#frypan’s kitchen

[flarp-dragon]

"Frypan is a girlboss."

[yutaslaugh]

my colleague signed me up to teach a chefs therapy group of 6 kids (4-10 yr olds) on how to make pancakes but the problem is that i don't know how to make pancakes 😭

[mazegays]

Thomas’s Foolproof Bread (aka ‘Bread made under Frypan’s Supervision)

INGREDIENTS:

1 ¼ cups of sourdough starter

3-5 cups of flour

½ cup of warm water

½ cup of warm milk

1 ½ tsp of salt

Olive oil

PREP: 

Prepare a workspace (like a CLEAN cutting board, Thomas) with a light sprinkling of flour and set aside.

If you’re Thomas (or using a stand mixer), lightly oil a separate bowl and set aside. If not, don’t worry about it. 

DIRECTIONS (YES, THOMAS, IN THIS ORDER):

Mix 3 cups of flour and salt together in a large bowl. Make a well in the center and add the warm water, milk, and starter to it. 

Pull the flour into the center of the well to mix and create a loose dough.

(If using a stand mixer for some reason--we haven’t found or made one yet, but I miss them. They were easier.--mix with the paddle attachment until a loose dough is created. Depending on the mixer, you may have to scrap the bottom and sides to get everything in. Switch to the dough hook on medium-low speed for 3-5 minutes of kneading, or until it’s smooth, silky, and elastic. Add flour and/or oil as needed if too sticky or too dry. Thomas, you are never getting one of these.)

Tip the dough onto the prepared workspace, and knead until smooth, silky, and elastic. Reserve the bowl for later. Add flour if too sticky, oil if too dry. Kneading by hand will take 12-15 minutes.

Oil the reserved bowl and tip the dough back into it. Cover with a cloth or plastic wrap. 

Let rise somewhere cool for about six hours, or until it doubles. 

Tip onto a floured surface and gently hand-knead the dough for a few minutes. Roll into a ball and dust with flour. Place into a floured bowl or banneton and cover with a towel. Allow to rise slowly in a cool place for eight hours. 

When ready to bake, heat oven to 475℉ (246.1℃). Grease a sheet pan lightly with olive oil and gently move the dough to the pan.

Score the dough with as much flare as you desire. (Not funny, Frypan.)

Place in the middle of the oven and bake for 20-30 minutes, until the loaf is lightly golden-brown and sounds hollow when tapped on.

Move to a cooling rack. For a softer crust, brush with milk right out of the oven

Pictured: Thomas’s most recent attempt

It’s my best one yet!

[visro]

just frypan doing everyone's top surgery in the glade

[homeproduct]

Discover the Best Fry Pan for Your Kitchen!:#kitchen #cooking #amazon

https://www.homeaccessoriesreview.com/authentic-kitchen-cookware/

https://amzn.to/45Ht3xU

[em-ontv]

Heyy, I'm obsessed with your writing, so I was wondering of you could write some more about Newt from the maze runner? Anything really, I love your style of writing and i'd love to hear more about a charcter I love! Thank you, <3

Hey there, thank you for liking my writing <3! And yes, I will write more newt because he is an absolute sweetheart. Hope you like it ◡̈ !

Fix me up.

Pairing: Newt x medjack!reader

Summary: Newt got hurt when the new greenie accidentally dropped a garden-hoe that scratched him and he only wanted you to patch him up.

Warnings: mentions of injuries, Newt being a bit dramatic, a few Glader language?, use of y/n, English is not my first language, mistakes should be present, apologies beforehand

Word count: 552

———————————————————————————

It was another normal day in the Glade. The familiar hum of activity filled the air as the boys went about their routine tasks. As you got up for the morning, Frypan waved you over from the kitchen area, a heap of fresh vegetables in front of him.

“Y/n, mind giving me a hand with these?” Fry gave a smile, gesturing at the pile while you walked over.

Although you were a Medjack, you often found yourself helping around in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables and stirring up pots by Frypan’s side – he really enjoyed your company, since you knew how to handle food with decency instead of almost burning the whole kitchen down like the greenie he tried to train two months ago.

You picked up a knife and started chopping, the rhythmic sound of the blade hitting against the wooden board created a comforting background noise.

But suddenly, a commotion broke out near the garden. Raised voices and loud chatters made you look up, and without a second thought, you dropped the knife and rushed towards the noise.

As you neared the garden, you yanked past the small crowd of boys that surrounded the person in the middle – Newt. You were greeted by the sight of him, clutching his arm as blood slowly bled through the gaps of his fingers.

“If you’re wondering, the greenie dropped a hoe and scratched him,” Winston gave you a nudge, his eyebrows raised slightly.

“That doesn’t look like a scratch to me, where the shuck is Clint and Jeff?” you shot Winston a glare after seeing the hint of amusement in his eyes.

“They’re–” Winston started but got cut off when Newt caught sight of you and immediately let out a dramatic groan.

“Ughhh… it hurts!” Newt groaned again, his eyes flickering to you every couple of seconds, making sure that you paid attention to his… uh, ‘pain’.

Newt started wincing and grimacing, exaggerating the pain of his arm. Clint and Jeff were there long before you, and they attempted to approach him once again, to try and help him with his injury. However, Newt kept swatting their hands away, shooting them glares and complaining loudly about the pain.

“Stay back, you’ll only make it worse!” Newt declared, throwing in a loud sigh for good measure. It rendered the two Medjacks speechless.

“Oh, the agony! The absolute agony!” he clutched tighter on his arm.

To be fair, the cut was bleeding pretty badly, but you didn’t expect a whole outburst followed by a meltdown from him. What did you expect? Perhaps more maturity from the second-in-command. And if the greenie wasn’t already klunking his pants, he sure is now.

“Alright, move… move.” you pinched the bridge of your nose and finally decided to step in.

Newt sighed in relief, visibly relaxing and letting his guard down. “Finally, somebody who knows what they’re doing.”

Clint and Jeff exchanged an amused look, some of the boys standing around rolled their eyes and chuckled before scattering about, returning to their tasks now that the theatrics were over.

“Come on, let’s get you to the Med Hut,” you shook your head while Newt started repeating a bunch of ‘ow, ow, ow, ow’ over and over again, seeking your sympathy. Hiding a little victorious smirk from your sight.

[lowkeyrobin]

hello!!

would you be willing to do a TMR minho fic?

basically just them at the little glade treehouse (i live for that treehouse lol) and maybe they stole some food from frypan and are just chatting and having a laugh together whilst cuddling or something bc they dont get to spend alot of time together as he is always in the maze??

(been loving your writing recently btw, literally one of the v few writers who write for MCYTS and respect their boundaries so tysm!!)

hope ur having a good day:)

oh hell yeah brother LMAO ; also thank you and you're welcome!! im all for respecting boundaries because ik how that feels when they're broken + I'm not a weirdo lol, and thank you for appreciating my work, it means sm to me 🫶🫶🫶 ; have a good day/night :) ; post writing me, sorry this is so short :( ; also I know I said I was in trouble but NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT??

MINHO ; tree house cuddles

summary ; sneaking food into the tree house and having late night convos with minho

warnings ; language

disclaimers ; reader is a track-hoe, Thomas has been in the maze for months and exists, but no Teresa/escaping the maze

word count ; 459

masterlist

You loved your beautiful boyfriend Minho. He was an angel sent from above, truly. Or... maybe below? The box and what existed out of the Glade was confusing, sadly. God, you wished you could remember anything outside of here.

Sadly, you hadn't seen him very much recently.

He'd been busy with his duties in the maze and the Map Room, and you've been busy working in the gardens damn near all day every day. Your rations were running low, the crops were growing slower than ever, and you couldn't figure out why. It's not like there were deer or raccoons feasting on them either. It was just you Gladers here, nothing else. You'd been stressing out over it and needed some time away from it for a while.

Thankfully, the beloved tree house existed, and rarely anyone used it.

You'd stolen a basket of fruit from Fry's kitchen, awaiting the arrival of Minho. Hopefully, Newt stuck to his word, or remembered to, to send Minho to the tree house to spend some time with you.

Thankfully, the beautiful Korean boy showed up, dressed casual and out of the heavy gear he had to wear in the maze. He greeted you with a tired yet warm smile, sitting down with you on the wooden floor.

"Hey, how's your day?" He asks, sitting next to you, shoulder to shoulder.

You hand him a little basket of strawberries. "Fine, I guess." You shrug, "Need a minute away from the gardens"

He nods, "I need a minute away from the shuckin' maze"

You dangle your feet off the side of the platform, soaking up each other's presence.

He pulls you into his lap, between his legs. He rests his chin on your shoulder while his arms rest around your waist. You feel your stomach swarm with butterflies, resting your hands over his.

"I love you" He whispers, placing a kiss on your temple.

"Love you too, dork," you reply with a smile, leaning your head back to rest yourself against him.

"What a romantic" He giggles, pulling you a little closer.

The night continues on in peace, smiles, giggles and kisses shared, hands intertwined. You share your body heat, cuddled up and comfy.

"No, no, no, he said something like he was gonna beat him back into the box! How does that even work? Gally acts like Thomas is some universal threat or something" You laugh as you speak.

"I have no idea, darling." He smiles and chuckles, listening to you ramble on and on about stories he'd missed during the day.

You look up at him and place a kiss on his jawline, a stupid smile on his face.

"Love you"

"Love you too"

"...Thanks for being mine"

"Okay, shut up, shank"

[wildbwills]

The book: “Stainless steel kitchen, immaculately clean, dishwasher, electricity.” The movie:

I’m just saying frypan got a huge downgrade…..

[il0veaphr0dite]

FIRST TIME’S

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

A/N: thank you all for the likes on my posts! im so happy that you guys have been enjoying my work😭🫶🏽 i tried a lil bit of Minhos pov this time. Enjoy!!

SUMMARY: Minho’s friends are noticing how he pays extra attention to you and encourage him to talk to you.

PARING: shy!fem!reader x Minho

WARNINGS: nothing fluff❤️

WORD COUNT: 1367

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆·:*¨༺ ༻��*:·.｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Quiet, is what the gladers described you as.

You came into the glade 3 months ago, scared and alone. You didn't talk to anyone when you got out of the box, but, when you did it was only a few words.

It was weird for everyone to have a girl around, multiple gladers hit on you but realized it was no use when you wouldn't respond.

And when it came time to pick a job, you chose to be a Gardner. Ever since you first tried it out, you liked how it kept your mind off the fact that you were stuck in the maze.

Everyone who worked in the gardens knew you didn't like talking much, so they mostly left you to yourself, which you were grateful for.

You just finished your work in the gardens and made your way to the kitchens, you didn't eat lunch earlier so you were starving.

You grabbed a plate of Frypan’s ham sandwich and hurriedly sat down. You took a bite of the sandwich, silently thanking Frypan for his cooking skills.

You went to take another bite when you felt eyes on you. You were used to getting stared at since you were, you know, the only girl.

But this felt different. You couldn't quite describe it. You soon chose to ignore it and continued eating.

On the other end of the stare was Minho. He hadn't touched his sandwich since he saw you enter, too occupied watching you.

“Dude, stop staring it's creepy” Ben set his sandwich back on his plate, still chewing.

Minho broke his gaze, turning to Ben, “I don't know what you're talking about”, eventually picking up his sandwich and taking a bite.

“She’s going to notice soon that a random dude is staring at her,” he said, soon following Minho’s actions and taking a bite out of his sandwich.

