TMR - Thomas x X-reader fanfiction

Chapter Tree

The forest was dense, the air cooler under the thick canopy of trees. Shadows danced on the ground, and the faint scent of damp earth clung to the air.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Minho asked, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

"There's no time to explain," I replied, my eyes scanning the underbrush for any sign of Newt.

"Fine," Minho muttered. "But if we get eaten by a griever, I'm blaming you."

A branch cracked in the distance, and we all froze. Thomas held his arm out, silently signaling us to stop.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered, his eyes darting toward the sound.

I nodded, my breath hitching. "It came from up ahead."

We crept forward, the tension thickening with every step. My heart pounded in my chest as I strained to hear anything beyond the rustling of leaves.

"Y/N," Minho hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me to a stop.

"What?" I whispered back, glancing at him.

He pointed toward the trees, his face pale. "Up there."

I followed his gaze and felt my stomach drop. A griever. Its grotesque form was perched high in the branches, its metallic limbs twitching. The glowing red eyes scanned the forest floor, its low growls vibrating through the air.

Before anyone could react, another sound broke through the stillness—a faint, pained groan.

"Newt!" Thomas whispered, his voice filled with urgency.

I turned sharply, my eyes darting toward the sound. Just beyond the trees, a shadow shifted. It was him, leaning heavily against a trunk, his leg dragging as he tried to move.

"He's hurt," I said, my voice trembling.

Thomas reached for my hand. "We have to help him."

I nodded, but Minho's hand shot out, stopping us.

"Wait," he said, his voice low. "The griever's still up there."

We all glanced back at the creature, which hadn't moved from its perch. It seemed... distracted, its glowing eyes scanning the opposite direction.

"This might be our only chance," Thomas whispered, his grip tightening on my hand.

I glanced at Newt, who was now slumping further down the tree, clearly struggling to stay upright.

"I'll go," I said firmly.

"Not alone," Thomas protested immediately.

"Fine, but someone has to stay here and keep an eye on that thing," I replied, nodding toward the griever.

Minho sighed. "I'll do it. But if you shanks get yourselves killed, don't expect me to feel sorry for you."

Thomas and I exchanged a glance before carefully moving toward Newt. The forest seemed to close in around us, every sound amplified in the tense quiet.

"Newt," I whispered when we were close enough.

His head snapped up, his face pale and glistening with sweat. "Y/N? Thomas?"

"It's us," Thomas said, crouching beside him. "What happened?"

"I tripped," Newt muttered, wincing as he gestured toward his leg. "Twisted my bloody ankle."

"Can you walk?" I asked, my voice laced with concern.

"Not well," he admitted. "What are you lot doing out here, anyway?"

"Looking for you," Thomas said, his tone sharper than intended.

Newt frowned. "Well, you found me. Now let's get out of here before that thing up there decides we look like lunch."

As if on cue, a low growl echoed through the forest. We all froze, our eyes darting toward the griever. It shifted slightly, its claws clicking against the branches.

"It's moving," Minho hissed from his position. "We need to go. Now."

"Come on," Thomas said, pulling Newt's arm over his shoulder. I moved to Newt's other side, supporting his weight as we began to move.

The griever let out a screech, the sound piercing through the trees.

"It knows we're here!" Minho shouted.

The ground seemed to tremble as the creature leapt from the tree, its heavy limbs crashing against the forest floor.

"RUN!" Thomas yelled, his voice filled with urgency.

We broke into a sprint, Newt leaning heavily on us as we stumbled through the underbrush. The griever's metallic limbs sliced through the foliage behind us, its guttural growls growing louder.

"This way!" Minho called, veering sharply to the left.

The forest opened up into a small clearing, and in the distance, I saw it—the cleft.

"Head for the cleft!" I shouted, adrenaline surging through me.

Thomas and I practically dragged Newt, our breaths ragged as we closed the distance. The griever's growls were deafening now, its shadow looming over us.

"Go!" I screamed as we reached the edge of the chasm.

Thomas didn't hesitate, pulling Newt with him as they leapt to the other side. Minho followed, barely making it across.

I turned, my heart pounding as the griever charged toward me. Its glowing eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I froze.

"Y/N, jump!" Thomas yelled.

I snapped out of my trance and sprinted forward, launching myself across the gap just as the griever lunged.

I hit the ground hard, rolling onto my side as the creature teetered on the edge. It let out a final, earsplitting screech before tumbling into the abyss.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Thomas knelt beside me, his hands gripping my shoulders as he helped me sit up. His dark eyes scanned my face, searching for any sign of injury.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with worry.

I nodded, my chest still heaving. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" His hands lingered on my arms, his gaze flicking to the scrape on my cheek. He reached up, gently brushing his thumb against it, his touch careful, almost reverent.

"It's nothing," I said, forcing a small smile.

"It's not nothing," he muttered, his brow furrowing. "You scared the hell out of me, Y/N."

I let out a shaky laugh. "You and me both."

His expression softened, and he leaned closer, his forehead resting lightly against mine. The warmth of his breath steadied my racing heart.

"Don't do that again," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "Don't make me think I'm going to lose you." I tilted my head up, brushing my lips against his. The kiss was brief but enough to quiet the storm inside me.

"You won't lose me," I murmured, my hand resting on his cheek. "Not as long as you're by my side." For a moment, it was just us, the chaos of the forest fading into the background.

"Get a room," Minho groaned from behind us, breaking the spell.

Thomas let out a soft chuckle, his hand slipping to mine as he helped me to my feet. "Let's get back," he said, his voice steady now.

I glanced at Newt, who was still sitting on the ground, clutching his leg. "You okay?"

"I've been better," he grumbled.

Despite everything, a small laugh escaped me. The worst was over—for now. But as I looked back toward the cleft, I couldn't shake the feeling that Thomas was right. This wasn't the end. It was just the beginning.