#it’s the way they loved each other so quick and then it was poisoned and turned to hate | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

literaila · 11 months ago

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keeping secrets

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: you and satoru avoid each other

warnings: actual fighting, sad everyone, hurt/little comfort (sorry)

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year four.

"did megumi give you a permission slip?" you ask satoru, leaning against the side of the couch, peeking at his phone. "it's for a field trip, but i haven't seen it. he says he set it on the counter."

satoru glances at you. then back, and shakes his head.

"he didn't give you anything to sign?"

"not recently."

you sigh. "i don't think he lost it."

satoru's lip quirks. "you think i'm hiding it?"

"i don't know. did you accidentally eat it?"

his eyes roll. "i have better taste than that."

"well, can you help me look for it?"

satoru sighs, head hanging back for a moment, then he throws his phone down, groaning as he stands up. after he stretches, he half-heartedly moves a pillow, pretending to look under it.

you snort.

but satoru doesn't look back at you, and moves to the table, to look at the stack of papers there.

and, admittedly, things have been a bit off.

you tried to ignore it at first--ignore the way satoru avoided your eyes, or kept himself five feet away from you at all times. you tried to pretend that it wasn't happening. that he wasn't giving you short responses, or only joking with you in dire moments (like when something you say goes over both of the kid's heads and they stare at you weirdly).

honestly, you hadn't even noticed anything was wrong until you'd realized that it'd been a week since he fell asleep with you. since he even bothered to come out of his room after putting the kids to bed. a week since he tried to squeeze you to death, or grossly kissed your cheek.

and... it shouldn't be weird.

no rule says that he has to spend a specific amount of time with you, or cuddle in your bed, or smile at you, or... do anything that your best friend probably shouldnt do.

but it's weird.

it's strange because your relationship with satoru has stayed relatively consistent, an upward slope for the past six years. you've grown closer, but never farther.

and, in the depths of your mind, usually when you're lying awake at night, you recognize that there's one single moment when it switched. that everything changed a specific morning, and you haven't been able to rewind it. to take it all back.

and you could just blame the alcohol for your confession, you probably should.

but then you'd also have to blame your sixteen-year-old self, the girl who'd been attracted to satoru in the first place. the eighteen-year-old who agreed to tie her life to his and take in the kids, or you now, still cursing yourself for falling in love with him.

it's not like satoru made you.

if intoxication is to blame, so is your heart, your soul, for starting all of this in the first place.

you'd decided to not blame anything at all, in the end. everything's fine.

"find anything?" you ask him, a bit cold in the room, feeling that same tension that's been there. those unspoken words, infinite amounts of distance.

you try to ignore it, really.

"just the receipt for tsumiki's violin."

"tsumiki's what?" you ask, blinking at him.

"i didn't tell you about that?"

"satoru, you can't just buy them things on a whim--"

he holds a hand up, stopping you. "she said it was for school," he says, giving you a quick grin. "plus, she's pretty good."

"there's no way she's good."

"you'll see," he says, "when we go to her recital."

"what?"

satoru shrugs, then he turns around, organizing the piles of papers into neat stacks. it almost makes you want to check him for a spider bite, a fever, remnants of poison. no way your satoru is doing that.

not that he's yours. he hasn't been yours in years, hasn't been your anything ever.

"oh, here," he says, eventually, handing you a paper which he already signed--of course--and shaking his head. "museums," he grumbles.

but he doesn't give you the chance to respond, turning to walk down the hall--towards his room--before you can even chide him for forgetting about it.

so, yeah. things are fine.

"where's gojo?" megumi asks, as the two of you walk through the door.

the house is empty without satoru there. colder, dimmer. and, of course, there's no one to irritate the boy right when he walks in.

you try not to wince at the question, or spiral into your own question of 'where's gojo?'

"uh," you lock the door, then unlock it. then lock it again. "he's on another job."

"again?"

you give megumi a bland smile, taking his backpack from him. "guess they think he needs more practice," you say, trying to tease.

it falls flat.

"did he get in trouble?"

"i don't know," you shrug. "probably."

honestly, it's not like you would know anyway. satoru doesn't tell you anything these days.

it's probably what bothers you the most, because if he's not saying anything, then neither can you. you can't ask him what he thinks about tsumiki's new friend, or if megumi should be eating more, or if you're just making everything up, probably going insane--

"when's he going to be back?"

"he said probably tomorrow. maybe the day after if it takes longer. i can't remember where they sent him..."

megumi looks mischievous. his eyes are bright. "so we can make those miso brownies? since he's gone?"

you laugh, ruffling his hair. "sure, when tsumiki gets home."

he nods, satisfied, and turns around. then he looks back at you, eyes trailing over your expression.

megumi looks at you quizzically, like he knows something you don't. "do you miss him?"

you roll your eyes. "do you miss him, megumi?"

he doesn't even think about it. "true," he says, then walks into the kitchen, grabbing something from the fridge.

maybe you miss him, you think, but only a little bit. it's not like he's been gone long.

just, you know, forever.

"hey," you lean against the desk in the office. satoru must be filling out a report, which should make you blink twice, but really it's him being out in the open that surprises you.

most days he goes to hide in his room. he locks his door and makes sure that you wouldn't dare to walk through. that you have no means to interrupt his solitude.

"oh, hey," satoru answers, not bothering to look up at you. his voice is low, familiar, and creates goosebumps on your skin.

seriously, why is it so cold in this house?

"i'm surprised those haven't gone missing yet," you gesture toward the papers, trying to be casual.

he snorts. "yaga said that if i lost them again, i was fired."

"he said that two years ago."

satoru nods, still scribbling. you want more than anything to just see his eyes for a moment, for him to look at you and grin like you're used to.

but you know he won't, so you tap your fingers against the desk. "do you have a second?"

"sure. what's up? megumi do something?"

"no, the kids are fine, i, um--" you pause. it feels ridiculous to have to ask him this, to not know the answer. it feels ridiculous to be nervous around satoru. you haven't felt anxious, or worried about asking him anything since you were sixteen and realized that it didn't matter. "shoko texted me about that work 'meeting' that's happening on friday. do you want to go to that? i just need to know so i can tell her..."

"meeting?"

your smile is teasing, not that he's looking. "i think she meant party."

"on friday?"

"yeah. she said that the booze is free, and i think nanami's going, so i thought..." you hint, not even sure what you mean.

i thought we could talk. i thought we could go together and maybe everything would go back to normal. i thought that we were friends, if anything, and that you cared about me--

satoru hums. "what about the kids?"

"tsumiki has a birthday party that night, and megumi likes the sitter from last time," you wince at your accidental mention of that night. "or he can come, i guess, but he'd probably hate it."

satoru snorts, nodding in agreement. you watch his hands freeze, then resume.

he's thinking the same things you are, you know. he's thinking about how stupid you are, how ridiculous it is to imagine him being in love with you, caring about who you are or how you feel.

you just know it.

"so..." you whisper, after a second. "do you want to go?"

you feel like you're standing on uneven ground. how can this be the only real conversation you've had with satoru this week?

how can you miss him this much when he's literally right there?

"i don't--" satoru makes a face, finally looking toward you. he sets down the pen. "i don't think so. but you can go and i can stay here with megumi," he suggests easily like he's not rejecting you. "we can have a guy's night."

"megumi hates guy's nights."

satoru has a cheeky grin on, but it's half-hearted. barely there.

like a glimpse of him in a peephole, a moment where he's not hiding completely from you.

he doesn't say anything, though. he doesn't even bother to come up with a better excuse.

it's clear as day that he just doesn't want to hang out with you, even in a crowd of people.

"that's okay," you hum, eventually, trying to keep your voice steady. "i don't really--"

"no, you should go. you haven't seen nanami in a while. you can have a night out," he says genuinely, but it sounds more like i need a break from you.

"yeah," you try to laugh. "i--um, okay. if you're sure."

he nods, looking away again. he hasn't touched you in weeks. your skin is almost molding, going completely stale. "i'm sure. we'll order dinner, so you don't have to worry about the brat complaining."

"okay."

"okay," satoru answers, but it doesn't mean anything.

and it's not okay.

the two of them walk through the door, and megumi looks... pleasant. he's got the makings of a smile on his face, a little jump in his step.

it's one of the only times you've seen him look like the ten-year-old he is, instead of someone who's concerned about economic collapse.

it makes you smile a bit, even if just the sight of satoru sends pangs down your chest.

"hey," you say, hand on his head as he lingers by you, eyes meeting yours in greeting. you look to satoru, who's pretending to wipe away a smudge on his glasses. "where were you guys?"

"we were--"

"gojo took me to that old hospital by my school," megumi says, "there were cursed spirits hanging outside. he let me and my divine dogs deal with them," he says this almost excitedly--as excited as megumi gets--and you can see it in his eyes. that little twinkle of pride.

your eyes widen, but you smile, trying to be genuine. it's difficult because you've been lying for weeks. "really?" you ask, trying not to look over at satoru accusingly. "how'd it go?"

"good," megumi, moves to the sink, washing his hands. "they're getting better at scenting them out. it didn't take long."

"that's great."

"megumi didn't need any of my help," satoru adds, giving you a short glance. "he's got good intuition."

megumi looks at satoru with a glare in his eyes, but you can tell that he appreciates the compliment.

you can tell that he's completely fine with this, that the two of them are going to act like it's normal, but you can't.

you try to ignore it when megumi looks between you and satoru, a slight furrow in his brows. he knows something wrong, you know. but you're not going to admit that.

you swallow. "do you have any homework you need to finish, megs?"

"uh..." he pauses. "i think so. reading?"

you smile, hand on his back as you lead him out of the room. "okay, how about you go work on that? i need to talk to satoru real quick."

he nods immediately, looking eager to leave--both the room and the tension.

as soon as he's gone, you turn to satoru, narrowed eyes as you observe him. he's already smiling because he knows that he's in trouble. because he knows that you're angry.

because, even if he hasn't actually spoken to you in weeks, satoru has always read you so well. he's always known what you're going to say before you say it.

but you can't care about it. it doesn't mean anything to him.

“you can’t do that,” you say, almost whispering. “not without asking me.”

“i knew you’d say no.”

you laugh, looking away from him. “exactly.”

“he’s fine,” satoru reassures. he shrugs, because why should he care about your concern? “he did good, and there’s not a scratch on him. i’m sorry for not telling you but—“

“no buts, satoru. you can’t take megumi out on missions like he’s a student. he’s not. and you definitely can’t do it without even telling me," there's a burning in your chest. your head is clouded over with anger.

just looking at him--at his ridiculous smile and stupid perfect face--makes you clench your fists.

how can he stand there and act like you're a team?

“it’s not a big deal. i was there the whole time—and he didn’t need me.”

“i don’t care!”

satoru rolls his eyes, his arms crossed. “i think you’re overreacting.”

“i’m not," you say, trying to get him to look at you--actually look--but he won't. it makes your chest hurt even more. "you’re not telling me things—fine, whatever, keep whatever secrets you want, gojo. don't bother talking to me. but you can’t keep secrets from me about the kids.”

“secrets? i’m not—“

you shake your head, hands in the air, trying to clear all of it away. you want the past month to go away, the past six years. “megumi’s just a kid. he’s ten. he can’t be going on missions, not until he’s ready.”

“i think i’ve already proved how ready he is.”

“well, maybe i'm not ready. he’s a kid.”

“yeah,” satoru says, obviously. he scoffs. “yeah, he’s a kid. but he’s also a jujutsu sorcerer. you can’t separate the two.”

his voice is all-knowing and his stance is firm. you know that you won't convince him otherwise--know that he's right, to some degree, but this isn't about megumi.

this isn't about cursed spirits or jujutsu.

“yes, you can," you say, clenching your jaw. "he doesn’t need to be seeing that shit right now. not until he decides he wants to. practice his technique with him all you want, but you can’t just take him to exorcise a curse with you.”

“like i said, he’s fine.”

“it’s not about that! it’s about you doing something reckless—again—and acting like there aren’t any consequences to your decisions. he’s my son,” you hiss, “he shouldn’t be going anywhere i don’t know about. you shouldn’t be making decisions about him behind my back.”

you shouldn't be pushing me away, you shouldn't be ruining this--

“so you want to lock him up here?" satoru asks, laughing at you. his teeth are sharp and he is still. "you want to take away his ability to defend himself?”

you scoff. “are you kidding? you think me saying i don’t want you to get him killed is equal to me—“

“he was fine. if anything—anything—had been there that megumi couldn’t handle, i would’ve taken care of it. i wasn't going to let anyone touch him. that’s why i was there! and he didn’t even need me," he's boasting, swearing to you--you can feel it as he rolls his eyes at you.

“you know what he needs, satoru? he needs you to treat him like he’s a little boy and not some experiment for you to play with.”

“i would never—“

you cut him off, “bringing him out into the open, where anyone could see him, could hurt him, and making him deal with your cursed spirit is not okay.”

“i didn’t make him deal with anything," satoru swears, chin up.

you snort. the two of you are standing in front of each other, arms crossed, head guarded. your muscles are tense like something is about to attack you. “oh, so he asked you to go?”

“well, no, but—“

“then you made him! you put him up against a monster and treated him like a student, like a 16-year-old, and not your son.”

the words feel nice to say. some version of the truth that's much better than whatever this version is. if satoru won't talk to you, you'll talk for him.

you'll make every assumption, every bad perception (because he's supposed to keep you from worrying, he's supposed to be there to calm you down, to save you from that spiraling). but if he's not going to try, neither will you.

satoru’s eyes grow hard. “what?”

“why can’t you just let him be a kid? why do you have to push him into these things—“

“we talked with megumi about who he is,” satoru grinds, “he knows about the privilege of his strength, and the fact that he has to work to use it—“

“a ten-year-old shouldn’t have to work for anything!”

he laughs at you. you can't see his eyes, but you watch his face as he tries to hide his expression, trying to keep his voice low. the kids are still in the house, so you shouldn't be yelling. but you can't bring it in yourself to really care.

“what do you think the point of him living here was? why do you think we took him in?”

you gape at him. “are you kidding?” you ask. “are you serious? we took him, and tsumiki, in because you’re responsible for killing their father! because they didn’t have anyone else, and that’s your fault.”

“you think i don’t know that?”

“well, i thought you did," you say, stepping away from him. some part of you wants to push him out, make him leave. the other part desperately wants him to stay--to say he's sorry. "but you just said that the only reason megumi is here is so you can teach him! when i agreed to this i thought you were facing the consequences of your actions, doing the right thing for those kids because you could. i thought you wanted to take care of them! to keep them away from our awful, messed up world.”

satoru is staring at you with his jaw clenched.

you continue, without consideration for the consequences of your words. “i didn’t think that you only wanted to keep megumi here so you could train him, like a dog.”

“that’s not what i said.”

you shake your head, a bitter smile on your face. “well it’s what you meant, and clearly you have no regard for his feelings or the way that curses might affect him—“

“don’t act like i did it just to mess with him," he interrupts, harshly. "it’s not a joke. i want him to be strong, i want him to be able to take care of himself—“

“and i want him to have a dad who isn’t so selfish!”

“what?”

“did you even think about it? what about the nightmares he’s going to have?" you wonder, rhetorically. "what about the fact that he’s different—that he’s already struggling to relate to other kids in school? what about him, satoru? why is it only about you?”

what about me? you don't say.

“i didn’t bring him for me—“

“you want a replacement. you want someone else to deal with everything, while you sit back and watch. i know what you’re trying to do—“

“really?" he points at you, the other hand clenched in the air. he's laughing again. "you can read my mind? you’ve already been let in on my plans—“

“don’t you wish that you’d had the opportunity to be just a kid?” you demand. “don’t you want that for megumi?”

he shrugs. “sure. but it’s never going to happen.”

“well, clearly, because you won’t let it.”

“he gets to be a kid every day. god forbid i take him to see one curse, to understand how to use his powers, to protect himself, and you treat me like i wanted to kill him.”

you laugh. your mind is a minefield, and everything he says ruins another part of it.

all you can think about is him, him as a teenager, him with you, telling satoru you love him and him having nothing left to say--

but you scoff again, shoving yourself further away from him. “do you know how many times i’ve wanted to go back to when i was ten and just got to live my life? do you know how often i think about how everything could’ve been different?”

“this isn’t about us."

“yes, it is. it is, satoru, because i didn’t get that chance and neither did you. and you just took away megumi’s chance.”

“i didn’t take anything away," he says, softly, like he's trying to convince himself.

clearly, you've struck a nerve.

“he’s never going to be able to look at the world normally, but he doesn’t need the burden of saving people before he’s even in middle school.”

“why is being strong so bad?” satoru asks you, demanding something more. why am i so bad? “why do you treat it like it’s a curse? like it’s going to hurt him?”

“look at you!” you respond. “look at suguru, and me, and shoko! look at any jujutsu sorcerer and ask them if being strong is worth it—is worth screwing your life over.”

satoru looks taken aback. he steps away from you.

“god, it’s like you think that we’re a different species," you tell him, never having felt like it's more true. "you’re human, satoru. you might be the strongest, but you’re still human, and you still have nightmares like all of the rest of us.”

he shakes his head at you.

“why do you want that for megumi? why push him into this right now?”

“i want him to be able to take care of himself. so that he doesn’t die like our colleagues, so that he doesn’t make the wrong choice like—“

he stops, his voice breaking before he can continue.

and maybe you know what this is really about, but if satoru doesn’t want to tell you how he feels, if he wants to pretend like it doesn’t matter—

fine. you will too.

“it wouldn’t make a difference. he’s already—his life is already messed up.”

satoru looks at you, his eyes ablaze. “don’t you think that if i was him, if i could’ve been stronger, if i could’ve saved all of those people—don’t you think i would do it in an instant? don’t you think i know that because i wasn’t strong enough, people died?”

this is the thing you've feared since you were eighteen, a brand new person responsible for two little lives. you've feared satoru's moral commitment since before you met him. since you saw him destroy a curse in an instant and realized he was different than everyone else.

“megumi isn’t you! he doesn’t need to be taught to take on the responsibility of everyone’s lives—“

“you can’t say that i’m selfish, that i don’t care, and then say that i care too much,” he says, shaking his head, unable to look at you.

he hasn't been able to look you in the eye in weeks.

“you’re both!" you say, almost yelling. "you’re everything. and you don’t think! you haven’t thought for a moment about what megumi might be feeling, who he might want to be—“

“and you have? what about what you want him to be?”

“i want him to be happy! i want him to grow up better than i ever did. i don’t want him chasing a bunch of cursed spirits around on the weekend like it’s a normal thing—“

“it is normal. for us, it’s normal. for him, it’s normal.”

you sigh, a weight on your chest, a burning in your throat. “well, maybe it shouldn’t be.”

you're not going to start crying now. not with satoru watching, not when he gets to know just how much you care.

satoru scoffs. “so you’d just have everyone defend themselves--"

"i don't know how you're arrogant enough to believe that you can save everyone--"

"--you’d just forget that we’re strong for a reason, that we--“

“but you’re never going to be strong enough, satoru. never.”

satoru stares at you. he doesn’t say a thing, doesn’t hesitate, and doesn’t bother to argue.

and after a moment he turns around. you reach your hand out to grab him--hold onto him and keep him here, because this isn't finished, and you're not done with him. you haven't even started.

but you run into a wall. you look down and your hand is dangling idly in front of his arm, stuck in the air.

you can't see satoru's eyes, but you can feel his heart--your heart--as it skips a beat in realization.

but then satoru shakes you off, pushes you infinitely farther away from infinity, and keeps going.

he walks out the door, slamming it shut.

you stand there for a moment, watching. you wait for the door to open again, for satoru to come back, for him to laugh--tell you that everything's fine, that it'll all be fine. that it's okay if you're angry, that he doesn't care.

but after a minute, he doesn't return.

and after another, you have to lean against the counter. your hand burns--but maybe that's just your imagination. you're pretty sure that infinity has no drawbacks, that there's no consequence for touching, for not touching satoru.

pretty sure.

but you still look over your skin, trying to see if he's left some mark. it would be nice to have some evidence of what he's done to you. you clench your fist, but the feeling doesn't go away.

and maybe it's not your hand. maybe it's your chest. maybe it's these weeks of feeling separated, feeling miles apart from him, feeling like it's all your fault that any of this has happened.

you... you can't even remember what you were arguing about.

you feel like a kid again, hiding yourself in your room just so your parents don't have to deal with you. you feel like that little girl who hid in the cupboards, trying to escape the monsters that no one else could see. you feel like that smaller, reckless version of yourself that left home at the first chance, who knew she wasn't allowed back.

are you allowed here? you wonder. is it going to happen again? are these monsters--real and fake--too much for your family to handle again?

you exhale, trying to catch your breath again. none of this feels right, normal, easy.

should you--should you call him? should you wait for him to come back?

is he going to come back?

the slam of the door is still echoing throughout the house when they creep down the hallway, making sure their footsteps are soft, but also loud enough for you to hear.

maybe you've only been standing there, waiting for satoru to turn around, for thirty seconds.

but it feels like an hour.

