#barty crouch junior drabble

[bartonomy]

RESTLESS SILENCE!

PAIRING Barty Crouch Jr. x quiet!fem!Ravenclaw!Reader

SYNOPSIS Barty Crouch Jr. hated silence. You thrived in it. Being paired together for a Potions project in the library should have been simple—but Barty refuses to let the quiet win.

CONTENT WARNING obsessive! barty, possessive! james, angst, fluff, the boys not asking yn abt her feelings LMFAO lmk if i missed something!

WORD COUNT 5k words

library.

Barty Crouch Jr. prided himself on many things—his sharp mind, his quick reflexes, his ability to get under people’s skin ( much to Regulus’ and Evans dismay) when he wanted to. But patience? That had never been one of them.

And yet, patience was exactly what was required when he found himself sitting across from you in the library, parchment spread between you, potions textbook propped open, the air between you thick with silence.

It wasn’t just any silence. It was a suffocating, calculated quiet, the kind that settled around the you like a second skin. You liked it. Humming in contentment as you flipped through the book to gather enough information for your assignment.

It drove him mental.

You had been partnered up in Slughorn’s class earlier that day, much to Barty’s irritation. You were everything he wasn’t—controlled, meticulous, the sort of person who took diligent notes and never spoke unless you had something of actual substance to say. The worst part? You were no outcast. Despite your quiet nature, you were as well-liked, hovering at the edges of the Marauders’ usual chaos, laughing softly at Pandora Lovegood’s dreamy theories, and using your smart mouth (Gideon insists) to get the Prewett brothers out of trouble from Mcgonnagall. You were… respected.

Barty was tolerated, at best.

Now, in the dim glow of the library’s enchanted lanterns, you sat across from him, quill in hand, completely ignoring him. Well, unintentionally, he had been fussing in his place since you both arrived an hour ago, trying to get you to do merlin knows with him.

Barty exhaled sharply through his nose, slumping back in his chair. “You could at least pretend to be interested in conversation,” he muttered.

You didn’t look up. “I don’t find unnecessary conversations stimulating.”

He scoffed. “How very Ravenclaw of you.”

You merely hummed in acknowledgment but said nothing more, flipping to another page in his (you lended yours to Peter after he accidentally got soaked by the bucket of water from the black lake intended for Snape) textbook.

Barty’s fingers drummed against the table. He could handle a lot of things—detentions, duels, even his father’s unrelenting scrutiny, but this? This was insufferable.

So, naturally, he decided to make it his mission to ruin the silence.

It started small.

A flick of his wand, and your inkwell slid ever-so-slightly across the table. You caught it before it could spill, shot him a glance, and continued writing.

Next, he nudged your parchment just out of reach. You didn’t even blink, simply shifted your chair forward and carried on.

Fine. If you were going to be stubborn, he’d up the stakes.

With another subtle movement of his wand, your beloved muggle book „The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie“ the one you had tucked beside your Potions text, began to quiver. Slowly at first, then more violently, the pages ruffling as though caught in a windstorm.

you sighed, set your quill down rather roughly, and calmly muttered, “Finite Incantatem.”

The book stilled.

Barty whistled. “Impressive.”

You finally looked up at him, expression unreadable. “It‘s a First Year spell. Are you always this restless?”

He grinned. “Are you always this boring?”

There was no offense in your gaze, only quiet scrutiny. “No. But I also don’t feel the need to fill the silence just because it makes you uncomfortable.”

Barty opened his mouth, then shut it again.

No one had ever called him out so plainly before. Most people either avoided him, tolerated him, or challenged him outright. But you… you understood him in a way that unsettled him.

And worse, he had no idea what to do with that.

The pranks escalated.

By the end of the week, Barty had:

• Transfigured your quill into a small snake (you turned it back with no regard of his presence, only Trelwaney who shrieked in horror).

• Enchanted your book to read aloud in a dramatic voice (you merely bookmarked your page and waited for him to get bored).

• Jinxed your notes to rearrange themselves whenever you tried to read them (you rewrote them without complaint).

Each time, you met his antics with infuriating patience. No anger. No exasperation. Just quiet indifference, as if you knew exactly why he was doing it.

It wasn’t until he charmed your beloved novel to hover just out of reach that you finally had enough.

With a soft Expelliarmus, the book yanked itself free from his spell and slammed down onto the table between you. you met his gaze, eyes burning with guarded anger.

“Why?” you asked, voice level but firm.

Barty leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “Why what?”

You exhaled, slow and measured. Merlin, was he testing your already low patience “Why go to such lengths just to get a reaction?”

Barty opened his mouth to fire back something witty, but the words caught. He couldn’t answer.

Because the truth was something he didn’t want to admit. Because silence had never been kind to him. Because silence meant expectation, the weight of his father’s disapproval, the loneliness of never being enough. Because he didn’t know how to exist in a world that didn’t constantly react to him.

You watched as something shifted in his expression—something raw, something unguarded. And for the first time since you had been paired together, you didn’t seem like you were trying to solve him.

You just saw him.

The silence stretched between you once more. But this time, it didn’t feel suffocating. This time, it felt like something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something inevitable.

The library had become a battlefield.

Barty didn’t lose. Not at duels, not at arguments, and certainly not at mind games. But after a week of relentless pestering, pranks, and jinxed books, but all he was met with was radio silence.

And Barty hated being ignored.

Tonight was no different.

You were back in your usual spot in the potions section near the back, candlelight flickering over parchment, and you were sure you could hear people snogging in the aisle next to you. Barty wasn’t writing. He was watching, and it pissed you off.

“Fascinating,” he drawled, chin resting on his palm.

You sighed, not even bothered to look up. “What is?”

“You,” he said simply.

At last, you glanced at him, one brow slightly raised. Not surprised, not flattered, only curious and slightly amused. As if he was some interesting tale from Trelawney‘s weekly horoscopes

Barty leaned forward, smirking. “You’re too patient for someone who spends time with the Marauders. They’re reckless. Loud. Gits.”

Your lips twitched in almost a smile. “And yet, I don’t find them insufferable.”

“Lucky them,” he muttered.

You tilted your head, studying him. “You don’t actually hate them, do you?”

Barty scoffed, leaning back. “Tell them that, and I’ll hex you.”

You hummed, unconvinced. “You could have joined them, you know. You’re clever enough. Quick-witted. You keep up with them in class.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think I wanted to associate myself with obnoxious Griffins? I have a reputation to uphold ”

You only raised your eyebrow at that. “Oh yes, because being a maniacal, havoc wrecking wizard is soooooo important”

He roared into laughter, clutching his stomach like you have given him the funniest joke in Salazars sake. Tears were dripping out the corner of his eyes with his ropes falling messily over his shoulder.

After his sudden burst of emotions, there was silence, well, as much as you could say from Barty‘s loud wheezing trying to calm himself down and a group of second year Hufflepuffs discussing the use of Mandrakes, the space between you two was peaceful

Then, you shrugged, rolling your shoulders back to ease the growing pain (or the growing tension that is about to engulf you two) “or maybe, its because you’re lonely.”

Barty went still instantly.

For a moment, the pleasant quietness became oppressive, thick with something neither of you wanted to name.

Then,he laughed again. Though, now, it was short, sharp, utterly devoid of humor. “You think you know me?”

“I think,” you started, carefully trying to puck out the right words, “that you spend too much time trying to get people to notice you, y‘know?.”

His smirk returned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And yet, you’re the one paying attention.”

This time, you didn’t look away.

Checkmate.

Barty wasn’t sure when it started.

When you became the first person he looked for in a room. When silence with you stopped feeling suffocating and started feeling… different.

It was a slow, creeping thing, like poison slipping into his bloodstream.

You weren’t like the Marauders. You didn’t fill space with noise or demand attention. You simply were, an observer, someone who noticed things most people didn’t.

And Barty hated being noticed.

The Slytherin common room was quiet this late at night, with most students crammed at the Hufflepuff quidditch After-party after they had won against Ravenclaw earlier that day. Except for Barty and Regulus.

The younger Black sat in one of the loveseats by the fireplace, posture perfect as always with his messenger bag on his side while across from him, Barty sprawled lazily on the couch, legs stretched out, looking more reckless (or crazy according to Evan) than usual.

Regulus had been watching him for the past ten minutes. The tension in his shoulders, the way he ran a hand through his Black-Green hair in agitation or the way his knee bounched when he thought no one was looking.

Finally, as if this thought gave him immense pain, he sighed. „You’re obsessed.“

Barty stilled. „What?“

„With her.“ Regulus arched an eyebrow knowingly

Junior scoffed, throwing his head back against the couch dramatically, flailing his arms „Oh, not you too!

Regulus ignored him. “It’s pathetic.” Barty turned his head, smirking. “Funny. Sirius said the same thing about you once.”

Regulus’ fingers twitched. “Sirius is an idiot.”

“And yet, here you are, acting just like him—concerned about my well-being, giving me the I know best speech.” Barty sighed, stretching his arms behind his head. “It’s sweet, really.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t care what you do.” Barty grinned. “Liar.”

Regulus exhaled sharply. “What is this, Barty?”

Barty hummed, considering. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Reggie”

Regulus frowned. “You’re distracting me by talking about my idiotic brother. So spill, what are you afraid of? ”

Barty’s smirk faltered. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Just stared into the flickering fire, expression unreadable. Then, with a slow breath out “Everything.”

Regulus didn’t press. Didn’t have to. He understood better than anyone what Barty really meant. The weight of expectations. The suffocating presence of a father who saw only duty.

Regulus studied him for a moment. “You don’t get attached to people. Especially not to someone like L/N. " Barty’s smirk returned, but it was weaker this time. “Maybe she’s just different.”

Regulus leaned back, unimpressed. “Or maybe you just don’t like that you can’t control her.” Barty exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “And yet, I keep coming back.”

Regulus tilted his head. “That’s called liking someone, Barty.”

Barty scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Please. I don’t like people.”

“Then why does James Potter look like he wants to murder you?”

His expression darkened. “Because he knows.” the curly haired boy hummed thoughtfully. “Knows what?”

Barty looked him dead in the eyes.

“That she’s mine.”

Regulus sighed, standing up. “Merlin, you’re insufferable.”

But as he walked away, Barty didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just sat there, watching the fire, thinking about you.

It was , like Regulus said, James who noticed first.

Barty had expected it, really. The four eyed boy was too perceptive for his own good, especially when it came to people who operated in the gray spaces between morality.

One evening in the Gryffindor common room, James leaned against the couch where you were reading, arms crossed. “So,” he mused, “are you finally going to tell us why Crouch won’t leave you alone?”

You barely glanced up. “Because we’re Potions partners.”

Sirius, sprawled across an armchair, snorted. “Right. And I’m Minister for Magic.”

Remus, ever the voice of reason, tilted his head. “You do spend an awful lot of time with him.”

Peter nodded, mouth stuffed with fizzing whizzbees. “It’s weird.”

you sighed, closing your book without marking your spot first, which you internally curse. “He’s… frustrating.”

Sirius smirked. “But?”

You hesitated. Just for a moment. “But he’s not as easy to hate as people think.” That was all they needed to hear.

Sirius groaned dramatically. “Merlin help us, she’s sympathizing with the enemy.”

Remus grinned knowingly. “This is going to be fun.”

James Potter knew you better than anyone.

He had known you since you two were small—before Hogwarts, before the Marauders, before any of this. You had been his first real friend, little pigtails following him around, who always listened when he rambled about Quidditch, often times playing the referee and giving yellow cards to his imaginary opponents and someone who was there when he needed you.

And now? Now you were spending too much time with Barty bloody Crouch Junior.

James didn’t like it. Not one bit.

At first, he thought nothing of it. A Potions partnership was just that—a school assignment. But then he started noticing things.

The way you lingered in the library after hours.

The way Barty watched you fondly when he thought no one was looking.

The way you didn’t seem nearly as irritated with him as you should have been.

And that was unacceptable.

James wasn’t stupid. He knew who Barty Crouch Jr. was. The arrogant, sharp-tongued Slytherin who played by his own rules, who didn’t care about anyone but himself and his best friend‘s brother. And yet, somehow, he had wormed his way into your schedule, your attention—things James had always had without question.

He didn’t realize just how much it bothered him until he saw you two together.

It was a late evening in the library, and James had come to find you. Instead, he found your little pest stuck to your side.

Barty was leaning back in his chair, smirking, while you sat across from him, rolling your eyes but not actually telling him to leave you alone. There was something different in the air between them—an ease James didn’t like.

Not one bit.

“Oi.”

You looked up, blinking in surprise. “James?”

Barty groaned. “Oh, fantastic.”

James ignored him, focusing on her. “We were supposed to go over Transfiguration notes, remember? Minnie was bugging me to take lessons with you”

You frowned. “That’s not until—”

“Now,” James said firmly. Barty snorted. “Territorial, aren’t we, Potter?”

James’ jaw clenched. “Just making sure my best friend isn’t wasting her time.” He just grinned, all teeth. “Oh, trust me, she’s not.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples to ease the incoming headache. Is it from Barty‘s constant yapping, the oh so frustrating instructions of the Felix Felicis, or James bickering? Who knows. “James, we’re just working on Potions.”

“Right,” James muttered. “Because that explains why he won’t stop staring at you.”

Barty raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You jealous, Potter?” James hated how his stomach twisted at that. “Of you?” He scoffed. “Hardly.”

“Good,” Barty said smoothly, “because she’s free to spend time with whoever she wants.” The Gryffindor bristled. “And you’re free to bugger off.”

“James.” your voice was sharp now, cutting through the tension. you stood, gathering your books. “I’ll meet you in your common room later, okay?”

James hesitated, then exhaled sharply. “Fine.” But his glare at Barty said this isn’t over.

As he left, Barty chuckled under his breath. “Protective, isn’t he?”

“You love making things worse, don’t you?” you simply glared at him. Barty grinned. “Admit it. You’d be bored otherwise.”

You only shook your head at that, exasperated. But this time, you didn’t argue.

And Barty? He liked that just a little too much.

James Potter wasn’t the jealous type. At least, that’s what he told himself. But this—this infuriating, undeniable thing happening between his best friend and Barty bloody Crouch Jr.—was driving him mad.

It wasn’t just about Barty. It was about you.

You were his best friend. The one person who had always been there before Sirius, before Remus, before Peter. You had an unspoken understanding, a rhythm that no one else could touch.

And yet, somehow, you were slipping out of reach.

Because of that foul git.

Because wherever you were, Barty was not far behind.

Pandora Lovegood was an odd one. Everyone knew it.

She spoke in riddles, saw connections where others didn’t, and had a habit of appearing exactly where she was needed.

So James should have known better than to groan when she plopped down next to him on the bench in the transfiguration courtyard, humming thoughtfully.

“You’re sulking,” she observed. “I don’t sulk,” James muttered.

She smiled, entirely unconvinced. “It’s about her and him, isn’t it?” He scowled, borderline pouted. “There is no her and him.”

Pandora tilted her head. “Not yet.” at that, James sat up straighter. “Yet?”

Pandora just hummed again, her dreamy expression betraying nothing. “I think you’re afraid.”

“Of what? Crouch?” He snorted. “Please.”

“No,” Pandora mused. “Not him. You’re afraid because for the first time, she’s paying attention to someone else.” James didn’t respond. Because that would mean admitting she was right. The Rosier smiled knowingly. “You can’t stop it, you know.”

“Stop what?”

She simply shrugged, standing as if that answered everything. “The inevitable.”

James groaned. “Merlin, you’re worse than Moony.”

But as she walked away, her words lingered. And James hated that more than anything.

James found Barty alone that evening, leaning against the cobble stone wall just outside the Charms Classroom. He didn’t hesitate.

“Stay away from her.”

Barty turned, raising an eyebrow. “Potter,” he drawled, lips curling into a smirk. “This is getting predictable.” James stepped closer, jaw tight. “I’m serious.”

“Sirius is the loud one,” Barty quipped. “You’re the one with the tragic hero complex.” James hated that he had a point. “Whatever game you’re playing,” he said sharply, “she’s not a part of it.”

Barty’s smirk faltered. Just for a second. “Who says it’s a game?”

James scoffed. “Oh, please. You don’t care about her. You just like getting a rise out of people. And I won’t let you use her to do it.” Barty’s expression darkened.

“Use her?” he repeated, voice low, dangerous. “Funny, coming from you.”

James stiffened. “What the hell does that mean?”

Barty leaned in slightly, voice smooth as silk. “It means you don’t like that she’s spending time with me—not because you think I’ll hurt her, but because you can’t stand the idea of not being the most important person in her life.” James clenched his fists. Barty’s smirk was sharp, knowing. “Hits a nerve, doesn’t it?” James took a slow breath. He would not hex him.Not yet, at least.

“She’s my best friend,” James said coldly. “And I trust her. But I don’t trust you.” Barty’s gaze flickered—just for a moment. Then, with an infuriating grin, he stepped back.

“Well then, Potter.” His voice was almost mocking. “Let’s see who she trusts more.” And with that, he turned and walked away.

James stayed there for a long time, breathing heavily, hands clenched at his sides. Because for the first time, he wasn’t entirely sure who would win.

You were avoided him.

Not subtly. Not carefully. Just completely ignoring his existence

It started the week following the small… confrontation in library. Barty walked into Potions, expecting you to be at their usual table at the back, books already open,quill tapping absently against parchment, asking about his usual trouble with filch and a soft smile gracing your lips. Instead, your lips never opened and gaze never left your paper.

No glance in his direction. No acknowledgment at all.

Barty stared. His fingers curled into fists beneath the desk.

Fine.

But then it kept happening. In the corridors, you veered away when you saw him approaching. In the library, you sat with James, Sirius, even Remus—anyone but him. When he did catch youe eye across the Great Hall, you looked away so quickly it felt like a slap.

It wasn’t anger. It was erasure, like he wasn’t even there.

Barty Crouch Jr. had never been ignored in his life. People watched him. They feared him. They respected him, hated him, wanted to be him. But you—you were acting as though he was nothing.

And he couldn’t stand it.

At first, he played it off. Shrugged, smirked, pretended not to care. But then a week passed. Then another. And with every second of silence, something inside him frayed. He found himself watching you too closely. Waiting for you to look at him. Wanting your attention, even if it was anger, frustration, anything but this emptiness.

And when James Potter threw an arm around your shoulders at the Slytherin party, whispering something that made you laugh—

Something in Barty snapped.

You didn’t know how it had come to this.

One moment, you had been talking with Evan about absolute nonsense, nursing a cup of firewhiskey mixed with something you didn’t want to know, trying to focus on anything other than the tension between James and Barty, the way they seemed to be circling each other like wolves.

And now…

Now you were backed against the cold stone wall of an abandoned corridor, heart pounding as Barty loomed in front of you, eyes blazing with something wild, something dangerous.

