Hi :) i absolutely love love love your writing! Could you write a Newt x Fem!Reader having their first time, learning about what feels good for each other, and it's all gentle and sweet? And they have a little make out session in the showers afterwards? <3
"I like my body when it is with your body." — E.E. Cummings
NSFW Newt x Fem!Reader 𑣲 WC: 6,988
A/N: I am so sorry this ended up being so freaking long, and it took me forever to post. I sort of just took the idea and ran with it. I hope it fulfills the expectations you had for this request! I'll edit it someday, but for now, if you see any errors: No, you don't.
The vents are colder than you'd expected.
Metal hums under your palms as you crawl, powerless to silence each beat of your frantic heart. The facility runs on a strict lockdown at night: Doors sealed, guards patrolling on strict rotations, and no wandering. No 'unauthorized movement', whatever that's supposed to mean.
Naturally, you ignore all of that.
You inch through the narrow tunnel, the metal faintly rattling with each shift of your weight. Ahead, a thin rectangle of pale light spills through the grate. You press your fingers to the frame until it loosens with a soft 'pop', and you catch it before it can clatter on the ground.
"Psst." Your whisper slips into the dark. This dorm is larger than yours: Rows of narrow cots in perfect lines and silhouettes of sleeping boys under their blankets. There's slow breathing, the occasional groan, and the rustle of someone turning over. "Psst! Newt!"
For a moment, there's nothing except the hush of sleep.
Then: A groggy noise. One of the figures sits up, hair messy and shoulders tense like he's preparing to tackle an intruder.
"Hm?" He groggily hums, and relief pours into your chest.
"Newt!" You whisper a little louder, and his head snaps in your direction. He blinks hard, forcing focus into his slumber soaked eyes.
"Wha—?" His gaze lands on you, your ridiculous head poking out of the vent. "You have got to be kidding me." He whispers in disbelief.
"Miss me?"
"You're in the vents!"
"I wanted to talk to you."
"Talk to me? In the middle of the night? Through the bloody air vents?" He sounds half outraged, half impressed. He glances over his shoulder at the others, but none of them stir. "It couldn't wait 'til morning?"
"I didn't want to wait. Come with me."
"...You want me to crawl in there with you?"
"Yes."
"...In the vents?"
"Yes."
Newt goes utterly speechless, once again giving you that look. After all this time, he swears he knows you like the back of his hand, but you've managed to surprise him yet again.
"...You're bloody lucky I care about you, you twat." He drags a hand down his defeated face.
"So, that's a yes?"
"Fine." He huffs dramatically, muttering under his breath as he crouches down to meet you. "Move over." He climbs in with all the grace of someone forced into a terrible decision. "I hope you realize you're absolutely mad."
"Yes, and you love it."
"I love you. That's the problem." Your heart stutters, but before you can reply, he nods forward. "Go on then, you bloody nutcase. Wherever it is you're taking me, I'm right behind." You crawl ahead, guiding him through the tight passages until the vent widens. Another grate awaits at the end.
"There!" You motion.
The panel comes free with almost insulting ease. (Seriously. Whoever designed this place needs to be fired immediately). A cool wave of air sweeps over you as you peer inside.
It's some sort of unused observation room: Dark, empty, and abandoned. Rows of computers and medical equipment sleep beneath dusty plastic covers. A couch sits against the far wall. You slip out first; grate still tucked in your hand. Newt drops down beside you with a grunt.
"Brilliant." He mutters. "Absolutely marvelous. Sneaking into some unknown room through vents in the middle of the night. Why didn't I think of that?" Then he looks at you, really looks at you, and his foul expression melts away. It always does. "Worth it, I suppose."
"Told you."
"No. You told me nothing, except 'come with me'." He slumps heavily on the couch, stretching out his bad leg with a sigh. "Though, I reckon I'd follow you straight into a pack of Grievers if you asked."
"You sort of already have."
"Yeah. Suppose I have." He smiles and pats the cushion beside him. You sit, close, knee brushing his. Newt's hand finds yours, fingers lacing naturally. "So, I don't suppose you want to explain why you staged a midnight prison break?"
"I hate being in a different dorm."
"That's it?"
"I'm stuck on the other side of this building with a bunch of strangers. It's weird trying to fall asleep without the boys. Without you. I can't even pretend to sleep without your monstrous snoring."
"Absolute slander. I do not snore." He doesn't, but you enjoy the teasing. "Didn't think you missed me that much."
"Oh, please. It's just... I've slept in the same place as you and the others for years. I don't get why they insist on keeping us apart."
"S'cause you're a girl, in case you've forgotten."
"I haven't forgotten." You whine. "Come on, though. If anything weird was going to happen, it would've happened ages ago."
"Really?" His eyebrows shoot up, sounding somewhere between amused and insulted. "Is that what you think?"
"I- I meant—" You sputter. "I meant— Nothing bad— Like—"
"Relax." He laughs. "I'm only messing with you."
"Ha. Ha. Hilarious." You shove his shoulder, and he leans into you.
Silence settles between you: Comfortable and electric. His thumb traces slow circles over your knuckles, grounding you in the intimacy of his company. He shifts closer, thigh pressing against yours like it belongs there.
"Reckon we never really had time to figure it out." He murmurs. "Us, I mean."
"We were busy surviving." You respond softly. "Talking about... All this... Wasn't exactly high priority."
"Well, we've got time now. Don't we?"
"Yeah. Maybe we do."
"...I missed you too, by the way. More than I'd like to admit. Can't sleep without knowing you're nearby."
"Yeah? Why's that so hard to admit?"
"Because I'm the sensible, logical one between us." He scoffs. "I'm the one who's meant to stop you from doing stupidly reckless things like—" He gestures vaguely to the open vent. "Well, that."
"Mhm. Right. You're doing a terrible job, Mr. Sensible."
"Clearly." He rolls his eyes before they land back on you.
Newt's free hand lifts to your cheek, giving you every chance to pull away, but you don't. Instead, you dissolve into him. He's beautiful like this: Softened and vulnerable, his sharp edges melted into something warm.
"Is this the part where you kiss me?" You whisper.
"Bold." A shaky laugh escapes him. "Reckon it is, if you want it."
"I want it." You don't hesitate. "Do you?"
"Undoubtedly, yes." His words are so hushed, you barely hear them.
He regards you with a tender curiosity and a depth of respect that's always been unique to him. He admires your wit, your heart, your soul, your beauty, everything that is you.
Then, he closes the distance.
The kiss is slow, tender, and reverent. Like he's memorizing the shape of you. The warmth of you. The miracle of not losing you in the Maze. The hand which cups your cheek softly strokes your face. The other squeezes your fingers. When you finally part, his forehead rests against yours, breath mingling.
"Hey." You whisper, nose brushing his. "I'm starting to suspect we're more than friends."
"You think?" He grins, thumb sweeping along your bottom lip. "Hm, I might need a bit more convincing."
"Yeah?" You tug him toward you by the jaw and kiss him again: Deeper this time. It's hungry and breath stealing. A helpless sound leaves him as his hands slide to your waist, pulling you against him.
Fingers tangle in his hair.
Breaths mix.
Heat blooms across your cheeks.
When you finally break apart, he's flushed and panting, eyes half lidded as he stares at you devotedly. He laughs, and you laugh too, close enough to kiss again. He looks starving: A parched man in the desert, and you are his oasis.
"Convinced?" You taunt.
His fingers twitch against your waist, exhausting physical effort in holding himself back. His gaze flicks to your eyes, your lips, then your eyes again: Brimming with want.
"You're killin' me, Love," He mutters. "Lookin' at me like that."
"Like what?" The words prod with fraudulent innocence.
"You know damn well 'like what'. You with those big, pretty eyes— Batting your lashes at me and grinning like you're up to no good. D'you have any idea how maddening it is?"
"I might have a clue." You murmur, dragging your fingers along his jaw. He shivers, eyes fluttering shut, impossibly weak for your affection and undone by the mere brush of your hand.
Your fingertips trail the warm skin of his neck. A barely audible gasps escapes him. When his eyes open again, he watches with a dazed, adoring expression.
"You think you're real cute, don't you?" He rumbles, lovestruck and drowning in your presence.
"I think you think I'm cute." Your fingers slip under his chin, urging his face closer. He tilts into your hold without thinking.
"You've got so much power over me." He breathes. "D'you even realize it?"
You don't answer. You don't have to. It's written in the way he looks at you, in the way he follows you everywhere, no questions asked. His commitment is a natural law.
You lean in, pressing a peck to the corner of his mouth before bravely crawling into his lap. You straddle him easily, and he releases a surprised, helpless sound as your weight settles over him.
His hands grip your hips like an anchor, confirming reality. Your lips find his again: Deep and consuming. Your mouths fit like they were made for each other. He is your missing puzzle piece.
"You— " Newt pulls back for air, stunned. "You are absolutely lethal."
"Why, thank you." You whisper, locking lips again before he can recover.
A pleased hum erupts from his chest as he drags you into him, impossibly closer, strong arms winding around your waist until you're practically molded to him.
"Shite— " He curses, suddenly pulling away tightly shut eyes. Before you can express your concern, you realize the hardness poking on your thigh. His nails dig into your hips as he lifts you out of his lap, halting you over him. "S-Sorry." He barely stutters out. "Bloody hell—" Newt's face buries in your shoulder, the tip of his nose prodding the side of your neck.
"Hey," You breathe, lightheaded from the kiss. "Newt, it's okay— " Unfortunately, he doesn't hear you through the avalanche of mortified rambling spilling out of him.
"S'not something I can control— Just happens when... It's— " His voice is small, tight with shame. His whole body has gone stiff, bracing for you to pull away in disgust.
"Newt— "
"S'no disrespect— "
"Newt— "
"Just happens when I'm around you— "
"Newt— "
"Dunno know how to stop— "
"Newt!" Your voice sharpens. Not angry, but urgent to pull him out of this spiral. His head lifts a little, and he looks up at you with those pitiful eyes.
You take his hands, the ones gripping your waist, the ones desperately trying to hold you off him, and interlace your fingers. Then slowly, deliberately, you settle back down into his lap. The sound that erupts from his throat is guttural and astonished. His eyes fly wide and his thighs tense beneath you.
"You're not repulsed?"
"No." You squeeze his hands. "Newt, I like you just as much. You know that, right?"
"Y-Yeah?"
"Yeah." You persist, shifting your body. Your thighs rub against the stiff tent in his pants, and he jolts, grasping your hips to hold you still.
"Oh, Shuck— Careful with me, Love." The way he speaks is strained, intoxicatingly pathetic, like he's holding back a string of whimpers.
"...Hey, Newt?" You're not sure where the bright idea comes from. You're always overflowing with catastrophic ideas, but this one? This may just be your magnum opus of brilliant impulses.
"Yes?" His voice cracks.
"...Can I see it?"
He freezes, pupils blown wide and lips parting in disbelief. For a moment, he looks less like a boy and more like a machine someone's short circuited.
"See..." The word leaves him in a strangled, embarrassingly high pitch. "See what?" His face ignites: Scarlet across his cheeks, up the bridge of his nose, and all the way to the tips of his ears. "You mean my—?"
"Yeah."
"Good heavens." He shuts his eyes as if he may wake up from this. He doesn't. When he opens them again, you're still here and he's still hopelessly captivated. "You're serious? You absolute madwoman. You're actually serious?"
"Yeah." You nod, pretending your heartbeat isn't thrumming frighteningly loudly in your ears. "Dead serious. Griever-attack serious."
"You never do things in halves, do you? Just... Go straight for the kill." A beat of hesitation passes before he nods sharply. It's a decisive motion, like he's bracing for impact. "Alright."
"Really?" You perk, surprised by his quick agreement.
"Yeah." Newt's eyes bounce between your face and the way you're perched so comfortably in his lap. "Just... Promise me you won't laugh?"
"Cross my heart."
"Okay. Right then... Good." His whole body is coiled beneath you: Uncertain, eager, and trying so hard to be composed when he's anything but. Slowly, his hold loosens on your waist, and he brings his hands down to the button of his jeans.
"Good." You parrot.
He whispers 'okay, okay' under his breath, so quietly, you're not sure if he means it for you or for himself. It's as if he's steadying himself through the repetition, coaching himself past the unreal fact that you are here.
You ease back as he fumbles with the denim. His trembling fingers hook the waistband of his pants and tugs them down ever so slightly: Just enough for you to get a glimpse of that delicious v-line.
Part of you almost expects smooth, plastic bareness: Like a Ken doll. Sometimes, Newt doesn't even feel real. He moves through your life with uncanny intuition, always a step ahead of your thoughts, always knowing exactly what you need before you have time to name it.
"Still sure?" He asks quietly. "If this is some sort of twisted joke—"
"I'm not joking." You scoff, though you suppose he has some reason to doubt. You've definitely subjected Newt to more than his fair share of humiliating pranks. Oh, but not this. Never this. "I want to see. Please."
He shivers at the word 'please', like it's something physical, something that reaches right beneath his ribs and twists. He swallows hard, head tipping back and eyes fluttering shut. Your voice alone undoes him.
"Christ, you bloody menace." He mutters. "Look at what you've done to me. Just sittin' there, lookin' sweet as a peach and asking me to show you things like—"
"Newt." You lay your hand over his, thumb sweeping slow and soothing motions across the back of his knuckles. "Relax. It's just me, and you don't have to do anything you don't want to."
"I know." He shivers again under the weight of your tender touch. His eyes open slow, and the moment he sees that loving expression on your face, the tension bleeds out of his shoulders. "I know it's just you. That's the issue. It's you. It's always been you."
He doesn't need to elaborate: You feel the truth of it in your bones. From the moment you first locked eyes, something in you rewired itself. Nights were spent thinking of him, dreaming of him, desiring him. You've turned over every word, every smile, every interaction.
He is truly your best friend. Your fiercest constant. Wherever you move, he moves, not out of obligation, but devotion. If you should ever need a shield, he becomes one. If you need a sword, he offers himself without hesitation. If all you need is a shoulder to fall apart on, he will sit you through every tear.
He always has.
Finally, in one quaking breath, he frees himself. His hard length slaps up against his clothed stomach, and he lets out a pained hiss, eyes darting up to your face while he waits for disgust or pity.
"Woah." The word slips out, a reaction pity and disgust never coming. His size is impressive to say the least, precum oozing from his glorious, twitching tip.
"Happy now?" He rasps, fingers trembling at his sides before curling fists into the fabric of the couch. He's already wrecked just from being exposed under your gaze: Shaking, and so obviously hard that it hurts.
"Mm, can I try something?"
"Christ, you want more?" He shivers at your hungry stare, thighs flexing beneath you. There's a mixture of apprehension and curiosity on his face. "Hell, anything you want, Love. I'm all yours anyway."
He looks so incredibly vulnerable: Open in a way he never lets himself be with anyone else. Oh, God, he trusts you. He trusts you so much it presses against your heart. It's an aching, pulsing reminder of the responsibility you hold.
For a moment, you wonder how you'd ever became the keeper of such a faith. How could someone like him, so steady, so selfless, so endlessly brave, decide that you were safe enough to unravel for? Still, you don't pull back. You never will. You trust him too. His weakness comforts you almost as much as it terrifies you.
You hesitantly reach down, poking at the head of his leaky cock. His breathing hitches, and when you pull your finger back, it exposes a translucent string between your finger and his tip. His body jerks, a strangled sound escaping past his gritted teeth.
"Ah— Love—" He gasps, quaking. "God that's so— You can't just—" His eyes are trained on the glistening mess on your finger, mouth hanging open like he's never seen anything so sinful. You've left him speechless.
"Don't worry." You mutter. "I'm not done."
Your fingers carefully wrap around him, a painfully thin touch. After all, you're not really sure how much pressure to use. You've never done this before, and you wouldn't want to hurt him.
He chokes: A real, audible sound of desperation leaves his throat as your fingers adjust around him. His hips jerk up, and he forces them still with a pained groan.
"You don't have to be gentle." He speaks in one quick breath, hands clenching the couch fabric like he's physically holding himself back from grabbing at you. "I won't break."
