Multifandom One-shots

153. The Carved Charm of Hope - Newt x female reader (The Maze Runner)

Another one-shot for my beautiful and handsome readers!

I'm excited to share another one-shot with you! I hope you're having a fantastic day or night, no matter where you are in the world. A big thank you to for the request! I really hope this story meets your expectations and brings to life what you envisioned. 

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The Glade had a strange way of making you feel alone, even when surrounded by people. Y/N had felt that for the longest time after she arrived. As one of the first, long before Newt, Minho, or Thomas, she had awakened to a disorienting reality—a cold metal box, the only remnant of her identity being her name, thrust into a landscape where survival was paramount.

Alby had been the first to greet her, his commanding voice instilling a sense of reassurance. Chuck, still innocent and wide-eyed, had tugged at her sleeve that day, brimming with inquiries and curiosity. Yet it was Gally—Gally—who had truly made her feel at home in the Glade.

Gally's demeanor was anything but gentle, but that was precisely what she appreciated. He was fiercely protective, his gruff exterior concealing a profound, albeit unspoken, care. To Y/N, he had become akin to a brother, the kind of individual who would traverse any distance to ensure her safety.

"Oi, Y/N!" Gally's deep voice pierced through her reverie as he tossed a canteen toward her, the sharp clang of metal resonating in the evening air. "Drink something before you keel over, shank."

She caught the canteen deftly, offering him a quiet smile. "I'm fine," she replied softly, well aware that Gally would never accept that as a satisfactory answer.

He crossed his arms, his stance unyielding. "You always say that. But just 'fine' doesn't cut it. You've been pushing yourself too hard."

Y/N's lips curled upward once more as she sipped from the canteen, the cool water soothing her parched throat. She had come to know Gally well enough to perceive the care concealed beneath his gruff exterior. His protectiveness was one of the few constants in the unpredictable landscape of the Glade; despite the absence of blood ties, it felt as though they were family.

"I don't need to be coddled, Gally," Y/N teased gently. "I can handle myself, you know."

Gally grunted in response, yet a small, approving smile flickered across his lips. "Doesn't mean I won't worry."

Moments like these—the quiet companionship they shared—rendered the Glade more bearable. Y/N preferred observation over dialogue. The cacophony of arguments, decisions, and the relentless grind of survival overwhelmed her, and she found solace in silence.

Then there was Newt.

From the moment he arrived, Newt had radiated an essence distinct from the others. He wasn't loud and brash like Minho, nor did he project the same tough facade as Gally. There was a gentle strength about him, an understated warmth that drew Y/N in almost instinctively. He needed little to convey his presence; his actions, kindness, and unwavering loyalty spoke volumes.

They forged an unspoken understanding—two souls who found comfort in the quietude that enveloped them, a bond that burgeoned unnoticed by either of them.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the Glade, Y/N sat near the gardens, a small piece of wood cradled in her hands. Carving had become her refuge—a practice she had taken up instinctively, though the memory of its origin eluded her.

Newt settled beside her, his long legs stretched out before him as he observed her deft movements. He tilted his head slightly, curiosity etched across his features.