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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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Re: FILL: "Nothing Shall Be Impossible" Part 18b/? - Grindelwald + Graves/Credence Breeding Program
(Anonymous) 2017-02-11 12:46 am (UTC)(link)Just Desserts (1/2) - Nothing Shall Be Impossible Side Story
(Anonymous) 2017-02-13 04:45 am (UTC)(link)___________________________
Graves felt a prickle of unease between his shoulders as soon as he stepped inside the Luminaria, one hand resting gently in the small of Credence’s back. It was probably nothing, he thought. He was just feeling paranoid and overprotective about being out in public.
He should’ve just rented out the whole restaurant, he thought. It would only be marginally more expensive than what he’d paid Bellamy to cook one of everything on the menu, and to arrange for dealing with the leftovers. He’d intended to, but then Bellamy had bitched at him about his profit margins and the loss of reputation at cancelling so many reservations, and Graves had relented. Bellamy belonged to the Bluebird, and Graves was already on her shit list. The last thing he wanted to do was piss her off even more.
There were too many people in the restaurant – too many potential threats. This was a terrible idea.
The maître d’ escorted them to a large table that could have easily fit sixteen, rather than one that would fit two. Graves helped Credence into his seat and took the chair next to him, letting his gaze drift around the room.
“Percival,” Credence said. “Tell me you didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?” Graves asked innocently. Credence had made his feelings about being fussed over pretty clear, but this wasn’t fussing – Graves was keeping a promise.
“Oh, God, you did,” Credence said. He put his face in his hands, shoulders shaking faintly.
Behind him, a witch at a nearby table gave Graves a faintly appalled look It was possible she was genuinely concerned that he’d upset his very pregnant dinner companion, but Graves’ luck had been shit lately. She was probably a reporter for the New York Ghost.
If she was, Graves would track her down and force feed her tomorrows edition and her reporter’s notebook.
When Credence lifted his head again, it was obvious his shoulders were shaking because he was laughing. “I can’t believe you,” Credence said, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “Percival. You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m a man of my word,” Graves told him, with mock-wounded dignity.
“You’re –” Credence broke off, his eyes going big and round as a veritable parade of waiters marched towards their table carrying trays laden with gorgeously plated dishes.
Halfway across the room, one of the other waiters was staring, too, his expression almost a match for Credence’s. Graves only noticed because the waiter was so distracted he overpoured a glass of water, spilling it onto the wizard he was serving.
“I’m so sorry!” he yelped, fluttering around the wizard with a napkin.
Graves narrowed his eyes, suspicious. The prickle of unease turned into a discordant warning jangle. Bellamy’s staff were trained professionals. They didn’t stay staff if they weren’t. That was a rookie mistake.
Another reporter, he wondered. No. Most reporters wouldn’t bother trying to infiltrate the waitstaff to break a story. It was too much work, with too much likely to go wrong. A real reporter would just bribe the actual waitstaff.
So if he wasn’t a waiter and he wasn’t a reporter, what was he? One of Grindelwald’s followers? If he was Grindelwald’s, who was his target – Graves or Credence?
Credence cleared his throat, drawing Graves’ attention back to him. He looked at the food-covered table. He met Graves’ gaze, and then looked back at the table, plainly incredulous.
“I told you I was going to order one of everything on the menu,” Graves reminded him, since some sort of token protest needed to be made.
“Yes, yes you did,” Credence agreed. “So I could try it all and find out what I liked.”
“You should probably start with the soups, before they get cold,” Graves advised. He wondered why Bellamy hadn’t staggered the courses and decided this was probably Bellamy’s way of saying Graves was an idiot.
Looking at the food covered table and the restaurant full of staring eyes, Graves found it hard to disagree with him.
“Which one’s your favorite?”
“That one,” Graves said, pointing to the broccoli cheddar soup.
Credence obligingly took a sip. He considered his mouthful and passed the bowl to Graves a second later.
“Percival?” Credence asked, after he’d tried and passed on the lobster bisque, the beef stew and the minestrone, which was Credence’s way of saying that he didn’t approve of the waste of food.