Minho proceeded to ignore him, when Newt sat down across from Minho and Ben, setting his plate down.

“Hey Shanks, what's going on?” Minho watched as Newt took a bite out of his sandwich.

“Just eating with a creep who likes to stare at people” Ben responded jokingly causing Minho to roll his eyes.

Newt raises his brows in confusion “What are you talking about?” he asks.

“Minho’s been staring at Y/N ever since she stepped foot in here.”

“I know, this isn’t the first time,” Newt explains. “He’s been doing this ever since she came up in that box,”

Newt wasn't lying. Minho had been paying extra attention to you ever since you came to the glade.

He liked how you were in your own world, and never seemed to be bothered by anyone.

The following weeks after you came up, he couldn't understand why he couldn't stop watching you, and furthermore why his heart beat every time he saw you.

He soon found himself telling Frypan to save an extra plate for you because he noticed how you woke up late most of the time and missed breakfast.

And while Minho did all that, Newt was watching him. He could tell how he felt about you.

“Why haven’t I noticed then?” Ben's eyes widened at the new information.

“I dunno, maybe cause you’re a slinthead” Newt spoke before taking another bite out of his sandwich.

Ben raised his hand into a fist threateningly, causing Newt to put his hands up in defeat. “You should ask her to sit with us tomorrow,” Ben suggested lowering his fist.

“I dunno..” Minho said, uncertain.

Ben nudged him slightly with his elbow. “Come on”

Soon Newt found himself joining in, “What could possibly happen?”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

And so that day Minho found himself asking you to sit with them.

You were in the gardens planting tomato seeds. You put the bag of seeds down to tuck your hair behind your ear when you see a pair of boots in front of you.

It was Minho.

He came back from the maze to see you working in the gardens, remembering what Ben and Newt said, he gathered the courage to ask you.

You stood up from your kneeling position, brushing you pants off.

“Hey uhh, Would you, maybe, want to sit with me and a couple of other gladers during dinner?” Minho asked, hoping his nervousness wasn't showing.

You were more than surprised, you were dumbfounded. You would have expected anyone to ask you that, but not Minho. Your heart was beating and you couldn't understand why.

You knew who he was. I mean, the man was gorgeous with his black hair and buff arms and he knows it. He had an amazing smile and furthermore, he was a runner.

So why was he asking you, a quiet girl who barley speaks, to have dinner with him and his friends?

You didn't know why.

“I..uhh..sure,” you said barely above a whisper.

“Okay, well I'll see you at, uhm, dinner” Minho kept his composure before turning around.

He couldn't believe it. You said yes. He made a mental note to thank Ben and Newt later.

He walked to the map room grinning from ear to ear.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Later that day, Minho found himself waiting for you at the same table with Newt across from him and Ben to his left.

“What if she doesn't come?” Minho said, bouncing his leg up and down.

“Minho, it's dinner, where else would she go?” Ben rolled his eyes as Newt laughed at his response.

Minho’s leg stopped bouncing as he caught sight of you. You walked towards them with a ham sandwich (again) making eye contact with Minho.

Ben and Newt followed Minho’s gaze to you walking towards them.

“uhm..hi” you said, holding your plate awkwardly.

“Hey Y/N”

“Hey”

Newt and Ben looked at Minho, waiting for him to reply to you.

“Hey” he finally met out.

Newt patted the spot next to him. You sat next to him and set down your plate, and soon after that the conversation between them began to flow.

“I only tripped one time!” Ben argued.

Newt and Minho laughed before Newt continued“I saw you trip at least five times and that was this week alone”

You found yourself joining in the laughter.

“Come on Y/N!, not you too,” Ben said in defeat.

You laughed, “I'm sorry, I can't help it.

He watched you, laughing, he’d never seen anything so beautiful. You'd always been so quiet, this was the first time he'd seen you laugh.

Ben nudged him in the arm “You're staring” he whispered.

Minho quickly looked away, not wanting to seem creepy.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

After a while, you all cleaned up. You were all planning to take a walk together but Ben and Newt said they had to leave so it was just you and Minho.

You and Minho were now walking together.

“How was the maze?” you asked softly.

That was the second time Minho had heard you speak above a whisper today. The first being when you apologized to Ben earlier.

“It was the same, nothing new yet. How were the gardens?”

“Nothing new either unless you find planting tomatoes interesting”

Minho chuckled. This was now the first time Minho had heard you tell a joke. It seemed he heard a lot of first’s today.

It turned silent after that. Not an awkward silence, a comfortable one.

You felt Minho’s fingers brush against yours as your fingers interlocked.

He turned towards you to find you blushing.

This had now been the first time he saw you blushing.

“I was wondering, uhm, would you want to go on a date with me?” he asked “ Only if you want to I'm not going to make you do anything you-”

“I’d love to,” you said.

He stopped walking and turned towards you.

“Okay..well, uhm, great”

“Yeah,” you said giggling.

You look up, locking eyes with him.

You wrap your arms around his waist as he wraps his around your shoulder.

Minho lifts his head to see Newt and Ben hiding behind a tree. “Shuck”

“What?” She questions.

“Nothing” He looks back at Ben and Newt to see them giving him a thumbs up.

A smile grew on his face.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

[serafilms]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Attempted murder. Using your face.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve tried, Minho.”

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

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

“My condolences,” Minho drawled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“I do, yeah.”

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

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

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

Because that was where he belonged. With you.

the maze runner: apocalypse sassy man apocalypse

based off of the ybwm music video

[madieflaw]

gladers cooking skills

Frypan: master chef

Newt: knows a few recipes

Minho: can follow instructions on a box

Chuck: made toast once

Thomas: banned from the kitchen

[mazegays]

Gally’s Crank-Reversing Bars

INGREDIENTS:

½ cup (1 stick) butter, softened

¾ cup light brown sugar

1 tsp. vanilla extract

2 cups all purpose flour

14 oz sweetened condensed milk

1 cup chocolate chips

½ cup mini/normal M&Ms

½ cup creamy peanut butter

½ cup milk chocolate chips/melting chocolate

Could also be ½ cup dark chocolate

Or ¼ cup of each. Go crazy with it.

DIRECTIONS:

Line an 8x8 pan with parchment paper and set aside.

In a large mixing bowl, mix the butter and brown sugar until fluffy. 

Add the vanilla to the sugar mixture.

Alternate flour and sweetened condensed milk while mixing until combined.

Using a spatula, mix the chocolate chips and M&Ms in. 

Press the cookie dough into the prepared pan.

Cover with foil and put in the fridge for three hours or until firm.

Flip the cookie dough over into the pan and remove the parchment paper. 

Combine the peanut butter and ½ cup chocolate chips/melting chocolate in a microwave-safe bowl, stirring every 30 seconds until smooth.

Pour and spread over chilled dough.

Chill for at least one hour until firm.

[catoslvt]

Newt (TMR) x Reader

you confess to Newt as he's a crank.

this is probably gonna be very quick.

As Newt jumps on me, sending me spiralling backwards into the floor, I look over at Thomas, who is standing clueless

"Go get the cure! I can handle him!" I scream, Thomas gives me a concerned look before running off anyway.

My attention is suddenly grabbed again by Newt, who now has a knife. Where did he get it from? I've got no clue, but all that matters is getting it out of his hands.

"I don't want to hurt you." Newt snaps, his tone certainly sounding like someone who wants to hurt me.

"You don't need to, please." I beg, but his eyes have faded over again, and he lowers the knife to hover above where my heart is, but I quickly knock the knife from his grip, and it moves far away on the concrete meaning I'm now gonna need to fight Newt with my hands.

"Keep talking!" Newt screams, his eyes flashing only a slight bit of normality before the flare comes back over him, and he's trying to hit me, so I do what he told me to do, talk.

"I've been in love with you since the scorch trials." I say as my hand connects with his jaw, and he stumbles off me, allowing me to stand up, and as I look at Newt, I realise he landed beside the knife.

"What?" He chokes, and I nod tears at the brims of my eyes.

"When Aris led me to your rooms from the vents, I was terrified to meet you, but somehow, I managed to persuade you to leave WICKED and I fell inlove with you almost straight away, I've never looked back. I've never wanted any other boy the way I want you." I continue to talk as a few tears fall from my eyes, and Newt now stands up with the knife, his step staggering as he approaches me, but I suddenly see Thomas, Frypan, Minho and Gallys shadows about to turn round our corner, so I take a few footsteps towards Newt as he stands and stares, either fighting the flare really well or it's about to take over for good.

as I step closer, Newt opens his arms for a hug, and I can't help but do it, crank or not. I just confessed my love for him.

as he wraps my arms around my waist, I momentarily forget he has the knife until it gets plunged into my lower stomach before pulling out, and I step away with my mouth hanging open, clutching the knives enterance wound as blood pours from it.

"y/n!" I hear frypan scream, but it's too late, I've passed out.

I wake up in a small hut with a curtain as a door confused, where the fuck am I?

I quickly go to sit up, but I let out a huge groan as a pain shoots from my lower stomach, so I decide to take it slower and once I'm sitting up, I kick my legs off the bed and stand up, grabbing onto the wall for support before I slowly make my way out the room.

Okay, where the actual fuck am I.

there's tons of people here, mainly people my age or younger who are all walking around, there's huts, there's hammocks and there's even Gardens.

Gardens. Newt.

Newt.

the thought of his name brings a huge pain towards my stomach, and I groan and almost double over, but Aris sees me and rushes over.

"You're up!?" He exclaims and I nod confused.

"Where are we?" I ask, my throat suddenly feeling incredibly dry as though those three words took away all my willpower.

"The safe haven, a real one this time." He answers, gently grabbing my wrist as he begins to steer me to what seems like a kitchen, and when we walk in, frypan is cooking up dishes.

"Morning shuckface." He says with a small smile as he raises his eyes momentarily to fall onto me.

"How long have I been out for?" I ask and both Aris and Frypan shrug.

"A week or so? Newt got banned from your hut because he was constantly in there speaking to you, Vince thought he was gonna wake you up." Frypan answers, and my eyes almost bulge out my head

"Newt?" I gasp, and they both nod, confused.

"After you passed out, Thomas managed to give him the cure. It worked quite quickly, except there's still dark veins in places." Aris tells me before pointing over at Frypan.

"Can y/n get some water and a sandwich or something?" Aris asks, and Frypan nods, turning around and rummaging around in his make shift kitchen.

I sit alone at the edge of the beach, eating my sandwich and ever so often taking a few sips of water.

"How was the sleep?" The all too familiar voice of Newt asks with a slight laugh as he sits down beside me, but I don't turn to look at him, because the last time I saw him I confessed to him only to get a knife plunged into my stomach.

"Fine." I respond and listen, I'm not too pissed about the knife thing, I'm just scared in case he can remember what I told him.

"Nobody ever told me that turning into a Crank means getting memories back." He sighs, and I turn to look at him, Frypan was right, there is still some dark veins, but it's better than what he looked like as a crank.

"All of them?" I ask, and he nods.

"I remembered Sonya from your maze is my little sister, only her name was Elizabeth back then." He first of all starts, and I gasp slightly.

"I remember every shank from my Glade before we got sent up." He begins listing little things that must mean a lot to remember.

"I remember you." He then states, and I gasp a bit.

"we would've been held separately. How can you remember me?" I ask.

"Minho, Alby, Thomas, Teresa, and I used to all sneak into a maintenance closet somewhere in the WICKED building. One day, we walked in, and there you were, as innocent as ever eating a chocolate bar." Newt tells me and we both laugh slightly.