"mom?" a tiny voice asks, and both of them are turning around the corner, taking hesitant steps towards you.

you have to swallow. you need some water, an icepack maybe, to get rid of the burning feeling in your throat. the telltale signs that you're going to cry--that you've suffered blows to the core, and you can't backtrack now.

but you don't want to cry in front of them. you refuse to. if you didn't want to cry in front of satoru, you won't cry in front of the kids.

so you turn around, swallow again, and fill a glass of water.

you chug it down, wanting it to wash away that feeling, that ache.

you can't say anything just yet because then you'll actually fall apart.

megumi and tsumiki watch you, both of them silent as they wait for your direction. for some solution you should have.

you take a deep breath, then turn, almost faltering when you see the worried look on both of their faces, the concern in their eyes. neither of them should have to worry about this.

god, how could you forget that they were there? that they could hear everything?

how could you make another mistake?

"hey, guys," you say, clearing your throat. you want to be nonchalant, and casual, but you've never been either a day in your life.

"where did gojo go?"

"i, um," you take another sip of water, because that feeling crawls up your throat, makes itself known again. "i think he went on a walk."

"is he okay?" tsumiki asks.

"are you okay?" megumi follows.

"yeah, he's fine. he's good. i--he just needed some space, you know? um... a break."

"from us?"

your eyes widen. "no, no, no. of course not, never you guys. he's... just been busy this week. working a lot. and, i, well, he's good. we're good."

megumi leans on the counter next to you, looking at you very closely. "are you okay?" he repeats.

"i'm good, megs. it's..." you smile. "it's fine. um, did satoru get you anything to eat while you were out? i'm not sure what we've got, but i can make something if you--"

"when is he going to be back?"

you stop, sighing. you shouldn't have taught either of them how to read emotions, or how to eavesdrop. you shouldn't be speaking to anyone, or trusted with anything.

"i'm not sure, buddy. he'll be back when he's ready."

"is he going to stay out all night?" tsumiki asks, worried.

"no, i'm sure--" you stop again. "gojo will be back in time for bed, okay?"

they're both staring at you, waiting for you to say something profound, something to make it actually okay.

but you have nothing. is satoru going to come back? is he going to stay somewhere else? you know he'll exhaust himself just to avoid coming home--

this is why you shouldn't have moved in--

this is why you never should've agreed to this, allowed himself to burrow a hole in your heart, in your soul--

"hey," megumi takes a step towards you. and then, before you can blink the tears out of your eyes, reassure him that it's fine, his arms are around your waist.

he nuzzles his face into your side, squeezing tighter than you thought a little boy could.

theres only a second of this before tsumiki's on your other side, and squeezing just as hard.

your hands fall on both of their backs, and you take a breath that feels more like never breathing again. your lungs won't fill, and your chest is incomplete

but they stand there with you, and eventually, your heart begins to match theirs, and their little hands keep you together.

you can't cry, but you really want to.

satoru's entire body feels different.

he knows what it's lacking, the changes he's made in a short period of time--giving himself no time to acclimate, no pause where he slowly adapts to the differences.

he misses you.

it's been like this before--when suguru left and satoru couldn't bear to look at himself in the mirror, nonetheless you in the eyes--but it's never felt so severe.

because you're right there. you've been there every day, waking him up, making the kids breakfast, laughing when megumi bullies him, smiling at tsumiki's attempts at mediating.

you're there in the morning, in the afternoon, and every night. you're right there for him--and he can't say a word.

he doesn't want this, this thing to be real.

denial is his favorite emotion, and recently, he can't even muster the strength to go through with it.

and now, he feels even more hopeless, lacking, never ever enough.

but he walks through the door because he has nowhere else to go. he has no other home--besides the three of you.

it's dark outside when he comes back, and the door is unlocked, so he knows that you've been waiting. that you had to deal with the aftermath of shouted voices and scared children who he felt lurking behind a wall before he got the chance to think about any of it.

he needs to talk to you. satoru knows that, he really does. but he's not sure what to say.

he could apologize for tonight--could tell you that he won't make any more decisions, that he won't wreck this thing you've built--but it's not enough.

he should probably apologize for the last seven years. for letting himself grow attached to you, and then continue to hold you at arms length. he should probably apologize for being himself, for being less than he could be.

but those words feel too rotten to say aloud.

so, when he walks up to your door, waiting to feel your obvious presence--to see it, like he always does, the wall of cursed energy that you are--he feels like running away again.

you don't even need to know that he's home. satoru could go to bed, and he could probably pretend that nothing happened in the morning and you would follow along.

but he doesn't want to do that. not to you.

and he needs to see you, needs to say something before he figures it all out--should he leave, or stay? should he continue to push you away to protect you? should he tell you all of it?

it doesn't matter, he knows, because he probably won't be able to do any of it.

and for the first time in years, satoru makes sure to knock before he opens your door. just a small repetition of his knuckles, but he might as well be breaking down a tradition.

there's no answer, but he's not waiting, so he creaks the door open, looking for you immediately.

and he sees you, lying in bed.

and he sees your shoulders shaking slightly, with you curled up in the fetal position, and he can hear the sniffle before the door is all the way open.

there's no choice, he knows. he's not going to let you cry yourself to sleep without saying anything. he's not going to leave you alone.

you don't turn around, but satoru knows that you must know he's there. he walks across the floor, sitting at the edge of your bed, waiting for you to turn to him.

and yell, maybe. tell him to leave again. tell him that you don't want to look at him anymore.

but you don't move. your shaking is slightly stifled, and satoru can tell that you're trying to keep your breathing low, to keep him from noticing you cry.

it's foolish, really, because satoru hasn't missed a single detail about you since he was seventeen.

he doesn't say anything, but it's a natural reflex to tap your legs, to stand and slip off his shoes, gently pushing you off of the edge of the bed, towards the middle.

and then he's laying there, curling his limbs around yours, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you into him.

immediately, there's a release somewhere inside of him. that yearning--that ridiculous need is finally satiated.

satoru swallows. he needs to say something, he knows, but he's not sure what. should he apologize right now? should he tell you that he hates it when you cry--that he never feels more desperate to be more than in moments like this?

should he whisper that he loves you, just to get it off his chest?

but you cough, body shuttering as you relax into him, never pushing him away. and your voice is so small when you say, "you can't leave."

satoru feels the pieces of him crack into even more.

he tries to hold you tighter, but you move in his hold, turning so that you're facing him, and you nuzzle your face into his neck--trying to hide, but making sure that he's there.

your hands cling onto him, leaving marks.

he can feel your tears against his skin, your entire body on overdrive.

"you can't leave," you repeat, voice breaking. satoru feels it against the very outline of his soul.

"okay," he says, quickly. "i won't."

"i can't lose you too."

he pales, body going still. his heart might stop for a moment. "you won't. i'm not going anywhere." he sighs. "i'm sorry."

"i can't--" you're still crying, and you begin to shake again. "i can't do this without you. i won't."

"you don't have to."

"you can't leave, satoru," you say, leaning up to meet his eyes--yours glistening with years full of hurt, a lifetime of secrets and unsaid words. "please don't leave."

"i won't," he repeats, feeling a bit desperate. what can he say to prove to you that he's not like everyone else? that he would trap you within his atoms, if he could? that he would stay in this bed, holding you, even if it meant nothing, forever?

there's nothing, he knows. nothing but the truth. but that doesn't come out--it can't, now. it's not the right time.

so instead, satoru wipes the tears from your face, even though they're replaced immediately, your breath coming in short, short bursts. he wraps his arm around your back, pulling you back to him again.

"i'm sorry," you whisper against his skin, so quietly that he can barely hear it.

"i'm not going anywhere," he answers.

and, just for tonight, it's enough.

he'll fix the rest of it tomorrow.

next part | series masterlist

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doromoni · 8 months ago

Text

So Unaware | CL16

Ships : Charles Leclerc x F1 Academy Driver! Reader

Genre : Fluff

A/N : this is inspired by my own experience with a block mate from Uni. It was an entire situation, I can’t even comprehend so be distraught with me :))

Summary : When Charles mistakes Y/N’s enthusiasm and friendliness for flirting.

Masterlist

The F1 grid was having media day with the F1 Academy teams to show a united front or something like that. You weren’t so sure, you didn’t fully listen to the PR people’s instructions.

You were mindlessly walking around the ransacked snack bar looking for anything to munch on when suddenly a packet of gummies was in front of you and to your shock, it was Charles Leclerc himself who offered.

A wide smile presented itself on your lips as you thanked him for the snack. And being the nice person that Charles was he started small talk with you — the conversation found its way towards the passion you both shared it was your love for cold dairy treats! Ice cream.

Without noticing, you both got deep into talking — not minding other people present or the event happening around you. You were so deeply interested in Charles’ stories on his failed attempts to create the formula for Lec and Charles reciprocated the interest in your story of almost getting carbon dioxide poisoning as you overdosed on Dry Ice when trying to make Ice cream from home. You didn’t realize that people were noticing your interaction with the Ferrari Driver, with most of them thinking that there was indeed chemistry between the 2 drivers. People were starting to think that you had a thing for Charles.

“Ok, so what is the weirdest flavor you’ve thought for Lec” You eagerly asked the gorgeous red-clad driver in front of you who was leaning on the barriers.

“So much! But the weirdest has got to be the tomato with caviar. It was so repulsive you couldn’t imagine.” Charles's face scrunched up as he remembered the vile thing making you laugh at his theatrics.

“Well that sounds interesting, I mean caviar is salty so they balance each other out?” You muttered reluctantly

“Oh come on Y/N, don’t be nice on my behalf. It was disgusting. If you were only there to taste it” Charles said as he shook his head in amusement

“Is that an invitation, Mr. Leclerc? Count me as your beta tester then!“ You joked at the older driver.

“Oh I’m not sure, how can I be sure that you’re as good of an ice cream taster as you say you are Y/N” Charles joked back with a smile and you couldn’t help but notice the deep set of dimples on the man. How can a person be so attractive you couldn’t explain?

“How dare you question my professionalism, Mr. Ferrari driver! Well, I have a favorite Ice cream parlor near the hotel that I always go to when we drive in this country. Their Salted Vanilla and Balsamic with Strawberry is to die for! You need to try it” You exclaimed as you remembered the dainty mom-and-pop ice cream shop that held your heart — the Donofrios, was the breath of fresh air when you were having a hard time with insecurities and doubts about your career. Ever since then, it has become a tradition to visit them after every race here.

“Well ok Professional L/N. You need to take me there then” Charles replied cheekily at you.

“It would be my pleasure to share a treasure with a fellow enthusiast. How about after the race? Mr. Donofrio, he’s the owner and your fan, he would love to meet you” You giddily replied.

“Definitely! Give me your number so we can stay in touch” Charles gestures his phone towards you to put your number in his contacts.

“Oh yes of course! I swear, Charles you would love it there. Mrs. Donofrio even makes their waffle cones!” You answered excitedly as you gave Charles his phone back.

“After the race the “ Charles was cut off as you both heard someone calling his name. Looking at the direction of the voice, it turned out to be his manager.

“I need to handle something real quick, I’ll be back, ouias?” Charles says briefly squeezing your forearms and then proceeding to go to his manager. You nodded your head and sent him away with a smile and a wave.

“Did you just flirt with Charles Leclerc?” Emily, your teammate from Prema had suddenly sprung on you as she pulled you into the corner the minute Charles stepped away from your conversation.

“No? What do you mean?” You were confused at your teammate who was close to hyperventilating from excitement.

“I mean you talked with THE Charles Leclerc for a solid 30 minutes. You and him were smiling from ear to ear! Babe don’t get me started with the sparkle in your eyes” Emily said as she took hold of your shoulders and shook you till you started to feel dizzy

“Em, Stop! I’m getting dizzy. And what are you even talking about? We were just talking about racing, ice cream and some gossip in the paddock— that was it!” You exclaimed as you removed yourself from the clutches of your friend.

“Y/N, Babe. People don’t touch that much when talking about racing and ice cream” Em said a devious smile on her face as her eyebrows went up and down.

Horror suddenly fell on your face at the realization. You have the tendency to be touchy when you are over enthusiastic and excited about things — and Charles Leclerc was at the receiving end.

Based on your expression, Em then realized what had happened and started laughing hysterically.

“Y/N! I can’t believe you did it again! DUDE you’re so unaware, I love it! “ Emily was doubling over laughing at you and your overly friendly tendencies.

“EM! Not funny! Do you think Charles misunderstood? Do you think that he thinks that I was hitting on him? OH NO! Do you think that I was some creepy obsessed fan or something” You blurted out words at the speed of light. At your panic, Emily had laughed even harder.

You didn’t know what to think or do — when you felt a hand on your shoulder, causing you to look at the person.

Your eyes widened at the sight of Charles.

“Is she ok?” He asked referring to Emily still laughing with tears staining her cheeks.

“Uh… yes. I think. Yeah, she’s ok. Emily is ok” You replied forcing a smile, which you swore looked awkward. An elbowed Emily to stop laughing.

“So, uhm… can I have your teammate for a while, Emily?” Charles asked the girl who was trying her best to stop laughing. Emily only nodded as an indication of agreement, given that talking wasn’t an option at the moment.

To your surprise, Charles took hold of your hand — pulling you back to somewhere quiet.

“So, Y/N. Where did our conversation stop?” The Ferrari Driver asked with a smile.

“I wasn’t trying to flirt with you!” You suddenly blurted out, catching the Monegasque off guard.

“I’m sorry. What?” Charles asked a tad confused.

“I have this tendency to be over-excited and sometimes I get touchy… I just didn’t want to weird you out or think I was creepy and stepping out of line” You explained now getting nervous.

Charles looked at you for a solid 5 seconds then he started out laughing. He then suddenly held your hand again, now looking straight into your eyes.

“You weren’t flirting with me?” He asked.

“No…” you said quietly.

“Do you find me attractive?” Charles’ question catches you completely off guard. Rendering you speechless.

“Well do you, Cheri?” The Ferrari Driver asked once more, to which you only nodded sheepishly

“Great! Because I was flirting with you and I look forward to our ice cream date”

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unconventional-lawnchair · 1 month ago

Note

Hi! I just have to know- will there be a part 2 to Not Quite Poison? I absolutely loved it and the ending was amazing!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

AN: Much love <3 I am so sorry for the wait!

Not Quite Poison {pt. 2}

Barty Crouch Jr. x Potter!Reader

Summary: How Barty came into the dark mark, making his way onto the right side for the wrong reasons.

WC: 20K

CW: this is Uhm.. not happy- not at all. Ambiguous ending. Not proof read, slight!stalker!Barty, obsessive!dark!Barty, the first 10k~ heavily mention the reader but she isn't physically there. Grammar and spelling mistakes. Barty gets kinda creepy at times. Slight Jegulily agenda if you pay attention. Voldemort- does mention the war, heavily cannon divergent, ambiguous ending.

Barty stood in front of the cracked and foggy mirror, the faint chill of the Crouch manor seeping into the room. The glass reflected a version of himself he barely recognized- tie slightly undone, shirt and robes pressed, and hair falling into his face in deliberate order. But none of that mattered. His attention wasn’t on his reflection.

It was on the photos tucked into the edges of the mirror, curling slightly from age and misuse. Polaroids, each imbued with movement and life. Pandora waved energetically in one, her hair a wild halo as Regulus stood beside her with a faint smirk. Another showed Dorcas and Evan laughing together, Regulus rolling his eyes in mock exasperation beside them. They were snapshots of stolen moments, pieces of a life that felt like his own secret treasure.

But one photo sat above the rest, pinned carefully at the center of the mirror’s edge. It was only slightly worn, its edges dulled from handling, but it was the one he couldn’t resist touching. You were in it, your smile soft and warm as you looked up at the camera- no, not the camera. At him. The movement of the photo revealed your mouth forming silent words, likely teasing him as you had been when he’d snapped it.

Barty’s lips curved into a slow smile, a rare, unguarded expression. He adjusted his tie absently- the way you had taught him, his fingers deft but distracted as his eyes stayed locked on your image. The rest of the world felt muted, the chill of the room, the weight of his family name, the suffocating expectations of his father- they all faded.

He leaned closer to the mirror, watching the way your eyes flicked to the lens and back to him, like you couldn’t help but connect with him even through the photo.

The other photos were carefully labeled in his neat, slanted handwriting. "Pandora, 1976," "Reggie & Dor, Hogsmeade." But your photo?

It bore only one word, scrawled with a steady hand, both a promise and a confession: Soon.

Barty straightened, his grin softening but never fading as he tucked his tie into place. He lingered for a moment longer, his fingertips brushing the corner of your photo, almost like he was reaching for you. He didn’t say anything, but his mind buzzed with thoughts of you- your laugh, the sharpness of your words, the way you carried yourself like the world owed you everything and nothing all the same.

“Soon,” He murmured under his breath, his reflection smiling back at him like a man with a secret.

“Barty!” His mother’s voice, sweet and quick, echoed up the grand staircase, breaking through the quiet of his room. The chill seemed to deepen as her tone carried a faint edge of excitement. “Almost ready, dear?”

Barty sighed, his shoulders stiffening for a brief moment before he rolled them back, forcing his usual air of nonchalance to return. His fingers lingered on the tie one last time, tugging it into perfect place as his gaze flickered back to the photo.

You.

Still smiling, still teasing, still looking at him like he was someone worth the attention. Like he was someone free. For a split second, he thought he saw your lips curve, mouthing words he couldn’t quite hear but knew by heart: “Goodbye.”

He shook his head, the corners of his mouth quirking up in amusement at his own foolishness. “Losing it, mate,” He muttered to himself, though his voice carried no real conviction. With a deliberate motion, he grabbed his coat from the back of the chair, draping it over his shoulders as he turned toward the door.

He paused at the threshold, his hand brushing the doorknob as if something unseen was holding him back. His gaze flickered over his shoulder, back to the photo on the mirror. The light caught it just so, making your image shine in the otherwise dim room.

With a final glance, his voice dropped to a whisper, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Don't wait up.”

And then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the stairs, his usual swagger returning to his stride. The door to his room swung shut behind him, but not before the Polaroid on the mirror caught a draft and fluttered faintly.

Barty descended the grand staircase with an air of practiced indifference, the polished marble underfoot reflecting the flicker of flames from the towering fireplace in the entrance hall. The heavy scent of his father’s cigars clung to the air, mixing with the faint notes of his mother’s perfume- something floral and delicate that always made Barty feel oddly grounded, even in the chaos of the Crouch manor.

His mother was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, her sharp, hawkish eyes softening the moment they landed on him. “Your tie is a mess, dear,” She tutted, stepping forward to fuss with it before he could protest. Her hands moved with deft precision, undoing and retying it until it lay perfectly flat against his chest.

Barty stood still, letting her work, though his smirk never faltered. “And here I thought I’d perfected it,” He teased lightly, his voice warm enough to draw a small smile from her.

“You’d perfect it if you cared enough. Merlin help whoever has been doing it for you,” She quipped back, smoothing down the front of his robes. She smirked softly up at his bewildered expression. He quickly corrected it. Her touch lingered for a moment, her expression softening further as she looked up at him. “Now, behave yourself tonight, Barty. The Blacks don’t tolerate nonsense, and you know how your father gets.”

As if on cue, his father’s voice boomed from the adjacent room, carrying the same air of authority it always did. “Bartemius!” He barked, stepping into view with his usual commanding stride. “Do you understand the importance of this evening? The Black family is powerful, and their influence extends far beyond-”

“Far beyond whatever petty scandal you think I’ll cause, I’m sure,” Barty interrupted smoothly, his tone playful but edging on insolence. “Don’t worry, Father. I’ll be the picture of decorum.”

His father’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he leveled Barty with a glare that carried years of frustration. “You will not embarrass this family,” He said firmly, his voice low and cold. “This is not some juvenile gathering for you to treat as a joke. You’ll act like a proper heir.”

Barty raised a brow, his smirk sharpening as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “A proper heir,” He echoed mockingly. “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

His mother shot him a warning glance, her hand resting lightly on his arm as if to ground him. “Barty,” she said gently, her voice cutting through the tension. “That’s enough.”

For once, he relented, letting out a quiet sigh. His father grunted in approval, muttering something about “finally showing sense,” before retreating into the next room to oversee last-minute preparations.

Barty turned back to his mother, his smirk softening into something genuine as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Don’t worry, Mum,” He murmured, his voice low but warm. “I’ll be on my best behavior. Scout’s honor.”

She gave him a skeptical look, but there was a flicker of affection in her eyes as she shook her head. “You’re impossible,” She said fondly, brushing a hand through his hair one last time. “Go on, then. Charm everyone.”

“Oh, I plan to,” He said with a wink, straightening his coat with a flourish before stepping toward the front door. He cast one last glance over his shoulder, his grin firmly in place. “Love ya, yeah mum?”

“I love you too.” She sighed with a fond tilt of her head. Wincing when she lifted her fist to cover her lips, giving a particularly harsh cough into her hand.

Barty’s smirk faltered as his mother’s cough echoed through the entrance hall, sharp and brittle, like the crack of ice. Her fist clenched tightly over her mouth, and for a moment, her graceful composure wavered. The sight sent a flicker of unease coursing through him, and his easy confidence dimmed.

“Mum,” He called softly, his voice unusually serious. He took a step toward her, his sharp green eyes searching her face for any sign of reassurance. “That damned cough- how long has it been this bad?”

She waved him off with a weak smile, though her eyes didn’t quite meet his. “Don’t fuss, dear. It’s just a bit of the winter chill. I’ll be fine.”

Barty’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t convinced. “It’s not just a chill,” He pressed, his voice lowering as he stepped closer. “You’ve been coughing like that for months. Have you even-?”

