#barty crouch jr fic

[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.

[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.

[crescenthistory]

slight air and purging fire

Pairing: Barty Crouch Jr. x Reader

Summary: He's your person and, apparently, you're his flame. Your more-than-a-best-friend spends the evening with you when Regulus needs a break, and you're both happy for the excuse.

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: gn!reader, no use of y/n, pyromaniac!barty, best friends to lovers, undiscussed relationship, just sweet fluff, physical affection, barty is always a bit suggestive, vague references to barty's mental state/trauma, cuddling, banter, implied autistic!regulus, background bsf!moonwater

Note: i haven't written a full barty fic since december, this was so cathartic<33 i still have some small drabbles from my celebration to release but wanted to share this with you before. and yes the title is from shakespeare even though i reference woolf in this, sue me. much love xx

It wasn’t an as common occurrence anymore, as Regulus had become more grounded the closer he got to Remus, but it was an ingrained habit regardless – every now and again, the dark haired boy would come to pull at your sleeve and give you a look.

A desperate exhausted look that clearly read “come get your beast under control”.

Over the years of sharing a dorm with Barty, Regulus had grown not only passionately loyal and affectionate towards him, but also rather sensorially detached. Meaning that most days, he was able to just tune his best friend’s antics out when they were too overstimulating or in his face. When Barty either talked a mile a minute for too many minutes, couldn’t sit still or couldn’t help from physically engaging with Regulus in some capacity, causing him to switch his brain off to deal with all the inputs. However, even the best soldier occasionally needs backup, and lucky for all the boys in their dormitory, said backup waltzed into their lives in year three and had been the only one fully able to quiet and anchor the hotheaded boy.

Your friendship with Barty came as naturally as a sunrise when you were paired together for a Potions project – you were his first desk partner that could thread the balance of stopping him from blowing up your cauldron and still having fun. 

He adored you for it.

You found he wasn’t half bad either.

The nature of your relationship and dynamic changed over the years as you grew up side by side, but the overall sentiment remained the same; you were each other’s person. Barty managed to catch every aspect of you both metaphorically and physically, and with you, Barty could move at a regular pace without losing himself.

You became Regulus’ secret weapon rather quickly when you were integrated fully into their friend group. 

“How do you do it? Why is he… like that with you?” Regulus asked you once in fourth year when Barty had fallen asleep with his head in your lap after three days of refusing to sleep. 

His legs were hanging over each side of the sofa, one shoe mysteriously missing, but he seemed perfectly at peace in your lap. You carded your fingers gently through his hair, separating the green and brown strands with a small smile on your face. “Like what?”

“It’s like he goes quiet.”

You snorted. “Barty is never quiet, even when I’m around.”

Regulus gave you a so-so shrug. “Not literally – but he kind of is, though. He will always be Barty, but it’s like he’s more… at peace. With you.”

You didn’t know why at the time, but you couldn’t meet Regulus’ gaze since he started this line of questioning. “I don’t know. If he is, I’m grateful for it, though. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

It was probably never fully platonic between you and Barty, you recognise now. Laying on your stomach in your dorm while reading a book only half-focussed with your mind straying away to silver piercings, canine-grins and that laugh. 

He was the best friend you could have, but more so in the same way a dog is or, you’d hope, a husband would be. You shook the thought from your head.

It was a slow development – while you became inseparable friends within a week, the journey away towards a spoken, outlined romantic relationship was a long one. Not in the same way a queue is long, though, more so a cross-country roadtrip with, well, your best friend. 

Barty hugged you properly for the first time a year into your friendship. He cried in front of you for the first time in fourth year, and held your hand in fifth year. Last year, he kissed you for the first time. 

It had been quiet in that complex way Regulus had tried to put into words, where it was very clearly Barty so it was far from calm, but there was a certain peace hanging over the moment anyway. He had been having nightmares the last few weeks of term, so the two of you had taken to co-sleeping in the Room of Requirement, with your dearest prefect Regulus covering for you. Originally, Barty had conjured up two beds, but you swiftly pushed them together and charmed the gap away, giving him some snarky comment about “be sensible, Junior” that he laughed loudly at. 

There was no suggestive intent behind it, not really, just an insatiable desire for closeness. The same desire that had Barty at your side like a magnet from all the way back in third year, the same desire that flared in you each time his father or his pain came near, as if you could protect him with an embrace. 

He would have told you that you could.

It wasn’t clear to you anymore how it began, how one thing led to another. All you knew was that several days into your arrangement, you were still acting like small kids at a sleepover, staying up late because you couldn’t help but giggle. You had been in a half-cuddle but far enough apart to laugh with your entire bodies – one moment you made eye contact with your faces close to each other, your giggles spilling out across his face, the next he was trying to swallow your sounds with his smiling lips. 

There had been a lot of kisses since then, and not too many words about it. 

You would have thought it would tear you apart to live like this, having crossed the boundary over from best friends to something more without outlining it – but as with everything else, this was Barty. There had been no real boundary to cross, it was just waves in water, hand in hand. You knew inexplicably that you were safe in his hands, heart included. 

The oddest aspect of it was discovering that you had discovered a new level of comfort when you thought those had already been exhausted. Lips on lips, lips on skin, air on skin, clothes wherever, hands everywhere. 

With your finger caressing the page, a smile was still faint on your lips, and so was his touch. 

You were brought out of your idyllic mental landscapes by a physical tug on your sleeve. 

Your eyes darted down to the fabric on your left arm, seeing the jumper ruffle as if someone pinched it and be dragged out, as if you were being pulled out of your bed. The sound that escaped you were equal parts laugh and sigh, endlessly endeared by Regulus’ determination to avoid social or overstimulating situations – going to the extent of crafting spells specifically to save him. 

You slapped absentmindedly on your arm, hoping it would notify him with the energy of “okay, okay, I’m on my way”, as you rolled out of bed and made for the stairs.

The development of your relationship with Barty hadn’t come up with your friends yet. Or, you hadn’t let it, always steering the conversation away when Dorcas gave you knowing looks or Regulus whispered with you. This once, you indulged yourself to be selfish and keep him to yourself for just a bit longer.

Which is part of the reason why you leaned over the railing overlooking the common room, whistling as you spotted your group of friends around their favourite fireplace.

Regulus sat in Remus’ lap on the edge of a settee, hiding his face in the crook of his neck, looking picturesque in a way that made your heart ache with happiness for him. Evan was draped across the other side of the settee, feeding grapes to Pandora sat cross-legged on the floor with Emmeline’s head in her lap. Dorcas was absent, likely out training with Marlene, which was a totally normal thing to do with your quidditch rival, shut up you guys.

Your dearest Barty was currently laying balanced on the back of the same settee his friends were in, casting sparkling spells above him, likely to entertain himself in the calm atmosphere.

You understood why Regulus called on you. 

At the sound of your whistle, your friends’ heads whipped around to look at you, recognising the specific tune you only used for them – them being mostly Barty. You got a few greeting cheers from Barty, Evan and Emmeline, but it was the former’s grin that made your own spread.

“B!” you yelled. “Come read with me.”

You could have gone down to sit with them, but the comfort of your dorm was too overpowering tonight. Plus Regulus really really hated when Barty played with physical fire, so you figured you were doing him a double favour, too.

Anyone else making the same request – or rather, demand – to Barty would have received a scoff or a pout, but for you, Barty simply rolled off of the back of the sofa and used the momentum of his fall to run towards the stairs. He ruffled Evan’s hair on the way who flipped him off without looking up.

“Later, losers, love ya,” Barty called as he made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

He took them two at a time and before you knew it he was in front of you, placing his hand right beside yours on the railing as he looked at you with a lop-sided grin. “Thought you’d resigned for the evening.”

You bumped your fingertips into his. “Sort of. Got bored, though.”

His grin widened as he pushed off the railing to walk backwards towards your vacant dorm. “Can’t have that, can we, darling?”

You shook your head with a smile and followed after him, leaving just enough time to look over your shoulder and lock eyes with Regulus, pointing two fingers from your own eyes to his before intertwining them in a symbol of friendship. Regulus rolled his eyes at you with a smile, but Remus – his clearly better half – blew you a kiss. 

When you moved your attention back on the short walk to your dorm, you caught just the end of Barty jogging ahead so he could open your door for you with a theatrical flourish. You paid it little mind, kissing his cheek in thanks as you moved in past him, not waiting to see his reaction, if there was one.

“Where’s your roomies tonight?” Barty’s tone was half-mocking, referring to the endless saga of your two constantly absent dormmates. They were lovely people but so scattered, always either with their various partners or at events or simply just missing somehow.

Though you could hardly criticise as you do guess this is a saga of three, considering how you occasionally would stay over at Barty’s or even the Room of Requirement. You three were a perfect match. 

“Don’t know honestly,” you replied as you made to lay back down on your bed, keeping slightly to the left side. “Something about a breakup for one of them, so either partaking in a good cry session with a friend or making up once again.”

Just a year or two ago, Barty would have transfigured your small dorm bed to extend so he could sprawl out across it to his heart’s content, but to your heart’s content, he didn’t this time – he just laid down on top of your duvet with you, turned over on his side and propping his head up on his hand. “Or maybe making out with someone else, if they know what’s right for them.” Barty knew all about your dormmate’s turbulent relationships from the nights he stayed over while they were there, ranting to the both of you.  

“Oh you know all about what’s right for them, do you?” Your voice was teasing as you got more comfortable on the bed, laying your book on your bedside table.

Barty scoffed, as if to say duh. “Weren’t you going to read to me, sweetheart?” He nodded his head towards the book your fingertips were still lingering on.

The smile that spread across your face was outside your control, but you still maintained an air of sarcasm. “I believe I asked you to come read with me, I didn’t say I would read to you,” you clarified with a raised brow. “And I didn’t think you actually would.”

Barty leaned across from you and nipped the book off the table to hand over to you, the small paperback and his hand barely fitting between you two given the cramped space. “I want to hear you read.” 

He said it matter-of-factly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and you supposed it was. You would occasionally read to Barty when he needed help falling asleep, memories that though born from a bad situation rested fondly in your heart.

You took the book from him, opening it to the right page with one hand before looking up at him with appled cheeks. As soon as his hand was off the book, it settled on your hip instead, fingertips sliding beneath your jumper to rest against your skin there.

“Please,” he added when you didn’t reply right away. 

“Whatever my boy wants, right?” Your tone wound up being more affectionate than teasing. “Do you want it read softly or theatrically?”

When he tilted his head sideways to read the book’s spine, some of his hair fell into his eyes, which you promptly pushed back. “Is it possible to read Virginia Woolf theatrically?” he asked with a humoured tone.

“Oh, you have no idea. Obviously I have to do it theatrically now.”

Barty squeezed your hip as he all-but giggled. “Alright, show me the ropes then.”

He folded his arm to lay his head down to rest as his gaze fixated on your face as you read to him. Perhaps you would have felt self-conscious in any other situation, but with Barty’s legs tangling with yours, the scent of his shampoo filling your nose and his hums of approval, you were everything but. 

As you read, Barty pushed your jumper further up so that your side was exposed, enabling him to trace various patterns there while you read. Whether there was any sense to the chaos you wouldn’t know, eyes focussed on the page to give him the most proper experience of how theatrical Virginia Woolf truly could be. 

With Barty, time trickled by in an odd way. You felt as if you were spending centuries together without any of it wearing you down – in the sense that time passed quick but the minutes always carried more meaning when together. You got through two chapters, interrupted by long bouts of laughter when Woolf’s comedy struck through or when your attempt at one of the character’s accents thoroughly failed, before you began to tire out. 