Graves’ place setting was starting to get a little crowded. He discretely signaled one of the waiters to come and clear it and got the clumsy one instead.
Graves readied a stunning spell, just in case, but the clumsy waiter managed to clear the soup away without incident.
“Yes, darling?” he asked, once the waiter was out of spell range.
“Will you come with me on my next appointment with the Bluebird?”
“Of course,” Graves said, a little baffled. He always went with Credence to his appointments. Credence knew that, so why was he asking?
“Good,” said Credence. “I think she needs to check you for brain damage.”
The witch who was probably a reporter made a tiny noise that was almost certainly laughter.
“She gave me a clean bill of health,” Graves protested.
Credence took a savage bite of balsamic glazed carrot and said, “Damage to the patellar ligaments and the tibialis anterior of the left leg. Healed hairline fractures present on the posterior side of right ribs one through seven, right scapula, right humerus –”
Credence could, would and had recited the entire list of Graves’ injuries to get Graves to do what he wanted. Credence, Graves thought darkly, had taken his lessons about not fighting fair a little too much to heart. (Graves was so fucking proud of him.)
Still. A man didn’t like to have his own tactics used against him. Graves grabbed the nearest appetizer and shoved it into Credence’s mouth, stemming the flow of injuries. The New York Ghost did not need to know the extent of what he’d endured at Grindelwald’s hands. Graves didn't need or want their pity.
“Fine,” Graves conceded. “She said I was an idiot and threatened to skin me for a rug if I injured myself during recovery.”
Credence licked his lips, satisfied as a cat with cream. He had another bite of the carrots and said, “A check-up would be good for you, anyway.”
“As you wish,” Graves sighed.
Credence’s smile was a small, satisfied thing. Graves wanted to lean over and find out how it tasted, but his instincts said now was not the time to demonstrate any sort of vulnerability.
“What happens to the rest of the food?” Credence asked, once a few more plates had been sampled and sent away. He kept hold of the carrots and the roast chicken on its bed of mushroom and leek risotto, curling his fingers protectively around the plate.
“I thought we’d take your favorites home,” Graves said. “The rest will be donated to No-Maj soup kitchens.”
“No-Maj?” Credence asked.
Graves shrugged. “I thought if more of the reputable soup kitchens had adequate supplies and funding, people like Mary Lou won’t gain quite so many followers.”
“Um,” said Credence, looking torn. He stuffed a massive bite of chicken into his mouth while his ears slowly reddened.
Graves stared at him, more than a little concerned. Credence was still chewing with evident pleasure, but he was also getting steadily redder. He caught Credence’s wrist before he could devour and equally massive portion of risotto. “Careful, lovely. If you choke on Chef Bellamy’s food, he’ll have a heart attack and the Bluebird will turn me inside out before she turns me into a rug.”
“Um,” Credence said again, squirming a little.
It hit Graves, suddenly, that he knew exactly what that little fidget meant. It meant Credence wanted Graves to stop whatever it was he was doing and make love to him.
“Oh,” Graves said. “Would you like me to get the check?”
“Yes,” Credence said, looking mortified by his own enthusiasm.
“Give me a moment to deal with Bellamy,” Graves said. And because he was still feeling overprotective and paranoid, he put a shield around Credence. No one would be able to touch him while Graves was gone.
“Percival?” Credence asked sharply. He knew the feel of Graves’ magic almost better than he knew his own, and he was sensitive enough to it to feel the shield like it was a physical object.
“Indulge me?” Graves asked, looking at Credence through his lashes. He didn’t want to worry Credence. Credence didn’t need to be worried, not after everything he’d already been through. Better he thought Graves overprotective than fret over a nonexistent threat.
Credence smiled. “Of course.”
Just Desserts (2/2) - Nothing Shall Be Impossible Side Story
(Anonymous) 2017-02-13 04:47 am (UTC)(link)“I will pay double,” Graves said, cutting Bellamy off mid-tirade.