“Enough, Bartemius,” His father’s cold, commanding voice cut through the moment like a blade. The elder Crouch stepped back into the room, his presence as suffocating as ever. His gaze flicked briefly to his wife, but his expression betrayed no concern, only irritation. “Your mother is fine. Do not make a spectacle of this.”

Barty turned to his father, his smirk gone entirely now, replaced with something harder, more volatile. “Fine? Are you serious? She can barely breathe, and you’re sending her off like it’s nothing?”

His father’s lips thinned, his gaze narrowing as he stepped closer. “Do not question me, boy,” He said sharply, his voice low but brimming with authority. “Your mother is being well taken care of. Winky sees to her needs, and the best healers have already examined her.”

“Then why isn’t she getting better?” Barty shot back, his tone teetering on the edge of defiance. His fists clenched at his sides as he stared his father down. “Why does she look worse every time I come home?”

His father’s eyes blazed with unspoken warning, but before he could respond, the soft sound of shuffling feet interrupted them. Winky, the house-elf, appeared in the doorway, her large, watery eyes darting nervously between the two men.

“Master Bartemius,” She said hesitantly, bowing low before turning her attention to Mrs. Crouch. “Mistress, your room is ready. Winky will bring you some tea to help with the cough.”

Mrs. Crouch offered Winky a kind smile, though it was strained. She rested a hand lightly on Barty’s arm, her touch as calming as it had always been. “It’s alright, dear,” She said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Winky will take care of me. You have your evening to focus on.”

Barty’s shoulders stiffened, his jaw clenched so tightly he thought it might crack. He wanted to argue, to demand answers from his father, to do something, anything, to fix the wrongness of the situation. But his mother’s gentle squeeze on his arm stopped him.

Reluctantly, he nodded, his gaze lingering on her as Winky guided her toward the stairs. “Mum-” He started, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

She turned back to him, her smile as warm as it could be despite the pallor of her skin. “Go charm everyone, my darling,” She said, her voice faint but full of love. “You'll do great.”

As she disappeared up the stairs, Barty turned back to his father, his expression cold and unyielding. “She’s not fine,” He muttered quietly, his voice shaking with suppressed anger. “And you know it.”

His father didn’t flinch, his gaze as impassive as ever. “You will do as you’re told,” He said simply, brushing past Barty without another word. “And you will not embarrass this family.”

Barty watched him leave, his fists trembling at his sides, his mind racing with a storm of anger and helplessness. He looked toward the staircase, where his mother had disappeared, and the faint sound of her cough echoed faintly in his ears.

Taking a deep breath, he straightened his coat, his smirk slowly returning to his face like a mask. “Soon,” He muttered to himself, the word heavier now, filled with a quiet, burning promise.

With one last glance toward the stairs, he turned and stepped out into the frosty night, his mind already planning his next move.

~~~

The sharp crack of apparition echoed in the chill of the frosty evening as Barty and his father arrived at the grand gates of the Black Manor. The towering estate loomed ahead, its gothic architecture bathed in soft, flickering torchlight. Every inch of the property was designed to intimidate and awe, a testament to the Black family’s legacy. The ornate iron gates swung open soundlessly as a pair of house-elves bowed low, ushering them inside.

Barty’s father strode ahead without hesitation, his posture as rigid and commanding as ever. Barty followed at a slower pace, his smirk firmly in place as his sharp green eyes took in the scene. The grand entryway was already buzzing with finely dressed purebloods, their polished masks catching the warm glow of chandeliers that hung like constellations above.

A house-elf approached, bowing deeply as it extended a silver tray bearing elaborately crafted masquerade masks. Barty plucked one with a flick of his fingers, the edges gleaming with silver filigree, and slipped it on with an air of practiced ease. The mask concealed just enough to meet the evening’s requirements but left his sharp features unmistakable.

“Remember what I said,” his father muttered lowly as they stepped inside. “Behave.”

“Always,” Barty drawled, his tone light, bordering on mocking. He didn’t wait for a response, brushing past his father and into the heart of the gathering.

The ballroom was a study in decadence. Rich, dark wood lined the floors, and the walls were adorned with tapestries depicting the Black family’s ancient lineage. Every detail, from the gilded accents on the furniture to the symphony playing in the background, spoke of old wealth and untouchable power.

Barty snatched a glass of sparkling champagne from a passing tray, tilting it back as he wove through the crowd with the grace of someone who had long ago mastered the art of mingling while detached. The wine was crisp and cold, doing little to drown out the lingering tension from earlier.

His eyes flickered across the room, scanning for familiar faces. It didn’t take long to find them. Near the grand windows stood Regulus and Evan, their masks impeccably chosen to complement their dark, tailored robes. They both exuded the kind of effortless control that came with knowing they were the center of their world.

Barty approached with an easy smirk, catching the tail end of Evan’s complaint.

“...what does she even see in him?” Evan muttered, his voice dripping with disdain as he gestured toward the dance floor.

Barty followed his gaze and found Pandora spinning in a slow, dreamlike circle with Xenophilius, her hair glowing like a halo under the chandelier light. Xenophilius was gazing at her as if she had just descended from the heavens, and Pandora, true to form, looked entirely unbothered by the attention of the room. Even with their flimsy masks, there was no mistaking Pandora’s ethereal glow.

“Pandora,” Regulus supplied in his usual flat tone. “She’s entertaining Lovegood.”

Evan snorted, swirling the dark liquor in his glass. “Entertaining? She’s throwing the whole bloody circus.”

Barty chuckled, his smirk widening as he clinked his champagne flute against Evan’s glass. “Maybe she’s tired of the same old crowd,” He suggested, his voice light but with an edge of cynicism. “It's a sad sight when a witch like her plays to the back row.”

Regulus arched a brow, but a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “And you'd suppose there is much better here?”

Barty spread his arms in mock innocence. “More entertaining, at least.”

The conversation drifted, but Barty’s attention lingered on Pandora and Xenophilius. The carefree way Pandora laughed, the subtle glances Xenophilius stole, the way they moved as though the rest of the room didn’t exist- it tugged at something unspoken in Barty. Jealousy? No. Longing? Possibly. He drained the rest of his champagne, the burn sharp against the lingering weight of his earlier thoughts.

The scene stirred a memory, unbidden but vivid.

You, standing just like Pandora now, on a crisp autumn day. Hidden away with him in the dark forest. The sunlight danced on your cheeks as you turned to look at him, mischief glinting in your eyes. “You’re staring,” You teased, your lips curving into that sharp smile that never failed to disarm him.

“Can’t help it,” Barty had hummed, his voice soft but steady, though his heart was pounding in his chest. “You’re a vision.”

You’d laughed then, light and airy, brushing his words off with a playful roll of your eyes. But the way you looked at him lingered- like he was the only person in the world who could keep up with you. You had hardly been seeing each other for a few months, and he could rightfully say he'd die satisfied.

The memory dissipated as quickly as it came, leaving a faint ache in its wake. Barty’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he masked it with a careless shrug, his eyes snapping back to Regulus and Evan.

“What’s the point of all this?” He asked, his voice louder now, cutting through the haze of his thoughts. He gestured vaguely to the room, to the glittering masks and the polished floor. “We all know these little gatherings are just an excuse for the old guard to pat themselves on the back.”

Regulus regarded him silently for a moment, his gray eyes unreadable. Then, his eyes flickered with amusement as he took a slow sip of his drink, letting the weight of Barty’s question hang in the air before answering. “Perhaps you’re just jealous,” He remarked coolly, his tone casual but pointed.

Barty stiffened slightly, his smirk faltering for barely a moment before he covered it with a raised brow and a scoff. “Jealous?” He echoed, the word dripping with disdain. “Of what, exactly? Lovegood’s charming lack of awareness? Please.”

Regulus’s lips curled into the faintest hint of a smirk as he leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping just enough that it carried an air of intimacy. “Not of Lovegood,” He cheeked smoothly, his gaze unwavering. “But perhaps of how effortlessly he can occupy someone’s attention. Someone who’s a bit... untouchable, wouldn’t you say?”

Barty’s green eyes narrowed, his easy charm flickering as he straightened his posture. “I’ve no idea what you’re on about,” He shot back, his tone sharp and defensive. But the slight tightening of his jaw betrayed him.

Evan, standing just to Regulus’s left, let out a bark of laughter that he quickly muffled with his drink when it echoed a little too loudly in the grand ballroom. “Oh, come off it, Barty,” He teased, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Everyone knows about your little Potter situation. Been obvious since, what- first year?”

Barty’s grip on his empty champagne flute tightened, the delicate glass threatening to crack under the pressure. “You’re treading on thin ice,” He muttered darkly, his voice low enough that only they could hear.

Regulus exchanged a knowing glance with Evan before continuing, his smirk widening ever so slightly. “It’s not exactly a secret, Barty. You’ve been positively tame lately. More reserved. Dare I say... domesticated?” He arched a brow, his words carefully chosen to needle Barty just enough.

Evan snorted, clearly enjoying himself. “Spending all that energy elsewhere, are you?” He quipped, his grin mischievous as he swirled the dark liquid in his glass. “Don’t tell me she’s got you wrapped around her little finger already. It's hardly been a few months.”

“Enough,” Barty hissed, his voice sharper now as his composure cracked. His smirk was gone entirely, replaced by a cold, dangerous edge that made both Regulus and Evan pause- if only briefly.

Regulus tilted his head slightly as he studied Barty. “Relax,” He mumbled, his tone smooth but calculated. “We’re only pointing out the obvious. It’s not like you’ve done much to hide it- from us anyway.”

Barty clenched his jaw, his sharp green eyes flicking between the two of them as he fought to rein in his temper. “You two don’t know the first thing about it,” he muttered, his voice low and venomous.

Evan raised his hands in mock surrender, though the grin on his face didn’t waver. “Alright, alright. No need to get your knickers in a twist,” He chuckled lightly, though his tone carried a hint of mischief. “Just saying, you’re a bit less... feral these days. It’s almost endearing.”

Regulus’s smirk returned, though his gaze remained as unreadable as ever. “Endearing isn’t the word I’d use,” He murmured, his tone thoughtful. “But... she does seem to have softened you. If only slightly.”

Barty didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he traded his empty flute with a new glass as an elf passed. Only then he drained the champagne in one swift motion before setting the glass down on a table with deliberate precision. “You two really enjoy the sound of your own voices, don’t you?” He prodded, his smirk returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Evan chuckled, unfazed by Barty’s sharp tone. “Always,” He said with a wink, raising his glass in a mock toast.

Regulus remained silent, his piercing gaze locked on Barty as though he could see straight through him. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the tension hanging heavy between them.

Finally, Barty let out a breath, his smirk softening into something closer to resignation. “You lot don’t know half as much as you think you do,” He muttered, his voice quieter now.

Regulus’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes- curiosity, perhaps, or maybe understanding. “Perhaps not,” He shrugged, his tone measured. “But we know enough. All I ask is you be careful with this obsession of yours- just because you have her now doesn't mean your recklessness can keep her.”

With that, Regulus turned away, his attention shifting back to the dance floor where Pandora and Xenophilius still spun in their carefree circle. Evan followed suit, though not without shooting Barty one last amused glance.

Barty remained where he was, his fists clenched at his sides as he stared down at the empty champagne flute on the table beside him. Their words echoed in his mind, each one striking a nerve he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Because, as much as he hated to admit it, they weren’t entirely wrong.

You had softened him. And for all his bravado, all his sharp words and reckless charm, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Not when you were the one thing in his life that made him feel like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

Barty watched the crowd with a mixture of disinterest and muted irritation. The edges of his smirk thinning with every passing second as he observed his father.

The elder Crouch, usually so rigid and commanding, was making an embarrassing display of himself. His attempts at impressing the notable pureblood families were painfully obvious- his booming voice, the forced laughter, the way he stood just a little too close to Walburga Black and Orion as he gestured with exaggerated importance. It was pathetic.

Barty’s fingers tightened to a fist.

“Look at him,” He muttered under his breath, his tone edged with disdain. “Groveling like a damned house-elf for their approval.”

Regulus, who had returned with a fresh drink, raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He simply followed Barty’s gaze, his expression as impassive as ever.

Evan, meanwhile, let out a low chuckle. “You’d think he was a Gryffindor the way he’s going on,” he quipped, swirling the liquor in his glass. “Does he ever stop to breathe?”

Barty’s smirk returned, faint but biting. “Not when there’s an audience,” he replied coolly. He drained the last of his champagne, the glass clinking softly as he set it on a passing tray. “Though I suppose someone has to make a fool of themselves tonight. Saves me the trouble.”

Evan laughed again, but Barty’s attention had already shifted. Across the ballroom, someone new had appeared- or at least, someone unfamiliar. Even beneath the gilded mask, the stranger exuded a quiet confidence that set them apart from the rest of the crowd. They moved through the room with deliberate ease, stopping to exchange words with all the right people: Walburga and Orion, the Rosiers, the Malfoys. Each interaction seemed to command attention without effort, as though the very air bent to accommodate them.

Barty’s eyes narrowed, his curiosity piqued. He noted the way his father, who had been so eager to ingratiate himself moments ago, now seemed to shrink in the stranger’s presence. The elder Crouch stood at a distance, his usual bluster subdued, his posture stiff.

Barty’s smirk widened, his earlier irritation melting into something sharper- spite, perhaps, or maybe just reckless amusement. “Well, that’s interesting,” He murmured, more to himself than to Regulus or Evan.

“What is?” Evan asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Barty didn’t answer. He was already weaving through the crowd, his stride confident and easy, his mask barely concealing the mischievous glint in his eyes. If his father was going to cower, Barty would do the exact opposite.

He approached the stranger with all the charm and bravado he could muster, his smirk firmly in place as he came to a stop just within their line of sight. “You’re making quite the impression,” He said, his voice smooth and light, as though they were old acquaintances. “I thought it only polite to introduce myself. Bartemius Crouch, Jr.”

The stranger didn’t speak, his red eyes locking on Barty’s with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the polished veneer of his charm. His gaze swept over Barty in a way that felt almost invasive, as though he were seeing beyond the finely tailored robes and cocky smirk.

Barty raised an eyebrow, unfazed- or at least, pretending to be. “Not much of a talker, are we?” he quipped, his tone light and mocking. “I’ve got to say, you’re doing wonders for the mystique.”

Still, the man said nothing. Instead, he extended his hand, his long, pale fingers steady and deliberate.

Barty hesitated for half a second, the silence unsettling in a way he wouldn’t admit aloud. But he didn’t back down. He never backed down. With a sharp smirk, he clasped the stranger’s hand in his own, his grip firm as if to assert dominance.

It was a mistake.

The instant their hands and eyes met, Barty felt it- a sharp, burning force slicing into his mind like a blade. His vision blurred, and his breath hitched as he tried to pull away, but the man’s grip tightened, unyielding and cold as iron.

A searing pain lanced through his skull as the stranger’s presence flooded his mind. His memories flashed before him in rapid succession, too fast to grasp: flashes of childhood, the weight of his father’s disapproval, the taste of rebellion on his tongue.

And then, abruptly, it shifted.

The memories slowed, becoming clearer. There you were, comforting him in Diagon Alley, pushing him against a tree in the forbidden forest, kissing him in a broom closet- like you meant it. The warmth of your presence, the way you seemed to fill every space you entered, the way your voice lingered in his mind long after you were gone.

The stranger’s smirk deepened, his expression dark and knowing.

“No,” Barty growled through gritted teeth, his voice strained as he tried to push the man out. He summoned every ounce of willpower he had, but it was useless. The stranger’s grip tightened further, his fingers like a vice around Barty’s hand.

“She's rather beautiful.” The man spoke slow, deliberate as he stepped closer to Barty, lips hovering near his ear. “A blood traitor no less?”

Barty’s eyes snapped to the stranger’s hand as his grip tightened, the sharp edges of his smirk now gone, replaced by a look of thinly veiled fury. “Careful how you talk about her,” Barty growled, his voice low and venomous. The man’s words struck a nerve, twisting something primal and protective deep inside him.

The stranger tilted his head, his red eyes narrowing with amusement. “You misunderstand me, Bartemius,” He said smoothly, his tone dark and deliberate. “I’m not questioning your devotion. I’m simply questioning... how long you’ll be able to keep her safe?”

Barty stiffened, his jaw clenching as his mind raced. Before he could retort, the man released his hand, taking a measured step back and gesturing toward the far end of the ballroom with a flick of his wrist. “Come,” he said, his voice like silk, commanding without raising in volume. “We have much to discuss.”

For a moment, Barty hesitated. His sharp green eyes flicked to his shocked father. His eyes snapped to Regulus and Evan, who were being ushered quietly out of the ballroom by their respective parents. Regulus looked tense, his usual calm veneer betraying a hint of unease. Evan’s normally sharp tongue was eerily silent, his gaze focused on the floor as he followed without question.

Barty’s attention snapped back to the stranger, his pulse quickening as he considered his options. The man’s words hung heavy in the air, and despite his usual defiance, there was an undeniable pull- an unspoken command he couldn’t quite resist. And after he had seen you? There was no way he was leaving without answers.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” The man added, his voice sharper now, cutting through Barty’s hesitation like a blade.

Reluctantly, Barty straightened his coat and followed, his smirk slipping back into place as he trailed the stranger through the opulent corridors of the Black Manor. His sharp eyes scanned the halls, noting how quiet it had become, the laughter and music from the ballroom fading with every step.

The stranger led him down a winding staircase, the air growing colder and heavier with each step. At the base of the stairs, a heavy iron door loomed ahead, its surface etched with intricate runes that seemed to shift in the flickering torchlight.

As the door creaked open, Barty stepped into a dimly lit chamber, its stone walls lined with shelves of dark artifacts and ancient tomes. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and burning incense, the flickering light casting long shadows that danced across the room.

Inside, the gathering was already underway. The Blacks, Malfoys, Lestranges, Averys, and Mulcibers stood in a loose circle, their faces carefully blank but their postures tense. Regulus was rigid, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he stood beside Walburga, who surveyed the room with a piercing gaze. Evan lingered near his parents- Pandora and Felix nowhere in sight, his usual confidence replaced by a quiet, watchful stillness.

Barty’s sharp gaze flicked to the center of the room, where the stranger stood with his back to the crowd. His dark robes seemed to absorb the flickering light, his pale hands resting lightly on the edge of an elaborate marble table. Slowly, he turned to face the gathered families, his slick black hair gleaming, his red eyes glowing with an unnatural intensity.

It was him.

Voldemort.

Even in his most human form, Voldemort’s presence was suffocating, an overwhelming mix of charisma and malice that seemed to fill every corner of the room. His lips curved into a smile, cold and sharp, as his gaze swept over the gathered families.

“Welcome,” Voldemort said, his voice smooth and commanding. “It is rare to gather so many esteemed families under one roof. Tonight marks the beginning of a new era- a turning point for our world.”

His red eyes lingered on Regulus for a moment, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as Walburga stepped forward, her expression a mix of pride and caution. But then his gaze shifted, landing squarely on Barty.

The air seemed to thicken as Voldemort studied him, his smile widening ever so slightly. “Ah, Bartemius,” he said softly, his tone laced with amusement. “The defiant son.”

Barty met his gaze head-on, his smirk sharpening into something more unstable. “And here I thought this was a party,” he drawled, his voice light but edged with steel. “You’ve got a funny way of celebrating.”

A ripple of tension passed through the room, several heads turning toward Barty with expressions ranging from shock to disapproval. But Voldemort merely chuckled, the sound low and dark. “I like him,” He said, his voice carrying an unsettling warmth. “Such fire. Such conviction.”

He stepped closer to Barty, his red eyes gleaming as he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I wonder, though... will that fire be enough to protect the things you hold most dear?”

Barty’s smirk faltered, his jaw tightening as the meaning behind Voldemort’s words became clear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He said evenly, though his voice lacked its usual confidence.

Voldemort’s smile widened, his gaze sharp and knowing. “Oh, but I think you do,” He murmured, his voice a soft, dangerous hum. “It’s written all over you, Bartemius. Your every thought, your every action- it all leads back to her.”

Barty stiffened, his fists clenching at his sides as his mind raced. He wanted to deny it, to push back against the weight of Voldemort’s words, but he couldn’t. The truth was too raw, too close to the surface.

Voldemort straightened, his gaze sweeping over the room once more. “Loyalty is a powerful thing,” He said, his voice louder now, addressing the entire group. “But it is also a weakness. Those who cannot control their attachments will find themselves undone by them.”

His red eyes flicked back to Barty, his smile turning razor-sharp. “I wonder, Bartemius... how far would you go to keep her safe?”

Barty’s heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the question pressing down on him like a vice. He met Voldemort’s gaze, his sharp green eyes blazing. “Farther than you’d ever understand,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.

Voldemort chuckled, a low, sinister sound that echoed through the chamber. “We shall see,” he said simply, his red eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

~~~

The room in Grimmauld Place was dimly lit, the heavy drapes drawn tightly shut. Shadows flickered against the walls as the fire in the corner crackled weakly, doing little to dispel the chill that clung to the air. Regulus sat on the edge of his bed, hunched over, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders trembled as quiet, restrained sobs broke the silence, his other hand resting on his forearm, fingers tracing the dark outline of the new mark branded into his skin.

Barty sat on a worn chair by the fireplace, elbows resting on his knees, his sharp green eyes fixed on Regulus. His shirt was untucked, his tie discarded and forgotten on the floor. There was none of his usual bravado or sharp wit. For once, he looked exhausted- every ounce of his energy focused on Regulus, who seemed barely aware of the world around him.

