Written in the Stars - Newt Imagine

MEATBALLS

"Are you okay, y/n?" Newt asked, suddenly touching your face, "You've got no bloody color in your cheeks, love. Are you sick?"

"N-no, I'm fine," you stuttered, moving away from him. If he touched you again, you knew that your face would go from white to red in a fraction of a second, and you wanted to save yourself from the mortification.

"I'm fine," you repeated steadily, trying to avoid eye contact at all costs.

"Good that," Newt said, "Anyway, what were you and Frypan talking about? What's your little secret?" He leaned forward, resting his head in his hand like an expectant child waiting to hear a story.

"I can't tell you," you managed to say cooly, "or else it won't be a secret anymore."

He leaned back and nodded, biting his lip.

"Fair enough," he said, his mesmerizing accent sending chills through you, "So this is technically your first party, eh? Are you at least having fun, love?"

"I think I am," you said, conjuring up a smile to match his own, though you felt like you were going to be sick. He locked his eyes on yours, causing you to look away. You were beyond nervous, and the entire situation just seemed so bizarre. Sitting with Newt, actually having a conversation? You couldn't help but laugh.

"What?" he asked defensively.
Shit, did I actually laugh? Like, out loud?

"Why were you looking at me like that?" you replied, changing the subject.

"Why wouldn't I?" he replied shyly, his cheeks becoming flushed as he looked at the ground, "I mean, how could I not?"

Wait a second, did Newt just get flustered? Because of you? You were thinking of a reply when Frypan suddenly jumped out from behind you, screaming MEATBALLS so loud you swore the grievers heard. You and Newt both swore, jumping at the abrupt sound, and somehow you ended up in his arms. Frypan started laughing hysterically, but you and Newt were still in shock, clinging to each other.

"Y'all are a bunch of sissies, you know that? I'm surprised you didn't klunk your pants!" Frypan exclaimed, almost unable to breathe.

You unattached yourself from Newt, embarrassed.

"Sorry," you mumbled with a nervous laugh, awkwardly moving away from him again.

"It's okay," he chuckled, running a hand through his golden hair, "That was a good one, Fry. Real mature."

"You bet, Pretty Boy," he replied, slapping Newt's shoulder as he wedged between the two of you. Your eyes threw daggers at him, but he just smiled sweetly before turning to talk to Newt. First he forced you to be alone and now he's putting himself in the middle? What the shuck was he trying to do?