The next bit (which will be 100% smut) should be up in a day or two! I hope you enjoy OP, this prompt gave me lots of fantastic visuals. Also, for inspiration: http://bygoneboy.tumblr.com/post/155026008327/newdscamander-bagginses-buttons-screaming
*
It wasn’t Credence’s idea to come to the gala. He’d actually been very opposed to it, as opposed as he dared to be when living on the kindness of others. Which is to say he’d looked down after Tina asked him politely, brow furrowed, and had shaken his head. Queenie had shifted on the other side of the room, but she’d promised him (at Credence’s request) not to share what she heard in his head to anyone but him. She hadn’t been happy, Credence hadn’t been happy, and Tina really hadn’t been happy. None of them wanted to go to the gala, yet here they all were.
Tina and Queenie looked beautiful. Their dresses shimmered, and Credence had felt his stomach drop when he’d first seen them. His first thought had been how colourful the dresses were – a deep blue for Tina and bright pink for Queenie – and how terribly Ma would have talked about them. Beauty had been a sin for most of Credence’s life, and he was only just learning now that he could accept it.
Their dresses weren’t the most elaborate by far, but Credence personally thought Tina and Queenie were the most beautiful women at the gala. From the moment they’d stepped inside the hall, Credence reckoned they’d both started shining. They’d relaxed the moment their coats had been taken, allowed – just for one night – to enjoy themselves with no strings attached.
It was the first time Credence has ever been to a gathering this large or fancy. He felt out of place, despite the clothes Queenie made for him. The waistcoat was dark with flowers embroidered across it, and it was the nicest gift Credence had ever received. He’d almost cried when Queenie had presented it to him, but she’d just laughed and told him stories until he’d been able to accept the clothes. He certainly looked the part now, and he was thankful for Queenie’s charity, but he was still aware that he didn’t belong here.
Nevermind that he’d been assisting various MACUSA departments ever since President Picquery put him on probation. Credence didn’t know what he wanted to do when she decided his probation was up, but he was content helping file, organise, make refreshments, etc. He knew he’d practically slid into one of the most envied internships in the wizarding world, but President Picquery had made it clear he was to be kept under surveillance, and the work just fell Credence’s way. He could, and most importantly would, be helpful.
Still, it was one thing to undertake small jobs across the MACUSA, and another thing entirely to fit in at the end of year gala. Credence still felt like the obscurus who destroyed a large portion of New York more than anything else, even though he knew that hardly came to anyone’s mind anymore.
“Have a drink,” Queenie said gently, three glasses of champagne floating through the air at the flick of her wand. Credence took one of them, trying not to wrinkle his nose as he took a sip.
“Everyone looks so different dressed up,” Tina observed, pointing out a few people Credence knew. The difference varied (some people saw work as a fashion challenge and others would spend the day in sleepwear if they could, Credence knew), but it was amazing to see everyone smartly dressed. Credence wondered if anyone was looking his way, commenting on how nicely he cleaned up. He doubted it.
“At least we don’t have to sit through hundreds of speeches,” Queenie said, patting Credence’s arm. “Last year dragged on and on, you’re lucky not to have to go through that.”
“We have Mr. Graves to thank for that,” Tina commented, looking at Credence with a wide smile. Credence looked away, biting the inside of his cheek to try and control the swirling in his stomach he got whenever he thought of Graves. He scanned the room, but couldn’t see Graves anywhere. Perhaps he had decided against coming altogether.
“We have Mr. Graves to thank for a lot of things,” Credence said quietly, and Queenie linked her arm through his, both sisters smiling and sipping their drinks.
They toured the hall for a while, engaging in small talk with people Credence barely recognised and a few longer conversations with people he knew. Everyone was polite, complimentary towards their trio, and Credence felt as if his cheeks were burning with the amount of smiling he was doing.