“You’re avoiding me.” His voice was low, accusing.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m not.”

“Liar.”

You flinched. Not because you were afraid of him, Merlin, no—Barty is lunatic at best—but because there was something desperate in his voice, something fraying at the edges.

“I just needed space,” you said carefully. Barty let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Space? From me?”

His fingers twitched at his sides, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you thought he might actually grab you, hold you there like he could force you to listen. “You belong with me.”

The words sent a chill down you spine. Not because of their meaning—but because of how much he believed them. “Barty,” you whispered, voice betrying you slightly, much to your annoyance “you don’t own me.”

His jaw clenched. “I never said I did.”

“But you act like it,” you shot back. “Like I’m something for you to win. Like James and I can’t be close, like I don’t have a choice in who I spend time with.”

Barty exhaled sharply, stepping closer, invading her space. “You do have a choice.” His voice was low now, almost a plea. “So why do you keep running from this?”

This. Whatever this was.

You felt your breath hitch, your pulse racing as he stared at you, expression laced with something desperate.

“This isn’t normal,” you whispered. Barty tilted his head, studying you. “Since when have I ever been normal?”

Your heart ached at that. Because he wasn’t. He was sharp edges and chaos, wildfire wrapped in silk. And you were intrigued.

“Tell me to leave,” Barty murmured, voice softer now, more dangerous. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I will.”

You opened your mouth, words mingling in your head, yet none of them escaped your lips.

Barty’s smirk returned, but it wasn’t triumphant. It was something else—something satisfied yet frustrated, as if he hated how much he needed you to not push him away.

The next day, you felt off-balance. Everything was the same, yet nothing was.

The Great Hall was as loud as ever, filled with students laughing, chattering, passing notes between bites of dinner. James sat beside you, talking animatedly with Sirius about the shenanigans they pulled at last night‘s party. Remus was reading. Pandora was off in her own world, stirring her tea with the wrong end of her spoon.

It was normal.

But you weren’t . Because he was there. Across the room, at the Slytherin table. And he wasn’t acting normal at all.

Barty Crouch Jr. was watching you. His elbow was propped on the table, chin resting against his knuckles, eyes fixed on you with that sharp, playful intensity. Like he was waiting for something. Like he could still feel last night as much as you could—the heat of his breath, the weight of his words, the way he had opened your eyes.

Your stomach twisted but not in the usual dread

You quickly looked down at her plate, poking at the food with the fork, suddenly very aware of every movement, every breath.

It was fine.

You could pretend it hadn’t happened. You could move on, act normal, be the person she had always been. You could-

“You okay?”

James’ voice cut through your thoughts.

You startled, nearly knocking over your pumpkin juice. James frowned, eyes narrowing slightly behind his glasses.

“You’re jumpy,” he observed. “Weird day?”

Yes. Extremely weird.

“No,” you said quickly. “Just tired.”

James didn’t look convinced.

Barty was still watching. You could feel it. Your pulse quickened. You needed to get out of here.

With a forced smile, you pushed back from the table. “I just remembered-I have to grab something from the library before class.” James raised an eyebrow. “Now?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

You turned before he could question you further, walking briskly out of the Great Hall, heart pounding.

You should have known he would find you.

It had been inevitable. Barty Crouch Jr. wasn’t the kind of person who let things go. He didn’t believe in backing down, in walking away—especially not from you.

And so, a day after the Slytherin party, after you had spent the night pretending you weren’t looking over your shoulder for him, he found you.

The Astronomy Tower was, to your luck, empty. The moment you stepped onto the stone balcony, the cold air biting at your skin, you felt him before you saw him in your peripheral vision.

He was leaning against the railing, staring out over the darkened grounds, sleeves rolled up, hands tense against the stone. He looked different in the moonlight. Less sharp, less manic, less like the Barty Crouch Jr. the world expected him to be.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“I hate my father.”

His voice was quiet. Hollow. You stiffened, startled by his sudden honesty, by the rawness in his tone.

Still, you didn’t leave. Didn’t move.

Barty exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he murmured. “To be expected to be perfect. To be a reflection of someone else, someone you loathe.”

Your chest ached at the exhaustion in his voice.

You stayed silent, waiting.

Barty let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it. “He thinks he can mold me into whatever he wants. A loyal son. A future politician. A Crouch through and through.” He scoffed. “But I’m not. I never was.”

He turned to look at you then, and for the first time, there was no smirk, no amusement—just something raw and vulnerable, something you had never seen before.

“I think,” he said slowly, voice quieter now, “that’s why I wanted you so much.”

Your breath caught unexpectedly.

Barty’s eyes flickered over your face, unreadable. “You don’t try to make me be something.” His lips twisted. “Even when you hate me, at least it’s real.”

Something heavy settled between you, thick and undeniable.

“And”, he started, face twisting into something uncomfortable, trying to find the right words. For a moment, he said nothing. Just looked at you—like he was fighting a battle you couldn’t see.

Then-

“I hate him too.”

The words were sharp, bitter, cutting through the silence like a blade. Your breath hitched. “Barty—”

“No.” He turned to face you fully, eyes burning. “I hate the way he hovers around you like he owns you. I hate the way he looks at me like I’m something filthy. I hate that no matter what I do, he’s always there.”

Your chest ached at the frustration in his voice, the way his fists clenched like he was barely keeping himself together.

“He’s my best friend,” you said softly. Barty let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “No. He’s waiting.”

You frowned at that. “Waiting for what?”

“For you to wake up,” Barty muttered. “For you to realize that he’s the safer choice. The one who won’t make your life complicated. The one who fits neatly into your perfect little world.”

You stared at him, stunned. “You think this is about James?”

Barty scoffed. “It’s always about him.”

Frustration flared in your chest. “Barty, I chose to stay away.”

He stilled.

“I chose to keep my distance,” you continued, voice surprisingly steady despite the inner hurricane you felt. “Not because of James. Not because of anyone else. But because you—”a sharp exhale left your mouth. “You scare me.”

Something flickered in his expression. “I’d never hurt you.”

“I know,” you whispered. “That’s not what I meant.”

Because this, the fire between them, the way he looked at you like he was drowning and you were the only air left—

It was too much. Barty was too much. And you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to handle it.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then, slowly, Barty stepped closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that you could feel his warmth, enough that your breath caught in your throat.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he murmured.

Your pulse raced. “Then stop—” “Stop what?” His voice was rough now, almost desperate. “Wanting you? Needing you?”

“Barty—”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to stop.”

And maybe that was the real problem. Because Barty Crouch Jr. had never been good at letting things go.

And neither had you.

So when he reached for you, fingers brushing against your wrist like he wasn’t sure you’d let him, you didn’t pull away.

And when he kissed you, desperate and reckless and full of something sharp and aching,

you kissed him back.

[crescenthistory]

saw ur post about all the angsty requests and i simply cannot let that happen so may i present my request of the lovely barty:

slytherin is throwing a party and barty is already there when reader gets there late but they can’t find each other bc it’s so crowded. but junior being, well him, he’s loud and brash and so some that’s a bad thing but to reader it’s so perfect.

i can imagine him standing on a table, maybe drunk, singing at the top of his lungs for his lovely treasure (reader) and when r does find him, they give him a light hearted scolding but thank him for always finding them in every crowd.

i love barty so much and when i imagine him in love, he’s IN LOVE and he’s so loud about it and it’s just perfect

- 🐈‍⬛

if nobody else has my back, i know komi has my back 🙏👯‍♀️ just a silly little drabble with our best boy

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, alcohol (firewhiskey), reference to smoking, slytherin party, pda, barty pov (so max chaotic energy), romanian!barty, kissing<3, slytherin skittles shenanigans all around

"You know, Junior," Dorcas drawled from where she was leaning against Marlene as one might lean on a wall. "You're supposed to at least pretend to enjoy spending time with your friends."

"Oh, come off it, Cassie," Barty replied while still not looking at her. His face was turned towards the ever-growing crowd in the Slytherin common room, eyes scanning. "You know I'd die for ya."

She mumbled something into her drink that Barty didn't quite catch, but Marlene apparently found hilarious.

"What's got him in a tizzy?" Regulus asked absentmindedly. Barty hadn't even noticed him reappear, but the sounds of liquids swishing revealed it was likely to get a drink and not to spend time with his lovely friends. Dorcas should really be scolding him.

"Y/N's not here yet." Marlene supplied it so matter-of-factly you might not have realised she is a recent addition to the group via Dorcas. Barty did not much care for her yet – but she wasn't wrong.

The two of you always attended parties together. Always had, since the first time Barty all but dragged you along and you found that you actually quite enjoyed them, as long as he was by your side. It had inflated Barty’s ego beyond what it probably needed to – according to Regulus, at least – but more importantly, it was one of the things that first made him feel secure in your relationship. Wanted, needed.

Barty was also at the point where he did not enjoy anything particularly much if you were not there. He could do shots with Evan and rile Dorcas up into picking on Regulus with him, but it didn’t give him that same buzz that ran over his exposed skin. Didn’t make his dead heart beat.

Tonight, though, for the traditional half-term rager thrown sloppily together in Slytherin, you were running late. By some terrible coincidence, you had your prefect rounds the same day, and could not get ready with Barty like you usually did.

He was left standing by the drinks table so that you could easily spot him whenever you returned – but as more and more people streamed in, your face was not among them. And the more crowded the room got, the rowdier it became, and Barty no longer had a clear sight of the entry. 

You could be here and he might not know. That just wouldn’t do.

“Hate to agree with the lion, but she’s right,” he announced then, clapping his hands together as he turned to his audience. Otherwise known as his friends and their mostly uninterested gazes. “My darling sweet angel, light of my life and yours is not here yet, and we need to do something about it.”

Regulus and Dorcas shared a look through bitten-back smiles. “And why is she not here?” Regulus asked, perhaps to avoid the last part of Barty's sentence.

“She has the audacity to follow rules and regulations,” Barty said with a straight face.

Regulus looked back to Dorcas for a translation. “Prefect rounds.” He rolled his eyes at that, a fellow abider of rules and regulations apparently. 

“Being the attentive individual she is, she likely overextended her help and ran late. And now there’s too many people here for me to spot her.” Barty spoke slowly, like he was spelling it out for children. Regulus’ huffing was becoming too frequent and petulant for his current taste. “So. Desperate times?”

He trailed off the end of his sentence, looking to Dorcas to complete it. Instead she asked, “What desperate measures are you aiming at here, B?”

A Cheshire cat grin split Barty’s face in half. “So glad you asked, my dear Dorc.”

Marlene winced and tightened her hold on Dorcas who had already opened her mouth, no doubt to tell him where to shove that nickname, but Barty was already backing away from the trio with his arms spread out wide.

He bodily pushed at a few fifth years standing around a table to make room for him to jump onto it, with no regard for the card game he was disrupting. The table was wobbly, but it carried Barty’s weight with no problem. From this new height, he could see most of the room clearly, eagle-like gaze already working overtime to see if there was a you to locate there yet.

Regulus walked up to stand in front of him on the ground. Barty grinned down at him questioning.

“Joining me, Reggie boy?”

“You wish.” Regulus moved his grip on a flask of firewhiskey to underneath it, so he could most effectively lift it up towards Barty without spilling any. “If you’re on tables already, you ought to have more in your system.”

“What a terrible influence you are, Black. I’m writing straight home to Walburga.” Immediately after his quip, Barty brought the flask to his lips, chugging, while Regulus rolled his eyes in a way that simply must be painful. 

Cheers from around Barty erupted at his very visible drinking, some already pissed students yelling chug, chug, chug. What can he say, Barty’s never one to back down from a challenge.

With an audible pop, he released the bottle from his lips and howled obnoxiously. He could hear Marlene yell a “yeah!” from behind him.

Maybe she wasn’t that bad.

Then, Barty at the top of his burning lungs yelled. “Y/N?! Dragă?!”

No answer. Or, well, no answer from you. Some stupid sods tried to respond, as if he’d ever call them darling.

“Oi! What are you on about?” Some bloke yelled at him from the opposite wall.

“Looking for my bird, you prick!” 

This earned him several wolf-whistles and hollers, which he promptly neglected as he turned around on the table, to no avail. He did not find you – but he had not exhausted the room in his search either. He still could not see every corner.

Using his thumb as a makeshift cap for the bottle, Barty cast a spell to move a table in the middle of the room closer to him while mid-leap towards it. His feet just barely hit the end of it, screech-laughing throughout his entire flight. 

This earned him even more hoots and hollers. Barty would be feeling quite chuffed if it wasn’t for your remaining status as missing. He took a few more swings of the bottle while his hungry eyes swept over all the heads. 

Then, the room must have lit up, because at last he saw you. Standing near the fireplace, squished between several other partiers, trying to gain your own bearings and locate your people.

“Dragă!”

Your head snapped up at Barty’s nickname for you, and the sweetest, most kissable smile spread across your lips. Oh, how Barty needed you to get your arse over here this instant.

He jumped off the table while punching the air in success, manhandling his way through the crowd towards where he now knew you to be. Smartly, you remained put, but your arms were opened for him by the time he got to you.

Swooping in, he abandoned the flask in favour of circling his arms around your waist and spinning you around, relishing in the giggles that escaped you.

“Buburuză, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He spoke into your neck, breathing you in, before pulling away enough to see your face. His smile must be blinding.

“The other prefect didn’t show, so I had double the amount of work,” you said simply, as if that was not an egregious crime against the loveliest prefect there was.

He opened his mouth to say as much, but you cut him off with a kiss, lips curled against his. Barty couldn’t help but sigh happily into you.

“Which can be dealt with later,” you said pointedly once you felt you had mollified him enough with your kisses. “For now, it seems I have to catch up with you. Starting without me?” Whether you had seen the bottle or smelled it on his breath he did not know, he just wanted you to keep talking.

The teasing tone in your voice did something funny to his stomach. “Entirely Reggie’s fault – extensive peer pressure, I tell you. I have Dorcas as my witness.” He nodded solemnly, as if he was presenting his case for a judge.

You shook your head at him and breathed a laughter against his lips as you kissed him again. He surely tasted of firewhiskey and the smoke he had earlier, but you didn’t seem to mind – he loved you all the more for it.

“Come now, there is something we need to do,” he said the second you pulled apart. One of his hands found yours while his other settled around your waist, hooking his thumb in your waistband. 

You furrowed your brows in confused entertainment, but let him lead you through the crowd towards the table in the middle that he abandoned earlier. 

“Barty, what–” you tried to ask, but he tightened his grip around your waist and used it to lift you, abusing a poor chair as a stepping stone to get the two of you on top of the table once more. 

Before you could question him, he spun you around like a trophy and shouted above the music, “I FOUND HER!”, victory evident in his tone.

This time, the wolf-whistles and hollers were even louder, some students stomping their feet to create a drumming sound. You flushed under the attention, melting impossibly further into Barty’s side, but laughter spilled over your lips, albeit nervously. When he looked down, he found you beaming at him. 

He knew himself to look twice as lovestruck as you, but he was happy to report that that was saying something.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss,” came the chants from the crowd then.

When a brief once-over of you showed no discomfort despite your light embarrassment – you were growing rapidly immune to that through your relationship – he figured, who was he to argue with a drunken room?

He swept you into a deep and passionate kiss, bending you slightly backward with his wide hands splayed across your back. 

“Now that I’m reunited with my love, what do you say we get the party properly started, yeah?”

[dismalflo]

Hiii I saw your request for asks so here I am. Maybe one with barty x potter reader and it’s like about barty bringing out this completely different side to reader and James being like who tf is that. Like she’s so confident and funny and silly around barty because she just knows that he completely respects her even if she’s a little insane(honestly this is something I’ve been struggling to write for weeks and wanted to see how you would do it 😭)

hi babe!! thank you for requesting <3 i lovee a barty x potter!reader, hope you enjoy!

Barty Crouch Jr x fem!potter!reader who really wants to help the owls of Hogwarts ✩ 888 words

cw: fluff, james and sirius being concerned (and irritated) brothers, james is barty's biggest hater, barty is whipped for his weird gf

an: omg flo writes for barty now!! i really enjoyed writing this but this is my first time writing for him so be gentle. also i saw this request and started writing it like straight away ahhh

“What’s your sister doing?” Sirius asks, eyes still locked on you as he gives James a rough shake by the shoulders. You've apparently transformed the coffee table in the common room into your personal stage, sprawled across it, delivering a very quiet yet impassioned speech.

James casts a glance your way, then groans—a low, weary sound filled with dread.

“She’s being weird,” James mutters, dragging a hand down his face. He’s still half-asleep, his hoodie bunched around his neck, hair sticking up in a dozen different directions. “Because of him.”

Sirius snorts, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Junior?”

“Yes, sodding Junior.” James replies grimly, as if he’s just uttered some ancient curse.

Meanwhile, you're still lying across the coffee table like it’s a velvet chaise lounge, one leg raised dramatically, arm flung over your face like a starlet in a Muggle film. Barty’s perched on the floor next to you, chin propped in his hand, looking up at you with that infuriatingly smitten grin. He’s clearly hanging on to every word of your monologue, whatever nonsense you’re spouting this time.

“I’m telling you,” you say, voice a hushed whisper but fervent all the same, “if we just trained the owls—really trained them—they could unionise. They could have everything they've ever wanted and more treats!”

James closes his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose, clearly trying to center himself amid the chaos. Sirius just whistles low, like he’s watching some particularly dramatic scene unfold in a soap opera.

“Is she talking about unionising the owls?” Sirius asks, incredulous. “Is that a—”

“Don’t.” James cuts him off flatly, still rubbing his face. “Don’t ask questions. That’s how he wins.”

You shift, sitting bolt upright on the coffee table, animated as ever, gesturing wildly as if you’re leading some kind of revolution. “—and they’re already halfway there!” you’re saying, grin wide. “They have a hierarchy, Bee. They talk to each other! I saw one of them give another a dirty look last week when it dropped a letter in the lake. And then another one had a go at it and defended its friend! That’s class solidarity, if I’ve ever seen it.”

Barty leans forward, eyes gleaming, his smile full of adoration. “You’re a visionary,” he whispers, as if you’ve just unlocked a new level of consciousness rather than plotting to turn Hogwarts’ owls rogue.

You plop down beside Barty on the floor, your leg brushing his as you settle in without a care in the world. You act as if you’re utterly unbothered by the fact that Sirius and James are watching you like you're some mythical creature they can’t quite figure out.

Barty doesn’t flinch when you sit down next to him. Instead, he turns his head, offering you a soft, affectionate smile. His hand reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Without a word, he presses a gentle kiss to your temple, lingering just a bit longer than necessary. When he pulls back, there’s something in his gaze—something bordering on reverence.

