Soup
Series masterlist, masterpost
Newt x fem!Reader
Maze Runner, (2009 novel - James Dashner, 2014 film - Wes Ball), the Fever Code (2016 novel - James Dashner)
Word count: 1438
Summary: your favourite time of day is when the runners get back from the maze, because that’s when you get to see Newt again. It is Frypan’s least favourite time of day, because it means dealing with both of you.
Content: implied/referenced making out, kissing, hand holding (*gasp*), alcohol (mentioned), ehhh I think that’s it
Notes: I like to imagine Newt used to be much happier and brighter before the whole leg thing (hence the Fever Code as source material since it’s kinda pre-canon), so I wrote him like that here. He deserves happiness. Also I’m in love with his smile.
You stood up, stretching your arms over your head to ease the ache in your back and shoulders. The sun was just beginning to sink behind the walls, and that meant two things. Firstly, that the doors would be closing soon. Secondly, and much more importantly, it meant that the runners who hadn’t already returned would be back any minute now.
As you turned to survey the closest door – the western one – three figures appeared, jogging smoothly into the Glade. You could watch them run all day, you thought. You could watch him run all day. Your eyes followed one of the figures as he stopped, hands on his hips, and looked around. The setting sun glanced off his hair, lighting it up like molten gold even from this distance. He raised a hand, waving to you before walking in your direction.
“(Y/N)!” he called as he drew closer. “Alright, love?”
“Sure am now that you’re back,” you returned.
Newt just smiled and shook his head, slinging his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side.
“You stink!” you protested, struggling against his hold.
He snorted, tightening his grip momentarily before letting you go. “And you would too if you’d been running around the shuck Maze all day.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Honestly, you were just glad he was back. Every day ran the risk of Grievers, getting lost, not making it back before sundown, and countless other things you weren’t aware of. And you weren’t even sure if what they were doing out there was making a difference.
“If it’s gonna stop you coming within a metre of me I’ll take a shower,” he said, snapping you back to the present. “D’you know how far away dinner is?”
You smiled at him. “You go do that, and I’ll find out.”
Newt bent to place a soft kiss on your cheek, then turned to go. He stopped after a few steps, spinning back to face you, a grin dancing on his face.
“What?” you sighed.
“Wanna come with me?”
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “In the shower?”
“Save water,” he shrugged.
“Since when have you been so keen on saving water?”
“Oi,” he said, pointing a finger at you. “I’ll have you know that I am very passionate about conserving our resources.”
“Mmm, sure, conserving resources.”
“So? Yay or nay?”
You screwed up your face, weighing your options. You definitely would like a shower, you’d like a shower with Newt even more, but… “Can’t,” you said, pointing at the pile of carrots lying by your feet. “Frypan’s waiting on this.”
Newt shook his head. “Bummer, you’re missing out.”
“You’ll have to make it up to me next time,” you smiled.
“Will do.” He clapped his hands, then spun and resumed his trek towards the shower.
You watched him for a moment, then bent back to your task. You’d started talking to Newt almost as soon as you’d arrived in the glade. He was friendly where lots of others weren’t, and didn’t seem to be as hung up about the fact that you were one girl among twenty guys as so many of them were. He was nice, chatty, he made you laugh. It had only been a few weeks when you’d realised you liked him as something more than a friend, and not too long after that that you’d gotten together – courtesy of one of the boys working out how to make moonshine.
You couldn’t remember the night as clearly as you’d have liked – thanks to said moonshine – but you did remember the bonfire, and the way he’d looked. He’d been glowing, like he was lit up from the inside, and you’d been totally mesmerised by everything he did. Then he’d taken your hands and pulled you into the clumsiest music-less dance you’d ever experienced (it was the only one, but you were sure nothing would ever top it), and kissed you, to your horror, in front of everyone. He’d apologised the morning after and you’d talked about it, and while you’d (mostly) forgiven him in light of the fact that he was a damn good kisser, it was still something you brought up when you wanted to make him squirm.