The hall quietened as Seraphina Piquery strode in, dress flowing behind her. She was beautiful, terrifyingly so, and a murmur passed through the room when she smiled, greeting the nearest group of people to her. The pause in the room shifts, and everyone turns back to what they were doing, Queenie launching back into gossiping about the latest scandal she’s heard. It draws a flushed laugh from Credence as Tina’s eyebrows creep higher up her brows. Queenie was about to finish her story when the hall quietened once again, and Credence looked to where President Piquery was standing, expecting the silence to be related to her.
President Piquery’s attention was elsewhere, however. Her lips were slightly parted, curved in a tiny smirk. Credence followed her gaze, and understood instantly the hush of the room. He should have guessed, really, for there was only one other person who could command the attention of the entire room aside from the President.
Percival Graves stood, one hand in his pants pocket and the other accepting a delicate champagne flute. Credence watched his fingers curl around the glass stem, signet ring catching the light, and he swallowed thickly.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in that color before,” Tina murmured, face impassive. Her eyes were fixed on Graves though, and while the room in general was recovering and returning to their conversations, Credence’s little group were still focused on Graves.
“I helped him,” Queenie admitted, and Credence glanced at her. She looked satisfied, as if all her efforts had paid off well. Credence couldn’t disagree with that.
Graves was dressed in a deep red suit and black waistcoat. As Tina said, it wasn’t his usual color, but Credence had always thought Graves would look good in anything, and this furthered that theory. The biggest change, however, was the pair of delicate, circular-lense glasses perched upon his nose. Credence had never seen Graves in glasses, and he couldn’t help the attraction that flowed through him when Graves met his eyes, tilting his head and stepping forward through the crowd.
Graves carved a path towards, them, politely nodding to others, but not breaking stride. He had joined them in moments, hand slipping from his pants pocket to brush against Credence’s arm. It lingered there as he greeted Tina and Queenie, a kiss on the cheek for both, and when he had finished greeting them, the hand slipped to Credence’s back, pressing down in greeting before he removed it entirely. The loss left Credence bare, as it always did, but Graves pressed in close to their small circle, close enough that Credence could feel the warmth of his shoulder against his.
“You look nice Mr. Graves,” Tina said, and Graves nodded.
“We have your sister to thank for that,” Graves said, and Queenie waved a hand.
“Hardly,” she commented. “Between you and Credence, I might as well start a small business on the side. You’ve given me enough practice, and now that my designs are a hit at the MACUSA party they’ll be banging down the door to get their hands on something I made.”
Credence wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. Queenie had the skill and dedication to turn her hobby into a career, and he’d be happy for her if she did. Graves gave a snort of laughter, then stiffened as someone called his name.
“Duty calls,” he muttered, tension in his shoulders as Credence watched him steel himself. Even a party such as this was a battlefield in a way. “Madame President has requested I dine at the high table, but I’ll find you after the meal,” Graves said quietly, for Credence’s ears alone, and he felt a flush rise to his cheeks. He met Grave’s eyes and nodded, and Graves left with a nod, drawing as many following eyes in his wake as President Piquery did.
The food was extraordinary, and Credence had to fight old habits to enjoy it. He still wasn’t used to the lavish banquets he was often invited to at the Goldstein’s apartment, and this dinner was on a completely different scale. Credence didn’t think he’d seen that much food in his entire life, and it was hard to think of those outside who were going hungry.
“Don’t worry sweetie,” Queenie said, seated at his right hand side. Tina was on the other side of their circular table, in deep discussion with someone on her department. “We’ve made sure that any leftovers will be distributed as donations to those in need. I think President Piquery took inspiration from you.”
Credence doubted that a lot. If anything, President Piquery still felt guilty for almost ordering his execution – though he couldn’t blame her for that. Credence knew enough now that if he’d been in her position then, he’d have done the same thing, surely. He hoped he never had to make such a decision.
His gaze wandered as the first course was cleared, plates levitating neatly upward. Even a few days ago the sight would have captivated Credence, as he still viewed each act of magic as something only just short of a miracle, but he was fascinated by something else entirely.
Graves was just two tables away, beside President Piquery at the long table at the back of the dining hall. He was close enough that Credence could see the tired circles under his eyes and the crease of his brow, but far enough that he had no idea what topic of conversation ailed him. Even if he could have heard it, Credence wouldn’t be listening. His concentration was entirely on the way Grave’s waistcoat buttons strained against the fabric as he lounged back in his chair, fingers threaded together on the table.