The entire kitchen held its breath.
Bellamy’s dark expression got a little darker. “Try again,” he said.
Graves narrowed his eyes. Bellamy’s only loves were books, the Bluebird and puttering around in his kitchen. Double should have been good enough.
“Double and I’ll owe you a favor.”
“You owe me for this anyway.”
“No, I’m paying you for this. Double, in fact. The favor is currency you can’t get anywhere else and you know it.”
“What makes you think I’ll ever need to cash in that favor, Director?” Bellamy shot back.
“You can’t think of a single favor a scion of the Graves line could do for you?” Graves retorted. “You lack imagination, Chef Bellamy.”
Very quiet horrified gasps went all around the kitchen. “Merlin have mercy,” someone muttered, and was immediately shushed.
“Double, a favor, and a copy of Gondulphus Graves’ journal,” Bellamy said.
“What the hell do you want with that?”
“I like history,” said Bellamy.
“Done,” Graves said. He exited the kitchen and headed back towards Credence, every instinct he had screaming danger danger danger at the sight of the clumsy waiter standing next to the wizard he’d spilled water on earlier. They seemed to be arguing about something.
Worse yet, the witch who was probably a reporter was making a beeline for them. There was something strangely familiar about the way she moved, brisk and purposeful. The familiarity of it set him on edge, because that was the way an Auror moved, and he didn’t know that woman.
Were they all Grindelwald's followers?
He readied a wordless incarcerous and paused, because the wizard at the table batted the air next to the clumsy waiter like a demented cat and Merlin’s balls what the fuck was his team doing here?
He was absolutely not going to make a scene in front of wizarding New York’s elite and Credence, who was more important than all of them put together. He wasn’t.
Credence frowned at him with faint concern, one hand resting on the swell of his belly. The desire was gone now, replaced with worry. Everything okay? He mouthed.
Fine, Graves mouthed back, fury rising up until it eclipsed everything else. Damn it, this was supposed to be a date. A real date, like they’d dreamed of while they were stuck in that fucking cell and his team had no right to gate crash his personal life.
“Have the three of you completely lost your fucking minds,” he snarled, anger making the words roll through the restaurant like thunder.
“Oh no,” said the clumsy waiter. That was Collins, then.
“Sir,” the witch said stoically. Hello, Summersea.
“Boss,” said the wizard who resembled a demented cat. Hughes. And, Graves suspected, the ringleader.
“We’re so, so sorry sir,” said Collins.
“We were worried about you,” said Hughes.
“Don’t even,” said Graves, pointing a finger at her. He scowled at Summersea. “What about you? Anything to say?”
“I,” Summersea said very clearly, “did not want to be here.”
“Tattletale,” muttered Hughes.
“Then what the fuck are you doing here? I thought you had better sense than this, John!”
Summersea turned a flat, disgruntled look on Hughes. “Win dosed my coffee with polyjuice.”
“And then made a persuasive case for why you should go along with her crazy,” Graves finished for him, because he knew his teams MO’s. Hughes’ crazy was very persuasive. Even he found it hard to resist sometimes.
He folded his arms across his chest. “Give me one good reason not to fire the lot of you.”
“Percival?” Credence asked, slowly approaching them. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing I can’t fix in the morning,” Graves said darkly.
“Who are these people? Why are you yelling at them?”
“Hughes. Collins. Summersea.” Graves pointed at each of them in turn. “At least you left Goldstein out of it.”
“Your team?” Credence asked. He frowned. “Why do you – are you using polyjuice?” he asked. “Like Mr. Grindelwald.”
“Yes, yes they are,” said Graves.
“I hate polyjuice,” Credence said.
“It’s not my favorite, either,” Graves agreed.
“Are you spying on us?” Credence demanded, looking torn between outrage and hurt. “You are! Alex, how could you? I thought we were friends!” He pointed at Collins accusingly. “I am going to firecall your wife the instant I am home, Alexander Collins.”
“Oh, no,” said Collins. “Credence, I am so, so sorry.”
