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crescenthistory · 5 months ago

Text

Toe The Line

Pairing: Barty Crouch Junior x Reader

Summary: Barty's relentless flirting with you comes to a head one evening in the Slytherin common room when you confront him.

Words: 4.2k

Warnings: not proofread, let's be clear this is maraudersfandom!barty with part-dyed-acid-green-hair, shy!reader kinda, flirting, insinuations, make-out session, teasing, all that stuff

Note: i do not feel like this does barty my love my life justice, but i have to start pumping out barty fics to get comfortable with him. so! here you go mwah

***

It was one of those icy nights in the Slytherin common room, where the air was sharp but the fire crackled invitingly, casting playful shadows over the lush green velvet couches. You were sprawled on one end of the sofa, leg propped onto Regulus' shoulder as he sat on the floor, flipping through another pretentious novel of his. Barty sat on the other side of the two-seater, watching you as you flipped through your Transfiguration notes like they held the secrets of the universe. The room buzzed with a quiet chatter. You were half-listening to Evan enthusiastically recounting the latest Quidditch practice to Dorcas, who looked thoroughly unimpressed but still indulged him.

Barty, carelessly draped across the cushions, peered over your shoulder and into your notes, as if to check if they were more worthy of your attention. To no one's surprise, he didn't think so. He always managed to hover around you, like a moth drawn to your flame, whether it was leaning over your shoulder to whisper something devilish or positioning himself within your line of sight to make faces at you. Tonight, all it seemed he wanted was your undivided attention – which you were intent on not giving him.

“You’re ignoring me, dolly,” Barty drawled, the familiar lilt of amusement in his voice. You didn’t need to turn around to envision the lazy, reckless grin that could disarm even the most stubborn of hearts.

“I’m studying,” you replied, still engrossed in your notes. “You should really give it a go sometime.”

He scoffed, swinging one leg over the edge of the couch. “Come off it. You know I don’t need to study.”

Regulus muttered from below you, flipping a page in his book, “You just like to show off.”

Barty tilted his head back, a smug smile stretching across his lips. “It’s not showing off when you just naturally excel at everything.”

Evan erupted into a loud laugh from across the room, cutting his own rant off. “Merlin, if there is anything you've studied, Junior, it's how to be insufferable!”

“You love me,” Barty shot back smoothly, a playful glint in his eye.

No one could in their right mind argue against that.

Dorcas rolled her eyes, exchanging a look with you that was practically screaming he’s ridiculous. You stifled a grin, still pretending to focus on your notes while Barty’s gaze lingered like a heatwave over you.

"Don't you, baby?" he teased, his voice dropping to that familiar, sultry tone that always sent a shiver down your spine as you immediately readied another quip to calm it down.

“It is true what they say: you’re delusional,” you said, not even glancing at him.

“Maybe,” he mused, kicking off the arm of the couch to slide closer to your side of the already small couch. You felt the heat radiating from him before you even saw him, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned over, pretending to inspect your notes like he actually cared about Transfiguration.

"But you haven’t denied it," he murmured, his voice soft enough that only you caught it.

Finally, you looked up, meeting his eyes, which sparkled with chaotic energy but held something deeper – a secret simmering just beneath the surface. You opened your mouth to retort, but Regulus tapped your knee still draped over him with his quill.

“If you two are going to flirt,” Regulus interjected, barely glancing up from his book, “take it outside my personal space, would you?”

A soft snort came from Evan, and Dorcas just grinned, clearly more entertained by this than Evan's ramblings.

“Who said we were flirting?” Barty countered, casually slinging an arm around your shoulders as if to make a point. “Our little swot here is actually absolutely laser-focused on her studies. She will become a professor if we don't watch out for her.”

You rolled your eyes, giving Barty's body a shove with your own. It was not lost on Regulus, though, that you leaned into his side after the shove, seemingly on instinct.

