders. “Because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. And... I just did. And I’m sorry. And we can pretend I never said anything.”

“You didn’t even give me a chance to respond,” you gently said through a smile. Minho gulped.

“Oh,” was all he said.

“I’m actually really glad you told me,” you said breathily. Minho turned his head but didn’t meet your eyes.

“Why?”

“Because I thought everything Newt was telling me was just bullshit, but... guess it was true.”

Minho jolted up. “What?”

You furrowed your brows. “What?”

“Newt has been...? Newt told you?!”

“No, no, he—” you let out a giggle. “He was just kind saying suggestive stuff. Kept saying, like... Go snog Minho at the bonfire... or like, Minho’s been checking you out for the entire day... stuff like that.”

Minho had turned a deep red. “Oh. That... that doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Shouldn’t it, though?” you gave him a look. He said nothing for a beat, before he shifted his eyes to meet yours with furrowed brows. 

“I’m confused.”

“So am I,” you said. “Think about it for a second. Why would Newt be teasing me about you?”

Minho said nothing for a moment. “’Cause he’s a shank, that’s why.”

You laughed and shook your head. “’Cause I like you, you moron.”

“What?” Minho shot up, all his muscles tensing like a cocked gun. “You... seriously? Like, actually?”

“Yes, like, actually,” you mimicked him. “Of course I do. I was just waiting for you to make the move, y’know?”

“Oh,” Minho sighed. “Well, I would’ve done it earlier if I had known you... that you liked me back... Holy shuck, you like me back...! Wow.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am very surprised,” Minho said heavily, turning his head and sending you a shy grin. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and tucked a knee to your chest. He stared at you for a moment, sitting up straight and taking in your appearance, your words.

“What?” you asked in response to his staring. He smiled and shrugged.

“You’re just, like...” he trailed off, shaking his head. “...amazing. Totally amazing.”

“Thanks.”

“No, I’m being serious,” Minho began. You made the assumption that his confidence was returning after the fear of rejection left his brain. “Like, ever since I got here, you’ve just been this, like... force. I dunno. You’re just cool.”

“So are you,” you nudged his shoulder. “You’ve always been cool.”

“Not cool like you, though,” it felt like now, Minho couldn’t tear his eyes away from yours. With the nerves gone, it was as though he felt he was free to drink you in without judgement. “You’re cool and you’re... strong, and just, like... safe. I dunno. I’m rambling.”

“It’s okay,” you smiled, scooting closer towards him. Leaning down, you pecked the side of his cheek. “It’s cute.”

He turned red and pursed his lips into a grin. Putting his hand to his chest he beamed and said, “You’re givin’ me butterflies, shank, stop it.”

Giggling, you linked your arm with his, elbows pressing into one another sides. Grabbing your drink with your free hand, you lifted it up as though giving a toast before downing it entirely. Minho stared at you, lips parted.

“Good god, woman,” he mumbled, lifting up his own cup and mimicking your actions. He grimaced. “Shit’s nasty.”

“Language,” you muttered, leaning down and pressing your lips to his for a brief moment. 

Red-faced, he grinned, "Whatever.”

---

a/n: okay lowkey this was cute. i kinda th though the maze runner fandom was dead but thank you for your request!!!! i really liked this one, i enjoyed writing it so much :)

I am In love with this. You are an amazing author ❤.

Guilty of Love

A Vigilante!Billy Russo AU

❝ that's the beauty of a secret, you know you're supposed to keep it ❞

• SEASON ONE • SEASON TWO • SEASON THREE •

Complete

Word Count: 13.9K

[ep.1] Breaking and Entering

After a long week of attempting to track down Billy Russo, the last thing you need is someone breaking into your house.

[ep.2] A Night In

A more conventional surprise visit from your favourite vigilante.

[ep.3] Break In

Your investigation leads you to the apartment of Billy Russo, providing you with an opportunity to turn the tables.

[ep.4] Sick Day

Your favourite vigilante has come down with a cold, so you decide to drop in on him after work.

[ep.5] Lunch Date

You decide to go out for your lunch break, and end up running into a certain someone. You really should stop being so surprised.

[ep.6] Stitch Up

Billy turns up at your door again, this time in need of some help.

