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kywaslost · 2 years ago

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A Dangerous Moment - Newt Scamander

A/N: I’m writing this for @newtscamanderimagines because they asked for someone to write this and I absolutely love this idea! Hope it turned out alright!

Request: Reader is female (15) and she absolutely loves all of the creatures he owns. However, one day something happens. One dangerous creature attacked her making her depressed and way too sad and scared to go back in his case. Cried all month etc. Tickles for cheer up?

Newt Scamander would tell his brother that he was at first afraid to let his little sister, you, to stay with him at first. You were only a teenager, 15 years old. He didn’t know how you’d feel benign around his creatures all the time, feeding them and interacting with them. But he gave you a chance, letting you move in with him and traveling with him as long as the trip wasn’t too far.

You surprised Newt, however, during your first night at his home. After you had gone to bed, Newt placed his suitcase down on the floor in his bedroom and climbed down into the zoo that was his suitcase. But after a few hours of sleep, you felt something climb on top of you and sit on your legs. You stirred, trying to move your legs but the weight was too heavy. When you opened your eyes, you were shocked to see a creature sitting on your legs.

“Hi,” you said gently, sitting upright slowly. “You’re a Demiguise, aren’t you?” The creature looked at you with wide blue eyes, then reached its long arms out to you. You let the creature wrap its arms around your neck and legs around your waist, then you stood. Slowly you made your way to Newt’s room. “Are you Dougal?” You asked the Demiguise and it nodded softly.

Newt wasn’t in his room, but you spotted his suitcase and opened it slowly. Making your way down the ladder, you felt the Demiguise grip you a bit tighter. You reached the bottom and your eyes widened in aw. There were magical creatures everywhere. You could see an occamy nest in the distance, and a thunderbird, too.

“This is awesome!” you exclaimed.

Dougal unwrapped himself from you and fell to the ground, taking your hand in his as he dragged you through the case. You followed, looking around at all the creatures as you were making your way through the case. Soon enough, you could see your older brother feeding mooncalves, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

The wizard caught a glimpse of you through the corner of his eye, and did a double take, “Y/N? Why are you down here? You shouldn’t be here!” He abandoned the mooncalves as Dougal let go of your hand and climbed onto Newt’s back. “You could get hurt!”

Your eyes dimmed slightly, and you lost some of your smile. “I’m sorry. Dougal woke me up. I brought him back here and he led me to you.” You looked away from your brother. “I’m sorry, I’ll go back to bed. Sorry to bother you.”

You turned to walk away, but said one thing before you left. “Oh, and the Nifflers are sniffling. I noticed while Dougal brought me back here. You might want to check that out.”

“Wait.” You turned back to your brother, hair falling in your face and hiding Newt slightly. “You know what some of my creatures are?”

You moved the hair from your eyes and nodded. “I read your book, Newt. And sometimes I read articles about them.” You shrugged, turning away again. “But it’s no big deal. Just let me know if you need any help. I know a few things.”

From that night on, Newt let you work with him and his creatures. He had rules, though. He had to be with you whenever you were working with a dangerous creature, or one you didn’t know how to handle. Over time you were allowed to work with almost all of the creatures in Newt’s case, though.

You loved your new ‘job’ so much. You got to work with creatures as well as spend quality time with your brother. Everything was perfect until one night. You were feeding the nifflers before turning in for the night, having already fed the other creatures that Newt allowed you to tend to. As you were scooping handfuls of weeds and shrubs into the nifflers’ feeding bowls, your wand fell out of your pocket and rolled a few feet away. Thinking nothing of it, you got up from your kneeled position at the bucket of plants and walked over to your wand.

You noticed a hole in the ground near where your wand landed. You spared it a quick thought, noting how you didn’t remember seeing that hole there earlier. Then you kneeled down to pick up your wand.

You felt it before you saw it. A stinging pain coursing through your body, radiating from your hand. You cried out in pain, falling back on your butt as you gripped your hand to your chest. You could see a creature scurrying away out of the corner of your eye. You hadn’t ever seen it before, and you were sure you knew every creature in Newt’s case by now.

The pain quickly became too much to bear and your screaming was getting louder. You couldn’t sit up, tilting to the side and collapsing on your back. Your vision was fading, but you could hear something off in the distance. Through your faded gaze you could see Newt running towards you, then he was beside you.

You couldn’t remember much after that.

You wouldn’t go back into Newt’s case after that night. Even now, two weeks later, you haven’t even been able to look at a creature without bursting into tears and going into a panic. The only one you could stand to see was Picket, but only because you had been around him for years.

Newt was on edge, he’d admit. He wasn’t sure how to help you. He was so petrified when he heard you screaming that night. He thought you were being attacked by Grindlewald and his followers. But then, as he was running to you, he saw one of his venomous creatures running away from where he could hear you screaming.

You were pretty much out of it by the time he got to you. You were still conscious but Newt knew what creature had bit you, judging by the wound on your hand and said creature running past him earlier. There was no one attacking you, which was somewhat of a plus. But that didn’t change the fact that Newt was scared out of his mind. He knew how dangerous that creature was, and he wasn’t even sure how it had escaped its enclosure, but that was another problem for another time.

Newt had to pick you up and carry you back to the shed at the entrance of his case, quickly digging through all of his remedies and medicines to find what would help ease the pain and fight of the venom from the creature that bit you.

Once you recovered, you wouldn’t step foot anywhere near Newt’s case. To be honest, it saddened him that you no longer wanted to help him care for his creatures, but he understood why you were so afraid. The one thing he didn’t know how to handle, however, was the fact that you rarely left your room nowadays. He’d come in, bringing meals for the both of you and eating with you., but that was all he really could do. You spent a lot of time crying, he could hear it through the walls. You didn’t speak much anymore, either. Newt wasn’t sure if your actions were out of pure fear or if they were unknown side-effects from the treated venom.

He tried talking to Thesius, but his brother wasn’t much help. In fact, Thesius wasn’t happy with Newt for letting you around his creatures. In fact, he said, “Newt. This is your problem. Now you fix it.” What a beautiful brotherly support.

Eventually Newt had had enough. You needed to at least go outside and see some sunlight. You were looking worse and worse every day and he couldn’t stand seeing you like this. So one afternoon he gently knocked on your door and entered your room.

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted quietly. “Can you please come outside with me? You need to see some sunlight.”

Your red puffy eyes glanced up to him. You had been crying again. “No thank you.” Newt sighed, lowering himself to sit beside you on your bed. He looked upset, and you couldn’t help but think that it was because of you. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m worried about you,” Newt admitted. “I know you’re afraid of my creatures now, and that’s ok. But please, you need to take care of yourself and I’d like you to at least see some sunlight.”

You shook your head slowly. “No. There could be creatures out there.”

Newt took a moment to think, then grinned slightly. As he turned to face you, you tilted your head in confusion. “What?” His movements were too fast for you and you had no time to defend yourself. Newt pushed himself forward, forcing you to lay down on the bed as he pinned you down. Then his fingers glided over your sides, causing a loud laugh to burst out of you. You tried to push Newt off of you and he continued ‘torturing’ you but it was no use. He was much bigger and stronger than you, and you didn’t stand a chance against him.

Newt continued to tickle you until you couldn’t breathe and he was concerned you’d begin to hyperventilate. Your brother finally leaned back, giving you room to move away from him, still giggling. “Why’d you do that?” you asked through gasping breaths.

Newt smiled softly. “Because I’m tired of seeing you so upset. If you won’t go outside then maybe at least I can get you to smile here inside.”

You scooted over to sit next to your brother, resting your head on his shoulder. “Thanks, Newt. Hopefully I’ll get comfortable enough again to work with your creatures soon.”

#fantastic beasts #fantastic beast the secrets of dumbledore #fantastic beasts the crimes of grindlewald #fabtcg #newt scamander comfort #newt drabble #newt #newt scamander x reader comfort #newt scamander #scamander reader #scamander sister

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justinewt · 1 year ago

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For the Greater Good - TMR REWRITE Chapter Ten

[TMR REWRITE-MASTERLIST]

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Summary: After Teresa called WICKED on them when the group had just reached the Right Arm that same day, Minho and Grace were both abducted by the organization while their friends barely made it out. Thomas had to watch his sister and one of his closest friend get dragged onboard of the helicarrier, unable to do anything to help them. For 6 months, they were locked up in a facility and experimented on until Thomas, Newt and a back-from-the-dead Gally came to their rescue.

Words: 7.3k

Warnings: TMR Death cure spoilers, angst, mental torture, medical experiments, needles, restraints, violence

Grace tilted her head back and she stared at the overhead lights with a heavy sigh. Her muscles felt so sore. She pulled at her wrists in frustration, but she was handcuffed to a chair, in a small room with a table and another chair facing each other like the one where Janson had briefly questioned Grace and Thomas back when they got to the facility, except this room was bright and white. Her heart ached as she remembered her brother struggling against Jorge, trying to get to her and Minho to save them, calling out their names, yelling at the top of his lungs. She feared what they were going to do to her and Minho here. It had only been a day since they were taken from the Right Arm camp, which went up in flames after WICKED came. All because of Teresa. Grace heard the handle move and the door open. A guard held out the door to no other than Teresa. She dared to greet Grace with a friendly smile. She was met by a death stare.

“How are you feeling?” She sat in front of Thomas’ sister as the door was closed behind her. Grace stared at her without saying anything. Teresa sighed softly, joining her hand on the table. She was trying so hard to come off as welcoming and agreeable, but Grace would never let her forget what she did to all of them by betraying them. “If your muscles are still hurting a little, it’s normal. It should be gone in a couple days.”

“Yeah, I doubt that.” Grace finally spoke, though her words were referring instead to the knife she had stuck in their backs. She was bitter and resented Teresa. Straightening up, she asked, “Where’s Minho?”

“He is being checked by a doctor. Just like you were, when you were still passed out.”

“I want to see him.”

“I’m sorry, Grace. I don’t think Janson and Chancellor Paige will allow that.”

“Do you like that? Huh? Being WICKED’s dog?” Grace asked. She didn’t have to raise her voice very much to let her anger show. Teresa looked at her like she was sad to see her react like this, as if it was surprising after what happened.

“Look, Grace, I came here to tell you something. I’m sorry it had to happen this way, really, but… we need you to help us.”

“You need my blood, not me. Why are you even here acting like you’re trying to bargain with me? Why do you act like you care?”

“This could all be so much easier if you agree to help us.” As she was talking, the door opened, and Janson walked in. He sized up Grace and stood by the table, hands behind his back.

“She’s right. This could all be so much easier if you just agree to help us. Because you know, that if you’re being too difficult… we will take what we want from you anyhow.” He threatened her with this annoyance in his eyes contradicting the smile on his face. “We have much to do right now. We’ll deal with her later, take her to her room.”

He waved nonchalantly at Grace, and she was grabbed by two soldiers who entered as he left. They grabbed her by the arms and not giving her time to get support on her feet, she was dragged out of the room and brought down the corridors. They passed many people in white coats and continued without stopping until they reached a door. At eye level along the wall was a window that looked out into the room within. It was a small room with a single bed with white sheets and blankets and a small light wooden table against the wall, with a chair. A guard slipped a card in a slot provided for this purpose, next to the door and a beep signalled the opening of the latter. She was pushed inside. They left her in handcuffs, and she turned back to the door, which beeped again as it locked. She also realized that the window was obscured from inside the room. They could see her, but she was cut off from what was going on in the halls. She sat on the bed and let her head fall on the pillow. She had no idea what Teresa wanted to tell her. Janson had cut their conversation short after probably being too annoyed by Grace’s behaviour. She was way too angry to comply and be obedient anyway.

As the days passed, Grace felt more and more on edge. She was locked in a room in which we could observe her without her knowledge and the lights were never turned off, which made her have a lot of trouble sleeping. She wasn't doing anything the whole day and the time seemed excruciatingly long. She thought that maybe they were trying to wear her out and push her to the edge so she would be too exhausted to fight back, or maybe they were just preparing the next tortures she would be subjected to. The only time she had some interactions was when she was brought food, and even then, the guards weren’t the most talkative, or when she was taken to get some blood drawn. It was really bugging her how they were just leaving her alone. She knew something was coming, and she also knew that she wouldn’t like it, whatever it would be. After a couple weeks, she was visited again by Teresa, directly in her room this time. The door buzzed loudly, and she sat up on her bed. The woman walked in, followed by an armed soldier.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, pulling the chair away from the table and sitting down.

“Are you going to ask me that every time you talk to me?”

“I’m just being mindful. You might believe me, but I care about your wellbeing, and Minho’s.” Her voice was soft, but it wasn’t fooling Grace. “I really need to have this talk with you, and I would prefer to do it myself. Janson won’t be as patient.”

“Oh, you’re so kind.” Grace rolled her eyes, pulling at the handcuffs, looking away from Teresa.

“We have been running tests on the blood samples we collected from you, Minho, and the others. You must have notified we weren’t taking you out of your room very often. We compared—”

“Get to the fucking point already.” Grace cut her off, sighing.

“We discovered something in your blood. The enzyme your brain produces is 110 percent more efficient against the flare.” She sounded excited and happy about what she was telling her, but it was all gibberish to her ears. “Not only do your body fights off the flare, but it also controls it. It’s as if it was assimilating to your system, rendering it harmless to you. You’re more immune than anyone else we’ve seen. Even more than Thomas.”

Grace instantly looked back at Teresa when she mentioned her brother. What she was saying was somehow not very surprising. This was a theory she had ever since she saw them draw so much blood from her at the facility in the desert. And now, she had the confirmation that there was something more about her and her blood, something that was very interesting and precious to WICKED. They probably already knew about it but needed a lot of her blood to run a few more tests and be sure. In any case, they took their time doing it.

“So? What now?” Grace enquired, holding her hands tightly to keep from fidgeting with her fingers.

“We are on the right track to synthesize a cure, thanks to you, Grace.” The latter glanced at Teresa. She would never get out of here if she was their golden ticket to a cure. They would never let her go and it made her grow anxious. So anxious about what they would do to her to get it that she was petrified. “We still need to conduct a few tests, and we need to find someone to try it on but we’re positive we can do it.”

“And why are you telling me this? They don’t need my permission to make me their lab rat.” Grace spat through her gritted teeth.

“I don’t want them to hurt you, that is why.” This made her let out a chuckle. She didn’t believe her anymore. She didn’t believe she actually cared, because she jeopardized the safety of everyone to get here and to get to this. Grace surprised herself when she spoke.

“I’ll agree to help you.” She turned her head to Teresa. “But I have a couple conditions.”

“Tell me.”

“I want them to conduct tests and shit, only on me. Not on Minho, or the others. I won’t fight back… if they leave him alone. Torture me not him.”