“I’m sure we could arrange something to go wrong in the owlery, treasure,” he murmurs, his voice low and conspiratorial, “Make it off-limits. Give you a head start.”

James huffs, shaking his head, his eyes flicking over to the two of you. You’re leaning into Barty, laughing at what he’s said while he absently plays with your hair. You look entirely at ease, a side of you James never really sees with anyone else. You and Barty—well, it's a whole different world.

"I don’t get it, she wasn’t like this before." James mutters petulantly, still rubbing his face in disbelief. "One minute she’s plotting whatever ridiculous thing, and the next—what? She’s all... sweet?" He whines, not unlike a toddler being told there's no sweets before bedtime. He watches you laugh again, a soft, affectionate chuckle, as Barty pulls you closer, his hand possessively resting on your waist. “Bloody disgusting if you ask me,” he mutters under his breath.

The comment lands just as Barty chuckles lowly, his hand firm around you. You look up at him, your eyes sparkling, and without hesitation, he places another soft kiss to your temple—so tender, so un-Barty-like.

Barty raises an eyebrow, a smirk curling up at the corner of his lips, glancing over at James. “Don’t remember asking you, Potter,” he drawls, his tone thick with indifference. “If you weren’t her brother, I swear—” His threatening tone is cut off by your gentle chiding, whispering his name.

Sirius, for his part, is enjoying the show, his eyes flicking between James and Barty like he’s waiting for some kind of standoff. But Barty just looks bored, fingers absentmindedly brushing through your hair. James, of course, glares, but doesn’t have the energy to continue. Groaning, he sinks back into the couch like he’s been defeated by some cosmic force.

“Whatever, mate,” James mutters under his breath. “Don’t know why you had to go for sodding Junior, Y/N.”

Your only response is a laugh, echoing through the common room like James has told the funniest joke in the world. He’s happy for you, really—just not thrilled about the massive hurdle you’ve put in the way of his acceptance. And that hurdle, of course, is Barty Crouch Jr.

[agreeewrites]

Baby I'm Yours | B.C.J.

feat. Barty Crouch Jr x blackcat!reader

summary: your new boyfriend Barty tells you he loves you, and you…freak tf out (even though you do, in fact, love him too).

cw: MDNI 18+, smut, established relationship, drinking, you are both possessive and mildly toxic, emotional vulnerability (eugh), love confessions, hurt/comfort, hard kinks, choking

an: can be read as a stand-alone, but hits better as part 2 of this fic

masterlist

Barty's POV

“Oi, Crouch!”

Barty looked up from his sketchbook, propped in his lap to keep him occupied while he waited in the courtyard for you and Evan to get out of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Xeno was running towards him down the corridor, robes flapping wildly in his haste.

Barty could practically smell trouble, and it made his heart kick with excitement.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Xenophi—”

“Cut the shit. Y/n is dueling,” Xeno snapped, grabbing Barty by the collar and dragging him from his perch in one of the stone openings.

“Oh! Is she winning?” Barty asked, falling into a jog beside Xeno.

“Not the point. She's going to get expelled.”

“Like I’d ever let that happen,” Barty chuckled.

They rounded the corner and could hear the shouting before they even reached the classroom. Excitement raced under his skin, and he all but kicked down the door in his haste to get to you.

You were up on a desk, robes discarded, absolutely pummeling Amacus Carrow with hexes. Amacus was hidden behind and overturned desk, lamely tossing expelliarmus over his shoulder.

The students formed a ring around you both, roaring with excitement while the Professor tried desperately to talk you down.

Barty skirted around the edge of the group towards you, finding Evan standing just beneath you, watching with a wild grin.

“She's a fucking menace,” Evan cackled, and Barty had to agree.

A vicious, beautiful little menace.

“What'd he do?” Barty asked, watching you dodge a hex effortlessly and throw one back in the same second. His heart was pounding, affection making his blood race. Saints, his cock was damn near about to rip through his trousers he was so fucking turned on.

“He called you a buffoon. And said your tattoos were ugly,” Evan said, cheering when you hit Amacus’ table so hard with stupify it cracked. “I was going to intervene, but she hit him with a book before I even got a word out.”

Barty was going to faint if anymore blood vacated his brain.

He spun a chair around and stepped up onto the table beside you. “Hello, treasure. Chose violence, did we?” You squeaked in surprise when he looped an arm around your waist, spinning you around and plucking your wand from your fingers.

“Barty!” You protested, trying to grab your wand back. “Give me that!”

Amacus, realizing you were disarmed, popped up from behind his desk.

“Ah, ah,” Barty waggled your wand at the perspiring wretch. “She may have the restraint to avoid Azkaban, but I have no such compunction, Carrow.” He gestured to Amacus’s spindly wand. “Rosier will take that, if you please.”

Evan had appeared beside Carrow, holding out his hand expectantly. Carrow dropped it into Evan's palm, red-faced and sputtering.

“Barty,” you said again, voice pitching lower with agitation.

He pressed an appeasing kiss to the crown of your head, handing you your wand back. “I think you've made your point, love,” he said. “Unless you'd like to make a fugitive out of me.”

You blew a strand of hair from your face, scowling at Amacus as he fled the room with his twin in tow. “I suppose not,” you huffed. “But if he runs his fucking mouth again—”

Barty pecked your lips, unable to resist your sharp tongue for another second. “He's a dead-man walking, hm?”

A smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, and your shoulders finally softened. “Something like that.” You rose up onto your toes and kissed him again, his heart pounding against his ribs like it was trying to burst out of his chest to get to you.

Barty helped you down from the table while the rest of the students filed out, grumbling that their bloodbath was cut short. The Professor tried to step up to you, face purple with indignation, but one glare from Barty had them backing off, throwing their hands up in defeat.

“Are you alright, though? He didn't get you?” Barty tilted your chin up, turning your pretty face to the right, then the left to check for damage.

“Not once,” you smirked, and his chest swelled with pride.

“That's my girl,” he cooed, leaning down to draw you in for another, more heated kiss. He swiped his tongue across your lower lip, tasting your cherry lipgloss, before kissing down your neck, wallowing in the sweetness of your perfume, the warmth of your skin. “S’why I love you so much.”

As soon as it slipped out, he felt you stiffen, withdrawing slightly from him. He hadn't meant to say it, though he'd felt it long before you were official, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

He pulled his head back, finding your eyes wide, kiss-stung lips parted in shock. A deer in headlights.

“D-did you just—” you stuttered. He could feel your heart fluttering like a hummingbird under his fingertips. “Y-you love me?”

He smiled, something tender unfurling in his chest. “I do, very much,” he murmured, softening his voice like he was speaking to a frightened animal.

“Bat, I—” you words caught in your throat, and a flicker of hope kindled in his heart. “I have to go.” You turned heel and dashed out of the classroom, nearly taking out Evan and Xeno, who were pretending not to listen by the door.

They grimaced, approaching Barty cautiously.

“Sorry, mate,” Xeno said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Why?” Barty asked, shouldering your bag that you abandoned in your haste.

“Because she—mate, are you with us?” Evan waved a hand in front of his face.

Barty smacked his hand away. “I’m fine, I knew she wasn't going to say it back,” he shrugged.

Sure, it would have been amazing if you said it back, but you didn't have to say it for him to know it was true. He knew you struggled with big displays of emotion, and he wasn't about to goad you into saying something you weren't ready to.

He knew you felt it. You told him with every kiss, every touch, every gesture, from softly tracing his tattoos while you cuddled, to picking fights in the middle of class to defend his honor. Barty knew the truth, and you'd realize it on your own soon enough.

Xeno and Evan were looking at him like he had three heads.

“So why did you say it?” Evan asked.

“Because I felt it?” Barty didn't understand why they were so confused. He’d always worn his heart on his sleeve with you, and that wasn't about to change just because you were finally together. He knew you liked to have all the cards before you made a decision, and now you did.

“But she like, freaked out,” Xeno said, like Barty couldn't practically read the thoughts flying through your mind. “That doesn't worry you?”

Irritation curled along his spine, sharpening his tongue. “I’ve got it under control, Lovegood,” he bit. “Don't strain yourself pretending to give a fuck.”

“Junior—” Evan started.

“Are we ready for dinner? I'm starved,” Barty chirped, uprooting the conversation, and the seed of doubt it was planting in his mind.

Reader’s POV

You sat curled in your bed, staring at the emerald curtain separating you from the rest of the dorm. Barty's words echoed in your mind, ricocheting painfully against your skull.

I love you so much.

I love you so much.

I love you so much.

With every repetition came the same cycle of feelings: terror, elation, guilt, and terror again. You cared for Barty, Merlin, did you care for Barty. It ate you up inside, all the feelings you had for him. Drove you half-mad most of the time.

He was your favorite person, your comfort and your home. You wanted to be with him all the time, and you never wanted to be with anyone.

But love? It seemed impossible, enormous. You choked on it, drowned under it. And though it sounded so sweet on his lips, you just couldn't say it back, and it was tearing you up inside.

You knew how deeply his abandonment wounds went, how sensitive he was to rejection, and you never ever wanted to hurt him that way again. Especially not when he'd brought nothing but wonder and excitement into your life.

He didn't seem particularly upset, but you'd run off so quickly, you weren't sure how he'd actually taken it. For all you knew, you'd shattered his heart, and he'd never want to see you again.

Oh fuck, what if he was if was going to break up with you?

A fresh wave of terror clutched your heart, and you cuddled your stuffed cat closer, praying you hadn't fucked this up.

“Y/n?” Pandora called gently, peeling open your curtain to peek at you. “Barty’s here. Looking rather…fretful.”

Shit, shit, shit. He was here to dump you. This was it.

You stuffed your kitty under your pillows and pushed yourself into a sitting position, wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks. “Let him in,” you mumbled.

Pandora nodded, stepping back, and Barty’s head poked through, dark brows pulled together in concern.

“Oh, baby,” he sighed, taking in your probably pitiful state. “Can I come in?”

You nodded, scooching over so he could climb into your bed. He immediately enveloped you in his arms, cuddling you into his chest. Cigarette smoke clung to his clothes and hair, mixing with the faded traces of his familiar cologne, and it immediately soothed some of your panic.

He was here, and he didn't hate you.

Barty’s heart thumped steadily under your cheek as he peppered kisses along the crown of your head, his hand slipping under your hoodie, well, technically his hoodie, to brush against your skin. He was unusually quiet, his movements slow and gentle.

After a few minutes of loaded quiet, you couldn't hold your tongue any longer.

“I’m really sorry, B,” you mumbled, tracing the lines of the tattoo on his chest peeking through his half-buttoned shirt.

“For what, tres? You did nothing wrong,” he shushed you, squeezing you tighter.

You sniffled, tears springing to your eyes.

He shifted, turning so you were beneath him and he was looking down at you. “Have you spent the last few hours thinking you did something wrong?” He asked, looking genuinely distressed at the suggestion.

Your lips folded into a tight line, not trusting yourself to speak, and you nodded.

“Treasure, no,” he gasped, cradling your face and kissing away the tear that rolled down your cheek. “My sweet, darling, gorgeous girl, you did absolutely nothing wrong. I didn't say that under the assumption you'd say anything back. I said it because I wanted to, because I—” the words caught in his teeth, like he had to bite them back before they wrangled out of his control once again.

“I'm just not ready,” you whispered, shame turning your guts to stone.

“And that's okay—hey, look at me.” He brushed his nose against yours, the softest nuzzle. When you managed to drag your eyes to his, you found them so sincere, so warm. “It's okay, baby. I promise.” He held his pinky up, the nail painted to match your manicure, and you curled your pinky around his. “I promise,��� he repeated, resting his forehead against yours.

You couldn't help the nervous giggle that bubbled out of you, relief making you giddy. “I thought you were here to break up with me,” you admitted, reaching up to stroke the sharp angle of his jaw, carding your fingers through his wild hair.

“You what?!” Barty cried, rearing back in shock. “I’d sooner cut my cock off. Perish the fucking thought this instant. Baby, I’m yours.” He swung his leg over you, pining you beneath him. “You must never think that again, understand?”

“Bat—”

His fingers slipped under your arms, tickling along your ribs and making you squeal, bucking underneath his hold as you tried to escape. He was grinning like a fool, and only stopped when he managed to catch both your wrists to pin your arms over your head. “I've got you now, babygirl,” he purred, leaning down to whisper against your ear. “And guess what?”

“Hm?” You arched into him, the frantic, ticklish energy quickly morphing into something heady, intoxicating. The cloying heat only Barty could stoke in your belly.

“I love you,” he whispered against your pulse, sealing it with a kiss against the tender skin.

You sucked in a quick breath, heart tripping over itself, and you could tell instantly that he caught it, his lips curling into a smile.

“My darling, I love you so much.” He licked a stripe up your throat, the scalding caress of his tongue coaxing an airy whine from your lungs. “My favorite girl.” Kiss. “My most precious treasure.” Kiss. “I’m so in love with you it’s driving me mad—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” You silenced him with a greedy kiss, all teeth and tongue and desperation, elated that he was still yours, that he wanted you, loved you, so deeply. You wanted to devour him whole, never feel, never taste, never know anything but him.

Barty chuckled when you broke the kiss to breathe, releasing your hands so you could grab at his shirt, desperately trying to undo the buttons. He braced his hands against your headboard, letting you paw and take whatever you wanted from beneath him while he watched through lust-fogged eyes.

“You sure act like you love me,” he teased, and you pinched his hip, shooting him a glare.

“I love your dick,” you bit back, palming him through his pants, and finally, he shut the fuck up.

Barty’s POV

The Slytherin common room was raging, flashing green and cloudy with fog, music thumbing through the floor and up Barty's legs.

He was deep in a game of beer pong, absolutely smoking Regulus while a crowd watched on. But mentally, he was plotting his next escape to your dorm, where he'd been periodically bringing you drinks in exchange for kisses while you read your new romance book.

This next time, he’d probably stay with you instead of returning. You were probably starting to feel the effects of both the raunchy writing and the alcohol right about now, and that was a combo he wouldn't dare miss.

Just when he lined up his shot, determined to finish poor Reg off, he spotted you coming down the stairs. Dressed in tattered jeans and a pair of fishnets, one of his Sex Pistols tee's hanging loose on your frame…

He completely whiffed the shot.

He didn't care.

“Treasure!” He cried when you spotted him across the room, and everyone swiveled in surprise.

You sauntered over, a big, melty smile on your face, and threw your arms around his neck.

“Hiii, handsome,” you cooed, pulling him down for a kiss.

He could taste the booze on your breath, syrupy and disorienting. “Made the drinks a little strong, did I?” He chuckled, steadying you with an arm around your waist.

“Whaaat? No, m’fine—Dora!” You suddenly lurched away from him, throwing yourself at your best friend. “I missed you!”

“Hi, love. I missed you more,” Pandora laughed, hugging you back and casting Barty an accusatory glare, though her eyes glittered with amusement.

Barty shrugged and held up two fingers, answering her silent question of how many you'd had.

Pandora's eyes widened and she pointed at herself, then you, then held up two fingers behind your back.

Barty burst out laughing, then cajooled you out of Pandora's arms and back into his. “Baby, have Panda and I both been bringing you drinks?”

You giggled, hiding your face in his chest. “And Evan brought me a shot,” you said.

“He did?!” Barty pretended to be shocked, glancing over at his best friend, who held up his hands in innocence. “So you're right pissed, then.”

You stared up at the ceiling, like you were deeply contemplating this, then slowly lowered your glassy eyes back to his. “Perhaps,” you said carefully, and he snorted a laugh.

Merlin, you were fucking adorable.

“C’mon, Crouch. Game's not over,” Regulus griped.

Barry glanced down at the cups, finding Regulus had sunk two balls while he was distracted. “Guess it's time I catch up,” he hummed, shifting you to his side and taking the two big gulps of stale beer.

You wrinkled your nose in distaste. “I can go get some fresh ones,” you offered, attempting to take a stumbling half-step away from him.

“Nope.” Barty hauled you back into his side, arm bracketed along your lower back. “You're staying right here with me, little lush.”

With you under his arm, he sank his final shot, officially beating Regulus, then whisked you off to the dancefloor to celebrate his victory.

He was in heaven, booze pumping hot and thick in his blood, your body pressed in against his front, writing with abandon to the rock music blaring from the speakers. You looked supremely fuckable, glossed with sweat and starry-eyed, a wild grin on your pretty lips.

He bent down, nosing into your neck while you rolled your hips against his, too drunk to realize what you were doing to him. Or too drunk to care.

“Babygirl, you're killing me,” he purred against your balmy skin, his grip tightening on your hips to stop your movements. “Better stop unless you want me to bend you over the bar right here, right now.”

“Nuh-uhhh,” you whined, spinning in his arms to face him. “M’just dancin’.”

“Sure, sweet thing. And I'm a monk,” he chuckled, watching you press kisses to the inked valley of his sternum, his shirt most of the way unbuttoned by your tricky fingers. You were such an affectionate drunk, but it wasn't often you indulged enough to get drunk in the first place. He groaned when you glanced up at him, round eyes framed by thick lashes, and his cock gave a merciless kick against his trousers.

You grinned, kissing your way up his neck before pecking his lips. The taste of his own sweat on your lips made his mind go dark, lust shredding through the tenuous leash he had himself on.

“Bat,” you murmured, tugging on his chain to get his attention.

“Baby,” he replied, voice rougher than it was moments before.

You kissed him again, tongue dipping past his lips to brush against his before retreating again, taunting him. “Can I tell you a secret?” you whispered.

He nodded, legs locked to keep himself upright.

You cupped your hand around his ear, leaning in close enough that your breath tickled the hair around his ear. “I love you too.”

It was like a bucket of cold water was doused over his head, his heart seizing. Fuck, how amazing the words sounded on your lips, but you were so drunk. Too drunk to know what you were saying, let alone remember it tomorrow.

He knew you loved him, but he didn't want to hear it like this. Not for the first time. He wanted you to say it and mean it, and not need liquid courage to make you feel safe enough to admit it.

“Honey, fuck, I love you so much, but you don't mean that,” he said, gently folding your hands into his and leading you off the dancefloor.

You resisted, pouting. “I do mean it! I love you!”

“Treasure, please—”

“Don’t ‘treasure’ me. I love you, and I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner,” you argued, lips pulling down into a frustrated frown. Then, softer, just for him—“I love you, Barty.”

He winced, like a lance was shoved through his chest. “Stop it, you're drunk,” he said, fighting to keep his voice gentle while he tugged you somewhere quieter.

People were watching, your friends pushing forward to see what the fuss was about, and panic beat like a drum in his head.

“No! Why won't you let me love you?” You yanked your hands out of his hold. “You love me!”

“I do, but you can't—you don't know what your saying, love—” He couldn't the thought of you saying it now and not being able to tomorrow. That maybe you didn't mean it, that you were just telling him what he wanted to hear. False validation hurt far worse than none at all.

