Summary: The Glade boys keep getting rejected by you—leader of the ultra-organized girls’ camp—until they send Minho, who surprisingly wins you over, leaving everyone stunned and teasing him relentlessly as he becomes their unofficial envoy.
Minho x leader!reader
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There were rules in the Glade—unwritten ones, sure, but no less important than not going into the Maze after dark or respecting the Keepers. And one of the most ironclad rules, known to every boy after only a week of being here, was this:
Don’t mess with the girls’ camp.
They were organized, terrifyingly competent, and built like a well-oiled machine. Their gardens bloomed. Their cookfires never smoked. They kept order like some kind of military unit—and leading them was her.
You.
You weren’t cruel, but you weren’t friendly either. You had rules. You enforced them. You did not deal with whining, excuses, or disorganized shuckfaces who thought charm could get them out of a favor.
Which is why, when the boys ran low on clean bandages, Alby gathered a small delegation and declared, “We’re going to ask the girls.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Newt groaned, rubbing his temple. “Bloody hell, not this again.”
“They’re the only ones who sew,” Alby insisted. “And we need bandages.”
“They’re not gonna give you anything,” Gally muttered from his perch on a crate. “Last time you went, she told you to eat grass.”
Alby scowled. “That was a joke.”
“She didn’t smile when she said it, man.”
“I say we send Winston,” Zart chimed in.
“Why me?” Winston blinked. “I still got a black eye from the last time.”
Newt, always the peacekeeper, raised his hands. “Look, let’s not be dramatic. Just go, ask nicely. No dumb jokes. No flirting. Just respect.”
They all looked at Alby.
He stood taller. “I’ll try again. Properly.”
Attempt #1: Alby.
Rejected in 34 seconds.
He came back with his pride in pieces.
“What happened?” Frypan asked, eyes wide.
“She looked me dead in the eyes,” Alby muttered, “and said: ‘Being in charge doesn’t mean you get what you want. It means you do what’s right. Learn that.’ Then she handed me a stick and told me to whittle my own damn bandages.”
Gally burst out laughing. “She gave you homework.”
Alby scowled. “She’s scary.”
Attempt #2: Gally.
Rejected in 18 seconds.
He returned in a rage.
“Didn’t even let me speak!” he shouted. “I walked up, and she turned around, crossed her arms, and said, ‘No.’ No. Just that. Didn’t ask what I wanted. Didn’t care.”
“She read your soul,” Newt muttered.
“She judged my aura!”
Attempt #3: Newt.
Rejected politely, but firmly, in 53 seconds.
“She smiled at me,” he admitted, sitting down beside Alby. “But not like… friendly. More like I was a kid holding a toy sword.”
Frypan leaned in. “So she called you cute and weak?”
“She asked if I was lost.”
Alby snorted. “We’re gonna die without bandages.”
Minho, quiet until now, finally looked up from where he was sharpening a knife. “You guys are hopeless.”
They all turned to him.
“No way,” Winston said. “You wouldn’t.”
Minho smirked. “You’ve all gone in like beggars. You need tact.”
Newt leaned forward. “You think she’ll listen to you?”
“I think,” Minho said, standing, “you’ve been sending the wrong people.”
Attempt #4: Minho.
From a safe distance, the boys watched as he crossed the Glade. You were kneeling in the garden, sleeves rolled up, tending to something in the soil.
Minho crouched beside you, said something they couldn’t hear.
You looked up. Expression unreadable. The boys held their breath.
And then—
You nodded.
Minho smiled.
You stood, dusted off your hands, and walked into the supply tent. A minute later, you came back and handed him a neat stack of rolled white fabric—bandages. Real ones. Clean ones. Better than anything they had.
Minho waved once, cool and easy, and walked back like he hadn’t just done the impossible.
The boys lost it.
“No way!”
“She said yes?!”
“Did she touch your hand?”
“What did you say to her?!”
Minho grinned as he dropped the bandages onto the crate. “I asked nicely.”
Alby stared at him like he’d grown wings. “No. You did something. Witchcraft.”
Minho shrugged, casually stretching. “Maybe she likes me.”
They all froze.
Newt blinked. “Wait. What?”
Gally leaned in. “Hold up. You think she likes you?”
Minho’s smug smile didn’t falter. “Did she give you bandages?”
And just like that, a new Glade protocol was born.
From that day forward, there was one rule for requesting help from the girls:
Send Minho.
Burned rations? Minho asked for vegetables.
Broken tools? Minho fetched replacements.
They even made him a clipboard once as a joke. He used it seriously for two days. You didn't laugh—you helped him inventory.
The boys watched in stunned amazement every time.
“She gave him salt,” Frypan whispered once, horrified. “I’ve been cooking without flavor for months.”
“I think she gave him sugar last week,” Winston murmured. “She’s never even said my name.”
They held secret meetings about it, like confused scientists studying a phenomenon.
“She acts totally different when he’s around,” Newt said one night by the fire. “Like, not mean. Still scary, yeah, but like… warm scary.”
“She smirks at him,” Gally added.
“She laughs at his jokes,” Alby muttered. “She told me I was wasting oxygen.”
Minho just sipped water from a clean canteen—you’d probably given him that too—and said, “What can I say? I’m charming.”
The final confirmation came two weeks later.
The boys needed fabric again—this time for blankets. But Minho was injured, twisted ankle from a Maze run. He was benched.
“We have to ask without him,” Winston said grimly.
They drew straws.
Newt lost.
He walked over slowly, holding the request list like a bomb. You were seated at the table in your camp, writing in a notebook. Elara — your second in command — sat beside you, watching with an amused smirk.
You didn’t even look up when Newt approached.
“Minho’s hurt,” he began. “So I came to—”
“No.”
He blinked. “I haven’t even asked—”
“No.”
“…Right.”
He walked back like a defeated soldier.
The boys stared.
“I told you,” Gally said, pointing. “She doesn’t even listen to us.”
“She’s got a forcefield,” Alby muttered. “Only Minho gets through.”
They all turned to him.
Minho, icing his ankle, just raised his brows. “So what I’m hearing is… you need me again.”
It became routine.
You never smiled at Gally. Never gave Alby more than two-word replies. Newt earned a nod now and then. But with Minho?