With that, you wrap your whole hand around him. He's so hard, and warm, a surprising combination, all under your fingertips. He gasps, back arching, his body seeking friction to ease the growing ache. He's already a panting, trembling mess and you've barely even touched him.
You let out your nerves in one shaky exhale before jerkily stroking him up and down, testing the unfamiliar movements. He lets out an obscene growl before his hand suddenly comes up over yours. He guides your movements until they're smoother, gently correcting the angle of your hand.
"Like this?"
"Mhm— That's it—" He moans a low, throaty noise. He doesn't even sound like himself. His hips rock into your hand reflexively, unable to keep himself still. "J-Just like that."
"You're so pretty, Newt." You can't help the greedy praise as he twitches in your hand. The sight of his surrender dizzying. His mewls only fuel your confidence as you pick up your speed, spreading your thighs and slotting his knee between your legs in the process. He nearly sobs, hips jerk erratically, chasing your hand while his knee rises to press between your legs.
If you'd told yourself an hour ago that you'd be grinding against Newt's knee and jerking him off in some unfamiliar room, you wouldn't have believed it. He wouldn't have either. Yet here you were.
Your arousal pools through your clothes as you fall forward, pressing your lips harshly to his in a pleasure filled daze. He groans in your mouth, hands flying to your hips, holding you tightly as his knee presses up harder. The kiss is messy: All teeth, panting breaths, and stifled moans.
His hips lurch wildly, and he lets out a sharper sound against your lips, pulling back in one quick motion.
"Wait— Wait— Wait—" He groans, and you stop immediately, eyes scanning over him in worry. His nails dig into your skin as he flips you over, back pressed against the couch. "Shuck— Not yet. I just... I need to..." His chest heaves as he hovers over you, like he's just run through the entire Maze. "I want to see you too." His fingers skim the inside of your thigh. "Please."
You nod, a breath leaving your lips with both understanding and relief as you prop yourself up slightly, pulling your shirt over your head. There's no room for insecurity. Not with Newt. He washes fear out of you entirely.
He freezes the moment your shirt comes off, fabric hitting the ground with a soft thud. His eyes drag over every inch of exposed skin and his fingers drift near your waist, like they're afraid to touch you now that there's nothing between him and your warm skin.
"Hey," You whisper, finding the hem of his shirt and tugging it. "I'm not going to be the only shirtless one here, am I?" Your tone is playful enough to ease his nerves. He laughs, obediently reaching down and yanking his own shirt off, tossing it over yours to form a pile.
"Better?" He murmurs, lips curving into a lopsided smirk.
"Much." Your gaze traces the lines of his toned figure. He was a Track-Hoe once, and before that, a Runner. Of course, he knows how to use his beautiful body. Every motion he makes is practically designed to unravel you.
His hands advance experimentally over your stomach, causing a shiver. His expression shifts between smug pride and pure adoration. Strong palms map your body, memorizing every dip and swell beneath his fingertips. His thumbs toy with the edge of your bra. (He has no idea how to take it off).
"You're a vision, you know that?"
"Says you." You arch slightly, moving to unclasp your bra for him. It falls away, exposing your chest to the cool air and Newt's eager eyes.
"Shuck, look at you." He gasps, hand hesitating over you for a second before it slowly cups your breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive nipple in agonizing tenderness. He kneads it curiously, and your body tingles at the foreign feeling. Then, once, he pinches a little too hard.
"Newt!" You hiss.
"Sorry." He swallows, eyes flickering from your chest, to your eyes, then to your chest again. "...Let me kiss it better." He grins, slowly lowering down and pressing his lips on your sternum, peppering across your torso in soothing lines. "Should've known you'd be sensitive. M'sorry." He lavishes open mouthed kisses over where he'd pinched, hands rubbing soft circles in your thighs with his thumbs. Your head goes fuzzy as his tongue swirls around your nipple meticulously. "So sweet, Love."
His lips move to your other breast, leaving no part absent of saliva. It's like he's made it his personal mission to make you feel good, testing what sounds he can draw out from you.
"You're so cheesy." You stutter out, fingers tangling in his hair. His hips jerk forward at the contact, hard cock rubbing on the inside of your thigh.
"Can you blame me?" His mouth drags lower across the soft planes of your stomach, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses. His tongue darts out to savor the skin above the waistband of your pants. "Can I taste you?" He whispers, hands sliding up and down your legs.
"Are you sure?"
"Never been more sure of anything." He reassures. "Let me take care of you."
You nod, and he tugs the rest of your clothes down in one quick motion, fingers squeezing you in a way that betrays his gentlemanly self-control.
His eyes are dark at the sight of you, and he kisses the inside of your thigh, working agonizingly slow until he reaches your glistening folds. He nuzzles the sensitive skin, tongue prodding out tentatively.
"Don't tease." You groan.
"So ready for me, aren't you?" His tongue drags over you in a slow, delicate stroke, and he hums, relishing in the flavor. "You taste so good. So sweet." He mumbles, tongue diving into you again.
You let out a lewd sound, and he groans against you, the vibration sending electricity through your body. His grip tightens as he licks into you again: Slow and taunting, drowning in you.
His tongue swirls around your clit before sucking it lightly, and both of your hands tangle with his hair, tugging as he experiments with intensity. He growls in response, working quickly, alternating between long licks and sharp sucks that leave your legs trembling.
He's surprisingly talented for someone who's never done this before. You feel the rocking motion of his hips thrusting against the couch, desperate for friction.
His hand slides up to cup one of your breasts again, thumb brushing over the stiff bud as his mouth worships you with everything he has. His eyes flick up, watching you through his lashes.
Your legs wrap around his neck and he lets out a strangled sound, hips jerking hard against the couch as he pants against you. His grip on your waist must be bruising at this point, but compared to the way his tongue moves on you, you barely notice.
"Newt—" You choke out his name, but he doesn't hear at first, too immersed in his desire to please you. He looks like the mere act of satisfying you is enough to gratify him. "Newt!" You repeat, tugging his hair urgently a couple times to catch his attention.
He pulls back, lips glistening and swollen from your taste. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, pupils so wide you can barely see the color in his eyes anymore.
"Yeah?" His voice is wrecked. "You okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?" His grip on your hips loosens slightly in concern.
"Come here." You command, propping yourself on your elbows. He obeys, crawling up the length of your body until he hovers over you again, eyes searching your face to gauge your reaction.
Your lips find his in an instant, and he kisses back hungrily, like you are his oxygen. He moans into your mouth, raw with impulse. It's messy, and you can taste your own arousal on his lips.
Your legs spread, locking around him, and his throbbing cock ruts against your slick cunt. A shudder runs through him, and he pulls back, reading you.
"You... Are you sure?" Newt's voice cracks, and he clears his throat. "We can stop here. You're not obligated—"
"Please don't stop." You interrupt immediately. "Please. I'm sure. I want you."
"Shite... Alright." He inhales sharply, forehead dropping against yours. "Alright." He shifts just enough to press the blunt head of his cock against you. "You're really sure?"
"Newt, I'm sure!"
"Alright!" He hesitates for a second before sinking in with the slow roll of his hips. There's a sharp sting as he pushes into you: Too big, too fast.
"Slower—" You grit, eyebrows furrowed as you try to catch up with the new sensation. He freezes, and his grip on your hip tightens, like he's straining under the pressure of not shoving in completely.
"Sorry." He breathes. "Too much? We can stop."
"No. No, don't stop. Just slow down, please."
"Okay." He nods obediently, taking a few deep breaths as he slows. "S'okay. Just breathe, Love." He murmurs, eyes squinted with unwavering focus. "J-Just try to relax for me, yeah?"
"Y-Yeah."
Slowly, but surely, he pushes onward. You watch closely as the entirely of his magnificent length disappears inside you. He pauses for a moment to enjoy the feeling: The tight heat sucking him in.
"You okay?"
"I'm okay." You nod. "Are you okay?"
"Am I okay?" He lets out a choked laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm bloody amazing. You feel just... Amazing." He presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your jaw. You involuntarily pulse around him, and his hips jerk forward without warning. "Shuck— M'sorry—"
"No. It's okay." You let out a quivering exhale, the sting subsiding. "You can move."
"You sure?" He whispers raggedly, pressing another kiss to your forehead. It's a gesture so wholesome, it almost contradicts this whole situation. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't."
"Okay." He barely manages to sputter out. "Okay. I'm... I'm gonna move. Okay?"
"Newt, just do it."
"Alright! Okay!" He nods rapidly, trying to ground himself through the nervousness and inexperience. "Please, just tell me if you need to stop or slow down." He pulls out almost completely before slowly— Oh, so slowly, pushing back in. His eyes flutter shut briefly and his breath hitches. "You— Oh God—" He swallows. "M'not hurting you, am I?"
"You're not." You groan. Although, his ceaseless concern is endearing. "I promise, you're not. If you are, I'll tell you. Okay? Now, please, shut up and keep going."
He nods, finally giving in to the primal need to move. His hips snap forward with a rough groan, burying himself inside you again. His hands slide up your body as he finds his pace: Still so slow and careful.
You can't help the lewd sounds that escape your lips with every thrust, and your hand finds his bicep, right beside your head, nails digging into his skin. Newt whines: An actual whine. His eyes roll back momentarily before locking on your face.
Oh, those pretty eyes.
Pornographic mewls and the sound of wet slapping skin fills the room. He groans out a string of shaky, unintelligible words, losing himself in you.
"Shit— Love, I can't last—" He pants, burying his face in your neck, pressing sloppy kisses on your skin: Nipping, biting, and leaving marks that'll have you blushing later. You reach down, rubbing circles over your clit before he swats your hand away, replacing it with his. "No, let me. Please, let me make you feel good." He begs.
You oblige, and he moans in relief as you let him take over. His thumb rubs slow, teasing rotations over your clit as he continues to thrust into you. His eyes are glazed with pleasure, determined to satiate you.
"Newt—" You whine, and he sobs, bringing his lips down against yours. He moans in your mouth, tongue sliding against yours longingly. He's trembling as his hips jerk forward, hard.
"P-Please, Love— So close—" He whimpers. "Please— Just—" A broken sound leaves him as he suddenly pulls out, coating your stomach in his release. It takes a moment for your mind to catch up to what's just happened. "Shuck— I'm— Sorry— I tried—" He grunts, panting and shaking uncontrollably.
"Don't apologize." You whisper, running a finger along your cum painted abdomen, gathering the liquid and wiping it on your tongue. The taste is interestingly clean and neutral: Very Newt. He shudders, eyes following as you sample his release, jaw hanging open in shock.
"Blimey— You ate it." He mumbles to himself before swallowing. "I didn't—" He begins, but then cuts himself off, taking a positively determined tone. "I'm not done with you yet."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." He insists, hands sliding along your thighs to push them apart again. "You won't get off that easy." He chuckles, fingers finding you again without hesitation. His thumb rubs rapid circles on your clit as his head drops, kissing the sensitive spot below your ear. "So wet, sweet girl."
Two fingers prod into you with ease, and you gasp at the sensation, still craving your release.
"C-Curl your fingers a little." You stutter out, and he nods at the instruction, still scattering messy kisses against your neck and jaw. His long digits curl, and your legs begin to shake at the added pressure. "Like this?"
"Yes! Yes! Right there!" You gasp, and his breath hitches at the desperate tinge in your voice. His fingers move more confidently now: Curling just right every time he drags them back in.
"That's it. My pretty girl..." He purrs in your ear, and the praise goes straight to your core. His fingertips brush that perfect, spongey spot inside you, and you whine his name loudly. This only fuels his concentration. You pulse around his fingers, and he hums, licking your sweat-stained skin.
You find your release among a string of ragged gasps, and he watches in awe, thumb dragging it out until you're shuddering from oversensitivity.
"O-Okay!" You tap his shoulder repeatedly, the overstimulation becoming achy. "Okay! That's enough!" He pulls his hand back, licking his fingers clean and humming with delight.
"Sorry." He murmurs, pressing an apologetic kiss to your forehead. "Got carried away." A soft chuckle follows as he nuzzles into your neck, all affection now that the heat of the moment has fizzled. His arms shift beneath you, scooping you into an embrace. "You okay? Was it too much?"
"I'm okay. Just a bit of a mess." You whisper, acknowledging the fact that his cum was still splattered all over your stomach. "Are you okay?"
"Understatement of the year." He snorts, pulling back to examine you. "You look good like this. All messed up for me."
"Messed up, huh?" You huff, rolling your eyes. "I'll try to take that as a compliment." You attempt to sit up, muscles still aching from what had just transpired. His hand immediately slips to the small of your back, guiding you with an instinctive steadiness.
"Slow and steady, you messy masterpiece."
"Mm. 'Messy masterpiece' that needs a shower."
"Hold still." He grabs his discarded shirt from the ground, wiping your stomach in slow, careful motions. Any trace of embarrassment has long vanished from him. If anything, he looks annoyingly proud. "Let me help you."
Piece by piece, he eases you back into your clothes, reassembling you with precision. He presses a soft kiss to your bare shoulder before sliding your shirt back in place, fingertips brushing your ribcage.
"Feel like sneaking around with me again?" You already know the answer.
"To where?" He sighs, resigned.
"Showers?"
"...Okay."
Crawling back through the vents feels impossibly harder now. Even the Maze was easier than this tight, metal hell. Newt leads, muttering curses every time he bumps his knee.
Strangely, it's comforting to be led by him. You're not usually the 'follower' type, but with Newt, you don't mind. Your thoughts drifts back to the Glade: How easy it was to obey him, and how naturally he stepped into the role of being your compass.
You're lost in memory when the sharp clang of metal snaps you back. You're still in the vents, messily dressed and covered in sweat, searching for whichever room houses the showers.
"Are we lost?" You tease.
"We are absolutely not lost."
"You certain? Cause I'm pretty sure we just took 3 left turns."
"We are probably not lost."
"Great. Brilliant leadership."
"Keep talking, Love." He glances over his shoulder at you, unamused. "I'll leave you up here."
"You wouldn't."
"No, but I'd think about it."
"Oh, how evil."
Finally, a large metal grate below you opens up into the warm, echoing tile of the showers. Newt leans forward, measuring the distance, then, he drops. He hits the tiled floor with a muted thud, knees bending, and one hand touching the ground to steady himself before he straightens.
"Alright." He looks up at you, opening his arms and bracing his stance. "Jump."
"What? No!"
"I doubt your legs could handle the landing after everything we just did." He states so matter-of-factly, you could choke on the sheer simplicity of it.
"I'm fine!" Your face burns.
"Uh huh. Just jump."
"Newt, what about your leg? I'm not making you catch me."
"Oh, please." He scoffs. "I've carried sacks of potatoes heavier than you."
"How romantic."
"Ain't I just?" His arms stay open: Steady, patient, and infuriatingly certain.
"...Don't drop me."
"I won't."
"You'd better not." You take a breath, let it out slowly, then push off.
He catches you cleanly, like the idea of dropping you doesn't exist in any universe he inhibits. His arms slide under your back and knees with practiced ease. The impact barely nudges him, though his fingers tighten around you like instinct.
"Told you." His voice is low near your ear. "I've got you." He sets you gently on your feet, his hands lingering at your waist a moment longer than necessary. "You still alright?"
"Yeah." You nod, breath evening. "Just need to get clean."
"Right." He hums, dragging his gaze away from you to the line of showers, as if only just remembering the point of sneaking down here in the first place. "Clean. Right."
"Turn around."
"Turn around?" His head whips back to you at comical speeds. "Seriously? I've just seen every inch of you, and you still want me to turn around?"
"Yes." You deadpan, leaving no room for negotiation. He blinks once. Twice. It's a long, stunned moment where you can hear the gears turning in his head. Then finally, he exhales, the most dramatic, theatrical sigh known to man. He pivots away from you fully, both hands flying up to cover his eyes like a child playing hide-and-seek. "You're ridiculous." You mutter, stripping out of your clothes.
"You're ridiculous."