“What's going on?” Pandora interjected, stepping between the two of you.

Anger flared hot under Barty's skin. “Fuck off, Pan,” he bit.

“Hey—” Xeno barked.

“Don't fucking start with me, Xe.” Barty stepped up to his friend, ringed fingers curling into a fist. Fucking Xeno, putting doubts in his head…

Evan jumped between them before it escalated further. “Alright, that's enough. This is between Barty and y/n—”

“He upset her!” Pandora argued, her arms wrapped around your shoulders.

“M’fine!” You shot back, jerking out of her arms and nearly sending yourself to the ground.

“You aren't fine,” Barty growled, shoving Evan and Xeno out of the way and catching you before you toppled completely. “You need to go to bed.”

You deflated at his tone, moisture pooling along your lower lashes, and he felt like that biggest ass on the planet. “Why are you so angry with me?” You whispered, and his heart cracked.

“I'm not—fuck, baby. I could never be angry with you.” He pulled you into his chest, wrestling down the hurt churning in his gut. “Let's just get you to bed, yeah? Together?”

You hesitated, contemplating resisting further, but then you nodded, the last of your restraint dissolving from your muscles.

“Barty—” Pandora warned.

“I've got her,” Barty snapped, tightening a possessive arm around your shoulders. “Can you all just fucking trust me for once?”

They all fell quiet, looking back and forth from him to one another. He didn't give them a chance to respond, pushing through the semicircle they made around you and leading you up the stairs.

Neither of you spoke, the silence of your dorm only broken by his shuffling around and your sniffles. He hated himself for making you cry, wanted to tear his hair out and claw off his skin in repentance, but he just couldn't stand hearing you say that and not knowing if you meant it. It was the worst kind of torture.

He helped you into your pajamas and removed your makeup, then tucked you into bed with some water and a hangover cure ready to go on your nightstand.

You snuggled into your pillows, stuffed kitty folded into your chest, and blinked up him with sorrowful eyes. “Will you stay?” You asked, and his heart tried to punch through the wall of his chest.

He sighed. “’Course, love,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. He rummaged through your things, finding a pair of his sweatpants, and changed into them before crawling into bed beside you and shutting the curtain.

You nosed into his neck, arms bundled against his chest, and he cushioned your head with his bicep, the other draped over your waist.

“Don't let me ruin this,” you mumbled, voice sleep-addled and sad.

He kissed your forehead, guilt ringing hollow against his ribs. “You couldn't, treasure. You're stuck with me,” he tried to joke, but it was mirthless.

You shook your head, lips brushing along his clavicle, then your breathing deepened, muscles going lax, and you passed out in his arms.

He kissed your head again, nuzzling into your hair, and let his eyes wander to the crack in the curtain, where he knew he'd watch the sunrise in a few hours. Usually, he was able to sleep with you, the warmth and weight of your body soothing his mind enough to let him rest. But he knew there were no dreams waiting for him tonight.

So he'd hold you, and try not to think too hard, and watch the room inevitably fill with light.

Reader's POV

You woke up to an empty bed and a pounding headache, morning sunlight blazing through the gap in your curtain.

“Fuck me,” you groaned, sitting up and grabbing the potion from your bedside table, popping the cork and slamming it back. Immediately, the potion began to work, the sharpness behind your eyes dulling and your stomach settling.

Merlin, how much did you drink last night? You barely remembered anything after dancing with Barty—wait, where was Barty?

You were fairly certain he'd come to bed with you, and found evidence of that in the dented pillow on your left, the smell of his cologne lingering on the fabric.

You remembered him being angry about something, angry with you, but you couldn't remember why, the specific moments slithering through your fingers like silverfish.

You pulled aside your curtain, finding Pandora and Xeno tangled in her bed, Pandora braiding ribbons in her boyfriends platinum waves while he slept.

“Hey,” you croaked.

“Morning, sunshine. You fucked up,” Pandora said, waggling a finger at you.

You groaned, slumping back onto your pillows. “What did I do?”

“Told Barty you loved him. Loudly and in front of everyone.”

Your jaw fell open. No, no, surely you didn't do something so careless? “I couldn't have—”

“You did, and he's losing his mind over it. Been “showering” for about two hours,” Xeno grumbled, shifting a bit on Pandora's chest.

You couldn't believe yourself. That wasn't how Barty deserved to hear that, not after days of patiently waiting for you to pluck up the courage. You had to fix this. Had to make sure he knew the truth, and that it wasn't a drunken mishap, but the truth in your heart.

Throwing your covers off, you slipped out of bed, padding out of the room and sneaking over to the boys dorm.

You bumped into a freshly-showered Evan halfway to the boys bathroom.

“Hey, wait.” He caught you by the wrist. “If you're going in there to hurt him, don't,” he warned, glacial eyes narrowing.

“I'm not, Ev,” you promised.

“Because I like you, y/n. You're the same kind of bitch as me. But if you're fucking with my best mates heart, I'd hate to have to hate you.” He brushed past you, his words hanging heavy in the air.

You tried not to take it personally, Evan and Barty were fiercely protective of each other, but it still stung that he thought you'd intentionally hurt Barty.

Of course you wouldn't, you loved him.

You loved him.

Fuck, you were so stupid.

You pushed into the bathroom, steam thick and tepid. Only one shower was running, gray smoke curling around the gossamer plumes of steam, and the bathroom seemed otherwise deserted.

“Colloportus,” you cast, locking the door behind you. You approached the shower, knocking lightly on the wall. “Bat, you in there?”

An arm shot out from the curtain and yanked you in, pj’s and all.

“Barty!” You crashed into his wet, naked chest, the blast of hot water soaking you.

“Didn't expect you up for hours, drunkard,” he teased, petting the wet hair from your face, but his smile faltered when he noted the absence of yours.

You sputtered a little, trying to regain your resolve despite the shock. “I-I’m really sorry, Barty,” you said, reaching up to cup his face, stroking away the beads of water running down with your thumb. From the red around his eyes, deep purple stains underneath them, it was clear he hadn't slept at all.

“Sorry for what?” He asked, brows drawing together. He was putting on a brave face, but you could tell that you'd hurt him, and it made your heart splinter.

“For telling you the way I did instead of the way I should have.” You brought his hands to the hem of you soaked-through shirt, guiding them to lift it up and over you head, wanting to be as close to him as you could in this moment—no barriers.

“Baby, you don't have to—”

You shimmied your shorts down, the fabric landing with a wet plop on the tile floor. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his, searing heat blooming everywhere your skin touched. “I want to,” you murmured, drawing him down for a feather-light kiss. “I need to.”

He loosed a shaky exhale, eyes flitting nervously over your face while his hands came to a tentative rest on your hips.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “Bartemius Crouch Jr., I love you. I love you more than anything. And I’m sorry—”

Barty turned, crushing you against the wall and stealing the last of your apology with a fervid kiss. “I love you more,” he growled, a visceral purr of approval against your ear. “Not so hard, hm?”

You nodded, a pitiful whine plucked from your throat when his fingers prodded between your legs, wasting no time spreading you open and smearing your slick over his palm.

“My brave girl, I'm so proud of you,” he cooed, sinking knuckle deep into your clenching heat, making you keen. “So good f’me, aren't you?”

“I was just so scared,” you whimpered, hips rocking into his hand as he parted your gummy walls, scissoring you open with a second finger.

“I know, honey. I know you better than anyone,” he murmured, a possessive edge sharpening his voice. “I knew you loved me, just like I knew you wanted me months ago. Before even you did, silly little thing.”

“Yes, Barty—fuck,” you moaned.

He curled his fingers, pressing against the spot that made your knees give out, white blooming behind your eyes. He silenced your cries with his mouth, smothering you while he fucked you with his fingers, the lewd squelch of your pussy barely muffled by the thundering water.

“Say it again,” he gruffed, his free hand coming up to wrap around your throat, holding you up by the febrile column.

“I love you,” you gasped, loosing air as his hand tightened, the heat in your belly building higher and higher, near to combusting.

“Again.”

“I luh—” you wheezed, unable to draw enough air to finish the phrase.

“Heart’s beating so hard, treasure. All for me?”

You nodded, head going fuzzy from lack of oxygen and the looming orgasm, putty in his merciless hands.

His eyes were black, obfuscated with lust and providence, a ferality barely tethered.

You were about to break, dragged roughshod to release, when suddenly his hand retreated, leaving you empty. Gutted.

But then he was pushing inside you, splitting you down the center with his thickness, so full you swore you could taste him in your throat. His grip loosened on your neck, allowing you a swig of air as he groaned, rutting savagely into your softness.

“So fucking tight, little cunt’s like a vice,” he grated, lifting your legs for a deeper angle, leaving you suspended and helpless to receive whatever he gave you. “Gonna come for me, baby? Let me fill you to the fucking brim with my love?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babbled, nails dragging down his shoulders as you desperately tried to hold on while the world fell away.

“Go on, tres. Give it to me. Don't hold back.” He huffed into your neck, his thrusts getting rougher, sloppier as he swelled inside of you.

Your orgasm blasted through you, ripping you apart at the seams, and you sank your teeth into his shoulder, muffling yourself as he fucked you through it.

“Fuck, that's it—fucking take it—” his own release slammed into him, and he bottomed out with a punishing snap. You could feel his cock surging against your ruined pussy, filling you completely, body and soul.

His grip on your relaxed as the strength bled out of him, his lips tracing a path up your throat, finding your lips in a lissome, sodden kiss.

“I love you,” you whispered, tears pooling behind your eyes as the onslaught of feeling dissipated.

“I love you,” he replied, peppering kisses all over your face in the way that never failed to make you smile. He set you gently on your feet, an arm around your waist in case you stumbled. “Are you okay, though? Really?”

You nodded, pecking his cheek as you stepped back under the deliciously warm stream of water. “I'm in love, what could be wrong?”

He grinned, blinding as the sun, and scooped you back up in a toothy, buoyant kiss. “Absolutely nothing, my love. Absolutely nothing at all.”

© agreeewrites 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[heaven4lostgirls]

forbidden love! Junior x Fem!gryffindor reader where Barty hates that you have to hide. PLOT TWIST (cus I need drama lols) Barty gets in a fight with another guy who said rude crap about reader/y/n and bartys getting hurt when reader steps in with magic and threats.

Ppl don't mess with Barty any more.

pairing: barty crouch jr x fem!gryffindor!reader

summary: request above!

warnings: mentions of blood purity, barty crouch sr. voldemort, slytherin hate, not proofread, graphic descriptions of blood + violence

word count: 1.4K

“No” Barty whines as you disentangle your limbs from his. As you leave the warmth of the blankets laid over his bed, you’re met with a breeze that has you shiver slightly.

Barty tugs at your arm as you swing your legs over the bed and lean to grasp your wand, “Come back to bed” he mumbles as he tries to pull you back under his green bedsheets.

It’s earlier than you would normally wake up, around 4AM you’d assume, given the dark sky you can see from the window to the left of Barty’s bed.

Barty and yourself both knew that the consequence of spending the night in his dorm meant that you’d have to sneak out the following morning before anyone else woke up.

It was one of the worst parts of keeping your relationship a secret. Barty hated sneaking around, not being able to tell anyone how much he adored you or having to reign in his possessive and jealous nature.

He had to grit his teeth and stand by as some brave – or rather stupid – Gryffindors tried their luck with you in hopes of asking you to Hogsmeade. Barty however found relief in being able to hex them in the corridors which was expected from students in Slytherin.

“You know I can’t stay” You whisper into the quiet of the room and Barty only gives a grumbled response, his dark hair framed across his pillow as he blinks open his eyes to pout at you.

“I’ll hex anyone that says anything, just come back to bed” he says again and although you roll your eyes, you can’t help the little flutter within your heart at the sentiment.

“You also know it’s not about the Hogwarts student body” you say pointedly as you reach for an old long sleeve quidditch jersey of Barty’s  to lay over your pyjamas to shield you from the cold.

Barty’s irritated groan is louder than it needs to be for this early in the morning, though you can’t help the small laugh that leaves you as he throws what can only be described as a small tantrum.

“I’m going to kill my father one day” Barty swears, and you snort before gathering the rest of your clothes, kissing Barty sweetly before hurriedly making your way to your own common room.

Interhouse relationships within Hogwarts weren’t necessarily looked down upon, It often fostered unity within the Hogwarts community and was sometimes even encouraged.

Although, with that knowledge also came the understanding of house rivalries. Gryffindor and Slytherin’s house rivalry was one of the most well known rivalries within the school.

Tensions only grew  higher as house loyalties filtered into external loyalties, as pureblood Slytherin students’  families affiliated themselves with Voldemort and the dark arts and as Gryffindor families chose to walk the line of the light.

Therefore, it was only reasonable to assume that your relationship with Barty, if public knowledge, would cause somewhat of a hysteria among students.

Not only that, considering that Barty Crouch Sr. was known to be intolerant politically of any support of Voldemort and his little cult, he was also equally intolerable of his own son.

One was more publicly known than the other however Barty knew full well, should news of his relationship with you reach the media, Barty would soon be associated with Voldemort and his fathers campaign would be in jeopardy.

So, therefore. A secret relationship between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin bloomed under moonlit skies and abandoned corridor kisses.

As you reached your common room, you made quick work of sneaking into your dorm as the rest of your roommates laid sleeping. Under the covers you close your eyes to allow yourself a couple hours of more sleep.

The following morning, as you sit at the Gryffindor table, slowly eating your breakfast as you try to rub the sleep out of your eyes, you can hear the loud chatter of the marauders to your left and Marlene’s grumbling to your right.

Your seat allows you to view the Slytherin table and you can make out the figures of Barty, Evan and Regulus all sitting huddled together. Barty meets your eyes over the tables and gives you a slight wink which has your cheeks warming.

You look down and continue to eat your breakfast as you converse with Lily about your classes for the day.

You’re disrupted by the sound of glasses shattering and gasps, a small wail cuts through the air and before you know it, you’re on your feet looking frantically at the Slytherin table.

Barty has his hands on Mulciber’s robes, his gaze angry and his form trembling. You can see Evan trying to talk him down and Regulus watching curiously. Barty seems to be yelling and you bring yourself out of your shocked daze to hear his voice.

“-SAY THAT AGAIN ABOUT HER, I DARE YOU!, I’LL CURSE YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING BLOODLINE, YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING TWAT!” Barty yells and gasps filter around the dining hall as Barty shakes Mulciber mercilessly.

Mulciber smirks menacingly before whispering something to Barty that has his nostrils flaring, he pulls back one of his arms to punch the living daylights out of the other Slytherin, however before he can he’s met with a curse from Avery that has his flying back into a wall.

Your heart stops as Barty’s head thuds against the wall, his form laying limp against the concrete. Your eyesight blurs at your tears but you can see the figures of Evan and Regulus standing up, wands at the ready as they throw spell after spell at Mulciber and Avery.

You hear commotion as Sirius and James both call out worried as a stray spell hits Regulus which has him down for a count before he stands up again, his gaze cold and unflinching.

You’re moving before you know it, running across the dining hall, away from Lily’s worried “Y/N don’t!-”, as you watch as Snape’s disgusted expression looks at Barty’s still slumped over figure.

Barty has a trail of blood running down his forehead, he stirs a bit as he looks up to be met with the end of Snape’s wand.

Snape stares at him boredly before he starts, “Sectum-”

“Don’t you fucking touch him” you hiss as you grasp your wand, hissing out a powerful ‘Expelliarmus’ that has Snape being thrown back towards Mulciber and Avery.

They both look at Snape in shock before they turn to your blazing form, your eyes manic as you stand protectively in front of Barty. Evan and Regulus both walk to stand at your sides as the three of you look towards Mulciber and Avery.

“Walk away Mulciber” you say coldly as the Slytherin’s eyes light up before he smirks lazily, “And the little bitch returns to her owner” Avery drawls.

Before you can reply, a strong stinging hex hits Avery that has him cursing as tears rise in his eyes.

“Watch your mouth Avery.” Evan says with his wand being held out in front of him. You look at him in shock and he only shrugs and gives you a small smirk, “You’re one of us.”

You nod softly, you catch the glimpse of a red light heading your way before Regulus moves in front of you to defend you. You hear James and Sirius cursing him out as they also run towards you three as Peter and Remus are instructed to call a professor.

“It’s ill etiquette to curse someone behind their back Mulciber, did your whore of a mother teach you nothing?” Regulus hisses as he hexes Mulciber with a body-binding spell.

Barty’s groaning distracts you from everything as he opens his eyes, confused as he looks around to see you, Evan and Regulus duelling Avery, Mulciber and what looks like Snape’s hunched over form.

“What?” he asks confused as he lifts his hand to touch the top of his head where his wound lies.

You quickly look at Barty’s form before throwing another body bind to Avery as you stomp towards their limp forms.

The first punch has Mulciber howling in pain as blood gushes from his nose, “You come anywhere near my boyfriend again, I will kill you.” You say, gaze unflinching.

Avery struggles under the spell before you kick him in his ribs, “Stop fucking squirming. It’s good to know when one has been bested, yes?” you say with a cold smile as you meet both of their angry yet scared gazes.

“If I see either of you near him again, I will hold true to my promise” you hiss, turning around to the amused yet proud looks of Evan and Regulus who have Barty between them, his form slighting leaning on Evan’s taller figure.

You walk a couple steps before you lift your leg to stomp it down into the middle of Mulciber’s legs which has Evan, Regulus and Barty wincing.

You nod and smile at the pained groan before walking swiftly to Barty, “You okay Bee?” you whisper softly as you look worriedly into his eyes before lifting your hand to lift his hair to get a better look at his wound.

You hiss at the blood before looking at Barty with worry, “We need to get you to the infirmary-”

“You’re so fucking hot” Barty says with a wicked smile.

You splutter and Evan groans to your left, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Regulus says disgusted from your right.

He’s distracted by  Sirius and James sprinting towards him with worry in their eyes. You drown out the sound of what sounds like Regulus being looked over and cursed for being idiotic for just blindly jumping into a fight.

Barty just smirks and looks at you, “Cat’s out of the bag then?” he asks with a hopeful look. You’re confused for a second before you bite your bottom lip with a small shrug, embarrassed.

“Yeah, sorry” you mumble before Barty tsks and pulls you into him, kissing you deeply. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this” he says against your lips.

You only smile and kiss him back

[peppermintkissesxoxo]

Barty and the Beast

poly moonkiller x gn!reader

18+

cw: possible dub con but barty is just being himself and actually loves it, mostly barty x remus centered, dry humping/grinding, barty calling remus beast (affectionate), reader watches mostly, gender of reader not mentioned

𓆩♡𓆪

"Fuck off, Lupin!" Barty growls. His fingernails dig into the forearm Remus has wrapped around his neck, holding him tight in a headlock while Remus grinds into Barty's clothed ass. 

