I Still Exist
Requests: Omg your stories are awesome! I was wondering if I could suggest a newt x reader with the song “Where Do We Go” or “Shatter Me” by Lindsey Stirling? Where the reader feels kinda neglected and depressed for quite some time and newt fails to notice because he is in a lot harsher mood and snaps a lot as a result of working on his book? And one day she goes “missing” and worries newt? Lots of angst pls!(Idk it sounded a lot better in my head)You can come up with the rest. Thanks! AND hi !! i really love your stories, and i was wondering if i could request an v angsty one where newt is under a lot of stress and snaps at reader? ❤️❤️
Word Count: 2,701
Pairing: Newt x Reader
Requested by Anonymous
Requests are currently open! Feel free to one in
The workshop smells about how you’d expected when you crawl into the case. A burning mixture evaporates somewhere nearby, partly covering up the odors of the various feed bags for the creatures and the plate of raw meat rotting on the table. You shake your head, disgusted, and slip past the shed. Scanning the field, hand over your eyes to block out the blinding sun, you spot Newt next to a murtlap. He’s on his knees saying something to the snarling creature. You swallow down the heart breaking in your chest. He’s exchanging more words with that beast than he has with you in the past month.
“Newt. Newt!” You shout, crossing through tall grasses and kicking stones out of your way. For God’s sake, “Newt!”
He twists enough to ensure it’s you before turning his back on you. “One minute, love.”
Hands on your hips, you wait as he chatters with the beast. It’s not that you’re against his research, it’s that he’s trying to cram chapters worth of new material into the book. You’d supported his idea when he first told you a month and a half ago. Now, though, you’re not sure you would’ve been so encouraging had you known he would spend every waking minute in the case without you.
“I don’t have all day, Newt. I have to get to the bakery with Queenie before it closes.”
He shakes his head, facing you. “I’m busy, love. Can’t it wait?”
You can feel the tension in his voice, strengthened, no doubt, by the bags under his eyes. “I just need to know if you’d prefer apple or peach pie for dessert.”
He mumbles something that sounds like ‘that’s it?’ but when you question him, he simply says, “I said it’s your choice. I’m sure you’ll make the right one.”