You’d roll your eyes at his jokes, sure—but you didn’t walk away.
You didn’t reject him.
Sometimes, the boys caught you lingering after he left. Watching him walk back. Once, Newt swore he saw you tuck your hair behind your ear after he winked.
It became a joke. A running gag.
“Send Minho.”
“Minho’s our ambassador now.”
“Our princess only bends the knee for him.”
Minho took it all with a smirk. But sometimes—just sometimes—he looked toward your camp with something quieter in his eyes. Something none of the boys dared tease.
Because beneath the smug grins and teasing bets… there was a feeling. One they couldn’t name, but all of them recognized:
You liked him.
And maybe—just maybe—he liked you too.
One night, around the fire, they couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“So,” Frypan said, grinning, “when’s the wedding?”
Minho didn’t even flinch. “She hasn’t proposed yet.”
Alby snorted. “If she did, you’d say yes in two seconds.”
“Two? Please. Half a second.”
“You know she never even talks to the rest of us, right?” Winston asked.
“She once told me my voice gave her a headache,” Gally grumbled.
Minho leaned back on his hands, eyes drifting toward your camp, where you were organizing storage with Elara under a torchlight.
“She’s not cold,” he said. “She’s focused. That’s not a crime.”
Newt hummed. “Focused, yeah. But you bring out something else in her.”
“Softness,” Frypan added.
“Warmth,” Winston agreed.
“Ladle-related mercy,” Gally muttered.
They all looked at Minho.
He shrugged. “Guess I’m special.”
Newt nudged him. “Or maybe you just make her feel safe.”
That quieted them. A little too real.
Minho didn’t respond right away. He just kept looking at you.
“She makes me feel safe too,” he said finally, voice soft.
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thinking about! gally who only has a soft spot for you ♡
🎀:: includes, glader!gally, dating him in the glade, fluff, head-canons (how i think he’d act in a relationship), and you!
-🎀-
thinking about! gally who’s hands can cause so much damage in the fighting circle but when he goes to touch you he handles you with the upmost care. as if you’re a fragile china set that’ll break at the smallest interference.
thinking about! gally who isn’t one to break rules around the glade going out of his way to find loopholes to make exceptions just for you. “i said no one could take extra plates - but you barely ate today so here,”
thinking about! gally who isn’t one to care about what others do (unless they aren’t doing their job) to suddenly becoming the most observant and concerned person you know after you officially started dating. you could be handling a semi-dangerous tool from across the glade and he’d just appear out of nowhere just to take it off of you. making excuses like “you don’t have the right grip for that,” when really, he just doesn’t want you to get hurt.
thinking about! gally who’s tough and harsh when he speaks to the others but only ever lowers his voice when it comes to you. you can see the way his shoulder slowly loosens and how he slightly undoes the tension in his jaw. he always listens intently, to what you have to say even biting back his usual sarcasm.
thinking about! gally who’d drop anything he’s doing to help you out. if you’re struggling, if you’re in distress - he’s there. no hesitation, no question’s needed. anything to help lighten the load for the one person he loves.
thinking about! gally, who’s known to be stubborn and hotheaded among the gladers, someone who hardly ever admits when he’s wrong. even you aren’t inexperienced when it comes to seeing him get angry. so imagine your surprise when you heard that foreign phrase: “i’m sorry,” being muttered under his breath after your first argument as a couple.
thinking about! gally who’d change his attitude just for you. for you he’d try to be better. if that means, changing his behaviour or even being more patient with newer greenies (which. is. a. pain) but he’d do it all for you - just to see that pretty smile on your face or hear your loving compliments. he hates to admit it but you’ve softened him up but he wouldn’t have it any other way. after all, you’re the only person who can make this prison-dump tolerable.
Imagine: Newt Confesses He Can't Sleep Without You
Tonight was the first time in the last couple days you have actually left the Medjack hut since getting injured. Being a runner definitely has its downsides that's for sure. You're side aches as you make your way over to the bonfire, not wanting to miss out on the monthly tradition of celebrating the new greenie. And you missed Newt.
Alby dragged him away from your bedside earlier because he claimed the second in command should be there for this. Which you encouraged of course but you were still upset with having to send him. Minho yelling at you drags you from your thoughts.
"There she is! Everyone's favorite runner makes a reappearance!" He rushes over, throwing his arm over your shoulder.
You flinch at the pressure on your side but still smile. "How much have you drank shank? You reek of it!"
Pushing him away, he stumbles acting hurt but still comes back and gives you a kiss on your cheek. Which makes all the boys holler but you just roll your eyes. High fiving a few of the boys on your recovery. Yet your eyes are searching for a certain pair of brown eyes.
A hand grabbing your hip from behind you is your answer. Turning around and smiling when the honey brown eyes appear.
"What are you doing out of bed?" Newt asks with his eyebrows furrowed.
You try not to think about the hand that is still touching you or the thumb that's tracing the bandages over your broken rib. Ignoring the goose flesh that breaks out across your skin at the faint touch of his fingertips.
"I didn't want to miss out on the festivities." You say with a small smile, "Plus Clint gave me the go ahead to start moving around. Just had to promise not to break another rib."
Newt lets out a small scoff but smiles along with you. "Okay I guess that's fair. At least now I'll have someone fun to talk to tonight."
"Hey! I was keeping you plenty entertained to keep your mind off her." Minho interjects.
Newt shakes his head and leads you gently to your guys normal log. "Sure you were Min."
You gently lower yourself down to the ground to lean against the large log and let out a small breath at the pinch in your side. Newt's eyes are on you the whole time and you can't ignore the way he runs a comforting hand down your back.
"You don't have to watch me like I'm going to shatter into a million pieces you know." You mutter, leaning your head back to look at the stars.
"Course I do. This is what? Your eighth injury just this month from the maze?" He counters, looking up at the stars with you.
"It has not been eight injuries," You scoff, looking over at him and your breath catches when your eyes meet his.
"Yes it has!" Clint calls out from his spot not far from you and you break the eye contact with Newt to glare at Clint.
"It definitely has." Newt confirms, "I should know. I've lost way too much sleep without you since you've basically moved into the Medjack hut."