Evan paced near the window, his footsteps soft against the worn rug. His expression was tight, jaw clenched as he stole glances at Regulus before shaking his head and resuming his pacing. Finally, he stopped, turning on Barty with a glare that carried as much confusion as anger.

“You’re an idiot, Crouch,” Evan spat, breaking the tense silence. His voice was low, but the sharpness of his words echoed in the small room. “I’ve seen you reckless, sure. I’ve even seen you stupid. But this? This is a new level.”

Barty’s head snapped up, his expression darkening instantly. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he shot back, his voice rising, though his sharp tone was tempered by the sight of Regulus shaking on the bed.

Evan gestured angrily toward Regulus. “This! All of this! Regulus had no choice. His mother would’ve killed him if he’d refused. My father would of crucio’d me. But you? You didn’t have to do it, Barty. No one was forcing you.”

Barty stiffened, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. He pointed a finger at Evan, his voice cold and edged with fury. “Don’t you dare stand there and act like I wasn’t forced,” he growled, stepping closer. “You heard what he said. You saw him.”

Evan didn’t back down, his jaw tightening as he jabbed a finger back at Barty. “Oh, I know exactly what I saw,” He said, his voice sharp. “You saw a threat to her. And instead of doing the smart thing- literally anything else- you let him mark you like some lapdog.”

“Shut your mouth,” Barty snarled, his fists clenching at his sides.

Evan’s laugh was bitter and humorless. “You’re not denying it,” he said, shaking his head. “Every bloody move you’ve made since second year has been about her. She doesn’t even truly know you. Her family hates you, for Merlin’s sake! And now you’re tied to him- forever. For what? Some girl who wouldn’t look at you twice if-”

“Don’t you finish that sentence,” Barty snapped, his voice dangerously low. He took another step forward, his green eyes blazing with a mix of rage and something far more vulnerable. “You don’t know the first thing about her.”

Evan scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. “What’s there to know? You’ve been reckless, selfish, and stupid- real stupidity, Barty, not your usual charming kind- the kind you use to hide your genius- in the name of protecting a girl who wouldn’t want this!”

“Don’t act like I don’t know that!” Barty shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of his frustration. His fists trembled at his sides, and for a moment, the firelight caught the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. “Don’t you think I know what I’ve done? What I’ve sacrificed?”

Evan opened his mouth to respond, but Barty cut him off, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “He already knew, Evan. About her. About everything. He didn’t have to say her name- I could see it in his eyes. If I hadn’t done it, she’d be a pawn. He’d find a way to destroy her, to use her, just to punish me.” His voice shook, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I made a choice. I’ll live with it.”

Regulus’s quiet voice broke through the tension like a whisper in a storm. “You shouldn’t have done it,” He murmured, his words trembling as he finally looked up from his hands. His gray eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks pale and damp with tears. “You didn’t have to.”

Barty turned to him, his expression softening, though his voice remained firm. “Yes, I did,” He said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. He crouched beside Regulus, resting a hand on his shoulder. “If I didn’t, it wouldn’t just be me paying the price. You know that.”

Regulus’s gaze dropped back to the mark on his arm, his fingers trembling as they traced the outline. “What happens when she finds out?” He whispered, his voice barely audible.

Barty hesitated, the weight of the question hanging heavily in the air. He glanced at Evan, who was watching him with a mixture of anger and something closer to pity, and then back at Regulus. Finally, he stood, his jaw tightening as he straightened his posture.

“I still saved her,” Barty said quietly, his voice steady. “That’s all that matters.”

The room fell into silence again, the fire’s soft crackle the only sound. Evan shook his head, turning back toward the window with a frustrated sigh. Regulus curled further into himself, his hands covering his face as he tried to muffle the quiet sobs that escaped him.

And Barty stood there, his fists clenching and unclenching as he stared at the floor. His mind was already miles away, picturing your face, your soft smile, the way your eyes seemed to see straight through him. He didn’t know what you’d say when you found out- or if you’d ever forgive him. But one thing was certain.

He’d do it all again. For you.

~~~

Returning to school after winter break wasn't the hard part. Facing you was.

It was hell to lie to you, especially when everything has just been getting good. If he said he wanted to tell you, he'd be lying. He knew he should; he knew you had a right to know the danger he was now apart of, but that ever arrogant and cocky part of him assured him it wasn't something he would have to worry about.

Because he was Bartemius Crouch Junior. Only rivaled in intelligence by Lily Evans- the brightest wizard of his age. He knew what he was doing, and even in his anxieties, he told himself above all else he needed to keep you safe.

But he was still as much himself as he ever would be. He couldn't help but indulge in you.

The castle was quieter than usual, the last traces of the winter chill lingering in the air as students trickled back after the holidays. Barty leaned against the doorway of the empty boys' dormitory, his sharp green eyes trained on the frost-lined window across the room. His tie hung loosely around his neck, his uniform rumpled as though he’d thrown it on in haste. But that was a front, like everything else these days. The chaos of his appearance was deliberate, a way to distract from the turmoil bubbling beneath the surface.

He hadn’t seen you since before the break, not properly. Brief glimpses in the common room or the Great Hall weren’t enough. They never were. And now that you’d agreed to meet him- alone- his pulse was racing in a way he hadn’t felt in weeks.

The door creaked open, and there you were, framed by the dim light of the corridor. You slipped inside, shutting the door softly behind you. Your eyes found him immediately, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re a mess,” you teased lightly, your voice carrying the warmth that had kept him sane through countless sleepless nights. “Didn’t anyone teach you how to tie that thing properly?”

Barty grinned, stepping forward to close the distance between you. “You did, actually,” he murmured, his voice low and playful as his fingers toyed with the edge of his tie. “But I seem to forget every time you’re not around to fix it.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no hiding the way your smile widened. “Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous,” you replied, reaching up to undo the messy knot. Your fingers brushed against his chest as you worked, and Barty inhaled sharply, his grin softening.

“Merlin, I’ve missed you,” he breathed, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as you glanced up at him in surprise. He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another just beneath your jaw.

“Barty,” you chided half-heartedly, though your voice wavered as his lips trailed down the column of your neck. “You’re impossible.”

“Am I? Tell me about it.” He murmured against your skin, his grin returning as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Or have you just forgotten how much fun I am when we’re alone?”

Your laughter filled the room, light and melodic, and Barty felt the tension in his chest ease for the first time in weeks. He moved to kiss you properly, capturing your lips in a way that was both soft and desperate, as though he were trying to make up for every second you’d been apart.

You melted into him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as the kiss deepened. Barty’s grip on your waist tightened, and without breaking the kiss, he guided you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You let out a soft gasp as he lowered you onto the mattress, his weight settling over you.

“Missed you so much,” He murmured between kisses, his voice rough with emotion. “You’ve no idea.”

You cupped his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I missed you too,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over the faint shadows under his eyes. “What’s going on with you, Barty? You’ve been… different.”

The question sent a jolt of panic through him, but he masked it with a crooked grin, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Different? Me? Never,” he teased, his tone light. “I’m the same charming git you’ve always adored.”

Your brows knit together, but before you could press further, he silenced you with another kiss, pouring every ounce of longing and frustration into it. His hands roamed up your sides, his touch gentle but insistent, and soon the only sounds in the room were the rustle of fabric and the muffled sighs that escaped your lips.

It didn’t go further than that. It never did. Not because the desire wasn’t there, but because Barty couldn’t bear the thought of letting you see all the cracks in his carefully constructed facade. This- just you, just him, just this moment- was enough. It had to be.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs tracing the curve of your cheekbones as he studied you. “You’re perfect, you know that?” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your fingers brushing over the back of his neck. “What a romantic,” you teased, though there was no mistaking the affection in your tone.

“You make me that way.” he replied, his grin softening as he leaned in to kiss you again.

The sun had long since set, plunging the room into soft shadow. The lone candle on the nightstand burned low, its golden light flickering uncertainly across the walls, casting fleeting glimpses of the intimacy shared within. Barty lay beside you on his narrow bed, his body curled protectively around yours. His hand cradled your cheek, thumb tracing slow, deliberate lines as if committing every detail to memory. His other hand rested on your waist, his fingers pressing lightly into your skin- not to possess, but to ground himself, to remind him you were real.

His green eyes softened as they fixed on you. There was a kind of rawness in his expression, a vulnerability he never let the rest of the world see. The weight of the war, of his family, of all the lies he carried- it all seemed to melt away in your presence. In this space, there was no Voldemort, no Crouch manor, no mark on his arm. Just you. Just this moment.

And Merlin, he thought, you were stunning. The way the candlelight danced across your face, your lips curved into a faint smile- it was almost too much for him to bear. His chest ached with a quiet, desperate sort of love, the kind he’d never admit aloud because to say it might ruin it. You deserved softness, honesty, all the things he could only give you in the silence of moments like this.

“What are you smiling about?” You teased, brushing your nose against his, your fingers weaving through the hair at the nape of his neck. The gentle tug of your touch sent a shiver down his spine, and he exhaled softly, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment before finding yours again.

“You,” He murmured, his voice thick with affection. His thumb paused on your cheek, pressing lightly as his smile deepened. “Thinking about how breathtaking you look right now.”

Your laughter was soft and warm, filling the small space between you like sunlight breaking through a cloud. “You’re such a sap,” you teased, but your tone was tender, your own gaze brimming with affection.

“Only for you,” he replied without hesitation, his lips curling into a lazy smirk. But there was nothing lazy about the way he watched you- intense, as if the weight of his world rested entirely in your hands.

You kissed him then, slow and soft, and Barty let himself get lost in it. He tightened his hold on you, his arms wrapping more securely around your frame as though he could somehow hold you closer than skin allowed. The desperation seeped through him, the way his lips lingered on yours, the way his hands mapped the curve of your waist. You were his anchor, his reprieve, his reason to keep fighting against the tides threatening to drag him under.

But then your lips began to trail down his jaw, feather-light and slow, leaving a line of soft kisses along his neck. He let out a quiet sigh, tilting his head slightly to give you more access, his fingers threading through your hair. He was wholly yours in this moment, every wall he’d built around himself crumbling beneath your touch.

And then your hand slipped beneath the sleeve of his shirt.

The moment your fingertips brushed against the raised, rough skin on his forearm, Barty’s entire body went rigid. His breath caught, and his heart thundered in his chest. Panic surged through him, sharp and consuming, as if the world had suddenly tipped sideways.

You froze, your touch tentative as your brow furrowed. “Barty,” you murmured, your voice soft but edged with a quiet dread. “What’s this? Did you get a new tattoo?”

His heart dropped. He should have prepared for this, should have thought of an excuse, should have done something other than lie here like an idiot and hope it never came up. His green eyes snapped open, the warmth in them vanishing as his hand shot out to catch your wrist. He gripped it firmly but not harshly, his touch trembling slightly. “It’s nothing,” he said quickly, his voice sharper than he intended. “Don’t- don’t worry about it.”

But you didn’t let it go. You never did. You tilted your head, searching his face for the truth he was so desperately trying to hide. “Barty,” you said again, your voice firmer now, though it trembled at the edges. “Show me.”

He never knew pain as intimately as he knew it that night. When you left, closed the door on him and a chapter of his life he never wanted to end- he didn't know what to do. He spent hours, early into the daylight just wondering how he could properly gravel for your forgiveness.

He knew it was stupid. Regulus told him. Evan had told him. Pandora warned him. Dorcas had walked away.

So, he wandered.

Barty's footsteps echoed down the quiet corridor leading to Gryffindor Tower, the early morning light filtering faintly through the frosted windows. He wasn't thinking about where he was going. Having wandered aimlessly in what seemed to be a never ending circle, his legs numb down to their calves. That familiar exhaustion pangs- the aches powerful as ever. Every thought was consumed by you- your expression when you saw the mark, the pain in your voice, the way you had turned and walked away without looking back.

He had been through countless battles- against his father’s expectations, against the oppressive rules of his world, against the looming shadow of Voldemort. But this? This felt like defeat.

He leaned against the cold stone wall, his head tipping back as he exhaled a shaky breath. The smirk he so often wore was gone, replaced by an emptiness that reflected in his sharp green eyes. “You’ll understand,” he muttered to himself, though the words rang hollow. “You have to.”

Barty’s pacing resumed, his frustration and desperation bubbling to the surface. He had never been good at waiting, at sitting still, and the gnawing ache in his chest made him feel like he was coming apart at the seams. He wasn’t even sure what he would say to you- how he could explain the choices he had made, the things he had done. All he knew was that he had to try.

You, in all for fire and passion, had taught Barty things he never thought possible. You taught him a world so far separated from his own he never saw it to be truly real; and the consequences of his daydreams were crashing down through his pride and arrogance.

You showed him patience.

You showed him kindness.

You showed him something he never knew he could believe, that someone with his father’s blood running through their veins could love.

Not in the way he loved his friends. Not how his father claims to love his mother. Not how his father claimed to love himself. A love so terrifying he would drop his soul at Voldemort's feet a million times over if it meant you would never have to know what it meant to meet heartbreak. But he brought you to that door. He brought you to that fall and did all but shove you in.

Was this it?

With all of the time in the world it wasn't something that crossed his mind. That it could feel like he was being torn from his chest, torn from his rib cage and left to watch his heart beat outside of him. Knowing you were the one it was going to ruin him further. What was left of his humanity if you weren't their to witness it?

He was an actor playing brave. A crow imitating a lion's roar- if just to shield himself from reality. That he was nothing more than hollowed bones before you and you had turned away. Calling him out for what he truly was. A coward.

Barty was snapped out of his melodrama when he felt a sharp shove against his shoulder. Barty barely had a chance to process the shove before he was slammed back into the cold stone wall. His sharp green eyes snapped to the source, narrowing as he found himself face-to-face with James Potter. James’s hazel eyes were blazing with fury, his glasses slightly askew from the force of his push. Sirius stood a few feet away, leaning casually against the same wall, lighting a cigarette like this was any other morning. But the hard set of his jaw betrayed the tension he was trying to mask.

~~~

Years passed, and the boy who had once been sharp-tongued and reckless, who laughed at the world’s absurdities and sought refuge in fleeting pleasures, was gone. War had hollowed him out, his wit and charm replaced with a cold, calculating precision. Bartemius Crouch Jr. had become everything his father had ever wanted- and feared- master of cruelty, a weapon honed to deadly perfection in Voldemort’s service.

But even as he climbed the ranks of the Death Eaters, even as his name became a whispered fear among those who resisted the Dark Lord, there was a part of him that refused to die. A part that clung to a single memory: soon.

You, standing in the sunlight, your laughter echoing like a melody he couldn’t forget. You, touching his face with a softness he didn’t deserve. You, walking away, your tears falling like shards of glass that had embedded themselves in his heart. Every attempt he had taken to open his chest and run his bunt nails across the organ most at fault for his weakness only buried them deeper. As if a reminder of what would always be too far from his reach. A love so violent.

The meeting had been brief, but its impact lingered in the cold air of the chamber long after Voldemort’s crimson eyes had burned into Barty’s. The Dark Lord stood before him, his presence oppressive, his serpentine features bathed in the dim green glow of cursed fire.

“You come to me with a request,” Voldemort said, his voice a silky hiss. “How unusual, Bartemius. It is typically I who gives orders.”

Barty knelt before him, his head bowed low, but his voice was steady as he spoke. “My loyalty to you is absolute, my lord. I have proven that time and again. But I seek… a guarantee.”

Voldemort’s laughter was low and chilling, a sound that reverberated off the stone walls. “A guarantee? How quaint. What is it you fear?”

Barty lifted his gaze, his green eyes cold but resolute. “If the war turns against us- if there are sacrifices to be made- I ask only one thing. Spare her. Spare her.”

The air grew heavier, as if the magic itself recoiled at his words. Voldemort tilted his head, studying Barty with a curiosity that was far more dangerous than anger. “You would make a deal with me, Bartemius? A deal for a blood traitor? A girl who abandoned you?”

Barty didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

The silence stretched, and then Voldemort stepped closer, his red eyes boring into Barty’s. “You should know better than most, Bartemius, that attachments are a weakness. They cloud the mind, dull the edge of a blade. I have warned you before: those who cannot control their attachments will find themselves undone by them.”

Barty met his gaze without wavering. “Then I will accept the consequences, my lord. But my loyalty is yours, as long as you promise her safety.”

The Dark Lord’s lips curled into a cruel smile, his pale fingers brushing against Barty’s cheek like a mockery of affection- reminded of another onyx haired folly who kneeled before him with a similar request of his own.

Voldemort’s crimson eyes gleamed with a twisted amusement, his pale lips curling into a cruel smirk as he loomed over Barty. The chamber felt colder, the green fire casting long, flickering shadows that seemed to reach for Barty like phantoms.

“Watching her,” Voldemort murmured, his voice a silken mockery. “Such a word hardly does justice to the devotion you’ve shown, does it, Bartemius?” His tone dripped with derision, his serpentine features etched with dark satisfaction.

Barty’s jaw tightened, his green eyes locked on the floor, unwilling to meet the Dark Lord’s gaze. He didn’t respond. He knew better.

“Oh, do not deny it,” Voldemort continued, leaning closer, his presence suffocating. “I see everything, Bartemius. The way you slip away, cloaked in shadows, to steal glimpses of her life. The way you linger at the edge of her world, savoring the scraps of her existence like a starving dog. The way you indulge in the very idea of her- her name, her memory, her scent. You cling to her like a drowning man to driftwood.”

Barty’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms until they threatened to draw blood. Still, he didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Not when every word Voldemort spoke was a truth he’d buried deep within himself.

Voldemort’s smile widened, his voice dropping to a low, venomous whisper. “How deliciously human of you, Bartemius. To be undone by something so… trivial. A girl who has cast you aside, who would recoil in horror if she saw what you’ve become. And yet you kneel here, groveling for her life.”

Barty’s head snapped up then, his sharp green eyes blazing with defiance. “I would do anything to keep her safe,” he said, his voice low but steady. The words were a declaration, a challenge.

Voldemort tilted his head, his expression shifting to one of feigned curiosity. “Anything,” he repeated, as if tasting the word. “How noble. How foolish.”

He leaned closer, his red eyes narrowing as he studied Barty with a dark intensity. “Tell me, Bartemius,” he purred, his voice cold and cutting. “Do you truly believe she is worth it? This girl who has banished you from her heart and her mind? Who has turned her back on you without a second thought?”

Barty didn’t flinch, his voice unwavering as he replied. “Yes.”

The air seemed to vibrate with the weight of the single word, the defiance in Barty’s tone hanging between them like a challenge. Voldemort straightened, his lips curling into a smile that was both amused and sinister.

“How very predictable,” Voldemort said softly, his voice dripping with disdain. “Love has made fools of greater men than you, Bartemius. It is a poison, a weakness that festers and rots until nothing remains but regret and ruin.”

He stepped back, his gaze sweeping over Barty with a cold detachment. “But I am not without a sense of humor,” he continued, his tone almost light. “Very well. I will grant your request. She will be spared- so long as you remain useful to me.”

Relief flickered in Barty’s eyes, but it was short-lived as Voldemort’s smile turned razor-sharp.

“However,” the Dark Lord added, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “know this: her life is a gift that I give, not to her, but to you. A reminder of who holds the power in this... arrangement. She lives because I allow it. And if you falter, if you fail me even once, her safety will be the first thing I take from you.”

Barty bowed his head, his voice steady but strained as he replied, “I will not fail you, my lord.”