"Fuck off? But I thought I was gonna fuck you, Junior?" He quips back with a smirk, pushing his chest out to fold Barty over the side of the bed under his body weight, his hips grinding down harshly. 

A strangled moan escapes Barty's mouth. Embarrassed at his lack of restraint, he opens his mouth, ready to bite down on Remus's arm in retaliation. But before he can sink his teeth down, he catches the sound of the door opening.

You carefully twist the doorknob, peeking inside Barty's dorm room. You'd been on your way to see the boys but heard some arguing from out in the hall, and you know arguing between the boys usually means Remus doing something dirty to Barty that he doesn't know how to cope with besides throwing insults at the former. The thought of what you’re about to walk into ignites a bubbling heat in your gut, panties starting to soak through in anticipation.

Remus had heard your footsteps from down the hall, an affect of his lycanthropy status being heightened hearing, but he doesn't bother to stop his grinding. He only turns his head over his shoulder and grins at you, eyes alight with lust, beckoning you to come in with a tilt of his head. "Hi, Dovey. Close the door will you?" 

Your breath gets caught in your chest at the dirty position Remus has wrangled Barty into, but you beam at him anyways, slipping through the crack in the door and swiftly shutting it behind you. You can't let anyone else get a view as delectable as this. This sight it just for Remus and you to indulge in. 

"Treasure-" Barty groans, chest filling with hope, his eyebrows furrowing as Remus grinds down harder. "Save me!" He whines.

You giggle in delight, toeing your shoes off as you walk over to the boys. You sit next to them on the bed, smiling sweetly as you watch Remus turn Barty into a mess. 

He hates it. He hates Lupin. And he hates that he loves him and this too. And he hates that his beautiful, perfect, darling treasure is doing nothing to save him from this dire situation. 

"You look pretty look this, Bee." You swipe a streak of acid green hair off his damp forehead. He's frowning in the most pretty and dramatic way, something that’s a feat in itself considering Barty’s expressions towards you are never negative. 

"Tres, I'm being mauled by this beast you call a boyfriend," he whines gruffly, fists banging on Remus's hips behind him. It's no use, the headlock Remus has him in leaves little room for fighting. "Why aren't you helping?!" 

You chuckle and shrug. "I don't really see a problem here, Bee." 

He lets out a dramatic groan, though he can’t help but feel warmth swirling in his chest at the sight of your pleased expression. 

Remus's arm teasingly tightens around his neck to cut off some of his air supply. 

"B-Beast!" He growls, but his voice sounds awfully out of breath and tinted with pleasure. 

"Mhm. Let it out, baby," Remus coos against Barty's temple, his hips snapping forward to roll his cock between Barty's cheeks. 

Barty released a strangled gasp, his hands flying to Remus's forearm and squeezing desperately. His own cock is rubbing against the bedspread with every roll of Remus's hips and and the delectable friction is driving him mad. But he refuses to say please or beg in any form to get the teasing to end. 

"What got you in this situation, anyway?" You quirk a curious eyebrow, falling to your side with your elbow propped up on the bed, your head resting on your hand while you watch. 

"Junior said I couldn't pin him," he chuckles. "Said and I quote, '"what use is it being a werewolf if you don't even have werewolf strength,"' he mimics Barty's maniacal, taunting tone before tugging at Barty's ear with his teeth.

An amused giggle escapes your lips and Barty glares at you. "Wow, Bee. Riling him up on purpose, huh?" 

"No!" He insists.

"M'yeah. Sure you weren't, baby," you nod your head knowingly. 

Another deep roll of Remus's hips has him squeezing his eyes shut. 

Barty's face twists up and his hands reach down to try and unbuckle his belt, desperate for a semblance of touch on his bare cock. Unfortunately for him, your hands are quick to catch his wrists and wordlessly cast a binding spell. 

"Tres!" He groans. 

"What?" You smile at him sweetly. 

"He's gonna cum soon. Can feel him getting all tense. You really did it with the hand binding, Dovey," Remus winks at you. 

Barty growls. "Shut up, Lupin! I don't need to c-cum." 

You roll onto your front, propping your face up with your hands as you pout at him sweetly, batting your eyelashes. "Why not, baby? You don't want to cum for us?" 

Barty's eyes widen at your sweet tone and he swallows thickly. "Treasure..." his tone softens considerably.

"Hmm?" 

He groans, always one to give into his perfect darling’s wants and desires. "F-Fine. I'll cum for you, tres but not, Lupin." 

"So mean to me," Remus muses into the crook of Barty's neck, his arm tightening around the front of his throat as he rolls his hips deep. 

Barty can feel his balls tightening under his clothes. His shoulders shudder as he feels the overwhelming heat in his gut start to send numbing tingles through his legs, dancing up to his groin. "Fuck! I'm gonna-" 

"Hmm? You're gonna what, Junior? Speak up," Remus taunts. 

"F-Fuck you, Lupin," he wheezes as he tries to hold back as long as his body will allow him.

"Yeah, I'd like to. Bet you're all tight from how wound up you are. Would have to work you open real good first. Have your Treasure play with your cock while I do. Would you like that, baby?" Remus coos dirty talk into the shell of Barty's ear. 

The pet name and Remus acknowledging you as his Treasure sends him over the edge. Barty chokes on air, jaw going slack, body shuddering as he releases rope after rope of thick cum into his boxers and trousers. 

He thrashes slightly in Remus's grip, nerves alight as waves of white hot bliss wash over him. 

He feels hands on his body, softer, smaller hands soothing up his stomach and petting his face. His wrists are suddenly unbound, free to hang limp in front of him.

Remus's hips slowly come to a halt, a pleased smirk on his lips as he gently kisses Barty's cheek and jaw, loosening his grip as Barty's high fades. He gently maneuvers him to lay on his back on the bed, and Barty lets him. 

"You okay, sweetheart?" Remus's voice has softened considerably, his hand combing through Barty's sweaty locks as he leans over his tired form.

Barty manages a weak glare. "Don't talk to me." 

And Remus just smiles wide, leaning down to pull him into a kiss. 

Barty's body slumps into it, kissing back with little hesitation. 

You watch the sight with lovesick eyes. 

After a few moments Remus pulls back and pats Barty's hip as he straightens up. "You're alright." 

Barty huffs and rolls over to stuff his face in your stomach. "That beast tried to kill me, Tres," he whines. 

Your hands slip into his locks and comb through them as you console him. "Oh, I know. Big Bad Wolf has it out for you, hm?" You and Remus eye each other with amusement. But with the way he's smirking down at you, awfully predatorily, cock still hard and bulging through his trousers, you have a sneaking suspicion that he's out to get you next. 

Your heart gets caught in your throat, thighs twitching under Barty’s head as the heat in your core kicks up. You lean down towards his ear, whispering loud enough for Remus to hear too. "I'm afraid I'm about to be his next victim, darling." 

Barty’s head peaks out, eyeing up Remus. "You should know by now, Treasure, we're never safe from his sick desires,” he sneers affectionately.

And the wolfish smirk on Remus's lips widens tenfold.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

hey!! can i request a christmas fic of barty x reader with the prompt "ho ho holy shit you look good.", maybe they're getting ready to a christmas party and junior says this after seeing reader's outfit

also, i hope you're having a good day!!

HO HO HOLY SHIT.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ●ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ B. CROUCH JR

SUMMARY ৎ୭ ever since you put on your christmas party outfit, barty hasn’t shut up about how good you look— not that you mind

WARNINGS ಇ. slight humor, barty being extra, christmas fluff, a bit of cockiness A/N ಇ. thank you for the request, love ♡ hope you like it ‹𝟹

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 520

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The apartment buzzed with the warm scent of pine and cinnamon, the glittering Christmas tree in the corner standing tall like a beacon of holiday spirit. Barty was standing in front of the mirror as he adjusted his tie.

You, however, were a whirlwind of Christmas excitement. The party was about to start, and you'd spent hours picking out the perfect outfit. Now, standing in front of the mirror, you fluffed out the skirt of your dark green dress trimmed with white faux fur. The puffed sleeves and velvet bow in your hair completed the look.

"Alright," you called out from the stairs of the girls dormitory, your voice brimming with anticipation. "I'm ready!"

Barty didn't even glance up at first. "Yeah, yeah," he said lazily, still adjusting his tie. "Bet you're all decked out in some—"

His words died mid-sentence as he finally lifted his head and looked at you through the mirror. His jaw dropped.

"Ho ho HOLY SHIT!" he exclaimed, leaping away from the mirror with the kind of energy usually reserved for winning Quidditch matches. He stalked toward you with a cocky grin, his eyes doing a quick once-over that sent warmth rushing to your cheeks.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your growing smile. "What? Too much?"

"Too much? Treasure, you're single-handedly putting every Christmas decoration in Hogwarts to shame," Barty said, spinning you around by your waist. "That dress, that bow, the sheer presence. I feel like I should be giving you gifts just for showing up."

You laughed, swatting at him lightly. "You're ridiculous."

"And you," he countered, leaning in conspiratorially, "are a literal Christmas miracle. Do you know how hard it is to make me speechless? This is history in the making."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin tugging at your lips. "Oh, please. You make yourself speechless every time you look in the mirror."

"True," Barty admitted with a dramatic sigh. "But tonight, you’ve outdone even me. I'm genuinely considering rewriting my Christmas wish list to just say: You in this outfit, forever."

Your laugh was bright, and Barty's eyes twinkled with pride. "You're impossible," you said, smoothing down the front of your dress. "Now, come on. We’re going to be late."

But Barty wasn’t done. He leaned against the doorframe, blocking your exit with a playful smirk. "Hold up. Before we go, there’s a serious matter we need to discuss."

"Oh?" you crossed your arms, tilting your head. "And what’s that?"

He pretended to think, tapping his chin. "Well, I’m worried about you, babe. If you walk into that party looking like this, I’m gonna have to spend the whole night fighting off admirers."

You snorted. "As if anyone could compete with your overconfidence."

"Exactly!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "The pressure on me is immense. But I’ll do it—for you."

You grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door, shaking your head. "You’re such a dork."

"Ah, but I’m your dork," Barty said, slinging an arm around your shoulders as you walked down the hall. "And tonight, I’ll make sure everyone knows it."

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

[leeny-leens]

Act iii: Betrayal And Stunned Silence

Pairing: poly!Moonkiller x vamp!Reader

Summary: You never knew Barty's absence could be so frigid and hollow, yet you're left to pick up what he shattered after betraying your trust. Yet still, it seems that the culprit behind it all —Remus Lupin, as usual— still manages to worm his way into your defenses when he catches you off guard and vulnerable.

Warnings: MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND MURDER!! (->The murder itself isn't too descriptive but the aftermath is so read with caution!! It starts at “He’s unrecognisable” and ends at “[…] like the poacher at the clearing.”), angst, sort of depressive episode, not proofread if you read this on the 25th

Content: so much angst, Reader crashes the fuck out, Remus being actually nice for once?? A lot of confusion on Readers end, big sister Lily ftw, weird tension between Reader and Remus

WC: 8.23k

AN: this chapter would've been soooo much longer if I didn't get sick of it and decide to keep the rest for the next one lmao ANYWAYS INTERACTION IS GREATLY APPRECIATED LOVES

Disclaimer: English is not my first language! All mistakes are my own!! I do not and never will use AI for my writing, this work is completely my own

Taglist: @starrystormwritings @whimsical-mistakes @hellokitty-girl666 @lettertovera @bubblegumcat229 @daydreamandforget @justyesbecauseyeswhynot

s.masterlist | Act i | Act ii | Act iii |Act iv | Act v

Barty’s betrayal isn't smooth and calculated, no. It doesn't creep up on you like the shadows after the sun sets, nor does it watch you hungrily like a predator waiting to sink its claws into prey.

It comes unexpectedly, sudden and harsh, like a bombshell dropped with no warning. In hindsight, you still don't know which one you would've preferred; slow and meticulous torture or sudden and sharp wounds?

You’ve only been a sixth year student for three weeks now, sitting cross-legged on his bed in his otherwise empty dorm when it all unravels.

You being in his empty dorm room –courtesy of his demand for privacy turned into obsessive magical research that expanded his original dorm into giving him and his three roommates separate rooms– is not as weird as it might sound on paper. Sure, you very much aren't allowed up in the Ravenclaw boys dormitory, but at a certain point the both of you did master the art of sneaking in out of each other's rooms without being caught.

You hadn't seen him much today, or all week really, only ever managing to steal glimpses of him when he rounded corners and sprinted down corridors. If you were a madder person, you might have thought he was avoiding you, but that can't be. Barty never avoided you, the thought so ridiculous you immediately discarded it. Besides, you didn't give him any reason to avoid you, as far you were concerned at least.

So, in a un-vampire fashion you decide to let yourself into his dorm without invitation, opting to browse through all the books he bought from the Muggle bookshop in your village but hasn't gotten to read yet.

You don't know where he is, but he has to come back at some point, especially with that looming Ancient Runes essay he complained about the first week of school.

While Barty is reckless and incredibly unconcerned with his academic career, grumbling and huffing about the point of all the assignments, he still hands in neatly polished essays that earn him an Outstanding every time.

You're lost between the pages of some horror novel he brought with him when your ears pick up the unmistakable rhythm of his steps down in the common room. Sometimes, you suppose, having enhanced senses isn't all too bad. By now you're somewhat an expert at blending out the jarring sensory landscape around you, yet you somehow fine tuned yourself to always pick out Barty wherever you go.

His steps are heavy, dragging on the floor in that way that foretells the story of heavy burdens the day left on his shoulders. Quickly, you put the book away, slipping a bookmark that has both of your thumbprints in the shape of a heart painted on it. A slight smile graces your features at the memory of making the bookmark a few summers ago, when the both of you were haunted by boredom and in dire need of something to do. Your mother had suggested arts and crafts, and because you'd gone to the bookstore just days prior, you decided to make bookmarks for your little haul. The matching bookmarks were a little trinket that stuck around, a momentum that captures the essence of your friendship; two unique prints intertwined in a heart.

You can hear him drag himself up the stairs and wait patiently for him to arrive, fumbling with his wand before he unlocks the door.

He doesn't see you at first, his gaze cast to the ground, so you clear your throat to catch his attention. His head snaps up, wand pointed up immediately as his entire body grows rigid with alarm.

The whole thing makes you giggle, but it does down as soon as you hear his heart rate picking up at the sight of you. He relaxes, just a fraction, but the tension in his muscles and face remains, even if he pretends otherwise.

Your eyebrows furrow, examining his expression closer as he tries –and very much fails– to plaster on a grin.

“Fangs! Fancy seein’ you ‘round here,” he calls out, but his voice is strained, betraying the casualness he tries to emit.

It's strange seeing Barty pretend around you, because it never happens, not when you both are alone at least.

Immediately, all alarms go off in your head as you revisit every single thing you know about him. Did something happen? Did he get a letter from his father and didn't tell you? Did you miss some sort of event? Was he mad?

A million questions pop in your mind, all at lightning speed, but you come up empty when you try to answer them.

He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, eyes darting across the room in a clear effort to avoid your scrutinizing gaze.

“Where have you been?” You ask, leaning against the headboard of his bed with crossed arms. You ask the question lightly, no accusation in your tone at all, but he still flinches, like someone caught red handed committing a crime.

He paces around the room, loosening his tie and stripping the layers of clothing off his body. His movements are jerky, like he’s trying to remember how undressing works, and pointedly turns his back when he answers your question.

“Was with Evan,” he replies, “He’s been having those weird dreams again, more than ever lately so I’ve been tryin’ to help him figure out what they mean. You wouldn't believe how many divination and dream interpretation books we had to comb through!”

His voice fades into the background when a heavy and borderline ugly thought settles over you.

Barty is lying to you.

Barty, your best friend and other half, is lying to you.

It's not like he doesn't lie, because let's face it, Barty is no saint. He lies, he steals, he wrecks and manipulates like he might die if he doesn't.

That's not the point, it doesn't matter that he does those things because he's never done them to you. He lies to other people, he lies to his father, sometimes to his friends. He lies to the Professors all the time, occasionally to your parents when they ask how he feels.

But lying to you? He's never done that, ever.

Maybe that's why he's so out of his element; it's unnatural for him to try and lie to the one person he spills.his every thought to.

“Stop,” your voice sounds distant, like it's not fully yours and he freezes. Slowly, he turns around, and even without heightened senses you could've heard the way he gulps loudly.

“I asked Evan where you are today,” you state plainly, voice and expression void of emotion. You can see the panic slowly seizing him, creeping up in his pretty hazel eyes that are blown wide like frenzied animal’s.

“He said he has no clue where you've been hiding out.”

The silence that follows is heavy, filled with tension so thick you could've pierced it with your fangs. You continue watching him, he continues to avoid your eyes like they'll set him on fire any second.

Then, all of a sudden, his entire body goes slack with defeat. He pulls the shirt he's been holding in his hand this entire time over his head, trudges to the bed and settles beside you. The mattress dips underneath his weight, the wooden frame squeaks and fills the silence momentarily.

You want to reach out, hold his hand and coax him into telling you what's going on, but you can't. It's almost like there's something holding you back, instinct perhaps that warns you of what's about to transpire.

Naturally, you ignore it.

You've never held back from comforting Barty, so why wouldn't you go against your very own survival base to hold him? You would break and bend any rule as long as it meant he'll be okay. He accepts the hand you stretch out to caress his face, leaning into the touch like it might be the only thing keeping him grounded.

“There’s somethin’ I haven’t told ya, Fangs,” he mumbles, his voice tense and quiet.

You wait, racking your brain for what he might have hidden. His behaviour has been going on for about a week now; avoiding you everywhere, making excuses to not see you, running off as soon as you approach.

Then, it hits you square in the face; the welcome party he attended last week Friday.

It is tradition, a bit of good fun to welcome back everyone into a new school year. Usually, the attendees are fifth to seventh years, and after going last year and experiencing just how packed inter-house parties could get, you made the decision to not attend again. Too many people, too much going on for your brain to handle, and so much temptation that might cause an unwanted slip up.

Barty on the other hand was more than eager to go, the promise of abundant alcohol and entertainment pulling him like a moth to the flames. He disappeared that night, bidding you goodbye with the promise to tell you all about it the next day at breakfast, provided he didn’t skip it in favour of sleeping in and nursing the impending hangover.

That however, never happened, now that you think about it. The next day, he was nowhere to be found, no matter where you searched for him. And after that? He avoided you religiously, like being in the same room as you might set him ablaze. Something must have happened there, you conclude belatedly, and press your hand closer to his face, slowly coaxing him into spilling whatever weighs on his consciousness. He draws a shuddering breath, and without as much as looking up, he speaks three words that tilt your world upside down.

