#the maze runner imagines | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heliads · 1 day

Note

Newt x reader Bridgerton AU. Reader, the diamond of the season, is the Duchess of Hastings. She wants to marry someone who likes her as a person and isn’t after her money. Newt, son of a widowed viscountess, needs to marry to save his family’s reputation because his sister Sonya was seen alone with her fiancé Lord Aris before they were engaged. The anonymous writer Lady Whistledown is Ava, a widowed modiste who has her nose in everyone’s business, and Aris is the only one who knows.

'foxes and hounds' - newt

masterlist

The start of a new social season, although intended, supposedly, to be a cause for joy, feels rather more like a fierce uprising of dread, not celebration. Across the ton, young maidens find themselves new entrees– or, entrants– to the marriage mart. This game of rings and dances, men with ambition and women with more, will end in blissful happiness or deepest discontent. And all will be witnessed by every worthy family from one corner of the country to the next.

If all goes according to plan, an eligible would-be bride will find herself engaged to a man she loves, a man in possession of a handsome fortune and a sterling reputation. If luck slips past her, she’ll settle for someone decent, or someone without any income at all. If nothing goes in her favor, her first year in society will not be her last as a single woman. She will have to repeat her attempt the next year, this time without the glimmering aura of a new arrival, and hope that something within her has changed enough to attract a proposal. Otherwise, she will sink to the bottom of the pile of dance cards, ignored, abandoned, and grown up into a spinster. All that hard work gone to waste.

You’ve heard many young women discuss the marriage mart with nothing short of absolute terror in their voices. A good opening season can seal a girl’s fate forever. Attracting the eye of a worthy man is an impossible task for all but the best of the rosebuds, or so it seems. Most of us will settle for something halfway decent– a tidy sum per annum but nothing extravagant, a man with casual disinterest but nothing harsh. Something that can be shaped into something good, or at least ignored in favor of not being alone. Such is the romance of a married life.

You, however, hope to extract a little more out of the whole affair. As the Duchess of Hastings, you have no need for money. A marriage would be nice, the final touch on the portrait of a successful lady, but you do not require the financial stability of a husband. You have plenty of money and plenty of friends. You will inherit your estate. If you look for a husband, you will look only for love.

One would think, then, that entering your first season among the eligible women of the ton would be bereft of the panic permeating through most of your friends in search of husbands. However, when you line up with the rest of the young women to be presented to the Queen at the start of the season, you find that it couldn’t be less true.

Your stomach is in knots, even as you sweep confidently through the corridor to wait outside the door. The white feather in your hair stands tall and proud. Your dress is crisp and finely stitched, the highest of fashion yet never gaudy. You attract stares wherever you go– from the other girls, envious and jealous and heartsick, from the men, longing and cutthroat and mercenary– but pretend they don’t phase you in the slightest. As duchess, you’ve had plenty of time to grow accustomed to onlookers. You won’t allow them to interfere with you on this all important day.

At last, your name is called, and you enter the throne room, your mother behind you. You keep your steps small but light, and seem to float towards your queen. When the time is right, you sink into an elegant curtsy. The moment seems to last forever, your knees bent, your hands shaking slightly, but when the queen calls you to stand, you look up to find her smiling benevolently at you.

“I believe I have found my diamond of the season,” she announces.

The room erupts in polite applause, and you do your best to smother a smile that’s entirely too giddy to be proper. As you retreat from the room, you gaze at the faces surrounding you, trying to remember which ones look genuinely happy for you and which seem to be identifying a prize pig for the slaughter. When the town gossips all gather later to share their thoughts on today’s proceedings, you’re certain that some of them will attempt to discredit you, saying that of course the queen would choose the duchess as her diamond, but you know just as well as all of them that you deserve the honor today. You were the best of everyone here, and it’s plain to see.

Among all of them, your gaze catches on a singular man, almost lost in the crowd from all the bodies packed together but no less entrancing. What strikes you the most is that his face seems kind, and his eyes sparkle with pride as they watch you go. Pride for you, for your accomplishments. As if he couldn’t be more delighted that you of all people were named the season’s diamond.

Then you’re gone from the room, and the kind man is no longer before you. Still, you puzzle over the encounter long after your carriage takes you home. You don’t believe you recognize him, but that doesn’t mean anything to sway you towards any decision. An image of the young man swims in your mind– short, dirty blond hair, an upturned mouth, dark eyes, his face almost spritely. Clever, for sure.

You know better than to mess with clever men. Clever men are the type to try and twist your mind, convince you that they only love you then attempt to make off with your money. You know full well what marriage to you will offer any would-be suitor. This season, you may be looking for affection, but every man in the room will be after your fortune. The task of finding someone who truly cares for you will be a difficult one indeed.

So, clever men or not, you’ll have to keep your heart under close guard. When the first ball of the season comes to be, you don one of your finest dresses, and firmly admonish yourself to be careful. The game of hearts is not one that you lose. Either you win, or you destroy yourself.

You time your arrival carefully, so as to make the best entrance, and your efforts are rewarded. From the moment you’re announced, all eyes turn to you. Were it not for your extensive experience with being scrutinized in the grand magnifying lens that is the ton, you’d be nervous to have that many people looking at you. Even still, you can’t pretend you don’t feel a small flutter in your stomach.

It gets easier once you sweep further into the room, once people start smiling at you again, when the conversation picks up and you’re asked for your first dance of the evening, which you accept. Your partner is a charming man named Minho– dark hair, witty eyes, an excellent sense of humor. He’s athletic and a decent dancer, and by the time the music stops, you’re back to your usual self again. You can’t stop yourself from mentally sizing up your dance partner. He seems nice, and you wouldn’t be bored around him, at least. His family owns land. Although he’s not of your precise social standing, few are, and he’s close enough to you that it would be a respectable match.

Still– still, you think to yourself, as you move away from the center of the floor once more to consider your dance card, it’s not quite enough. You want love, you want a spark, and you didn’t quite get that with Minho. There are plenty of eligible suitors here, though, and many more balls to come. You’ll have other opportunities to select a match.

A few dances later, though, your feet are beginning to feel heavy and you’re still no closer to finding someone of interest than you were at the start. A good lady of extensive training such as yourself should have no problem dancing the entire night through with a pleasant smile on her face, but you’re still human, still tired, and your charming demeanor is beginning to pinch at the seams before long.

The music for the latest dance ends, and you curtsy to your partner, praying silently that no one else will be looking to fill your dance card for the next rotation. However, when you turn around, you’re greeted with the sight of many anxious faces. Something inside you wilts, perhaps your endurance.

Before the mobs can descend upon you, however, a figure appears in front of you. You sigh in relief to see one of your closest friends, Miss Teresa Agnes. “Teresa! And here I thought I wouldn’t have a single good friend all evening.”

Teresa laughs, her dark hair shining. “I would never abandon you. Certainly not when our diamond is sparkling so spectacularly tonight.”

You smile at her. “I’m not the only one who’s sparkling, Teresa. You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” Teresa says sincerely. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to introduce someone to you. This is Viscount Newt, a good friend of mine. I met him through Thomas.”

You smile to yourself as Teresa turns to beckon someone towards you. Teresa has been harboring a not-so-secret admiration for Thomas since you were all small. This is her first season in the social circles, too, and if she doesn’t come out of it with a proposal from Thomas, you’ll think the sky has fallen. Even now, he’s watching her fondly from across the room, trying to pretend as if he isn’t pining madly while Minho teases him for it.

“Here he is at last,” Teresa says, and all of a sudden you can’t think about Thomas’ case of lovesickness for a second longer, because Teresa has brought her friend before you, and you know him. It’s the stranger from your presentation to the queen. The nice one, the clever one. The one that caught your eye, and then your imagination.

You curtsy automatically, and Newt bows. Once the two of you straighten up, you’re able to observe him more closely. You’d only gotten a fleeting glimpse earlier, but now you can drink in the sight of him, and you do. His eyes are dark, but catch the lights like stars. His mouth has a habit of twitching up at the sides, as if he’s always thinking of a joke but just barely managing to keep it at bay. When he looks at you, he really looks at you. You’ve been stared at all night by would-be suitors, but their gazes never went farther than surface level. Right now, it’s as if Newt can see through to your very soul, and most intimately of all, appreciates it.

Teresa gives you a confused look, and you realize you’ve been standing in silence for longer than is probably courteous. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say.

“I must return the sentiment,” Newt returns. “Teresa has talked about you many times. I’ve been quite eager to meet you.”

“I hope I’m worthy of what she’s told you,” you say.

Newt smiles again. “I believe you’re even better than that,” he tells you.

Teresa is looking at you with an odd smile. “I believe I’d better let the two of you get to know each other, then,” she says, and sweeps away before you can stop her.

Newt laughs. “She’s been wanting to set us up for ages. For a friendship, I mean,” he breaks in hastily. “Apparently, she thinks we have a similar sense of humor.”

“I look forward to finding that out myself,” you smile.

Newt’s eyes flash with mirth again, delighting you. Behind you, the music picks up again. Newt extends a hand towards you. “Would you mind if I shared a dance with you? Unless, of course, you’d rather sit for a while.”

“I’d love to dance,” you say quickly, and it’s true. All of a sudden, the pain in your feet is gone, as if it had never existed at all.

Newt smiles and takes your hand to lead you to the dance floor. The orchestra begins its melody, and you start your dance. You make a mental note to ask Teresa a little more about Newt later; he dances like an aristocrat, but he speaks so freely to you. It’s nothing like you’ve ever experienced in a suitor before.

Newt arches a brow as he steps through the dance. “Sizing me up, are you? It may be improper of me to ask, but I do hope I’m meeting your requirements.”

Your cheeks heat up. “I’m simply appreciating your mastery of this dance. Nothing more.”

Newt laughs easily. “Of course not. It’s not as if everyone else here is doing the same thing right now. Every dance partner is a strategy meeting. In just a matter of minutes, you’ll walk away knowing if I am a worthy wager, and I will do the same. This ball is full of hounds and foxes, my lady. We all know our parts.”

You glance at him, feeling a curious grin tugging at your lips. “And which am I? Fox or hound?”

Newt returns your proud gaze. “I suppose we’ll find out at the end of the season, won’t we?”

You laugh, feeling oddly triumphant. Newt has this way about him that you find enchanting. It’s almost breaching impropriety with how candid he is around you, but it only makes you trust him more. The dance ends far sooner than you’d like. Newt relinquishes you to the storm of suitors outside, hopefully with just as much reluctance as you.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Newt is truly the only one that stands out to you. You don’t have a chance to dance with him again, but you keep making eye contact as you dance with other partners. You can practically hear his clever words in your head, catching you in the act of evaluating the suitors in front of you. Fox or hound?

When the ball ends and you return to your carriage for the ride home, you’re blissful, practically dreamy. You’ve had enough time with Newt to dream about it until the next ball, where you’ll likely repeat the same cycle over and over again until the season ends.

However, your golden mood is shattered when your chaperone sits down across from you. Her face, by contrast, is twisted with disappointment. “Do you have any idea what sort of trouble you’re getting yourself into?” She asks once the carriage pulls away.

Still caught up in the heady dream of a merry boy who smiled the brightest when he danced with you, you don’t realize the trap descending around you until it’s too late. “What trouble?”

Your chaperone’s lips purse. “You’re meant to be dancing only with eligible gentlemen, my lady. I should hope that you’d be able to recognize the suitable candidates from the unseemly by now.”

The veil is pierced, and you’re beginning to be brought back to earth. “What are you talking about? I thought I made perfectly reasonable choices with my dance partners.”

Your chaperone shakes her head, a quick, sharp gesture. “All but one. Goodness, haven’t you heard about the trouble with that one family? I can’t believe Miss Agnes had the nerve to introduce him to you, but perhaps the fact that she’s so besotted with Lord Thomas is upsetting her mind.”

Your heart freezes in your chest. “You can’t mean to say that the Viscount is not a suitable bachelor? What else could he be?”

The other woman sighs. “You don’t know, do you? My lady, I would not interfere if I did not feel the need, but I can assure you, his motives with you are purely mercenary. That man is desperate for something to cover up the follies of his family, and you, my dear, are the perfect gilded shield.”

You feel cold. “What follies?”

“His sister, Miss Sonya, was seen alone with her fiance,” your chaperone murmurs at last. “Lord Aris. I would think you would have heard his name, although perhaps not connected it with Viscount Newt. Miss Sonya and Lord Aris were happily engaged, and by all accounts it was a fine union, but they were seen together without a chaperone past dark. Quite the scandal. The Viscount knows it and is eager to get the ton talking about anything but his sister’s misdeeds. Entering into a courtship with you would do just the trick.”

She’s right, and you know it, and you hate it. “He seemed so genuine,” you whisper, and instantly know how foolish it sounds.

