Newt x flapper!reader :: Save the Last Dance for Me
Request: newt x flapper!reader! :)
Everything sparkled. The clink of glasses, the shimmering beads of your friends shimmying their hips, the gleam of the brass on the trumpeters horn. Days, you spent as a simple shop girl, but nights, you and your girlfriends kicked up your heels through every magical speakeasy you could find. A particularly boisterous one was called The Apple’s Core. An assortment of all types of magical folk converged in the evenings, from those just looking to cut loose after the workday, to those who’d offer to hex anyone you’d like for a pretty price.
You loved how everyone seemed welcome here, even the oddest, most mysterious characters. Everyone was bonded by the same type of camaraderie–to defy the system, and hear some good music.
A couple of places had been busted lately; Piquery was starting to whip her aurors into better shape, but The Core, as everyone called it, remained a haven. Of course you’d heard all kinds of rumors, like that the sickly, jaundiced old wizard who sat in the back quietly drinking his Dragon Barrel brandy was actually a spy for Grindelwald. Your friends had quickly reassured you that if, even if, Grindelwald knew about the place, he’d likely just be on your side, as you were the ones spurning MACUSA, too.
That night, though, your ankle was feeling quite sore, so you decided to cool it on the dancing and hang around the bar for a little. You sighed and draped yourself over a barstool, accidentally bumping someone’s shoulder.
“Hey, sorry, fella,” you said with your thick New York accent.
“Quite alright,” the man replied, distinctly polite, and distinctly British.
You looked at him with fascination. His hair was long and covered his face as if he were hiding behind it, a reddish little veil. You smiled at him, and he smiled back, though looked away quickly. You hung a cigarette lightly from your rouged bottom lip. Cute guy.
“Hey,” you tried, “Wanna buy me a shot of firewhiskey?”
“Not particularly,” he responded curtly. You raised your eyebrows at him.
“I just–I’m here on business, is all.” You felt like your eyebrows were about fly off your head, they were so high.
“Two shotsa firewhiskey, over here!” you waved the bartender down.
“Really?” you turned to him, seeing right through him, “You’re in New York on business, and you just happened to stumble upon the best-hidden speakeasy in probably the whole wide world?”
“Well, not exactly. The business isn’t, er, completely legal, per say,” he looked nervous.
“Now,” you said taking a drag from your cigarette and letting the smoke rise slowly from between your lips with a wicked grin, “We’re talking.”
The bartender slammed down two old shot glasses full of an amber liquid, and muttered in a gravelly voice, “Enjoy.”
“Cheers Mister English guy,” you watched him from the corner of your eye as you both tipped back your glasses. You knew he’d be too polite to refuse a drink. Though you were used to seeing all types, somehow this guy stood out; he didn’t seem to have any darker motives or angles. He actually looked a bit… Childlike.
“My name’s Scamander. Newt Scamander.”
“Mr. Scamander. Ahh… ” you studied him for a moment, “You like dancin’, Mr. Scamander? ”
“No, not really.”
“Ya tryna cut loose then? You want another shot?”
“No, please, no thank you. I’m just, er, looking for information.”
You clapped your hands in realization, “Ohhh, so that’s why you’re here. You’re lookin’ for some black market stuff. Well, don’t worry Mr. Scamander, your secret’s safe with me.”
You could tell he wanted to protest, but continued, “I know a guy who knows a guy, if you know what I mean, Mr. Scamander.”
He looked at you and held eye contact for a bit longer, “No, I mean, thank you. I’m just trying to get…ahold of an Appaloosa Puffskein. I already have, er, connections.”
“Oh, I used to know a guy, one who bred ‘em,” you flagged down the bartender for another round of shots, “MACUSA shut ‘em down ages ago. Pretty sad actually, those things were mighty cute. Well, you’re not gonna get any help sittin’ here lookin’ like a sap.”
You both quickly swallowed another shot, though Newt looked apprehensive.
