fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme | Prompt Post #2

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Prompt Post #2

ROUND 2

Seeing as we've reached 4,000 comments in Round 1, it's time to make a new one. Same (lack of) rules apply. Gentle reminder to everyone to refrain from posting extremely long prompts, though. While no word limit will be imposed, take note that it is very unlikely for someone to fulfill your prompt if your prompt alone is already several paragraphs long and containing a number of specifications.

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-(01/14/2016) We now have a TRADING POST where you can exchange fills with people.
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Percival braced himself for whatever was about to be revealed. Credence needed him to react calmly, not to seem upset – it was clear that whatever he was about to see made Credence think that he was ugly. He had to make sure his response didn’t confirm that thought.

As his husband turned around, he stayed quiet. Fury bubbled within him as he saw the thick mass of scars, struck across his skin. Some of the scars were faded, and others relatively fresh. He raised his hand, gently stroking a finger over one of the raised welts. Looking closer, he could see that some of the scars were distorted, struck into delicate skin while Credence was still growing. The knowledge that the obliviators and muggle police had dealt with the woman wasn’t enough at that moment.

Credence shivered a little.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I can put a shirt back on, it’s… I don’t expect you to deal with this, I’m sorry…” He was looking down, shaking a little.
Percival leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to one of the scars that crept up towards the back of his neck.
“You don’t need to be sorry…”

“They’re my fault.” Credence whispered, and Percival gently traced one finger along one of the longer scars.
“It’s not-“
“I would take the blame.” Credence swallowed, looking ashamed. “If some of the other kids were bad, I would… I would let her think it was me. She was always looking for a way to punish me anyway…”

Percival reached out, pulling Credence back against him, his clothed chest pressed against Credence’s exposed back.
“My dear boy… what I’m hearing is that you were brave. You spared terrified children further injury… these scars, they’re marks of courage.”
“It…I was sinful…” Credence whispered, and Percival shook his head.

“You were brave. You have always been so brave, only you can’t see it…” He smiled fondly. “I’ll teach you to see it…” He stroked a finger along another welt. “If you’d like, I’ll kiss every one of these, tell you how many different ways you are wonderful. Your body is beautiful.”

Credence blinked back tears, and smiled a little at him.
“You think so?”
“I know so.” Percival answered calmly. “Absolutely and certainly, you look beautiful. And if you want to just touch each other today, or if you just want to kiss without wearing our shirts, that’s alright.” He meant it. Seeing the scars proved to him how much Credence had been through.

Credence’s smile bordered on cheeky as he glanced up at Percival.
“I…I’d like to do more than that, if I may.”
“I’d like that.” Percival encouraged, pressing a soft kiss to Credence’s lips.
“Thank you.” Credence whispered. “I…I want to be your husband. In all ways…” His gaze darted to the bedroom, and his smile was shy again.

“We can do that…” Percival guided him to the bedroom, laying him down carefully on the bed and kissing him softly. He started off kissing his face, but slowly kissed down his stomach, watching Credence moan and gasp in pleasure as he rocked up against him. Reaching Credence’s pants, he undid them carefully, pushing the clothing down and then nuzzling against his crotch.

Credence whimpered a little, his hips rocking slightly. Percival placed a hand on his hips, holding him in place as he pressed a kiss to Credence’s length. Credence let out another delicate noise of pleasure. They were addictive sounds. Percival held him carefully as he swallowed around him.

***

Credence gasped, trying to rock. He had practiced, but he had never felt it from this side, and he could suddenly see why people were willing to pay so much money for this. Pleasure was building up inside him, and he tried to stay quiet. But the moans were finding a way to escape.
“I want to hear you.” His husband insisted, and that was all the prompting Credence needed to throw his head back and moan with desire. He knew he was getting close, and he tried to warn his husband but pleasure overwhelmed him, snatching his words away.

He collapsed back, panting, a blush across his face.
“I… I’m sorry…” He murmured, only for his husband to kiss him. He could taste himself on Percival’s tongue, and he knew that he should probably be ashamed. But it was delightful. Knowing that his husband was here, that they were enjoying each other, it didn’t feel like a sin.

“Don’t be sorry…” His husband chuckled. “That was beautiful.” He stroked his fingers through Credence’s hair. “You have such a wonderful look…” He smiled. “Are you ready for any more, or shall we leave it there for today?”

Credence stared at him in confusion and shook his head.
“You haven’t…and that…I mean, if you still want me, we can…. We can do this?” He asked, a little nervous in case he was saying the wrong thing, or somehow doing it wrong.

“You’re young.” Percival teased. “You’ll be able to enjoy this… can you lay back, legs apart, there we go… that looks so beautiful.”
Credence looked away after a moment, feeling shy, but Percival’s fingers pressed between his legs, one dipping into him.

It was an intimate touch, almost intoxicating. The thought of this act had frightened him for so long, but now that it was his husband doing it, it wasn’t frightening. It was pleasurable. Percival was opening him up, so that they could lie together the way a married couple should. Credence let soft moans escape, remembering that his husband liked him doing so.

Percival pressed another finger sink into him deeper, and he rocked against those touches, Percival’s hands no longer pinning him.
“There we go…” Percival moaned, stroking a finger deeper. Credence gasped at the sudden burst of pleasure.
“What?” He whispered, and Percival chuckled and repeated the action.
“There we go beautiful. Going to make you feel so good…How are you feeling?”

“More…” Credence whispered, rocking his hips a little. “Please, I want more…”
“As you wish.” Percival answered, lining up and then slowly pushing into the heat of him. Credence moaned, rocking his hips a little. It felt so good, so full. His husband was lying with him the way they should, and it felt so good. Ma had never said that this would feel like this.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of his husband within him, and then opened his eyes as Percival kissed his forehead.
“Look up at me beautiful…there we go, you’re so good… you feel so incredible….” He smiled fondly, and Credence felt safe. He moved with his lover. After a few minutes, Percival sped up. It felt amazing, and he threw his head back, panting in eagerness.

