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lacollectionneuse1967 · 10 months

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slip of the tongue part 2 - jealous

Theseus Scamander x Reader

“He was all over you,” he hisses. “I am not a possessive man, but I could’ve killed him then and there. He doesn’t know what’s mine.”

summary: after confessing your feelings for (and sleeping with) your boss, theseus, you join his brother newt's team of wizards attempting to thwart the notorious gellert grindelwald. when you're tasked with distracting and seducing a powerful dark wizard on your first mission, theseus gets uncharacteristically and fiercely jealous.

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: smut with plot

warnings: 18+ smut, (light) mdom/femsub elements, unprotected penetration, semi-public sex, jealousy/possessive behavior, also the reader suffers brief unwanted sexual advances in a scene

part one / part two

Your dreams are uninventive. Your nightmares are even less so.

Often you are hounded by dogs: drooling, snapping canines, bloodthirsty past the point of cognizance, they’re more open mouths than animals. Or, you’re standing on the hill where your old orphanage used to sit in North London, barefoot on the roof while the rest of London floods below, water rising, you know you’re going to drown. Or some other tired, boring allegory for your past catching up with you, at last, your blessings, your wand, crumbling to ash—you know what the dreams mean and they don’t scare you anymore.

But tonight you are perfectly dreamless. The dream dogs, the wintry world outside, the sound of the wind whistling through the empty London streets, it cannot touch you now. The fireplace is crackling and warm orange light spills in beneath the door from the living room.

Theseus’s arm is draped over your body, your head is on his chest. Every part of your body where your bare skin meets his buzzes with contentment. His room is like a sanctuary, his arms a house that holds you.

You don’t think you’ve slept for even a full hour. It’s still dark outside when you feel Theseus jostling your shoulder.

“Y/N. Wake up, darling.”

You sigh in response and are about to put up a fight, but when you meet his eyes they’re full of sore regret, apologetic. He wouldn’t ask you to leave his bed unless it was important.

You emerge from the covers and start to stretch.

“What time is it?”

“I’m sorry, love, but it’s nearly four in the morning. We have to be going, it’s urgent.”

You turn to look at him, he’s raking a hand through his hair, sitting up in bed.

“Did you sleep at all, Theseus?” You ask incredulously.

“No, too much to think about. And besides, I knew if I slept I wouldn’t be likely to wake. Better you sleep…”

Your heart wrenched. In a swell of affection, you went to him, crawling back over his body on the bed.

“No,” he groans, but his hands come around you, sliding down to your hips, anyway. You kiss his neck, raking your teeth over the skin there.

“Don’t do this to me,” he anguishes. His grip tightens on your hip, it’s meant to be chastising but it makes you want him more. “Please. We need to leave, Y/N.”

It wasn’t easy letting go of him. You know he would’ve given you what you wanted with enough persistence.

“Okay, okay!” You relent, kissing his mouth with a smile. “I’ll stop terrorizing you now.” You leap out of bed again without complaint.

When he stands he’s serious-Theseus again, your boss. And you love him still.

For his sake, you pretend not to notice his erection in his boxer shorts. It looks painfully hard.

“Get dressed,” he says to you before turning to the bathroom. “We need to get to Hogsmeade.”

It was wonderfully strange to see him like this—hair in wavy disarray, looking soft and subdued, barefoot and in his t-shirt. You want to appreciate the sight, you want to talk about what had happened between you and all that had been said. But his mind is elsewhere, preoccupied, and it seems you are both running late.

At your insistence, he lets you apparate to your apartment for a change of clothes, but then the two of you are off, running down the stairs of his building into the dark world below.

—————

Hogsmeade is more of a detour. There is an incognito meet-up organized with none other than Professor Albus Dumbledore. You’d, mercifully, taken a train--the Hogwarts Express. Theseus mentioned that Dumbledore was being watched by the Ministry, and that there were anti-apparition charms put up around the village and the castle.

You were just grateful to see him sleeping, at last, on the way there.

It was barely daylight when the two of you arrived, the sun bleak and pink over the Highlands, providing no warmth. You were grateful for the coffee you'd nursed on the train, as you were grateful to relieve yourself of the confidential documents from the Ministry. Their weight was an invisible one for you, evidence of your betrayal.

"Some aspiring Auror you are," you thought to yourself, bitterly.

“I tried to organize them for you. I started to, actually,” You supplied sheepishly when Dumbledore regarded the haphazard stacks of parchment, laid out on one of the tables in what you assumed was his brother's inn.

Dumbledore smiled warmly at you regardless and thanked you sincerely.

When you step out of the inn, you look to Theseus just as he looks over his shoulder at you. You're both more or less sleepless, and cold, and it seems the both of you have betrayed the Ministry and embarked on a hopeless mission, without many allies in the world.

But you were a united front.

It surprises you when he says, so earnestly that the tension in his shoulders seems to deflate, “God, I missed you. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

You blush, but don’t break his gaze. You’re not afraid to let him see you anymore.

“Where to, Mr. Scamander?”

He flexes his jaw like he’s not thinking about the plan at all, like he’s thinking about last night. But then, with a sigh, the moment is broken.

“Germany,” he says. “It’s time you meet my younger brother and the rest of the resistance.”

He says ‘resistance’ like it's some inside joke, some funny jab. You don't understand it until you arrive at the hotel room in Berlin.

-----------

Other than the hair, that uncommon shade of reddish, honey brown, and the apparent kindness and sense of humanity, Newt is nothing like Theseus. In fact, when he comes over to greet you he can hardly meet your eye, his head is half bowed in the other direction, his mouth a nervous, flat line.

"Pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I was sure that you'd do the right thing when Theseus sent you his letter. It was... very brave of you."

You look to Theseus in sharp amusement, eyes sparkling.

"Was there ever a question of whether or not I'd betray you? Did you really think there was a chance I'd turn you over to the authorities?"

Theseus places a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

"Come now, Y/N," he says. "You know if I were to die I'd prefer it to be at your hand anyway."

You want to roll your eyes, but you're not sure to what extent he's joking.

You shake Newt's hand. You're soon after introduced to a muggle baker named Jacob and an astute, somewhat brash Auror from America named Tina. You're not much of a people-person, but you find that you like them both, immensely. They feel genuine, the sort of strong, singular characters that couldn't deceive anyone if they tried. That is why Newt's explanation of your task for the night sends a bolt of dread down your spine.

"We need to need to retrieve a magical object from a German Minister's office. I-I can't say much, it's better you don't know, but it's safe to assume that a large portion of the German Ministry of Magic has already fallen. Helmut, Vogel--and who knows how many others are under the influence of Grindelwald."

"Which German Minister's office?" Theseus says. His hands are in his pockets, he's leaning against the windowsill, the picture of nonchalance, his hair swept back. He's so handsome you could cry.

Newt ignores him. "Now, tonight may be our only chance. There's a diplomatic gala at the ministry itself. I can get us all in, Pickett and I can handle sneaking into the office itself, but there are five people who know about the object being at the ministry, who will be on the lookout and who need to be distracted until we're out."

He doled out assignments swiftly. Theseus was to distract the head of security. Jacob, the two waitstaff who served as the Minister's private informants. For Tina, the German Auror, Helmut. And for you? The Minister himself.

"Which Minister, Newt?" Theseus asks again, the edge in his voice unmistakable, though you don't understand it.

"Baron Dietrich, the Minister of Finance," Newt says at last.

Dietrich. Most of your work for Theseus was domestic, but you try to remember what you can. Dietrich was some Bavarian-born descendent of the aristocracy. Hedonistic, high society. He fought in the war, but gained his reputation in the drinking clubs of Berlin. Even you knew he was ruthless, notorious. A brute of a man without much respect for the law. That was the extent of what you knew.

