#thomasnewt

some maze runner/newtmas headers!

please like or share if you save or use it! i appreciate :-)

“shit,” he says, looking down at newt’s unconscious, ragged body. he doesn’t know what to do. he didn’t think this far ahead. he grabs newt under the arms and drags him backwards towards the van, cursing himself the whole way--praying, praying--that he made the right choice. 

the complexities of wicked and their plans is something thomas determines he may never understand, because when he makes it through the snow to wicked’s headquarters, he learns that newt never had the flare. “a test,” janson tells him, “all a test”. he could cry, scream, beat janson to fucking death. but all he does is sigh, cover his face with his hands, and take a moment to feel some sort of happiness that newt’s going to live (without him, but that’s alright). he’s so tired. 

he hopes that newt is safe, wherever he is at this point, when he agrees to let janson put him under. thomas fades into the dark with the last time he’d ever see newt fading with him. 

the universe seems intent on letting him live. thomas is running through the maze, adrenaline in his veins, and he sees newt off to the side. it makes him run faster, determined to make it to wherever they’re going. if they do, he figures he’s going to tell newt. he can’t wait. 

they make it. inexplicably and miraculously, they make it to paradise, and thomas cries when he first sees the ocean. everyone cries. there’s rolling hills and mountains, valleys filled with trees, wildflowers endless on the hillside, crashing waves. there is so much beauty here. thomas watches newt close his eyes and feel the water, and suddenly it’s all worth it. every heartbreak, every sadness--it’s worth it. 

it takes them months to build. they clear some of the trees and build down the valley until they hit the mountain. working through the nights, houses crop up like the flowers that wind down to the beach. it takes thomas months to tell newt. 

he wanted to tell him the moment they made it through the flat trans, but he thinks that both of them had things to work through first. newt’s body was destroyed by the faux-flare, and he needed time to live without being scared that he’d lose his mind. thomas had to mourn. he had to learn what it was like to have time for grief, to heal. when they could both breathe easier, thomas finds newt sitting in the wildflower field carving bowls.

newt looks up to him and smiles. it’s still jarring that they can do so, smile and not be afraid. “hey tommy,” he says. he squints against the sun, fire-bright and warm. he puts the tools down and stands up, turning to look out at the water. “something on your mind?”

he wishes he was better with words, or that he knew newt felt the same. but this uncertainty, this quickened beat of his heart, feels good. he feels good. he feels warm and he remembers how whenever he lost hope, newt was there to make him need to keep on. 

before his brain can stop him and phrase things a little less blunt, he says, “i think i’ve always loved you,” and he remains calm, watching the ocean waves. in his peripheral he sees newt look at him, surprised, struggle for words. when he doesn’t find them, he takes thomas’ face in his hands and kisses him. it feels like every missed chance, every time he went to sleep asking for the world to be alright, every time he wanted to tell newt before. it feels like finding out newt was going to live, only sweeter. he wishes he remembers his life before this, wonders if they kissed like this as boys. newt holds his face in his hands so gently he forgets it all, and thinks only of the way newt’s tongue runs over the roof of his mouth, burning. he lets himself be pulled in and fall to the ground. he touches newt’s body, holding his sides and feeling the way his body is built. thankfully, this is nothing like the last time newt was on top of him. newt’s not losing his mind, he’s not begging for death. well, he begs, but for something infinitely more appealing. thomas doesn’t deny him this time. 

babies come, eventually, and minho beams when his daughter with grace is born. frypan and sonya have twins, brenda and sarah take care of a boy they name jacob. they grow so fast and in such great numbers that they have no choice but to expand, looking to go beyond the mountains. it’s unbelievable, really. the world they left behind is still out there somewhere, dying. it’s still hard to remember that; they all lost people to that world. the sorrow of it all weighs on their hearts. but they live each day for them, out here. unbelievable. 

thomas wakes every day with newt next to him. he still has nightmares sometimes, of losing everyone he loves. he sees teresa’s body breaking, her hand stretching out towards him. chuck’s blood still stains his hands. he even sees newt, a bullet in his brain and screaming. thankfully, newt holds him through it. 

when they’re both older than they ever thought they would be, thomas feels something wrong in his bones. bumps appear underneath his skin, and the problem with having just started the human race from scratch only a couple decades ago, is there isn’t much advancement in terms of medicine. he’s going to die. 

strangely, this doesn’t upset him. he lived. he didn’t die in the maze, he didn’t die in the scorch, he didn’t die in wicked’s hands. he’s had newt all these years. he’s loved like he never thought he’d be able to. 

