Warning: smut! This was originally published on March 25th, 2017 on Ao3 and is being shared here for the sake of my own ego.
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Tina isn't warned about him when she starts at MACUSA. She doesn't know if this is a calculated decision or not, but as the years pass she does her best not to dwell on it.
Mr. Graves tolerates him, presumably because he's friends with his brother. When she finally asks about it one night, after spending the entire day gathering her courage, Graves only says that the man is, "a valuable resource, Tina, despite his perceived shortcomings. Give him a chance, you'll come to understand in time."
She leaves his office frustrated and bitterly disappointed.
Tina knows that she's surrounded by beautiful women. She can't be sure if it's her and her rumored proclivities, or if MACUSA is simply particular in their hiring practices, but there are no unattractive women working there—except for her.
It isn't an overt thing. She's never been called 'the ugly one', to her face or through the grapevine. And yet, she sees it in every unspoken glance. The other women wear plumage and make a habit of preening. Tina, by contrast, is aware of how drab she seems. She's reminded with every glance in the mirror, and it haunts her when she pulls on her specially-tailored trousers. It's there when she laces her sensible brogues, and can't be forgotten as she sports her plain, boxy blazers.
He doesn't make it any easier. He refuses to meet her eyes every time they encounter each other, be it by chance or choice. Tina finds herself grimly checking her reflection after each interaction—to ensure there's no hot dog mustard on her lip perhaps, or a knot of serpents in her hair.
Blessedly, she doesn't see him very often. She's a junior Auror, and he's already made a name for himself in the Beast Division. His older brother is apparently a war hero, but the younger Mr. Scamander is no slouch when it comes to danger. There are rumors that he has a kinship with animals that is beyond the pale, especially horned beasts and dragons.
Tina dismisses it all as so much nonsense at first, but as the years creep by she begins to notice little things about him—and the way the women look at him.
Her first run-in with one of his conquests (as she thinks of them) happens in the ladies room on the 9th floor, during her second year of employ.
Tina flushes and comes out of the stall to find pretty, redheaded Ruby standing at the mirror, murmuring discontentedly and pointing her wand at her neck. Tina glances over and does a double take as she's washing her hands—the other woman's throat is covered in vivid red and purple bruises, as well as what looks to be the perfect ring of bite marks.
She gapes unintentionally.
Ruby glances over at her in exasperation. "I know how they look," she says, voice juicy with Bronx intonation. "That's why I'm spelling the damn things: to hide 'em." She cranes her head while fingering the marks in apparent admiration and, astoundingly, smiles. Tina stares, alarmed and confused.
"That Mr. Scamander—how sure knows how to show a girl a good time," Ruby sighs and Tina starts going over head injury protocol in her mind. The other woman must see some of this in her expression because she rolls her eyes and pops her hip. "It ain't like that—I asked for these," she says, pointing to her neck. A pause, then, almost shyly: "I guess you could say I begged for 'em if I'm being honest. His mouth..." She trails off with a heated sigh and Tina back away. Slowly.
"Well—" she begins, and clears her throat. "I, uh...I'm gonna go. I have to get back to work. Yes. I'm very busy and important and Mr. Graves is going to—"
"Your time will come," Ruby cuts her off, and Tina stares. The redhead turns to pins her with her gaze and Tina feels a flush climb like wayward bramble over her cheeks. "You're the prettiest of us all, Goldstein. He will ask. You know the rules: he never goes after the same doll twice, so he has to get to you eventually."
"I don't—I don't know what you're talking about," Tina gasps, and stumbles to the door. She stops just short of exiting, however, chewing her lip in indecision before squaring her shoulders and turning to look the other woman in the eye.
"And I don't appreciate being made fun of, either." The words hang between them, vibrating strangely in the strained silence before sinking into the walls. Ruby blinks, shrugs, and looks away—and Tina, feeling the old, sour taste of defeat in her mouth, beats a hasty retreat.
She spends the rest of the day convincing herself that the encounter never happened, and keeping Queenie out of her thoughts.
