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Summary: You’re the Glade’s med-jack—sharp, capable, and the only thing keeping half the boys from dying of stupidity. Minho, top Runner and top menace, has made a hobby of showing up at your hut with both real injuries and completely fake ones just to annoy you. But all jokes vanish when Minho is dragged into your tent bleeding and barely conscious after a brutal run.
CW: Slight angst, jokes, grievers, injuries
Word Count: 0.5k
The day starts normal.
Which, in the Glade, means chaotic, sweaty, loud, slightly traumatic, and with Gally yelling at someone for breathing too loud.
You’re sorting herbs and leftover medical supplies in the hut when you hear it—
Yelling.
Panicked.
Running.
Too many footsteps at once.
Your stomach drops.
Before you even make it to the door flap, it slams open.
Thomas is on one side, Alby on the other, both barely managing to carry the dead weight between them.
Minho.
He’s limp. Bloodied. Shirt torn. Head lolling.
Your heart stops.
“What happened?!” you shout, already pulling the table out, snapping into med-jack mode.
“Griever,” Thomas pants. “Caught him on the way back—he fought it off but—he’s—”
He doesn’t finish. Doesn’t have to.
You’re already moving.
“Put him here. Now.”
They lay Minho down. His skin is ashy, sweat dampening his hair. There’s a long, ugly gash across his side—deep enough to see the gleam of muscle.
You swallow hard. “Minho, hey. Stay with me. You hear me?”
His eyelids flutter. Barely. “Tough… day… sweetheart…”
Oh thank god—he’s conscious enough to flirt. Thomas chokes out a laugh, frantic and relieved.
You don’t even look up as you grab the needle. “Thomas, water. Alby, pressure on the wound.”
Your hands move with muscle memory, practiced precision—clean, stitch, tie, repeat. But your chest? Yeah, that’s pure chaos. Every time Minho winces, your heartbeat jumps. Every time he exhales sharply, something inside you twists. He’s always been reckless—cocky grin, fast feet, faster comebacks. But this? Seeing him like this?
It terrifies you.
“You’re doing great,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.
Minho huffs a weak laugh. “You… worried or something?”
You glare at him. “Shut up before I stitch your mouth closed.”
“That’d be… kinda hot…”
“MINHO.”
Alby snorts. Thomas actually wheezes.
You try, so hard, not to smile.
When the wound is finally closed and bandaged, you sit back, shaking with the leftover adrenaline.
“Why do you always end up on my table?” you whisper.
He shifts slightly, eyes barely open. “Maybe I like… seeing you…”
Your breath catches.
Thomas and Alby make identical faces, which you try to ignore and fail pathetically.
You brush hair off Minho’s forehead.
Just a little. Hoping no one notices.
“You scared me,” you admit, barely audible.
Minho’s lips twitch. “Yeah… you too.”
You exhale shakily. “I mean it.”
“I know.” His voice is soft. Too soft for Minho. “’S why I came back.”
Your chest squeezes.
You want to tell him everything—how you wait for him to return every night, how you pretend not to worry, how you replay every conversation you two have ever had—but he’s drifting, exhausted.
So you say the only thing that matters right now.
“Rest. I’ve got you.”
He murmurs something sleepy—sounds suspiciously like “always do”—but he’s out before you can tease him for it.
Later, when the boys leave, Newt stands behind you with his arms crossed, smirking like he knows every secret you’re desperately trying not to have.
“Med-jack, huh?”
“Don’t.”
“He nearly dies but still flirts with you—honestly, I respect the consistency.”
“Newt.”
“You like him. He likes you. The whole shucking Glade knows, Y/N”
You throw a rag at him. He dodges easily.
But as you turn back to Minho, watching his chest rise and fall, slow and safe, you allow yourself the smallest smile.
Just a little one.
Because maybe Newt’s right.
Maybe everyone knows.
Except the two of you.
For now.
Hope you all enjoyed this! Likes, comments, reblogs and requests are highly appreciated! Requests are open!
Sources! -
Header - pinterest
Dividers - @hyuneskkami
Property of suigenerisisadiva, do not repost my work pls & ty!
Imagine being in the glade, trapped around by the walls that span high into the sky. Not knowing what’s in the maze. Unable to sleep most nights, just like the others stuck with you.
One of the most unsettling parts of the glade is the sounds of the maze when the doors slam, shifting walls and grievers screeching in their monstrous voices.
So, on those restless nights, Newt stays with you in your cot. Laying behind you in his side, holding your waist as his hand traces circles on your hip. Whispering to you stories that he comes up with, even if he’s not very good at the creative stuff. (So he just ends up talking about the times Gally tripped on a root, or when Frypan spilled all the salt into his stew.)
Even if it’s a tab suspicious to share a bed, Alby doesn’t mind letting you two cuddle up. Especially when you’re scared and his second in command is following you like a dog. Half whipped for you, puppy eyed. Other half willing to bite the heads off anyone who messed with you.
You’re finally able to fall asleep in his arms, feeling protected from all that’s unknown outside. But it doesn’t matter so much when he’s with you.
Also, him waking up first to Minho teasing him while you lay passed out on his chest.
either him, or her. or both, as a matter of fact. that option would suffice the most.
continuing to angrily poke at your bowl of food, you stared at newt and a girl from one of the other mazes. you're pretty sure hers was all girls. you don't care, but it would explain her behaviour after freshly seeing a fairly attractive guy for the first time in who knows how long.
they sat at the table directly in front of yours, her legs straddling the cafeteria bench as she faced newt; her elbow on the table holding her head up while her other hand played with newt's white long sleeve, round eyes innocently staring up at him. she was saying something to him—some flirty, nonsensical bullshit, you suppose.
newt smiles down at her, laughing now and then at something she whispers in his ear. he goads her actions.
screw him, and screw every single boy in the entire world. so easy, so simple to attract and tempt. the two of them might as well just take each other on the table in front of everyone at this point, if they're going to be this shameless and obvious from a first encounter.
"if you're gonna keep abusing your food, you might as well give it to me," a deep voice says from behind you, the person coming to sit down to your right.
"yeah, just take it, minho. i'm not hungry anymore."
you slide your bowl to him, which he gladly takes and begins to eat out of. you look at him and he nods towards newt.
"is that why? 'cause i understand it's not fun watching your man get seduced by a totally hot girl. but don't worry, y/n, you're much hotter than her," he says almost unintelligibly while chewing.
you hit his arm playfully, mumbling, "he's not my man, and he can do whatever he wants with any girl. what is it to me?"
he laughs. "yeah, keep telling yourself that. because if you're going to lie, at least don't stare at them like you want to take both their heads off."
you roll your eyes at minho and sigh, turning your head and focusing back on newt and the girl.
"i don't want to be here anymore. i'm genuinely gonna be sick if i keep watching this shit. get a room, for god's sake."
you maneuver your legs over the bench and sit up.
"enjoy the food, shank. i'll see you later," you tell minho.
"thanks, and you enjoy living in denial!" he shouts after you as you walk back to your dorm in the girls section. it was weird being away from the boys you've been sleeping next to for the past two years, but you managed to brush off your anxieties after the first three nights.
as you're walking down the lonely hallway, your arm is suddenly grabbed and your whole body is pulled back into an empty room on the side. you gasp and spin around to identify the person who grabbed you, raising your hand to initiate an attack. very quickly, however, that hand is lowered once newt shuts the door and turns around to face you.
"woah, sweetheart, you gonna hurt me, yeah?" he laughs, walking closer to you.
"a natural reaction when you're kidnapped, don't you think?" you reply as you take deep breaths, adrenaline still rushing from the prior shock. he smirks as he stops a few steps away from you.
"actually, i don't reckon kidnapping counts when someone just wants to see their friend. you left dinner early, too, so i couldn't see you."
you scoff, ignoring and walking past him towards the door. newt doesn't like this though. if he wanted you to leave, he wouldn't have grabbed you in the first place.
"hey hey hey, what's the matter?" he pushes the door shut again from behind you before you can fully open it to escape. turning back around to face him, you realize he's much closer than before, and it causes your body to tense. you move away until your back hits the door, and newt stares at you with a worried and confused look.
