fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme | Prompt Post #1

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Prompt Post #1

ROUND 1

FUCK IT WE'LL FIGURE OUT SPECIFICS LATER

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Tina's devastated by her demotion, she refuses to accept it. Picquery won't budge on it, but she knows someone who will.
With a little persuasion.

I really like this!

Mrs. Esposito still hasn't sent someone to fix the bedroom door like she said she would, so it's hanging open as Tina gets ready. Queenie keeps peeking in about every ten seconds, and why not -- everything about Tina is already an open grab-bag for Queenie. It's not like closing a door will offer any kind of privacy whatsoever. But an illusion of one might've been nice.

"I just worry about you, Tina," Queenie protests through the gap. "It's my duty."

Tina puts down the lipstick harder than she means to. She never did get the hang of magicking anything related to cosmetics, and these no-maj products are a pain each time. "I'll be fine. Everything will be fine. I can handle it," she huffs.

Queenie bites her lip, then disappears from view. A few seconds later, a pot whistles softly from the kitchen as she makes her tea. A regular Friday night in the Goldstein house, except that Tina has plans other than staying home.

She looks at herself the mirror. Her reflection complies for a moment, then raises her eyebrows questioningly.

"Oh, stop it," she tells it.

A sharply pressed suit is chosen over any of the jangling dresses that Queenie had indiscreetly hung over the wardrobe. When Tina finally steps out of the bedroom, Queenie is sitting on the couch, drinking her tea with loud slurps that Mom had always scolded her for.

"Going out?" she asks innocently. Slurp.

Tina rolls her eyes. "Don't wait up for me, okay?" she instructs.

She sees that her pajamas are still drying themselves in front of the fire. Queenie had only just convinced her to change out of them a couple days ago; "The time for moping is up. You're probably gonna get fleas sitting there all day."

"Bye," Queenie calls after her, and Tina feels a pang, as she often does these days. Queenie never said anything when Tina came home pink-cheeked and blushing after an afterhours Auror meeting, or all those times she's caught Tina staring out the window at the crowds of passing people below, half-heartedly searching for that straight back and heavy black coat.

Queenie gets closer to being a saint every day, and Tina trusts that she would be the first person to put a stop to all this if she thought it was truly a bad idea.

"Don't wait up," Tina repeats. She closes the front door behind her and hurries out into the night.

*

At first glance, Mr. Graves' office is sleek like the rest of the MACUSA building, cold and unassuming, but there are some personal touches: disorganized memos on his desk, bits and pieces of broken wands in the drawers, some unidentifiable contraptions cloaked with remnants of the dark magic he'd removed.

His office door is open and illuminating the hallway. She timidly steps in, body hugging the doorframe. Graves is turned away from her with one elbow propped on the desk, supporting the side of his head. A smoky vision plays out by the bookshelf, someone Apparating but leaving behind more magical residue than normal.

"Sloppy," she says aloud. Graves snaps toward her. The vision disappears.

"Tina," he greets. "Come in, sorry. Have a seat."

She sits and tries not to fiddle with anything. The last time she was in here being reprimanded, she'd been fiddling with his books and accidentally discovered a stash of collectible Chocolate Frogs. It was the first time she'd seen Graves laugh. She wants to tell the story, see if he remembers at all, but he looks tired.

It would be inappropriate, she decides.

"Mr. Graves, thank you for agreeing to see me," she starts, but Graves cuts her off.

"You haven't shown up to work in a week."

"Yes, I know."

"And the wand permit applications are stacking up, and we have an entire tour group coming in from Ireland next week," Graves lists. "But I'm guessing none of that is the reason you're here."

"Right." She shakes her head. "You're right. See, Mr. Graves, I was hoping to -- I suppose I was hoping for one last chance to discuss recent circumstances instead."

"Recent circumstances again," Graves repeats. He pushes his thumb between his eyebrows and sighs. "These are not simply recent circumstances. The President has already finalized your job transfer, it's finished. You are no longer an auror in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I don't know how much more clear I can be."

"Right," Tina says again. She fiddles with her coat hem, then stops. Queenie could've stopped me,, she thinks.

There's a silence. "Nightcap?" she offers abruptly, pulling her wand out and making cups and a decanter dance in midair. Graves doesn't answer, but when one of the glasses nudges his hand, he accepts it without a word.

"I'm sorry," Tina blurts after a gulp, willing the Firewhisky to settle and do its work. "I know I've said it so many times, but I really am. Especially to you. As my superior," she adds quickly. "I feel as if I've let you down."

Her glass is somehow empty already. Graves refills it with a simple bloom of his fingers, another skill she never quite mastered.