"From that day forward, you joined us every night in the closet, and I knew from the very first moment I saw you that I'd do whatever I could to protect you." He goes onto say before frowning.

"But I couldn't. You told me you loved me, and i stabbed you." He mutters, and my eyes widen.

for fuck sake did he need to keep those memories?

"we don't need to talk about that Newt, you got the cure, and you're fine, and my stomach is healing. It wasn't your fault." I say as I reach one of my hands over and grab his hand with mine giving it a small squeeze which he returns.

"I tried so hard to fight the flare, even momentarily to tell you that I love you too, tell you that from that closet I knew it was always gonna be you." He tells me, and I look into his eyes, really confused, what did he just say.

he loves me too?

he's joking.

he has to be.

maybe he still has the flare.

"What?" I finally ask, and he nods.

"I love you y/n, I always have." He states, and I smile widely.

"I love you too!" I exclaim, and he kisses me, being gentle with the movements to not hurt my stomach.

[killedpink]

이 민호 | reflecting light.

🎧 masterlist !?

💭 synopsis: after years of a push and pull relationship with your assigned bodyguard, you leap at the opportunity to get inside his head when you're stuck in a cabin miles from society. what you don't expect is that he wants the same thing that you yearn for.

🐈‍⬛ word count: 8.3k

📂 contains: female reader, bodyguard minho, mutual pining, unestablished relationship, food mention, pet names, virgin reader, first time, oral sex, cum consumption, hair pulling, marking, noise kink, slight fingering, corruption kink, unprotected sex, creampie.

there's no heat in the sun. it's the light that wakes you, tangled in bedsheets and your sleep tender body shielding your eyes from the unwelcome light. the space in the bed next to you is beginning to freeze. minho's gone. he's usually the first to wake in the morning. in other words: you're not worried he's wandered off. that's not his job. that's not who he is.

it takes you longer than you'd like to admit for you to roll out of the warm, lonely bed.

you spot him at the kitchen counter, the oak island flooded with wood-chips, food containers and weapons. you sit at one of the stools, face in your hands as you watch minho cook. pancakes. you smile at the realisation, fondness welling up in your half groggy mind.

"good morning." he mutters absentmindedly, baritone voice husky. it hasn't been long since he woke himself, you conclude. he's uncharacteristically chatty this morning. usually, the only chatter you hear before seven is the sizzle of breakfast onto the hot metal frypan. yet again, this whole outing has been different. the circumstances weren't: someone was close to hurting you and your dutiful minho took you out of the equation. but laying next to you? holding your sleeping body? striking a conversation for the fun of it? minho rarely, if ever did things like these. it distracted him, as he put it. better an awkward silence than your life on the line, he'd insist, plump lips in a tiny frown.

you turn to the window, watching the still world outside in fascination. the wintery breath in the air sinks down in a sheer fog, frosting the pane and obscuring the earth's memory of summer. "yes, it is," you smile, eyes squinting to find the outline of the half thawed lake.

minho pushes the plate of pancakes in front of you without another word. his back is facing you again. you sigh, "are we going to talk about last night?" he turns to you curiously, without saying anything. you feel something build inside of you. a feeling you haven't felt for a long, long while. it irks you — his professionalism is by far one of the most frustrating qualities of minho. it is simultaneously attractive and infuriating.

both of his hands hold the edge of the table, leaning closer to you, "you can talk. i'll listen." minho raises a brow expectantly. his hair is getting longer again; a dark, rich brown that shines an almost red when the light manages to catch it just right. it hangs in mid air, semi obscuring his deep chestnut eyes — everything about him was so feline.

you sigh in faux resignation, a lick of fury lingering in a corner of your heart. "you haven't been that close to me since.." you pause, trying not to swallow your words. minho gave you an opportunity to talk. you'd be a fool not to prove your capabilities to him. "since the beach." he finishes coolly, a knowing glint lingering in his dark eyes as he stares at you through his long black lashes. you nod, at a loss for words.

one of his hands ruffles his hair, huffing in restraint. "i didn't mean to argue with you last night. i was.." he paused, tips of his ears beginning to burn. "i held you because i was trying to apologise. i was harsh, and i regret that." there are mere inches in-between the both of you.

as much as it hurts to say, because it means you have to realise it, you are dissatisfied with minho's apology. "you apologise to me, but you'll do it again." minho visibly bristled at your response, despite his admirable efforts to contain himself. he shook his head, "that's unfair." his voice was sentimental, open and vulnerable.

you waited, soundlessly.

"it's my job to keep you safe. i've done that — i still do that. if i tell you everything, i will be killing you. don't you understand that? you can't know the things i do and expect to be safe. i devote my life to keeping you protected, so can't you do the one thing i ask?"

you bit down on your tongue, and your gaze loitered on minho's face with a profound sense of regret and admiration. even in unimaginable amounts of hurt and frustration, he had never raised his voice at you. your eyes glittered with tears. shameful tears. they're heavier and saltier than ones of happiness, or of sadness. if it was possible, your tears seemed to hurt minho more than it did you. his lips parted, showing off his bunny teeth, and the swell of his top lip looked even plumper. his eyes softened, into big, round stars.

you dig the heels of your hands into your wet eyes, "i'm so sorry, minho." and you truly are. he moves to hold you, his hands stroke your hair and he doesn't flinch when you bury your tear soaked face into his torso. softly, with hands as gentle as rain, he tucks you away into his arms.

"you have nothing to apologise for, sweetheart. eat your breakfast, okay?" minho's strong hand rubbed up and down the length of your back delicately, as if he were unsure if you would break. you nod weakly, guilt still devouring you from the inside out.

he called you sweetheart, you realised.

sweetheart. it sounded fascinating in his beautiful mouth.

_

the crackling fire felt worthless. cold still managed to seep into your bones — your aching, heavy bones. the only warmth you felt was from minho, who sprawled himself out on you from the left. he smelled heavenly. his skin was soft, and you could feel the outline of his muscles through his shirt. there was little room to move under the shared blanket. it all felt so domestic. so.. right. this is how you wanted to be with minho. but, you know he's only this close with you to preserve heat in the winter night. it turns the butterflies in your stomach and the unfiltered swoon in your head sour. you sink into the bed, eyes fixated on the brightly flickering fire.

"i hate that we're like this.." you mutter out loud, voice raw and likely catching on the emotion in your tone. you prepare to elaborate if minho bites. you expect him to whip his head to face you and beg you to expand on your statement. he doesn't.

"i know. i'm sorry." minho's voice is husky. he buries his head into the nape of your neck, a cool nose pressing against your warm skin. it forces goosebumps from you — eager and persistent. your hands ball into fists, your bottom lip wobbling. it hurts to be this close to him; because you are always craving more.

"why can't we be like this every day?" you ask, futilely. the more you try to understand about minho, the more you realise you don't know anything about him. he was an enigma, in body and soul. you felt him nuzzle into your skin in thought. his hand, rosy at the knuckles, delicately caresses your arm, and his actions speak for him. 'i want to be like this, too.' it weeps.

"i.. i don't know." minho answers truthfully. is it possible he truly doesn't know? it seems unlike him. you want to unwrap his secrets like flower petals, to open them fully and allow him to bloom in the rays of your sun. "i want us to be like this every day. i am sorry."

minho. gentle, determined, golden minho. his tone is sweet and his voice heavy. you hear the pain in his mind when he speaks. how can he apologise? the words feel wrong coming out of his mouth. they turn into knives and twist inside of your gut. your hand falls from your lap to hold minho's hand; and you give it an affectionate squeeze. a medley of 'i love you', and 'you have nothing to be sorry for' translates from your wordless affection.

with the wood devouring fire singing in the background, you decide your next words.

"how about.." you begin, trying to ignore the sounds of your thumping, childish heart in your ears. "we hang up the titles and the statuses — just for tonight — and be who we want to be?"

"i would like that very much." minho chuckles, and you feel his smile on your bare skin. you revel in it, and you're suddenly glad you're miles off of the grid, because you're sure minho's beaming would make every lightbulb burst with his brightness. "who do you want to be tonight, minho?" you inquire. minho's brain doesn't even register what he utters, his mouth working mindlessly and without restraint; just as you promised.

"yours."

you twist in his lap like a cloud, light and gleaming. gingerly, the pads of your fingers glide over minho's face to brush the light-kissed hair from his eyes. the apples of his cheeks peek through and his eyes crinkle into crescent moons as he smiles at your touch. the contours of his angelic face are made impossibly prettier by the firelight. his plump, rounded lips glow from the warm light of the fire — he looks so homely. minho notices your staring.

"kiss me. i've wanted it long enough," he pleads, breathless.

and so, you kiss him. in a flurry, your lips glide over minho's; his top lip captured between your teeth. his lips are warm and wet and soft and so addictive. you sigh into the kiss as you realise this is all you've wanted. ever since he kissed you in that forgotten beach where the cave will never hold the same water, you've been haunted by his soft, soft skin and his devoted touch. when you're in his arms everything clicks into place.

your lips migrate from his mouth, and stop on minho's cheeks. his skin is soft, there, too. then the jaw. nose. chin. forehead. cheekbone. you cannot stop yourself. you feel his teeth peek out from his pink lips in a smile. you love him and it's getting worse. you kiss him, intending to search and understand him. you move on your own, and adoringly kiss every inch of him that he presents to you. and minho is ready for you love. he cannot go another day of choking it back — not when it feels this enriching. you want to sob, and wail at the emotions welling up inside of you. you touch each other with the most excruciating tenderness. you use a lifetime of love to pour into minho. you keep hold of each time he made you laugh, and smile and feel safe, and thrust it all back to him, each swoon-worthy memory replaying in your head and devoting a kiss to it.

your kisses are thank yous, and i love yous, and i miss yous, and i forgive yous all at once.

the moon has never seen either of you like this before. the only time you've ever kissed was under the watchful eye of the morning sun, its rays exploding on the ocean's horizon and glittering over your shadowy cave. your lips regrettably part from minho's. he rests his forehead on yours, his unearthly lips parted and his watery brown eyes gleaming like a spell under the soft orange glow of the fire.

"from the moment i kissed you, i have not been alive since. my heart beats only for you." minho's voice is smoky, and it doesn't dare travel far. his eyes gaze into yours, and many words appear in your mind to help comprehend them: whiskey, ebony. almond, feline. sparkling. does he ever tire of being so beautiful? at times like these, where intimacy is first nature and no-one else in the world could dare to exist but each other, you conclude that it suits you fine if everyone else finds minho horrible. he is your secret. he is your minho. you love him like grief loves rain — endlessly and without restraint, end, or beginning.

you place a kiss to his temple, your eyes fluttered closed comfortably, "i am yours, minho. please, show me i am yours." you feel his chest vibrate with a low chuckle. the sound vines through your mind and its roots sink and grow into your heart. his touch sears into your skin. whether minho comes to you as a lover or an executioner, you are wholly ready to receive him.

minho's fingers cradle your cheeks, his hands gentle as he kisses up your neck. "tell me." he mutters. "do you want me because it's me," he nips at your throat. you shudder, eyes scrunched closed as you try to lose everything into his touch. "or do you want me because i'm the only one around?" he asks, and judging by his tone, he is impervious to either. your open palm presses against his chest. it pains you to clarify it, but you know it is because he has never been loved by anyone before.

