#Barty crouch

[birdieardley]

[my-castles-crumbling]

22 - may 22 - barty and sirius friendship - background jegulus - cw: humorous fic, but lots of talk of parental abuse - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 252 - based on @jamesontheoutside 's post!

Even though the entire group was there, the game of ‘Never Have I Ever’ had long ago dissolved into something much more darkly entertaining. Now, it was just Barty and Sirius facing each other, two bottles of Firewhiskey in their hands, twin deranged grins on their faces, while everyone else stared at them with looks of both horror and amazement.

“Never have I ever had a parent use Imperio on me,” Barty said with a smirk, taking a sip to indicate he was lying as soon as he was done speaking.

Sirius scoffed and took a sip of his own. “Imperio? That’s soft. Never have I ever had my parents hit me with Crucio in the middle of a family dinner!” He took another sip as the group murmured in disgust. 

Barty didn’t take a sip but gave Sirius an impressed look. “Damn, Black. Alright. Never have I ever had to spend twenty-two days of my summer without any way of contacting anyone because I was a ‘disappointment to the family.’” He knocked back the bottle again.

Beaming wildly, Sirius drank as well. “What’d you do to be a disappointment?”

“Got sorted into the wrong House, of course. As if it was my choice,” Barty grimaced.

“Oi, same!” the Gryffindor laughed loudly, clapping Barty on the back.

“I can’t decide if this is funny or sad,” James mumbled to Regulus, who was sitting on his lap was watching with mild amusement. 

“This? This is coping,” Regulus chuckled, sipping at his own drink.

[not-rab]

Regulus: *wears dark grey*

Barty: I see you’re breaking out the spring colours

[crescenthistory]

hey how are youu? I’m new here and I’m completely in love with your work especially with the Barty’s ones! I wanted to request the prompt c 11 (you are okay) with the 4 (near death experience) and if you could make it like part of the series of where they bicker all the time it would be perfect! Anyways I really enjoy your writing and I love how you portray my man Barty🤍����🏼

hi there lovey! thank you so much for being here and for your sweet words<33 i combined this request with another i received, i hope that is okay

other request: i headcanon barty as a person who has attachment issues (on the ambivalent side), in the way he loves too much his friends and lovers but at the same time is afraid of intimacy bc he also struggles with showing affection in a non sexual way. so my idea is that (gn)reader and barty have an argument because of their insecurities about trust and commitment, but AFTER they've been avoiding the conversation for too long. it could end very much extremely bad or very good.

you can find the other fics for this specific au here and here

Prompts: C.11 "You're okay, you're okay" & 4. Near Death Experience

Words: 6k

Warnings: not proofread, gn!reader (no pronouns used), use of y/n, reader and barty both have mental breakdowns/spirals, attachment issues, miscommunication, "oh shit! love is scary but i do love you so what now" moments, near-fall on the ice, potions accident, choking in a non-sexual way, infirmary, language, talk of death, injured!reader, heavy hurt but heavy comfort, happy ending

this isn't fun anymore

Your relationship with Barty thus far had been interesting to say the least.

After endless bickering led to an impromptu kiss to shut him up in the library, which in turn led to a heavy make-out session in a nearby cot, which led to a “how does it feel to be my girlfriend?” “I wouldn’t know” “do you want to?” “sure” conversation in the Slytherin common room, you somehow wound up being in an established, committed relationship with one Barty Crouch Junior.

To your friends’ flabbergasted shock, and, quite frankly, your own surprise.

Even more surprisingly so, you loved it – which scared you to no end.

As the weeks began to stretch into months, you felt as if you were losing your footing more and more in your dynamic. What was once flirtatious and intense has now become almost intimate and close. It stills you in your movements as you try and find your bearing.

Who are you to Barty when you are not in the mood to quip? Or even talk at all? Who is Barty to you when you allow him to just be Barty and not sparring-partner Junior?

All good questions to ask oneself, but not as productive to spiral over as you walk with him from Hogsmeade, a little stretch behind your boisterous friends.

There are two reasons for this. One is that Barty has somehow learned to read your emotions fairly well despite your inability to communicate them effectively, and he is now scrutinising your distracted facial expressions. Second, and perhaps most importantly, is that it is winter in Scotland.

In your distracting spiral, you step on a snow that covered a perfectly polished sliver of ice, and your foot slips out from underneath you.

You barely managed to squeak out a shriek, scrambling to retract your hand from Barty’s to catch you as you fall, before one of his hands is around your waist and the other on the back of your neck, stabilising your neck. His wild eyes stare into yours, mild panic seeping away to make place for a wicked grin.

“Careful, sweetheart. Falling for me already?”

You roll your eyes before you let out a breath of relief, hands clutching onto his form as he is still holding you up in his grasp.

“You wish, Junior,” you scoff at him, albeit with a smile.

“Every night, on every star.”

You let him place you onto your legs, arm circling around your waist as a remaining layer of protection. You shiver, brushing off imaginary pieces of snow from the fall that did not occur. In front of you, your shared friends had stopped upon hearing you yell.

“Y/N, you good?” Lily called, concern etched onto her face.

At the same time, Sirius, ever the supportive friend, yelled, “Did Barty finally kill you?”

“Oh yes, Big Black, I am incredibly dead,” you yell back as Barty roll his eyes at you both and mutters something about on the contrary.

Regulus, in turn, says something you can’t quite catch over the distance, but you suppose it has something to do with your nickname for Sirius and its insinuations. Little Black did not enjoy being referred to as such.

The group waits up for the two of you to catch up, Barty enjoying taking his time with a lazy stroll.

“You mind picking up the pace, Junior?” Sirius grumbles.

Unfortunately, that only further encourages Barty. “Why would I? Got a pretty damsel in distress on my arm and all the time in the world.” 

You try and rip out of his arms at that, feigning offence at him, but he only holds you tighter. “How dare you. I am neither a damsel nor in distress–”

He cuts you off with a quick peck on your lips. “You are pretty though. Sorry, baby, had to shut the sod up somehow.”

You turn your head away from him with a shake, trying your hardest not to blush at his words or his actions. You bully Regulus too much for his blushing to commit such atrocities yourself. “Whatever you say, Junior, but you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“You don’t even live together,” Remus comments amusedly.

“Doesn’t matter; the sentiment still stands.”

James and Remus shake their heads at the two of you, while Sirius and Lily nod solemnly in support of you. The whole lot begins walking back the short distance to the castle.

Barty makes a comment of some sort to Regulus that both Black brothers and James quip back at, which starts another tireless spat. You are too zoned out to care what they are bickering about today, disappearing back into your thoughts recklessly, despite the dire consequences from last time.

Attachment issues was such a loaded term, you thought, and you didn’t like to think of yourself like that. Yet the fact remained that the longer you and Barty spent together, the more a part of your brain begins dry heaving and screaming. What began as pure fun, tingles along your spine at every back-and-forth, is becoming realer by the minute, and it terrifies you. Not because you cannot stand a relationship or fear being bound down – because you are starting to care for him. Genuinely, wholly, in a way that aches. You have always been one to shy away from emotional aches, and the fact that you now have to decide whether to withstand it or throw it away for another type of pain makes you lightheaded.

With his arm so securely around yours, with his laughter in your ear, you feel right. You feel content and whole. Why should that make sirens go off in your head?