“Please…” He whispered, and Percival reached between them to stroke his hand across Credence’s length. He rocked into the touch, and soon the pleasure built again.
“Per…Percival…” He moaned, climax slamming through him. He lay back panting, and Percival pressed gentle kisses to his neck, rocking into him for a few more seconds before Credence felt Percival spill inside him.

“Did that feel good?” Percival asked, and Credence nodded.
“It felt amazing sir.” He whispered, smiling a little. Percival rolled them so that Credence could cuddle against his chest, and he felt Percival’s hand stroke over his back.

“You are wonderful…” Percival reassured him. “You felt fantastic…” He smiled. “You did so well, and you felt brilliant.” Gentle kisses pressed to Credence’s neck and face.

“So amazing.” Credence murmured, and Percival nodded, pressing another kiss to him.

“I’ve got work tomorrow.” Percival said. “Would you like to come with me? Help with the daycare?”
“I’d love that.” Credence answered softly.

“I’d like it too.” Percival answered, kissing his cheek. “And then we can see… I want you to go shopping, after work…” He nuzzled into Credence’s side. “I want to see about buying you a wand.”

This was a really lovely start, I adore your characterisation! Poor confused Credence, and great writing :)

Wow! I'm the op and I'm absolutely delighted and thrilled. Thank you so much for chosing this promp !

I really love how you nailed their personnality and how you got the kind, pure gestures from Newt eliciting feelings and desire in love-starved Credence. It's perfect !
I'm looking forward to the other chapters. :-)

oh wow... you have such a talented way with words here...I love your Grindelwald voice

i'm glad you like it! um, also, um, right now it's a lot of feelings but credence does the Sexual Soul-Searching thing later on, so... yeah.

--

2.

The first time, only surprise kept him still.

It had been a while since he had last been touched by someone. Probably Mr. Graves, in that alley―only it hadn’t been Mr. Graves after all, a fact from which Credence had recovered mostly undisturbed. Of course that strange blond man had only wanted something from Credence. Of course he wasn’t fit to do anything but be used, and badly at that. Of course it had ended terribly: smoke and blood and the debilitating weakness Credence was sure he would always carry, making him shake until it hurt.

But Newt…

“Thank you for your help, Credence,” said Newt – gently, as gently as he talked to his fantastic beasts. And he reached out and petted the top of Credence’s head, a soft caress made with delicate fingers, touching him as if he were as precious as glass that had already been cracked.

That was what got him, probably. The carefulness.

It felt sweet. It felt more than sweet: warm, as if Newt was liquid sunlight and it dripped down, a peculiar sensation that spread through his head, his neck―it tightened his throat with the fullness of tears―and then lower―his heart―and lower still―his belly. The shudder that overcame him was half the result of gratefulness and self-loathing. Even now, he couldn’t help himself. Even now he knew he would never reject Newt, never turn him away, never―never tell him, confess how horribly wrong he was, how he could be, how he still thought about the Mr. Graves that was not the real Mr. Graves holding him firmly and saying his name as if it was something to be owned.

Those were things meant to stay in the dark. So Credence merely nodded, and tried to mumble something (and failed), and then Newt got distracted when two animals―Credence wasn’t sure of their names yet―began to fight, because one of them was convalescing.

Life with Newt was strangely serene, despite the weird smells and the nipped fingers. They travelled by ship: Newt said it would be best to let things settle down for a while, as the memory of… recent events was too fresh, and then he added seriously that he knew all about accidentally making a bit of a mess and everything would turn out all right―Credence helplessly believed him, even though he had a hard time believing in anything these days except the wrath of God, who was surely readying himself to punish him for his inclinations.

As they got used to each other, Newt touched him more often. It wasn’t the sort of casual touches a less socially awkward person would have managed, either―Newt was always painfully aware of what he was doing, and to forget himself that way just wasn’t possible. But Credence didn’t mind. There were mode head pats, and then soft grips of his shoulder that felt nothing like how the false Mr. Graves had touched him, and in one memorable occasion, when they were squeezing themselves through a narrow passage, Credence had been almost close enough to touch Newt chest-to-chest, close enough they looked at each other in the eye although neither of them usually had the daring.

Newt had dispelled the brittle but tense silence with a huff that was born out of that little twitch-smile, and Credence had followed after him silently, and that was that.

That should have been that.

The problem was this: somewhere along the way, when Credence hadn’t been looking, he’d turned greedy. So much freedom was getting to his head―there was sunshine, usually, and the smell of green growing things, and tea because Newt seemed obsessed with tea, and a steady undisrupted kindness―and he began to engineer ways to get touched more, even when he hadn’t done anything to merit it, like helping Newt with a beast.

Newt was bent over his desk with the lamp on, scribbling on some parchment with a quill. His calligraphy was a beautiful disaster, long looping lines and a cramped cursive, like something out of an old book. He lost himself when he was like that, he was consumed by the purpose of his work, Credence thought, recalling what Ma used to say about why she had to fight against the corruption of magic. Purpose, a meaning. Purpose…

Credence wanted to be touched. He wanted to exist so that Newt could touch him.