"minho." you start. "no world exists in where i want you only for convenience." you see the way his shoulders twitch as he contains a sob. "in every lifetime, i love you." you watch him melt and unfold before you, his deep brown eyes filling with tears. minho blinks them away, slowly, "then, i want to be the last man to do this to you."

you can't help the smile on your lips from his assumption. you brought minho's brow level with your mouth, sore from longing, and sweetly kissed his forehead. his nose bridge is next — and it scrunches as he smiles. minho's face grew so quickly warm that you giggled. in the most unsubtle way possible, minho withdrew his hips so you wouldn't feel the heat there; he closed his pure, warm chestnut eyes, wordlessly begging you to continue. your mouth fell to his neck, peppering kisses in areas no-one would think to reach. "you are the first man to do this to me." you whisper against his jaw, and you swear you can feel his golden, tanned skin burst into a sizzling burn that rolls off of his body and onto yours.

his fingers find the hem of your thick sweater. he rolls the fabric between the pads of his fingers, "can i take this off?" minho asks. you nod, "of course." your voice is soft, slow and you realise you have waited your whole life for this moment. minho's skin is blazingly warm as he slides under your sweater and coaxed it off of your flushed body. you mirror his actions, tugging at his hoodie wordlessly. minho's movements blur together as they fly around his hoodie, leaving him shirtless and shivering from the onslaught of cold.

minho's golden skin was a plane of hard earned muscle. with a little help from the soft light, you could see occasional marks of fairer skin on his body. scars. his abs, ribs, arms and pecs were littered with shrapnel marks and in lesser places: bullet holes. his collarbones, like pillars, started at he base of his throat and spread to the ends of his shoulders. he was mythic, and held down by miles of smooth skin. at your staring, minho frowned. "it's not.. attractive, i know. i'm sorry." he bowed his head. had he gone mad?

"no." you protested, devoted fingers tracing the contours of his torso and running over the healed wounds. you watch a shiver roll down his spine at your touch, ghosting over his skin. he is so brave, and quiet, that you often forget of his suffering. "you do what you need to, i know. but, still — it suits you. minho, it's beyond attractive. it's impressive and.. beautiful." perhaps you had intended your words to be more profound, more complex, but at the sight of minho, you tend to lose your train of thought. your simple language was open; and it didn't hide how much you admired him. you love his scars because none of them come without a story. bravery, stupidity — as rare as it might be for him — minho has earned them all, and overcame them.

you delicately tuck a piece of wavy brunet hair behind minho's ear, stopping it from sweeping his ear. minho's eyes slipped closed for a moment, his thick lashes kissing the swells of his cheeks as he lets out a small, giddy laugh. it whirls around your head and makes your heart beat faster against your ribcage. it made your stomach flutter and twist like a gust of wind whipping through a spring-fresh tree. when minho opens his eyes again, his pupils look significantly more dilated than before, his pink tongue peeking out from his mouth to wet his lips. "can i touch you?"

your heart softens. a burning need to sob at his kindness overwhelms you and chokes your throat. "i get it's the gentleman thing to do," the pads of your fingers stroke his burning cheeks. "to keep asking me, but minho, you can do whatever you want to me."

you excite minho. he grins, scooping you onto his lap and burying his head into the crook of your neck, flushed skin against flushed skin. his fingers circle your hipbone, "i am only as gentlemanly as you want me to be." he muttered into your body, which trembles for his touch. you do not push minho away, instead hooking your fingers into the muscle of his shoulders and tug, pull, palm him closer to you. there will always be molecules between the both of you and it is infuriating.

like stars, the red of yours and minho's mouths collide. he breathes into your lungs; he is a wonderful creation and it's your first time seeing heaven. the deliciously veiny set of hands slide up from your hips, and he's brave enough to draw circles around your breasts with the pads of his thumbs. you expected to stay cold for a lot while longer; but your body grew scorching hot very soon. he has that effect on you. the feeling of his strong, muscular thighs between your legs forces your appetite for him to boil over in your gut.

minho had spent his whole life accommodating others. everything removable, and soft in him murdered and replaced with hardness and stoicism. vulnerably, he sits under you, open and waiting — begging for you to take him apart. his body pleads for you to sit on the bed of the long, toned muscle of his thigh. he prays you will rest your swirling head on the cushion of his stuttering heart. he is your home, do you not understand? make it yours.

your body tries to shudder as his index finger dips into the waistband of your sweatpants and traces your slit, minho's lips morphing into a smirk as he feels the damp fabric of your underwear. the texture of his veiny, strong hands feel so overwhelmingly good on your skin that you can't help yourself when your hips roll to follow his touch. your fingers sneak into his hair and tug at his roots, bringing his head up as you press your lips onto his. your insatiable mouth kissed minho with all the power you could possibly muster — making up for all the years, months, weeks, days, minutes, even seconds that your lips had not been touching.

the way minho carefully thumbs your clit replaces the fluttery, airy feeling of arousal in your gut to the exact opposite: he replaces it with a heavy, empty ache that desperately needs to be filled for your sake. your mouths melt together, lips parting and tongues spreading the taste of the other in your mouths. minho's free hand hooks into the flesh of your hip to trap you, to stop them from rolling and grinding onto his lap, your cunt desperate to feel every inch of him. these touches feel like the start of forever. you want to touch him until his name is written on every atom used to craft you. in your eyes, the meaning of forever cannot hold you down from him.

desperation sits heavy on your tongue, and you want to plead and beg for minho to love you the same way tomorrow, and the next month, and the year after that. your fingers claw into his skin, and you shudder when he kisses your tongue with the same amount of devilishness he uses to charm your need for him into something carnal. minho pulls away from you, and you see his eyes light up as his mouth fills with something to say. words. you've had enough words for a lifetime, and yet you always find yourself stopping to hear his. you expect minho to maintain his gentlemanly behaviour, as he always did.

"do you trust me?" he asks, cryptically, his eyes gleaming and you're sure you can hear him purr if you concentrate on it over your thumping heart. with every breath in my body, you want to say. you do not; instead you kiss his temple and mutter, "of course." as sweetly and as genuine as one can muster when their body is aching for an orgasmic release. minho urges you off of his lap, and you follow his lead, slowly and curiously. you watch him with your head tilted to the side in fascination. even when you do not speak, a beautiful, sweet glow grows between the both of you.

his fingertips smoothed up the fabric of your sweatpants, pulling them and your underwear off in one motion. you instinctively closed your legs at the biting cold, a gasp leaving your throat and a shiver striking through you. minho's hands cupped both of your knees, "i need you to open up, sweetheart." can you do that for me? his eyes said, watching you intently. you have so much of him in your heart that it urges you to give in, to surrender yourself to minho and trust him, like you always do. so, you do exactly that.

you let minho place one of your legs above his shoulders, the inside of your knee fitting together against the curve of his shoulder like a puzzle. he buried himself between your legs, throwing himself to your body like you were an altar, and he a sacrifice. your cheeks burned — you felt so vulnerable and exposed. minho's thumbs spreads open your sex, unraveling you like a scholar would unravel the pages of a book: ravishing each morsel and dedicating a part of their life to it. minho kisses the inside of your thighs, the tip of his nose brushing against your skin and you sob. he is the only person to come this close to you.

at the feeling of his warm breath on your sex, you shudder, thighs tensing as you suck in a breath. you see minho's eyes stare into yours, peering up at you tenderly through his lashes. "let me take care of you. i promise you'll be okay." his voice is angelic as he purrs into your cunt. it makes you feel sinful, and you strangely surrender yourself into the feeling. you nod, "i trust you, minho." you breathe into a whisper. it takes a great effort not to allow your legs to squirm in minho's arms as he collects your arousal on his thumb, sampling your taste and spreading it through his mouth. is everything he does always this sexy?

he nestles into the softness of your thighs, the soft pink swells of his lips experimentally mouthing at your wet, velvet soft sex. you slope into his touch, soft and light moans sneaking into the cycle of your shaky breaths. pleased with your reaction, minho kisses your cunt just as intensely as he kissed your mouth, his tongue sinking into your slit and setting ablaze something that resided in the cage of your hips. your heel scattered around his toned back, hips bucking into his touch — you feel minho's warm spit drizzle down the inside of your legs from your sudden movement, and his mouth dips down to collect it like the world's most devoted servant.

the winter night has leeched enough heat from the earth to give you goosebumps; and you feel it is almost intentional. you feel minho smirk into your cunt and it's enough to drive you delirious. your desire for him begins to sound like hymns, and it gnaws through your restless skin and seeps into every corner of your mind. "need you," flutters from your mouth, drooling and lips parted. minho hums smugly at your confession, releasing himself from your cunt with an obscene smack. his head tilts up, swallowing his drool and your slick, his throat rolling in the sexiest way as he swallows, and immediately your half-working mind fed you with visions of suckling, kissing, and tonguing his neck.

minho covers your entire sex with his sweetly intense, red hot mouth. he chuckles fondly into your cunt when your fingernails press and dig into his forearms; when your back arches into his tongue and when you mewl out his name like you had just discovered it. you cry out minho's name over and over, until you're sure it's etched somewhere inside of your throat. the flat of minho's pink tongue rakes and slides against your slit, top to bottom and back up again. you sink into his touch and pray for his mercy as the tip of his nose bumps and prods at your sore, puffy clit. it has your lungs pouring out a squeal, until there's no breath left in you.

"fuck, don't shut up. no-one's around to hear." minho moans into you, eyeing the way your lips parted to sob and mewl his name. he gives your clit a satisfied kiss at the way you quickly obeyed him, his soft lips wrapping around your swollen clit and devotedly sucking. it puts goosebumps on his skin, at the way your fingers brush the wispy dark stray hairs out of minho’s face, clinging onto his hair and holding on for dear life; similarly, it feels like the same way he held onto your thighs. possessive.

you feel tears brim at your eyes, and you’re unsure of the meaning behind them. are you close to crying because of unfathomable pleasures that you’re unsure you can ever come down from – or because you don’t know if this is the first and last time that minho openly touches and loves you like he is now. he loves you continuously, and intensely, and you cannot bear to let this warm moment fade into a memory that will leave you utterly cold.

minho’s middle finger slips into your sobbing cunt, and the coldness of his skin inside of your searing heat tears a noise from your throat that makes him smirk. your heel digs into the hard, toned plane of his back. you want to tell him just how excellent of a job he’s doing, but when you try, all that comes out is “god minho!”. it makes the man in question chuckle at the double meaning. most commonly, it would be heard as ‘god, minho!’ — but his ego hears it as ‘god: minho!’ and it makes him want to worship you impossibly better than he already is.

how his jaw isn't tired, you don't know. with his skilled mouth, minho paints you a heaven of love with everything he's wanted to say. he's not pressed so tightly to you to preserve heat in the bitter, desolate mountains. your relationship with your bodyguard is complicated in every way. you want nothing more than to love each other the way your hearts beg to — but your lives obstruct that only wish. people talk, and in both of your worlds, these people are dangerous and will exploit your unity until the love for each other has been gutted and ripped from your tired, weary bodies. it is unsafe to brush your thumb over minho's lips, and it is unsafe to whisper 'i love you's', even when you're both deep into the night.

but here? where nothing else exists but each other, you are free to let the years worth of accumulated love flow freely from your bodies. but you know you will not stay like this forever. now that you've gotten this close; now that you've held his face, and hands, and body, you do not want to let go. but, eventually, you must. and you must let things go back to how they once were, as you did once before after minho cradled your sobbing body and tucked you into his bleeding middle, and kissed you so lovingly — so intensely, that you still feel the raw divinity of it all bleeding from the memory of his soft, soft pink lips.