Your chaperone, to her credit, is kind enough to take pity on you. “He did,” she tells you, “and you looked happy together. You would be less happy, however, when you found out the truth. I would rather you know now and stay away. Men like that are nothing but trouble.”

You nod solemnly, turning your head to watch the dark landscapes rumbling past. The sun is already beginning to rise, a hallmark of a late night out. It had been a beautiful night up until this, and now the entire evening is ruined in your mind.

“I feel for Miss Sonya,” you whisper. “She was already engaged. They were just talking.”

“She knows the rules of society, and so do you,” your chaperone reminds you. “We all have our roles to play.”

And the consequence of setting a foot outside your role is instant public mortification. Yes. What a forgiving world. You immediately plant your exhausted body in your bed when you return, hardly sparing the time to wash and dress, but the only things to bloom from your rest are troubled dreams of the boy that could have been yours. Now that you know the truth– that Newt was only trying to use you for a better reputation– every interaction with him is tainted.

You’d meant what you said in the carriage, though. You did think Newt was genuine. Hadn’t he laughed more than usual when he was with you? Hadn’t he regarded you with that fierce pride of his, as if he’d finally found a mind that was an equal to his? Hadn’t he watched you with something akin to jealousy when you danced with the other men that weren’t him?

Hadn’t you wished he would only dance with you? And don’t you wish that you could truly do what you promised yourself and marry only for love, never mind the rest? It is a simple dream to think that love is easy. Marriage is not simple, not in the ton, not in your lifetime. Every one of your days will be shaped by the whims of society, even when they take Newt away from you.

When it comes time for the next ball, you do your best to strengthen your spirits before you go. You intentionally avoid him, making sure to always have your dance card full whenever the music ends. It’s easy enough to find a crowd large enough to hide you from him, and yet you still catch glimpses of Newt from across the hall, several partners down, in a carriage many behind yours. You successfully go two balls, then three, without seeing him, but it aches like a knife in your ribs when you think about what could have been.

As it turns out, you’re not the only one wishing you were with him. At the fifth ball of the season, your attempts to distance yourself from the viscount are foiled at last. Newt tracks you down, signing his name on your dance card before you can stop him before leading you out to the dance floor.

“That’s a rather abrupt way of asking a lady to dance, don’t you think?” You ask as you curtsy.

Newt bows. “I felt it was the only way of guaranteeing that you would dance with me.”

“A lady never declines a gentleman in need of a dance,” you remind him.

The music picks up, and the two of you begin your paces. “A lady also never avoids a gentleman as thoroughly as you have at the last few balls,” Newt says. “Were it not for the fact that I know you to be as perfectly agreeable a duchess as there could ever be, I would say that it was personal.”

You can’t look him in the eyes, even with his hands on you, guiding you through the steps. “It’s not meant to work out, my lord. Us, I mean. We cannot forget the rules.”

When Newt speaks again, his voice sounds hurt. “Why not? Forgive me, my lady, but I remember what it was like that first night. You were happy. We were happy, and happy together. What changed?”

At last, you risk a glance towards him, and instantly regret it. Newt’s eyes are filled with genuine hurt. Are you wrong? Did he actually want you as more than a cover-up? “I heard about your sister,” you say as delicately as you can.

Still, Newt flinches as if you’ve hit him. “You don’t know the full story,” Newt says raggedly.

“Then tell me,” you beg him. “I would choose you if I could, but everyone seems to think that you are only interested in me to advance your station. Give me a reason to believe in you, not them.”

“I can’t say it here,” Newt whispers.

“I can’t go somewhere with you alone,” you tell him quietly. “Especially not after what happened to your sister. You must tell me now, or we will never have another chance.”

“Alright,” he says at last. “But you mustn’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”

Once you agree, Newt begins to speak in a hushed whisper hardly audible to you, let alone the other couples around you. “Sonya is deeply in love with Lord Aris, and he is in love with her. So much so to the point that he has been battling a deep rage ever since that awful gossip rag, Lady Whistledown, slightly disparaged her last season. He took it upon himself to find out Lady Whistledown’s identity, and somehow, he did. The only problem is, Lady Whistledown is not someone Sonya would consider a friend. He wanted to warn her about the dangers of being anything less than perfect around that insidious writer, and he didn’t want to waste a moment. He called on her to meet with him as soon as possible. He didn’t think they would be seen, but they were, and of course Lady Whistledown ran with it to discredit them in case they would reveal her.”

You suck in a harsh breath. “It was never anything wrong, then. He merely wanted to protect her.”

Newt nods. “Lord Aris is a good man. He never would have done something like this if he realized how it would backfire. He regrets it daily, even though all he wanted to do was keep my sister safe. The ton knows their characters, too. Neither of them would do anything unseemly. The rumors diminish by the day, and soon, it will all be over. They will be happily married.”

He sighs and looks at you again. “I tell you this to explain myself, and to clear my name. I have nothing to hide from the situation with my sister and her future husband. In fact, it is only because they directly asked me not to spread this information that I haven’t gone public with the identity of Lady Whistledown herself to spare their reputations. I have nothing to fear, my lady. Certainly nothing that would make me risk the happiness of my marriage on a good rumor. I would court you because I have never met anyone like you before, nor do I think I ever will. You are utterly entrancing in every possible way. If you do not wish to be with me in that fashion, I would understand.”

You shake your head quickly. “I do want that, my lord. I want you.”

A careful smile slips across Newt’s face. “Do you mean that?”

“I do,” you tell him. “I have wanted you since the moment I saw you at my presentation. I would have found you no matter what lies they spread.”

Newt grins. “I believe I have decided something important, my lady. About your inner nature.”

You arch a brow as he spins you. “And what is that?”

“You’re a hound,” he informs you matter-of-factly. “Sharp and bright. Brave, too. But, then again, I am a hound as well. We make quite the pair, I think.”

“I think so too,” you tell him. In the days to come, rumors will abound about the viscount and the duchess. At first, there will be surprise across the ton, but then, even the most tenacious of gossips will realize that this makes perfect sense. The most clever of men and the most ambitious of women, bound together in holy matrimony. Even the best of poets couldn’t concoct a story that beautiful.

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

the maze runner tag list: @blondsauduun, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver, @il0vebeingdelulu

all tags list: @wordsarelife

29 notes · View notes

serafilms · 5 months

Text

song 72! you belong with me (taylor swift) + newt requested by @misty-inferno (2023 spotify wrapped event)

dreaming ‘bout the day when you wake up and find that what you’re looking for has been here the whole time

If anyone were to ask where either you or Newt were, the other gladers would say to look for the other. They’d probably end up finding the two of you together.

At least, that was the case before Thomas came into the picture.

Today found you sitting on a bench near the kitchen, where Frypan had kicked you out. Apparently your sour mood was spoiling the food. You glowered when you looked in the distance and saw Newt walking the newbie around.

“Whoa, why are you trying to commit a felony?”

Your eyes flitted up to where Minho was hovering over you. Still scowling, you said, “What felony?”

“Attempted murder. Using your face.”

“Man, fuck you!” you exclaimed, smacking him on the arm.

“Hey! I didn’t mean it like that! I meant like, the whole ‘if looks could kill’ thing,” he defended himself, rubbing his arm.

“Well either way, I’m not trying to murder anyone, you slinthead.”

Minho shrugged. “Tell that to Thomas. He’s been asking since last night why you keep glaring at him.”

“I’m not glaring at him,” you scoffed, “I’m observing. Analysing.”

“Right, right,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “You sure you’re not just pissy he’s hanging out with Newt?”

“Well,” you huffed, “he already got the tour from Chuck, what more does he need to know?”

Minho finally joined you on the bench, and nudged you with his elbow. You massaged the sore spot on your ribs.

“You should tell him how you feel, you know.”

“I’ve tried, Minho.”

He looked very unimpressed. “How? Telepathic signals?”

“I- well, you know,” you spluttered, “I wrote a note that said ‘I love you’ and left it in his hammock? But then it fell out and he didn’t see it.”

“My condolences,” Minho drawled.

You stuck your tongue out at him and he rolled his eyes. Minho was right, to some extent, you thought. But you didn’t want to confess to him, not with everything he’d been through, and with this horrible situation you’d been thrust in.

Newt was the best, most deserving person you’d ever met, and you knew you couldn’t force him into anything. Also, you were a bit of a coward. But that wasn’t the important part. You wanted him to realise by himself that you loved him and decide what he wanted.

And if what he wanted was Thomas, so be it.

“It’s not that simple,” you said to Minho. “Nothing is ever simple in The Glade. If I have to keep pining after him until he realises I love him or decides he loves me, then I will.”

Minho’s lips pursed and his gaze softened. “Okay, fine.”

Then he looked forwards and his eyes zeroed in on something. “Heads up, though, they’re coming this way.”

You looked up instantly and found Newt and Thomas heading your way. Newt raised his hand in a wave and Thomas gave what was probably supposed to be a smile but ended up being more like a grimace. Wow, he really did think you hated him.

“Hey Y/N, Minho,” Newt said, but his gaze was fixed on you. “Could I talk to Y/N for a second?”

“Fine,” scoffed Minho, “get rid of me. Come on, greenie, let’s go raid the kitchen.”

He threw an arm around Thomas and guided him away, and Newt took his spot on the bench while your heartbeat and body temperature rose alarmingly.

“Hi,” you managed to squeak out, “what’s up?”

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “I found this on top of your things when I tried to look for you this morning.”

He started to rummage around in his pants pocket. “And then Thomas told me he saw the same piece of paper lying on the ground under my hammock last night.”

Dread filled every crevice of your body as Newt pulled out a folded piece of paper and unfolded it to reveal the words ‘I love you.’

“That’s… quite a coincidence,” you muttered.

Newt’s face twisted in a smile. “Yeah, I thought so too.”

Your face was unimaginably red when he started digging around in his other pocket and then turned to look at you.

“But what’s an even bigger coincidence, is this.”

He handed you a second piece of paper, folded only in half. Your heart lurched as you peeled it open. ‘I love you,’ it said, in a perfect imitation of Newt’s handwriting.

“What?”

He laughed at your dumbstruck expression and took the paper from your hands, then took your hands in his, forcing you to look at him. “I was going to give it to you tonight.”

“You love me?” you asked, still dumbstruck.

“I do, yeah.”

Your stomach did flips as you grinned at him. “Can I kiss you?”

Newt turned a little pink, and you flushed with pride at being able to embarrass him, then he nodded.

Nobody was surprised when you both showed up hand in hand to dinner that night, nor when you kissed afterwards. And nobody, not even Thomas, was surprised when Newt climbed his way into your hammock instead of his.

Because that was where he belonged. With you.

the maze runner: apocalypse sassy man apocalypse

based off of the ybwm music video

276 notes · View notes

nikkoniji · 2 months

Text

athlete’s girlfriend - minho x reader

just an americacore au blurb

pairing : minho x reader

warnings : none

masterlist : wip 🚧

taglist : none yet

word count : 272

time after time you'd seen girls walk up to your boyfriend. it wasn't unexpected in the slightest– it was a well-known fact that minho was popular with everyone at school, especially with his new hobby.

minho had recently joined the basketball team; and it'd only brought more attention to him, his sassy remarks, and his impeccable… form.

with a roll of your eyes and a huff, you watch as yet another girl walks up to your boyfriend whilst he stands at his locker, his jersey resting over his toned shoulder as he rummages through his things. he has an almost bored look on his face– prepared to give this girl the same answer he gave everyone.

"i have a girlfriend," minho began, closing his locker, having just finished with turning back the lock –

– that's when he saw you.

with a smirk and a certain light in his eyes that only seemed to ignite when you were in the room, he beckons you over using a simple nod.

once you were at his side, his arm slithered around your waist. the action was so natural, comforting. no matter how many times he did it, it never got old to you.

"sorry," the ravenette shrugged, using his available hand to adjust the way his jersey laid on his shoulder, watching with great pride as the suitress walked off.

"using me to fend off your fans?" you joke, looking up to your boyfriend, your face adorned with a bit of a smile yourself.

"more like showing you off." minho retorted amusedly, pulling you closer to place a gentle kiss on your head.

#minho maze runner x reader #tmr minho #the maze runner imagines #the maze runner x reader #tmr minho x reader #the maze runner x you #ki hong lee #minho imagines #minho x you #the maze runner x y/n

148 notes · View notes

mae-gi-writes · 11 days

Text

Arch-nemesis . Gally (themazerunner)

There's a thin line between love and hate, especially when it concerns Gally.

A/N: I've re-watched the three Maze Runner movies and now I'm obsessed and getting back onto the TMR fantrain so bear with me and the future fics I've already got saved in my drafts TT 3 TT ------

You hate him with all your heart.

Truthfully, honestly. There isn’t anyone you hate more than this stupid asshole that thinks that he’s the centre of the earth.

