Newt Scamander x Reader One Shots

It's a Hard Life Part 1

The smoke from your cigarette burned your eyes as you took a puff, a black cloud releasing into the air. You breathed in deeply, relishing the scent. You chuckled and flicked the ash off the end of the cigarette, lazily pushing off from the brick wall.

It was shady in the dead-ended alleyway where you and your friends sat. A clear layer of grit and grime covered every available surface, but you didn't mind. You were unsentimental and unsympathetic (as your friends liked to say) and a bit of dirt didn't bother you. Neither did the trash, nor the sickly tabby cats that begged for food. You'd kick them away with nothing but a cruel snarl. Cruel was your favorite word, because it was the perfect word to describe you.

You were the leader of the toughest gang in New York City, Di Vice. It was Italian for vice and whoever had chosen the name had chosen well. You'd fought your way to the top of Di Vice's food chain through years of robberies, muggings, gang fights and general upheaval. Under your rule, Di Vice had become the dominant crew of all Manhattan. You were proud to be the most wanted person in Manhatten by no-maj law enforcement, and MACUSA.

It was true, most of the members of Di Vice were magical folk. But some were no-maj's, some were squibs, and some were unnatural breeds that had been cast out by society. You were determined to let anyone who was stupid enough join and fight in your gang. After all, you'd been an outcast yourself once before, so why should you shun any outsiders who wanted a home, even if that home happened to be a bunch of criminals?

You stuck the end of your cigarette in the plaster between the faded bricks of the building next to you, letting the dying embers fizzle out.

"Eh, Switchblade, you see that fella out on 'e street earlier?" One of the other gang members, Jack Huck, snickered to you. You all called him Huck. You were named Switchblade, for the knife you always carried and because you'd killed the previous leader of Di Vice with that same switchblade.

"Yeah, what's it to ya?" You said back cooly.

"I think 'e 'ad his eye on ya, boss," he giggled.

"Say that again and I'll slit your throat, Huck," you snarled. "Ain't nobody gettin' in my life,"

"If ya say so," Huck shrugged with a gap tooth smile. He took a puff of his cigarette, waving the greyish smoke away from his face. He had greasy black hair, red zits all over his oily skin, and a smile that was missing multiple teeth. You didn't know why you kept him around. Maybe it was because he was ruthless, and a damn good fighter.

Your gang was categorized in tiers. The people that you hung out with were your inner circle, the most influential and powerful people in the gang. You and your inner circle controlled everyone and anything in the city or in your gang. Next came the second tier, the middle circle, the members who controlled individual parts of the city. Last came the outer circle, people who were like foot soldiers, doing your bidding at the snap of you fingers. It was kind of like an army; you were the leader, your entourage were the generals, the second circle were the squadron leaders, and the third circle were the soldiers.

"Not after what that boy Newt did to ya," a girl teased. Celine Grover, her name was. She was a good friend of yours. You'd picked her up after her parents abandoned her in New York, not long after you'd been abandoned there yourself. You liked her and her rough personality, but sometimes she didn't know when to quit.

"Shut up," you muttered, your face turning red. "We don't talk 'bout that. And who're you to tease me... wasn't it just last month that daddy's boy Charles just 'bout left you for dead?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Fair point," she mumbled.

You swaggered out of the shadows, swaying your hips lazily. You brushed your hair back with your hand and closed your eyes against the sunlight. You adjusted the strap of your ratty white tank top (stained grey and brown from years of life on the streets) and re-tied the brown leather jacket you wore around your waist. Your baggy ripped-up grey jeans kept you warm from the lazy breeze that meandered throughout the street.

"Let's roll," you called back to your friends waiting on crates. They instantly sprang up, dusting off their beat-up clothes and matting down their hair. They shoved each other playfully, shouting obscenities and embodying the chaotic gang you were proud to lead.

You waited for the gang to flock around you, like chicks going to their mother, before you continued out on the street. There were only about 10 of you in total, but people crossed the street to ignore you, and children cried when you passed. You almost wanted to laugh at how powerful your reputation had become.

You stopped in front of a quaint little bakery. Leaning over to peer lazily through the glass window of the bakery, you snickered at the elaborate creations sitting on display. The baker had created bread and pastries in shapes akin to rhinoceros' and beavers, strange, fantastical creatures that were the product of a dreamer- or a crazy.

"Maybe we should go in 'an buy a few a those. Give that crazy head a piece of our mind," Huck grinned with an evil gleam in his eye, reflecting your inner thoughts.

"Slow down, Jackie," you used Huck's first name. Your voice was like butter on ice as you continued, "Can't go around causing chaos, can we? This is New York!" The hoodlums around you chuckled at the ironic sentence.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a shaky voice piped up. Ten pairs of eyes turned and set their icy gazes on a young woman no older than 25. She had a defiant (yet scared) expression on her pale face, and her black eyes drifted from hoodlum to hoodlum. She blew a piece of dark brown hair from her face and held her chin up high.

"Why does it matter to ya, huh?" Huck spat. You held up a hand.

"MACUSA," she stated. She fumbled with something in her pocket and pulled out a badge from the Magical Congress of the United States.

You looked lazily at the people around you before settling your hard eyes on the woman before you. You sauntered slowly over to her, the small crowd of hoods parting in your wake.

You stopped in front of the woman, ignoring the fact that she was a half inch taller than you. You bent down teasingly and studied her badge with a smirk.

"Tina Goldstein," you straightened your spine. "Auror for our favorite magical law enforcement."

"That's right. And if you think you can-"

"Relax, Miss Goldstein," you took her arm forcefully, the gang closing around you like a pack of vultures.

"I think it's time we had a little chat."

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I know this doesn't have a prompt but whatever

Guys I have my math midterm in ten minutes and IM FREAKING OUT I DIDNT STUDY

Wish me luck I'm going to fail

Update: that midterm was easy af and kinda boring

Note: Di Vice is pronounced dee-veecee

Don't forget to vote and comment!! Or you'll fail ur midterms