Most of the time you spend with Barty is with others around, where you can’t fully access your emotions. In the Great Hall, if you eat by yourselves, everyone else is still there, when you walk the hallways or the grounds, there are always students and professors around. Even when you visit his dorm, which is becoming more frequent by the second, Evan and Regulus usually aren’t far. You almost wanted to keep it this way, ensure that Barty only sees the fun and open side of you, keeping everything else under lock and key. You almost avoid him when you are able to be alone just the two of you, because the implications are too vast for you to face them.

He has to know. He has to have seen. Have noticed that you keep pushing one front of you towards him and shielding the rest – and it seems like he enjoys that one, but at some point he must want more. Could you give it to him?

“Okay, what’s going on in that head of yours?” Barty’s whisper cuts through your thoughts as you step through the entrances to the castle, once more slightly secluded at the back of the group.

You merely hum in response, trying to pull yourself out of your spiral to look at him.

“C’mon, baby.” His drawl is teasing, but his eyes seem darker than usual. “You have never gone this long without insulting me somehow. What's up?”

“Maybe you’ve just been on your best behaviour today,” you say conspiratorially, putting on your mask expertly. “Haven’t needed to.”

“Now see, that is simply empirically wrong,” Barty guffaws at you. “Did you hear what I said to Reg earlier?” His raised eyebrow is giving you a silent cut the crap that you aren’t ready to face.

“I’ll be honest with you; I did not.” You look away, pulling your jacket further around you. “I’m just mentally preparing for Potions and Slughorn tomorrow, he said we should expect something big.”

“Should I be concerned that lying comes that easily to my girlfriend?” Barty asks, making you whip your head back to him. He is still teasing, but you really, really don’t like the look in his eyes.

“Should I be concerned that my boyfriend can’t take the hint to let something be?” You didn’t think about the words before you let them tumble, instantly getting defensive.

“No,” Barty says, stopping you with the hand on your waist, looking directly at you. “‘Cause I’m just checking on you when something is clearly wrong.”

“Since when do you check on me?” you say, realising your voice is uncomfortably close to a snarl. Barty does, too.

“Since you decided to take me up on my relentless flirting and enter into a relationship with me. You know, the kind where people care for and look after each other? Or is that not us?”

You stare at him for a second, as it uncomfortably settles into your bones that the odd look in his eyes is hurt. Confusion, concern and hurt. You’re at a loss for words.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” you settle on, feeling dumb but stubborn. 

Barty nods, looking away at last, small frown over his lips. “Well. Let me know when you do. Or don’t, you know, it’s whatever.”

He walks away from you, leaving you to stand alone, looking after him. If your friends realised you’re gone, they have likely assumed that the two of you are in some hallway together making-out. No one would come check up on you.

You trek back and sit down, just outside the entrance to the castle, trying to understand what just happened. Sliding down the wall, you watch as new snow begins to fall, large wet chunks flying through the air. You let them symbolically represent your tears as you keep bottling it all up.

That night, you go to your dorm in silence, telling yourself you’re thankful not to see Barty on the way there. You fall asleep watching the door.

Truth is, you had also been stressed out regarding Slughorn’s Potions class for the day after. As you wake and get ready, anxiety rages through your body for more reasons than one. He had been teasing the class for weeks, saying that you would be brewing some dangerous, difficult potion, allowed into the curriculum as a one-time exception for him.

Technically, this would have been no problem, however you are currently paired with McLaggen in Potions. The biggest twat I have ever seen, as Barty described him. While you didn’t have as intense feelings about him, you knew one thing for certain: the boy was absolute shit at potions.

The kind of awful that you really don’t want to be paired with for some exotic and dangerous potion.

Potions was one of the few classes you and Barty had together as your subject selections were relatively different. He would always walk you from your dorm, first class in the morning, soaking up every minute with you. Some of your best banter came from Potions class, often at McLaggen’s expense, for better or worse.

When you opened your door, you were not entirely sure what to expect.

What you found, certainly was not it, though.

“Regulus, what– what are you doing here?”

Regulus looked incredibly sheepish where he stood, weight leaned on one of his hips as one hand scratched the back of his neck. The other held something in it that you couldn’t quite detect as you took the awkward scene of him in.

“I, uh,” he starts, uncharacteristically inarticulate. “Barty said he couldn’t walk you today, but wanted to give you something for, um, your anxiety? About the class? Or something like that. Anyway, here.”

The tips of his ears were burning red at the humiliation of being caught in the middle of whatever this was. He reached out his hand and opened it to reveal a small potions bottle – ironic – with some purple liquid inside.

“What is it?” you asked, taking it tentatively and turning it over in your hands.

“It’s meant to make you calm down and relax– not that I think you need to do that, just, Barty wanted to give it to you.” Regulus winces at his own inelegance. “I got some from James the other week, he apparently has a bunch stacked up in his dorm with the boys, for God knows what reason. Barty asked for one for you. So, here we are.”

“I don’t really know what to say,” you trail off, looking between the potion and Regulus. “Thanks?” 

“I, uh, will tell him that then–”

“Gods, no,” you cut him off. “Don’t tell him that, he wouldn’t appreciate it.” 

As you seem to be thinking over a response, Regulus adds: “If it makes a difference, he said something to me about giving it to you on the off-chance that he was wrong and a massive wanker.”

You chuckle at that. “Well, he’s always a massive wanker,” you joke on reflex. “But you don’t need to act as an owl, Reg, I’ll thank him myself. And thank you for the potion.”

Regulus seems to let out a breath of relief at that, smiling a bit more comfortably at last. “Great, well, I’ll see you around I guess.”

You smile curtly and give him a quick nod before seeing him all but run off. 

Once he’s gone, you drink the potion and the effects are instantaneous. Your shoulders seem to loosen in places you didn’t know they were wound up, your breathing regulates and your heartbeat slows. A little too late, you mull over that this was James’s potion, and you probably should have been careful, given his track record in class. Nevertheless, the potion seems legitimate. 

With a bit more breath in your lungs, you walk off to class, alone.

Barty could not make up his mind on whether to drag his gaze away from you when it instantly gravitated towards you, or if he could let it linger.

The feelings warring in his chest felt impossible to map out. On the one hand, you had snapped at him when he tried to help, which was shitty – on the other, he still didn’t know what he was trying to help with or what compelled you to snap at him. What you were going through. Which honestly is on you, he thought, wincing at his own frustrations.

He was not one to dwell on small spats, but this was entirely unfamiliar territory to him. Barty didn’t do relationships, at least he didn’t think so before you came in like a freight train consuming his being. It was fun to finally have someone properly challenge him and do so with a beautiful smile on their face – the perfect situation for him. It was fun, until his heart began to hurt when you weren’t near, until it was your laugh that ran through his head, guiding him away from a spiral. Until he realised he was not just down bad for you as Dorcas teased, he was something much, much worse.

And he had no idea how to handle it.

His infatuation with you was all-encompassing, a burning passion and loyalty that characterised having Barty’s affection. He knew it, as did all his friends, but when it is with you, he doesn’t know how to handle it. With a friend, he could snog, even shag, them at a random party and it wouldn’t matter for either of them. With you, that first kiss, first anything, was so much more important. With a friend, if he pissed them off enough, they would just cool off without him for a while and then the slate was clear. With you – he had no idea what he would do if you disappeared. Would you come back? He was acutely aware that this was a dynamic he didn’t know how to explore.