he leaves your sobbing, sensitive body with a chaste, satisfied kiss. "beautiful." you hear him mutter, his voice soft and light. you, in your half-mad daze, stir after a few moments. minho's body heat is replaced by absolutely nothing. you give him a look he knows too well. what are you doing, he reads on your face. he smiles fondly, wiping your slick off of his lips and chin, "i want you to be closer to me. for your first time, you deserve intimacy." minho kisses up your torso, hands gliding up your thighs, over your hips. you lay there, bewildered by his honesty, his touch, his voice. there's no way he's real. you must have made him up in your mind, you're half sure of it. half sure because my god no one person could ever cook up someone this profound on their own. whichever god let minho out of their army is a fool.

your relationship with minho is always tested. when you first met him, he was cold and blunt and everything frustrating. his body was leaner then, and less experienced. he was mouthy and would always get into trouble, which rubbed off on you just as he was growing out of that phase. which, of course, birthed a new dynamic of minho having to pull you out of confrontations kicking and screaming and, many times, sobbing about how much you hated him. obviously you could never hate minho — but you were hurting, and so you wanted to hurt him the same way. in many instances, you confused 'i hate you' with 'i love you', when it came to minho. you had never surrendered yourself entirely to anyone before, and you are only now realising that minho had surrendered himself to you since the first day he met you. back then, the both of you were too scared to let your hearts speak, but when you and he are pressed together like this; his lips on your skin and your hands smoothing down his hair, you don't think you can ever go about life silently ever again.

you nod in surrender, sinking into his melodic voice like a rock in water, your hips aching with arousal and your skin flushed. you trust minho completely, and you show this by winding your hands around his neck, thumbs on his cheeks and fingers splayed in his hair and on his neck, and bring him into your kiss, pressing your lips to minho's like you were a love potion, sweet and hypnotic and so close to making his heart stop with each quick, needy peck on his plump, pink lips. you can feel his smile and you can see it written all over his face when you open your half-lidded eyes to see him: his long, thick lashes kissing the swells of his cheeks as his teeth peek out and his ears flush red. in your haze, you don't realise you've both sat up until you feel your hips absentmindedly rocking on your lap, desperate for friction and dripping on your sticky skin.

minho's large, veiny hand puts your fingertips on his belt. you don't remember when he took off his weapons from his holsters, but they're forgotten about and discarded somewhere on the icy cabin floor. your kiss is broken, but your love spell is not, and as you look into minho's deep brown eyes you see his love for you in them, shining like pearls on the ocean floor. you palm the rough leathery feel of his belt, and you realise what he's asking of you. he wants you to do this part — he wants it to be you who opens him up. minho's hot- scalding hot mouth kisses your neck and his teeth nips at your skin and you don't remember how you got his belt off, just that you did.

you want to tell him not to hold back, to pour everything out and let himself be vulnerable. for years he has swarmed your mind and forced you to guess everything about him — he has been your torturer in more ways than one ever since you met him. your time before knowing minho felt like a lifetime ago. maybe you weren't truly living until you heard his sweet voice purring in your ear and his commanding, skilled hands brushing against your skin with a challenging glint in his brown eyes. you plant a kiss on minho's jaw, a silent plea, the sounds of your wet lips smacking against his skin made him smirk, the skin of his deep cupid's bow curving into a smile.

the closest you and minho could get to each other wasn't nearly close enough. your eyes closed, hands winding around his body and your lips parted in concentration. your mind was slowly shutting down, allowing all sensations to your body to become the only thing that proves you're existing. that memory of the morning beach and the fresh feeling of minho's lips on your own is the last thing you think of: the salty ocean in the air and minho's body heat leaping out of his chest as he held you, just as you hold him now. even then, in his own way, he was trying to protect you.

minho's veiny hand holds the base of his warm, girthy cock as he introduces the head of his cock onto your dripping cunt. he gives you a once over, his paradoxically bambi-esque, feline eyes landing on yours. do you want this? his deep brown eyes ask. it melts your heart in more ways than one, and you give him a slow, deliberate nod.

“i won’t hurt you.” minho mutters, voice warm, as his dark eyes carefully linger on your eyes. he waits, until you give him a response, always looking for your consent. if someone were to cut you up and take a look at your heart, you feel as though it would be tender and bleeding and undoubtedly minho’s. your hand caresses his jaw for a moment.

“i know you won’t.” you don't realise you're smiling until minho's thumb brushes against your soft lips, trying to feel the words on your mouth. you take his hand in yours, fingers knotting together as he eases into you, piercing your entrance with his length and filling you up completely. you squeeze both his cock and his hand at the same time, tightening significantly when minho's sweat sticky chest hovered over yours, in all of his muscular, warm glory.

with faces in each other's necks, pulses in the other's ears, you realise breath by breath that you had been craving and needing this for years. minho kneels before you, his hand wrapped around your thigh to secure your position. you feel minho's throbbing cock in your sex with every breath, and the closer he inches inside of you, the worse the ache hits you all at once. his touch is like lightning, thunder clapping in your mind and electricity spreading mercilessly throughout your body. your fingernails press into minho's skin, a whimper bursting through your lips as he presses his hips into yours, his hilt just barely visible to him and your slick covering the both of you.

"you look perfect," minho mutters, thumb stroking your thigh. "just tell me when, beautiful." he cooed, somehow more than happy to kneel in a suspended state of pleasure just for your sake. he's perfectly content to just be in your soul as he always is; tormenting you. minho fills you to the brim and at your command, gives you two deep, fulfilling grinds into your sex, his brows furrowing and his eyes closing as he loses himself in your hot, deep cunt. the sounds are obscene and you're infinitely grateful minho happened to fuck you where no-one else could hear.

a part of you wants to be stained and branded as his, in fear he would ever leave you. but, for minho, the pain of living without you would be unimaginable. it's decided then and there, that in his next life, he would search for you and make you his; just as he is doing now. it's took him long enough. yours and minho's sweat tacky skin sticks together with a mind of their own, and following in your bodies' footsteps, you plant a kiss to minho's plump lips, then his nose bridge, his temple, begging and urging him on.

minho's hips and by extension, his cock, ruts into your sex; your sticky, wet arousal mixing and giving the illusion that you and he are melting into one another. you couldn't say where you end and he began. you swallow a sob, cunt clenching like molten silk on minho's length. he frowns at this, withdrawing his hips from you and leaving you in agonising emptiness, his lips on the shell of your ear and his hand forgetting your thigh and smoothing back your hair, "let me hear you." he muttered in that caramel voice of his. his tone was teasing and loving and commanding all at once.

who are you to deny him?

you squirm and squeal in his grip as minho’s wet, pink mouth kisses and licks down your torso, leaving a blazing trail of spit on your skin. at the same time, his slick, warm cock caresses your slit before sinking back into your waiting, inviting cunt. you live solely on the honey of his touch, intoxicated by the way minho truly savours every curve and inch of you. ironically enough, minho knows you too well, and he would like nothing more than to forget you for this moment; so he could discover and love you for the first time all over again.

the way minho’s length rutted into the scalding, blazing hollow of your sex between the cage of your hips could rewrite your history entirely. mewl after moan escaped from your lips, only contributing to the obscene sounds in the cabin: yours and minho’s moans mixed with the vulgar sounds of minho fucking your shared arousal into your sex, paired with the sound of the only bed creaking and smacking against the cabin wall created the perfect cocktail of ambience noise. the sensations of his touch is unimaginable and it leaves you melting into the mattress, mindless and drunk off of the entirely new experience. with every passing second, minho is immensely grateful that there’s no-one around the cabin you’re staying in for miles. not that it matters much, anyway: you’re the only person that exists when you’re caged between his arms like this. everyone else ceases to exist the moment you wind your hands around his neck and your dripping sex flutters beautifully around him.

the taste of the trying pains of loving the unavailable minho for years dissolve in your mouth. your eyes roll back in bliss while your eyelids start to close simultaneously, fingers hooked into minho’s burning hot skin. your hips meet his thrusts into you, the sound oddly reminiscent of waves colliding. minho likes it when your hips meet his, and he especially likes the noises you make when you meet like two magnets.

“does that feel good?” he asks when the tip of his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. he’s teasing you — of course he knows it feels good. he just wants to hear you say it, to stroke his ego. nails digging further into his toned muscle, you swallow a cry and nod, complicit with his plans. you’re unsure what you end up mewling out, stuck between recalling it as ‘so good’, or ‘you’re good’. either way, minho almost purrs at the praise and adjusts your hips around his sides, skilled hands holding you in place as he gives you a good view of his veiny, tanned arms. with a slight change of positions you are introduced to a new world of sensations.

minho’s cock sears into you, setting your inexperienced sex ablaze. you squeal, tears flowing down your flushed cheeks and your throat growing hoarse as you let out a stringed moan that’s interrupted and punctuated with each thrust minho bestows upon you. in other words, you’re completely lost in the feeling of minho’s wonderfully skilled cock burying itself into your aching, puffy cunt.

deep within the night, minho lets you in on what he’s thinking. “can’t believe you’re this innocent..” he swoons, smirking as his hand strokes your leg, still in the perfect position he manoeuvred you into. your eyes open to glare at him, regardless if his searing hot, hard cock is giving you all the relief your body could’ve wanted. the sight above you makes you fall in love with him all over again. minho has his eyes closed, long thick lashes resting on the swells of his cheeks, pink swollen lips parted and cheeks beginning to flush as his brows furrow in concentration. his body seemed carved out of marble as it laid bare above you; like some lost piece of art. each inch of tanned muscle and raised scar and mole made you want to throw yourself onto his altar and worship him at his temple. you knew he would protect you as a god, too.

he wants to take it slow- he truly does, he tries so hard, especially considering it’s your first time — but minho concludes you feel too good and the pleased moans that flows from your lips like honey are too beautiful to ignore. your touch only entices him, drawing him in to guzzle down your love potion like his life depends on it. the temperature between your sweaty, clammy bodies climbs drastically; a contrast between the rigidly biting cold that lay inside and outside the cabin. minho’s hips ruts into you and his throat pours out a groan, guttaral and deep and drawn out as your slick cunt pulses with the weight of minho’s cock inside of you, pressing onto your guts and leaving your mind entirely fuzzy, silent almost.

the only thing keeping your mind from being fully silent is minho’s sounds repeating like a broken record. he presses his skin against yours, “wanted to do this to you f’ so long,” he slurs, clearly drunk on electrifying pleasure as his hips piston wildly and desperately into your sex, his biceps flexing as he anchors himself to the mattress. if you had half a mind to form a coherent thought, you would’ve scolded him for not fucking you sooner — but instead you answer him by letting your teeth sink into his neck, barely enough to bruise but enough for minho, even in his sex maddened daze, to differentiate it from a playful nip.

he cries out a moan, so loud you’re sure you physically felt it. your cunt clenches in response, almost purring at his sounds as your calves flail across his back in a pathetically amateurish attempt to bring minho closer to you. no matter what, you’re never satisfied with the lack of distance. perhaps it’s because you have years of experience seeing him so far away from you, but you feel as though minho could disappear through your hands like smoke at any given moment: you need him close at all times. even when he’s the closest to you he’s ever been, it cannot compete with the way your chest bleeds from the distance between you.

love isn’t gentle like people say. in songs, paintings, poems - any forms of art, really, love is always expressed as a wonderfully soft feeling that makes one feel as though their life has only just begun. but, for you and minho, love has claws and teeth which wounds never fully heal from each blow to the soul. love, for you, is a bleeding, agonising feeling that drives you mad, yet you find yourself always crawling back for another bite.