Voldemort’s laughter echoed through the chamber, cold and mirthless. “We shall see,” he said, his red eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. “We shall see.”

~~~

The Potter Manor loomed in the moonlight, a quiet fortress against the chaos of the world beyond. Barty crouched in the shadows just beyond the property line, his sharp green eyes scanning the grounds for any sign of movement. The wards around the manor pulsed faintly, an almost imperceptible hum in the still night air. Breaking through them would be tricky, but not impossible. Not for him.

He’d spent weeks planning this. Weeks of arguing with Evan and Regulus, who’d both told him it was reckless, idiotic, and entirely predictable. To stay hidden, stay safe, wait on Dumbledore’s word before revealing themselves. But he had spent weeks of pacing, of running scenarios through his mind until they blurred together, all leading to this moment. If Regulus could act foolishly, could risk his life for a bloody necklace, in the name of love- he could too. He could almost hear Evan’s dry voice in his head: “You’ll get yourself killed over this. Over her.”

Maybe he would. But Barty had never been one for caution.

He rolled his shoulders, drawing his wand from the holster at his side. The wards were impressive, layered and intricate, but Barty wasn’t the brightest wizard of his age for nothing. He murmured the incantation under his breath, his wand tracing precise, deliberate movements. The magic buzzed against his skin as the wards flickered, then shimmered, leaving a narrow opening just wide enough for him to slip through.

Barty exhaled slowly, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as he straightened. “Still got it,” he muttered to himself, tucking his wand away. His heart pounded as he moved swiftly toward the manor, his footsteps silent on the frost-covered grass. Every shadow felt like a threat, every creak of the night amplified in his mind, but he pressed on. He had to.

The manor was just as it was days ago: grand, imposing, and utterly devoid of warmth. The windows glinted like cold eyes in the moonlight as he approached the side entrance. He pressed his hand against the ancient stone, muttering a soft Alohomora. The lock clicked, the heavy door swinging open just enough for him to slip inside.

The silence inside was deafening. Barty’s sharp green eyes darted around the darkened hallway, his hand brushing the wand at his side as he moved deeper into the house. He knew the layout by heart, every twist and turn, every creaky floorboard that could give him away. He’d never admit why.

You weren't home yet, he knew that. You would be out, somewhere between here and the heart of London, allowing Remus and his loyal mutt to lick your wounds. To shower you in the attention you deserved; it happened every month.

The air in your room was heavy with stillness, broken only by the faint rustle of Barty’s cloak as he stepped inside. His sharp green eyes darted around, taking in every detail like a thief cataloging stolen treasures. He closed the door softly behind him, his hand lingering on the worn brass handle before he turned to face the room fully.

It was smaller than he’d imagined for someone with your spirit, but it felt... intimate. Lived in. The faint scent of your perfume lingered in the air, subtle and familiar, wrapping around him like a ghost of your presence. He inhaled deeply, his chest tightening as the ache in his chest grew sharper.

His boots barely made a sound against the plush rug as he crossed the room, his movements slow and deliberate. His fingers brushed against the edge of your desk, tracing the worn wood where years of use had smoothed the surface. Quills and parchment were scattered haphazardly, alongside an open book marked with a ribbon. He didn’t look at the title- he couldn’t bring himself to. It felt like prying, even for him.

Instead, his gaze moved to the bed, the center of the room, and something primal stirred in him. The duvet was slightly rumpled, as though you’d thrown it off in haste that morning. The pillow bore the faintest indent, a shadow of where your head had rested. His breath hitched, and he found himself moving closer, his chest tightening with every step.

He hesitated, standing at the edge of the bed, his fists clenching at his sides. He shouldn’t be here. He knew that. Knew that stepping into this space, touching these pieces of you, was a line he shouldn’t cross. But he couldn’t help himself.

Slowly, cautiously, he reached out, his fingertips brushing against the edge of the duvet. The fabric was soft beneath his touch, and the scent of your perfume was stronger here, mingling with something uniquely you. It made his head swim, his grip on reality faltering for a moment as he let himself sink into the feeling.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned down, his face hovering just above the pillow. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and the scent hit him like a spell- intoxicating, comforting, overwhelming. It was almost too much, a cruel reminder of everything he’d lost and everything he couldn’t let go of.

Barty’s jaw tightened as he straightened, his hand gripping the bedpost for support. His chest heaved with uneven breaths, the storm of emotions threatening to swallow him whole. Get it together, he thought bitterly, raking a hand through his hair. You’re here for a reason.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, his fingers betrayed him, reaching out to trace the edge of your pillow, the line where your head had rested. His touch was light, almost regretful, as though he were afraid to disturb the memory of you.

“Pathetic,” he muttered to himself, his voice low and bitter. The sound barely broke the silence of the room, but it felt deafening in his ears. He straightened abruptly, stepping back from the bed as though it had burned him.

He turned away, his fists clenching at his sides as he tried to pull himself back from the edge. But the damage was done. The scent of you lingered in his lungs, the feel of your presence etched into his skin. He wanted to hate himself for it- for the way his obsession consumed him, for the way he clung to every scrap of you like a lifeline. But he couldn’t.

Because even now, as he stood in your room, surrounded by the echoes of your life, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you’d looked at him once. Like he was worth something. Like he wasn’t the monster he’d become.

The room was dark, save for the faint silvery glow of moonlight streaming through the curtains, painting the walls in cold shadows. Barty crouched in the corner, his sharp green eyes trained on the door, his breath quiet and measured. The faint scent of your perfume still clung to the air, wrapping around him like a ghost, making his chest ache with a longing so sharp it bordered on pain.

His fingers itched to touch something- anything that belonged to you. He had resisted so far, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, but it took everything he had. His eyes drifted back to the bed, the faint indentation on the pillow where your head had rested the night before. He wanted to crawl into that space, to feel the warmth you left behind, to lose himself in the memory of you.

The soft creak of the stairs snapped him out of his reverie, his body tensing instinctively. His heart leapt into his throat as he heard the faint sound of your footsteps approaching, each one measured and deliberate. You were home.

Barty’s breath hitched as the doorknob turned, and the door swung open. There you stood, silhouetted by the faint light of the corridor, your features softened by the glow. His chest tightened as he drank in the sight of you, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts he couldn’t untangle.

You didn’t see him. You moved with the ease of someone who thought they were alone, stepping inside and locking the door behind you with a quiet click. Your wand was set on the bedside table, your movements efficient but unhurried.

He watched, silent and still, as you turned toward the window, your hands reaching for the heavy curtains. The moonlight illuminated your face, catching on the delicate curve of your cheek, the faint furrow of your brow. You looked tired, worn down, and the sight of it made something in him twist painfully. He hated that you felt this way- hated that he couldn’t be the one to fix it.

You turned your back to him, and instinct took over. Before he could think, before he could stop himself, he moved. His hand shot out, clamping over your mouth, the heat of your skin searing his palm like a brand.

You reacted instantly, your body jerking against his hold. He felt your muscles tense, your sharp intake of breath, the fight that surged through you. Before he could say anything, before he could explain, you threw your head back with a force that stunned him.

The crack of your skull against his nose was sharp and jarring, pain exploding across his face. His grip faltered, and he staggered back, a groan tearing from his throat as blood began to trickle between his fingers.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, his voice rough and muffled as he pressed a hand to his nose. He leaned against the wall for support, the metallic tang of blood sharp on his tongue. "Star, that's twice now. Are you always this violent, or am I special?"

Your wide eyes locked on him, your breath coming in shallow gasps. He saw the disbelief in your expression, the way your body trembled with a mixture of fear and fury. "No," you whispered, shaking your head as if trying to dispel the sight before you. "No. You’re- You’re supposed to be dead."

The words cut deeper than the blow to his face, but he forced a grin, blood staining his teeth. "I think we should talk," he said, his voice low, laced with something almost pleading.

The way you looked at him, as though he was a ghost- something you couldn’t decide whether to fear or pity- made his stomach churn. He had imagined this moment a hundred times, a thousand, but never like this. Never with you looking at him like he was something monstrous.

“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost gentle. “I’m alive.”

But the way you stepped back, your hands trembling at your sides, told him that wasn’t enough. And for the first time in his life, Barty Crouch Jr. didn’t know how to fix it.

~~~

Your heart was throbbing at the rate of a hummingbird. What could you do? What would you do? How did he get in here? How did he pass the wards? He watched your eyes dart to the bedside table. He let out a low sigh, almost annoyed, as if he had thought this through a million times over.

“Star..” He warned carefully but you didn't think to heed any warning, running over to try and retrieve your wand. He didn't move, didn't stop you, as you grabbed the beautifully carved wood and held it out to him. The line was clear; no further.

But Barty never listened.

He stepped closer, slowly inching close and allowing the wand to press to his chest. As if begging you to do it- strike him down- because you were the only person who could bring upon his downfall. Could break him down in ways no one else could, and seeing you again, seeing you look at him with nothing but fear in your eyes, it was all the same. Immeasurable pain.

Some people trace scars. When they appear on the flesh of loved ones cherished beyond belief. Running the soft pad of their finger along the marks that were not made by them. Some would even bring their lips to the bundled and protruding skin as if a kiss could ease them into tender health. Promoting its repair.

But the look in your eyes was like watching your fingers curl inwards. Unbeknownst to you through ignorance or arrogance that he mirrored onto you it didn't matter. It was feeling your nails break into the skin, reclaiming his wounds as ones to remember you by, no one else.

There was no bandage, there was no healing. Just a repeated daggering that left him on his knees in prayer to any higher being that you would forgive him. That you would see mercy for him.

If not that, then dagger him to something unrepairable. Something only you could recognize the madness behind. Your design.

You trembled, and his eyes softened, slightly as his hand ran over your wrist as it held the wand. “Barty-” You warned and he gave a low sigh, as if you saying his name physically affected him.

Barty’s lips quirked into a weak, almost self-deprecating smile as his fingers brushed your wrist. His touch was featherlight, as though he were afraid that the smallest pressure would cause you to shatter. “Say it again,” he whispered, his voice rough, almost raw. “My name. Say it again.”

You flinched at his words, at the sheer vulnerability in his tone. He looked at you like he was dying and you were the reaper, like you were the last thing tethering him to whatever humanity he had left- or ready to take him away from it. And for a moment- just a moment- you faltered. Your grip on your wand trembled, and the air between you felt impossibly heavy.

“Don’t,” you managed, your voice shaking but firm enough to keep the distance between you. “Don’t do this. Don’t make me-” Your words broke off, caught in the tangle of emotions that constricted your throat. You couldn’t finish. Not with him standing so close, with his sharp green eyes piercing through every wall you’d tried to build.

He tilted his head, his expression softening into something unrecognizably tender. “Don’t make you what?” He murmured, stepping even closer, until the tip of your wand pressed more firmly against his chest. He didn’t stop. He didn’t flinch. “Hate me? Forgive me? Love me again?”

Your breath hitched, and Barty caught it. He always did. His smirk wavered, his lips pressing into a thin line as he leaned in, just enough that his voice dropped to a whisper. “You don’t hate me,” he said, his tone laced with certainty. “You can’t.”

The tears stinging at the corners of your eyes betrayed you, and you cursed yourself for the way your chest ached at his words. “You don’t know me,” you said, though your voice wavered. “Not anymore.”

Barty’s smile faltered, his expression flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. Regret? Pain? Desperation? All of it. “I know you better than anyone,” he replied quietly. “And I know I don’t deserve it, but I need you to hear me. Just this once.”

Your grip on your wand tightened, your knuckles whitening as the tremor in your hand betrayed your composure. “Barty,” you warned again, your voice stronger now. “I swear to Merlin, if you take one more step-”

But he did. Of course, he did. He always did.

“I won’t stop,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. His hand slid up your arm, carefully, deliberately, until his fingers brushed the edge of your wand. He gently pushed it aside, though his touch was more a suggestion than a demand. “Not until you know. Not until you understand.”

“Understand what?” You snapped, anger finally breaking through the cracks of your composure. You stepped back, creating a sliver of distance between you, though your wand remained at your side, trembling. “That you lied to me? That you made me believe you were someone you weren’t?”

“I never lied to you,” Barty said, his voice sharp but not unkind. He stepped closer again, closing the distance you’d tried to create, his green eyes blazing with something fierce, unrelenting. “I just didn’t tell you everything.”

You scoffed, the sound bitter as it escaped your lips. “That’s not better, Barty. That’s not-”

“It was to protect you,” he interrupted, his voice rising just enough to cut you off. The words were urgent, desperate, spilling from his lips before he could stop them. “Everything I did- everything I became- it was all for you. To keep you safe.”

“Safe?” you repeated, your voice cracking as you glared at him. “From what? From you?”

“No,” he said immediately, his voice firm. “From them. From him.” His hand rose to his sleeve, and in one swift motion, he pushed it up to reveal the dark, jagged mark etched into his forearm. The Dark Mark.

Your breath caught, your chest tightening as your gaze locked onto the cursed symbol. The sight of it sent a wave of nausea rolling through you, and you stumbled back, your free hand flying to your mouth. Reminded of the night you found it, the pain of knowing the man you loved had sworn himself to a monster.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice breaking as he reached for you again. “Don’t look at me like that. Please.”

You shook your head, tears streaming freely down your cheeks now. “You chose this,” you choked out, your voice thick with betrayal. “You chose him. You chose them.”

“I chose you,” Barty said, his voice trembling but resolute. He dropped his sleeve, his hands falling to his sides as he stepped closer again, his green eyes burning with intensity. “Every choice I made, every risk I took- it was all for you. To keep you out of their reach. To keep you alive.”

You stared at him, your heart warring with your mind, every emotion crashing into you all at once. Love. Hate. Pain. Longing. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me,” you said finally, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and sorrow. “You don’t get to destroy yourself and call it love.”

The words struck him harder than any spell ever could. Barty’s shoulders sagged, his breath hitching as he struggled to find the right words. But there weren’t any. There never were.

“You were my everything,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “You still are. And I don’t know how to stop loving you.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of his confession hanging between you like a fragile thread, ready to snap.

And then, for the first time, you didn’t look away.

“What do you want from me, Barty?” You asked, your voice breaking. “What do you want me to do?”

His chest rose and fell as though breathing itself had become an effort, and for the first time, you saw just how deeply cracked his facade was. This wasn’t the boy who had charmed his way into your life with a grin and a joke. This was someone breaking apart before you.

“What do you want from me, Barty?” You asked again, your voice cracking. “What do you need me to do? Because I can’t keep doing this.”

He hesitated, his lips parting as though the words were caught in his throat. Finally, he exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his fingers trembling. “I need you to listen,” he said softly, his voice rough. “Just… listen.”

You didn’t lower your wand, but the strength in your arm faltered. “Fine,” you said, your tone hard but brittle. “Talk.”

Barty took a cautious step closer, testing the fragile space between you. “He’s got eyes on you,” he murmured, the words weighted with urgency. “Voldemort. Now that he thinks I’m gone, there’s nothing stopping him from... from- ” His voice broke off, his teeth clenching as he struggled to continue. “From using you. Hurting you.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t lower your wand. “Why?” you demanded, your voice sharp. “Why would he care about me? I have nothing to do with him or his war.”

Barty hesitated, his jaw tightening as he avoided your gaze. “Because of me,” he admitted finally, his voice low. “Because... he knows.”

Your heart sank, the room spinning as his words settled over you. “What does he know, Barty?” you demanded, your voice rising as panic seeped in. “What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Barty snapped, his frustration flaring. He ran a hand through his hair again, his movements agitated. “He saw it. In my mind. The moment we met. He knew about you before I could even- ” He cut himself off, swallowing hard. “He knew everything.”

You stared at him, your grip on your wand trembling. “And you let him? You let him see me?”

“Do you think I had a choice?” Barty shot back, his voice rising. His green eyes burned as he stepped closer, his desperation bleeding through. “You don’t know what it’s like, Star. You don’t know what he can do. He doesn’t just ask for loyalty- he takes everything.”

Your mind raced, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place with a sickening clarity. “And that’s why you took the mark,” you murmured, the realization hitting you like a blow. “You didn’t do it for him. Or the war. You did it for me.”

Barty’s face twisted, a mix of guilt and defiance flashing across his features. “No,” he said quickly, too quickly. “It wasn’t just for you. It was for Evan. For Regulus. For all of us.”

“Don’t lie to me, Barty,” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and grief. “Not now. Not after everything.”

His shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him as he exhaled shakily. “Fine,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yes. He saw you. I did it for you. Because I thought... I thought if I could keep him away from you, if I could make him think I was loyal, he wouldn’t... he wouldn’t touch you.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening as the weight of his confession settled over you. “You don’t get to make that choice for me,” you said, your voice trembling. “You don’t get to destroy yourself and call it love.” You repeated

Barty flinched, his green eyes glistening as he took another step closer. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he said, his voice breaking. “I couldn’t lose you. Not to him. Not to anyone.”

The silence between you stretched, heavy and suffocating. You could feel the tears stinging at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You already lost me,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “The moment you chose him, you lost me.”

Barty’s breath hitched, his hands trembling at his sides. “I never stopped loving you,” he said, his voice raw. “Not for a second. And I know you still- ”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, your voice sharp. “Don’t say it. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

For a moment, Barty looked like he might argue, like he might push further. But then he stepped back, his shoulders slumping as he ran a hand over his face. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “For everything.”

The tears spilled over now, and you hated yourself for it. Hated that even after everything, part of you still ached for him. “You should go,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “Before I do something I can’t take back.”

Barty nodded slowly, his green eyes locking onto yours one last time. “I’ll protect you,” he said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. “Even if you hate me for it.”

And then he turned, disappearing into the hall and leaving you struggling out in open water. He obeyed you, not out of fear, but out of feelings you were sure he didn't quite know anymore.

~~~

The morning crept in through the curtains far too soon, dragging the remnants of another sleepless night with it. Your body ached with exhaustion, every muscle heavy with the weight of your restless mind. Barty’s words echoed endlessly in your head, each one a thread in a web of fear and confusion that left no room for peace. The silence of the room pressed in around you, thick and suffocating.

A soft rustle at the window broke through your haze. Blinking, you turned your head toward the sound, your heart leaping when you saw a familiar figure perched on the sill. The owl was regal, its feathers sleek and chestnut brown, with intelligent golden eyes that seemed to hold secrets of their own. You recognized it immediately- it had once belonged to your father before he passed it on to James.

“Still taking care of them all, huh?” You murmured, forcing a faint smile as you slid out of bed. The owl hooted softly, extending its leg with a delicate flourish, the parchment tied securely with a ribbon bearing Lily’s familiar touch.

Your fingers trembled as you untied the letter, smoothing the folds before sinking onto the edge of the bed to read. Only to hear your family owl flutter its way over to perch on your nightstand, as if to comfort you.

My dearest Bam,

First of all, don’t you dare scold me for calling you that. I know you will. You always do. But it's better then writing out Bambi, isn't it? I guess I've written it anyway.

I need you to come to the Burrow in a week. I'll send Remus. Dumbledore has requested all the Potters be there, and yes, that includes you. Don't ask- I haven't a clue.

I told James, of course, and now he’s stress-pacing through the living room like a caged lion. He’s muttering about plans, protective wards, and Merlin knows what else. You know how he gets. Sirius is egging him on, naturally. I’m tempted to hex them both just for some peace and quiet, but that would probably just encourage them.

Now, onto more important matters- I miss you. I miss our late-night chats in the Gryffindor common room, our stolen hours in the library when we swore we were studying but mostly just gossiped. I miss sneaking into the kitchens with you-Remus- and giggling like children when the house-elves indulged us. It feels like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it? Merlin, we're old now.

Speaking of nostalgia, Harry had his first broom ride last week. James insisted on letting him try it without any help, and you can imagine how that went. He was fearless, of course, but I nearly fainted when he wobbled mid-air. He’s fine- better than fine, actually. He’s already got James convinced he’s the next great Potter Seeker. Merlin help us all. Mark my words, if Sirius brings him Quidditch gear next I will not be responsible for what I do to him.

He keeps asking when you'll visit next. Well, as much as a tiny still developing human can ask anything coherent. He's been pulling down your picture frames and bringing them to James. Like he does with his toys, pointing and grabbing at them before James waves his wand and they appear in front of him. I wonder if he thinks bringing the frame to James enough times, he'll magically make you appear next.

Enough of that, I'm already watery eyed.

Promise me you’ll be good, alright? Or at least try. I know you better than anyone, and I know you’ll do whatever you think is right, even if it’s reckless. Just remember that we love you. Always.

Take care of yourself, Bambi. We’ll see you soon.

All my love,

Lily

The parchment trembled in your hands as you read and reread Lily’s words, each line feeling like a small dagger pressing into your chest. The warmth of her affection radiated from the letter, but it was bittersweet- filling you with longing and an ache so deep it felt like a chasm you could never cross.

Your gaze drifted to the family owl perched on the window sill, its soft coos filling the silence of the room. Your hand absentmindedly ran over its feathers, seeking comfort in the familiar presence.

A part of you wanted to crumble under the weight of the letter, to curl up and let the tide of emotions wash over you until there was nothing left. But you couldn’t. Not when you knew that in a week, you’d be surrounded by the same faces you’d worked so hard to avoid. The thought of stepping back into that world- one you had once belonged to so effortlessly- made your heart clench.

You tucked the letter carefully into the drawer beside your bed, as though hiding it could also hide the feelings it unearthed. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you sank back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Memories of Lily’s laughter, James’s boisterous teasing, Sirius’s sharp wit, and Remus’s steady presence flooded your mind.

You had been running from them.

You rarely spoke to James or Lily, but you allowed Sirius to come every Friday to take you dancing with Remus. Even then, you were reserved. And some Fridays, the order owned them not you.

But next Friday, you would belong to the order two. And what was the best next step? Tell people about Barty? While there was still a mole in the mix? Who could you trust to be honest with? And what was this meeting about?

You were scared.

Guess you'd have to learn later.

~~~

The familiar crack of Apparition left you dizzy, but as the quirky silhouette of the Burrow shimmered into view, a sense of calm enveloped you. Its crooked floors and impossible towers defied logic yet promised the safety and warmth you’d been missing for months. The mismatched windows glowed golden against the cool evening sky, and the scent of fresh bread mingled with the soft rustle of the garden. You glanced at Remus as he steadied himself with his cane, the faintest hint of amusement on his face.

“Don’t let Molly rope you into shelling peas,” Remus quipped, his tone dry but playful.

“I’ll take a chore over watching you sulk in a corner,” you retorted, the light in your eyes softening the jab.

The moment you stepped through the door, the Burrow’s chaos welcomed you. Molly’s sharp voice called from the kitchen, “…and if you two so much as breathe near those pastries-” followed by the muffled laughter of Fred and George. Arthur’s chuckle drifted from the sitting room, the newspaper in his hands quivering as he fought to keep a straight face. The air smelled of herbs and roasted chicken, spiced with a coziness that made the tension in your chest ease.

Sirius was the first to notice you, his bark of laughter echoing through the room. Before you could react, he wrapped you in a bear hug that left you breathless, his leather jacket cool against your cheek.

“About time, Bambi,” Sirius grinned, his stormy eyes glittering. “Just have to get ol Albus to get you outside that house, huh?”

“Sirius, you’re crushing me!” You wheezed, though the laughter bubbling in your chest betrayed you.