Tina receives a promotion just before midwinter, and it's over their evening celebratory feast that Queenie drops a bomb on her head.
"Mr. Scamander asked after me for the weekend," she says in her soft voice and meets her sister's eyes from across the table. "I'm going to go with him. He wants my help."
Tina, thrown into a sudden, red fury, balks.
"Absolutely not," she rages between clenched teeth, the sight of Ruby's ravaged neck flashing through her mind. "That man, he's an animal, Queenie! You can't trust him, no matter what your girlfriend's say—I've heard about the things he's done, the things he gets into!" Her hand aches and she looks down to discover that she's bent her fork. Disgusted, she flings it aside.
Queenie lowers her gaze to the table and dabs at her lips before responding. "It ain't like that with me," she repeats implacably. "He needs my help, like I said. You know I can read him, Teenie. He can't...hide anything. It'll be alright."
Tina tosses her hands in the air. "And if you get in trouble? What then? Is he going to do the right thing and stand by you?" She scoffs. "It's a miracle it hasn't happened already."
Queenie shakes her head, frowning. "He gives the girls what they want, Tina. If he did something to Ruby, it's because she asked for it. I can see it in their heads, and in his. You remember last month, when Cecily married Sam? Mr. Scamander had a weekend with her a few weeks before—she didn't want to disappoint her husband, see. She wanted to know what she was doing. He showed her a ton of things, and you should see what I see when they look at each other now." She giggles. "Sam's a lucky man."
Tina scowls as Queenie tosses her coppery hair and meets her levelly from across the table. "Your time will come, too," she says very softly, and the dark-haired sister closes her eyes.
"I hope not. I really do. Because then I'll have to hex his balls off, and the office will lose their little Playboy. I don't want that responsibility." She opens her eyes to find Queenie looking at her sadly, and a little longingly. Disgusted, Tina throws down her napkin and storms from the table.
They don't speak again that night, and Queenie's gone by morning.
Queenie returns in one piece, seeming none the worse for the wear, and Tina hides her relief—and disappointment—beneath a thin veneer of indifference. The strained feelings remain through the turning of months, and it isn't until they've lit a candle to welcome spring that Tina asks the question that has been on her mind for weeks.
"How was it?"
Queenie looks up from her mending, blinking in the low light. "Hmmm?" She asks airily, feigning an inability to read her sister, and Tina considers letting it go. In the end, her curiosity gets the better of her.
"With...with him. The weekend. How was it?"
Her sister hesitates before setting her mending aside to tilt her head and giggle purely. "Teenie, I'm shocked at you—what kind of question is that to ask a lady?"
"You're no lady if you slept with him," Tina says flatly, and her sister flicks her wand to send a couch cushion sailing towards her. Tina dodges it easily and curls her body around the pillow, worrying her lip. "I am curious, though," she admits, and her sister tuts. "Was it worth it?"
"Yes," Queenie says with no hesitation. Tina's frown deepens, until her sister sighs and joins her on the couch. "Hey, Teenie? Why don't you stop thinking about it? Like I said—he'll come to you. When he's ready." She sighs, and then giggles. "And Mercy Lewis, I'm still a lady!"
Tina has to laugh at that, and she unbends enough to pull her sister close. "Yeah," she says softly while dropping a kiss on the younger woman's coppery curls. "You are, sis."
Tina touches herself that night and, for the first time, it's his face she imagines. She shoves her wrist into her mouth to muffle her cry when she comes and tucks the organic snap of her release away to be examined later.
Tina's on the steps of the bank, bemused by a No-Maj woman's impassioned speech and enjoying a hot dog when a wall slams into her from behind. She turns sharply, a snappy come-back on her tongue when mild blue eyes blink into her own. The insult withers and dies an inglorious death as something deep within her resonates with recognition—and understanding. Reality recedes, suddenly and without fanfare.
"I'm so sorry," he says, his accent almost as crisp and vibrant as the rest of him. She sees the way his eyes widen when they examine her face before dropping, in the space between breaths, to take in the rest of her. He smiles faintly, almost a smirk if she were feeling ungenerous, and ducks his head while moving away—leaving her enveloped in his scent-cloud of masculine lavender and hemlock. She breathes deeply while watching him go, blue coat swirling around his too-short pant leg before disappearing into the crowd.