You met him only when he’d been brought in by Lawrence and a few of his other guys, having been there just for a few weeks prior. Thinking that this might be your chance to make a new friend, you’d sidled over to him with a small smile as you asked for his name. That didn’t go as smoothly as you thought when he just grunted out his name in response and turned away from you like you were a pest instead.

But it isn’t just that. It’s the way he says your name in that really aggravating tone that grates at your nerves. It’s the way he always insists it’s your fault when you’re out on missions and come back with no updates. It’s the way he bullies you and calls you names whenever your paths cross and it makes you want to gouge his eyes out. It’s enough to say that you know Gally now and you know exactly what he’s made of. That, and the fact that you’d stay far away from him as you possibly could if that was an option.

“You’re loading it up wrong shank-face,” he’d tell you as you were re-filling your gun.

“Shut up Gally, I’m doing it properly.”

“Don’t come crying to me when the gun doesn’t work.”

“It’s none of your business if it doesn’t work.”

“It is my business if you’re gonna—“

“Right that’s enough,” your mentor and leader called Jared had to step in, like he did numerous times, to get you to cool off. You’d storm away in a fit of annoyance and irritation, hating how easily Gally got under your skin.

It’s been a few weeks since weird sightings of stray immunes have circulated the area and in reply to this, Lawrence had set you up for a mission with Gally to scout the outer walls of the Last City. That had only caused you to grumble about the unfairness of the situation.

“Why do I have to go?” Your eyes narrow at the familiar tall figure lingering in your peripheral. Gally is busy setting up his weapons as you try to plead your case, seemingly uncaring about your protests, “and with him of all people? We don’t work well together Lawrence—“

“Everyone else is taken or busy with other tasks. Meaning that only you two are free,” Lawrence cuts you off without a hint of sympathy, “so either you do as you’re told or you can leave Y/N. As simple as that.”

In the end you have no choice but to abide by his rules, strapping up your weapons and defenses before Gally calls out your name. You turn just in time to catch the water bottle he sends your way, yelping in the process.

“You’re looking a little distraught, shank-face,” he smirks at you from where he stands loading up the provisions, “scared of what you’ll find out there? If you ain’t good enough, just don’t come and waste people’s time.”

“Nobody asked for your opinion, ugly brows.”

“I’m just worried you might slow me down. I’m not a goddamn babysitter.”

“I didn’t ask for one, now will you shut up and stop talking?”

“I’m surprised these two haven’t killed each other off yet,” murmurs one of Lawrence’s men.

“Killed or kissed you mean,” Jared lets out a chuckle.

These words are enough to cause the others to look at him with shocked faces, “what do you mean?”

“Isn’t it clear?” Jared motions towards the two currently bickering, “bet that by tomorrow night these two will get together.”

“I bet they last a week before they kiss.” Another says.

“Oh come on, I’m betting two weeks. Gally isn’t that type of guy.”

“What about me?” Gally’s voice causes them all to shut up, looking at him with guilty smiles and with shakes of their heads.

“Nothing to worry about Maze boy,” Jared flicks him off with a wave of his hand, “now off you go, both of you. And I expect some good news when you return.”

“Of any kind,” someone adds quietly, to which they all cackle.

You’ve toured the city a million times before in search of any kind of entrances that might lead to the inside, where all of Wicked laid. So it’s nothing out of your depth to follow Gally around as you survey the area and scout for more sources of information.

In all honesty, touring with Gally isn’t that much different from anyone else. On the contrary, Gally’s determined nature conjoined with his natural physical ability to excel just renders him an even more ideal battle partner. Not that you’ll ever tell him that. It will surely come bite you in the ass later when you least expect it.

You’re almost at the perimeter when you notice something off about one of the citizens. It’s a little girl, her face contorted in a grimace as she holds her hands in front of her tummy. For a moment, she sways in the middle of the crowd and you’re about to dismiss it, when another figure stalks in and takes a swipe at her with a stick.

The girl yelps as the stick hits her knees, crumbling to the floor like a sack of bones.

Before you know it, you’re sprinting towards her, anger flaring through your chest as your hands steady themselves on the gun. You barely hear Gally’s voice as you stumble in front of the kid just in time to point your weapon at the older man.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You hiss at him.

The man’s eyes widen. He takes a step back, “no no, get away from her, you don’t understand—“

“Understand what? That you were going to beat her to death?” You click your gun into place, “nice try old man, now tell me—“

“Get away from her!” He yells at you, “she’s not normal! She’s—“

And a growl erupts from behind you. You swivel around in panic, eyes going wide upon noticing for the first time the dark patch close to her eyes.

The Flare.

The girl twitches. A small sob falls from her mouth. Your heart jumps to your throat, stumbling back half a step as weird animalistic noises echo from her mouth.

And then, she pounces.

You yell out something— you’re not too sure what — and are about to knock her on the head as she throws herself at you—

A bullet explodes on the right side of her brain and she falls to the ground like a puppet.

You stare at her for a minute. One more.

Your gaze slowly trails up to see familiar booted feet.

“What were you even thinking?”

Gally’s voice is usually deep. But this time, even you can’t stand up to the anger simmering in his voice. It’s dark and holds some kind of laced savagery that makes your toes curl in apprehension.

He takes your silence as guilt before grabbing onto your arm and roughly pulling you out of the crowd. He doesn’t stop and for once you don’t fight him, still not over the shock of seeing that poor girl’s face, the crazed look in her eyes. You’re so deep in your thoughts that you don’t realize you’re at your truck until Gally practically throws you against its side.

Your back digs into the metal and you grunt at the impact, the ache stinging your spine. But before you can do anything else, huge palms come to a rest on either side of your head.

Gally leans into you, so close that you can feel the heat radiate off him in waves.

“What the fuck was that about?” He growls, voice dropping even lower.

Somehow, it causes a shiver to run up your spine. Not one of fear, something else. Something that makes your stomach squeeze into knots.

“I—“ for once, you don’t seem to have any words. Instead your head turns away from Gally’s eyes as you bite down onto your lower lip, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You’re sorry?” He scoffs, laughs to himself before his gaze hardens once more, “sorry for what Y/N? For almost getting yourself killed? Are you insane?! She could’ve literally infected you and you—“

“I didn’t know she was infected.” You tried to protest.

That seems to aggravate him even more, “You didn’t even bother to check!” His nostrils flare.

“Well I said I’m sorry!”

“Sorry’s not going to cut it if you turn into one of those Cranks you stupid slinthead! You need to be more responsible! I literally turn away for one minute and you’re—“

“Oh stop exaggerating Gally. I was trying to protect her—“

“Yeah and look how that ended!”

You snap, “why are you so pissed? It was an accident and I already said sorry!”

“It’s not just that Y/N!” He yells with such emotion that his face flushes red, “What if I wasn’t there? What would you have done then?!”

“Why the fuck do you care? You wanted me gone—“

Your words cut off in mid-conversation when his large hands suddenly cup your face before pulling you in to crash his lips against yours.

Your eyes widen, brain freezing, as butterflies erupt through your stomach.

Wow.

Is this what a kiss is?

And this is Gally, kissing you like he means it.

It's almost like time has stopped.

Heart pounding, your body slowly melts against his. You’re in a trance-like state, watching yourself crumble under his fingertips that he places right under your jaw, his other hand sliding down to your hip to pin you in place.

The kiss is surprisingly gentle yet firm. His mouth moves slowly, hesitantly, almost like he fears breaking you. And yet, when you respond with a soft movement of your own, the rumble of his chest has your stomach squeezing with adrenaline.

You’re not too sure what’s happening. Here you are, with the world’s biggest dick, kissing him like he’s your lover when all you’ve ever wanted was to kick him in the face for being a class A asshole.

But it’s weird because this, however, feels so right. Like you’re meant to be locking lips, like he doesn’t want anyone else in his arms but you. And when he cages you in his hold with even more intensity it makes you gasp, causing him to slip his tongue into your mouth with an ease that has you parting like melted butter.

Slowly, your hands trail up to his chest, grabbing hold of his dark tunic and tugging slightly as his teeth suckle onto your bottom lip. A noise echoes from the back of your throat and he growls in response, pressing you even harder so that your head tilts back against the truck’s surface.

You need air at some point and so break away from him with a small gasp, chest heaving.

Gally doesn’t hesitate. He dives down to press a kiss to the side of your jaw, down your neck, imprinting his mouth over your skin over and over again in a way that has your body shuddering with delight. Big hand sliding down to the back of your neck to pull you even closer into him, the young man’s lips find a soft spot at your pulse point, causing a whine to fall from your lips at his action.

His chest rumbles in satisfaction and before you know it he’s back to kissing you. This time it’s more heated; mouths clashing and teeth clicking and tongues battling.

And then, the reality of the situation hits you straight in the face.

You freeze. What in the shucking world are you even doing?

You’re making out with Gally, right beside your truck. In broad daylight.

The thought alone makes your hands push him away and your lips disconnect with a small ‘pop’ sound.

You’re gasping for breath at this point, eyes wide as they flutter up to lock onto his own and you’re surprised at what you find there.

There’s some sort of softness, genuine care and something more, something darker that you can’t really put your finger on.

It makes you want him.

You want him.

Shuck’s sake.

“Y/N—“ Gally starts but you’re already moving out of his hold, slipping away from his warmth and suddenly it feels a little too cold.

You shake your head at him, decide it’s best to keep your eyes away as you open the door to the passenger seat, “let’s go. We have a mission to finish.”

You don’t want to talk about it.

————

It’s been days.

Days since the incident.

Days since you’ve been trying to get Gally out of your head.

You don’t understand why he’s having such an effect on you. Theoretically speaking, you should’ve bashed his head in and turned him over to Lawrence for sexual assault.

But you haven’t, and he’s also probably questioning why.

As a result, you’ve done everything in your power to avoid him. You wake up thirty minutes earlier to eat your breakfast so that you don’t have to bump into him at the table, you take the first errands that come to you — the boring ones like refilling tanks and getting the food supplies and guarding their premises. All that so that you don’t have to deal with Gally’s bullying.

Well, not that you’ve heard from him much either.

“What happened between you two?” Jared asks one evening as you help him move the supplies fresh from the last raid from the Last City.

“What?” You stare at him blankly, “what are you talking about?”

“You and Gally. You had a fight or something?”

“When are we not?” You snort, though you can’t deny the flush creeping up your neck as the memory of Gally’s body against yours resurfaces.

“Well I know you fight, but you’ve been ignoring each other.”

“And? Why is that a concern? Shouldn’t you be glad there’s less noise?”

“You’ve got a point I suppose.”

You don’t tell him it’s because you’re nervous of all the things that keep flashing through your head. You don’t tell him about how you keep on thinking of Gally’s mouth on yours, the lingering taste of him like a ghost along your lips. You don’t have to and you don’t want to, because you know that it’s going to entertain an idea far too surreal and ridiculous for you to think about.

It isn’t until a few days after your little mishap that Gally finds you in the storage room. You’ve woken up early to help the newest recruit unpack the food supplies just loaded into the main building dock, only to find out that he had this massive crush on you.

So you’ve been trying to bat him off all morning despite his most desperate attempts.

“Just give me a chance Y/N,” he says as he takes a box from your hands with a wink, “I promise I won’t make you regret it.”

You snort, “no thanks,” and turn back to keep unloading.

But he makes a grab for your hand. You yelp, pulling it out of his grasp, “what do you think you’re doing—“

“You think you’re so tough huh?” He makes another grab for your forearm this time and cages you into his grip. You try to wriggle out to no avail, his fingers squeezing so hard that you let out a cry of pain, “ow—“let me go, asshole.”

“Not until you agree.”

Your glare deepens, “I said no.”

He pulls you closer, stinky breath washing over your face and making you want to barf, “did I tell you how sexy you are when you try to act all tough and shit? I mean that’s literally—“

“Get your hands off her.”

He freezes. You do too. You recognize that voice. You could've recognized that anywhere. Your head tilts over.

Gally.

Oh.

Eyes widening at the sight, you quickly pull your arm away when the newbie drops it in shock.

“Move away,” Gally’s voice drops an octave and causes a string of butterflies to erupt through your chest, “now.”

The newbie frowns, “Who’re you to boss me around?”

“I said: Now.”

And maybe it’s the fact that Gally seems to straighten when he says it so it looks like he’s towering over the other boy, but the latter mutters a curse word under his breath and finally relents, throwing you a scowl in the process as he ducks out of the storage room.

You can’t help but lock eyes with your savior, though quickly averting your eyes in embarrassment as you resume stacking boxes after boxes. You hope that he’s just going to turn around and act ignorant, just like these past few days.

“Y/N.”

You don’t answer, resolutely trying your best to act busy.

“Y/N.”

Maybe it’s the way he says your name that makes you turn impulsively. Your eyes flit to his face, then look back down to his chest. A safer bet, “what?”