Newt is rushing to explain before you or Theseus can speak.

“Please, Y/N, Theseus." He looks between the two of you, trying to appeal to both. "Dietrich, h-he likes…he likes beautiful women and he-"

Theseus crosses the room to his brother in a single stride. "Yes, and do you have any idea what he likes to do to those beautiful women, Newt?” He's seething. “Even everyone at the British Ministry knows he brutalizes them."

“I-I wouldn’t ask her if it weren’t absolutely necessary. So long as she’s able to distract him at the party, keep him interested there, at the party, nothing will happen to her—to you!” Newt turns to you now, addressing you directly. “I’m sure of it…”

Theseus sucks his teeth and turns away from his brother, still fuming. “Absolutely not. You will not send her away from my side, that’s final. Not to that man.”

“Theseus, please-"

“She’s muggleborn, Newt! Do you know what men like Baron Dietrich do to wizards like her? If he found out, if any one of Grindelwald's followers did, she'd be killed.” Theseus is speaking with such firm authority, but you know him well enough to detect the barely concealed panic in his eyes, the fracture just beneath the fortress. “Send Tina instead, she’s an Auror.”

“But Y/N is exactly the sort of girl that Dietrich would be-"

“I want to be an Auror too,” your voice sounds strange to your ears when you find it. It has a clear, confident quality, musical and lucid.

Theseus looks to you in shock. You wonder if he knew about the promotion you’d been offered at all, if he knew all you’d sacrificed to stay close to him—your very dreams dashed to pieces. From his expression, naked and open as day, he did not.

“I can do it,” you make an effort to sound settled. Unshaken.

Being a young, vulnerable girl in the streets of East London, at the orphanage after, and then being a woman at the British Ministry as an adult, you’d dealt with plenty of over-friendly and entitled men. Boorish men were everywhere and were not uniquely monstrous. You hoped Baron Dietrich wasn’t either.

"It's settled then," Jacob claps his hands together, seeming relieved that the tension between the two brothers has evaporated. Theseus is slumped over, leaning back on the nightstand in apparent defeat. "We're going to a party!"

Tina places her hand on your arm, leading you towards the closet. She doesn't seem to be terribly affectionate, so you're grateful to her for extending you this small kindness now.

"Here, Y/N," She says. "Let's get you dressed. We have plenty of time to go over the plan. It'll be okay."

------------------

Your outfit, "disguise" you suppose, is nothing like the subdued robes of your companions. You don't know why you're surprised when they ask you to enter the ministry ten minutes after them, alone.

The skirt of your dress is flowy and short, like a dancer's, ending just above your knee, something that might've been acceptable a decade prior, given the fashion trends. It's made of delicate petals of off-white fabric, adorn with tiny silver and pearlescent beads, glittering. Meant to draw attention. It's sleeveless and the top is breathtakingly form-fitting, pinching in your waist and hugging every curve of your body, but you are gratefully afforded an elegant high neckline. Silk, ivory-colored, wrist-length gloves that do nothing for the cold cover your hands and a fur half-coat is draped over your shoulders. Your lipstick is a deep red.

You understand what it means, these luxury items, your styling, the fact that you were instructed to enter alone. By no design of your own, the implication was that you were an escort, a madame of the night. No wonder Newt had Theseus leave the hotel first, before he could catch a glimpse of you. You didn't dare imagine his reaction.

As you enter the gala, handing the doorman your fabricated invitation without a glance, every head turns to you. Chatter stills as you pass, the women gawk and the men look stricken, hungry as the pack dogs in your dreams. Plates and trays sail overhead and the instruments play on, unattended. The German Ministry of Magic has spared no expense.

Patrons lean in close and speak hushed and anxiously. You assume the upcoming election for the highest office of the International Confederation of Wizards is on everyone's mind.

You head for the bar with your head held high, hoping it doesn't show on your face, your discomfort at being so seen. You were told Baron Dietrich would be at the bar with some of his men. With a trembling, gloved hand you motion the barman over and order a drink.

You don’t dare look for your friends. You assume things are going swimmingly for them, but for you? You are drowning in your finery.

You’re not even alone for a moment before the wolves descend. You should've known a man like Dietrich would come find you.

"Mädchen!" He approaches you partially, but expects you to come the rest of the way, waves you over with a meaty hand. When you raise an eyebrow, haughtily, he switches to English.

"Girl, come here." The timber of his voice is low, gravelly. He has a heavy brow, his hair is thick and peppered with gray. The gray does nothing to diminish the impression of his strength. In a fight without your wand, he could have your neck snapped, broken and rolling around its stem, in a heartbeat.

You walk over, leaving your drink at the bar, untouched.

The gala is housed in a mammoth, marble room, twenty foot ceilings held up by smooth columns, something that reminds you of Gringott's. But around the massive bar at the room's center are half-circle booths and tables, spiraling out like lily pads. You slide into Dietrich's booth and his arm goes around you immeditely.

He smells chokingly of cigars, a perfumey, sickly sweet smell. He is a bloated, thick-limbed man. No, you couldn't have fought him off. There are so many uniformed men at his table that some of the younger ones have to stand. With a sting of shock, you don't see how you could be of any influence on these men at all, they hardly see you as a person, aren't speaking to you. You hope Newt and Pickett work quickly.

Another young man, dressed in what looks like a soldier's uniform, slides into the booth after you, sandwiching you in next to Dietrich. You let out of noise of shock and begin to push him off you when Dietrich grabs both your wrists.

"Don't be fussy. This is my young friend, newly recruited. I plan to make him my protégé."

The other men slap the boy over the shoulder, jostling him in congratulations. He smiles meekly. You could hate him for that meekness. That pathetic deference to power.

"We'll share you tonight, of course." Dietrich is looking at the boy, not you. "In my office."

Dietrich's hand clamps over your exposed thigh and his fingernails jab into the fat of your thigh. You don't react to the bright bite of pain. The other boy begins to lean into you, breath hot over your neck.

Whatever small bird lives in your ribs begins to beat itself against that cage, flailing and thrashing.

"No!" You can't help the edge of panic in your voice. Dietrich is too strong, so you don't bother, but you shove the boy off of you and out of the booth without much effort. The boy stumbles out, dumbfounded.

Dietrich snatches your wrist with real fury, bruisingly.

"What?! You're for sale, aren't you?" He won't hurt you in front of his men, not at the gala, but his face is so colored with anger that it's nearly purple.

"Please," there's a real plea in your voice when you say it, you try to cover it up with a hurried smile, you try to look charming. "Dance with me, sir?"

That seems to sedate him. He looks irritated, but pleased by your attention. At least he won't be able to molest you in front of all his colleagues and superiors.

He leads you to the dance floor and the entire way your mind is racing, scrambling for purchase, trying to figure out how you're going to keep him out of his office. He made it clear he had plans to go there later tonight with his men. With you.

And he was an even cruder man than you'd thought, he'd made no attempt to even flirt with or seduce you. His interest in you was moreso entitlement, the same interest a predator has for a slab of meat.

Your wand, concealed on your person, gave you little comfort. Newt had asked that you did not reveal yourself, didn't make a scene. But if it came down to it, you would fight Dietrich rather than submit to him. He was more than repulsive. He wanted to hurt you.

"Please," you think to yourself. "Please, God, don't make me-"

You startle at the large hand that grips your waist and spins you away, just before you reach the dance floor.

Dietrich, abandoned, turns in flustered outrage and is swallowed by the crowd. You're being whisked away before he can fully react, Theseus guiding you deftly out of the overfull room of diplomats.