“You won’t be tortured, Grace—”

“Don’t bullshit me, please. Just go tell them and get on with it.” She looked away, gulping quietly. Teresa said she would go talk to Paige and see what she could do, promising her to do her best but she didn’t care about her worthless promises. She didn’t meet Teresa’s gaze again when she left and had a gloomy face, staring into space, as if she had signed her death certificate. To ensure Minho’s wouldn’t be tortured by WICKED, she had negotiated that everything be done to her, without having the slightest idea of how far their experiments would go and that thought alone made her feel sick to her stomach. She knew that if Minho was here, he would have never let her do this, but he wasn’t, and she didn’t want them to hurt him for the sake of science when they already had what they needed to make a cure with her. If she could ensure he would be safe, she was ready to do anything, even if it led to her death, though she prayed it wouldn’t come to that. She wanted to see her brother again. She wanted to Newt and all her friends again. She wanted to see Sonya again and get to know her, which she would never be able to do if she died at the hands of WICKED. It took until the next day for Teresa to come back. She talked to Chancellor Paige, and she had agreed to leave Minho out of this, the only condition was for Grace to never be difficult and agree to every test they would need to do. She agreed and knew it was going to be a long way to hell.

Her bare feet sinking into the snow, Grace walked on without really knowing where to go. Strangely, she didn't feel the cold, despite the fact that she wasn't wearing shoes or a jacket. Her clothes were thin, but she didn't seem to mind the temperature, which was probably in the negatives given the snow that was falling nonstop. She saw a forest straight ahead. There was nothing else on the horizon, so she headed there with a quiet step. As she approached the edge of the forest, she heard someone calling her, which caused her to go deeper into the woods, so that soon she found herself in the shade of the trees and of their tall, thick foliage. She walked blindly, following the voice that echoed around her. She only realized after getting too far into the forest that the snow had disappeared around her. She stepped on a branch that creaked under her foot. Suddenly, everything became silent, and the atmosphere changed drastically. The air became heavy and thick, and she found it harder and harder to breathe. Gasping for air, she held her hands to her throat and collapsed.

She was choking and there was nothing she could do. She closed her eyes for a second and as she tried to take deep breaths, she felt water seep through her nose and mouth and found herself banging furiously against a glass wall. This time, she felt the coldness in the water she was immersed in, right down to her bones. She wanted to hold her breath but the water she had already breathed made her cough and take deeper breaths. His vision was blurring. She no longer had the strength to hit the glass in front of her and her body shook with a brutal spasm, then another and she felt like falling into an abyssal void. Everything was dark around her. She let go and opened her eyes when she heard the heartbreaking cry of a Griever. Without thinking she took a deep breath and felt air fill her lungs, but the relief was short lived. She got up and quickly realized that she was in the labyrinth, in the middle of the night. She didn't even try to understand the meaning of everything that was happening, as if it seemed normal. There was a second screech that echoed through the corridors of the maze, and she began to run at full speed, not even knowing if she was getting closer to the monster or if she was moving away from it. She didn't care about being barefoot, she just ran breathlessly, terrified of coming face to face with one of her half-machines, half-organic creatures.

Taking a turn, she slipped and fell heavily to the ground. She felt her body go to the side and she slid into a wide gap between the platform and the wall. She screamed at the top of her lungs and fell silent when she realized that she was glued to the stone wall. She felt like her whole body was trembling from the inside. Her breath was shaky as well and she heard the metallic clinging of the Griever climbing up the wall. The creature covered her body and she found herself only inches from his head. He opened his mouth, letting out a squealing scream, bringing up a foul smell from the bowels of the earth. She closed her eyes as hard as she could and turned her head to the side, her face distorted with fear, and screamed. When she opened her eyes again, it took her a few seconds to stop and realize where she was. Her throat hurt like hell, but with a quick look around reminded her that she was not back in the maze. She heard the voice of a scientist rise in the room. She was barely catching her breath, her eyes wide from what she had been put through. After a minute, she was taken out of whatever machine she was in and carried to a bed. Her whole body felt drained of any ounce of energy that she ever had, as if she had turned into a ragdoll. She was strengthless. Her arms hanging loosely along the bed, she stared above her, breathing weakly.

The bed she was moved around on was pushed against a wall. Her vision was still blurry, but she could make out the shapes of several people, busy around her. She felt her arms being lifted and then rested on the sides of the bed. Her eyes moved slowly, and she tried to focus and follow some of the movements. She watched as plastic bags were hooked to IV poles on each side of her bed. One of the pouches contained a liquid that appeared to be translucent and the others a dark red liquid. She guessed the many tubes she could see linked the bags to her body, but she couldn't feel anything. The noises of machines and the words exchanged around her mixed in an incessant buzzing as if she was surrounded by a thousand bees. She saw someone lean over her and place a mask over her face. She took a breath, and her eyes grew heavier and heavier, until they closed completely, and she let herself sink in the dark again.

She did everything they asked of her, and she was still not allowed to see Minho, but Teresa assured he was being taken care of and not tested on. She didn’t trust her, but she had to take her word for it since she couldn’t check for herself. The only thing to do was hoping they were keeping their word. With Grace in their hands, it didn’t take the scientists as long as she thought to try and see if their vaccine actually cured people from the flare. What would take a little more time would be to see how long the cure they made was effective before they got sick again, if they got sick again at all, because there was a world where it did work out perfectly and in which Grace turned out to be the source of the cure for all of humanity. If it was the world they were in, Grace would be condemned to serve as their supply for the creation of this vaccine and would never see the light of the sun ever again. She would be sucked dry by these vampires, but they would act as if they were so grateful of her sacrifice. The sacrifice of a 17-year-old girl who happened to be more immune to the flare than others. To her great misfortune. But if they had gotten Thomas as well, he would be subjected to the exact same treatment and she didn’t want that, though she didn’t want to die for those greedy, selfish people either. While she was plunged into a vegetative state for months at a time, she only dreamed of one thing.

Getting out of there and seeing her brother and friends again.

She wanted to have another chance at life. She wanted to be more than what they saw in her. Maybe, if she could make it out of there alive, she could also see if anything could come out of that spark she felt when meeting Sonya.

Grace wasn’t really being told anything anymore and she couldn’t even get out of bed. She had been transferred to a bigger room where she was strapped to a sort of hospital bed, her arms stretched out to the sides. So many tubes were connected to the crooks of her elbows, the backs of her hands and really, wherever they could stick a needle, they had. She was bedridden and fed through a tube that had been inserted in her skin and into her stomach and an oxygen mask was sometimes slapped on her face to put her to sleep. When she was conscious and awake, she wasn't even fully aware of what was going on around her anyway. She just had this blurry, constant vision of masked people in white coats bustling around her. Usually, it was pretty quiet and when they did speak, she couldn't make out half the words, but she guessed they might be speaking way more when she was asleep, which she was most of the time.

“Can you hear me?” Teresa spoke to her softly, sitting across from her. Grace did hear her. She was physically unable to respond, her whole body feeling numb like she was still feeling the effects of the aesthetics and drugs that they used on her even though she had been brought here for some time already. She couldn’t tell how long it had been since they put her in this room, on this chair with Teresa. Grace looked terrible. She looked exhausted and sick, a dull grayish complexion on her face. It looked like she was asleep with her eyes open, her cuffed hands stretched out in front of her on the table. If there hadn't been a backrest on her chair, she would have collapsed to the floor without a doubt. Even though she couldn’t react very much, she listened to Teresa.

“There’s a little girl here. Her name is Shai Lun. She’d been infected for three weeks but, Grace… you saved her.”

Although her body remained still, her chest heaving at each weak breath she took, Grace looked up tiredly at Teresa. Hearing this, a glimmer of hope passed through her eyes. If what she was saying was true, maybe her sacrifice would have served some purpose, and saved this little girl. Teresa saw the way she looked at her and gave her a smile, nodding.

“We’ve had her here for observation for weeks now. You saved her. And you can save so many others. Everything we’re doing here, it’s working.” Her smile stretched at the joy that this statement brought her. “Do you understand? That’s why this is so important.”

Hoping that Grace would say something to her made Teresa greatly disappointed when the later just looked down at the table again. She sighed and stood up.

“I just wanted you to know.”

“Teresa.” When she turned her back to her, Grace called her name so softly it almost sounded like a whisper.

“Grace?” She asked as if she thought she had dreamed being called out to. She approached and leaned gently towards her. The girl lifted her head slightly, looking up at Teresa. Grace swallowed harshly, her throat feeling so sore and parted her lips.

“Minho… let me see him… please…” She had to speak directly into Teresa's ear, the sound of her voice being so low. Pronouncing these 6 words had already almost made her breathless. Teresa straightened up and nodded, unable to promise her that this meeting would actually happen. Two guards then came in and grabbed Grace by the arms, lifting her up from the chair and moving her out of the room. Her body hanged from their hand like she was just a rag, and she was brought to a single room which she recognized to be the one she was in before they started actively experimenting on her. The guards put her on the bed, lying on her right side and connected her handcuffs to chains tied to the feet of the bed. The chain was so short she couldn’t even think of rolling over, but she didn’t have the energy to do so anyway. She stared at the window across the wall. She couldn’t see what was going on in the hallways but anyone stopping by could watch her in the room. It was the least of her worries. Grace closed her eyes and she was so tired that despite the bright, white lights on the ceiling, she managed to fall asleep almost instantly.

When she woke up, Grace let out a yawn so big it felt like her jaw was dropping. She winced. Her mouth hurt. She straightened up with difficulty leaning on her forearm to bring her face closer to her hands and touched her mouth with her fingertips. She hissed when she touched actual wounds. Her lips were so dry and irritated that the corners of her mouth were cracked. Maybe that played in why Teresa looked at her with so much concern in her eyes when they met. Or maybe this was just an impression and Teresa didn't care about how awful Grace looked. Her eyes then went down her hands and arms. She knew they had been drawing blood from her for a while now, sticking needles wherever they could but she hadn’t realized how bad it was. There were large, dark blue-purple bruises all over her skin. A squeal escaped her lips, and she felt her body shake. Seeing those bruises covering nearly every square inch of her skin shocked her and she felt her stomach churn. She felt sick and a sudden wave of heat came over her upper body. It was as if she was burning up and she collapsed onto the floor with a grunt, staring at the ceiling, in pain. Her breaths fastened.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw a guard being hurried inside the room to detach the chain from the handcuffs. Seeing these two people come in gave her an idea. She felt something cold being pressed against her shoulder and she quickly felt her body and breathing relax.

“How long did I asleep?” She asked faintly.

“You’ve slept since your meeting with Teresa, this morning. You needed the rest.” The woman gave her a smile and helped her sit at the table against the wall. She showed no resistance and let herself be handled, swiftly stealing her access card from her pocket. Surprisingly, the doctor then told the guard to remove her handcuffs as the girl wasn’t going anywhere in her state. While she had her back turned, Grace let herself fall against the backrest of the chair and slipped the card at her waist, held in place by the elastic of her pants. If she tried to escape from this place, she might need this card to even get out of this room in the first place. The guard took her handcuffs off and remained in the room to watch her while the woman walked to the door. She reached for her card but didn’t find it and she patted her pockets, not understanding where it could have gone. She motioned for the guard to open for her and left. A couple minutes later, someone came in carrying a food tray. It was placed in front of Grace and after she ate, the doctor came back, this time sending the guard on his way so she could check on Grace’s bruises. A kidney plate on the table caught his eye. His arms were outstretched, one on the table the other in the doctor's hands. Grace pushed the tray over the edge of the table, exaggerating the exhaustion she was in to make it seem accidental. Cotton balls rolled on the floor.

“Sorry.” Grace breathed out.

“It’s all right. I’ll take care of it.” The woman turned her back to her and bent over to gather the cotton balls and the other stuff that fell from the tray. Grace had a sudden burst of energy, and she immediately grabbed a syringe from another tray and a small bottle of drugs. She didn't take the time to read the label and just filled the syringe with it before stabbing the needle in the woman lower back. She injected the liquid and watch her body drop to the floor. Grace had no idea if she was really unconscious, but she stood up. Her legs almost gave out beneath her, and she caught herself on the table before straightening up and dropping down beside the woman lying there. She took off her white blouse and shoes. The teenage girl then put all that on and got up, not without much difficulty, leaning on the back of the chair.

“This is useless, you know?” Grace glanced over her shoulders and shrugged, breathing heavily.

“I gotta try.” She said standing at her full height facing the door, trying to hide the colossal amount of effort that it took her not to fall right here and there. She slipped the card into the slot next to the door. It buzzed open and she stepped out in the hallway of the medical wing, where she had spent day after day for the past few months. She had never put so much focus on something as basic as walking but placing one foot in front of the other while standing without any support seemed so hard. She felt her legs shaking and the thought of collapsing in the hallway terrified her, so she forced herself to keep going when she heard the doctor's voice coming from her room. The latter was shouting at a guard to go after her and in the blink of an eye she was pinned down, the guard's knee pressing against her back while he held her bruised arms with a strong grip. Being on the floor was almost relaxing after trying so hard to walk, if it weren't for the pain she was being put through. The fatigue came back in a second and she didn’t even realize when she passed out. She opened and closed her eyes without being able to move a finger and that blurry vision was back. She heard voices around her but the words were confused and sounded deafened and all she could really tell was that she was lying on some sort of bed, in a room she didn't know. Her eyes half open she saw an orange light swirling in the corridors, not knowing what was going on. It was as if not only was her body asleep again, but her mind and senses were also functioning in slow motion. She felt a pressure somewhere on her body, but she was so numb she couldn’t tell where it came from though, she recognized the pressure of a syringe. She slowly realized she was coming out of whatever they had used to sedate her a moment prior when she heard glass breaking sharply on the floor and loud grunting as if there was fight going on. The sounds became clearer as the grunting turned into yelling and she almost fell off the bed when she tried to get up. She felt strong hands catching her in her fall and as she was helped up, she saw Thomas’ face and couldn’t believe it.

“Thomas.” She didn’t care about the pain that continuously shot through her bruised limbs and wrapped her arms around her brother with a sob. Newt and Minho were panting from the effort the fights required, standing there a few feet away from the siblings just reuniting. They joined in the hug after Grace gave them a look when she noticed them in the room. She also gave them each a hug and upon turning back to Thomas, she saw him staring at her arms in shock. Taking a step back, she hit the bed and looked at the three boys. Newt and Minho had also just seen the state in which WICKED had left her and she couldn't help but look away. Seeing what her arms looked like made her sick to her stomach but seeing the guilt in their eyes made her feel even worse. She thought of telling them she was fine, but she couldn’t even resort herself to saying such blatant lies. She felt dizzy and her body was weak, barely able to stand on her own.

“Grace—”

“It’s— I didn’t want them to experiment on you.” She said in one breath, wrapping her arm around her stomach, holding her side. She patted lightly when she felt a bandage under her T-shirt. For a split second she wondered what they had done to her, and she quickly remembered that she had spent most of her last months hooked up to machines, a tube in her stomach to feed her. Not one of them really said anything. All three of them were at an abyssal loss of words. Thomas looked around and grabbed one of the doctors lying dead and lifted the body, grabbing it by the collar to pull off its white coat and put it around Grace's shoulders. She couldn't hide the pain that shot through her arms as she tucked them into the sleeves and closed her eyes so as not to see the way the boys were staring at her.