Once he accepted that, it became easier to gather up a dreg of courage and creep closer to Newt, surely hovering like a shadow of ill-omen. He sat on the floor next to Newt’s stool, who didn’t notice him at all, and after a few seconds of holding his breath to make sure it would stay that way, Credence relaxed and looked at Newt’s free hand, which was just dangling there… He had tiny scars, some better healed than others, a few which looked fresh―and there was the scratch he’d got that same morning, of course, to protect Credence…

It just welled up. He wanted to ask for forgiveness but he didn’t want to interrupt the moment. It just welled up in him, this awful, heart-breaking need, and―and Credence shifted closer to Newt’s hand, and it bumped against his forehead. Credence’s blood ran cold but he didn’t dare to look up… and yes, yes, Newt was too busy, of course, and animals chased him to be petted all the time, or to pet him, and Newt thoughtlessly carded his fingers through Credence’s hair, slowly and methodically, but sweetly.

Sweetly…

Credence hugged his knees and rested his shoulder against the stool, and he rubbed his cheek against Newt’s wonderful blue coat, which was really very soft. Newt kept writing, and Credence eventually began to doze, even though his back ached and he should stop it already before Newt came out of his daze and he realised how pathetic Credence was, how much he…

He…

“Credence?” said Newt’s bemused voice, and then ― “Um.”

Credence straightened up with a start. He rubbed his eyes and glanced up at Newt, who had a bit of ink on his face and one eyebrow raised in that lopsided quizzical look he got sometimes―and, and, and. And his hand was still in Credence’s hair.

“Um,” said Newt again. And then carefully, just like when they found a new animal and Newt was trying to decide how to lure it closer to ensnare it with food and affection, he caressed the side of Credence’s face… clumsily, as if unused to it, and somewhat awkwardly, because of the angle. His thumb brushed against Credence’s lashes, which fluttered closed out of unexpected pressure, and then another slow caress... Credence turned his head, seeking more contact, and he got Newt to touch his mouth―his mouth―by accident before, startled, Newt jerked away.

He looked uncomfortable. Credence felt his stomach sink.

“I―I’m sorry,” he said, trying to speak past the knot in his throat. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again―I just wanted―I’m sorry―”

“No, no, don’t apologise, don’t, oh,” said Newt, waving his hands around. He rubbed his face―he’d forgotten about the ink because he smeared it more―and then sighed deeply. “I just forgot―I’m alone so much―it’s my fault―Credence.” His tone had turned serious. He slid off the stool and knelt in front of Credence, so they could be of a height if not, necessarily, looking at each other, as Credence kept his gaze on his shoes. “Credence, if you need anything, you have to tell me, all right? D’you understand?”

I want you to touch me everywhere.

“I understand, Mr. Scamander,” said Credence.

Some things were meant to be a secret.

The poor guys been through a lot, and everyone can't help but feel really protective of him. And at first that's nice, it's nice to have people care so much and to look out for him.

But after a while he starts to notice that this caring, it's starting to get a lot like how a parent would care for their child.

Eventually he has to sit everyone down and break it to them, he's in his 20s, he likes them all and would love to be their friend, but he doesn't need adopting and he sure as hell doesn't need to be treated like a child.

sorry for the wait! i’ve been procrastinating a lot lately, but never fear, still 100% a percy!whump ho til the day i die! next segment should be up by friday :)

So THIS is lovely. I've got a shit ton of work atm but if this isn't filled by the weekend I may definitely circle back and fill this asap.

OP here - I'd be delighted if you do! :D

Oh. It's absolutely beautiful. Credence's feverishness, all his emotions. Newt's awkwardness and kindness.

I love this to pieces.

Methinks, Newt quite likes Credence too, but doesn't what to do with that, and Credence, of course, can't see that.

oh this is so sweet, I really love your characterisation of both of them and Credence is at least getting the hugs he deserves poor dear. I love your voice for him, how much he wants this

Newt argues that it's Theseus; Theseus argues that it's Newt.

Maybe it starts light and humorous, but then it just escalates and it's one of the very few things they've had a serious fight about, to the point the two of them have stopped talking to each other (but also missing each other terribly). Then somebody smacks them in the head to make them see sense.

BONUS OPTIONS:
+100 I'm thinking the people who smacks some sense into them will be Graves for Theseus and the Goldstein sisters for Newt, although if you can somehow include Newt's beasts into the mix (especially if they also do it to Theseus, not just Newt) that would be awesome :D
+100000000 I will definitely be down for some pre-Newt/Theseus, especially if Theseus uses "I'm in love with my baby brother and have my way with him" as proof that he is fucked up and doesn't deserve being the Better Scamander Brother™

i'm all for trading one hell for another ohohoho
hope you like it op
--

He swims in and out of sleep. Feverish.

Relief is remembered only in the moment between waking and falling asleep, when his mind floats above pain. His dreams repeat themselves like mirrors within mirrors: he wanders through his house, barefoot, with the button of his trousers undone and the sleeves of his shirt bunched up around his elbows. It’s quiet except for the distant murmur of cars and laughter and people, a city thriving, and he walks seeking something, someone. His mouth tastes like saltwater. He glances at the window, at the false him, and he stills even though his heart begins to thunder.

The glass ripples like a pond as his reflection reaches out a hand, one side of its mouth curling up in a knowing smile. And: terror…

Wake up.

He wakes up. He opens his eyes, although there’s nothing to see. The dark is absolute, overwhelming, and perfect; the kind where it doesn’t matter if you’ve got your eyes open or closed because it smothers everything. But he reaches up and touches his neck, and the chain attached to the iron collar clinks sweetly. His hand comes away gritty with rust and the stickiness of dried blood. Somewhere: the trickle of water falling drop by drop by drop.

He breathes.

“I’m not dead,” he whispers.

But the dark swallows it up.

*

He sleeps. He wakes. He sleeps. He sleeps. He sleeps.

Sometimes he dreams. Sometimes he doesn’t and it’s like being awake. Black on black.