minho’s thrusts grow erratic, less rhythmic and more grinding into your newly deflowered cunt, desperate and meaner, as if he’s trying to split you open. it certainly feels that way, each slam of his hips into yours is reminiscent of a whip, slashing your skin and leaving it searing red, burning hot and without a doubt bruising in the morning. it turns less like a journey and more like a crusade — like an animalistic, primal pilgrimage that needs to leave marks in case either of you forget this night ever happened.

you struggle to find air; your mouth exhaling moans and whimpers and your nose buried into minho’s neck, close to his pulse just to feel that he’s alive, breathing and you’re not, in fact, dreaming. minho’s tone graduates from whispers to mutters to borderline yelling. you have the excitement and passion to thank for that. minho’s close, you can tell. his forearms brackets your head as he mouths kisses on your pulse, nose pressed into your jawline and scarred chest flush against your pristine skin. he jackhammers his pulsing cock into your sopping, achingly puffy cunt with so much force and vehemence you’re unsure if he loves you or hates you. he beings to forget his strength, and you’re already dreading the soreness your body will greet you with when you wake tomorrow.

your blood swirls in your head, your ears hearing it more clearer over minho’s muttering, but the few words you can make out makes your back arch and your eyes roll, mindless and so pleased to finally let minho take you like this. you hear things like ‘all mine’, ‘ruined f’ anyone else’, and ‘gorgeous like this, taking me so well’. it puts a heat in the cage of your hips so burning, intense like molten lava and even then you’d rather a thousand burning suns than this violent heat. tears trickle down your face, rolling and collecting in the hollow of your collarbones, thighs twitching and despite not even standing you want nothing more than to collapse in on yourself.

minho, on the other hand, digs his fingernails into every inch of your skin, pushing himself inside of you so eagerly you genuinely let out a cry, chest heaving as he bottoms out, the feverish desire for you reaching its high as he ruts his hips into you, balls sore and heavy as his orgasm finds him more intensely and quicker than a gunshot. it’s almost instant: like a flash of white, he’s pumping your cunt with pearly hot cum with his throat exposed, fully vulnerable.

the stringy fluid between the both of you is never ending, your own orgasm hitting you so harshly that your voice falls silent, eyes screwed shut and clutching minho’s hand so tightly that blood cannot get to his fingers. you’re sobbing; writhing under him, cunt spasming and lungs thrashing inside of your body, desperate to get air inside themselves. devoted, loving minho is there to coax you through it, kissing at your sweat slicked temple and brushing hair out of your face, “attagirl, you’re alright, breathe, sweetheart. i’ve got you, there we go, deep breaths, such a good girl you are,” he coos, fawning over you and stroking your arm.

you swear that as you hit your orgasm, you felt realms blur together and as you unavoidably came down from your high, you’re disoriented and unsure which plane of reality you’ve landed on. you’re exhausted and you’re seeing everything from a different perspective, and you realise even from above, fucked out and more exhausted than you, minho looks angelic. his golden skin is glistening and glowing in the dim light like a statue, and you want nothing more than to take him in your arms and kiss him until there’s no love left in your body.

you pay no mind to the wetness of cum flowing out of your sex in sporadic waves, instead busying yourself with showering minho in a heaven of love, courtesy of your kisses and sweet talk. he blushes and smiles at your kisses, his arm wrapping you into his chest and holding the back of your head loosely and protectively.

on the brink of falling asleep, you realise you couldn’t care less if you’re not the same devoted lovers tomorrow, or even after your retreat to a desolate mountain cabin is finished. all that matters is now — and you’ve both expressed that if it was up to you, this night would be an everyday occurrence, as is falling asleep next to each other and the obligatory ‘i love yous’. now that you’re worn out, on your side and half asleep already, you nestle into minho’s body and surrender yourself to any outcome. the memory of this night is enough to keep you from a lifetime of longing and want. once again, your minho has proven his devotion to you, and once again you find yourself feeling invincible in his touch.

on the fragile knife’s edge of sleep, minho strokes your clammy skin and you’re certain you hear him mutter into your hair: “i don’t think i want to go back to being minho. i want to stay yours forever. won’t you let me?” and even half asleep, your heart simultaneously flutters and crumbles. the first thing you’ll do tomorrow is kiss him until your lips are bruised and tell minho over and over again how he cannot be anything but yours — no matter who objects, no matter the danger, you and minho will remain as you did tonight.

[mae-gi-writes]

Finders Keepers | Gally [TMR] - Part 5

In which Gally gets soft for one of the boys in the Glade, only…is it a boy? alternatively; In which Mai disguises herself into a boy to fit in the Glade, only to be suspected by the keen eyes of the Builder's Keeper.

taglist: @edynmeyer1 @ss28 @kurowvie @vaugarkel

A/N: omg omg things are starting to roll and I'm so down for all of it. What do you think so far of Gally and Mai?

Also available on Wattpad.

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"The shuck you lookin' at?"

"I'm not looking at anything," says Mai as she plops another spoonful of mashed potatoes in Gally's plate, all while keeping a watchful eye on Frypan. The latter is currently grilling sausages and whistling to himself. She pushes the already-filled plate towards Gally and hisses, "just take it."

"You like him," Gally says it like a statement, not even a question. The idea has Mai's ears burn red, "no I don't. Now stop talking to me so I can go back to work."

A few days have passed since the incident and apart from a few weird looks from Jeff and Clint, Mai has escaped their tirade of questions for this month. For now, she's safe and back out of the radar.

Safe from everyone, except for Gally, who seems to have other ideas.

Like right now currently, when he's adamant that Mai has a crush on Minho. It doesn't help that Minho is cute and does make her blush from time to time. But hey, who can blame her? The Runner is a hugger and enjoys physical touch. He does it with everyone, so it's not like she can just ask him to back off without reason. That'll make him even more suspicious.

Gally doesn't think so, "what d'you like about him anyway? He's an asshole and he's full of himself."

"You are the asshole, Gally," Mai flicks her fork at him with a scowl, "now get lost."

She's not one to daydream of such things but she swears that something has changed between them within the past week. Gally somehow feels less aggressive. Oh, don't get her wrong, he still bullies her to death when no one's looking, but Mai likes to think that his actions speak louder than words.

And it feels as though he doesn't really mind having her around him.

But being friends with Gally also means to be bullied by others because of it. The first time it happened, she'd been busy unloading some meat from her cart when one of the Gladers pushed her over when she wasn't looking. She fell to the ground, eyes narrowed into slits as the Gladers around her laughed, but decidedly ignored them in favour of keeping the peace.

That doesn't stop them from trying to get something out of her.

It happens on an evening where all Keepers had been called to a meeting. Mai had been busy tasked with collecting some firewood for the Kitchens as Frypan needed more for the fires, and had been so engrossed in the task that she is surprised to find that night had fallen before she'd known it.

It's dark out now and with no light to guide her, she grips the sack of branches close to her chest as she treads carefully, squinting to follow the light of the Homestead.

"Oh look what we have here."

She freezes, turns over her shoulder slowly until she comes face to face with one of the Gladers that's been annoying her ever since she can remember; Henry.

He's one of the Builders, just as buff as Gally but short and squat, making him look rounder than he appears. His face makes Mai want to run for it and as he grins, she swears she feels her feet tremble. The desire to run prickles the back of her neck.

"Give it a rest Henry," Mai says flatly. It's been a while and she's not in the mood for this games.

"You know, we're in a Glade full of boys." He advances towards her and from the trees come out more Gladers, ones that she's unfamiliar with. Her stomach clenches with apprehension and she takes a shaky step back, "so we have needs, and sometimes, we need someone to fullfill those needs."

"That's pathetic," she snaps. Fear is pounding at her heart, causing a permanent ringing to thrum through her ears.

"Is it?" His grin widens, "let's find out."

Mai doesn't wait. She turns to break into a run—

But arms grab at her before she can, throwing her to the ground as a cry leaves her lips. Someone swivels her around roughly before she's forced to kneel at the knees.

"Stop it!" She yells out, tears starting to gather in her eyes at the thought that maybe there's no way out of this. Shit. And it's dark, nobody wanders to the forest in the dark.

The other gladers laugh like she's burst out a joke, "he's cute. I like him." One of them says.

"Let's see if he's got more spike than this," and to her horror, Henry starts to unzip his pants right before her eyes.

Mai's head jerks away, "stop it! Help!" She tries to shout as loud as her lungs would go, to no avail. The gladers swarm around her like a pack of Hyenas and she can't help but look at Henry's girth. It's red and throbbing and makes her want to throw up.

No. She begs silently, tears streaming down her face as she tries to push and shove and bite and kick-- anything, anything--

A hand clamps down on her skull, stopping her from moving altogether.

"Let's see what you're made of Greenie," Henry cackles as he advances forward, holding his girth in his hand. He grabs hold of her hair and pulls, roughly, until she's face to face with it. Her eyes squeeze shut as she hears him laugh out like a maniac. It sends chills down her spine, even more so when he squeezed her head--

"Everything all right here?"

The hand freezes. As does everyone.

Mai's throat bobs. A sob breaks out of it.

Through tear-rimmed eyes, she can barely make out two figures at the far end of the forest.

But she feels like she knows this voice. It's one that she hears everyday.

"Gally," Henry is quick to let go, zipping up his pants in the process though still keeping his hold on her hair, "what are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that," a new voice. Newt's, speaks up as the slim figure advances forward. There's a dangerous tone to it, the kind that's like a warning bell and the other Gladers seem to sense it too, moving back slowly and away from Henry, letting go of her arms in the process.

"Just having a little fun here with the Greenie," he tries to sound confident, but it's clear he fears his Keeper. But his mistake is asking, "what do you say? Wanna—"

His words barely make it out of his mouth before a fist swings out in his direction.

Henry goes down with a cry. A series of footsteps thump along the ground, and there stands Gally, breathless and looking absolutely terrifying. Furious.

"You disgusting shank," he grabs Henry's collar, jerks him up before delivering another blow. And another, and another—

"Gally!" Newt shouts. The said Builder stops in mid-action, looking down at Henry's bloodied face with his jaw still clenched. Newt continues, "that's enough, man. Let him go."

Gally's still glaring, hold tightening even further.

"Gally," Newt repeats more firmly and this time the Builder lets him go, Henry falling to the ground in a heap, "I'll bring them back to Homestead. Let Alby deal with them."

Newt then jerks his head towards the lights, "come on then. Right now."

The gladers have no other choice but to obey the second-in-command with their eyes cast down and away from Gally's furious glare. Not that he notices. He's looking down at Henry, shoving him to the ground with one last threatening curse as the latter yelps and runs as far away as he possibly can.

It is then that Mai's knees give out and she crumples up like a broken doll, chest tight and breaths coming out in small gasps.

Gally turns to her and in his voice she hears a tinge of softness, "hey Greenie."

He closes the distance between them before leaning down so that they're face to face, "are you alright?"

The girl opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it once more, to realize that nothing can come out. Her limbs are frozen in place, her heart still racing like a horse against her chest. She can feel the tear stains on her cheeks, carving paths down her skin and maybe it's just the shock of it all that causes a sob to echo out of her throat.

She starts crying, and Gally's hand lands on her shoulder.

"Hey hey, it's fine. They're gone," his gentleness surprises her, for he's never been like this. He's not usually, not in their every day life. But sitting here with her as she cries her heart out makes her chest warm despite the earlier events, like a beacon of security, a barrier of protection against the world. That's how Gally feels to her.

