— When Newt's Niffler keeps stealing your locket, he finally admits the creature has excellent taste.
The Niffler had stolen your locket again.
This was the third time this week, and you were beginning to suspect it wasn't entirely accidental. Newt's creatures had personalities—distinct, complex ones—and this particular Niffler had decided, for reasons known only to itself, that you were worth stealing from.
"I'm terribly sorry," Newt said for the third time, carefully extracting the locket from the Niffler's pouch while the creature chittered indignantly. "He's usually very well-behaved about only taking things from my pockets."
"It's fine," you said, watching the way Newt's fingers moved—gentle, practiced, respectful of the creature even while disciplining it. "Though I'm starting to think he likes me."
Newt glanced up, and there was something soft in his eyes. "He has excellent taste."
The words were so quietly sincere that you almost missed them. Almost.
You'd been working with Newt for six months now, cataloguing his creatures, helping him organize his research for the book he was always talking about writing but never quite seemed to start. It was supposed to be temporary—a few weeks, maybe a month, just until he found someone more qualified.
But Newt had a way of making temporary feel permanent, of making you feel essential in ways that had nothing to do with qualifications.
"Here," he said, holding out the locket. But instead of simply handing it to you, he hesitated. "May I?"
You nodded, confused, and watched as he carefully fastened it around your neck, his fingers barely brushing your skin. He was close enough that you could see the freckles scattered across his nose, the way his hair curled slightly at the temples.
"There's a charm on this," he said quietly, still focused on the clasp. "Protection magic. Old. Powerful. Did you know?"
"It was my grandmother's."
"She must have loved you very much." He stepped back, finally meeting your eyes. "The Niffler can sense it. The magic. He's drawn to powerful things, but more than that, he's drawn to things that matter. Things that are treasured."
Your heart did something complicated.
"Newt," you started, but he was already moving away, back to the Niffler, using the creature as a shield the way he always did when conversations turned personal.
"Right, yes, back you go," he murmured, gently depositing the Niffler back into its enclosure. "And no more stealing. I mean it this time."
The Niffler made a sound that suggested it absolutely did not mean it.
You watched Newt move through his case—this impossible space he'd created, full of creatures and habitats and magic that defied explanation. He belonged here, you thought. Among things that were misunderstood, underestimated, seen as dangerous or inconvenient by people who didn't bother to look closer.
"Newt," you said again, more firmly this time.
He paused, his back to you, shoulders tense.
"Why did you really ask me to stay? Six months ago, when my temporary position ended?"
"I told you. I needed help with the documentation."
"You're perfectly capable of documenting on your own. You've been doing it for years."
"Yes, well." He turned slowly, and there was color high on his cheeks. "The creatures like you."
"The creatures."
"They're excellent judges of character." He was fidgeting with his wand now, rolling it between his fingers. "Better than I am, certainly. They knew immediately that you were—that you—"
He stopped, jaw working, clearly fighting with himself.
You stepped closer. "That I was what?"
"Important," he said quietly. "They knew you were important. The Niffler steals from you because he wants your attention. The Bowtruckle only lets you hold him. The Occamy rearranges herself to fit in your hands specifically." He swallowed hard. "And I—I knew it too. That you were important. I just didn't know how to say it."
Your breath held.
"I'm not good at this," he continued, the words coming faster now, like he was afraid he'd lose his nerve. "At talking. At people. I spend most of my time with creatures because they make sense in ways that humans don't. But you—you make sense to me. The way you move through the habitats, the way you speak to the creatures, the way you organize my notes without making me feel incompetent." He finally met your eyes, and the vulnerability there was staggering. "The way you look at me like I'm not strange. Like I'm just... Newt."
"You are just Newt," you said softly.
"Most people find that disappointing."
"I don't."
He let out a shaky breath. "The Niffler steals your locket because it's precious. Because it matters. And I—" He stopped, looking away. "I keep asking you to stay for the same reason."
The confession hung between you, fragile and honest.
You closed the distance between you, and he watched you approach like you were a creature he hadn't fully studied yet—curious, cautious, hopeful.
"Newt Scamander," you said, reaching up to cup his face, feeling him lean into your touch like he'd been starving for it. "Are you telling me I'm your queen of hearts?"
He blinked, confused. "I—what?"
You laughed softly. "The Niffler steals hearts. Shiny things, precious things. You're saying I'm the thing worth stealing."
Understanding dawned in his expression, followed by something that looked almost like wonder. "Yes," he breathed. "Yes, exactly that. You're the thing worth—I would steal you, if I could. Keep you here. Not in a case, obviously, that would be terrible, but just—here. With me. If you wanted."
"What if I told you that you don't have to steal me?" You brushed your thumb across his cheekbone, watching his eyes flutter closed. "What if I told you I'd stay willingly?"
His eyes opened, wide and green and disbelieving. "You would?"
"I have been. For six months or else I wouldn’t be here."
"I—" He laughed, surprised and a little breathless. "I thought you were just being kind. Patient with the strange man and his creatures."
"You're not strange. You're extraordinary." You leaned closer, watching his breath catch. "And I'm not being patient. I'm being selfish. I stay because I want to. Because watching you with your creatures is like watching magic happen. Because you see the world differently and it makes me see it differently too. Because—"
He kissed you.
It was unpracticed and a little clumsy and absolutely perfect—the kiss of someone who'd spent more time with creatures than people but was trying, really trying, to be brave.
When he pulled back, he looked dazed.
"I've wanted to do that for four months, two weeks, and three days," he admitted. "Not that I was counting."
"You were absolutely counting."