The water hisses to life, a sharp rush that quickly softens into steady warmth. The first touch of heat pulls a sigh out of you, muscles loosening and the ache in your trembling subsiding. For a moment, there's only the sound of water and the slow unwind of your own exhaustion. Then, there's a shuffle behind you. It's enough to snag your attention and bring your eyes gazing over your shoulder.
Newt is still there. Still facing away. Still standing exactly where you'd left him. His posture is absurdly stiff. He hasn't budged an inch. He's just waiting, for you, like the world would end if he broke whatever invisible rule he's decided to follow.
You almost feel guilty, but there's a thrill in it too: The thrill of a man who listens without hesitation. A man who follows your word without the need to understand it. A man who obeys, no matter how nonsensical the request may be.
"Newt, really?" You laugh, unable to help yourself. His fingers part just enough for him to squint through them, as if to check whether you're laughing at him or with him. You list your hand and curl 2 fingers, beckoning him forward. Oh, you can't resist him. "Come on."
The effect is immediate. A wide, boyish grin blooms across his face. He strips in hurried, clumsy motions, nearly tangling himself in his own trousers before stumbling into the steam with you.
Water droplets glitter along his eyelashes and his hair is plastered to his forehead in uneven strands. He looks good like this. Then again, he looks good all the time.
He lathers soap between his palms and works it into your hair, gentle fingers massaging your scalp. When he cradles your head beneath the showerhead again, he studies your face with earnest reverence.
What an unspoken blessing it is to be loved by a gentle man.
You pull him close, sliding your arms around his neck, drawing him into the warmth of you. His hands settle on your waist, squeezing, before he leans in. His mouth meets yours with such tenderness. There's no need for words in the small space between your lips. Everything you have yet to say is already known.
You love him.
He loves you.
It's a simple truth.
You only part when the water begins to cool, a faint shiver reminding you of the world outside yourselves. He rests his forehead against yours, clinging to the intimacy of this moment.
"We should probably get back before anyone notices we've gone." He whispers, though his hands remain exactly where they are.
"Probably." You agree, but neither of you moves. The world could collapse around you both, and you doubt either of you would notice for several long seconds.
Eventually, reluctantly, he forces himself to step back, hands trailing along your skin in a slow farewell as he helps you redress. There's not a single inch of you he hasn't seen, touched, or tasted tonight, and somehow that only makes the moment gentler.
He smooths the fabric of your shirt over your shoulders, giving your sleeve a soft tug, making sure you're put together before he even thinks about dressing himself.
When you're both decent, he crouches beneath the open vent, with linked fingers, creating a foothold to boost you up.
"Alright. Up you go."
You step into his waiting hands, and he lifts with a quiet grunt, guiding your balance as you pull yourself back into the narrow tunnel. The air is colder here.
You glance down, and he's looking at you. Of course he's looking at you. How could he ever pull his eyes away? His expression speaks volumes: He's never seen anything quite so sincere as you.
"Need help?" You offer.
"Nah." He shakes his head with that easy, lopsided smile. :You go on and get your rest, Love. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow." You echo.
"And the next day," His smile widens. "And the next, and the next after that too. You can count on it."
His certainty settles in your soul.
You slip back into the darkness as quietly as you'd came, but this time, the night is different. This time, you carry the warmth of his hands, the taste of his kiss, and the memory of that devoted expression. You carry his phenomenal heart, and he carries yours.
You'll continue to carry his love with you: Tomorrow, the next day, and the day after that. You'll carry it in your heart as long as life allows. A love like this never fades away.
NAVIGATION — MASTERLIST // Inbox to be on Taglist!
Since you arrived at the Glade, Minho's been so overprotective of you. Yet, whenever you try to speak to him, he never stays to talk.
GENRE ★ Smut & Fluff
PAIRING ★ Fem reader x Minho
WARNINGS ★ Minho has a lot of unspoken feelings, which is why he avoids reader, eventual smut, unprotected sex, awkward and virgin minho and reader, oral
Word Count — 9,91k
Being surrounded by teenage boys who probably haven't seen or had the touch of a girl in years was a challenge. It was like you were a celebrity, and everyone treated you like some sort of rare Pokémon. But Minho, he was something else. He was more than the typical Gladers' curiosity and awkwardness around you; he had this strange protective streak that was kind of cute, kind of annoying, and mostly just confusing.
Whenever one of the boys were act all perverted around you, which admittedly wasn't often, Minho would be right there, giving them a look that could turn milk sour. It was like he had some kind of radar for when you needed saving. But when you tried to thank him, or just get to know him better, he'd vanish faster than a dropped ice cream on a hot sidewalk.
When you needed help doing one of your jobs around the camp, Minho was always the first to volunteer. "Here, let me do that," he'd say, his eyes flicking around to ensure no one was watching too closely. It was like he didn't want anyone to know he had a soft spot for you.
Whenever you tried to do nice things for him, like offer a piece of apple from your meal or help tie his shoelace, Minho would shrug it off with a casual, "I've got it, thanks," and flash you a smile that was a mix of bashfulness and something deeper. It was like he had walls up, but every now and then, you caught a glimpse of what was behind them. You knew he had to be feeling something, because when you were around, his cheeks had a tendency to turn pinker than a sunburnt peach.
One day, as you were both sitting by the bonfire after dinner, the tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife. You couldn't take it anymore. "Why are you always so… extra with me?" you blurted out, trying to keep your voice steady.
Minho looked at you, his eyes widening a bit in surprise. "What do you mean?" He took a deep breath and stoked the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the night air.
"Y'know. Defending me, doing stuff for me, making me stuff, but when I try to say thank you or be nice back, you're gone faster than my hope for a decent bath," you said, trying to keep it light despite the weight of your curiosity.
Minho chuckled, his eyes never leaving the flames. "It's just, you're new here. I don't want the others to get the wrong idea, that's all."
"Yeah, but when I talk to Thomas, he doesn't mention you doing those things for him." You playfully nudged him with your elbow.
Minho shrugged. "Thomas can handle himself. Plus, you're not a boy, so it's different." He glanced at you, and you could see his cheeks reddening again. "Look, I'm sorry if I've been weird. I just don't want you to get hurt here."
"So you're giving me special treatment because I'm a girl?" You couldn't help but smirk, watching his reaction.
He only glanced at you before getting up and walking away. Your lips form in a straight line as you stand as well, following him into the shadows beyond the firelight. "What's going on, Minho?" You ask, your voice a bit shaky this time. "You don't have to treat me like I'm made of glass."
"It's nothing." he mumbles, his eyes still downcast. "It's just that… well, you're not like them."
You followed him all the way to where he slept, watching as he sat on his hammock that swayed slightly in the cool night breeze. "What do you mean 'I'm not like them'?" You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.
"You know what I mean," Minho said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "You're not from here. You're not one of the Gladers. I mean, you are but-"
"Confusing, but okay. I'll take that." You sat down next to him, the hammock swaying as you found your balance. "But why do you always run away when I try to talk to you?"
Minho sighed, his eyes still on the swaying hammock. "It's just… I don't know how to act around you. You're the first girl I've seen in… forever." He picked at the frayed rope of the hammock, his knuckles white. "Back in the real world, before the maze, I had a crush on this girl. I was never really good with girls."
You nodded, trying to understand. "But you guys are like a family here. Why can't I be part of that?"
Minho finally looked at you, his eyes searching yours. "You are, but you're also… I dunno, something more. Something that none of us have had for a long time." He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "It's complicated."
"It kinda sounds like you have a crush on me." You say it as casually as you can, tossing a pebble into the dark.
Minho's head snaps up, his eyes wide. "What? No, it's not like that. I mean, I do like you, but-" He stammers, his cheeks burning like the logs on the bonfire.
"You like me?" You repeat his words, trying to hold in a giggle. It's like watching someone juggle flaming torches while reciting Shakespeare. "As in, like-like?"
Minho nods, his eyes still on the pebble you threw. "Yeah, like-like. But it's not just that, okay?" He sounds defensive, which is kind of adorable.
You lean in closer, your heart doing a little somersault in your chest. "So what is it then?"
Minho sighs, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "It's like… I don't want you to be just another thing that gets destroyed here." His eyes finally meet yours, and you see the sincerity in them.
"…Really?" You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "Is that all?"
Minho nods, his gaze still on the pebble. "It's complicated."
"Doesn't sound complicated. You like me a lot, you don't want me to get hurt… you care about me." You said, trying to keep your voice from shaking. "Is that so weird?"
Minho looked at you, his expression a mix of relief and something else you couldn't quite place. "I guess not." He shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "But you're the first girl we've had here, and I don't want you to think-"
You cut him off, placing a finger on his lips. "I get it. You're trying to protect me."
He nods, his eyes searching yours. "But I'm not some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself."
"I like protecting you." Minho finally admits, his voice a soft murmur in the quiet night. "But you're right, you can handle yourself. Maybe I just need to get used to the idea."
"Yeah." you say, nodding. "But you don't have to be so… intense about it." You give him a playful nudge, and he chuckles, his eyes finally meeting yours. It's the first time you've seen him truly relax around you.
"Sorry about that," Minho says, his voice a little less guarded than before. "I just don't want to see you go through what the rest of us have."
You nod, understanding his protectiveness now. "It's sweet, really." You smile, letting your hand linger on his arm for a moment. "But I can handle myself."
Minho looks at you, his eyes searching yours for a long moment before he finally nods. "Alright, I'll ease up a bit." He says, his voice a mix of relief and hesitation.
"But I'll still be here if you need me," he adds, his hand brushing against yours. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through you, making you shiver.
You stare at his hand for a bit. It's so warm, and for a moment, you think about taking it in yours. But instead, you lean back, trying to act cool. "Thanks, Minho. I appreciate it."
Minho nods, looking away again. You can see his throat bob as he swallows. "Yeah," he breathes out, his eyes on you and never leaving. "I, uh, have a question."
"Yeah?" You reply casually, your heart racing like it's trying to escape your ribcage. "Shoot."
"Can I, um," Minho starts, his voice cracking a bit. "Can I kiss you?"
You blink, surprised. "What?" You ask, playing dumb. But inside, your heart is doing a backflip.
Minho clears his throat, looking a bit sheepish. "I said, can I kiss you?" He repeats, his voice a little stronger this time.
You blink, your heart thumping in your chest. "Oh. Uh, sure, I guess?" You reply, trying to play it cool despite the fact that your stomach is doing backflips.
Minho's eyes widen a bit, and he leans in, his hand coming up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle, sending a warm shiver down your spine. And before you can overthink it, his lips are on yours. It's a soft, tentative kiss, like he's not quite sure if you're real or if he's dreaming. But you're there, very real, and very much enjoying it.
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and the kiss deepens. His hand moves to the small of your back, and you can feel his heart beating as fast as yours. The world around you fades away, and it's just the two of you, the sound of the hammock creaking the only thing that reminds you that you're not floating in some heavenly dimension.
When you finally break away, both of you are breathless. You rest your forehead against his, your eyes closed for a moment, just savoring the feeling of being this close to him. "Wow," you murmur, a soft smile playing on your lips.
"You're a really good kisser." Minho says, his voice still a bit raspy from the passion of the moment.
"You're the first person I've kissed so… thank you," you say, your cheeks feeling like they're on fire.
Minho laughs, a bit awkwardly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Yeah, no problem." He runs a hand through his hair, looking a bit flustered. "It's just… I've never felt this way about anyone before. It's like… it's like you're the first taste of water after a year in the desert, you know?"
You nod, smiling. "I get it. It's weird, but I'm kind of feeling the same." You lean back on the hammock, looking up at the stars. "It's so weird actually being alone with you."
"Yeah, well, once everyone gets back we won't be alone." Minho says with a smirk, a hint of sadness behind it.
"Well…what about that little hut with the map of the maze in it?" You suggest, your voice teasing, pointing to the shack at the edge of the glade. "It's pretty much empty since you don't let anyone but you in it."
Minho's eyes widen, and you can see the gears turning in his head. "You want to…?"
"Yeah, why not?" You shrug, trying to act like it's no big deal. But your heart is racing like you've just been called to run the maze again. You're actually going to be alone with him…
Minho grins, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. "Alright, let's go." He jumps off the hammock, and you follow, your legs feeling a bit wobbly. The night air is cool on your skin as you walk over to the map shack, his hand brushing against yours every so often.
Once inside, you both stand awkwardly for a moment, not sure what to do next. The shack is small, just enough room for the two of you and the large maze map that takes up most of the area. It smells faintly of wood and sweat, a testament to the hours Minho spends here planning and strategizing.
"So…" you start, trying to break the silence that's as thick as peanut butter. "What did you…wanna do?"
Minho stared at you like a deer in headlights, his usual cool demeanor momentarily forgotten. "I dunno," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Um, I kinda wanna kiss you again."
You couldn't help but laugh at his admission, the tension between you easing like a knot unraveling. "Well, if you insist," you teased, taking a step closer. Before you knew it, your lips were crushing against his again, and it was like the entire world had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of heat and desire. You felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer as the kiss grew deeper, your bodies melding together like they were made to fit perfectly.
Minho's hands roamed over your back, sending waves of pleasure down your spine. You've never felt anything quite like this before, and you know that he probably hasn't either. His kisses grew more urgent, and you found yourself responding in kind, your hands tangling in his hair.
The shack's walls seemed to close in around you, the air growing thicker with every passing second. The scent of the earthy woods and the faint smell of his sweat filled your nostrils, making your head spin. It's like you're in a whole new world, a world where the only thing that matters is the connection between the two of you.
As Minho's hands began to wander, you felt a thrill run down your spine. He's not just a friend anymore, not just the guy who's had your back since you arrived. Well, he hasn't been since the first kiss anyway. He's someone who makes your heart race, who makes you feel things you've never felt before. And as his fingertips grazed your waist, you realized that you didn't want to stop this, not now, not ever.
"What are we doing?" you whispered, your voice hoarse with passion.
"I don't know," he gulps, pressing his forehead against yours. "But it feels pretty damn good."
You laugh, the tension in your chest loosening up like a tight knot finally coming undone. "It does." You admit, smiling against his skin.
Minho's hands slip down to your hips, and you can feel his heart hammering against your chest. "You know, we could just keep doing this," he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck. "I-I don't really know what to do though."
"Me neither," you admit with a giggle, your cheeks flushing. "But I'm willing to learn with you."
Minho's eyes widen, and he swallows hard. "Yeah?" He whispers, his hands tightening on your hips.
You nod, feeling brave. "Yeah." You say, your voice a little shaky.
Minho smiles, a genuine, warm smile that lights up his face. "Okay, cool." He takes a step closer, and suddenly, you're not just in a shack with a boy you like a lot. You're in a universe where the only thing that matters is the two of you and this moment.
You lean in again, and this time, your kiss isn't shy or tentative. It's like you've both found the manual on 'How to Kiss Someone You Like Without Dying of Embarrassment', and you're both experts. His hands are on your waist, and yours are in his hair, and it feels like you're the only two people in the world.
"So, I've never done anything like this before," Minho says between kisses, his voice a bit raspy. "But based on what you did in my dreams I-"
"What was I doing?" You pull back, laughing through your blush. "You're pretty good at this for a first-timer," you tease, trying to lighten the mood.
Minho grins, his cheeks a little redder than usual. "Well, I've had a lot of time to think about it," he admits with a sheepish look. "But seriously, we can go slow. I don't wanna mess anything up."
"Yes yes, okay, but what was I doing in your dreams?" You tease, poking his ribs, making him squirm.
Minho chuckles, the sound echoing through the small shack. "Well, uh, you were laying down and didn't have any…clothes on,"
"And?" You say, your curiosity piqued, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "What happened next?"
Minho clears his throat, his cheeks turning a darker shade of red. "Well, uh, I woke up before we got to the…uh…good part," he admits, looking a bit embarrassed.
"We can do it here. I think, this hut is pretty cramped."
"If we lay down it'll be better. If you're fine with that," Minho says, his voice thick with want. "Wait-" he took his harness off and started to unbutton his shirt, "Lay your head on this,"
"Or we could just…grab a blanket from the hammocks."