"You're a good witch, Tina," Graves says, as if hearing her thoughts. The Firewhisky must be showing on her face already, because Graves amends it: "That is, you're a skilled witch. That was never the issue. The real issue was what compelled you to attack that woman right there in public: you get too attached. There are children like that Barebone boy everywhere, but you keep making the same mistakes."

Tina is listening to the same old spiel, staring off at some point past Graves' head, but she sees movement in her periphery and focuses back in just as he's coming around the front of his desk and perching against the edge of it. She notices that his ever present collar pin is gone, as is his tie.

"The President's decision -- that was just a culmination of everything that's happened. And it did happen, there's no changing anything now," he finishes, gentle. He leans forward with an imploring expression, the one that draws in so many like insects to a flame. "I really do hope you understand."

"Your -- yes," Tina stammers.

It suddenly feels like the conversation is over, with her having absolutely no idea of how they got here. She's been steered off-course again. This is another one of Graves' specialties, and of course yet another skill she has not grasped.

But forget it. She knows how to get back in the driver's seat.

"Actually, no," Tina restarts. Her glass is empty again, but she points her wand at it before Graves can refill it himself and swigs down the liquid. "No. Because I'm not sure you've ever liked me, or believed me capable. And I'm here to convince you."

Graves examines her, seemingly unsurprised that she didn't take the bait and leave like she was supposed to. "Of which part?" he asks after a pause. Mild, impassive, as always.

"What?"

"Which part are you going to convince me of? You're going to make me like you, or you're going to prove to me that you're capable?"

He sounds challenging. The whiskey has pooled in her belly; her breath hitches, just for a second. "Please stop speaking to me like I'm a child," she says, putting her glass away and standing up with a flare of anger.

"Honestly, you're giving me few other choices here," Graves says, but stops talking when Tina get close. Close enough to see the faint lines by his eyes, the small pocked scar almost hidden by his five o'clock shadow.

"Let me convince you," Tina repeats slowly.

Something in Graves' expression changes, His gaze moves the slightest bit down. Tina wonders if he's just now noticing the lipstick.

"Tina," he finally says, and puts his hands on the desk as if to get up, but Tina traps them with her own. "I didn't mean -- "

"This isn't some game I'm playing. I'm not a mouse for you to bat around and toy with before you eat me alive," Tina says, and is startled when Graves' eyes flicker at that. "Or is this exactly what you wanted? Me, coming into your office, begging for my job back because I've been a good girl."

Graves remains silent, calm as ever, but his posture seems tense. When she leans in to kiss him, it's answer enough. He slips a hand out from underneath Tina's and uses it to pull her closer, then runs it through the back of her hair to make a mess of her curls. He smells like alcohol and magic; it's a heady scent that has her almost reeling. He groans into her mouth when she massages him through his pants, the first audible sign of approval.

"Mr. Graves," she murmurs. Her voice doesn't shake. "Are you convinced yet?"

Graves swallows. Tina is close enough to hear the movement of his throat, the click of his jaw. "No, not quite," he finally breathes.

She goes slowly, as slow as she can, and waits until he's almost panting before she undoes the zipper and buttons and wraps her hand around his cock. He's already leaking -- she uses it to her advantage, slowly, yet again, moving her hand up and down. He makes a noise whenever she uses her thumb, so she tries to do it sparingly.

"Jesus, Tina," Graves says, low. His head is tilted back, like he can't bear to watch. The lines of his throat are stark, disappearing down past his bone white collar. He really is a beautiful man.

"Just being thorough," she murmurs, finally speeding up.

He's bucking up into her hand a bit now and she lets him. When he comes, he grabs her hair again, pulling to the point of pain. It makes her want him to keep pulling, to guide her between his legs and have her clean him up.

Instead, she carefully wipes her hand clean by dragging it over his thigh. Then she makes as if to bring her hand to her mouth, as Graves watches hungrily.

"Thank you for the enlightening conversation," she says instead, letting her hand drop down by her side. "I do appreciate you taking extra time to meet with me again. I'll be back at work on Monday, at the permits desk."

Graves is still sitting, exposed. Tina swallows down her own desires and walks toward the door. She feels suddenly nervous, but also powerful. Satisfied.

"Monday?" she asks, turning one last time.

"Yes. Monday," Graves finally confirms.

As she steps into the hallway, she can almost hear him laugh.

Wonderful powerplay between them, I absolutely loved this.

I've read this an embarrassing number of times, and I still have no comment for you except GUH and THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU.

I fucking loved this, dude, you rock

NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICE FUCKIN NICE

Nice story. My kink muse seems to be very persistent in coming up with ideas about what those two could be up to on Monday. *lol*

Oh this is positively beautiful.

^ me rn

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Prompt Post #1

Real!Graves/Tina, pre-film BJ/HJ

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