His hand never left your side as you read, and when you laughed, Barty seemed to tackle you in a hug so he could feel every vibration of your laughter run through his own body. 

As you finished up the second chapter, a shiver ran down your spine for reasons you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Barty propped himself back up on his elbow to grab his wand from the nightstand and bring the duvet you were laying on to spread out over you without disturbing your position.

“Want to give that beautiful voice a break, darling?” Even as Barty asked, he was already gently – almost disproportionately so – taking the book from your hands and putting your water bottle into them instead.

You nodded as you put the bottle to your lips, swallowing greedy mouthfuls of water, though not regretting the activity in the slightest. Barty’s eyes followed the movement of your throat, eventually letting them trail up to meet your own as he took your bottle and placed it beside the bed with ease.

When you laid back down against your small mountain of pillows, Barty scooted closer to you and pushed your jumper back up where it had fallen down. He stared at his own fingers’ movements as he dragged just the tips over the curve of your hip, swirling around near your ribs before making the journey back down. He looked hypnotised by the movement, but your own eyes never left his face.

You heaved a large sigh, the one that drags itself from your lungs when you’re completely relaxed after a long day.

Without looking up, Barty asked, “Okay?” You were unsure if he was asking if you were okay, if his touching you were okay or something else entirely. 

Either way, the answer was: “Yes, love.”

At the term of endearment, Barty looked up at you at last, his teeth flashing as he smiled. He let his fingertips trail up the side of your body to your face as his eyes flitted across it, seeming increasingly content with what he found.

The silence was comfortable as you let him trace the lines of your face – your jaw up to your ear, cheekbones, browbones, forehead, nose, lips.

You almost wondered if you could have fallen asleep like this, safe and comfortable in this atmosphere he created that you almost dared call reverent, until he spoke again.

“My flame.” 

He said it absentmindedly as he caressed your face, almost as if he didn’t even notice he said it. His hand couldn’t stay still, using its quest on your face as a form of stimming, sensory seeking in his affection.

“Your what?” you asked quietly, humour laced into your voice that automatically tugged on the corners of his lips. 

“Flame,” he clarified, as if it was obvious. 

When he didn’t elaborate, you poked him teasingly in the ribs – simultaneously taking the opportunity to slip your hand up beneath his shirt to splay across his bare back.

“Just thinking about something Evans told me in Muggle Studies.” His smile grew slowly as he recalled more and more of the memory.

“Since when do you pay attention in Muggle Studies?” When you laughed, your face moved too much for him to trace, and he moved his fingers back into your hair until it evened out again.

He huffed in faux offense for only a second before relenting with a smile and an eye roll. “Only when Evans tells me weird fun facts. She understands what I find entertaining. None of that rain-wear bullshit – I want to know about the crazies.”

“Understandable. Game recognises game.”

Barty pinched your cheek lightly and stuck his tongue out at you. “Is that why we’re friends?”

“You tell me.” Your smile had an undertone he didn’t seem to miss as his expression turned just a fraction more bashful. You pressed your hand more flat against his back in encouragement. “What did Lily tell you about?”

“Oh, nothing.” He looked past you for a second with an absent yet pleased gaze before returning it to your awaiting expression. “Just about how some muggles believe in something called twin flames. It’s basically the same soulmate crap as everything else, divine connections and whatnot. Just people finding another way to explain their love. But I liked the name.”

His eyebrows moved emphatically as he spoke in quintessential Barty fashion. It filled you with a sensation only eased by moving your free hand to wedge beneath his cheek, resting there as a makeshift pillow, thumb brushing across his cheek. “Did you now?” 

He hummed in the affirmative. “I like flames.”

You snorted at that, which made his eyes light up and crinkle.

“No, I mean it–”

“I know you do.”

Barty rolled his eyes but his teeth were still on full display. “Do you want to hear my reasoning or not?”

You pressed your lips together to keep from continuing the banter and nodded. You wanted to see where this would go.

“I like flames. I like how they look, their warmth, how they make me feel. I’m always just itching to see one, to light something on fire or see sparks fly. But not when I’m with you.” 

His expression had neutralised as he kept studying you with an observant gaze – it felt like every twitch or movement held grand meaning to him. You felt like poking fun, but your voice came out almost as reverent as his. “Is this you saying you’re not bored when you’re with me?”

“This is me saying I’m not insane when you’re with me.”

Your smile instantly softened, hand on his back increasing pressure as it slid further up to rest over his heart. “You’re never insane, B,” you whispered. “Not actually, regardless of if I’m there or not.”

His eyes crinkled as if he was smiling, but his lips were pressed together, as if in thought. It wasn’t often you saw him thinking over his words before opening his mouth.

“This is me saying I love you.” His brows twitched into a furrow as he tilted his head sideways into your palm. “I don’t need that… that distraction when I’m with you. My flame.”

Your lips parted momentarily, as an oh died on them. Your eyes moved across his face rapidly, drinking in the expression, committing every open window into his soul to memory. He seemingly let you, a soft smile resting on his lips, though it was more vulnerable than you thought you had seen it.

“Love ya” was common in your friend group after Pandora went on a mission to normalise it between you. Elaborate practical jokes about proposing to one another or being secret lovers were a longstanding tradition. Your special bond with Barty was a given to you.

This, though, this was new – yet it did not feel like uncharted territory as you moved to respond.

Your face gravitated closer and closer to his as your gaze flickered between his lips and his eyes. “Then you might forgive me for saying I love you too, then?”

Barty’s breath hitched, but the sound was quickly taken over by a soft laugh as he leaned his forehead forward the last few centimetres that separated it from yours. “I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t forgive you for, darling. Though it might mean you’re more insane than I am.”

You shook your head softly. “Again, you’re not insane, B. That is an oversimplification made solely for jokes – same as how Regulus isn’t actually boring, even when you joke he is.”

Barty furrowed his brows deeply. “Who told you those were jokes?”

Your hand beneath his shirt pinched him, drawing a yelp from him followed by a deep giggle that you happily mirrored.

“No, I know, I know,” he said through a laugh, locking gaze with you through his lashes. “But I do feel crazy without you. That’s how I know.”

You didn’t need to ask what he was referring to. You looked down between you for a moment as you could not contain your smile. A comfortable warmth began to spread through your body, as if something was carved in stone with each touch, each smile.

“I do suppose it’s safer you entertain yourself with me rather than light fire to innocent structures and civilians.”

Barty hummed appreciatively as he took on a theatrically wolfish expression. “And Salazar, do I know how to entertain myself with you.”

This time you pinched him harder as a scandalous bark of laughter escaped you – both of which seemingly triggered Barty to roll his body forward and over you, winding up on the very edge of the bed with you now held flush against him, laughing together like the kids in love you were.

You shrieked as he manhandled you into the chaotic embrace, laughing against his neck as you held onto him tighter. “You beast!”

“Your beast,” he corrected, pressing his forehead back against yours while his palm cupped your cheek fondly. “Right?”

You weren’t ashamed to admit you melted into him; your expression surely lovestruck. “Right.” You nodded, dazed. “Mine.”

His smile twitched repeatedly as he maintained eye contact. “My flame?”

“Yours.”

There was a certain glossiness to his gaze as he pressed his lips together and nodded faux matter-of-factly. “Sounds like a fair arrangement?” 

You had never been more grateful to be fluent in Barty. It made that one sentence hold so much more sentimental worth in your heart.

“I reckon that’s fair, yeah.”

You didn’t wait for Barty to kiss you before you closed the distance between you with enough force to push him off his side onto his back – nearly off of the bed.

Just like the first time, you were laughing against each other’s lips, swallowing more and more of the sounds as you devoured the other, heart and soul.

Unlike the first time, when you intertwined your fingers beside his head and squeezed, there was no question in your heart left in your heart.

[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.

[peppermintkissesxoxo]

an afternoon stroll

rosekiller x gn!reader

cw: d/s relationship dynamics, little daddy kink towards the end, reader gets carried by Evan, mostly fluff

wc: 2.7k

𓆩♡𓆪

"Pet, hands to yourself," Evan tsks as his arm languidly reaches out, fingers pinching the back of your top to pull you back onto the path with ease. 

Your fingers were just a hair away from grazing the bush housing vibrant purple berries practically glowing in the dim forest light, just for a split second before you're firmly pulled away and tucked into your boyfriend's side. "Ev, c'mon!" You throw your hands up as you huff out a whine. "Wasn't gonna touch..." You lie. 

The blonde haired boy scoffs, clicking his tongue. "Yeah you're very believable. Don't throw a tantrum now, precious, you know I won't be on your side," he murmurs while doting a kiss to the crown of your head, a possessive hand placed on the fat of your hip to keep you close to his body, holding you captive. 

Your heart flutters at his usual blasé tone, affection seeping through your body as you snuggle into his side. You love how effortlessly dominant Evan is. It makes you feel taken care of, safe. And it's saved you from the many dumb decisions that have had you just a brush away from death upwards of 10 times throughout the duration of this walk. 

Evan has spent the better part of this stroll through the forbidden forest tugging you away from various flora and greenery that you like to call "pretty glowing plants," which are in fact poisonous and likely fatal to the human touch. Hence why they grow only in the forbidden forest. And he's spent the other part reigning in Barty when he wanders off too far or gets hit with a wave of boredom and starts acting a little too feisty with his wandering hands. 

Evan can't quite decipher if he's in his own version of heaven or if satan personally sent the pair of you up to him to compete for who could make him have a heart attack first. 

Up ahead a skipping Barty twirls around and comes sprinting back over, having heard you getting a scolding and alerted that you needed him to defend your honor, of course. 

"Rosie! Be nice! It's not Treasure's fault the berries are practically seducing us with their sick glow!" He reasons as he comes up to your side to hug your arm, jostling the pair of you in the process. 

It earns him one bored look from said boy. Evan's hold on you doesn't budge, but his eyes glimmer with a cruel playfulness. In a split second his free hand whips out to grab a fistful of Barty's shirt. He pulls the shorter boy against his body by the fabric, stopping you in your tracks simultaneously, now caught in the middle with wide eyes. 

Evan leers down his nose, eying up Barty. The light in his pupils carry just a hint of mischief, a deviation to his normal dead gaze. "Watch it, Bee. You're walking on thin ice today," his low tone rumbles the threat, though you all know it's actually affectionate. 

Barty tongues the inside of his cheek, fighting a toothy smirk, but it's inevitable. He gazes up at the blonde boy with hearts in his eyes. "Kay, Rosie. I can be good," he purrs in a sly manner. 

Your lips quirk up at his blatant lie, stomach heating at the heavy tension thickening between the boys. 

Evan scoffs, leaning down further to whisper against Barty's lips. "Liar." Then he claims Barty's mouth in a deep kiss, his tongue licking behind his teeth sensually, only for a moment, before he releases his shirt and lazily shoves him backwards, ending the kiss quick only for the sole purpose of leaving Barty on the tip of satisfaction. "Don't stray, idiot," he smirks. And then Evan turns back to the path and pulls you along with him. 

Barty is practically beaming with delight at Evan's shove, his cheeks tinted slightly red and his maniacal smile wide with adoration after that kiss. He catches up to you both quickly, hooking a finger into one of your belt loops and leaning down to dote kisses over your shoulder. 

You giggle softly, your shoulder traveling upwards at the ticklish pressure of his lips. 

Barty melts. "Gods, Treasure I swear an angel is born everytime a sound leaves your lips," he coos in between kisses, voice gooey like molten lava. 

Even Evan can't help but let a soft smile tug at his mouth. He can't get enough of your voice either. 