You sob with relief. "Theseus-" you start, but he's leading you deeper, still, away from the gala.

It's not until you're in some pitch-dark, gaping mausoleum of a hallway that Theseus finally stops, pressing you delicately against the wall, holding your face in his hands like water, like something precious. He examines your body.

"Are you okay?" He asks, pressingly.

You could cry out in joy, the sight of his face is balm-like, giving you a familiar relief.

"Yes, yes!" You reassure him. "Is it done? Did we do it?"

Theseus nods in confirmation, still looking over you for injuries, turning over your wrists in his hands.

"The others are already out. It was quick. No one noticed a thing, we probably took too many precautions this time around..." He finally meets your eyes. The look in his is dark and indecipherable. When he swallows, it's raggedly. "You're really okay, Y/N?"

"Yes," you answer, hesitant at the intensity of his look. "Why?"

Theseus presses his body against yours harshly, you don't even have time to moan before he's swallowing it with his mouth. Your hands are all over him, but he gives you no room to move, it's as if he doesn't notice, the way he's pushing you up against the wall, kissing you like he wants to consume you.

"You're so damn beautiful," he mutters. "When you walked in I almost blew my cover just to go to you."

"Theseus," you pant. You're needy, you want him to keep kissing you but he's leaning his neck back, pinning you against the wall but holding himself away so he can look at you when he runs his warm hands from the backs of your thighs up to your ass. He hooks his fingers around the waistline of your panties and pulls them down so they're only hanging onto you by one of your ankles.

He leans in for another kiss, just as deep and wretched as the last, just as maddening.

He pulls away again with a pant.

"Your dress is too damn short," he curses under his breath.

"Are you angry at me?" You ask quietly, still writhing against him, desperate for friction, but suddenly self-conscious.

"No, no sweetheart," he soothes. "Not at you. You did so good. Such a good job." His praise has you leaning into his palm, which is cupping the side of your face.

You whimper, "I want you." You realize it's true as you're saying it. You can't ever lie to him. "I want you," you repeat, more insistently.

“He was all over you,” he hisses against your ear. “I am not a possessive man, but I could’ve killed him then and there. He doesn’t know what’s mine.” He punctuates the last word with a squeeze to your backside.

"Theseus," you breathe out, helplessly. You can't believe this is happening. The wing of the German Ministry that you're in is completely dark, you can barely make out the tapestries and curtains hanging loose from the walls. But there's distant light at the end of the hall, and dim voices and music filter in and out from the gala a few rooms over.

But you want him to keep touching you more than you know better, know you should stop. More than anything.

He starts to hike your dress up, his movements urgent, when he stops abruptly. The spot where Dietrich's nails dug into your upper thigh is small, but he drew blood.

Theseus pauses, loosens his grip and lets you slide down the wall. With a slow-thudding heart you briefly fear he'll be so furious he'll run back to the gala, to find Dietrich, but he only bends down and kisses the wound, just barely, lips ghosting over skin, so gently you could cry. Kneeling before you, he looks like a prince, a knight. He's careful to avoid the wound when he lifts you back up against the wall.

You can't help but stare down at it, in awe, when he takes his dick out. Your body still thrills at the sight of it, there, huge, resting at your entrance. Theseus grinds a slow circle, sliding it against your wet folds, against your clit. You just stare.

He flashes you a lazy smile.

“What? You want me to help you put it in?”

You moan, audibly. You're not doing a very good job at being discreet, but how can you when he says things like that to you and expects you to answer?

"Yes, please," you close your eyes, too flustered to meet his burning gaze when you say the words.

He grips the base of his cock and guides it into your pussy. Clamps a hand over your mouth to muffle the noises you're making, you whimper dumbly against his palm. Only releases his hand from your mouth once he's fully seated inside of you. The stretch is so big you know it would hardly take any movement at all for him to break that tension and make you come, drive you mad, unravel you completely. Just a few rocks against the wall, a few rolls of his hips and you'd be brainless and spent, crying out his name. You're already dripping around him. But you want to last longer for him this time.

He's looking directly into your eyes.

“You’re taking it, Y/N. You can choose where—in your mouth, on your face, inside. But you’re taking it all.”

You nod. Then once again he's fucking you dumb, you don't even care that anyone could walk by, you're just thinking about how big he is, how good it feels. He's fucking your body slack now, you don't even have to do anything, he’s holding you up, lifting you onto and off of his cock roughly, debasingly.

His hands nearly circle your waist completely, they’re so large. Your mouth is stuck open, making stupid, feeble noises and he’s grunting small words of encouragement.

"Say my name," he says.

When you don't respond immediately, too blissed out to think, he slams your body down harder onto him and you nearly yelp.

"Hngh, Theseus. Theseus, please-"

You can feel him get almost unbearably hard inside of you, then he’s heaving you up and flipping you around, manhandling you, so your back is his against his torso, his right arm a bar across your chest, still inside. He brings a hand down roughly to your clit to touch you through it, and then you're both coming hard, your loud, jagged breaths echoing through the empty hall.

Your head spins, you're seeing stars.

"Baby," he says, when you don't come back to yourself immediately. "Was I too rough? Are you okay?"

You nod, breathlessly, but stumble when he finally stops supporting your weight. Your body is still juddering with pleasure, your fingertips quiver and feel numb as you smooth down your dress.

He's right, you think with a laugh. My dress is too damn short.

Theseus has the decency to look around the hall to make sure no one was watching, and to help you fix your hair and what's left of your lipstick. Your lips are pink and bitten now, swollen.

"They're probably wondering where we are. We should go." His voice is serious, unemotive, but there's something like devotion in the way he looks over you from head to toe, just one last time, to make sure you're beyond reproach. He hands you his jacket, which is huge on you, and slings your fur cape over his arm, bearing the cold himself like a gentleman.

A flurry of snow has begun to spiral down in the streets of Berlin, white particles curling and dancing in the wind. You've always found this type of snowfall to be so fanciful, the closest thing to magic in the muggle world. You walk back to the meeting point in comfortable silence, Theseus's hand clasped firmly around yours.

"He doesn't know what's mine," he'd said about Dietrich, about you. And last night, not that long ago, he'd said, "I love you."

Albeit, after you said it first. You look over to his oblivious face, checking both sides for cars before leading you across the busy street. His kind eyes, the line of his jaw..

You wonder how he could mean it... You'd so meticulously tried to conceal from him all the ugly parts of your life, your past, your fears, even your wants when they seemed to inconvenience him.

Could he love me? Could I let him?

"I want you," you'd said to him in the hall of the German Ministry. You realize now that you meant more than his body. For so long even just a look from him, just a word, was enough to sustain you.

But now you wanted more. Maybe it was selfish, undeserved, that the magical world was giving way to crisis, the dark forces were closing in around hope, and yet here you were, wanting to ask him for more...

part three here

author's note: hiiiiii! YES i switched to present tense from past tense in the last part, and no i'm not sorry... please let me know if you'd like me to continue this fic! i have a third & final chapter in mind. or i can take other theseus requests. the theseus brainrot is real... some AUs would be fun too! as always, feedback is welcome <3 taglist: @mystic-mara

#theseus smut #theseus x reader #theseus scamander #theseus scamander x reader #hp fic #fantastic beasts

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ruth-odyssey · 3 months

Text

༺✩༻ Lovers rock

newt scamander x fem!reader

wc. 1017

summary: you find a strange creature in the streets of New York.

tw. fem!reader, reader lives with Queenie and Tina but they aren't siblings, newt being a cutie patootie, set in 1926. Had to bust out my copy of fantastic beast to make sure things were accurate to write this

a/n. I watched the movie yesterday and my cat seemed really interested in Pickett so I kinda started thinking about newt and I wrote this :)

btw requests are open!