Credence swallowed thickly, barely noting the next course come out. His eyes wandered across Grave’s broad chest, fabric hugging him tightly, as he turned. He seemed to be cutting someone down, someone further down the table, and Credence watched in delight as he raised his arm, gesturing to enforce his point. His jacket had been abandoned earlier, and Grave’s shirt fit snugly, the bulge of his bicep clear as he moved.
“Eat your food before it gets cold, sweetie,” Queenie advised with a wink, and Credence reddened, looking down to his plate. Queenie patted his hand delicately, tilting her head in Graves’ direction.
“I can understand it though,” she said, and Credence shook his head, preferring his thoughts not to be spoken aloud. “I may have fitted his outfit a bit tighter than strictly one should, but Mr. Graves didn’t comment on it when he tried it on.”
Credence looked up at the high table, watching as Graves shook his head, hand reaching up to press against his temples. Usually that gesture was followed by Graves running his hand through his hair in frustration, but he seemed to be able to draw himself short. It would have been a shame too, for his hair, grown out at the sides to match the top, was styled perfectly. There was only one way Credence wanted to ruin the fall of his hair.
Managing to get through one meal more without looking up (and if he hurried through it, Queenie was too polite to comment and Credence would never admit to it), Credence allowed himself to watch Graves again. He was eating this time, seemingly turned his attention away from whatever idiot he’d been arguing with. He ate neatly, systematically even, as if he held himself with tight control. Credence understood that, for he too knew the sting of starvation. His hands were tight around the cutlery, but there was a beauty in the way he speared his food with his fork.
Credence bit the inside of his cheek as Graves rose the fork to his mouth, teeth flashing for a moment as he bit down on the morsel of food. His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip clean, and Credence looked away then, mentally apologising to Queenie. She was talking to the elderly witch the other side of her, but one hand reached out, patting Credence’s arm. It was her way of telling him that it was okay, that his thoughts were his own and she wouldn’t judge.
Queenie really was a beautiful person.
Graves had finished the next time Credence looked, halfway through sipping a glass of water. He choked when he met Grave’s eyes, water slopping down his chin and onto the napkin over his thighs. He wiped his face hurriedly, eyes darting around to see if anyone else had noticed.
Graves was still watching him when Credence looked back, and the difference between then and before was startlingly obvious. He looked more relaxed, amused even, and while he wasn’t smiling, there was a softness in his eyes. Perhaps it was the glasses, or the way his clothing bunched up when he moved forwards, elbows resting on the table without a care, as if Graves could inch closer to Credence limb by limb.
In return, Credence offered a small smile, hoping Graves caught the meaning. His eyes slid down, lingering on the buttons of Graves’ chest, and his smile widened slightly.
It wasn’t often that Credence wished for a meal to hurry up, but dessert was one course he wished would breeze by. Queenie simply seemed amused by Credence’s urgency, and she began telling Credence more gossip, harmless stories that no one would truly mind plucked from their head. It wasn’t as if Credence would tell anyone else, anyway.
When the last plate was levitated away and the last coffee was drunk, the guests started filtering back out to the main hall. Credence lingered at the table, aware of Graves taking his own time, waiting for his own table to clear, making an effort to push as many chairs in as he could, for lack of anything else to do. He didn’t need to wait long, and he sensed Graves before he looked up.
“Queenie and Tina wish you a good night,” Credence said, and he saw the flicker of surprise in Graves’ eyes before he smiled.
“I shall thank them in the morning,” Graves said, and his hand found its way to Credence’s lower back, broad hand splayed across his spine, even though there was no reason for it. They were almost entirely alone, and the few stragglers left were paying no attention to them whatsoever.
That didn’t stop the burning heat rolling through Credence, originating where Graves’ hand lay.
“Let’s go home,” Credence said, feeling bold. He was rewarded by Graves slipping his hand across his hip, pulling Credence into his side. His breath hitched in a way that had nothing to do with Graves apparating them.
