fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme | Prompt Post #1

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Prompt Post #1

ROUND 1

FUCK IT WE'LL FIGURE OUT SPECIFICS LATER

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So maybe this is what got him expelled from Hogwarts: Leda convinced teenage!Newt to help her woo a unicorn late at night in the forbidden forest - she said she wanted some of its hair for a spell, or something. And he was madly besotted with her, so he said yes. Only she didn't tell him all the truth - because it's actually unicorn semen she needed. And they will only approach virgins - which 15 year old Leda isn't, but 15 year old Newt emphatically is. So she has him tied bare-assed to the back of this old mossy statue of a unicorn which was designed for this purpose by some nefarious ancient wizards, with his back arched and his thighs splayed, and he's really starting to regret his life choices as the fire whiskey wears off, but she promised it was just to summon the unicorn and obviously she wasn't ACTUALLY going to let it fuck him. Only she's trailing her fingers over his goosefleshed thighs and muttering about how pretty he is, and how she should have brought a camera, and then she does some kind of lubrication spell and suddenly his asshole is all slippery, and then he hears hoofbeats...

Points if more than one unicorn shows up to fuck him - maybe a foal and a stallion.
Points if it was Newt who told Leda about the unicorns in the first place, thinking she'd just be as delighted by their existence as he was, and he's already connected with them in a nonsexy way, and he's begging the foal not to do it.
Points if Leda gets off watching it, and DOES take photos.
Points if it's Theseus who discovers his little brother getting fucked by a unicorn and saves the day.

This is everything I ever wanted

This is the kind of quality prompt I am here for, A+

(Though it begs the question: if unicorns are attracted to virgins, do you still count if you've lost your virginity to a unicorn?)

Holy fuck, yes please.

It isn't until he hears the hoofbeats that Newt really starts to worry.

Up to that point he's been torn between nervous giggling and trying to hide his embarrassing arousal - because while he agrees that this is a logical and scientific way to lure the unicorns close enough for Leta to harvest tail hairs for her experiment, he absolutely hadn't been expecting her to go so far as to tie the bindings properly, let alone loosen his waistband and yank his trousers down to his ankles. He's never been naked -even partially naked - in front of another person before, and this isn't how he'd imagined it going. Naturally, despite the proximity of the chilly stone and the extreme unsexiness of trying to harvest spell ingredients, his body can't help reacting to the sudden nakedness in the presence of another person. (Especially someone he...especially Leta.)

"I don't see why you had to tie the bindings so tight," he mutters, glad that the darkness hides his blushes and hoping she can't really see his bottom. Surely his shirt tails hide it? Mostly?Although why she thinks they need to go to this extent to lure the unicorns when he's TOLD her that he was able to attract them himself last night just by sitting quietly in the clearing...but Leta always likes to make things complicated. He doesn't know how she knew about this statue - or altar, or offering platform, or whatever you want to call it. Newt hadn't been able to understand the indentations in the stone at all when he looked at it; he'd been bemused by Leta's curl of wicked laughter, and the way she fingered the bindings.

"It's where they tied the virgins," she'd explained, her smile mysterious. "To tempt the stallions in. You didn't see a stallion before, did you?"

"Two mares and a foal," he repeated. "Leta, they're so beautiful..."

"Yes - but I need a stallion," she said, sadly. "I told you that, Newt. You promised you'd help me - you're not going to chicken out now, are you?"

His head is still swimming from the fire brandy; the stone of the unicorn statue feels very cold against his face, and against his belly and crotch and thighs. He must look thoroughly ridiculous with his pale bottom thrusting up into the air like this, thighs splayed. It isn't a comfortable position at all, and he can't move to free his arms or legs. He's never felt so thoroughly vulnerable or exposed. "This is why Theseus says you're a bad influence," he mutters, and that makes him laugh again. "The WORST influence, Leta! You always get me into trouble, damn it - but this has to be the most ridiculous thing we've ever done."

"Hmm," Leta says, dreamy and unrepentent, and then Newt jolts against his restraints when he feels her hand slide over the cool curve of one naked buttock.

"LETA!"