"Yeah.. yeah! I'll go grab one!" his shirt was already halfway unbuttoned when he started running to the door.
You watch him go, your cheeks hot as a freshly baked apple pie. You can't believe you're about to do this, but at the same time, you're pretty excited. It's like all the anticipation has been building up, and now you're finally going to get to the fun part of the story.
When he comes back with the blanket, you both spread it out on the ground. It's not exactly the softest or cleanest surface, but right now, you couldn't care less. You sit down, and Minho sits next to you, close but not too close. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, and it's like you're sitting next to a bonfire.
"So…" he starts, his voice like gravel, "You're really okay with this?" He's looking at you like you're some kind of alien, but you know it's just nerves. You nod, trying to play it cool, but your heart's doing the samba in your chest.
"Yeah! I just, um, don't know what to do." You admit, feeling your cheeks go up in flames. "But I trust you." You add, giving him a shy smile.
"I dunno what to do either, okay? Um, we'll just-" he lifted a hand, but didn't touch you yet. "Can I…?"
You nodded, and Minho's hand found its way to your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. His touch was softer than you'd ever felt, like a feather brushing against your skin. It sent a shiver down your spine, and you leaned into it, your eyes fluttering closed.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to you, especially considering the circumstances you'd found yourselves in. You opened your eyes to find him looking at you with a mix of awe and fear, like he couldn't believe he was allowed to touch you.
"You're not so bad yourself," you teased, trying to ease the tension. Minho's grin widened, and he leaned in to kiss you again. This time, it wasn't just your lips that felt the warmth of his touch; his hand found its way to the small of your back, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You melted into him, letting him take the lead.
"I've dreamt of this," he murmured against your skin. "But I didn't know it would be like this." His voice was a mix of wonder and need.
"Can we do what we did in your dream?" You whispered, your voice shaking with excitement.
Minho's eyes went wide, and he nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. "Yeah, I'd like that." He said, his voice barely audible.
"What did we do first?"
"Um," Minho starts, his voice a little shaky. "Well, you were, like, lying down." He gestures to the ground, his cheeks burning brighter than the bonfire outside.
"Ah, okay," you nod, not really understanding where he's going with this. You lay down on the makeshift blanket, your heart racing like it's about to escape your chest. "And then what?"
Minho takes a deep breath, his eyes scanning the map on the table nearby for a brief moment, like he's seeking guidance from the twisting paths. "Okay, cool," he says, his voice still a little shaky. He sits down beside you, and for a second, you just lay there, looking into each other's eyes, the awkwardness of the situation making you want to laugh. But the seriousness in his gaze tells you he's not joking around. He's dead set on making this right.
"So, we start with, uh, this?" He reaches out tentatively, his hand hovering over your stomach. You nod, your heart thumping in your chest like a drummer on a caffeine binge. His fingers trace a line up your shirt, and you can't help but shiver. It's like he's trying to memorize every inch of your skin, every curve and dip.
"Is this good?" He whispers, his breath hot on your neck. You nod again, unable to form coherent words. You've never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and yet, so safe at the same time. It's a weird mix of emotions, like when you're on a rollercoaster, terrified but loving every second of it.
Minho's hand slides up, and you can feel the roughness of his palm against your skin. You take a deep breath, trying to calm down, but it's like you've swallowed a handful of fireworks. Your whole body is tingling, and you're pretty sure you're glowing in the dark. "Yeah," you murmur, your voice barely audible. "That's…that's really good."
He smiles, his eyes never leaving yours. It's like he's checking in with you, making sure you're okay with every little move he makes. It's sweet, but also a bit annoying because you're about to combust with anticipation. "How about this?" He whispers, leaning in closer, his hand moving up to cup your breast.
You suck in a sharp breath, your body arching into his touch. It feels like liquid fire is running through your veins, and you can't believe this is happening. You nod again, your eyes fluttering shut. "Yeah," you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. "That's…that's perfect."
Minho's eyes are on your face, watching every reaction, every little gasp and shiver you make. He slips his hand under your bra and his thumb begins to circle, and you can feel it swell under his touch. It's like he's playing a fine instrument, and every stroke sends waves of pleasure crashing through you.
"You're so perfect," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. You can't help but let out a little moan, which only seems to spur him on. His hand moves to the button of your pants, and you can feel the anticipation building.
"Minho, I-" you start, but he shushes you with a kiss.
"Let's just go with the flow," he murmurs, his eyes dark with need. "Whatever feels right."
"I-I know but-" you pout a little, grabbing his wrist gently. "I didn't, like- shave and stuff."
"You think I did?" Minho quips, raising an eyebrow. He's trying to lighten the mood, but his voice is shaky, too. He's just as nervous as you are. "There's nothing here to really shave with."
You laugh, the tension breaking like a dam. "Good point," you say, letting go of his wrist. "Okay, let's just…see where this goes."
Minho nods, a smile playing on his lips as he leans down to kiss you again. Your hands find their way under his shirt, exploring the warm, solid planes of his chest. His skin is smooth, the muscles firm beneath your fingertips. You can't believe that you're doing this, that you're with him like this.
You break away to catch your breath, your eyes locking with his. "Is this…are we really doing this?" You ask, half-joking, half-serious.
Minho chuckles, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "I think we're way past the 'are we really' part, don't you?" He says, his voice low and gruff with desire.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," you murmur, feeling your cheeks heat up. "But it's just…I've never done anything like this before." You admit, your voice a little shaky.
"I haven't either. Just…" Minho swallows hard, his eyes searching yours, "just trust me, okay?" He says it like he's asking for the world, but all you can do is nod. Because right now, you're feeling like you could trust this boy with your life, your heart, everything.
He slipped his hand under your pants, his touch feather-light as he found you. You gasped into his mouth, your body responding to him like it's been waiting for this moment forever. You've never felt so alive, so seen, so…right.
"C-Can you tell me what feels good?" Minho stammers. You nod, your breaths shallow. You're not sure if you're ready for this, but you want it. You want him. So, you take a deep breath and tell him,
"Just go slow. And um, let me take my pants off first." You giggle, trying to ease the tension that's thick as molasses in the air.
Minho nods, his eyes never leaving yours. You can see the excitement in them, the same excitement mirrored in your own. "Okay, sure," he says, his voice a little shaky. You sit up and pull off your pants, feeling the cool air kiss your bare legs. You're wearing simple underwear, nothing fancy, because who needs fancy when you're stuck in a dystopian nightmare? But the way Minho's eyes widen when he sees you makes you feel like you're wearing a crown of roses.
"You're so…wow," he says, his voice barely a whisper. You blush and look away, not quite believing the words coming out of his mouth. But when you look back at him, the sincerity in his eyes makes you believe it.
You take his hand and guide it to the spot you've been dreaming of. He's so gentle, it's like he's handling a fragile piece of china, but you want more. "Don't be shy," you whisper, your voice a mix of encouragement and desire. "You can be a bit rougher."
"I know, it just…" he stammers, his hand trembling as it hovers over your bare skin. "It's like you're, I don't know, some kind of…goddess or something," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
You laugh, the sound a little shaky. "I'm pretty sure I'm not," you reply, trying to keep things light. But his eyes are so intense, it's hard to look away. "Come on," you urge, taking his hand and placing it back on your thigh. "Let's just, you know, go with it."
Minho nods, his eyes flicking down to where his hand is on your skin, then back up to yours. "Okay," he says, sounding a bit more sure of himself. He slides his hand up further, his fingertips grazing the lace of your underwear. You can feel the heat radiating from his palm, and it sends a bolt of pleasure through you.
"It's okay," you murmur, reaching down to help him. Your hand covers his, and together, you move his fingers to where you want them. He's so nervous, it's almost adorable. You can feel his heart racing against your chest as he tries to follow your silent instructions. It's like he's trying to solve the maze with his hands instead of his brain.
"It's," he gulps. "You're really wet."
You can't help but laugh, a little breathlessly. "Well, you're not exactly giving me a reason not to be," you murmur, your cheeks hot. You feel his hand shaking a little, and it makes you realize that even though he's seen a lot, he's still pretty new at this. "It's okay," you whisper, placing your hand over his. "Just…just do what feels natural."
Minho takes a deep breath, his eyes squeezed shut. It's like he's trying to will himself to be more confident. And when he opens them again, there's a new determination in them. He slides his fingers under the lace, and you suck in a sharp breath as he touches you. It's not perfect, not by a long shot, but the fact that he's trying, that he's here with you, makes it feel like the best thing you've ever felt.
"Is that…okay?" He whispers, his eyes searching yours.
You nod, your cheeks on fire. "It's okay," you say, your voice a little shaky. "But maybe a little more…gentle?"
Minho's eyes widen, and he nods frantically. "Sorry," he whispers, his hand retreating slightly. You take a deep breath and grab his wrist again, guiding his fingers back to where they were. You placed his fingers on your sensitive little bud, showing him where to touch you.
"H-Here," you stutter, placing his finger where you know it will feel the best. His touch is a bit too rough at first, but he quickly adjusts to your guidance, his movements becoming more confident as you let out a sigh of pleasure. His eyes are wide with wonder, watching every reaction that plays out on your face.
"Like this?" He whispers, his eyes searching yours for approval. You nod, a soft moan escaping your lips as he hits the spot. It feels like a million butterflies have taken flight in your stomach, each wing beat echoing between your legs.
"Oh my god," you breathe, your eyes rolling back in your head as Minho's finger circles your clit with just the right amount of pressure. It's like he's finally found the cheat code to your body's response system, and he's not letting go anytime soon. You can feel yourself getting closer, your hips bucking into his hand as you try to get more of his touch.
"D-Don't stop, please," you gasp, your hands clutching at the blanket beneath you. Minho's eyes are locked on yours, his focus absolute as he continues his tender exploration. His thumb is now rubbing in soft, steady circles, and it feels like a warm summer breeze dancing across your most intimate parts.
You lean your head back, arching your spine as the sensations build. Your breathing turns ragged, and you know you're close. "M-Minho," you moan, your voice trembling with the intensity of your need. "I think…"
"Yeah?" He whispers, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity in his gaze sends a jolt of excitement through you, and you know you're about to fall off the edge.
"I-I think…I'm-" you felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment. But Minho doesn't laugh, doesn't tease. Instead, he nods, a smoldering look in his eyes that tells you he's just as turned on as you are. He speeds up his movements, and you can feel the orgasm building, like a wave about to crash over you.
Your back arches, and you cry out as the wave crests and breaks, leaving you gasping for air. Minho's eyes are wide, watching you with a mix of amazement and concern. "Was that…good?" He whispers, his hand stilling.
You nod, gulping trying to catch your breath. "Yes," you whisper, your voice hoarse from your moan. "It was…amazing."
"Can I, um, put my…" he gulps. "Like, um, put them- inside?"
"Your fingers?" You ask, still breathless from your orgasm.
Minho nods, looking at you with a mix of hope and trepidation. "Yeah," he murmurs. "If that's okay with you."
You bite your lower lip, considering his request. You've never been with anyone before, and the idea of it is both thrilling and terrifying. But you want this, you want him. You nod, your heart racing. "Okay," you breathe out, your voice trembling.
Minho nods, his eyes never leaving yours. He leans down and kisses you gently, his thumb still circling your clit. Then, with the same tenderness, he slides one, then two fingers inside of you. You gasp, the feeling of fullness making you feel even more exposed. But the way he's looking at you, like you're the most amazing thing he's ever seen, makes you feel powerful instead of vulnerable.
"Does it hurt?" He whispers, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. You shake your head, your eyes watering with the new sensation. It's a little uncomfortable, sure, but it's not painful. It's like your body's waking up to a feeling it's never experienced before.
"No," you murmur, your voice a little shaky. "It just feels…weird."
Minho nods, his expression earnest. "Okay," he says softly. "We can stop if you want."
"N-No! No, please," you protest, your voice a mix of surprise and need. "It's just…new. Keep going, please."
Minho nods, his eyes filled with determination. He starts to move his fingers, slow and gentle, like he's trying not to scare a wild animal. You can feel yourself stretching around him, your body trying to accommodate the unfamiliar intrusion. It's strange, but not unpleasant. Just…different.
"Is this okay?" He asks, his voice a low rumble in the quiet of the shack.
"Mhm," you murmur, your eyes fluttering closed as Minho starts to move his fingers inside you. It's strange, the feeling of him in there, but not unpleasant. It's like your body is trying to remember how to do this dance you've never danced before. You can feel him watching you, waiting for your reaction, and it makes you want to push through any awkwardness to show him that you're okay, that you want this as much as he does.
You start to move your hips with his rhythm, finding comfort in the unfamiliar sensation. It's a slow, tentative dance, both of you feeling each other out. You can feel the tension in the room thicken, and your breathing starts to hitch in your throat. It's like the air is made of honey, sticky and sweet and slow.
"Does that feel good?" He whispers, his eyes searching yours.
You nod, your cheeks flushed with a mix of pleasure and embarrassment. "Yeah, it does," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.
Minho's smile is like a sunrise in the dark room, chasing away the shadows of your doubt. He starts to move his fingers a little faster, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. You can feel the beginnings of another orgasm building, your body tightening around his hand like a fist.
You've never felt so…alive, so alive and so exposed at the same time. It's like every nerve in your body is singing a new song, a song that you've never heard before but somehow already know all the words to. Your hips start to move of their own accord, grinding into his hand as you try to get closer, to feel more.
You twisted and turned on your back, soon leaning into him, your arm wrapping around the back of his neck. Minho's eyes searched yours for any signs of discomfort, but all he found was a reflection of his own bewilderment and growing excitement. You both knew that you were about to cross a boundary that neither of you had ever dared to approach before, and it was both terrifying and exhilarating.
He leaned in closer, his breath hot on your ear as he whispered sweet nothings that sounded like everything. His movements grew more deliberate, his fingers exploring you as if he was solving the last puzzle in the maze. You couldn't help but let out a whimper, your body responding in ways that were new and overwhelming.
"I-I feel like-" you stammer, clutching onto his shirt trying to push each moan out of your throat. "Like I'm gonna-"
"Huh?" Minho's voice is a mix of confusion and excitement as he looks at you with wide eyes. He's never been this close to a girl before, and you can see the nerves dancing across his face like lightning in a storm. But there's also something else there, something fierce and hungry that makes your stomach flip-flop like you're riding the scariest ride at the fair.
You grab onto his hair, your other hand grabbing the back of his neck. You were pressed against him now with your leg over his lip, grinding into his hand like a cat in heat. You couldn't believe this was happening, but it felt so right that you didn't care anymore.
"I'm…I'm gonna do it again," you whisper, your voice shaking with anticipation. Minho's eyes widened, and he nodded, his own breathing ragged. He's never seen someone so responsive, so open with their pleasure. It's like watching a bloom unfold before his very eyes, and he's the one watering it. "I-It feels like I'm gonna pee-"
Minho bit his lip, not saying anything and only moving his fingers faster, the sound of your wetness mixing with your heavy breathing. You could see the determination in his eyes, the desire to make this right, to make you feel good. And that's all you could focus on as he leaned in to kiss you again, his hand still working between your legs.
You felt yourself getting closer, your hips bucking against his hand. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you kissed him deeper, trying to communicate everything you couldn't say with words. This was all so new, so raw, but you trusted him. You had to.
Minho's touch grew more confident as he felt your body respond to him. He added a third finger, the stretch making you gasp into his mouth. He paused, his eyes searching yours for approval, and you nodded, your cheeks flushing with arousal. His thumb found your clit again, and the dual sensations sent you spiraling. You could feel the tension coiling in your stomach, tightening like a spring ready to snap.
"Oh my god-" you gasp as the third finger slides in, your body tightening around his hand. You've never felt so…filled before. It's like your body is made of water and he's the first person to ever touch it, sending ripples of pleasure through every inch of you. You can feel yourself getting wetter, the sound echoing in the small shack like a secret only the two of you share.