1/2 [Credence/Original!Graves] - when your button goes flying
http://bygoneboy.tumblr.com/post/155026008327/newdscamander-bagginses-buttons-screaming
*
It wasn’t Credence’s idea to come to the gala. He’d actually been very opposed to it, as opposed as he dared to be when living on the kindness of others. Which is to say he’d looked down after Tina asked him politely, brow furrowed, and had shaken his head. Queenie had shifted on the other side of the room, but she’d promised him (at Credence’s request) not to share what she heard in his head to anyone but him. She hadn’t been happy, Credence hadn’t been happy, and Tina really hadn’t been happy. None of them wanted to go to the gala, yet here they all were.
Tina and Queenie looked beautiful. Their dresses shimmered, and Credence had felt his stomach drop when he’d first seen them. His first thought had been how colourful the dresses were – a deep blue for Tina and bright pink for Queenie – and how terribly Ma would have talked about them. Beauty had been a sin for most of Credence’s life, and he was only just learning now that he could accept it.
Their dresses weren’t the most elaborate by far, but Credence personally thought Tina and Queenie were the most beautiful women at the gala. From the moment they’d stepped inside the hall, Credence reckoned they’d both started shining. They’d relaxed the moment their coats had been taken, allowed – just for one night – to enjoy themselves with no strings attached.
It was the first time Credence has ever been to a gathering this large or fancy. He felt out of place, despite the clothes Queenie made for him. The waistcoat was dark with flowers embroidered across it, and it was the nicest gift Credence had ever received. He’d almost cried when Queenie had presented it to him, but she’d just laughed and told him stories until he’d been able to accept the clothes. He certainly looked the part now, and he was thankful for Queenie’s charity, but he was still aware that he didn’t belong here.
Nevermind that he’d been assisting various MACUSA departments ever since President Picquery put him on probation. Credence didn’t know what he wanted to do when she decided his probation was up, but he was content helping file, organise, make refreshments, etc. He knew he’d practically slid into one of the most envied internships in the wizarding world, but President Picquery had made it clear he was to be kept under surveillance, and the work just fell Credence’s way. He could, and most importantly would, be helpful.
Still, it was one thing to undertake small jobs across the MACUSA, and another thing entirely to fit in at the end of year gala. Credence still felt like the obscurus who destroyed a large portion of New York more than anything else, even though he knew that hardly came to anyone’s mind anymore.
“Have a drink,” Queenie said gently, three glasses of champagne floating through the air at the flick of her wand. Credence took one of them, trying not to wrinkle his nose as he took a sip.
“Everyone looks so different dressed up,” Tina observed, pointing out a few people Credence knew. The difference varied (some people saw work as a fashion challenge and others would spend the day in sleepwear if they could, Credence knew), but it was amazing to see everyone smartly dressed. Credence wondered if anyone was looking his way, commenting on how nicely he cleaned up. He doubted it.
“At least we don’t have to sit through hundreds of speeches,” Queenie said, patting Credence’s arm. “Last year dragged on and on, you’re lucky not to have to go through that.”
“We have Mr. Graves to thank for that,” Tina commented, looking at Credence with a wide smile. Credence looked away, biting the inside of his cheek to try and control the swirling in his stomach he got whenever he thought of Graves. He scanned the room, but couldn’t see Graves anywhere. Perhaps he had decided against coming altogether.
“We have Mr. Graves to thank for a lot of things,” Credence said quietly, and Queenie linked her arm through his, both sisters smiling and sipping their drinks.
They toured the hall for a while, engaging in small talk with people Credence barely recognised and a few longer conversations with people he knew. Everyone was polite, complimentary towards their trio, and Credence felt as if his cheeks were burning with the amount of smiling he was doing.
The hall quietened as Seraphina Piquery strode in, dress flowing behind her. She was beautiful, terrifyingly so, and a murmur passed through the room when she smiled, greeting the nearest group of people to her. The pause in the room shifts, and everyone turns back to what they were doing, Queenie launching back into gossiping about the latest scandal she’s heard. It draws a flushed laugh from Credence as Tina’s eyebrows creep higher up her brows. Queenie was about to finish her story when the hall quietened once again, and Credence looked to where President Piquery was standing, expecting the silence to be related to her.