He takes a step closer, and another, and another. You swallow thickly, feeling your throat clog up with emotion as you stumble back against the boxes until no escape seems available.

Why is it that you’re always getting trapped by him?

“W—What is it?” You stammer out in hopes he can’t hear how wild your heart is beating, "What do you want?"

He lets out a soft sigh and seems to drop his shoulders in defeat, opening up his palms in a sign of defeat, "I just--I think we need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Y/N--"

"No Gally," you whip around then with eyes narrowed into slits and your fists curled beside you, "if this is about what happened in the Last City, I don't want to talk about it. It was a stupid shucking mistake and--"

"Stop using Glader slang," he interrupts like a smart-ass and you all but growl at him in irritation, "it doesn't suit you."

"Oh shut up already," you whip around and decide that it's useless to try and have a civil conversation. You'd rather focus your energy on finishing off your task.

But seems that he's determined to bug you, for you feel the warmth of his hand imprint itself on your forearm before he's tugging you. Not too harshly, gently enough that you could've stopped if you wanted to.

You let yourself turn around, cursing inwardly at how the closeness between your two bodies is rendering you a little breathless, a little weak in the knees. He's so close that you have to tilt your head up to look at him, and what you see in his gaze makes your heart skitter.

"It wasn't," he murmurs, "a mistake."

"It was a mistake," you shoot back straightaway, "we can just forget about it--"

"I don't want to. I--" he clears his throat, looks away for a second. And when his eyes find yours once again you feel your breath catch in your throat because he's looking at you in a certain way. That way. With the same kind of tenderness that makes you want to wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his chest and smell the earthly, Gally scent that had wrapped around you back when you'd kissed--

No.

You almost smack yourself, horrified. What in the world are you thinking?!

"I like you, Y/N." Gally’s voice jerks you back to reality, “I like you a shuck lot and—“

“Don’t,” you press a finger to his lips as you try desperately to put some distance between, shaking your head in horror, “no no, you don’t like me. You like me ‘cause I’m the only girl around here and it’s just your hormones talking—“

He shakes you off, “what are you on about?” He frowns before grabbing both your hands to cage them in his grip, “I know what I feel Y/N. Don’t tell me otherwise—“

“Gally please,” you scramble for coherent thought but logic is slipping away by the second. Even more so when he’s tugging you gently to him, even more when his face is a picture of softness and affection, “we hate each other’s guts—“

“I never said that.” He pauses to read your expression, fear suddenly flickering in his expression, “do you hate me?”

“I—“ the words get tangled in your mouth. You want to tell him you hate him, loathe him with all your heart and that you just want him gone and that you hates his kiss.

But you can’t.

Because it’s a lie, the truth is that you think your heart beats for him. You’re not sure since when, but that kiss had confirmed it surely enough: you like Gally more than you think you do. And that thought is terrifying.

You’re so close to him that if you let your hands drop they’ll brush against his chest, so close that you can feel his warm breath fanning across your skin and the heat of his jody permeating to yours.

Ducking your head in embarrassment, you bite down onto your lower lip.

“Answer my question, Y/N.”

You swallow thickly, “I—I don’t know.”

Gally looks down at you still, not giving you the easy way out you would’ve preferred and you find yourself crumbling under his stare.

“No,” you whisper, “I don’t hate you.”

He shifts a little closer still, eyes flitting down to your lips in a silent question.

Your breath catches. Your mouth parts. His scent wraps around you like a soft cocoon.

And then you’re lifting yourself up to kiss him.

He makes a noise of surprise at the back of his throat and you grin to yourself, loving that you caught him off guard. But that doesn’t last, for his big hands quickly drop yours to wrap around your waist before pulling your body to his and kissing you like he hasn’t seen you in ages, like he’s missed you, like he wants to do this forever.

Gally, you soon realize, kisses with his entire intention, not leaving one part of your mouth untouched and adamant on making you go pliant in his hold. You allow yourself to back up as he prods you, until your back hits one of the storage boxes hazardly stacked one atop the other, and Gally doesn't hesitate to press his chest against yours as a soft moan echoes from the back of his throat.

As his lips curve against yours in the most intimate of manners, your hands seem to take on a life of their own as they travel up his chest, caress the broadness of his shoulders, before wrapping around the back of his neck and teasing the soft baby hairs found there. You feel him grinning into your mouth and soon enough you're grinning too, foreheads pressed together as you catch your breath.

"Not bad at all," Gally murmurs, stealing a kiss from you and causing your face to flush deep red, "for someone who can't load a gun properly."

"I can too load my gun properly," you pinch him playfully and he responds with laughter.

That's when you hear your mentor's voice booming with surprise from the front entrance of the storage room:

"Well look what we have here! I told you guys they wouldn't last a week!"

122 notes · View notes

ivys-cafe · 1 year

Text

📠 don't go dark

pairings: newt x thomas, female!reader is only mentioned

summary: newt finds it hard to cope after the group got separated with y/n. thomas helps him find hope.

timeline: wckd lab during scorch trials

genre: angst, hurt, comfort

warnings: established relationship, mentions of pregnancy, devastated newt

author's note 🧇

i've always imagined what it would be like if my oc got separated from the group. also i made y/n pregnant here. sorry if anyone is finding difficulty relating to that. it's just i've wrote a whole story before about my oc, and in my version the oc is pregnant with newt's baby in the glades. but i hope it doesn't take anything away from this scenario. i really want to highlight newtmas' friendship and all of its fluffiness. if you have any feedback, you can message me or write something on my ask. i would appreciate it very much.

-ˏ͛⑅　‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹ ‧̫‧ ⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　⑅ˏ͛-

Newt slumped down onto the cold metal floor, his head buried in his hands. He feel his heart beating erratically in his chest. How could they be in the safe hands of WCKD, while the love of his life was still out there? Was she alone, scared, and in pain? He could hardly bear the thought.

He thought of you, your stubbornness and unyielding nature. He knew that you had made the decision to stay behind in the maze, not wanting to abandon your best friend Gally, but he couldn't help but regret not forcing you to go. He should have gone back for you, he should have done something.

But now, it was too late. He was stuck in the hands of WCKD, with no way of knowing whether y/n was even alive. The uncertainty was tearing him apart from the inside out, his mind racing with all the possibilities of what could be happening to you.

Were you in danger? Were you being hurt? The thought of you suffering alone, with no one to turn to, made his chest ache with a pain he had never felt before. Newt's anxiety spike, his thoughts are driving him insane. He knew he had to find a way to get you back, but he didn't know how.

Thomas sat down next to him, looking just as exhausted and defeated. "You okay, man?" he asked, trying to break the silence.

Newt scoffed bitterly. "How do you think I'm holding up?" he snapped. "I don't even know if she's alive or dead, and we're stuck in this damn place."

Thomas placed a hand on Newt's shoulder, trying to offer some comfort. "Maybe she's out there. We'll find her, Newt."

Newt jerked his shoulder away from Thomas' touch. "Oh, of course. How could I be so foolish? We'll just stroll out of here, past the guards and their guns, and find y/n wandering around outside the building. Simple as that." He shook his head, fear latched onto his trembling voice. "Face it, Tommy. We're trapped here. And we don't even know if y/n's alive or dead."

"Y/n's smart," Thomas stated with conviction. "She can handle herself out there, Newt."

Newt's body trembled as he shook his head, anger and grief mixing into a boiling pot of emotions inside of him. "You heard what those bloody cranks say, didn't you?" He hissed at Thomas. "The Scorch will chew us up and spit us out like we're nothing. And y/n..." His voice cracked, the anguish almost palpable. "She's out there, alone and pregnant. And I couldn't do anything to protect her."

Thomas frowned, his face etched with concern. "I know it's not ideal, but we have to keep moving forward. We have to keep fighting."

"You don't get it," Newt said, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to hold back tears. "You don't know what it's like to feel like you've lost everything,"

Thomas's face fell, his eyes betraying the pain he felt. "I do, Newt," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "I lost my memories, my family, my entire life. We were all in the maze, fighting for our lives every day. I know it's not the same, but I understand loss. And I'm here for you, man. Whatever you need."

Newt's anger began to fade, replaced by a deep sadness. He leaned his head against the wall, feeling defeated. "I just miss her so damn much," he whispered, tears streaming down his face.

Thomas could see the pain on Newt's face, and he knew there was nothing he could say to take it away. He put his arms around his friend, holding him tight as Newt sobbed into his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Newt. I'm so sorry," Thomas said softly. "But we can't give up. Not now. We have to keep fighting, for y/n, for ourselves, for everyone we've lost."

Newt pulled away from Thomas, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. "I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"We'll find her, Newt," Thomas asurres, his voice firm and resolute. "No matter what it takes, we'll find her and the rest of our friends."

end

2023 • ivys-cafe ☕️

#tmr newt #newt tmr x reader #newt the maze runner #the maze runner #newtmas #newt x reader #scorch #scorch trials #tmr imagines #newt tmr imagine #newt x y/n #thomas brodie sangster #thomas sangster #the maze runner imagines

421 notes · View notes

justanobsessedfangirl · 1 year

Text

A Mission - The Maze Runner Imagine

Request from Anonymous: i loved ur 'how you meet' preferences!! could you write a griever slaying fem reader? i know this sounds wack but hear me out she comes straight out the box running for the hills and instead of stopping when they tell her not to go in there she runs straight in. minho or one of the other runners find her killing a griever and theyre like what the FUCK and he drags her back to the glade like why is there a girl here why was she killing a griever and everyone is like what the FUCK just everyone being confused and bewildered at the first girl in the glade being batshit crazy

Author's Note: Thank you for the request! I hope you like it!

Word Count: 2.2k

I have a mission.

It's the first thing you remember when you wake up in this cramped box, and for a while, it's the only thing you can think.

I have a mission.

The details come to you in fragments. You know you'll have to run. You're ready for that, pacing around the rising room to keep your muscles warm.

I have a mission.

There's going to be danger, that you're sure of. The scars on your body that you have no memory of getting make you wonder if this isn't the first time you've had a mission like this. There's a long one that snakes along your calf, like someone wrapped a curl of barbed wire around your leg. Your hands are littered with tiny, long-healed cuts. When you flex your fingers, you feel strong. Hardened.

I have a mission.

The room shudders to a stop. The far half of the ceiling opens up and daylight pours in. You sink further into the shadows. The light stings your eyes, and the gentle hum of the ascent has been replaced by clamoring voices and the sound of constant movement. The box shakes with the thud of someone landing inside.

I have a mission.

You dart across the room, hearing the voices change to shock and confusion, and leap for the wall. Your fingers just barely grip the top. Your feet scrabble for purchase on the slick surface, but you're determined, you're quick, you're strong, and this is your mission so you must succeed.

You haul yourself out of the box. A mob of teenage boys stands in front of you, all around you, some laughing, some glaring, many simply confused. You run at them and they scramble away. For a strange, detached moment, you feel like a queen walking to her throne, the lords parting before her in deference, cheering.

There is no cheering as you sprint across the grass.

"He's making a run for it!" someone says, cackling.

"I think that was a girl," comes a different voice.

You run faster. Your eyes have adjusted to the brightness and you can see the blue sky, the grassy ground, and the hulking stone walls boxing you in.

Escape one box and run right into another, you think, and then, I have a mission.

There are a few breaks in the walls, massive doorways leading into a mystery. You're heading for the closest one. Behind you, there are loud footfalls and cries for you to "Stop! Don't go in there!" It sounds like someone tells you to "Stop being such a shank," but his words are choppy, confusing, and all you want is to complete your mission.

The entrance is so close, just a few more seconds of all-out sprinting, when you feel the heavy presence of someone behind you. Someone who wants to grab you. Who wants to stop you.

Without planning to, you come to a dead stop and drop into a crouch. The person behind you was too close, they can't stop soon enough, their shin collides with your back as they trip over you and slam to the ground in front of you.

You're back running before you can take a close look at him. Every muscle in your body is moving with instructions you haven't given, implementing lessons you don't remember teaching. Your surroundings are entirely new, entirely foreign—and yet, there's an uncanniness to everything you see. The colors and the season and the people are wrong. But the bones of this place, those are familiar. Especially, you realize as you enter the gap between the walls, the maze.

For the first time, your steps falter. The walls are gray stone and decked in ivy. That's wrong. They should be…they should be…

You want to shiver, the memory flees, all you know is the mission.

You sprint and take a left at the four-way intersection. All of the voices have faded. No one seems to be coming after you as you make your way down corridors, following a path that's branded like fire in your mind.

Straight. Right. Right. Left. Straight. Left. Right. Right. Straight. Straight. Straight. Left.

Here.

Here is a dead end. The walls are so thick with ivy you can barely see the stones. The air is still as a graveyard. You stand, panting, trying to remember what comes next.

From atop the wall, there's a clicking noise. You look up.