Before she knows it, she's thrown herself at him, not caring that he still believes she's a guy. Grabbing a hold of his shirt with both hands, the girl doesn't hesitate to bury her face in his chest as she feels the Builder freeze.

It's only for a moment though, a tiny fraction of a second, before his arms go around her — they're hesitant, unsure — and settle on her back.

He gives her a few awkward pats. She can feel the tension along his neck.

"Right greenie. No need to cry," he says gruffly against her hair, but not pulling away when she nuzzles even closer still. His warmth and scent are addictive, they feel like home in a foreign place. Mai realizes she kind of likes it, "these shanks aren't gonna touch you again, not after Alby's punishment."

But Mai is in her own world, clinging to Gally's comfort like it's the only thing holding her in place, the only stability she has as the emotions tremble through her, courses through her chest and knots in her stomach. It's like a dam finally breaking open and so Gally realizes he has no other choice but to be here for a while, and so decides to pat her on the back, trying not to take note of how slim the Greenie is under his fingertips, how tiny and fragile, almost—

No. No. No. You are not going there.

Mai finally calms down after what seems to be like an eternity, her sobs dying out into sniffles. The Builder's hand has moved up to her head since, smoothing down over her short hair almost absentmindedly. He drops it like he's burnt himself upon realization, pulling a grimace as he does so.

She whispers out his name so softly he barely hears it. He looks down at her with a soft frown, one that's swimming with genuine concern, only to hear the girl say, "thank you for saving me."

He's about to reply when Mai interrupts him by pressing a kiss.

Right onto his cheek.

----

Mai realizes a bit too late what she's doing.

She jerks away at the same time that Gally's mouth drops open. The girl scrambles back in surprise, eyes wide as she holds up her hands in a defensive stance.

"I—I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me I—" her squeak dies out as she watches the said young man rub at his cheek, where her lips had been a few seconds prior. He's not looking at her, glaring down at the ground and a flush creeping up the back of his neck.

"Gally I—"

"Forget it."

He's already walking away so fast that Mai has to scramble to catch up to him. Her heart is galloping like a wild horse against her chest, but not for the same reason this time. She feels the permanent blush taking over her face as she tries to stutter through a bunch of excuses, "I'm so sorry Gally, I—It won't happen again it's just— you know, I was scared in the moment and I—"

"I said forget it Greenie," he snaps as he keeps walking.

Mai's shoulders slump. Great, she thinks to herself, way to get him disgusted with me.

The rest of the walk back to Homestead is quiet and Mai decides it's better not to interrupt the peace until they reach the Council room. The gladers responsible are already inside, Henry included. Mai can't help but wince and hide behind Gally's broad back when she feels his dirty eyes on her frame.

Alby is in the middle of giving them their punishment, "—three days in the Slammer, no food, and when you get back from there, you're all gonna be Slicers until you apologize to Mai. Sincerely." He adds coldly, "consider this a merciful punishment. I could've have you banished if I wanted."

The Gladers murmur out their thanks. Not Henry, whose beady eyes are still locked on Mai's frame.

"Mai's lying to us," he suddenly calls out. The room falls silent as all eyes drag to Henry.

Mai freezes on the spot. Oh no. Has she not been discreet enough? Is this what she thinks it is?

Will she be going into the Slammer too?

"What do you mean?" Asks Alby.

Newt is also frowning at the said glader, eyebrows kissing at the center as his gaze trails over to Mai.

"This—" Henry jabs a shaky finger into Mai's direction, "This is a girl! She's been lying to us this whole time!"

"What in the bloody world are you talking about?" Newt asks but it's too late. Everyone has already spun around to look at Mai and each passing second that goes by causes Mai's reality to shatter because the truth is coming out, and the truth— no matter how hard she tries to hide — is real.

Her eyes move from the disbelief in Newt's, to the confusion in Alby's, before finally landing on Gally's blue gaze. His are a stormy aquamarine, something like realization causing the color in his eyes to shift and widen.

She can't deal with it. Not with them all looking at her like she's a sick secret.

So she does what she knows best.

She runs.

———

The Council room erupts into chaos as soon as Mai sprints away like her life depends on it.

Gally's first, already striding to the door with purpose only to be stopped by a pair of arms.

"Wait," Alby holds onto him with his jaw clenched and tight, "Gally, stop."

"I—" but Gally's thoughts are scattered and nonsensical, the memories of the Greenie, all the shower nights and the suspicious behavior, that one time Mai claimed he had a stomach ache because he was hungover... everything is starting to make sense and he has no idea how to deal with it.

"Gally," Alby's voice brings him back and the Builder allows himself to be pushed into a vacant bench. His fists tighten at his sides as he glares into the ground, one hand unconsciously going up to rub at his face in growing exasperation.

Shit. He's already feeling a headache coming in.

Henry, on the other hand, seems to be delighted at the unfolding of events, "see?! i told you she was a girl! And now she's shuckin' scared for her life because she lied to all of us—"

"Shut up Henry," Newt interrupts, his voice shaking with so much restrained anger that it takes everyone by surprise, "you're still an asshole for what you did to her. So slim it or I'm throwing you headfirst into the maze."

That, coming from Newt, instantly causes the said boy to close his mouth. Alby advances towards him slowly, a certain kind of darkness in his eyes that wasn't there before. He feels like a predator ready to pounce on his prey and all too soon Henry starts squirming.

"What you said about Mai," Alby starts off slow, though the venom in his voice is unmistakable, "that's a very serious accusation, shank. Do you even know what you're saying?"

"I saw her!I swear I did and--"

"So you spied on her?" Gally's rage increased tenfold. He wants nothing more than to wring his petty neck. He feels Newt's hand on his shoulder, a reminder to stay composed, and tries to relax.

It doesn't work.

"Well--I--I mean I had to, to prove my point--" Henry's eyes dart back and forth between the Glade Leader and the Builder that looks like he's going to kill him and place his head on a pike, "listen, the point is, she's not who she says she is. She's a shuckin' liar, a traitor! She's the one that should be thrown into the Maze because she broke the rules!"

"We'll be the judge of that," Alby cuts him off sternly. He turns to Newt, "get these slintheads into the Slammer. And him--" he points at Henry, "he doesn't get out of there until we know what we're gonna do with him."

"What?!" Henry tries to flail away from the other Gladers circling around him to grab at his arms, "I've protected the Glade from this chick. We don't even know what she can do! If she's the only girl maybe she's hiding something--"

But Gally's had enough. His hand jerks out, grabbing a fistful of Henry's shirt before wrenching him close so that they're face to face with each other. And when he speaks, his voice is merely above a growl.

"Listen here, you slinthead," Henry can't help but let out a whimper when Gally tugs him even closer, teeth baring dangerously and eyes so narrow and cold they look merciless, "maybe she did have her reasons for lying to us. And even if she did, that doesn't give you the right to spy on her, or to take advantage of her like that," Gally snarls, "do you understand me?"

"Y--Yes," Henry stutters before a few other Gladers pull him away from the Builder's trembling, raging gaze that speaks volumes.

It is only when Alby's hand drops onto his shoulder that Gally realizes he's gone back into his thoughts without realizing that the Council room is now void of people.

"I think you should go and find Mai," Alby says gently, totally unlike how he'd been a few minutes earlier, "we can't seem to find him -- her."

Truth to be told, Gally wouldn't blame Mai for trying to get away from all this shit show when she's had enough to deal with in one evening. But it's still night and Gally's starting to worry about whether the guy -- girl -- will freeze to death. The Glade is known for being relentlessly cold at night time and if he remembered correctly, Mai had been wearing nothing but a loose t-shirt.

He searches everywhere. The showers, under the kitchen tables, amidst the hammocks. He even goes out of his way to light a torch as he ploughs through the forest with Newt and a sleepy Minho who'd been woken up for the occasion, to no avail. It seems that Mai has just disappeared into thin air and despite the fact that Gally tries to brush it off, he can't quite help the way his stomach knots itself into two at the thought of Mai being all alone in the dark.

That is, until he decides to prowl through the trees.

He finds her then, cooped up amidst a few branches a few feet above ground, high enough that no one would've normally noticed her presence. He catches sight of her tensing as he approaches, the black outline of her figure moving back slowly as if fearing the worst. So he calls out, just in case:

"Hey Greenie," he pauses, waiting. The figure stays immobile, "it's just me."

Nothing. Silence that tears through the open space with the only interruption being the whistle of trees and the groaning of metal from the maze in the distance. It feels like forever and Gally has half a mind to climb up there himself when she finally speaks.

"I'm sorry."

He squints up at her, "don't be stupid. Just get down."

"I've lied. Henry's right," she blurts out, "I am a girl, I just didn't know how to tell you all without you freaking out about it."

"So what?" Gally responds, "Now we know. Big deal. Now get down so we can go back to Homestead to get some sleep."

He inclines his lamp towards hers so that he catches a glimpse of her face, and sure enough, the fear etched into her features is one that is reminiscent of a doe caught in broad daylight, causing something in the pits of Gally's stomach to soften.

She's so fragile. How in the world had he not noticed it then?

No. He had noticed.

He just hadn't wanted it to be true.

"Come on Greenie," Gally murmurs out, extending a hand in the process, "are you gonna keep making me wait?"

"I never asked you to wait for me, or to look for me, for that matter," She shoots back, "you can go back to sleep there and I'll stay here."

"Greenie."

"Gally."

He lets out a puff of air, "don't make me come and get you myself."

A ghost of a goosebump shivers up her spine at his words before Mai finally lets out a sigh of her own, "alright fine. On one condition."

"What?"

"I--" she bites onto her lower lip, chews it for a few seconds before looking back at him shyly. When she speaks next, her voice has dropped to a soft murmur, "can I stay with you? I--I don't feel safe. Not tonight."

Gally's heart almost explodes. Here she is, looking like a pretty thing stranded up in those trees with those big brown eyes looking down with glistening tears, and she's asking if she can stay with him for the night. He wonders whether people die from heart attacks as a result of personal interactions because he swears he can feel his heart almost jumping out of his chest. His skin feels warm to the touch and he wouldn't be surprised if someone were to point out that he's blushing.

Nevertheless, he keeps his voice steady and tender when he answers, "yeah alright."

[enbyenvy666]

personal pornstar part 2/? - cis!ver

After your first date with the Pro Hero pair, they invite you to their home, where things get a little spicy and not just from the food.

established!kiribaku x masc!reader part 1 | trans!ver word count - 2.6k

CONTENT WARNINGS - 18+ MDNI, eating food, sex work, reader has nipple piercings lol, anal sex, kirishima doesn't have sex but he's there lmao, swearing, slight size kink themes, possessiveness from bakugo, murder mentioned (characters watch a horror movie), no beta we die like men

The giddiness from the date didn’t wear off for days, making work a little more tolerable. But the threat of impending bills had you eager to set up another meeting with the heroes. And they seemed to reciprocate that feeling. 

Kirishima would text you daily, having conversations with you that lasted all day, with some input from Bakugo when he felt like chiming in. Sometimes he would send you a selfie of the two of them, Kirishima with his signature bright smile and Bakugo with a scowl. Getting to know both of them made meeting up with them a little less intimidating, so when they invited you out for dinner again, you felt less nervous than last time.

This time dinner would be at their place, which was a nice, two-story home in the suburbs away from the bustling city you were used to listening to at night. Standing at their front door, you took a shaking breath before pressing the doorbell button. You could hear it softly chiming inside the home before the door swung open, revealing Bakugo who scowled when he saw you.