"You have not," You counter, jabbing him in the ribs. "You've probably gotten better sleep without me laying on you."
Newt laughs at your actions of poking him and grabs your hand to stop you as he laces his fingers with yours. Glancing at your interlocked hands before looking back at you.
"I honestly haven't." He admits, his eyebrows furrowing once again and looks towards the stars. "I can't explain it but when your around I sleep so much better. It's like my mind quiets and can ignore the fact we're stuck here in the Glade."
You're heart pumps a little faster at his confession but its the same for you. It's always been something the Gladers tease you two about but you and Newt have shared a bed for as long as you two can remember. It just started happening.
The first night was when you went through a period of not sleeping because of nightmares. Being too scared to close your eyes to deal with the terrors your mind came up with after your first griever encounter. So Newt offered to try laying with you to see it helped. Which it did.
For him, it started when he climbed the wall and broke his leg when he tried to end his life. It freaked him out more than he admitted to the other Gladers but he couldn't keep it from you. After that, you two just decided to share a bed. Protecting each other from your own minds.
"But," He continues, looking back over at you. "It is nice not having to fight someone for the blanket."
Now you turn your glare to Newt this time. "I do not hog the blanket. I actually have to try and fight you for it."
You both burst out laughing and argue about who is more of the blanket hog until your breathless.
"Okay fine. Maybe I do hog the blanket." Newt admits as he throws his arm around you and pulls you into him so you can lay your head on his chest.
"Ha! I win." You smile, nestling your head into the crook of his neck where you normally lay.
"I only do it so you cuddle me more." He whispers into your hairline and you can feel the smirk on his face.
"You do not."
"I do!" He places a kiss on your forehead and you can't help the smile that cracks. "Makes me feel like I'm protecting you more."
"Maybe I let you hog the blanket so I have no other choice but to cuddle you." You mutter, eyes fluttering shut as you listen to his heartbeat. Noticing how it starts beating faster at your confession, but you can't fight the urge to sleep. So you don't get to see his face and how red he got at it as you drift away into the blissful sleep.
other: your nickname is bunny, it explains why but just go with it.
🔞*MINORS DNI*🔞
:: newt's pov ::
We were all gathered at the monthly bonfire to celebrate our newest arrival, just one month after that of Y/n. I sat myself down next to Minho, a bottle of Gally's moonshine in my hand, fully intending to get ridiculously drunk.
The night was going great. Thomas had already held three philosophical debates with Zart about, well, everything, Minho had been dared to run around the Glade with no pants on yelling "FREEDOM FOR THE SCROTUM!"... which I wish I could say was a fever dream, and we'd danced around to music from the little radio the Creators sent up.
Eventually though, everyone had to sit down because we'd had at least three moonshine-induced casualties. We instead played a more 'gentle' game of just asking people deep questions, and if they didn't answer, they'd drink (funny that we were answering our drinking problems with more drinking, but anyways).
I got asked first by Jack from the gardens. "So, Mr. Second-in-Command, what's your type?" I wasn't quite sure. I mean, there weren't exactly many girls in the glade, only five, so I hadn't had much to assist me in figuring it out (unless I liked guys, but that's a whole different story). However, I could easily spot what traits were bad in a girl from what I'd seen so far.
"Gotta be funny," I started, looking over to Minho for approval - at this point we were basically married, and all the Gladers are our children. Everything we do the other parent must approve. "...and kind. I guess attractive, but I wouldn't know much about that. So maybe... y/h/c hair, and nice eyes." The other Gladers gave small nods of agreement.
"Alright, Newt. Your turn. You ask someone a question."
I looked around me, my sight landing on Thomas, cheeks flushed from all he'd been drinking. "Tommy. What's your favourite..." I tried to think of something that wouldn't get me demoted by Alby and ruin my reputation. "...what's your favourite... thing about Bunny?"
He blushed slightly, clearly wanting to be polite to the girl sitting only a few metres away. "She's nice, from what I've seen. Nice eyes." Despite his saying, he averted eye contact.
"Fair," I replied. This went on until Minho's turn. I love the guy, but he clearly does NOT know how to respect a Greenie or he probably wouldn't have chosen to ask Bunny a question, let alone the one that he did.
"Hey, bunny, what's your favourite sex position?
:: ʚїɞ ::
:: your pov ::
"Hey, bunny, what's your favourite sex position?
Sex position? What the fuck shuck is that? I vaguely remembered learning about sex, but never that there were positions. It was just... sex. And to my knowledge, I'd never even had sex before.
"I don't know, the normal one," I replied, trying to asnwer as nonchalantly as possible. Even though I was sure they wouldn't necessarily judge me, it's likely that they'd make fun of me for it as long as I lived. A few boys laughed.
"The normal one, and which is that?" Minho asked, probing me sassily. "The one where..." I froze, trying to think quickly. "I don't know, I've never had sex, okay?" As I suspected, most of the boys chuckled, but luckily didn't make fun of me. As they were laughing, I caught someone's eyes across the room. Newt.
I couldn't quite his expression. Anger? Concentration? Wanting?
I hadn't been in the Glade long enough to read and comprehend his facial expressions, and definitely wasn't close enough to him to understand what they meant. I was confused, so I decided to leave and head to my hammock to hit the sack.
:: ʚїɞ ::
:: newt's pov ::
When I gave Y/n the nickname 'Bunny', it was because she looked innocent. The way her y/h/c hair fell around her sweet, round face, and the way her eyes glistened when she looked up from the Box. It was the first thing I thought of, just as how beautiful she was was the first thing I saw when I pulled her out of that cage.
But I didn't know then that she was a different kind of innocent too...
I watched as she departed the gathering, headed to the hammocks. I found the urge to follow her growing inside of me (and in my pants), but I knew I needed to let her sleep.
However, there is such a thing as lying, so I decided to get up anyway. "Hey, Minho," I said, looking in his direction. "I'm gonna go check on Bunny, and then head to bed, alright?" He nodded absent-mindedly.
As I walked to the hammocks, I started hearing sounds, but I brushed it off, thinking it was the wind. But as I started to get closer to where Y/n was 'sleeping', they grew louder and more frequent. It sounded like... moaning?
I couldn't hold back my curiosity any longer.