This was classic Barty – always encroaching on personal space, always testing the boundaries between friendship and something a bit more electric. It never meant anything, though

Evan caught your eye, a mischievous smirk creeping onto his face. “If that’s your definition of studying, I must be doing it all wrong. Dorcas, wanna study with me in my dorm later?”

This led to Evan earning his own shove, though much harsher than the one you had given Barty, and for both Regulus and Dorcas to say ew in unison through their laughter.

“Maybe you should head to your dorm; y'know I like you much better when you focus on your own sodding business, Rosier." Barty barked out a laugh at your comment, unnecessarily loudly, but funny to you all the same.

“Touchy, touchy,” Evan replied, but his teasing was always good-natured in this odd little family of friends.

Barty kept his arm around you as the banter continued, and despite your best efforts to maintain an air of indifference, you couldn’t ignore the way your skin tingled under his touch. If you didn't know better, you could have sworn you heard his breath hitch when your hand settled on his knee, rubbing circles with your fingertips.

As the evening wore on, the common room began to thin out. Regulus was the first to excuse himself, ever the model of discipline when it came to sleep. Your leg was dropped unceremoniously to the ground, earning him an oi! from Barty and a kick from you that he just barely dodged. Evan followed suit, muttering something about needing to “wake up at a decent hour for once.” Dorcas lingered for a moment, chatting about Herbology homework before she too yawned and slipped off to bed, leaving you and Barty alone by the fire.

It was nothing new for the two of you to be the last ones awake, always having more to talk about together. After midnight, the common room transformed – quieter, more intimate, like it was cocooned away from the rest of the world. You both preferred it that way.

"Finally," Barty sighed, slumping back against the couch, and consequently you, stretching out his legs over the edge of the seat. “I thought Ev would never stop talking.”

You chuckled softly, finally putting your parchment aside. “You could’ve told him to shut it. I know you're not above that."

Barty smirked, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Where’s the fun in that?”

"I remember quite a few times where you have found it hilarious to tell someone to shut the hell up."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm taking a more peaceful path. Your stupid homework-doing righteous self is rubbing off on me." Barty flashed you a smile that you instinctively reciprocated.

"Nah, don't think peaceful and Barty can exist in the same sentence."

He knew it to be true, he thrived on chaos – letting moments unravel just to see what would happen next. It was a double-edged sword; you adored that spark in him, but it often left you exasperated.

Once the others drifted off, the atmosphere shifted palpably. It was always like this between the two of you – lighter, sure, but also heavier in a way that pressed against your chest. The playful banter flowed effortlessly, yet beneath it simmered a tension that had been thickening over the last few months.

"I mean it though," Barty continued. "You’re way too serious these days." His gaze fixed on you with that familiar gleam in his eye, with perhaps a smidge of worry beneath it. No one knew you like Barty, and he could switch between jokingly obnoxious and pointedly observant in seconds.

You arched an eyebrow, fighting the urge to smile. “Me? Serious? You must be mistaking me for someone who doesn’t have a sense of fun.”

“Always with your nose buried in a book, always playing it safe.” He leaned in closer, that lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “You didn’t used to be such a stick in the mud.”

"I also didn't used to be in my last year. Things count now, B."

"Nothing ever really counts though, do they?" He started smiling halfway through his sentence, just knowing you were about to roll your eyes at him in a fashion only Regulus can outdo.

“I’m just not reckless like you,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes. “There’s a fine line between adventurous and asking for a detention’s worth of trouble.”

Barty’s grin only stretched wider. “You love it when I’m reckless. Admit it.”

There it was again, that playful dare in his tone, like every word was a challenge wrapped in an invitation. You shook your head, trying to keep your voice steady. “One of these days, you are going to drag me into some real trouble, and I won't love you very much then.”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe. But you’ll still be right there beside me, won’t you, baby?”

Barty was always pushing boundaries to see how far he could go before you drew the line. But there was something intense and raw in the way he was looking at you now, making your heart race faster than it should.