Then Barty's hand is rustling through his pockets to pull out a handful of something. Your eyes catch on the movement as he pushes his hand into your direct line of sight. "Found you something, angel," he purrs, eyes purely fixed on your expression. 

His hand unfolds to reveal a glimmering holographic crystal, a tiny skeleton crow head, and a stick with various colors of moss growing on it, all laid out on his palm. 

Your heart thumps hard in your ribcage. 

It's become a common ritual now for Barty to gift you random trinkets he's found while exploring. It's like he has a secret sense for the little beauties, a keen eye for anything pretty. He's been doing it just for fun since he was young, but once he found you, his Treasure, it made sense that he'd start gifting you the little gems he's found.

It finally clicked when you found out that his animagus is a magpie. 

"Thank you, baby," you coo, your heart flipping a thousand times over as he gently slips the little treasures into your palm. You pick up each one and admire them with equal appreciation, your heart full. 

Barty grabs a handful of your ass while you're distracted, kissing up the side of your neck. Heat creeps up your chest but you're too zoned into the treasures to be pulled from your task of examining. 

After you've looked them over, and Barty has sufficiently groped you till you're hot in the face and a good bit aroused, Evan scoops up the items to deposit into his pocket for safe-keeping until you return to the dorm. "I'll keep them safe for you, darling."

"Yeah you better keep them safe, Rosie. Spent an hour finding those beauties," Barty quips back with a smirk. 

Evan's silence is the only reply he receives, but you give Barty a quick kiss on the cheek to show your appreciation.

The three of you already started walking back to the castle a while ago, but you've still got a ways to go considering how deep into the forbidden forest you traveled. 

Your legs feel like they're turning to led, your body leaning heavily against Evan. You definitely didn't wear the right shoes for this kind of walk which makes it so much worse. The Doc Martins you picked out earlier, a recent gift from Barty, are beginning to rub against your heels with a sharp, unpleasant friction. 

Now, this is something in which Evan consistently reminded you would happen when you were getting ready to leave the dorm. He almost pulled you over his knee for your stubbornness but you held out and won in the end, i.e. Barty threw you over his shoulder and ran out of the dorm with you before Evan could get to you. 

"Ev..." You murmur, sagging into his side more heavily. 

A tired sigh escapes his nose. "Pet." He already knows where this is going. You want to be carried.

You groan softly, pulling away from both boys to cut in front of Evan and abruptly stop him in his tracks. He raises an unimpressed eyebrow. 

The sudden obvious height difference makes you a bit hot. Evan is effortlessly intimidating, he always has been. Nonetheless, it's not going to stop you from getting what you want.  You lift your arms and press your hands to his shoulders, pushing out your bottom lip in a soft pout and putting on "the doll look," as the boys like to call it. 

Evan's gazes down at you with a bored look. 

You scrunch your nose at him and suddenly his hand is gripping your jaw, his face inches from yours. 

"No," he murmurs gruffly, like one would when scolding their disobedient puppy. He's trying so hard to be stern and act like your cute little fucking face doesn't make him want to fall to your every whim. No, he's the one in charge in here, he will not let you get your way like a spoiled brat. 

He may give into you sometimes (a lot of times) but today he's less inclined to spoil you, particularly because said current issue is because you didn't listen to him earlier. 

Though your lips can't pull up into a smile because of your smushed cheeks, your eyes do all the talking. You know he won't be able to resist for much longer. Or... you think so. 

His dead gaze traces over your pretty face. "You're really testing the limits today, doll," he mutters gruffly. 

Heat pools in your lower belly and you resist the urge to swallow as your heart starts to race. You're pretty good at catching Evan's tells by now, the little facial ticks or body language that reveals his true feelings and intentions under his stoney exterior. 

But right now, you're not quite sure whether you're about get a bruised ass or get scooped up into his arms. The uncertainty makes you tingly all over in the best way. 

You experimentally palm at his shoulders with your hands, maybe your touch will sway him. "Please? M'sorry, I'm being good now," you mumble sweetly. 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, hand releasing your face and gently pushing you backwards in the process. "No. You ask me one more time and we're going to have a problem, pet. I told you not to wear new shoes for this kind of walk. Don't expect sympathy from me," he deadpans, side stepping you to continue walking on the path. 

You huff at his rejection, your stature deflating. 

Barty rushes to your aid, palms pressing to your waist, just about ready to scoop you up into his own arms and carry you instead. He can't have his beautiful Treasure's poor feet aching. 

"Don't even think about it, Junior! They can walk," Evan barks from up ahead, not even needing to look back to know what Barty's attempting. 

Barty freezes, locking eyes with you. You both know you'll be in trouble if Barty helps you. This is something Barty certainly doesn't mind, but you do, and that's the only reason he pauses, surveying your expression carefully. 

You smile softly, threading a hand through his messy brown locks and pulling him into a loving kiss. 

"Thank you for trying, Bee," you murmur sweetly as you pull away. 

It's then that Barty catches a certain twinkle in your eyes. His heart skips a beat. He knows exactly what you're about to do. You're going to pull out the big guns. 

It shouldn't be a surprise that due to Evan's dominant nature it's become a thing for you and Barty to casually call him Daddy outside of the bedroom. It started as a joke but then it stuck rather quickly. It's not sexual (most of the time), and it's not an all the time thing, but it is typically said when Evan's stern nature is especially prevalent. 

Hence, your choice to pull the Daddy card. You turn and call out to Evan, voice soft and airy, pleading, "Daddy, please!" 

Evan pauses, the name sending a familiar jolt through his body. He lets out a deep sigh and rolls his shoulders, of course you'd pull the Daddy card, little brat. But it has him turning around anyways, and he's no sooner striding back to you. 

"Sorry?" A raised eyebrow is directed towards you once he's a less than a foot away from both you and Barty. He crosses his arms over his chest and it only serves to make his tall build broader. 

You swallow harshly, resisting the urge to take a step back. Are you intimidated out of your mind and slightly regretting your choice to test him? Yes. Are your panties a little wet? Maybe also yes. 

Barty places an arm in front of you, shielding you slightly, his eyes locked on Evan. "Ev c'mon..." he laughs nervously, trying to diffuse the tension, and also trying to ignore how hot Evan looks when he's pissed off. He's got to defend his Treasure right now. 

Evan raises a hand to silence Barty. "No, no. If the little doll wants to go down that route I'd like to hear what they have to say." Evan smiles down at you with fire searing in his gaze, a warning. 

A harsh shiver dances up your spine and suddenly you're staring down at your shoes, heat creeping up your neck as you fiddle with the hem of your skirt. "W-Well um—" 

"No, head up. Look at me, you know better," Evan's bored tone interrupts your mumbling, his expression almost blank aside from his narrowed gaze.

Your head snaps up in a rush, wide eyes blinking at him sheepishly. "Sorry, Daddy." 

He clicks his tongue, eyeing your fidgeting hands. "Enough with the fiddling, and speak up properly. If you have something you'd like to ask, now is the time, pet. Don't bore me," his blunt tone is final. 

You nod your head quickly. 

Barty has migrated to behind you for support, letting you lean back on him while his hands rub soothing circles on your hips. He's drinking up the charged tension between you and Evan. That being said, his eyes are entranced with the expression Evan's wearing. The way he's looking down at you, like you're a just a pretty little doll that needs to be put back in their place. He feels dizzy with delight. 

You start, hesitant, "I-I'm really sorry I didn't listen to you about my shoes, Daddy. My... my feet really hurt and I don't think I can walk back without getting bad blisters. Will you... um, will you please carry me back to the castle, Daddy?" You bat your eyelashes up at him gently and make sure to keep your voice soft, your cheeks scorching. 

Evan's silent for a moment, but then you catch the proud glimmer in his eyes and you know you're in the clear. He rolls his eyes and then opens up his arms and gestures you forward. "Come, Pet. You're forgiven." 

Your face practically lights up. Barty gently pushes you towards Evan and you don't hesitate to step forward and press your palms to his shoulders. 

Evan bends at the waist and wraps an arm around your lower back, scooping his free arm under your bottom to lift you onto his hip as he straightens. You wrap your arms around his neck as he does, body buzzing with a warm tingly feeling you always get when you're touching either of your boys. 

"Thank you..." you murmur shyly. 

Evan presses a soft kiss to your temple in response. 

Barty barks out a laugh. "You've gone soft, Ev," Barty taunts said boy, itching for a reaction even though he's much enjoying the sight of Evan carrying you like a little doll. "All it takes is a "please, Daddy" and they've got you falling to their every whim." He smirks. 

Evan merely rolls his eyes. After all you and Barty have put him through today, he's exhausted about 90% of his usual will to bite back. "Quiet, Bee. I think we're all in need of a nap when we get back," he murmurs as he starts walking with you still in his arms. "Go run ahead, Junior. Your energy is quite the opposite of infectious." 

Barty beams, catching up to Evan to kiss him on the cheek and then doing the same to you. "It's like you read my mind, Rosie! I was craving a little run!" And then he's off, sprinting down the path, his figure getting smaller and smaller the more distance he catches. 

Evan tilts his head toward you, his nose brushing the side of your face. He sighs, hugging you tighter to him. "You two are going to kill me one day, you know that, precious?" His voice sounds tired, but fond. 

You laugh softly, turning your face so your nose brushes his. "Mhm. But you love it," you murmur back, eyes practically smiling at him, bursting with love. 

He presses forward to lay a soft kiss on your lips.

"I am quite the masochist, aren't I?" He muses when he pulls back, a soft smile pulling at his lips.

[ghiblygirl]

sooooo I saw that you were taking requests and I wanted to request a fic about barty trying woo a standoffish and reserved woman

Barty Crouch Junior x Reserved!Reader

who can't admit she likes him. [284 words]

CW: Barty is a SIMP for his girl

You thought hiding away in a quiet corner of the library would keep you safe from your tourmentor, but no. Barty Crouch Junior would somehow always find where you were and bother you. 

“Treasure–” he whined, “Why won’t you look at me…” Barty said, pulling on the sleeve of your sweater.

“Because I want to be alone, Crouch.” You snipped, pulling your arm away from his reach. “Go find another witch to bother.” You attempted to shoo him off, but it didn’t work. It never does. 

“But I’d rather sit here with my beautiful witch.” He gave you a flirty smile, and his smile only widened when your eyes rolled.

“Not yours…” you murmured.

“Not yet,” Barty said, flashing a charming grin your way. At that, you scoffed and went back to reading. The two of you sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, at least for Barty, but was closer to ten minutes. 

“Are you just going to stare at me?” You huffed, and Barty just smiled more. “You’re not even doing anything; the very least you could do is read a book or do your homework.” You sighed. Since he wasn’t planning on leaving any time soon, he should at least do something of use, you thought. 

“I’m quite content to be in your presence, treasure. Being around you makes me happy.” He said off-handedly. 

You felt your face warm at his words, and you attempted to cover your face with your book as you groaned. “Fine… I guess you can stay, Barty…” you grumbled. Your words may have been harsh, but your body language said otherwise, and Barty was happy enough with the small bit of progress he’d made.

[solsential]

Heavy [Barty Crouch Jr. x Reader]

Summary Barty can’t stay from you but has a weird way of showing it

wc: 1.6k

cw: Barty and his mind games, unclear intentions, kissing, ending doesn’t provide much comfort, Barty being confusing, distress

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” You felt Pandora's eyes on you, her voice calm but tinged with something observant, “Are you alright?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off because truthfully you had no reason to feel upset, or at least you thought so, “Just tired, I guess.”

