.

.

Witches don't cry.

He's heard the mumble off Credence's lips, during a rumbling garble of dreamspeak.

Percival pushes himself up to an elbow and wakes the other man slowly, calling to him, whispering low reassurances over him — "it's alright, baby, s'alright, I've got you" — and holding a hand over Credence's heart.

This time, no warm tears spill off his cheeks. But in the dusty, yellow morning-light, Percival can see the shadowy, vibrating particles swirling around Credence, growing denser.

"No, don't do that — look at me," Percival encourages him, not daring to reach out again. "You're in control, Credence. Remember that."

The other man sits and leans into his hands, pressing them into the cot. He's visibly quivering. Credence twists his expression and inhales, the corners of his dark eyes going milky.

"I'm trying…" he mumbles, clearly frustrated.

Percival nods, eyeing him. "I know."

He has to admit — this is far better than the sheer panic and fear when a recovering Credence experienced his Obscurus a few months ago, nearly engulfed by his own magic.

In his rage and grief, some time ago, he became an actual wildstorm.

Nothing could stop him.

Percival thinks about it and is utter awe of Credence. How much power and magic lives inside his veins. And yet, Credence is a kind soul: he still fights shrinking against the gentlest touch; he tries to make himself smaller in crowds and around his friends.

Credence is an apocalypse housed in flesh and bone — and he loves someone like Percival.

Once the dark, morphing vapor falls away in wisps, Percival touches the side of Credence's face, smiling a little as the other man's eyelashes flutter open. No more milky-pale.

"You did beautifully."

Credence flushes hotly, narrowing his eyes but falling forward. He presses his nose into Percival's nightshirt, burrowing closer to him and winding his arms around the other man's middle.

At the nearly childish gesture, Percival chuckles, petting fingers into soft, brown locks.

"Your hair is getting long…"

Thicker.

Credence's health quickly improves after leaving a life of malnutrition and daily abuse — of course. It's a small blessing to witness that poor, thin body gaining considerable weight.

"You don't like it," Credence muffles out. He doesn't sound at all upset, but more blunt.

Percival's nose wrinkles in thought.

"It suits you… but me?" he announces, glimpsing Credence peeking up inquisitively. Percival offers another faint smile until the other man straightens up, climbing between Percival's legs. "I'm afraid I'm a bit too old-fashioned…"

"Maybe," Credence whispers, their noses brushing, lips ghosting each other.

He's like a living fire — sweltering, tempting and full of heat. Percival runs his hands upwards over Credence's bare, muscular back, so very mindful of the occasional patch of raised scars.

Credence's mouth feels wet and warm. It opens for the pressure of the sudden, moaning kiss, allowing the other man's tongue to slide within.

He's a hex — rendering Percival helpless and wanting, pulling Credence in, rutting, raptured.

The halcyon, roaring noises of Paris smothered out by a whining and sweet cry echoing in Percival's ear. Credence rocks steadily on his lap, practically bouncing, guided comfortably by the pair of hands on his hips.

"Easy, take it easy," Percival coaxes him.

He kisses his throat, biting gently on the arc of his throat. It draws softer awed noises out of Credence.

"Inside meplease."

(Oh fucking hell, what he is doing to him… …?)

"Not this time, baby," Percival says. He snorts out a breathy laugh when Credence groans loud and disappointed, sending him a frown. He feels it melt off Credence's features with another open-mouthed, aggressive kiss.

This is the best taste on Credence's skin — soap and heavy cologne and sex, permeating Percival's senses and his immediate memory.

He remembers fondly how deep inside he could reach, pinning a grinning, pink-cheeked Credence down to the countertop and fucking him until he shivered, gasping and coming hard.

Nothing would make Graves happier than to bring him an endless life of pleasure and peace.

To make up for those lost hours and days while imprisoned by Grindelwald, for what he never could provide Credence or shield him from.

If that's considered love… then he's glad for this.

.

.


FBaWtFT isn't mine! Sooooo I got in really late to this fandom, and never intended on watching this movie until I saw some gay shit... I KNOW GRINDELWARD MASQUERADED AS THE REAL GRAVES, but I love all of the headcanons/fics where the Real!Graves returns from being trapped and knew Credence previously, and Credence survives and learns to control his Obscurus, and they rebuild a life together. HERE'S MY OWN TAKE ON IT. I was fortunate to discover and be inspired by "Real!Graves/Credence, smutty fluff" off the Fantastic Beast Kink Meme. Credence deserves a damn happy ending. Any thoughts/comments encouraged! :)