Request: Omg i love your writing sooo much <3 I was thinking if you could do a story based off Michael Buble’s ‘Just Haven’t met you Yet’. I understand if you wouldn’t want to do it but thank you for your time :)
“Next!” You call, back aching and feet sore. Work usually sucks, but today it’s a living hell. Saturdays are the normally busiest days at the grocery store but add the fact that it’s the first day of spring that’s warmer than 50 degrees, and you’ve got yourself a full store. The bustle of people weaving around one another in the narrow aisles meant that you’d been sent to clean up five separate messes and help one bawling seven-year-old find his mother. His snot covered fingers had wrapped around your own until you’d found his mother who’d immediately decided to yell at you for not bringing him sooner. People bumped into you with every turn, resulting in scowls and foul language from some particularly angry customers. You’d had to ask people to repeat themselves four different times because of the clamor and been asked because of that if it were really right for a woman to be working. On top of all that, you wore heels today so your feet want to fall off and the store’s air conditioning hardly works, meaning hot sweat drips down your back and soaks your hairline.
Despite the annoying customers and the math involved, you’re almost grateful to work at the cash register now instead of work on the floor when you hear the horrific sound of gagging nearby. Your coworker Arthur rushes past you, mop already in hand.
Raising your eyebrows at the situation, you shake your head and take stock of everything a middle-aged man in front of you sets on the counter. He wears a dark suit and a cap to hide what you assume is a balding head. He’s muttering something to himself as thick beads of sweat slide down his face, over the patches of red dotting his cheeks and forehead and collecting on his upper lip. Every time he says something, a bead flings off its place above his lip, landing on the counter in front of you.
You cringe but reach for his items and pull them closer. Flipping the page on your notepad, you begin writing the costs of everything down.
“Do you not bother to keep your customers happy here?”
Request: newt fluff where him and the reader is having their anniversary (married) and its readers first time going on a ferris wheel so shes holding onto newt tightly like her life depended on it and he just thinks it cute until reader gets used to it and they share a kiss at the very top?
The wind rocks the carriage, and Newt winces when your already vice-tight grip on his arm only strengthens. “Love, are you sure you’re all right?”
You nod, eyes squeezed so tight you’re seeing stars. Stars are a better sight than the vast amount of air hanging between you and the ground, though, so you don’t move. “Fine,” you squeak out, earning a chuckle from Newt.
“You should have mentioned you don’t enjoy Ferris wheels. I wouldn’t have brought you on one.”
You shake your head. “No, no I’m okay.”
He laughs again, a low sound that would help relax you if the carriage didn’t swing again with another gust of wind. “It’s okay. You won’t be hurt.”
“Newt,” you mumble into his jacket, “we are over forty feet above the ground with no safety net. Sorry if I’m a little scared.”
“Thousands of people ride this every year.”
“Yes, but some do die.”
You scowl into his coat, though the sight only makes him laugh because you don’t open your eyes. “Enough do.”
“Fine, fine,” Newt relents, unwinding his arm from your grip. “Don’t worry, you’ll be all right. I just want to…” He pulls his arm away, quickly winding it around your shoulders and tugging you against his side. “There you are. You’re all right, love.”
“I wish we hadn’t done this.” You whisper the words against Newt’s blue jacket.
He just presses two fingers under your chin, gently pushing it up. “Come on, love. You can look. At least lift your head up to feel the breeze. It’s quite lovely.”
The carriage creaks when you move, but Newt keeps his arm tight around you. “Are you sure it’s okay?”
“What is it?” You question defensively, aware even though you can’t see him that he’s laughing at you.
“Well, you’re red as a rose, first off.”
You scowl at him again.
“And you’re as beautiful as the sunset behind you.”