Warning: eventual smut! This was originally posted on March 23rd, 2017 and is being uploaded here for the sake of my own ego.
Also, there's some interspecies romance included herein (as in, Newt's a demon and Tina's nominally human) so if that isn't your thing...back away now. ;)
Tina Goldstein did not intend to summon a demon. It was just...one of those days.
Things had started off on the wrong foot when her battered brass alarm clock failed to ring, causing her to be inexcusably late to work. The day steadily progressed downhill from there: a failed attempt at a simple Invocation at the office, followed by her preferred hot dog vendor being closed for a health inspection at lunch. After that came a reprimand for something she hadn't done, and a stern telling off from her most respected boss. And finally, the straw that had broken the camel's back: her beautiful, radiant sister unabashedly announcing her engagement to a man whose only magic lay in the oven—all to the delight of those around her.
Tina is happy for Queenie. Honestly. She just doesn't know how to show it without dissolving into hysterical tears.
She slinks home bitterly at the end of the day to knock back a few shots of Buchanan's, followed by a few more. Once things are sufficient fuzzy and she feels like she has some tenuous control over her volatile emotions, she sets about doing the only thing that makes sense in her alcohol-soaked brain: she draws a circle of protection, lights her preferred candles, and intones an admittedly risky spell designed to reveal the person with whom she will hopefully, someday, maybe share her life.
Of course, because it has been one of those days, it all goes a bit pear-shaped.
The first indication that things aren't quite right is when her protective circle began to glow the color of banked ashes. She stares in soggy confusion, drunkenly enraptured. The second is when all the lights in the room flicker and go out in declamatory fashion. The scent of brimstone and sulfur fills her nostrils as she looks around in alarm until one of the painstakingly inked runes covering her arm begins to tingle.
She looks down at it curiously. Imbued with her own not-insignificant magic, she had permanently inked it into her skin at a young age, when she first became interested in pursuing a career in magical law enforcement. Now the sigul, designed to warn against rogue demons, is buzzing—not burning, as it should be, but tingling in an almost anticipatory manner. She traces it with her opposite hand and hisses when a vibration works through her. Confused and intrigued, she raises her fingers to stare at them, momentary darkness and odd scent quite forgotten—until a soft, accented voice speaks up behind her.
"Um. Excuse me."
Shocked into instant sobriety, Tina whirls around with her hand raised and a defensive spell poised on her lips, only for her jaw to unhinge at the sight before her. A man stands where there were none moments before, seeming perfectly human in most aspects—except for the tiny, dark horns protruding from his forehead, just below his hair. The same for his pointier-than-they-should-be teeth, which are revealed when he flashes a nervous smile. Then there are his hands, which are mostly normal...if you discount the fact that they're tipped with odd black fingernails that somehow resemble hooves.
Also, he's without the benefit of clothes—and Tina's eyes drop without her input to discover that he's also quite human below the neck, and every inch a man. She jerks her gaze away from that part of him as if burned, feeling her eyes sting with ridiculous tears, and tries not to come across as absurdly virginal when she looks him in the face.
He blinks at her mildly and tilts his head before looking around.
Tina glares at the rune on her arm, finding it frustratingly inert and useless, and furrows her brow before slowly relaxing her defensive stance. He, in turn, reacts off her body language to rotate in a tight circle on the spot, looking around with a crooked but delighted smile. She watches him narrowly.
His eyes, she notes almost against her will, are a surprisingly lovely shade of blue-green, his hair a no-color that somehow encompasses red, blond and brunette shades all at once. His skin is on the swarthy side and covered in, of all things, freckles. Most startling of all, however, are the scars—countless in number, and seeming to cover every inch of his well-toned hide.
His is a body that puts her in mind of the epics she had read as a child: brave men riding dragons and Hippogriffs into battle, and faces so beautiful they were said to have inspired men to war. Tales of gorgons and Gods and nymphs, all battling for and against the mortals they each wished to dominate for their own ends. She had loved those stories, and the realization that many of them were true had been an epiphany as she aged.
Now a demon, an honest-to-goodness demon, one of those beasts of legend, looks wonderingly about her sitting room, watching her as frankly as she considers him. For the moment, despite and perhaps because of how utterly absurd the situation is, there is only one question that seems reasonable to ask:
"Who are you?"
He answers her in a voice that is surprisingly melodic. The few demons she'd met along the way had led her to believe that they all sounded as though they were speaking through a throat full of gravel. Not this one; his tone is measured and gentle and even, somehow. The soft accent rounding his consonants and clipping his vowels helps, but she thinks it's mostly just him—and she can't quite put her finger on what, exactly, he is because her demon rune is maddeningly silent.
"Newt Scamander," he replied finally and lifts a hand in a tentative wave. "And you are?"
Tina neatly sidesteps the question. "What are you doing in New York?" It's a good question, yes—but not the one she wants to ask. Newt quirks a brow and glances around before moving toward the window, pushing the curtain aside to peer out into the evening rush. Tina watches the smooth way his skin moves over his compact muscles when he moves and tries to ignore the sudden dryness in her throat.
"Is that where I am?" he asks her, turning his head to meet her eyes briefly. She nods with a hummed confirmation and a slanted brow and he grins, wide and sunny and shockingly toothy. Tina stares when that smile transforms his narrow, angular face into something almost beautiful before he returns his attention to outside. It takes a concerted effort to look away from him but she manages it, and her face burns as she examines her shoes.
"What a curious name for a city," he mumbles, and his voice is even more melodic than before. Tina feels the shifting air currents and smells the pungency of cooking metal when he turns back to her, and she lifts her head to find that he's moved closer. She takes a wary step back to compensate, and Newt stops to hunch his shoulders and lifts his palms in a universal I'm-no-threat gesture.
She manages to look him in the face after an uncomfortably awkward pause, only to find that he appears both harmless and distraught. "I take it that I'm not what you were...aiming to achieve, then?" There's a sadness in his tone, highlighted by weary expectancy, and Tina experiences a pang when she shakes her head.
"No," she admits in a hoarse whisper, and the not-demon snaps off a quick nod while dropping his hands.
"Right," he says crisply. He looks over her shoulder at the ruined circle before trying on a wobbly smile. "In that case, I won't bother you any longer. I was having quite a nice nap so I guess I'll...return to it, then."
Tina sighs a little raggedly and manages a small nod. The demon called Newt stares at her for a moment longer before inclining his head and sketching out an odd little half-bow. She opens her mouth—to bid him farewell, perhaps, or maybe a safe journey—and instead blurts out, "Why don't you stay? Just for a little while." He stares, and she swallows nervously before bravely committing to the course. "I don't mind, really, and I was just about to, um. Make some hot cocoa. Do you like hot cocoa?"
Newt blinks at her in wonder for the space of three seconds before dropping his eyes. He shifts his feet awkwardly and clicks his fingernails together before mumbling, "I don't know. About hot cocoa." He looks up and smiles shyly, and something in Tina's chest squeezes. "I've never had it."
"Well," she hastily assures him, "I'm not as good as my sister, but I'm no slouch in the kitchen. I think you'll like it." Something happens to her face then, a different kind of warmth climbing over her chest and neck, and she smiles for what feels like the first time in a very long while. Though she doesn't know it, her small smile takes the demon's breath away, and he gasps when she bravely meets his eyes.
"Come on, Mr. Scamander—I'm not going to poison you," she teases gently and leads her new friend into the kitchen.