You tried to sound convincing enough, and maybe you would’ve if it were anyone else, “Well, I won’t make you talk. But if you want to talk…”

“I’m fine, honestly,” you pursed your lips, looking around the common room, “I’m just not feeling the party tonight”

“She won’t leave you alone until you say something.” Regulus teased, sitting down on the arm chair across, leaning back with his recently refilled drink in his hand.

“Oh shut up, I’m just looking out for our friend, unlike some people.” Pandora rolls her eyes, though there is no real bite to her words.

Regulus lets out a quiet, half-amused chuckle at her words before they begin joking and bickering once again. However, in that moment you felt a familiar presence settling next to you. The music seemed to pump louder. You could feel the energy of the crowds that seemed to whirl with energy. Barty. You didn’t have to turn to even look at him to know it was him; you could feel his presence as he lowered himself beside you, his shoulder grazing yours slightly.

Your thoughts flashing between Barty and the strange distance you felt with him. He leaned closer than necessary- always too close and for way too long. His touch lingered, his fingers would sometimes brush yours or his hand rested way too casually behind you. It was subtle, but it always made you uneasy.

Sometimes you’d catch him staring at you from across the room, and he wouldn’t even bother to look away when you’d catch him staring. Some days he was “sweet”. But then, on other days he’d act like you were invisible, he wouldn’t even spare you a glance.

It was maddening. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint when things changed, but they did. And as time passed, it only made it harder to decipher his intentions. One moment, he could be all charm and confidence, wrapping his words around you like they were meant for you only. Then he’d pull away. It made you feel like a fool for even trying to understand him. You would tell yourself that it didn’t matter; that's how he'd always been. You didn’t have to figure him out, even though deep down you wanted to, you wanted more even though you were unsure if Barty was even capable of giving you more. That’s how it’d been with Barty recently.

“You don’t look like you’re having fun,” Barty teased, pulling you from your thoughts, his voice light but a flicker of something else in his eyes.

“I’m fine” you grumbled, shifting a bit uncomfortably and looking forward to the people dancing pretending to look interested, mostly trying not to lose it.

Barty notices your mood, but still doesn’t step back, “Oh come on, you look like someone pissed in your cereal,” He let out a breathy laugh, a smirk tugging his lips upward.

“I said I’m fine, Barty. Just not in the mood.” You roll your eyes.

“Not in the mood, huh?” He smirked, looking at you teasingly, “That’s a first.”

His eyes met yours, and you felt a pang of frustration, you weren’t in the mood, not tonight. Not for Barty and his stupid mind games. “You’re one to talk,” you shot back, feeling his attention on you that you desperately craved, “You’re the one who enjoys making everyone feel like they are a part of your little performance.”

“Maybe I just like an audience.” He smirked, leaning closer and his voice dropping, “Or maybe it's not just an act”

“If it’s not an act then what is it?” you asked, your voice more defensive than you originally intended.

He tilts his head, looking at you closely, studying you as if he is trying to read your mind, “Maybe I’m just trying to get your attention.”

“You have my attention” you said flatly, unsure where this was going.

“Not in the way I want it,” He says a bit too casually, but his face looks a bit contemplative.

You stare at him, confused and in disbelief. What does he mean? I thought you'd made it obvious that he had you. “Barty, I don-”

“Forget it.” He says way too quickly, not even letting you finish your thought before he turns away. Still sitting so close to you, but his attention is no longer on you.

Barty decided to join in the conversation with Regulus and Pandora instead. The conversation around you began to blur, your mind elsewhere as you pretended to listen. You shifted in your seat. His knee brushed against yours, lingering there for a moment. You felt frustrated and confused.

After a while the chatter began to blur around you, you could faintly hear Pandora laughing at something one of the boys said. You felt like you needed to hide or to just be somewhere- anywhere that isn’t here, next to Barty. You stood up, “I’ll be back in a bit.” you mutter before walking away.

You assumed they thought you were only heading to the bathroom or to get a drink. You avoided Barty’s gaze as you stepped away. Christ sake, why were you letting this affect you so much? And what had he meant to say before changing his mind? He had you, what else did he want? What else do you have to do for him to understand?

You slipped out into a quieter corridor. The cool air hitting your skin immediately, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding in for so long.

You didn’t exactly know why you let Barty get under your skin…you had some idea. But it wasn’t like he changed much, he was still the cocky and unpredictable boy he’d always been, you just don’t understand why he had changed with you. You had always been spared of his attitude, so why now? Why the sudden shift?

“Running off like that?” You didn’t have to turn around to once again know who it was, “You’re not trying to avoid me now, are you?” Barty drawled.

“Not everything is about you, Crouch.” You replied, your voice steadier than you were.

“Crouch? Ouch.” He repeated the way you referred to him, chuckling a bit at that and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Why do you do this?” you ask, words slipping out of your mouth before you could even stop them. You’d had enough of whatever the hell this was.

“Do what?” He furrowed his brows, his gaze intently on you that you felt his sharp eyes piercing right through yours trying to understand what you mean, “What am I doing?”

“You- One minute you’re all over me then the next you can’t even bother looking at me.” You draw out the irritation evident in your voice, “I mean, what the hell?”

For a moment he doesn’t respond, the confusion on his face wiping away. You couldn’t tell what the expression on his face meant as he stood there. After a moment, his smirk reappears but this time it looks forced “I’m trying to figure it out. You make it impossible for me to stay away from you,” He finally says.

He steps closer, his sharp (and beautiful) gaze on as he reaches up, his hand caressing your cheek. If it were another time you’d normally swoon over this small touch, however, at this moment you feel angry and confused, but you can’t deny how his touch makes your knees weaken, “Admit it or not, you feel the same way.”

You stand there, utterly shocked. How dare he. How dare he have this effect on you? How dare he dictate your feelings for him and assume, and how dare he be completely accurate?

His hand is still resting on your cheek, his thumb lightly brushing against your cheek. You could hear your heart pounding as your heart rate begins to increase, and you’re convinced Barty can hear it too. He leans down closer, and you could hear your mind screaming at you to pull away, that this was just another one of his games. But you can’t pull away, thinking with your heart instead, the way you always do when Barty is close to you like this.

You could see the struggle in his eyes, hesitant but his lips part anyway. His lips brush against yours lightly, as if he is testing the waters at this very moment, however, you are too far gone to even care. You push your head forward, attempting to catch his lips. Barty smirks when he sees you do this- this little- your thoughts were interrupted when he pulls you in for a proper kiss.

It was hungry and urgent, the kiss was. He pulls you closer to him, placing one of his hands on the back of your neck.

The kiss wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t gentle. It was his form of a declaration, messy and full of hunger for you. After the kiss has gone on for a while more, he pulls away with an expression that is not quite readable, just like most of his expressions.

“You mess me up” he muttered, his voice breathless and intense.

“Right back at you,” you whispered, “I don’t know if I want to strangle you or kiss you again.”

“How about both?” He smirked wickedly at you before pulling you in again.

[leeny-leens]

Knives Out (Wounds In) | BCJ x Reader

Pairing: bsf!Barty Crouch Jr x bsf! Reader

Summary: You accidentally stab Barty and he...asks for more?

Warnings: BLOOD, STABBING, INJURIES, Barty has issues,I've never dressed a thigh wound before, description of injury being taken care off, Barty likes pain (and blood), proceed with caution okay I'm sleep deprived

Content: Barty and the Reader are a little unhinged, Barty is having a crisis, Barty being called doll (courtesy of @vun3r4b13xwrites for this brain rot), not proofread or edited, Barty makes like one really dark joke abt dying but it's not too dark

WC: 3.83k

AN: this was inspired by a post of @unconventional-lawnchair and honestly idek what happened, it somehow spiraled into being something much longer and ??? than anticipated so have this. Also tagging @esotericloser BCS ya said ya want it <3

Being friends with Barty meant that there wasn't much that could actually traumatize you anymore when it came to gory horror. Oh no, you’re bound lose that ability quite quickly in his company, with the way he walked around looking like a splasher horror victim half of the time. He barley ever had an explanation for it either, always shrugging and mumbling something incoherent about where the blood on him came from.

So really, you'd say you're pretty desensitized when it came to blood and injuries, especially when it came to Barty being bloodied and injured.

Nothing however, could have prepared you for the sight of your very own dagger piercing his thigh, blood spilling and splashing on the ground and wall.

It's your worst nightmare come true; a loved one injured and bloodied because of you and your stupidity, though Barty would go on a tangent, chiding you for the self deprecating notion of that thought.

The boy in question, you just noticed, stood by the open door, his face pulled into a blend between amusement and a grimace of pain as he stared between the dagger and your frozen form on your bed.

“Damn Precious, when I said your stare could throw daggers at me I didn't think you'd take it seriously,” he said, painfully failing to conceal the wince in his voice as he joked.

The sound of his voice was apparently all your brain needed to reboot itself and jumpstart again. Immediately, you hurled yourself up from the bed, standing by his side in a few quick strides as you crouched down to examine the injury on his thigh.

“Merlin I’m sorry Bee, I was doing that stupid Charms assignment and- and you just came in and I panicked and oh my god are you gonna die?” there was seemingly no stopping you the moment you began to speak, the words stumbling out in no rhyme or rhythm as you tried to remember what little you’d learned about first aid.

In your panic, there wasn't much you remembered aside for needing to stop the bleeding somehow and making sure to keep his leg raised high, or was it keep it low to prevent bleeding? You couldn't recall it, your mind too riddled with guilt and terror at the vast amount of blood staining the carpet.

“You can't die on me,” you whimpered, tears barley held at bay “They're gonna expell me if they find out I killed you-”

The sudden realization of who your best friend was hit you harder than any hex you've sustained in your lifetime before you stared up at him with terror blown eyes “Oh my god your father is sending me to Azkaban for killing his only heir.”

This was evidently the straw that broke the camels back, Barty finally doubled over from laughter, his barking voice probably resonating through the entirety of the dormitory. His laughter quickly turned into pressed coughs as he tried to straighten back up again, mild gasps of pain escaping him in-between. Quickly, you're on your feet again, gently yet firmly guiding him to your bed and hissing at him to not put any weight on his injured leg.

To his credit, he let you push him around like a pliant ragdoll, following your instructions and keeping his pretty mouth shut aside for a few pained noises here there. His eyes flickered between you and the dagger, regarding the latter with a glimmer of fascination and you could tell it took everything in him to not poke at the metal protruding from his flesh.

“Relax Precious,” he said in an attempt to reassure you “ ’M not gonna die yeah? 'Tis but a scratch.” As if trying to convince you, he tapped the dagger lightly, smiling at you with that wide expression, his lips pulled apart so much it brought his dimple out. “See? I've survived worse,” he added, and to your utter dismay, it did help calm you down.

“Right, it's probably worse than it looks like” you muttered, taking a few deep breaths to compose yourself before finally gathering your thoughts to help him. “Okay, stay right there and don't move okay?” you threw him a warning glare before disappearing into the bathroom, occasionally glancing over your shoulder to make sure he was following your instructions. You knew staying still was hard for Barty, his natural inclination to always be in motion was one of the biggest hurdles he faced in his day to day life. He couldn't sit still for longer than a few minutes, not without bouncing his leg or tapping his fingers against the nearest surface or hell, rocking back and forth. Don't get him started on people telling him to be still, that somehow made it much harder to comply than if he tried to do it on his own.

He was however, trying his best to stay still, probably to not worry you more than he already had, and you appreciated his cooperation immensely.

Returning back to his side, you knelt down at the bedside and set down a plain white box and opened it, revealing various bandages, potions and vials along side bandaids and scissors of different types and sizes.

