fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme | Prompt Post #1

graves is chasing a major lead on a big case and has to stay at MACUSA HQ for 2-3 days. he knows he's needed at MACUSA, but he's reluctant to leave newt, seeing as his mate's nearing his heat.

newt reasons that his heat won't hit for a week and graves will probably be home by then, but graves makes him promise that if anything comes up, newt'll call for him. appeased, graves finally leaves.

newt receives word that the case will take maybe a day longer, which would have been fine if his heat didn't hit earlier than expected. newt hates having to spend his heat alone now that he has an alpha, but he doesn't call his mate either.

so when graves comes home at the peak of newt's heat, he's super surprised at the state the omega's in. intense fucking ensues.

tl;dr newt's heat hit while graves was away at work and he's super desperate and absolutely gagging for it when graves comes home

(bonus points if newt builds a nest for comfort and its made mostly of graves's clothes ESPECIALLY HIS GORGEOUS COAT)

seconded

I need this.

OMG please someone please fill this one. I am so excited even reading the prompt xD

Bookmarking this. I AM WEAK.

(so, this is a short beginning but it's happening and i'm not sure why because hahahahahahaha i have no free time and also i'm lazy but gramander calls to me so i thought i'd start and maybe encourage myself to actually do things. also newt is a little shit oops)

*

“Percival,” Newt sighs, a bit of frustration sneaking into his tone, “it will be fine; my heat isn’t due for another week, at least.”

Percival grits his teeth and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, hoping to stave off one of the headaches he so often develops when Newt is in a mood - which, coincidentally, normally only happens when the Omega’s heat is near. “Newt,” he tries again, keeping his voice as even as possible. “Newt, my Aurors can take care of this case; I’m staying here.”

Newt, with eyes bright and that little dent between his eyebrows that always means some sort of chewing out for one Percival Augustus Graves, counters. “Wizards are attacking Muggles, Percival, risking the magical world.” Ha. As if the man who carries around with him a mid-size suitcase with a faulty lock filled with questionably dangerous and unquestionably illegal magical creatures who occasionally escape into the No-Maj world has a care for the Statute of Secrecy; but Percival does, both his job and his healthy wariness of the No-Maj reaction to their world forcing him to listen to his mate’s words. “You are the most experienced Auror in the Department, Percival, and the only one who has been on this case from the beginning, aside from Tina.” Here, Newt steps forward, expression soft now and Graves knows that the next words out of his Omega’s mouth are going to be meant to make him give in, but he won’t because-

“I’d like you to be there, for Tina. I…” Newt swallows and his eyes flick upward to meet Graves’ for a short moment, a sheen of moisture making Percival’s throat tighten. “I don’t know what I would do if something were to happen to her because you were here with me, Alpha.”

Oh.

He’s good.

The little shit.

“Miss Goldstein is a very well-trained Auror.” He’s at least not going to let Newt know that the mere threat of his tears would have Graves do anything in his not-inconsiderable power to make the younger wizard smile again.

He has his pride, for goodness sake.

Sensing weakness, Newt steps even closer, tilting his head and allowing his Mating Bite to be seen, Percival’s eyes immediately drawn to it, his nostrils flaring at the overwhelming burst of their combined scents. After a few moments, the slightly shorter wizard presses his forehead to Percival’s collarbone, his long arms rising to wrap around the Alpha’s waist while Graves allows himself to give in and circle Newt in his own arms.

“Please, Percival,” whispers Newt, tucking his face between Graves’ neck and shoulder, at his own Mating Bite. “I would feel much better if you were there – not that Tina isn’t perfectly capable, of course, because I very well know that she is, but I simply... I would feel much better knowing that there will be fewer casualties with you there.” His hot breath brushes over the Bond Scars, sending a shiver down Percival’s spine.

Unfair.

*

Edited 2016-12-11 04:52 (UTC)

This needs to continue. Yes. Clearly. Please.

I NEED MOAR

oh. please continue? this is lovely.

haha, um... sorry this took so long. i'm not great at time management and. well. yeah.

A few notes: This ABO is what is generally expected, tbh. Alpha/Omega Mate Pairs, though, when the Omega goes into its heat (around three times a year, once every four months), if the Alpha and Omega are away from each other, the Alpha experiences physical pains, much like the Omega does when needing his or her Alpha during their heat, often manifesting in the form of a simple headache to begin with. Prolonged separation when the Omega’s heat is happening, though, will lead to extraneous reactions, including the inability to be near another Omega without a feeling of severe nausea*.

*Percival has knowledge of this information, of course (they all learn this in school, it’s basic knowledge), but he and Newt have always meticulously planned their time around Newt’s heats, them having always been so regular, so he has always been near Newt through every bit of his heats, thus experiencing none of the symptoms of distance.