“i’m really glad i knocked you out with that pistol,” he says, lying in their bed on a day when getting up isn’t an option. newt sits next to him, smiling, always. “it would have sucked here without you, newt.” 

newt holds his hand and laughs, saying, “bloody glad you did too, tommy.” he rubs his knuckles and thomas can’t believe he was lucky enough to have this. he can’t believe any of it, even after all the time passed. 

“i love you for that, you know,” newt says. it’s quiet and soft and thomas loves him so much. 

he finds he can’t say anything else, because his breathing becomes shorter and he knows. he knows this is it, and there’s no way else he’d rather go.

it happens quickly--while checking on the garden near the cliff, he slips, falls down the side and hits his head hard on the rocks below. he hardly has time to think before he can feel the back of his skull split and break and in one final moment the blood spills out and he sees the the grass blowing in the soft wind and the beautiful sky before his vision cuts to black.

unexpectedly, he jolts up, his heart beating triple time as he slams his palms to the ground and gasps for air. underneath his hands thomas feels long grass and loose dirt. his vision spins and blurs as he sits up, squinting at the bright light of the sun. he has an awful memory of when the box was opened on him in the maze and he was staring up into what would become the beginning of all that heartbreak. what he sees around him looks nothing like the maze, and he’s thankful for that. 

there are no walls, just wide open fields and a warm sun, windy and sweet. it’s almost like paradise, except it’s cooler and there’re no trees, no ocean, no anything. just grass until the far off horizon line. 

before he even tries to stand, his hand flies to the back of his head and feels for what he’s sure is there--the gaping wound, the fractured bone, the drying blood. there’s nothing. 

he remembers the fall. he still feels the adrenaline from trying to grip onto anything he could, his fingernails ripping and his hands stinging. it’s a horrible feeling, remembering what had to have been the closest thing to death he’s ever experienced. he’d been around death before, caused death, even. thomas’ heart sinks when he wonders if maybe newt had felt that somehow, the panic, in the moments before thomas pulled the trigger. and that’s when he feels it, the unmistakable sense that someone is watching. 

still on the ground, he turns. a little ways off, he can’t believe who he’s seeing: 

newt.

he’s there and he’s walking towards him and thomas stands, dizzied, laughing, incredulous. 

“oh my god,” he says as newt gets close enough to reach out and touch. he looks like himself, only without all the dirt and blood and sweat, without all the burdens and the flare. it’s just newt. thomas doesn’t understand but...it’s just newt.

“hey there, tommy,” newt says, and he smiles. thomas is so taken aback by that smile (he’s spent nights dreaming about it, waking up screaming because he’d never see it again) that he doesn’t notice at first that it’s tight at the corners; sad. 

thomas wants nothing more than to hold him, and he can’t stop himself from it any longer. he pulls newt into a hug and god, he’d never thought he’d be able to do this again. feeling newt wrap his arms around him and let his face fall into the crook of thomas’ neck is--well it’s the best thing he could ask for, right now. he doesn’t understand what’s going on or how newt’s here, he’s just happy he gets to hold him again. 

with his lips against newt’s skin, he asks, “am i dead, newt?” he reasons that’s the only way this is happening. either he’s having some crazy fever dream and he’s actually just asleep in his lonely home or that fall didn’t just render him close to death. he doesn’t care which. 

newt pulls back and this time thomas does notice that there’s a certain sadness in newt’s face. “not exactly. awful close though,” he says, taking thomas’ hand. “you should be more careful out there you know.” 

“what are you talking about? what’s going on? what-” 

“fuck’s sake tommy could you just give us one bloody moment of peace together before you have to leave?” newt says, more gently than with any anger. he’s smiling and thomas wants to kiss him, like they used to--before the maze, before they forgot about each other and before newt died and before thomas remembered everything alone, without newt, in paradise. instead, he lets newt pull him alongside him as he begins to walk. 