The creature is hideous, all mechanical limbs and throbbing, human-like skin. You half-expect giant wings to unfurl from its back (why? The memory slips away like a shadow) but instead it starts climbing down the ivy, whirling and clicking. Razor-sharp barbs glint along its body. Its mouth, a maw of metal, gnashes hungrily.

You remember what you have to do.

The boys find you faster than you thought they would. You hear them round the corner as the monster shrieks its death knell. Its mechanical body curls in like the husk of a bug. Blood drips down your arm, getting on the wires that droop from the metal disk you're holding. It's still warm from the creature's chest cavity, where it had been nestled like a heart. The disk is pockmarked with flashing dots of light. They blink at you a few times, the pause between each growing longer, and then they wink out. The creature at your feet, speared by its own jagged limb, falls silent.

"What the fuck."

The boy isn't asking, you realize as you turn around, the metal disk slipping from between your blood-slicked fingers. He has dark hair and dark eyes and an athlete's build, all lean muscle and confidence. His gaze darts from you to the monster, then back to the monster.

He's flanked by two others, one with shaggy brown hair and freckles who looks to him in deference, and the other, dark-skinned and serious, who steps forward, side-by-side with the speaker.

"Minho," commands the dark-skinned boy, "check that the Griever's really dead."

The boy who spoke first nods and starts toward you, trepidatious at first, then more sure as sees the monster (the Griever?) more clearly. "Definitely looks dead," he says. "I don't know how she's not."

Their stares feel like drills boring into your skin. Your back aches, hot with blood, and the muscles in your legs are tightening up. Your mission is done, you should feel happy, but you're still here in this strange, wrong, too-familiar place, and the adrenaline that had been fueling you is fading. You want to go home. You want your sleeping bag, covered in a blanket of fur and nestled in the—the—Gone. The memory is gone.

I had a mission, you think. And then you say it out loud, testing the words on your tongue, "I had a mission."

The boy closest to you, the one who'd been called Minho, stares at you like you've grown a second head. "You're jacked," he says with a breathy, perplexed chuckle.

The insult is on your lips before you can remember where it comes from: "Crackhead."

Minho lets out a booming laugh, then turns to the other boys. "Can we keep her, Alby?"

The serious boy, Alby, frowns deeper. "We need to hold a Gathering. Thomas, go tell Newt. We'll be right there."

The third boy, the one with brown hair and freckles, nods warily. He takes one last look at you and sprints back the way he came. You watch him go, ignoring the boys he left behind until you hear a clatter of metal.

Your body jerks into action, spinning around and putting your hands up, ready to fight the Griever again if you have to. But it was just Minho kicking the creature's body, poking and prodding at its innards.

"What's your name?" Alby asks from behind you.

You turn and back up a few steps so you can keep both boys in your field of vision. Minho is crouched over the Griever. Alby is staring at you, his gaze heavy, solemn. Distrustful.

"Y/N," you tell him.

Minho pries the Griever's jaw open. His voice echoes off the metal tunnel of the Griever's throat as he asks, "How'd you avoid getting stung?"

Before you can answer, Alby cuts in, voice sharp and angry. "Where did you come from? What do you mean mission?"

Your body aches. You don't want to be here, standing over a mutated, cybernetic monster, being questioned by strangers. "I don't know. I can't remember anything."

"You remembered more than we did," Alby fires back.

Minho straightens up. "Let's get her back to the Glade, Alby. She can answer at the Gathering."

You hate their lingo, want to spit on all of the slang you don't understand because you know the words that should be there instead (it's not called the Glade, it's called the…) but you can't find the words, so you jog with them through the maze, following Minho, Alby a few paces behind you. They have you locked in. There's an urge to break away from them at one of the intersections. You could push Minho into the wall and sprint past him, only where would you go?

"What is this place?" you ask as you run.

Minho glances back at you. He looks apprehensive, but there's a curious glint in his eyes. "We're in the Maze. Although, you really shouldn't be in here, Greenie." Looking forward again, he speaks in a louder voice, "Clearly you're a rule-breaker."

You still kind of want to push him.

As you get closer to the "Glade," you hear the murmur of voices. It gets louder and louder, until you can see the door at the end of the corridor and, beyond it, a swarm of boys. Somehow, they get even more raucous as you get closer. Their shouts blur together, meaningless words and sounds filling the air. They clamber into each other, everyone wanting to get closer, no one willing to step into the Maze.

"Out of the way, shanks!" Minho yells.

Boys push and pull, slinging insults and questions, and somehow the mass of chaos becomes two distinct groups, one on each side of you.

Minho leads you across the grass to a rustic building. It's practical and sturdy, all of the effort put towards making a building that won't fall, none left to make it inviting. Inside is quieter. For a second, you're grateful because the blood rushing in your ears and the pain singing across your body is enough noise. But as you follow Minho into another room, the air grows thick and tense. Every breath feels like you could choke on it.

Eleven boys sit in a semicircle, two empty seats amid the line. In the middle of the room is a single empty chair.

Your stomach sinks. Your feet pulse with pain.

Alby enters behind you, jerking his chin at the chair in the center. "That's yours." He watches and waits until you slowly walk to the chair and sink into it.

Your skin feels hot. You're acutely aware of the blood on your clothes, the sweat on your body. You feel like a science experiment, everyone examining you, anticipating your reactions so they can write them down, dissect them, find the answers they want. Mouth dry, you swallow and wait.

Alby and Minho take their seats, Minho beside the third boy from the Maze, the one Alby called Thomas.

"Who—"

"Why—"

"She's a—"

"We can't trust—"

"She killed a Griever." Alby's voice rises above the rest, the stern tone of a leader.

The other boys erupt into more questions. They bounce off the walls. You don't know who to look at, gaze darting from boy to boy until you land on the blond next to Alby. He's one of the few that isn't speaking, his brown eyes boring into yours. You don't know if he sees fatigue, fear, or anger on your face, but he gives a slight nod, almost to himself, and holds up a hand.

"Slim it!"

The others get out a few more unanswered questions before falling silent.

"What do you remember?" the blond asks, his words tinged with a familiar accent. You can't place where you've heard it, who you've heard it from, but you remember that she had blonde hair too, and…The thought fades away.

"I know I had a mission," you say. It's as simple as that, but the boys stare at you like you're speaking another language.

"What does that even—"

"Who gave you—"

"Where the fuck did you come from?"

The blond again holds his hand up against the barrage of questions.

The large boy to your left who spoke last scoffs and protests, "Let us ask, Newt. I know how we can get some answers."

Biting your tongue to keep more insults, origins unknown, from bursting out, you add the name to your memory, filing it with the others. The boy with the accent is Newt. The leader is Alby. You followed Minho through the Maze. And the third boy from the Maze who sits beside Minho, eyebrows furrowed together, his name is—

Thomas stands up. He looks far away, his eyes distant and unfocused. The room slowly quiets down.

"What is it, mate?" Newt asks.

Thomas doesn't look at him. For a few seconds, he just stares at the wall. Then his eyes snap to you. "She shouldn't be here."

The large boy grins, a harsh, twisted thing. "The Greenie's growing a brain."

Thomas doesn't react. Your eyes are locked with his, your breath stuck in your chest. Should you stop him? Should you beg him to continue? You don't have time to do either. Thomas stares at you and speaks.

"She's from Group B."

258 notes · View notes

ruewrote · 8 days

Text

𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡 𝑟𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑠.

PAIRING: tdc!gally x fem!reader WARNINGS: gally's death GENRE: angst SONG INSPIRATION: i miss you by adele WORD COUNT: 928 A/N: this was really fast paced but i've had the end part in my mind for weeks now so sorry if its rushed :)

navigation | inbox

they could never make you hate him, even after what happened to chuck.

as much as you wanted to, you just couldn’t do it. he had been your best friend, your crush, your rock, your lover.

it was so good at first, maybe too good to be true, whatever it was it felt right with him. gally was the only thing in the glade keeping you sane, whole.

with thomas grabbing you by your waist, pulling you away from his body. gally giving you a last “it’s okay,” before you were snatched away from him.

tears streaming down your cheeks as you reached out for him, squirming in thomas’s arms trying to free yourself, as you were both tugged through the exit by someone in full combat gear.

you were finally out of the maze, but at what cost?

after his death, you were distant from the others except newt. he always made sure you were eating and drinking, checking up on you when distanced yourself from the others.

newt was like a brother to you, having him close helped, but then again what could he do for what only felt like heartache.

your eyes swollen and puffy as tears rolled down your cheeks, trying to keep your sniffles muffled by the sleeve of your jacket as the other slept.

time heals. well that’s what people used to say, but you think that’s bullshit because how does this ever get better?

everytime you closed your eyes you could see him, his hand shakily holding the gun in thomas’s direction, his eyes filled with tears, the infection spreading across his skin. then bang! jilting yourself out of bed, chest tightening, tears. it was the same cycle every time you slept.

feeling as it was almost selfish to feel this way, you got to live, you got a chance to try to survive, but here you were here mopping. losing winston only added to your heartache. all you could do was pray that you got to minho in time.

nearing the last city the sound of angered shouts echoed far, definitely too many for the eight of you to take on, so you got closer to figure out what to do next.

gently pushing through the crowd, trying to get to the front to see what was happening. a hand was placed over your mouth, muffling you crying out for help. the other around your waist as the person who grabbed you lifted you off the ground.

the others were still ahead of you, not noticing what was happening, until it was too late. out of nowhere mini missiles were getting shot at the ground beside you, making the person who had you fumble, almost letting you go.

another person in a gas mask watched this happen, they started to grab your legs and drag you towards a truck, if you were gonna go, you were gonna go kicking and screaming all the way.

“get off of her!” newt yelled, dragging the man who had your feet off of you, but another two came up behind him and got him too.

both of you were soon thrown into a beaten down navy truck, leaving you sat side by side, breathing heavily. a certain are you alright? look shared between the two of you before staring down the three armed, masked people in front of you.

the car ride tense and rocky as the vehicle drifted around corners, making you bump shoulders with newt.

it soon came to an abrupt stop, the doors being pulled open and the two of you nudged out of it. looking around you, you could see an abandoned car park, thomas & brenda, multiple guys with masks.

the sounds of muffled fighting could be heard in the van beside you, then bursts out jorge punching one of them.

shouting about where brenda was, but soon found her.

“it’s alright, we’re on the same side,”

thomas stepping closer, pushing you protectively behind him, “who the hell are you?”

after a long pause the unknown leader takes off his mask, “gally?” you mutter in disbelief, peeking out from behind thomas.

his eyes soften at the sight of you, “hey sweetheart,” giving you that familiar smile that you had missed so much.

it doesn’t take long for you to bound up to him, throwing your arms around his neck, bringing him into a bone crushing hug. he hugged you back even tighter, lifting you off of the ground with ease.

you moved back just enough to look at his face, a soft smile danced over your lips as tears filled your eyes again, “what the fuck. how is this real?”

“i’ll explain everything inside, c’mon,” he placed you back on the ground, grasping your hand in his own as he signalled the others to follow him.

bonus:

you were now cuddled up in bed with gally. your head on his chest, legs intertwined, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist pulling you closer to him.

“i never thought we’d have this again,” speaking softly as you looked up at him, “i really thought i lost you.”

he gazes down at you, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, “whether you like it or not, i'm not going to give up on you…on us.”

“that’s what i like to hear,” you joke, playfully elbowing his side with your arm, earning a chuckle from him as you cuddled closer to each other.

for the first time in months you’d finally be able to sleep peacefully with him by your side again.

32 notes · View notes

beautifuldreamlandwonderland · 2 years

Text

𝑩𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔 (𝑵𝒆𝒘𝒕 𝒙 𝑮𝑵! 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

Quick Summery: If you had just gotten to Newt a few minutes prior, you could’ve saved him...right? You could’ve told him everything you desired to admit. The small tiny creature that watched over you both in the Glade, now in Safe Haven flutters around you, like Newt’s angel smile. Now, you have tiny little guardian angels watching you for him.

Reader Key: (Y/N) = Your Name (Y/E/C) = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Death and slight angst

Adding Notes: I made a Newt Realizing His Love For You Playlist on Spotify! The link is here and I’d appreciate it if you guys would check it out. By the way, the collage above was made by me! I found all the pictures off of Pinterest <3

This Imagine is based off the song Butterflies by Kacey Musgraves

Run. That’s all you need to do. Get to him. Give him the cure and save him. Tell him the truth. That you love him, that you loved him the very moment you looked in those beautiful brown eyes. Keep going and don’t look back. Ignore the wails and screams of the Cranks that you swore were chasing you. That should give you the damn motivation! Keep running!

You gripped the small glass vial in your hand filled with the blue liquid, not daring to stop to catch a single breath, you had to keep going. You had to! If you didn’t, you would never be able to tell Newt you love him. How every single time you were with him, you just wanted to take his hand, look in his eyes before leaning in and feeling his soft lips crash onto yours gently. You wanted to tell him about the butterflies that erupted in your stomach when he’d whisper to you, his voice soothing you to slumber that nobody else could do like him.