“I'll always be there with you, don't be stupid," you huffed, wanting to change the subject. You broke eye contact, staring off into the embers left in the fireplace.

"I know." He just smiled, unaffected by your attitude.

"You’re impossible,” you countered.

That Barty wasn’t about to let slide. "If I'm so unbearable, why don't you go up to your dorm, hm?" He raised his eyebrow in a challenge.

“Only because I’m too lazy to walk back to the dorms.” You picked at your nail beds absentmindedly.

“Liar,” he said softly, putting his hand on top of yours to stop the torment of your skin.

You were about to shoot him a glare, but the retort you had in mind faltered when you met his gaze. The playful glimmer had vanished, replaced by something sharper, more intimate. He shifted in his seat to be angled more towards you, leaning in closer, the heat radiating from him making your mind race.

“It's okay to want to spend your nights with me. There's nothing I'd like more,” he murmured, the challenge evident in his low tone.

Your heart stuttered. The closeness made it nearly impossible to think straight. You wanted to volley back with a witty comeback, something that would break the tension, but the words stuck in your throat.

Barty’s smirk softened into something more vulnerable, like he was waiting for you to take the plunge. It was an unspoken invitation, daring you to either push him away or draw him in.

You swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing heavily between you. “Stop flirting with me, Barty,” you whispered, barely audible. “I might start believing it.”

For once, he looked confused. It was hard not to revel in it, though the moment had you reeling.

"You think I’m not serious?" he asked, the playful lilt gone, replaced by sincerity. It wasn't necessarily rare for Barty to drop the bravado around you, but it still made your chest clutch when he did. It made everything feel a bit too real.

Your breath caught as you held his gaze, his eyes scanning yours, searching for something.

"Barty..." you began, but the words floundered. What were you really trying to say? That this was risky? That you didn’t want to lose what you had? Or was it possible you were craving this – craving him – in a way that exceeded your playful banter, the lighthearted flirting you knew he shared with most friends of his.

"Yes, love?"

"How come you never use my actual name?" you tease, trying to regain some control of the situation.

Barty’s lips curled into the faintest smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "You never have minded when I use all these pet names, have you?" he said, his voice dropping lower, softer. “Not when it’s just us. Not even when everyone else is around.”

"It's all just fun. Sweet." You deflect and deflect, both verbally and internally.

He leaned in closer, eyes locked on yours, daring you to say something, anything. His hand travelled from his side to caress your neck. "Is this fun, love? Go on. Tell me to stop."

You could feel his breath against your skin, warm and tantalisingly close. Your mind raced, grasping for the right words to break the tension, but all you could think about was how effortless it would be to close the distance between you.

He smiled at you, and it felt warm.

“You’re different with me,” he mused, his tone thoughtful, like he was just realising the truth of it. "You let me in, even when you pretend you don’t."

You wanted to argue, to throw up your usual walls, but he wasn’t wrong. You were different with him. You allowed him to cross lines that you wouldn’t let anyone else dare to tread. Maybe that’s why you felt so exposed now, his gaze piercing through your defences – like he already knew the answer to a question you hadn’t even formed yet.

You tore your gaze away, focusing on the flames flickering in the hearth. “This is stupid,” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

Barty chuckled softly, the sound warm and low, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper that made your heart skip. "Is it, though?" he asked, fingers now ghosting along your wrist, making it impossible to think about anything other than the electricity igniting with each point of contact.

"Yes, it is, Barty," you said again, a little firmer this time, turning back to meet his gaze. “You’re just playing with me. And we shouldn't.” You didn't elaborate, you didn't want to.

He tilted his head, studying you like he always did when you tried to deflect. "I play with everyone,” he said, not missing a beat. “But I’m not playing with you right now. Or ever, really, not with this.”

