i need poc wizards and witches getting sick of the hogwarts food after so long. there’s only a certain amount of eggs, bacon, and toast they can have for breakfast, and roast beef and potatoes for lunch and dinner for their 7 years of schooling. after about a month of school, they’re all just where’s the goddamn rice??
i need korean witches begging the house elves for some kimchi, and indian wizards craving biryani, and mexican wizards just dreaming for some
because who can really live without their culture’s food for 7 fucking years?
Summary: Newt has been distant the past week, focusing only on Tina and their work. You try to strike up conversation with him at dinner, but, after many failed attempts, grow irritated and leave early. Queenie decides to take matters into her own hands.
Word Count: 2,224
Pairing: Newt x Reader
Requested by Anonymous
Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in
You sit at the dinner table with no goal but to enjoy the meal as Queenie flutters around, stirring pots with both her hands and magic. She already denied your offer to help, so you decided to pass the time talking with her. Newt had disappeared somewhere, probably inside the case, and you had immediately decided against a walk when you glanced at the growing grey clouds outside.
Inside is warm and cozy. You’re wearing your favorite gold sweater. The heat from the cooking keeps out the bite of chilly air rattling the windows. Queenie is humming a jazzy tune you’ve never heard before, only stopping to giggle at Jacob’s red face when he bumps into her.
“I’m sorry.” He says as his face turns a shade of tomato red.
“It ain’t a problem, honey.” Queenie doesn’t break a stride. “What is it you’re making?”
You’re pretty sure she asks it for your sake, given the sounds your stomach has been making since he stuck the pastries he’d spent all afternoon making into the oven, and the smell had spread throughout the small room.
“Special strawberry turnovers.”
“What makes them so special?” You ask, raising your voice over the bubbling, clanking, and simmering sounds filling the area.
“They’re my momma’s recipe. Filled with love and one other special ingredient.”
Queenie swings by Jacob with the pot of stew in hand. “I don’t think nutmeg is very secret, honey.” Five bowls float down into their places around the table as Queenie sets the stew in the center.
“I never said –“
“You don’t have to.” She smiles at him and lifts the pot’s lid.
The rich smell wafts over the table to you. You breathe it in, closing your eyes to revel in the memories it brings back. Your mother always made beef stew with potatoes and chopped carrots for special occasions. Mentally thanking Queenie, you slide your chair back and step toward the pot, scooping the stew in until it nearly sloshes out the side. Queenie merely smiles at you and twirls around Jacob.
She resumes her humming. The turnovers mix with the scent of the stew and your mouth waters. The windows shake, generating a beat that Queenie forms her music around. Jacob’s laugh fills the warm room, and your entire world, for once, is at peace.
Your content joy only expands when Newt walks in, messy auburn hair plastered against his forehead from the rain sprinkling outside, giant, beautiful smile stretched across his face. You glance at your stew, fighting the huge smile trying to break upon your face. Queenie kicks you under the table and, when you meet her gaze, lifts an eyebrow. You give a quick nod before staring back down at your food, trying to resist beaming.
The fight becomes much easier when Tina walks in behind Newt, also covered in water, smile upon her face.