Barty decided to stay silent, watching your movements with an attentive, hawk-like gaze and arched his eyebrows in surprise as you grabbed the biggest pair of scissors, only to bring it to the hem of his pant leg, quickly cutting through the dark fabric.

“You know,” he said amused, watching you cut apart his pants “This is not how I imagined you undressing me for the first time would go, could've taken me out to dinner first at least.”

“You're so lucky you already have a stab wound,” you replied dryly, moving the fabric away to reveal the pale skin of thigh and barley held back your grimace at the sight of the dagger lodged into it. “Otherwise that comment would've gotten you one.” you grabbed a whole bunch of gauzes and disinfectant, slowly trying to assess how bad the wound was in order to decide your next course of action.

This was the part you'd feared the most, the one where you pulled the dagger out.

As if he’d read your mind, Barty reached out to take your hand into his, bringing it to his lips so he could press a kiss on your knuckles. “It's gonna be okay Precious,” he murmured softly “I trust you, you're bloody brilliant and you don't have to be scared of this.”

It was comical really, how he'd gotten hurt because of you and yet was the one to offer you comfort and reassurance. Had this been anyone else, you would've scoffed and thrashed against the gesture, but this was Barty, your Barty, who'd watched you overcome every obstacle in your life for the last six years, your Barty who knew you like the back of his hand and studied you like you were the biggest mystery in the universe to be unraveled. You could only nod in agreement, squeezing his hand tightly as you steadied your breath to pull out the dagger.

You vaguely remembered how Madam Pomfrey would talk up injured students to distract them from procedures, and you decided that if the matron of the hospital wing did it, it couldn't be that stupid of an idea to try out.

“Why did you come into my room?” you asked suddenly, and he leaned back into the nest of pillows you had propped against your headboard.

He shrugged, a lopsided grin on his face. “No reason, just wanted to see my favourite person,” despite all the years with him as your best friend, the response still managed to draw out an over exaggerated eyeroll from you, one that did nothing to mask the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips.

You questioned him some more, asking about his day and what he was going to do, and because this was your Barty, you knew he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to talk your ear off, the dagger in his thigh quickly forgotten. Fortunately for you, that meant you could pull it out with one smooth movement, granting Barty barley any time to register the pain before you began to press a mountain of gauzes against the wound. The white fabric quickly became a soaked, scarlet mess and you could hear his breath hitch at the sight, not the way it would've from pain, but rather from something akin to speechlessness. He watched you press against the wound, switching out gauze after gauze whenever it became unusable after soaking up too much blood, and he was sure the blood rushing to his head at the sight of your fingers gleaming with the red liquid of him was significantly more fatale than the stab wound to his thigh. There was just something so primitively alluring about the sight, your face contorted into a grimace of worry and concentration as you applied moderate yet firm pressure against his thigh, not minding how dirty your hands became in the process. It didn't help that it was him sullying your pretty hands, and he swore his soul left his body when you moved a stray strand of hair out of your face, cursing when you felt the blood smear on your cheek.

He wanted nothing more but to lean forward and wipe it off, perhaps clean it up with his own mouth just to see how he tasted on you, but he remained rigidly seated like a statue, his mind a battle field of desire and rationality.

You were none the wiser to his predicament, taking his sudden silence as a side effect of pain or shock. You took to murmuring encouragement and random things about your own day, partially to fill the silence and partially to make sure the boy was still rooted into reality instead of floating into the realm of dark memories, just on the off chance that the sight of his own blood and the feeling of pain brought them forward. You told him about the stupid Charms project you’d taken up for extra credit, letting a dagger float around in a coordinated pattern, and how you'd been sitting at it for hours on end before he barged into your room, startling you into sending the dagger straight at him. He made the occasional grunt of agreement or let out a snort at a particularly funny joke you cracked, and after a few minutes that felt like an eternity, the bleeding finally seemed to stop enough for you to be able to actually inspect the wound.

It looked worse than it actually is, not too deep and not too long, and your entire body slumped in relief at the realization. For a moment, you rested your head in your hands, muttering thanks to whatever might hear you. “Thank Merlin, you're not gonna die,” you said once you looked at Barty again, whose attention had been on you the entire time. “What a pity,” he replied almost too plainly, yet the grin on his face betrayed the self deprecating statement. “Here I was looking forward to bringing joy into my father's life for once,” you rolled your eyes so hard you worried they might actually fall out, and you could only lean forward to hit his shoulder with a warning scoff. “Don't be mean to my best friend,” you chided “That's my job, I can't afford to lose it in this economy.”

“So true, the prices are ridiculously high these days,” he mused, eyes glimmering as he watched you disinfect the wound and bandage it up.

“Exactly! I mean come on, 5 galleons for a pack of chocolates frogs? Do they think all of us are made of trust funds and old money?” Barty, unable to hold in his snort at your statement, reminisced how you haven't let it go ever since your last trip to Hogsmeade nearly a month ago. If anyone knew how to hold a grudge, it was his Precious for sure.

Absentmindedly, your fingers traced slow circles around the red, angry skin of the gash, careful to not press or touch anything that might elicit unnecessary pain. Barty’s entire body went stiff at the soft touch, so gentle and soothing, like he was made of porcelain and too fragile, the lightest press of your thumb against his thigh a breaking hazard. It was a stark contrast to how he was usually treated, but he’d come to accept it from you. While he hated being seen as vulnerable and weak — because he was everything but that—, he found himself relishing your touch and care, for it stemmed not from pity or underestimation but genuine care and love. And oh how he soaked up every ounce of affection you gave him, starved of it for his whole life but finding you there to give it to him like a steady stream flowing from the creek of your heart.

You took his stiffness as a sign of discomfort and swiftly withdrew your hand to stop the ministrations, almost missing the imperceptible whine of dissatisfaction that barely escaped the boy’s lips. When you stared at him with a puzzled look on your face, he greeted you with one of his own, cleverly covering for his mindless slip-up.

When it seemed like he hadn’t actually made any sound, you were content to get back to treating the wound, your fingers brushing over the tools in the first aid kit.

After realising the wound wasn't life threatening, your mind had cleared up significantly, rendering you able to think and remember what you needed to do to properly take care of the gash. You grabbed a bottle of blue disinfectant alongside more of the gauze, dousing the latter in the blue solution before pressing it against the injury.

The lack of warning, coupled with the sudden action, had Barty hissing and bucking in pain, even if the momentary sting left an aftertaste of pleasure in its wake.

You glanced up at him, your expression one of sheepish apology, before dapping the gauze carefully on the cut.

“’M so sorry, just a bit more yeah doll?” you murmured, your other hand coming up to rub along his knee. Barty wasn't sure what knocked out the breath out of his lungs first; the endearment, the touch or perhaps the sincerity and care that he could feel seeping into his cold and hollow bones with every second he spent in your presence? If getting stabbed by you meant he could have you this close, this warm and soft and attentive all for him? Merlin, he'd let you stab him over and over again, like he was your personal pin cushion.

He tried to keep the noise to a minimum, alongside the flinching in fear of losing your touch. The last thing he wanted was for you to let go of him, as selfish as that sounded. He quite liked having your full attention on him, like nothing else in the world mattered as much as he did.

Selfish and self-centred? Maybe.

Did he give a fuck? Not in the slightest.

A tap against his knee brought him out of his reveries, and his eyes met yours in a questioning manner. “Whadya say, darlin’?” he asked, trying his best to sound casual “Too busy enjoying your hands on me.”

His comment drew an amused chuckle from you, much too used to his flirtations. You never quite knew whether he meant it or not, all those playful jabs and nudges that toyed the line between friendship and something more, yet neither of you made a move to explore that territory, too afraid to lose what you had.

“I said I’m putting some of that scarring ointment on the wound,” you said, repeating the statement that had been lost on him. You’d already grabbed the small tub with the greenish paste. When you uncapped it, dipping your finger into it to apply it to his wound, you were surprised by his sudden recoiling, as if the mere notion of applying the ointment would sear his skin down to his bones.

“Bee?” You asked, surprised to see him flinch away from you.

He was mortified at his own reaction, not having had enough time to control his movements. He didn’t quite know how he could explain this to you, why he flinched away when you’ve been nothing but a perfect caretaker, inspecting and treating his injury.

Just as he began to sputter out a messy apology and an explanation, realisation dawned on you. You weren’t stupid, just like Barty knew you better than anyone else, you had the privilege of knowing him like no one else had. You’d watched him get into fights more often than you could count. You’d talked to him plenty about it of course, unable to just stand by as he destroyed himself, body and soul, over and over again. What had bothered you the most was him never properly taking care of his injuries, opting to let them fester and scar until his entire body was littered with gashes and cuts of various sizes. Over time, you’d come to understand that he didn’t necessarily enjoy the act of fighting itself, but rather how alive he felt with each punch, with each crack and broken bone. The scars were a testament to his existence, proof that he hadn’t been complete worn numb by life and its hardships. He liked the reminders, liked to look at them and trace along their edges whenever he felt himself slip away into the darkest corners of his mind, and you’d figured that this gash was no exception.

“You want it to scar,” you said, not a question but rather a fact. You watched as colour rushed into his pale face, mouth falling open and closing in a comical fashion. He could muster up nothing more than a nod, knowing that trying to talk his way out of this wasn’t an option.

Softly, you traced along the edge of the gash, your eyes never once leaving his. “Why?” There wasn’t an ounce of judgment in your voice as you posed the question, just pure curiosity and the need to understand him.

Silence blanketed the room as you patiently waited for him to answer your question. His eyebrows furrowed in that typical Barty manner, the one that made the silver piercings in his eyebrows more visible, catching the lights around him. When he spoke up, his voice was quiet, almost too quiet, as if afraid that speaking any louder might shatter both you and him.

“I want your mark on me,” out of all the answers he could’ve given you, this one was the last one you’d expected, yet somehow the most perfect Barty answer of them all. His love had always been that way, all teeth and scratches, leaving marks in its wake as evidence that he had been there. In the same fashion, it made sense that he wanted love in the same manner; with marks left on him to prove that he was loved.

It was crazy, really, how much you understood him. It should’ve scared you, weirded you out at least, but no such sensations arised. There was only love and understanding cursing through your body for the boy you called your best friend.

Emboldened by his vulnerability, you found yourself leaning in closer, your lips ghosting over the edge of the gash before pressing them down in a gentle kiss. “It’s alright,” you mumbled “You can keep it Bee, ‘m not judging you.”

His breath hitched at the feeling of your lips pressed so closely to the wound, mind reeling at having you so close, so understanding and so incredibly loving despite him being so himself, a warning in and out of itself.

“Does that mean you’d be down to giving me another one?” He asked jokingly, trying his best to lighten the mood by even an ounce.

“Maybe,” you quipped back, pulling one of the bandaids out to put it over the wound. “If you ask nicely, I might,” you grinned up at him, enjoy in seeing him squirm for once. His eyes drifted to the dagger, mind running wild with anticipation.

“Please?”

“Is that the best you got, doll?”

“Bold statement for someone who just stabbed me,” he retorted “And took off my pants without asking!”

With a snort, you stood up, patting his thigh softly before putting the first and kit on the ground to sit beside him. “Well when you put it that way, I have no choice but to oblige, no?” You grabbed the dagger, twirling it in your hand before you ever so slowly lowered it down to graze the skin of his thigh.

He was completely still beneath your touch, his breath shallow as he waited for your next move. There was no hurry in your movements, the glinting tip of the dagger barely tracing across his flesh. “What do we say when we want something, doll?” You asked, amused by the extreme change in his behaviour. You’d never seen Barty so complacent and mellow in all your years together, much less because of you.