"Oh my- I'm-" you gasp, unable to form coherent words as Minho's fingers continue their dance.
You tensed up against him, your nails digging into his skin as your insides contracted around his fingers. "M-Minho," you gasped out, your eyes squeezed shut.
It started off as small spurts of liquid leaving your body, but the more Minho continued to move his fingers, the spurts became bigger, and it had you clutching onto him for dear life. You could feel your body trying to reject his hand, but he was relentless, his touch gentle yet insistent.
Once you finally stopped, you fell limp against him, still clutching onto him like a lifeline. Minho looked at you with a mix of amazement and confusion. "What was that?" He asked, his voice low.
"I-I don't know," you pant, your eyes still closed as you try to catch your breath. "It just felt like…like I needed to…pee." You blush, feeling embarrassed by your body's reaction.
"You didn't though, this- this is something else I think. My whole arm and chest and…everything is wet." He says, his voice filled with wonder as he looks down at his hand.
You open your eyes and look down, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "S-Sorry! Sorry, oh my god."
Minho chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "It's okay, I didn't know what was happening either," he admits, a sheepish grin on his face. "But it's…it's not pee, right?"
You shake your head, your cheeks a fiery red. "No, it's not," you murmur, still feeling a bit embarrassed. "Um, should I, um, do something to you…?"
Minho's smile widens, and he nods eagerly. "Yeah," he says, his voice a little shaky. "If you want."
"Like what?" You ask, feeling a bit shy and nervous about what's to come. You've never been this intimate with anyone, let alone someone as inexperienced as you.
"Well," he says, his voice thick with lust. "You could…you know, touch me."
"I know that, but like, where?" You ask, feeling the heat from his body and the warmth of his smile against your skin. You've seen the bulge in his pants, and you know that's what he wants, but you're not sure how to go about it.
Minho's cheeks flush a dark shade of red, and he gestures to his crotch with his free hand. "Um, down there, I guess?"
You swallow hard, your eyes darting down to the bulge in his pants. You've never done this before, but you want to make him feel good, too. You reach out tentatively, your hand trembling as it makes contact with the fabric. He sucks in a sharp breath, and you feel his erection throb beneath your fingertips.
You sit up, your hand hovering over his pants. You can feel the heat coming off him, and your own nerves are buzzing like a swarm of bees in your stomach. You've seen the bulge before, of course, but touching it feels like you're crossing a line you can never come back from.
"What if I do it wrong?" You whisper, your eyes searching his.
Minho's smile is gentle, reassuring. "You can't," he says. "It's all new to me too."
With that, you take a deep breath and unbutton his pants, your heart racing like a mazerunner in the heat of the game. You pull down the zipper slowly, feeling his eyes on you, watching your every move. You're not sure what to do next, but the heat radiating from him is telling you that you're on the right track.
When your hand finally makes contact with the soft fabric of his underwear, you can feel the hardness beneath. You gulp, your eyes flicking up to his. He nods, his own hand still resting on your thigh. You slide the fabric aside, and he groans softly as your hand wraps around him.
You're both fumbling, learning each other's bodies like a map that's never been charted before. You start to move your hand up and down, assuming that's what you were supposed to do, hoping it's what he wants. He gasps, his hips bucking up slightly. "Is this- is this okay?" You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah," he says, his voice strained. "It's…it's perfect." You can feel his pulse in your hand, the throb of his need matching the erratic beat of your own heart. You move faster, a little more confident now, feeling his response. It's like you're both discovering a new language, one made of sighs and whispers and the soft sounds of skin against skin.
Your hand moves in a rhythm that feels natural, the two of you finding a tempo that's all your own. You're both learning as you go, your eyes never leaving each other's as you explore uncharted territory. Minho's breaths come in short, sharp gasps that match the strokes of your hand, his hips moving in sync with your movements. His eyes are wide with a mix of pleasure and fear, like he can't believe this is happening to him.
You lean in, kissing him again, your hand still wrapped around his length. His mouth is sweet, like a secret you're not supposed to know. You can feel his heart racing against your chest, and it makes you feel alive in a way you never have before. Your touch is tentative at first, unsure, but as you get more comfortable, you become bolder. You start to move your hand faster, experimenting with different pressures and angles until you find the one that makes him moan into your mouth.
Minho's hands are still on your thighs, his grip tightening as he feels himself getting closer. You can tell he's trying to hold back, not wanting to end this moment too soon. But you're just as eager, your hand moving in a blur as you watch the emotions play out on his face. His eyes are squeezed shut, his teeth gritted, and every muscle in his body is tense with the effort of not letting go.
You lean in and whisper in his ear, "It's okay, you can let go." It's like the words are a key, unlocking something in him. His body goes rigid for a second, and then he's coming, the warmth of him spilling over your hand. You keep moving, slowing down as he gasps for air, his eyes snapping open to look at you with a mix of awe and shock.
You're both panting, your hearts hammering against each other like you've just run a marathon. The silence in the shack is thick, filled with the sound of your racing hearts and the occasional rustle of the blanket beneath you. You look at Minho, his eyes still wide with wonder, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
"That was…" he starts, but trails off, unable to find the words.
You both sit there, breathless and trembling, staring at each other. The moment feels so fragile, like it could shatter with the slightest movement. But there's something else there too, something solid and unshakable. It's like you've just discovered a piece of yourself that you didn't know was missing, and now that you've found it, you can't imagine ever letting it go.
Minho's hand is still wrapped around your thigh, his touch gentle and possessive. You can feel his pulse against your skin, the echo of his climax. You look down at your hand, sticky with his release, and you realize that you've just shared something incredibly intimate with someone who's practically a stranger. But it doesn't feel strange, it feels…right.
"…Okay. I wanna go further," you look at him, sniffling a little. "I, um, I'm ready. I want you in me."
"H-Huh?" Minho's eyes shot open, the reality of your words crashing into him like a griever through the maze walls. His hand, still resting on your thigh, started to sweat. "You…you're sure?"
You nodded, your cheeks burning. "Yeah, I am." You whispered, taking a deep breath. "I trust you."
Minho's expression was a mix of shock and disbelief, but he didn't say anything. He just nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. You could see the fear in them, the fear of messing up, of hurting you. But there was also something else, something that made your heart flutter. It was excitement, anticipation, and it was all for you.
You reached up and kissed him, your hand still wrapped around his length. His body tensed under your touch, his breath hitching in his throat. You could feel his heart racing against your palm, the beat of it matching your own. You knew you were both virgins, both inexperienced in the ways of intimacy. But that didn't matter, not right now. What mattered was the connection you had, the trust you'd built in this little shack that felt like the only place in the world.
Minho pulled away, his eyes searching yours. "Are you sure?" He asked, his voice hoarse with need. "We don't have to-"
"I'm sure," you whisper, cutting him off. You've never felt so certain about anything in your life. You want this, you want him, and you're not going to let fear or nerves hold you back.
Minho nods, his eyes filled with a mix of nerves and excitement. He leans in, kissing you gently as he moves to position himself between your legs. You can feel the tip of him against you, and you bite your lip, trying to ignore the ache of anticipation.
"Okay," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "We'll go slow, okay?"
You nod, your heart racing as you feel the tip of him nudging against your entrance. It's like the world outside has stopped spinning, and all that exists is the two of you in this moment. You can feel the head of his dick pushing against you, the pressure building like a storm you've been waiting for your whole life.
Minho's movements are tentative, his eyes never leaving yours as he tries to gauge your reaction. You can see the fear in his gaze, the fear of the unknown, but you're not afraid. You're ready for this, ready to take the leap with him into the abyss of the uncharted.
The tip of his penis pushes against you, and you feel your body tense up. It's not painful, but it's definitely uncomfortable, like you're trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. But you trust Minho, you trust that he'll be gentle, that he'll stop if it hurts too much. You take a deep breath and nod, giving him the okay to proceed.
He pushes a little harder, and you feel yourself start to stretch around him. It's a weird sensation, one you've never felt before. You can see the concentration on his face, the effort it's taking for him to be so careful. And then, with a gasp from both of you, he's inside you. It's not all the way, just the tip, but it's enough to make you feel…full.
"Oh," you whimper, your eyes squeezing shut as he pauses, giving you a moment to adjust. It's tight, and it hurts a bit, but you know it's just the first time jitters. You nod, signaling for him to continue.
"You feel so good," he groans, hovering over you. You nod, your eyes still closed as you try to adjust to the new sensation. It's weird, having something inside of you that's not a part of you, but it's not entirely unpleasant either. It's like your body is learning a new dance, one that's a little clumsy at first but getting better with every beat.
Minho starts to move, his hips rocking back and forth in a slow, deliberate rhythm. You can feel him getting deeper with every stroke, and you bite your lip to keep from crying out. It's not painful, exactly, but it's…intense. Like your body is being stretched in a way it's never been stretched before. You're both fumbling in the dark, trying to find the right tempo, the right angle, the right everything.
He's watching you so closely, his eyes never leaving your face. You can see the concern in them, the worry that he's not doing it right. But every time you gasp or whimper, it's not from pain, it's from the sheer overwhelming sensation of having him inside you. It's like your body is trying to tell you a secret that you've been waiting your whole life to hear.
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him deeper. He complies, his movements growing more confident as he feels your acceptance of him. The awkwardness of before is gone, replaced by a desperate need to be as close as two people can be. You can feel him filling you up, stretching you in a way that's uncomfortable but not painful. It's like your body is molding around him, creating a space that was always meant to be his.
"Y-Y/N," Minho gasps, his eyes never leaving yours as he pushes deeper, feeling your tightness enveloping him completely. He's never felt anything like this before, and the sensation is so intense, so overwhelming that he's worried he might just pass out. You can see the effort it's taking for him to keep going, to not just give in to the urge to thrust wildly. But he's trying so hard to be gentle, to make this good for you.
You bite down on your bottom lip, your eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. You can see the question in his eyes, the silent plea for reassurance that he's not messing up. You shake your head, your eyes filled with tears of pleasure and pain. "I-It's okay," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. "It's good."
Minho's eyes never leave yours as he starts to move again, his hips rocking in a gentle rhythm that you're not sure you're ready for. You're so tight around him, and it's a strange feeling, one you've never experienced before. But it's not entirely unpleasant, and with every thrust, the pain starts to give way to something else, something that feels a lot like…pleasure.
You're both fumbling in the dark, trying to find the right angle, the right pace. It's awkward and a bit embarrassing, but the connection you have is so strong that it makes it okay. You can feel his inexperience in every clumsy stroke, but there's also something incredibly sweet about it. Like you're both discovering this new part of yourselves together, stumbling through the uncharted territory of each other's bodies.
"Oh, oh-" you gasp as he hits a particularly sensitive spot, your body arching off the blanket. It feels so good, but you're also a bit overwhelmed. You've never been with anyone before, and you didn't know your body could feel this way. You're not sure if you're doing it right, if you're making the right noises, if your face looks weird. But when you look at Minho, you see that he's just as lost as you are.
His eyes are squeezed shut, his teeth gritted as he tries to hold back, his hips jerking slightly with every thrust. It's clear that he's trying to be gentle, but you can feel his inexperience in the way he's moving, the way his hands are tight on your hips like he's afraid you'll slip away.
part 1
⤷ pairing: minho x fem!reader
⤷ word count: 7.4k (somehow got more carried away on this one)
⤷ summary: it would be just your luck that wckd sticks you in the same room as minho when you're both captured after the ambush in the scorch. though after so many weeks of wckd breaking you down, it dawns on both of you that you only have each other to lean on.
⤷ warnings: your typical death cure violence (needles, sedation, trauma, reader and minho basically being tortured, etc), still lots of bickering that eventually fizzles out, reader and minho figuring out their relationship and disliking each other a lot less, some angsty moments mainly cuz reader is losing it, also some fluff sprinkled here and there, no use of y/n
a/n: for the 3 people that requested a part 2 here it is :p i love writing for minho sm
Chaos.
That was the only word to describe what’s going on around you.
One moment, you’re sitting and laughing with Harriet, Sonya, and Aris. Carefree. Happy.
The next, WCKD has you in their clutches once again.
Your knees slam into the dirt beside Minho.
Down the line, you see Newt, Frypan, Aris, Harriet and Sonya, who is being shoved to the ground at the same time as you.
She struggles as the WCKD soldier shoves her head forward, and that’s when you notice the scanning device in his hand. It chirps as it reads the chip in the back of her neck.
“B4.”
They’re inventorying you like you’re equipment.
Minho’s head is shoved forward next. He jerks instinctively but doesn’t fight it.
“A7.”
The soldier releases him and steps toward you. You tense, every muscle in your body coiling. He grabs the back of your collar, shoving your head down to expose the chip at the base of your neck. The scanner hums, and you see red.
“B7.”
Before you can stop yourself, you twist violently and spit straight at him. It hits the soldier's visor.
For a split second, everything freezes.
Then you’re shoved, hard. You lose your balance and slam sideways into the dirt, shoulder aching from the impact.
There’s only silence around you, no one daring to speak up in fear of what might happen to them. Minho’s jaw clenches so hard he fears he might break teeth, though.
The soldier wipes his visor clean with the back of his glove, then hauls you upright again. Your shoulder throbs as you’re yanked back into position.
“Try some shit like that again and see where it gets you,” the soldier's muffled voice seethes, moving on to the next kid.
You sit there breathing hard, dirt sticking to your clothing.
After a moment, Minho shifts slightly beside you. “You’re an idiot,” he hisses.
You just shrug like it was nothing. “Worth it.”
When Thomas reappears, hell breaks loose again.
It seems like there might be a chance when Jorge and Brenda show up. But not for you. Or Aris, or Sonya.
In the midst of chaos, you can see Harriet running back towards the truck. Relief floods through you, knowing she isn’t in WCKD’s hands.
A surge of adrenaline and anger floods through you, and you throw your elbow back in an attempt to escape the grasp of the soldier who has you captive. It lands, and you twist in an attempt to break his grip. It almost works, but you’re shoved forward and both of your arms are locked behind your back.
“Move,” the soldier growls, the ramp of the berg looming closer.
Aris and Sonya are shoved into the berg at the same time as you. There’s no point in fighting it anymore.
From your spot in the aircraft, your eyes catch sight of the Gladers running across the dirt. Minho is covering them, shotgun blasting soldiers left and right.
Until his gun jams, and a launcher hits him square in the chest.
You can only watch as he drops to his knees, slumping over a barrel as shockwaves tear through him for the second time that night. Thomas is yelling in the background, trying to move towards him, but his efforts are futile.
WCKD soldiers surround Minho, grabbing him under the arms and dragging him backwards. He’s motionless, helpless as they haul him toward the berg ramp.
A heaviness weighs on your chest as he’s brought into the cramped space, black uniforms holding him upright as he doesn’t have the strength to do it himself. Your eyes flicker over to the people still left outside, and you can see the Gladers in the distance. Thomas’s chest rises and falls quickly, mouth parted slightly in disbelief as the ramp doors begin to close.
And as the doors finally seal, it feels like your fate does too.
The door slams shut with a metallic clang that echoes off of the concrete walls.
You stagger forward as the guards shove you inside the room, barely catching yourself before you can hit the floor.
Behind you, another body stumbles in. Then the door seals.
Silence.
You take a quick glance around the room. It’s small—bare concrete walls, a single harsh light overhead, and two small bunks bolted into opposite sides of the wall. A camera blinks red in the upper corner.
Great.
You turn. And freeze.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Across the room, rubbing his shoulder where a guard had shoved him, is Minho. He looks just as unimpressed.
“Fantastic,” he mutters. “Out of every shank they could’ve picked, it had to be you.”
You scoff. “Feelings mutual.”
“Could’ve been anyone. Literally anyone else.”
“Yeah, because you’re such a joy to be around.”
“At least I don’t pretend I am,” he mutters.
For a moment you just stare at each other. He’s angry, that much is obvious, but the fact that he’s directing it onto you is pissing you off. Even now, bruised, dirty, and trapped in some WCKD facility, the feeling of blinding irritation is no different than when you’d first met in the Scorch.
