Theseus is kneeling right in front of Gellert, the heady smell of the other alpha overwhelming his senses, making him cast his eyes to the ground. He doesn’t know why his master has called him here—but if he is about to get punished, he most certainly deserves it. Gellert is a strict leader but never unfair.
‘Stand up, Theseus.’ Gellert’s cold voice cuts through the room like a whip and Theseus follows his order immediately, his knees protesting from the long time on the ground. ‘Come here.’
Eyes still cast to the floor, Theseus steps forward, right up to Gellert, smelling the calmness, but also the excitement surrounding him, and he wonders what will happen. But first they go through their usual ritual, introduced to him by Gellert when he first met the man.
Gellert’s hand comes up, cupping Theseus’ neck, making a cold shiver run down his spine, when he grabs onto the soft hair, pulling him in. When their foreheads touch and they both breathe in deeply, Theseus closes his eyes, concentrating completely on the alpha holding control over him, guiding his head now down to the juncture between neck and shoulder. Gellert mimics his movement, hot breath on his throat making Theseus gulp and shudder.
‘Shh,’ Gellert whispers soothingly and exudes a calmness that makes Theseus relax immediately. He knows Gellert is far stronger than him, controlling him like only a very powerful alpha can. Theseus is an alpha himself, but he will never be able to overpower Gellert—he just knows it. But he also doesn’t want to, content with the life he is leading as the alpha’s right hand man.
All That You Need has just hit 300 kudos! I’m so excited for this milestone – this is my most popular fic by far, and I’m just so thrilled that so many people enjoyed my work!
Thank you to everyone who left comments or kudos or told me how much you liked it, and especially to the commissioner who made this story possible. It’s hard to overstate how much it means to know people enjoy my writing, and it makes me so excited to do more!
Newt is fourteen and struggles to connect, and the internet is one of the only places he can be himself. Theseus just wants what’s best for his little brother, and will do just about anything to make sure he’s all right.
But when it turns out Newt’s new internet friend Percy isn’t who he claimed to be, Theseus is faced with a desperate situation – one with Newt hanging in the balance.
Chapter: 6/6
Warnings: Non-con and underage
I am so excited about this fic, and I would absolutely love it if you checked it out! I never would have managed it without the enthusiasm and encouragement of @fantastic-beasts-smut – thank you so much ❤
The whole thing is written and I’m planning to update it weekly on Tuesdays, but I can’t wait to share it – please let me know what you think!!
Photos:
Leta Lestrange – Amandla Stenberg; Newt Scamander – Eddie Redmayne; Theseus Scamander – Ewan McGregor; Seraphina Picquery – Carmen Ejogo; Percy – Colin Farrell
Complete!
If you’ve been waiting until it’s finished to read, now is the time. 20k of predator Graves, incredible big bro Theseus, kick ass Seraphina, and of course energetic, lonely Newt. If you’re into darker fic, check it out.
Fantastic Beasts Characters + Animals | The Scamander brothers, the Goldstein sisters, the Obscurial, the Director of Magical Security, the President, and the Greater Good |
Take a shot if…
– the age difference or underage tag is present
– female bff/quirky subordinate Tina
– “Mr. Graves”
– Graves takes a drink of whiskey/ bourbon/ or any other manly hot dude drink
– Graves is just… so damn conflicted about sleeping with Credence but he does it anyway
-“oh you no majs are still doing that whole homophobia thing? How quaint.”
-based on a Halsey song
-Baby boy
-lubrication spell
Finish your drink ….
– Daddy kink
– “dead dove: do not eat”/“don’t like don’t read”
– lots of shaking and whimpering from credence cause he’s a Virgin™ y’all
-Newt is barely mentioned or not in the story at all
“You’re going to drink yourself to death one day, Mr Graves,” Tina says while Auror Percival Graves pours himself a wizarding whiskey-bourbon-manly drink, because margaritas weren’t invented until 1941 and no-maj prohibition is limiting the varieties of available alcohol in the United States. Perhaps he’s drinking moonshine.
“Send Mr Barebone in, will you Ms Goldstein?” Percival says. He’s too conflicted to pay attention or respond. He’s thinking about Credence. He’s thinking about the future. He’s thinking about…judgement.
Credence enters the room. The room is an office, or perhaps Percival’s house, or maybe an office in Percival’s house. The setting is as uncertain as the thoughts that prompted this meeting.
“You asked for me, Mr Graves?” Credence says with the soulful gaze of a twenty-one year old often regarded as much younger and more frail.
“Yes, I did,” Percival says. He’s conflicted. There are so many things, both in the no-maj world and the wizarding one that they have to talk about. Issues of culture and history. The future. “Tell me, Mr Barebone, do you ever go to the picture houses?”
“The picture houses?” Credence repeats in a wavering voice. “No, Mother wouldn’t allow it.”
“A pity. One day picture houses will be even more important than they are now. One day they’ll tell stories that will inspire thousands, millions even. People will write stories about what they see, and it will inspire even more people. People will write what they want for themselves and others – without payment or material reward.”
“How do you know that, Mr Graves?” Credence asks.
“Call me Percival,” Percival says. “And I know that because I’m a wizard, obviously, and some of us can see the future.”
“If you see the future, what–what future do I have? Do we have?”
Percival smiles at him. “A thousand possible futures, written by a thousand people. Some dedicated to music some find appealing (and others hate), some full of lust (that some condemn), some wild adventures (that some dislike), and some will hate anything others enjoy just because they believe those people enjoy it wrong. But they are not important.”
“What’s important then?” Credence asks, drawing closer.
“What’s important is that people will make what they want no matter how much others despise them or hate them for it or condemn them. People will dedicate their time to pursuits that gain them nothing but personal pride and pleasure and perhaps the entertainment of others. And we will inspire them.”
They kiss.
Meanwhile Newt is in the middle of the Atlantic on a ship sailing away from this plot because JK Rowling put him there.
B-b-but Anon, how could I resist such a lovely idea? Hot. FUCKING. DAMN.
Graves counts the days easily, because Grindelwald visits him like clockwork. Every night, after work, whiskey hot on his tongue, Grindelwald releases him in a twirl of smoke from his cigarette case prison and brings him to his knees on the plush carpet of his library. His clothes are in tatters, his wrists bound behind his back in a pair of thorny elegant cuffs, cuffs that tighten if he uses magic, poison on their tips that make him paralyze him for an hour or two when he tries. His feet are bare, his stubble is growing in, his hair is an untidy parody of the precise and meticulous look Grindelwald has stolen from him.
But for a moment, he basks in the feel of the fire place’s warmth at his back and closes his eyes – he knows what is to come. It makes the mere seconds of bliss all the more worth cherishing.
“What will it be tonight, Mr. Graves?” Grindelwald asks clinically, neither cold nor warm nor particularly entertained. He knows what Graves will choose. It is what he has chosen every night since his capture. “Pain or Pleasure?”
When Graves swallows, it clicks dry in his throat. He clenches his jaw and slowly opens his eyes to glare at his enemy.
Mercurial Tenacity 