“Please,” he mumbled “Give me another one?” Subconsciously, he’d leaned in closer to you, hazel eyes almost completely swallowed up by the darkness of his pupils.

A small smile tugged on the corners of your mouth, and not wanting to tease him any further, you pressed the blade into his skin.

You watched as he bit his lips, trying to the best of his abilities to not wince in pain and spurred on by the heat of the moment, you closed the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips against his. The sounds of pain he let out were swallowed by your mouth, moving in frenzied hunger as you let the dagger blade dig deeper into his thigh.

In that moment, you realised two things.

One: You were in love with Barty Crouch Junior, your best friend since first year.

Two: You were incredibly and thoroughly fucked, for you would go to the ends of hell for this boy, the same way you knew without a doubt he would do the same.

And here, in the quiet of your dorm room, your mouth on his and the distinct, metallic smell of blood, you didn’t quite mind going to the ends of hell if it meant you could have Barty by your side.

[heaven4lostgirls]

prompt: tea rose @moonkillermicrofic wc: 614

“merlin, did the puffs decide to try their hands at pranking?” sirius exclaims in annoyance and shock as he opens the dorm room.

the rest of the marauders shuffle into the room with equal displays or dismay and shock.

tea roses cover most surfaces in the marauders room, in varying colours and bouquets as they fill every crevice of the already messy dorm

remus shuffles towards his bed where it seems where most of the flowers have been restricted.

he’s only slightly aware of sirius loudly voicing his indignation to the sheer amount of flowers as peter and james admire the delicacy of the bouquets and thought out into the arrangements.

remus is aware enough to know that this many arrangements and the fact that it’s not even tea rose season, that this all would have cost someone a pretty galleon.

“merlin and morgana both.” remus blurts out in shock, shoulder bag dropping instantly as he catches sight of a sleek, green envelope on his pillow.

“what? what!” james squawks as he trudges over to peak over remus’ shoulder.

he cheers in delight at the sight of the envelope, unaware of remus’ inner turmoil.

“wormy! pads! the flowers are for moons!” james croons affectionately, pressing a wet kiss to remus’ cheek that he’s too shocked to even feel disgusted or wipe it off.

two different exclamations of “huh?” and “excuse me?!” are heard before they’re both wading their way through roses to meet james and remus next to remus’ bed.

remus turns and drops to his bed in a sitting position before looking up to the obviously impatient expressions of his friends.

“open it then!” sirius impatiently demands before he’s met with a hit to the arm by peter.

remus blows out a breath before opening the envelope with shakily suspicious hands, worrying that this is all indeed an elaborate joke.

the letter starts;

dear remus,

it seems my attempts to garner your affection has gone unnoticed for too long.

these weeks without you have been truly dreadful.

therefore it seems i am forced to result to quite drastic measures.

do take these arrangements as an official request to court you.

i am well aware this may seem outdated to you, but i would appreciate being given the chance to spoil you.

your dearest, and hopefully soon betrothed,

barty crouch jr.

remus is sure his jaw is on the floor.

barty?! as is regulus’ barty?! as in pureblood-slytherin-son-of-the-minister-of-magic barty crouch jr?

oh remus is going to be sick.

this has to be a joke.

the letter falls out of his hands but before it can reach the floor, all three of his idiot friends scramble to grab it before they huddle together to read it in hushed tones.

only for once they’re done to fall into strained silence.

remus throws himself back onto his bed before grabbing a pillow and throwing it over his face.

“well then!” peter says in faux cheer, “how’re we all feeling then?” he asks ambiguously.

remus’ answering scream into his pillow is enough to have them all wince.

“it’s okay! we’ll just tell him you’re not interested!” sirius pipes up helpfully.

remus immediately throws the pillow off of his face, shaking his head hastily.

unbeknownst to remus’ state, james nods emphatically, “yeah! in fact let’s go right now-”james is cut off by remus’ choked off noise.

“don’t.” he says weakly with a strained smile.

his friends’ confused expression is enough for remus to crumble, throwing his head into his hands as he moans desperately.

“i want him.” he groans out.

“oh.” sirius replies stumped.

“my thoughts and prayers.” peter says solemnly.

james just gives him a strained smile.

[bartonomy]

OF STRAY CATS AND MISTAKEN IDENTITY

PAIRING Ravenclaw! Barty Crouch Junior x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS Barty is 101% convinced that the stray cat was his girlfriend. But after being hit with horror, he was left wondering- who the hell was he kissing?

CONTENT WARNING fluff, james & sirius mentioned, barty losing his mind, I love ravenclaw barty sm, mention of hospital wing, established relationship

WORD COUNT 2.8 k words

library.

Barty had never considered himself delusional.

A bit eccentric? Sure. Dramatic? Occasionally. Unhealthily obsessed with his girlfriend? Absolutely. But delusional? No.

At least, that’s what he told himself- right up until he locked eyes with a stray cat in the middle of the courtyard and thought, with absolute certainty, That’s her.

It had your eyes.

Same sharp gaze. Same depth of intelligence. Same quiet challenge, like it was judging him for existing.

The fact that it was also a literal feral animal didn’t quite register.

Barty blinked.

The cat blinked back.

Something cold slithered down his spine. No fucking way.

“…Love?” he muttered hesitantly.

From across the courtyard, James, who had been lazily tossing a Quaffle back and forth with Sirius, immediately paused mid throw.

James turned, brows furrowing as he watched Barty talk to a stray cat with the softest, most devastated expression on his face.

“What the fuck?” James muttered.

Sirius followed his gaze and snorted. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Meanwhile, Barty took a cautious step forward, heart pounding. “I- how did this happen?” he whispered.

The cat, being a cat, did not respond. Instead, it arched its back and hissed.

Barty flinched. His breath caught in his throat.

“No, no, it’s me,” he pleaded, taking another slow step forward. “Don’t be scared, love, I’ll-”

The cat bolted.

“WAIT!” Barty lunged, nearly tripping over his own feet as he sprinted after it.

Sirius howled with laughter as James gawked, watching as one of the most (maybe only) unhinged Ravenclaws in school history tore across the courtyard chasing a cat like it owed him money.

“WHAT IS HE DOING?” James demanded.

“I don’t know,” Sirius gasped, clutching his stomach, “but I am loving it.”

Barty, meanwhile, had completely lost the plot.

Because obviously, obviously, something had gone terribly wrong.

His girlfriend, the love of his life, had somehow been transformed into a cat and was now running away from him.

Was it a curse? Were you a secret animagus without telling him? (He very much hoped not). A transfiguration accident? Had some idiot Gryffindor (probably Potter) hexed you for fun?

He would kill them.

“LOVE, PLEASE!” Barty called desperately.

The cat did not care. The cat was tired of his bullshit.

It darted around a group of fifth-year Ravenclaws, who shrieked in alarm as Barty barreled through them, sending books and parchment flying.

“CROUCH, WHAT THE HELL—?!”

“NO TIME,” Barty yelled over his shoulder. “THIS IS A RESCUE MISSION! LIFE OR DEATH!"

The Ravenclaws watched him go, stunned, before one of them turned to their friend. “Do you think he finally lost it?”

“I think he lost it a long time ago.”

Barty chased the cat all the way past the Greenhouses, through the courtyard, and around the castle walls before jumping on a pillar and out of sight.

He was heartbroken.

Barty Crouch Junior was losing his goddamn mind.

“I saw him again,” a fourth-year Hufflepuff whispered behind him a few days later as he stalked past the courtyard, eyes scanning the treetops.

“No way.”

“Yes way! He was behind Greenhouse Three, just squatting in the bushes—”

“What, again?”

Barty ignored them, running a hand through his already messy hair. He had barely eaten. He had barely slept. Every time he so much as blinked, all he could see was you- or rather, the cat- flitting through the castle grounds, always just out of reach.

Evan had noticed.

“What the fuck are you doing, Crouch?” he had demanded over breakfast, watching in horror as Barty practically inhaled three pieces of toast in under a minute. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge.”

Regulus, sitting beside him, had barely spared Barty a glance before going back to his book. “He has been dragged through a hedge.”

Barty had scowled. “I’m fine.”

“You rearranged your entire schedule to be free at dusk.”

“I did not-”

“Yes, you did,” Regulus had interrupted, still not looking up. “I saw you bribing McLaggen to go to your Herbology classes.”

Evan had narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”

Barty had hesitated. Then, after a long moment, he had sighed and muttered, “It’s her.”

Evan had blinked. “Who?”

“Her. You know.”

A long, agonizing even, silence followed.

“… Mate.” Evan’s voice had been so cautious, so deeply concerned. “Are you telling me you think your girlfriend turned into a cat? That she was stuck in a cat form for three days straight? I thought you Ravenclaws were supposed to be bright but I guess the hat made some mistakes after all”

Barty had stiffened. “It has her eyes.” he sighed dreamily. "And Oi! Dare I remind you that I am exceptionally intelligent! I wouldn't run after some animal if I wasn't 100% sure if it was my dazzling girl. She's been stuck in the hospital wing for days now and I've been banned from entering it if I wasn't injured. Pomfrey's too bloody intimidating to say no to." He muttered the last part grumpily.

That had sent Evan into a full body wheeze in the middle of the great Hall, while Regulus had just pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘I need new friends’.

But now, about 4 hours later, standing outside the castle with a bundle of blankets and a plate of stolen roast chicken, Barty knew he was right.

Because there- slinking through the grass with a very familiar look of absolute disdain- was you.

Or rather, the cat.

“Come on, love,” he murmured, crouching down. “Just a little closer…”

The cat eyed him warily. He lifted the plate of food.

A pause.

Then, finally, finally, its little nose twitched.

Barty grinned. “Got you.”

With one swift motion, he scooped it up, ignoring the furious hissing as he bundled it in his cloak, clutching it to his chest like a priceless treasure “You’re safe now,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to its little furry head. “I’ve got you.” and sprinted for Ravenclaw Tower.

“Nothing to see here!” he called as a group of first-years stared at him in horror. “Just taking my girlfriend for a walk-”

The cat sank its claws into his sleeve, but he barely felt it. Because finally, after three days of agony, he had you back.

And now? Now he was never letting go.

You knew Barty Crouch Jr. was bloody unhinged, but this was a new level.

At first, it had been a joke, something Evan and Regulus found amusing enough to tease him about in the common room. But the moment you heard the rumors by some second-year hufflepuff in the infirmary that a Ravenclaw student had been seen talking sweetly to a mangy black cat behind Greenhouse Three, you knew exactly who was responsible.

Because if anyone at Hogwarts was insane enough to mistake a random stray for his own girlfriend, it was Barty.

And of course, when Regulus, and Evan confronted him about it, he had scoffed, sneered, and shrugged it off like the very idea was beneath him.

But now, after class ( which he was very much absent from), you were all standing in the doorway of his dormitory in in the Ravenclaw Tower, You had expected something when you entered Barty’s dormitory that evening.

Maybe some scattered parchment filled with messy scrawl, half finished homework dumped onto the floor, or the usual stack of contraband items he kept hidden from Filch. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he was cackling over some new prank he had cooked up, or plotting something ridiculous, like replacing all of Flitwick's quills with sugar quills to see how long it would take him to notice.

But watching in stunned silence as Barty- your Barty- lay sprawled across his bed, stroking the very same stray cat like it was the love of his life.

“Oh, darling,” he murmured, pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of its head. “I knew you’d come back to me.”

You exchanged a slow, horrified glance with Regulus and Evan.