Now, it seemed like you needed his support, but wouldn’t accept it. Didn’t want him near it.

He had to respect that, he thought to himself. So, he did his best to tear his gaze away and leave you be.

With the amount of times your eyes met, he knew he wasn’t being successful. He paid no mind to the fact that you did not avert your eyes, either. 

His feet were tapping relentlessly on the ground, his eyes flicking all over the Potions classroom to keep them from you. Barty was losing his fucking mind and he had no idea what to do about it.

“Mate,” Evan cuts off his distracted mental monologue that Barty himself couldn’t really make sense of. “Would you bloody cut it off? I’m trying to not kill us here.”

Barty does not dignify him with a response, but tries to calm his skittishness, albeit not overly successfully. He zeroes in on Slughorn and his peculiar facial expressions as he, a bit too excitedly for 8 in the morning, continues his explanation.

Something about a healing potion that is so particular that if brewed even slightly wrong, it becomes one of the most effective poisons in the world. Something about corrosive to the touch. Something about bezoars healing.

Barty settles his gaze on the bowl of bezoars Slughorn had on his desk, just in case, with a bad feeling in his stomach. He wondered if you felt the same.

As the pairs set to attempt the feat of making the potion correctly, Barty’s eyes drifted back to you, happy to leave the work to Evan – who in turn was happy to work in the silence without his constant chatter.

Your shoulders were relaxed, though your brows were furrowed together as you reread the instructions for the thousandth time. He wondered if you had taken the potion he sent to you with Regulus, he wondered if it helped you. While he knew in his bones you were lying about it being what bothered you, he still could never be too sure. He wanted you to feel safe, whichever way he could ensure it.

He knows what that’s called, which is why he is freaking out so to speak. 

You kept shooting dirty looks at McLaggen whenever he tried to help, keeping him at arm’s length from the potion, fueling the boy’s frustrations. Barty was quite certain he had seen you threaten him with your wand at one point when he tried to stir the potion. He couldn’t blame you.

McLaggen, as incompetent as ever, was trying to make himself useful by reading the instructions aloud to you, though his exaggerated enunciation was more distracting than helpful. Barty withholds a snicker as he can tell you are silently begging him to shut up. The frustration on your face was palpable, the tension between you and your partner practically humming in the air. McLaggen, ever oblivious, didn’t take the hint.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to–?”

“I’m sure,” you snapped, not looking up from the cauldron.

From across the room, you felt Barty’s eyes on you again. His gaze had become a constant presence, burning into your skin. Even when you weren't looking at him, you could feel him there, lingering, watching, waiting. It was maddening, but also strangely comforting. You knew you had to talk together soon, but you still had no idea how to communicate your feelings, if you even dared to.

You had to snap yourself back into it to remain in control of your little situation at hand.

McLaggen, frustrated by being sidelined, huffed and crossed his arms. “It’s just stirring! How hard could it be?”

“Apparently, harder than you think,” you muttered, casting him a side-eye. The potion was already starting to smell off, and you knew he had messed it up.

McLaggen’s face flushed in embarrassment, and before you could stop him, he reached for the ladle, his ego clearly bruised.

"I'll show you–"

“Wait–”

It happened in a blur. His hand snuck past yours, clumsy and wild. It knocked against the cauldron’s edge, sending it tipping over. The thick, boiling liquid surged out, splashing across the table – and onto your leg.

The pain was instant, white-hot and searing, like your skin was being eaten alive. You screamed, recoiling as the potion sizzled straight through your pant leg, immediately finding flesh.

The room seemed to freeze for a moment, everyone turning to see what had happened. The smell of burning skin filled the air as you stumbled back, falling over your increasingly immobile leg, eyes wide with shock and pain.

The world around disappeared from you as you were consumed by the burning, not even able to hear your gasps of pain.

For that moment, no one did anything.

No one but Barty – Barty moved.

Without hesitation, without thought, he lunged across the room. He grabbed the entire bowl of bezoars, eyes never leaving you. His body collided with McLaggen, shoving him aside with a force that sent the boy slamming into the wall behind, just barely avoiding the poison himself. Barty didn’t even glance at him; his focus was solely on you.

Somewhere in the back Slughorn made a sound of shock and disappointment that Barty blocked out.

He dropped down beside you, taking your shaking upper body in his arms. "You're okay, you're okay," he muttered in your ear, as he cradled your jaw with one hand and opened your mouth with another. With two quick, precise fingers he shoved the bezoar as far down your throat as he could, arm circled securely around your waist for when your body convulsed in response to the intrusion. "You're okay, I've got you," he continued to mumble, as if to himself this time, as he looked at you frantically.

Your body's trembling and your small gasps of pain faded, but your leg was still searing painfully and you still looked completely out of it.

Barty’s heart lurched – he had never seen you like this. Never seen you so vulnerable, so hurt.

“Barty–” you gasped, your voice breaking in panic.

The classroom had erupted into chaos around you – students scrambling away from the spill, Slughorn’s booming voice calling for calm. In it all, Barty's eyes kept looking you over, almost like he was itching to give you another bezoar just in case.

“You’re okay,” he repeated, quieter this time, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

Your breath came out in ragged gasps, the pain subsiding slowly. Barty's hands remained around you, grounding you essentially in his lap, keeping you tethered to the moment.

“Someone fetch Madam Pomfrey!” Slughorn’s booming voice cut through the heavy air as he rushed over, his face pale with panic. “Quickly now! That potion– oh dear–"

McLaggen stood behind him, mouth agape in shock and horror as almost all other students had lined up by the walls, putting distance between themselves and the potion. Everyone except Evan, who remained by his desk, grip tight on the wood as he looked in horror and concern.

Barty ignored him. He ignored everyone. His only focus was you – your shallow breathing, your wide, panicked eyes. He didn’t even realise that his hands were shaking until you whimpered softly, and he felt his control slipping further.

“I’m taking her to the infirmary,” Barty said through gritted teeth, not waiting for permission.

Barty scooped you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he stood. The weight of you felt so fragile, so wrong. You were supposed to be strong, biting back with sharp quips and rolling your eyes at his antics. Not this. Not in pain and trembling in his arms.

“Now, now, I’m sure Madam Pomfrey can come here–”

“No,” Barty said, his voice dark and dangerous, leaving no room for argument. “I’m taking her.”

“Mr. Crouch– wait! We should–” Slughorn tried again, but Barty was already moving, carrying you through the rows of desks and out the door.

His steps were quick but measured, and you were too disoriented by the pain and the shock to protest. Your head rested against his chest, the steady beat of his heart the only thing anchoring you to reality.

“Hang on, my love,” he murmured, his voice rough and shaky. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be alright.”

You weren’t sure when you closed your eyes, but by the time you tried to open them again, you were in the infirmary.

Your mind was swimming through a haze of pain and exhaustion. The world felt heavy around you, like you were dragging yourself up through thick water. At first, you weren’t sure where you were – the sterile smell of potions and the soft rustling of sheets felt foreign, disconnected.

Then you shifted ever so slightly and the sharp sting in your leg brought it all crashing back.

The classroom. The potion. McLaggen’s bloody idiocy. The burning, searing pain as the liquid had spilled across your skin.