I quietly crept over to the hammocks to see Y/n splayed across hers, hands between her thighs, ducking in and out of herself. Fuck, that's hot, I thought as I knelt down beside her.
"Hey," I muttered, smirking as she recoiled in surprise.
"Oh my stars, I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were there." She said, pulling her hand out of her pants. This was my shot.
"It's alright, Love. Let me help," I said, placing my hand over hers before reinserting it inside her. I set the pace, moving quickly. She let out little whimpers as I continued, our four fingers combined making her arrival come faster.
"Fuck, Newt~" she cursed, throwing her head back. I sped up in response, my movements faster and jerkier until I felt her clench around my fingers.
Her breath hitched as she came, wetting her canvas hammock.
"Mmm, great job, Love," I said, whispering softly in her ear, watching as her face flushed with embarrassment. "Thank you."
:: ʚїɞ ::
:: your pov ::
I yelped in surprise and anticipation as he lifted me up from my hammock, and took me to his room. He laid me gently on the sheets, closing and locking the door as he unbuckled his belt.
"Is this okay, Bunny?" He asked, now pulling off his shirt and walking over to the bed. I nodded intently, my eyes skimming over his toned chest. I blushed as he pulled his boxers down every thought in my mind being replaced by the idea of him inside me.
Before long, he laid in front of me, and hooked his thumbs in the waist of my pants, pulling them down. I lifted myself up to help him.
He held himself atop me as he began to leave ghost-like kisses across my neck, nipping softly and sucking on my sweet spot. "Fuck, that feels so good," I muttered, leaning my neck to the side to allow him more access. His hands grasped the hem of my shirt, signalling for me to take it off.
With my bra exposed, he kissed the tops of my breasts too, moving slowly down my stomach. I was getting desperate. "Newt, hurry," I managed to sputter, as he narrowly avoided the place I needed him most, and instead kissed down my thighs. "With time, Love," he simply replied, fingers latching on to the band of my panties. "May I take these off?" I nodded - even when drunk, and clearly aroused, Newt was always a gentleman.
I felt myself grow wet as my core was exposed to the cold air, whimpering from all these new sensations. I felt his tongue press against me, his fingers entering my heat once again. "Newt, shit, fuck~" I cursed as he ate me out, sucking on my clit.
It didn't take long for me to fall off the edge, his calloused thumbs rubbing circles on my hips as he helped me ride out my high.
Soon it was time for the real thing.
"You ready, Love?" He asked, positioning himself at my entrance.
"Mm-hmm," I replied, just eager to finally feel him, even after my two orgasms.
He slipped in slowly, allowing me to adjust to him. "Fuckkk," I whispered, head thrown back in ecstasy. After a few seconds of stillness, I longed for speed. "Move," I said quietly, gripping the sheets. As if something clicked in his head, Newt began to thrust, methodically and mechanically.
It wasn't long before his dexterous hand found it's way between us and began to circle my clit. The added stimulation filled me with fireworks of pleasure.
He let out little grunts with each movement, me adding to the sound with my high-pitched moans.
Before long, I felt his cock twitch inside me before he came. Although, he rather politely continued his motions until I too came with him.
I felt him pull out of me, leaving what felt like a gaping absence, before he layed down beside me, cradling my naked body.
"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this, Love," he mumbled in my ear.
Yeah. Best sex-ed lesson ever.
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Every Gen Z avid reader has that one YA book series they read a little early that went way too dark with the plot and themes but has been intrinsically sewn into their soul and will never leave. Maybe it's a trauma bond
general tmr x fem!reader. rather than coming up to the glade in the box, greeted by strangers in daylight, you wake up inside the maze, in the dead of night. without any of your memories, you must escape into the glade and navigate who you are, where you came from, and what you intend to do with your new life.
𖣂 chapter 5: golden 𖣂
Nothing about this is coincidental.
A year passed, more of a blur than you liked. You dreamed vividly and often, visions screaming at you to be recognized before fading away into another pocket of your subconscious.
It looked like another life. There were… girls there? And familiar surroundings, you thought. They looked at you like you were one of them. You ran with them, ate with them. You healed their wounds and let yourself be healed.
Sometimes you saw the edges and walls of the maze, burning deep hues of many colors and closing in on you. You recognized the place, of course, but sometimes it felt… different. You knew the maze was always shifting, always changing, but this one in your dreams made something click in your gut, like it wasn’t the same set of shifting walls at all.
It came only in bits and pieces, but you knew this must be something important. It dared you to recognize it.
Then you’d wake up, to your real life, back sore from being in a hammock, and the gray of the morning would make your dreams ebb away. Your eyes adjusted to the sight of boys running through the fields of the Glade, demanding you to get up and do your job along with them.
You sighed and squeezed your eyes shut again, trying to chase the visions that were leaving you unapologetically.
“Good morning.” A low voice resounded above you. You opened your eyes.
With his hands folded behind his back, Minho leaned forward and blew sharply into your face, making your hair tickle your forehead.
You punched him in the shoulder lightly. “That’s not something I want to smell this early.”
“Guess you should get up then.”
You swung your legs over the hammock and stepped out, stretching your arms above your head.
“How was your night?” He asked, falling into step with you as you headed away from the tented area and toward the gardens, blinking yourself awake and rolling your shoulders back and forth.
“Cryptic. And you?”
You had told only a couple people about the dreams, and not in great detail. Only that you were receiving whispers of memories from before the Maze, like most people in the Glade. Nothing enough to be distinct. Just tugging at the brain, leaking a previous life. Minho was one of those few Gladers you talked to about it. He had stood up for you for a moment a year ago, and now the two of you had grown closer.
“Slept like a baby.” He replied.
You ran your hands through your hair and crouched at the foot of a plot you had been working on for the past few months. It was making steady progress so far. It felt good to have a hand in growing life and food here, and it etched away just slightly at the monstrous imposter syndrome you often felt as a Glader.
Not everyone was as amicable with you as Minho was. Some boys gave you distrusting looks, others didn’t find it necessary to speak to you. Many went out of their way to step in and complete a job you were working hard on- sowing crops, building tents- as if they were saving themselves the inconvenience of fixing whatever you were bound to mess up.
It was an impossible double standard that you had complained about in the first few months.