The rain had caught you by surprise. Completely soaked, you took refuge under the canopy of a nearby shop, silently cursing yourself for not bridging an umbrella. Seems like I'll have to wait, too many no-maj around…. Maybe I could find a quiet place and apparate? Looking around, you find a small alley, deserted and perfect for you to finally get home without dealing with the rain. You quickly make your way to it, already looking forward to getting home.

You turn around, making sure no one will see you apparate, when a flash of green catches your eyes. Looking down, a small twig? Or maybe a couple stems? Seems to be moving around. You knit your eyebrow, crouching to get a better look at whatever it was. To your surprise, it turns out to be some sort of creature. No bigger than your hand, the only way you could describe it was a flat-faced stick figure made of bark and twigs. It turned around, finally noticing you, small brown eyes taking you in. You both stare at each other for a bit before you decide to reach out a hand, intrigued by the small creature. “Hey there little guy.” You try to keep your voice soft not to scare it, which seems to work. The creature looks at you, as if it was deciding whether or not you had good intention and it slowly makes its way to your outreached hand, climbing in. You smile, slowly getting up. It then proceeds to climb onto your shoulder, making itself at home in the outer pocket of your coat.

—————————————

“Queenie, Tina you’ll never guess what I just found!” You enter your shared apartment, closing the door behind you, your smile fades, making room for a confused look, taking it to the two men at the dinner table. You look at Tina, raising an eyebrow in silent question. Queenie smiles “Oh (y/n/n) you’re here! This is Jacob and this is Mr. Scamander!” She says, pointing at the two guests. The one with dark hair and a mustache – which you assume is Jacob — gives you a nod, and you offer him a smile, eyes turning to the other man. He’s already looking at you, his gaze immediately averting yours when you make eye contact. “Mhm, hi?” you offer them a small wave and a smile, still unsure what two men are doing in the small apartment. You remove your coat, making sure the little creature you found earlier is on your shoulder before sitting down at the dinner table. Your eyes roam around the table as you open your mouth to ask some sort of explanation from your roommates. “Pickett!” Your eyes found Newt’s. “Sorry?” His eyes are fixated on your shoulder, at the stop you assume the small creature is perched on. He glances at you, then at your shoulder again. “He must have fallen from my pocket I apologize” He stammers, avoiding your eyes. You turn your head, catching a glimpse of Pickett on your shoulder. “Oh that's fine no worries.” You turn back to look at Newt. “What… What is he?” He clears his throat, sitting up straighter. “Pickett is a bowtruckle, they are a protector of trees, native to western England, southern Germany and Scandinavia…” he pauses, blinking once, twice and glancing at you. You smile and look at Pickett who’s now on the dinner table, looking around. “I would’ve never guessed he was from so far away…but it does explain why I've never seen one of those.” You look at Newt. “He’s adorable.” At that, he flushes red to his ears, earning a chuckle from Jacob and a smile from Queenie, who most definitely just peered into his brain.

—————————————

As it turns out, Mr. Scamander – or Newt as he insisted you call him – was a magizoologist, and had just finished a year of field research to write a book on magical creatures in order to teach the wizarding world how to protect – and eventually understands – them. The man had picked your interest, his british accent and shy, nerdy demeanor impossible to resist – at least in your opinion – which seems to please Queenie beyond words, considering how many times she’s glanced between the two of you, only to smile or let out a small giggle – one similar to a high school girl talking about her crush.

—————————————

You had spent the night asking Newt various questions about his voyage and discoveries, quietly sipping your wine, occasionally stopping his rambling with questions and comments. The clock struck 12 when you decided to call it a night. As much as you enjoyed the conversation, your eyes were screaming for some rest and having to work at 7 meant you need all the rest you can get. “Good night Pickett.” you say waving at the adorable bowtruckle still perched on Newt’s shoulder. “Good night Newt.” His eyes find yours and he mumbles something that sounds like “Good night y/n.” You smile and place a small peck on his cheek before turning around and entering your room. Closing the door, you let out a breath and turn around, finding yourself face-to-face with Queenie. “Merlin’s beard- Queenie! You scared me!” She smiles, looking a little too happy with herself. “He also thinks you’re cute” She says beaming – the prospect of you and Newt mutual attraction resulting in something clearly the highlight of her day. “Really?” you ask, not quite believing you somehow cough the attention of the man. “Oh yes, don't worry – she points at the door – you’ve got him positively stunned!” She squeals, delighted.

BONUS:

One second he felt your soft lips against his cheek, the next you were gone, the door closing behind you. Newt gapes, too stunned to do anything but stand there, speechless. He finally snaps out of it when he feels Pickett grab onto his hair, visibly confused by the wizard’s attitude. He turns around, not quite believing what just happened, as he reaches his room, glances at the bowtruckle, who’s still on his shoulder. “Not a word about this Pickett, not a word.”

#༺✩༻ruthwrites #harry potter x reader #hp fanfcition #hp fanfic #harry potter fanfic #newt scamander #newt scamander x reader #fantastic beast fanfic

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muxshwriting · 2 months

Text

we always do...

Theseus Scamander x reader

summary: theseus and his wife may have very conflicting views on war, but they'll never go to bed angry and never leave the other in danger || warnings: fighting, violence || word count: 1567 || masterlist

REQUESTED by @malvikareader: Can you please write a Thesues Scamander x reader fic from your imagination (my minds not working as of now)

You often disagreed with your husbands job. Not in theory, because being an auror is an honourable and noble career. But in practise, the ministry was throwing him recklessly into a war and not to capture dark wizards. You knew that you couldn't stop Theseus from fighting, the reckless and caring man he is. But you wanted him to stay alive, even if it meant arguing with him about safety and trying to get him to take care of himself before running into danger to help others.

"Why do you have to go and fight?"

"I'm the head of aurors." Theseus said incredulously.

"You don't deserve to fight and die in this war just because you're an auror. You didn't sign up to be a soldier."

He shrugged. "Sometimes that's what the world needs."

You nod, seemingly finished with the disagreement before continuing to speak. "Where's you brother?"

"What?"

"He's sent us a letter," You hold up said letter for Theseus to see. "He's put together a haphazard alliance to try and singlehandedly take down Grindelwald. An alliance he implies you already knew about. Are you and Newt insane, Theseus? Have you been checked?"

Theseus chuckled slightly at your words. "Darling, Newt only told me about his team today. The letter arrived later than expected. I'm going to try and stop him from getting himself killed."

"Then I'm going to stop you from being killed." You declare.

"I'm not going to be killed, Y/N."

"You're throwing yourself into a suicide mission and I can't let you do it alone. Look-"

Theseus pulled you into his arms. "I know. I know." He comforts. "We'll get through this together, right?"

You give him a watery smile. "We always do."

"We always do." He agrees, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and then your lips.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, your hands fidgeting in your lap as you start to realise what the future may hold for you and your husband. Slowly, you're realising the harrowing weight of your new quest and the increasing likelihood of an outcome that involves death.

"Have you got something on your mind?" Theseus asks softly.

"Besides the obvious, no." You glance out of the window, unable to look him in the eyes. "I love you Theseus."

He replies in earnest. "I love you too."

★--~-~--★

The crowd shouts as Newt leads you all through the German Ministry of Magic. Theseus' hand has a firm grip on yours, keeping you close to him and trying to keep you safe. You stay by his side as Newt tries to pass on his message to Vogel. The Supreme Mugwump steps up to make his final speech, beginning normal and then starting to take a more sinister turn.

