#but it was raining here so I was inspirde

[inkstainedfanfics]

Rainin’ You

Summary: Reader both likes and dislikes rainy days. Inspired by the tone of Brad Paisley’s “Rainin’ You”

Word Count: 1,850

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Tagging @jackdawsonsgrl @heneed-somemilk @blackholeunderyourbed @dont-give-a-bother @whatinbenaddiction @thosefantasticbeast2 @red-roses-and-stories @myrtus-amongst-the-stars @ly--canthrope​ @caseoffics @benniesgalaxy @studyforthreehands @barbarachern

WARNING: Death Mention

You sit on the deep windowsill, knees pulled up against your chest, chin resting atop your knees, eyes focused on the rain pounding against the pane of cool glass.

You sigh, breath fogging up the glass for a second, and you wonder if when it fades, you’ll be able to see through the rain to the intersection only five blocks away. The heavy rain obscures it, but on good days, you can spot it, watch the cars ramble past as though nothing matters.

For a moment, you think you smell pine and rosemary, a combination that shoots hope through you, and, despite everything, despite the memories, despite the old gown hanging in the back of your closet, you shut your eyes and let yourself pretend that Newt’s here, just in the other room mixing you a cup of tea with honey, waiting to curl up on the other half of the ledge and discuss your future the way you used to. For that moment, it’s like he never left. You breathe in again, begging the air for one more waft of the familiar scent, but the smell is gone as quickly as it appeared.

A sharp twinge of pain shoots through your chest, reopening old wounds you sewed shut a few months before. Unfortunately, you’ve never been good at sewing and your stitches tear out with any small prick of a memory.

Tears well up in your eyes, but a smile drifts onto your lips when the small puppy you’d adopted with Newt hops onto the ledge, licking at your foot before curling into a ball, tiny nose pressing against the pane, huffing small clouds onto the glass.

You peer back out at the rain, letting it transport you, letting it take you back to back the first time you’d met Newt: a sunny day that flipped on its side faster than you’d ever seen.

You’d been wandering the town, trying to find a very specific shoe store recommended by your friend when he bumped into you, apologizing quickly, starting to walk away, but stopping when he saw your expression. “Sorry to bother, but do you need help?”

“I’m looking for a store, but I think I might be a little lost.” You’d admitted it with a quiet, ashamed smile, one directed at the ground. “I’ve just moved here for a job that I begin on Monday; I’m going to be late tomorrow if I don’t figure out these twisted streets.”

With that, he’d grinned a nervous half-grin that could melt the hardest heart. “I’m Newt.”

“A pleasure.” You’d murmured, introducing yourself and waiting for his next directive, but before he could say another thing, rain was falling, heavy drops bursting open on the crowns of your heads, plopping against the sidewalk. Newt grabbed your arm, tugging you toward him, and you’d followed him under an awning without hesitation. There was something about him even then that was dragging you in, intoxicating you.

“It was just sunny. How’s it already raining?” You’d asked, brushing water droplets from your hair, blushing when he gently knocked one from your cheekbone with a simple flick of his finger.

“This is London. A bit of sun means nothing.” Oh, he’d had the most charming smile, one that crinkled his eyes. When he laughed, his nose had scrunched up the tiniest bit, and your heart had dropped in your chest. The one.

A curse, those words. What do people know about fate except that it gives only to take away? The memory fades as the words echo in your empty chest. You had truly believed them, truly thought you’d found your forever.

Lightning flashes just outside, and thunder follows close behind it, shaking the house. You shake your head, lips parted as you sigh and pull a silver ring off your finger, spinning and twisting it so the dim light glimmers off of it, casts small refractions against the wall. Your dog perks up, eyes following the light, and you continue the movement, giving him a small moment to play as you stare down at the ring.

It’s old, a ring bought on a trip to Venice, found in a drawer in an antique store. You’d caught your breath when you’d noticed it among the useless baubles and costume jewelry.

Newt had gravitated toward you, hands landing on your waist. “You should buy it.”

You snorted then as you do now. Ridiculous. The thing cost a fortune, far too much for you to afford back then. “Don’t be absurd. I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s expensive, Newt.”

He’d smiled at that, taking the ring from you, his soft hand brushing your own. “Then allow me.”

You’d grabbed for it, but he’d just slid his hand into yours, lacing his fingers through yours and holding it at his side. The gesture paused your attack. You’d held hands before, but never so casually in public. Newt had always been more reserved, against any sign of affection in public outside of adoring looks. So when he’d paid for the ring, walked through the shop, and led you outside without letting go of your hand, you were amazed. The one. He’d grinned when he saw the rain pouring from the sky.