“You complain that I don’t do my part enough, and then take over before I can. Either trust me enough to grow your food- OUR food- or leave it alone, and know that I could’ve helped if you grew a pair.”
It was Adam you had been speaking to. Alby stood next to him, eyes darting between the two of you.
Adam threw his hands up in frustration.
“This is what I mean! She’s just being a bitch for no reason.”
Alby held his hand out.
“Stop. The both of you. If you’re going to fight, I’ll gladly throw the both of you in the pit until you’ve calmed down. And then the others will have to pick up your jobs. Do you want that?”
“Of course not.” You said through your teeth. You could feel your chest buzzing with anger. But if you blew up, everyone would look to you to blame, not Adam.
Adam sighed. “I don’t want to have to rebuild a stupid bench just because you want everyone to put in an equal share.”
“He’s being immature.” You said, only looking at Alby now.
“No one is saying you’d have to rebuild anything. We are all Gladers, and we need to trust one another. If she’s willing to put in the work, and is doing her part, then we don’t have a problem.” Alby said firmly.
He had made you both shake hands and continue working on opposite ends of the Glade. Adam scoffed something about how the whole situation was bullshit and later, during dinner, very pointedly avoided sitting on the bench you had finished building.
You, Newt, Minho, and Fry had sat on the bench together. It was sturdy and gave you no problems.
“I don’t know how you do that.” You continued, not taking your eyes off of the budding plants in front of you.
“What?” He asked, crouching alongside you and adjusting his vest before staring at the garden just as intently as you.
“Sleep well, I mean. Those hammocks are seriously killing my back.”
“I run it off.”
“Sure.”
You stood, brushing off your pants and began to walk off until Minho placed a sturdy hand on your shoulder. “Where are you going?”
“To get the watering can…?”
He shook his head. “The Box should be coming up any minute now.”
You smacked your forehead. In the haze of your dreams last night, your mind had woken up elsewhere.
“God, you’re right. How could-”
And then, it started. A ratchet of clanking and the turning of gears. Heads turned, and a small crowd was already waiting at the edge of the Box. That included Gally, Newt, Ben, Peter, and Alby.
Minho was already running toward the scene. He called after you.
“You can water your plants later!”
You scoffed and ran after him without another word.
You were usually the first member of the crowd for these kinds of things. News from Runners, arrivals from the Box, anything. But you had forgotten today. You shook off the guilty feeling that you were getting too comfortable.
Pushing through the group of boys, you joined the front lines of whoever was peering down at the box. Gally was already bracing himself to jump down inside, until a terrified voice resounded from below.
“Wh-where am I? Help! Help!!”
A shiver ran down your spine. There were murmurs among the crowd. Gally’s eyebrows furrowed. He paused in a half braced stance.
“Anybody!”
That voice… It's so young.
Out of the rest of the crowd, you were the Glader to lean down and offer your hand.
“Hi.” You said.
He blinked back at you, reaching out to take your hand.
You put a firm group on his elbows, helping him climb up onto a crate and then out of the Box and onto the grass. You heard a few boys mutter something about ‘maternal instincts’ and chuckle.
“Try not to panic. It’s okay.”
He clutched onto your arms like you were someone he’d known for years, someone to trust.
“Where am I?” He asked. Then, he jerked his head back as if something had just hit him. “Who am I?? Holy shit, I don’t know who I am!”
A few chuckles came from the crowd. You placed a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay. This happens to everyone on the first day.”
The boy paused. He scanned the crowd, taking in his new surroundings. “Everyone?” He asked, addressing you directly. “What is this?”
You opened your mouth to give a canned response that most people gave to all the Greenies, but paused. Briefly, you met eyes with Gally. His gaze was hard, but he was looking at you inquisitively. In the past year, this was the first Greenie you had spoken to as an introduction. As the person to help first. For the most part, it was you knowing your place. You knew you stuck out. You knew Alby was in charge of things like this. It felt awkward to you to explain the Glade to new Greenies, as if you had arrived in the same way. As if you too had climbed out of the Box, into helping hands. As if you hadn’t run for your life out of the Maze into sharp daylight and suspicious faces- which had become your first firm memory. As if you fit in at all. But this boy who you had just helped climb out of the Box was proof of more difference. Someone else who stuck out, like you, if not to a different degree. You changed your mind, and the next words came out soft.
“Somewhere safe.”
It was a lie, if you looked further into it. But enough to make the kid stop shaking.
𖣠
He was a nice kid. You could feel it radiating from him underneath all the panic. After a few hours of inconsolable emotion in the pit, the others dragged him out and he was immediately met with teasing and a kind of performative sympathy from the other boys.
He was looking for friends more than anything else, you noted. Immediate community. He was sharp and curious. He had a light sense of humor that refreshed the way you tried to look at the Glade with an eagle eye, uncovering its layers, understanding it as something trying to outsmart you.
He went by Chuck.
“I can’t get my head around it.” You said while hungrily eating your food, the bowl of jerky and bread slices balancing on your knees as you sat on a bench in the shade. You had helped build it. You had done a lot of odd end jobs for the place you now felt forced to call home. It gave you focus. Newt was sat next to you, eating his meal just the same.
“Around what?” He asked, not looking up from his meal.
You finished chewing a bite of jerky, then tilted your head, gaze focused elsewhere. “He’s young. Not close to anyone else’s age around here.”
Newt hummed. “It’s strange, for sure. But not totally unreasonable. He came up in the Box, at the right time, right place. He’s a kid, yeah, but otherwise everything has been routine.”
You stared down at the bowl. “I know that.”
Newt looked up at you. “What’s bothering you?”
You stood up suddenly, setting your bowl down and standing in front of him with your hands on your hips.
“It’s just… I’m looking for clues. For more… discrepancies. Chuck is a little different too… like me. I mean, the circumstances are very different, sure, but… it just makes me wonder where we came from more and more. And why we’re stuck here.”
Newt set his bowl down slowly, and met your eyes. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know. I know you're looking. And I know you're trying hard… in the maze, too, looking. Just try not to ambush him.”
You scrunched your eyebrows and crossed your arms. “Ambush?”
Newt chuckled, grabbing both of your empty bowls and standing. “Yeah, you know. The way you have with all the other Greenies.”