President Piquery’s attention was elsewhere, however. Her lips were slightly parted, curved in a tiny smirk. Credence followed her gaze, and understood instantly the hush of the room. He should have guessed, really, for there was only one other person who could command the attention of the entire room aside from the President.
Percival Graves stood, one hand in his pants pocket and the other accepting a delicate champagne flute. Credence watched his fingers curl around the glass stem, signet ring catching the light, and he swallowed thickly.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in that color before,” Tina murmured, face impassive. Her eyes were fixed on Graves though, and while the room in general was recovering and returning to their conversations, Credence’s little group were still focused on Graves.
“I helped him,” Queenie admitted, and Credence glanced at her. She looked satisfied, as if all her efforts had paid off well. Credence couldn’t disagree with that.
Graves was dressed in a deep red suit and black waistcoat. As Tina said, it wasn’t his usual color, but Credence had always thought Graves would look good in anything, and this furthered that theory. The biggest change, however, was the pair of delicate, circular-lense glasses perched upon his nose. Credence had never seen Graves in glasses, and he couldn’t help the attraction that flowed through him when Graves met his eyes, tilting his head and stepping forward through the crowd.
Graves carved a path towards, them, politely nodding to others, but not breaking stride. He had joined them in moments, hand slipping from his pants pocket to brush against Credence’s arm. It lingered there as he greeted Tina and Queenie, a kiss on the cheek for both, and when he had finished greeting them, the hand slipped to Credence’s back, pressing down in greeting before he removed it entirely. The loss left Credence bare, as it always did, but Graves pressed in close to their small circle, close enough that Credence could feel the warmth of his shoulder against his.
“You look nice Mr. Graves,” Tina said, and Graves nodded.
“We have your sister to thank for that,” Graves said, and Queenie waved a hand.
“Hardly,” she commented. “Between you and Credence, I might as well start a small business on the side. You’ve given me enough practice, and now that my designs are a hit at the MACUSA party they’ll be banging down the door to get their hands on something I made.”
Credence wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. Queenie had the skill and dedication to turn her hobby into a career, and he’d be happy for her if she did. Graves gave a snort of laughter, then stiffened as someone called his name.
“Duty calls,” he muttered, tension in his shoulders as Credence watched him steel himself. Even a party such as this was a battlefield in a way. “Madame President has requested I dine at the high table, but I’ll find you after the meal,” Graves said quietly, for Credence’s ears alone, and he felt a flush rise to his cheeks. He met Grave’s eyes and nodded, and Graves left with a nod, drawing as many following eyes in his wake as President Piquery did.
The food was extraordinary, and Credence had to fight old habits to enjoy it. He still wasn’t used to the lavish banquets he was often invited to at the Goldstein’s apartment, and this dinner was on a completely different scale. Credence didn’t think he’d seen that much food in his entire life, and it was hard to think of those outside who were going hungry.
“Don’t worry sweetie,” Queenie said, seated at his right hand side. Tina was on the other side of their circular table, in deep discussion with someone on her department. “We’ve made sure that any leftovers will be distributed as donations to those in need. I think President Piquery took inspiration from you.”
Credence doubted that a lot. If anything, President Piquery still felt guilty for almost ordering his execution – though he couldn’t blame her for that. Credence knew enough now that if he’d been in her position then, he’d have done the same thing, surely. He hoped he never had to make such a decision.
His gaze wandered as the first course was cleared, plates levitating neatly upward. Even a few days ago the sight would have captivated Credence, as he still viewed each act of magic as something only just short of a miracle, but he was fascinated by something else entirely.
Graves was just two tables away, beside President Piquery at the long table at the back of the dining hall. He was close enough that Credence could see the tired circles under his eyes and the crease of his brow, but far enough that he had no idea what topic of conversation ailed him. Even if he could have heard it, Credence wouldn’t be listening. His concentration was entirely on the way Grave’s waistcoat buttons strained against the fabric as he lounged back in his chair, fingers threaded together on the table.