Your lips parted to respond, but nothing came out. You had expected him to laugh it off, to tease you the way he always did when things got too serious. There was no teasing in his expression now, no playful smirk – just that steady, unblinking gaze that pinned you in place. It was understanding, he looked as if he knew every part of you already.

"You don’t believe me," he stated, as if reading off a fact.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close his face was to yours, how his hand had somehow found its way to your knee, his thumb rubbing small, absentminded circles against the fabric of your trousers.

"I don’t know what to believe," you admitted, the words coming out quieter than you intended.

Barty’s gaze softened, his hovering hand finally making contact with your face, cupping your jaw.

“You think I flirt with you just for fun?” he asked, his voice barely more than a murmur now.

Your throat was tight, your chest constricting as you tried to find the right words. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go with Barty. He was supposed to be the reckless, chaotic one. He wasn’t supposed to be like this – serious and sincere.

“I think you flirt with everyone,” you finally said, though it sounded weak even to your own ears.

Barty didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away, didn’t make some sarcastic quip like you expected him to. Instead, he leaned in even closer, so close now that his nose brushed against yours. His breath was warm against your lips, and your heart pounded so loudly in your chest that you were sure he could hear it.

"Not like this," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "Not with you."

The fire crackled softly behind you, the only sound in the otherwise silent common room, but all you could hear was the pounding of your own heartbeat and the steady rhythm of Barty’s breathing.

You wanted to say something, to deflect, to joke, to put up some sort of defence. But when you opened your mouth, the only thing that came out was his name. "Barty..."

His hand on your knee squeezed slightly, grounding you in the moment, tethering you to him. You could feel the weight of everything unsaid between you – the years of friendship, the flirting, the tension that had been building and building until it felt like it might burst.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice soft but firm. "I mean it. Every time. Tell me you don’t feel it too."

You swallowed, your heart racing, your mind spinning. You could feel the warmth of his body so close to yours, the heat of his hand still resting on your leg, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you. Everything inside you was screaming at you to do something, to make a choice.

"I..." you started, but the words caught in your throat. You wanted to deny it, to laugh it off, to tell him that this was just another one of his games, but the truth was, you couldn’t. Because you did feel it—the pull, the tension, the way your heart stuttered every time he looked at you like that.

"I can't tell you that, Barty."

His eyes flicked down to your lips, and for a second, you thought he might kiss you right then and there. He didn’t move. He just stayed there, inches away, waiting. For you.

"Then what–" he began to ask, but with your heart hammering in your chest, every nerve in your body on edge, eyes looking directly up into his.

"Shut up, Junior."

You leaned in, closing the gap between you, your lips pressing against his in a way that felt deliciously right.

For a split second, you hesitated again, wondering if you’d made a mistake, if Barty would pull back and laugh it off like it was nothing. Any such thought was immediately quieted when his head caught up with your actions and his hand swerved from your cheek to your hair, tangling in it as he pulled you further against him into a deeper kiss.

It was everything you’d expected from him – reckless, intense, like he had been waiting for this just as long as you had. His hand slid up from your knee to your waist, pulling you even closer as his lips moved against yours, firm and insistent.

You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, holding yours tentatively. You opened your mouth further, taking his lips between yours, dragging forth a breathy moan from him. Your intensity matched the months – maybe years – of tension that had built between you. His fingers curled at the nape of your neck in a way that sent sparks down your spine.

It was messy, frantic, but it was undeniably real. The playful flirtations, the casual touches, the late nights spent with your group of friends, all the little moments that had led to this – it all came flooding back as your lips moved together in a way that felt both unfamiliar and natural at the same time.

Barty kissed you like he had been waiting for it, like he was making up for lost time. Maybe he was. Maybe you both were.

Your fingers found purchase on the front of his shirt and you used the momentum to throw your leg over his lap, sitting down on top of him. His hand not currently occupying your hair immediately came down to your hip, stabilising you with an iron grip. He pulled you closer with it, chest flush against chest. The kiss was growing more desperate, more demanding, and you could feel the heat of his body against yours, the smell of his cologne mixing with the faint scent of the fire still barely alive behind you.