"why are you trying to leave, love? i'd imagined you'd be glad to catch up since it's been a bit hectic the past few days," he says concerningly, bringing his hand up to move a strand of your hair off your face.
this is when your panic sets in. why are you upset? why are you so bothered by what he does with other girls? you and newt have only been friends since you came up on the box as one of the first girls in the glade. sure, the two of you are the closest out of the rest, but you have never crossed the boundary of friendship. never.
and though sometimes—especially late at night when your body doesn’t quite feel like your own, or when he rests his hands from behind you low on your hips like an anchor while you’re standing in a group, claiming it’s just so you don’t get lost in the crowd—you feel something pull at you. but you never let it show. because wanting more would mean risking everything, and friendship is the only thing you’re sure he’s offering.
but you’re only human. you can only restrain yourself for so long before the bitterness starts to seep in.
you cross your arms and avoid eye contact, muttering, “well, unfortunately, you looked a bit preoccupied during dinner—so i doubt catching up was the only thing on your mind.”
instantly, regret encompasses your entire being. you should know better than to show him how upset he's got you from one conversation with a random girl. heat rushes up your neck and your eyes find his again, and you wish they didn't.
he doesn't have concern written on his face anymore.
he’s smirking now—slow, amused, like he’s savouring the way your jealousy just slipped out. like he’s known all along and was just waiting for you to crack.
and god, that look on his face only makes your uneasiness worse.
"oh, so you noticed then?" he inches a bit closer, eyes surveying every part of your face. "guess it was more obvious than i'd wanted, but she's bloody gorgeous, isn't she?"
you force yourself to keep all the composure you have left. just endure this small talk with him, and then leave and go to bed in one piece.
"mhm. very pretty. and very interested in you as well. maybe you should do something about it, considering we don't know how much time we truly have left in this shithole," you respond, voice optimistic and laced with a hint of sarcasm. you hold his eyes, unwilling to reveal your sourness again.
he smiles, clearly pleased with your obviously disingenuous response. he places his hands on their familiar spot on your hips.
"there's just a tiny problem," he mentions. "do you know what?"
you swallow. "what?"
he moves in even closer, your bodies less than an inch from each other. looking down at you, he quietly gives his response.
"i can't exactly picture myself doing certain stuff to her. and you know very well how i am—my mind has to make sense of something before i do it... and it just doesn't, not with her."
you should be relieved at his confession. but your body tenses up even more for some reason; the space in the room becomes strangely smaller.
you should nod and tell him you have to go to sleep. tell him that you're tired and that you'll see him tomorrow morning. maybe even console him and remind him that there are many other girls here. but your mind is fuzzy and your body is much more affected by your proximity, even though it should be routine by now.
so you ask—innocently and curiously so, with a tilt of your head.
"what kinds of stuff? really, i can't imagine it'd be as difficult as you say—" you're cut off by his right hand grabbing the side of your neck, thumb on your cheek, gently turning it so he can lean in and speak into your ear.
"a lot of the naughty stuff i dream of doing to you."
you're beyond dumbstruck, breath hitching and heart hammering in your chest so hard you're embarrassed he'll hear. your arms drop from your chest straight down, hands resting on the door behind you by your waist.
his thumb grazes your jaw, moving your head back so you can face him. his dark eyes hold yours as he closes the gap between your bodies, his hips flush against yours.
"stop fucking with me, newt," you whisper.
but your voice betrays you—too breathless, too soft to sound truly angry.
his eyes don’t waver. if anything, they darken. he tilts his head just slightly, as if he’s studying you, cataloguing every flicker of resistance and want etched across your face.
“i’m not,” he murmurs. “not tonight.”
his hand slightly moves down from your jaw to the side of your throat, resting there—not threatening, just grounding, like he’s making sure you don’t disappear. like he’s giving you one last chance to pull away.
"it's funny, really. you can easily notice when another girl is flirting with me, but you can't notice when i'm flirting with you. and i've been flirting, trust me, sweetheart," he chuckles, his chest reverberating the deep sound as the hand on your throat drops back down to your hip. "two years of it, i'd like to mention," he mumbles in that smooth accent of his.
your self control is running unbelievably thin, but one thing you'll always do is hold a grudge—remember.
remember the girl's hands on him.
her seductive and very telling gaze.
and worst of all, newt's grin as he encouraged her affections, indulged in them. he savoured it. and you weren't gonna let your best friend of all people play you like a fool.
so you lift your chin, biting back the lump in your throat and every word you’ve swallowed for the past two years. your voice comes out low, laced with something bitter.
“go back to her then.”
his brows knit, just slightly. “pardon?”
you meet his eyes head-on this time, ignoring the heat still pulsing in your chest.
“she clearly wants you,” you continue, tone cutting and cool. “you should take her up on it. might be easier for both of us.”
he blinks like you’ve slapped him, even though his body doesn’t move—still pressed against yours, still blocking every inch of your exit.
“easier?” he echoes, confused—and something else too, something sharper.
you shrug. “yeah. i mean, you were already halfway there at dinner. you’re good at letting girls fawn over you. might as well make the most of it.”
he exhales through his nose—half a laugh, half something exasperated. he shifts just slightly, and even that minimal movement sends your nerves sparking.
“you think that’s what that was?” he asks, his voice lower now, almost disbelieving. “me letting someone fawn over me?”
“i don’t know, newt,” you say tightly. “i just call it like i see it.”
his jaw flexes. for a moment, he doesn’t speak—and then, quieter:
“i flirted back,” he says, “because you were watching.”
you freeze.
his eyes are on yours now, unblinking. the hands on your hips tighten just slightly.
“you looked at me like you wanted to rip her head off. i’d never seen you like that before. and as twisted as it is, yeah—it made me want to push it further. just to see how far you'd let it go before you snapped.”
your breathing is shallow, but you say nothing. because he’s right. and he knows it.
“i’ve been waiting for you to crack,” he murmurs. “two years of pretending this is just friendship. of pretending that touching you like this doesn't mean anything. but it always means something.”
his chest rises and falls against yours. there’s no space left between you—not physically, not emotionally.
“and tonight? when you finally cracked? when you stormed out like that? it just confirmed it.”
his thumb brushes against your waist now, barely there.
“you feel it too. don’t lie to me.”
you don’t lie.
you just move—slow, cautious, but deliberate. your hands cover his where they grip your hips, grounding yourself before your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt like you need something to hang onto.
your hips shift—just the smallest movement—but enough. enough to press up into him, enough to say what you refuse to say out loud.
he lets out a guttural, “fuck,” and his forehead drops to yours, eyes closed, jaw tight, like it’s taking everything in him not to move.
your hands trail up, brushing along his arms before finding his neck. you don’t even realize how tightly you’re holding on until your knuckles ache.
you don’t speak right away. can’t. your throat is dry, heart lodged somewhere between your ribs and your mouth.
he waits, barely breathing, and somehow that silence is louder than anything he could’ve said.
“newt…” you murmur, and it comes out broken. not pleading. not sweet. just raw. stripped down.
he doesn’t answer—just swallows, hard.
you close your eyes, like that might make it easier. it doesn’t. “you drive me insane.”
you feel him twitch against you at the confession.
“but i do,” you breathe. “i want you.”
and that’s all it takes for the restraint between you to snap clean in half.
he opens his eyes a little, hooded and filled with lust as they meet yours. his mouth moves painfully close to yours, noses touching one another.
"yeah, love? wanna show me how much?" his lips ghostly touching yours as he speaks.
you let out a soft whimper before nodding and finally connecting your lips to his. he lets out a low noise of approval, pushing you further into the wall as he deepens the kiss. his tongue enters your mouth, slow at first—like he’s savouring every second he’s finally allowed to taste you. you respond instinctively, tilting your head and parting your lips wider, letting him take more.
his body presses harder into yours as the kiss intensifies—hot and breathless, messy in a way that speaks to everything you've both held back. he kisses you like he's starving. like he’s waited years to have you like this. and maybe he has.
he pulls back the tiniest amount to let you both breathe, chests heaving as a line of spit connects your mouths. his eyes flit between both of yours.
"i've wanted to do that for the longest bloody time," he murmurs.
you gulp, staring at his slightly swollen lips. "me, too."
his hands move up and down your sides, trying to memorize all the parts of your body he restrained himself from touching during your friendship.
"newt?" you say as he dips his head to softly kiss at your neck, lips slowly taking their time to mark every visible part of your skin.
"yes, sweetheart?" he mumbles against your throat.
your hands slide into his messy hair, gently tugging them. this earns a groan from the boy, and you note this reaction in the back of your mind for later.
your breath quickens. your body is going insane at the feeling of his lips as they move from one side of your neck to the other, kissing the front of your throat in the process. you need friction, you need to feel something—need to feel him more. your eyes shut.
"please touch me, i need—" you grip his hair a little tighter, causing his hips to push back down on yours with a grunt, "—oh my god, like that, i need to feel you more like that. please," you practically beg.
newt pauses his assault on your neck, mouth still lightly touching your skin as he brings it up to press into your ear.