“Lupin kissed me.”

The silence is deafening, pressing heavily on your lungs like it’s trying to squeeze every last bit of air out of them. Maybe you heard him wrong, maybe he doesn’t mean Remus Lupin but someone else with the same last name.

You blink, rapidly like maybe that’ll change the scenery and you’ll find yourself somewhere completely different.

“What?” Your voice is strained, barely a whisper and it finally moves him to look at you. All your hopes of this being a misunderstanding are thwarted by the sheer guilt on his face, clearly proving your fears.

”Remus,” he croaks, the name sounding so foreign ins his mouth, “We were tipsy, fought at the party, then we just kept goin’ back and forth with insults and banter and- Fangs I swear to Merlin I don't know what happened, he was suddenly so close, all I could smell and hear and feel and when he kissed me-“ he chokes, the last part stuck in his throat. He looks to the side, like the sight of you alone might bring the unshod tears to flow. “When he kissed me, I didn’t push back, I just kissed him back because it was so good.”

It must be a joke, you think. A very elaborate, very shitty joke he made up to mess with you. That’s the only explanation you have for your best friend kissing the guy that has been actively and relentlessly making your life hell for the past five, going on six, years.

The laugh that bubbles up in your chest escapes your mouth, and it shakes your entire body until you're clutching your stomach, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes.

Finally, the laughter dies down and you wipe your tears, the thought of him actually kissing Remus Lupin oh so ridiculous. “Man, you almost had me there B,” you giggle, leaning against the headboard as you stare at him with amusement.

“What’s actually going on? And don’t make jokes again, that was not funny,” you muse, the smile on your face faltering when he turns to look at you, shaking his head gently.

He says your name, gentle yet firm, and it sounds almost as foreign as Lupin’s first name coming from his lips. “It’s not a joke,” he whispers, his voice fragile and quiet. You search his face for any of the signs that scream he’s lying, but there's no twitch in the corners of his lips, no quivering ears and only guilt and sincerity in his eyes.

He tries to reach out, but you recoil, violent and unexpected. Hurt flashes across his face, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when the betrayal sits deep in your bones.

”No,” you mutter, over and over again like it might change the fact that the closest person to you just took your heart and gutted you from the inside out. The entire room spins, and suddenly everything is too hot, the walls closing in like they might cave in any second. Barty looks like he might actually start crying, and when you look at the mirror hanging across his bed, you catch a glimpse of your expression. Hurt, disgust, betrayal and anger coat your features, emotions Barty knows too well, but not from you, No, never you, until now.

You jump up, your eyes darting to the door and storm to it, ignoring his shouts and pleas for you to wait. There’s no point in running after someone with supernatural speed and strength, because by the time Barty stumbles out of the Ravenclaw tower to chase you, you’re already halfway across the castle.

The tears burn hot in your eyes, but you refuse to cry, not now at least. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, you know you can’t return to your own dorm because that’s the first place he’ll go looking for you. Quite frankly, you aren’t sure if you can handle seeing him right now, the burn of what he has done and kept hidden for an entire week much too great for you to think about hearing him out.

”He kissed me”

“I just kissed him back”

“It was so good”

His words haunt you,halling off the walls as you run across the dark and abandoned corridors. They cling to you, like soot after a fire, and it makes you want to turn back to seek him and keep running all the same time. Where do you go now, when the one person you seek comfort from is the perpetrator of your pain?

Like a lost animal, you keep roaming the castle, running in circles until you crash into someone. For a moment, you think Barty might have found you, but you’re mistaken.

”Oh goodness, what’s going on?” Streaks of red fill your vision, and the smell of magnolia and jasmine surrounds you like a soothing balm. Lily grabs your shoulders, her voice filled with worry and concern for you as she stares at your tear streaked eyes. You realized you must’ve ended up on the patrol route of the Head Girl and Head Boy, yet your senses were too numbed and overtaken by emotions to register their approach. James Potter stands off to the side, expression torn between concern and caution as he observes the situation.

You try to answer, try to muster up some explanation as to why you’re out so far past curfew, but all that comes out are hiccups and silent sobs.

Lily doesn’t ask, only embraces you tightly and offers warmth and comfort that barely holds your crumbling walls together.

That night, you don’t sleep in your own dorm, and not in that of your Slytherins friends. Instead, Lily takes you back to her dorm, the girls welcoming you with open arms and sisterly concern. They don’t push you to talk, merely allow you to rest and give you space to breathe. Mary suggests pushing all four beds together, and somehow the entire ordeal turns into some sort of sleepover party that you barely take note of. Your mind is blank, void of any and all thoughts, only filled with the ugly feeling of having your trust shattered by the one you love the most.

Sleep doesn’t come to you that night, instead you replay every single moment of your conversation, of the last week he avoided you. It won’t stop plaguing you, and by the time you get ready for breakfast, the bags under your eyes tell a story of their own. Like your body is on autopilot, you make your way to the Slytherin table, greeting the small group of your friends with a curt nod. Regulus sips on a mug of dark coffee, constantly fiddling with a bracelet you don’t remember seeing on him before, but at least he acknowledges your presence unlike Evan. The other boy is completely distracted, eyes wandering across the hall as if in search of someone specific. He startles when you sit beside him, briefly acknowledging you with a nod before he goes back to surveying the entire room. Dorcas and Pandora join your group a little later, the both of them intently staring with questions written across their faces, ones you don’t bother answering.

You feel him the moment he walks into the Great Hall, your heart speeding up when his gaze settles on you. Barty is quick to stride to the table, your name on his lips before he even reaches you. You can’t take it, grabbing your bags and fleeing in a flash, not giving him or anyone else the chance to ask, much less comment on your behaviour.

It’s the same routine for the next two weeks, where you barely get through the motions of the day, avoiding Barty to the best of your abilities, sticking close to your girls. There’s no lack of trying on his end, finding any and all opportunities to talk to you, but you shut him down every single time. It takes one hurt look, and the words are suck in his throat, and he’s left looking at you as you turn on your heel and leave him.

It’s strange, not having Barty close anymore. You never noticed how cold the world feels without him, so quiet and muted. He was the burst of color and noise that made everything brighter, more fun, more bearable. But in his absence, you’re left with ashes and gray nothing to soothe yourself with.

You barely eat, speak or move, a ghost of your former boisterous and mischievous self. If it were not for the efforts of Lily and the other girls, you might have gone under the pressure of carrying the weight of the loss all on your own.

The whole thing makes rounds at Hogwarts of course, because why would people not gossip about you? Rita Skeeter in particular seems to chase the gossip like a bloodhound, cornering you in the library or in empty classrooms to get the scoop on your fallout. You try to ignore her, push her away or flat out insult her in hopes of having her leaving you alone, but it’s all for naught. Day after day, she publishes outrageous articles and comments in the Hogwarts Daily, filled with such absurd claims, it takes your entire strength to keep Marlene and Mary from ambushing her at breakfast.

You ignore the whispers and looks that follow you, choosing to keep to yourself especially as the full moon draws near. What little strength you already had slowly vanishes, replaced by sluggish lethargy and a gnawing hunger that turns logic and reason into primal force. You nurse packets of blood throughout the day, ones your parents packed for emergencies, but they don’t quell the thirst for violence, for hurt and rebuttal.

Each time your eyes stray from the ground, finding one of the gossipy students in the crowds, all you can think about is sinking your teeth into their neck, tipping them apart like a rag doll, hearing the bones crack under the sheer force of your strength.

It scares you, the kind of monster you seem to be turning into without Barty to keep your humanity tethered, but it’s not like you can go looking for him now, can you? By the end of the first week, he had given up on invading your surroundings, instead pulling away to give you the space to make peace with the distance.

The full moon comes and goes, and for once you’re grateful your parents are too busy to accompany you on your hunt. There’s no doubt they would have picked up on the change in your disposition. They would have probed and asked until you broke, and how on earth were you supposed to explain what happened to them? They barely knew about the feud with Lupin, because if your father, or god forbid your mother, ever caught wind of all the things he said and did to you, there’s no doubt he would not return to Hogwarts alive.

Even after you return, the scent of iron still clinging to your clothes, the restlessness does not leave. It’s almost like a second puberty, all you can think about is letting your strength run free, to bask in the look of fear your prey have in their eyes when you crush their necks and bones.

It comes to a breaking point one night, when you sneak out from the Valkyries dorm and follow the instincts that draw you into the Forbidden Forest. It’s not often that you go there, but tonight there’s something inexplicably alluring about the mystique that calls for you, like a siren that sings sailors to their doom at sea.

You wander around, expertly avoiding prying eyes as you go from wandering on foot to flying in your bat form. There’s something freeing about flying under the moonlight, soaring without the weight of pain that shackles you in your human form.

You lose all sense of time when you finally settle down on some patchy moss covered rocks by the shore of a small lake. It’s in the middle of some clearing, hidden away by the trees and bushes surrounding it, yet the moonlight filters beautifully through the leaves, casting glowing shadows and lights on the ripples of water. More than once, you can make out glowing eyes that watch you from underneath the water, some marine creatures drawn to your supernatural scent. You pay them no mind, instead dipping your legs into the water and letting the forest work its magic on your worn down nerves. There’s a sense of serenity in the air that almost fools you into forgetting about all that awaits back at the castle, about your true nature that gnaws on your insides and tries to come out each passing day.

You can almost believe you’re a normal human girl taking a stroll in the forest at night, not burdened by the weight of friendship or predatory instincts.

Almost.

The magic breaks when you hear a twig breaking, followed by a string of curses from a gruff and low voice you cannot recognise. Immediately, you get up, eyes roaming the clearing for any hiding spots or escape routes. A man emerges from the shadows, clearly a stranger from the heavy gear he has on his person. His face is covered in a mask made of bones, belts slung across his waist and legs filled with gadgets and vials you’ve never seen. He smells of blood and sweat, the blood tinged with the familiar sense of magic and it finally dawns on you as you recall the lessons of Magical History and Care For Magical Creatures.

He must be a poacher, one of the people that hunt magical creatures for their skin, bones or other features that sell for good money on the black market. You remember hazily how Professor Hedgings said they occasionally sneak into the Forbidden Forest, the most skilled meme ears of these groups bypassing and disabling the wards and safety measures for a limited amount of time while they hunt for creatures.

You calculate your chances of facing someone thrice your size, even if you had the advantages of being a vampire on your side. The msn radiated bloodlust and madness from his eyes alone, and you did not want to start a fight here, still on school grounds. You take a step back, cautious and careful so you can disappear into the bushes and transform, but the universe really has it out for you. You slip on some of the moss, the sound of your fall immediately catching the attention of the poacher. His face pulls into a grimace at the sight of you, his hand instantly on his wand as he casts a spell that immobilises you.

For the first time in your life, deathly fear grips your heart as you watch the man step closer, his stride calculated and light, almost like a wild cat ready to pounce. Your brain blanks, trying to think of a counter spell is impossible under his sharp gaze.

”What do we have here?” He drawls, his voice grating like metal on a chalkboard. He circles you, eyes taking your helpless form from every angle until he stands above you, towering and dark.

Almost in slow motion, he reaches for a knife on his belt, toying with it as the blade glints dangerously under the moonlight. He’s smirking, all teeth and danger, clearly having the upper hand and no thought of letting you leave this clearing in one piece.

Then, it happens.

It’s a small mistake on his end, just a tiny cut on his hand as he twirls the blade around, but it’s fatale enough when one faces a vampire fuelled by the will to survive.

You black out as soon as the scent of warm fresh human blood fills your nostrils, the monster inside of you that has been caged for far too long finally breaking out of its prison.

When you return to your senses again, you find yourself in the very same clearing, hands and clothes drenched in blood that is not your own. With shaking legs, you walk over to the little lake, staring at the reflection of someone you do not recognise. Your eyes are red, glowing and dark, still filled with primal rage. Blood coats your face, your head and every inch of you. The taste lingers in your mouth, the taste of your first human prey. You turn around, a scream stuck in your throat at the sight of what must be the poacher.

He’s unrecognisable, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, clothes slashes to pieces and flesh hanging off in clots. His face is frozen in an expression filled with fear, eyes empty and corpse drained.

It hits you then, that this must be your doing. Your first kill, the first human to die at your hands. You stare, from your hands to the macabre sight of his cooling corpse, and you fall backwards when you back away.

It’s all over now, you think. As soon as they find him, they will come for you and you will end up in Azkaban for murder, or worse yet, chained in the dungeons of the ministry as they keep you for experimental purposes. It’s what happens to rogue vampires, your father had once explained bitterly.

You scramble to your feet, running and leaving the clearing behind as the forest slowly closes in on you. It’s dark and loud, there are eyes watching you and every step you take, distant whispers that remind you of what you just did. Your head is loud, too loud, and your heart is beating out of your chest like it wants to escape and leave you to bleed out on the forest floor like the poacher in the clearing.

Your clothes are caught on a stray branch that pulls you back, sending you flying down a hill that you didn’t notice in the dark. You roll down, gravel and sharp branches cutting through your bloodied skin and by the time you land at the foot of the hill, your body aches all over with adrenaline and incoming pain. Your ankle throbs, sharp pain shooting through your entire body when you try to stand up, so you give up and stay seated on the floor, out of breath and out of will to move. The sound of wolves howling in the distance carries through the wind, and you’re sure you won’t leave the forest tonight, not alive at least.

An eerie sense of peace fills you, now that you finally fed the monster and gave in to its demands for violence. There is no more fear, no more resentment or hate, just peace that numbs your entire body. You close your eyes, listening to the sound of the forest and feeling a presence at the edge of your subconscious close in on you, one that alarms you. You have no strength left to pay it any mind though, only opening your eyes for a fraction when someone breaks through the thick bushes, panting and huffing.

In the darkness, you could not have possibly seen his face, or made out his figure, yet his smell gives him away. Dazed and confused, you prop yourself on your aching and bleeding arms, eyes staring up at the second towering figure of the night.

”Lupin?” You call out, voice hoarse and almost too quiet for him to hear. He does though, eyes snapping to yours as soon as it reaches his ears and his amber eyes go wide. He’s tripping over himself to get to you, crouching beside you and cursing as his hands hover near your arms.

“What the fuck did you do?” He asks incredulously, surveying the extent of your injuries. The entire sequence of events is strange, something out of a bad dream perhaps, and you begin to giggle at how surreal this all feels.

“It’s okay,” you beam, clearly high on whatever adrenaline is left in your body, “the blood is mostly not mine, no biggie!”

To his credit, Remus doesn’t falter, only narrows his eyes and stares off into the distance before shaking his head, muttering something about taking care of it later, instant scooping you up in his arms with a small puff. You’re confused, to say the least, arms automatically wrapping around his neck as he adjusts your position.

He doesn’t say anything, only tightens his hold and quickly exits the forest, eyes glancing at your face every so often to make sure you’re awake. As soon as you’re in his arms, all strength leaves your body, not even able to protest or tell him to put you down.

He carries you all the way back to the castle, rushing through the winding halls until you arrive at the hospital wing where he kicks the door open, shouting for the matron of the ward with urgency and familiarity that tells the tale of years of care and closure.

Madame Pomfrey grumbles when she first emerges from her office, clearly preoccupied with something that is interrupted by Remus’ frantic yelling. Her entire demeanour changes the moment she sees you in his arms, all scratched up and bloodied. She’s in work mode in just a few seconds, dishing out commands and muttering to herself as Remus sets you down on one of the beds closest to the entrance. With steady and warm hands, she begins to inspect every injury and cut on you, her wand working tirelessly to clean you up and to bring all the different potions and balms she needs to her.

The treatment might have lasted a few minutes or hours, your sense of time completely shut down during the process. By the end of it, she rid you of your torn clothes and gave you some of the spare, ill fitting clothing in the infirmary. Your cuts are all nicely bandaged and treated, and when she makes you swallow five different potions, you don’t have the heart to remind her that as a vampire, you heal much faster than a regular human, and all you need is probably some blood.

Still, you allow the quiet thrumming of the potions to fill your body, slowly but surely breathing life back into you. The haze settles, and now that you can think clearer, you realize the sheer impact of what happened tonight. You can barely bring yourself to think about the man in the forest, but still, you have to tell someone about it.

So, when Poppy quietly asks what happened, you confess everything to her, from start to finish, your eyes avoiding her face. The situation feels familiar, the dynamic of someone admitting a harrowing truth to another and unable to look them in the face haunting you with such aching pain, but still. You push through, and by the end of your report, she’s grown still. When you dare to steal a glance at her, you’re surprised to see an expression filled with understanding and worry. She gives you a tight lipped smile, bends forward and pats your head similar to the way your mother always does when you tell her about your problems.

“Don’t worry dear,” she says warmly, but the determination in her eyes is everything but gentle, “I’ll make sure you won’t get in trouble, so just focus on getting better, yes?”

You nod, a little dopey from the medicine and watch as she disappears through the doors of the ward, leaving you all alone. The only noise that fills the silence is your breathing, and somehow, in the absence of all sensations, you miss Barty more than ever. You miss his stupid jokes, his warm hands, his steady arms, his engulfing hugs, and more than ever you miss his voice and presence. If he were here, you’re sure he would’ve given you a lecture about self preservation and not taking him on your adventures outside the castle before pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you furiously wipe them away, refusing to cry about him more than you already have. You want to blame someone for this whole thing, and the best possible choice for that is of course —as per usual— Remus Lupin. If he wasn’t out to get you, so intent on ruining your life for no reason at all, things would be far more different.

The universe, still on a trip to drive you into more ruin than you were already suffering, decides that this is the perfect time for Lupin to come into the infirmary, his steps gentle as he approaches your bed. He looks around, presumably to look for Poppy but she’s not around. You watch him closely, observing his disheveled appearance, like he just ran across the castle and back. He pulls out something from his pocket, some sort of paper that you can’t really decipher and curses when he sees the content —or at least you assume it’s the content that makes him curse, maybe he’s just gone mad— before stowing it away.

There’s awkward silence stretching between the both of you, and for once you don’t know what to say to him. It’s not like you can insult him as you usually do, not when he practically saved your life tonight. You clear your throat, writhing under his watchful eyes and attempt some sort of small talk. “Poppy isn’t here, by the way,” you note lamely, as if he hadn’t noticed himself. Still, he coughs and makes a sound of understanding, fiddling with the bag you just notice in his hand before he sighs.

He steps closer to your bed, and you almost expect him to start yet another fight with you, but he merely sets the bag down, rummaging through it before pulling out articles of clothing you recognise as your own.

Your eyebrows shoot up, suspicion clear on your face when he awkwardly tries to explain why he has a bag filled with your clothes.

“I asked Lily,” he explains, scratching the back of his neck as you examine what he’d brought for you. “Figured there’s nothing comfortable for you to wear here, and since you’re basically moved in with the girls I thought they might have some of your clothes.”