Newcomers begin to slink into the room, a few faces recognisable from Paris. They're Grindelwald's followers, meaning that this tea party in Berlin won't end as calmly as you hoped it would. The three of you follow the newcomers as they weave through the crowd, being watched as you do this and almost taunted by them.

"... insufficient evidence exists to prosecute Gellert Grindelwald for the crimes against the muggle community of which he was accused." The Supreme Mugwump pardons Grindelwald of all his crimes as Theseus approaches his followers, attempting to place them under arrest.

One sneaks up behind you and a wand presses against your temple. Your body freezes in place as you try to see who has you under threat. The shift of your head had the wizard behind you wrapping his arm around your neck to hold you in place.

"Theseus!" Before he could reply, Theseus is hit with a spell he never saw coming and drops to the ground. The crowd began to thin as people didn't want to be involved and swiftly left the room. You begin to struggle against his grip, trying to fight back but an utterance is heard and the world goes black.

When the world comes back into view, the first thing you realise is that you're upside down. Secondly, your hands and ankles are bounded together and chained to the ceiling of the dank cell you find yourself in. Thirdly, you're alone. Theseus is nowhere to be seen but you can hear the chinking of chains to your right.

"Theseus?"

The clinking stopped. "Hello? Y/n, is that you?"

"Theseus!" At least you weren't in this prison alone. "Are you alright?"

"I think so?" The answer came out as a question. "I'm upside down for some reason."

You can't hold back your laugh, imagining your husband strung up by his ankles and swinging in his cell. "Me too. I think the blood is getting to my head."

Theseus sighed. "Yeah. Are you alright though? You aren't hurt?"

"I'm alright." You reply. "Can't wait to get out of here, but alright."

The two of you hang together for many hours, drifting in and out of consciousness as the blood rush become too much at times. You're awoken to someone calling Theseus' name and getting closer.

"Rescuing us are you?" Theseus tries to joke.

"That's the general idea!" Newt replies, edging closer. You see he's being followed by a large consortium of crabs, all copying the bizarre way he is walking.

"Is this a strategic move or do you just like to walk like that sometimes Newt?" You ask him.

Newts shrugs slightly. "It's called limbic mimicry, supposed to discourage violent engagement."

"Supposed to?" Theseus asks.

"Theoretically. I've only attempted it once before with inconclusive results." He continues to ramble about his experiment as he now faces Theseus.

A giant tail sprouts from the central darkness to assess the space next to Newt. The three of you freeze in place, Newt dodging the tail. A few levels down, a firefly lamp goes out and the prisoner screams. The tail retracts and a stinger takes it's place, aiming directly for the screaming prisoner and dragging him down into the depths.

In the chaos of the smaller crabs, Newt cut Theseus down and moved on to sever your bonds as well. You dropped to the floor, angling your body so you'd land on your side and shoulder instead of your head.

"Thanks Newt." You sarcastically say, pulling yourself to your feet and moving towards Theseus. Newt was once again focused on the crabs, who were interested in you all again.

"And the plan is?" Theseus asks.

Instead of answering, Newt cupped his hands to his face and blew, letting a whistle-like noise echo throughout the prison.

"Uh Newt? That's not a plan."

"We're gonna need some help." He suddenly struck up his pose to 'discourage violent engagement' and the crabs copied him without hesitation. After the exchange of some heavy looks, you and Theseus copied him and began to the slow ascent to the exit.

Just as you neared the top, Theseus stepped on one of the crabs, crushing it. Before any of you could say a word, the lamp began to flicker in and out and the distinct rumbling of the giant creature began. The tail popped up from the darkness and the trio ran. As you weaved through narrow stone corridors, the creature's tail crashed through walls just behind, hunting for it's prey. It began to shoot poison from it's stinger that was so strong it melted stone.

You and Theseus were separated as you tried to avoid the flying poison and the onslaught of regular crabs which had reappeared. The number of appendages that the creature had seemed to only grow as they appeared in every direction, hunting for you.

As a limb reached toward you, you jump over a different limb and continue to run. Spotting Theseus in the corner of your eye, you make a beeline towards him and almost crash into him as you slowed, Newt joining you. You all took off down yet another hallway as the rocks collapsed behind you, separating the creature from the group. Or so you thought.

Before you had a second to breathe, the creature had wrapped an arm around your waist, squeezing you and pulling you backwards. Theseus called out your name, grasping your hands in his and trying to keep you close. Newt tries to help but Theseus' grip falters for a moment and you slide closer to the edge.

Out of nowhere, Pickett appears with Newt's wand and you all fall into the pit before apparatting out of that godforsaken place.

Your back slams onto forest floor, limb still wrapped around your waist. The feel of it repulses you as you try to squirm your way out and push it off of you. Theseus pulls it off as it continues to move and wriggles away through the leaves.

Now on your feet, your hands are batting off and dirt and leaves stuck to you, still convinced you were being crushed by the creature. Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears and your hands have a slight shake to them. Theseus gently approaches, grasping your hands in his and staring into your soul.

"You're alright. It's over. We're safe."

"We got through it." You mutter, stumbling into his arms.

Theseus melted in your embrace, dropping his head onto your shoulder. "We always do."

"We always do..." You whispered back like a mantra, a prayer that you both would and a promise that you did.

#theseus scamander #theseus scamander x reader #fantastic beasts #harry potter #wizarding world #muxsh #muxshwriting

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petitemistletoe · 9 months

Note

rewrite your elvis fic why’d you only call me when you’re high but with one of the marauders?

Title: Why'd You Only Call me When You're High?

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Warnings: smut, angst, drugs, old school rocker vibes

Word Count: 1.9K+

A/N: this could only be written about Sirius I'm sorry! He's so rockstar coded! happy holidays y'all :)

… The mirror's image, it tells me it's home time

But I'm not finished, 'cause you're not by my side

And as I arrived I thought I saw you leavin', carryin' your shoes

Decided that once again I was just dreamin' of bumpin' into you

… Now it's three in the mornin' and I'm tryin' to change your mind

Left you multiple missed calls and to my message, you reply

"Why'd you only call me when you're high?"

"Hi, why'd you only call me when you're high?"

Sirius finished his line of coke, flipping his head up and sniffing harshly. He gave himself a long look in the mirror. He looked great, obviously: leather jacket over a bare chest, a tangle silver and gold necklaces of varying lengths cascading down his neck to his chest. Most of his tattoos were visible and his pair of leather pants were impossibly tight. His fingers were adorned with a number of rings and his hair was that perfect combination of messed up and carefully styled. His eyeliner was smudged around his eyes and he couldn’t quite tell if his eyes were so dark from the eyeliner or from the lack of sleep.

Sirius couldn’t remember the last time he had had a solid night of sleep, but that was the nature of touring. Of course his bandmates weren’t like he was. James was boring and married with a kid, who Sirius obviously doted on, but James spent all his time when they weren’t performing or practicing with Lily and Harry. Remus was dating this guy Grant who really got under Sirius’s skin. Was it because Sirius and Remus had had a fling, an excellent mind-blowing fling, and when Remus pushed for more Sirius said no and Remus moved onto Grant? Maybe. Was it because Grant was disgustingly kind and sweet and felt like the absolute antithesis of Sirius? Maybe. Was it because Grant had gotten Remus into tea and biscuits rather than coke and pills? Maybe it was that too. And then there was Peter. Peter, bless his heart, tried his absolute best but the coke made his nose bleed, pills made him constipated, and liquor made him vomit. So most nights after a show, James would go home to Lily and Harry, Remus would go home to Grant, Peter would go home to god knows who (probably his cats or gerbils or whatever), and Sirius would go anywhere but home.