“Let’s get them out of here.” Thomas glanced at Newt and nodded. He helped Grace to walk out of the room but as they came around the corner of the corridor, a bunch of soldiers spotted them and yelled in their direction. Grace barely had time to realize, she let out a gasp when she was suddenly lifted off the floor and found herself in Thomas's arms as the boys ran in the opposite direction. She clung to Thomas and watched the soldiers chasing them with dread on her tired face. As they fled, she met Janson's gaze and felt her heart skip a beat, holding her breath until he left her field of vision. They were desperately trying to shake off Janson and the soldiers but came to a halt when the latter came from in front of them. Grace ducked her head in Thomas’ neck when they fired in their direction. Minho urged them to get into the room to their right and slammed the door shut and locking it. Janson could be heard grunting as he banged on the door furiously. Thomas took a look around the room while Newt and Minho knocked over a piece of furniture across the door to block it. They backtracked against the large bay window overlooking the rest of the city. Grace stared at the door anxiously, trying to stay calm but with the fatigue and pain she was in, she was kind of all over the place.

“Oh, shit…” Thomas swore as they heard loud steps on the other side of the door. Janson really wanted that door open for the sole reason that he felt so entitled to what was in their blood and the cure that could come out of it. Though she was scared shitless, Grace knew that now that Thomas had her back, WICKED was going to have to keep their claws off her. Grace gulped as she heard a drill whirring. They were trying to saw through the lock on the door to open it.

“Any ideas?” Minho enquired while he and Newt stared at the door, sparks flying inside the room. Grace followed Thomas gaze as he turned to the window and looked down. He showed the pool beneath them and stepped aside, still carrying his sister in his arms while Newt and Minho threw a huge canister at the window, shattering the glass. He put Grace on her feet, holding her firmly by the waist and all four of them stood on the edge, watching the canister fall heavily into the water.

“It’s doable.” Thomas said, glancing at his sister and friend. In other circumstances, Grace would have laughed when she saw Minho’s doubtful face. “Just need a little running start.” Thomas was the first to walk towards the middle of the room, swiftly taking his sister back in his arms since she couldn't run, even for such a short distance. He told her to hold on tight and she clung to him, ignoring the pain that shot through her bruised hands, staring fearfully through the window, taking breaths to try to calm down.

“You sure about this?” Minho asked.

“Not really.” He saw the look on Grace’s face and added; “it’s gonna be okay.”

“Nice pep talk.”

“Yeah, we’re all bloody inspired.” Newt added sarcastically.

The sound of the saw stopped, and Grace turned her head towards the door. There was a silence for a couple of seconds before they started ramming the door. The door banged open, and Janson stepped over the furniture on the floor to get in the room. Thomas swore under his breath and the three boys ran for it and jumped out the window. He shouted, telling Grace to hold her breath but she didn't have time to process what he said and what was happening. She screamed her brother’s name as they fell. She opened her eyes underwater, blinded by this cloud of bubbles and this deaf sound that was her voice. In a matter of less than a second, the nightmares she had of herself drowning came back and she panicked. She was pulled out by Thomas and desperately gasped for air, coughing dryly, and wincing at the sensation of her nose and throat sore from breathing in water. He tightened his grip of her and pushed the hair sticking to her face, reassuring her. She calmed down but had no control over the cough she was seized with. Thomas gave the middle finger to Janson, who was watching them from the windowsill and the group swam to shore. Grace let Thomas pull her with him, out of breath. Only when he put her on the edge of the pool before he even got out of the water, did she realize she was sobbing, panting, coughing and shaking all at once. He pulled Minho and Newt out of the water and helped Grace get on her feet when soldiers ordered them to stay where they were, their machine guns aiming at them. There weren’t many options, so they obliged. While staring at the soldiers, Thomas whispered to Grace to help her calm down. He tried to reach for the handgun at his thigh, but they saw him, advising him not to do that.

“Get on your knees with your hands in the air.” Grace gasped loudly and widened her eyes when one of the soldiers started firing at his peers, stunning them with the electric shots. Once they were all down, he came towards them and took off his mask. Her jaw dropped when she saw Gally standing right in front of them.

“Minho. Grace.” He nodded at them before looking up the building. “You guys are nuts.”

“I’ll explain later.” Thomas then told Minho and his sister, who looked at each other in shock before walking away. Grace heavily relied on her brother’s support to walk along them. She could feel her legs almost giving way with every step. It took so much energy from her; she would have never been able to walk on her own. She barely managed to take deep breaths. Sneaking through the city was really not easy on her. They slid on the ground, hiding from the soldiers looking for them. Thomas sat her down against the grove's half wall, in between him and Gally. She held her arms with a low moan of pain through her teeth. She almost felt even more drained than back there.

“Well, they’re definitely pissed.” Gally declared.

“How far are the tunnels?” Thomas enquired as he took off his soaked gloves, looking at his sister with concern. She was way calmer now, but he could tell she was in a lot of pain, on top of being exhausted.

“Uh, maybe blocks from here.” They all looked ahead of them upon hearing Newt, who was a few feet away, sitting next to Minho, started coughing his lungs out. Grace stared at him, not understanding what was wrong with him at first but when it clicked, her face dropped, and she felt her heart and stomach sank to her feet. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be infected. They were supposed to be immune to this. Gally looked at the two siblings. “We can make it.”

Thomas didn’t say anything. Him and Gally crouched behind the wall, on the look out but she kept staring at Newt. She had just reunited with her friends, and she was faced with the realization that one of them was dying and that she could save him with all the fucking vaccines or whatever that they made using her, but they needed time to get said cure. She was so focused on the fact that Newt was dying that she completely overlooked the reappearance of Gally. Minho came towards them.

“Hey. How long has he been like this?”

“He’ll be okay. We just gotta get to Brenda.” Thomas said, taking off his jacket. “She’s got the serum. Come on, let’s go.”

Thomas tried to help his sister get up, but she pushed him away, telling him to take care of Newt. Minho and Gally, or either of them, could help her. They watched him catch Newt as he almost fell over and walked away. Until then, she hadn't really cared about the sticky feel of her soaked clothes on her skin, but she suddenly couldn't bare it anymore and leaned forward, moaning from the pain as she tried to pull the blouse off.

“Hey, hey, hey. Take it easy, Grace. Don’t hurt yourself.” Minho hastened to stop her and helped her take off the blouse. Gally's eyes slid down her arms as she fell back against the low wall. Like every single one of them when they saw all the bruises, he couldn’t help but stare in shock, though he tried to control his expression, she could tell in his eyes. He was taken out of his stupor by Minho’s voice. “Why you helping us, Gally? I put a spear through your chest.”

“Yeah. Nobody’s perfect, man.” He shrugged it off and was about to help Grace up but a quick look from Minho was enough to make Gally understand that he got this so the latter just stood up, patting him on the shoulder and walked off.

“Can you stand?” She nodded and he put her arm around his shoulder, holing her by the waist and they just started following Gally and Thomas when she spoke with a faint voice.

“Minho… did they do something to you?”

“They put me through a bunch of simulations, but they only did it a couple of time.”

“Okay. Good…” She nodded, resting her eyes as they walked. She was relieved to hear that Teresa did keep her word and stopped the experiments on him and the others.

“What did you do, Grace?” His question got her to look at him from the corner of her eyes and the silence that followed pushed her to say something. Her brother and Newt were far ahead but not Gally. She knew he would hear but it wasn't that much of a problem. She just didn't want Thomas to know about all this. For now, anyway. On the way, she proceeded to tell him about the day Teresa came to talk to her, trying to get her to cooperate, and she ended up agreeing to do all this and that her only condition to this was for them to leave Minho alone and not use him for any experiments of any kind. She could tell he was upset to hear all this, but the guilt outweighed it. He came out of this safe and sound because she took it all on her. She didn’t have to tell him about how they drew her blood almost every day, leaving her bedridden and in a medically induced coma for a while. She didn’t tell him about the anxiety-inducing nightmares of her drowning or about how sick she gets when she looks at her arms now.

“Anyway… I’ll recover from this.”

“They tortured you—”

“And I agreed to it. It was a shit decision, but it doesn’t matter…” She shook her head, letting out a sigh. “You should go help Thomas with Newt.”

“Grace, you can barely walk on your own.”

“I’ll help her.” Gally turned to them and pushed by Grace, Minho went ahead and put Newt’s arm around his shoulder. She took a step forward and it was enough for her to lose her balance and catch herself on the arm that Gally held out to her. They resumed their walk and stopped in their tracks again, watching an explosion occur further ahead of them. “We’re supposed to take down WICKED, not the whole damn city.”

“Gally, come on.” Thomas urged him to continue on their way and Grace had to wait for him to follow them and looked up at him observing the fire left by the explosion. He didn't seem so thrilled with how far this was going but she didn’t really care. She already had a hard time with Gally back in the Glade and she still wasn’t too fond of him, but he seemed nicer than he used to be. If someone had told her that she would stop hating Gally one day and that he would even go so far as helping her out, she wouldn’t have believed it. When you remember how he ran after her and she taunted him from the top of a tree after she tried out for the Builders during the first week, she would have never thought she would even accept help from him.

[To be continued…]

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Published (26/06/2023) by Andrea

Taglist: @cathrin2405 @kika64

23 notes · View notes

heliads · 7 months ago

Note

Newt x reader Bridgerton AU. Reader, the diamond of the season, is the Duchess of Hastings. She wants to marry someone who likes her as a person and isn’t after her money. Newt, son of a widowed viscountess, needs to marry to save his family’s reputation because his sister Sonya was seen alone with her fiancé Lord Aris before they were engaged. The anonymous writer Lady Whistledown is Ava, a widowed modiste who has her nose in everyone’s business, and Aris is the only one who knows.

'foxes and hounds' - newt

masterlist

The start of a new social season, although intended, supposedly, to be a cause for joy, feels rather more like a fierce uprising of dread, not celebration. Across the ton, young maidens find themselves new entrees– or, entrants– to the marriage mart. This game of rings and dances, men with ambition and women with more, will end in blissful happiness or deepest discontent. And all will be witnessed by every worthy family from one corner of the country to the next.

If all goes according to plan, an eligible would-be bride will find herself engaged to a man she loves, a man in possession of a handsome fortune and a sterling reputation. If luck slips past her, she’ll settle for someone decent, or someone without any income at all. If nothing goes in her favor, her first year in society will not be her last as a single woman. She will have to repeat her attempt the next year, this time without the glimmering aura of a new arrival, and hope that something within her has changed enough to attract a proposal. Otherwise, she will sink to the bottom of the pile of dance cards, ignored, abandoned, and grown up into a spinster. All that hard work gone to waste.

You’ve heard many young women discuss the marriage mart with nothing short of absolute terror in their voices. A good opening season can seal a girl’s fate forever. Attracting the eye of a worthy man is an impossible task for all but the best of the rosebuds, or so it seems. Most of us will settle for something halfway decent– a tidy sum per annum but nothing extravagant, a man with casual disinterest but nothing harsh. Something that can be shaped into something good, or at least ignored in favor of not being alone. Such is the romance of a married life.

You, however, hope to extract a little more out of the whole affair. As the Duchess of Hastings, you have no need for money. A marriage would be nice, the final touch on the portrait of a successful lady, but you do not require the financial stability of a husband. You have plenty of money and plenty of friends. You will inherit your estate. If you look for a husband, you will look only for love.

One would think, then, that entering your first season among the eligible women of the ton would be bereft of the panic permeating through most of your friends in search of husbands. However, when you line up with the rest of the young women to be presented to the Queen at the start of the season, you find that it couldn’t be less true.

Your stomach is in knots, even as you sweep confidently through the corridor to wait outside the door. The white feather in your hair stands tall and proud. Your dress is crisp and finely stitched, the highest of fashion yet never gaudy. You attract stares wherever you go– from the other girls, envious and jealous and heartsick, from the men, longing and cutthroat and mercenary– but pretend they don’t phase you in the slightest. As duchess, you’ve had plenty of time to grow accustomed to onlookers. You won’t allow them to interfere with you on this all important day.

At last, your name is called, and you enter the throne room, your mother behind you. You keep your steps small but light, and seem to float towards your queen. When the time is right, you sink into an elegant curtsy. The moment seems to last forever, your knees bent, your hands shaking slightly, but when the queen calls you to stand, you look up to find her smiling benevolently at you.

“I believe I have found my diamond of the season,” she announces.

The room erupts in polite applause, and you do your best to smother a smile that’s entirely too giddy to be proper. As you retreat from the room, you gaze at the faces surrounding you, trying to remember which ones look genuinely happy for you and which seem to be identifying a prize pig for the slaughter. When the town gossips all gather later to share their thoughts on today’s proceedings, you’re certain that some of them will attempt to discredit you, saying that of course the queen would choose the duchess as her diamond, but you know just as well as all of them that you deserve the honor today. You were the best of everyone here, and it’s plain to see.

Among all of them, your gaze catches on a singular man, almost lost in the crowd from all the bodies packed together but no less entrancing. What strikes you the most is that his face seems kind, and his eyes sparkle with pride as they watch you go. Pride for you, for your accomplishments. As if he couldn’t be more delighted that you of all people were named the season’s diamond.

Then you’re gone from the room, and the kind man is no longer before you. Still, you puzzle over the encounter long after your carriage takes you home. You don’t believe you recognize him, but that doesn’t mean anything to sway you towards any decision. An image of the young man swims in your mind– short, dirty blond hair, an upturned mouth, dark eyes, his face almost spritely. Clever, for sure.

You know better than to mess with clever men. Clever men are the type to try and twist your mind, convince you that they only love you then attempt to make off with your money. You know full well what marriage to you will offer any would-be suitor. This season, you may be looking for affection, but every man in the room will be after your fortune. The task of finding someone who truly cares for you will be a difficult one indeed.

So, clever men or not, you’ll have to keep your heart under close guard. When the first ball of the season comes to be, you don one of your finest dresses, and firmly admonish yourself to be careful. The game of hearts is not one that you lose. Either you win, or you destroy yourself.

You time your arrival carefully, so as to make the best entrance, and your efforts are rewarded. From the moment you’re announced, all eyes turn to you. Were it not for your extensive experience with being scrutinized in the grand magnifying lens that is the ton, you’d be nervous to have that many people looking at you. Even still, you can’t pretend you don’t feel a small flutter in your stomach.

It gets easier once you sweep further into the room, once people start smiling at you again, when the conversation picks up and you’re asked for your first dance of the evening, which you accept. Your partner is a charming man named Minho– dark hair, witty eyes, an excellent sense of humor. He’s athletic and a decent dancer, and by the time the music stops, you’re back to your usual self again. You can’t stop yourself from mentally sizing up your dance partner. He seems nice, and you wouldn’t be bored around him, at least. His family owns land. Although he’s not of your precise social standing, few are, and he’s close enough to you that it would be a respectable match.