The gesture leaves you stunned, to say the least. It’s incredibly thoughtful, and a complete 180 from the Lupin you usually interact with. Hell, you didn’t even think him capable of extending such kindness to you. It warms your heart, but you quickly remember that this was still the guy who’s actively tried to ruin your life on multiple occasions.

“Thank you,” you mutter, grasping the fabric of the blue ravenclaw sweater he brought. The sweater is one you stole from Barty, his scent still faintly clinging to it, and the comfort it brings is almost instant. You’re about to pull the shirt Poppy gave you over your head when your arms protest with an instant ache, causing you to hisss and drop them. The potions haven’t fully set in yet, and you give up on the notion of changing, despite how much you crave it.

Lupin, smarter than you give him credit for, deciphers the situation and clears his throat, voice low as he reaches out gently. “I can help you,” he murmurs, fingers brushing against the hem of your shirt. When you make no effort to move away from his touch, he takes it as a sign to go on. Tentatively, softer than you ever thought is possible for someone like him, he pulls your shirt over your head, making sure to not accidentally graze the cuts on your arms that are slowly healing. It feels awkward, and maybe a little bit wrong for you to be half naked in front of the guy who readily slammed you into a wall two or so years ago.

With unexpected gentleness, he guides your limbs into the holes of the sweater, carefully putting it on and helping you tug it into place until the fabric is warm and snug against your body. You want to thank him, almost, but the words don’t come so easily over your lips. Instead, you stare pointedly at your blanket, unable to really look into his face. You fear that if you do, he might begin to read you like an open book, the way you’ve watched him read every room and situation like a polyglot proficient in ancient tongues long forgotten.

You do, however, call out to him when he retreats, mumbling something under his breath that is impossible to decipher, even for you.

”Wait!” You blurt out, unsure what you even want him to wait for. “Sit down?” You murmure, quieter this time and with less momentum, a little fragile, a little unsure, but still inviting nonetheless.

He turns around, eyes wide for a split second, like maybe he’s questioning if your injuries messed with your head, before he relents and makes himself comfortable on the bed. He sits cross legged, knees close enough to your own that they might brush if one of you moves just a fraction, and the proximity nearly steals your breath in one swift gust.

You force yourself to not think too hard about how close he’s sitting, or how he smells like chocolate, library, and some sort of musky cologne that you swear you smelled on Sirius Black before. If you allow yourself to think about it, you’ll be left with the realisation that this is the first time the both of you have spent in a room, alone, so close without a fight. You don’t know what to do with this information, or the tingle in your hands, or his warmth that seeps into your skin through the thin material of the blanket, so you squash it down into the darkest corners of your mind.

Lupin, to his credit, tries to act indifferent to the whole situation, but clearly fails. His hands are twitching awkwardly beside him in an attempt to find the best place to put them without touching you directly. Finally, he settles on propping his chain against one of them, which in retrospect really isn’t good for your heart, because now he’s staring at you, directly and with quiet focus, like you’re the most interesting thing in the whole room.

He’s never looked at you this way, with curiously and a little bit of awe swirling in the golden pools of amber, and it’s enough to drive you a tiny bit mad. You want to say something clever, maybe a witty remark to bring back the comforting back and forth the both of you share, but nothing leaves your lips.

Instead, he makes the first move, leaning forward like he might share his biggest secret with you, but instead he stares pointedly at the ravenclaw emblem sewn into the dark blue sweater.

”That Crouch’s sweater?” He asks, like the answer isn’t already clear. Half the school knows you wear Barty’s clothes, proudly displaying your bond, just like he walks around wearing items of yours.

You haven’t been wearing his clothes lately though, and he hasn’t worn anything of yours in the weeks you spent apart. His question is like a spear piercing through your heart, reminding you why you ended up here in the first place.

If it weren’t for him making your life hell, if it weren’t for him kissing Barty, if it weren’t for the distance clouding your judgment, then maybe you would be curled up in Barty’s bed now, low conversation flowing under the dim light of the candles you always get him for his birthday.

Still, you nod, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you were to answer him verbally. He seems to understand, and the sod smirks. Like, actually smirks, lips curling sharply and features turning all sharp and predatory underneath the the glow of the moonlight that filters through the windows.

“It suits you well,” he drawls, eyes racking over your form with amusement and something you can’t really name. “Would suit you better if the two of you weren’t tragically moping apart,” he adds afterwards, casually like it’s an afterthought, but you’ve had so many verbal sparring sessions with him you can smell the coaxing strategy a mile away. “What’s up with that anyway? Aren’t you usually bound at the hip or something?” He cocks his head, messy hair falling over his eyes like a confused puppy, and something stutters in your chest. Maybe you’re getting sick, or maybe the overdoses on human blood is finally driving you to the edge, because Remus Lupin looks nearly cute like that.

You huff indigently and cross your arms in protest, like it might be a physical and emotional barrier to whatever witchcraft he;s performing on you right now.

“And what, pray tell, is it to you,?”, you throw back, with far less venom than you would usually use. He chuckles at that, sound smooth and honeyed, a little bit like he keeps it for special occasions, and nods at the underlying question you pose.

Are you being nosy right now, Lupin?

“Hard to not be curious when it’s all anyone can talk about,” he remarks, “Plus, you haven’t picked a fight in like three weeks, figured that must be why.”

It’s hard to refute the argument because, well, it is true. You can’t quite find it in yourself to argue with him or think about murder plots without Barty at your side, and without energy to even get through the day, getting even with Lupin is the last thing on your mind.

”Who’s fucking fault do you think that is, you twat?” You mumble, propping yourself more upright against the pillows despite the aching in your back. Lupin notices, because of course he notices everything with those sharp eyes that never leave you out of sight, and he quietly accios two pillows from the cot next to yours, scooting closer until he can put them behind your back for you.

He returns to his original place, like the whole ordeal is no big deal at all, but the quickened pace of his heartbeat tells you that he is not as unaffected by your presence as he likes to pretend. It’s a small victory, but one you take in stride anyway.

”It hardly can be my fault,” he quips back, “I don’t even talk to you two, let alone that mad dog of yours.”

”Oh you don’t talk alright, you just push your tongue down his throat.”

He blinks, slowly, too slowly actually, his face mirroring your own disbelief at what you just said. You didn’t mean to say that out loud, or to sound so bitter about it, it just happened. His face slowly pulls into a smirk, like a light bulb just went off and he laughs, actually laughs, full on doubled over, voice echoing back from the walls. You sit there, stewing in indignation until he calms down, fixing you with an overly amused smile you oh so desperately want to wipe off his face.

For a moment, your eyes flicker down to his lips and you suddenly understand why Barty had let Remus kiss him at that party. They look, truth to be told, soft and inviting, especially under the silver moonlight.

It’s just a moment of weakness, but when your eyes snap up, he looks as startled as you feel, like he’d been caught staring at something he shouldn’t covet. A strange sort of anticipation settles between the both of you, unnamed and inherently terrifying when it’s with the person you spent so much time hating.

This time, it’s you who tries to make the first move in clearing the air, not one to let him overshadow you even in something as petty as that. “Did you do it to get back at me?” You demand to know, like his affairs are your god given right to inquire about. You suppose they are, when they involve the person you love.

He’s taken aback by the brazen question, mulling it over more carefully than you thought he would. When he answers, you half expect a snarky response, but are left surprised by the vulnerability in his words.

“No,” he says, slow and careful, like the words might break him if he says them too loud. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you, not like that, and most definitely not by taking advantage of him too.”

Another question lingers on your lips, ready to be fired, but he answers it before you can even voice it out loud.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he cuts off, voice firm and so deliberate, it’s hard to think he’s lying. After a few beats of silence, he adds on, a little quieter this time.

“I enjoyed it, and I didn’t do it because I wanted to hurt him, I simply wanted to kiss him in that moment with no strings attached.”

The rawness and honesty dripping from his voice, evident in his expression and body language, almost make you breathless. It truly is marvellous, how he shuts down every worry and doubt you had over this ordea, for your best friend's well being, without as much as a stutter.

There is nothing left for you to ask or say, and for once, you allow Remus Lupin the pleasure of shocking you into positive silence. The fit enjoys it too, a small smile on his lips that stretches the scar across his lip a little, the skin nearly glowing in the dark. His eyes dart down, just for a second, gleaming with something that reminds you of the way Barty looks at you when the lights are low. You wonder if that’s how he looked at Barty before he kissed him, wonder if he might be thinking about kissing you too just to see if best friends kiss the same.

When he looks up, he's clearly mortified, and so are you when your thoughts finally, actually set in. What in the world were you thinking, about Lupin no less?

He eyes the door, pushing himself off the bed with a little too much force and grabs the bag he brought your clothes in, shouldering the strap without as much as looking into your direction. For a moment, he reminds you of a clumsy baby deer trying to escape a hunter, and again, the thought of him being almost adorable crosses your mind.

When he stretches up to his full height, nervously patting down his clothes, he still avoids your gaze, but stills in his movements and looks at your sweater instead.

“You should talk to him,” he comments softly, “You both are miserable in the distance, at least hear each other out, yeah?”

If tonight wasn’t strange already, then Remus Lupin giving you friendship advice most definitely would’ve taken the crown. Alas, far weirder things have transpired, so you simply nod and watch as he makes his way to the door.

“I still don’t like you,” you call out after him, the need to clarify intense as the magic of your shared moment slowly withers.

He stops in his tracks, turning around to cast a lingering glance to you, something between amusement and understanding.

“Still don’t like you either, Bat.”

You’re stunned into silence by this guy for what feels like the millionth time tonight, but somehow, you don't mind it as much as you think you should.

[prongsinrevolt]

keep everything aside, when are we gonna talk about bpd! barty crouch jr?

[aetherraeys]

OHHHHWHHSHHW WHAT DO YPUBMEAM WE ARE SYNCED UP JABSJAHAKAHAI⁉️⁉️⁉️ IVE ALREADY SEEN A COUPLE W JEGULUS AND ITS OUGGHHSHS DOOMED !!! DOOMED I SAY !!!

all i can say,,, as a compensation,,,, men who yearn,,, are men who earn 😍

-🐠anon

anon ur brain. MEN WHO YEARN ARE MEN WHO EARN. and the ill fated jegulus makes my soul ACHE.

so yes take ur compensation with both hands and raise you yearning barty.

BECAUSE ITS 100% HIS TOP SKILL, BRO WAS BUILT TO YEARN.

yearning obsessed!barty and grumpy!reader who never gives his antics the time of day. quite literally doesn’t give him an ounce of attention—you’re rather disgruntled every time he forces himself into your space. because all you want is some peace and quiet but no.

barty crouch jr has to come barrelling into great hall, all grins and loud chattering and chaos—planting himself next to you as if you hadn’t made it abundantly clear you wished to be left alone.

but to your misfortune, barty was nothing if not relentless—another day, another token. this one was wrapped delicately, decorated with a bow and your initials. he pushed it into your space with a shining grin that made you want to wince away—just too bright.

he slung an arm over your shoulder, leaning into you whispering into your ears as he greeted you—your name leaving his lips like it was just his to say. and when you grimaced at the proximity, eyes darting to where his arm laid on you—far too casual, too comfortable—and then to his face.

gods, was he close.

so close you could feel his breath fanning over your face, could smell the fresh air that had whipped his hair into its mussed state mixing with his own scent. he wasn’t even shy about the way his watched you—eyes flickering from yours to your lips, that held a mild scowl. his own lips stretching into something more wolfish as he watched you avert your gaze. irises shaking—almost panicked.

your eyes rolled as you shrugged of his arm—yet he still stayed stuck to your side, almost magnetised. his warmth seeping through your robes.

plucking the toast from your hand and taking a large bite—simultaneously forcing the package into your still opened grasp as you gaped at him. barty continued to chew unceremoniously brows raising as motioned you to open it.

he smiled to himself when you sighed, grumbling about your toast, yet your fingers were working open the ribbon. the parchment floated lightly onto the table, revealing a book—your favourite book.

how did he know?

your brows furrowed as you examined the copy, you’d never seen one like this before—eyes flickering back to him in skeptic confusion. he just grinned at you, arm inching its way around you again. settling into the pocket of your robe.

he used his other hand to take his wand—pressing it to the surface of the cover. and it shifted, morphed, sparkled as the title floated around, an admittedly beautiful illustration surrounding it in movement.

and there was an undeniably warm sense of pride blooming in barry’s chest at the way your eyes glimmered—lips parting in awe. and he could have sworn he saw the corners of your lips twitch upwards. he was still taking in your reaction, watching as your fingers traced the edge when he murmured so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

“drew it myself.”

that got your attention—eyes shamelessly flitting over to him. and you were met with a shockingly soft expression, almost shy.

you say wordlessly for a few more moments, eyes still stuck on barty—before you swiftly stood—his hand falling out of your pocket while his eyes tracked your movements.

maybe you’d misjudge him, maybe.

just as quickly as you stood—bag slung over your shoulder, your warmth quickly dissipating from barty’s side. you pressed a gentle peck to the tops of he cheekbones—picking up the book and tucking beneath your arm. your small thank you soft and honeyed in his ears.

and then you were gone.

robes filling with air as you walked swiftly out of the dining hall.

and barty all but melted into the seat—slumping dramatically, tracing the surface of his cheek where you lips had been—heat travelling helplessly to the surface as a cheesy grin split across his lips.

all he could do was watch your figure disappear down the corridor—cheek pressed against the hard wood of the table, a lovestruck expression plastered to his face.

it took him over a week to figure out how to animate his drawing with magic (thank you dorcas).

and gods was it worth it.

[starstruckmoony]

so high school.

masterlist

pairing - james potter x reader

summary - that one cute nerdy guy from your lectures gives you a follow and you end up actually falling for him.

trope/tags - modern!au, uni/college!au, instagram/social media!au, fluff, terrible humor

word count - 704

warnings - language, suggestive jokes

part 1 / part 2

prongsyboy

❤️ liked by yourusername, pandorasbox, marymacdonald and 167 others

prongsyboy me and remussy

tagged rjlupin

10 comments

yourusername adding ussy to things is not cool anymore btw!!

prongsyboy what do YOU know about cool

yourusername clearly more than you do

rjlupin tf when was this taken????

starmanblack ...yesterday

starmanblack you two were so cute i couldn’t resist 😔

mmmckinnon remus looks sooooo happy to be there

lily_evans my two favourite boys 🥹

starmanblack bit rude innit petey?

pete___ no words...

yourusername

❤️ liked by lily_evans, xeno_lovegood, starmanblack and 181 others

yourusername he said i remind him of the first line from robbers

12 comments

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yourusername even got himself a mention

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yourusername i think he told me that already

prongsyboy and he'll tell you again

r.a.black of course he likes the 1975

bartyyy bratty healy reference?

ev.rosier i got told that by a man once

yourusername and then you slept with him!

bartyyy GOT GAME EYYYY 😈

prongsyboy added to their story

yourusername

❤️ liked by r.a.black, rjlupin, marymacdonald and 174 others

yourusername freaky

13 comments

prongsyboy day ruined

yourusername excuse you?

prongsyboy i just had some plans 🙄

yourusername 😏

prongsyboy 😏

prongsyboy i'd have stolen that and put it on my wall for decoration

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prongsyboy AYOOOO DON'T TELL THEM THAT

mmmckinnon is that there cause of me?

yourusername @/casmeadowes

casmeadowes i wanna be excluded from this narrative

bartyyy FUCK

starmanblack NO

prongsyboy

❤️ liked by ev.rosier, casmeadowes, euphemiapotter and 183 others

prongsyboy roadtripppppp

tagged yourusername

13 comments

yourusername not the soggy chips

prongsyboy but i like them soggy 🤤

yourusername kys

yourusername nice sweater

prongsyboy thanks i got it from that girl who reminds me of i'm in love with you by the 1975

yourusername STOPPP

prongsyboy NEVER

starmanblack always so cute

starmanblack hottest best friend ever

starmanblack @/yourusername when am i getting him back

yourusername have a nice day!

vance_emm i'm just here for the comments atp

pandorasbox keeping us fed

yourusername added to their story

prongsyboy

❤️ liked by vance_emm, r.a.black, mmmckinnon and 200 others

prongsyboy robbers intro?

tagged yourusername

14 comments

yourusername hello! why am i being tagged?

prongsyboy because you're you

yourusername you're kinda pretty

prongsyboy this isn't about me

starmanblack OMG ROCKSTAR BF???

starmanblack SOOO TALENTED

starmanblack husband

rjlupin CUT IT OUT

prongsyboy LMAOAOA

marymacdonald @/yourusername marry that

ev.rosier starting to understand y/n...

yourusername back off my man rosier smh you've got your own 🙄

bartyyy i can't play him robbers tho 😔

ev.rosier SEE?

bartyyy added to their story

yourusername

❤️ liked by euphemiapotter, rjlupin, lily_evans and 226 others

yourusername him.

tagged prongsyboy

17 comments

prongsyboy ME?

yourusername YOU!

prongsyboy ❤️

yourusername ❤️

prongsyboy think my mum approves

yourusername she actually told me that behind your back!

prongsyboy HUUUUUH

ev.rosier cute.

bartyyy RAAAAAHHHH HOW SWEET EW EW EW 😍🤮🥰🤢🥹

mmmckinnon SICK of you two

r.a.black tell me about it

starmanblack fuck off haters smh

pete___ prongs won

starmanblack keep him extra safe pls thank you

rjlupin emphasis on extra

xeno_lovegood congratulations!

marymacdonald cuties 🫶

prongsyboy added to their story

[crescenthistory]

💌 = fluff I 📭 = angst I 📬 = hurt/comfort I 📜 = smut I 🪧 = humour

𖤐 barty crouch junior

(4.2k) Toe The Line (💌: potentially suggestive, friends to lovers, confronting barty about his flirting with you)

(3.4k) Murder’s On the Wishlist (📬: you’re forced to go home for christmas, barty is your comfort)

(3.7k) steady me, guide me, love me (📬: when barty gets into another fight you have a serious talk)

(3.6k) You woke me up for this? (💌: barty is bored in the middle of the night, so of course he goes to you)

(2.3k) the blood means i love you (📜📬: reader accidentally makes barty bleed and he loves it, aftercare)

(3.7k) Under Your Mistletoe (📜💌: you show barty your new mistletoe belly button piercing for christmas)

(4.1k) slight air and purging fire (💌: climax of a slow best friends to lover arc, “you’re my person”)

grumpy!reader universe

⤷ (2.4k) Aren't you just a sweetheart? (🪧: kinda sunshine/grumpy dynamic, bickering type of flirting) ⤷ (2.7k) an insufferable dance (🪧: set before they start dating, dance at hogsmeade) ⤷ (3.1k) and what about it? (🪧: your friends find out you and barty are dating) ⤷ (6k) this isn't fun anymore (📬: it gets serious and that scares you both) ⤷ (2k) sleepy midnight escapades (💌: an anxious remus goes looking for you at night when you miss curfew and finds you with barty)

drabbles:

(1.6k) a scout on tabletops (🪧💌: barty gets creative when he looks for reader at a party)

(1.4k) here with you (💌📬: barty tries to isolate when he is hurting, but you always find him)

(1.1k) roommate au (💌: somehow, someway, the man you still tell yourself is a stranger wound up in your lap after a rough day)

pt. 2 (1.3k) weekly movie nights (💌: a snippet of one of your regular movie nights with your roommate that you’ve become quite familiar with)

(0.7k) rockstar au (💌📜: suggestive, sitting in barty’s lap to do his makeup before a gig)

(1.6k) midnight piercings (💌📜: suggestive, giving barty a helix when he spontaneously shows up on your door at night)

(1.6k) shaky hands (📬: after opening a particularly cruel letter from your mother, barty is there to help ease your spiral)

headcanons:

☆ barty x crow!animagus!reader

☆ kleptomaniac!barty and his endearing lack of impulse control

☆ barty’s body modifications

☆ barty learning a soft love through acts of service

☆ barty and divination (+whimsical!reader)

☆ barty x black!sister!reader

☆ barty and bloodplay + dead dove kinks (mdni)

find more barty in poly!bartlus in the slytherin skittles masterlist

[dismalflo]

…it’s me again from the last req. maybe you could do one where it’s like one of the pure blood boys(I was thinking maybe Sirius or barty) and it’s like they don’t realise how deeply rooted like the misogyny of how they grew up is in their brains. Maybe they make an offhand comment or action towards the reader that’s like almost passive aggressively sexist and she like totally calls them out on it and is like y, u can’t talk to me like that. did that make sense? I don’t think that made sense but oh well

thankyou for requesting!! i struggled with this one for a bit but its such a good idea. i hope you enjoy <3

Barty Crouch Jr. x fem!reader where he can't quite understand why you're upset ✩ 1.6k words

cw: misogyny, little bit angsty, hurt/comfort, Barty is a dick (but he tries to learn from it), reader plays quidditch.

an: sorry i made your fave a piece of shit (with redemption) it hurt to write

“ –you agree with me Reggie, surely.”