[ep.7] Uncertainty

When the news of The Punisher’s arrest reaches you, your first concern is Billy. Where is he?

[ep.8] Reunited

Life carries on, and you follow the news with growing concern, until a note arrives at your door.

[ep.9] Home

After your time apart, you’re happy to finally have Billy back home, and the prospect of a new start blooms on the horizon.

this is so pretty

Hellooo! I hope you have a great time exploring India! ❤️❤️

Also, I’m so glad you’re doing a desi themed event on tumblr (it’s so rare to find)

Could I request a meri paramsundari 💃🏻 with Sirius Black please, can you make it about them getting married (desi wedding of course)

Thank you so much!

thank you love !

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫.

join the trip to india !!

Hot-shot, Hot-head | Clint Barton

Hey lovelies! Here's another one for Dinner at Dizzy's! I actually really like this one. Clint Barton is super close to my heart. I remember watching the avengers for the first time when it first came out (and Thor before that) and just falling in love lol. Treat him well lovelies and please do enjoy.

Appetizers (Tags): Fluff / Angst (more so fluff)

Entres (Pairing): Clint Barton x F!Reader (third person)

Sides (Prompts): 7: “Teach me.”

Notes: None, requested by an anon

Word Count: 2.9k (lol I don't even have an excuse anymore)

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

“God damnit!” She hisses as the bow string snaps back against her fingers, the sting making her fumble the bow.

She catches it— like she always does— but not without another curse. She resists the urge to slam the hunk of metal against the grass, her muscles squeezing so tight she could scream. He makes it look so fucking easy. It’s not— it’s impossible. She wants her pistol back and glass of water. Water or wine. Same thing. Screw Barton and how ridiculously nimble he is— she thought she was supposed to be the agile one.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. She bites back a groan when she hears footsteps sound from behind her, rolling her eyes before spinning on the brunette, scowling at the gleeful squint of his bright blue eyes. He’s always so smug. In all of her years of knowing him that has never changed.

“Told you it’s not as simple as it looks.” He simpers, his smile so wide she wants to throw him to the ground right here, right now, and slap it off.

Slap, kiss— same thing.

“If you came out here to mock me, Barton, feel free to not.” She scrunches her nose— it’s the only thing she can do to keep the smile off her face.

Why does his grin always have to be so infectious? She wants to be annoyed still— she was annoyed before she turned around so why can’t she still be annoyed now? It’s infuriating and awful and so damn endearing. God, if she could go back to training and strangle Fury she honestly just might. What was he thinking, pairing her for fucking life with Clint Barton. She glances at the man and the smirk in his eyes and she presses her lips together.

He notices— of course he notices, they trained together, their reflexes are the same. It’s what makes them such good partners— they were created to be a team. Fucking Fury. Well, a team in one sense at least. The other not so much. She shoves the thought to the back of her head, finally letting the smile break out on her face.

“Someone has to, hot-shot.” He settles against the tree behind him, muscled arms crossing over his chest, puppy dog smile still just as wide.

God where the fuck is she supposed to look? There’s nowhere left— not the corded veins along his arms, not the golden skin peeking out of the collar of his t-shirt, not the the glint in his icy eyes that she can’t tell whether it’s from the sun or is just always there— she’s being attacked on all sides and all she has is this stupid bow— his stupid bow.

She drops her shoulders, rolling her eyes again and caving to his larkish voice— she always does. “I guess it’s fair. Shouldn’t rag on you so much for your terrible shot—”

“I don’t have a terrible—” He begins to protest, pushing from the tree and stepping closer to her.

She presses her fingers to his chest when he gets a few inches away, trying to keep her breathing in check. “With a pistol. Ten years later and he still interrupts. Good to know some things never change, hot-head.”

She beams up at him, palms flat against his broad chest, forcing herself to ignore the heat seeping from the thin material. It feels like at any moment he’s going to burn her, much too hot for his own good. Being this close to him she can smell his woodsy, citrus scent— like the damn sun— and she takes a step back. Co-workers. Partners. Best friends.

Nothing more.

“Ten years later and she still does everything in her power to make me interrupt. Terrible shot. Who taught you to fight so dirty, huh?” He peers down at her as he pushes past her, fingers flicking at her jaw, and she bites her tongue because it’s starting to feel like he’s asking her to say something she’ll regret.