Barty.

Barty was sitting at your bedside, his usual composed demeanour shattered. His shoulders were hunched, his face tight with worry, and there was a wildness in his eyes that you had never seen before. The sight of him like that sent a pang of emotion through you, more potent than the lingering sting of the potion burn.

You swallowed thickly, your throat dry. “Barty…” Your voice came out in a cracked whisper.

His head jerked up, his eyes locking onto yours in an instant. For a second, the relief that washed over his face was so overwhelming that it almost broke you. He moved closer, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached out for your hand, stopping just before touching you, as if he wasn’t sure if he should. If he could.

“You’re awake,” he breathed, his voice rough with emotion. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any sign of how you were feeling. “Are you… does it hurt? Are you in pain?”

You blinked up at him, your mind still foggy as the events of the day came rushing back in fragments. You remembered the burning pain, the panic that had clawed at your chest, and – Barty. Barty holding you, his voice in your ear, telling you that you’d be okay.

And now here he was, sitting beside you, his fingers twitching with the urge to touch you but holding back as if afraid he might break you further.

"I–" you tried, but your voice cut off, throat hoarse from the bezoar you were increasingly remembering. "I think I'm fine."

Barty just looked at you, still searching, clearly unsatisfied with your answer. What an unfortunate theme for the week.

“It’s… it’s not as bad now,” you managed, your voice hoarse. The burning in your arm was still there, a dull throb beneath the bandages, but it was nothing compared to the ache in your chest. “What happened? After… I don’t know if I really remember…”

Barty swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he fought to maintain his composure. “Pomfrey patched you up. You passed out from the pain.” He paused, his voice thickening. “It was bad. You could’ve–”

He cut himself off, his fingers curling into fists as he looked away, his throat working visibly. “It was a close call.”

At his words, you realise how hard you were fighting the tears, the bottle you keep your emotions in clearly shattered by your impact with the floor.

"I'm alright," you whispered, to which he just nodded, beautiful face stained by a frown. Yeah, yeah, you thought you could hear him mutter.

"Barty?" you called softly, hoping for his attentive eyes to be back on you – they were in an instant. "Thank you."

"I would do anything for you," he whispered. "I just need you to be alright. I'm so sorry."

"For what?" Your eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. "You did nothing wrong Barty. You– you did so good."

Barty leans his head on his fists curled up on your bedside. He was still slightly trembling. "I thought I lost you."

His words hit you like a physical blow. You could hear the desperation in his voice, the crack in his usually cool exterior, and it made your chest tighten with emotion. He wasn’t just worried – he had been terrified. You could see it in the way he refused to meet your eyes now, as if he was still trying to gather himself, still fighting the lingering fear.

Your heart twisted painfully at the sight of him like this, so undone, so vulnerable. It was strange when he was always the one so sure of himself, always the one in control. His usual composed mask had crumbled, leaving raw emotion exposed underneath. You wanted to kiss it better. You wanted to see more.

It was strange, you thought, lying there in the infirmary with a dull ache all throughout your body. Strange how, in moments like these, everything else – the fear, the confusion, the uncertainty – seemed to fall away. All that was left was Barty, his presence consuming every inch of your awareness.

"Barty..." you whispered again. When he looked up at you, his eyes were red-rimmed.

You simply turned your hand laying near his over. An open invitation.

He accepted it immediately, intertwining his fingers with yours and kissing the back of your hand so sweetly it hurt you.

"I thought–" you start, voice breaking from emotion this time. "When it happened, all I could think about was you. How sweet you are with me even when I'm terrible, how stupid it is to let my emotions get in the way of that. I didn't even get to say sorry to you and–" You take a deep breath. "I wanted to. I'm sorry, Barty."

He was shaking his head, cheek against your hand he was holding as it looked at you intensely. "Absolutely not. Apology accepted and then rejected. I don't want you to be sorry."

You try to interject, but he sits up, leaning on his elbow onto your bedside so you are at eye-level. "Nuh-uh. I won't allow it. Thank you, and I'm sorry too, but no."

"Will you at least accept the sentiment that I never meant to hurt you?" you whisper through a tired smile.

"Of course. I hurt myself. I was confused and scared and– shit, this feeling thing is so bloody hard for no reason." You laugh slightly at that, wincing when it pains you. "I hated feeling like we weren't a team."

"Me too," you whispered, not trusting your voice. "I didn't want to fight, I just find it so difficult to trust. That I can, I don't know, show you everything and not run. Because I don't know what to do with myself if you do."

Barty's grip on your hand tightened. "I won't. I swear to you, I won't. That's what scares the shit out of me. How ridiculously much I care about you. What am I to do with that?"

A few tears spilled down your cheeks before you could stop it. His hand instinctively shot forward to wipe them away, frown deepening.

"Can we be scared and confused together?" you asked weakly.

For the first time since you woke up, you saw a smile grace Barty's face, clouded only slightly by his teary eyes. "I reckon we can, love. I– I just need you."

You closed your eyes, triggering the release of a few more tears.

"You'll never lose me," Barty continued, pressing his forehead back against your intertwined hands. "I swear. I don't care what fight we have or how unsure we are. You're the only person who–" He stopped, his breathing hitching as if the words were too heavy on his vocal chords. "I need you."

Your heart clenched painfully at the raw emotion in his voice. The cool, confident Barty you were used to wasn’t here right now. This was a Barty who was terrified and loving, who was stripped bare of all the usual bravado and snark. It made your chest ache in a way that was so full of feeling that it was almost overwhelming.

“I need you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He lifted his head slowly, his eyes locking onto yours again. There was something so vulnerable, so intense in his gaze that it nearly stole your breath away. He leaned forward then, hesitating only for a moment before his lips brushed gently against your forehead, lingering there as if he was grounding himself in the feel of you, the reality that you were still here.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured against your skin. “I promise.”

For a moment, the weight of those words hung in the air, settling into the space between you. And despite the pain, despite everything that had happened, you felt a small flicker of warmth spark in your chest.

You brought your free hand up to the nape of his neck, guiding his lips from your forehead to your own, kissing him as softly as you could muster. His kiss was careful as he tried to pour as much emotion as possible. All the things you could not say yet, but cared for each other in spite of.

When you parted, you rested your foreheads together and you let out a shaky breath, your heart slowing as the adrenaline finally began to fade.

You opened your eyes to find Barty already looking at you with a slight smile – the look in his eyes was positively lovesick.

With the ease Barty's touch awarded you, you let out a half-choked laugh, relief expanding in your chest, which in turn widened his smile.

"What's so funny?" he asked, a teasing tone finally making it back into his voice.

"I'm just thinking about how ridiculous we are," you laughed, squeezing his hand. "And dramatic, Merlin's beard."

Barty huffed a laugh in return, shaking his head at you. "You knew what you were signing up for when you got with me. Theatrical is my middle name."

"Oh, so you admit it now, do you?"

"Only for you."

You gaze into his eyes and you realise – Barty is not the only one who is lovesick.

"Tell me now," you said, teasing tone finally back in your voice. It made Barty's heart soar, but not as much as your next sentence. "How did you trick me into falling in love with you, Junior?"

"I trick you? Love, I've been heads over heels for you since the first time you insulted me. You're the one who should fess up."

Barty's grin threatened to tear his skin apart as he shook his head.