Grindelwald drops by. There’s a hallway, Percival thinks, because there’s the echo of sound coming closer, and this echo is familiar because it is made by the same polished shoes Percival likes to wear. Grindelwald doesn’t carry a light. He doesn’t talk, as if even the pleasure of taunting Percival has lost its shine. He comes closer. He gives him water, potions that have an under taste of vitamins. He touches him, hand warm and sure on his skin―only then does Percival realise he’s cold. Grindelwald drags his hand through Percival’s hair. Down the curve of his jaw. His nose. Memorising. Reaffirming. Once Percival believes he can feel Grindelwald’s skin bubbling, shifting, changing.

Perhaps not, though.

*

He tries to dream about pleasant things. That’s not how dreams work, so maybe he merely thinks it intensely, but his mind is entertained.

He thinks about grass. He wants to take off his shoes and bury his bare feet into the long blades. He wants to lie on his belly and let his cheek rest on the damp ground. Scratch the dirt with his fingers. Feel the warmth of the sun. He wants it so desperately that his dreams oversaturate themselves: glossy leaves overcome the city as he remembers it. Vines hang from windows, knit themselves in thick carpets that cover the sides of buildings. Weeds and grass and wild flowers make cracks in the pavement. A bird trills, but there is no sound of cars, the fast footsteps of somebody hurrying to work, an ill-humoured voiced raising from the crowd to say watch it.

New Yorkers.

There’s no New York. Just the wild consuming the city in his heart, and consuming him.

*

He has a lover. He had a lover. He has a lover.

Her name is Elizabeth. She’s a diplomat, so she’s used to discretion, and she’s too passionate about her own job to want to settle down somewhere, behind a white picket fence and a redbrick country house with enough space for a dog and a few children. Her hair is the colour of burnt sugar. Her eyes are yellow like a cat’s. Her mouth is a peony blossom. The way she moves, her slender grace, gives the illusion her dresses are made of water. She likes seamed stockings the shade of milk cream and suspender belts and kitten heels that turn the liquid sway of her hips into something delicious.

She likes to talk when they fuck. And they do fuck, mostly by season: when she’s in town, when he hasn’t got a case that’s eating up his brain. At hers―the hotel where she stays most often, with its tasselled curtains and its thick Persian rugs and the bed soft as a chocolate truffle―or at his, the empty flat he always means to furnish properly, the books gathering in small mountains, the heavy four-poster oak bed he inherited from his great-aunt. The bed where he was born. The bed where his mother died. She surrenders to him but she watches him, bares her throat and relaxes her posture and he buries his nose in her hair, which smells like jasmine. The memory comforts him; the heat of her skin, the heat of her around him, the heat of her breath as she gasps.

And yet time goes on. The scent of jasmine turns into “the scent of jasmine” turns into meaningless noise, a pearl necklace of words that breaks and slips between his fingers.

So he sleeps.

*

He’s dreaming about sound. Sound echoing in the dark, shuffling footsteps dragging forward. He blinks, he closes his eyes, he opens them again. He’s dreaming there’s someone coming down the hallway, and it isn’t Grindelwald because there’s no neat click of polished shoes, but a determined stumbling. Harsh breathing. He inhales deeply.

Mould. Rust. The dampness of water. The copper of blood.

He’s dreaming. Isn’t he?

“Mr. Graves,” says a voice. And again, to dispel any notion of it being his imagination: “Mr. Graves?”

He’s not dreaming.

“Mr. Graves…”

He’s not dreaming. He opens his eyes and closes them and opens them again. Is he? He’s dreaming. Is he looking? Is he dreaming?

Is he awake?

Impossibly close: “Mr. Graves.”

“Yes.”

Stillness.

Who said that? he wonders, mildly curious. He tries to swallow – swallow? – his throat is dry. His mouth is half-open, inhaling deeply but silently. He tries to swallow again. That was him, he thinks. He spoke. He spoke. He’s Mr. Graves. He’s Percival Graves.

Someone called him. Someone―someone―to him―

“Mr. Graves.” Spoken as if in a shudder. “You’re here…”

Hands touch him. His face. His side―his side, his shirt must be open, because the foreign hand manages to catch skin on the first try. Is he wearing a shirt? Yes. He is. He’s barefoot, but he’s wearing a shirt, and the sleeves are bunched up around his elbows. No tie. No cufflinks. A hand touching his face and then down, rubbing the line of his jaw, with long clever fingers and the raised edges of scars on the palm. Not Grindelwald. A finger brushes his half-open mouth―he licks it without meaning to―he tries to jerk away out of inertia, and immediately that hand closes around the nape of his neck and pulls him closer. Warmth breath makes sweat bead on his cheek.

He blinks.

Stillness. The predatory quiet of a beast.

“Don’t,” the voice says, coldly, “don’t. Turn away. From me.”

Another blink. The hand lets go of his neck slowly and then explores the iron collar, curiously. Almost gently. Those clever fingers slip into the space between skin and metal and brush skin made delicate by constant rubbing. Bony knees push in between his legs, which are spread openly in the most comfortable position of which he’s capable, and then―and then a skinny body abruptly hugs him, shivering. He holds his breath. He waits. Hesitantly, he wraps an arm around that body.

“I get to keep you,” whispers the voice. It feels as if he’s turning his head because a lock of hair tickles his forehead. Tall, thinks Percival, dizzily. Struck dumb by wonder. He reaches up and touches that, too―and the slim body shudders again, plasters itself closer to him. Grasping him so tightly he will surely bruise. Gasping by his ear.

But the voice is terribly sure:

“I get to keep you, at least. Nobody else. Only me. I get to keep you.”

A strange sound, like the crackling of frost in the middle of winter.

Darkness. Again.