"feel me more?" he mumbles, yet his voice is clearer than ever directly next to your ear. one of his hands drop to your inner thigh, slightly opening your legs more. "you want to feel my dick grinding on you again, yeah?"
you're speechless. he's reduced you to just whines and gasps, and he hasn't even done half the things he wants to do to you yet. all you can do is mindlessly and rapidly nod your head.
"say it, sweetheart. use your words and tell me what you want me to do."
your hips lift again to touch his, opting to show him rather than tell him. but his hand on your hip pushes them back against the door, refusing contact. his face comes very close, right in front of yours. the hand that moved your thigh grabs your chin, raising your head so your eyes meet his.
"what do you want?"
"i want to feel you on me, newt. wanna feel your dick, please," you say as humanely quiet as possible, too embarrassed to raise your voice.
but it's enough for newt. enough for his brain to short circuit and completely irrationalize everything in the entire world.
"god, you're amazing. good— good fucking girl, you want to ruin me, don't you?" he utters, hand dropping from your chin to grab under your thighs and lift you up. your arms instantly wrap around his neck in response, shocked and, once more, forgetting his strength.
he walks over to the available couch—in what you now understand to be a WCKD storage room—and sits down, placing you on his lap. his hands that are on your waist drag your body closer to his.
"there you go, darling. you can feel whatever you want, however you want. show me."
your legs tighten around his sides as you settle into his lap, breathing uneven as you brace your hands on his shoulders. he leans back slightly, letting you take control, his eyes locked onto yours.
you shift once, experimentally.
his jaw tenses.
you do it again, slower this time, dragging your hips across his with a friction that draws a sharp inhale from both of you. your palms slide down his chest, grounding yourself as your rhythm builds—testing, pushing, letting the tension unravel between your bodies in steady, aching waves.
his hands stay glued to your waist, not guiding, not forcing—just holding, like he might fall apart if he doesn’t have something to grip.
"fuck," he mutters, head dropping to your shoulder, lips brushing your skin. "just like that, love… keep going. you're gonna make me lose my goddamn mind."
you grind harder, slower—circling your hips with more purpose now, chasing the high you’ve both been dodging for way too long. his hard length presses up against you through your clothes, and the friction, the pressure, it’s too much and not enough all at once.
your head tips back, a breathy moan escaping you as you grind down again.
"feels good?" he asks, voice thick, low, wrecked.
you don’t answer. not with words.
instead, you roll your hips harder—sharper—grinding down until his fingers dig into your waist and his hips jerk up helplessly beneath you.
"shit, you’re unbelievable," he hisses, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "look at you… using me like that. you know what that does to me?"
you bite your lip, leaning forward until your lips ghost over his, your breath fanning across his mouth.
"yeah," you whisper. "i do."
and you grind again—slow, steady, purposeful.
"i—no more—i can't anymore, jesus. you're gonna make me finish before i even taste you."
his voice is wrecked, words pushed out between ragged breaths as his head falls back against the couch, neck flushed, jaw tight. his grip on your hips falters just slightly, like he’s barely holding on, every muscle in his body tense beneath yours.
you slow your hips to a lazy grind, just enough pressure to keep him teetering on that edge. his breath catches again, a choked noise slipping past his parted lips. you lean in, brushing your nose along the side of his jaw, lips hovering by his ear.
“that’d be a shame,” you whisper, voice all sugar and venom. “i was really looking forward to you using that pretty mouth.”
a low, strangled groan rumbles in his chest, and you feel it everywhere. his hands tighten around your waist, holding you still, grounding himself like it’s the only way he won’t lose it right here.
“fuck, don’t say shit like that unless you’re ready for me to get on my knees right now.”
you hum, hips shifting just slightly. “maybe i am.”
his hands fly to your thighs, gripping hard, and in one breathless motion, he lifts you—just enough to slide you down onto the couch beside him. your back hits the cushions, and before you can speak, he’s already on his knees between your legs, eyes locked on yours with a look so dark, so hungry, it robs the air from your lungs.
“you don’t get to tease me like that and not let me ruin you,” he growls.
his fingers are already trailing up your legs, slow and purposeful, thumbs brushing the insides of your thighs as he inches closer—his breath hot, lips parted like he’s seconds away from diving in.
“tell me to stop,” he says, voice low, breathless.
you stare down at him, chest rising and falling fast, your body practically vibrating with need.
you don’t tell him to stop.
he doesn’t wait for more permission. doesn’t need it. your silence, your expression, the way your legs shift open wider—it’s enough.
his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants, slow but confident. his eyes don’t leave yours for a second as he slides them down your legs, underwear included, until you’re bare for him, flushed and aching and already too worked up from everything that’s come before.
he drags his hands up your thighs again, kneeling between them like he’s worshipping, like he’s settling in.
“gonna pay you back properly for that little stunt,” he mutters, eyes dropping to between your legs.
then—he leans in.
but he doesn’t kiss you there. not yet.
instead, he ghosts his mouth around your clit, deliberately avoiding it. kissing everywhere but where you need him most—your inner thighs, your mound, the crease of skin beside where you’re pulsing. barely brushing close enough to feel, but never landing.
you squirm, hips twitching toward him.
he grips your thighs tighter, holding you down.
“what’s wrong, love?” he murmurs mockingly, breath hot against your skin. “you didn’t think i’d let you do that to me and not give it right back?”
you whimper, thighs tensing beneath his hands. “newt, please—”
he finally kisses just next to your clit, a maddening flick of tongue too close and too far all at once. you choke on a moan.
he pulls back slightly, eyes rising to meet yours. “look at you. fuck, you’re already shaking.”
then—he flattens his tongue and licks a slow stripe up your folds, still not touching your clit, just collecting your arousal on his tongue like he’s tasting something expensive.
and then—then—his thumb finally brushes over your clit, gentle and experimental at first. your back arches immediately.
he hums. “so sensitive already. that’s from just grinding on me, yeah? filthy girl.”
his thumb rubs again, firmer this time, slow circles that pull ragged gasps out of your throat. your hips try to follow his motion, chase it, but he pulls back just enough.
then—he spits.
directly on your clit, the sound obscene, the visual worse—and you see it all, because he’s still looking at you, direct eye contact, like he’s daring you to fall apart.
and then he licks it.
your whole body jolts.
his mouth wraps around your clit now, tongue flicking, sucking softly, then harder, alternating in maddening patterns. and just as you start to unravel, his hand slides up—fingers sliding between your folds—and he pushes one inside.
you let out something between a moan and a sob.
“that’s it, sweetheart,” he mutters, lips still brushing your clit between every word. “take it. take all of it.”
he adds a second finger without warning, curling them perfectly as he sucks harder. your thighs clamp around his head, and he groans into you like he lives for it.
you’re so close it’s blinding—nothing exists but the sounds he’s making, the drag of his fingers, the pace of his tongue.
“newt—” your voice is hoarse, barely more than a gasp. “i—i’m gonna—”
“do it,” he growls, voice muffled. “come on, love, finish for me. want to feel you lose it on my mouth.”
and you do.
it hits fast and hard, your back arching clean off the couch, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as waves of heat roll through your body. he doesn’t stop—not until your thighs tremble, until you’re whimpering from oversensitivity, trying to squirm away.
only then does he finally pull back, lips slick, breath uneven. he kisses the inside of your thigh—soft this time—and looks up at you with a goddamn smirk.
“fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “you taste better than i imagined.”
your body’s still twitching with aftershocks when you finally manage to sit up, thighs trembling slightly. newt watches you with blown pupils, chest rising and falling like he’s been holding his breath for the past five minutes.
you straddle his lap again, skin sticky and flushed, and for a second, he just stares—like you’re something unreal, like he doesn’t know where to look.
then your hands slide to his shoulders, and with a firm push, you whisper:
“lie back.”
his eyes flash with surprise—but it’s the kind he likes. he grins, that crooked, breathless grin that makes your stomach twist, and lets you guide him down against the couch, settling between your legs like it’s the only place he ever wants to be.
you swing your leg over him again, thighs still unsteady as you settle on top, grinding lightly against the obvious strain in his pants. his hands find your waist like they were built to be there, but before he can speak, you tug his shirt up.
“off,” you say softly.
he obliges without hesitation, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. the second it’s gone, your eyes drink him in—golden skin, soft lines cut by muscle, hair tousled and sweat-slicked.
your palms settle on his chest, and your gaze trails over every inch of him.