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely.” He shifted closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that made your heart stutter. “You’re impossible not to fall for.”

“Good,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Because I think you're stuck with me now.”

Barty leaned down, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead, and when he pulled back, his eyes were alight with something that looked an awful lot like hope.

“Stuck, huh?”

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t get cocky, Junior.”

“Too late, sweetheart.”

“In that case," you started, trailing off as if you grew uncertain of yourself once more. Barty's hold on you remained steadfast. "Can you stay? Just stay here with me, until I'm dispatched?”

“I’m not leaving,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles in a steady, grounding rhythm. “I’ll stay as long as you want. You've got me.”

You felt yourself relax into the bed, your eyes growing heavy with exhaustion, but for the first time in a long while, the tightness in your chest had eased. As your eyes fluttered closed, you heard Barty’s voice again, soft and filled with so much emotion that it made your heart ache all over again.

“Sleep well, my love."

[starrysillhoutte]

rosekiller would be the type of people to adopt a pit-bull and then name it sprinkles

[ultravioletbrit]

“name” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 214 words

“Why don’t you want to tell us?”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“Just tell us who it was.”

“You’ve seriously never told anyone?”

“Come on, please tell us.”

“You’ve got to tell us who it was.”

“Just tell us the name.”

“Just the name.”

“Give us the wretched name!”

“BLACK.” James finally snapped. Gasps filled the room and all eyes landed on Sirius. James drops his head in his hands. “Regulus.” He adds quietly.

Now, silence fills the room and James is terrified to lift his head. When he finally does, he sees exactly what he expected—smiles, smirks, and shock from everyone in the room and massive amounts of fury coming from Sirius. What he didn’t expect were the adorable pink cheeks and tiny smile he sees when he eventually looks at Regulus.

“Me?” Regulus asks and James just squeezes his eyes shut and nods. “When?”

“Fourth year. Quidditch locker room. You in a towel and then—"

“Okay! That’s enough.” Sirius cuts him off. “It’s bad enough that my baby brother was your queer awakening. We don’t need details.”

Regulus smirks at James. “You can give me more details later.” Regulus whispers and James feels his entire face heat up but he manages to smile back.

“Ugh, I’m gonna be sick.” Sirius mumbles.

[ethereacals]

MANIAC

the one where you don't go back to the boys.

part two of the conan gray series

“i wish i were heather” out now!

synopsis: after getting cheated on by your previously expected soulmates, a change in perspective occurs and you find yourself falling for a different set of three.

warnings: foul language, slander on the marauders, sexual innuendos, mentions of smoking, a small taylor

"PEOPLE LIKE YOU ALWAYS WANT BACK WHAT THEY CAN'T HAVE."

Leaving Hogwarts early for Christmas this year was not something anyone could've forshadowed.

You, the girl who spent most of her time studying for her upcoming OWLS in November, had disappeared without a trace.

Of course most of your close friends knew where you were, and some not so close friends did aswell.

"She can't just run away from her problems." Said Sirius, his leg bouncing anxiously from the news Regulus had just sprung onto them.

"Sirius, It'll be fine, okay? When they get back to school, we can formally apologize and move on, right?" Remus attempted to reassure Sirius, but he in reality he felt quite crestfallen.

Lily sat quietly, already regretting her decision to do this with them.

In her head, she knew they had every intention to not cheat and solve things the right way— but she hadn’t helped.

It all started one night at a loud and ear-shattering Gryffindor victory party after a successful win for their Quidditch team.

She got drunk, and they were completely wasted.

And you weren’t there.

So their drunken minds believed it would be a missed opportunity if they didn’t take their chance with Gryffindors golden girl.

Lily knew she should’ve said no, she should’ve gone back to her dorm and hid from them for the rest of eternity.

But fate clearly had other plans.

And after secrets, longing stares, and lingering touches that the truth finally came to light.

and it was all at your expense.

“So— When will our Reggie be joining us, Meadowes?” Evan slurred, his voice carrying a heavily intoxicated tone.

“Soon enough, he’s got one more OWL to complete and then he’s on his way.” Dorcas mused as she gently pet the head of her tipsy sleepy Gryffindor girlfriends head as she babbled on about Quidditch.

Evan nodded drunkenly— before taking another swig.

Dorcas seemed so peaceful with Marlene— who had surprisingly accepted her invitation to spend Christmas with the Slytherins, though Marlene truly wasn’t prejudice against them like others were.

They seemed so… in love.

You had love once.

Remember?

They’re gone.

Remember?

They’re gone.

“I— I had love… once—“ You hiccuped sadly, beginning to sob for the umpteenth time this evening.

You were extremely drunk, who could really blame you?

“Aww… Treasure…” Barty (who surprisingly was very sober) cooed, encapsulating you in a bear hug as you cried into his chest.

“How many more times is she going to do that?” Asked Peter, who— by the way: lied to his friends and said he was going home for Christmas.

He was only visiting for the night, as he was currently visiting his girlfriend— Sybil Trelawney who lived in town.

“Who knows, Pete. Who knows..” Evan slung his arm around him.

“This should be the last time before she realizes that she doesn’t need them, that’s what the sprites are telling me.” Pandora smiled, petting your hair gently in comfort.

“Pettigrew, you should turn back to your rat-pack and tell them they’re trash.”

You spat, in broken sighs.

Obviously, Peter felt a bit of offense to the rat slander but alas— they weren’t aware of his rat-secret.

Quite a shame.

“Sure thing, L/N.”

'FEELS LIKE WE HAD MATCHING WOUNDS BUT MINES STILL BLACK AND BRUISED.'

on December 19th, Regulus had finally arrived at Barty's flat he'd rented for the holidays.

Marlene, Dorcas, and Peter had their departure just the day before, leaving just you, Pandora, Evan, Barty, and Regulus.

Pandora had just wished you all goodnights and dream blessings before nodding off to your shared room for your stay.

"So, anyone up for some firewhiskey?" Offered Evan, who held a giant bottle of the substance.

"Just a small bit, Rosie." Barty accepted his offer graciously.

"Need anything, amour?" Regulus mused in your ear, by far he was the most comforting one. As the other two just distracted you with their own twisted ways of thinking and chaos.

"I'm alright, Reggie. Thank you." You nodded politely, you had felt incredibly off this break.

Though they all weren't stupid, they knew why you were acting strange.

Every year since third year; You and the boys would leave Hogwarts and spend Christmas with the Potters.

Snowball fights, roaring fires, Effie's hot cocoa, the memories echoed through your brain like they were music blasting from your headphones.

Every time you closed your eyes to sleep, you would see endless slideshows of everything you had ever done with them.

The nights of passion, the hugs, the pre and post-quidditch game good luck and good job kisses, the play fights, the happiness.

Your life was black and white before you met them, they brought the color.

But they showed you colors they knew you couldn't see with anyone else.

Well, besides your 'best' friends.

Were you really just that? Just friends?

You were a year younger than the Marauders, same year as Regulus.

and Sirius would be so pissed off if he found out that you were sleeping with his brother-

...

Wait.

Who gives a fuck about Sirius?

Who cares what intelligent insult will come out of Remus' mouth?

And James, he liked Regulus once.

They'd hate you.

But,

Maybe you wanted them too.

So, you ended up taking a few shots of firewhiskey.