“Uhm you? You did— weren’t you the one who kicked my knees in on the first day of training?”

He’s a good few feet in front of her now— stupid long legs— and she sucks in a breath of fresh air, her skin tingling as her body cycles him out of her blood. There’s no point, he’ll be back in a moment. He’s always back— always annoying and around and warm.

He glances back over his shoulder— “You mean right after you broke my nose, right darlin’?”

She lets her gaze flick to his nose and the faint bump on the ridge where she had jutted her palm into it all those years ago. The academy nurses are good— she can only see the blemish when she’s looking for it. Too bad her jab is better. It suits him at least— everything does.

“I did do that, didn’t I?” She hums, meeting him once more and standing on her tiptoes to get a better look. He leans down, staring at her from over the crook. “Maybe I was marking you Barton— I made ya’ pretty.”

He hands her the arrows, fingers clasping over her own for a moment, encasing her in that warmth again. “Couldn’t have found any other way, huh?”

She has to force herself to meet his banter, suddenly breathless and woozy, still wobbling on her tiptoes. “Thought you liked the violence— you did back then.”

He holds her gaze, fingers tightening so minutely that she’s sure if she were anyone else she wouldn’t have noticed. She wouldn’t notice how his eyes skim over her face before flicking over her head quickly, how his shoulders square defensively, how even when there’s no one around he’s always watching her back. But she isn’t anyone else— she’s her and she notices everything he does.

He meets her gaze again, muscles easing slightly, and her lungs scream at her because all she can taste is lemons and juniper.“Oh I love the violence.”

She tugs the arrows— and by default her hand— from his hold, searching desperately for an escape in the open air in front of her. The targets taunt her from across the field, the little pin prick holes in the middle of the red bullseye leering. She wants to throw the bow again— where the fuck is her gun?

“Why am I doing this again?” She groans and he laughs, his hand curling around her neck, thumb digging into the knots in her shoulder blade.

“‘Cause one day you won’t have bullets.” He supplies, voice too close to her ear for her to make much sense of the words. They’re like honey— too sweet, too slow.

Still she shrugs. “Won’t I have you, though? You planning on ditching me, Barton?”

Beyond the teasing she can hear the insecurity laced in her words and she wants to slap herself for potentially ruining the sunny afternoon. She can practically feel the switch in the atmosphere. The lighthearted banter fading into cold seriousness. She swallows, closing her eyes. Even after ten years she’s still terrified that one day she’s going to wake up and he won’t be in the kitchen pouring the sugar into her coffee and burning the toast. Joining the academy was her chance— at freedom, at family— and Clint was— is— the payoff of those hard years. She would be utterly lost if one day he just wasn’t there.

His hand stills, thumb still pressing into her skin, chest tensing where it just barely brushes her back. For a moment they just stand there, the only noise being the soft thud of the bow landing in the grass. A few seconds later the arrows join. She doesn’t drop them on purpose— she would never carelessly throw his things around— she just can’t feel her hands anymore. When she brings them together, wringing them together, she isn’t surprised to find them trembling. She can feel him start to shake his head, hair brushing against her temple before the words are even out of his mouth.

“Don’t even say that. Don’t. Or think about it. Ever again— you hear me? I thought I was the dumb one.” He tries to say it like a joke— she can hear him forcing his tone to stay light— but his voice is too gravelly, his words spiking too low.

She presses her lips together again, nodding. “Sorry—” she mumbles, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead, sinking back slightly to knock her shoulder into his chest— “was just— just over thinking, I guess. Stressed myself out.”

He wraps his arms around her shoulders, squeezing her against his chest. She tips her head back, putting her weight on him. It’s not unusual— it would be more unusual if she didn’t cuddle into him. That’s why she does it despite how terribly she wants to pull away. She can’t stay in his citrus arms— in this fever dream. She needs to break the spell. Maybe spend some days in the woods soon, alone, resetting her brain. She’s had to do that a few times.

“Not going anywhere.” He mumbles, hands closing around her arms, his jaw— scratchy and rough from stubble— rubbing against her shoulder. “You know that. Not now, definitely not in a fuckin’ appocalypse—” she laughs at that and he rocks on his heels, letting out a soft hum— “We’re in this together. Where the hell would I even go?”