“I do not, thank you. And do I have to remind you that your girlfriend–”

Regulus cuts himself off when he sees you approaching, but the scowl directed at Barty doesn’t shift. Barty doesn’t seem to care as he, noticing your arrival too, turns to smile so wide, you’re sure it hurts his cheeks, forgetting the conversation all together.

“Treasure!” he exclaims as you sit yourself beside him, before planting a lingering kiss to your temple.

“What were you guys talking about?” you ask before nodding to Regulus, “Heard you mention me.” 

"Barty’s an idiot, Y/N, I’m sorry." Regulus sighs heavily, standing abruptly from his seat. "I'll see you at practice, yeah?" His gaze flicks to you, not a single word is directed toward the boy beside you, his arm comfortably wrapped around your waist. The snub feels sharp, though you're not entirely sure why.

“He’s become bloody dramatic since he started seeing potter.” Barty says cheerfully, as if he’s not the most melodramatic man you know. The only times you’ve seen Barty drop his theatrics is when it’s only the two of you. He’s still impulsive and daring but the fire gets dropped for sweetness and he's lovely. You’re his and he’s yours.

“What did you do to rile him up, Bee?” you tease, leaning into his side with a gentle smile. 

He squeezes your waist briefly, pulling you in closer before responding.

“We were talking about Quidditch, and he complained about one of your beaters. I said that it must be annoying trying to get the girls to listen, poor bloke.”

You blink, processing his words, and a cold chill starts to creep down your spine. It takes a moment for the reality of what he's said to fully hit you. 

"What did you just say?" You ask slowly, your voice steady.

Barty doesn't notice the shift in your demeanor. His grin only widens, his eyes sparkling with affection as he watches you. To him, it’s just another offhand remark; playful, maybe teasing, but never meant to hurt. It’s the way he’s always been.

"I said, it must be annoying trying to get the girls to listen," he repeats, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Y’know because girls never stop talking.” he nods.

Your smile falters, and you pull back from him slightly. His arm falls from your waist, the space between you suddenly feeling miles wide. Regulus’s parting words echo in your mind, but you focus on Barty now. His face morphs into one of confusion, a flicker of amusement still lingering, but it’s clear he doesn’t understand why your mood has shifted.

 It’s laughable, really, coming from a boy that says everything that flashes through his mind, always loud and known. That’s just Barty and you’d never complain about it or ask him to change –you love him–but this rubs you the wrong way.

“You’d prefer that I didn't speak so much, then?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“Tres, I didn’t say–”

“But you did, Barty! I'm on that team! I'm one of the girls Regulus has to deal with!”

Barty blinks, clearly thrown off. His smile falters for a moment, and he opens his mouth, likely trying to smooth things over with some careless, half-thought-out joke. But when he sees the sharpness in your eyes, the edge to your voice, it makes him falter.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he begins, his tone defensive but still a little unsure, his hand coming up to run through his hair–because he’s frustrated or nervous you can't tell. “It’s just that, well… y’know, girls can sometimes be a bit more, uh, talkative than the guys–”

“Are you serious right now?” You cut him off, your voice not loud, but steady with the kind of controlled anger that makes Barty’s stomach twist.

Barty opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure of how to proceed. An uncomfortable feeling taking hold, but there’s also something inside of him—a deep-rooted, unexamined part of him—that wants to dismiss this as you being too sensitive. He’s never really thought about his own words that deeply, never had to. Growing up, he was surrounded by a very particular brand of masculinity.

"I didn’t mean to offend you, honestly," Barty says quickly, his voice softer now, though still with that edge of defensiveness. "I just meant that—"

"Yeah, I know what you meant," you interrupt, voice icy. "But the problem is, Barty, you're so used to saying whatever comes to your mind without thinking about it for one second. You don’t get to say things like that and just get away with it. "

He stares at you, his mouth opening and closing again, looking as though he’s trying to piece together exactly where he went wrong. His brow furrows, a flash of frustration crossing his face. 

"You're making it sound like I hate women or something. I don’t. You know I don’t. It was just a joke."

“No, I don’t think you hate women,” you respond coolly. "But you clearly don’t get how ingrained some of that shit is.” You stand up suddenly, ready to walk away. “I’ll see you later, Barty.” 

-

It’s just past curfew when you hear the knock on the door of the girls' dormitory. You open it, bleary-eyed and ready to tell whoever it is to sod off—only to find Barty standing there, hair a mess, eyes wide, hands full of... flowers?

They’re awful. Wild, lopsided things that look like they were pulled from the edge of the Forbidden Forest. And he’s holding them like they might explode.

“Hi,” he says, voice tight with nerves. “I—I brought these. They’re not from an actual florist or anything, but I thought maybe you’d like them anyway because... well, because I’m sorry. And I didn’t know what else to do.”

You raise an eyebrow, but you don’t close the door.

“I was a dick,” he continues, words tumbling out now like he’s afraid if he stops, you’ll shut him out for good. “A stupid, arrogant, loud-mouthed dick who didn’t realise that he’s been spoon-fed this idea that making fun of girls is just ‘harmless banter’. But it’s not. Not when it’s you. Not when it makes you look at me like I’m someone you don’t recognise.”

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“I don’t want to be that person,” Barty says, voice breaking a little now. “Not with you. You make me want to be—better, not just louder.”

The silence between you stretches.

“I hated how quick you were to dismiss it. To dismiss me,” you say, voice softer now, but still firm. “You’re smart, Barty. You should know better.”

“I do now. I was thinking about it and then I went to talk to Reg about it. He said it's something about the way we were raised, some batshit thing that goes hand in hand with my fathers bullshit, but I know that's not an excuse, tres.” He steps forward slightly, holding the scraggly bouquet out like a peace offering. “Please let me make it up to you.”

You hesitate. But in his eyes, you see none of the easy arrogance you’d grown used to. There’s only sincerity.

You sigh and take the flowers, fingers brushing his as you do. They're prickly in places, uneven, with leaves still clinging to the stems—but they’re honest. Wild and untamed, just like him.

Barty doesn’t grin. Doesn’t make a joke. He just walks in slowly, hands tucked into the pockets of his robes, like he’s afraid to breathe too loudly.

You sit on the edge of your bed, the flowers resting in your lap. He stays standing.

“I’m not good at this,” he says after a beat. “Like… not just the apologising part, but the learning part. I've been told I’m clever all my life, and it’s made me lazy. I don't question things unless they get in my way.”

You nod, watching him closely.

“But you’re not just someone in my way. You’re the person who makes all the noise in my head worth it. So if I’ve got to unlearn everything just to not lose you, I’ll do it.”

A breath catches in your throat. “This isn’t just about keeping me, Bee. It’s about being someone better. For you.”

His eyes flicker, glassy for a moment, and he sits down—tentatively—beside you. “I know.”

You glance down at the flowers again and then up at him, lips tugging into a small, reluctant smile. A silence settles between you.

 “These are hideous.” you say finally. “You can’t just fix things with flowers and guilt, Barty, It’s not that simple.”

“I know.” His voice is quiet, sincere. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

Barty reaches over, tentative, and places his hand over yours. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t try to pull you closer. He just stays.

“I’m gonna mess up again,” he says softly. “But I’ll listen. I’ll learn. And I’ll apologise when I do. Properly. Not with jokes.”

You glance at him, heart aching with something complicated and warm and stubbornly hopeful.

“You’d better.”

His smile is small, a little broken around the edges, but real. “Does this mean you’re not going to dump me?”

You pretend to consider it, then lean your head on his shoulder with a sigh. “You’re on thin ice, Junior.”

He huffs a laugh, and for the first time tonight, it sounds like him.

“I’ll take it,” he murmurs, resting his cheek against your hair.

masterlist <3

[wisteria-cherry]

Hi I've been searching everywhere for a new barty Crouch Jr story and I've read your head cannon for dating him as well as some of your other works and I really enjoy your writing so I was wondering if maybe I could request a reader x barty crouch Jr book where reader is good friends with Regulus and barty gets jealous or something along those lines leading to him to confess his feelings for reader? Anyways thank you for taking the time to read my request! Love your writing!

ofc sweetie <33 tysm for your support!!

dream come true

“are you busy today?” barty asked as the two of you settled down in the courtyard, pulling out books and parchment to begin your respective papers— barry’s for transfiguration (his punishment for sabotaging a gryffindor’s teacup that they were meant to transfigure. the gryffindor deserved it; he’d taken barty’s teacup by accident but then wouldn’t give them back. of course, mcgonagall was quite biased, so barty was the recipient of punishment) and yours for charms.

“i am, i’m going to hogsmeade with regulus.” you respond absentmindedly, trying to balance your inkwell on a tree root so you didn’t have to put it in the dirt. “he said he’d be here soon to pick me up.”

“pick you up? what is he, your boyfriend?” barty scoffed. you only laugh, and barty hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt. he was serious; he didn’t like how close you and regulus were. he never had.

“he’s just a friend, barty,” you roll your eyes. “how do i write an introduction about the aguamenti charm? it’s just a spell…”

“c’mere, let me see.” barty patted the spot beside him, and you moved over to sit next to barty, leaning against his shoulder as he looked at what you had on your parchment already. not much. really, he didn’t need to see your parchment, nor did he need you to sit next to him to help you, but he liked it when you did. you were warm; not that barty ran cold, but it was nice having you up against him to shield him from the crisp, autumn air.

“try starting with what the charm is.” he glanced over at you, you with your chin on his shoulder. you who looked so pretty, you who he wanted as his. “then summarize the history of it. that’s what you’re writing on, yes?”

“yeah.”

“so then summarize it with a couple words. nothing specific, otherwise you won’t have anything to write later—“

“hello.” you and barty both looked up at the new voice.

“regulus!” your face brightens, and you stand up, hugging him. regulus hugged back, and barty’s brow furrowed.

“are we going?” you ask.

“yes, i only have to change. i came from herbology.” regulus made a face, clearly not pleased by his dirt-stained sleeves and muddied trousers.

“i’ll wait for you here. barty’s helping with my essay.” you say, and regulus looks to barty and nods at him.

“barty.

“regulus.” barty nods back. you sit back down next to barty.

“i’ll be back in twenty minutes.” regulus says. “don’t leave without me, yeah?”

“see you then.” you laugh, and regulus walks away.

“you two are close.” barty says almost immediately after regulus was out of earshot. you look to him. he’d been acting somewhat strange, seemingly overly concerned about you and regulus.

“barty, i already said we’re friends.” you repeat. “is something the matter?”

“no.” barty scowled and looked back to his paper.

“barty.”

“i said nothing’s wrong.”

“are you sure?”

barty stopped, feeling his chest tighten. did he dare confess his feelings? he had no idea if you liked him back. you never gave any indication. in fact, anything barty would classify as flirting was directed towards regulus. did he want to risk his entire friendship with you for some stupid feelings?

yes.

“i like you.” barty blurts out, and immediately clenches his jaw.

stupid, stupid, stupid.

but then you break into a smile and there’s some hope— either you’re about to laugh at him or laugh with him.

“i like you too, barty.” you say finally, and the tightness in barty’s chest dissipates.

“you mean you don’t like regulus?” barty asks, trying not to sound as breathless as he felt. you laugh.

“i told you he’s just a friend.” you wave your hand. “merlin, barty, for someone so clever…”

“yes, i’m daft, very funny, now c’mere.” barty was smart. he knew he was smart. quite frankly, he didn’t like people proving that he had moments where he wasn’t. so, he did what he thought was the best option in order to change the subject; the option he’d been waiting to have since first year when he first realized how much he liked you.

he kissed you. obviously.

lips slotted against yours, he felt his heart nearly explode. finally, finally, he could know you belonged to him, and everyone else in the courtyard could know, too. he didn’t care that he was kissing you publicly, despite the fact that barty himself shamed those who did the same. this was different, this was you. this was a dream come true.

[heaven4lostgirls]

I need a Barty x glasses reader in my life! I need glasses and have been wearing contacts this past year but I LOVE wearing glasses. could you do some headcanons or an imagine about what Barty would do or if he'd just love when reader had their glasses. (I'm nearsighted if that helps choosing what to do but I don't mind farsighted reader either!)

omg this is so cute! i’m nearsighted too!! (i rarely wear my contacts lololol)

anyways-

i think barty’s one of those people that think your glasses just make you look 100x sexier.

this man is pulling out the most horrendous down bad comments about how hot he finds you,

barty: “we can roleplay as a sexy professor and a failing student😏”

reader: “the only thing you fail is your drug tests 🤨”

barty: “…is that a no?😒”

reader: “…no😪”

he’s 100% jealous if anyone else compliments you on them too (*cough* james potter *cough*)

james: “nice glasses y/n!”

reader: “thank you ja-”

barty: “i will skin you alive potter, keep walking.”

james + reader: 😦

this man is also 100% lowkey bullying you about it too,

talking about “can u read that sign?” + “how many fingers am i holding up?” as he steals your glasses

he’s also so astronomically down bad for you when you look up at him in your glasses

if you thought your puppy eyes were strong as hell before, they’re actually inhibiting him from doing everyday tasks now.

man is fighting demons when he figures out how to ask for you to wear your glasses over your contacts

reader, jokingly pouting,: “you don’t like how i look without my glasses?”

barty: “i uh, well angel you see-”

absolutely obsessed with kissing you with your glasses just to pull back and see them a little skew on your nose.

an absolute nag about you getting fingerprints on your lenses or not cleaning them properly

would never admit it but he steals your glasses sometimes to watch u squint cutely at him and ask him to help you look.

definitely tries to put on your glasses one time and is dramatic as fuck about your prescription

“angel you’re a danger to society, we can’t let you out in public on your own! you can barely see anything!”

[peppermintkissesxoxo]

Dress Up

Poly!Rosekiller x gn!Reader

Cw: boys dress up reader, d/s dynamics bc it’s Evan, objectification kinda? Boys treat reader like a doll essentially

🥀

You feel like a doll.

Standing on the plush emerald rug in the middle of your walk in closet, frilly panties and a matching bra are your only cover while your boyfriends hold up various clothing articles to your body and debate which one you’re wearing for dinner.

This isn’t a new occurrence. Date night means the boys get to play dress up with you. It’s an agreed thing that you practically signed up for when getting into a relationship with them. But no matter how often they do it, it doesn’t stop a certain heat from seeping into your cheeks.

They love to dote on you, spoil you excessively if you will. It was hard to accept at first. The lavish gifts and constant attention, but you’ve learned to love it. To expect it.

That doesn’t mean you don’t like to push the boundaries of their playtime a little bit.

“I think the velvet goes best with those little white socks. The ones with the lace.” Evan murmurs, brows furrowed and deep in thought as he eyes a black velvet babydoll dress. Probably too short to be appropriate but that’s never deterred them. As Barty has said numerous times ‘you can wear whatever you like, treasure. We can fight.’

While they’re distracted you stray from your set position on the rug, thumbing through a few items and attempting to pull out a different dress when you feel a hand batting yours away. And then another pulling you back to the middle of the room and straightening up your posture.

“I told you to stand still, poppet.” Evan says, an unimpressed scowl on his lips. His grip on your arm while not harsh is firm.

A petulant huff escapes your lips, shoulders slouching forward in defiance before Evan quickly pushes them back into to place with heavy palms

“Was just looking…” You murmur, a bit embarrassed at his chastising and manhandling. But you know Evan takes this dress up time very seriously. It’s almost amusing how dedicated he is to dolling you up.

“And you know the rules,” he chides.

“Don’t you get yourself in trouble now, tres.” Barty snickers, currently bent at the waist and rummaging through a box of socks and stockings.

You grumble under you breath but quickly right yourself when you catch the look Evan is giving you. He’s silent but it rings loud.

Strike one.

With a swallow you look down to your fingers, twisting them and avoiding his gaze. “Okay. I’ll stay still,” you concede.

A soft pinch to your hip startles you. “You better. Would hate for you to get to strike three on date night,” he muses.

“Okay, well you don’t have to be mean about it,” you joke, half flustered and barely keeping it together at his thinly veiled threat.

The corner of his lip twitches up. His pinches your chin between his fingers and swoops down to your height. “F’course I do. A little doll like you needs a firm hand, don’t you? Need to be taken care of and spoiled. And sometimes you need someone else to do thinking for you. Cause you’re just a little doll, hmm?” He coos, the sound so condescending yet sweet that it has your head swimming in ditzy confusion.

Before you can even fully process how fuzzy you feel, Evan is back to his outfit searching. Paying no mind to your flustered state.

It’s safe to say you’re quite docile for the rest of their ‘playtime.’