He had liked groupies, townies, the international girls and guys, but he liked you most of all. You were a bit of a forbidden fruit, you were his brother Regulus’s best friend, but that made it all the more appealing. Sirius only went home, only spent the night in his bed, if he knew you would be there too.

Sirius dialed your number as he made his way home in the backseat of his limo. He was rolling something that he wasn’t sure if it was a joint or a cigarette as the phone rang. He did a double take as he drove past Newt Scamander’s house. Newt Scamander was an old school rocker, a living legend basically, and even though he was a little past his prime looks-wise, he was still a sex symbol. But it wasn’t just Newt’s house that caused Sirius’s double take, it was the fact that he thought he saw walking out of Newt’s house, carrying your phone in one hand and your heels in the other. Sirius shook the thought from his brain, figuring that he was so high he probably just saw a tree branch or something. Sirius got your voicemail but he knew, despite the late hour, that you were not asleep. He dialed you again. And again. And again. Until finally he heard your voice.

“Why’d you only call me when you’re high?” You sounded annoyed but he just laughed it off as he walked into his house, stepping out of his boots and kicking them off somewhere, stripping his sweaty clothes haphazardly and letting them fall off his body haphazardly.

“That’s how you answer the phone? No hi?” Sirius teased, falling back on his bed and stretching his sore muscles.

“Hi.” You said pointedly, “why’d you only call me when you’re high?”

“I’m not high.” Sirius said, taking a long drag of his spliff.

“It’s three in the morning, Sirius.”

“Come over baby.” Sirius crooned.

“You’re still talking the same shite you always did.” You were rolling your eyes, Sirius knew you were.

“It’s harder and harder to get you to listen, baby.” Sirius said, a bite of annoyance coming through. He was on the come down from his earlier line and and was getting irritated.

“Luckily for you I’m incapable of making alright decisions. I’ll see you in a few.” You disconnected the call.

Sirius finished his spliff and began to roll another one. There were a few messages on his phone from James, he was probably up at one of those late night feedings for Harry. He started to read through them when he heard his door open and shut and after a few moments you were in his bedroom, crawling your way up the bed towards him.

“That was fast.” Sirius frowned. Usually it took you at least fifteen minutes to get from your place to his, even in the dead of night when no one was out on the street.

“You complaining?” You asked, pulling your shirt over your head as you straddled him. Sirius was going to question things more but suddenly your tits were in his face and he forgot all about that.

… Somewhere darker, talkin' the same shite

I need a partner, well, are you out tonight?

It's harder and harder to get you to listen

More I get through the gears

He buried his face between your tits and groaned,

“This is my favorite place in the absolute world.”

“Well make yourself useful, Black, and stimulate my nipples.” You said, gripping his hair harshly. Sirius obliged, wrapping his lips around one of your hard nipples and his nimble fingers flew to other one, tweaking and pinching it. You were grinding down in his lap against his hard-on until his lips moved from nipples up around the curvature of your breast, then up your clavicle, then up your neck, until he got up to your lips. Before he could connect his lips to yours, you pulled back and made your way down his body and wrapped your hand around his cock. Sirius gasped as you ran your hand between your legs to lubricate it and then started jerking Sirius off. You laid flat on your stomach between Sirius’s legs and continued jerking him as you lightly sucked one of his balls into your mouth. Sirius went from the light gasps to strangled, intense moans and he felt like his lungs were about the collapse.

“Get up,” he choked out, “I need to be inside you.”

You lifted yourself up and without much warning you seated yourself on Sirius’s cock. Sirius groaned and held your hips hard in place, preventing you from moving.

“Sirius, come on.” You whined, your nose touching his as you tried to move again. Sirius released his grip and started fucking up into you hard. Sirius lifted his jaw, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. You pulled away harshly, pushing yourself up so you were no longer pressed against his chest. Sirius thought about saying something but then you moved your hips in the most delicious way and he forgot all about it. Sirius pulled you off of him and flipped you over, bending you over so your chest and face were pressed against the mattress and your hips were up in the air. There was a tattoo at the base of your back that had have been new. He pushed into you, his hands grasping your hips like he was about to fall off the edge of a cliff.

He was close, so so close to finishing, but he was distracted by the tattoo on your back. It looked like a constellation, it was vaguely familiar looking, maybe it was something that he had studied in an astronomy course. One of the stars on the constellations was darker than the rest and it had a small green glow mark around it.

“Did you snort too much or something? I’m getting rug burn here.” You said, turning and looking over your shoulder at Sirius. Sirius’s eyes snapped back up to yours and as he locked eyes with you he came. He always tried to pull out but he was caught off guard this time that he came inside you.

Incapable of makin' alright decisions, and havin' bad ideas

… Now it's three in the mornin' and I'm tryin' to change your mind

Left you multiple missed calls and to my message you reply

"Why'd you only call me when you're high?”

“Fuck Sirius!” You snapped, jumping off him and running to the bathroom.

“Sorry,” Sirius murmured. It was weird…that tattoo was so so weird. It felt like something was sitting on chest he was so strangled by the idea that he had seen that exact constellation before.

“Fuck Sirius,” you repeated, walking back into his room and shaking your head, “I gotta get a morning after pill tomorrow.” You walked over to Sirius’s discarded tight leather pants and pulled out a few crumpled up bills that were in his pockets. “This is why I fucking hate having sex with you when you’re high.”

“I’m not high,” Sirius said weakly, still staring at your tattoo as you were bent over digging through his pockets.

“You only ever call me when you’re high.” You said, straightening up and starting to pull on your clothes.

“You aren’t staying?” Sirius felt like he was running out of time.

“I, uh, have to be up in the morning so I need to have an…early night.” You said, not looking Sirius in the eyes.

“Am I starting to bore you baby?”

"Hi, why'd you only call me when you're high?"

… And I can't see you here, wonderin' where am I

It sort of feels like I'm runnin' out of time

I haven't found all I was hopin' to find

You said you gotta be up in the mornin'

Gonna have an early night

And you're startin' to bore me, baby

“I’m fine, Sirius. I just have an early morning.” You said in a snippier tone than Sirius had ever expected to hear from you.

“What’s that tattoo on your back?” Sirius stormed across the room and grabbed you by the arm harshly.

“It’s the constellation Leo.” You snapped back, glaring up at Sirius.

“And what’s the glow on that star?” Sirius didn’t know why he was getting so upset but his blood pressure was only continuing to rise as he looked at you and thought about that tattoo.

“You really don’t know?” You smiled cruelly. “You really don’t recognize it.”

“What is it?” Sirius could feel his nose bleeding and he wiped at it. There was a streak of smeared blood on his cupid’s bow.

“It’s the star Regulus.” You grinned.

“Why’d you have to be such a bitch?” Sirius screamed.

“Why’d you have to be?” You retorted.

“Why’d you always lie?”

“Why’d you only call me when you’re high?”

Why'd you only call me when you're high?

… "Why'd you only ever phone me when you're high?"

"Why'd you only ever phone me when you're high?"

"Why'd you only ever phone me when you're high?”

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x reader smut #marauders #marauders x reader #marauders smut #sirius black smut #James potter #regulus black #Peter pettigrew #rockstar sirius #rockstar #remus lupin #all the young dudes #atyd #ben barnes sirius black #why'd you only call me when you're high #arctic monkeys #atyd marauders #harry potter

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valkyriepirate · 2 years

Text

Newt Scamander x Reader One Shot- Lean On Me

Summary: You wake up in the middle of the night and notice Newt's absence. You go searching for him in his suitcase to find him passed out over his papers and try to bring him back to bed.