Still– still, you think to yourself, as you move away from the center of the floor once more to consider your dance card, it’s not quite enough. You want love, you want a spark, and you didn’t quite get that with Minho. There are plenty of eligible suitors here, though, and many more balls to come. You’ll have other opportunities to select a match.

A few dances later, though, your feet are beginning to feel heavy and you’re still no closer to finding someone of interest than you were at the start. A good lady of extensive training such as yourself should have no problem dancing the entire night through with a pleasant smile on her face, but you’re still human, still tired, and your charming demeanor is beginning to pinch at the seams before long.

The music for the latest dance ends, and you curtsy to your partner, praying silently that no one else will be looking to fill your dance card for the next rotation. However, when you turn around, you’re greeted with the sight of many anxious faces. Something inside you wilts, perhaps your endurance.

Before the mobs can descend upon you, however, a figure appears in front of you. You sigh in relief to see one of your closest friends, Miss Teresa Agnes. “Teresa! And here I thought I wouldn’t have a single good friend all evening.”

Teresa laughs, her dark hair shining. “I would never abandon you. Certainly not when our diamond is sparkling so spectacularly tonight.”

You smile at her. “I’m not the only one who’s sparkling, Teresa. You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” Teresa says sincerely. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to introduce someone to you. This is Viscount Newt, a good friend of mine. I met him through Thomas.”

You smile to yourself as Teresa turns to beckon someone towards you. Teresa has been harboring a not-so-secret admiration for Thomas since you were all small. This is her first season in the social circles, too, and if she doesn’t come out of it with a proposal from Thomas, you’ll think the sky has fallen. Even now, he’s watching her fondly from across the room, trying to pretend as if he isn’t pining madly while Minho teases him for it.

“Here he is at last,” Teresa says, and all of a sudden you can’t think about Thomas’ case of lovesickness for a second longer, because Teresa has brought her friend before you, and you know him. It’s the stranger from your presentation to the queen. The nice one, the clever one. The one that caught your eye, and then your imagination.

You curtsy automatically, and Newt bows. Once the two of you straighten up, you’re able to observe him more closely. You’d only gotten a fleeting glimpse earlier, but now you can drink in the sight of him, and you do. His eyes are dark, but catch the lights like stars. His mouth has a habit of twitching up at the sides, as if he’s always thinking of a joke but just barely managing to keep it at bay. When he looks at you, he really looks at you. You’ve been stared at all night by would-be suitors, but their gazes never went farther than surface level. Right now, it’s as if Newt can see through to your very soul, and most intimately of all, appreciates it.

Teresa gives you a confused look, and you realize you’ve been standing in silence for longer than is probably courteous. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say.

“I must return the sentiment,” Newt returns. “Teresa has talked about you many times. I’ve been quite eager to meet you.”

“I hope I’m worthy of what she’s told you,” you say.

Newt smiles again. “I believe you’re even better than that,” he tells you.

Teresa is looking at you with an odd smile. “I believe I’d better let the two of you get to know each other, then,” she says, and sweeps away before you can stop her.

Newt laughs. “She’s been wanting to set us up for ages. For a friendship, I mean,” he breaks in hastily. “Apparently, she thinks we have a similar sense of humor.”

“I look forward to finding that out myself,” you smile.

Newt’s eyes flash with mirth again, delighting you. Behind you, the music picks up again. Newt extends a hand towards you. “Would you mind if I shared a dance with you? Unless, of course, you’d rather sit for a while.”

“I’d love to dance,” you say quickly, and it’s true. All of a sudden, the pain in your feet is gone, as if it had never existed at all.

Newt smiles and takes your hand to lead you to the dance floor. The orchestra begins its melody, and you start your dance. You make a mental note to ask Teresa a little more about Newt later; he dances like an aristocrat, but he speaks so freely to you. It’s nothing like you’ve ever experienced in a suitor before.

Newt arches a brow as he steps through the dance. “Sizing me up, are you? It may be improper of me to ask, but I do hope I’m meeting your requirements.”

Your cheeks heat up. “I’m simply appreciating your mastery of this dance. Nothing more.”

Newt laughs easily. “Of course not. It’s not as if everyone else here is doing the same thing right now. Every dance partner is a strategy meeting. In just a matter of minutes, you’ll walk away knowing if I am a worthy wager, and I will do the same. This ball is full of hounds and foxes, my lady. We all know our parts.”

You glance at him, feeling a curious grin tugging at your lips. “And which am I? Fox or hound?”

Newt returns your proud gaze. “I suppose we’ll find out at the end of the season, won’t we?”

You laugh, feeling oddly triumphant. Newt has this way about him that you find enchanting. It’s almost breaching impropriety with how candid he is around you, but it only makes you trust him more. The dance ends far sooner than you’d like. Newt relinquishes you to the storm of suitors outside, hopefully with just as much reluctance as you.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Newt is truly the only one that stands out to you. You don’t have a chance to dance with him again, but you keep making eye contact as you dance with other partners. You can practically hear his clever words in your head, catching you in the act of evaluating the suitors in front of you. Fox or hound?

When the ball ends and you return to your carriage for the ride home, you’re blissful, practically dreamy. You’ve had enough time with Newt to dream about it until the next ball, where you’ll likely repeat the same cycle over and over again until the season ends.

However, your golden mood is shattered when your chaperone sits down across from you. Her face, by contrast, is twisted with disappointment. “Do you have any idea what sort of trouble you’re getting yourself into?” She asks once the carriage pulls away.

Still caught up in the heady dream of a merry boy who smiled the brightest when he danced with you, you don’t realize the trap descending around you until it’s too late. “What trouble?”

Your chaperone’s lips purse. “You’re meant to be dancing only with eligible gentlemen, my lady. I should hope that you’d be able to recognize the suitable candidates from the unseemly by now.”

The veil is pierced, and you’re beginning to be brought back to earth. “What are you talking about? I thought I made perfectly reasonable choices with my dance partners.”

Your chaperone shakes her head, a quick, sharp gesture. “All but one. Goodness, haven’t you heard about the trouble with that one family? I can’t believe Miss Agnes had the nerve to introduce him to you, but perhaps the fact that she’s so besotted with Lord Thomas is upsetting her mind.”

Your heart freezes in your chest. “You can’t mean to say that the Viscount is not a suitable bachelor? What else could he be?”

The other woman sighs. “You don’t know, do you? My lady, I would not interfere if I did not feel the need, but I can assure you, his motives with you are purely mercenary. That man is desperate for something to cover up the follies of his family, and you, my dear, are the perfect gilded shield.”

You feel cold. “What follies?”

“His sister, Miss Sonya, was seen alone with her fiance,” your chaperone murmurs at last. “Lord Aris. I would think you would have heard his name, although perhaps not connected it with Viscount Newt. Miss Sonya and Lord Aris were happily engaged, and by all accounts it was a fine union, but they were seen together without a chaperone past dark. Quite the scandal. The Viscount knows it and is eager to get the ton talking about anything but his sister’s misdeeds. Entering into a courtship with you would do just the trick.”

She’s right, and you know it, and you hate it. “He seemed so genuine,” you whisper, and instantly know how foolish it sounds.

Your chaperone, to her credit, is kind enough to take pity on you. “He did,” she tells you, “and you looked happy together. You would be less happy, however, when you found out the truth. I would rather you know now and stay away. Men like that are nothing but trouble.”

You nod solemnly, turning your head to watch the dark landscapes rumbling past. The sun is already beginning to rise, a hallmark of a late night out. It had been a beautiful night up until this, and now the entire evening is ruined in your mind.

“I feel for Miss Sonya,” you whisper. “She was already engaged. They were just talking.”

“She knows the rules of society, and so do you,” your chaperone reminds you. “We all have our roles to play.”

And the consequence of setting a foot outside your role is instant public mortification. Yes. What a forgiving world. You immediately plant your exhausted body in your bed when you return, hardly sparing the time to wash and dress, but the only things to bloom from your rest are troubled dreams of the boy that could have been yours. Now that you know the truth– that Newt was only trying to use you for a better reputation– every interaction with him is tainted.

You’d meant what you said in the carriage, though. You did think Newt was genuine. Hadn’t he laughed more than usual when he was with you? Hadn’t he regarded you with that fierce pride of his, as if he’d finally found a mind that was an equal to his? Hadn’t he watched you with something akin to jealousy when you danced with the other men that weren’t him?

Hadn’t you wished he would only dance with you? And don’t you wish that you could truly do what you promised yourself and marry only for love, never mind the rest? It is a simple dream to think that love is easy. Marriage is not simple, not in the ton, not in your lifetime. Every one of your days will be shaped by the whims of society, even when they take Newt away from you.

When it comes time for the next ball, you do your best to strengthen your spirits before you go. You intentionally avoid him, making sure to always have your dance card full whenever the music ends. It’s easy enough to find a crowd large enough to hide you from him, and yet you still catch glimpses of Newt from across the hall, several partners down, in a carriage many behind yours. You successfully go two balls, then three, without seeing him, but it aches like a knife in your ribs when you think about what could have been.

As it turns out, you’re not the only one wishing you were with him. At the fifth ball of the season, your attempts to distance yourself from the viscount are foiled at last. Newt tracks you down, signing his name on your dance card before you can stop him before leading you out to the dance floor.

“That’s a rather abrupt way of asking a lady to dance, don’t you think?” You ask as you curtsy.

Newt bows. “I felt it was the only way of guaranteeing that you would dance with me.”

“A lady never declines a gentleman in need of a dance,” you remind him.

The music picks up, and the two of you begin your paces. “A lady also never avoids a gentleman as thoroughly as you have at the last few balls,” Newt says. “Were it not for the fact that I know you to be as perfectly agreeable a duchess as there could ever be, I would say that it was personal.”

You can’t look him in the eyes, even with his hands on you, guiding you through the steps. “It’s not meant to work out, my lord. Us, I mean. We cannot forget the rules.”

When Newt speaks again, his voice sounds hurt. “Why not? Forgive me, my lady, but I remember what it was like that first night. You were happy. We were happy, and happy together. What changed?”

At last, you risk a glance towards him, and instantly regret it. Newt’s eyes are filled with genuine hurt. Are you wrong? Did he actually want you as more than a cover-up? “I heard about your sister,” you say as delicately as you can.

Still, Newt flinches as if you’ve hit him. “You don’t know the full story,” Newt says raggedly.

“Then tell me,” you beg him. “I would choose you if I could, but everyone seems to think that you are only interested in me to advance your station. Give me a reason to believe in you, not them.”

“I can’t say it here,” Newt whispers.

“I can’t go somewhere with you alone,” you tell him quietly. “Especially not after what happened to your sister. You must tell me now, or we will never have another chance.”

“Alright,” he says at last. “But you mustn’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”

Once you agree, Newt begins to speak in a hushed whisper hardly audible to you, let alone the other couples around you. “Sonya is deeply in love with Lord Aris, and he is in love with her. So much so to the point that he has been battling a deep rage ever since that awful gossip rag, Lady Whistledown, slightly disparaged her last season. He took it upon himself to find out Lady Whistledown’s identity, and somehow, he did. The only problem is, Lady Whistledown is not someone Sonya would consider a friend. He wanted to warn her about the dangers of being anything less than perfect around that insidious writer, and he didn’t want to waste a moment. He called on her to meet with him as soon as possible. He didn’t think they would be seen, but they were, and of course Lady Whistledown ran with it to discredit them in case they would reveal her.”

You suck in a harsh breath. “It was never anything wrong, then. He merely wanted to protect her.”

Newt nods. “Lord Aris is a good man. He never would have done something like this if he realized how it would backfire. He regrets it daily, even though all he wanted to do was keep my sister safe. The ton knows their characters, too. Neither of them would do anything unseemly. The rumors diminish by the day, and soon, it will all be over. They will be happily married.”

He sighs and looks at you again. “I tell you this to explain myself, and to clear my name. I have nothing to hide from the situation with my sister and her future husband. In fact, it is only because they directly asked me not to spread this information that I haven’t gone public with the identity of Lady Whistledown herself to spare their reputations. I have nothing to fear, my lady. Certainly nothing that would make me risk the happiness of my marriage on a good rumor. I would court you because I have never met anyone like you before, nor do I think I ever will. You are utterly entrancing in every possible way. If you do not wish to be with me in that fashion, I would understand.”

You shake your head quickly. “I do want that, my lord. I want you.”

A careful smile slips across Newt’s face. “Do you mean that?”

“I do,” you tell him. “I have wanted you since the moment I saw you at my presentation. I would have found you no matter what lies they spread.”

Newt grins. “I believe I have decided something important, my lady. About your inner nature.”

You arch a brow as he spins you. “And what is that?”

“You’re a hound,” he informs you matter-of-factly. “Sharp and bright. Brave, too. But, then again, I am a hound as well. We make quite the pair, I think.”

“I think so too,” you tell him. In the days to come, rumors will abound about the viscount and the duchess. At first, there will be surprise across the ton, but then, even the most tenacious of gossips will realize that this makes perfect sense. The most clever of men and the most ambitious of women, bound together in holy matrimony. Even the best of poets couldn’t concoct a story that beautiful.

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

the maze runner tag list: @blondsauduun, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver, @il0vebeingdelulu

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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dolicekiss · 5 months ago

Note

Hey,

I love your writings.❤️Keep it up!

Could you please write a Gellert Grindelwald (Mads Mikkelsen) one-shot, where the reader is Newt‘s sister and an auror at Macusa. He has plotted for years to finally get her and while on an undercover mission, his followers kidnap her. She soon realizes how obsessed he is and try‘s to use those feelings against him. Her plan is to give in on his affection to earn his trust, but it goes further than she thought?(with smut,where he tries to babytrap her?)

♡: thank you so much also this is my first time writin about gellert grindelwald, i hope u like it

A beautiful butterfly

PAIRING: Gellert Grindelwald (mads mikkelsen) x auror!reader

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni), kidnapping, power imbalance, obsessed gellert, young reader (age unspecified, gellert is 46), unprotected sex, body worshipping, teasing, baby trapping, breeding kink, praise, a little unhinged gellert, dubcon, kissing.

SYNOPSIS: Being Newt’s sister is prideful for you but it also comes at a high risk. Especially when you’re also an auror often going on undercover missions. All comes crashing down when you're kidnapped by none other than the brainwashed followers of the strongest wizard — Gellert Grindelwald. Realizing he's completely obsessed, you try to outsmart him but the consequences to that come with a heavy price to pay.

Wizards were strong, so were witches.

Being the sister of a renowned wizard and an auror working at MACUSA, you had your own reputation to uphold. Often going on undercover commissions and assignments for the congress you worked for.

Just like that, you were out on an undercover mission once more to bring back information regarding one of the most dangerous beasts — having escaped your brother’s suitcase once more.

You hadn't expected to be caught red handed rummaging through the little drawers, in hopes of finding some knowledge about the beast’s origin. Your wand stayed firm in your hand, fingers flicking through the pages of books.

Not a single person knew where the beast had gone to, hence the ministry sent you to look for him. You were the best at being a sneaky little spy, so when you were apprehended by a flock of dark wizards and witches, it left you flummoxed.

