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sanguinescamander · 1 year

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christmas with newt

gn reader, fluff!!

when the season changes and the weather turns, with the streets of london installing their finest christmas lights and pine trees so tall and so exquistely decorated you had to tilt your neck all the way back to see the ornaments hanging on the upper branches, yours and newt's favourite activity became wandering the streets at night. the neatly paved roads were often dusted with a thin layer of snow that clung to the sills and gathered at the bottom most row of bricks of houses and as the two of you walked hand in hand, pointing out the brightly twinkling trees beyond open curtains in the residing residences to one another, pickett sheltering in the pit of newt's breast pocket to ward off the chill, there was nothing that made the two of you feel quite so festive as your shared evening winter walks.

rescuing and rearing magical creatures is not the only talent newt was gifted; he's an excellent cook. he even tries his hand in baking from time to time, mostly in the form of sweet bread or neat little tarts; the rest he leaves to jacob. at christmas time, however, his talent in the kitchen knows no bounds. and he adores cooking for you. it's not a rare occurrence on wintery afternoons for him to approach you, taking you up in his arms and turning your around to face him. 'now then, what're we hungry for today?' he'd ask, poking you in the stomach to elicit a breathy laugh from you. and anything you'd ask for, he'd cook, disappearing into the kitchen for an hour or so. often you'd follow him just to watch him at work, the snow falling thick and fast beyond the large bay window stretching across the back wall of your kitchen, and he'd converse lovingly with you before serving you up your meal. christmas dinner was, of course, his responsibility and one he loved, even if theseus was several glasses of wine deep and pestering him endlessly whilst attempting to help with the extensive meal.

every christmas newt disappears. not indefinitely, but there'd be an hour or so during the first week of december where he's just nowhere to be found; an odd occurrence for newt, who always makes sure to tell you where he's going and what he's doing. eventually, he'd return, making his way up the stairs from his home zoo in a series of grunts and sighs. you'd round the corner of the hallway to greet him and laugh at his disgruntled figure, a pine tree that exceeded his own height by at least a few inches balanced on his shoulder, a trail of fallen pine needles marking his path from the foot of the long stairwell to the top. he never told you where he gets his christmas trees - presumably from a creature's habitat - and knowing that he could simply apparate one from the air if he wished instead of putting himself through this struggle year after year never failed to make you giggle. but it was this chosen tree that he'd drag into the living room, dropping it and taking a step back to admire his tree with a smile and his hands on his hips before finally the struggle of getting it to stand upright on its base began. this part he would let you help with and appointed you chief decorator, passing you various decorations and ornaments from the box and watching fondly as you placed them around the branches; you always left room at the very centre of the tree on the side that faced the rest of the room for newt's favourite decoration: a carefully carved gold rendition of his beloved niffler, teddy, hanging on a delicate silver string. of course, come morning, the ornament teddy was missing.

you'd write christmas cards together. newt prized himself on his integrity when he came to writing and sending christmas cards and he had a tendency to send off around a hundred every year. this was mostly due to theseus' lack of thought when it came to such things, therefore leaving newt in charge of sending them to who he guessed theseus would want to send well wishes. the fire would be crackling in its hearth and the two of you would be settled at newt's large desk, mugs of hot chocolate and ink pots at hand, talking gently to one another as you wrote, sealed and addressed the cards. newt would hand the completed letters to you in stacks and usher you off into the snowy streets to the letterbox at the end of your terrace and by the time you reentered your home, the tip of your nose bitten with cold, and began to knock the snow off your boots, he'd offer another stack to you with a bashful curve of his lips.

he'd find tiny santa hats for pickett and teddy each year and even though the little creatures hated them and immediately tore them off their tiny heads to stash away from newt to avoid the same fate the following year, he would always prevail by replacing them.

on the coldest nights, you'd read together by the fire. newt's london house hosted a small room lined with books, a tiny personal library, and when it was just too bitter outside to venture out, you'd both grab a book and cups of warm english tea and settle down together before the fire. sometimes you opted to join newt in his reading, putting your own book down and tugging on his sleeve. newt would glance over his book, smile, and open his ams up to you, waiting for you to settle on his chest or on his lap before continuing to read aloud.

you loved to decorate the entire house, hanging mistletoe in most doorways (a favourite decoration of newt's) and stick paper snowflakes in the windows. garlands of holly and bowls of aromatic pinecones would be placed on the window ledges, side tables and fireplace and newt would stand back and watch, admiring your work and ability to make the house so cozy.