The cat, curled up in Barty’s arms, flicked its tail in disinterest. It looked particularly smug for an animal that had spent the last few days hissing at him and bolting at the first sign of movement.

Regulus was the first to break. “What,” he said, voice completely flat, “the fuck am I looking at?”

Barty yelped.

Like, full body, thrown-into-the-Black-Lake and-mauled-by-the giant-squid yelped.

He shot upright so violently that the cat in his arms went flying, landing on the floor with an indignant screech before bolting under the bed.

Barty, still half dazed, whipped around to face the three of you.

Then he saw you and his entire body locked up.

He stared, completely frozen, eyes darting between you- very much human, very much not a cat- and the actual cat now hiding under his bed.

For a moment, his brain clearly struggled to process the reality of the situation.

Then, slowly, horrified, he turned back toward the bed and whispered, voice trembling,

“Then… who the fuck is that?”

Evan wheezed. Regulus made a noise that sounded like a mix between a groan and a prayer for patience.

You just stood there, arms crossed, watching your boyfriend’s entire grasp on reality unravel before your eyes.

Barty, still looking like he had just witnessed a bloody murder, pointed at the bed. “I- I thought- ” He gestured wildly at you. “It had your eyes! It looked like you!”

Evan wiped at his eyes, barely breathing through his laughter. “Oh, mate-”

Regulus rubbed his temples. “This is painful to watch.”

Barty suddenly lunged toward you, gripping your face with both hands. His blue eyes were comically wide, scanning your features with frantic intensity, as if trying to confirm that you were, in fact, real.

“You- you’re human,” he whispered.

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s usually how it works, yeah.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “But I-” He turned back to the cat, still cowering under his bed. “But you- ” He let go of your face and ran both hands through his hair, looking genuinely distressed. “Oh, fuck.”

Barty looked absolutely bewildered. His gaze again darted from the three of you standing in his doorway to the empty space in his arms, then back again, like his brain had momentarily shut down.

Regulus, arms crossed, gave him a withering look. “Explain.”

Evan snorted. “*Yeah, Barty. Explain why you’re making out with a bloody cat.”

“I- I wasn’t- What?” Barty spluttered, still looking thoroughly rattled and perhaps on the verge of a nervous breakdown. His cheeks were pink, his hair a mess from where he’d been lounging against the pillows. “This isn’t- You don’t-”

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Oh, please. You kissed it.”

“I did not!”

“You definitely did,” Evan drawled, smirking. “Called it darling and everything.”

“I was-” Barty stopped, face twisting in horror as realization finally dawned. He turned toward the bed, eyes wide. “Oh my god.”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose like he was in actual, physical pain. “You genuinely thought that was her?”

You crossed your arms. “And this is why you’ve been skipping meals and sneaking off every evening?”

Barty groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Alright, fine. I may have… mistaken a cat for my girlfriend. Briefly.”

Regulus turned to you, looking deeply unimpressed. “This is your fault.”

You scoffed. “How is this my fault? I spent the last week listening to children groaning and Pomfrey praying for a quiet night.”

“You’re the one dating him,” he said, gesturing vaguely at Barty, who was now staring at the underside of his bed like it had personally betrayed him.

Evan grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Did you know your boyfriend had fur kink?”

Barty turned a deep scarlet. “Evan!”

You snorted, but made the mistake of picturing it. Barty, draped across his four-poster bed, murmuring sweet nothings to a cat that clearly wanted him dead and immediately had to clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter.

Regulus sighed, looking more disappointed than anything. “Merlin, Barty. Why?”

Barty groaned again. “Okay, listen, I swear it looked like her from a distance—”

“Oh?” Evan interrupted, grinning wickedly. “Tell me, Barty, exactly which part of your human girlfriend reminded you of that flea-ridden animal except for the eyes”

Regulus nodded, giving him a deadpan look. “It has yellow eyes."

Barty shot him a glare. “Well-" But then he hesitated. “They… they glowed in the dark?”

“Unbelievable,” Regulus muttered.

“You know what?” Barty huffed, crossing his arms. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Oh, but you do,” you said, grinning. “Because I’d really, really love to know how long you’ve been calling a feral animal by your girlfriend.”

Barty looked deeply uncomfortable.

Evan cackled. “Mate, we should check if you’re cursed. I’ve never seen a wizard be so devoted to a cat before.”

Regulus frowned. “Wait. How did you even catch it?”

A moment of silence fell yet again and Barty coughed. “… A trap.”

You gaped at him. “You set a trap for it?!”

“A very nice trap,” he defended. “With food! And a blanket! I made it comfortable.”

Evan finally lost it. Evan actually had to lean against the doorframe for support, wheezing, gasping for breath. “I can’t- Barty, you insane bastard- ”

Regulus sighed heavily. “Unbelievable.”

You, on the other hand, were struggling between mild horror and the overwhelming urge to laugh.

Because Barty- your very devoted, very dramatic boyfriend- had spent days thinking a feral cat was you.

You cleared your throat. “Just to be absolutely clear- you’ve been talking to this cat like it was me? I wrote a letter to you when I was gone”

Barty looked like he wanted to die.

“I may have… mistaken it for you,” he muttered. "And I thought that you just wrote it with your tiny little paws! Kick my balls for thinking that my girlfriend is brilliant even as a little animal."

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Merlin help me.”

Evan, tears in his eyes, managed to choke out, “Did you kiss it?”

Barty recoiled, offended. “Of course not!”

You raised an eyebrow.

He faltered.

“Okay, maybe once,” he admitted, looking disgusted with himself. “On the head! Not on the- ugh.” He shuddered violently. “Oh, Merlin, I’m going to be sick.”

Evan was on the verge of collapsing. You, finally unable to hold back your laughter, let out a loud, delighted cackle.

Barty’s head snapped toward you, looking utterly betrayed. “You’re enjoying this?”

You grinned. “Oh, immensely.”

“You don’t understand,” he groaned, looking back at the cat with actual horror. “I cuddled with it.”

Regulus sighed, looking genuinely exhausted. “This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

Barty buried his face in his hands. “I need a memory charm.”

Evan wiped away another tear. “This is what happens when you skip meals and stalk animals in the middle of the night, mate.”

You smirked, stepping forward until you were right in front of Barty again. “You know,” you mused, voice teasing, “I’ve never seen you look this flustered.”

Barty groaned into his hands. “I can’t believe this.”

“I can,” Evan said cheerfully. “You’re absolutely deranged.”

Regulus gave him the second long, deeply unimpressed stare of the night. “Right.” He turned to you. “This is the man you chose.”

“I’m reconsidering,” you said, still giggling.

Barty’s head shot up. “Oi! shut up-”

Before he could finish, the cat, who had apparently had enough of this conversation, darted out from under the bed and made a break for it. It leapt onto the windowsill, tail flicking, and then, in one swift motion, it launched itself into the night.

“No!” Barty lunged for it, but the cat was already gone.

Regulus, Evan, and you watched in stunned silence as Barty remained frozen at the window, staring out like a heartbroken widow in a tragic romance novel.

"Is it dead?" you whispered in horror.

Evan was laughing again. “Mate. That was the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Barty turned around, pointing an accusing finger. “You did this.”

Regulus scoffed. “Oh, yes, we personally convinced you to fall in love with a stray animal.”

“I did not- ” Barty stopped, exhaled sharply, then pointed at you. “You! We’re leaving.”

You blinked. “Leaving where?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here,” he snapped, marching toward you. “I refuse to be subjected to this abuse any longer.”

You barely had time to react before he grabbed your hand and dragged you out the door into the hallway, muttering about how no one appreciated his suffering.

You grinned and clenched his hand lovingly. “Don’t worry, love. At least now you’ve got a backup girlfriend.”

He looked pained. “Don’t say that."

Still in the room, Evan nudged Regulus. “Do you think it’s still got fleas?”

Barty let out a distant strangled sound. “Oh my god.”

Regulus, ignoring him, simply said, “I hope so.”

Barty ran back into his dorm, dragging you with him and ignoring your yelp of protest and immediately lunged for the cat, now frantically inspecting its fur.

Evan and Regulus walked out laughing.

And you? You just stood there, watching your deranged boyfriend have a full breakdown.

[crescenthistory]

2K IS SO WELL DESERVED 💓💓

Please could you analyse a relationship (maybe how it starts/people finding out) between barty and potter!reader or black sister!reader 💓

thank you kindly sweetheart<33 i did poly!bartylus x potter!reader here, so i'm choosing the noble house of black scenario here lols. i loved this one so much, especially dynamic 2, so someone feel free to request a full version once i open my regular requests 🙂↕️🙂↕️

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ANALYSE barty crouch jr. with black!sister!reader

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: reference to walburga and orion's excellent parenting (abuse), fem!reader, sibling troubles, precocious barty

regulus was barty's first best friend and he is fiercely loyal to him, to a fault

however, he is loyal within barty's own moral compass, which, as we know, is a quite unique one

meaning he is "if i see you jumping someone, i'm jumping them with you, no questions asked" loyal and "if you are upset, it is my sworn duty to make you feel different" loyal, but he is NOT "your sister is off limits” loyal

which they both find out randomly one day, more or less like this:

"salazar's soggy balls, your sister is proper fit"

"EXCUSE ME?"

queue regulus whacking barty like he's a dog getting reprimanded while barty shrieks and yells some incoherent excuse like "what? she is???"

how it goes from there depends on which dynamic you have with the black brothers

i see two primary ones:

you were either really close with regulus and thus have a more problematic but still close relationship with sirius

OR you really looked up to sirius, which made regulus distance himself for you for periods of time

(the latter one prompts much more angst in the getting together process, naturally – in a good way)

DYNAMIC 1 (regulus centred)

if you and regulus are really close, you would be brought into the slytherin skittles from the get go and thus would have a friends to lovers arc with barty

after regulus whacked barty for drooling over "my baby sister" (you're like. eleven months younger than him.), he keeps an eye on barty

i think barty frankly would not care at all and would continue flirting with you unabashedly

"when have i ever let reg dictate my love/dating/sex life before?"

though he would be saving the more salacious comments for when regulus isn't around

and trust that he would be pursuing spending time with you when regulus isn't around – once he got hung up on you it's almost like a compulsive tic, he just has to be close to you

you would probably be the only one having any moral qualms about it, wondering how regulus would feel and how things might change

as a black sister, you would likely feel like everything good in your life is a hair width's away from falling apart and live in constant fear of that while trying to remain nonchalant

yet barty's pull towards you is far from one-sided – he gives you that calmness in the chaos and chaos in calmness that you craved

only when you nearly have your first kiss in a hallway and you pull away last second talking "what about regulus?" do i think it might register with barty that he could genuinely be upsetting his best friend

prompt the always direct barty more or less marching into his dorm he shares with regulus and evan, declaring: "regulus arcturus black, i love your sister. you have no right giving out blessings, but would you please get behind this, it's upsetting her."

it would be a ROUGH conversation, but regulus knows both of you well enough to know when you're being serious about something

and barty was being deadly serious

after they've talked it through and regulus has said something along the lines of "as long as you promise it's not just a shag, then sure, be my guest. but i want to hear NONE of it", i think he would make a beeline to gryffindor

to find sirius, of course, for once daring seek out his older brother's advice, because it's for their "better third"