"I was completely counting." His smile was crooked, shy. "I have a whole journal entry about the exact moment I realized I was in love with you. It was when you sang to the Mooncalves. They'd been agitated, and you just—you started humming, and they calmed immediately, and I thought, 'oh, this is it. This is the person I want to document creatures with for the rest of my life.'"
Your heart felt too large for your chest. "That's possibly the most Newt Scamander declaration of love I could imagine."
"Is that bad?"
"It's perfect." You kissed him again, softer this time. "Though for the record, I've been in love with you since the first week, when you apologized to an Erumpent for disturbing its nap."
He flushed, delighted and embarrassed. "That was just common courtesy."
"That was adorable."
From somewhere in the case, the Niffler chittered approvingly, and you both laughed.
"So," Newt said, his hands settling tentatively at your waist like he wasn't quite sure he was allowed. "You'll stay? Not temporarily?"
"Not temporarily," you confirmed. "Though you should probably warn the Niffler that he can't steal from me anymore."
Newt glanced toward the enclosure, then back at you, and his smile was pure mischief—a rare expression that made him look younger, lighter.
"Actually," he said, "I think I'll let him keep trying. He has excellent taste, after all."
Newt won't meet your eyes, fingers fidgeting with his napkin. The restaurant is lovely—candles, white tablecloths, the sort of place normal people bring dates. But Newt has never been normal, and watching him try is somehow worse than if he hadn't tried at all.
"What makes you say that?"
"I've talked about Mooncalf mating habits for twenty minutes." His ears are red. "And doxy dental structure. And you haven't touched your food because I keep—I'm doing it again, aren't I?"
You reach across the table, stilling his restless hands. "Newt."
He finally looks up, blue-green eyes anxious behind falling curls.
"I asked you to dinner because I wanted to spend time with you. That includes the Mooncalf expertise."
"Most people find it tedious."
"I'm not most people." You squeeze his fingers. "Though I am wondering why you chose here instead of somewhere you'd actually enjoy."
He blinks. "This is where people go on proper dates. Pickett said—" He stops, looking mortified. "I took romantic advice from a Bowtruckle."
Your laugh startles both of you. "What did Pickett suggest?"
"Flowers. Candlelight. Trying not to talk about creatures." Newt's smile is self-deprecating. "I managed one out of three."
"The flowers are lovely," you assure him, nodding at the slightly wilted bouquet he'd thrust at you earlier—clearly picked from someone's garden. "But next time, take me somewhere you love. Show me your world, not what you think I want to see."
His expression transforms—hope and relief and something warmer. "There's a Kelpie sanctuary outside the city. It's not romantic, exactly, but—"
"It sounds perfect."
"Really?"
"Really."
Newt's smile is sunshine breaking through clouds. "I'd like that very much."
Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them and Harry Potter Characters & The Romantic Gestures That They Do
Multi Fandom: Romantic Gestures That They Do
Newt Scamander is known for his quiet, empathetic nature and deep devotion to those he cares about, whether they are magical creatures or people. His romantic gestures are often subtle, practical, and incredibly observant.
Thoughtful Small Acts: Rather than grand public displays, Newt expresses love through small, meaningful actions, like bringing you a favorite snack or listening with rapt attention.
Observing Details: Newt notices the smallest things about you—your unique qualities, how your eyes light up, or even a slight crease in your brow—and genuinely appreciates them.
Gentlemanly Care: Newt is a classic gentleman who will offer you his coat when you're cold, hold doors open, and provide a comforting touch when needed.
Introducing His Creatures: One of Newt's most significant gestures is inviting you into his suitcase to meet his magical creatures. He loves seeing the awe on your face as he explains each creature in detail.
Shared Responsibility: Newt may refer to his creatures as your "children," considering your both their caregivers.
Reading Together: Newt might read to you (and his creatures, like Pickett and the Niffler) as a way to bond and share his passions.
Shy but Sincere Kisses: Newt can be quite shy with physical affection. He might give you quick, sweet kisses on the cheek, forehead, or nose to say hello or goodbye.
Comforting Hugs & Cuddles: Newt is a fan of cuddling and often finds comfort in resting his head on your head or shoulder. He may even ask for permission before holding your hand.
Protective Instincts: Newt is fiercely loyal and protective, always prioritizing your safety and happiness. This can manifest in simple ways, like tucking a blanket around you so you don't freeze.
𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂. send in a character + a scenario for a blurb + 𝗨𝗠𝗕𝗥𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗔
annnddd another one just for fun lolzies. theseus + the prompt “that’s the sixth time you’ve complimented me today.”
"you smell good," you hum as you dig your face further into your fiancé's lap. his feet were propped up on the coffee table in front of the couch, one hand splayed wide to keep the small paperback open in front of his face while the other toyed with the lacy hem of your slip where it rested at the tops of your thighs. your nose edged along the waistband of his bottoms and the warm cotton he'd pulled out of the dryer barely a half hour ago.
"darling, are you feeling alright?" he asks as he tabs his book and drops it onto the other end of the couch beside your feet.
"fine, love. just happy," you say. "why?"
"well that's just the sixth time you've complimented me today," he chuckles. his hand smooths out over your skin and you can feel the heat seeping into your bones.
"i can't compliment my betrothed?"
"your betrothed, huh?" he asks as he taps on your hip to get you to sit up. his grip tightens as he helps to situate over his thighs so that you're straddling him.
"mhm," you buzz. "you can't take it back now, either. i've got a ring to prove it."
"is that right?" he leans forward until your noses are touching.
"that's right," you say. he pecks your lips once, twice, before he's kissing you fully. his head tilts and his tongue breaches the gap between your lips.
"mrs. scamander has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" he asks once he's pulled away. his fingers come up to brush back the hair that's fallen into your face. nodding, you press forward to reconnect your lips.