Minho breaks the staring contest first, walking towards the bunks and inspecting them.
“Well,” he says. “Looks like we’re roommates.”
You cross your arms. “Don’t get too comfortable.”
“Oh please.” He points at one of the bunks on the side of the wall that isn’t in direct view when the door opens. “That one’s mine.”
You blink. “You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
“That one’s better.”
“Exactly.”
Out of spite, you march over and shove past him, plopping onto the bunk before he can react.
“Too slow.”
Minho stares at you like you just killed his friends in front of him. “You did not just—“
“I did.”
He lets out an incredulous laugh. “Unbelievable. They stick me in a prison cell and I still have to deal with Group B’s most irritating runner. I don’t know which is worse, honestly.”
“Oh, you mean the one who finished her maze faster than yours?” you shoot back.
He narrows his eyes. “Don’t get too cocky now.”
“Oh, I will.”
The tension in the room crackles. For a second it almost feels like you’re in the desert again. Arguing over directions, trading insults while the others groan behind you.
But now, you realize, there’s no one to stop you.
Minho starts pacing the room. He tests the walls, the bunks, the door. It’s solid, no handle on the inside, no weak points.
He glances at the camera. “They’re watching.”
You follow his gaze. “Well,” you snort, “hope they’re enjoying the show.”
He leans back against the wall. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to show them I’m the strongest.”
“Please,” you say as you roll your eyes. “Didn’t I have to save you from eating sand a few days ago?”
“As I said before, I had it handled,” he says matter-of-factly.
You huff a laugh despite yourself.
Then the silence creeps back in. It’s deafening, the only audible noise being the low hum of the ventilation system. Neither of you acknowledge how tired you are. Or how scared or alone you feel.
Instead, Minho jerks his chin toward the bunk you’d stolen. “You’re really taking that one?”
“Yep.”
“Fine,” he huffs, dropping down on the other bunk with a metallic creak.
You sit in silence for a long time, until the sound of the electronic lock on the door buzzes. Both of you sit up instantly, your pulse quickening.
The door swings open, revealing two WCKD guards donned in black uniforms. They step into the room, and Minho gets to his feet immediately.
“What do you want?”
Neither guard answers. Instead, one of them points directly at you.
“You. Up.”
Your stomach plummets. Slowly, you force yourself to stand.
Minho looks between the guards, then at you. “Where are you taking her?” No response, as expected.
“Relax,” you mutter. “Maybe they’re taking me somewhere nicer.”
“Yeah,” he says flatly. “That’s definitely it.”
One of the guards grabs your arm. Instinctively, you jerk back. Immediately, the grip on your arm tightens and you grit your teeth.
“Hey—“ Minho goes to interrupt, but the second guard lifts a stun baton ever so slightly. He freezes. You meet his eyes for a brief second, giving him a warning look.
“Don’t start something,” you say quietly. The guard shoves you towards the door. You twist back just long enough to throw one last jab. “Try not to miss me too much.”
Minho folds his arms over his chest. “Trust me. I’ll enjoy the quiet.” His jaw tightens ever so slightly, though, as the door shuts behind you.
The cell door opens again about an hour or two later. Or maybe longer, but it’s hard to keep track with no way of knowing the time.
Minho is on his feet instantly.
You stumble inside as rough hands shove you forward. The door carelessly slams shut again, and you grumble to yourself quietly as you straighten.
Minho takes in your appearance, noticing you no longer wear the clothes you came in with. Instead of your jacket and pants that were dirtied by the harshness of the Scorch, you now wear all blue–a dark navy blue t-shirt and lighter pants. Most notably, your shirt has the words ‘PROPERTY OF WCKD’ printed across the back in small but bold letters. On the front, it’s printed in smaller letters on the left chest, along with your number. ‘B-07’.
Minho frowns. “What’d they do to you?”
You shake your head, sitting down heavily on your bunk. Minho also notices the piece of gauze taped to the inside of your arm.
“Decontamination. Made me change into this garbage. Took blood, vitals, gave me some sort of injection like they did when we got to the compound in the Scorch. Basic stuff,” you pause. “For now.”
He nods, exhaling slowly.
And not long after that, they come for him next.
He returns in similar shape to you. He wears the same outfit, though he has ‘A-07’ printed at the top of his.
You watch from your bunk as he tugs at the fabric of his shirt, expression morphing into one of disgust.
“Branding us as shuck property,” he mutters distastefully.
“Get used to it,” you reply, sighing heavily. “That’s what we are now.”
The rest of the evening, neither of you says much more. You're too tired to care.
The second day, you start arguing again.
By the fifth, it’s constant. The joys of being trapped together with nowhere to go, you suppose.
“You’re pacing again.”
You sit on your bunk, arms folded, watching Minho wear a path into the floor.
“Thanks, captain obvious,” he snaps, continuing his pacing. “Not like there’s much else to do in here. I’m thinking, anyway.”
“You’re sulking,” you correct.
Minho stops mid-step and glares at you. “I don’t sulk.”
“You absolutely do. You’re doing it right now.”
“Do not.”
“Do too.”
He scoffs and resumes pacing. “You’re the one sitting here acting like it’s the end of the world.”
You stare at him incredulously. “...Um, we’re prisoners in a WCKD facility,” you say slowly. “How exactly is that not the end of the world?”
“Because they’ll come,” he says immediately.
You laugh once, sharp and humorless. “Are you joking? You mean Thomas? Newt, Frypan?”
Minho’s jaw tightens out of irritation. “Yes. Them.”
“Minho,” you say flatly, voice void of any emotion. “They have no idea where we are, and do you really think WCKD is going to keep us in one place for too long?”
“They’ll figure it out.”
“And how long is that supposed to take?” you snap. “A week? A month? A year?”
Minho finally stops pacing, staring straight through you. “At least I haven’t given up.”
That hits a nerve. You push yourself to your feet, standing quickly. “I haven’t given up.”
“Really? Sure sounds like it.”
“My apologies for being realistic.”
“Listen, I get feeling hopeless, but don’t drag me down with you,” he hisses.
“You’re being delusional!” you fire back, hands running through your hair.
The room falls silent except for the sound of the two of you breathing heavily. For a moment, it really does feel exactly as it did when you first met him. Except this time, there’s nowhere to walk away. No one to stop you.
Minho’s glare doesn’t falter, but he looks away first. “Whatever. Talking to you is exhausting.”
You sit back down hard on the bunk. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “Whatever. You’re impossible.” You turn on your side to face the wall, shutting him out completely.
Even when you close your eyes, the bright fluorescent lighting doesn’t disappear. The shirt you wear on your back feels like it’s suffocating you, the words printed on it making something in your stomach churn.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. You quickly learn that it never will.
After so many days, long after you’ve lost count, the tests start to blend together. Some are worse than others.
You’ve already been moved to another facility with all of the other kids, though you knew WCKD wouldn’t be dumb enough to keep you in one place for too long.
Dark circles have started to form under your eyes. Your hair thins, energy diminishing—so much so that you almost don’t have the energy to argue with your roommate anymore. Key word almost.
Now you’re the one that’s been pacing. It’s hard not to, when you have so much pent up energy and anxiety with no way to release it like you did in the Maze.
“Weren’t you just yelling at me a few days ago about pacing?” Minho’s voice cuts into your thoughts.
You don’t stop. “And?”
“It’s annoying.”
“Then don’t watch me.”
“Hard not to when that’s literally the only thing I can see. The room isn’t very big, if you haven’t noticed.”
You roll your eyes so hard you think they might get stuck, but don’t respond.
He pipes up again anyway, in that annoying way of his. “Maybe you should try sitting down. You’re gonna wear yourself out for no reason.”
“Don’t,” you say sharply.
“Don’t what?”
“Act like you’ve got everything under control. Because I know you don’t.”
“I don’t,” he replies. “But I’m not losing it either.”
“I’m not losing it.”
“You’re pretty damn close.”
You stop dead in your tracks, turning slowly. “You don’t know that.”
“It’s obvious.”
“You don’t. You don’t know anything about me,” you hiss, anger bubbling under the surface.
“I know enough,” he says, standing now too. “You were a Keeper, no? You’re the same as me. Same job, same pressure–”
“Then stop acting like I can’t handle it,” you cut him off.
“Then handle it.”
“I am.”
“No,” he says sharply, “you’re trying to control something you can’t.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. “And what are you doing?” Your voice drops. He doesn’t answer immediately, causing you to laugh. “That’s what I thought.”
“At least I’m not acting like our lives are already over.”
“I never said that.”
“You don’t have to say it out loud, shank. It’s obvious enough.”
You shake your head, turning away, dragging a hand through your hair in frustration. “Okay, whatever Minho. I’m done. Don’t talk to me, I’m sick of hearing your voice.”
“Gladly.”
True to his word, he doesn’t speak for the rest of the night into the next day. The room is plunged into a long, uncomfortable silence, but you’re not about to break it due to your pride.
You’re lounging on your bunk, staring at nothing in particular when you hear the buzz of the lock and the door swinging open. You don’t even lift your head.
“B7. Let’s go.”
You sigh dramatically as you sit up, swinging your legs over the hard mattress. Minho catches your eye for a quick second, but says nothing.
The guards lead you out, toward whatever your next test will be.
The lab you’re led into smells like antiseptic and chemicals.
Before you can even attempt to protest, you’re forced down onto a cold metal table. You yell out in protest, struggling as your limbs are held down and restrained. With your wrists and ankles bound, you’re powerless. Your expression hardens, glaring at the technicians around you.
“You people ever hear of consent?” you mutter, knowing that your consent means nothing in this place. As you expected, no one answers.
A needle slides into the vein in your arm, causing you to flinch. A second one is slid into your other arm, attached to a tube that disappears into a humming machine. You can only imagine what it’ll be used for.
A screen lights up with rows of numbers. One of the doctors in a white coat glances at it, then nods towards another one. “Begin cycle.”
You barely have time to process the words before a mask is placed over your face. No matter how hard you try to fight it, it only takes seconds before your vision goes dark.
Then, suddenly, you jolt awake. It felt like you had only been out for mere seconds, but you know it’s been longer than that. Your head pounds. The room spins slightly as your eyes crack open, the machines beside you beeping steadily.
Your arms are still strapped down.
Two doctors stand nearby, arguing quietly over a tablet.
“...response levels are good. We can move her into phase two, if this continues to go well.”
You blink slowly, forcing your mind to focus. Tools sit on a sterilized tray on the table next to you. Scalpels. Needles. Other devices that you don’t recognize. Something sharp twists in your chest, something like panic.
You test the restraints on your wrists, hoping something will give. And then you feel it–one of them is loose.
“Hey,” one of the doctors snaps. “She’s awake.”
The other immediately reaches for a syringe.
“Sedate her again.”
The doctor steps closer, and that same panic rears its head again. You rip your hand free from the loose restraint and swing.
Your fist connects hard with his jaw. He stumbles back, crashing into a table of tools. Metal clatters everywhere, loud clangs echoing through the room.
“Restrain her!” someone shouts. You try to sit up, ripping the IV from your arm as you struggle. A guard grabs your shoulder, and you lash out again out of pure desperation, catching him across the face.
For a brief, glorious moment, chaos erupts in the room. Then, a fist slams into your mouth.
Pain explodes through your jaw as your head snaps sideways. Your vision bursts into white. Rough hands shove you back onto the table, forcing you down. A syringe plunges into your neck. Cold instantly spreads through your body.
The last thing your consciousness holds onto is the feeling of warm blood dripping down your chin.
You don’t remember them bringing you back.
Minho does.
The door bursts open, much later than usual. Two guards drag your unconscious body inside and drop you carelessly onto your bunk. You don’t even stir as you hit the mattress, body completely limp.
Minho is on his feet instantly.
“What the hell happened to her?” he snarls. He doesn’t really expect an answer, and he doesn’t get one. The guards leave as quickly as they arrived.
The door slams shut. Minho kneels beside the bunk, eyes scanning over your face. Your lip is split open, dried blood smeared down your chin. An ugly bruise is already blooming along your jaw.
His stomach twists.
“Hey,” he says urgently, shaking your shoulder. “Hey.”
You don’t wake up. His hands curl into fists, fury burning hot and sharp in his chest.
For the rest of the night, he doesn’t sleep. He watches the rise and fall of your chest, just to make sure you’re still breathing.
You stir sometime later.
At first it’s barely noticeable. Your fingers twitch slightly against the mattress, but it catches Minho’s eye immediately. He’s on his feet again in an instant.
“Hey,” he says quietly, crouching down beside your bunk again.
Your eyes flutter open. For a moment you just stare at the bottom of the bunk above you, blinking slowly like you’re trying to remember where you are. Then the pain catches up to you. You inhale sharply, one hand flying up towards your mouth.
“Careful,” Minho says, grabbing your wrist gently before you press too hard against your split lip or swelling jaw. Then he realizes what he’s doing and pulls his hand away like your skin burns him.
You squint at him, still trying to make sense of what was going on. “…Why does my face feel like I got hit by a truck?”
Minho exhales a humorless laugh. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”
You slowly sit up, wincing as your head throbs. “What happened?” you mumble.
Minho studies you for a second. “You don’t remember?”
You shake your head slightly and immediately regret it. “Not really, no.”
He leans back on his heels. “They brought you back out cold,” he says quietly. “Your lip is busted. And you have a real nice bruise on your jaw.”
“Oh.” Your eyebrows furrow as the memory flickers back in pieces. Then it hits you. “Oh. Shit.”
Minho raises a brow, silently urging you to continue.
“I may or may not have punched a doctor.”
“You what?”
You rub your face, careful to avoid your jaw. “I woke up and panicked and one of the restraints was loose so I swung,” you say quickly.
Minho pauses, then lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “You punched a WCKD doctor.”
“Well technically two people if you also consider the guard that I swung at.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” you mutter. “Might as well not make it easy for them, right?”
“Don’t make it easy, but don’t be a dumb shank. That’s how you get hurt, like you are right now,” he says sharply. “Do you want them to make it worse for you?”
You frown, ignoring his question. Then you take a better look at him, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the tired look on his face.
“You didn’t sleep.”
Minho shrugs. “I was busy.”
“Doing what?” You raise a brow.
He looks at you like the answer is obvious. “Making sure my shuck roommate wasn’t dead.”
Your chest tightens unexpectedly, and you look away quickly.
“…I was fine.”
“Right,” he huffs. “Well I had to be sure. Would probably die of boredom if I didn’t have someone to argue with all the time.”
You can only roll your eyes in response.
Over time, the hostility between the two of you lessens more and more. When it becomes clear that no one is coming for you, at least not any time soon, you only have each other to lean on.
It starts as small gestures. Helping each other sit after a particularly hard day, subconsciously looking for injuries on the other. Reminiscing about your friends together, wondering if they’re okay. Sitting beside each other on the floor, backs against the bunk, shoulders brushing slightly. Light touches that ground you.
Your arguments turn into something sillier, something lighter.
“You snore, by the way.”
Your eyes snap open. “I do not.”
Minho doesn’t even look at you. Just stares at the ceiling like he’s been waiting for this moment. “You do.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“I don’t snore.”
“You absolutely do.”
You push yourself up onto your elbows. “I would know if I snored.”
“Right,” he says. “Because people always hear themselves snore.”
“That’s not the point. It has nothing to do with hearing it.”
“It kind of is the point.” He completely ignores the second half of your statement.
You glare at him across the room. “You’re making it up.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
You grab the thin pillow off of your bunk and throw it at him. It hits him square in the chest. He looks down at it, then back at you.
“…Really?”
“You deserved that.”
“For telling the truth?”
“For being annoying.”
“That’s not a crime.”
“It should be.”
He picks up the pillow, turning it over in his hands like he’s considering something.
You narrow your eyes. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t throw that back.”
“I wasn’t going to. Matter of fact, I might just keep it.”
“Minho.”
You stare at him. He stares back. Without warning, he tosses it. You barely have time to react before it hits you in the face.
You drop back onto your bunk with an annoyed groan, clutching the pillow to your chest. “You’re the worst.”