“just tell me what you mean by leave, please,” he whispers, hoping that wherever he’s going, newt will be able to follow. 

the wind picks up and it smells like there’s distant flowers somewhere ahead of them, beautiful and sweet. beside him newt takes a deep breath and looks up to the sky, saying, “you have to go back.” his voice breaks and thomas knows there’s something he isn’t telling him, but newt looks at him and smiles again, and he stops asking questions. he wants to tell him he’s sorry, so fucking sorry, that he didn’t get him to hold on long enough to get him to paradise. he wants to cry, and to never let go of newt’s hand. he wants to tell him about minho’s baby, brenda’s wife, the memorials they have for him and teresa and chuck and winston and everyone; the flowers and the ocean, the stars. he wants to tell him how good it feels to touch him again. he’s sure newt knows, somehow.

“i miss you so much,” he says instead. it’s an understatement. there’re no words for the ache thomas feels in his chest every single day. there are no words for this longing, this devastating abyss. 

newt stops walking, turning to thomas and leaning so close their lips nearly touch. “i miss you too, always.” he kisses him then, and it deepens and is in turns wonderful and sad, because whatever newt meant by ‘going back’ seemed to imply this would not last. he kisses him and kisses him and whatever this is--he knows it’s real. 

he only stops kissing him when he feels something like a dull headache start to form. newt picks up on it and tries to hide his disappointment. “tommy, i better not see you here again soon, yeah?” 

the pain intensifies, blossoming at the base of his skull, and he finds it harder to concentrate. “what’s happening newt?” 

newt doesn’t really answer, just squeezes his hands and tries to keep his voice normal. “i’ll be waiting for you here thomas.” 

unbearable now, he lets go of newt’s hands and holds his head in his own. “wait, newt, i-” 

for the second time in one day, thomas wakes up gasping, unsure of where he is. when he blinks slowly, opening his eyes, minho’s standing over him, smirking. “shit thomas, thought you went and died for good. that was one hell of a fall, man.” 

reaching up, he feels the rudimentary gauze of the new med-jacks wrapped around his head. minho pats him on the shoulder, laughing. “you’re fucking tough though. guess you didn’t want to leave catia without an uncle.” 

he nods, wincing. “yeah, guess not.” minho pats him again and leaves, telling him to get some rest. he lays there for a while, staring at the ceiling of his home, with the memory of newt’s hands keeping him awake. 

“thomas, hey--tommy,” someone says, and he opens his eyes to white walls. a young boy, 10, smiles at him. “do you want to play tag with me and minho?”

frightening men in armored suits with guns standing around a crowd of howling parents, their children being ripped from their grasps unceremoniously. he feels the hard grip of one on his sides, and he holds onto his mother’s hands with all he has. she screams, he remembers her screaming, “thomas i love you, i love you baby” as his little fingers slip from hers and his last memory of his mother is of her outstretched arms and dying eyes. 

there’s memories that are of his time in the maze. memories of laughing with chuck. memories that hurt. ably’s hand on his back. minho ahead of him, running through the maze, looking back and saying “get runnin’ greenie”. then there’s newt--

“don’t take him, please--he’s--let him stay with me” he’s begging to a woman (ava?) and his voice is breaking, “just for a little while longer, please” she looks at him and he can’t see any sympathy in her eyes. she says “he has tonight and then he goes into the maze. i’m sorry thomas, i know he’s your friend” and then she’s gone. the memory flickers and fades into a white walled room with newt holding his hand. “i’ll miss you tommy” he rubs his thumb over thomas’ hand. no, he won’t miss him. he won’t remember him. “you know that i love you, right?” he can hear himself saying, even though it hurts. he hates that he’ll be the only one who will remember their love, that tomorrow he’ll be loving the ghost of newt. every day newt will live on without him and he’ll never know there’s a boy on the other side of the walls who loves him, who carries his heart. “i love you too.” he kisses him then, softly, sadly. “i promise i’ll remember you thomas, i promise” 