“Don’t you have any other clothes?” He barked. You had worn the same button-up and slacks again because, well, they were your only nice clothes. He dragged you inside and gestured to a pair of slippers by the door. He marched past you to the thin grey wood table near the coat rack which had a bowl for their keys and other little knickknacks. He grabbed the pristine leather wallet that sat upon it and pulled out some more dollar bills, stuffing them into your hands.

“Here, get yourself something else to wear.”

“I can’t-“ you argued, trying to give him back the money. He shook his head and tried to practically shove it into your pocket. You reached into your other pocket to pull out your wallet which had the change from the taxi money from the last time you saw them.

“I still have this.”

Bakugo took the money he was trying to give you and put it in your wallet before putting it back in your pocket. It was slight but you still noticed the way his hand slid a little further back as if to reach around your thigh to your rear.

“The whole point of this ‘service’ is that we pay you for being with us,” he grumbled as he took your hand, leading you through his home and into the kitchen. The smell of herbs and spices filled the air, making your stomach rumbled and mouth water. Kirishima was standing by the stove, idly stirring whatever was in the frypan so it wouldn’t burn. The redhead smiled when he saw you, quickly moving out of the way as Bakugo stomped to the stove, grumbling about his husband ‘doing it wrong’.

Kirishima retrieved some glasses and a bottle of wine before exiting the cooking area, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he passed, walking over to the nearby dining room table. He popped the cork off the wine bottle, making you jump at the sound. He chuckled and apologised as he poured the wine into the glasses. He placed a glass in front of a chair and gestured for you to sit. You quickly complied, taking a sip from the glass. He sat down at the head on the table beside you and once again held your hand on your table, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

He made some small talk, asking how the trip over was and how you had been since you last saw him. You asked him about his work and what being a hero was like, but when you could see the tiredness in his eyes while he answered, you couldn’t help the guilty feeling bubbling up. Just as you felt like the conversation was dying, Bakugo marched over and (somewhat aggressively) placed down three plates of food on the table.

“Hope you like spice,” he smirked, sitting down across from you. Just the scent of spice from your plate was making your throat burn. You could handle spice but this… this seemed extreme. The first bite was bearable, the next a little less so, the third had you sweating. The wine didn’t help to cool your mouth, and eventually, you had to admit you needed some water.

“Aw, can’t handle it?” Bakugo teased but still stood from the table to retrieve a drink for you. He came back with a glass of milk, which you thankfully gulped down. Kirishima’s ruby eyes were trained on your lips and the white, creamy liquid. He cleared his throat, averting his gaze as his cheeks grew pink.

“It took me a while to get used to his cooking,” he chuckled, trying to distract himself. Thanks to several glasses of water and milk, you managed to get through the meal. It was very tasty, you couldn’t deny that, but the heat that came with it was almost unbearable. You attempted to help clean up, but the two heroes wouldn’t let you lift a finger. Even when you argued you were here to provide a service for them, they would just chuckle and tell you to sit down.

After the dishes were cleaned, Kirishima took you by the hand and led you to their lounge room, guiding you to sit on the couch. A movie had already been queued up, some kind of horror movie from the 80s, possibly indie as you didn’t recognise the title. With a hero sat either side of you, the movie began, the soft light from a floor lamp in the corner casting a soft, warm glow through the room.

The movie had a bit of a slower pace, and soon you found Bakugo’s muscular arm around your shoulders, and Kirishima’s large hand on your thigh just above your knee. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, the same smell of cologne intoxicating your senses,

“Y’know, Kats tried this same trick on me when we started dating. Played a scary movie so I would get scared and he would protect me.”

“But you’re a lot braver than I expected,” Bakugo smirked, playing with the baby hairs at the back of your neck, goosebumps rising across your arms. As the movie progressed, it came to the classic sex scene while the masked killer stalked the young couple. The scene was more sensual than what you expected, with lingering shots of beads of sweat running across the mounds and valleys of lean, tan bodies. Sexy music accompanied moans and whimpers, hands groping thighs and breasts.

You had to adjust the collar of your shirt, your whole body growing warm as you watched the scene unfold. A shot of the woman’s face twisted in bliss had you glancing away. To the shelves around the TV, and some of the arty paintings on the wall, until you spotted Bakugo beside you, particularly the rise in his pants between his legs. It appeared that the scene was affecting him too, and maybe the wine made those feelings stronger. Seeing how much enjoyment he was getting from the movie reminded you of why you were here in the first place.

Your palm slid over his thigh, fingertips brushing against the hardness of his crotch. His head snapped down, searching for the source of the soft feeling. Finding you were the source of the gentle touches, he smirked, his arm falling from your shoulders to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to his side. Your gaze flickered between your hand and his face, watching for any reactions that told you to stop. Every time you would palm his cock harder, his eyes would flutter close, and you could just hear the sighs he let out over the increasingly tense music from the movie.

His head lolled back onto the backrest of the couch with a hum, his fingers occasionally twitching against your side. After twisting around to face him, you started to unzip his pants. But he could feel how your hand shook and hesitated, lifting his head to meet your uncertain eyes.

“You don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable.”

“This is what I’m here for, isn’t it?” With his pants unzipped, you wrapped your hand around his cock, the fabric of his underwear still in the way. He cursed under his breath, thighs tensing. He reached over to cup your cheek, pulling you even closer against him so your chest met his.

“Fuck you’re cute,” he muttered before finally kissing you. His lips were softer than you expected, and you could still taste the spice from dinner on his tongue. His cock became impossibly harder in your hand, his underwear growing darker over his tip as you stroked him. He reached down, his hand roughly groping your ass, hand perfectly fitting the fatty globe. You gasped into his lips, drawing out a chuckle from Kirishima.

“Don’t play too rough Kats,” he warned light-heartedly, his larger hand stroking your back as if trying to soothe you. Bakugo parted his lips from you, and stared at you with hooded eyes, waiting for a response.

“I don’t mind,” you whispered, receiving a toothy smirk from him. With a rough push, he had you on your back on your couch, your head on Kirishima’s lap. Bakugo started to unbutton his shirt, and you quickly did the same, albeit with shaking hands. The cooler air made goosebumps rise on your now bare torso. Bakugo’s crimson eyes stared down at your chest, his tongue running over his lip.

“That’s fuckin’ hot.” He reached down, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your nipple before gently playing with the metal balls at either end of the bar piercing the bud. Little sparks of pleasure shot through your veins from the touches, biting your lips to silence your mewls. 

With your legs around his hips, Bakugo helped you remove your pants and underwear, pushing his own down enough to reveal his cock to your prying eyes. Feeling it was one thing, but seeing it was another, and it looked way bigger than you were expecting. Long, with veins running along the sides, pearls of precum glinting in the light of the TV.

Stroking your cock in his soft hand forced gasps and whimpers out of you, gripping the couch cushion in one hand and Kirishima’s knee in the other to ground yourself. Your toes curled as he stroked you, precum slowly pearling at your tip.

“You like that baby?” He teased, smearing your precum with his thumb as it circled your reddening tip. You could feel Kirishima shifting, and the sound of a draw opening, but you were in too much bliss to care.

“Mhm,” you moaned, lip pinned between your teeth as your back arched. Over your head, Kirishima handed Bakugo a small bottle, which you correctly assumed to be lube. The whine that left your lips when he let go of your cock was needy and desperate. Watching him with hooded eyes, he squirted some of the lube onto his hand and wrapped it around your hard cock.

You couldn’t stop the flurry of moans he pulled out of you with each slick stroke of your cock, scooping up some of the clear liquid that dripped down to your sack in his other hand. Two fingers circled your hole, slowly making the muscle relax until he was able to push the digits inside. Your gasp was like music to his ears, scissoring his fingers inside you to stretch you enough to fit his cock. Kirishima laid his hand on your cheek, thumb soothingly rubbing over the warm skin to keep soothe you through the bliss Bakugo was giving you. 

With the lube still coating his palm, he let go of your cock (much to your disappointment) to stroke his own, coating it in lube. After fitting a third finger inside you, he removed them as well, lining up his tip to your entrance. But he hesitated, one hand holding your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Even with his pupils blown wide with lust, there was a seriousness in his eyes, like he was ready to stop at a moment's notice.

“Yes,” you whispered while nodding. With your consent, he slowly thrust himself inside you. Feeling his head pop inside of you made you flinch, he was a lot bigger than you were used to. He stretched you to fit him perfectly, slowly pulling his hips away before thrusting back in quickly. It hurt, a slight soreness accompanying each thrust but it was quickly overtaken by pleasure that made your body tingle.

“Bakugo~” you whimpered when he gripped the underside of your thighs, pushing them further apart so he could thrust his cock deeper inside.

“Katsuki,” he corrected, thrusting faster and harder till your eyes were rolling back.

“Call me Katsuki or I’ll fuck you till you forget your name.”

“Katsuki,” you moaned, even though his threat sounded intriguing. Kirishima continued to gently stroke your face and play with your hair, softly cooing down at you while his husband fucked you like he couldn’t resist. Even as your fingernails dug into his leg, he still touched you calmly. Katsuki was balls deep inside you with every thrust, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass and thighs echoing through the room, drowning out the screams of the people being murdered in the movie.

He moaned unabashedly, your back arching as you felt a coil start to tighten in your stomach, your hole tightening around his cock at the same time.

“Gonna cum pretty boy?”

With hearts in your eyes, you nodded quickly, unlatching your death grip on the couch cushion to stroke your dick, bringing you that much closer to bliss. Katsuki’s brow was knitted as his thrusts grew erratic, hips barely falling into a rhythm as he chased his high. Tighter and tighter, the coil finally snapped, making you call his name in pleasure, white ropes of cum coating your stomach and chest in streaks. The way your hole clamped down around him brought him to his orgasm, painting your insides white. His shallow thrusts pushed his seed deeper inside you as if to claim you as his.

Curses flew from his gritted teeth, hips finally stilling, balls deep inside you. Releasing the grip on your thighs, he steadied himself on the couch as he panted, leaning down to press a passion-fueled kiss to your lips. Kirishima’s hand finally left your face, instead gently pushing Katsuki’s hair back from his damp forehead. The blonde sat back up, sitting on his shins as he gripped your hip to keep you still. With gently coaxing, Kirishima got you to let go of his leg so he could stand up, lifting your head off his lap. Your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath, Katsuki already breathing normally. Damn, that pro-hero stamina.

Kirishima returned, and upon seeing him, Katsuki slowly pulled his softening cock out of your stuffed hole, dragging a whimper from you with it. Kirishima handed a wet cloth to Katsuki, which he used to clean himself with. A second cloth was swiped over your torso, the coldness making you gasp and flinch.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Kirishima said with a pouty smile, quickly but gently cleaning you.

“Cold,” you whimpered, mind still in a haze. He chuckled, removing the rag once he was done. Katsuki stood from the couch, pulling up his pants and underwear, retrieving your tossed-aside clothes. Sitting up, you started buttoning your shirt as you were handed your underwear and pants. The movie had ended long ago, left on the title screen as it had been forgotten. Pulling your pants up and finding your phone still in your pocket, you pulled it out and checked the time. Shit, it was late. With hurried goodbyes, you left their warm, comforting home to go back to your dingy apartment. ------

a/n - first smut ahhhhh, please tell me if there's any ways i can improve! also the fic name is a bludnymph song, hopefully i'll figure out how to link it eventually lol