“Good.” He pulled back slightly, his hands gripping your shoulders as he scanned your face. “Someone’s gotta remind you that there’s more to life than brooding.” He winked before ruffling your hair and stepping aside for the next assault.

James bounded forward, his grin wide enough to light the room. “You look like you’ve been through the wars,” He teased, pulling you into a warm embrace. “I was this close to just picking you up on my broom.”

“Absolutely not,” you shot back, though your smile mirrored his.

“You’re lucky I didn’t leave you on the doorstep,” James added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Molly made pie, and I’m not sharing.”

Before you could retort, Lily appeared, her arms wrapping around you like a blanket of comfort. “Ignore him,” She murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

Her soft perfume, floral with a hint of vanilla, wrapped around you as she stepped back. “Harry’s over there,” She said, gesturing to a wicker basket by the hearth.

Your heart leapt at the sight of the tot. His bright green eyes locked onto yours as you approached, his chubby arms reaching out as if he recognized you. Lifting him into your arms, you marveled at how heavy he felt, how much he’d grown. His giggles drowned out the room’s noise, pulling a smile to your lips that you hadn’t felt in weeks.

“Miss him, don’t you?” Peter’s voice startled you. He leaned casually against the wall, his smile tight and fleeting.

“I do.” You admitted, cradling Harry closer. “He’s gotten so big.”

Behind you, Remus chuckled softly, his gaze flickering between the chaotic twins and the steaming kettle on the stove. “Be careful.” He murmured as he passed. “They’ll have you doing dishes if you’re not quick enough to disappear.”

The twins erupted in mock outrage at something Molly had said, darting past you and narrowly avoiding a hex she threw their way. Arthur peeked over his paper, his warm eyes crinkling as he muttered, “Boys will be boys.”

The house itself seemed alive, its wooden beams creaking with the rhythm of laughter and footsteps. A cuckoo clock on the wall chimed cheerfully, its tiny bird flapping its wings as if to join the fun. In the corner, a knitting needle clicked furiously away on a half-finished jumper, abandoned but determined to finish its work. The scent of molasses and butter floated in from the kitchen, promising a feast.

Sirius plopped onto the couch beside you, his arm slinging casually over the backrest. “I’ll trade you one Harry cuddle for a slice of pie,” He offered, waggling his eyebrows.

“You’re insufferable,” You muttered, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips.

“I learned from the best,” He cheeked with a grin, gesturing toward James, who was now teasing Lily about her perfectly sliced carrots.

“And they are the same size! By the time you're done, Molly will have finished the roast!”

“Eff off Potter.”

“No can do, Potter.”

You gave a small laugh at their exchange and relented, handing Harry over to his god father and leaning slightly into his side as Harry cooed out at the disturbance. He reached for you still, making Sirius gasp in offense.

He held Harry up dramatically, looking into his tiny, chubby-cheeked face with mock outrage. "Et tu, Harry? Betraying me for her already? And here I thought I was your favorite."

Harry babbled something unintelligible, flailing his little arms in a way that made Sirius grin even wider. “That’s right,” he said. “Tell her she’ll have to fight me for you.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching out to gently stroke Harry’s soft, tufty hair. “You’re too much.” You scoffed, though there was no hiding the affection in your voice.

“Much to love,” Sirius quipped, cradling Harry in one arm while dramatically gesturing to the room with the other. “That’s what they all say.”

“Sure, Pads,” James called from the kitchen, his voice muffled but dripping with amusement. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Sirius turned to you, feigning a wounded look. “See what I deal with? You’re my only ally in this house of betrayal.”

“Careful, Black.” You teased, leaning closer with a smirk. “You’re starting to sound like a drama queen.”

He gasped, clutching Harry to his chest like a damsel in distress. “How dare you? In front of my godson, no less!”

Harry giggled at Sirius’s antics, his tiny fingers tangling in Sirius’s hair. You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound of it startling you. It felt so easy here, so natural, as though the weight of everything you’d been carrying had lifted just for a moment.

Across the room, Lily smiled warmly at the scene, her hands busy stirring a pot on the stove. “You’re good with him,” she called softly, catching your eye.

You gave a small, sheepish shrug. “He’s an easy one to love.”

The warmth in Lily’s expression deepened as she turned back to her cooking. “He is.”

The door to the kitchen swung open, and Molly emerged with a flurry of activity, her wand directing plates and utensils to the dining table. “Dinner’s almost ready, everyone! And no-” she pointed sharply at William and Charlie, who froze mid-sneak toward the cooling pies. “you may not have dessert first.”

“Worth a shot,” William muttered, retreating with a grin.

As the household settled into a rhythm of setting the table and filling glasses, Remus appeared at your side, his cane tapping softly against the wooden floor. His sharp gaze swept the room, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he took in the bustling scene.

“Feels a bit like the old days, doesn’t it?” He murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You nodded, your chest tightening with bittersweet nostalgia. “It does. I almost forgot what this kind of chaos felt like.”

Remus’s smile grew, though his eyes remained thoughtful. “Sometimes it’s good to forget. Just for a little while.”

Before you could respond, Sirius leaned over, handing Harry back to you with exaggerated care. “Here’s your little prince, m’lady.” He mused, bowing dramatically. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to defend my honor against Potter in a round of ‘who can eat the most Yorkshire puddings.’”

“Is that even a real game?” You smirked, raising an eyebrow.

“It is now,” James called from the table, already rolling up his sleeves like he was preparing for battle. “Lily, make it official.”

“I’m not indulging this,” Lily replied, though there was a fondness in her tone that betrayed her amusement. “Molly, you can't allow this.”

“I'll make more.” Molly tutted as Lily gave a scandalized laugh.

Sirius shot you a wink before bounding off, leaving you holding Harry as the chatter of the Burrow surrounded you. For a moment, you let yourself soak in the warmth of it all- the laughter, the clatter of plates, the way Harry’s tiny hand curled around your finger as he gurgled contentedly. Just turned one, what a milestone.

Remus stayed beside you, his quiet presence a steady anchor amidst the chaos. “You look like you’re exactly where you need to be,” he said softly, his gaze steady and kind.

You glanced down at Harry, then back up at Remus, and for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe it might be true.

“Now.” He chuckled, tilting his head to the table. “Let's eat, yeah?”