Your endeavor to flee proved to be futile when they somehow took your only protection from you, the wand. There was no point in fighting them. They overpowered you and you were in no mood to be turned into an orb cursed to roam the earth for all of eternity.

Or worse, a frog.

Your vision was concealed with a dark blindfold. There was no way you could see where they were talking you but you knew they used their teleportation to deliver you to whoever that commanded them. Confusion had clouded your mind — hoping that this captivity was based on a simple misunderstanding.

Your pleas fell upon deaf ears.

They didn't harm you, only telling you to keep your mouth shut and not make noise. There was no way you could tell where you were and when all the noise swirled into silence, your blindfold was pulled open.

In front of you stood Gellert Grindelwald, most probably the strongest dark wizard of all time.

You'd seen him and what he could do. He'd proved himself capable and strong when half of the aurors at MASUCA left and converted to his side. The tales of it were all known but you were never a part of it. How did he get his hands on you and why did he? When all of it happened, you were tending to other needs of the ministry.

If his intention was to also manipulate you into switching to his side, that wouldn't work at all. You were loyal, a firm believer in keeping humanity safe and oblivious to the magic that breathed beneath the earth’s core.

You analysed your surroundings.

The room was beautiful. High, beige colored walls. Spectacular carvings decorating the ceiling and the massive chandelier hanging from it gave away at the opulence of this room. The curtains were made of smooth georgette, keeping away the lovely moonlight from illuminating the room.

Candle holders were everywhere, on the drawers — to the vanity table. Your breath shuddered at just how breathtaking the room actually was.

“Do you like it?” He asked, staring at you with the same gaze with which you scanned the room.

You took a step back, calves coming in contact with the bed. “What?”

“The room. I got it decorated for you, do you like it?” You licked your lips in nervousness, staring at the man in confusion. Did he give all his followers such rooms, such beautiful rooms? Is that why they were this influenced into following him?

You blinked at him. “If you think by presenting me with such a glamorous looking room, I will give in to you then you are absolutely wrong. I have and will always be loyal to the Congress.”

Your voice was hard, tone stern as you stared at him with furrowed eyebrows. Gellert let out a small laugh, shaking his head at you then he closed some of the distance between the two of you by stepping forward. Your body reacted by pressing your calves deeper into the bed.

“I could never, my love. How dare I to win your love by such meaningless little presents?” You blinked, again. Dumbfounded by his choice of words.

The sparkle in his different colored eyes was glinting. “It is only to maks you happy. This, and all the other gifts I have prepared for you, my love.”

“Grindelwald, do you believe you can make me join you by manipulating me through your affections?” You asked, a finger pointing at him. Your tone was laced with pure venom. This was the enemy, not someone you could possibly have a love affair with.

And why was he even talking to you like he was madly in love with you? This made no sense to you whatsoever. Gellert stepped towards you, hands intertwined behind his back.

“It is no manipulation. You have captivated me ever since I saw you with Newt, and all the other aurors of the Congress.” His words were of pure deceive, you thought you knew that but you were oblivious to the raw obsession which had blossomed for you in Gellert’s heart when he'd laid his gaze upon you.

Gellert inhaled a deep breath, shutting his eyes shut when you bit on your lower lip in a moment of frustration. “I have searched everywhere for you, my butterfly. I put hold on my ambitious and goals to look for you and here I have you finally.”

From Gellert’s expression, he appeared entirely drawn and infatuated. This was a spell which you'd unknowingly put on him, one you didn't know how to take off him but as a loyal auror to the MACUSA, you could use this to your own advantage.

And so a cunning plan cooked in your mind.

“You mean to tell me you're in love with me?”

Gellert shook his head. “I'm gone far beyond that, to the point of no return. I mastered dark magic to a dangerous extent just to locate you.”

You felt your skin crawl at his words. This was something dark — something that could swallow you whole if not careful. Your gaze lingered over to his face, holding unwavering eye contact with him. “If I don't reciprocate these emotions, will you burn me like how you burned those other aurors?”

Your words a poisonous reminder of his past actions. Newt had told you how him and the aurors barely managed to survive Grindelwald’s dark, fire magic. It had almost managed to consume them all and you were apprehensive to meet the same fate.

Gellert’s eyes softened. Eyebrows dropping, akin to a puppy. “Rest assured, my beautiful butterfly. I could never inflict such harm upon you ever. You can take your sweet time.”

A smile had ceased his features.

Instead of responding to him, you sat down on the bed. Knees bunching up to your chest, in a hostile position. A sigh dropped from your shuddering lips and your eyes trailed up to his face.

“Will you keep me locked up in this room?”

Gellert’s blue eye twitched. “Absolutely not. I wish you to roam the perimeters of my fine establishment but, you mustn't escape and in order for that to happen, I will have to trust you.”

Your eyes dropped to the marbled floor. It reflected the yellow candlelight as you sent him a slow nod, suffocating the conversation right then and there. Begging him to release you would hardly work in your favor so you decided to play smart. Returning his affections until you'd win his trust was the route you chose for yourself.

But you didn't know it would end differently than what you'd anticipated.

— ♡ —

Gellert kept you locked in your room for days, only visiting when he brought you food or other basic necessities. You were beginning to miss the feel of your beautifully sculpted wand between your fingers albeit the awareness of never receiving it ever again tug at your heartstrings.

You couldn't tell how long it had been.

Surely had to be more than two weeks.

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts and you gave your consent. Gellert had respected your privacy, as obsessed and infatuated he was. He'd never dare to barge into your room without your permission but that didn't mean he would stay behind the closed doors for a long period of time.

An auror entered.

You knew that because it was the same auror which used to work under MACUSA at one point, the same auror which would bring you your meals when Gellert was not available to tend to you. You'd expected a tray of all sorts of edible flavoursome pleasantries decorated on a tray but the woman's hands were empty.

“He's waiting for you at the library, if you'd follow me.”

Your eyes widened in an elemnt of surprise.

Finally you were being let out and you couldn't contain the excitement within you. Still you tried to stay cool in front of the auror, nodding at her as you moved in pursuit of her. Through bright and moderate hallways — nothing could compete with the inside of your room and its walls.

A beautiful golden cage.

For his beautiful butterfly.

As you entered the library, your lips were agape. The view before you was the most beautiful ever. You'd expected a dull library, one you had back at your work place but this? This was completely captivating. A spectacular view of the sea greeted you through the large window. Gellert stood by the parapets, staring ahead.

Your heart beat picked up.

When he felt your presence, he was quick to turn around. A smile plastered on his face upon seeing you, silver locks neatly combed to the side. You slowly walked upto him, hesitation clear like crystal in your movements and Gellert couldn't wait for you to fully accept him.

You'd been obedient.

Ate your meals on time, listened to him, conversed with him and he could feel a sense of camaraderie had formed between the two though he ached for more. Friendship was not what he aimed with you. There were unnerving desires flogging within his core and he needed to set them free.

“Come here.”

You stood closer to him, hand on the glass railing. Your eyes ran across the potent waves of the sea crashing at the shore, and calming down. It was a repeated sight but you couldn't have enough of it.

“Its a beautiful sight, no?”

You nodded to him, focusing your attention on Gellert. “Yeah. It's breathtaking.”

“Nothing compares to you.” He so casually said and you wondered just how did you even manage to become the object of his affections and desire? It was hard to believe that he fell for you in a simple glance. Love at first sight coming from a dark wizard was of amusement.

Yet you didn't say anything about it.

“Gellert.” You called out, sharply taking in a breath. “Why me? I'm the sister of the man who seeks to destroy you. It is only natural for you to dislike me too.”

“We're wizards and witches, my butterfly. There is nothing natural about us.” He scoffed, shaking his head.

But he hadn't answered your question and he noticed the disarray on your face. Gellert’s hand lifted from the wood nailed into the tempered glass railing, reaching to cup the side of your face. Thumb settled over your chin in a gentle touch.

This was the first time in the two weeks you'd been here when he touched you.

His hands were cold, like he had no blood pumping through his veins. Your lips shuddered at the spark contrast of your warm skin against his cold blooded hand.

“You're kind.” He said, like it was the most beautiful thing ever about you. “You're so full of kindness and love for these animals, these filthy animals. Knowing you'll always be above them, be superior yet you protect them like they are your own.”

Your head tilted, bemused. “Don't you find them less than you? If you look down upon them, why did my kindness towards them intrigue you to the point of capturing me?”

Gellert’s eyes wandered. His other hand formed into a fist when he noticed how you gulped, the subtle movement of your throat sending him into a whirlpool. A turmoil of poorly contained desired and wanton exploding. The way your lips shuddered when he touched you. To you, he appeared calm and collected but on the inside Gellert was fighting his own demons.

“Because if you're so kind to love the muggles, you'd be kind enough to embrace me too.” The soft feeling of his gentle strokes over your cheek almost made you forget about everything.

The cunning plan. Winning his trust and escaping him was put on halt in that moment when Gellert stepped closer to you, face only an inch apart. His lips hovered above yours and you inhaled — warm breath mingling with his cold one.

He took your lips into a sweet kiss and you allowed him to, all a new step into the plan. To use his own feelings against him, find a way out and never look back. If you were to fight your way out of here, Gellert would end you with one swing of his wand. He'd mastered magic that was beyond your understanding even.

His other hand moved to hold your waist and you sighed into the kiss, tilting your head into giving him more access. Gellert’s tongue pried open your mouth for him, slipping into the warmth your cavern had to offer him. His tongue battled with yours but you'd already given up on winning, letting him consume you.

Before it could increase, evolve into something way past your comfort level, you retreated. Gellert’s hand ached to tighten around your waist but he held back, holding onto the tethered pieces of his self control.

Your chest rose up and down, the kiss having left you in a daze. You took a few steps backwards and then turned around, running out the library back to your room. Gellert not following you was a hint that he had finally begun to trust you.

You found yourself in the same room. Fingers trailing lines over your lips, a feeling best foreign to you spreading in your chest as well as stomach. You didn't know what was going on but there was only your freedom on your mind.

And the kiss.

The sweet kiss.

You were torn between following up with your plan and submitting to the sweet kiss. This was confusing and you dropped onto the bed, burying your face within your pillows.

— ♡ —

Days passed after the last encounter with him which included a kiss. He would come by, only for a few moments. Gellert would try to build conversations with you, in hopes that one day you might welcome him with open arms. You'd respond too, to slowly slither your way underneath the cloak of his trust. It wasn't such a difficult task because soon, Gellert had sent one of his followers with a dress for you.

The auror had placed the box on the bed and with the simple instructions to get ready and meet her outside, she left. You were baffled but still peeled open the nicely packed box and it revealed a beautiful dress.

A pale one, off shouldered with puffy sleeves and layers of fabric. You zipped yourself into it after a shower and then left the room, the woman leading you to a garden you didn't even know existed. Filled with magical beauty, you were in complete awe.

A table had been set. Decorated with all sorts of delicious looking pleasantries. The fairy lights illuminating the furniture was such an endearing sight. You walked further and found Gellert standing there and when he saw you, he extended his hand out for you.

You held onto it.

“God, you look absolutely breathtaking. I could devour you instead of my meal.” His comment caused the blood to rush to your cheeks. His thumb caressing the side of your hand as he lead you to the table.

After taking a seat at the table, Gellert also followed and sat across you. The dress made you appear nothing less than a beautiful fairy that had lost her way here. Grindelwald was completely enchanted by you — his hands and body aching to become one with you.

“I prepared this for you, for us, my butterfly.”

You nodded in acknowledgement.

Honestly no one had ever done this much for you. You had partners in the past but this? They could never reach Grindelwald’s level and it only worked to perplex you further.

You both started to eat.

“Do you like the food?”

You nodded. “It's very flavoursome. Thank you, Gellert.”

Everytime you said his name, he felt the chills in his bones. He often pondered late at night how you'd sound like when he's inside you, when he's completely buried deep within the warmth you had to offer. Gellert had appeared nothing less of a gentleman to you but only he knew of his deepest, most sickest desires for you.

Your voice was so soft.

An ache in him grew to hear you moan.

You both enjoyed your meal in silence and you reached over to grab a strawberry from the silver bowl, bringing it to your lips. You took a bite, relishing in its taste as a moan escaped you. Grindelwald was over the moon.

If these were the sounds you were supposed to make, his pants were already tightening.

After a moment, you two had finished eating and Gellert rose up from his seat. Sauntering towards you and holding his hand out for you, to hold.

You slipped your hand into his and stood up, walking in pursuit of him. The man lead you somewhere deep into the garden, a pathway made of stones that you carefully maneuvered your way on. Behind the bushes was concealed a bed — with see through pale curtains falling from its side. It had no roof over it, an unlimited view to the sparkling open sky.

“Gellert?” You asked, in burning anticipation.

He didn't listen to you, only pulled you along to the bed. He sat you down and then took a seat next to you, his hand still holding onto yours. “I've got something for you.”

He snapped his fingers and then multiple butterflies, in all sorts of colors, came flapping their wings. Your eyes enlarged and a smile automatically made its way to your features upon the sight. They were so beautiful and you loved how they moved their wings, a black butterfly with a holographic blue wings setting on your thigh.

You didn't touch it.

Only watched it.

“Gellert they're so gorgeous.” You whispered, impressed by this act of his. The butterflies had covered the area and you couldn't help bit try to capture a few, bridled by their beauty.

“Makes you want to capture them, doesn't it? How beautiful they are. You wish to keep them in a cage, only for you to look and touch.” Grindelwald had just given you and shown you a perfect example of your own situation and how he felt for you.

But you were a human.

A butterfly was a — butterfly.

Yet you couldn't help the guilt from spreading.

You stared at him, as the butterfly flapped its wings in front of you both. Gellert leaned forward, once again grasping your lips with his own. This time he had no intention of letting you leave.

His hands fell down to your waist, caressing it through the fabric. Lips wrapping around your lower lip, sucking on it like it could produce nectar at any given moment. Your back arched into the kiss and he immediately took that as you wanting more.

Gellert’s hands flew to the zipper of your dress, tugging it down. His fingers caressing along your spine in the process and your bated breath mingled with his. His tongue swirled around yours and when the dress dropped down to your waist, you gasped.

Your breasts were exposed and Gellert broke the kiss to admire them. He looked at you and you fought the urge to allow him — knowing that this was going too far into the plan you'd cooked up in your head. These were the consequences to your own actions.

“Gellert, please wait.” You breathlessly said.

He stopped. “Don't stop me now. I have waited years to have you.”

Before you could oppose, Gellert had already taken your breasts into his hand. Fondling the fat – playing with it. His fingers pinched and tugged and your lips released soft little whimpers. His hands were cold as ice and a hiss left you.

He took one erect nipple into his mouth as he undid the black bow at his tuxedo, letting it fall apart. Gellert sucked while toying with the other one and panic flooded in. You couldn't possibly let him go further with his, knowing that it wasn't your plan to do so but denying him right now could lead to suspicion.