Butterflies. Oh, how butterflies reminded you of him.

Flashback...

“What’s your favorite part of the Glade?” Newt asked you, you and him sitting in the forest like part of the Glade, leaning against a tree as Alby gave the both of you permission to take a twenty minute break from your jobs.

“Hm...” You thought for a few seconds, turning your head in his direction, seeing he was already looking at you with those warm brown eyes you fell for. “Probably..”

You began, still thinking of how to answer, until you noticed a small orange sulphur butterfly fly by gracefully, landing on top of Newt’s knee that was curled up to his chest. He followed your gaze, seeing the tiny creature on his knee, and let out a small chuckle.

“Well now, hello there.” He said, slowly raising a hand, outstretching his pointer finger near the butterfly. It fluttered it’s wings and landed gently on top of his finger, and he smiled down at it kindly.

You stared at him as he simply watched the butterfly flap it’s wings every now and again, still resting on top of his finger. You felt the corners of your mouth tug into a small smile, blush creeping on your cheeks, and you scooted closer to Newt, taking in the sight in front of you. “Beautiful.” You stated.

“It is.” He responded, now watching as the butterfly flew off into the sky, disappearing into the trees.

You weren’t talking about the butterfly.

End of flashback...

You gasped for breath as the tears rolled down your cheeks, stopping dead in your tracks as you saw the sight you prayed you wouldn’t meet. Newt’s corpse, covered in dark veins, his once soft hands now calloused, his brown eyes you loved staring longingly in now black and glistening with tears, his mouth slightly agape, a disgusting black and blue substance seeping out from his lips. You slowly walked forward, seeing the knife plunged in his chest, Thomas a few feet away, watching you. You dropped to your knees in front of him, cupping his cheeks.

The sounds of gunfire and the feet of your friends, Minho, Brenda, Frypan, and Gally almost silent behind you. “N-Newt..” You choked out, feeling his breathing become uneven.

With what little humanity inside him, he turned his head slowly towards you, you taking his hand and gripping it as tight as you could. “Newt, I love you.” You whispered, the uncontrollable sobs and hiccups escaping you.

You knew the truth all too well. He was going to die any minute now, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. It was set in stone. Inevitable. “(Y-Y/N),” He croaked, and you opened your eyes to meet his own, you shaking your head in disbelief, not wanting to accept the facts in front of you, “I..I..l-love..”

That was it. You felt his grip on your hand loosen, and his dark eyes stare up at the sky, no longer looking at you. The only sound you could hear now was your own scream. You screamed at the top of your lungs, cursing at yourself, cursing at the world who took him from you. If you had gotten there just a few minutes earlier, you would’ve saved him. You could’ve saved him!

After you were done screaming, your vision became blurry with the tears that clouded your eyes, you body almost feelings numb. Why...couldn’t it have been you? Why couldn’t God, or whomever or whatever controlled reality have made it you instead? Then, you felt Minho and Frypan’s arms around you lift you off the ground, and you didn’t even fight them.

You stared ahead as Minho lifted you over his shoulder, watching as the surrounded sounds of gunfire, helicopters, explosions, and Cranks, died down into a small shrieking sound in your ears. Then, everything went black.

~Later on, at Safe Haven~

You woke up to the sounds of beach waves crashing along sand, and chatter amongst others around the area. You raised up in the small bed you rested on, noticing a familiar jacket around your shoulders. Placing your hand gently on the sleeve, you realized it was Newt’s. After a few moments, you looked around, seeing huge tents around the area, small hills and mountains, and the view of the sparkly blue ocean.

You placed your feet on the wood below you, slipping your arms into the sleeves of Newt’s jacket, walking down the steps and made your way onto the sand, walking past a few people who smiled gently at you, continuing on your way. You stared ahead, wondering where you were. Heaven? Did you...die? If so, where’s Newt?

Then, you realized that wasn’t true when you felt someone’s hand placed on your shoulder. You turned around to be met with Minho, who looked at you with a gentle smile. “Hey, (Y/N).”

You smiled back, fully turning in his direction. He took you in his arms in an embrace, you returning it. You gripped the back of his shirt, squeezing your eyes shut as the tears welled in your eyes once again, threatening to fall. After what felt like hours, but in reality was only about three minutes, you both pulled away. You then noticed Brenda, Thomas, Frypan, Gally, Jorge, and Aris all behind him giving you smiles. You then realized you were in safe haven.

“Hey you guys.” You said with a small sniff and smile, everyone smiling back, and Brenda walking over, engulfing you in a hug, which you returned.

After a while, you and your friends, as well as other survivors, sat in front of a bonfire, the welcoming to safe haven making you feel warm. But not as warm as when Newt was with you. As everyone chatted and laughed with one another, you snuck away towards the beach, still wearing Newt’s jacket with you held tightly around yourself.

You felt the brown sand tickle the bottom of your feet as you continued your stroll, the small gusts of wind blowing your hair in front of your face, your (Y/E/C) eyes looking at the sand in front of you, every now and again raising to gaze at the ocean sunset in beside you, the mixture of pinks, oranges, yellows, and reds in the sunset, was just a beautiful sight to you.

The memories of you and Newt going to your favorite spot in the forest area to watch the sun set behind the walls was one of your favorite things to do with him. Now, watching the sun set in front of this luxurious sight, made you feel like he was right beside you, watching it with you. You didn’t feel alone.

You lowered yourself to take a seat on the sand, watching the water rise up to the sand every few moments a few feet away from you. You closed your eyes as you brought your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. Closing your eyes, you enjoyed the solitude. Then, about five minutes later, you felt a gentle tickle on your pointed finger.

When you opened your eyes to look, you see a tiny orange sulphur butterfly resting, slowly fluttering it’s wings every now and again. You smiled gently. “Well now, hello there.” You giggled, before a tear crept down your cheek.

It stayed on your finger for only about a minute, before it picked itself up and flew away into the distance. “Beautiful.” You whispered to yourself, leaning back until you were laying on the sand, closing your eyes once again, the small field behind you filled with all sorts of flowers, as well as filled with orange sulphur butterflies, all flying around you in the gentle breeze...

184 notes · View notes

symptomaticrunner · 4 days

Text

[requests: open] [@kaminokatie - star wars blog] [@atypicalamortentia - harry potter/hogwarts legacy blog] [@animeisfornerdz - anime blog] [@slvtforsimon - call of duty blog] [@sisforslashers - slashers blog] [@salfishersface - sally face blog]

Fics: Headcannons:

[headers/dividers by @saradika]

please note that i give nobody permission to re-upload or translate any of my work.

7 notes · View notes

ruerecs · 24 days

Text

i finally watched the maze runner series and was wanting to know if the fandom was still alive? and if you want i’m wanting to start writing fics

#the maze runner #the maze runner x reader #the maze runner oneshots #thomas #thomas x reader #minho #minho x reader #minho oneshots #thomas oneshots #x reader #oneshots #imagines #fanfics #the maze runner imagines #the maze runner fanfics #ruewrote

8 notes · View notes

seungsvoid · 2 years

Text

TAINTED THRONE | thomas (the maze runner)

pairing — thomas x male! reader

summary — since the first day in the maze, y/n’s been getting weird visions. his mind is rattled with them until a greenie a year later pops out of the box like he owns the place. y/n’s visions only get worse from there and as thomas builds himself a reputation in the glade, y/n struggles with everything he thought he knew about himself.

warnings — cursing, suicide attempt (not really), violence and gore. sexual content references but nothing explicit. not really a warning but reader is claustrophobic!

chapters — 000. 001. 002. 003.

133 notes · View notes

heliads · 2 months

Note

Hello if on’t know if it’s closed or open but if it’s close I’m sorry erase what I did, can you do a Thomas tmr hurt comfort when the reader is sad and reckless and everyone in the group notice and try to cheer her up ? Because she feel empty with everything that happened in her life from the glade to the scorch ? Please 🙏 thank you 💕

'after the safe haven' - thomas

masterlist

No one knows you better than the Gladers.

That, of course, should come as no surprise. You and your friends have survived more horrors than you ever thought possible. If it weren’t enough to find yourselves stranded in the middle of a massive maze without any memory of who you were or how you got there, you also had to break yourselves out, then find a way to survive both WCKD and the end of the world.

When you finally made it to the Safe Haven, you had assumed that you would finally be alright. You weren’t in danger anymore. You and your friends were safe. WCKD couldn’t find you if it tried, and the Cranks were an ocean away. It was truly a paradise. It should have been enough for you.

It wasn’t.

How could it possibly be enough? Whenever you looked around, you saw the signs of society starting to rebuild itself. Some of your fellow Gladers were taking charge, having already been used to what it took to organize everyone after the Maze trials, and others opted for simple jobs, deciding that their days of responsibility were over. Your friends are doing better, for the most part, but you feel the opposite way.

No, you feel terrible. It’s like having this break from running around day and night has only given you the time to realize how much you’ve lost. When you watch Minho and Thomas joking with each other, you don’t appreciate their friendship, you think about how strange it is that Newt isn’t there with them, or Alby, or Chuck. When one of the younger kids falls and skins their knee, your first response isn’t to brush off this small injury but to wonder if they could have survived out in the Scorch with an open wound. It would get infected easily, you know. Anything could happen.

This is supposed to be the part where you relax and give up your paranoia, but you just can’t manage it. Even weeks after the last time you came in contact with WCKD or the Cranks, you still jump whenever you hear a loud noise when you’re not expecting it. You still get nightmares about running through the Scorch with a pack of infected behind you. You still carry your weapons around, even though there’s nothing to fight. Even Gally has given up on tucking knives into his belt loops, even Minho knows there’s nothing to run from. Everyone is aware of this but you.

You’re not sure why you’re taking it so much harder than the rest. All of your friends are dealing with all of the torment of the Maze and the Scorch, obviously. The first few days after you arrived at the Safe Haven, everyone’s eyes had bags under them from lost sleep, and no one could hold a conversation without speaking quietly in case a Crank heard them or jumping when they saw someone moving in the distance.

Over time, though, they were all able to move on. You’re coming up on a month after your arrival in the Safe Haven, yet you’re no closer to healing than you were at the start. You’re not sure what it takes for you to be better, but at this point, you’re willing to wager anything. You spend time with your friends, but you can’t stop yourself from being quiet and withdrawn. You force yourself to put in extra hours at your job in the hopes that the tedium of a chore will take your mind off of things, but you still get nightmares when you go to bed, no matter how exhausted you feel.

It’s enough to make anyone feel hopeless. You’re sure your friends are aware of it, but there’s nothing they can do. Everyone’s dealing with this, everyone’s trying to figure out how they are when they’re not fearing for their lives. There’s simply no good way to move on after the apocalypse.

Thomas, however, seems to be the most attuned to your shift in mood. He asks how you are every morning, and doesn’t seem content until you honestly answer him. He’ll listen to you ramble on about the unsettled feeling in your blood when you don’t have to be on the run anymore, and he constantly reassures you that you’re all going to be alright.

Truthfully, you don’t know what you’d do without him. Thomas is one of the best parts of your life, if not the very best entirely. You have no idea how he’s still going after losing so many friends right before his eyes, but he somehow manages to not only keep himself alive but you, too. He’s all you need. Him, and the splendid truth of the Safe Haven, the knowledge that for once in your life, you are not going to die. Not of something violent, at least. That’s worth more than you could have ever imagined.

You wonder what you must have been like in a former life, before WCKD stole your memories or even stole you away from your home. Before the disease of the Cranks. Before the solar flares. When everything was simple and you didn’t feel like you do right now– haunted, terrified, and uncertain of who you’re supposed to be when the world isn’t ending. Maybe you would have been close with Thomas anyway. Maybe you never would have known him at all.

If there is one good thing to come out of this chaos, you have to admit it would be him. Thomas is a bright spark. He stood out in the darkest nights of the Maze, the worst horrors of the Scorch. If there’s one reason you’re still alive, it’s him.

And, if there’s one reason you’re going to become your old self again, or at least grow as close as you can, it’ll be because of Thomas, too. That night, Thomas gathers your old friends from the Glade and announces that they’ll be bringing back a good tradition from your old days before you broke out of the Maze: bonfire night.

Instantly, your spirits soar. Much like every other Glader, past and present, bonfire nights were the best times you had. Gally manages to cook up a batch of his special brew in record time, Frypan’s already hard at work producing some delicious foods, and crews of people are bringing back piles of wood for your fire.

When the sun sets, the bonfire is lit. You watch as the flames climb up to the sky. Around you, the survivors of the Flare laugh and shout and dance, talking to each other and having fun. You can feel the heat of the fire on your cheeks even despite the cool night, and for what feels like the first time in a very long time indeed, you smile.

