Random Simp Book (one shots, imagines, etc.)

Never Again: Newt x Reader

A/N: this is an imagine of if you come up in the box instead of Teresa, but you get stung instead of Thomas. This is gonna be some fluffy $hit. Also newt doesn't belong to me yada yada yada

Warnings: sad Momma Newt.

Word count: 973

You wake up slowly, throat dry and sore from screaming in your sleep because of the pain caused by the serum fighting the Griever sting. Groaning quietly, your muscles aching, you sit up bit by bit, arms shaking from propping you up. You look around the room; it must be in the Homestead if it's inside, and judging by the fact you were stung and you're in a bed, you must be in Medjack territory. However, all these facts your brain barely touches on, because your eyes fall on one thing, and one thing only, and you can't rip your focus away from him.

Newt.

Slumped in a chair, caramel hair messy and tousled, eyelids shut over those dark brown eyes you know so well. And tear tracks, fresh tear tracks snaking down his face. He's been crying for you. A lump forms in your throat, and you bite your lip, just knowing he sat there, in that chair, sat there from the moment they injected you with the serum while you screamed your lungs out until now. Your Newt, your sweet, loving, loyal boyfriend, slumped by your bed, forcing himself to listen to your screams while you struggled through memories of before.

As if he feels your gaze, he stirs, blinking his eyes open, focusing them on your face. For a moment, they fix on you, and he freezes all over, like he's simply just taking you in, absorbing your features as if he'll never see you again, like if he moves, you'll go back into your coma. And then suddenly, his face crumples, and a ragged sob breaks from his throat, and you know he can hear your screams ringing loud in his ears as he drops his head into his hands.

'Please, please don't ever bloody do that to you or me again,' he says, voice breaking, shoulders shaking. You lean forward and wrap your arms around him tightly, and he gets up and limps over to sit on the bed so he's even closer to you. He holds onto you for dear life, trembling, face pressed into the place where your shoulder and neck meet, his hot salty tears running down the skin beneath your shirt.

'Why?' He asks.

'You knew I had to,' you whisper, guilt lacing your voice. 'We have to escape. So I had to remember.' You run a hand soothingly through his hair, swiping a tear off your face. 'I'm sorry, Newt. I'm so sorry. But I will get you out of here.'

'Why didn't you bloody tell me?' He asks, and you answer even though you know he knows the answer.

'You'd have stopped me.'

A sob wracks his body, and his fingers fist in the back of your t - shirt, holding you close to him, and you can hear feel his ragged exhale and inhale against your shoulder. You take a shaky breath, wet eyes staring up at the ceiling, a ghost of the pain before stabbing at your heart for the boy sobbing in your arms. In a way, he went through worse than you, he had to sit there, helpless, because what else would he do? What else would he do when his girlfriend had been stung? When his girlfriend had thrown herself willingly at a Griever? He's too loyal, too loving, too simply Newt, he wouldn't do anything else. You squeeze your eyes shut, a wave of guilt washing over you.

'God, Newt, I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to...'

He holds you tighter to him, just crying, just needing to feel your body against his, real, there, healed. You start forming another sentence, but he shakes his head against your collarbone, and you fall silent, simply holding him, letting him now you're there as he breathes in your comforting scent, letting it wash over him and reassure him.

The door eases open, and Minho peeks in. You know Newt hears, but he doesn't respond, doesn't move a muscle, so you shake your head at the Runner, who gives you a grim smile before backing out quietly and closing the door. There's a pause, filled only by Newt's sniffles, until he raises his head, showing a puffy face and red eyes. He says your name quietly enough that all you see is his lips move, and you kiss his forehead gently, brushing away his tears and murmuring another heartfelt I'm sorry.

Your name has barely left Newt's lips again before he's on you, feverishly, hungry, as he fits his mouth on yours, hands knotting in the thin strands of hair at the nape of your neck, keeping your lips locked on his as he desperately kisses you. You kiss him back softly, waiting, not pulling away, because he needs you, he needs you like he needs air. He murmurs your name against your lips, sending a tingle down your spine, and then, sated, he pulls away.

'I didn't do it for nothing,' you say softly, your voice cracking a bit. 'I know the way out.'

'Not now,' he mumbles, burying his face in your sweet smelling  hair and tucking your head against his chest. 'Later. Here,' he adds, handing you a glass of water, letting you pull away so you can drink it, but not quite releasing you, not quite ready to let go, arms still looped around your waist. You finally notice the bags under his eyes when he splits his face with a yawn.

'Tired, Newtie?' You tease, and he smiles, eyes drooping.

'Yeah, love. Can I...?'

'Sure, c'mere,' you reply, opening your arms. He climbs over you and rests his head on your shoulder, cuddling into you, entwining his warm fingers in yours.

'Love you,' he slurs. 'Never do that again, please.'

'Never again,' you whisper. 'I love you too.'

And then he's out like a light.