He doesn’t dream at all.

(Sorry for slow update, was unexpectedly out of the country)
As soon as the words escaped, Newt felt a wave of nausea build within him. He was going to surrender himself to this man. To his mate. Because the alternative was worse. He wrapped his arms around himself, shaking.

“We don’t need to do anything about it tonight.” Theseus said, and Newt was fairly sure that he was lying, but he also knew he didn’t have the strength to question it.

Graves nodded quickly, flashing him a smile. Newt couldn’t help seeing how nervous he looked, as though he was almost as afraid as Newt.
“Have some food, get some rest, and in the morning a ward breaker is coming to take a look at that bracelet.”

Newt nodded, staring at the band which was still covered by ribbon.
“Thank you.”
“Newt, you don’t need to thank me for …for treating you as a human. It’s no less than you deserve.”

“While it’s on…” Newt shrugged. “The case is here. And I… I don’t want to go…” He panicked at that, and if it wasn’t for the wards that protected the house and the bracelet around his wrist he would have apparated away.

It was Theseus who took his hands, squeezing gently.
“I am not letting those bastards get their hands on you again Newt. You are not going back there, I swear it. I’m your big brother right?”
“Yeah…” Newt whispered, feeling fear crawl beneath his skin.
“Then trust me, they’re not going to hurt you.” He promised. “You aren’t going back into hospital, not like that. Remember, I got you out last time. I’ll get you out of there again.”

“They’re going to make me.” Newt whispered, and now it was Graves stepping closer, shaking his head.
“They aren’t going to make you. Because you will be my mate, and you can go to the Centre for Integrating Omegas until this is fixed. The CIO’s a good place. You’ll have your own room, and it will only be for a few days, while we put everything in place. No one will hurt you there. It’s where omegas who are seeking asylum can go. Normally only family can visit but…” Graves shrugged a little. “If you wanted, we could always hide the others in your case.”

“No.” Newt said firmly, initially unsure what he was refusing. “If…if we can get the bracelet off, I’ll go to the American hospital. But I don’t… I don’t want the rules bent for me…”
Pickett chittered from his pocket and Newt smiled down at the bowtruckle with dazed fondness.
“Not like that Pickett. Of course I’m taking you. I can’t even imagine the kinds of scrapes I would get into without you there to keep me safe.”

Graves chuckled a little at that.
“Alright. I will need to speak to the President, ensure that we have her blessing. Then Theseus and I will go to England to make sure this is formally approved. While that happens, you’ll be in the centre. I’ll make sure you have your own suppressants with you, I don’t know what kind you take-“
“I make my own.” Newt said quickly. “But I’ve got enough for a month or two.”
“We won’t be that long.” Theseus promised. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He wrote a quick note, which he returned to the rather impatient owl. It nipped at his fingers in irritation before flying away.

“Maybe you should sleep in the case tonight?” Theseus prompted, and Newt nodded. He was grateful for that opportunity to be in his own space, to be somewhere he felt safe. If he couldn’t flee from what the Ministry was planning for him, he hoped he could at least find a little peace.

“Hey?” Jacob asked. “You like pancakes?”
Newt nodded, and Jacob smiled.
“I’ll make you some for breakfast tomorrow then.”
“Thank you.” Newt mumbled, and faked yawning a little. “Do you mind if I… I go back into the case now?” He glanced up at Graves, reminding himself that if Graves was being kind enough to take him on, to spare him from the hospital, he had to at least be respectful towards him.

“Of course not. You don’t need to ask to see your creatures.” Graves reassured him, and Newt scurried back into the safety of his case. He wasn’t very tired. But he needed to be away from the others. There was no other omega in the house, and while he trusted his brother and Tina both the presence of three alphas in his vulnerable state was terrifying for him.

***

Percival watched Newt flee, then turned to Theseus.
“Well.” Theseus shrugged. “I think it could have gone a lot worse, you know?”
“He’s hiding in his case.” Percival pointed out, and Theseus shrugged.
“He’s not tried to cut his own arm off or something. I’m going to count that as a win.”

Percival sighed softly.
“I’ll go and see Picquery. Hopefully, she’ll see things our way.”
“If she doesn’t?” Theseus asked, and Percival could see the fear in his eyes now that Newt was gone. He had tried to stay calm before, but now that Newt was no longer present Percival could see him falling apart. Theseus obviously didn’t believe what he had told Newt.

“If she doesn’t, we work around it. I’m not sending him back to somewhere he hates. I promise you, I’m not allowing him to go back into that hospital.”
Theseus looked up at him curiously and stared into his eyes. He clearly saw whatever he was looking for in there.
“Thank you.”
“It’s okay. I’m going to take care of him if I can. I know he didn’t want a mate.”

“I’m glad it’s you.” Theseus said softly. “Don’t get me wrong, if you hurt him I will use all of my favourite curses to tear you limb from limb, and give the fragments to my aurors to practice on. But I’m glad it’s you.”

Percival nodded, squeezing his friend’s hand.
“I’ll go and see Picquery. And a healer. I’ll be back by morning.” With that he walked away, making his way to MACUSA. It wasn’t far, but when he had been a prisoner it had felt an impossible distance. He made his way up to Picquery’s office.

It was quite late at night, so the building was almost deserted. He was grateful for that. It made things easier. There would be time, he knew, when he would have to return with the eyes of all his aurors on him. But for now, he wasn’t having to face that.

He knocked on Seraphina’s door and walked inside when she called out for him to enter. He walked forwards, bowing a little in mock formality and then smiling at his friend.
“Good to have you back.” She said softly. “I’ve got the report from Theseus and Goldstein.”