“Mhm.” You mused and pulled Harry closer to your chest. Smiling as the toddler fell asleep the second you hit your seat between Peter and Sirius. As if last night never happened.

~~~

The warm chatter of the meal eventually faded as the last of the plates were cleared. Molly, ever the matron of order, bustled about with a flick of her wand, sending dishes to the sink where they began scrubbing themselves. The sound of forks and knives being charmed into their proper drawers blended with the soft hum of conversation as everyone settled into a comfortable post-meal haze.

Harry, still nestled in your arms, snored softly, his tiny chest rising and falling as he slept. Sirius had returned to his spot beside you, grinning smugly from his victory over James in their self-made pudding contest.

"I told you, Potter," Sirius drawled, stretching his arms behind his head. "There's no defeating me when it comes to food. Or charm. Or- well, anything, really."

James scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated groan. “I let you win, Black. Lily told me not to embarrass you in front of Harry.”

“Likely story,” Sirius quipped, tossing a sugar cube at him.

The energy in the Burrow began to shift. The cheerful chaos mellowed into a quiet murmur, and the adults started to exchange glances that carried weightier thoughts. The air thickened, anticipation weaving its way through the room like an unspoken spell. You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, cradling Harry as he slept against your chest, his tiny hand clutching a fold of your robe.

Sirius tapped his fingers idly against his arm, a slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “He’s late.” He muttered under his breath, glancing toward the door.

“He’s Dumbledore,” Remus mused calmly, though his hand tightened slightly around his cane as he leaned back in his chair. “He’s always late, and it’s always for a reason.”

James glanced at Lily, who was tidying up near the sink, and gave a pointed look. She sighed, wiping her hands on a dishtowel and flicking her wand to send the rest of the dishes to the sink. “All right,” she said softly. “Let’s move to the livingroom, yeah?”

As if on cue, a soft pop echoed from the front of the house. The sound startled Harry awake, and his sleepy whimper drew a protective reflex from you, soothing him with quiet whispers as the others stood.

Dumbledore entered the room moments later, his presence commanding yet serene. His bright blue eyes swept the room, lingering briefly on each face before landing on yours. “Good evening, everyone,” He greeted warmly, his voice carrying a calm authority that settled some of the tension.

“Evening, Albus,” Arthur said, rising to shake his hand. “I hope your journey wasn’t too troublesome.”

“Not at all, Arthur,” Dumbledore replied, his gaze flickering to you and the sleeping Harry. “I see we have young company.”

You felt everyone’s attention shift toward you, and you carefully handed Harry to Lily, who had stepped forward to take him. “Thank you,” she murmured, brushing her son’s hair back before retreating to the other room to settle him in his crib.

Dumbledore motioned for everyone to sit, and Molly hastily brought over a fresh pot of tea, her hands fluttering nervously. “Would you like some, Albus?”

“No, thank you, Molly,” he replied kindly, taking his place at the head of the table. “Time is of the essence tonight.”

Lily reentered the room just as Dumbledore spoke, her expression soft but slightly guarded as she took her seat beside James. “He’s sleeping,” she whispered simply, glancing toward the closed door to reassure herself.

The room fell silent as everyone waited for him to speak. Dumbledore’s gaze moved across the table, his usual twinkle dimmed with the weight of the news he carried. “It is with a heavy heart,” he began, “that I must inform you of Voldemort’s latest focus. James, Lily, and Harry have been targeted. As for your current hide out.. it has been uncovered.”

A ripple of tension swept through the room, but Dumbledore held up a hand to forestall interruptions. “The protections we’ve worked tirelessly to create have been completed. The blood ward surrounding your next safe house is now fully functional. It is imperative that you move there immediately.”

James straightened in his seat, his expression hardening with determination. “We’ll go tonight,” he said firmly, looking to Lily for confirmation. She nodded, her hand finding his under the table.

Dumbledore turned his gaze to you, his expression softening slightly. “And you, my dear. It seems he is not stopping until the entirety of the Potter bloodline is destroyed.”

Your heart clenched as the words sank in. You carefully fluttered your eyes closed. Placing your hand over your side, as if not looking at anyone would protect you from leering eyes. You heard a sharp breath fall over the table and felt Sirius reach for you on instinct, grabbing your arm a bit rough.

Dumbledore gave you a small nod, his expression filled with sympathy and sorrow. “The new safe house will protect you three,” He reassured. “The wards are among the strongest ever created. However, you must not leave its boundaries until further notice. Voldemort’s reach grows stronger every day.”

“And my sister?” James started and leaned forward in his seat, when your eyes finally braved the crowd and landed on him, you saw his flushed cheeks. His desperate eyes. Only to Dumbledore to hold his hand up, as if to say arrangements have been made.

The room fell into a heavy silence as everyone absorbed the gravity of the situation. Molly’s hands twisted in her lap, her usual warmth subdued by worry. Sirius broke the silence, his voice low but firm. “We’ll keep them safe, Albus. Whatever it takes.”

Dumbledore’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before he nodded. “I know you will, Sirius. This being said.. there is the matter of where this information comes from.”

You felt Sirius reach over and place his hand softly on your hand, squeezing it as he made eye contact with James from across the table. Everyone waiting on bated breaths.

Dumbledore’s expression shifted slightly, his fingers steepling as he addressed the group. “The information we’ve uncovered is… credible. But I must warn you, the sources of this intelligence are not without their complications.”

James frowned, his hand tightening around Lily’s. “What does that mean, Albus?”

“It means, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore replied carefully, “That three individuals have offered us this crucial information. Their identities may be… difficult for some of you to accept.”

You felt Sirius tense beside you, his posture straightening as though bracing himself for impact. His fingers still gripped yours, his hold both grounding and protective. Across the table, Remus leaned forward, his hazel eyes narrowing with quiet suspicion.

“Who are they?” Sirius asked, his voice steady but laced with an edge.

Dumbledore gave a small sigh and lifted his hand. With that, the door opened and everyone was made to watch as three figures stepped in, in large cloaks hoods. Gasps filled the room as the figures lowered their hoods, revealing the faces that had long been presumed lost to time and war.

Standing in the doorway, with a defiant smirk tugging at his lips, was Barty, his sharp green eyes flicking to yours immediately. Beside him, the ever-elegant Evan Rosier, his pale complexion stark against the dark folds of his cloak, stood with his hands in his pockets, his gaze assessing the room with a subtle air of amusement. And on the far left was Regulus Black, his face calm but his silver-grey eyes shadowed with a weariness that spoke of battles waged both out and within.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Despite the pain in your chest and the shutter that ran through you. Your eyes, like everyone else’s, landed on Sirius. The eldest Black son was silent, his expression one of horrific shock. No one noticing how James seemed to stiffen or how Lily covered her mouth with more then just shock in her eyes.

You expected him to shout, to yell, to toss a chair or two, but your breath was taken from your throat when he stood up so quickly his seat toppled over.

“Mate.” James warned in a stern tone.

“Pads.” Remus huffed, only to watch as Sirius crossed the room quicker than anyone could stop him. Regulus winced and prepared to be struck, only to have the wind knocked out of his lungs as Sirius engulfed him in a hug. Nearly knocking them both over as he buried his face in his younger brother's hair.

“Pads…” James’s voice softened, unsure of what to say.

Regulus was caught off guard, his arms hanging limply at his sides for a moment before hesitantly lifting to return the embrace. His movements were stiff, almost unsure, but the faintest flicker of relief passed across his usually stoic features.

Sirius’s voice broke the silence, muffled against Regulus’s shoulder. “You bloody git.” He choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought you were dead.”

Regulus closed his eyes, his own voice steady but low. “I almost was.”

Sirius pulled back slightly, his hands gripping his brother’s shoulders as he scanned his face, as if trying to assure himself that Regulus was really there. “You absolute prat.” He muttered, though the words carried more affection than anger. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like? Thinking I lost you?”

Regulus flinched under Sirius’s intensity but held his gaze. “I didn’t have a choice.” He defended quietly. “I had to make them think I was gone. It was the only way to get out.”

Sirius’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed like the anger might break through after all. But then he let out a shaky breath, his hands falling away as he stepped back. “You could’ve told me.” He muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “You could’ve… I would’ve helped you.”

Regulus’s expression softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through the cracks in his otherwise composed demeanor. “I…” His voice cracked and he quickly cleared his throat. “I wasn't aware you would… my apologies.” He coughed into his fist and fixed his posture, his voice heavy with regret. “Regardless I didn’t want to drag you into it. You’d already done enough to protect me when we were kids. I couldn’t ask you to risk more.”

The tension in the room shifted, the charged atmosphere replaced by something quieter, heavier. Sirius nodded slowly, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck as he looked away, his emotions still raw and unguarded.

It was Barty who broke the moment, his voice dripping with impatience as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Touching as this reunion is, we don’t exactly have time for tea and biscuits. The Dark Lord isn’t going to pause his plans just because the Black brothers are having a moment.”

Sirius turned on him so quickly that Barty actually stood up straighter, his smirk faltering for just a second. “Shut your mouth, Crouch,” Sirius snarled, his eyes flashing with barely-contained fury. “You’ve got no right to be here. No right to-”

“Enough.” Dumbledore’s calm yet firm voice cut through the tension, his gaze sharp as it moved between Sirius and Barty. “They are here because they have information vital to your safety. Whatever personal grievances you may have will have to wait.”

Sirius’s fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing, his jaw tight as he returned to his seat. The room remained charged, the weight of the moment pressing down on everyone. His hand going for yours and squeezing it tight, eyeing Barty with a clear threat. Barty’s eyes just stayed on you.

Evan Rosier stepped forward next, his movements languid and unbothered as he glanced around the room with a faint smirk. “Always the dramatic one, aren’t you, Black?” He drawled, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Some things never change.”

“Shut it, Rosier.” Lily snapped, glaring at Sirius as he threatened to open his mouth again. “Both of you.”

Sirius’s hand tightened on yours until you turned your palm over and your fingers intertwined. His focus was clearly shifting to Regulus, his emotions warring between relief and frustration.

Regulus shifted uncomfortably under his brother’s lingering gaze but turned his attention. “Albus.” Regulus spoke carefully and the older wizard waved his hand.

“Do as you must.”

Regulus nodded and turned to Barty, and for once, when you saw him, his eyes drifted right past yours.

“Evan?” Barty mused and cocked his head to the side. “Do you like these seating arrangements?”

“Not my favorite, I have to say.” Rosier smirked and you saw shuffling in your peripheral. Turning, your eyes fell on a nervous looking Peter, who tried to move out of his seat.

“Peter? Are you alright?” You asked softly and he glanced at you, as pale as a damned ghost.

“Let's fix it Evan.”

“Of course, Crouch.”

The room was heavy with tension as Peter fidgeted in his seat, his nervous energy radiating outward like a beacon. His pale, sweaty face darted between Regulus, Evan, and Barty, who watched him with an air of casual cruelty that made your stomach churn. The faint smirk on Barty’s lips, the lazy confidence in Evan’s posture, and the calculating glint in Regulus’s eyes- it all felt too deliberate, like a game already decided before it began.

“Peter, mate,” Barty began, his tone almost sing-song as he tilted his head. “Why are you so jumpy? We’re all friends here. Aren't we?”

Peter’s hands gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered, his voice breaking as his gaze darted to Sirius for support. “I-I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wrong?” Evan echoed, his voice low and laced with mockery. He stepped closer to Peter, his movements smooth and predatory, as though he were circling prey. “Is that what we’re calling treachery these days? Nothing wrong?”

Regulus didn’t speak, his gray eyes cold and unflinching as they locked onto Peter’s trembling form. His silence was louder than words, and it carried the weight of judgment.

Sirius stood abruptly, his hand still gripping yours as his stormy eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?” He snapped, his voice sharp and cutting through the room like a whip. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

“Oh, we’ll say it,” Barty drawled, his smirk widening as he leaned back against the wall. His sharp green eyes flicked to you for the briefest moment, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before he turned his attention back to Peter. “But I think actions speak louder than words, don’t you?”

Evan’s smirk mirrored Barty’s as he stepped closer to Peter, who was now visibly shaking. “Let’s show them, shall we?” Evan said, his voice a low murmur that carried a sinister edge.

Peter’s eyes widened in panic, and he shot up from his chair, knocking it over in his haste to back away. “You’re mad,” he stammered, his voice high-pitched and trembling. “I don’t know what you’re on about!”

But he didn’t get far. Regulus moved with startling speed, his wand flicking out in a smooth, practiced motion. “Petrificus Totalus.”

Peter froze mid-step, his body locking in place as he teetered, then fell back into the chair with a heavy thud. His wide, terrified eyes darted around the room, pleading silently as sweat dripped down his face.

Evan leaned over him, his smirk gone, replaced with a look of cold disdain. “This won’t take long,” he murmured, gripping Peter’s arm with surprising strength. With a sharp tug, he rolled up Peter’s sleeve, exposing the pale, trembling flesh of his forearm.

For a moment, there was nothing. Just pale skin, glistening with sweat. But then, like ink bleeding through parchment, a dark, jagged mark began to emerge, etched into Peter’s skin like a brand. The skull and serpent twisted and writhed, as though alive, mocking the room with its sinister presence.

Gasps filled the room, Lily’s fell from her mouth as her wide eyes locked onto the mark. Sirius staggered back a step, his grip on your hand tightening to the point of pain. James stood frozen, his hazel eyes dark with a mixture of shock and fury.

“No,” Sirius whispered, his voice barely audible as his eyes darted between the mark and Peter’s frozen, terrified face. “No. You can’t- this can’t-”

“It can,” Regulus said, his voice cold and steady as he stepped back. His gray eyes met Sirius’s, unflinching. “And it does.”

Barty straightened, his smirk firmly in place as he clapped his hands once, the sound sharp and jarring in the stunned silence. “Well,” he drawled, his tone light and mocking. “I think that clears things up, doesn’t it? Your little rat here has been leaking your secrets to the Dark Lord.”

“No,” Sirius growled, his voice low and dangerous as he advanced on Peter, his body trembling with rage. “You lying, spineless-” He lunged, but James grabbed him, pulling him back with surprising strength.

“Stop, Sirius,” James said, his voice tight with fury as he held his friend back. “Not here. Not now.”

Sirius struggled against James’s grip, his eyes blazing with fury. “Let me go, Prongs. Let me-”

“No!” James snapped, his voice rising as he pushed Sirius back. “Think, Pads. Just think.”

Your breathing was shallow, your vision blurring as the weight of everything crashed down on you. Betrayal from Peter, the looming threat of Voldemort, Barty’s presence- it was too much. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in around you as your chest tightened.

The tension in the Burrow was palpable, the charged atmosphere crackling like lightning in a storm. Peter’s frozen body remained stiff in the chair, his panicked eyes darting from face to face as though pleading for someone to intervene. Moody had stood quietly for most of the reveal, his magical eye twitching and whirring in his socket, tracking every move. But now, his grizzled face was set in a grim expression, his scarred hands gripping the back of Peter’s chair.

“All right, that’s enough gawking,” Moody growled, his voice cutting through the murmurs and gasps of the room. He yanked Peter upright by his collar, the smaller man letting out a muffled whimper against the binding spell. “This rat’s coming with me. We’ll see what he spills when we squeeze him tight enough.”

“Moody,” James started, his voice trembling with barely suppressed fury. “Make sure he-”

“I know,” Moody snapped, his gaze flickered toward James. “He’s not slipping away.” With a rough tug, he began to drag Peter toward the door, his limp body scraping against the floor.

As the door closed behind Moody, the room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of Peter’s betrayal and the newest additions settling like a heavy fog. Sirius stood still as a statue, his chest heaving as he glared at the spot where Peter had been. His grip on your hand was almost bruising, and you felt every tremor of his barely-contained fury.

Your heart raced, your breath shallow as you tried to calm yourself. You felt untethered, the world around you spinning out of control. Every pair of eyes in the room seemed to burn into you, their scrutiny suffocating.

And then, of course, he spoke.

“Well,” Barty drawled from his spot near the wall, his voice calm and unbothered as though nothing had happened. “That was dramatic. Bit of a show, wasn’t it?”

Sirius’s head snapped toward him, and before anyone could stop him, he lunged. “You smug-”

“Don’t,” James barked, stepping between them and pressing a firm hand to Sirius’s chest. His hazel eyes burned with a warning as he shoved Sirius back. “Not now.”

Barty’s smirk widened, his green eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched the scene unfold. “Touchy, aren’t we?” He remarked, his tone dripping with mockery.

“Say one more word, Crouch,” Sirius growled, his voice low and dangerous, “and I swear-”

“Enough!” Lily’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. She stood with her arms crossed, her usually warm expression hard with fury. “All of you, just stop.”

The room stilled, but the air remained electric, charged with unspoken accusations and simmering rage. You stood frozen in place, your pulse thundering in your ears as you tried to process everything. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Barty move.

He stepped forward with a deliberate ease, his sharp green eyes locking onto yours. His smirk was gone, replaced by something colder, heavier. Your breathing sped up.

James noticed, and before Barty could take another step, he slammed his shoulder into him, forcing him back with enough force to make him stagger. “Stay the hell away from her,” James snarled, his voice like steel.

Barty straightened, brushing off his robes with an almost lazy motion. He met James’s glare with a calm, calculated expression, but his eyes flicked back to you, cutting through the room’s tension like a knife. “I wasn’t talking to you, Potter,” he said evenly, his voice carrying an unsettling weight.

Sirius was already moving again, but Remus caught his arm, holding him back with surprising strength. “Don’t,” Remus said quietly, his voice low but firm.

Barty ignored them all. His attention was entirely on you. His sharp features were illuminated by the dim light of the room, his green eyes blazing with intensity. When he spoke, his voice was low and deliberate, cutting through the chaos like a blade.

“I’ll protect you,” He whispered, his tone steady and unwavering, as though making a solemn vow before the entire room. “Even if you hate me for it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. His gaze didn’t waver, his presence like a storm that refused to be ignored. It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t an apology. It was a promise. A threat. A declaration that no one could mistake.

James lunged again, but this time sirius and Remus both held him back. “You bastard!” James snarled, his voice raw with rage. “Stay away from her!”

But Barty didn’t flinch. His eyes remained locked on yours, as if daring you to respond, to refute him, to try and push him away. The weight of his words settled over you, twisting your stomach into knots as you struggled to breathe.

“I don’t need you,” you whispered, your voice trembling but firm enough to carry through the room. “I don’t want you.”

Barty’s smirk returned, faint and humorless, as though your words had no effect. “I see.” he said simply, his tone maddeningly calm. “Seems you'll hate me.”

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sirius black #james potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #barty x reader #barty crouch fanfic #barty crouch jr fanfic #barty jr #bartemius crouch junior #bartemius crouch jr #barty #barty crouch jr x reader #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr #barty crouch x reader #bartemius crouch jr x reader

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thehighladywrites · 7 days ago

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you’re just like me

pairing: cassian x crazy stalker reader

summary: cassian thinks of you as his insanely obsessive ex girlfriend who’s downright crazy. you are obviously cassian’s one true love and will eliminate anything that stands in your way.

warnings: murder, dark romance, cheeky little twist👀, stalking, obsessive behavior, sexual content, knives, nasty sex, um also a sick way of getting off just downright crazy, description of murder… um this is just kinda dark. two psychos encouraging each other

amara’s note: so i might be making this into a series bc i have an amazing idea for azriel next😫😫😫 also guys this was a lil dark lol

You couldn’t understand how Cassian had the nerve to walk away from you. There was absolutely nothing wrong with you, not one single thing. People just didn’t get it; love was supposed to be all-consuming, right? Obsession wasn’t a flaw. It was just proof you cared deeply. So what if you knew his schedule down to the minute, memorized the exact scent of his shampoo, or followed him everywhere he went like your very existence depended on it? That wasn’t weird, it was love. Real, burning, raw love.

Cassian must have been confused, that’s all. Poor thing, probably led astray by some outside influence. Maybe someone whispered lies into his ear or cast some strange spell over his mind. Yeah, that had to be it, because Cassian did love you. He did. He just needed to wake up and realize it again.

And when he did , he’d thank you for never letting go, for being the one person who truly saw him, who loved him without limits.

Seeing Cassian sitting next to some water-wraith makes your heart pound harder and harder, fury bubbling under your skin. That’s it — that’s why he hasn’t been his usual self. That wretched wraith is manipulating him, filling his head with filthy lies about you. Poisoning what was meant to be perfect.

You have to stop this. You have to save him. And the only way to do that is to get rid of her. Permanently.

Your hands itch for action, and you’re already stepping forward when a hand clamps around your wrist.

“Are you about to go over to Cassian?” Feyre’s calm voice cuts through your haze of rage. “Don’t cause a scene.”

You tilt your head, offering her a polite smile. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m simply going to claim what is rightfully mine.”

You tug at her grip, but it holds firm. Feyre’s eyes narrow. “Not so fast. You know Cassian will think you’re crazy if you kill her right here and now.”

Your breath catches. How the hell did she know? Were you that obvious?

Before you can respond, she steps closer, her intoxicating perfume filling your senses. Her voice, low and smooth, sends shivers down your spine.

“If you want that little whore gone, gut her like a fucking fish. I’ll even help you. But not now, it’ll look bad for us.”

Your eyes widen slightly. Never in a million years would you have expected Feyre to suggest murder.

“Why are you so interested in me killing her?” you ask, voice curious.

A wicked smile curls at her lips before she presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “That little bitch tried to fuck Rhys right in front of me. Didn’t even bother pretending she didn’t know who I was. She didn’t care. And now I want her gone.”

Her voice cracks with a manic edge before she smooths it over, composure snapping neatly back into place.

She was just like you, a comfort you took pleasure in, someone who understood that love was meant to be fierce, consuming, and without limits.

—

You did exactly what Feyre suggested — waited until the big meeting with all the courts had ended, biding your time until the wraith was on her way back to Spring. She was alone, vulnerable, just as you had hoped.

Before she could winnow away, you struck. Kidnapping her had been easy, far too easy. And then came the best part: stabbing her over and over until you were drenched in her warm blood. Her look of terror sent a sick thrill down your spine, flipping your stomach in delight. Fuck, it felt good to finally get rid of her. Like being on edge for an eternity and finally getting the sweet, blissful relief you'd craved.

You cleaned up meticulously, disposing of every shred of evidence. No one would ever find her.

Winnowing back to Velaris, you appeared just outside Cassian’s house, dagger still in hand. Breaking in through your usual route was second nature by now. You settled yourself on his sofa, waiting patiently like you always did when he needed a gentle reminder of who truly belonged to him.

The door creaked open, and Cassian trudged inside, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. Normally, you'd feel a pang of sympathy for how hard he worked — how much he gave of himself. But not tonight. Tonight, you were kinda pissed.

His eyes flicked toward you, squinting in the dim light. He hesitated, unsure of who he was looking at until he flipped the lights on.

The color drained from his face as he stumbled backward, eyes wide with shock. “What the hell?” His voice wavered. “What are you doing here?”

You tilted your head, offering a sweet, unwavering smile. “Hi, Cassian. Done being a manwhore? Ready to come back to your senses?”

His gaze darted to the blood soaking your clothes, the gleaming dagger in your hand. He shook his head in disbelief, taking another step back, as if distance could protect him from you.

“I said, what are you doing here?” His voice hardens, sharp and commanding.

Yours matches his, cold and steady. “Well, since you seem to be under some delusion that you can get away from me, I figured I’d burst your little bubble and remind you that’s not the case.”

A calm smile spreads across your lips as you lift the dagger, pointing it directly at him. The weight of it feels right in your hand, steady and sure.

Cassian’s chest rises and falls as tension coils through the room. “You’re insane,” he mutters, disbelief lacing every word.

“Call it what you want. Call it love, call it obsession. Call me fucking insane,” you say, taking a slow step forward. “But you belong to me, Cassian. Always have. Always will.”

You shake your head and laugh, a hollow, unsettling sound. “Gods, Cassian. I don't know why you're doing this to me. Stop being so damn difficult and realize there's no one else for you. That water-wraith slut sure knows it now.”

His face goes pale, a hand pressing against his chest. “W-what are you talking about? You... you killed her?” he asks, horrified.

“Sure did.” You smile sweetly, tilting your head. “And I'll end anyone you think can take my place. Am I clear? Either you realize it now, or I keep killing people. It's all up to you.” You shrug nonchalantly, inspecting your nails as if this conversation were about the weather.

There's a long silence, thick with tension, and then something changes.

His voice drops, lower and rougher. “Took you long enough.”

Your head snaps up, eyes narrowing in confusion. His pale, horrified expression has melted away, replaced by something darker, more primal. His eyes gleam with something unholy, and his mouth twists into a cruel, wicked smile.

“Was wondering when you’d kill that little wraith,” he says smoothly, his voice dripping with amusement. “Gods know it was hard feigning interest.”

A warmth spreads through your chest, almost dizzying. Was this a dream? No way. Cassian matching your intensity, your madness — that was only supposed to happen in fantasies.

“What?” you whisper, barely believing what you’re hearing.

He steps closer, eyes gleaming darkly. “Didn’t think I noticed your stalking? Or the way you conveniently disposed of anyone I talked to?” His smirk widens, sharp and dangerous. “The way you just happened to show up at places I had scheduled? I’ve been onto you since day one.”

Your breath catches, heart thundering. “And?”

“And I knew you were the one the day you snuck into my room and stared at me, thinking I didn’t know,” he murmurs, eyes burning into yours with dark satisfaction.

A shiver runs down your spine, both thrilled and unhinged by his words. “You knew?”

He leans in closer, voice low and possessive. “Of course I knew. Your heavy breathing was a dead giveaway, sweetheart. You looked like you were seconds away from crawling into bed with me.”

You grin, eyes gleaming with madness. “I almost did.”

And it was true. He had been shirtless, skin smooth and golden in the moonlight, hair tied back so his sharp, handsome features were perfectly highlighted. Only years of discipline had kept you rooted to the spot instead of crawling into bed with him like you’d wanted to.

His smile deepens, dark and taunting. “You should’ve.” He steps closer, voice dropping to a low, sinful whisper. “Not the Gods themselves could have pulled me away.”

Your pulse races, wild and electric. This was so not fucking happening. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m not tempting you, my love.” he says, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “I’m inviting you.”

He looks down at you, hands settling on your hips as he pulls you so close. Cassian’s heat makes your brain go fuzzy and for a moment you’re lost. Just as he is about to kiss you…

”Wait. So you felt the same I did? Why did you act all high and mighty when you’re literally worse than me?” You step back and raise an eyebrow at him, arms crossed over your chest.

Cassian blinks, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst, but instead of guilt or surprise softening his expression, something darker gleams in his eyes — intrigue, even delight. “You’re mad at me, baby?”

“Of course I’m mad!” you snap, practically vibrating with frustration. “You knew I’m bsessed with you, and instead of saying anything, you just sat there, playing with me, making me feel insane.”

Your grip on the dagger tightens in pure frustration. “Do you know how many nights I spent plotting ways to keep you? How much blood I spilled thinking you didn’t care?”

His lips twitch, eyes filled with dark amusement.

“You could’ve just matched my crazy from day one, but nooo, you had to be all stoic and mysterious. Gods, Cassian, that’s infuriating.”

He steps closer, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re adorable when you’re pissed off, ya know? A cute, hotheaded little thing.”

“Adorable? I should stab you,” you snarl, but he only grins wider.

“Do it,” he whispers, his voice dripping with challenge. “I’d love to see what happens next.”

Your breath catches, heart racing as his words sink in. Cassian wasn’t just tolerating your madness, he wanted it, thrived on it, matched it beat for beat.

The realization sends a dizzy thrill through you, but you pout anyway, refusing to let him off the hook that easily. “You’re the worst,” you grumble, turning your head away with a dramatic huff.

He chuckles darkly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “I was only interesed in seeing how far you’d go. Didn’t know if you’d run for the hills when I told you I murdered Helion’s advicer for looking at you yesterday.”

Your heart skips a beat, then thunders wildly in your chest. A sharp, wicked grin tugs at your lips despite yourself. “You did that?”

“Snapped his neck right before breakfast. Or did I feed him his own fingers then strangle him with his insides? Can’t say I remember.”

A sick thrill courses through you. Man, he was fucking perfect. It was so fucking wrong but your knees went weak and you started throbbing. He killed someone just for staring at you?

That was actually hot.

—

With no surprise, cassian fucked you for so long, so hard so fucking deep. It was so nasty, a reaaaal mess. one hand of his grabs onto your thigh, another gripping your waist while he’s glancing down at your sloppy cunt, what a masterpiece. Cassian decided he needed to see better so he pulled out as you whimpered pathetically.

his fingers smear his oozing cum all over you, from the slit all the way to your, swollen, throbbing clit.

“look at you makin’ a damn mess.” Your shaky hands gripping his wide shoulders start to slip. His arm tightens around your waist before you fall backwards. “fuckkkk, baby, look at how good your pussy was takin’ me, see how fucking wet she is?” you shudder as his fingers go knuckle deep into your cunt, giving you a few pumps before he pulls it right out, stringy wetness coating them.