“hell,” you mutter under your breath, tone somewhere between admiration and disbelief. “how do you even look like this?”
his breath hitches, lips curving into a smile that’s both cocky and dazed. “well, i could say the same, couldn’t i?”
you don’t answer with words—just peel off your own shirt and toss it to the floor. his reaction is immediate. his hands trace up your sides like they’ve been aching to, thumbs grazing just beneath your breasts before he leans in and wraps his mouth around one. the other he palms gently, tongue flicking, lips soft but hungry.
you moan, hand tangling in his hair as your hips shift against his again, more urgent now.
you reach down to push his pants lower, and he lifts his hips to help you. when he’s fully bare beneath you, you hesitate for just a moment—taking in the sight of him, flushed and ready, hard and aching.
he notices. he always does.
“still alright?” he asks, voice low, accent thick and laced with restraint.
you nod. “just… want it to be slow.”
“right,” he says, quiet, gentle. “c’mon, love. take your time.”
you position him at your entrance, breath catching as the tip pushes in. the stretch is sharp—burning just a little—but you steady yourself, hands pressed to his chest as you ease down.
his hands tighten on your hips. “bloody—” he cuts himself off with a groan, head tipping back. “you’re warm… so bloody warm.”
you hiss softly, trying to adjust. it’s overwhelming—he’s overwhelming—and you pause halfway, your body pulsing around him.
“breathe,” he says, voice strained but patient. “don’t rush it. just feel.”
you do. slowly, you lower yourself more, inch by inch, the burn slowly giving way to something fuller, deeper. your forehead dips, your breath stuttering out as you finally sink all the way down.
he’s deep—so deep—and you can feel every twitch of his body beneath you.
“look at me,” he says quietly.
you do.
his eyes are dark, mouth parted, chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths.
“you feel… incredible,” he says, almost reverent. “like you were made to take me.”
you bite your lip, a whimper escaping as you shift your hips, just a little.
his fingers dig in harder, a low sound rumbling from his throat.
“just let me know when i can start fucking you, sweetheart.”
your breath stutters, hips stilling as you adjust to him—stretching around him in a way that makes your entire body ache and burn and need. his grip stays steady at your hips, but not forceful—he’s holding himself back, barely.
you lean in, forehead nearly touching his, breath warm against his lips.
“you can,” you murmur, voice trembling. “please, newt—move.”
his eyes flicker shut for just a second, like the words hit something deep. “yeah?” he breathes, hands tightening ever so slightly. “alright, love. i’ve got you.”
he moves slowly at first, guiding your hips as he lifts his own into you with a careful, deliberate thrust. the pressure knocks a soft moan from your throat, and his head falls back against the couch with a strained exhale.
“sodding—hell,” he mutters under his breath, looking back up at you, eyes dark with awe. “you feel… unreal.”
you start to move with him—tentative, searching for rhythm—and he follows, matching you with soft, deep thrusts, his hands stroking over your waist, up your back, anywhere he can touch.
your breathing quickens as you fall into sync, the sting fading into something consuming and hot, and every roll of your hips makes him stutter a little harder beneath you.
“you alright?” he murmurs, thumb brushing your skin where your shirt used to be. “you’re shaking…”
you nod, barely managing a sound. “don’t stop.”
he smiles—soft, breathless.
“wasn’t planning to.”
his hands find your face now, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he leans up to kiss you, slow and messy. every thrust after is deeper, more desperate, but still careful, still newt—like he’s trying to make sure you remember every second of this.
“look at me,” he whispers into your mouth. “need to see you.”
you do. and when your eyes meet his again, something shifts—deeper than just the physical. his expression falters, like seeing you like this—eyes wide, lips parted, taking all of him—is too much to process.
“bloody hell,” he breathes, brushing your hair back, his thumb gently dragging along your cheekbone. “you’re—”
he doesn’t finish the sentence. maybe he can’t.
because your hips roll down against his at the same time his meet you halfway, and the sudden pressure knocks a sound out of you that’s almost too loud for the tiny room you’re in.
“newt—” you gasp, fingers gripping his shoulders, nails pressing half-moons into his skin. “right there, right—don’t stop, please.”
his jaw tightens, and he nods, breath caught in his throat. “yeah. i’ve got you. just keep movin’—just like that.”
you grind down again, chasing that sweet, burning friction where your bodies meet. your legs are shaking now, thighs quivering around his sides as you start to come apart faster than you thought possible.
he feels it—feels your body clench around him—and it punches the air from his lungs.
“sh—shit, you’re close, aren’t you?” he pants, eyes locked to yours like it’s all he can do. “c’mon, love, let go. let me feel it.”
you don’t need more encouragement.
your body tightens, and the wave crashes—white-hot and all-consuming, making you cry out his name as your entire body pulses around him. your vision blurs, every nerve alight, and you collapse forward into his chest, trembling and gasping as the orgasm rocks through you.
his arms wrap around you instantly, holding you steady as you shake.
“that’s it,” he whispers into your hair. “good girl… i’ve got you.”
you barely have time to come down before he shifts beneath you, letting out a sound between a groan and a choked laugh, like he’s on the edge now.
“you’ve no idea what you’re doing to me,” he mutters, voice thick and broken. “i’m not gonna last if you keep squeezing me like that.”
your lips brush against his collarbone as you breathe, still wrecked, still open around him.
“then don’t,” you whisper. “want to feel you.”
that undoes him.
he groans low and guttural, hands gripping your hips as he thrusts up into you again—harder now, sloppier, rhythm faltering as he chases his own release.
you moan again, still sensitive, but loving it—loving him like this, so undone, so raw beneath you.
and then he breaks.
with a final thrust, he buries himself as deep as he can go, groaning your name into your shoulder as he comes—his entire body tensing, trembling, his breath hot against your skin.
you hold him close through it, hands threading into his hair as he falls apart underneath you, every inch of him pressing into you like he can’t get close enough.
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Hi :) i absolutely love love love your writing! Could you write a Newt x Fem!Reader having their first time, learning about what feels good for each other, and it's all gentle and sweet? And they have a little make out session in the showers afterwards? <3
"I like my body when it is with your body." — E.E. Cummings
NSFW Newt x Fem!Reader 𑣲 WC: 6,988
A/N: I am so sorry this ended up being so freaking long, and it took me forever to post. I sort of just took the idea and ran with it. I hope it fulfills the expectations you had for this request! I'll edit it someday, but for now, if you see any errors: No, you don't.
The vents are colder than you'd expected.
Metal hums under your palms as you crawl, powerless to silence each beat of your frantic heart. The facility runs on a strict lockdown at night: Doors sealed, guards patrolling on strict rotations, and no wandering. No 'unauthorized movement', whatever that's supposed to mean.
Naturally, you ignore all of that.
You inch through the narrow tunnel, the metal faintly rattling with each shift of your weight. Ahead, a thin rectangle of pale light spills through the grate. You press your fingers to the frame until it loosens with a soft 'pop', and you catch it before it can clatter on the ground.
"Psst." Your whisper slips into the dark. This dorm is larger than yours: Rows of narrow cots in perfect lines and silhouettes of sleeping boys under their blankets. There's slow breathing, the occasional groan, and the rustle of someone turning over. "Psst! Newt!"
For a moment, there's nothing except the hush of sleep.
Then: A groggy noise. One of the figures sits up, hair messy and shoulders tense like he's preparing to tackle an intruder.
"Hm?" He groggily hums, and relief pours into your chest.
"Newt!" You whisper a little louder, and his head snaps in your direction. He blinks hard, forcing focus into his slumber soaked eyes.
"Wha—?" His gaze lands on you, your ridiculous head poking out of the vent. "You have got to be kidding me." He whispers in disbelief.
"Miss me?"
"You're in the vents!"
"I wanted to talk to you."
"Talk to me? In the middle of the night? Through the bloody air vents?" He sounds half outraged, half impressed. He glances over his shoulder at the others, but none of them stir. "It couldn't wait 'til morning?"
"I didn't want to wait. Come with me."
"...You want me to crawl in there with you?"
"Yes."
"...In the vents?"
"Yes."
Newt goes utterly speechless, once again giving you that look. After all this time, he swears he knows you like the back of his hand, but you've managed to surprise him yet again.
"...You're bloody lucky I care about you, you twat." He drags a hand down his defeated face.
"So, that's a yes?"
"Fine." He huffs dramatically, muttering under his breath as he crouches down to meet you. "Move over." He climbs in with all the grace of someone forced into a terrible decision. "I hope you realize you're absolutely mad."
"Yes, and you love it."
"I love you. That's the problem." Your heart stutters, but before you can reply, he nods forward. "Go on then, you bloody nutcase. Wherever it is you're taking me, I'm right behind." You crawl ahead, guiding him through the tight passages until the vent widens. Another grate awaits at the end.