Okay,

More than a few.

"Um- actually, Reggie. I- I do need something." You slurred, holding onto your sober ex-boyfriends brother best friends nimble shoulders like he was your lifeline.

"Yes, amour?"

"I want a kiss."

Evan spat out his drink back into his cup, and Regulus' face heated up significantly.

"I'll give you a kiss..." Barty clambered over his boyfriends as his cold, veiny hands meet your waist.

His hands skim your body up and down, before pecking your lips softly, as if he was asking for acceptance.

"Can I kiss you?" Barty spoke so softly, he may have been chaotic and insane- but he was extremely cautious and respectable with things like this.

"I-I wanna taste you so bad.." Evan cooed at Barty's sweet words, as he held an extremely flustered Regulus in his arms, watching the scene in front of him unfold.

"Barty- please, kiss me." You mewled, barely finishing your sentence as he dived into your lips.

His lips surprisingly tasted like cherry chapstick, even though he had just been chugging firewhiskey.

After feeling like an eternity, Barty broke your kiss.

"I've wanted to do that since fourth year." He mumbled drunkenly, gazing up stupidly and lovingly at your blush-kissed face.

His kisses were heavenly, and so were Evan's, and Regulus'.

And needless to say, you didn't return back to Pandora that night.

'YOU'RE POINTING AT THE STARS IN THE SKY THAT ALREADY DIED.'

The return to Hogwarts was an awkward one at that.

But returning back to Hogwarts feeling happier than ever with your boyfriends? That was the best return you could make.

Hand in hand with Barty, you strutted into the Great Hall.

Evan and Regulus trailed behind, as you rambled on and on to Barty about something.

James stared your direction, and you unfortunately met his gaze.

He wasn't dense, he could see how your bright smile seemed to dim.

He smiled, softly.

James knew that they'd never get you back the way they had you.

He should've realized that you were the light of their lives.

Everyone should've woken up to see you.

They hurt you.

And this was their price.

They had to watch you thrive, with three other men.

Who would treat you like a goddess, something they never sought time for.

taglist; @hisparentsgallerryy @cultish-corner @asexualbuthorny @prettylittlewrites @champomiel @hellothere7 @anakinsluvrr @lady-balem @awkwardalie @nosteponduck @eeviee4 @dreamygirli3 @navs-bhat @angemyrtille @mrssslangdon @siillly @makanirock05 @hcqwxrtss123 @wolfyychan @nislame @lalalandincraz @rorywright @ih3artpjo @st4r-girl-official @pain-in-the-ashe

[wolvesandshine]

Regulus: Normalise studying out of spite to beat the person you hate

Barty: Amen

[legalisecrying]

THEY ARE....

...too cool for all of us... 🥲

Follow me on Instagram if you like to: @legalisecrying 💌

[reesespenisbutercups]

barty was briefly on the debate team but got kicked out when he only ever rebutted with “nuh uh” and “i fucked your mother”

[iheartmarauders]

rosekiller as girldads

[idesperatelyneedtoworkonmybook]

No no you are wrong I don't ship rosekiller I worship rosekiller.

[ervotica]

whump with poly!rosekiller and their sweet angel girl. their treasure, the most precious person to ever exist. maybe it's voldy related, maybe it's someone holding a grudge against them, maybe it's a pureblood feud. unfortunately for the culprit, it doesn't matter, anyway. they're out for blood. feral. primal. nursing their sweet baby's injuries and fussing over her even as she whines and shies away from the affection, the intensity of it. even after all this time, sometimes it's a lot to process at once. their blinding adoration. when she finally drops into a fitful sleep in evan's arms, barty gives a curt nod as he stalks from the dorms, wand in hand.

the poor fucker won't know what hit them.

[not-rab]

3 years in and still the most angst i’ve seen in the marauders tumblr is the hc that trans barty named himself after his father , bartemius sr , just for his approval (spoiler alert!! it didn’t work)

[crescenthistory]

Under Your Mistletoe

Pairing: Barty Crouch Junior x Reader

Synopsis: Barty already loves your belly button piercing – but he loves it even more when you wear a mistletoe jewellery in it for Christmas.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings/tags: SMUT (mdni), afab!fem!reader, established relationship, sex as a form of gift, mistletoe innuendos, oral sex (fem!receiving), orgasm, making love but barty style, marking kink, body worship kind of, no penetrative sex, barty's oral fixation, fluff, one big happy family trope, some christmas blues and references to barty's mental health struggles, barty typical humour, your pov

Note: this is based on a text post i wrote back in october and have since lost – it has been on my mind for a while. merry christmas to all those who celebrate, this is my gift to all the barty girlies 🤍

Barty hates gifts.

You know this, and as his loving partner, it is your duty to find a way around it. To respect his desire not to rip off wrapping paper with watchful eyes on him, while still showering him in some form of love and perceptiveness – to show him he is thought of and wanted. While he may not enjoy most Christmas traditions, that particular bit was important for him to feel and fully believe.

If you could pat yourself on the back, you would, because you thought you truly hit the nail on the head this year.

After three years with Barty, you found yourself happily living together in a shared flat in London. One that was just a few blocks away from the flat Regulus shared with James, where your two friend groups – that had somehow beautifully meshed since seventh year – would be getting together tomorrow for Christmas Day. While Barty pretended to moan and gripe over having to spend time with “the literal dogs”, referring primarily to James and Sirius, it was all an act by now. He was as excited as you were. 

Though, his wish to make the most of your last night together in complete privacy before A Very Potter Holiday emerged was decidedly not an act. That was just Barty’s devotion to you soaring deep in that way he promised he would never get enough of.

You hoped he wouldn’t because you couldn’t even if you tried.

Barty had made you a home cooked meal for the night, a dish called sarmale that his mother used to make around the holidays. Insisting on not being an inch away from you, he had pulled the grandfather chair that usually resides beside the sofa up to the dinner table. “Come here, you,” he had whispered with a gleeful laughter before all but picking you up and placing you in his lap in the chair. 

It took a little effort for you both to sit and eat comfortably, but once you did, any protest you had about the impracticalities melted away – because eating delicious warm food in the wonderfully warm lap of your boyfriend truly was no complaining matter. You sat sideways in his lap so you could both eat off the same plate and chat in between mouthfuls of food, Barty occasionally poking your cheek when it was filled to the brim, repeating that it is the cutest thing he had ever seen. 

Once the food was long since devoured and you had reclined more in your seat, chin resting on Barty’s shoulder as you dazed at him with an undoubtedly lovesick look, you decided it was go time.

Barty’s thumbs snuck beneath the waistband of your matching pajama bottoms, massaging the bare skin there absentmindedly. Laughter had freshly died down on his lips, from something you don’t even remember what was but that left a residue giddiness in your bones. You tilted your chin upwards just enough to steal a kiss from those very lips. He happily obliged you with a growing grin.

“Baby?” you mused. He hummed in response, silently asking what it was. “Would you mind helping me decide on an outfit for tomorrow?”

His grin quickly grew wolfish. “You know I always love helping you get dressed, Dragă. And undressed.”

You rolled your eyes and gave his arm a light slap, as if this was not exactly what you were going for. “Keep it in your pants for now, yeah Junior?” You slid out of his lap, giving him both of your hands to help him get up once you gained your footing.