“And you snore.”
“I do not snore!”
“Do too.”
And then, Minho had been right before. WCKD was making it worse for you. When they came to get you for testing, you were handcuffed every time without fail. You always had some sort of restraints on you, and not once were they loose after the stunt you pulled previously.
There was one time where you were stupid enough to fight against the guards taking you out of pure anger, and you and Minho ended up with a taser in your sides. You for fighting, and Minho for getting angry and threatening them.
After that, you stopped fighting. There was no point.
Currently, you sit on the cold floor with your back against your bunk, gaze fixed on the wall across from you.
Minho has been watching you for the last fifteen minutes.
“You’re doing it again,” he says. No response.
“Hey, earth to runner.”
Still nothing.
“You just gonna stare at the wall all day?” he asks, frustration creeping into his tone.
“What’s the point?” you finally speak.
Minho frowns. “What?”
“This.” You gesture weakly around the room. It’s a different room now, yet same concept—WCKD had moved you again.
“The room?”
“All of it.”
Minho pushes himself off his bunk. “Don’t start that.”
You laugh humorlessly. “Start what?”
“The whole ‘we’re doomed’ klunk.”
You look up at him through tired eyes. “You don’t get it.”
“Try me.”
You stand suddenly, irritation surging through you. “They’re draining us, Minho!” Your voice echoes throughout the barely furnished room. “And that’s all they’re going to keep doing.”
He crosses his arms, unmoved by your outburst. “I’m well aware of what they’re doing. And until we’re out of here, you need to try not giving up.”
“You still think we’re getting out of here?” you ask, disbelieving. You know you sound hopeless, like you’ve completely given up, and maybe you have.
“We will.”
“You don’t know that!” your voice cracks, barely noticeable but still there. “They’re not letting us go, and I have a hard time believing anyone is going to find us. We’re just lab rats now.”
Minho’s expression hardens. “Stop talking like that.”
“Like what? Being realistic?”
“No, like you’ve already given up.”
You throw your hands up, laughing bitterly, but say nothing more.
He takes a step closer. “You think I’m just going to sit here and let them win?”
“They already have!”
The room goes silent. Your chest heaves, and Minho just stares at you. Then, he snaps.
“Stop acting like you’re already dead!”
You stare at him. He looks angry, but there’s something else there too.
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about you. You, who carried enough sass in the Scorch for the both of you, who didn’t let anything get in your way, whose spirit couldn’t be broken because that’s how runners operated.
And WCKD was taking that from you.
You break your stare, opting to look down at your hands instead. “I’m tired, Minho.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“No,” you say softly. “I mean..tired.” Your voice cracks slightly again. “Tired of them taking us. Tired of waiting. Tired of wondering if the next time they drag me out there is the one where I don’t come back.”
Minho’s anger dissipates. He takes another step closer so that he’s standing right in front of you.
“Look at me,” you say and laugh bitterly. “I used to run through a maze full of monsters every day,” you continue. “And somehow that felt easier than this.”
Minho doesn’t say anything for a moment as you try to still your shaking hands. Then, he says your name so gently that it startles you into looking up at him. He looks at you for a second, then does something you’d never expect him to do in a million years.
He pulls you into a hug.
It’s unsure at first, like he’s worried that you’re going to fight it and start swinging or start cussing him out.
Instead, you melt into it. Your entire body sags against him, arms snaking around his midsection. His grip tightens once he realizes that you’re not going to protest, resting his chin on top of your head.
You strangely find yourself hoping that he doesn’t let go. Until now, you didn’t realize how badly you craved this kind of comfort. It feels foreign to you, but your walls have been broken down enough that you welcome it eagerly.
“You’re still here,” he murmurs. “After everything they’ve done.”
You don’t respond.
“You keep getting up. You keep fighting,” he continues. “That’s what a runner does.”
All you can do is nod.
After that, the two of you only grow closer.
You constantly find comfort in each other's arms, especially after the hard days. It felt strange at first, but now it just feels routine.
It was especially necessary after WCKD moved you to the Last City.
On the journey there, you realized that Minho was right. Thomas and the rest of the Gladers did come for you. You could hear them pounding on the metal of the box car of the train, shouting Minho’s name.
And you were hopeful, until WCKD pulled you and Minho from the box car and moved you to a different one before the Gladers could take off with it.
You understood why they moved Minho, but why they moved you, you weren’t sure.
Fury flooded through you while you watched Janson walk around from your spot in the dirt, asking how many they took. He approached the two of you with a smug look on his face that you wish you could’ve wiped right off of him.
“We’re searching the area, but they’re probably long gone by now,” one of the men had said to Janson.
The Rat Man looked down on the two of you with a sneer, like you were nothing more than a speck of dirt on his shoe. “Oh no they’re not going anywhere. He didn’t get what he really wanted,” he had said.
When you reach the Last City, the two of you are thrown in a room once again.
This one is smaller, more confined. It’s narrow, with bunks on both sides of the wall, though it’s only the two of you in there.
You’d be lying if being in the Last City didn’t make you nervous. The facility is huge, and you can’t imagine what their plans might be bringing you here.
As it turns out, especially with the threat of Thomas looming, they want to extract the cure faster than ever before.
The simulations are horrible and cruel.
It’s strange, the way your mind and body are constantly in fight or flight. More so your mind, because almost every test or simulation they bring you to, you’re sedated.
The first time they put you and Minho into your respective simulations, they bring you to the same room. It was unusual for them to do so, and that’s what makes you nervous. It isn’t a huge room, but it still has that sterile, white feel to it that you’ve become accustomed to. There’s a large window overlooking the room, which you can only assume is for onlookers to watch you. The thought makes you shudder.
There are two tables awaiting the two of you, directly across from each other. While you’re used to restraints at this point, you notice something a little different about these ones. Large harnesses, almost like ones you would see on a rollercoaster, with what looked like a headpiece attached to them.
You share a worried glance with Minho. However, if he’s scared, he doesn’t show it. You wish you could say the same about yourself.
It doesn’t take long for you to figure out why they’d brought you in together.
You’re both strapped down to your individual tables, and they’re tilted up until you’re upright. Now the harness makes sense.
WCKD doctors and technicians waste no time. They grab supplies, moving around you and Minho, poking and prodding with needles–nothing unusual. But then you see the large, dialysis looking machine next to you whir to life, and your heart drops.
Your panic only rises as they attach more tubing to you. Then, one of the technicians hits a button on the machine.
Minho’s chest tightens, watching as dark red begins to move through the clear tubing. It flows quickly, cycling through the machine, moving through the other tube back into your body.
He meets your wide eyes, panic written all over your face in a way he truly hasn’t seen before. Not like this. Not when you can usually hide it behind sarcasm or anger or jabs. This was different. It was raw, unbridled fear.
“Minho,” you swallow hard. “Minho, what are they doing?
He can’t give you a clear answer to that. Instead, he pulls hard against his restraints. “I don’t know,” he says, voice tight. “Just–hey, look at me.”
You do. Your breathing is uneven now, chest rising and falling too fast against the harness across it. Personnel adjust the contraption on your head to their liking, wires and electrodes attached to your forehead. You try to glance sideways at them, just to get a glimpse at what they’re doing.
“Look at me.” Minho’s voice snaps you back to him.
Your eyes flicker back to him, trying to focus on his face and his face only.
“There you go,” he says, softer now. “You’re good. You’re okay.”
“I’m not okay,” you choke out. Never in a million years would you have admitted that to anyone in the past, but you don’t care anymore. You don’t care. You’re terrified.
“Yes, you are.”
You appreciate the effort of him trying to be reassuring, but it hardly works. Especially when a doctor steps closer to you, large syringe in hand.
“Minho.” Your voice is smaller now, quieter. “I don’t want to..” you trail off.
Minho swallows. “I know.”
“I don’t want to go under again–”
“I know,” he repeats, voice strained.
Your eyes stay locked onto his. For a moment, everything else disappears. The machines, the guards, the doctors. It’s just you and him.
“Stay with me,” he says.
You shake your head weakly. “I’m trying. I’m scared, Minho.”
Those words coming from your mouth hit him harder than anything else. He leans forward as much as his restraints will allow. “Hey,” he says quietly. “You’re not alone. I’m right here.”
The only thing you can give him in response is a weak nod, before the syringe is plunged into your skin. Your body tenses sharply momentarily, hands curling into tight fists. Then, your movements falter. The sedative works quickly, and your eyes roll into the back of your head seconds later no matter how hard you try to fight it.
When the machines beside you beep steadily, indicating stable vitals, they move onto Minho. They hook him up in the same exact fashion as you, yet he hardly notices. His focus is solely fixed on you.
“Simulation initiated,” someone calls out from behind a computer.
Minho’s eyes narrow, still looking at you. There doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary happening quite yet.
Suddenly, just as they’re about to put him under, your body jerks against the restraints. Minho involuntarily flinches, not expecting the movement. Your chest rises and falls quicker, sweat forming a thin sheen on your forehead.
The needle hovers over his skin, but is not yet injected.
A scream tears itself from your throat, loud and terrified.
He thrashes against his restraints. “What the hell?! Stop it!” he shouts, but it falls on deaf ears.
His heart thuds against his ribcage. Horrifyingly, he can’t look away. Can’t stop hearing it echo in his ears. You’re screaming like you’re being torn apart, and they’re making him watch.
That’s when he realizes what they’re doing. This is purposeful—maybe even punishment. Control.
Break one, break the other.
With despair, Minho remembers that WCKD has been watching. Your whole time here, they’ve been watching through the cameras placed in the corners of your rooms. They’ve been watching your relationship develop.
And now, they're using it to their advantage.
The needle finally pierces his skin. As he slips into his own unconsciousness, the last thing he hears is your screams. And the last thing he realizes is that WCKD makes sure of it.
-
Your simulations are filled with the Maze. Being hunted by Grievers. By Cranks in the Scorch.
Your friends, paired with one of your biggest fears: not being able to save them. Not being strong enough.
Then, Minho is there, strangely enough.
And you get to watch him die, over and over again, in a dream that you have no control over and can’t voluntarily wake up from.
-
When the two of you are returned to your room, barely conscious and dragged in, it’s silent. What is there to say, really? You both had just been through one of the most traumatizing things you can remember, and it topped the Maze by a long shot. For you, at least.
You drag yourself to your bunk, climbing in, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. Your head still feels heavy from the sedatives, and when you lay down, it feels like your brain is rattling around in your skull. You figure with how tired your body feels, sleep will come easily.
It doesn’t.
Every time you close your eyes, all you see are flashes of memories. Memories that aren’t real, and you know they aren’t real, but they haunt you just the same.
Over the next few days, it dawns on you quickly that the simulations are the quickest method of extracting the serum in large quantities, and the method that’s closest to the Maze. Serum extraction of this nature requires stimulation of neural pathways, you had heard one of the doctors say.
They don’t take you together anymore. Once WCKD made sure that Minho saw what they wanted him to see, it didn't matter anymore. They just wanted to make sure you both knew that they were using your relationship to their advantage; that they knew you weren’t just enemies anymore. You figure that’s precisely why the two of you were roomed together all this time, why WCKD took you off the train with Minho. It’s cruel, but that’s all WCKD knows how to be.
The next time Minho comes back from having more serum sucked from his body, you almost think he’s dead for a moment.
You don’t look up right away when the door opens. Your gaze is fixed on a small, insignificant crack in the wall opposite to you, like you could memorize it if you try hard enough. That has become your thing lately. Anything to stay grounded.
The sound of boots dragging against the floor makes you blink. You turn your head, and still. Minho is being dragged into the room, completely deadweight. The guards drop him carelessly onto his bunk, then leave as quickly as they came.
For a second, you think they might’ve killed him. He’s so still, laying on his side, eyes unfocused. Your chest tightens. “Minho?”
No response.
You push yourself to your feet, despite your legs protesting. Ignoring it, you cross the room and crouch beside him.
“Minho?”
Still nothing.
He’s breathing, though. Shallow and uneven, but there. Relief hits you like a truck. You hesitate for a moment, then reach out, hand hovering over his shoulder.
“Hey.”
Nothing. No snarky comment, no annoyed response, no anything. Just silence.
You swallow. “Okay…”
Your stomach twists. You don’t like this at all. Trying again, your voice comes out softer. “Minho.”
His gaze doesn’t move, doesn’t shift towards you. He doesn’t acknowledge you at all. You stand there for a moment, unsure. This is new. Not the exhaustion or the silence, but the emptiness. Like whatever they’d done to him had scraped something out and hadn’t bothered putting it back.
You rub your hands together, suddenly restless. Your chest feels tight.
Then, you move before you can think about it too much. You climb onto the bunk beside him, careful, slow.
He doesn’t react at first.
You hesitate for half a second, then you shift closer, laying down beside him. You’re facing him, looking into his eyes, though he doesn’t meet yours. “...You’re kinda freaking me out,” you mutter.
No response, again. You exhale shakily. “Great. Cool. Love that.” You look at him again, and something in your chest feels like it cracks a little. “Okay. We’re not doing this.”
Slowly, cautiously, you reach for him. One of your arms snakes around him, hand feeling the warmth of his back through his shirt. You hesitate again, but your hand trails up and down his back in what you hope is a soothing motion.
“Minho,” you whisper after a while, after he still hasn’t reacted to your presence. “You’re here, right?”
Silence.
You squeeze your eyes shut. “Don’t do this,” you murmur. “Don’t..not be here.” You never thought you’d say it, but you miss him arguing with you right about now. You miss his sassy remarks, miss him being the one to not give up. There’s a part of you that wishes he would shove you off of the bunk right now, just so you’d have something to yell at him about.
“You can’t shut down on me like this. I can’t do this alone,” you say suddenly, quietly, not really meaning to. But it’s the truth, whether you like it or not. You can’t do this without him.
And then, a shift. Minho’s muscles shift under your hands, and you can hear a sharp intake of breath as his breath hitches. You freeze for a moment.
Then he pulls you in hard. A startled noise tumbles from your lips as his arms wrap around you, pulling you fully against him. Tight. Almost too tight. Like if he let go, you’d disappear.
“Minho–” you squeak out, but his grip only tightens, crushing and desperate.
His face buries into your neck, breathing uneven. “I’m here,” he rasps. “I’m here, I’m here–”
You almost sag in relief at the sound of his voice. You don’t hesitate, clinging back just as tight, hands fisting into his shirt. “Okay,” you whisper. “Okay.”
He shifts, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him. His arms don’t loosen. If anything, they tighten again like he needs to convince himself that you’re real. That he’s real, and that everything about this is real.
His mouth opens, as if he’s going to say something, but he falters. He starts to speak, but he cuts himself off as if he can’t bear to finish the thought.
You don’t push. You just shake your head, shushing him. “Minho, it’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”
He only nods, one of his hands sliding up to the back of your neck, fingers brushing the hair at the nape of your neck. It slides down after a moment, coming to rest between your shoulder blades. The other stays locked across your back, keeping you anchored to him.
The two of you stay like that. Your head rests against his chest, listening to his heart still hammer against his rib cage. His hand shifts slightly against your back, not loosening, just adjusting like he needs to make sure you’re still there. Still his to hold onto.
You don’t move away, don’t even consider it. “I’m not going anywhere,” you finally say quietly.
Minho lets out a shaky breath at that. “Good.” His voice was softer now. He peers down at you finally, you can feel it. You look up to meet his eyes.
That must’ve been all he needed to see, because he pulls you back into him. Not as frantic this time, but still tight and still close.
He wasn’t trying to stop himself from falling apart and unraveling anymore. He was just trying to hold onto something that kept him together.