Warnings: fluff, fluff, and more fluff :)

Word count: 1.3k words

A/N: I wrote this simply to satisfy my Newt craving. He is an adorable little cinnamon roll that must be protected at all costs.

#4- Lean On Me

You pried open your eyes and squinted in the darkness. The other side of the bed was vacant; you knew it without rolling over. Newt’s presence had become so familiar to you that when he wasn’t there, it was as if part of your heart had gone missing.

You sat up, rubbing your face groggily. There was a light on somewhere in the house. You slid your feet into your slippers and padded toward the source, hugging your thin nightgown to your body. It had begun to get chilly, especially at night, and oftentimes Newt found you cuddled up in bed, shrouded by a multitude of blankets.

The suitcase was propped open on a table in the foyer. A dim light glowed from within.

Yawning, you stepped over the rim and descended into its depths. The creatures weren’t exactly aware of the passage of day and night in the suitcase, but most had seemed to settle once the sun had set in the outside world. A few of the nocturnal ones hooted and hummed as you entered.

“Newt?” you called sleepily, lighting a candle from the cabinet. “Are you awake?”

You turned a corner to his study, a small nook by the stairs crammed with bookshelves and creature care appliances. There he was, sleeping sprawled over his desk, stray papers from his latest endeavor strewn about, hair ruffled and mouth open slightly. You smiled at the sight of your husband. You’d given up urging him to go to bed months ago, realizing that he all too often tried to heed your words but became so swept up in his work that he lost track of time.

You came up behind him, sliding your hands over his shoulders. “My love,” you kissed the top of his head. “Won’t you come up to bed?”

He started awake, blinking sleep from his eyes. “(Y-Y/N)?” He had a line imprint on his cheek where he’d fallen asleep on the table. He looked at his papers in confusion and began gathering them together. “What time is it?”

You ran your hand down the length of his arm and slipped your fingers into his ink-stained ones, preventing him from touching his work. “Time to go to bed,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear.

He stopped and leaned into your touch as you ran your thumb over his knuckles. He trapped your fingers, brought them to his lips, and nodded.

You helped him to his feet and sneaked a hand around his torso as you led him up the stairs. Newt, of course, was wholly capable of climbing the stairs by himself, but you wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to close the physical distance between you two.

Newt didn’t seem to mind. You were the bolder one when it came to affection, but he always caught your touches and held you closer as if he could make them last forever. Often he would absentmindedly caress your arm or twirl a curl of your hair between his fingers. It was in the little things that you knew Newt showed the most care; sometimes a single touch from him said more than a thousand words.

You tugged him into the bedroom you shared and released your hold as you went to fold an extra quilt over the bed. Your tendency to hog the blankets on cooler nights left Newt searching for warmth, you knew, though it didn’t escape your thoughts that his lack of cover usually led him to snuggle closer to you. Perhaps that was part of your subconscious plan.

He stood on the other side of the bed, framed in candlelight. The fire shone around his hair just so, making it appear that he was crowned in a rubicund halo. He was unraveling his tie, his sluggish movements betraying how sleep-deprived he truly was.

You flattened the quilt and came to stand by him. “Allow me,” you said, taking the tie from his hands. Deftly, you undid the knot. You had made Newt’s tie for him countless times each day before he headed off to work to the point that you could do it with your eyes closed. You tugged it from his neck and tossed it to the dresser.

When you looked back up, Newt’s eyes were locked on you. When you first met, you found his inability to look you in the eye odd and yet a little endearing. As you two grew closer, he would hold your gaze for greater lengths of time, as if he had gotten lost in your eyes and was physically incapable of tearing himself away. Even now that you were married there was something vulnerable about it. It was like you were each seeing a hidden part of each other’s soul, like you were baring your hearts before each other and were unafraid of what it could expose.

Not breaking his gaze, you allowed your hands to trail down his chest, grasping the buttons at his vest. His heart was racing underneath your palms. Yours skipped a beat. You were melting under that look. Gently, you unattached each of the buttons and slid the vest off his shoulders, leaving him in an undershirt that was already popped open at the collar. On the undershirt you let yourself undo only the first three buttons; you knew if you went any farther your hands might never stop exploring every inch of his skin.

You pressed on his shoulders and eased him to sit on the bed. He reached up to hold your hand, but you knelt to untie his shoelaces instead. You set his shoes aside and he drew you back to your feet, slowly wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I don’t deserve you,” Newt mumbled, eyes flitting away and settling on your mouth.

You cupped his face in one hand and ran your fingers through his fluffy hair with the other. “The world doesn’t deserve you, my love.”

He closed his eyes and leaned into your hand. “But you deserve the world.”

Your heart seemed to liquefy in your chest, sending warmth trickling all over your body. You leaned forward to kiss his brow. When you pulled back, his eyes- half-lidded and aglow with the candlelight- were once again fixed on your lips. He pulled you closer. Softly, as if it demanded the utmost care in the world, he tilted his head up and pressed his lips to yours.

He kissed you like he couldn’t believe you were his, as if you would disappear from his arms at any moment. It was delicate and utterly sweet and ended far too soon.

“I love you,” he murmured against your mouth. His voice was shaky, and he was looking at you like you were a dream.

In reply, you kissed him again. You lowered yourself to sit on his lap and he scooted back, tugging you with him, your hips curved into his body. Your hands stroked his neck and once more found their way down his arms. He shivered under your touch. You smiled against his lips and moved the kiss deeper.

Newt leaned back and pulled you both onto the bed. You fell against his chest and dipped into the crook of his arm. Running the back of your fingers over his cheek, you whispered, “I love you too.”

Sleep was quickly claiming him, and you could feel its steady hold on you too. You kissed him once more, then rolled over and blew out the candle. You snuggled underneath the blankets, feeling Newt’s warm arm slip around your waist, his ankles entwining with yours.

You were entering a world of blissful dreams when you felt his soft lips on the crook of your shoulder. You cuddled closer to him, your back up against his chest, and smiled into the night.

“Good night, my love,” you said.

“Good night, my darling,” he said as he drifted off to sleep once again.

Masterlist

#newt scamander x reader fluff #newt scamander x reader #newt scamander one shot #newt scamander #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts #reader insert #harry potter x reader #harry potter #fbawtft

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getinthefuckingjaeger · 6 months

Text

the problem with Scamanders

for @jakes3resin (you did a lot, my turn for presents now)

“You could have written, you know.”

Bucky’s legs stopped as though glued to the cobbled street of the little village he found himself wandering that night. His shoulders fell back along with his head, neck tilted almost painfully to the night sky as he heaved a great sigh. Christ and Merlin, here we fucking go.

He stayed stubbornly still, ignoring the crick in his neck the longer he tilted his head like that. It's not a bad view - an explosion of stars in the night sky fills his eyes in the absence of a German air raid. The shops in the highstreet of this unassuming village in Ipswich are all asleep around him. Thin fog that isn't really a fog flows languidly between his military-shine boots before climbing his legs like vines to a tree. The magic is warm like sunshine and soft as a caress when it touches Bucky’s hands. He flexed his fingers to disperse the white wisps and tuck them into his trousers pockets.

He still absolutely refuses to budge. No, sir.

“Merlin, you’re still as stubborn as a Hippogriff, aren’t you Johnny?” A low chuckle cuts through the otherwise quiet night and Bucky can hear the sounds of expensive Oxfords getting closer to where he stands, until there is a wall of flesh and magic by his side, a firm shoulder pressing against his. “Come on, then. Give us a smile.”

Bucky grimaces at the sky. Looks down at his feet with another sigh. Then looks to his side, and into a face so much like his own.