“Yes, ma’am!” He gave you a fake salute before letting you pull him up. 

With one hand behind him grabbing the top of the chair blindly, he dragged it with him as he trailed behind you into your living room. The door to your shared bedroom was attached to the living room, so you turned to him with a perhaps too-obvious smile, trailing a finger down his chest.

“How about you just get seated here, and then I’ll come out and show you?” You cocked your head to the side, playing innocent.

Barty pretended to pout. “I don’t get to watch you change?” 

“Maybe later if you behave.” You brought the finger up from his chest to flick at his nose, yelping when he caught it and gave your knuckle a light bite. “That is certainly not behaving, B.”

“You like it,” he drawled jokingly, pecking you once before sitting down in the grandfather chair once more, sprawled out with one knee over the armrest. “Please don’t be long, Dragă.”

You shook your head, goofy lovesick look taking over your face once more as you turned around. “I’ll make sure to take longer just because you asked.”

He huffed, deflating further into his seat, but when you turned around to look at him, he had intertwined his fingers over his stomach, jumper ridden up enough to expose his lower midriff. His face was indulging, a form of domestic bliss you never expected to be able to draw from him, but revel in every day.

You blew him a kiss and slipped in past the door to your bedroom, leaving it slightly ajar behind you – enough to be able to talk through, but not enough for him to see you.

Truth be told, you picked out your outfit for the Christmas party a week ago. Even more so, the outfit you would be trying on now was decidedly not the one you will wear tomorrow, nor was it ever an option.

What you would be doing, is showing Barty his gift.

As you pulled out a box beneath your side of the bed, you found the three things needed to pull it off. A short skirt, a cropped silk shirt – and a piece of mistletoe jewellery, perfect for your finally healed belly button piercing.

When you first got the piercing, Barty could not keep his eyes off of it nor his hands off of you. He was a lover of all things alternative and different, an enjoyment you suspected originally derived from an urge to upset his father, but quickly became one of the many ways he could feel safe and truly like himself. While he adored you just the way you were, whenever you would get piercings, tattoos or anything of the sort, Barty would be drooling just a little bit more than usual. 

There were permanent purple and red hickies littered around your stomach now.

For the past few weeks, Barty had been brainstorming all the different pieces of jewellery you could wear once the piercing fully healed, as you both knew there was not a lot of time left. Already he had bought you quite a few different ones, in the colours and styles he knew would match your favourite go-to outfits. 

Somewhere along the line, you got the cheeky idea of a mistletoe jewellery – a kiss under the mistletoe is one Christmas tradition Barty could easily get behind, yeah? At least a kiss underneath your mistletoe.

A slight giggle escaped you at the thought as you brought the jewellery to the ensuite bathroom to rinse it with saltwater and wash your hands before changing them. 

“What’s so funny?” you heard Barty call from the living room, somehow experiencing FOMO within his own flat.

You decided to make it worse. “Was just thinking about something hilarious James said last Christmas.”

A gasp. “Cruel woman. What a cruel, cruel woman you are.”

“You like it,” you replied, parroting his earlier statement. The guffawing laughter told you that you were right.

With slightly trembling fingers, you finally managed to unscrew the standard stainless steel barbell and insert the new mistletoe one. The change didn’t sting at all, and you knew it was fully healed – it actually had been for about two weeks already, but you lied to Barty that it still hurt a little to be able to get away with this.

You knew he would quickly forgive you.

Once the jewellery was fastened, the outfit was quick work. You had put aside a set you thought fit the Christmas vibe – red skirt and a white silk top – but its primary function was showing off your waist, your piercing on full display. As you zipped up the skirt, you began to prepare Barty from his place outside. 

“I only really have one outfit to show you,” you called, just loud enough to be sure he would hear you, but still allowing some teasing to slip into your voice. “I quite like it, but I don’t think it is quite the one to wear tomorrow now that I think of it.”

“I swear to Merlin, baby, if you walk out in just lingerie, I will ravish you.”

“If I walked out in lingerie, it would have been with the intention of you ravishing me,” you said through a laugh. “But no, you can dream on, B.”

You could hear him shifting in his seat, undoubtedly sprawled out more and more with each passing second. You buttoned only two of the buttons on the silk shirt – enough to be tempting, but not enough to distract from the true star of the show. 

“Whatever you want to wear, you’ll look stunning,” Barty added then, a sincerity in his voice on the off-chance that it was insecurity and not teasing he heard in his voice. You were quite certain he was onto you by now, but the attentiveness still made your heart bloom. 

With a quick final look in the mirror, you decided it was everything you needed it to be.

You laid your hand on the door handle, beginning to slowly drag it open. “How stunning are we talking, baby?” you asked with a teasing lilt. “Good enough to eat?”

You stepped into the room, walking with measured, steady steps towards Barty, feeling every bit like the lioness he made you out to be.

You were right, in your absence he seemed to have unhinged his every joint, legs and arms strewn everywhere over the grandfather chair. Yet the second his eyes fell on you, he gathered them all together as he shot up in his seat, feet planting firmly on the ground.

“Baby…” he trailed off, eyes going all over your body.

You stood about two metres in front of him, hip kicked to the side as you allowed your body and midriff to be on display. His mouth was agape in admiration, but you could identify the moment he noticed the piercing. Shock and pleasure mixed on his face and something akin to a moan escaped him just at the sight. Barty’s hands gripped his knees with a force that only served to excite you further.

“Baby,” Barty groaned then, eyes glued onto the mistletoe jewellery. “You truly are a gift, aren’t you? A pretty little wrapped up gift.”

You let out a breathy laugh, already affected by his words. “Just for you, my love,” you murmured as you stepped closer, almost within his reach. “Figured you might want to share a kiss beneath the mistletoe?” You lathered faux innocence over your words, quickly contrasted by your growingly smug smile as you took in his flustered and heated expression.

At last, Barty’s eyes shot up to meet yours, his beautiful irises having given way to darkness. “May I?” he asked, not waiting for an answer as he shifted in his seat.

When he moved, you expected him to come to stand before you, kiss you and maybe move you to the bedroom. You should have known your boyfriend better. 

Barty slid directly off the chair and onto his knees, landing with a soft thump before you. His hands shot up to grab your hips, steadying himself as his chest came almost flush with your thighs, never once breaking eye contact as he moved. 

You shuddered at the sight. Barty Crouch Junior, with his messy dark and green hair, his eyebrow and nose piercings, his rugged yet dangly form and dark clothes, on his knees in front of you, holding onto you for dear life.

“Please,” you whispered in response.

Still with laboured breath, he flashed his white teeth with the width of his smile. “My lovely, lovely gift of a girl,” he murmured, squeezing your hips. Barty let his gaze trail from your eyes down your neck, over your semi-exposed chest, finally coming eye to eye with his eternal temptation.

He let out a light growl before closing the distance to press a wet and hot kiss right beneath your naval, his nose brushing against the mistletoe. 

In an instant, you moved your hands to place one on his shoulders to steady yourself and tangle the other into the mess of his hair. “Beautiful, beautiful.” Barty whispered praises as his lips trailed to the left and right, reactivating the hickies he had left there the other night, creating a beautiful night sky for the mistletoe to rest against. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his ministrations despite the heat pooling in your gut, tugging slightly at his hair. “What would you do if I actually wanted to wear this tomorrow and you’re defiling my skin like this?” you tease.

