via
http://ift.tt/2t7q2cjAhhhhh sorry I had to run off to eat dinner. ANYWAY I can’t possibly start another WIP at this point but here are some ideas??
Vampire!Newt and Auror Percival
They meet on a case when Newt is caught (because he doesn’t care whether he is or not) draining a criminal who has been targeting magical beasts for sport. He’s pretty and dangerous, a predatory gleam in his eye enhanced by the bright moon as he regards the one who dares to interrupt his exacting of justice. But he’s rather intrigued by the fearlessness and determination on this man’s face as he points his wand at Newt, ordering him to let the man go and step back.
When Newt doesn’t listen, he shoots a spell that forces him to move and the way the vampire bares his fang and licks the blood off his lips unknowingly imprints on Percival’s mind. The vampire melts into the shadows and Percival tries to secure the premises by himself, sending off a patronus to the rest of his team while he stabilizes a dying person. Suddenly, cold, cold fingers brush against his nape and twist into his hair to pull his head back. Percival bites back a yelp and tenses up, wand ready to blast away the attacker but they grab his hand, too. Another cold touch—a nose, he realizes at the sound of an inhale and small puff of air against his skin—has him shivering and gritting his teeth.
“You smell wonderful,” a smooth, accented voice purrs into his ear, and just as quickly the touch and presence are gone, leave him wary and befuddled until his team arrive.
The criminal dies.
A few days later, Percival is left behind to finish a report for a case. He pauses, looks around. Someone is here when they shouldn’t be. He doesn’t hear the footsteps but sees someone step through the doors to the department. Two someones, actually. One is that vampire he still vividly remembers from some nights ago, and dangling unconsciously from his hand, dragging across the floor is a stranger.
“Hello, Mr. Graves,” the vampire greets, almost friendly.
“This is trespassing,” Percival hisses but his angry face doesn’t match the nervousness inside because it’s never a good sign when a vampire looks for you, finds you.
“I brought you a gift,” Newt continues with a smile like he didn’t hear. “He’s the one you’ve been searching for.” He nods towards the paper in front of the man.
It’s definitely not a good sign when a vampire brings you gifts. Percival’s worries are confirmed when the next words he hears is a request to meet for coffee right after he finishes his work.
Well, it doesn’t hurt that Newt is pretty to look at.
Vampire boyfriends!Gramander
Newt is a teacher at a weekend fledgling school for vampires (what does this entail, don’t ask; probably vampire etiquette and foreign entity relations, how to behave around humans and what to do in emergency situations like going feral from hunger). Percival is school’s librarian (vampires love books and comparing histories).
They met at this school when they were fledglings themselves and are ‘high school sweethearts’. Mr. Scamander takes his breaks in the library where he will flirt with Mr. Graves, and students occasionally catch the usually stern man smiling dopily at the teacher. What professionalism, they aren’t humans, you know.
They live together with nocturnal animals in a vampire neighbourhood (human neighbours complain too much because they can’t sleep), go on dates at blood cafes, drink bloody cocktails using two straws out of a single glass. They have movie nights, watch B-rated horror movies with commentary and swear they can make a better one (spoiler: they never do). They kiss and tear into each other and Percival smears the blood from Newt’s lips across his cheek and stares adoringly as his claws sinks into his lover’s back, scratches up his spine and draws a whine of pleasure.
Two nights a week, they help the local law enforcement through a vampire charity that works with them to apprehend criminals of the supernatural variety. It’s a safe way to sate the inherent desire to hunt and are usually volunteers of the month with how well they work together. After a particularly exciting chase, high on residual adrenaline, they make love viciously and break the bed for the two-hundred eighty-seventh time.
Witch!Newt and familiar!Percival
Local neighbourhood witch!Newt who concocts potions and spells charms and trinkets to sell to the public. He smiles politely, shyly at his customers who bring him food and gifts for his good works apart from paying for his services. He also acts as the local vet because he works not only magic but magic on sick/hurt/frightened animals and they love him so and so do their owners. The neighbours want to set him up with someone, poor thing is always alone at the end of the day. From fellow witches to werewolves to zombies (and on one memorable occasion, a cursed princess), they introduce him and swear these are nice people. But Newt refuses, is fine. Really.
One day all of a sudden, there’s a black cat in Newt’s shop. They laugh and tease, tell Newt that it’s so stereotypical. Newt is good-natured about it because he knows they aren’t being mean, agrees that indeed it is.
The black cat is there everyday. They wonder if it’s a stray that has taken a liking to Newt (wouldn’t be surprised, Newt has a way with animals after all), whether it’ll leave eventually.
What they don’t know, is that it showed up that fateful night as Newt was closing his shop, fatally wounded and cursed. The moment Newt set his eyes upon it, he knew.
His familiar.
For years he was the odd one in his coven, the only one who lacked a familiar even though he reached adulthood. No one came for him like the others. And so he went travelling, moving cities every few years in hopes that he was making himself accessible.
And he picked it up and muttered healing spells, gave it potions with shaking hands and tearful eyes because they couldn’t have met now only to be torn apart by death. Then he fainted from exhaustion after doing all he could and his earnestness, love, their bond as a fated pair saved it.
Percival Graves, with dark hair and golden eyes like his cat-form, introduced himself the next morning and held the witch as he cried, pressing tender kisses into his hair.
So now, Newt smiles a little brighter, a little happier. His shop of miscellaneous magical objects glow with a positive energy and they’re even more effective than before. He follows Percival with his eyes as he roams the shop and acts perfectly as the haughty cat who makes one feel honoured to be given the privilege to pet him. He rubs himself along Newt’s legs and curls around his shoulder.
Under the moonlight through the window in Newt’s apartment above the shop, Percival-as-a-human presses the witch into bed, sucks kisses into Newt’s neck and rocks into him to make him cry out and hold on tight. Just as well, because Newt knows he will never let him go.
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