He isn't laughing now. He's gone still and startled, all his attention suddenly focussed on her hand cupping his bare skin. They don't do this. They don't talk about the urgent, hopeful, hopeless possibility quivering between them because Newt knows it's one-sided, knows that Leta is far too pretty to ever think of him like that, but...

"I like you like this," she says, sliding her other hand up the bare skin of his inner thigh and making him shudder in spite of himself. She cups both his buttocks, and begins to squeeze them meditatively, her thumbs rubbing circles into his skin. Newt is abruptly, urgently, fully hard. She can almost certainly see it, too. "Are you mine, Newt?"

"Yes!" He gasps, because how could he be anything else? He wants to be out of the bindings, wants to be able to turn to her, look her in the eyes, know whether she means this. He wants to KISS her.

Her finger tip brushes the tight flesh of his balls experimentally, then slides over the band of skin leading towards the tightly furled hole, and Newt makes a strangled sound of pure need.

"Leta, let me up. Please - I need..."

He's shaking now. She's running her fingers over his naked skin, stroking, scratching, teasing until he's afraid that he might come rutting helplessly against the stone unicorn. She slaps him, hard and sudden, and that is both unexpected and oddly maddening.

"Such a pretty thing, Newt," she murmurs. "You're irresistible like this. Perfect."

He isn't expecting her mouth. Newt is realising, belatedly, that he is a lot more ignorant about all this than he had realised. He's seen mating rituals between all manner of animals, and he thought that he was perfectly knowledgeable about the mechanics of reproduction, but nothing prepared him for the brush of Leta's chapped lips against his inner thigh, the warm puff of her breath, or the slick glide of her tongue writing obscenities onto his skin. He's quivering helplessly under her now, his pulse pounding in his ears and tears prickling in his eyes. He belongs to her, body and soul. He would do anything for her.

"Untie me, please? Leta, I have to...I want...PLEASE, Leta!" he gasps, shuddering against the statue as she mouths the curve of his bottom and the top of his thigh, her fingers sliding against the heated flesh of his erection.

"No need to be embarrassed, darling," she says. "I put a little something into the whiskey, to help you get...interested. It's quite potent, isn't it? Should last a while, I think..."

But it's over very quickly, and he is suddenly grateful for the statue beneath him, grateful to be able to just sprawl face-down against the stone as his heartbeat slowly returns to normal and the shattered pieces of his soul spiral back to being Newt. There's mortifying sticky wetness sliding down his inner thigh. Leta is quiet behind him; he still hasn't touched her, hasn't kissed her, hasn't seen any secret skin in the moonlight, but she has seen all his secrets laid bare....Newt is reeling, and not sure whether he's drunk on this or whether it's the fire whiskey still throbbing in his head.

"Sorry," he says eventually, feeling thoroughly embarrassed even through the languid bliss that's still buzzing through his pliant limbs.

"Ssshh," she says. "Relax, darling. That was lovely, and you need to be...relaxed."

He's trying to make sense of that when she pours something slick and warm over his bottom, something wet and greasy that slides down the crack of his arse and over his quiesscent cock, something oily that pools on the stone and runs down his thighs.

"What?" he exclaims, then almost swallows his tongue when he feels Leta's clever fingers swiping through the mess and pushing oil towards his arsehole, INTO his arsehole. Leta's fingers are inside him - two, then three, twined together and pushing urgently inside. Newt makes a shocked noise somewhere between a gasp and a grunt, trying vainly to pull away. She pushes in deeper. Surprisingly, his cock is already hardening again - is this what she meant when she said the stuff in the whiskey should last a while?

"I'm trying to help, darling," she says, and her voice is ragged and breathy as her fingers force him open, flexing and scissoring against the clenched ring of muscle. "You'll thank me later, I promise. Just...relax. You can do this, Newt. Just relax and take it like a good boy. You want to help me, don't you?"

"Leta!"

That's when he hears the hoofbeats, and a sudden suspicion begins to form, far too late, in his mind.

"Leta, what....?"

She jams her fingers in again, four now, her thumb pressing possessively down on the curve of his buttock while the rest of her hand works inside him. He's starting to feel afraid, even as his foolishly hopeful cock thickens and stiffens again.

"Untie me? Leta?"