Thomas pushes through the crowd to come to a stop by your side. “I haven’t seen that in a while,” he says.

You chuckle quietly. “I haven’t had a whole lot of reasons to smile. Thanks for proving otherwise.”

“Anytime,” Thomas promises. “We made it out, Y/N. We’re alive. We might as well celebrate, right?”

“I know, I just feel bad for celebrating when we’ve lost so many people,” you admit. “It doesn’t feel right that we’re all out here having a good time when we left so many of our friends behind.”

Thomas blows out a low breath through his teeth. “I know how you feel. Shuck, I feel it every day. I don’t think our friends would want us to be moping around all the time, though.”

“Really?” You ask doubtfully.

“Really,” he repeats. “Come on, you know Alby is watching us somewhere, shaking his head with annoyance that he went to the trouble of saving us just so we can waste the chance he gave us. Same with Newt, and Teresa, and the rest. They’d want us to be happy. They wanted that when they were alive, too.”

Your heart twists painfully at the mentions of the friends you’ve lost. “I think so, too. And I’m trying, it’s just hard sometimes.”

“I know,” Thomas tells you. “You’re trying, though. So am I. That’s the important part.”

You look back towards the bonfire. You can see some of the Gladers clustered together. Minho’s telling a dramatic story about something he’d discovered that day; he spreads his arms wide to demonstrate something and they all break out into laughter, even Gally. Maybe Thomas is right. Maybe there’s something here worth smiling about after all.

“Let’s have fun tonight,” you decide.

Thomas puts his arm around your waist, starting to lead you back towards the bonfire, back towards your friends, back towards the life you’d like to keep on living. “Let’s.”

It’ll take a while for the nightmares to stop, for you to avoid flinching whenever someone mentions something that reminds you of the Glade. You’ll never be exactly who you were before you woke up in the Box, but maybe that’s alright. You have a life you never thought you’d have, and best of all, you have a happy ending. You have Thomas. You’re going to be alright.

requested by @hope92100, i hope you enjoy!

tmr tag list: @blondsauduun, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver, @il0vebeingdelulu

all tags list: @wordsarelife

79 notes · View notes

yikestripes · 1 year

Text

Chapter Two

A/N: chapter two to the amelia, taryn, newt maze runner fic!!!

___

“I have no idea where that little bugger got off to.” Newt said, mostly to himself.

The girl smiled a little to herself. Newt was already a semi trusted person for her.

Considering he was the only one that seemed to care, he was a comforting presence to her.

“Chuckie! There you are, mate.” Newt clapped a small boy on the shoulder. His corkscrew curls were askew and his round cheeks were red. He smiled proudly at Newt, as if being sought out was an accomplishment.

It seemed as though this was the case for this young boy. The girl took note of his dirty clothes, rumpled hair and gloves, and determined that he probably had some sort of janitorial duties. He was probably eager to avoid those, thus being needed by the second in command was as good of an excuse as any.

“What’s up, Newt?” He threw his gloves in the bucket.

“I’d like you to meet our newest Greenie,” The girl stepped out from behind Newt and gave a shy wave.

“Holy shuck! I heard rumors about a girl, but I thought it was someone trying to pull my leg,” Chuck stood, seemingly awestruck. The girl giggled.

“Close your trap, Chuck, flies’ll get in.” Chuck’s cheeks reddened at Newt’s command, but his smile quickly returned.

“Do you remember your name yet?”

She shook her head.

“That’s okay! My name’s Chuck, and I was the Greenie before you. I klunked my pants three times before they even got me out of the box.” Newt grimaced, probably remembering.

“K-what?” She asked, eyes narrowed. The connotation of the word seemed negative, and to lead to something she didn’t necessarily want to know about.

“It means sh-” Newt clamped a large hand over Chuck’s mouth. She looked at Newt, eyebrows raised.

“Nothin’. You’ll get the hang of the Glade slang later. Anyway, Chuck is gonna show you to the kitchen, it’s almost time for dinner. Eatin’ something might make your headache go away.” At the mention, the pulsing began again.

“Okay.” She was afraid to chance a nod and make her headache worse again. Newt nodded.

“Good that.” He went off in another direction, leaving her with Chuck.

“Follow me, Greenbean! Kitchens thisaway! You came in on a good day, Frypan should be making stew today. It’s really good! Frypan gets a lot of shit for his food, but it is actually pretty good.”

A few Gladers were already lined up, bowls at the ready. Chuck grabbed two bowls and handed one to the girl.

They sat at a picnic table near the back and ate in silence for a few minutes, before Newt joined them.

“How’s your first dinner in the Glade?” He asked, spooning stew into his mouth.

The girl nodded, mid swallow.

Newt smiled a little. “Good that. Any luck on the name?”

“Not yet.”

He nodded and took another bite of stew.

“Hey, Newt, are we still having the welcome bonfire tonight?” Chuck asked.

“You know it, Chuckie boy.” The girl looked at Newt.

“It’s sort of a welcoming party,” Newt swallowed another bite of stew. “We started that tradition a few Greenies ago, usually helps the new ones get acclimated with the others.”

She nodded.

“It’s a lot of fun! Gally makes this crazy concoction, but I wasn’t allowed to have any last time since I was the Greenie. Hopefully they’ll let me have some this time!” Chuck grinned, leaving the bench to see if he could get seconds.

Newt glanced at the girl, grinning.

“It wasn’t because he was the Greenie,” He said. “It’s because it’s got some alcohol in it and he’s just a kid.”

The girl giggled at the thought of the Gladers drinking some weird drink that made their minds go to mush. She was excited to see what that did to Newt.

Chuck was a sweet kid, but there was something about Newt that just made her feel so at ease.

It could’ve been his accent, his attempts to make her more comfortable by being gentle with her, being her friend.

Chuck returned a minute later, sans seconds. Newt and the Greenie finished their stew in silence, clearing their plates and returning to the heart of the Glade to get the bonfire started.

Several boys surrounded the large pile of wood in the center of the Glade, Newt and Alby included. They all had torches and after a count of three, tossed them all into the wood pile at once. The wood immediately ignited, earning a cheer from the surrounding Gladers.

“Let’s get this party started!” Alby called, earning another cheer from the boys.

She watched as the Glade came together, surrounding the fire, a nearby sandpit, and a grill that was already being lit.

Frypan stood above the grill, tossing skewers onto it. Boys were already lined up with plates.

The Greenie giggled to herself.

Not even an hour after dinner.

Gally was nearby, stirring a giant pot with mason jars at the ready. He started spooning out varying proportions of the amber liquid that was coming from the pot, handing the jars out to various Gladers. The Greenie decided to avoid partaking until she was more comfortable around the others and in the Glade.

Tired of standing, the new girl decides to sit and lean against a log, a few feet away from the fire. She rubbed her temples gently, noticing suddenly that her headache had finally subsided.

Newt was right. Eating really did help my headache.

She sat there for another minute, thinking through the events of the day. The ride up in the box and hitting her head against the floor seemed so far away.

Taryn.

She sat up a little straighter, startled. Was that her name?

Taryn.

It sounded familiar in her head, weirdly like greeting an old friend or finding something important you had lost long ago. Taryn smiled to herself. She finally had a piece of herself, and that was her name.

Taryn shivered and realized that it was getting colder as the sun was going down. She stood from her place beside the log and moved to a log that was much closer to the bonfire. She leaned against the closer log and stretched her legs out in front of her.

“Hey!” Taryn snaps her head up to see Newt approaching her, just as she makes eye contact with a boy who was staring at her from across the fire, munching on something on a stick.

“Hey,” She grins with a smile. Newt plops himself down next to her, taking a long drag from Gally’s drink.

“How are you enjoying yourself, guest of honor?” Taryn smiled at the way he said “honor.”

“I’m good. I had to get closer to the fire because I was getting cold,” Newt nodded in acknowledgement, taking another drink.

“Have you gotten yourself anything to eat or drink?” He asked.

“No, not yet. I don’t know what exactly is in that drink, and I’m not sure I’m ready to find out.” She laughed a little. Newt liked the sound of her laugh.

“Yeah,” He replied. “I can’t quite say I blame you.”

The pair was quiet for a minute or two.

“Taryn, by the way.”

“S’cuse me?”

“Taryn. My name. It’s Taryn. I remembered.”

“Taryn,” Newt said, testing out the name. “I like it. Suits you quite well.”

“How’s that?” She asked. Newt muttered something she didn’t quite understand. “What was that?”

“S’pretty. Like you.” He repeated, still quiet. Taryn grinned to herself a little.

“Well, thank you Newt.” She said.

Just as Newt was about to respond, Chuck walked by, taking a long drag from Gally’s drink.

“Hey!” Taryn called out, catching up to Chuck within a few strides. “Gimme that!” She took the drink from Chuck and held it out of his reach.

“No faaaiirrrr!” Chuck whined.

“No fair?! You’re just a kid! No adult drinks for you,” He pouted and stomped off, presumably to watch the fights that were going on at the sandpit.

Taryn returned to her spot beside Newt and took a drink from the confiscated liquor.

“Euch,” She said upon swallowing. “How can you guys drink this stuff?”

“Puts some hair on your chest,” Was Newt’s response.

“Mhm.”

Newt stood abruptly, finished the rest of the drink by throwing it back, and stalked off in the direction of the cook and the pot.

Taryn sat by herself for the duration Newt was gone, just observing the other Gladers. Hearing the noises of an evening in the Glade.

“You hear that?” She jumped a little, not realizing Newt had returned.

“Yeah, what is that? It sounds like stone scraping.”

“It is. That’s the maze, changin’ and movin’.” “The maze? What maze?” Newt just smiled and rested his arm behind her, on the log.

“Yeah. Out there, beyond those doors is a giant maze.” He took another drink.

“Wow.” There was not much for Taryn to say beyond just wow. She truly was wowed by the power of this place.

“Taryn,” He says, looking away from her.

“Yeah?”

“Just testing out the name. Like I said before, it’s quite beautiful. Like you.” He said the last part very quietly, but enough for Taryn to hear. She raised her hand, the sudden movement causing Newt to look at her.

Their faces were close.

She gently brushed the hair from his eyes, so gently that Newt closed his eyes and leaned into it. She ran her fingers through his bangs one more time until she was sure they were out of his line of vision, when Chuck appeared behind Newt.

Taryn and Newt both moved back and turned their attention to Chuck, a flush creeping up on both their cheeks.

“Whatcha doin’?” He asked, plopping himself down in front of Newt.

“N-nothin, Chuckie boy. Just talkin’.” Newt finished his jar of drink and set it down, raising a hand to rub his eye.

“Tired?” Taryn asked, eyeing Newt.

He nodded.

“Want me to help you back to the Homestead?” He giggled in response.

“I-I don’t need help!” He proclaimed. He stood successfully, but was swaying slightly.

“Chuck, walk behind us to make sure he stays upright.” He saluted Taryn and did as she asked. She wrapped an arm around Newt’s shoulders to help guide him in the right direction.

“Come on, sweets, let’s get you upstairs.” A goofy grin crossed Newt’s lips but he remained quiet for the entire walk.

Chuck followed behind them until they made it into Newt’s room, which was impeccably clean.

“I got it from here, Chuck. Thanks for your help, for everything you’ve done for me today.” Taryn faced the younger boy as Newt sat on his bed, head hanging in exhaustion.

“Anytime! I’m so glad not to be the Greenbean anymore,” He said, puffing his chest out.

“Whatever you say. Can you make it back to your hammock okay?” She asked.

“You know it. See ya tomorrow!” Chuck made his way back downstairs and out into the Glade.

Just as Taryn turned back to Newt, he was curled up on his side, shoes on and everything.

She huffed and began undoing his shoes, before pulling back his covers.

Newt stirred slightly and slowly eased himself under the blankets.

“Thank you, Taryn.” He muttered sleepily, a smile crossing his lips.

“Anytime, Newt. Thanks for everything you did today.” She brushed his bangs out of his eyes again and made her way to the door, and to her room that was next door to Newts.

She took off her own shoes, curled up in her bed the exact same way Newt had, and dreamed of their future in the Glade together for the rest of the night.

#the maze runner newt imagines #newt imagines #newt maze runner #newt tmr #newt #newt and thomas #newt au #newt the maze runner #the maze runner #newt from the maze runner #the man the myth the legend #the love of my life #newt the maze runner x reader #the maze runner imagines

14 notes · View notes

w1shes43 · 1 year

Text

Newt Masterlist

Forbidden Proximity ; Summary: Takes place in "The Fever Code", before an examination test, you meet the beloved Newt. After meeting him, things start to be different, and someone warned you to watch your proximity. But you think you're doing just the opposite.