As you tried to think of ways to make him stop, the desire burning in your core soon sheened your brain. Your hands hesitantly reached to tangle in his hair and feeling that response made Gellert act out more.

A form of consent, he took it as.

But in reality you couldn't do anything other than submit to the pleasure.

“You've got such a beautiful body.” He commented, hands dropping from your breasts and cupping your waist. His hands caressed your skin like it was a rare gem found among coal — only for the most fortunate ones. Your spine was erect and then Gellert pulled back.

His hands pushing your body down and you allowed him to, having no escape. The cold air mixed with his icy touch only worked as his allure. Gellert rid you of the dress, unveiling your glorious frame to his desperate gaze and he sharply breathed.

Chest rising up and down.

“Undress me, butterfly.” You swallowed, nervous at his command of your indulgence as well.

Your arms extended, fingertips pushing off the black coat off him. Gellert noticed the tremor in your hands and he couldn't care anymore. He'd waited years for this moment, to finally get his hands on you. It was cruel of you to expect more wait from him.

Your fingers undid the buttons of his white shirt and pried it open, exposing his broad chest. Gellert took one of your hands into his, bringing it upto his lips to deliver a firm kiss to it. Your heart beat fastened at that action.

Hands tugging at the buckle of his pants, you undid it and then tossed the belt somewhere in the garden. Gellert’s fingers caressed along your thigh, gently tapping at the exposed skin, gaze hungry and full of lust. Your breath hitched when he opened you to him, exposing your cunt.

You felt deeply ashamed of the saturation that had occured in your cunt.

You were an auror, a loyal auror to the Congress but here you were, involved in such sin with the dark wizard. The one who'd killed many of your colleagues and wished to change the order of the world.

Gellert slipped his own pants off along with his briefs. You were two naked bodies about to entangle and the idea terrified you. How could you ever possibly go back from this? Bring yourself to forget about this when its done?

You braced yourself in the name of a small sacrifice for an eternity of freedom.

Gellert’s hand found its way between your thighs and you let out a broken breath. His fingers trailing over your cunt — collecting your arousal. He was pleased with what he saw.

You were such a gorgeous girl. Laying before him with the moonlight illuminating your each feature, each flaw, all the beauty spots you had. Your hair like the waves of the sea, sprawled across the bed akin to vines that had trapped Gellert in their tight embrace. The constant twitching of your lips, the way heat prickled your cheeks and turned them beetroot. Gentle strokes of red paint over your canvas like skin.

He leaned forward to occupy your lips in a rough kiss.

He was a fucking mess and the grip on his self control was beginning to become lose.

Gellert’s fingers were coated in your slick and then he entered your pussy, swallowing the whimper which escaped you. His finger alone filled you and when you'd grown used to it, he added another one all while consuming your tongue.

You tilted your head to the side, your arms moving to wrap around his nape. Gellert fucked his fingers into your pussy, loving how tight you were. He could only imagine how delirious he would feel once he was inside your sweet cunt.

“G-Gellert.” You whimpered into the kiss, trying to break apart. “I can't breathe, Gellert.”

He didn't care. You could tell the man was losing any ounce of self control he once possessed, his lips pressing up against yours in a tight kiss. Spit coating your swollen lips and you gasped, to inhale, only for him to push his tongue inside your mouth. Roaming the warmness of it, he was kissing you feverishly.

His fingers plunged in and out of you and your back arched off the sheets. Your cunt throbbing due to the sensation being delivered to it. He curved his fingers and pushed into the gummy spot — a shriek breaking through you in the lip lock.

Gellert broke the kiss to breath.

As he stared down at you, he couldn't help but grow painfully harder and you swallowed when you caught glimpse of that. You could practically feel his cock against your knee and you sighed at the feeling.

“One kiss and you look like you'll pass out at any given moment.” He whispered, loving the way your lips puckered up and redenned over s single kiss.

A single, vigorous kiss of raw passion and infatuation.

“That wasn't a kiss.” You breathed, touching your lips with your fingers. “I-It felt like you were going to eat me at any second.”

Gellert chuckled at your words. He was glad you could feel his love for you through his actions. He was conscious about not possessing enough affection for you to acknowledge his love but he was pleased that you caught onto it.

His fingers worked their way, to prepare you and your arms flew back to his nape. Breath released in shattered little whines as he now added another form of pleasure by massaging your clit. The nerves being stimulated sent you to a different world — back rising from the mattress and lips falling apart.

Gellert felt you tighten.

“Going to cum, sweet girl?” You nodded at him, your thighs shivering.

Before you could chase after your release, he stopped. You whined in frustration, staring at him through hooded eyes. “W-Why?”

After asking him that, you wanted a void to open up and swallow you. You were not on his team, not a part of him, how could you beg for his touch? A release from a man like him? It all tore you apart and confused you.

“You're going to cum with me. On my cock, my beautiful butterfly.” He whispered, the gleam in his blue eye giving away his desire.

You shuddered when he pressed the fat head of his cock against your clit and you whimpered at the contact. Gellert licked his lips, dragging his head down and soon entering you.

The moment he did, you threw your arms around him. His hips pushed forward and his cock fully sunk into you. Your back arched when you felt him glide against your walls — your sinful arousal helping him in the process of it. Gellert couldn't help he was finally one with you.

Body entangled with yours.

Gellert brought his hands to cup your face and stared down at you, face at a close proximity with yours. He stared in your eyes, gaze flickering between your lips. “You okay?”

You nodded. The stretct of his cock had you delirious and you gasped when he moved inside you. Pulling his cock out only to slide it back inside. A constant rhythm of suppressed desires. “It'll feel good, my butterfly. I'll make sure that I please you first. I'm a selfish man but not when it comes to the pleasures of the woman I love.”

He leaned forward to kiss you and you, to your own shock, gave in. Letting him to kiss you like his life depended on it while the pace of his thrusts picked up. Gellert’s hands fell from your face, falling down to grip the curves your body you had to offer. Hands trailing up and down.

He felt as though he was in the presence of a goddess.

Tilting his head, he kissed you with profound fervour, as if to embed you with his taste. Gellert’s tongue occupied your mouth, teeth crashing with teeth. The kiss grew intense and so did the movement of his hips as he drove his cock into you. Thrusting and then you cried out in the moan when he fucked into you a little deeper.

He grinned.

He'd found that spot of sensitivity.

He broke the kiss to witness you all before him. A broken beauty that was finally within his grasp and there was no way he was ever going to let you go. He couldn't believe you'd come to him this easily, this willingly and all of it felt like a dream come true.

Gellert stared at you, admiring you.

“You're so beautiful, it makes me want to give you a child.”

Your eyes widened at his words. In a fit, you attempted to push him off you but Gellert was so blinded by his delusions, he only saw it as your excitement to build with a family with him. His demeanor changed — becoming darker as his hands gripped you by your hips, driving himself into you.

Your little hands tried to reach for him, leaving minor scratches at his shoulders. Gellert was completely far gone, there was no stopping him at all.

“G-Gellert, no.” You managed to stutter out through moans and whimpers.

He ignored it, thinking it to be an imagination.

You were regretting everything. You shouldn't have went ahead with this stupid plan. If you'd shown resistance from the beginning, none of this would've happened. Gellert wouldn't have thought of you to be this pliant and maybe he wouldn't have done this.

A big maybe.

The man was sick. He was going to have you one way another. You being pliant only made things easier for him and upon yourself.

Gellert’s grip tightened as he delivered harsh strokes. With utter determination to get you pregnant. If you were witu child, his child, you wouldn't possibly think of leaving him. Things would be different and everything would fall in his favor.

Your cunt clenched, still on edge from before and he hissed. “No, sweet girl. You will not cum until I am close. We will cum together and I will give you my child, a symbol of our love.”

Tears fell down.

Whether as seeds of your resistance or your pleasure. Unbeknownst to you and Gellert, he felt himself come closer to you.

But then he stalled, picking your leg up and placing it over his shoulder. His hands held your pelvis and his thumbs dug into your skin as his thrusts grew rougher, more firm. You sobbed, stomach tightening and reflexing whenever he slid across your walls.

Gellert groaned. Your pussy gripping his walls, not letting go. A greedy cunt you possessed and Gellert couldn't wait to fill it to the brim with his seed.

“Wish I'd find you sooner.” He grunted, “we would have a child by now but worry not my butterfly, it isn't too late. Is it?”

He was actually expecting you to answer when you were on the brink of falling apart. The irony of him.

“Is.” Gellert thrusted, fucking deeply into you with vigor. “It?”

You shook your head. “N-No. Never t-too late Gellert.”

He nodded his head in satisfaction, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips. He felt his balls throb, and you felt his cock twitch inside you. Gellert was close and he smiled at you, silver strands of hair hovering over his sweaty forehead. “Ready, yeah? Ready, my butterfly?”

He was breathless.

Panting like the same beast that you were supposed to find.

You nodded, desperately. Cheeks blooming a red hue and tears wetting them. Gellert’s thrusts slowed down, as he felt his load seep into your cunt. He filled you to the brim, balls hot and throbbing to produce more. You also unraveled underneath him, eyes rolling back to your skull and chest heaving up. Chills danced across your spine as the blood rushed through your veind. Your whines echoing in the garden in contrast to his animalistic groans.

Gellert twitched, feeling how painfully tight your sweet cunt had gotten around him yet he could only find pleasure in it. Enjoying in the vice like grip. Your greedy pussy sucked him in, drinking each drop of his load, milking him dry.

“Yes. Yes, my love. Take my cock in your cunt like that, milk it fuckin’ dry. You'll make me a father, won't you, my sweet girl?”

There was no point in resisting him. You nodded your head as his hand reached down to cup your cheek, lovingly caressing it. You subconsciously leaned into his touch, an insatiable ache spreading in your chest for it.

When he'd filled you enough, Gellert pulled out and watched as his load dripped out of your gaping hole. His gaze lingering upto you and loving how fucked out you seem. Your arm was over your face, in a shameful attempt to veil it and Gellert reached for it, moving it aside.

“Don't hide yourself from me. You belong to me and I belong to you. There is nothing that should be concealed within us.” He laid next to you, pulling you into him. The hair on his chest slightly prickling against your skin.

You couldn't believe what you'd just done and committed to.

That too with Gellert.

Fucking Gellert Grindelwald.

“Our child will be the strongest wizard or witch ever. I'll see to it.” Gellert pressed a kiss to your head, hiding his face in your neck. The butterflies had disappeared now, the fairy lights dimming on their own.

Darkness consumed the area.

And you too lost yourself in Gellert’s warm embrace. Forever torn between your loyalty as an auror to MACUSA or the ache to be with Gellert.

#gellert grindelwald #gellert grindelwald x reader #gellert x reader #mads mikkelsen fanfic #mads mikkelsen #gellert oneshot #gellert grindelward smut #mads mikkelsen smut #hannibal #hannibal nbc

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mystic-writings · 9 months ago

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remember the nights | newt [remastered]

PAIRING — newt x thomas’ step-sister!reader

SUMMARY — after her father’s engagement, y/n moves from new york city to the small town of woodstock, where she befriends her step-brother thomas’ group of friends, and easily finds a second home within them. among the crowd of rowdy teenagers is newt, an intriguing boy who seemed to catch y/n’s eye, and who quickly becomes the boy that would end up making her final year of high school unforgettable.

WARNINGS — friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst, etc. — each chapter will have separate warnings

WORD COUNT — 31,989

NOTES — AHH ITS FINALLY HERE!! i've been waiting for so long to do something like this and honestly despite how cliche and trope-y this fic is i love it to death

EXTRAS — town map | reader's house | brenda's house | newt's house

PLAYLISTS — youtube | spotify | apple

read on Wattpad | read on Ao3

chapter one — new beginnings

chapter two — parking lot introductions

chapter three — mickey's diner

chapter four — the willow tree

chapter five — late night shenanigans

chapter six — stargazing

chapter seven — bright lights, big city

chapter eight — saturday

chapter nine — suspicion

chapter ten — the bonfire

chapter eleven — o, atlas, pt. i

chapter twelve — o, atlas, pt. ii

chapter thirteen — welcome distractions

chapter fourteen — a rom-com happy ending

taglist: @heliads @ghostofscarley @badbatch-simp24 @virginia-peters @third-broparcelicito @lamolaine @yes-fangirl-things (open!)

#remember the nights #newt x reader #newt tmr x reader #newt x you #newt x y/n #newt series #newt tmr series #newt angst #newt fluff #the maze runner fanfiction #the maze runner x reader #au fic #high school au

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dreamcubed · 4 months ago

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guilty as sin? | tom riddle x reader

song; guilty as sin? [taylor swift] pairing; mattheo's brother!tom riddle x fem!reader genre; f2l, best friend's brother, (not so) unrequited love, angst, hurt comfort, smut word count; 3,7k timeline; subsidiary eighth year warnings; swearing, pining, references to war, references to tom and mattheo's childhood trauma, unprotected sex, piv, fingering, nightmares, wet dreams summary; your uncontrollable feelings for the brother of your best friend, mattheo, led you to feeling incredibly guilty— even though you had never even touched tom's skin

masterlist

"what if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh only in my mind?"

MINORS DNI! 18+ content.

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The roaring waves of emotion tucked neatly into your soul hadn't always been around— well, that was obvious, you weren't born with them. Never would you have felt such passion as a newborn only caring for your mother's touch. Not even did the infatuation transpire when Mattheo first introduced you to his elder brother, Tom, back in first year. He was a year older, but he had still been but twelve, and nothing but an awkward prepubescent boy. Salazar, that had changed.

It must have been fourth— or maybe fifth— year when the first ripple of a wave emerged, looking upon Tom sat reading in the Malfoy Manor library one Christmas when Mattheo had invited you over. The cascading glow of light from the fireplace warmed his cold features, and you realised that he was growing into a man: a gorgeously enchanting man. He was nothing like his brother in manner. Where Mattheo was wild, rambunctious, and dirty, Tom was calm, organised and ever-polite. Their similarities were restricted to three things: their last name, their intelligence, and their looks. Even so, the slight difference in features cemented itself as the slight difference in your type.

Mattheo was like your brother, but Tom had never seemed like anything remotely close to that, despite how you came to know him more as the years went by. To him, though, you were probably like an annoying younger sister— the friend of his younger brother's who was always irritating and made said brother twice as unbearable.

You resolved to your dreams and fantasies of Tom, occasionally attempting to date others and feeling guilty the entire time because all you could do was think of another man. A man who had never even kissed you, never once brushed against your skin, never flirted or been anything more than polite. And, the worst part was Mattheo.

The last thing you wanted to do was betray him, make him feel like you preferred his brother over him— the person who had been there for you at your worst and made you feel your best. Guilt consumed every vein in your body, forcing you to seal away the sea storm safely into your soul. But as the waves grew stronger, the dam grew weaker. One of these days, you would crack, and you had no idea how such a scene would play out.

