Part two will have some seriously emotionally manipulative Grindelwald/Newt non-con. (I'm more interested in building up potential for more whump Newt than the actual Graves/Newt ship)
It’s been so long since I’ve written anything and I've never posted here before, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about this. So sorry if I mess something up while posting this. Please let me know if it's worth continuing!
------- Newt met Percival Graves at a Christmas party. It was a particularly strange mix of powerful people, including the accomplished Auror Graves and his War Hero of a brother Theseus who had insisted he come. Ever courageous and commanding in the ways Newt was not, Theseus later insisted the three of them visit a restaurant together. Theseus conveniently was unable to make it last minute. When Newt got carried away discussing the magical creature many muggles mistook for a 'Santa' instead of becoming annoyed, Percival listened with a charmed smile. It made Newt buzz with content, and fluster pleasantly when asked to continue their exchange via letters.
Both were exceptionally busy people who often traveled. This made for a relationship built primary on letters which Newt couldn’t be more grateful for. He’s a nurturer, a lover, a romantic in his soul, but something about the physical part of intimacy that everyone seemed to take to so naturally had always made him panic.
They had been together for nearly an entire blissful year before Newt finally had to come clean. They were both in France for business, but had time to linger. It was convenient, perfect, fate – the much more gratuitously romantic parts than usual of Percival’s letter said so. They would get a room at a fancy hotel and Percival would as he put it '. . .finally be able to touch you in all the ways I’ve dreamed. I want to make you feel so good. . .' Newt didn’t register how bad his hand was trembling reading the letter until he heard the rattling of the paper in his hand and Pickett’s frantic cooing.
Guilt washed over him. He had tried so hard to steer clear of the subject for so long, telling himself it simply wasn’t necessary. But suddenly he realized with horror he had essentially been lying. It was incredibly unfair to Percival. He should have never fallen in love.
When he opened the hotel room door and saw the happiness on his face he simply couldn’t do it. Not immediately.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Percival says with passion he never allows others to hear as he wraps Newt in an embrace and casual kiss that lasts only a half second too long for comfort.
“Me too” He says breathlessly despite himself.
Newt tries to ease the evening’s activities elsewhere. His half-hearted efforts fail however and they still wind up on the luxurious sofa with Percival hovering above him. He knows it’s dangerous, but he’s going to try. He’s never truly tried to just stick it out in the past. He’s never let anyone this close, never loved anyone enough to try. He’s never been so afraid of feeling loneliness again that not even his beasts can fend off.
So far the way Percival is embracing him is not too invasive. His arms are around him but his hands aren't straying downward. Newt tells himself it’s much like a normal hug, only in a new position. He tells himself this about the kisses too, which so far Newt seems to have kept at bay as very slow soft closed mouth touches. He wishes instead of this they could be having the conversations like they have in their letters. Maybe if he focuses on their happy exchanges in the past he could get through this.
But then he feels it. Something unmistakably large and hard is pressing down into him against the inner thigh of his trousers maneuvering upward into his own soft groin. He doesn’t want to think about what that thing is exactly or more specifically why it’s hard and why it’s on him.
Newt whimpers into the kiss and his hands clutch the back of Percival’s shirt so tightly his knuckles turn white. Percival can feel the scratch of Newt’s nails and drinks in his whimper, both of which he takes as signs of encouragement. Even the tremble feels like a symptom of arousal in Percival's excited state. After all, he’s trembling too with nerves, raw energy, and lust. Newt was about to turn from the kiss and tap out when Percival passionately deepening the kiss, easily working his tongue past gasping lips and grinds Newt into the cushions with his hard length indulgently.
Newt is breathing quickly and shallowly through his nose. He's briefly shocked frozen. He feels like he’s not getting any oxygen and he’s dimly aware he’s beginning to hyperventilate. Although Percival is between his legs and has him rather thoroughly pinned with his embrace, Newt thrashes all limbs to the side of the couch towards freedom.
Percival gets the message rather quickly after that. He lifts his body swiftly, fear in his eyes. Newt immediately hangs half way off the couch and so Percival quickly untangles their limbs so that Newt can successfully bring his body fully to the floor.