Now, you shook the dirt of the last carrot and stood once more, the vegetables dangling from your hands by their leafy ends in two bunches. They weren’t all too big and were twisted in weird shapes, but they tasted good once Frypan got his hands on them.
You crossed the space to the kitchen, dumping the carrots unceremoniously in the sink with a curt announcement of “carrots.”
“Hello to you too, (Y/N),” the cook said sarcastically. “I’m well, thanks for asking.”
“Great to hear,” you replied. “Newt wants to know what’s for dinner.”
“Newt can wait and see.”
You sighed, leaning heavily on the counter. “Please? He won’t leave me alone if I don’t find out.”
“He’s only gotta wait an hour, he can suffer like everybody else.”
“You’re ruthless, Fry. And after I spent the better part of the afternoon pulling out all those carrots–”
“It took you twenty minutes.”
“--you don’t even have the good grace to tell me what they’re gonna be used for. Is it bologna? Is it a pie? Does it have sauce? Come on man, give me something.”
“Jesus ok!” he relented, throwing his hands up. “It’s vegetable soup.”
You tilted your head to the side, slightly disappointed. “Soup? The kind with all the little bits in it or the kind that’s blended up?”
“With the little bits in it.”
“Oh,” you said. “Ok then.”
The cook crossed his arms, frowning at you. “You got a problem with it?”
“No,” you shook your head. “I like soup.” It wasn’t a lie, you did like soup. You just didn’t like the sadly stewed vegetables floating in the saltiest watery stock you could imagine that was what Frypan called veggie soup. At least it was hot.
“Good, cause we’re having it tomorrow too.”
You hummed, flicking at a carrot. Before Frypan could say anything else, a pair of warm hands settled on your waist. Maybe Newt did like saving water after all.
Frypan groaned, looking skywards as if to the heavens. “And now there’s two.”
“Sure is,” Newt said, his chin resting on your shoulder and his arms snaking around your waist. “Do I still stink?”
You pretended to sniff deeply, then shook your head. “Fresh a daisy. Veggie soup for dinner, with the little chunky bits in it.”
“Chunky bits? I love the chunky bits.”
“You better,” Fry snorted, “blender conked out. It’s gonna be chunky everything for the next three days.”
You felt Newt shrug. “Texture,” he said.
“Also we’re having it tomorrow as well,” you told him.
“Will there be bread?”
“There’s always bread.”
“Yes,” Frypan sighed. “There will be bread. Now will two piss off so I can actually make it? Go make out or whatever you do in your free time.”
You turned your head, drawing back to meet Newt’s gaze. “You wanna go make out?”
“I would like nothing better,” he grinned.
“Awesome. Thanks Fry,” you called as Newt took your hand, leading you away from the more crowded areas of the glade.
“You can have my bread if I can have your soup,” he said as soon as you were out of earshot of the kitchen.
“Deal. I don’t know how you like that stuff.”
“I don’t know how you don’t.”
“It’s so watery and salty,” you complained. “And the veggies are always too soggy.”
“It’s just the right salty, and the veggies are suitably soft. That pie we had last week, however–”
You gasped. “That pie was heaven-sent!”
“It was so dry! I felt like my mouth was the freaking Sahara desert after eating it. And it had no flavour.”
“Because you didn’t put the relish on it. Mine was delicious.”
“I’m sure it was to you,” he said. “I didn’t like it.”
“Just like I don’t like the veggie soup. The pumpkin soup, however…”
Newt hummed in agreement. “That bloody pumpkin soup.”
“Yeah,” you sighed. “That was good.”
“So.” He turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “Making out?”
You pretended to think for a moment, then grinned. “Better do what the cook tells us, right?”
“Right, wouldn’t wanna miss out on that soup.”
“Shut up,” you said, grabbing the front of his shirt and kissing him.
“Ok,” he murmured against your mouth, his hands sliding once more to rest around your waist. You smiled into the kiss, pressing close to him. God, you were grateful for that stupid moonshine.
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