there’s a gun in his hand and he’s trying to reason with newt to not die and he can’t believe he’s losing this fight. “come with me, just come with me newt, please” but nothing changes the way newt is screaming. he’s yelling, wild and red eyed, saying things like: “i’ve always hated you” and “how could you” and it hurts, it hurts. he loves him and he doesn’t want to kill him. he doesn’t know if newt knows, but he loves him so much. he doesn’t want this to be the end. newt finally breaks his litany of screams, of telling him how he got his limp, of begging thomas to kill him. “i remember you, tommy, alright? i don’t remember much but i remember that we loved each other then” thomas watches as newt walks closer towards him, close enough to wrap his hand around his wrist. “i promised you i’d remember you” he closes his eyes and wishes none of this is real, thinks that maybe all of this is a dream and he’ll wake up soon and he’ll be five years old and everything’s okay. “tommy, you love me too: real or not real?” real or not real? he doesn’t know why newt’s asking that, maybe because of the flare eating at his brain. maybe he doesn’t know if he’s dreaming, maybe he doesn’t know if he made every memory of them up in his fevered state. maybe he just wants to hear it one last time. either way, thomas answers, “real, newt, of course it’s real” newt sobs once, and let’s go of his wrist. “then please, tommy, please--if you love me--” he doesn’t let him finish. he pulls the trigger. 

I am omg omg that sounds to cute!!!

Okay here we go!

___________________________________________________________

It wasn’t that Thomas didn’t like ice skating but. Thomas didn’t like ice skating. There was something about standing over a thin piece of ice that held nothing but cold water underneath that slightly terrified him. Like it could break any minute. Of course, after talking to Newt, apparently, the ice was thick enough to ensure everyone’s safety. Of course, it didn’t help calm Thomas’ nerves in the least.

"C’mon Tommy, it’ll be fun. You can’t just sit there the whole time!"

"Actually, I can, and I will. Newt, I don’t feel-"

"Tommy, please?" Newt was doing the thing. The thing were he would pout his cute lips and flutter his eye lashes. The way Newt knew he couldn’t say no to. He shook his head and looked away, refusing to make eye contact. "Please?" he begged, tilting his head to the side and Thomas almost said yes. Almost.

"No."

"Fine, I guess I’ll just go skate with the boy who you saw checking me out earlier." Thomas’ head jerked to look at Newt, brows furrowed and lips tight.

"You wouldn’t."

"Wouldn’t I?" Thomas muttered something obscene but got up nonetheless, grabbing the skates from Newt and walking over to a small cubby to put his shoes in. Then, he began the process of slipping on the skates. Newt was over in a minute, lacing them up and being sure that they were tight enough so Thomas didn’t get hurt. The two had only moved to New York a year ago, but Newt found that ice skating was his favorite thing in the winter.

Thomas just liked watching him twirl and smile happily.

It was getting dark and the lights that were decorating the skating rink and the trees around it began to light, sending a beautiful glimmer all around. It was certainly a romantic place for couples.

"You owe me," Thomas got out, taking Newt’s hand and wobbling over to the rink carefully. "Big time." Newt smiled and leaned forward, landing a gentle kiss on his lips before pulling away.

"I think I can handle that," Newt whispered, winking before gently maneuvering Thomas onto the ice. "Wanna just hold onto me?" he asked softly, like a whisper to be sure he didn’t disturb Thomas’ thinking. The boy nodded simply and grasped onto Newt’s hands tightly, eyes trained hard on the ice underneath the two of them. Newt smiled as he moved his feet to keep himself steady, Thomas picking his own feet own and placing them inches in front of the others. 

"You know," Newt said softly, "It’d help you skate if you moved your feet like mine." Thomas glanced up then down to Newt’s feet, raising a brow. "Watch." again, Newt began to move his feet carefully and slowly, being sure Thomas was able to catch his movements, "Yeah?" 

"I hate you." Was all Thomas said, gaining a hearty laugh from Newt, but nonetheless, Thomas began to move his feet side to side instead, pushing himself forward to move. Newt nodded happily, unwrapping his hands from Thomas’, "Don’t you dare let go!" Thomas nearly shouted, but Newt had already detached himself and was moving backward, watching Thomas struggle to keep himself up.

"C’mon Tommy, you got this!" Newt said encouragingly, his light brown eyes gleaming with excitement. Thomas took a deep breath and calmed himself down, moving once again to finally come into contact with Newt. "See?" Newt said softly, smiling at him, "I know you could bloody do it."

"You’re a shuck face."

"But you love me."

"I do." Newt smiled widely and leaned in for a kiss, wrapping his arms around Thomas’ neck, who returned the gesture by wrapping his own arms around Newt’s waist. 

The next thing they knew, they were on the ice with Newt on top and Thomas groaning from hitting the ice. But neither of them made an effort to move, both laughing before leaning in for a kiss again.

49. What was your lowest grade in school?my lowest grade this year is a 3,5 but my lowest grade of all time is a 1