Tina stares until he's out of sight before blinking past the trance-like state the encounter had inspired and, hot dog quite forgotten, heading back to work. Her shoulder aches and buzzes for the rest of the day, but she can't quite call it pain.
She touches herself again that night and imagines more than just his face.
"Tina? Tina?! Oh, good gravy—Teenie!"
Tina starts and looks up with wide eyes, praying that no one important had caught her wool-gathering.
Queenie stands before her, wand held loosely between her fingers and wearing a knowing smirk.
Tina groans and puts her face in her hands. "Don't say it," she warns, and her sister quirks an eyebrow. "Don't. I'm warning you."
Queenie holds up both hands in surrender before producing a scrap of parchment. "I'm just the messenger," she says with a wink and passes the missive over. "Seems you got a special request from the Beast Control Division." Her voice dips into a saucy tone, and her smirk becomes a smile. "I'd guess a certain someone may want to spend some time with you—maybe, a weekend?" She giggles before turning serious. "He's been thinking about asking you for weeks, you know."
Tina looks at her overflowing inbox and scrubs her tired eyes. "You know I don't have time for that," she sighs, and Queenie's face falls. Tina pushes her chair back and groans as she places her hands on the small of her back and stretches, relishing the pops and crackles along her spine. "Besides," she goes on, "if he's been thinking about me for weeks, he should have come to me weeks ago."
"He wasn't sure you'd welcome him," Queenie admits with a wince, and Tina gives her a hard look. Nonplussed, the blond goes on. "Besides, he wanted to make sure. He's gonna ask; you should go with him, Teenie. It'll do you both good. I know it will."
Tina gestures to herself. "I don't get asked," she reminds her bitterly before gathering her blazer and the note and, with one last disappointed tut for her sister, sweeps toward the lift.
The Beast Control Division is located in the very bowels of the building, a place of dripping ceilings and damp walls. Tina subconsciously tugs up the collar of her blazer as she strides through the corridor, and smooths her hair before stopping at the correct door. N. Scamander, the crooked sign declares, and she snorts before knocking smartly.
"Come!" a crisp, imperious calls from within. I bet you'd like that, she thinks a little nastily and shoves the door open.
He's seated behind a massive desk, its scarred surface scattered with all sorts of papers, parchments, letters, missives, and oddments. A Newton's cradle ticks mellowly in one corner, and a feeding chart hangs haphazardly over the edge. He blinks at her in momentary confusion before setting his quill aside and rising.
"Miss Goldstein," he murmurs warmly and circles his desk. He wipes his ink-stained fingers on his handkerchief before extending for a shake. She hesitates before accepting his hand—only to shiver when his fingers curl around hers. That same deep tremble she'd first felt in front of the bank resonates through her, only now deeper and much more profound. She shivers and releases him as soon as is socially acceptable, watching him blink wide eyes and wipe his hand on his trousers.
Tina frowns thunderously, choosing to be deeply insulted by the gesture. "You requested me?" She asks while squaring her shoulders and tossing her head back.
Mr. Scamander stares at their feet for a moment before lifting his head. "Yes," he says, and returns to his side of the desk. He doesn't sit, though; instead, he shuffles through a few papers, appearing to stall while sighing deeply. He brushes a finger along the bridge of his nose before hesitantly meeting her eyes.
"I was wondering," he begins slowly, "if you'd be so good as to...accompany me. This Friday." He drops his eyes. "I have reservations and would quite like a lady on my arm."
Tina snorts her derision. "Oh," she begins, lethally calm. "Well, why don't you ask Ruby?"
"I have no interest in bringing her," he answers smartly, seemingly unaware of the danger, and Tina flashes a hard smile.
"Well, what about Cecily?" She pulls the name off the top of her head, only to wince when she remembers her no-longer-so-recent nuptials.
"Married, and therefore unapproachable," Newt says in an off-hand tone, and fingers his cuffs.