*

With a firm promise from Newt to send word immediately if his heat began earlier than expected or any sort of trouble arose, Percival Augustus Graves reluctantly went to work, tossing a slew of commands at his Department, sending out his Aurors to the place of the last-known sighting of the gang of rogue wizards. The No-Maj humans that had been attacked were distraught, their minds in near-shambles, and were all carefully questioned, sent to St. John’s No-Maj Containment Wing to be healed and Obliviated, and returned to their lives, now blissfully unaware of the world alongside theirs and the torture they’d endured at its hand.

It took three days for Graves and his Department to track down and arrest the group of seven – five wizards and two witches. Aurors Bilston and Moltrip both suffered hits from some pretty nasty curses, requiring a night’s stay at St. John’s, despite their adamant protests. Tina had been hit with a Suffocation Curse but, thankfully, one of his seasoned Aurors, Ademinia Nestrom, had been close when it was cast and quickly reacted with the Counter-Curse, so all was well with his people.

Unfortunately, big cases require rather large stacks of paperwork and reports – large enough to require at least one more night at MACUSA, all required immediately by President Piquery and the Office for No-Maj Incidents and Catastrophes.

With still no word from Newt, Percival sends a quickly jotted note of his own – all captured; reports tonight, home tomorrow – and sits at his desk, spelled pens and quills and stamps signing and scratching and stamping their way through one immense stack, while he carefully reads through the No-Maj Interrogation Reports, making certain there is nothing his Department might have missed.

*

The paperwork is done – signed, sealed, and delivered to the respective recipients – and Graves is in serious need of his Mate, a massage, and a bed (the order of which may be varied or combined, if need be). He’s been too long without his Mate’s comforting scent, the sharp and unrelenting throb just behind his eyes an obvious sign (it has been growing since last night, the miniscule font on the reports not helping it in any shape or form). Newt, Percival realizes belatedly, had not sent a reply to his message from the night before; really, though, this isn’t a strange occurrence, given his Mate’s habit of losing himself in that case of his, mothering his creatures.

The brief walk and elevator ride to the main floor seems to take an eternity, the growing pain in his head seeming to pound even more insistently as he is surrounded by others in the small space, a single Omega next to him; as the gate closes and they begin their descent, her scent (not mate not mate notmatenotmatenotmate) hits him and immediately puts him on edge, his stomach rolling. The second they still and the gates open, Percival is out, the group separating easily for him; the nausea quells for but a moment until the scents of multiple Omegas hit him (notmatenotmatenotmate), the bagel his secretary had forced him to scarf down this morning attempting to force its own return to the outside world. The crowd parts for him when he growls, allowing him to safely and quickly move through the invisible boundary preventing Apparition and he vanishes with a crack.

By some miracle, even though his mind is in no way focused on anything other than mate mate mate he manages not to Splinch himself, landing safely in the alleyway beside his building. Almost immediately, the rolling in his stomach is gone and the pounding behind his eyes is lessened to a vague discomfort, as if getting away from MACUSA was the simplest remedy, all along.

Forcing himself to step calmly, one foot after the other, Graves makes his way up the steps and presses his key into the lock, his headache disappearing and a shock of relief flooding him the moment he steps through the doorway.

Then, the scent hits him.

It’s overwhelming, delicious and tempting and everything about it screaming MATEMATEMATE, and he is angry for a fleeting second, the sudden knowledge of Newt not keeping his word, of letting himself suffer alone in his heat, hitting him hard, but he forgets all of it the moment he steps out of the foyer.

Everything soft in their home is gathered on the floor of their living room: blankets, pillows, sheets, couch cushions, towels – Percival even spies a few of his shirts in the clustered nest.

There, in the very center, curled up into the smallest possible ball he can manage, is Newt (mate mate matematemate), wrapped in nothing but Percival’s coat, the material bunched in the places where it normally stretches firmly over Graves’ broader form, the hem of it draped just below the swell of the curve of his ass and – Merlin – Percival can see a glisten of slick trickling from between his legs, down the back of one smooth thigh onto the fluffy towel beneath him where a sizeable wet spot was already forming.

Percival is already breathing hard, that familiar curl of heat unfurling in his belly when Newt turns his head, copper-tinted curls sweaty and falling in front of one eye, his pouty lips parting as he breathes out one desperate word.

“Percival.”

*

Edited 2016-12-23 16:48 (UTC)

Well damn. Merry Christmas to me, it seems. Glad this is still happening; don't fret about the pace - I don't mind waiting. Looking forward to part 3!

Keep going, this is great!

HI OP HERE I'VE TOTALLY FORGOTTEN ABOUT THIS PROMPT BUT I'M GLAD I LOOKED FOR IT AGAIN

PLEASE CONTINUE THIS HOLY FUCKIGNG SHIT

Prompt Post #1

original!graves/newt, ABO dynamics

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