#fox!newt

[mamin-the-troll]

Some doodles!

[funkzpiel]

I’ve had a rough night due to tummy ache and I’m operating on 2 hours sleep today. Would it be okay to request anything gramander fluff? Thank you ❤️

I apologize for how small this is, I’m about to go pass out – but I hope that you’re feeling better, m’dear, anything to help!

Newt is a capable man. After years of being shunned, he has learned to be his own first line of support. He eats healthy because he has no one to rely on if he gets sick – and if he falls ill, who else would watch after the creatures? He rests because they need him. He teaches himself new spells; after all, his school sent him away. He drinks water promptly at the top of each hour. He meticulously ensures he ingests the right about of calories. 

By comparison to Graves, he is a machine. Every cog in order, every part well oiled, and to a degree Graves can’t help but feel inadequate by comparison. He is older, after all, and of a position in which he feels he should be more in control of keeping himself healthy – but Newt has him beat in spades.

It’s something he comes to grips with; that Newt will mother him but he has no opportunity to mother him back. The man by and far seems flawless.

And yet one night, Graves is surprised to find not his partner, but a russet trim fox trotting through his library. Without a word – or whatever foxes say – the little creature just silently plotted over to him, nosed aside his book, climbed delicately into his lap and curled into a neat little ball and closed his eyes. 

It is only after a moment in which Graves deigned to do nothing more than blink owlishly at the little creature – book in the air above his head – that Newt opened one eyes to peer at him and huffed. 

Tentatively, he pets the little thing and when it melts into his lap with a sigh, the dots connect. Newt – the man, the caregiver – has no time to let loose and be taken care of, he’s never had the chance.

But Newt the fox, the animagus form he by no legal means should have, is just a fox. He can get as many fucking cuddles as he pleases.

This new language makes things easier for them. This new way of caring. 

And so some nights Graves cuddles not with his partner, but with a little russet fox. He reads his books aloud on these nights, fingers buried in autumn fur, until the drone of his stories lulls them both asleep.

[mamin-the-troll]

Mr.Graves won’t ask nicely. If he likes it, he bites it!

Look! who is really productive! I can’t stop drawing fox!Newt. He’s my new addiction and I won’t complain ... except that I might have to stop drawing for awhile because my wrist hurts owww (Also my back... I’m too old *sobs*)

[mamin-the-troll]

Trying to send a nice anon per day to keep The Sadz™ away. Your art is so adorable! Ickle little Newt and Percival and I just want to scream. They are just so … so … I don’t even have words anymore. It’s all so cute and fluffy and I just love your fox!Newt. He’s so pure and innocent and I just want to cuddle him. I’m waiting for more nice art from you—you are a delight! <3

OH MY LORD YOU’RE TOO NICE!!! I’M SO HAPPY I WANNA YELL AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS RIGHT NOW AHHHHHHHH.H.HH.HHHH *screaming*

OMG I’m glad you like fox!Newt because I love him too! Drawing them is fun! mmmm you’re so nice and kind to me *sobs* please have itchy bitty fox!Newt as my thank!

AND YOU’RE THE MOST PRECIOUS CINNAMON ROLL! *hugs you tight*

[mamin-the-troll]

Would you lemme take a bite?

.

Going to make this into a keychain but feel like making him into a gif first :D

[funkzpiel]

I had a thought I wanted to share with you!! It's about Baby Fox! Newt and Baby Wolf!Graves. Ok ok so even after Newt is back to normal, he still has a bit of a primal side. He likes to leave marks on Percival -- little pink and purple bruises on his neck and sometimes ((when he gets a bit too rough)) teeth marks. Percival, on the other hand, likes to mark Newt with his scent and sometimes even growls at people who get too close to his mate -- because that's exactly what Newt is to his wolf.

Oh. Oh my god. Yes. 

Newt doesn’t come back to them quite the same; not that it comes to affect the aurors. No, they don’t mind. To everyone, Newt is fine! He smiles, he jokes, he looks at your cheek oddly when he speaks to you. He gets excited about his creatures, passionate when they’re at stake. To most of the world, Newt is not different at all. 

If it wasn’t for their boss, they’d honestly never know the difference.

But Newt is different. There’s a spark of wildness in his blood that doesn’t leave once he’s human again. A sharpness in his teeth that hasn’t softened, leaving little pinpricks of blood on Graves’ immaculate clothes. They don’t understand, at first, until the day the cool air dies in the building on during a classically scolding New York summer.

It’s not the first time they’ve seen their boss sans coat or with his sleeves rolled up - but it is the first time they’ve actually glimpsed Newt’s possessive bite marks. Crescent rows of indents along the flesh of his forearm, peeking out on his neck from the unbutton collar of his shirt. Sharp and bruised and angry looking. And without needing to see, they know there’s likely more. Livid rings of teeth marks on his thighs and his hips and his back and his ribs - covered in the animalistic signature unique to Newt’s pearly whites.

And when they hesitantly glance at Newt, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that the man doesn’t regret a thing. There’s a hunger in his gaze that leaves them reeling - a predatory warning. Touch what’s mine and you’ll never touch anything again.

They never question it. They never bring it up. Mr. Graves is a strong man, and they trust in him to either handle himself or seek one of them for help, if he needs it.

No one considered that perhaps Graves had not come back quite the same either. Just because Newt isn’t covered in a mapwork of teeth imprints doesn’t mean nothing of the wolf still lingers beneath Graves’ skin.

No one even considered it until the day a foreign dignitary comes to visit, particularly keen on speaking to Newt. He’s sleazy and heavy handed in his advances, and the aurors all have the hackles up because oh hell no, you are not hitting on their boss’ man, when Graves suddenly appears.

“Mr. Moretti, such a pleasure to see you again,” and then, without missing a beat, he grabbed Newt by the shoulders and proceeded to rub the finely shaved line of his jaw against Newt’s cheek, Newt’s throat, Newt’s shoulder. Hips grinding against Newt’s side in a single lewd maneuver. The aurors are openmouthed and gawking. The dignitary is frozen, wide-eyed. “I trust your trip here went smoothly?”

And damn if Newt doesn’t look pleased as punch, just absolutely fucking preening at the stranger as Graves rubs his scent proprietarily across Newt’s skin. When finally he pulls away, he smiles with far more teeth than last the aurors could recall - and they can practically see the dignitary’s soul leave his body. He doesn’t so much as look Newt’s way again during the entire trip.

No, Graves doesn’t come back the same either. Everyone makes a note not to encroach on either of them under fear of pain of death. They don’t want to know what Graves or Newt would do if someone was fool enough not to take their signs of ownership seriously.

[funkzpiel]

oh my god that Wolf Graves and Fox Newt and them boys being possessive of each other is officially my jam now. thank you, queen for igniting this particular kink of mine

You should honestly thank @anirishman; the’re the one who sparked the post. I’d like to think that, possessive as they both are, they lose their shit when one of them willingly succumbs or initiates something that would mark them as claimed to the other person.

Example: Graves just fucking mauls Newt on the kitchen table when he walks into the kitchen to find the man standing in its center, tea cup in hand, staring sleepily out the window into the garden in nothing but a pair of soft socks and one of Graves’ large shirts, buttons off by one set and skewed off his shoulder.

Wearing Graves’ clothes, Graves’ scent, Graves’ things - and thus by proxy, Graves’. Just sets Newt’s cup aside, grabs him by the bottom of each thigh and hauls him onto the table where he might better nuzzle beneath that drifting collar and kiss thanks into his skin for willingly being his.