#maze runner fandom

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.

It roots.

It grows.

FOR THE LONGEST TIME, ALL YOU HAD WANTED WAS TO ESCAPE THE GLADE. You spent countless restless nights sitting under the stars and wondering what the world outside was like. There were times when you truly lost hope. There were times when you didn’t think you would make it out alive - that the only time you would ever get a glimpse of what was beyond the grey, harsh walls would be in your dreams. Or even the afterlife.

Now, as you trekked along the depressing streets, you found yourself wishing for that blissful ignorance again. Ben, Chuck, Gally, Winston. Those names were on repeat in your mind almost every night and every morning. They died so that you could live, and that had to count for something.

You remembered vividly what it was like to see a fellow Glader die right in front of you. Sure, Ben was banished; but he had died long before he was sent out into the Maze. He was dead the moment the infection took hold of his body.

Gally was next. His stubborn nature caused his demise, and Chuck’s too. Clenching your eyes, you blinked away the anger and resentment. Gally had been your friend. He was a hard-headed ass, and too overbearing, but he always took care of you when it mattered. Even if he was grumpy about it while doing so.

There was no place for love in the Glade, but if you had to pinpoint the first and last time you felt it, it would be for Gally. The memory of you begging him to come with you haunted your every waking moment. Tears, blood, and sweat covered your face as you dragged his sleeve - crying, almost falling to your knees to convince him. You’ll never forget the way he looked at you, the way he shook you off his arm like you were some pest.

And you couldn’t forget about Winston. His death was still fresh in everyone’s mind. It was hard to forget the echo of the gunshot that had ended his life - even if it was by his own hands.

A harsh slam woke you from your thoughts. Someone had rammed straight into you, trying to pass you. Looking up, you saw them walk past a cargo truck. A tall man was sat on it - gas mask heavy and tight on his face as he seemingly stared straight through you. You shivered before looking away. The streets were too crowded. Thomas held onto your arm tightly as he maneuvered his way around. Honestly, your search was feeling futile.

If you could go back in time, maybe you would’ve never left the Glade. Maybe Gally was right.

“Over there,” said Thomas, pointing to something in the distance.

You squinted, not quite understanding what he was getting at. In truth, you weren’t even sure how he knew what to look for. The Right Arm hadn’t been heard of in years. That’s what everyone had said. You were looking for ghosts.

“Thomas-“ you started, wanting to reason with him. Words caught in your throat as a bullet wheezed straight past you two.

All hell broke loose as swarms of bodies shoved and pulled - trying to escape the danger of being shot. Newt and Brenda had disappeared. Whipping your head around, you yelled for them, not wanting to lose another friend to the chaos that this world offered.

Before you knew it, a strong grip dragged you away, and everything went black as a strange fabric went over your face.

“Let me go!” you yelled, looking at the familiar mask on the soldier’s face. You quickly recognized them as the ones who were riding around town earlier.

The car ride had been brutally long. Your muscles ached, and your eyes were sore from being in the dark for so long. Frantically looking around, you tried to find your friends. Surprisingly so, your arms weren’t tied. The only thing stopping you was the almost painful hold on your upper arm. Whoever these people were, they didn’t seem like they wanted to hurt you - or else you’d most likely be dead by now.

You huffed as you were manhandled into a room. There was something about the soldier - something about them gave you a sense of deja vu. It was the way they held themselves, the way their breaths came in ragged gasps as you stared at their chest. Each moment felt like a distant memory that you had seen before. Furrowing your brows, you decided it was your memory loss messing with you again. It was common for you to think you remembered something from your past, just for it to be a fluke.

You were quickly let go, and you jogged up to Newt, wrapping him in a hug.

“I was worried sick,” he mumbled. “Where are the others?”

You shrugged as your eyes scanned around. Spotting Brenda, you nodded to her. There were significantly less of you than you’d initially had begun with. Had they taken the rest to a different location? Your heart hammered rapidly against your ribcage as you stepped back. You eyed the familiar soldier, noting the way his shoulders squared back as he stood tall.