The fear is so pronounced now that he’s barely fending off to urge to vomit.
Percival stares helplessly at Newt hyperventilating on the ground, too afraid of getting close, “Newt…? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? God I’m so sorry”
If he weren’t on the verge of tears before it was the devastation in Percival’s apology that did it. How could he let it get this far? And now tears are dripping, his nose and cheeks reddening, and still can’t get his breathing under control, “N-no, it’s….ah….my fault, m-my fault.”
Moments pass and Newt is grateful Percival is allowing him silence and time to get his breathing and his hindered sobs under control. He’s more embarrassed than he’s ever been in his life. On his hands and knees he stares pointedly at the carpet until he calms down enough to face his lover.
Unsure what to do while waiting, Percival awkwardly offers “Want me to make you some tea?” he’s not much for the stuff but he knows the kind that Newt likes. Newt nods.
When Percival returns, Newt is sitting stiffly on the sofa with his coat back on and his arms lightly wrapped around his middle. The Bowtruckle is softly chirping at him. When it sees Percival it sinks away to where it cannot be seen as it pointedly glares and growls at him. Newt mutters what sounds like a scold to it. Percival still feels like a monster.
Percival sits next to him at a distance. Newt won’t look at him even when he hands him the tea. He cradles the cup and the warmth seems to calm the lingering shake of his hands.
“There’s something I should have told you a long time ago” Newt says to the tea cup.
“I want you to be able to tell me anything, Newt” Percival says carefully. Newt looks to him for a moment guiltily.
“I am not….a sexual creature.” Newt mumbles. “I don’t know how to even begin explaining why. I have always simply been rather pathetically terrified at the prospect. It’s not you, please know I love you.” His reddened eyes begin to water again, “I understand that this isn’t what people want or expect in a love interest. I am sorry for wasting your time, Percival.”
Percival’s breath hitches, “Newt. You could never waste my time. It’s alright that you feel this way. It doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”
Newt faces him with such genuine surprise and joy that it breaks his heart a little. They spend the rest of the night simply holding hands while having conversations much like their letters, only phenomenally better.
Fill 1/?
It’s been so long since I’ve written anything and I've never posted here before, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about this. So sorry if I mess something up while posting this. Please let me know if it's worth continuing!
-------
Newt met Percival Graves at a Christmas party. It was a particularly strange mix of powerful people, including the accomplished Auror Graves and his War Hero of a brother Theseus who had insisted he come. Ever courageous and commanding in the ways Newt was not, Theseus later insisted the three of them visit a restaurant together. Theseus conveniently was unable to make it last minute. When Newt got carried away discussing the magical creature many muggles mistook for a 'Santa' instead of becoming annoyed, Percival listened with a charmed smile. It made Newt buzz with content, and fluster pleasantly when asked to continue their exchange via letters.
Both were exceptionally busy people who often traveled. This made for a relationship built primary on letters which Newt couldn’t be more grateful for. He’s a nurturer, a lover, a romantic in his soul, but something about the physical part of intimacy that everyone seemed to take to so naturally had always made him panic.
They had been together for nearly an entire blissful year before Newt finally had to come clean. They were both in France for business, but had time to linger. It was convenient, perfect, fate – the much more gratuitously romantic parts than usual of Percival’s letter said so. They would get a room at a fancy hotel and Percival would as he put it '. . .finally be able to touch you in all the ways I’ve dreamed. I want to make you feel so good. . .' Newt didn’t register how bad his hand was trembling reading the letter until he heard the rattling of the paper in his hand and Pickett’s frantic cooing.
Guilt washed over him. He had tried so hard to steer clear of the subject for so long, telling himself it simply wasn’t necessary. But suddenly he realized with horror he had essentially been lying. It was incredibly unfair to Percival. He should have never fallen in love.
When he opened the hotel room door and saw the happiness on his face he simply couldn’t do it. Not immediately.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Percival says with passion he never allows others to hear as he wraps Newt in an embrace and casual kiss that lasts only a half second too long for comfort.
“Me too” He says breathlessly despite himself.
