Maze runner one shot requests

Mud---Newt imagine

Thunk.

Your shovel dug into the earth, penetrating the dirt.

Turning soil.

Not exactly your dream job as a track-hoe, but you liked it enough.

You scooped the dirt out of the hole, flipping it over, letting the dirt drop back in the hole.

You sighed, leaning back, tilting your head to the sky.

"Why do we have so much dirt in the glade?"

A voice laced in a British accent replied.

"Well what would be the equivalent? Ice? Water? I think we got off pretty easy."

You let your head drop to the blond boy next to you, who was also shoveling dirt.

"Aw, c'mon Newt. Ice wouldn't be so bad."

Newt looked up, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

"For me it would be. I wouldn't be able to take a single step without falling over!"

You laughed, mostly because what he said was true.

Newt probably wouldn't be able to stand on ice without his limp, but with?

That would absolutely not end well.

That thought reminded you of Newt's limp.

You'd been in the glade almost a year, and you still hadn't convinced him to tell you how it happened.

The fact that most of the time you were too flustered around him to make complete sentences didn't help.

"So, Newt, about your limp-"

Newt cut you off, all the cheerfulness draining from his voice.

"(Y/N). . ."

You stood up straighter, ready to plead like always.

"Newt, you can tell me."

Newt didn't respond, and you didn't push anymore. Newt's mouth twisted into a sort of grimace as he turned back to the dirt, attacking it once more.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

You were about to turn back to your own work, when something wet landed on the back of your neck.

You flinched a little, reaching up to feel your wet neck.

By then, more drops of rain were falling, slow at first, but hurriedly speeding up.

You turn to Newt, who was muttering under his breath.

"Shuck!"

When you didn't move, Newt grabbed your hand, dragging you into the deadheads, and under a large tree.

You sat, almost stunned, looking down at your hands intertwined, then back up at Newt, who blushed, letting your hand go.

Your hand felt empty and cold without his.

The dirt was slightly wet under the tree, small chunks of firewood and sticks mixed in with the dirt.

The tree was on the edge of the deadheads, and you could see the now empty field you had been working in only a few minutes before, all the other gladers already in shelter as well.

The rain had sped up, running into puddles and soaking into the earth.

You suddenly felt extremely warm and dry and cozy under that tree with Newt.