"sirius, i need you to calm yourself and not be mad at them because i genuinely need your advice"

it took a LOT of schooling his face for sirius to not rip his eyeballs out at the mention that barty is interested in you, but he kept calm, for regulus

he could tell that he needed it

they talked it all out

it genuinely made regulus feel better and more secure in it, but the second he left the room, sirius turned around crying to james in the exact same way

queue sirius pulling barty aside the next day to borderline threaten him to not mistreat you

and for YOU to then pull SIRIUS aside and have an angsty sibling confrontation of "is it more important to you to go to him first and be all protective, instead of to me and offer any support or congratulations?"

i think regardless of if you have a troubled relationship for a while, he still sees you as his whole world; something to take care of

so he would nod his head, properly reprimanded and give you the first hug you've shared in a while

barty is by FAR sirius' least favourite in-law and barty adoreeeees that fact, loving to rub it in

you'll have to gently be like "babe, please" to have him calm down and not agitate sirius (and by consequence regulus) too much

it was chaotic but just right

DYNAMIC 2 (sirius centred)

you grew up always looking up to sirius – he's three years older, so the perfect age for you to think everything he does is so cool

you were still relatively young when everything went down with sirius and walburga, so you had a slightly more coloured image and fuzzy memories surrounding the abuse at home

less resentment, more uncertainty towards your parents while still idolising sirius, at least for a while

i think sirius in any dynamic considers his sister his "baby" to some degree, partly because you were the youngest, partly because of his upbringing presenting women as someone to be taken care of – and largely because you let him baby you, unlike regulus

you saw sirius as more of an authority figure than you ever did regulus and he always felt safer than your parents, so when you had nightmares as a child, sirius was the one who could soothe you the best

when you were anxious, he was the one who could talk you out of it, tether you to the earth

sirius saw you as more innocent and less tainted than him, so you could in return make him feel a bit better, a bit more like he had a purpose

i think this dynamic would make regulus very resentful of the both of you

yet another example of him being the second option, of him not measuring up, etc. -> in regards to both you and sirius

in regulus' mind, you were the better younger sibling and sirius was the better older sibling – regulus was alone

so he isolated himself more and more from the both of you as he grew up in a misguided act of self-protection

to the extent that when you started hogwarts, you were never introduced to his friends

i think they asked about you when you finally started hogwarts, but he brushed it aside so assertively that they dropped it

this is in stark contrast to sirius' marauders who happily brought you along more often than not

you were not really a part of their friend group, more so that you became everyone's honorary little sister while you established yourself your own good friends within your house and year

sirius would meet you at every breakfast, even if only to ruffle your hair and kiss your head while you groaned, embarrassing you in front of your friends

you knew of who regulus' friends were and you saw him around often, but it had been made clear to you not to engage

i think it would be the kind of situation where regulus implied you stay away, which hurt you and made you stay away, which in turn hurt him – the cycle goes on

so you never really got to know them beyond their reputations and sirius' complaints about them

until around your fifth year when you would meet barty in some capacity (same class because you were excelling above your year, same secluded area of hogsmeade, etc.)

you hit it off massively, bantering back and forth in a way that makes barty feel both challenged and seen

his interest is piqued

after which is when he makes the comment to regulus about how he finds you "proper fit"

this time, regulus loses his mind over it not because it's his baby sister, but because of his resentment, jealousy and even fear that you would be taking someone else away from him

he would not be making sense to barty, reverting back to his younger and more hurt self before stalking off

if barty, evan or even dorcas tried to bring it up to regulus afterwards, he would just say "let's not talk about her/them" curtly

he only spoke to pandora about it and she kept quiet to the others, respecting his space and boundaries

in this instance, it would be clear to barty that his interest in you was not okay, but it didn't subside

on the contrary, it only continued blazing and he kept meeting you often, mostly by coincidence – but he stayed on purpose

you think nothing much of it before regulus angirly stalks up to you when he sees you chatting in the hallway, roughly grabs your arm to haul you away and whispers something along the lines of "you have sirius. you got sirius, you can't take barty too"

queue massive sibling fight that barty eventually has to get involved in, ignoring the sound of his breaking heart

while you often ignored each other, the tension that arose between you and regulus was now palpable and uncomfortable

you were hurt regulus viewed you the way he did and always competed with you – why did he care so much for sirius' love and not yours?

regulus was hurt because he felt abandoned yet again – both by barty, but also you because he loved you and missed you

having no idea what to do, i think barty would be forced to do the one thing he had sworn to himself, any god he occasionally spoke to and regulus he would never do:

he willingly went to speak with sirius black

"believe me, i don't want to do this any more than you do, but i don't think they can get over this on their own"

i think barty might be able to articulate how regulus feels like the "odd one out" of the siblings and show sirius that regulus' standoffishness is just years of pain schooled away and not him being an aloof bother

which sirius knows but has never been able to work past regardless, not before it was presented to him like this

and while sirius would still be disturbed by it, i think this might be the only way to make him understand that barty loves you – because there was no other word but love for the pull he felt towards you, the emptiness he felt without you

the two of them would plot and scheme to get you and regulus in the same room at the same time, locking all four of you inside

when they begin to try and start a civil conversation, you and regulus are on the offensive and hostile

it is when you burst out something along the lines of "why do you hate me?" that regulus' face falls

"i could never hate you."

it would be an even rougher talk, but you are able to understand each other's pain at last

"i never meant to take him away from you, i never meant to take anything away from you. i just want to be part of your life again."

"it's never felt like i deserve a spot in your life, though. like you want me there."

"regulus there is not a day that i don't wish you were sat beside me."

loooooooong awaited hug

barty and sirius would have stepped back as mediators once the first realisation set in between you, watching while leaning on a desk from afar, feeling oddly united for a moment

at last, regulus would murmur: "do you love him"

you looked at barty for a long time before looking back to regulus with a quivering lip, despite knowing the answer

"only if you'll let me. only if you'll be okay with it."

and though a part of him might still be scared and kicking and screaming, he would use all of his big brother love to pull you close, kiss you on the forehead and whisper repeatedly "it's alright, it's alright. i'm sorry, it's alright."

barty held it together well for regulus' sake, but the second he was left alone with you he swept you up in the closest embrace

"i'm so proud of you"

not only are you the most compelling, bewitching, well, witch he had ever met, but you seemed to be the one person capable of piecing his best friend back together

went through hell to be a match made in heaven

[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

[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.

[orchideous-nox]

I don't need to say what ship I'm currently writing when I tell you I'm researching how to tell how long roadkill has been dead.

[ghiblygirl]

Hi hi, I requested the barty x reserved!reader and I LOVED it. If you don’t mind, could I request another fluffy fic in which his beloved has a habit of chewing/biting on her lips and he does whatever it takes to make her stop 💕

Barty Crouch Jr x Reserved!reader who bites her lips [279 words]

CW: Barty is being a flirt with suggestive undertones.

“Regulus is a right twat. Can you believe he actually said that to me? To me, Treasure, this bloke is supposed to be my best friend.” Barty huffed. According to him, Regulus had ticked him off by insulting the way he was wearing his cloak. You hummed in response. It’s not that you weren’t listening, but rather that you were just a bit far away.

“I just cannot believe he– Treasure? Are you listening?” Barty looked to you before sighing, “Treasure, you have to stop biting your lips, my love.” He said softly, pulling your lip from your teeth with his thumb.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize–” You mumbled.

“Don’t apologize, sweet thing.” He said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Barty was good with things like that, you thought. Although he never seemed to be focused on other people, he always was. He noticed little details that most would miss, and you think that’s what made you fall so hard for him.

Listening to him ramble on was your favorite part of your day; you loved his voice and just being around him.

“Treasure, do I need to put spices on your lips so you stop biting them?” Barty huffed, taking my face in his hands. “You know you need to be nicer to your pretty lips, hmm? What else am I supposed to kiss? Well, I could always kiss your other–” You had to cover his mouth with your hand.

“Okay, I got it, Barty.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his suggestive comment. He smiled at your soft laugh.

“I’m serious, Treasure. I will put peppers on your lips to stop you from biting them.” He grinned.

[solsential]

summary: barty meets reader at convenience store after a small altercation

barty crouch jr x reader

wc: 793

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It was just about midnight; you were in the later hours of your shift. The fluorescent lights of the 24-hour convenience store buzzing like angry hornets with an occasional chime alerting you each time someone walks into the store. 

You were slumped behind the counter, your elbows resting against the table as you flipped through a raggedy magazine that has been here since you began working at the convenience store. 

Then the door chimed.

You glanced up from the magazine just as a tall figure stepped in. He wore an old black leather jacket, with a hoodie pulled up over his head beneath it. You couldn’t see his face but watched as he went towards the refrigerators. 

You went back to your magazine, pretending to read it but tracked his reflection over the security mirrors. He grabbed something and turned back towards the counter.

“Pack of Marlboro reds,” the man spoke as he set the energy drink on the counter, his voice was rough- the kind that lingers in your chest.

You looked up from your magazine as he spoke. Oh hell, his face was a mess; his lip was split, and a fresh bruise was forming across his right cheekbone. You looked at his knuckles- which were also a mess just as his face. Yet he let out a small grin when he noticed you looking. 

You raised your eyebrows, “You look like shit,” the words slipped out before you could stop them. To be fair it was about midnight, and you were exhausted.

“Sorry,” you backtrack after a beat of silence, and quickly turn back to grab his cigarettes. 

His lips curled. Not quite a smile but not quite a wince, “you should see the other guy.” 

“Did you win?” you place his cigarettes on the counter and begin to ring his stuff up. What are you doing? You don’t know this man, you don’t even know how he got these bruises.

“Depends. You count not being arrested as winning?” He chuckles, but winces as it pulls on his injuries. He took his wallet out of his pocket, paying for his stuff.

“Yes. What’d you do anyway? Owe someone money?” I turn around to grab a pack of ice from the freezer, sliding it over the counter. 

He could’ve told you the truth. Some red-faced drunk was leaning over the bar, spitting demands at the bartender. He had already been feeling on edge all day, however this drunkie just making it everyone’s business, he just lost it. 

“Nah, just felt like it,” He leaned on the counter, picking up and pressing the ice on his face.

You looked at him, inspecting him as he cooled his bruises. He was quite attractive beneath the bruises, well even the bruises provided a sort of edge that was quite attractive– the way his smirk tugged his split lip, the way his leather jacket creaked as he leaned against the counter

“You’re insane,” you laughed, shaking your head.

“Yeah,” he agreed, tiling his head, "But you’re still talking to me.”

“Well maybe I feel bad,” you lean forward, resting your chin on your hand.

He barked out a laugh and winced, pressing the ice harder against his skin, “Don’t. You really shouldn’t.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. He held the ice to his cheek, but his eyes stayed on you– lingering, tracing your lips before dragging back up.

He looked down at your name tag, “So, you always this friendly with customers, y/n?”

“Only the ones who get their asses kicked,” you shrug.

He pulls out his lighter, it's an old lighter, it had a serpent coiled around the dagger etched to the side. He lit up a cigarette in one smooth version, placing the cigarette on the counter.

“You smoke?” He reached across the counter and took a pen near the cash register, scribbling something on the back of his receipt before putting it back.

“Not with you,” you purse your lips but it was obvious you were just teasing.

“Smart,” he smirked, folding the receipt and placing it below his lighter on the counter.

Suddenly a loud honk was heard from outside, he groaned and stood back up picking up his cigarettes and his drink, “Alright, well, i’m out.”

“You forgot your lighter,” you call out before he exits the door.

He turns back around, throwing you one last smirk before he exits “Hold on to it, I'm sure I'll be back.”

He exits, the door chiming one last time. You slide the lighter closer to you, noticing the receipt below the lighter. You pick it up and unfold it

“If I’m still alive, call me - Barty” with a phone number written right below it.