Gally x reader SMUT

40

Chapter 40... Who's actually been here since February(?) when I first published the oneshot of Gally and the reader and the whole mirror dream, and then it slowly expanded into something deeper? If you have, congratulations. Love you all for the reads, the votes, the lovely comments, the messages and the general vibe that makes me happy and determined to keep on writing. NOW we have the start of something new... Praise the lawd.

 The next day, half finished with your fruit-and-vegetable-correcting tasks, you decide to go to go back to the Homestead to grab your spare top, the one you are wearing - and spent time painstakingly erasing Gally's stains from - is soaked with sweat and caked in mud and you can hardly bare to be in it anymore.

 You brush the mud from your hands and wander to the Homestead cheerily, feeling in an oddly pleasant mood - the sunlight has returned, Newt is out of the way so you don't have to worry about him and you spent most of yesterday evening with Minho and Chuck playing hide-and-seek. When you pass Minho on your way to fetch your shirt, you giggle again when the two of you simultaneously remember some of the funnier moments of the previous night, and Thomas stares at you both with amused confusion.

 You reach the Homestead and blink in the dimmer light, the back of your head suddenly cold after the continuous heat beating down on your hair. You touch the back of your head and marvel at the temperature in each strand, winding your way through hammocks to get to yours, where you keep your emergency belongings. Once you have slid your clean top on, you freeze, your hand still clinging to the hem as you pull it down.

 There is a sound coming from the far end of the Homestead, quiet but unmistakable, and you decide to investigate nervously, sneaking silently between each hammock and keeping low, wondering what's going on.

 As you get closer, the sound is suddenly recognisable, and you freeze again, a blush creeping across your cheeks. You can hear the deep pants and low groans of one of the boys, not to mention the sound of a hand on a damp shaft, moving quickly to get to release.

 You bat your hands against the air in a panic, not sure what to do or how to exit without being heard - all you want to do is run out with how awkward you feel - but your hands pause when you hear the words escaping the Glader's lips.

 "Oh, fuck, y/n..."

 Your eyes widen and your mouth drops when you recognise the moaner as Newt, and you can't help but stumble a few paces forwards without quite meaning to, your legs independent. You take a deep breath and peer around one of the corners, your hand flinging to your mouth when you see Newt leaning against the wall, his hand grasping his exposed self so firmly his knucles are white, practically a blur. When you manage to tear your eyes away from the sight of his member - thinner than Gally's but definitely sizeable - you look at his face.

 His hair is damp and his face glistens with sweat, strands sticking to his forehead, his hair messy again, and you're thankful that his eyes are tightly shut, his plump lips a dark pink and parted, his teeth occasionally grabbing at the lower one. Your name rolls off his tongue in a low moan once again and his groans get higher, his hand moving faster.

 "Fuck, y/n, let me cum, I'm close..."

 You back away silently and rush back out of the Homestead, panicking extravagantly. When you exit the Homestead, you sprint back to your spot, your cheeks not only red from the exercise, and you try to gather your spinning thoughts.

 It wasn't the fact that he was getting himself off on the thought of you, that he was moaning your name. The thing that freaks you out is that you liked it. You liked watching the way his hand pumped himself. You liked seeing his expression change, his eyes shut to see you in his mind. The worst thing, you realise shakily as you pick up a trowel and drop it promplty, is that what you saw turned you on a ridiculous amount, and now you are stuck with a throb in your stomach and a wet ache between your thighs.

*

 You keep your head bent for the rest of the day, only looking up through your hair at the people who approach you unless you hear their voice. You recognise the limp, however, when you are picking up some tiny weeds from the ground - the only excuse you have to not look up and see Newt's face.

 He stops a short distance in front of you, continuing his work, and you chew your lip, shifting on your knees to try to rid yourself of the desperate feeling. Unfortunately, the friction you put onto yourself makes you moan softly, too quiet for him to hear, and you feel sick.

 What the hell is Gally going to say?

 You can't stop feeling guilty and it eats you away almost as much as the yearning for Newt, practically crying from being unable to touch yourself or him. You jump violently when you see Newt is standing right in front of you, only his shins in your vision, and swallow when he says your name.

 "Y/n," he says quietly, trying to catch your attention. You look up almost unwillingly, skirting over his body until you meet his face. He doesn't look flushed, or anything like he did earlier in the Homestead, and this relaxes you.

 "Yeah?" you ask casually, putting a hand over your eyes to shade yourself from the sun's glare.

 "I think this is stupid," he says, crouching down beside you. You drop your head and keep your hands working beside you, brushing the ground until you feel something weedy. You have to look away when his big eyes meet yours.

 "I'm sorry I've been so rude to you. It's not fair. I hate not talking to you," he says softly. You keep your eyes trained on the ground. "Am I forgiven?" he prompts, smirking slightly and nudging you.

 You can't help but smile at his insistance and nod, keeping your hair over your face. "Yeah. It's okay."

 "Good." Newt lingers for a moment longer and stands up straight before returning to his work. You shut your eyes and the smile fades when your inner dilemma resurfaces, hating yourself. For the rest of the day, the dim ache between your legs doesn't leave, but continues insistantly until eventually you give up and go to the showers, relieving yourself while keeping your lips clenched shut and your teeth jammed together in case Newt's name leaves your lips.

Short, oops. I wanted to finish it before the asterisk but it would have been superbly short, so...yeah.