It was your last year of Hogwarts now: a subsidiary eighth year for which you had elected to return. Upon the demise of their father, Tom and Mattheo had moved out of the Malfoys and into Riddle Manor, where they were grateful to know that their father had never lived. Mattheo had come back with you to Hogwarts, but Tom already had his NEWTs, and was settling into a new job at the Ministry. In the blink of an eye, everything had changed.

But one thing stayed the same: Tom getting more goddamn gorgeous every year.

Christmas came both too quickly and too slowly, with you and Mattheo packing your bags to return to your homes for the season. Like usual, you laughed and bickered on the train, but your lingering guilt was heightened on that particular day. Just the night before, you had experienced one of the most vivid dreams that you had ever had about Tom, resulting in you waking up sweating and with a pool of heat between your thighs. You felt awful, almost crying when you realised, which hadn't gone unnoticed by Pansy.

"What's wrong, babe?" she had asked, looking over from the vanity where she applied her makeup.

"I did a bad thing in my dream," you mumbled.

"Don't stress," she said calmly, "There's no such thing as bad thoughts— only your actions talk."

Her words were currently the only thing keeping you from breaking down in front of Mattheo: your best friend should be the only one to know your biggest secret, yet he was the one person you couldn't tell. Well, perhaps that was a lie— the one person you couldn't under any circumstances tell was Tom.

For all you knew, Mattheo would take the news well. You just didn't want to risk it. Not when there was so much at stake.

"I'll owl you, okay?" he said when you parted ways at the train station, "Make sure to come visit."

"I will," you smiled, "See you, dickhead."

He grinned.

Salazar.

***

The cool air from your open window curled around your skin in a delicious sensation, contrasting perfectly with the warmth of the man above you. You heard a chuckle escape his lips as he delicately pushed up the hem of your large sleep shirt and let his fingers brush against your thigh.

"You're so pretty," he murmured, leaning down to kiss you, engulfing you in a magical feeling.

His thumb moved softly against your thigh, tracing something that you couldn't make out.

"Mine."

***

It was still dark out when you jolted awake, the fresh imagery of your dream washing over you and forcing you to sob. The tears poured uncontrollably as the ache in your heart seared: the ache of loving someone who you could never have so deeply, so unconditionally. How had you managed to break your own heart?

Maybe it was the late night hysteria, or maybe it was the consequence of years of pent up feelings, but you decided there and then that you had to tell Mattheo. He had to know— he deserved to know. So, before you could change your mind, you forced yourself out of bed, still in a fit of tears, and pulled on joggers. In a flash, you had apparated outside Riddle Manor, a grand yet gloomy building that screamed status and power.

An ugly sob wretched its way out of your throat as you approached the door, reaching a shaky hand up to rap three firm times. You hadn't checked the time, but Mattheo was always up late, with a body clock so dysfunctional it put the government to shame.

"Y/N?" a voice said curiously as the door swung open, revealing the man who had inadvertently caused you all these problems, "Are you okay?"

That question was the gateway for more tears to flood out of your blurry eyes, and you damn near stumbled into the house when Tom stepped aside to allow entry.

"Where's��" you sobbed, "—Mattheo?"

"He's... pre-occupied," Tom said carefully, and that was when you noticed the sound of loud moaning coming from upstairs through the ringing in your ears.

You sank on to the floor as your body violently jerked with the waves of your upset.

"I've told him a million times to use a silencing charm," he sighed, "I'll be right back."

In the time he was gone, the moans ceased to nothing, and you knew it wasn't because Tom had gone in and told Mattheo to stop. That was the last situation he would want to interact with his brother in, and you felt the same.

"Get up off the floor, come through to the living room," Tom said delicately, helping you up and guiding you out of the entrance hall, "I'll get you some tea, okay?"

You kicked off your shoes and curled up on the sofa as he prepared your drink, trying to silence your horrific sounds which only caused your body to shake harder.

"Here you are," he returned, placing a tea tray on the coffee table and sitting opposite you, "I know we're not as close as you and Mattheo, but you can talk to me."

Shaking your head hurriedly, you mumbled, "Can't."

"I won't judge you, Y/N."

"You don't get it," you choked out, "It's because of you."

Tom stilled, evidently trying to process your sudden outburst that had shocked even you, "I'm sorry, have I hurt you in some way? It wasn't intentional."

You covered your face with your hands, feeling the sticky warmth on your cheeks and moisture in your eye ducts. "You haven't done anything," you finally said, "It's me. It's my fault."

"I'm not following."

"No one knows," you bravely tried to meet his eyes, "No one can ever know."

With a deep sigh, he stood up and moved to sit next to you, tentatively wrapping an arm around you so as to pull you into his embrace. Never had a nice gesture been so excruciating for you: everything from his scent to his kindness was all you had ever wanted, but not like this. Still, you let yourself unfold in his arms, grasping on to the material of his jumper and burying your face in his chest.

He held you for a minute or two of painful bliss, until you cautiously pulled back, wanting to create some distance. When his forefinger pressed under your chin and forced your eyes up to meet his, you felt your barriers dissolve. What should have been a willing feeling, wasn't, as you felt your mind and innermost thoughts lay bare for Tom to weave through. Every erotic dream, every lingering touch, every discreet glance: it all presented itself to him nicely in a slideshow that was never meant to be seen.

Tom retracted his finger from your face and broke the eye contact, turning away from your horror-struck expression. Violated didn't even begin to cover how you felt— he had no right to pry into your head, and yet you were still grateful that finally the feelings weren't your burden alone to share.

"I see," he said simply, looking straight ahead.

"Don't say anything," you pleaded quietly, "Please."

"To Mattheo?"

"Yes, but—" your breathing stuttered, "Don't say the words of rejection. I can't hear them."

An eyebrow of his quirked as he glanced back at you, but he remained silent.

The moment was interrupted by bodies stumbling loudly down the stairs, and then the sound of the front door opening as voices said their goodbyes. When the door had been shut again, Mattheo appeared in the entrance of the living room with flushed cheeks and a bare chest.

"Y/N! When did you get here?" he then noticed your tear stains, "Oh my Salazar! Are you okay?"

"'M fine," you mumbled, standing up, "Just gonna go home."

Mattheo reluctantly let you leave. The second the door had closed behind you, however, he was cornering his older brother. "What did you say to her?" he spat, anger making him clench his fists.

Tom merely rolled his eyes. "Calm down. She was already crying when she arrived."

His statement made Mattheo back off, as he chewed his lip in thought. "And you comforted her?"

"Since you were otherwise occupied, yes."

"Okay," the younger man relaxed his shoulders, saying a stiff, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Tom said sarcastically with a raised an eyebrow, "You might want to have a chat with her, though."

"About what?"

"It's better if you hear it from her."

***

You were a little confused as to why Mattheo had insisted that the two of you go out for drinks the next night, but ultimately you accepted, sitting at a table in a pub with him. The table was characteristically sticky and shiny, with your rum and coke sat on top of it opposite Mattheo's pint.

"What happened last night?" he asked after exchanging pleasantries.

"Oh, nothing," you replied dismissively, "Just a bad dream." Well, it hadn't been bad per se.

"Tom told me I should talk to you."

Your eyes widened, "Did he say about what?"

It was a relief to see Mattheo shake his head, "He said it was better I hear it from you."

A sigh escaped your lips as the reminder that you intended to tell him last night popped up in your brain. To your unpleasantness, you decided that now was as good of a time as any. "Yes. I... suppose it is."

"Tell me," he prompted, "You can trust me with anything, you know that?"

"I... have feelings for Tom."

Mattheo looked dumbfounded.

"Well, that's a lie—" you scrunched your eyebrows, trying to find the words, "I'm... in love with him."

"Have you two been—?"

You cut him off, quickly saying, "No, no! I've never acted on it... it's been years. I tried to suppress the feelings, I swear! But they just get stronger and stronger as time goes on and I feel like I'm going crazy. I feel so guilty— I don't want to betray you!"

As you finished your rambling, Mattheo remained silent, processing the information that you had just provided him.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled.

"You've been in love with my brother for years?"

You nodded your head shamefully.

"And you never acted on it because of me?"

You nodded again.

Mattheo let out a deep sigh, his fingers interlocking with each other as he rested his elbows on the sticky surface. "Does he know?"

"As of last night, yes."

"Does he return your feelings?"

"I told him not to tell me if he does or not."

"You should've told me sooner."

"I know."

"Y/N," he began, running his hand through his hair, "You didn't need my blessing to date him."

Confusion crept up on you, "I just didn't want you to think I chose your brother over you when we've been through everything together."

"Maybe I would've thought that a few years ago," he admitted, "But we're adults now.

Your mind clouded with possibilities of what Mattheo was saying to you.

"You can date who you want. But if he breaks your heart, I will kill him."

You chuckled to yourself, "I don't even know if he reciprocates... but thank you, Teo. You're the best friend anyone could ask for."

He smiled softly at you, "Hey, maybe one day we'll even be related."

***

Receiving Mattheo's blessing had never seemed possible to you, never appeared attainable, so you had never dared to dream what you would do if you did receive it. Thus, you found yourself sat on your bedroom floor, anxiously fidgeting as you attempted to figure out how to approach Tom. He knew you liked him, so you supposed the first step was complete, but how were you meant to actually make a move? What if it was all for nothing? All those years of pining and anticipation boiled down to him feeling nothing towards you.

Had Mattheo told Tom that he was cool with it? Did that mean all you had to do was wait around for Tom to close the distance?

Too many unanswered questions lingered.

You can't remember when you decided to write a letter, as you only snapped out of your daze as you signed your name, staring down at the parchment of love confessions and yearning.

Dearest Tom,

I never thought that the day would come where I would openly be able to confess to you. Mattheo gave me his blessing, but what does that matter if you don't see me the way I see you? But, after all these years of you haunting me so stunningly, I have to do this. With any hope, if it's rejection I face, I will be able to move on.

Don't ask me to pinpoint when I first fell for you, because I don't know. It crept up on me over the years until all I dreamed and thought about was you, even when I was seeing other people. Guilt has been my dominating emotion for so long that I am not used to no longer feeling it. This likely won't come as a shock, as you saw the state I was in the other night when I found the confession wretched from the vault in my heart. Forget about that, please, and consider this the one true confession.

Every sensation in my body is elicited by the thought of you— we've already done it in my head. My imagination, along with every bone in my body, tells me that you have already written "mine" on my upper thigh. Because I am yours, even if you aren't mine. I have always been yours: not Mattheo's, not any of my exes', just yours.

And for that reason, I suspect I am guilty as sin, for the emotional cheating I have involuntarily committed.

Am I allowed to cry?

Yours forever & always, Y/N L/N

You folded it, pressed your wax seal, and gave it to your owl before you could second guess yourself. That was when the rippling waves of anxiety came, forcing you to pace back and forth and wait for some kind of— any kind of— response.

***

It was late at night when a knock sounded on your door, and your heart raced as you guessed who it was coming to pay you a visit. With shaky hands, you delicately padded over to the door and opened it, to see the bane of your existence and owner of your soul stood with furrowed eyebrows.

"Mattheo gave his blessing."

Those were his first words: a statement of a recently established fact that had changed your entire world. You nod hesitantly, frozen in place.

"Your letter," he murmured, making you realise he had the parchment clutched tightly in his hand.

Your eyes locked on to the piece of paper as your grip tightened on the door.

"Well, are you gonna say something?" he asked.

"I've said all I have to say," you mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze.

Tom let out a sigh, stepping closer to you, "You've haunted the back of my mind for years— the figment of an annoying younger brother's best friend, and everything I want to forget."

You gulped, unsure what he was insinuating with his cryptic words.

"But I can't forget you," he sighed, "Not just because of how often I see you, but because you're the culmination of all my highest hopes and darkest desires."

His hands found your hips and settled there comfortably: your skin tingled under his touch, the ripples of his warmth cascading across the ocean of your body.

"I want you," he said quietly, "So badly, it hurts."

As if acting on instinct, your resolve snapped at those words, and you slammed your lips on to his. The dam had broken, and the strong currents of emotion were plummeting forward in a whirlwind of passion.

Tom returned the kiss eagerly, his hands exploring every curve and inch that you had to offer him, and it wasn't long before you were hurrying up the stairs to your bedroom, blinded by lust and love. He pushed you back on to your bed, his mouth moving to graze along your neck, eliciting soft gasps from you. His fingers worked their way under the hem of your nightie, pushing your panties aside and teasing your wet folds. The real thing was so much more electric than any of your dreams and desires: his very presence was igniting a roaring flame within you.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his deft fingers finding your clit.

"All for you," you replied breathlessly, "Always for you."

He expertly worked your core, appearing to know every angle and the exact amount of pressure required, as if his life purpose in sex had been to learn how to best please your body. You moaned as he moved more quickly, working you up to the quickest orgasm you had ever been blessed with.

"Fuck, Tom," you moaned, "Feels so good."

"You like that, darling?" he chuckled, riding you through your high, "We're just getting started, hm?"

When he removed his hand from your cunt, you grabbed his shirt and pulled him into kiss you again, drunk on the sensations he provided you. "Fuck me, Tom," you mumbled, "I need to be one with you."

He laughed darkly, "Since you asked so nicely."

It took way too long for him to unbuckle his trousers and release his dick, despite the fact he did it as quickly as possible, working in a frenzy off of the same desperate craving as you. However, the wait of many heart-aching years became worth it when he entered you for the first time, every curve and vein of his cock moulding your walls perfectly, like you were made for him.

"Oh, my-" you gasped out, writhing when he applied pressure to your clit to make it easier for him to slide all the way in.

"You feel incredible," he groaned, staying still for a few moments, basking in your precious warmth, before slowly beginning to move.

Where Tom normally found himself being a meticulous and calculated person, he instead found himself losing all sense inside of you: his thrusts were sloppy and ragged, drawing sounds out of you that he mirrored with guttural moans. His thumb carelessly pressed over your clit, making you feel as if you were ascending from the mattress. This wasn't fucking— this was love-making. Sensual, sloppy, and passionate.

And so, Tom was near his release quicker than he had ever been, his typical stamina long lost in the haze of you. You were no different, building up to a second release as you felt Tom lose even more control: it wasn't long before he was releasing inside of you as you came once more, panting as he collapsed on top of you.

"Fuck, you're so amazing," he murmured, "How did we hold back all these years?"

You laughed tiredly, "I don't know, but I can't hold back ever again."

He agreed with a hum. "Y/N," he propped himself up on his arms, "I love you. It killed me the other night when you told me not to tell you if I returned your feelings."

"It killed me to say it," you smiled, "I love you too, Tom."

———————————————————

masterlist

written; 23/06/2024 —> 31/07/2024 published; 31/07/2024 edited; —/—/——

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bamboozledbird · 2 months ago

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HOWLING: TST Rewrite // Chapter 1 / next.