He whispers that last part, probably hoping she wouldn’t hear, but his mouth is right there and she’s tuned into everything him. She can hear the worry, feel the rumble against her back. Shit. They’re both spiraling now and she’ll be damned if she brings her down with him. She has to do something.

“Teach me.”

He freezes behind her, hands softening their grip. When he speaks his voice is a little tighter than normal— hesitant, maybe. “What was that, darlin’?”

She goes to pull out of his arms again, bending to retrieve the bow, but she only ends up pulling him with her, the giant man curling around her easily. Too easily. She clenches her jaw, fighting the sudden urge to whirl around and push him to the ground.

Push him to the ground and climb on top of him.

“Teach me how to use this stupid thing, Barton. Can’t do it— you were right.”

Apparently she doesn’t have whirl around— he does it for her, spinning her so quickly that the heavy metal almost whacks him. He pries it gently from her fingers, releasing it back onto the grass. She almost protests— what the hell was she so afraid of dropping it for when he practically just threw it? — but before she can he’s pulling her off her toes and spinning her around.

“Clint what are you doing—”

“Ten years— it’s taken ten years for you to say those words.” He laughs and she swats the nape of his neck, rolling her eyes, feet dangling off the ground. It’s all she can do to not curl them around his hips. “And you tell me my ego is big.”

She scrunches her nose at the man, eyes dipping over his crinkled eyes and triumphant smile, once again fighting the curve of her own lips. “You’ve been waiting for me to ask for help?”

He snorts, dropping her on her toes before slumping onto the grass, sprawling out on his back— clearly not about to actually do as she asked. “No— if you wanted to learn that badly you would have by now. You’re not stupid, just stubborn.”

Clint leans up, warm hand curling around her ankle and yanking, pulling her feet out from under her and sending her flying. Before she has time to scream— hell, to even think about screaming— his arm is hooking around her stomach, catching her midair and lowering her easily to his chest. Ten years and she’s still never ready for that. She goes to drive her elbow back against his ribs but he catches her, grabbing her arm and instead pulling her to rest across his stomach.

She grumbles but turns anyway, cheek pressing against hard, warm muscle, meeting his gaze from where his head rests on his folded arms. “Then what?”

He flashes her another toothy grin— that can’t be good. “Was waiting for you to tell me I was right about something. Took you long enough.”

She scowls. “Shut up, will you?”

“Awe, is someone angry that I won?” He teases, his voice warmer than the sunshine on the bits of her exposed face.

“Barton, I said shut up.”

His laugh is too easy. Too musical. It rumbles against the parts of her that are pressed against him and makes the rest of her ache, wanting to be pressed against him as well.

“Geez, someone’s touchy today.”

As if to enhance his point he runs a gentle finger over the top of her spine, right where her tank top stops, and she has to clench her jaw against the heat that pools in the pit of her stomach and the shiver that races down her back. It’s the final straw. Ten years is a lot of straws— maybe she’s a hoarder of said straws— but finally her last one has broken. She can’t take it anymore. She bolts upright.

“Shit—” he mutters lowly, probably not intending for it to reach her ears, before speaking louder— “c’mon darlin’ I was just messing with you—”

She swings her leg over his stomach, knees caging him underneath her, thighs spreading deliciously over his warm abdomen, and his mouth snaps shut. He’s up on his elbows, no doubt because he had been worried and was on his way up to check on her, but now it only serves to bring them closer together. For a moment all she does is look at him, chest heaving, palms pressed against his chest and anticipation laced in every muscle. Each breath he takes tortures her— what’s he thinking?

She’s never thought Clint Barton to be a mind reader but maybe anything is possible at this point because as soon as she thinks it his crystal eyes narrow, his pink lips quirking up. “Are you going to make the first move or do I have to?”

Butterflies erupt in her stomach— wait, no, that’s just her gut twisting as he flips her over so fast that she doesn’t have time to blink. Dammit he’s quick. She’s quick too, though, legs finally curling around his hips to keep her back from crashing against the ground. She doesn’t remember wrapping her arms around his shoulders but when her head stops spinning she can feel her fingers digging at his arms. Her back eases against the ground, one of his arms slipping under her head, his other hooking around her thigh and pressing her that much closer to him.