He clapped a hand on your shoulder as he passed you, on the way to the kitchen.
You stood there dumbfounded. Sure, you had caught every Greenie early after their arrival and asked them a few things. If there was anything strange they remembered, any detail that felt off to them. Anything in the Glade that stuck out to them. Anything that they felt separated them from the rest of the group. Were you really that persistent?
Ben shook you out of your thoughts. He was jogging toward you, calling out your name.
“Hey. The rest of us are ready.”
The vest felt tight around your shoulders and chest. You nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.”
Four weeks ago, you had become a Runner.
Or, more accurately, four weeks ago Minho had stumbled into your small hut (your one place of privacy from the other boys) and discovered everything you had scribbled down when you woke up with instructions on your lips from hazy dreams.
200-300 ft high
8 sections (but I remember 14?)
Walls move this direction
Rotate
Always run along border
Different creature than the dream ones
“What are these?” He had asked, sifting through loose papers.
“Um… notes. Memories. Some things I keep track of for how the Maze shifts around.”
“How do you know? You’ve never been inside.”
You raised an eyebrow. Minho exhaled. “Save for that one time.”
You shrugged. “I don’t know, I just… I’m confident I could find my way around if you sent me in there. If you showed me a map. I could do it.”
You hadn’t expected to do it right then and there, but you were making a case for yourself.
Send me into the Maze. Make me a Runner.
Alby’s words echoed in your mind.
None of this is a coincidence.
Minho squinted at you, as if trying to spot something in your eyes he hadn’t seen before. He was sizing you up.
“What would be different then if you joined the mapmakers? If you outlined the place instead?”
“I have to go back in there.” You said quickly. “You have to understand. I didn’t come here the way the rest of you did. There’s some sort of secret that I know I’m stumbling into, something that could help us, get us out of here, but… I won’t know more unless I go into the Maze. As a Runner.”
There was a pause. Minho stared at you for a long moment. You could see the gears turning in his head “Okay.” He said.
“Okay?” You replied. “Okay like, you’ll call a Gathering okay?”
“No.” He said. “I don’t know what the other Keepers are going to say about this if I bring it up firsthand. I’ll talk to Alby and Newt first. Then we’ll do a gathering. But…”
You put your hands on your hips. Would this all really work?
“But even if the other Keepers disagree… I think Alby and Newt trust you. Hell, I trust you. I don’t know how much. But enough to know that you need to be out there too.”
And that was how it happened. After some fighting and constantly having to make a case for yourself, you were finally able to put on that vest and run into the Maze.
Currently, you and Minho were supposed to just touch around the border of Section 7 that intersected with the other parts of the maze and begin to map out that area- while finding a better shortcut back.
Ben walked with you to the entrance. You matched each other's stride, though he seemed to walk a comfortable distance away from you.
The others were waiting at the entrance. Minho didn’t hesitate a second longer to glance at you both, nod toward the Maze, and head inside with a jog.
𖣠
More cold stone and tangling ivy. As soon as you and the other Runners started to feel like you had a handle on the place, it would shift and throw you off and surprise you again, taunting the impossibility of escape.
There was no walking around here. Both you and Minho were at a steady run, passing by the giant ‘7’ that was marked on one of the walls.
He led you both to the right, before stopping briefly to peek around a corner.
“Dead end?” You asked.
He shook his head. “No, I-”
There was a chittering noise behind you. Immediately, it felt like your blood froze. You never got used to that sound. The way it made the hairs on your arms raise. You grabbed Minho’s elbow.
“This way.”
Heading in the opposite direction of the corner he just looked around, you both crossed into section 7 away from the Griever’s noise.
“The rest of the group shouldn’t be too far off from us. We can regroup from here.” He said.
“Shouldn’t we try to explore that intersection more?” Your brows furrowed. “The space has shifted to be more open than before, and I think we can cut through it to get back into the Glade faster-”
Minho shook his head. “I agree, but after we find the group. There’s Grievers nearby and we can’t search for a shortcut if we’re dead.”
“I know it’s not worth it to be hasty, but I don’t think this section will be open for much longer.” You pressed. “Once we find the group it might shift itself closed again, we can pay attention to the timing if we stick around the border for a bit longer.”
Minho shook his head firmer. “No. It’s not safe.”
You were growing frustrated. “It’s never safe.”
“I know, but you need to know what battles to pick. What risks are worth taking. And right now, we need to go.”
Your argument was further cut off by another chittering noise. It was closer this time. On the other side of the wall, just around the corner, mechanical limbs scraped against the stone floor with an ugly sound.
Both you and Minho met eyes. He brought a finger to his lips, grabbing your shoulder with his other hand. You stayed quiet for a moment. Maybe, if the Griever didn’t know the both of you were there, it would pass you. Just maybe.
It clunked its way into view, coming into the gap where both of you were squatting at the end of the section. If it kept its eyes forward, didn’t sense you to its left, you would be safe.
The Griever paused. Its head snapped toward you.
Or not.
Immediately, you were up and running. Side by side, you and Minho navigated in and out and through different sections of the Maze, skidding around the corner as you heard the Griever take off in a run toward you.
Your stomach crawled as you ran. Something in you felt guilty. Just to your left was more of the space along the border of section 7 that you had been desperate to explore. If you could observe the walls and their position from there, you could expand the map that the Runners had been using for the past couple months. Minho was leading you in the opposite direction. But you had a feeling.
You diverged, booking it and turning toward your left into section 7. Minho yelled after you, almost pausing, until you heard the Griever roar. Alarmed, he tore himself away and kept running toward the right, away from you.
Now separated from each other, you noticed a small, square shaped gap in the wall to your left creating an entrance into the section that was separated by the rest of the wall.
Why would it cut through like that?
You quickly got onto your knees and pushed yourself through the gap, which was just small enough for a person to fit through. Arms reaching out, you wiggled your hips through and landed onto the ground.
Not far behind was the Griever, which slammed its body into the small entrance in attack.
You yelped, falling onto your butt and watching as it frustratingly stuck an arm through the entrance, clawing for you.
Breathing heavily, you noticed that you were safe for now. There was no way it could follow you through that gap.
Until it found another way around, that was. You shot up to your feet and turned away from the Griever, starting to chart new territory.