Newt tries to ease the evening’s activities elsewhere. His half-hearted efforts fail however and they still wind up on the luxurious sofa with Percival hovering above him. He knows it’s dangerous, but he’s going to try. He’s never truly tried to just stick it out in the past. He’s never let anyone this close, never loved anyone enough to try. He’s never been so afraid of feeling loneliness again that not even his beasts can fend off.
So far the way Percival is embracing him is not too invasive. His arms are around him but his hands aren't straying downward. Newt tells himself it’s much like a normal hug, only in a new position. He tells himself this about the kisses too, which so far Newt seems to have kept at bay as very slow soft closed mouth touches. He wishes instead of this they could be having the conversations like they have in their letters. Maybe if he focuses on their happy exchanges in the past he could get through this.
But then he feels it. Something unmistakably large and hard is pressing down into him against the inner thigh of his trousers maneuvering upward into his own soft groin. He doesn’t want to think about what that thing is exactly or more specifically why it’s hard and why it’s on him.
Newt whimpers into the kiss and his hands clutch the back of Percival’s shirt so tightly his knuckles turn white. Percival can feel the scratch of Newt’s nails and drinks in his whimper, both of which he takes as signs of encouragement. Even the tremble feels like a symptom of arousal in Percival's excited state. After all, he’s trembling too with nerves, raw energy, and lust. Newt was about to turn from the kiss and tap out when Percival passionately deepening the kiss, easily working his tongue past gasping lips and grinds Newt into the cushions with his hard length indulgently.
Newt is breathing quickly and shallowly through his nose. He's briefly shocked frozen. He feels like he’s not getting any oxygen and he’s dimly aware he’s beginning to hyperventilate. Although Percival is between his legs and has him rather thoroughly pinned with his embrace, Newt thrashes all limbs to the side of the couch towards freedom.
Percival gets the message rather quickly after that. He lifts his body swiftly, fear in his eyes. Newt immediately hangs half way off the couch and so Percival quickly untangles their limbs so that Newt can successfully bring his body fully to the floor.
The fear is so pronounced now that he’s barely fending off to urge to vomit.
Percival stares helplessly at Newt hyperventilating on the ground, too afraid of getting close, “Newt…? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? God I’m so sorry”
If he weren’t on the verge of tears before it was the devastation in Percival’s apology that did it. How could he let it get this far? And now tears are dripping, his nose and cheeks reddening, and still can’t get his breathing under control, “N-no, it’s….ah….my fault, m-my fault.”
Moments pass and Newt is grateful Percival is allowing him silence and time to get his breathing and his hindered sobs under control. He’s more embarrassed than he’s ever been in his life. On his hands and knees he stares pointedly at the carpet until he calms down enough to face his lover.
Unsure what to do while waiting, Percival awkwardly offers “Want me to make you some tea?” he’s not much for the stuff but he knows the kind that Newt likes. Newt nods.
When Percival returns, Newt is sitting stiffly on the sofa with his coat back on and his arms lightly wrapped around his middle. The Bowtruckle is softly chirping at him. When it sees Percival it sinks away to where it cannot be seen as it pointedly glares and growls at him. Newt mutters what sounds like a scold to it. Percival still feels like a monster.
Percival sits next to him at a distance. Newt won’t look at him even when he hands him the tea. He cradles the cup and the warmth seems to calm the lingering shake of his hands.
“There’s something I should have told you a long time ago” Newt says to the tea cup.
“I want you to be able to tell me anything, Newt” Percival says carefully. Newt looks to him for a moment guiltily.
“I am not….a sexual creature.” Newt mumbles. “I don’t know how to even begin explaining why. I have always simply been rather pathetically terrified at the prospect. It’s not you, please know I love you.” His reddened eyes begin to water again, “I understand that this isn’t what people want or expect in a love interest. I am sorry for wasting your time, Percival.”
Percival’s breath hitches, “Newt. You could never waste my time. It’s alright that you feel this way. It doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”
Newt faces him with such genuine surprise and joy that it breaks his heart a little. They spend the rest of the night simply holding hands while having conversations much like their letters, only phenomenally better.