Credence swallowed thickly, barely noting the next course come out. His eyes wandered across Grave’s broad chest, fabric hugging him tightly, as he turned. He seemed to be cutting someone down, someone further down the table, and Credence watched in delight as he raised his arm, gesturing to enforce his point. His jacket had been abandoned earlier, and Grave’s shirt fit snugly, the bulge of his bicep clear as he moved.
“Eat your food before it gets cold, sweetie,” Queenie advised with a wink, and Credence reddened, looking down to his plate. Queenie patted his hand delicately, tilting her head in Graves’ direction.
“I can understand it though,” she said, and Credence shook his head, preferring his thoughts not to be spoken aloud. “I may have fitted his outfit a bit tighter than strictly one should, but Mr. Graves didn’t comment on it when he tried it on.”
Credence looked up at the high table, watching as Graves shook his head, hand reaching up to press against his temples. Usually that gesture was followed by Graves running his hand through his hair in frustration, but he seemed to be able to draw himself short. It would have been a shame too, for his hair, grown out at the sides to match the top, was styled perfectly. There was only one way Credence wanted to ruin the fall of his hair.
Managing to get through one meal more without looking up (and if he hurried through it, Queenie was too polite to comment and Credence would never admit to it), Credence allowed himself to watch Graves again. He was eating this time, seemingly turned his attention away from whatever idiot he’d been arguing with. He ate neatly, systematically even, as if he held himself with tight control. Credence understood that, for he too knew the sting of starvation. His hands were tight around the cutlery, but there was a beauty in the way he speared his food with his fork.
Credence bit the inside of his cheek as Graves rose the fork to his mouth, teeth flashing for a moment as he bit down on the morsel of food. His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip clean, and Credence looked away then, mentally apologising to Queenie. She was talking to the elderly witch the other side of her, but one hand reached out, patting Credence’s arm. It was her way of telling him that it was okay, that his thoughts were his own and she wouldn’t judge.
Queenie really was a beautiful person.
Graves had finished the next time Credence looked, halfway through sipping a glass of water. He choked when he met Grave’s eyes, water slopping down his chin and onto the napkin over his thighs. He wiped his face hurriedly, eyes darting around to see if anyone else had noticed.
Graves was still watching him when Credence looked back, and the difference between then and before was startlingly obvious. He looked more relaxed, amused even, and while he wasn’t smiling, there was a softness in his eyes. Perhaps it was the glasses, or the way his clothing bunched up when he moved forwards, elbows resting on the table without a care, as if Graves could inch closer to Credence limb by limb.
In return, Credence offered a small smile, hoping Graves caught the meaning. His eyes slid down, lingering on the buttons of Graves’ chest, and his smile widened slightly.
It wasn’t often that Credence wished for a meal to hurry up, but dessert was one course he wished would breeze by. Queenie simply seemed amused by Credence’s urgency, and she began telling Credence more gossip, harmless stories that no one would truly mind plucked from their head. It wasn’t as if Credence would tell anyone else, anyway.
When the last plate was levitated away and the last coffee was drunk, the guests started filtering back out to the main hall. Credence lingered at the table, aware of Graves taking his own time, waiting for his own table to clear, making an effort to push as many chairs in as he could, for lack of anything else to do. He didn’t need to wait long, and he sensed Graves before he looked up.
“Queenie and Tina wish you a good night,” Credence said, and he saw the flicker of surprise in Graves’ eyes before he smiled.
“I shall thank them in the morning,” Graves said, and his hand found its way to Credence’s lower back, broad hand splayed across his spine, even though there was no reason for it. They were almost entirely alone, and the few stragglers left were paying no attention to them whatsoever.
That didn’t stop the burning heat rolling through Credence, originating where Graves’ hand lay.
“Let’s go home,” Credence said, feeling bold. He was rewarded by Graves slipping his hand across his hip, pulling Credence into his side. His breath hitched in a way that had nothing to do with Graves apparating them.
*
tbc