"There!" You motion.
The panel comes free with almost insulting ease. (Seriously. Whoever designed this place needs to be fired immediately). A cool wave of air sweeps over you as you peer inside.
It's some sort of unused observation room: Dark, empty, and abandoned. Rows of computers and medical equipment sleep beneath dusty plastic covers. A couch sits against the far wall. You slip out first; grate still tucked in your hand. Newt drops down beside you with a grunt.
"Brilliant." He mutters. "Absolutely marvelous. Sneaking into some unknown room through vents in the middle of the night. Why didn't I think of that?" Then he looks at you, really looks at you, and his foul expression melts away. It always does. "Worth it, I suppose."
"Told you."
"No. You told me nothing, except 'come with me'." He slumps heavily on the couch, stretching out his bad leg with a sigh. "Though, I reckon I'd follow you straight into a pack of Grievers if you asked."
"You sort of already have."
"Yeah. Suppose I have." He smiles and pats the cushion beside him. You sit, close, knee brushing his. Newt's hand finds yours, fingers lacing naturally. "So, I don't suppose you want to explain why you staged a midnight prison break?"
"I hate being in a different dorm."
"That's it?"
"I'm stuck on the other side of this building with a bunch of strangers. It's weird trying to fall asleep without the boys. Without you. I can't even pretend to sleep without your monstrous snoring."
"Absolute slander. I do not snore." He doesn't, but you enjoy the teasing. "Didn't think you missed me that much."
"Oh, please. It's just... I've slept in the same place as you and the others for years. I don't get why they insist on keeping us apart."
"S'cause you're a girl, in case you've forgotten."
"I haven't forgotten." You whine. "Come on, though. If anything weird was going to happen, it would've happened ages ago."
"Really?" His eyebrows shoot up, sounding somewhere between amused and insulted. "Is that what you think?"
"I- I meant—" You sputter. "I meant— Nothing bad— Like—"
"Relax." He laughs. "I'm only messing with you."
"Ha. Ha. Hilarious." You shove his shoulder, and he leans into you.
Silence settles between you: Comfortable and electric. His thumb traces slow circles over your knuckles, grounding you in the intimacy of his company. He shifts closer, thigh pressing against yours like it belongs there.
"Reckon we never really had time to figure it out." He murmurs. "Us, I mean."
"We were busy surviving." You respond softly. "Talking about... All this... Wasn't exactly high priority."
"Well, we've got time now. Don't we?"
"Yeah. Maybe we do."
"...I missed you too, by the way. More than I'd like to admit. Can't sleep without knowing you're nearby."
"Yeah? Why's that so hard to admit?"
"Because I'm the sensible, logical one between us." He scoffs. "I'm the one who's meant to stop you from doing stupidly reckless things like—" He gestures vaguely to the open vent. "Well, that."
"Mhm. Right. You're doing a terrible job, Mr. Sensible."
"Clearly." He rolls his eyes before they land back on you.
Newt's free hand lifts to your cheek, giving you every chance to pull away, but you don't. Instead, you dissolve into him. He's beautiful like this: Softened and vulnerable, his sharp edges melted into something warm.
"Is this the part where you kiss me?" You whisper.
"Bold." A shaky laugh escapes him. "Reckon it is, if you want it."
"I want it." You don't hesitate. "Do you?"
"Undoubtedly, yes." His words are so hushed, you barely hear them.
He regards you with a tender curiosity and a depth of respect that's always been unique to him. He admires your wit, your heart, your soul, your beauty, everything that is you.
Then, he closes the distance.
The kiss is slow, tender, and reverent. Like he's memorizing the shape of you. The warmth of you. The miracle of not losing you in the Maze. The hand which cups your cheek softly strokes your face. The other squeezes your fingers. When you finally part, his forehead rests against yours, breath mingling.
"Hey." You whisper, nose brushing his. "I'm starting to suspect we're more than friends."
"You think?" He grins, thumb sweeping along your bottom lip. "Hm, I might need a bit more convincing."
"Yeah?" You tug him toward you by the jaw and kiss him again: Deeper this time. It's hungry and breath stealing. A helpless sound leaves him as his hands slide to your waist, pulling you against him.
Fingers tangle in his hair.
Breaths mix.
Heat blooms across your cheeks.
When you finally break apart, he's flushed and panting, eyes half lidded as he stares at you devotedly. He laughs, and you laugh too, close enough to kiss again. He looks starving: A parched man in the desert, and you are his oasis.
"Convinced?" You taunt.
His fingers twitch against your waist, exhausting physical effort in holding himself back. His gaze flicks to your eyes, your lips, then your eyes again: Brimming with want.
"You're killin' me, Love," He mutters. "Lookin' at me like that."
"Like what?" The words prod with fraudulent innocence.
"You know damn well 'like what'. You with those big, pretty eyes— Batting your lashes at me and grinning like you're up to no good. D'you have any idea how maddening it is?"
"I might have a clue." You murmur, dragging your fingers along his jaw. He shivers, eyes fluttering shut, impossibly weak for your affection and undone by the mere brush of your hand.
Your fingertips trail the warm skin of his neck. A barely audible gasps escapes him. When his eyes open again, he watches with a dazed, adoring expression.
"You think you're real cute, don't you?" He rumbles, lovestruck and drowning in your presence.
"I think you think I'm cute." Your fingers slip under his chin, urging his face closer. He tilts into your hold without thinking.
"You've got so much power over me." He breathes. "D'you even realize it?"
You don't answer. You don't have to. It's written in the way he looks at you, in the way he follows you everywhere, no questions asked. His commitment is a natural law.
You lean in, pressing a peck to the corner of his mouth before bravely crawling into his lap. You straddle him easily, and he releases a surprised, helpless sound as your weight settles over him.
His hands grip your hips like an anchor, confirming reality. Your lips find his again: Deep and consuming. Your mouths fit like they were made for each other. He is your missing puzzle piece.
"You— " Newt pulls back for air, stunned. "You are absolutely lethal."
"Why, thank you." You whisper, locking lips again before he can recover.
A pleased hum erupts from his chest as he drags you into him, impossibly closer, strong arms winding around your waist until you're practically molded to him.
"Shite— " He curses, suddenly pulling away tightly shut eyes. Before you can express your concern, you realize the hardness poking on your thigh. His nails dig into your hips as he lifts you out of his lap, halting you over him. "S-Sorry." He barely stutters out. "Bloody hell—" Newt's face buries in your shoulder, the tip of his nose prodding the side of your neck.
"Hey," You breathe, lightheaded from the kiss. "Newt, it's okay— " Unfortunately, he doesn't hear you through the avalanche of mortified rambling spilling out of him.
"S'not something I can control— Just happens when... It's— " His voice is small, tight with shame. His whole body has gone stiff, bracing for you to pull away in disgust.
"Newt— "
"S'no disrespect— "
"Newt— "
"Just happens when I'm around you— "
"Newt— "
"Dunno know how to stop— "
"Newt!" Your voice sharpens. Not angry, but urgent to pull him out of this spiral. His head lifts a little, and he looks up at you with those pitiful eyes.
You take his hands, the ones gripping your waist, the ones desperately trying to hold you off him, and interlace your fingers. Then slowly, deliberately, you settle back down into his lap. The sound that erupts from his throat is guttural and astonished. His eyes fly wide and his thighs tense beneath you.
"You're not repulsed?"
"No." You squeeze his hands. "Newt, I like you just as much. You know that, right?"
"Y-Yeah?"
"Yeah." You persist, shifting your body. Your thighs rub against the stiff tent in his pants, and he jolts, grasping your hips to hold you still.
"Oh, Shuck— Careful with me, Love." The way he speaks is strained, intoxicatingly pathetic, like he's holding back a string of whimpers.
"...Hey, Newt?" You're not sure where the bright idea comes from. You're always overflowing with catastrophic ideas, but this one? This may just be your magnum opus of brilliant impulses.
"Yes?" His voice cracks.
"...Can I see it?"
He freezes, pupils blown wide and lips parting in disbelief. For a moment, he looks less like a boy and more like a machine someone's short circuited.
"See..." The word leaves him in a strangled, embarrassingly high pitch. "See what?" His face ignites: Scarlet across his cheeks, up the bridge of his nose, and all the way to the tips of his ears. "You mean my—?"
"Yeah."
"Good heavens." He shuts his eyes as if he may wake up from this. He doesn't. When he opens them again, you're still here and he's still hopelessly captivated. "You're serious? You absolute madwoman. You're actually serious?"