His nose bumps against hers, breath hot on her lips, and she doesn’t try to fight the smile this time. “You didn’t give me a chance.”

His lips brush against hers, just a wisp— a promise— of what’s to come, and she squeezes her thighs tighter, pulling a raspy groan from his mouth. “Gave you ten years, didn’t I?”

She hums, lips pressing against the corner of his mouth. “You did— what on earth is wrong with you Barton?”

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re really something, you know that?”

She kisses the other corner, just barely brushing her mouth against his as she passes, reveling in the way his hips push her harder into the grass. “Someone’s touchy today—”

The rest of her words are cut off— they’re swallowed— by two warmer-than-sin lips. He tastes like candy. Like red licorice and lemon drops. That’s all it takes for her to kiss him back, hands slipping into his hair and yanking— maybe she should be gentler but she can’t help it. She’s been patient, she’s paid her dues. Besides, if the moan that rips from his lungs and passes over her tongue— all needy and wild and lemon tinted— is anything to go by then she would say he doesn’t mind it. His tongue slips into her mouth, caressing hers, and she returns his moan with one of her own.

“Why— he mumbles into her open mouth, pausing momentarily to tug her bottom lip between his teeth and groan— “why didn’t we do this earlier? Like—” his lips skim over her cheek, up to her ear, tugging on her earlobe next— “like ten-years-ago sooner?”

She turns her face towards him, following him as he moves down her neck, lips pressing against his cheek. She doesn’t want to detach from him now. She doesn’t think she’ll ever want to. Her mouth slants against him, teeth nipping at his jaw, and he hikes her higher up his body. Her fingers are still tangled in his silky hair, raking through the strands and trying to memorize the feeling.

“I don’t know.” she mumbles against him— she can’t bring herself to find a witty remark, she just wants more.

He pulls back, ducking his head, lips swollen and eyes sparkling. “That was passive of you, hot-shot.”

“Barton.”

For once he doesn’t need to be told twice, leaning back down, nose bumping against her with another brain melting chuckle. She arches up, impatient for his touch. Before his lips skim hers he says something else, though. It’s like he can’t help but annoy her every chance he gets.

“Maybe you’re the hot-head after all.”

The Marauders live on!!!!!!

Sirius Black: “I’m dangerous if I don’t get enough sleep.”

Forever and Always

Summary: Sirius departs his girlfriend after the Potter’s death to start his time in Azkaban but comes back to an amazing welcome.

Dangerous

Summary: Sirius Black falls for the female player at Hogwarts despite his friends warning that she’s dangerous.

Tattoos

Summary: Sirius becomes obsessed with tattoos and his girlfriend draws on him as a way to love him but on his nineteenth birthday his wish gets granted.

Tomorrow

Summary: James is nervous to marry Lily so he asks his best friend how he managed to marry his wife.

King and Queen

Summary: James goes through a lot during his time at Hogwarts but his sister is always by his side.

Pretty Face

Summary: Sirius takes his girlfriend to his family home and Walburga takes out all her pent up jealousy out on her.

Bliss

Summary: Living together is all fun and games until someone sees an animal or insect.

My Everything

Summary: When five marauders goes to two within the instance of a day. Two children are left without fathers and a wife is left without a husband.

Sultry

Summary: One argument gets a little too detailed.

Marauders Live On

Summary: Sirius has a surprise for his girlfriend before graduating from Hogwarts.

The Only One for Me

Summary: Sirius runs a cafe called Mischief Managed with his friends and sometimes his wife helps him out.

I’m Losing You

Summary: Lily changes James for the worst.

Starstruck

Summary: Sirius is completely enamored by the girl who makes his coffee.

Fame & Glory

Summary: Y/n Potter goes through the Triwizard Tournament.

The Veil

Summary: Sirius’ first thought while falling into the veil wasn’t James, it was his twin siblings.

Off Days

Summary: It’s okay to have off days, and it’s okay to want comfort.

Headcannons

Sirius’ Tattoos

Summary: Tattoos Sirius Black Has and Why

Tony, to Y/N: I dare you to-

Natasha: Y/N isn’t allowed to accept dares.

Y/N, sighing: Apparently I have “no regard for my own safety”.

*the team laughs while nodding*