“I know you’ll have a lot to ask me. And I’ll answer it. But first I need to just ask for your help with something.”
“This better be good.”
“Scamander – the younger one, the one who rescued me…”
“Yes?”
“Britain wants him back and to assign him an alpha. We bonded. I want your permission to officially take him as my mate.”
“And if I say no?”
“If you say no, I do it without you. I’m not handing him back to their hospital when he’s so frightened of going there. But I’d like your support with this.”

Seraphina paused, gazing into his eyes, and then nodded slowly.
“Alright. But I need you to meet with the healers, and with a legilimens, before we can start with that. I need to know that you are fully in your right mind and healthy before we hand over an omega to you.”
“By the sounds of it ma’am, you already did that once.”
“I did.” Seraphina agreed. “And I don’t want to make the same mistake again.”
“Thank you.” Percival answered. “I’ll go and be checked. And he will be too, once he’s had the bracelet removed.”

“Anderson will be along in the morning. Her wife’s not been well and she’s dealing with the toddler, so I didn’t think I would send her tonight.” Seraphina answered quickly. Percival smiled a little, grateful to see that Seraphina had been concerned with what would happen next.

“I’ll meet with the healers and legilimens now if it would mean you are calmer.” Percival offered, and Seraphina flashed him a smile.

***

Newt emerged from the suitcase to the smell of pancakes, which Jacob dished up for them all with a practiced hand. Graves was stood opposite him, looking exhausted.
“Did you sleep?” Newt asked curiously.

“MACUSA wanted me to be checked over. But we have the President’s blessing. Anderson will be here soon to help with the bracelet.” Percival answered, and Newt nodded.
“When it’s done, will it have to go back into MACUSA’s collections?”
“Why?”
“I want to keep it.” Newt said quickly. “Niff wants it for his hoard.”
“You make him sound like a dragon.” Percival teased, but he nodded. “I don’t particularly want it back. If it’ll make Niff happy, he better take it.”

“Thanks.” Newt ate his pancakes, not saying much. They all ate quietly, deep in thought, and Percival got up at a knock on the door. Newt could hear discussion, and then a young omega woman walked in.

“Hello…” She smiled. “I heard you’ve got an object for me to take a look at?”
Reluctantly, Newt held out his wrist. Carefully she untied the ribbon, running her fingers over it and then drawing out her wand, starting to examine the wards.
“That’s pretty nasty.” Anderson murmured. “But I can unweave them. Don’t you worry.”

Newt held still, watching Anderson working on the bracelet. Pickett clambered down onto his lap, and Newt focussed on that. He tried to hold still.

It took a few hours before the bracelet expanded and slipped down from his wrist. Anderson tapped it with her wand a few more times, her forehead beaded with sweat.
“It’s clean.” She answered, and Newt stared at it, and then at the burned skin beneath.
“Here…” Percival leaned over, casting a healing spell over it to fix the skin. He handed the bracelet back to Newt. Newt span it around in his hand and then pocketed it.

“Ready to go to hospital?” Graves asked softly. Reluctantly, Newt nodded. He didn’t want to be doing this, but it was his safest option. Queenie leaned in and embraced him tightly, and he could tell by the look in her eyes that she knew exactly how he felt.

Thank you! He and Percival didn't have any reason to be angry at that moment, so it's probably not them... Poor Theseus has tried so hard to keep Newt safe, but it's a difficult situation. And it would be hard for Graves to obliviate him given the circumstances. And thank you - he needed the independence that suppressants signify to him far more than he actually needed the tablets.

oh... oh poor Percival...this is a tough start... i love your writing here

It's short but I hope you like it OP!
-----

“Go ahead. Suck.”

Grindelwald presses Graves' head firmly against his crotch, nails digging into his scalp. It's hard to fight back, let alone move, with Grindelwald's hand twisted into his hair. So he does the most he can do in a situation like this. He shakes his head.

“No,” it comes out rough and ragged, like he hasn’t spoken for years.

“It wasn’t a question, my dear.”

“No,” Graves repeats, firmer this time.

He hears an annoyed sigh from above him and then his head is roughly tugged back. Grindelwald grips his jaw and pries his mouth open with his fingers. Magic. He could easily use magic for this, but no – of course not. Magic wouldn’t hurt as much as physical force does. Graves winces and tries his best to close his mouth. But Grindelwald manages to force it open, fingers digging into his gums. Then he shoves his cock inside.

“There we go,” Grindelwald growls.

Graves gags almost instantly. The taste hits him first. Bitter. And it’s far too big to fit into his mouth properly. He tries pulling his head back, but Grindelwald has his hand in his hair again, keeping him still.

“I haven’t got all day. Suck.”

It’d be great if I could, Graves thinks. If all he had to do was suck cock to get out of this mess, he most definitely would. The only problem is: he doesn’t know how. But he's always been an ambitious man and not knowing has never stopped him from trying. So he repositions himself the best he can, even with enchanted chains digging into his bound wrists, and then he sucks.

Sloppy, inelegant, toothy. Gagging for more than half of the time, he can’t seem to fit more than just the tip into his mouth. Strangely, he's embarrassed. First, he's captured by another wizard and now he can't even get this right. Grindelwald hisses and breathes out exasperated curses - in a bad way.

“Merlin,” Grindelwald can’t help but chuckle. “You’re absolutely horrible at this.”

And then surprisingly, Grindelwald lets go of him. Graves pulls off without a problem, probably because Grindelwald wants an explanation for why he can’t give him a proper blow job. Grindelwald looks at him expectantly.

“I – I’ve never done this before,” Graves rasps.

Grindelwald stares at him like it’s the most ridiculous thing anyone’s ever said. He scoffs, thoroughly unimpressed, and he most definitely wants Graves to know that.