Tina scoffs. "Well, I'm sure that's never stopped you before," she growls and winces when he freezes. Reluctant guilt fills her—no matter how angry she is with him for his reputation and his delay in asking her, she's never seen or heard of him being an adulterer. Her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth when she goes to speak, and Tina has to swallow twice before she can produce sound.
Mr. Scamander's eyes spark at her when she finally risks meeting them. "I'm...sorry," she says weakly. "That was unfair and uncalled for; I shouldn't have said it."
He stares at her through hard eyes before brushing his rebellious hair off his brow and fetching a deep sigh. "Miss Goldstein," he says slowly, as if speaking to someone unintelligent or incredibly dense, "forget for the nonce what you've heard about me. Forget what the girls have said and your preconceived notions. I'll ask again: I would quite like your company on Friday night. Would you be so good as to step out with me?"
"Yes, damn you," Tina hisses—only to gulp when her traitorous mouth blurts the wrong answer. Mr. Scamander stares at her through very wide eyes while she lifts trembling fingers to her lips. His gaze follows and heat flashes through her, robbing her of breath.
"Merlin's beard," he breathes. He touches his own mouth in wonder before looking at the tips of his fingers. Then his eyes find and smolder into hers, and Tina shivers.
"Friday," she gasps and fumbles behind her for the doorknob.
"Friday," Mr. Scamander confirms faintly, and the sound haunts her as she flees down the dimly-lit corridor.
Friday comes quickly, and the universe seems to conspire against her.
Madam Picquery smirks knowingly when she gives Tina the weekend off. Tina can't argue against it, not really, but that doesn't take the sting of rejection out of her heart. Worse, her sister beams at her from the bedroom doorway come morning, and Tina groans and bumps her forehead against the kitchen table.
"Queenie, do you mind?" she asks, and her sister giggles.
"Nope," she says breezily. She eyes Tina while summoning their hygiene pouch. "Take a bath. Have a soak, and use my rose oil—I don't mind. I'll set your hair and I'll even take care of the housework today. Then I'll help you dress. Newt already thinks you're the cat's meow but this way you'll knock him off his feet, I promise."
"Newt," Tina growls and debates canceling—not for the first time. Queenie rolls her eyes before imperiously waving her toward the door.
"Go make yourself even more beautiful, until he's sure that waiting for you was the best thing he could ever have done."
"Waiting for me," Tina scoffs, but she can't quite hide her pleased smile.
She pays careful attention to cleaning her nooks and crannies and secret places in the bath. Just in case.
When asked later, Tina would be unable to recall most of the date. She knows that Mr. Scamander ("Oh, call me Newt.") gifts her a single red flower, which he tucks into her hair (her scalp tingles for the rest of the evening). She knows that they go to a speakeasy to watch a very talented female goblin performer, though Tina couldn't tell you a single word she spoke throughout the night.
She can say that Newt has a taste for whiskey and her for cocktails, and both flow freely throughout the evening.
What Tina does remember clearly comes in flashes: the starch whiteness of his stiff collar, and the feeling of his silk bow-tie beneath her fingers. The green-gold of his eyes in the candlelight as he watches her through his fringe, expression keen from across the table. The way his gaze takes in all of her, only to return to her lips—over and over. The moment their fingers brush when they reach for a glass at the same time, and how very long they stare at each other before twining their hands together in unspoken agreement.
They remain at the Blind Pig until closing and are barely hidden in a shadowed alley before she shoves him against a rough brick wall. Newt exhales a sharp laugh, eyes gleaming. "You're quite strong," he murmurs appreciatively, and she doesn't want to hear his voice so she cuts it off: leaning close enough to feel the puff of his respiration with her eyes closed, breathing with him until he whines low in his throat and sways forward.
"You're remarkable," he whispers hoarsely against her lips before claiming them in a heart-stopping kiss.
