TMR Imagines and Preferences

He Self-Harms Part 1

*TRIGGER WARNING* Please take care of yourselves my lovelies 

**Big thanks to salamander_commander for the inspiration and idea to write this. It came a little later than expected, but I hope you like ;)

Newt- The sun was beating down and sweat was dripping down your neck, but you knew it would be worse for Newt. He had been out in the fields all day trying to make up for a boy who was sick, and he refused to give up before the job was done. He didn't come in for lunch, but you had a few extra minutes, so you grabbed an extra bottle of water and a roll to bring out to him.

In the middle of the fields, a broad back was bent over, the sun shining off the damp skin. You picked your way through the crops until you were standing directly behind Newt, a few feet back. His hair was completely soaked and matted to his head, his shirt hung from his pocket. After admiring him for a few moments, you stepped closer and Newt turned to face you, alerted of your presence. His face was smudged with dirt and his cheeks flushed bright red, but even that couldn't stop you from crushing your lips into his moist ones.

"Y/N," Newt whispered into the kiss, unable to keep from smiling. "What are you doing out here? Don't you have to get back to work?"

"I had enough time to bring my boyfriend some water and steal a couple kisses first," you reply, before pecking his lips once more. Newt gratefully grabs the water from your hand and drinks most of it in one gulp, a chuckle escaping your lips.

Newt went to untuck his shirt from his pocket to wipe his forehead of sweat, and your eyes followed his slender fingers down to his bare waist. The smile faded from your lips almost immediately as the realization flashed through your mind. All across Newt's pronounced hip bones were small lines of varying color, and varying age. About half of them were laced over and pearly, but the other half were the color of coppery cinnamon, some not even scabbed over.

Before you could stop yourself, your breath noticeably hitched, drawing Newt's attention. Within two seconds he pulled his shirt down over his head and tucked the front into the waistband of his pants. His eyes flew from your face to the ground, as if he couldn't decide whether to be ashamed, or act like nothing had happened at all.

"Newt, I know what those are..." you began. "Why-why didn't you tell me?" With the break in your voice Newt winced, shutting his eyes and not opening them again. You dropped to your knees and pulled his shirt up, staring at all of the lines as if they would disappear if you tried hard enough. Tears soon gathered in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall just yet. No more words came to your tongue- all you could do was peer at those terrible, wretched lines. Your hands stayed on Newt's hips and a sob wracked itself from his throat as he placed his hands over yours.

"Newt," you cried, placing your head against his stomach, finally letting tears fall.

Thomas- "Tommy!" you called, waving to him as he ran across the glade. The runners had gotten back around an hour ago, and they were just now emerging from the map room. Frypan had dinner ready, and you had saved a seat next to you on the grass for Thomas. His head looked up, and a wide smile took over the sullen glare that had been there just seconds before. 

"Hey Y/N," he smiled, as soon as he had gotten his food and dropped down beside you. Giving you a quick kiss on the cheek before beginning to eat, Thomas seemed like he was in a good mood, a rarity lately. You gladly accepted the blessing and talked all throughout the meal about anything except for the maze. 

Lately Thomas had been getting more and more frustrated with himself, and with the maze. Nothing had changed, nothing had gotten better, and some of the gladers still had a grudge against him no matter how ridiculous it seemed. You had just bitten off another piece of bread when your eyes wandered from his for the first time since he sat down, and you nearly choked. Thomas's sleeves were pushed up, undoubtedly from all of the running, yet it was what they weren't covering that nearly sucked all of the breath from your lungs. Small patterns of lines dotted the insides of his arms, most of them newer, the newest seeming as if they hadn't even been there for twenty four hours. As Thomas reached over his lap to grab his cup, you could see his muscles flexing in his arms, and it seemed as if he wasn't affected at all by all of the cuts.