Well, Graves thought, that was one way of handling it. Dorothy was going to be furious as soon as she heard from Credence, and then Dorothy would call Angelica. Dorothy and Angelica weren’t as close as Credence and Dorothy were, but they still shared the same bond. Angelica wasn’t going to be pleased either.
Collins and Summersea would both be sleeping on the couch tonight.
Judging from the way they both turned accusing looks on Hughes, they knew it, too.
Hughes had no significant other to tattle to. But she did have six brothers, all of whom would be disappointed in just how badly she’d fucked up and wouldn’t be shy about expressing it, either. Graves suspected one or more of them would be getting firecalls of their own tonight or tomorrow, depending on how badly the marital disagreement went.
“We will discuss exactly how badly the three of you fucked and how you gave yourselves away tomorrow,” Graves said firmly. “If you are very, very lucky and Credence persuades me to be merciful, this will not go in your records as an abuse of department resources and a betrayal of my trust.”
“I am not,” Credence said, spitting the words out like knives, “in a merciful mood.”
Graves pressed a kiss to Credence’s temples. “I know, love,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
“I had plans for you,” Credence grumbled, stalking towards the door like a wampus cat on the hunt. “I wanted to go home and make love to you and now I need to talk to Dorothy about what a complete idiot she married.”
“I know,” Graves said sympathetically. “But the plus side is, she’s the only one you need to talk to in order to make all three of them suffer.”
Credence frowned at him. “I’m not following your logic,” he said flatly.
“Dorothy will talk to Angelica Summersea, who won’t be happy with her husband either. Collins and Summersea will spend the next few nights on the couch, which will put them in a vengeful enough mood to contact Hughes’ brothers. Hughes has a lot of brothers.”
“Six of them, you said.”
“Hm. Yes. Five older, one younger. The oldest ones pretty much raised her. And let me tell you, no one does disappointed quite like Ezra Hughes does. Not even Dorothy. And Miles Hughes could write a book on reading someone the riot act – they’d have to censor three quarters of it for profanity, but what’s left would still be terrifying and righteous. The two of them will make sure Win understands how badly she fucked up, and Morgana have mercy if they decide to get the other four involved.”
“Oh,” said Credence, looking the tiniest bit mollified. “I’m still mad,” he warned.
“So am I,” Graves said. “But I would much rather enjoy the knowledge that everyone who needs their ass kicked is going to get their just desserts and make love to you than stew over the fact that my team is terrifyingly invested in my love life.”
Credence grinned at him, all fey, savage delight and anticipation. “Good plan,” he said. “And thank you.”
“For what?” Graves asked. “Taking you on the worst date in the world?”
“For introducing me to Dorothy,” Credence said. “I like having a support network.”
Re: Just Desserts (2/2) - Nothing Shall Be Impossible Side Story
(Anonymous) 2017-02-13 11:44 am (UTC)(link)Re: Just Desserts (2/2) - Nothing Shall Be Impossible Side Story
(Anonymous) 2017-02-15 11:22 pm (UTC)(link)Tina's on his team too, but Hughes opted not to drag Tina into her crazy, on the grounds that a) Tina is kind of not subtle sometimes and b) getting the rookie in trouble tends to make Graves shout at you. A lot. And at impressive volume, too.
I'm glad you liked it! Thanks for reading. =)
Re: Just Desserts (2/2) - Nothing Shall Be Impossible Side Story
(Anonymous) 2017-02-14 07:15 am (UTC)(link)Love,
-AaaaanonYRT
Re: Just Desserts (2/2) - Nothing Shall Be Impossible Side Story
(Anonymous) 2017-02-15 11:28 pm (UTC)(link)Graves' paranoia is definitely dialed up to eleven, and is going to stay that way for a really long time. (Credence, at some point, is going to threaten him with a Healer-Legilimens, or possibly just dinner with Queenie Goldstein and Graves is totally going to deserve it.) But really, spying on the Head of Magical Security was a terrible idea and they reaaaaally should have known better.