Newt Imagines

Forbidden

Heads up: cute in a super sexy kinda way.

YOUR POV

His hand grasps mine tightly as we run, giggling anxiously at our own risky anticipation, through the thick trees of the deadheads. I follow blindly behind him as he leads me, weaving between the thick trunks with incredulous agility and ambition. I hardly look up, instead supervising my feet as they face the daring path of fallen branches and slippery leaves, and concentrating on ducking my head under the low branches the boy ahead of me dodges so fearlessly. My focus on my feet leaves the colors of the forest to pass in a blur; rippling flashes of red, chestnut and green going unnoticed by my eyes. 

In the flashes of color, I remember why our romance must remain under such a thick veil of secrecy. 

"Y/N was a gift to us by the creators," Alby had announced at that dreadful meeting, only hours after Newt and I had privately professed our love for one another. "A gift of unknown purpose." 

His hushed laughter sends shivers up my spine, as his warm hand, worn by long days in the garden continues to pull me through the trees. How he manages to run so fast and deftly with his limp bewilders me.

Newt's reaction, at that meeting, had been much quieter than the treacherous laughter I hear now. He hadn't spoken a word, only stared at the floor in defeat.

"Until we find out why she is really here, some boundaries need to be made." Alby continued, not even looking at me. Everyone else in the room did, all explicitly intrigued by my genuine existence. But not Alby. No. He didn't care for my opinion on the matter. 

We run together in silence, away from the exposure of the glade to our sanctuary, the broken light casting mysterious shadows over the forest floor. The sounds of our hushed laughter and the crunching of our feet on the fallen leaves is the only thing that adorns the silence, often followed by nervous exclamations demanding stealth.   

"No one is to alter their mannerisms around her, simply because she is a girl. From henceforth, she is a glader, and no more than that." I remember the hushed murmurs of confusion that enveloped the room, until Alby continued his specification. "That means no romantic nor sexual intentions...From anyone." 

We know we can't be caught... and somehow that makes the laughter even harder to refrain. The recklessness of our nightly escapades only fuels the fire between us, releasing an impulsive desire, much like the delirious bubbly affection left in us after a night of Gally's drinks. We don't require his poison to feel this euphoria anymore: only each other. 

After that meeting, I had been so distraught. Newt and I were planning on announcing ourselves to the glade that very day, only to have our agenda thwarted by Alby's new rule. Newt had pulled me aside at the bonfire that night, dragging me into a dark corner hidden from the condensed group of gladers. There, he had promised me that Alby's rules hadn't changed how he felt, and he couldn't bare the idea of existing without me. He'd professed how he wanted to break the rules for me... how he needed to. 

That was months ago.

Finally, we reach the corner of the deadheads, marked ever so dreadfully with the meeting of two of the maze walls. A corner. Our corner. We run right into the corner, not even slowing before he stops with a halt, whipping my body to spin around him. Before either of us manage to control our breathing, or even our jubilant giggles, his lips find mine. Intoxicated on the excitement, he doesn't waste time to ease into it, melding his mouth onto mine with the burning passion of an entire day without one another. 

My back slams against the maze wall, Newt's tall form pressing tightly against me to fill every crevice between our bodies. His hand cups my face, roughly caressing my cheekbones and fiddling with my hair. Still, we are giddy and full of childlike bliss, our giggles preventing us from satisfying our much less innocent desires. He pulls his lips away to release some of his giggles, and I mine, and elects to instead place thousands of kisses against my lips between his breaths. 

"I love you," He tells me, just as he had the first time we had escaped to this affair. 

I breathe to reply, only to have my words sucked from me as his lips meet the skin on my neck. My words are shattered into a simple groan, vibrating along my tightly closed lips. My fingers trace their way through his hair, as his find their own way beneath the hem of my shirt. My skin tingles, electrified by the cold sensation pulsating from where he holds my waist. 

Every day, in the loud hustle of the glade, I pondered over our relationship. Is it worth all of the secrecy? Is it worth the risk of completely destroying the trust and order of the other boys in the glade? I spent day after day pursuing possible solutions to our liaison, only to be left empty-minded. Could we ever reveal ourselves to the gladers? Could we ever experience our romance among them, and still be accepted for the love we share? Could we ever have more than the longing glances across the glade at each other? More than the devious hands, straying below the table where no one can see? More than the impatience as we await our next erotic adventure, in the seclusion of the deadheads?

As Newt's kisses explore further down my body, my back arching as his fingers slip under the waistband of my shorts, and my lip trembling as his hot breath reaches my stomach, I realize something: In these euphoric moments, I don't care.

"I love you." I say breathily.