With his lips still attached to your skin, just a breath above the waistband of your skirt, Barty looked up to meet your gaze through his eyelashes. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel his warm smile against you. “You aren’t?” he asked in faux surprise, nipping at the skin with his teeth. “I should hope you would, then we could show everyone what a wonderful gift giver you are.”

He sucked particularly hard on the delicate skin then, drawing a shaky sigh from you – clearly his intention. “I think this is a gift reserved only for you, my love,” you managed to whisper.

“Good.” Another kiss. “Doesn’t mean we can’t let the world know, though.”

If you had any good piece of banter to respond to that with, it was erased from your mind by the feeling of his hands on your hips moving to dip his thumbs into either side of your waistband. Tantalisingly slow, Barty dragged your skirt further down, letting his tongue and teeth roam over every inch of newly exposed skin.

His breath was hot against you as he placed tentative, open-mouthed kisses, but he couldn’t fool you – you could feel his desperation in the way his fingertips dug into you as if they were chasing bone and the way his teeth scratched against you in his rush towards his next kiss.

When he reached your panties with his thumbs, he gave you a wicked grin in between kisses before hooking his fingers into those as well, and with a flush pulling them down so the clothes could pool around your ankles. A genuine groan escaped Barty at the sight of your bare core, want dripping down onto your thigh. You used your hand on his shoulders for support and you stepped out of your skirt and underwear, kicking them to the side. His hands found your skin immediately after assisting your undressing, but he let one explorative pointer finger come up between your folds, gathering the slick, just barely missing your clit as he brought it back to his face.

Maintaining eye contact, he stuck his tongue out and licked your arousal off of his finger, squeezing his eyes shut and moaning at the taste. 

He looked downright unholy.

“Fuck, baby, you are fucking everything,” he groaned, squeezing your hips.

“You like it?” you asked breathlessly, hands in his hair tugging without thinking.

A wicked grin accompanied his wink. “More than like.” Barty sunk further down on his knees so that his face was right in front of your naked cunt. His left hand came up to splay out across your stomach, thumb barely brushing your mistletoe jewellery when he dragged it back and forth across the skin, leaving goosebumps in his trace.

“When under a mistletoe, right?” he asked.

Before you had the chance to respond, Barty dipped his head forward the last few centimetres needed and delved his tongue in between your folds, licking a clean stripe up your pussy. He circled your clit once he reached the top before flattening his tongue out for another broad stroke. A gasp escaped you and you parted your legs further on instinct – Barty used the momentum to hook your left leg over his shoulder, both arms securely holding your hips in his grip, not allowing you to falter for even a second.

Barty did indeed kiss you, lips wrapping around your clit to suck, teeth already grazing you cheekily in that way that promised more. Thrills were shooting through you, an almost tickling sensation that spread throughout your bloodstream until it settled into a content humming. Barty’s tongue, his lips, his touch and his arms were warm and strong against you, steady and so desperately devoted. His movements were in sync with yours, having learned well enough by now how your body ticks, and how to get what he wants – which is to devour you – while making you feel as good as possible.

He moved further down with his mouth, focusing his tongue around your entrance and moving his head subtly back and forth so his large nose nudged continuously against your clit. The soft moans spilled from your lips, spurring him on; you knew better than to keep them in by now, feeling fully empowered and comfortable in his affection. 

Barty curled his tongue against you, dipping in to graze at the soft spot just inside of you, causing you to grip his hair tighter. When you pulled at his hair more harshly, a satisfied groan escaped him, top lip vibrating against you in a wonderfully delicious way. “Fuck, Barty,” you whispered and gasped when his teeth touched your unhooded clit as his lips curled back into a smile.

“Good enough kiss for you, Dragă?” he teased as he drew a quick breath before letting his hands grasp your arse more securely to bring your cunt flush against his face, drawing blasphemous sounds from you in an instant.

He ate at you hungirly, tongue alternating every second between broad and pointed strokes, drawing quick figures over your clit before letting his nose take over as he dipped inside of you. His face must surely be completely covered in you by now, and the thought made you clench your thighs even more. Barty hummed purposefully against you, moving his hair just right and basking in all that is you; his favourite gift.

It was clear he could tell you were closing in on your orgasm from the smugness in how he ate you out and the increasing strength in his hold on you. With your leg over his shoulders digging into his back and your hands on his neck and shoulders clinging onto him for dear life, you would have thought it was enough – but Barty had your hips fully circled in in his grasp, holding the small of your back and your backside cheekily as he ensured your complete safety. 

“Come for me, baby,” he whispered against you, making sure his lips moved right against your clit.

You were shivering and shaking in his grasp, laughing at the intensity of your orgasm while standing upright in the middle of your living room. He laughed too, but doubled down in his efforts, practically burying his face within you. 

A long, guttural moan filled the room as you almost crushed Barty’s head against you – just how he likes. Your eyes were scrunched shut and your mind was completely elsewhere as he began massaging the flesh he had been abusing mere moments ago, pressing featherlight kisses up the length of your cunt and continuing above it.

“Absolutely perfect.” He pressed a final kiss right beneath your naval. You sighed in complete satisfaction, going increasingly limp as he stood back up to his full height, holding you slumped against him. You were certain your eyes must be dazed as they met his, and he seemed to drink it up, a new goofy expression mixing with his hungry one.

“I take it you approve of the mistletoe?” you mumbled, not expecting your words to be so slurred, not having realised that your mouth had gone numb. He saw the surprise in your face and you both giggled together, foreheads pressing against each other.

Barty gave you a soaring kiss to the lips this time, not shying away despite the absolute mess you had made of his face. You couldn’t bring yourself to care either – on the contrary, you parted your lips to let him take your mouth in full, mixing your cum and spit between smiles.

“You’re bloody insane, you know that?” Barty laughed breathlessly between kisses, holding you impossibly close to his body.

You bit back the “I reckon that’s why you like me so much”, knowing the joke would prompt a tirade about all the things he loves about you. Instead you smiled happily, giving him sweet kisses in quick succession.

“Maybe I just wanted to show my boyfriend what a merry Christmas it could be?”

Barty hummed in approval. As he felt more secure in your steady legs, he let one of his arms leave the encirclement of your back for his fingers to palm your cheek, carding lazily through your hair. “Might have to get a mistletoe tattoo myself now as a thank you.”

You guffawed, throwing your head back with laughter, and he took advantage of the moment to begin kissing down the length of your neck with an open mouth and explorative tongue. The laugh quickly turned into a content sigh.

“We would never leave the bedroom,” you commented, pretending to be concerned by his suggestion.

“And what a wonderful life that would be indeed.” Barty came back up in front of your face, eyes alight with foolish love and mischief. “Speaking of bedroom…?”

You barely had the time to nod once before he had bent down to hike you up into his arms bridal style and ran off towards the bedroom with you, cackling like a madman.

It was a merry Christmas, after all.

[my-castles-crumbling]

so my wife and I are rewatching the HP movies together and we just started GoF....and she just points and goes...."who's that?"

guys.

my dudes (gender neutral).

my fellow skittles enthusiasts.

it was THE Barty Crouch Jr.

and I've explained wolfstar and even jegulus to her. she's here for it. but how do I begin to articulate rosekiller?