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sanguinescamander · 1 year

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newt & his kisses

just a bit fluff, gn reader

it wasn't rare for newt to become so absorbed in his work that the rest of the world simply ceased to exist for him; there was only one thing that stood as the exception to that: you. it also wasn't rare for newt to avoid actively seeking out companionship and company during his day to day rituals and routines - most of which centred around his beloved beasts - and once again, the only exception: you. what was, however, a rarity, was newt's utter infatuation with you, an infatuation that had previously only been documented between himself and the menagerie of creatures that frequented his briefcase. everyone in newt's life agreed that you entering it opened up an entirely new side to the man, a side that only you were permitted to explore, and even newt struggled to comprehend and express the depths to which you had infiltrated him and his character. newt had spent many an hour mulling over his besotted vision of you and the importance he placed on his relationship with you, having come to the humble yet vital conclusion that the only way he could wordlessly demonstrate the extent of his love for you was through kissing; to newt, words took up too much space between people and muddled feelings to the point of confusion; with a kiss, he didn't have to painstakingly piece together a confession of love or a decent way on commenting on your beauty. with a kiss, he could approach you with an offering of love at any given time in the day, whether it be a fleeting brush of his lips as he passed you on his way to feed his scutch of mooncalves or kissing your forehead as he placed your plate of dinner down in front of you or in the small hours when his mouth roved languidly over your body, exploring already marked territory. documented are just a few of newt's favourite ways and occasions to kiss you:

newt was precious with the time he spent away from his beasts and yet he always found the time to spend an extra ten minutes in bed with you in the morning. he was the type to wake up instantly at the same time every morning feeling refreshed, never having to set an alarm or force his way out of the sleep-warmed sheets, and you, still caught in sleep, cheeks warm and eyes heavy, offered the most endearing sight newt had ever known. he took it upon himself to coax you from sleep each morning, running his palms up and down the length of your spine, trailing the tips of his fingers along your cheek bones, up your temples and across the plane of your forehead, and, of course, pressing as many kisses to your skin as he could fit. he often hummed lowly to himself as he did so, the mousy curls of his hair, tousled with sleep, offering your skin tiny kisses of its own as he worked. when you were awake enough to respond to his ministrations with kisses of your own, he knew his job was done, offering you a softly spoken 'good morning' with a languid curve of his lips.

on occasion you'd join him in tending to his creatures, trailing him with buckets of food mix or doing inventory to ensure that none of the magical animals had fled the safety of newt's menagerie. this was one of newt's favourite times, when he could watch you converse with his prized beasts and answer all your budding questions regarding them. his two favourite things coming together: you and his work. it opened up a newfound softness within him, not just for you, but for the animals he had become so used to tending to as he watched the delicate attention you gave each of them in turn. sometimes he'd let you take one of the creatures back to the main house with him or out of the case for the night, often the qilin, which had grown to a considerable size. during these days, he'd graze fleeting kisses to your temples whilst passing you a package of bedding or food for the animals, his hand settling briefly on your waist in a ghost's touch. he'd seek you out at the habitat he knew he'd find you in, approaching on light feet to secure his arms around your waist and kiss the back of your head while mumbling about nifflers and marmites. you'd turn around to meet his embrace, your own lips finding the tip of newt's nose and he'd smile bashfully, pulling you closer to him.

newt wasn't really one for pda. he'd rarely stray beyond casual handholding or wrapping his arm around your waist whilst the two of you explored the streets of london shoulder to shoulder. but, like so many other things in his life, you had unknowingly managed to encourage more confidence in the man that exceeded a sureness of magical creatures and their environments. you could recall the first time he had properly kissed you in public with extensive clarity: the way he had turned to you whilst in line at a small local bookshop, his long arm snaking across your lower back to draw you in close, your chest bumping against his and the warmth of his shaky exhale over your face. he was nervous and yet he still closed the distance between the two of you, his lips quickly yet passionately covering yours whilst his free hand located your own to hold in his. he had pulled away with a little smile, bringing your hand to his mouth now and replacing where your lips had been with the skin covering your knuckles. you had gazed at him in awe, stomach reduced to a knot of nervous butterflies as if it were the first kiss you'd ever shared with him. your reaction to it had encouraged him to kiss you brazenly in public a handful more times since that particular incident in the claustrophobic little book store and he would always pull away with a knowing smile, his cheeks as red as your own.

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