"Yeah." You nod, pretending your heartbeat isn't thrumming frighteningly loudly in your ears. "Dead serious. Griever-attack serious."
"You never do things in halves, do you? Just... Go straight for the kill." A beat of hesitation passes before he nods sharply. It's a decisive motion, like he's bracing for impact. "Alright."
"Really?" You perk, surprised by his quick agreement.
"Yeah." Newt's eyes bounce between your face and the way you're perched so comfortably in his lap. "Just... Promise me you won't laugh?"
"Cross my heart."
"Okay. Right then... Good." His whole body is coiled beneath you: Uncertain, eager, and trying so hard to be composed when he's anything but. Slowly, his hold loosens on your waist, and he brings his hands down to the button of his jeans.
"Good." You parrot.
He whispers 'okay, okay' under his breath, so quietly, you're not sure if he means it for you or for himself. It's as if he's steadying himself through the repetition, coaching himself past the unreal fact that you are here.
You ease back as he fumbles with the denim. His trembling fingers hook the waistband of his pants and tugs them down ever so slightly: Just enough for you to get a glimpse of that delicious v-line.
Part of you almost expects smooth, plastic bareness: Like a Ken doll. Sometimes, Newt doesn't even feel real. He moves through your life with uncanny intuition, always a step ahead of your thoughts, always knowing exactly what you need before you have time to name it.
"Still sure?" He asks quietly. "If this is some sort of twisted joke—"
"I'm not joking." You scoff, though you suppose he has some reason to doubt. You've definitely subjected Newt to more than his fair share of humiliating pranks. Oh, but not this. Never this. "I want to see. Please."
He shivers at the word 'please', like it's something physical, something that reaches right beneath his ribs and twists. He swallows hard, head tipping back and eyes fluttering shut. Your voice alone undoes him.
"Christ, you bloody menace." He mutters. "Look at what you've done to me. Just sittin' there, lookin' sweet as a peach and asking me to show you things like—"
"Newt." You lay your hand over his, thumb sweeping slow and soothing motions across the back of his knuckles. "Relax. It's just me, and you don't have to do anything you don't want to."
"I know." He shivers again under the weight of your tender touch. His eyes open slow, and the moment he sees that loving expression on your face, the tension bleeds out of his shoulders. "I know it's just you. That's the issue. It's you. It's always been you."
He doesn't need to elaborate: You feel the truth of it in your bones. From the moment you first locked eyes, something in you rewired itself. Nights were spent thinking of him, dreaming of him, desiring him. You've turned over every word, every smile, every interaction.
He is truly your best friend. Your fiercest constant. Wherever you move, he moves, not out of obligation, but devotion. If you should ever need a shield, he becomes one. If you need a sword, he offers himself without hesitation. If all you need is a shoulder to fall apart on, he will sit you through every tear.
He always has.
Finally, in one quaking breath, he frees himself. His hard length slaps up against his clothed stomach, and he lets out a pained hiss, eyes darting up to your face while he waits for disgust or pity.
"Woah." The word slips out, a reaction pity and disgust never coming. His size is impressive to say the least, precum oozing from his glorious, twitching tip.
"Happy now?" He rasps, fingers trembling at his sides before curling fists into the fabric of the couch. He's already wrecked just from being exposed under your gaze: Shaking, and so obviously hard that it hurts.
"Mm, can I try something?"
"Christ, you want more?" He shivers at your hungry stare, thighs flexing beneath you. There's a mixture of apprehension and curiosity on his face. "Hell, anything you want, Love. I'm all yours anyway."
He looks so incredibly vulnerable: Open in a way he never lets himself be with anyone else. Oh, God, he trusts you. He trusts you so much it presses against your heart. It's an aching, pulsing reminder of the responsibility you hold.
For a moment, you wonder how you'd ever became the keeper of such a faith. How could someone like him, so steady, so selfless, so endlessly brave, decide that you were safe enough to unravel for? Still, you don't pull back. You never will. You trust him too. His weakness comforts you almost as much as it terrifies you.
You hesitantly reach down, poking at the head of his leaky cock. His breathing hitches, and when you pull your finger back, it exposes a translucent string between your finger and his tip. His body jerks, a strangled sound escaping past his gritted teeth.
"Ah— Love—" He gasps, quaking. "God that's so— You can't just—" His eyes are trained on the glistening mess on your finger, mouth hanging open like he's never seen anything so sinful. You've left him speechless.
"Don't worry." You mutter. "I'm not done."
Your fingers carefully wrap around him, a painfully thin touch. After all, you're not really sure how much pressure to use. You've never done this before, and you wouldn't want to hurt him.
He chokes: A real, audible sound of desperation leaves his throat as your fingers adjust around him. His hips jerk up, and he forces them still with a pained groan.
"You don't have to be gentle." He speaks in one quick breath, hands clenching the couch fabric like he's physically holding himself back from grabbing at you. "I won't break."
With that, you wrap your whole hand around him. He's so hard, and warm, a surprising combination, all under your fingertips. He gasps, back arching, his body seeking friction to ease the growing ache. He's already a panting, trembling mess and you've barely even touched him.
You let out your nerves in one shaky exhale before jerkily stroking him up and down, testing the unfamiliar movements. He lets out an obscene growl before his hand suddenly comes up over yours. He guides your movements until they're smoother, gently correcting the angle of your hand.
"Like this?"
"Mhm— That's it—" He moans a low, throaty noise. He doesn't even sound like himself. His hips rock into your hand reflexively, unable to keep himself still. "J-Just like that."
"You're so pretty, Newt." You can't help the greedy praise as he twitches in your hand. The sight of his surrender dizzying. His mewls only fuel your confidence as you pick up your speed, spreading your thighs and slotting his knee between your legs in the process. He nearly sobs, hips jerk erratically, chasing your hand while his knee rises to press between your legs.
If you'd told yourself an hour ago that you'd be grinding against Newt's knee and jerking him off in some unfamiliar room, you wouldn't have believed it. He wouldn't have either. Yet here you were.
Your arousal pools through your clothes as you fall forward, pressing your lips harshly to his in a pleasure filled daze. He groans in your mouth, hands flying to your hips, holding you tightly as his knee presses up harder. The kiss is messy: All teeth, panting breaths, and stifled moans.
His hips lurch wildly, and he lets out a sharper sound against your lips, pulling back in one quick motion.
"Wait— Wait— Wait—" He groans, and you stop immediately, eyes scanning over him in worry. His nails dig into your skin as he flips you over, back pressed against the couch. "Shuck— Not yet. I just... I need to..." His chest heaves as he hovers over you, like he's just run through the entire Maze. "I want to see you too." His fingers skim the inside of your thigh. "Please."
You nod, a breath leaving your lips with both understanding and relief as you prop yourself up slightly, pulling your shirt over your head. There's no room for insecurity. Not with Newt. He washes fear out of you entirely.
He freezes the moment your shirt comes off, fabric hitting the ground with a soft thud. His eyes drag over every inch of exposed skin and his fingers drift near your waist, like they're afraid to touch you now that there's nothing between him and your warm skin.
"Hey," You whisper, finding the hem of his shirt and tugging it. "I'm not going to be the only shirtless one here, am I?" Your tone is playful enough to ease his nerves. He laughs, obediently reaching down and yanking his own shirt off, tossing it over yours to form a pile.
"Better?" He murmurs, lips curving into a lopsided smirk.
"Much." Your gaze traces the lines of his toned figure. He was a Track-Hoe once, and before that, a Runner. Of course, he knows how to use his beautiful body. Every motion he makes is practically designed to unravel you.
His hands advance experimentally over your stomach, causing a shiver. His expression shifts between smug pride and pure adoration. Strong palms map your body, memorizing every dip and swell beneath his fingertips. His thumbs toy with the edge of your bra. (He has no idea how to take it off).
"You're a vision, you know that?"
"Says you." You arch slightly, moving to unclasp your bra for him. It falls away, exposing your chest to the cool air and Newt's eager eyes.
"Shuck, look at you." He gasps, hand hesitating over you for a second before it slowly cups your breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive nipple in agonizing tenderness. He kneads it curiously, and your body tingles at the foreign feeling. Then, once, he pinches a little too hard.
"Newt!" You hiss.
"Sorry." He swallows, eyes flickering from your chest, to your eyes, then to your chest again. "...Let me kiss it better." He grins, slowly lowering down and pressing his lips on your sternum, peppering across your torso in soothing lines. "Should've known you'd be sensitive. M'sorry." He lavishes open mouthed kisses over where he'd pinched, hands rubbing soft circles in your thighs with his thumbs. Your head goes fuzzy as his tongue swirls around your nipple meticulously. "So sweet, Love."