When you finally pulled apart, it was only because you both needed air. Your forehead rested against his, noses still brushing against each other, Barty even nuzzling his into yours. Your breaths coming in shallow, uneven pants. Barty’s fingers remained tangled in your hair, his other hand still gripping your waist like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

Neither of you spoke. The only sound in the room was the soft crackling of the fire and the heavy rhythm of your breathing. Barty kept his eyes closed, eyebrows scrunched, and you studied his face with fondness sitting heavily in your heart. You could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, attempting to match his with your own. Momentarily, your mind flashed back to when he coached you through your first panic attack when you were younger, fingers tightening on his chest as you were flooded with overwhelming emotion for him. What you knew to be overwhelming love.

His eyes fluttered open, dark, intense, and focused entirely on you. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he whispered, his voice rough and still a little breathless.

"I might," you countered, your smile brushing his.

Barty let out a soft laugh, but there was nothing teasing about it. He sounded almost relieved, like a weight had been lifted off his chest. "I swear I am not playing with you, baby," he murmured, as if it was of the utmost importance to him that you understood that

“I didn’t know,” you said quietly, your fingers loosening their grip on his shirt, though you didn’t let go completely. “I didn’t think–”

“You didn’t think I could be serious?” he finished for you, his lips quirking up in that familiar half-smile, though there was still a rawness to his expression that made your chest tighten.

You shook your head, struggling to find the right words. “I didn’t think you wanted to be serious with me.”

Barty’s smile softened even more if possible, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. “I always want to be serious with you,” he said bashfully, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But you’re always trying to push me away."

You blinked, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his words. He wasn’t wrong. You had pushed him away. Every time he flirted, every time he got too close, you deflected, afraid of what it would mean if you let him in like that. Traumabonding was one thing, it was discussing the past and how it still affected you – but to open up about your emotions now? It had seemed impossible. But, sitting here with him – on top of him, really – his forehead resting against yours, his lips still tingling from the kiss you had just shared, you couldn’t pretend anymore.

“You're right," you admitted softly, having to resist rolling your eyes at his sudden grin at those words. "I didn’t want to ruin things. We’re friends. If this… if we–”

“It's more than that,” Barty said, cutting you off. "It's about want. You have to let me want you, because trust me, I will."

You bit your lip, the weight of his words sinking in. Now that the invisible line you drew in your head had been crossed, now that you’d felt his lips on yours, there was no going back.

"How do I do that?" Your voice wavered, but your gaze didn't. Only Barty would you trust with that kind of question.

He gave you a smile you were afraid to call lovesick. His hands both slid to cup your cheeks, thumbs tracing the curve of your jaw in a way that made your heart race all over again. "You tell me what you want. What do you want?" he asked, his voice low and rough, his eyes searching yours.

You hesitated, your breath catching in your throat as you looked at him. This was the moment, the moment where you could pull back, laugh it off, pretend it hadn’t happened. Or you could take the leap, cross the line completely, and see where it led you.

“I want…” You swallowed, your voice faltering for a moment before you met his gaze head-on. “I want you.”

“Then I am all yours, my love.”

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, softer this time, slower. There was no urgency, no desperation. Just the two of you, finally giving in to something that had been simmering between you for so long.

As his lips moved against yours, and you melted into him, all the tension from before fading away. It was simple and real in a way that made you wonder why you would ever shy away from this. Kissing Barty felt like clarity.

The smile that spread across your face when you pulled apart would go on to fuel Barty for days on end.

“See?” he joked quietly, his voice light but full of meaning. "That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

You pretended to scoff, though your smile didn't waver. “You really are impossible.”

Barty grinned, one hand slipping from your face to rest casually on your thigh. “Yeah, but you love it.”

You didn’t respond right away, but you didn’t need to. The look in your eyes said everything.

You let him want you.

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