Tina inhales sharply at the contact, warmth flowing through their connection to soak into her skin, making her tingle all the way to her toes. Newt makes a rough animal sound before lifting his hands, one framing her face tenderly while the other cards through her hair. He angles his head and the kiss deepens, allowing the rough velvet of his tongue to brush against hers. Knees suddenly weak, Tina clutches the lapels of his jacket with a desperate sound.
"Tina," he gasps when they finally separate and she closes her eyes and presses her face into his neck.
"Be quiet," she whispers and nibbles the skin beneath his jaw. He shivers out a nod as his flesh erupts into goosebumps, and she chases them with her tongue. "Take me home," she finally demands, once she's kissed and sucked him into a pliant, panting puddle, and his gulp is very loud in her ear.
"Yes," he manages raggedly before spinning them into Disapparition.
Tina has time for only the faintest impression of his apartment—pale linens and dark wood and heavy furnishings—before he's on her, his mouth indecent while his hands snake about her waist. She allows herself to be herded through the sitting room and into the boudoir, where the back of her knees bump against the edge of the bed. She climbs on, using his bow-tie to pull him after her, and Newt growls before pressing her into the sheets.
His lips drift from her mouth to her jaw to her shoulder as she fumbles with his clothes, shedding his suit jacket before attacking his collar. The bow-tie proves stubborn until she jerks upright and takes the trailing edge between her teeth. Newt watches through heavy-lidded green eyes as she yanks it off, and his calloused palms cup her breasts. Tina's nipples instantly go hard beneath his hands, and she chokes when he drops his head and captures one in the ring of his teeth through the sheer material of her dress.
"Newt," she gasps, tangling her fingers in his messy hair until he slithers up her body to reclaim her mouth. She moans into his kiss while renewing her attack on his clothes, and soon his waistcoat and shirt are scattered on the floor while his hands stroke her silk-covered thighs beneath the hem of her dress.
"May I?" he asks and kisses her sweetly. Tina gasps her assent, and he wastes no time maneuvering her dress past her waist and over her breasts before pulling it off, tasting her shoulder as he reverently lays it aside. He trails a line of moist kisses over her shoulder blade and neck while coiling before her, kneeling like a penitent as he kneads her breasts with both hands, now, all while tonguing her throat and chest.
"Beautiful," he sighs and dips his head to capture her nipple. Tina keens and tugs at his hair until he purrs roughly, palms rasping over the fabric of her corselet. He releases her nipple with a wet pop only to drag a trail of moisture to the other side, pale stubble inflaming her skin as he sucks and nibbles until she arches and chokes. He drags his teeth along her sternum to kiss her deeply, and his hands are gentle when he guides her to lay against the pillows.
Newt hovers briefly, the tips of his fingers mapping her jaw as he drinks in her gaze. "May I pleasure you?" he asks in the barest whisper.
Tina swallows down sudden nerves. She jerks out a nod and he grins before kissing her. "I need to hear it, love," he says with a gentle laugh.
"Yes," she gulps—then his hands are beneath her clothes and on her skin, and thinking becomes immensely difficult so she gives it up altogether.
Tina closes her eyes and rocks her head back when her corselet parts with a whisper of fabric, and Newt groans happily as he pulls it off. He releases her stockings from her garters in one practiced motion, and he rolls them reverently down the stem of each leg, trailing his mouth behind to suck, lip and nibble until she's gasping and squeezing him passionately. Newt chuckles before dragging his stubbly chin over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, making her keen and jerk.
"Patience," he sing-songs into the crease of her hip, and she hisses a warning. His teeth nibble the lace edge of her step-ins, and he sighs happily when his tongue flicks out to touch her, tracing her skin before pulling away. Work-roughened but gentle fingers rise to pluck at the thin band of satin holding her final layer on, and Tina groans in satisfaction when he peels it off to vanish over the side of the bed.
Denuded, Tina focuses long enough to take a good look at him, crouched between her legs with his hands cupping her calves. He stares back at her, a Fae-looking thing of tumbled hair and kiss-swollen lips. Tina squeezes her thighs together when intense heat pulses between them, locking her throat against a breathy moan. Their eyes meet as he crawls over her, movements leonine when he covers her smaller frame with his own. Delighted, she wraps her legs around the rough fabric of his trousers.