His lips move to your other breast, leaving no part absent of saliva. It's like he's made it his personal mission to make you feel good, testing what sounds he can draw out from you.
"You're so cheesy." You stutter out, fingers tangling in his hair. His hips jerk forward at the contact, hard cock rubbing on the inside of your thigh.
"Can you blame me?" His mouth drags lower across the soft planes of your stomach, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses. His tongue darts out to savor the skin above the waistband of your pants. "Can I taste you?" He whispers, hands sliding up and down your legs.
"Are you sure?"
"Never been more sure of anything." He reassures. "Let me take care of you."
You nod, and he tugs the rest of your clothes down in one quick motion, fingers squeezing you in a way that betrays his gentlemanly self-control.
His eyes are dark at the sight of you, and he kisses the inside of your thigh, working agonizingly slow until he reaches your glistening folds. He nuzzles the sensitive skin, tongue prodding out tentatively.
"Don't tease." You groan.
"So ready for me, aren't you?" His tongue drags over you in a slow, delicate stroke, and he hums, relishing in the flavor. "You taste so good. So sweet." He mumbles, tongue diving into you again.
You let out a lewd sound, and he groans against you, the vibration sending electricity through your body. His grip tightens as he licks into you again: Slow and taunting, drowning in you.
His tongue swirls around your clit before sucking it lightly, and both of your hands tangle with his hair, tugging as he experiments with intensity. He growls in response, working quickly, alternating between long licks and sharp sucks that leave your legs trembling.
He's surprisingly talented for someone who's never done this before. You feel the rocking motion of his hips thrusting against the couch, desperate for friction.
His hand slides up to cup one of your breasts again, thumb brushing over the stiff bud as his mouth worships you with everything he has. His eyes flick up, watching you through his lashes.
Your legs wrap around his neck and he lets out a strangled sound, hips jerking hard against the couch as he pants against you. His grip on your waist must be bruising at this point, but compared to the way his tongue moves on you, you barely notice.
"Newt—" You choke out his name, but he doesn't hear at first, too immersed in his desire to please you. He looks like the mere act of satisfying you is enough to gratify him. "Newt!" You repeat, tugging his hair urgently a couple times to catch his attention.
He pulls back, lips glistening and swollen from your taste. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, pupils so wide you can barely see the color in his eyes anymore.
"Yeah?" His voice is wrecked. "You okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?" His grip on your hips loosens slightly in concern.
"Come here." You command, propping yourself on your elbows. He obeys, crawling up the length of your body until he hovers over you again, eyes searching your face to gauge your reaction.
Your lips find his in an instant, and he kisses back hungrily, like you are his oxygen. He moans into your mouth, raw with impulse. It's messy, and you can taste your own arousal on his lips.
Your legs spread, locking around him, and his throbbing cock ruts against your slick cunt. A shudder runs through him, and he pulls back, reading you.
"You... Are you sure?" Newt's voice cracks, and he clears his throat. "We can stop here. You're not obligated—"
"Please don't stop." You interrupt immediately. "Please. I'm sure. I want you."
"Shite... Alright." He inhales sharply, forehead dropping against yours. "Alright." He shifts just enough to press the blunt head of his cock against you. "You're really sure?"
"Newt, I'm sure!"
"Alright!" He hesitates for a second before sinking in with the slow roll of his hips. There's a sharp sting as he pushes into you: Too big, too fast.
"Slower—" You grit, eyebrows furrowed as you try to catch up with the new sensation. He freezes, and his grip on your hip tightens, like he's straining under the pressure of not shoving in completely.
"Sorry." He breathes. "Too much? We can stop."
"No. No, don't stop. Just slow down, please."
"Okay." He nods obediently, taking a few deep breaths as he slows. "S'okay. Just breathe, Love." He murmurs, eyes squinted with unwavering focus. "J-Just try to relax for me, yeah?"
"Y-Yeah."
Slowly, but surely, he pushes onward. You watch closely as the entirely of his magnificent length disappears inside you. He pauses for a moment to enjoy the feeling: The tight heat sucking him in.
"You okay?"
"I'm okay." You nod. "Are you okay?"
"Am I okay?" He lets out a choked laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm bloody amazing. You feel just... Amazing." He presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your jaw. You involuntarily pulse around him, and his hips jerk forward without warning. "Shuck— M'sorry—"
"No. It's okay." You let out a quivering exhale, the sting subsiding. "You can move."
"You sure?" He whispers raggedly, pressing another kiss to your forehead. It's a gesture so wholesome, it almost contradicts this whole situation. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't."
"Okay." He barely manages to sputter out. "Okay. I'm... I'm gonna move. Okay?"
"Newt, just do it."
"Alright! Okay!" He nods rapidly, trying to ground himself through the nervousness and inexperience. "Please, just tell me if you need to stop or slow down." He pulls out almost completely before slowly— Oh, so slowly, pushing back in. His eyes flutter shut briefly and his breath hitches. "You— Oh God—" He swallows. "M'not hurting you, am I?"
"You're not." You groan. Although, his ceaseless concern is endearing. "I promise, you're not. If you are, I'll tell you. Okay? Now, please, shut up and keep going."
He nods, finally giving in to the primal need to move. His hips snap forward with a rough groan, burying himself inside you again. His hands slide up your body as he finds his pace: Still so slow and careful.
You can't help the lewd sounds that escape your lips with every thrust, and your hand finds his bicep, right beside your head, nails digging into his skin. Newt whines: An actual whine. His eyes roll back momentarily before locking on your face.
Oh, those pretty eyes.
Pornographic mewls and the sound of wet slapping skin fills the room. He groans out a string of shaky, unintelligible words, losing himself in you.
"Shit— Love, I can't last—" He pants, burying his face in your neck, pressing sloppy kisses on your skin: Nipping, biting, and leaving marks that'll have you blushing later. You reach down, rubbing circles over your clit before he swats your hand away, replacing it with his. "No, let me. Please, let me make you feel good." He begs.
You oblige, and he moans in relief as you let him take over. His thumb rubs slow, teasing rotations over your clit as he continues to thrust into you. His eyes are glazed with pleasure, determined to satiate you.
"Newt—" You whine, and he sobs, bringing his lips down against yours. He moans in your mouth, tongue sliding against yours longingly. He's trembling as his hips jerk forward, hard.
"P-Please, Love— So close—" He whimpers. "Please— Just—" A broken sound leaves him as he suddenly pulls out, coating your stomach in his release. It takes a moment for your mind to catch up to what's just happened. "Shuck— I'm— Sorry— I tried—" He grunts, panting and shaking uncontrollably.
"Don't apologize." You whisper, running a finger along your cum painted abdomen, gathering the liquid and wiping it on your tongue. The taste is interestingly clean and neutral: Very Newt. He shudders, eyes following as you sample his release, jaw hanging open in shock.
"Blimey— You ate it." He mumbles to himself before swallowing. "I didn't—" He begins, but then cuts himself off, taking a positively determined tone. "I'm not done with you yet."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." He insists, hands sliding along your thighs to push them apart again. "You won't get off that easy." He chuckles, fingers finding you again without hesitation. His thumb rubs rapid circles on your clit as his head drops, kissing the sensitive spot below your ear. "So wet, sweet girl."
Two fingers prod into you with ease, and you gasp at the sensation, still craving your release.
"C-Curl your fingers a little." You stutter out, and he nods at the instruction, still scattering messy kisses against your neck and jaw. His long digits curl, and your legs begin to shake at the added pressure. "Like this?"
"Yes! Yes! Right there!" You gasp, and his breath hitches at the desperate tinge in your voice. His fingers move more confidently now: Curling just right every time he drags them back in.
"That's it. My pretty girl..." He purrs in your ear, and the praise goes straight to your core. His fingertips brush that perfect, spongey spot inside you, and you whine his name loudly. This only fuels his concentration. You pulse around his fingers, and he hums, licking your sweat-stained skin.
You find your release among a string of ragged gasps, and he watches in awe, thumb dragging it out until you're shuddering from oversensitivity.
"O-Okay!" You tap his shoulder repeatedly, the overstimulation becoming achy. "Okay! That's enough!" He pulls his hand back, licking his fingers clean and humming with delight.
"Sorry." He murmurs, pressing an apologetic kiss to your forehead. "Got carried away." A soft chuckle follows as he nuzzles into your neck, all affection now that the heat of the moment has fizzled. His arms shift beneath you, scooping you into an embrace. "You okay? Was it too much?"