With wizards' lifespan as long as it is, the face Bucky sees had barely aged from the last time he saw it. The same gold skin tanned by Quidditch, the same dark mahogany curls falling from its coiffed hairstyle and hanging over the same dark blue eyes - almost navy in the darkness.

But where there’s an absence in signs of age, there is stark evidence of war on that familiar face. Bucky notes the discolored scars peppering the left side of the man’s face like something exploded too close for comfort, the way his nose sits a little crooked like it was set-wrong and far too late to rectify, and - Bucky paused a moment to stare - a thin, barely visible line that runs from under his left ear to his adam’s apple.

Familiar aftershave fills his lungs, reminding him of a childhood on a vast estate and the summer sun warming his back, as he paddles through cool sparkling waters of the massive fountain on the cul de sac of their mansion’s driveway. He can almost hear his aunt’s exasperated complaints and boisterous laughter of his cousin and uncles, the sounds of struggle as his father tried to push Newt off his perch on the edges of the marble fountain.

That was another life, then.

“Auror Scamander, sir.” Bucky lets the mask of Major Egan take over as he steps away from his cousin. “Hope you’ve been well, sir.”

Only years with Buck could ever prepare him to withstand the quiet, appraising look that Theseus is giving him. The stare weighs heavy on his chest as he looks just over Theseus’ shoulder as he would to any senior officer in the USAAF. Theseus, damn the man, tilts his head just so and catches Bucky’s eyes - his smile is tired, resigned.

“I’ve been better - the ah, hunt keeps me on my toes, so to speak.” Bucky watches as Theseus tugs lightly at his coat and white silk scarf. “Newt sends his regards, as does Tina - he also sends his thanks, for looking after Frank the... Thunderbird?”

Bucky and Theseus share a commiserating look, the first one in almost a decade since Bucky was sent back. It wasn’t a chore to disapparate from Texas to the deserts of Arizona after lights out a few times a month. Certainly one of the most rewarding things he’s ever voluntarily done, to be able to run his hands over the beak of such a majestic creature. It’s through Frank that Bucky realizes the calm that one can find sitting in the middle of a literal storm as the massive avian flies over his head.

I fell in love with the big birds, Buck told him once. Bucky had agreed, but couldn’t explain that his big bird is a little more literal than Gale’s. And that it creates thunderstorms when it flies.

The glint of Theseus’ cufflinks pulls Bucky away from desert storms and back into the cold English night air. The Scamander crest twinkles under the starlight like a taunt. Bucky didn’t even realize Theseus had put out all the street lights. Goddamn aurors.

He moves to a parade rest to remind himself of who and where he is now - that he’s no longer just John Egan, cousin of Newton and Theseus Scamander, the three remaining Scamander.

“Why haven’t you written, Johnny?” Theseus remains a respectable distance from him, but Bucky can tell how much he’s probably itching to shake him by the shoulders in frustration. “Years of silence from you and your mother’s family in Wisconsin. Newt tried to look for you when he’s stateside, but you’re always never there. It's like you vanished - if Frank hadn’t hinted at it, or if your likeness weren't still moving on the family tapestry we’d have thought you dead.”

Bucky tenses just as Theseus rocks back on his heels like the weight of his anger was a physical thing.

“What was it all for then, if we thought you died, too?”

It plays out like a picture reel in Bucky’s head - him, at eight years old with his right hand in Theseus’ left as they walk down the carpeted floor of the Scamander ancient mansion. 27, a war hero, as tall as the suit of armors that used to dot the hallways and the greatest wizard he’s ever known. Then there was Newt, only a year younger than Theseus, his figure painted in hues of red, purple, and green from the large stained glass windows - Bucky can still recall Newt’s excited chatter about all the wonderful creatures on the estate and the Hippogriffs that Aunt Artemis has in her enclosure.

Then Bucky, at thirteen years old and shaking with barely suppressed excitement as he clutched his shiny new broomstick that Theseus gave him for Christmas. The grand bubble of joy that buoyed him through the entire afternoon of flying lessons with Theseus, half the family sitting on picnic blankets spread over snow covered grounds, the fabric charmed to be warm and dry. The lightness he felt as he shot himself across the estate grounds despite Theseus’ yelling is something he has tried time and time again to recreate as his fort lifts-off.

And finally at eighteen, once again walking down the carpeted floor of the Scamander mansion. Alone, at night, confused and hurting. Aunt Artemis had gone to town that autumn morning with his parents but none returned. Newt has disappeared - likely on another errand for Dumbledore - and he has never seen Theseus so angry as he threw Aurors, his own colleagues, out of their parlor.

The subsequent argument he had with Theseus - just the memory of it brings him shame of how it inevitably ended.

“You need to go, Johnny - Grindelwald is hunting us down.”

“I can fight, T - I’m of age!”

“I know, I know, you can. I just can’t allow you - think of the family, Johnny. Grindelwald will try to kill you and Newt to get to me, and I can’t protect both of you at once.”

“Fine, I get it. Can’t trust the half-blood to take care of himself, huh?”

“You said I needed to go and I did what you told me to.”

Bucky drops the parade rest and shoves his hands in his pockets where Theseus cant see how they shake. Un-fucking-believeable that he’s flown multiple missions, have survived so many things he shouldn’t up there where hell resides above the clouds, but his hands have never shaken like this. Not once. “I had a lot of time to think and I realized - as much as I fucking hated it- you couldn’t afford distractions.”

“It’s not like that-”

Bucky shakes his head and shuffles in his boots. He itches for a cigarette. “I ain’t saying that to be an ass, T. I understand that now more than ever - this war I’m fighting… it puts things in perspective.”

“I see.”

And Theseus does see - Bucky holds his gaze for as long as he can stand. He kicks a loose stone and it skids neatly over to Theseus’ toes. His cousin nudged the stone back to Bucky. They share a grin. “How bad is it, your end?” He falls back into parade rest, puts away John Egan who was once Mr. Scamander to his peers in Hogwarts, and brings Major Egan to the forefront once again.

“As well as it is going for yours, I’d imagine Major.” Theseus, always the best one out of the three Scamander scions at reading people, adjusts his posture from soft and imploring, to hard and imposing. Demanding respect, like the Head of the British Auror Office. He pursed his lips in thought. “You may want to properly practice your wandless magic, Major Egan. I’ll take care of MACUSA and the Ministry.”

Bucky splutters. He thinks of an alder wand that used to be an extension of himself and how the yoke of his B-17 can never replace that kind of power.

“How do you expect me to do that, sir?” He grits out. Easy, John, easy now the Buck in his head soothes his ire. “Between the suicide missions and trying to keep everyone’s head on straight - how the fuck do you expect me to do that, sir?”

“You’ll figure it out, Major.” It came out like an order. Theseus’s lips quirked. “You apparrated from one state to another back in your Muggle flight school, didn’t you? Apparating from London tonight must have been a breeze. Power like that needs tending to. Particularly when you have talent for wandless casting.”

“With all due respect, sir, but last I checked you’re not my CO - you ain’t even an American, so you can kindly shove-”

“Do it for Major Cleven and your boys, then.”

The ensuing silence rings through Bucky’s head as the streetlights come back up one by one. Theseus’ hard look softens just a touch as he walks backwards and away from Bucky.

“I heard your boys are flying a mission tomorrow morning - Bremen again, I think - arresto momentum and subtle shielding charms will do.” Theseus winks, then apropos of nothing, said “I’ll come round’ for tea.”

That broke through Bucky’s bewildered suspension, but not fast enough to stop Theseus from disapparating with a soft pop.

“Goddamn wizards.”

Bucky spun and disapparate just as the last streetlight returned.

#john egan #theseus scamander #bucky egan #masters of the air #mota #jaeger writes #john scamander au

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