Characters: Thomas, fem!reader, Newt Pairing(s): Thomas x Reader (the slowest of burns) Word Count: 3.2k Tags: Mix of book and movie canon, newt!sister!reader Warnings: Canon typical violence and gore, sad times are ahead my friends

A/N: I honestly do not know where this came from. Mostly from my middle school love of Newt probably. Purely maternal. I thought that boy was gay way before Dashner. So here is newt!sibling!reader, and of course, the angst of being in love with your brother's 'killer' :( I think this will be more like snapshots of instead of a full story, mostly due to my schedule, but I do have a lot of moments in mind.

This place is full of bad omens. Broken mirrors, red skies, night terrors that bleed into daylight. They say you’re safe here, but you felt more at ease inside the Spring’s looming walls than you do in this quiet bunker. The concrete is cold, and the steel surfaces gleam menacingly, even in the dark. You always tuck your fork from lunch into the waistband of your sweats, just in case something jumps out from the other side of the funhouse mirror.

You count 13 new immunes today. You should’ve known then that there was something wicked brewing in the wind.

None of them stand out to you at first; they look just as dirty and shell-shocked as all the others did when they first arrived. You’re sure you looked the same on your first day at the compound.

You poke at your apple with your fork, chin drooping onto your knuckles as your eyes lazily trail over a boy with spiky hair. A few tufts are clumped together with sweat, and he somehow looks unimpressed and exhausted at the same time. Your gaze shifts to a tall girl with messy black curls. Her face is delicate, pretty, even through the dirt and scrapes on her cheeks. She appears to be the only girl in the group—poor thing.

Sighing, you roll the ache out of your neck until it pops, and your eyelids start to wilt with your alertness. New arrivals stopped being exciting after you realized they were all going to disappear, one right after the other. It was just a matter of time.

Your eyes are almost entirely closed when they land on a boy in the center of the pack. His Henley is torn, soiled like everything else, and his eyes are wide—calculating in the way he studies his surroundings. You don’t know him, and yet you’ve never wanted to strangle someone more.

It’s striking, the anger, and it suddenly occurs to you that you’ve been angry for so long there might be nothing left in you but this rage. How odd, you think distantly. How odd how something can build in an instant; how you can remember a feeling from a void of nothing.

You don’t know the why, but you stare at the boy and you know he’s the who.

You’re on your feet before your brain can catch up to your legs. The boy turns to you, and his mouth parts—most likely to ask why the hell your gaze is so murderous—but you hit him before he can utter a single word. A solid jab to his eye socket that sends a jolt of pain through your thumb to your wrist. The grinding of your snapped bone makes your empty stomach churn, and you feel a little woozy with adrenaline and low blood sugar.

It’s a good punch, but you’re the one who ends up on the ground. The guard escorting the new group drops you with ease and pins your arms behind your back. A few kids come to the boy’s aid, gripping his shoulder like they’re afraid he’ll jump on you, but he doesn’t look angry. He holds a hand over his eye and stares at you, dumbfounded and confused, but not angry. Somehow, that just makes your scowl even more bitter.

You’re dragged away from the cluster of new immunes and directly deposited in a sterile examination room before anyone has the chance to say anything. It’s hauntingly silent in the room, and your thin tank top does little against the chill in the room.

You should be more worried about what your punishment will be—if they’ll send you away to where all the missing children go—but you aren’t. It’s just so…loud inside your mind, a million ravenous locusts buzzing, feasting on your ear canal. You can’t make out what they’re saying, what they’re trying to tell you—what you’re supposed to remember about the boy with the bambi eyes and a dark cloud casting a shadow over his face.

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this much. For as long as you can remember, literally, dread consumed every one of your thoughts—no room for things like anger, hate, betrayal. You’re spilling over the missing pieces of yourself WCKD chipped away with their mindwipe. It would be fascinating if it wasn’t so awful.

Anger is a nasty feeling and so is weakness. They're bitter, poisonous, and you're afraid you might leak onto the rest of the kids in the compound. This feeling, this bright burning you’re trying to swallow, it's an epidemic of its own.

A pair of guards with ridiculously large guns flank a mouse of a woman in a stark white lab coat. They’re there to protect her from you, you realize, and you feel like laughing. Two hulking men equipped with high-powered grenade launchers just in case you try to backhand someone else. They must be bored; there really isn’t much guarding for them to do in the middle of nowhere.

You watch the doctor examine your thumb with mild interest. You’ve gotten used to the pain, mostly. You curse under your breath when she moves it, and the woman flinches like she’s been struck. You grin a little. You probably shouldn’t be so amused, but it feels kind of nice being on the other end of scary, even if it means being stared at like you’re a wild animal.

The doctor mumbles something to someone in her earpiece, and they all move to leave. “What—that’s it?” you sit up on the examination chair and hold your injured hand to your chest. No one responds. They leave the room without looking back, and the groan that’s ripped from your throat sounds a lot like a growl. “So, I’m good? Nothing’s broken?” The steel door doesn’t answer your question, but the awkward angle of your thumb certainly does. Evidently, they just need you in one place, not one piece.

The doctor could be coming back, but you’re impatient by nature; sitting around doing nothing after years of running for your life does that to a person. Besides, you’ve done this before. There were no white coats and examination rooms in the Spring; there were only your hands and a stick to bite on. A broken thumb couldn’t be that different from a dislocated shoulder and a sprained ankle, right?

There aren’t any sticks in the room, so your shirt will have to do. You bunch the hem into a thick wad and shove it between your molars so that you don’t chip a tooth—and then you pull on your thumb until a sickening pop fills the silence like a gunshot. Your eyes water, and the fabric of your tank top is soaked through by the time you’re certain that you won’t make any noise. You release the material from your mouth and examine your work; the digit is certainly straighter, but the color and swelling are decidedly nasty.

The whoosh of a door sliding open distracts you from bluing skin, and, for the second time today, you see a stranger and feel an overwhelming wave of familiarity. This time, however, it’s warm. You stare at him and feel the strangest urge to ruffle his floppy hair and crush him into your arms so that he can’t slip away from you. Again. The foreign thought strikes you in the heart, and it hurts.

He sits down next to you, limbs loose and lax, and his head crooks down like a swan to examine your bloated thumb, “That doesn’t look too good.”

“I haven’t ever punched someone before,” you mumble and lift a shoulder, “guess my form isn’t the best.”

Humming, he cradles your injured hand in his palm like a baby bird and looks around the room, “All this tech, and they don’t have a single bandage.”

Your teeth catch against your bottom lip, and the constant gnawing starts to hurt almost as badly as your thumb, “Or the good drugs.”

He smiles at you, lopsided and familiar, and you feel like you’re home. “Surely they have some ice somewhere.”

It finally registers that he sounds different than the rest. You suppose that’s probably the first thing most people notice about him, but it’s a distant thought for you. You sound different too, after all. Your cadence isn’t quite as thick as his. You probably sounded more like him before your strong-voweled, mush-mouthed friends infected your inflection. You wish, strangely, that they hadn’t now.

The corner of your mouth ticks up, “And to think, I never wanted to see another speck of ice again.”

He looks equally confused and amused.

“Our maze,” you wave your good hand in the air, pulling a face as the phantom frost creeps up your spine, “it snowed all the damn time. Hated it.”

He lets out a low whistle, “I suppose sweating is better than freezing in hindsight.”

You give him the same look, and his face twists in a grimace that rivals your own, “The Glade was sweltering. Dreadful really, almost worse than the Grievers.”

“I imagine.” You nod sagely, face solemn, “All those boys and such a limited supply of soap.”

The boy’s head cocks back with his laugh, and it’s so heart-wrenchingly familiar you could cry. You really could. At least, you can blame any bizarre behavior on your broken thumb.

“So,” he tilts his head, “Tommy.”

Your face wrinkles in confusion, and he nods towards your injured hand. Ah. So, the black eye had a name.

“Tommy,” you repeat, far more glumly.

He smiles a little crooked thing, “I know he can be a pesky little shank, but thirty seconds hardly seems like a fair shot.”

“I don’t know what happened,” you say quietly, keeping your eyes on your lap and the ballooned, bruised proof of your guilt. “I saw him, and then everything went red.”

He hums softly in his throat, “Think you knew each other?”

“I don’t know.” Your cheek takes the brunt of your teeth’s abuse this time, “I don’t think I want to.”

“Whoever he was before, whatever he did…he’s not the same,” he catches your eye, and the flash of hickory feels like an echo, “none of us are.”

You swallow and nod stiffly. He’s right. You know he’s right, but there’s still a little irrational twinge of anger when burnt umber clouds the back of your lids. “Why are you here,” you finally say. Your voice is small, like a lost little girl, and his arm wraps around your shoulders in an easy, fluid motion. You sink into it, still feeling small, but it’s not so terrible now. He’s a comforting weight, a shield you turn into reflexively. “I socked your friend in the eye,” you mumble towards your lap, “think that entitles you to a little hostility.”

He laughs again, and his chest rumbles with it, “I can’t quite blame you. I’ve wanted to do it a time or two before.”

“Hmm.” You’re unconvinced, and he tugs on your hair a little.

“Come on, let’s get you that ice.”

You follow him, your hand in his, and feel a little dizzy. There’s a hazy scene layered over the present. A much smaller boy flickers over his long frame; they have the same sandy hair, the same sweet smile. The little boy tugs at your arm, pulling you down the dark hall of a different facility, just as cold. Just as scary. The concrete walls don't loom so largely in your peripherals when he clutches your hand.

It feels like a fever dream, that place between consciousness and sleep, the lingering brightness when you squeeze your eyes shut—so real for something cloaked in so many shadows.

There are two faces looking back at you when he turns over his shoulder, the soft cheeks of a child overlapping with the hard lines of a young man. “Newt.”

It’s an odd thing to say, seemingly unrelated to anything around you, but somehow you know that’s his name. You give your own without a moment of hesitation.

Newt looks at you, still and sure, “Had a feeling.”

**************

One bag of ice and lengthy lecture later, you figure you should find Thomas and apologize—for Newt’s sake, not his and certainly not WCKD’S. You eventually find him sitting on a bunk. His face is clean, and his hair is wet, curling at the nape of his neck and over his forehead. Without all the dirt and blood, the purple under his eyes is stark against his pale skin. He looks like he hasn’t slept since he was dropped in his maze, maybe even longer.

You feel a little guilty when you see his black eye.

His head tips up from his hands when you step into the room, and his shoulders immediately tense. You hold up your hands and lean against the opposite wall, as far away from him as you possibly can be in the same room. “I’m not gonna hit you. Promise.”

His shoulders don’t relax, but his fingers uncurl and fall flat against his thighs. His jaw is tight, and you can’t help but notice how it sharpens all the lines of his face. He looks like he’s made of granite, a sculpture from a different time, a time before all this ugliness. There isn’t a lot of room for art in this place, this world; beautiful things don’t last long in the Maze, the Scorch, a society rotten with the Flare—but he has. You hate to admit it, but Thomas is striking. The bruising just makes him look more like a Greek antiquity, a tragic hero with a pretty face.

Thomas looks restless, looking at a spot on the wall just left of your head, and you realize that you’ve been staring for too long. Gritting your teeth, you glance at him and then look down at your shoes, “I’m…I probably shouldn’t have hit you.”

Thomas blinks at you, eyes big and brown…and bruised. You wince a little and fold your arms over your chest, shrinking into the wall, “I definitely shouldn’t have. Sorry.” There’s a part of you, one you don’t understand, that thinks this is more than he deserves. Another part wonders how the hell that’s possible.

He lifts a shoulder and looks to your right now. You aren’t sure if that means he’s forgiven you. You aren’t even sure if he heard you. He looks like he’s in another dimension, a glaze of isolation. You wonder where he’s gone; if it’s nicer there than it is here, or if it’s a bad place. A night terror leaking through the cracks.

Thomas licks his lip and finally looks at you. His face is grim, somber, like you’re visiting your own wake. “I saw you,” his voice is scratchy when he speaks. You’re curious if it’s from disuse or too much use. You’re curious about a lot of things; what exactly is this boy like? This boy who introduced you to the sin of wrath.

You lick over your teeth and push yourself off the wall, “I figured.” He watches you cautiously until you sit down on the bunk across from him. “Question is, can you still see me?” You hold up three fingers to his swollen eye and hum, “How many?”

His face remains solemn, not even a hint of a smile, and you sigh, “So you saw me?”

He nods and digs his elbows into his thighs, “In a memory.”

That gets your attention. “You remember things?”

Thomas gestures to his purpling eye, “Don’t you?”

“Feelings,” you pull your knees to your chest tightly, nosing into your kneecap, “just feelings. Not all the time, but sometimes I get that annoying itch you get when you can’t think of the name of a book, but you know you know it.”

He nods, “I get those too; this was different.” He pauses, and presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth like he’s waiting for the right words to roll onto the tip. He doesn’t look entirely content when he speaks again, but his struggle is valiant, “Griever venom...it made me see things—memories, like…a movie I’ve seen before, but I forgot the ending."

Your brow pinches, “Griever?”

Thomas hums a little, “WCKD’s cyborg guardspiders.”

Ah. You pick at some lint on your sweats, and a kittenish whine vibrates through your throat, “Lucky.” He tilts his head and studies you so seriously that a small grin slips through your stoic exterior, “Ours had wings.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on Thomas’s face, and it’s nice enough you’re curious what a real one would look like. It fades once he starts talking again, “I know why you hit me. The mazes…they were mine—that’s what I saw. I watched so many of them…” His eyes fade, and you know he’s in the bad place. The place you go when you think about that day. The day half your friends were ripped apart by WCKD’s pets.

Clearing your throat, you pull him back to the present with a quiet voice, "And then you saw me.”

He nods, and his throat bobs as he swallows, “And then I saw you.”

The corner of your mouth tugs into a sad little smile, and his responds in kind. “I think I knew you.” Thomas chews on his lip and picks at his nails, doing his best to tear himself apart, “Not well…you were in a different group, but I knew you…because of Newt.”

Your eyes widen, “Newt?”

“I think…he was your brother—is, is your brother. You were close. Like twins.”

The fever dream is back. There’s sun-drenched flashes of a boy reading to you, pelting you with snowballs and laughing, eyes bright, nose pink. They’re too bright to see everything clearly, but it’s enough to wind you.

Your eyes flutter open, and you see that Thomas is watching you carefully. Concerned. Odd, considering you broke your thumb against his face a few hours ago. “It could be a plant. Who knows what they put in our heads when they took everything away.”

Thomas tilts his head and then shakes it, “This is a good thing. WCKD doesn’t give us good things.”

Your eyes burn, and you aren’t quite sure why. “Is it?”

Thomas looks confused. It’s a common expression on the munies, confusion. Tends to happen when you don’t know who you are or where you came from. For some reason, it makes you sadder than it usually does.

“Come on,” you curl in on yourself, squeeze your shins tightly and peek at him over your knees, “why’d you tell me before you told your best friend?”

Thomas looks down at his hands. Caught.

You answer for him, “You and I both know the last thing that kid needs is one more person he’d die for.”

The solemn look is back on Thomas’s face, and you sigh, “You want me to trust you?”

He nods sharply.

“Don’t tell him. Don’t tell anyone.”

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