Graves tries not to roll his eyes.

“You’ve never been with a man before?”

“No.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Grindelwald mutters offhandedly. “Alright.”

His hand is in Graves’ hair again, pulling him forward. Grindelwald forces his mouth open and rests the head of his cock on Graves' lower lip.

“Suck – slowly.”

Obediently, Graves begins sucking. No matter how much he sucks, he hates the taste – can’t fucking stand it. It reminds him of a certain type of staleness - sweaty and rancid. He tries to ignore it. He shuts his eyes and continues to suck, pulling moans of pleasure from Grindelwald. All of this horrifies him.

“Now, take it in deeper.”

Reluctantly, he nods and encloses his mouth over Grindelwald’s shaft, lips stretching as he takes in as much as he can. It goes on like that for a while, Graves experimentally sucking and licking – albeit reluctantly. The temptation to bite down overwhelms him, but he knows that if he does, it’ll only cause more trouble for him. Very carefully, he moves his head forward, but his jaw prevents him from going any further. He panics.

“Stop tensing your jaw. Relax,” Grindelwald speaks in a tone much softer than he’s used to. And he supposes that works, because he unclenches his jaw.

Grindelwald pushes in deeper, until the tip of his cock hits the back of Graves’ throat. He gags, again, but Grindelwald doesn’t make a sound. Instead, he… pets Graves. He pets him, and little by little, he pushes Graves’ head towards him.

“Good director,” he breathes. “Keep your tongue under my cock. Don’t move it. That’s it. Good.”

Graves whimpers.

“Don’t strain your throat. Let it do all the work.”

The way Grindelwald speaks reminds him of his days in Potions class. When the Professor would teach the class how to make potions - to let the mixture do all the work. He was never in control of how those potions turned out, much like how he isn't in control of his situation now.

Above him, Grindelwald groans and grunts. It’s hard to believe that he’s the one causing these sounds. Graves keeps going. He actually takes heed of Grindelwald’s advice and lets the other man plunge his cock into his mouth. Once he has him situated in his throat without trouble, Grindelwald becomes rougher – violent. One hand grips Graves’ hair and the other pinches the back of his neck, holding his head in place. He thrusts aggressively, like he can’t take Graves’ slow pace any longer.

At least it doesn’t hurt more than anything else Grindelwald’s done to him.

“Perfect,” Grindelwald breathes.

Graves just takes it. He takes being face-fucked and he hates every minute of it - the way Grindelwald's sweaty hand clenches his neck the more he thrusts, the way Grindelwald grunts. But he especially hates the fact that he's being forced to do all this. That he's being taught how to do it, like he's a child.

After a few more desperate thrusts, Grindelwald roughly pushes Graves back and comes on his face. Spurts of hot come hit his skin. Disgusting, he thinks. Grindelwald stares at him with cold eyes, panting as he holds the base of his cock.

“Lick it clean,” Grindelwald says, tapping Graves’ face with his cock.

It’s humiliating.

Graves looks up at him with deep scorn. He opens his mouth, but it takes a while for him to stop baring his teeth. Shakily, he sticks out his tongue and runs it up Grindelwald’s cock, pooling come into his mouth. He cringes at the bitterness when he has to lap at it, coat his tongue in come to clean it properly.

“Swallow.”

He kneels there with Grindelwald’s come sitting in his mouth, and he doesn’t make a move for so long that Grindelwald has to grab his jaw and force him to swallow. Hot, thick liquid seeps down his throat and he can feel it inching its way down into his stomach. He shudders.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Grindelwald asks. “Not bad for your first time, but I expect better when we do this again. And we will be doing this again, my dear.”

"Tabitha, climb down from there..." Credence called up to the little girl, holding out his hand. She jumped and he caught her, placing her down and ruffling Bobby's hair. Bobby was shy, and he tended to hide behind Credence. He had got used to the boy's presence as he went about his day.

Louise laughed, picking up Tabitha.
"Tabby, you know you aren't allowed to climb on the ceiling..."
The little girl giggled playfully, squirming in her arms.

Modesty sat in the corner with a book, reading and occasionally talking to the other children. Lucy the dog was at her feet, keeping her calm.

Credence had been working at the day care centre for almost a month now, and he had been surprised to learn that he was good at it. He knew all the children, knew their parents, and he had his wand in his pocket. He wasn't skilled. He could make small glowing balls of light but that was it. He was struggling to master even basic cleaning spells, and could no more make things float than he could have done before he had ever met Mister Graves. He had weak magic. He could fill their bedroom with spheres of brilliant light, watching up at them like stars as Mister Graves took him apart. Never enough to be acknowledged by MACUSA if not for Grindelwald’s interest in him. But now, things were simpler.

Bobby tugged at Credence's hand, and Credence followed him over to the painting table, watching as some of the little ones used paintbrushes and others patted the paper with their hands, a rainbow of colour spreading from their fingertips. Credence sat beside Bobby, watching him work and murmuring encouragement.

The door slammed open, and Credence stood. If anyone was going to attack the children, he would defend them with what little he had. He relaxed as he saw Tina standing in the doorway. She strode towards him.
"You have to get to the medical wing immediately." She paused. "Modesty, you too."

Credence startled a little at that. He had a vague idea of why she might be saying that, but the thought of it was too much for him to face. He might be wrong, and he didn't think he could stand being wrong about that.

Tina picked up Modesty, and hurried them along to the hospital wing. Mister Graves was standing beside a bed, frowning down at the figure there. Two healers stood beside him, working on the two of them. Looking up, he saw Credence and beckoned him closer.