One last, vicious shove and she pulls out of him, leaving his hole twitching and helpless, oil sliding down his thighs, and his penis stiff as the statue itself.

"You promised, Newt," she says, backing away - and, oh, God, he knows. He knows what she's done, knows what he's let her do, even though his mind is balking at it. "You said you'd do anything."

"No," he says. "No, please - Leta, you can't...I can't...not THAT! ...please, Leta?"

Silence, broken only by the terribly gentle sounds of hooves padding through the undergrowth, and the huffs of the unicorn's breath. Newt closes his eyes. His mind is a whirl of whiskey and pleasure and terror and arousal; the stone is hard against his cheek and his belly.

When he feels the hot breath of the stallion puff against his exposed skin, his whole body spams with startled dread. It lips against his shirt, curious and possessive, and, oh, Merlin, this is really happening. Newt has SEEN horses, and pegasi - he's well aware of the size and shape of their members. There's no way that he can - oh, dear heaven, surely Leta doesn't mean for him to....

"Please no?" he chokes out, as the stallion whinnies and butts at him with its nose. "Leta, I CAN'T!" The warm nose withdraws, and then Newt is shivering as the rounded tip of a horn - a horn he knows will be glowing pure and pearly white in the moonlight - scrapes along the crack of his buttocks and dips into the spasming hole between, impaling him. Newt freezes, eyes snapping open, feeling the horn entering him, its whorling grooves and ridges dragging against the hot silk of his skin. He wants to weep. This isn't how it is supposed to be. This isn't how ANYTHING is supposed to be.

This is why the altar has those stone ledges alongside the carved curves of the unicorn: Newt is strapped face down into the curve of the stone horse, offering up his splayed thighs and his vulnerable hole, and there are even convenient little steps in place for the stallion's front legs:, all the better to mount him with. All the better to fuck him with.

"But I've never..." he whispers - and of course that's the point. That's what makes him perfect. Not his kindness or his cleverness, not his smile or his sense of himour: Leta needed him because he was a virgin. And a gullible idiot.

He lets out a sob when the beast withdraws its horn, horribly gentle, then another when it scrambles up over him, its hot belly pressing against his back, sliding over his spine all clumsy power until he feels something hot and alien and impossibly huge shoving against his oil-slick arse. He doesn't want to beg, but this is going to hurt - this is going to kill him, surely? He sobs again as it shoves against him, hard and determined, its shape unfamiliar. There's no way it can possibly fit, no leverage, no way inside - but the unicorn is determined, and the oil, and the angle, and the sheer bloody power of the thing conspire, somehow, to get part of the blunt head into his shuddering hole.

"No," Newt sobs, hopelessly, thrashing against his bonds as the unicorn rams itself at him and his poor flesh is forced open. "Please - no, I can't, no, I CAN'T..." But it's edging inside somehow, and then his poor abused sphincter shivers open and around the huge head and he gives a hoarse scream as the unicorn jams its length right into him, brutal and victorious as it forces him open, and begins to snap its hips in energetic possession, owning him with thrust after thrust after impossible, punishing thrust.

Newt is reduced to choking, frantic sobs as the hot column of flesh pounds into him, remaking him with every vicious thrust. He arches his back, squirming in a desperate, hopeless attempt to escape, and in so doing he changes the angle of the unicorn's thrusting so that its massive cock somehow slams into something he didn't know existed, something that sets every nerve in his body alight in an entirely different way, and makes him cry out in astonished, helpless pleasure.

He is beyond words, beyond even asking 'what?'; he keeps his back arched at this angle and starts to squirm, riding the thrusts as best he can and letting shocking waves of pleasure slam through him along with the pain. He comes harder than he has ever come in his life between one deep thrust and the next, and for a dizzying moment he almost passes out.

But the unicorn doesn't slow down, and as it pounds into his pliant body Newt feels his own penis starting to harden again, helped along by whatever wretched potion Leta had laced the whiskey with. He grinds his poor sore erection dazedly against the mossy haunch of the statue, against the oil and the splattered seed, and pushes back into the stallion's thrusts. He doesn't know who he is any more, or what he thinks; he knows only that he has found a way of enduring this, and that he belongs to the unicorn, and that he is no longer sure whether he wants it to stop.