Newt's kiss sucks the breath from her body before moving lower, trailing his wicked tongue over her skin until she arches and mewls. He hums happily with every noise she makes, each wrenched exhale and punctured moan, until he kisses a ring around her navel before sliding his mouth lower. He kisses the thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs before raking his fingers through it. Tina gasps raggedly when he lowers his stance to take her swollen outer lip between his teeth. He nibbles very gently before switching to the other side as Tina rocks her head into the pillow with a broken groan.
His fingers part her to blow a humid stream of air over her tender flesh, and Tina's toes curl against the sheets. With a low, hungry sound, he drags his tongue through her wetness, sliding through her folds to gather her nectar before curling wantonly at the end, sparking against the tender spot she herself had frigged to great effect. Stars burst behind Tina's eyelids as she moans, low and ragged.
Newt makes a feral sound and wraps his arms around her hips as he commits himself to the task, dragging his tongue over her quim before flicking it obscenely against her swollen clit. Tina gasps and pants his name, tugging his hair and begging him not to stop. He growls when she clenches and rolls against him, and she cries out ecstatically as two long fingers sink into her without warning.
She comes, bright and hard. Tina cries out as her hips jerk, and Newt rides her release with a pleased sigh, wicked tongue seeing her through the storm until she collapses against the bed. Her thighs tremble against his cheek where he rests his head, watching her recover through lazy eyes until her limbs calm and she catches her breath. Tina distantly hears the rustle of fabric when he pulls off his trousers before he focuses on her core once more, lazy fingers dragging through her post-orgasm slickness to draw spiraling circles around her clit.
Tina hums when gentle touches re-ignite her center, molten heat flowing through her. She feels herself tighten and tingle in reaction, and pulls him close with her leg as she arches into his touch. Newt lifts his head with a quirked brow and nibbles her hip before asking, "Tina, may I be inside you?"
She moans in the affirmative and strokes the nape of his neck. Pleased, Newt tastes her quim and belly one last time before rising to his knees. He covers her gently, almost reverently, and his kiss tastes like her. She laps at his mouth curiously before suckling her essence off his tongue. Newt huffs a breath of laughter against her lips before dropping his gaze to look between them, taking himself in hand to teasingly brush her center.
Tina shivers when he butts her entrance, pushing her moisture around. He holds his breath and catches her eye when he feeds himself into her, blunt girth peeling back her outer layers to invade her humid center, stretching her deliciously until their hips lock and he can sink no further.
Newt groans softly before catching her bottom lip between his teeth. He grinds against her for the barest moment, sparking her pleasure from within as her mouth falls open. He frees her lip to tip their foreheads together as they synchronize their breathing, settling against her body when her arms go around his shoulders. One slender hand cradles her hip, the other worshipfully tracing her cheek and jaw.
Tina moans and shifts restlessly beneath him, deliciously stretched but aching for friction. She locks her ankles together behind his back, causing him to shudder. "Newt," she begs, pressing hot lips to his throat, and he opens his eyes to lock them with hers. "Newt, please."
"Yes, of course," he breathes while shifting to support himself on his elbow. He drinks from her mouth and moans as he thrust his tongue past her lips. Tina digs her fingernails into his shoulders and arms when he rocks his hips back, far enough for her to fear withdrawal, before snapping them forward, jolting their bodies together with a low whine. She cries out, and he breaks their kiss to groan loudly before burying his face in her neck.
Newt flattens his palms over the mattress and ravishes her throat as he sets their pace, loving her hard while the sound of impacting flesh and her musical moans fills the air. Her hand works between them to roll against her clit and he gasps his approval, dropping his eyes to watch her touch herself before running his tongue over her chest and neck. "Tina, yes—" he chokes out, and she rolls her head back as she tightens around him.