5 notes · View notes

mazerunner-imagines · 2 years

Text

Hey Everyone

After quite a few years I finally was able to get access back to this account! However, since it’s been so long and my writing style has matured and changed over the years, I felt that the best decision for me moving forward was to start fresh on my new Tumblr account @carelesslywriting ! I am still writing Maze Runner imagines, along with a whole new list of other books and tv shows as well now! If you’re still interested in what I write, feel free to hop over to my new account and submit your requests there as they are now open on my new account!

Thank you everyone to all the support over the years, I’m so excited to continue writing again!

#the maze runner imagines #the maze runner #maze runner #newt #minho #tmr #tmr imagine #tmr imagines #tmr newt #tmr minho #thomas #tmr thomas #aris #tmr aris #teresa #tmr teresa #gally #tmr gally

5 notes · View notes

justanobsessedfangirl · 2 years

Text

What Makes a Home - The Maze Runner Imagine

Request from Anonymous: I have a lil maze runner request. 🥺 maybe something involving a very motherly reader taking care and keep order of all the glade boys and — girl. yea, that’s all I got 😔 just some nice fluffy maternal stuff.

Warning: Some mentions of blood -- I don't think it's too graphic but it is mentioned.

Author's Note: I hope this is what you wanted! Thank you for your patience!

Word Count: 2.5k

"If you don't tie your shoes, you're going to trip over a rock and crack your head open and get a really ugly scar, and you know what you're going to think then? While you're lying on the ground next to the rock that just cracked your head open? You'll think, 'Gosh, Y/N really was right, just like she always is!' And then you'll die. All because you didn't tie your shoes."

Minho cackled as he bent down. He made a big show of double-knotting his laces, narrating aloud, "First you go left under right, then you make the bunny ears..."

You stood over him, hands on your hips, and tried to hold onto your scowl. You meant business. But then he looked up at you and he smiled and you felt yourself smiling back.

"Thanks, Mom," he teased.

You swatted at his arm but he twisted away, laughing as he shot back in to give you a peck on your cheek. He sprinted off to the Maze, calling out behind him, "Hope you're not too bored without me!"

Slinthead, you thought, but the words that came out of your mouth were, "Be careful!" You watched him until he disappeared into the stone mouth of the Maze, and then you waited a few more minutes, just in case he'd forgotten anything.

Time seemed to pass slower in the morning. The sun crawled up the horizon, creeping into a sky painted with vibrant reds, pinks, and oranges. The Glade began to stir awake.

A group of Slicers passed you on their way to the Blood House. Winston was at the head of the pack, talking with Frankie about something that seemed to require lots of hand gestures. Both boys nodded at you as you waved. Trailing behind them were Mike, Dave, and Geo. Geo was busy trying to step on the back of Dave's shoes, and Dave was busy trying to shove Geo away from him, but Mike slowed to a stop beside you, an easy smile on his face.

"Everything alright?"

You smiled back at him. "Yeah, you? Do you guys need any help?"

Mike shook his head. "I know we don't look the most competent," a few feet away, Dave had slung an arm around Geo's neck and gotten him in a headlock, and was now giving him a noogie, "but we're pretty good at our jobs. I just wanted to say thanks for taking over in the kitchen for me."

"No problem! I like helping Frypan."

Mike's smile grew. "You're the best. Let me know if you need anything!" He squeezed your shoulder and jogged back to his friends. Frankie had separated Dave and Geo and was holding them by the backs of their shirts, but that hadn't deterred Winston from his gesticulating.

You gave the group one last wave, receiving back a chorus of "Bye, Y/N!" and, with a final look at the Maze doors, you headed for the kitchen.

"There's our favorite girl!" Frypan exclaimed when you walked in, his hands deep in a ball of dough. The smell of bacon and eggs made your mouth water, and you saw Jim and Carl manning the flat top grill, bickering whenever they thought the other got in their way. Jack was beside them, providing empty plates and taking away the ones they filled, lining them up on the counter that separated the kitchen from the tables.

"You're just in time. We really knead you." Jack laughed at his own joke, jerking his chin to the dough, his hands full of plates.

Jim and Carl groaned in unison, then went back to arguing. Frypan began to sing, too loud and too off-key, and so perfect for the rambunctious peculiarity of the Glade that it made you feel at home. You smiled, rolled up your sleeves, and got to work.

Your shift in the kitchen ended after lunch with Frypan shooing you out the door. "We've got this handled now, I swear. Clint and Jeff will kill me if I keep you late again," he'd said. Then he'd ruffled your hair and shut the door behind you. A second later, you heard a loud crash, a cacophony of curses from the cooks, and a hurried, "We're fine!"

You made your way to your next job. It was a short walk, just long enough for you to run into Chuck, who tried to tag along with you until Zart, in charge of the boy for the day, hauled him back to the Gardens; and Newt and Alby, who walked with their heads bowed in deep conversation, only looking up to give you a quick greeting.

Gally lingered by the Med-jack Hut, holding his left arm to his body. His eyes were shifty, his face sulky. When he saw you coming, his lips set into a grim line that could have meant he was relieved or pissed off.

"Hey, Gally, you doing okay?" you said brightly, opening the door.

Gally followed you inside. "Fine," he grunted. As soon as he kicked the door shut behind him, he thrust his left arm in your face.

It was drenched in red. "Woah, what'd you do there?" You took a reactionary step back so it didn't drip on you, then peered closer.

"Dumb Greenie. Can't use a clunkin' saw." Gally spat on the ground.

You clucked your tongue at him. "Not indoors," you chided.

Gally frowned but didn't spit again.

"Sit down, I'll fix you right up." You pointed to the cot. Gally followed your directions like an angry toddler: trudging to the bed, sitting down heavily, and letting out a series of irritated sighs while you searched through the drawers. The medical supplies were sorted meticulously by Clint and put into frequent disarray by Jeff. You guessed Clint had been here last because you were able to easily find clean towels, wipes, and antibiotic ointment. You cleaned your hands with a wet wipe, tossed it in the trash, then returned to Gally, your brightest, most eager-to-help smile on your face.

Gally scowled at the floor.

You pulled his arm toward you and went to work wiping away the blood with a towel. "So a new guy did this?"

Gally nodded.

"And how'd that happen?" With the blood mostly cleared away, you could see a long, skinny cut along Gally's forearm. It stretched from just below his wrist halfway to his elbow. Although it had clearly gushed blood before, the rush had slowed. You applied pressure while you waited for Gally's answer.

"Idiot said he could cut the board. Idiot couldn't cut the damn board." Gally gritted his teeth as you pressed harder.

"What are you guys working on right now?" Peeling the towel back, you took a peek at the cut. It had stopped bleeding so heavily, and you could see that it wasn't deep. You let out a quiet, happy hum, then traded out the towel for a wipe. You started to clean the cut, glancing up at Gally every so often.

"We're...uh...working. On the Homestead." Gally's eyes flicked to yours, widened when he saw you were looking at him, then shot back to the floor. "Just normal stuff. Not for anything."

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Not for anything?" Gally's mouth clamped shut. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. "The cut's not too bad," you added after the silence had stretched on for too long.

"So I can leave?" He tensed like he was about to bolt off the bed.

"No! I haven't even bandaged it yet. It's like you're asking for it to get infected." You gave him a light smack on his uninjured arm.

Gally looked affronted. "No, I'm not," he muttered.

"You guys are too tough for your own good sometimes," you mused as you started dabbing the antibiotic ointment on Gally's cut. He grunted in response, which you decided to take as him profusely thanking you for doing such a good job. You bandaged his arm with a smile. "All set."

Gally was striding to the door as soon as the words were out of your mouth. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"No problem!" You started cleaning up, trying to match Clint's keen eye for organization. You were just trying to remember if he stored the creams alphabetically by name or by use when you heard someone clear their throat. You turned.

Gally was still standing by the door. His hands were on his hips and he was glaring a hole into the floor. "It's good," he said, seeming to fight to get every word out, "that we have someone like you. In the Glade." He nodded sharply, then stomped out of the room.

Your chest warmed and a shy, heartfelt smile crept onto your lips. "Thanks, Gally," you said to no one.

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful. Somehow, not a single Glader managed to get injured. Not even Chuck! Or someone working in the general vicinity of Chuck! You’d organized and reorganized the supplies, and when that had become mind-numbingly boring, you’d practiced your sutures and leafed through the medical textbooks. As the sun dipped below the horizon, you headed to dinner alone. Neither Clint nor Jeff had come to get you. Usually one of them would take over while you were gone, or, if all the Runners were back and the Builders and Slicers had finished their work for the day, all three of you would walk to the kitchen together. Leaving the Med-jack hut unattended made you uneasy. You hoped you would run into one of the Med-jacks on the way.

You saw no one. As you neared the kitchen, the air felt too still. The Glade was too quiet, too devoid of all the noises people made as they talked and ate and allowed themselves to unwind. You knew the kitchen and the dining area would be empty before you walked in, but it still made your chest run cold to see a place that was supposed to be so lively be so dead.

Your mind raced as you left the kitchen. Was there a meeting? You started walking toward the Homestead, then running. Why hadn't anyone gotten you? At the back of your mind, in that slimy, creeping voice that you hated, another thought arose: what if the Creators had taken all of them back?

You ran faster.

Suddenly, the doors of the Homestead burst open, and Gladers came pouring out, calling your name. For a split second, you were terrified. For a split second, you thought everything had gone wrong. Then you saw their grins. You heard their happiness. You slowed down.

"What's going on?" you asked, breathless from exertion and shock and excitement.

Newt was at the front of the group. "The boys made a little surprise for you, love." He tilted his head back at the Homestead.

"They did?" Your heart had pounded with panic seconds before, and it kept its same quick beat, only now trickles of warmth began to fill your chest and small butterflies beat against your stomach. Newt moved out of your way, giving you a clear path into the Homestead. Boys lined up on either side of you, more peering out through the open door, and, as you walked inside, a motley group of Keepers and your closest friends waited for you against the back of the room. The group was so thick you couldn't see the wall behind them. Thomas and Minho were front and center, wearing matching smiles of mischief and glee.

"One," Minho said.

"Two," continued Thomas.

"Three!" they shouted in unison, and the group parted to reveal a door.

A new door.

"That isn't--" you started to say, and then you were pushed and pulled forward, and they opened the door for you, and you were inside of the Homestead's newest room.

Your room.

Your friends filled in after you. They wandered around the small space, excitedly pointing out the things they'd brought for you.

"You obviously need a better blanket, so I put my second favorite one there for you." Minho pointed to the bottom of the bed, a roguish grin on his face. Both of you knew that was his favorite blanket.

"And I folded it!" Chuck added.

"I read that the smell of lavender helps with sleeping," Clint said when you saw the vase of flowers on your bedside table.

"And I put them in a glass!" Chuck added.

"Brought some housewarming snacks!" Frypan shouted as he and the other cooks weaved in and out of the Homestead holding trays of mini sliders.

"And I helped bring them over from the kitchen!" Chuck added.

"Newt and I...uh...tried to make some pillows." Thomas scratched the back of his head. "We recruited Jeff to sew them up. I think they'll stay shut?" He smiled bashfully.

"And I helped stuff them!" Chuck added.

"Made a rug out of sheepskin," Winston cut in proudly.

Chuck did not have anything to add.

As the commotion swirled around you, and you nodded and laughed and thanked everyone, you felt a quiet presence beside you. Looking over, you saw Gally, who seemed determined not to stare back at you.

"I thought you said you were just working on normal stuff," you teased. Around you, the room was warm and full of laughter. Your heart felt so full you thought it would burst.

Gally shrugged. You figured that was all you were going to get until he said, “I came up with the idea for the window.”

The window was next to your bed. Its edges were crisp and neat, and, because they couldn’t make glass panes in the Glade, it was framed by wooden shutters so you’d be able to close it. Right now, it was open, and light from the setting sun streamed in and gave everything a comforting orange glow.

“I love it,” you said, and for a second you felt yourself getting choked up, all of your gratitude and care and love for these boys becoming overwhelming. You wanted to wrap all of them in a hug and never let them go, you wanted to tell each and every one of them that you appreciated them, you wanted to make sure none of them ever got hurt again. You wanted them all to know how much you loved them. But maybe, you thought, feeling all of them around you in this room they’d built and designed for you, maybe they already knew.

“It’s got something written on it,” Gally muttered. He nodded to the left shutter.

Swallowing back happy tears, you stepped closer, peering at the shutter's bottom edge. The words were neat, carved in delicate cursive that should have been impossible to do on wood. It said: Thank You.

You couldn’t help yourself. You started to cry.

Gally shifted uncomfortably before reaching out to give you an awkward pat on your shoulder.

You cried harder.

Then Minho’s voice rang out from across the room. “Check the other shutter!” he crowed.

Sniffling and wiping away tears, you squinted at the other shutter. There, painstakingly carved in elegant script on the right side shutter, was the word: Mom.

That slinthead.

1K notes · View notes