“C’mon, let’s mingle!” you said melodiously, gently tugging the sleeve of Newt’s coat. He looked at you, his blue-green eyes looking thoughtful, and your heart thumped.
“I guess it couldn’t hurt.”
You were staring at him, but caught yourself quickly, “That’s the spirit! Attaboy! Let’s go out to the dance floor!”
He rose and was taller than you expected, and also seemed to have about the same alcohol tolerance as you expected, as he swayed slightly before standing up straight.
“That stuff’s strong, ain’t it,” you said with a wink, “Bill, the bartender over there knows to give me the good stuff.”
You took his arm, and took a glass of some sort of magenta drink from a server’s tray, passing it to Newt. He swirled it a couple of times, anxiously looking into the glass, before tipping it back slowly. Immediately he broke out into the most beautiful grin you’d ever seen.
“Mr. Scamander, do you do the Charleston across the pond?”
“The– oh nevermind, I’ll show you!”
You moved to an empty spot on the dance floor and faced Newt.
“Okay, it’s easy once you’ve got the jiffy of it, now move your right foot forward and kick your heels out, then bring it back and tuck them in.”
You spent a few minutes teaching Newt the basic dance steps. He looked terribly awkward, ungraceful, and uncoordinated, but just far too charming. He looked down at his own feet the entire time, extremely self-conscious.
“It’d help if you’d put that case down for a sec.”
“No. I can’t. It’s very valuable. To me, that is, it’s very personally valuable.”
You looked at him, playfully suspicious for a moment, but took a drag of your cigarette instead of inquiring further. Newt watched in fascination as you a blew smoke out in the shape of a dragon that circled his head twice before disappearing.
“Bet they don’t teachya that over at Hogwarts, ha!”
Newt smiled again. It took some coaxing and maybe a shot or two, but getting this man to grin from ear-to-ear was a wondrous thing, indeed. You felt your heart starting to pound again.
You saw the look of terror on his face though, when the band started up the next song, and it was even faster and louder than the last.
“Hmm…c’mon, dancing might not be your thing, but,” you trailed off, leading him the dancefloor to a little table on the side.
“But what?” he asked.
“But, I think you have some skill in observation. Are you a writer or somethin’?”
“Actually,” he said, as you noticed his face flushing a little from all the drinks, “I am a sort of writer. I’m writing a book on magical creatures.”
“Ohh, an animal guy,” you cocked your head to the side in interest.
“Afraid I’m not as good as reading people, though.”
“Oh, baloney. I saw how you were watching people from the bar. I think you know a lot more about people than you think you do,” your lips curved into a smirk, “I think you just need someone to help you realize that about yourself. You’re too modest to think of yourself too highly. I know your type.”
Newt looked down at the tablecloth, fiddling with a loose thread. You looked at him sweetly, feeling like you were melting through that hard exterior, and it was extremely satisfying.
Newt looked up to the dance floor again, and you followed his gaze. Two dancers were going at it like professionals, the man picking up the lady and twirling her high overhead.
“Who are they?” he asked quietly
“Oh, that’s Molly and Marvin, Marvin’s a wizard, Molly’s a No-Maj. It’s completely illegal, and everyone knows it, but somehow here people can just…be themselves. And nobody tells. People who come here tend to be a bit more open-minded, I think. I personally believe you should be able to love anyone you want, no matter how different they happen to be,” you sighed, watching the couple laughing and smiling with each other.
Suddenly Newt was looking at you quite intently.
He shook his head quickly and looked back down at the table.
“Hey, Mr. Scamander…”
“Newt,” you corrected yourself, “Let’s join ‘em. We can dance real slow, my ankle hurts anyway, can’t do anything too crazy, and maybe talk some more. Live in the moment a little.”
“In fact, those are words I try to live by,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Well, I wanna dance, and I also wanna hear more about this book you’re writin’ and it’d be swell to spend the rest of the evening in this nutty place with you,” you put out your cigarette in the ashtray, “there’s not a single person I’d rather spend it with right now.”
Newt looked at you with an unexpected warmth, and offered his hand to you.