Newt x Reader

PART TWENTY-SIX

You guys deserve an A/N explaining why it has taken me literally months to post this last chapter. However, I find it annoying when an entire update is just an A/N so I'll write a little something here:

I haven't been updating because 1) I finally read Harry Potter for the first time!!!, 2) school started, and 3) my emotional health hasn't been the best. I felt like it wouldn't be fair to post the last chapter just for the sake of posting it, because you—my faithful readers🥰—deserve the best finale I can give you. So, without further ado, THE FINAL CHAPTER!!!

{Dedicated to PavementOfWords 💜}
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     "Where are we going?" I ask as Newt leads me by the hand through the echoey corridors of WCKD.
     "Keep your eyes closed, we're almost there," he replies.
     We soon slow to a stop and I hear the sound of a door opening.
     "Here we are."
     He puts a hand on my back, guiding me through the doorway, and I open my eyes as he lets go of my hand.
     One look around the large, open room has me bringing a hand up to my mouth. The walls and ceiling display a video feed of a lush, green forest. Spread before us is a picnic, set meticulously atop a large blanket.
     "I know it's not the same as going outside..." Newt says, hugging me from behind.
     "No, it's perfect," I sigh, resting my head on his chest. "And so beautiful."
     "Still doesn't top you, though," he replies, making me blush.
     I turn around to face him and he takes my hands in his, holding them between us.
     "Thank you, Newt," I whisper, smiling more sincerely than I have in a long time.
     He squeezes my hands gently and smiles back, then leans down to brush his lips across mine. "Happy birthday, Y/N."
                                    ~~~~
     When my hands close around the blanket, I know I'm awake.
     But I don't want to be.
     I keep my eyes firmly shut and will myself back into the dream...to no avail.
     I am back in the Lookout Tree, alone.
     A single tear slides down the side of my face from the effort of trying to hold onto the flashback.
     I open my eyes reluctantly and prop myself up on one elbow, running a hand through my already messed-up hair and wiping away the tear. I take a minute just to slow my breathing and gather myself.
     From this height, I can see the sunset beginning even before it touches the Glade. I focus on it intently—anything to pull my thoughts away from the memory I just saw.
     I stare at the sunset, embracing the delicate streaks of color, each hue soft yet somehow bold.
     It's so beautiful.
     Still doesn't top you, though, Newt's voice whispers in my mind. I can almost sense his arms around me again and I throw off the blanket, trying to rid myself of the feeling.
     Suddenly, I hear the ladder creak. "Who's there?" I call.
     When Newt appears at the top of the ladder, the mere sight of him brings back the sensation of being in his arms, and I sit up the rest of the way to shake the feeling.
     "Y/N," he says, not sounding surprised at all.
So he found me on purpose. I would've liked to believe he wouldn't try to initiate another conversation after what I said yesterday.
     I swallow in an attempt to rid my voice of emotion. "Newt." His name and an acknowledging nod are the only forms of greeting I'm willing to concede...though I'm not necessarily opposed to the sight of him; after all, that face is the same face I looked into in the flashback—and neither then nor now could I even attempt to deny my attraction to him. The way his tousled hair catches the early morning light. The clarity in his eyes despite the faint circles beneath them. His lips—
No. I am not going to think about his stupidly perfect lips. I force my eyes away, perhaps a little to quickly to go unnoticed.
He climbs up the rest of the way, taking a seat across from me.
"Please," he says simply. Wearily. "I could hardly sleep last night. We need to talk."
     "What if I don't want to?" I ask, even though I kind of do want to talk to him. "Did you forget what happened yesterday? When I made it clear that I don't want to talk to you yet? Or should I refresh your memory?" I want him to hear anger, impatience, anything but the undertone of pain that worms its way into my voice.
"No," he replies without hesitation. "I didn't forget. I stared at the ceiling for hours not forgetting." He lifts his eyes to mine in a level stare that quickens me heart rate; I will myself to maintain it.
"You know what, it doesn't matter." I'm caught off guard until I realize he said it mostly to himself...almost like he was preparing for something. Then his eyes soften and he goes on. "Because it's not fair to either of us for you to be mad at me without knowing the full story."
     In a sudden lapse of judgement, I blurt out, "The full story being that you're still in love with me?"
     "W—" he stutters. I watch the movement of his eyes, the way he forces them to stay on me so as not to look guilty by breaking eye contact. "I..."
"Don't lie," I whisper, but I'm not angry. He looks away, avoiding my gaze, and I say, "I heard you and Thomas talking last night. You said..." I draw a slow breath. "You said you don't want to scare me away. But...I'm not scared, and I—I'm not leaving."
     Newt's relief is almost palpable, but the look on his face tells me he's trying to figure out how to get an answer to the question he's too afraid to ask: do I feel the same way about him?
     At this, I hesitate: I already know the answer, but the worst of the first flashback plays on repeat in my mind, uninvited but nevertheless hard to dismiss.
Something in my eyes must be enough of an answer, because a slight smile plays on Newt's lips as he rises and offers a hand to help me up. When we're both standing, I can feel the weight of his gaze, but I don't mind.
     And I don't mind when he leans toward me ever so slightly; his eyes never leave mine until they flutter down to my mouth and he slowly closes the short distance between us.
     Then he's kissing me, for real this time.
     Or am I still asleep? Am I still dreaming?
Either way, the kiss is so tender, so perfect.
     I pull away, smiling wider than I ever have before, and wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder.
     Newt puts his arms around my waist and rests his head against mine.
     "You were my first kiss," I whisper, emotion choking the sound. "Twice."
     I feel him smile into my hair before he says with equal quiet, "You don't know how long I've been waiting for that second time."
     He steps away from me so that he can take my hands in his, holding them between us. Our fingers intertwine automatically, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Newt stares at me for a moment then leans down to kiss me again, longer this time, lifting his hands to either side of my face. "Y/N..." he breathes, barely pulling away from me, "I—"
     "WELL IT'S ABOUT TIME!!!"
     Newt and I both jump; my instinct is to step away from him, embarrassed that someone's seen us kissing—but Newt, as if it required no thought at all, immediately puts an arm around my waist and pulls me to him as his eyes sweep back and forth across the Glade looking for the source of the sound—
     Minho.
     He and Thomas are by the Homestead, leaning lazily against the building.
     Minho, hands cupped around his mouth, yells across the Glade again, "WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR AGES!"
Me too, I think to myself. And I blush when Newt leans down and whispers the same thing in my ear.