It was a wide open space, unusual and different from other parts of the maze. As you walked, you noted divots in the floor that looked suspiciously like beams or sharp walls were meant to shoot up from them, stopping whoever got this far by isolating them or blocking them from leaving the section.
You crouched down, running your hand along a divot.
What triggers this?
You suddenly got the feeling that you should step far away from the divot and continued to navigate the new area, keeping a better distance from any other divots marking the floor.
It’s like a minefield.
You looked up, noticing the way the walls were… rounding out?
Instead of cutting in perpendicular, at an angle like most other sections of the maze, these towering walls seemed to be sneakily curving around, almost like it was creating a vast arena.
You knew what this might mean. If the area was lethal, seemingly more dangerous than other sections… it had to mean you were closer to finding the truth. Closer to an exit. Why else would the maze try harder to eviscerate you?
The divots, the rounding corners… What happens here when the place activates? When we get close enough to the exit that it wants to stop us?
You looked around suddenly, panicked. Sure enough, far in the distance slabbed onto the walls were huge circle shapes protruding. They looked like they would hinge open, like a door.
For Grievers to come out.
Now you knew you had pushed enough. It was time to go before you got caught by one of those things again.
You ran back the way you came, checking out the small gap you had come in from. It was quiet.
I can’t be sure that it’s safe… But there’s no other way back.
You crawled through the gap and crouched, silently. No chittering noises.
Carefully, you stalked along the edge of the wall, listening if the same Griever was still waiting for you. No sound. You peeked around the corner. Nothing.
You knew better than to relax. So, you took off from around the corner at full speed, determined to find Minho again.
Something followed you a second after. Huge and clicking and determined to get you this time.
Damn it!
You didn’t look back. You knew where you were going now.
Turn right, left, around… section 6 coming up…
As soon as you rounded the next corner, you promptly slammed into someone’s chest. It shocked you, and you looked to see who you had effectively scared.
Minho!
“Where did you-”
“No time!” You shouted, grabbing his arm. He understood.
The both of you ran until you could see the light reaching out toward you from the exit into the Glade.
“Did we lose it?” He asked you, breathless.
“I hope so.” You said back.
Ben and Hank had already returned for the evening, and were headed toward the Map Room.
The adrenaline was still coursing through you, and you placed your hands on your knees to catch your breath. Minho crossed his arms.
“You can’t run off like that.” He said firmly, staring down at you. It wasn't the first time this had happened.
“Sorry.” You said, standing to face him. “I just… I had a feeling.”
Minho rubbed his face. “‘Feelings’ might get you killed if you don’t know where you’re going.”
“I know. But the risk was worth it. I found something.”
He turned toward you, closer. “Something new?”
You nodded, breathless. “Yes. I think it’s important. I need to…” You paused, looking at your hands, observing two of your fingers that had rust colored stains on them from touching the divots.
Minho nodded to the direction that Ben and Hank had gone in. “Map Room. Let’s go.”
You both headed over there in a rush, taking a quick stride.
“Just to be clear, this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for being stupid.” Minho continued.
“I know.” You responded. “Just… let me explain all this first. Then you can decide how mad you need to be.”
Behind you, the maze rumbled and grinded to a close.
Hi!! Could you do a part 2 to the Will Poulter maze runner table read one shot you posted?? Maybe them in the future of them being together or whatever their dynamic looks like as time progressed?? Thank you!! ❤️
MasterList
Will Poulter Masterlist
Part 1
Filming began two weeks later.
If the table read had been electricity, set was a live wire.
The maze loomed over everything towering ivy-draped walls casting long shadows across the lot, the air permanently smelling faintly of damp stone and fake smoke. Even between takes, it felt claustrophobic. Charged.
My first proper scene with Will was a confrontation. We were meant to be surrounded by Gladers, voices raised, distrust thick in the air.
Instead, it was just us at first. Blocking. Finding our marks.
He stood a little too close.
“Is that your actual mark,” I asked lightly, glancing down at the tape on the floor, “or are you improvising again?”
He looked at the tape. Then at me.
“I think I’m right where I need to be.”
I arched a brow. “That’s not ominous at all.”
He grinned.
“Places!” the assistant director called.
We snapped into position.
The camera rolled.
My character stepped forward first, chin lifted, defensive and sharp. “You don’t get to make decisions for everyone.”
Will didn’t miss a beat. His shoulders squared, jaw tightening in a way that made the line land harder than it had at the table read.
“I’m trying to keep us alive.”
“And you think that makes you in charge?”
He took a step closer that wasn’t in the original blocking forcing me to tilt my head back slightly to maintain eye contact.
The shift was small.
But it changed everything.
My pulse kicked up.
I let my voice drop half a register. “You don’t scare me.”
The words were scripted.
The way I said them wasn’t.
Something flickered in his expression surprise? Approval? Challenge?
The director didn’t cut.
Will’s next line was meant to be dismissive. Instead, he let a hint of admiration slip through.
“Maybe you should be.”
The air between us tightened. Just… aware.
“Cut!”
The crew exhaled collectively.
“That’s it,” the director said, pointing between us. “That look. Hold that beat before you speak. Let it sit.”
Will glanced at me as we reset.
“You held that pause longer than rehearsal,” he murmured.
“So did you.”
“Did I?”
“You know you did.”
He leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I just like seeing what you’ll do.”
My stomach flipped in an entirely unprofessional way.
The days blurred into a rhythm of mud, fake blood, and near-constant proximity.
We were paired for most sequences. Running side by side. Arguing. Being forced to rely on one another.
Between takes, we didn’t drift apart.
We hovered.
He’d nudge my shoulder when someone made a bad joke. I’d flick his arm if he smirked during a serious note from the director. We developed a shorthand of looks and raised brows and subtle kicks under tables during production meetings.
The crew started noticing.
One afternoon, after a particularly intense scene in which my character had to shove him away from danger, we found ourselves sitting on the edge of the set, waiting for lighting adjustments.
My hand was still trembling slightly from adrenaline.
“You’re shaking,” Will observed quietly.
“I just ran full speed through fake smoke while being chased by something that doesn’t exist,” I said. “I think I’m allowed.”