Chastity was laying in the bed. Her face was so bruised she was barely recognisable, and she had lost a lot of weight.
"Hey..." Credence murmured to her.
"She's completely out of it..." Mister Graves answered, resting a hand on his shoulder. "But they're doing all they can."
"Where was she?"
"We found her during a raid." He swallowed. "I'm sorry we didn't find her sooner."

"Will she make it?" Credence asked, his voice trembling.
"They'll do what they can." Mister Graves repeated. Modesty looked up at her older sister, and carefully climbed into the bed, laying next to Chastity. She wasn't in the way, so Credence didn't chase her away. The three of them sat together for a while, before Mister Graves gently kissed Credence's cheek.

"I've got to go. I'll be back later, but for now I have to investigate what has happened and try to see if... if there's anything that I can do for her." Mister Graves kissed him softly and then walked away, leaving Credence sat with his sisters.

He was going to keep them safe. He wasn't alone. He had his family, and he had Mister Graves. He knew that he could trust Abernathy and Louise to care for his sisters when they were well. He just had to wait to find out what was happening. He stroked Modesty's hair, watching the healers do their job. If anyone was going to pull Chastity through, it would be them.

***

Percival made sure to take alternative shifts with Credence, so that Chastity wasn't on her own as she recovered. Modesty was back with her adoptive parents, trying to tidy the room that Chastity would be staying in.

He was there when the girl opened her eyes, and sent his patronus to the daycare. Credence came running along at top speed, arriving breathless. Percival watched as he sat beside his sister, squeezing her hand gently.

"It's okay Chas..." He whispered fondly. "It's okay. We're here."
"Modesty?"
"Modesty is safe." Credence told her, and she calmed a little.

"Good..." Chastity mumbled, and Credence nodded.
"This is Mister Graves." Credence answered. "He's my husband."
"Oh..." Chastity frowned a little.

"He's perfect." Credence answered, and Percival smiled fondly. It seemed to be enough to calm the other girl, and Percival knew that they were going to be alright. He was glad to have them in his and Credence's life.

***

Credence was calmer when he knew that Chastity was home with her sister and her adoptive parents. He was working during the day, and spent his evenings cooking as Mister Graves finished his reports. Then he would kneel by Mister Graves' feet, and let Mister Graves stroke his hair. It was calming to be there, to know that he was safe.

When they had eaten, Mister Graves would take him to bed, and prove to Credence that he was his husband. That he was Mister Graves' lover. In the morning he would wake up wrapped in a blanket that Percival had charmed to keep him warm. He would shuffle bare foot to make breakfast, and Percival would join him, kissing at his neck and pulling Credence onto his lap. They would feed each other and walk to work.

Credence thought that his life was perfect. That everything was going completely to plan, and nothing could be better. Only one evening, after they had made love, Mister Graves pulled back and kissed him again.
"Credence Graves?"
"Yes?" He frowned a little at the use of his full name.

Mister Graves reached over to the bedside cabinet and pulled out a small velvet box. He opened it up, and Credence gasped at the golden band inside.
"I know we're already married. But I'd rather like to marry you again. Properly this time."

Credence blushed, and leaned in to kiss him, nodding quickly.
"Please."
Mister Graves slipped the ring onto his finger.

WOO that was fantastic. i loved the end when grindelwald taps his face with his dick hng. a+ work author!anon

D: D: D:

I mean that in a good way.

Newt giving out some mommy kink, Newt calling himself mommy and asking his good boy to fuck him, asking for him to pound his cunt and take care of mommy. Newt is a corset, doing his make up and catching his boy peeking on him, Newt finding him masturbating to a inncoent picture of Newt and letting him explore the real thin like a mommy spoiling her boy.

Newt/Credence is the obvious but what about Newt/Percival? Anyone really.

OP here: THANK YOU x1000! Your story has taken over my brain for the last 24 days! Loved it, loved it, loved it. And ahhhh the ending is perfect <3

This is so hot, and true to their characters! The things Graves gets up to in that office...

Will you consider putting this up on ao3? There's very little Goldgraves there and your story would be a fantastic addition!

i just published it there today, actually! here's the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10057748

thank you for reading <3

Cleaned up and published on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10060637

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 110 of 142

Prompt Post #2

Fill: Broken and Kept (Part 23/24)

Re: Fill: Newt/Credence. Take the fever out of me (1/6)

Re: Fill: Newt/Credence. Take the fever out of me (1/6)

Re: Fill: Graves/Grindelwald. Trespass sweetly urged (1/1)

Fill: Newt/Credence. Take the fever out of me (2/6)

Credence is an Adult, he'd like people to remember that

AUTHOR!ANON UPDATE

Re: Original!Graves/Newt - Arranged Marriage Trope Inversion

Re: Percival Graves, buried alive

Re: Fill: Newt/Credence. Take the fever out of me (2/6)

Re: Fill: Newt/Credence. Take the fever out of me (2/6)

Newt & Theseus, fighting over who's the better Scamander brother

Fill: Never the opposite of love (1/?)

Fill: A Gilded Cage is Still A Cage (16/20)

Re: Fill: A Gilded Cage is Still A Cage (15/?)

Re: Fill: Never the opposite of love (1/?)

FILL: Graves/Grindelwald- Lessons, angst, non/dubcon, fellatio

COMPLETED Fill: Broken and Kept (Part 24/24)

Re: FILL: Graves/Grindelwald- Lessons, angst, non/dubcon, fellatio

Re: Fill: Never the opposite of love (1/?)

Mommy kink Newt, age play, crossdressing

Re: COMPLETED Fill: Broken and Kept (Part 24/24)

Re: Fill: Graves/Tina, Delicatessen (1/1)

Re: Fill: Graves/Tina, Delicatessen (1/1)

AO3 LINK: Graves/Grindelwald- Lessons, angst, non/dubcon, fellatio