"Here they are."

"Leta? I knew you'd be responsible - where is he? Where's..."

Newt knows that voice, but at this moment he cannot place it, or remember anything very clearly; his whole being is just this rolling snap of the unicorn's haunches slamming its massive cock deep into him, triggering wave after wave of excruciating sensation and owning him utterly. His mind is a dazed blank. There is no before or after.

"Fucking hell, what...??"

One final, punishing slam and hot liquid is gushing into him, deep and final, owning him, completing this strange, unwelcome bargain. There are hands scrabbling at him, fingers tugging at his bonds and a familiar voice, high with shock and outrage, but Newt is stupid with sensation, boneless and helpless and pliant; Newt is a stretched and shivering vessel trapped beneath a heavy body that owns him, pinioned by a massive cock, hot seed spilling out around its heavy length to pour down his aching thighs.

A dizzying, confused moment of fumbling withdrawal, the foreign pulse throbbing inside him sliding out inch by hot inch and the soft furred belly sliding away down his spine, and then Newt's hole is gaping in the cool night air, and the unicorn's seed is spilling out and away.

He lies there, shocky and uncertain, feeling his body adjusting itself to the absence and paying vague attention to the babble of sound and the brush of careful hands skating over his skin.

"He was willing!" somebody is saying. "He said yes, and look - he enjoyed it. He's still enjoying it."

"Newt? Newt, look at me."

He's standing on the grass now; it feels like a lifetime since he last stood upright. Everything aches. Everything throbs. Something hot and wet is pouring out of him, sliding down his thighs and soaking his trousers where they bunch around his ankles. His hole is stretched-out, twitching, sending shockwaves of sensation through him like the aftermath of an earthquake. His penis is hard again, slapping his stomach; he fumbles at it with shaky hands.

"This is an outrage, Headmaster," somebody is saying, nearby, but somebody else is tugging Newt's trousers up and murmuring words of comfort and apology. Theseus. Of course it's Theseus, always looking out for him.

Newt shakes his head like a dog coming out of water, trying to pull his thoughts together; he almost falls over, but somebody - Theseus - is holding him up.

"This is the final straw, Mr Scamander. This is an abomination. Expulsion, Headmaster - nothing less, for both of them - and if you ask me we should report them to the Ministry..."

"They're under age. I hardly think..."

"All the worse! If they can do something like this at barely sixteen, then what..."

Newt catches sight of Leta, scowling in Filch's grip. Of course, yes - she was here, wasn't she? His erection twitches hopefully in his pants, but he ignores it as he tries to pull himself together. This isn't like him. His thoughts are like dandelion seeds scattered by the breeze.

"What's wrong with him? Newt? Newt!"

"He's FINE, snaps Leta. "I just put a little something in the whiskey to loosen him up. I wasn't trying to hurt him - I was just trying to collect the seed, and this was the obvious way." She stares at him assessingly, then shrugs. "Well - and it might be the, ah, intimacy too. Unicorns have a lot of raw magic, and there isn't much research available on the immediate effect of..."

Theseus slaps her, and Newt starts forward.

"Don't," he says. Leta's expression shifts, becomes unreadable. "It's my fault. Don't hurt her."

"You see? He's fine. He enjoyed it. The unicorn enjoyed it. Everything's alright."

"That remains to be seen." Newt feels like he's swimming throughh honey; he turns, sluggish and stupid, and finds the Headmaster fixing him with an expression of mixed pity and revulsion. "There are indeed records of wizards offering themselves as willing sacrifices for practices such as this, but quite aside from matters of morality, legality and medical adviseability, the side effects...well. I suspect that Scamander the Younger will find himself rather popular with magical creatures from now on. Although one hopes not quite THIS popular."

Newt is coming back to himself slowly; at this, though, his sphincter spasms a little with remembered pleasure/pain. He knows, with a quiet, hopeless certainty, that he would definitely do this again, given the chance.

Oh, Newt. How could you still defend her after this?

I'm not the OP, but thanks for writing!

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Prompt Post #1

Newt/Unicorn loss of virginity

Re: Newt/Unicorn loss of virginity

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