He bumped his knee against mine. “You were brilliant.”
I rolled my eyes, but warmth spread through me anyway. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I know.” He shrugged. “I want to.”
There was no teasing in it.
Just sincerity.
And that, somehow, was more disarming than all the playful banter.
The shift became impossible to ignore during a night shoot.
The maze looked entirely different under artificial moonlight colder, sharper, almost eerie in its realism.
We were filming a quiet scene. No shouting. No chaos. Just the two of us sitting against the stone, catching our breath after surviving something terrifying.
The script called for a reluctant truce.
Minimal dialogue.
Heavy silence.
We took our places.
The camera moved in.
I leaned my head back against the wall, exhaling slowly.
Will sat beside me, shoulder brushing mine.
Too close for comfort.
Too natural to pull away.
“You were reckless,” he said softly, reading the line.
“So were you.”
A beat.
“You didn’t have to come back for me.”
The words caught in my throat slightly.
Because they didn’t feel fictional anymore.
He turned his head just enough that I felt his gaze without seeing it.
“I wasn’t going to leave you.”
It was written plainly.
He delivered it like a promise.
The silence that followed wasn’t in the script.
But neither of us moved.
Neither of us looked away.
“Cut,” the director whispered.
Whispered.
As if speaking too loudly might break something delicate.
When the lights shifted and the crew began to move again, Will didn’t pull back immediately.
“Was that too much?” he asked under his breath.
I swallowed. “No.”
It wasn’t.
That was the problem.
By week three, the teasing had become something else.
Less performative. More private.
We’d started eating lunch together by default. Sitting side by side during playback. Sharing headphones to watch takes.
The first time his hand lingered on my waist after helping me down from a set piece, neither of us commented on it.
The second time, I did.
“You don’t have to steady me every time,” I said lightly.
“I know.”
“Then why do you?”
He met my eyes.
Because I want to, his expression said.
But what he actually replied was, “Health and safety.”
I snorted.
Coward.
The breaking point came during a rehearsal that went slightly off-script.
We were meant to argue voices raised, frustration boiling over.
Instead, the tension tipped in another direction.
“You don’t get to shut me out,” I snapped, stepping closer than usual.
Will’s jaw flexed. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protecting.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
The line wasn’t his.
Not exactly.
He’d adjusted it.
Made it personal.
I froze for half a heartbeat.
Then leaned in.
“And what if I don’t want you to?”
The crew went quiet.
The words weren’t in the script.
But neither of us pulled back.
His hand lifted instinctively, hovering near my arm as if he might touch me or stop himself.
“Cut.”
The director’s voice broke whatever spell had formed.
Silence lingered.
“That’s it,” the director said, almost giddy. “That’s exactly it. Keep that undercurrent. Not romance. Not yet. Just… that inevitability.”
I didn’t look at Will.
I couldn’t.
Because I knew if I did, I’d see it mirrored there.
Later that evening, long after most of the crew had left, I found myself wandering back onto the darkened set.
The maze walls cast long, twisting shadows.
Footsteps echoed behind me.
“You’re terrible at sneaking off unnoticed,” Will said.
I didn’t turn. “You followed me.”
“Obviously.”
I faced him then.
Without cameras.
Without scripts.
The air felt different.
Real.
“You changed the line today,” I said quietly.
“So did you.”
“That wasn’t part of the plan.”
He stepped closer. Slowly. Giving me every opportunity to move away.
I didn’t.
“Do you want it to be?” he asked.
The question hovered between us.
Dangerous.
Because this wasn’t fictional tension anymore. There were no directors to shout cut if it went too far.
My pulse pounded in my ears.
“We’re supposed to be enemies,” I murmured.
“On screen.”
“And off?”
His hand brushed mine, tentative this time.
Not playful.
Not teasing.
“Off,” he said softly, “I think we’re something else entirely.”
The space between us vanished.
I could see the faint scar near his eyebrow. The way his breath hitched slightly as if he was just as aware of the risk.
“This could complicate things,” I whispered.
“It already has.”
A beat.
Then, gently he pressed his forehead against mine.
For a second, that was all it was.
Warmth. Breath mingling. The faint brush of his thumb against my knuckles where our hands were still loosely tangled.
My heart was pounding so loudly I was certain he could feel it.
“You can still walk away,” he murmured, voice softer than I’d ever heard it.
I didn’t.
Instead, I tilted my head just slightly.
It was barely a movement. An invitation more than a decision.
His breath caught.
And that was it the fragile restraint snapped.
His mouth found mine, not tentative this time, but not reckless either. It was firm, searching, like he’d been holding the impulse back for weeks and had finally decided he was done pretending.
I kissed him back immediately.
There was no polite hesitation. No awkward adjustment.
Just heat.
His hand slid from mine to my waist, fingers splaying against my hip, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. I felt the solid line of him, the warmth through layers of fabric, the sharp inhale he took when I stepped into him without thinking.
The maze walls loomed around us, dark and silent, but the world had narrowed to this.
To him.
His other hand came up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing along my cheek with surprising gentleness compared to the intensity of his mouth on mine. It deepened naturally not rushed, but hungry in a way that made my knees feel slightly unsteady.
I made a small, involuntary sound against his lips.
He reacted instantly.
One step forward.
One step back for me until my shoulders met cool stone.
The contrast sent a shiver through me.
“Will,” I breathed, though I wasn’t entirely sure if it was a warning or encouragement.
He paused just long enough to search my face.
“You sure?” he asked quietly.
God, that nearly undid me more than the kiss.
“Yes.”
That was all he needed.
His mouth crashed back to mine, more urgent now. Less careful. Weeks of glances and smirks and almost-touches finally condensing into something real and physical.
My hands slid up into his hair without conscious thought, fingers curling slightly at the nape of his neck. He groaned softly at the contact, the sound low and unguarded, and the vibration of it went straight through me.
“You’re trouble,” he murmured against my mouth, echoing his words from the first day we met.
“You like trouble,” I shot back, breathless.
He kissed me again in response slower this time, deliberate, like he was mapping the shape of it. The teasing edge was still there, but underneath it was something steadier. Something that felt less like impulse and more like inevitability.
His thumb traced along my jaw again, down to my neck, resting there for a second as if grounding himself.