You shook your head. I don’t know him. It’s all just fake memories. Get over yourself. Get over yourself-

A shout interrupted the awkward and anxious silence. As Jorge began laying down punch after punch on one of the men, Brenda ran up to him to put a stop to it. All your eyes were looking for was Thomas and Fry.

After everything you had all been through, the thought of losing someone else was unbearable. You couldn’t afford another loss like that. Letting out a deep breath, you watched as Frypan and Thomas stepped up, curiously staring down the soldier at the end of the room.

Words were exchanged, but none of them stuck.

His voice. It sounded like…

“What do you mean same side? Who the hell are you?”

The soldier stopped, his arm flexing as he lowered the gun in his hand. He looked away briefly before slowing pulling off his mask. A buzzed head came into view, and you had almost no time to process before his face turned to look at you.

All you could see was blue. The color of his eyes. The same eyes you had looked into as you pleaded and sobbed. The same ones you had watched the light slowly die out of. The eyes you had so long ago fallen in love with.

Both of your gazes locked onto each other’s, and if it weren’t for Newt’s hands steadying you, you genuinely think you could’ve passed out. It was like seeing a ghost.

All you heard was a loud commotion behind you as you turned to sprint out of the room. Another minute in there and you would lose your mind.

Pushing open the door to the balcony, you panted slightly, trying to get your bearings. The cool breeze pinched your cheeks, causing a slight twinge of pain. It was usually warm during the day, but the nights were freezing. In the Glade it had always been warm - never a dull day. Perhaps once every few months you’d get rain, which was always good for the crops, but it was never necessarily cold.

Shivering, you wrapped your arms around you. Weirdly enough you had never been more glad to feel the chill of air run through your bones. It was the only thing reminding you that you were alive.

Alive. Gally was alive.

Burying your face in your palms, you paced around. You spent almost three weeks grieving him. You saw him die - no, correction, you watched and left him to die.

His face tormented you every time you closed your eyes. The tears he cried as he realized he was being left for dead, the scream that had left your body as you were pulled away from the scene. Gally was the first person you had ever truly opened up to. You had been in the Glade for the brunt of 2 years, and over time you’d like to think you had gotten under his tough exterior.

The nights where you both couldn’t sleep. Your head in his shoulder, and his hand intertwined with yours, precariously tip-toeing the line between friendship and something more.

Then, in a split second, it was all gone.

“Hey, firecracker.”

You winced at the nickname. Gally had given it to you on your first week there. He said you would give him a run for his money with the way you snapped and yelled at everyone. Really, it was just because you were scared - especially being the only girl.

You blinked away tears. “Please, don’t.”

Your voice came out more shaky than you had liked. It wasn’t that you weren’t relieved to see him, it’s just that you didn’t exactly end on good terms. Now, seeing him alive and well - and so, unbelievably tall and handsome - it made you question everything.

He whispered your name, and you felt his body heat burn unbearably against your back as he stepped closer.

“Look at me.”

Shaking your head, you clenched your eyes shut, letting a few stray tears fall. “I’m can’t. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The last time you let yourself cry was that exact fateful day. Every single tear in your body had been used up to the point that you weren’t sure you were even capable of crying anymore.

Your back hit something hard, and you soon realized that two familiar arms were holding you to his chest. He breathed in and out, his inhales pressing against your back, indicating and proving that this was real. That he was real.

“How?” You sobbed, leaning into his arm.

Really, you didn’t care how. All that mattered was that he was here. And bit by bit, you would hopefully fix what was broken - regain what was lost.

Shifting around, you collapsed against him, wrapping your arms around his torso and gripping at his shirt desperately. You felt that if you let go, he would disappear. Just as he did the first time - when you let go of his sleeve, and he slipped away from your grasp, like he was never even there.

The only words that you were able to conjure were feeble apologies as you let yourself sob against his shirt. Inhaling his scent again for what felt like a lifetime, you finally felt like things were piecing together. Like you were whole again. Taking a quivering deep breath in, you finally lifted your head to look at him. He was just as beautiful as the day he left you.

He cupped your face as he rested his forehead against yours. You must have stayed like that for hours - or maybe it was only a few minutes.

All you knew was that no words had to be spoken for you both to understand. You were never going to leave each other again.