Newt changes pace suddenly, swapping quick, hard thrusts for a slow, grinding roll. Tina gasps in elated disbelief while arching into him, fingernails scrabbling for traction on his sweat-slick skin as her body turns tense and desperate. Her hand falters so he props himself up to fill the void, brushing expertly against the hard bulb of her clit until her mouth falls open, his name hot on her tongue. He curves around her to take a nipple into his mouth, changing the depth and angle of his thrusts, and Tina shudders before crying out, pulsating against his length as she comes, fingernails digging red furrows into his skin.
"—Tina—" he manages through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut in a hopeless bid to resist the tidal sway of her. Tina cradles his jaw and kisses his mouth tenderly as she gasps through her recovery, rocking her hips to take him even deeper once she's wholly present. Newt fists the sheets, fighting against the primal imperative of his own release until she sinks her teeth into his shoulder—biting him hard enough to wash out his vision. He abandons any attempt at resistance then, thrusting into her heat furiously while nipping at her mouth and neck.
He growls low in his throat when he surrenders to the inevitable, shuddering to a halt while pressed deep inside her.
Newt holds her close while he recovers himself, panting into her hair as she strokes his back and arms and whispers her approval. They lay in a tangled, sweaty heap until Newt lifts his head to sample her lips.
"Tina," he sighs, and lays his cheek against hers. "That was fantastic." He pushes her hair back from her forehead and tucks it behind her ear with a content sigh. Tina hums her agreement before touching his mouth and jaw with trembling fingertips.
A small smile plays about his lips when he breaks the comfortable silence sometime later. "Now," he murmurs, "we need to have a rest and eat something because I'd quite like to do that with you again—and soon."
Tina laughs breathlessly—sweaty, exhausted, but wholly delighted in the moment and the man she's with and allows Newt to clean her up before helping her out of bed.
"Whatever you'd like," she promises, and grins happily when he takes her hand to lead her toward the rest of the apartment.
Tina returns to work Monday covered with a smattering of bruises and walking stiffly, but with a wholly relaxed air. Her body buzzes with a deep, sated ache, thrumming with a satisfaction that goes through to her bones. She sees the way some of the other women look at her, equal parts understanding and jealousy, and does her best not to gloat. Her weekend with Newt was worth every second, every year of waiting, but she knows the rules: he never asks the same woman twice.
So it's with a not insignificant trace of melancholia that she makes it through the week, and the next week, and even the week after that.
She's at her desk in the middle of the fourth week, getting ready to leave for the day when a hesitant knock sounds on her door. Intrigued, she bids the mystery guest welcome—and drops her quill when Newt Scamander lopes in. He looks around her office curiously before fixing his gaze on her floor, one hand slipping into his pocket with feigned nonchalance.
He hesitates for a series of beats, seeming to memorize the layout of her desk before lifting his gaze. His eyes, she notes, are a deep green-gold today, reminiscent of a forest—and they smile down at her.
"Miss Goldstein," he murmurs warmly. She watches his throat work in a swallow, watches him cast about for a moment before returning his eyes to her face. "I was wondering," he goes on, and clears his throat. "That is, ah—I have...well. Tina, would you go out with me this Friday?" His hand curls into a fist as he looks at her anxiously, expression equal parts scared and hopeful.
Tina fumbles for the fallen quill and cleans the nib before laying it into its case. She rests her palms flat on the surface of her desk and takes a deep breath, centering herself before asking the only question that matters in this moment: "Is this going to become a regular thing? Or do I still have to share you with the rest of MACUSA?"
"Oh, a regular thing, I should think," he says quickly. Eagerly. She bites the inside of her cheek to hide a grin when he goes on. "I find, Miss Goldstein, that I'm...not very keen on sharing myself with anyone, and neither do I want to share you." He drops his chin to look at her from beneath his messy fringe, and she feels the faint stirrings of familiar heat. "I hope you can understand."
Tina allows herself, at last, to smile, letting it unfurl across her face. Newt stares at it, stares at her, and fumbles breathlessly.
"Oh, Newt," she sighs, a little giddily. "I have no intention of sharing you with anyone. When I go out with you on Friday, it'll be for keeps."
For those wondering, this is a mythological take on Newtina. Newt's a satyr of sorts, and Tina's qualities most closely match a gorgon.