"I'm okay. Just a bit of a mess." You whisper, acknowledging the fact that his cum was still splattered all over your stomach. "Are you okay?"
"Understatement of the year." He snorts, pulling back to examine you. "You look good like this. All messed up for me."
"Messed up, huh?" You huff, rolling your eyes. "I'll try to take that as a compliment." You attempt to sit up, muscles still aching from what had just transpired. His hand immediately slips to the small of your back, guiding you with an instinctive steadiness.
"Slow and steady, you messy masterpiece."
"Mm. 'Messy masterpiece' that needs a shower."
"Hold still." He grabs his discarded shirt from the ground, wiping your stomach in slow, careful motions. Any trace of embarrassment has long vanished from him. If anything, he looks annoyingly proud. "Let me help you."
Piece by piece, he eases you back into your clothes, reassembling you with precision. He presses a soft kiss to your bare shoulder before sliding your shirt back in place, fingertips brushing your ribcage.
"Feel like sneaking around with me again?" You already know the answer.
"To where?" He sighs, resigned.
"Showers?"
"...Okay."
Crawling back through the vents feels impossibly harder now. Even the Maze was easier than this tight, metal hell. Newt leads, muttering curses every time he bumps his knee.
Strangely, it's comforting to be led by him. You're not usually the 'follower' type, but with Newt, you don't mind. Your thoughts drifts back to the Glade: How easy it was to obey him, and how naturally he stepped into the role of being your compass.
You're lost in memory when the sharp clang of metal snaps you back. You're still in the vents, messily dressed and covered in sweat, searching for whichever room houses the showers.
"Are we lost?" You tease.
"We are absolutely not lost."
"You certain? Cause I'm pretty sure we just took 3 left turns."
"We are probably not lost."
"Great. Brilliant leadership."
"Keep talking, Love." He glances over his shoulder at you, unamused. "I'll leave you up here."
"You wouldn't."
"No, but I'd think about it."
"Oh, how evil."
Finally, a large metal grate below you opens up into the warm, echoing tile of the showers. Newt leans forward, measuring the distance, then, he drops. He hits the tiled floor with a muted thud, knees bending, and one hand touching the ground to steady himself before he straightens.
"Alright." He looks up at you, opening his arms and bracing his stance. "Jump."
"What? No!"
"I doubt your legs could handle the landing after everything we just did." He states so matter-of-factly, you could choke on the sheer simplicity of it.
"I'm fine!" Your face burns.
"Uh huh. Just jump."
"Newt, what about your leg? I'm not making you catch me."
"Oh, please." He scoffs. "I've carried sacks of potatoes heavier than you."
"How romantic."
"Ain't I just?" His arms stay open: Steady, patient, and infuriatingly certain.
"...Don't drop me."
"I won't."
"You'd better not." You take a breath, let it out slowly, then push off.
He catches you cleanly, like the idea of dropping you doesn't exist in any universe he inhibits. His arms slide under your back and knees with practiced ease. The impact barely nudges him, though his fingers tighten around you like instinct.
"Told you." His voice is low near your ear. "I've got you." He sets you gently on your feet, his hands lingering at your waist a moment longer than necessary. "You still alright?"
"Yeah." You nod, breath evening. "Just need to get clean."
"Right." He hums, dragging his gaze away from you to the line of showers, as if only just remembering the point of sneaking down here in the first place. "Clean. Right."
"Turn around."
"Turn around?" His head whips back to you at comical speeds. "Seriously? I've just seen every inch of you, and you still want me to turn around?"
"Yes." You deadpan, leaving no room for negotiation. He blinks once. Twice. It's a long, stunned moment where you can hear the gears turning in his head. Then finally, he exhales, the most dramatic, theatrical sigh known to man. He pivots away from you fully, both hands flying up to cover his eyes like a child playing hide-and-seek. "You're ridiculous." You mutter, stripping out of your clothes.
"You're ridiculous."
The water hisses to life, a sharp rush that quickly softens into steady warmth. The first touch of heat pulls a sigh out of you, muscles loosening and the ache in your trembling subsiding. For a moment, there's only the sound of water and the slow unwind of your own exhaustion. Then, there's a shuffle behind you. It's enough to snag your attention and bring your eyes gazing over your shoulder.
Newt is still there. Still facing away. Still standing exactly where you'd left him. His posture is absurdly stiff. He hasn't budged an inch. He's just waiting, for you, like the world would end if he broke whatever invisible rule he's decided to follow.
You almost feel guilty, but there's a thrill in it too: The thrill of a man who listens without hesitation. A man who follows your word without the need to understand it. A man who obeys, no matter how nonsensical the request may be.
"Newt, really?" You laugh, unable to help yourself. His fingers part just enough for him to squint through them, as if to check whether you're laughing at him or with him. You list your hand and curl 2 fingers, beckoning him forward. Oh, you can't resist him. "Come on."
The effect is immediate. A wide, boyish grin blooms across his face. He strips in hurried, clumsy motions, nearly tangling himself in his own trousers before stumbling into the steam with you.
Water droplets glitter along his eyelashes and his hair is plastered to his forehead in uneven strands. He looks good like this. Then again, he looks good all the time.
He lathers soap between his palms and works it into your hair, gentle fingers massaging your scalp. When he cradles your head beneath the showerhead again, he studies your face with earnest reverence.
What an unspoken blessing it is to be loved by a gentle man.
You pull him close, sliding your arms around his neck, drawing him into the warmth of you. His hands settle on your waist, squeezing, before he leans in. His mouth meets yours with such tenderness. There's no need for words in the small space between your lips. Everything you have yet to say is already known.
You love him.
He loves you.
It's a simple truth.
You only part when the water begins to cool, a faint shiver reminding you of the world outside yourselves. He rests his forehead against yours, clinging to the intimacy of this moment.
"We should probably get back before anyone notices we've gone." He whispers, though his hands remain exactly where they are.
"Probably." You agree, but neither of you moves. The world could collapse around you both, and you doubt either of you would notice for several long seconds.
Eventually, reluctantly, he forces himself to step back, hands trailing along your skin in a slow farewell as he helps you redress. There's not a single inch of you he hasn't seen, touched, or tasted tonight, and somehow that only makes the moment gentler.
He smooths the fabric of your shirt over your shoulders, giving your sleeve a soft tug, making sure you're put together before he even thinks about dressing himself.
When you're both decent, he crouches beneath the open vent, with linked fingers, creating a foothold to boost you up.
"Alright. Up you go."
You step into his waiting hands, and he lifts with a quiet grunt, guiding your balance as you pull yourself back into the narrow tunnel. The air is colder here.
You glance down, and he's looking at you. Of course he's looking at you. How could he ever pull his eyes away? His expression speaks volumes: He's never seen anything quite so sincere as you.
"Need help?" You offer.
"Nah." He shakes his head with that easy, lopsided smile. :You go on and get your rest, Love. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow." You echo.
"And the next day," His smile widens. "And the next, and the next after that too. You can count on it."
His certainty settles in your soul.
You slip back into the darkness as quietly as you'd came, but this time, the night is different. This time, you carry the warmth of his hands, the taste of his kiss, and the memory of that devoted expression. You carry his phenomenal heart, and he carries yours.
You'll continue to carry his love with you: Tomorrow, the next day, and the day after that. You'll carry it in your heart as long as life allows. A love like this never fades away.
I'm fascinated by how the animators for TADC handle Caine's impossible anatomy so well. There's so much to balance and they've somehow engineered a solution for his expressions to hold during speech.
I also traced Caine answering the phone from episode 4 to demonstrate his phonemes and mouth shapes.
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Headcanon: Caine can "sense" data, specifically if it's one conjured/manifested by humans. By "consuming" or just being around the humans' output, he's able to "taste", "hear", "touch", and even "smell" it.
Whatever it is that the humans conjure up, Caine CAN eat; whether it is realistically inedible or edible-- because both are the same to him, being made up of "Macroverse data".
He might be able to peer into others' minds and see what these outputs are, but it's the equivalent of seeing a mouthwatering burger on paper; there's no texture, no smell, no taste. It's all a flat, 2d image.
Only IF a human conjures it because they know how it should feel/taste/smell like, is Caine able to truly comprehend it; and soon, he might even be able to mimic it.
Besides that, Caine has been fed nothing but negative data over the years, and because of that; he's able to sense the data Pomni conjured up from a mile away, since he's been "starved" the past 2 decades and can't really contain himself. His mouth also can't stop drooling once he senses there's a human-input data in the circus.
Anyways, I sacrificed my hand for this I will be taking my leave now
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