“So much for a lovely date.”

“Don’t you like the rain?”

He’d looked at you then with that calm gaze, one you’d come to understand was the way he looked at anyone he loves. It sent a warmth creeping through your chest and stomach. “I enjoy it, yes. Do you?”

You’d thought back to first meeting him, then the picnic ruined by a sudden storm in Scotland, and the time he’d first kissed you in a slight drizzle after asking. “I know it isn’t perfect, but I’d rather not wait another week, if that’s all right with you.”

You’d smiled at him, considering his question about the rain, then answering his question honestly. “I love the rain, too.”

And you did. Still do, if you’re being truthful. There’s not much you wouldn’t do to remember the pleasant times, the times in your life where you were truly happy, truly living, while at Newt’s side.

With every rainy day, you can remember them, close your eyes and pretend you’re back to when Newt’s wet hands landed on your cheeks and gently tugged you forward to meet his lips, can pretend it’s the same day as when you shrieked as the downpour drenched your food and you pulled Newt to shelter.

But with every rainy day, with every day that’s even cloudy, you can’t block out the worst of it all.

You received the news on a Tuesday. His mother was on the phone, saying she knew he would want to tell you first. So you went out shopping, bought yourself a new dress that would fit well for the day, knowing he would agree that’s it perfect if he saw it. Newt had a way of being sweet without even meaning to.

You got in your car five days after the phone call, on a dreary Sunday afternoon, and drove five miles out. Everyone was mingling, waiting for the service to begin. You found yourself the seat reserved next to his mother, sat next to her, squeezed her hand. “It’ll be all right.” No, it wouldn’t, you knew, but Mrs. Scamander didn’t need to know.

The priest talked and talked and talked, reading from his bible, looking at the crowd, smiling, but it was wrong. It was all wrong. You’re not supposed to be sitting here. You’re supposed to see him standing at the end of the aisle, running a hand over his face when you turn toward him; he’s supposed to be wiping away tears, Pickett poking up from his pocket and pinching his arm in celebration. He’s not supposed to be carried up. People aren’t supposed to give speeches during the ceremony, that’s supposed to happen after.

You listened to story after story, comparing them to the ones in your head, the ones you cherished above everything, and you find that none of them could match the stories you share with him.

A light drizzle started during the ceremony, seeping through your shoes and wetting the sleeves of your coat. The ground turned to mud, and guests’ shoes made ugly shlooping noises as they stomped up to the newly filled hole in the ground. You know if Newt were there next to you, he’d nudge you, tell you how lucky he is that even the angels would cry for him. That if he were next to you, he’d be doing whatever he could to drive the tears in your eyes away, rubbing them away with his thumbs, making joke after joke until you smiled. But he wasn’t next to you, and no amount of condolences from mere acquaintances could have even a smidge of the effect Newt had.

You stayed there even after Theseus led Mrs. Scamander away, cradling her sobbing body with one arm. “He’s happy somewhere, mum.”

Theseus, a strong man. You’re grateful for him when he returns to see you, sitting in the mud next to you, eyes not lingering on the way you wrap an arm around the tombstone, the way you let the rain soak into your skin. You stayed there in silence. Newt wasn’t around to pull you from the rain, to drag you away and laugh with you, and Theseus was grieving himself. So the two of you sat there until you both ran out of tears, and, when that happened, you got in your cars and drove home, fully awake but also fully numb.

You forgot the next few days, forgot what had occurred, didn’t realize anything was amiss at the beginning of the day until you crawled into the case and it was barren, Newt not there. Newt not anywhere you could reach. Then it’d all swing back and you’d weep, sitting down wherever you were and wrapping your arms around yourself until you could stop the tears, until you could imagine Newt helping you up, telling you it would be all right.

You stand, stepping off the ledge and crossing the quiet living room. Lifting a quill, you slide a piece of parchment onto the desk and start a letter. It will go nowhere, be sent to no one, but it helps. It’s like he’s here, talking to you, and when you write, you can sometimes feel the brush of his hand on your arm or hear his boots pound behind you as he rushed to bring an injured creature to the case. You smile again as you finish the letter and lift it. It shouldn’t help but it does and you let out a deep breath. Someday, you’ll see him again. Until then, you have quills and parchment and rainy days.

Love, it’s raining again. One of our days. I miss you too much to say, and I cannot wait for our reunion. Wait for me wherever you are, darling, and know that I will always carry you in my heart from now until forever. Xo, yours.

[libidomechanica]

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