Summary: you make your boyfriend play the ‘who knows me better’ game, but you told your friend all the answers before hand. So basically just rage baiting, lol. Includes Minho, Aris, Thomas, and Newt. Gn!reader, and friend
Warnings: I don’t think there are any, lmk thooo 🌸 this is really short, and really stupid lolll
A/n: I always see these types of videos, I think they’re just SO funny 😭 guys (I say while talking to a wall) be excited for me, I just got my first copy of the maze runner in English ❤️ and happy thanksgiving to anyone who celebrates 🥳
MINHO
Immediately agrees to play, has 100% confidence that he’s going to win
Knows all of them, your friend just answers like 0.02 seconds quicker
Even if he says it before them, you still give them the point, which is when he starts to pick up that something isn’t right
He GENUINELY starts to flip out. Like, new type of rage he’s never experienced before
“I SAID IT BEFORE THEM! YOU’RE BOTH CHEATING!”
Is literally yelling, thrashing, and whining by like the 5th question. He KNOWS he knows you better
Is insisting that you’re both cheating, won’t let it go until someone admits it
Actually stops the whole game, like literally won’t continue
Rage quit final boss
And if you don’t apologize best believe you’re getting the silent treatment for at least 15 minutes (know your worth, king ✌️)
ARIS
Agrees to play after some coaxing, thought it seemed dumb
He’s confident he knows you well, but doesn’t think he’s gonna go triple platinum or anything
Doesn’t get angry, like a certain somebody, just gets disheartened
After like three questions he’d start to pick up on it
“Wait, are you guys cheating?”
He went from feeling like the world's worst boyfriend, to feeling like an idiot for not noticing that sooner
Probably thought it was funny, rather than rage inducing
Guilts you into saying sorry, lol 💔
THOMAS
He agreed to play to assert a kind of superiority over your friend. In a friendly way, of course
Extremely sure he knows you better
Imminently gets frustrated when your friend gets the first one before he did
“Wha- what no! I knew that one”
Loses it once he CLEARLY gets on before your friend but doesn’t get the point
Once he picks up that you guys are cheating, he also starts to cheat 😭
Starts covering your friends mouth, or just shoving them out the way
Not afraid to get physical, clearly
Makes you apologize to him, by like pouting or something stupid
NEWT
Agrees to play, because you were acting like this was life or death
Probably picks up on the fact your ahh is cheating immediately
Just by the way you’re cheesing 😭
Doesn’t say anything
Actually, I feel like he’d just intentionally start getting questions wrong because it’s funny
“You guys are such cheaters.”
Probably rolls his eyes all sassy
You both have to apologize to each other by the end because his answers to the questions were lowk outrageous 😭💔
Summary: The Glade is ready for almost any emergency. ALMOST. The group of boys are at an absolute loss when you throw a new issue their way.
A/N: (Sorry for the cringe summary). I love writing for maze runner so keep nay request coming. This is a pre-thomas fic, just to set the scene. This is based off a head canons request I responded to a bit ago - this is the actual fic I was talking about :)
In case you haven't read that, this fic does involve getting your period, so if that is a touchy or uncomfortable subject I would skip out on this one.
Credits for borders
Life in the galde was odd.
It certainly wasn't good; it was hard to call being stuck in the middle of a dangerous maze good in any sense, but a nice community had been built in the glade. The shared experience of being stuck had built a strong sense of friendship between the gladers.
You had thrown a bit of a curveball when you first arrived. The group of boys wasn't sure if they should celebrate the first girl of the glade or awkwardly stand around avoiding eye contact with you. You ended up getting an odd mix of both for the first week you were there.
As time went by, your place in the glade began to solidify. You were let into the community and finally felt like everyone was accepting of you.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
Well, not everybody.
You turned around to see Gally glaring down at you. You're eyes widened as you awkwardly looked between him and the garden bed. You wanted to apologize for your mistake, but looking at your work, you couldn't work out what part you had messed up.
“I am?” You finally asked, instantly cursing yourself for the reaction. Gally was an intimidating guy who you suspected didn't take well to back talk. It wasn't just the fact that he looked like he could beat the shit out of you without breaking a sweat, but because you were yet to smile in the 4 weeks you had been there.
In fact, you had yet to see him produce any emotion except mild annoyance, annoyance, and extreme annoyance. You had been hoping that, in helping the builders with some work, you might get into his good books.
“If you do it like that, it’s all going to fall apart.”
"Really, cause it looks pretty sturdy to me." You needed to learn how to shut up. You didn't even have much pride in your work; you had spent half the day trying to avoid doing this task. There was just a part of you that wanted to prove yourself as useful to Gally, though right now all you were doing was proving yourself to be annoying.
He took a step forward, and you instinctively flinched. Gally rolled his eyes, instead placing his foot lightly on the garden bed you had been building. In a matter of seconds, the whole thing fell apart.
Gally turned to you smuggly, before holding out his hand expecting the hammer ot be returned to him. Looking up at him, you held onto it a little tighter. “Well, wouldn't it be better if you just taught me how to do it correctly?”
You thought it had been a nice suggestion. It meant you would know how to do more building, and it could be a bonding experience for the two of you. The harsh stare Gally gave you killed any hope of that happening.
You sighed, holding out the hammer reluctantly, which he instantly took. You felt useless as Gally turned around, getting straight into fixing your…pile of wood.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, you’re not needed here.”
Gally didn't even turn around to tell you that. You slumped back to the centre of the glade, where Minho and Newt had been watching the interaction.
“He hates me,” You exclaimed as you reached them, and Newt patted you on the back. “He doesn't hate you.”
“He does”
“No, he acts like that to everyone, especially the greenies,”
You groaned, stomping your feet lightly. Maybe it was childish, but you really felt Gally was the last person you needed to connect with to become a true glader. “Well, I want to make him stop.”
Minho snorted. “Well, if you work out the secret, let me know. I’ve been in here with this shank for years, and he still treats me like klunk.”
Newt nudged Minho, as your frown somehow got deeper. Clearly, his response wasn't helping.
“Don’t listen to him” Newt insisted. “He’ll come around eventually.”
You wanted to believe Newt’s words, you really did. But watching Gally as he grumpily redid your work, that future seemed impossible.
---
Newt had been hoping for a calm, nice morning.
That was almost impossible in the glade, but he was at least hoping for a peaceful breakfast before all the chaos of the day began. Luck was not on Newt's side.
He had barely gotten to sit down with his breakfast when he heard the sound of shouting from the builders' area. It wasn't uncommon to hear shouting from that area. Gally liked to be harsh on his workers. But this shouting was different: it was louder and had a tone of real fear within it.
Newt and the other gladers had rushed over to follow the noise, though Newt had been slower due to his limp. By the time he got to the source, a large crowd of half-awake gladers had already formed.
“Which one of you did this?” Gally yelled, glaring at the group of boys. Some laughed, others looked horrified.
“Gally,” Your quiet voice spoke up, trying to get the boy's attention, but the boy didn't hear. He was in too much of a rage. “Seriously, which one of you slintheads?”
Gally looked like he might actually murder someone. Newt had assumed it was some sort of builder breakdown, but he froze when he noticed the blood on your pants.
“What’s going on?”
The crowd despised as Alby came storming through. If the group weren't going to take Gally seriously, they would at least follow Alby's order. He looked to Newt for some context to the situation, but the blonde gave him no reaction, still looking at your pants. Alby followed his gaze, landing on your pants too.
Noticing the stares from both the leaders, you quickly shook your head, trying to hide the stain. “I’m fine,” You quickly spoke, and Gally glared at you. “You’re obviously not fine. Just tell me who did it.”
"No one did anything, I’m not like…stabbed.” You insisted, though Gally looked frustrated still. You had been so insistent that you were alright, which only raised his suspicions about the other boys in the glade. Had one of them threatened you to stay quiet?
“What…we…get her to the med bay?” Alby quickly spoke, his voice filled with a lot more concern than rage. If the leader didn't have the same suspicions as Gally, the builder looked relieved that someone finally agreed with him.
“I’m fine, honest, I just need to be cleaned up.” The group looked at you like you were crazy.
“Does this happen often?” Newt asked, half as a joke, half as a serious question. You paused, the silence causing a sea of comments and concern from the group.
"Who the hell is threatening you all the time?"
"If it's not one of us, does that mean she's dying?"
"How much blood loss is too much? I mean, she doesn't seem weak."
You waved your hands around, trying desperately to stop the chaos and confusion of the men around you. You honestly felt perfectly fine; you just wanted all the attention to go away.
"Slim it and let her speak," Newt finally shouted, getting the crowd to slowly but surely bring their attention back to your words. You and Alby both sent him a grateful nod, which he returned awkwardly. He was equally as freaked out at the others, but knew that chaos would do nothing to help.
You took a deep breath, turning back to the group. “Well…I’ve lost my memory, obviously. But I just… I know this has happened before.” You reminded them, your eyes scrunching as if you were trying to unlock the memory. “It doesn't feel scary or weird to me. It feels normal. Like it's meant to happen”
Unfortunately, your words did nothing to help the group's concern, as murmurs began to rise again. Your statement seemed like fantastic rambling over true facts. Gally quickly moved to you, inspecting your face. “She’s clearly lost a lot of blood, and she’s gone delusional. We have to get her to the med bay,” He ordered, though Albly stopped him.
"If she says she’s alright, shouldn't we believe her?” Alby had seen you stressed before, and you clearly weren't in any form of it. You truly just seemed calm with the situation.
Gally looked almost offended by the suggestion. “Not if it’s going to get her killed.”
“I'm not dying,” you insisted, and Gally looked back at you. “Well, are you in pain?” You paused, thinking over the words. “I mean..kind of”
That turned the group's murmurs into a flurry of gasps and loud comments. The most surprising action was the fact that Gally instantly clamped onto your hand. “We’re taking you to the med bay.”
“No, I’m fine, you don't-”
Gally didn't even let you finish, as he picked you up, slinging you over his shoulder. Despite your protests, he carried you over to the med bay. Maybe it was an overaction, and you truly were telling the truth, but Gally wasn't going to risk that.
He was going to make sure you were alright.
---
You lay in your bed, tossing around as you attempted to find just the right spot. Your curtains were drawn, and all you wanted was to fall back asleep, but it was all too uncomfortable.
You sighed when you heard a knock at your door, knowing any form of drifting off you had managed had all disappeared.
“Come in,” You called, pulling yourself up and resting on your elbows. The door crept open, revealing the group of keepers. Seeing you in bed, they slowly walked in, all giving you awkward smiles. Except for Gally, who still kept his hardened face.
You didn't miss the way his eyes gazed over you, like he was checking for any injuries.
“Hey, how are you going?” Newt asked softly, and you groaned in response. Alby sighed, trying his best to look more sympathetic than uncomfortable. “Look, I know you’re probably embarrassed-”
“Embarrassed?” Gally scoffed. “She has nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Well-” Winston started, and Gally glared at him, instantly shutting the boy up.
“Look, I’m just being sensitive to the situation,” Alby half-whispered, though you could clearly hear his comment to Gally.
“Sensitive about what?” Gally pushed, and Alby looked to the ground. None of them really wanted to say it out loud.
“Sensitve that she’s bleeding out of her vagina.” Minho didn't seem to have an issue, as he blurted out the statement before turning to you, “That’s true, right? They’re not just messing with me,” He had been the only one not there during the incident and was still struggling to wrap his head around the whole situation.
After being taken to the med-jacks, Clint and Jeff assessed the situation. From the information they had gotten in past supply drops, they in fact determined you were just on your 'period', a perfectly natural occurrence for women. You had been happy to hear, and after receiving some advice from the pair, you were sent back to your room to get some rest.
You took the news a lot better than the rest of the glade.
Alby knew that the others would question what would happen, and Clint seemed concerned by the lack of understanding of basic human biology everyone had, so a meeting was held to explain the situation. It had been an eye-opening and awkward meeting, especially for the runner who had been out in the maze while everything took place.
But at least now everyone had an understanding of what was happening to you each month.
“Minho, we explicitly agreed we wouldn't say that,” Newt yelled, leading to bickering among the group.
“Slim it!” You yelled, catching their attention. It seems your tiredness had completely changed your quiet attitude from before, and Gally couldn't help but give a small, proud smirk. “Gally’s right, I’m not embarrassed. I do feel like an absolute klunk, though, so please either tell me something useful or leave.”
Gally's smirk turned into a full-fledged grin on his face, clearly happy to be told he’s right. Newy cleared his throat, nudging Alby to continue. “Right, so we made you some food and we got some medical supplies for you and….” he trailed off a bit, seeming a bit flustered by everything.
“Did Clint give you the same talk they did to me?” You ask curiously, and Alby nods. You were surprised by the still awkward reactions from the group. “Well then, you know what’s going on. It’s not a big deal.”
Despite your words, the boys still looked at you like you were a ghost. It was like they assumed you were lying, or just putting on a brave face. They were at a loss for words.
“Alright, you shanks, you heard her, she’s alright. Stop being so dramatic,” Gally ordered. Winston raised an eyebrow, ready to challenge the builder's comments. “You were the one flaying around, acting like she was dying earlier.”
Gally glared, and Winston, who instantly shuddered at the attention. What he said was absolutely right, but Gally wasn't willing to admit that.
“Alright, everyone out!!” Gally ordered, rounding up the group and pushing them out. You couldn't help but giggle a bit, watching the shocked expressions of the other leaders.
“But I was explaining-”
“You were bumbling,” Gally interrupted ALby, rolling his eyes at their leader. “I'll explain everything to her. It'll be a lot quicker without you and your ranting and beating around the bush."
There were protests from the others, and even Minho questioning if you were gonna die, but Gally ignored all of them. As much as you loved the others, you had to admit you were happy to have them gone.
Gally turned to face you, suddenly realizing he was in a room alone. You smiled, and he cleared his throat, moving the basket to your bed. Despite his own wave of sudden awkwardness, he was much better at composing himself than the others.
“Most of the stuff is pretty self-explanatory. Clint left any pamphlets for the medical stuff, Frypan made the sweets, and Newt gave you some rocks for a game or something.” You smiled, knowing that Newt was always trying to come up with new ways to kill time since his injury.
“Thanks,” You spoke softly, and Gally nodded, his eyes not fully meeting yours as he continued. “We’ve agreed that if this is happening every month, you can take the time off then.”
You looked at him, surprised. “Wow, what did Newt have to bribe you with to make that happen?” You joked, but Gally shrugged. “I..I actually suggested that” You looked at him, surprised, your face morphing from a joking smile to a genuine one.
It was like seeing Gally in a new light. “He glanced up, a sudden blush on his face as he noticed your stare. This is exactly why he hated making eye contact with you; it was hard enough having you around. “You know, can;t have you dragging us down,” He quickly commented, hoping the joke would get you to frustratingly kick him out.
Instead, you just snorted, this being the first time Gally had made a joke you actually found funny. Your laugh caused Gally to smile, his mind suddenly shifting. Maybe staying with you wouldn't be so bad.
He wasn't a man of emotion. As soon as he felt a flutter in his chest when you first arrived, he vowed to avoid that feeling ever again. Which meant avoiding you. But sitting on this bed, having a quiet moment with you, he was starting to reconsider his choice.
The feeling was actually quite pleasant.
"Thank you, Gally, I really appreciate this.”
The boy nodded, deciding to finally keep proper eye contact with you. “It’s alright. Sorry for freaking out earlier.”
You shruigged. “I was actually going to thank you for that, too."
Gally's eyes widened in surprise. With all the klunk he had gotten from the other guys for it, he assumed you would be freaked out by his reaction.. “It’s nice to see that you care,” You admitted.
If only you released how much he cared.
Gally broke eye contact, the now decided pleasant feeling becoming too overwhelming. “I-I’ll leave you to rest,” He quickly spoke, noticing how your eyes had been fluttering closed a few times throughout the conversation.
You smiled, leaning forward and giving him a kiss on the cheek, before lying back down. Maybe it was just from your tiredness, or maybe it was from seeing this side of Gally, but you had become a lot bolder with your attempts to become 'closer' to the boy.
Part of Gally wanted to stay, lie down with you, but his embarrassment caused him to get up rigidly, giving you one last nod.
You giggled as you watched, snuggling into bed happily. It was nice to know Gally didn't hate you.
On the other side of the door, Gally held his back to the wall.
He was releasing how much he didn't hate you.
In fact, he now had to face the fact that he liked you a lot more than he was willing to admit.
