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fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-11-23 07:27 am
fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-11-23 07:27 am
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Prompt Post #1
ROUND 1
FUCK IT WE'LL FIGURE OUT SPECIFICS LATER
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FILL: "Nothing Shall Be Impossible" Part 18a/? - Grindelwald + Graves/Credence Breeding Program
(Anonymous) 2017-02-08 11:31 pm (UTC)(link)___________________________________
Graves relished in being able to kiss Credence any time he wanted. It soothed the savage, animalistic part of his brain that raged against being held captive and Gellert fucking Grindelwald’s entire goddamn existence. (He normally kept that part of himself hidden and suppressed, because he was a Graves and a gentleman, but it got harder and harder to bury, the longer Grindelwald held him prisoner. If it wasn’t for Credence, Graves thought he’d be nothing better than the savage Grindelwald liked to say he was by now.)
He wanted to do more than just kiss Credence. He wanted to touch Credence all over, to find out if his memories of what Credence liked were still true and how long it would take Credence to fall apart beneath his touch. Then he wanted to do it all over again with his mouth.
He wanted to lose himself in Credence, to forget the ever-present rage at Norton’s murder in Credence’s body. He wanted the joy Credence took from the act to soothe his rough edges and make him feel like a man again and not a monster.
They hadn’t talked about what anything meant, though. Not yet. And that meant Graves would content himself with kisses, and be grateful for them, which he was.
Regular meals that weren’t watered down until they had no nutrition at all had done Credence some good. He’d put on a little weight. Not enough, Graves thought, but some. Enough to lose the sharp bony angles and put a healthy flush on his cheeks, so that he was as lovely as Graves had always known he’d be. Having some of the terrible haircut grow out helped some too. Once they were free, Credence would probably have his pick of suitors.
Mine, Graves thought, pressing a kiss to the top of Credence’s head while he slept. Credence was his. He didn’t know how he’d done it, but he’d wooed and won him, and he’d be damned if he let anyone take Credence from him now, unless that was what Credence wanted.
Credence stirred, opening his eyes.
Graves kissed him again. “Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” Credence said. Normally, he leaned in for more kisses, and the two of them lazed together until the porridge bowls appeared.
“Credence?” Graves asked, when a faint, concerned furrow appeared between Credence’s eyebrows.
“I don’t –” Credence began, before he blanched white and practically shoved Graves off of their cot in his scramble to make it to the water closet before he emptied his stomach.
“Oh,” said Graves, dusting himself off. He went into the water closet and wet one of the small towels, placing it on the back of Credence’s neck. Dindrane had found it soothing when she’d had morning sickness. Although hers had been less morning and more every-hour-of-the-day sickness.
“I don’t feel well,” Credence moaned, retching again.
Graves rubbed up and down his back. “I know, darling,” he murmured. He grabbed the water pitcher. “Here, rinse your mouth out. It’ll help.”
Credence just moaned and rested his head against the porcelain.
Graves poured water into his palm and fed Credence small sips of it. Credence made a face and spat into the toilet again, but he let Graves feed him more water anyway.
“Do you want to go back to bed?” Graves asked.
“No,” Credence said. “Was there something wrong with dinner? Are you alright?”
“Fine,” Grave said, marveling all over again at the strength of Credence’s heart. “But I’m also not the one who’s pregnant.”
That got him an actual frown. A real one, not the politely puzzled look Credence used as a substitute. “What does my being with child have to do with dinner being spoiled?” Credence asked, sounding plaintive.
“Dinner wasn’t spoiled,” Graves told him. “Morning sickness is a symptom of pregnancy. It’s a shift in the body’s hormones. I don’t know much about it, unfortunately.”
He wished he’d paid more attention to Dindrane’s tendency to overshare during pregnancy. He’d taken to fleeing the room once she’d gotten started while she was pregnant with Gwen, having learned from her pregnancy with Arthur that when the oversharing started, he was likely to find the details extremely traumatizing. Dindrane believed that if she had to suffer, everyone else ought to suffer with her. Graves understood her point, but there were some things about one’s sister a man simply did not want to know.
“It’s normal,” he assured Credence. “It means the child is healthy.” Or at least, he thought it did. Dindrane had mentioned as much, although now he couldn’t remember if it was fact or her ranting about old wives tales and superstition.
“That’s good,” Credence said faintly, pillowing his face on his arms and looking pathetic.
“Come on,” Graves said. “Let’s get you back to bed. You’ll feel better if you lie down.”
“I still don’t feel well,” Credence warned. “I might be sick again.”
“If you get sick again, I’ll clean it up. The cleaning spell’s a simple one, remember? For now, you’ll rest easier if you’re comfortable.”
“Ugh,” said Credence. “This only happens in the mornings? You called it morning sickness.”
“Er,” said Graves. “The name is … not entirely accurate.”
“Ugh,” Credence said again. He let Graves put him back to bed and curled up in a miserable ball.
Graves wasn’t entirely certain Credence would be okay with him hovering. He wanted to hover; he wanted to make sure that Credence and their child were safe. He also wanted to feed Credence ginger tea and dry toast until the nausea went away. Dindrane had let him hover, sometimes. (The rest of the time she’d been quick to send him on his way with a stinging hex or a thrown object.)
He hated not being able to provide Credence with ginger tea and dry toast and anti-nausea potions. He wasn’t entirely certain Grindelwald would be willing to provide them; he didn’t care much for the health of the carrier, so long as his prophesied general was alright. Graves might be able to bargain with him, assuming he could keep his head.
Graves did not know if his self control was good enough to keep his head while Norton’s blood was still so fresh on Grindelwald’s hands.
There was nothing he could do for Norton now except avenge him. He had to do better by Credence and their son.
Graves imagined breaking Grindelwald’s neck with his bare hands. If he’d mastered the ability to cast a patronus without his wand, he was fairly certain that image would’ve created a patronus strong enough to send a message through Grindelwald’s wards. Something to work on, he thought.
He let his magic well up and smashed it against Grindelwald’s wards. It wouldn’t break them – he’d tried, in the early days of his captivity. He’d kept it up for fifteen minutes once, and was reasonably certain he was close to freedom. And then Grindelwald had showed up and used the Cruciatus on him until Graves was too weak to try again for days. He had, as soon as he’d had the strength for it, but Grindelwald had shown up before he’d kept up his assault for more than a minute. He’d tried half-drowning Graves, that time. The time after that had been suffocation. Eventually, Graves concluded that Grindelwald would continue to appear before he had any luck breaking the wards, and had shelved that plan to be used if he was desperate.
Still, it was a useful method of summoning his captor.