he places two thick fingers inside of your mouth, you suck them clean whilst still moving against him, silently pleading for him to fill you out.

“shiiit, not fair. you got these killer hips that’ll dumb down any man.” Cassian finally fills you up again, his fat cock gliding against ypur wall just right. “oh-fuckkkk thaaat’s it, slow baby. slow, fuck me good, yeah?”

Cassian’s breath hitches as you tighten around him, his arm hurling behind the headboard. the desperation of having something to hold on to gives you an ego boost. was your just pussy too damn good?

“c-cas,” you moan, feeling his big fingers stroke their way against your waist to the very undersides of your thighs. you made sure to go slow, slow and steady just like he wanted. cassian’s got a sleazy grin, feeling the wetness of your cunt take him with all its might. “g-gonna cum!”

“i can tell, ah shit— you’re squeezin’ the fuck outta me,” He grunts in response as he feels you writhing, groaning at the gummy texture of your walls mightily gripping around him tight.

But it’s not enough. The rush lingers, addictive and gnawing, and you want more — need more. Something to cling to, something to burn into your memory for the rest of the week. A painfully sweet reminder of just how far you’ll both go for each other.

Your lips curl into a sly smile, voice dropping into a breathy tease. Finally, you’d lock in one last time to see if he was really as crazy as you. “Do you want to know,” You pause, your breath hitching in pleasure, “how it felt to kill t-that wraith?”

Cassian’s entire body tenses, his pupils dilating as a spark of something wild flickers in his eyes. His pulse kicks up, thrumming like a war drum. Fuck yeah, he wanted to know. Every sickening, twisted detail. Morality be damned—this was love.

“Tell me,” he demands, voice low and raw, filled with a dark hunger.

You grin wickedly, savoring his reaction. “It was beautiful,” you whimper, letting the memory flood your senses. “The way her breath hitched when she realized she was going to die? Gods, Cassian, it was intoxicating. She looked so helpless.”

His breath shudders as he pumps harder, his voice gravelly. “What did you feel?”

A dark satisfaction blooms in your chest. “Relief,” you murmur. “Pure relief. Like I’d been waiting forever and I was free.”

Cassian’s eyes burn into yours, his lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. “Absolutely perfect. Absolutely mine.”

Your heart races as you lean in, lips hovering near his ear. “Next time,” you purr, “I’ll let you watch then fuck me right there.”

That’s it. Those few sadistic words are all the power he needs to finish you both off.

“you’re a nasty fucking girl—ughhhh.”

his speed had the bed creaking louder, and cassian’s grunting in your ear was getting louder as you were feeling fuller than ever. with hot pounds of skin against skin roughly slapping against each other after each second, the two of you felt the same pangs of pleasure and fervent dizziness. “inside, cas—fuck, cum inside me!” before an inevitable flood of heavenly pleasure consumes you both.

your cunt throbs the second he spills an entire whopping load inside of you raw, and you nuzzle your face into his neck. “cas—,” you stammer, and your walls were oh so greedy, adjusting to the way your pussy convulses around him, sharp nails dragging over his back. you both cum together as a surge of electricity pulses through each of your veins.

“fuck… ya better take every drop, s-shit,” he groans before slumping back against the headboard, tugging you closer so your face rests on his neck.

This was absolutely perfect. Cassian was yours now—forever. He could never leave you. And if he tried? You wouldn’t just kill him; you’d burn the entire world down with him. If you couldn’t have him, no one could. He simply wouldn’t exist without you.

That was love.

And Cassian being utterly, unapologetically insane? A gift wrapped in chaos. He understood you better than anyone ever could. Maybe you’d push him, see just how far that darkness in him stretched. Because Cassian didn’t get jealous—he got even. He got murderous.

“I love you, Cassian. So, so much,” you sob into his neck, your body trembling under the weight of the confession.

“I know you do,” he rasps, his voice rough as he grabs a blanket, wrapping it around your shivering form. His strong arms envelop you completely, his touch obsessive, possessive. His hand trails down your hair and back with agonizing tenderness as though memorizing every inch of you.

But something gnaws at you—a flicker of unease. Why wasn’t he saying it back? Did he need more proof that you were his literal wife(even if he didn’t know it yet), his reason for fucking breathing?

As if sensing your doubt, his grip tightens, pulling you even closer until you could hear the rapid, frantic beat of his heart. His lips brush against your ear, his voice low and raw, trembling with emotion.

“There are no words for what I feel for you,” he says, voice breaking. “Love is too weak, too pitiful. What I feel for you—gods, it devours me whole. It’s a sickness, an obsession that digs its claws into me and never lets go. You are everything. My breath, my blood, my madness.”

His words crash over you, wild and terrifying and utterly beautiful. And you know—he belongs to you as much as you belong to him.

Always.

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daintylovers · 9 months ago

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imagine moving to beacon hills around season one. right around the same time, allison moves in. it's nice not being the only new girl, so you two quickly become friends.

imagine meeting lydia for the first time. it happens in your fourth class of the day, you two are assigned to be partners for the semester. albeit, at first she isn't thrilled, but once she gives you a chance, everything changes. she's found someone like-minded for once in this small town. someone as intelligent, yet fashionable as her. she thinks for a quick second, if she liked girls, she would love you.

imagine seeing stiles for the first time. seeing- not meeting, because the boy can only gawk at you from across the hall. it's definitely weird and a little unsettling at first, but it's nice to be admired? right?

imagine finally talking to the poor boy for the first time. it had to be you who spoke first, his brain going a mile a minute. it happens a few days later, when lab partners are assigned. stiles almost faints when he hears your names paired together. scott has to be the one to push him out of his seat. it feels kind of how you imagine bella felt when edward and her first meet, awkward and stiff. does he not like you? maybe that's why he was always staring, it wasn't in fantasy, but with disgust. not being one to dwell on whether someone likes you or not, you push through, introducing yourself with a raised out hand. stiles is quick to latch on, spewing out his full government name. then once he catches the confusion on your face, he tells you that you could call him stiles.

imagine going to lydias house party, that very night. running into all your newfound friends, dancing and drinking a little. then seeing your shy new lab partner chasing after his drunk friend. but also allison chasing after the drunk friend. whats his name again? shawn? smith? stiles? no- wait stiles is yours. scott! its scott. but by the time you have that revelation, the three are already outside. so you watch as allison gets into some random car and stiles stands are dumbfounded. scott has seemingly disappeared, and there's an unease building in your chest. who was that guy with allison? stiles, sensing someone behind him, turns around to face the one person he doesn't want to see at the moment. not because he doesn't like you, but because he is pretty sure his best friend is a freaking werewolf.

imagine asking him if he knew who allison got in the car with, and getting an unsavory response. great, your new friend might get murdered and tossed into the woods tonight. the alcohol is catching up to you rather quickly, and the worry is only increasing. stiles starts to make a move to his car, eager to see if scott went back home when you wrap a hand around his upper arm. it's not harsh or anything, so he doesn't flinch, but he is confused. you ask him if he will give you a ride to allisons, because you guys live close together and you want to make sure she gets home safe. stiles immediately says yes, but tells you he has to make a quick stop at scotts. something about possible alcohol poisoning or something, which makes your head spin. oh fuck, what if you have that?

imagine being told to wait in the car as stiles goes into scotts house. the boy is very persistent as you try to help him out. he offers to get you fries from the local drive-through if you just please stay in the car. that gets you to comply, so you're left staring out the window. it doesn't take long for stiles to come running out of the house and speeding down the street. you don't even have to ask because he tells you that allison went home with this guy derek who is very very evil. you never get those fries. but the good news is that allison is alive!

imagine stiles walking you to your door because you and allison really do live right next to each other. you guys don't say much, the adrenaline rush already crashing. you guys are about to part ways when you stop him and ask for his number. he seems like a nice guy and you joke about how you'll harass him until he gets you those fries. his heart does cartwheels as you exchange digits, and makes a mental note to kill scott. in a perfect world, you two would have managed to spend the whole night together, but scotts newfound supernatural abilities are already infiltrating stiles life.

imagine waking up the next morning with a pounding headache and a text from stiles telling you to get dressed cause he is coming over in fifteen minutes. it has you smiling like a child and it feels so goddamn good. maybe this kid will be cooler than you imagined. he pulls into your driveway and you open the door to see him with iced vanilla lattes and Mcdonald's french fries. this guy might just be an angel. you let him in and for the rest of the morning, you guys eat and talk about nothing while lounging around your room.

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi imagine #x reader #reader insert #stiles stilinski x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf rewrite #teen wolf x reader #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #teen wolf stiles #stiles x reader #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fic #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski blurb

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jazzsonly · 3 months ago

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ꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱɪᴅᴇ ֹ⠀⠀✶ ⠀. tara carpenter, scream.

warning(s): fem!reader, use of she/her, fluff(?), smut (only implied. not detailed.), amber is alive and sane, anika is alive, no gf au, talks of the readers body being fit and toned, reader is a gym rat, talks of protein intake and meal prep, talks of the gym, friends with benefits, etc.

HC summary: the one where tara is fucking her gym rat neighbor…

ֹ⠀⠀✶ ⠀. masterslist. ֹ⠀⠀✶ ⠀. ֹ⠀⠀✶ ⠀. ֹ⠀⠀✶ ⠀. ֹ⠀⠀✶ ⠀. ֹ⠀⠀✶

it started off as an innocent crush, really. it really did.

see, when tara and sam first moved into the apartment, tara would see you jogging around the complex.

“woah, she’s hot.”

sam, peaks, humoring her sisters comment. she hated to admit it, and she never would aloud but you were indeed ‘hot’

tara figured you must live in the complex as she’d seen you on your morning jog twice but it wasn’t until the third day she had found out you lived right across from her, she were coming home from her afternoon class and caught a glimpse of you, clad in your black alo sports bra with matching, grey alo sweats, entering your apartment

you had shot her a quick smile as you unlocked your door to step in

tara’s little high schoolish crush grew, in fact so much core four made it a running joke

“there’s your neighbor!” mindy perked up, looking out the apartment window

“where?!” tara immediately jumped up from her macbook that sat on the kitchen table, she searched through the window, met with an empty complex

“i’m just teasing you!”

mindy’s obnoxious laugh turned to a harsh “ow!” being met with a tara’s punch in the arm

“i was just joking!”

“why don’t you just ask the girl out already? i mean, she goes to blackmore too and you live right next door to each other—”

tara cuts off chad, who were laid out on the couch scrolling through instagram, “she goes to blackmore?!”

“yeah we sit next to each other in math. she’s really smart, lets me cheat off her.”

“you have to introduce me to her!”

and that chad did.

it wasn’t odd but it wasn’t particularly normal either that out of the blue chad had asked to hang outside of math—i mean, besides him copying your answer you two discussed gym related things and sometimes video games

you were a simple person and chad was a cool guy. why not?

“here comes chad with your dick drop off”

“you mean pussy drop off?” amber counters mindy.

“hey, you don’t know what she has in her pants.”

“will you two shut up?” tara seethes, as she fixes her hair and straightens her posture.

“everyone, this is y/n. y/n this is core four.”

fuck. you looked so good. tara couldn’t even understand how you could look so good in an oversized beat up t-shirt and black sweats. you just always managed to look so sporty and it really turned her on.

“hey! you’re my neighbor aren’t you? apartment 216.” you instantly recognized tara.

little did the carpenter know, you had been watching her too. developing your own little crush. seeing her come home from classes. her skinny jeans and crop top combos never failed to catch your eye. you liked the fact that she seem studious, yet looked like one of those hot popular bitchy girls in the movies.

“yeah, yeah. i’m tara.” you exchange a hand shake.

“y/n here is really into horror games…i told her that’s perfect because we love horror movies. especially, tara, i bet you could talk her right out of her panties about horror movies.”

both mindy and amber, on either side of chad punch either of his arms at the same time.

“excuse, my brother…he lacks social skills, part of his lumped up brain.”

“it’s fine, i deal with him all day in math.” you joke.

“so, horror movies, huh? what’s your poison? slasher, thriller…”

“physiological. like, the babadook.”

“no way! my brother loves that movie. it used to scare me to death when i was a kid.”

you get close to not only, tara but core four rather quickly.

tara eager to get to know you and get in your pants, invited you to movie night immediately.

of course, leave it to mindy and amber to tease her about the way she would hog you.

“ok y/n’s on her way, said she’s in the shower.” tara reads off the text you had sent her.

“she’s gonna be all over her again.” mindy snickers, wrapping her arm around anika’s shoulder.

“shut up, you literally worship the ground anika walks on.”

“duh, she’s my girlfriend.”

it wasn’t long before movie nights with core four turned into just you and tara hanging. first you started to get coffee together,

“i can’t believe you like your coffee black.”

“it feeds my soul. plus, it’s an appetite curver and i’m on a cut.”

“i’ll never understand your gym talk.”

“and that’s what i love about you.” you joke.

then it turned into walks at the park,

“ya’ know, we could be running right now.”

“not a chance.”

then it turned into tara hanging around at your apartment,

“so remind me what a ‘winter arc’ is?”

you continue you cut of the banana that was set to be put in the blender along with other cut fruit and your protein mix.

“it’s basically, like when you workout and diet all winter so when summer comes you’re all ‘hot’ and shit.”

“huh…maybe i need a winter arc.”

“no you don’t. trust me.”

tara pauses, were you flirting with her?

“that’s a compliment.” you read the expression on her face.

“well, if i don’t need one, neither do you.”

“oh, i’m not on a winter arc, hon. this is a lifestyle.” you tease, before turning the blender on.

it wasn’t until a month after nonstop flirting and banter, you and tara had kissed.

you were both sharing a movie night alone in your apartment, you sat side by side under your comforter on your reclined couch.

tara being comfortable enough with you that her head was on your shoulder, mindlessly ignoring the movie as she admired the feel of your body.

“dude, your arms look so slim but are like rock hard.” she reaches up, feeling your bicep.

“why, i do workout you know.” you tease, letting out a snicker.

tara ignores it, letting her hands childish roaming your body.

“you have got to tell me your secret, you stomach feels amazing.” over your fitted black under-armor shirt, tara runs her fingers and nails over your ab’d stomach.

“handsy much.”

“oh shit, sorry.” fuck. did she just fuck things up? come on too strong?

“no, no…” you grab her hand, placing it back onto your stomach.

“i didn’t say i didn’t like it.”

tara looks up at you like a deer caught in headlights, she swallows the lump that’s in your throat, her bottom lip caught in between her teeth as you lick your own lips and eye her face down.

she doesn’t know why she’s so nervous that she hesitates. this is all she’s wanted for the past two months.

she’s in a trance and it takes you finally leaning in to break her out of it.

she becomes hungry and irresistible to you all at once.

this time, she seriously does let her hands wander. she can’t get a enough of your body, you feel hot and cold all at the same time.

her body feels all hot with your hands on her waist.

you firmly pull her into your lap.

for a second you break the kiss, “tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

tara pants, “god, why would i ever want you to stop?”

eagerly, she goes back in for more.

her hands slid up her waist, pushing your shirt up, indicating that she wanted to get it off and you take the hint. breaking the kiss, you reach for the front neck hem of your shirt and pull it over your head. you are left in a white gymshark sports bra.

hastily tara does the same, sliding over her blue crop top , leaving her in a black bra.

“you have a tattoo?” tara runs her fingers over your mid-torso tat that’s just says ‘love’ in cursive. how didn’t she notice this before?

“yeah, matching family thing.” you brush off, softly grabbing the back of her neck to pull her back into the kiss.

that night tara woke up in your bed, and months worth of nights after that.

it almost became a routine, you’d even given her a spare key to your apartment. tara would wait for you while you finished up at the gym. you’d cooked a little dinner, you two would talk, and then fuck.

you weren’t really sure what to call you two and neither was tara. but to be honest it didn’t really matter, all you knew was that you enjoyed the time you spent together and you were only seeing each other.

when anyone asked sometimes tara would slip and call you her girlfriend but you didn’t mind.

you went along with it.

“you make a sexy gladiator.”

“and you make a sexy pirate.” you lean down, kissing tara.

“you and your girlfriend are gross.” amber fake gags in her raven (teen titans) costume.

“at least i have a girlfriend.” tara teases as she pulls you into the obnoxiously loud and crowed house that held a halloween party.

“girlfriend, huh?”

“i mean—”

“i’m just teasing.” you smirk.

the pirate rolls her eyes, “well tease me in another way, you look really hot in that costume.”

━━━👩🏽‍💻 im back…sorta…kinda. anyways finally out of my depression #backtogetherwiththeloml #winterarc #manifesting this was definitely supposed to be a fic but i was too lazy and turned it into a headcon. yes this is named after side to side by ari.

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totothewolff · 1 year ago

Text

The Lonely Hearts Party

Toto x reader fem!merc!employee, boss|Toto, Valentine's Day | Fluff, romance, and comedy.

Summary: For weeks now, you have been receiving the most gorgeous flowers every Wednesday morning at your desk at the Brackley Headquarters, as a mysterious admirer seems so in love with you. The entire factory, your besties at work, and you all wonder who he is. Could it be the one you truly wish for? Author's note: Happy Valentine's Day to all of you! Send you lots of love. Masterlist: Here

The most beautiful flowers have been arriving at your desk every Wednesday morning for almost a month now. Every week, as you reach your office in the early hours, they are already in place to welcome you.

You love smelling them; they are always fresh and sweet-scented, and you love to look at them even more.

You feel a rush of excitement to read the handwritten note that always comes attached, filled with a different poem paragraph each time, something along the lines of "She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies; and all that's best of dark and bright."

Every girl in your department finds it so romantic, the mysterious admirer, but you and your besties at work, Rose and Oliver, who work in the same station that you, joke about finding it a bit creepy.

"The Creepy Flower Guy" is a nickname you came up with to refer to him as an inside joke, being the three of you true crime enthusiasts.

—Maybe it's one of those garden gnomes HR placed outside —Oliver jokes as he finishes eating his scrambled eggs after you told them about the new Lilacs you received that morning at the breakfast quick break. —Perhaps he fell in love with you by watching you walk past —he jokes.

The hilarious idea of a tiny plastic guy sneaking into the headquarters, wearing his little red hat and fast feet to get incognito to your office, and on his tiptoes, placing the flowers on your desk makes you giggle.

You have to give it to HR this time; those gnomes were a great addition to the garden's pond; every time you sit on the benches near it, you enjoy the new scene the mechanics or engineers put together every few days, having fun moving the gnomes around or placing them in the funniest scenes, even someone during winter knitted them Christmas sweaters.

—Or maybe one day we'll find you dead on the floor, poisoned in your desk after inhaling azaleas for too long —Rose adds with the most casual tone as she bites her sandwich.

—Or you go missing! Kidnapped at the parking lot by "The Creep" —Oliver adds.

—GUYS! —Ava turns around after overhearing the conversation; she is sitting at the same long table in the cafeteria, not getting your usual dark humor, a bit concerned, and creeped out. —You three need to cool it down with those goddamn crime podcasts!

—NEVER! —all of you answer at the same time.

—You freaks!

As you all finish breakfast, in a rush because the "off-season" is always the busiest time at the factory, you ask out loud. —Who do you think it is?

—It's evident! It's... —Grace from the control room team starts saying.

—Lewis Hamilton! —and she finishes along with the other five people on the table now.

Oh, the classic joke.

The entire table burst into laughter. It's a common joke to do about Lewis since almost every family member or friend thinks that working in the Mercedes racing team instantly makes you Lewis's best friend and that you always hang out with the guy, which couldn't be further away from reality.

Most of you only see him in corporate gatherings or pass by from building to building, usually on his way to the simulator or in the hallways on a lucky day.

He is always sweet and polite with the team and staff but quite distant; he still is Lewis fucking Hamilton. Unless you are part of his immediate team or Toto's, you get that privilege reserved for the key players only.

Even so, almost everyone has a Lewis or Bottas story, and ALL of you have Niki's anecdotes cause that man is bonkers and a LEGEND.

Most of them go hilarious as all of you try to act human around them, like the one Oliver has where he bumped into Lewis one day as Oliver was getting out of the bathroom and Lewis was on his way in, offering him a completely wet hand to introduce himself, which Hamilton noticed and sweetly and quickly patted Oliver on the shoulder with a "nice meeting you, man" and quickly got in.

—REAL theories only, guys! —you address the table. —Is my life a joke to you all? —you mess around, getting on your feet and closing the lid of your topper. —Please don't answer that.

Another week goes by, and a new stunning bouquet arrives.

—Oh, how exquisite! That man is so into you. Those blue mophead hydrangeas sure are expensive! —the receptionist points out to you because you are a total flower ignorant who only goes: "Oh, pretty, colorful, smell cute" without giving it much thought.

Most of the time, you have no idea what you are looking at, but you have fun googling it and trying to decipher; in your defense, no one has pampered you like this before.

You are brand new at the getting flowers game.

The following week, a couple of bets start happening at the building as the word spreads, and many wonder who the mysterious guy is.

Some think it's not a guy but a girl, as one day after a meeting, as you all are leaving, one of the engineers approaches you and makes the clever remark that the attention to detail about the type of flowers, the color palettes, and the scented notes is too much for a simple guy. —Either he is getting advised, or it's not a guy! Maybe you could obtain a reference from the company that delivers it.

This entire thing feels surreal and truly takes you by surprise since you have always considered yourself the most average girl, especially in looks and more so in the sea of beautiful blondes working at Mercedes.

Which, for some weird reason, reminded you of when you dropped your resume after one of your buddies from college - who still works there at the machine shop - gave you the heads up there was a job opening that suited you perfectly; he even had to insist you a couple of times, because you were almost sure they wouldn't give you a callback.

To your eyes, Mercedes was one of those companies that cared about looks or looked for a specific ethnic type; it turns out you judged too soon; they care about skills, productivity, and professionalism, too, and it ended up being a bit more diverse than you expected the place to be.

It still has many areas for improvement, but it's become your favorite job ever.

By the end of the day, you wait for Rose to come out of her meeting to leave together, standing in the perfectly lit hallway leaning on the impeccable white wall; it's "Cheap Thursday" at your favorite local pub, and you two desperately need fuel to finish the heavy week, so nachos and a couple of pints sound like heaven.

After what feels like an eternity, a group of people comes out of the double doors by the end of the corridor facing you, and you catch a glimpse of a very hurried-up Toto getting out, too, looking handsome and elegant as ever.

You feel his dark eyes looking you up for the briefest moment, making you shiver and blush like a teenager in front of her crush.

Thank god he doesn't stop his pace and gets out of your view within seconds but leaves you distracted enough not to notice Rose approaching you till she is by your side, looking almost pale as a ghost, whispering in your ear.

—I swear it's Toto's handwriting! I just saw him writing on the board for over an hour, and his calligraphy looks exactly like the one of "Creepy Flower Guy"!

—Come on?! Toto? Shut up! —a crackle comes out of your mouth, thinking it's the most ridiculous idea. —The billionaire smocking-hot boss falls in love with the average employee; what do you think this is? An 80s telenovela? Fuck off...

—Well, his handwriting is the same cursive style, and the "r" and "t" are almost identical —Rose starts to overexplain, trying to justify herself, looking timid and embarrassed now, and you instantly feel awful at your reaction.

—I'm so sorry, Rose, I overreacted; I tend to be too blunt! —you quickly wrap her into a hug.

—It's just that I have been seeing that calligraphy for a while now, and I found it freaky similar.

—Now, how can we make sure, Rose? Any ideas?

She shakes her head. —I'm not friends with his assistants or anyone on Toto's team.

—No one is friends with his assistants. I wouldn't be surprised if they turn out to be ex-MI5 agents or worked for the KGB —Rose starts to laugh hard, agreeing. —I think getting to the Prime Minister is easier than reaching Toto under their hands!

—You are screwed then.

—Let's rule Toto out for the moment —you add.

—Yeah.

That night at your flat, a crazy thought comes to your mind as you brush your teeth; the wackiest thoughts tend to happen to you when you brush your teeth; you need to make yourself with a piece of paper handwritten by Toto to compare it with one of your notes.

You know Toto places sticky notes on the far wall inside his office; you have noticed those on your many and regular trips to the CFO's office as your boss always sends you to deliver the reports in person by the end of every week, always passing in front of Toto's office on you way there, which most of the time it's empty since he spends the year traveling, but you try to do your best when he is in, slowing your steps a little bit more to enjoy the view and fixing your appearance a little bit too before crossing in front of him.

Still, his assistants are always at their front desk near there, making it impossible to sneak in.

If only you could make it inside Toto's office without raising questions and with a good excuse. You laugh at the idea; it's wild and ain't going to happen, and if it does, your ass is getting fired.

As the Mission Impossible cord from the ceiling scene comes to your mind, it's time for you to go to sleep.

As you anxiously roll from side to side of the bed, struggling to shut your brain off, you remember that Niki's surprise birthday celebration is scheduled in two weeks; you could volunteer to help organize the event and usher the people around, including Toto.

There is the slightest chance to make it to his office and take a quick photo of the sticky notes on the wall; it's borderline mental, but you really want to find out because Rose sounded so sure!

This is fucking insane.

Two weeks, two new bouquets later.

When you finally reach the upper floor, where the "top-tier people work," almost everyone has left to get to the party on time.

Being on time in Mercedes is a must, so there are few people you need to usher there.

You got accepted to join the Niki's celebration committee as a helper minion. Weirdly, it will be hosted in the base race of all places instead of the Silver Arrow Lounge, where most celebrations are usually held.

The decor is ready, the cake is at the counter, and the many photo props and snacks inspired by Niki's red cap are in place; even the catering and most of the people invited have arrived.

But Allison and Toto are nowhere to be seen, and the head of HR is on her nerves about it, thinking it could ruin the surprise or that two of the most influential people there are going to miss such an important event.

As you approach the bosses' offices area, you quickly search in the surroundings for them; it helps you that all offices have glass panel walls.

You venture to wander more, but nada, they are not there, and at this point, no one is there. As you return to the stairs, you pass in front of Toto's office once more.

You just need to snap a quick picture. What could go wrong? No one is near to see you, and there are no cameras around since Toto dislikes that.

"Okay, Y/N, listen, it's just a couple of steps; you have your phone in your hand; it won't take more than a few seconds..."

You feel your body acting on its own and your feet slowly moving ahead.

You gradually enter the luxurious and immaculate office.

"Okay, like four steps more, and I'm close enough to zoom in the picture."

When you almost reach his desk and the perfect distance to snap the photo, you sense movement outside, fuck, fuck, fuck. You feel someone standing behind you, right at the door.

Busted!

—Yes? Can I help you? —Toto's voice comes severe but calm.

You feel your heart in your throat as you slowly turn around.

—Yes, you can! —you quickly reply, pretending to be looking at the cool helmets and steering wheels at the corner. Is it the best move your mind could come up with? Certainly not —...Sir... —you kind of finish saying, remembering he is the boss.

Toto stares at you, waiting for you to continue as you stand motionless in the middle of the room, looking straight at him. His eyebrows go up a little, and a tiny, amused smile forms on his lips as he moves his hand, gesturing you to continue.

—They are all waiting for you at the race base, sir... to start Niki's surprise reception. He is about to arrive.

—And they sent you to get me?

—Yes —you feel the need to explain yourself more, feeling nervous. —Niki has no idea who I am, so I'm not blowing the surprise away if I bump into him on my way here!

—Interesting... —he lets out gradually.

Oh god, Toto has no clue who I am either, right?

Fuck, I'm such an idiot!

—Oh, I, I'm Y/N —your brain starts working again as you quickly introduce yourself to him, offering him a hand to shake.

He looks even more perplexed at you but grabs it; it's awkward, and you want to crawl into a hole or hide beneath the expensive rug you are stepping on.

—We should get going; I have places to go, and I'm on a schedule today.

—Oh yes, of course, sir —you quickly exit his office as he closes its glass door behind you. Well, you literally pass below his muscular arm.

Toto doesn't move much, so you squeeze in, almost brushing his body as you out, and he simultaneously closes the door, fuck, he is tall and smells so so so good.

It's a quiet walk downstairs; just the sound of your steps and breaths fills the room. You feel intimidated by Toto's presence, not used to having him that near you and being a shy-natured girl.

He seems to slow down his step, prolonging your agony.

Should I say something? But what about? Work? Something casual? You assume he wonders the same since you feel his eyes on you every few steps, but he dares to break the ice before you can.

—So y..

—I'm To... Oh, sorry, go ahead —he says at the same time.

—Oh, no worries —you nervously place a strand of your hair behind your ear. He follows the movement of your hand with his eyes. —What were you saying? —you look straight at him, Jesus; he is way cuter up close; that's some strong jawline, you can't control your eyes going all over his features.

—That I didn't introduce myself upstairs. I'm Toto, by the way —he offers you a kind and unintentionally sexy smile.

You notice, a bit way too much, how all his traits soften and how relaxed and joyful he looks when he smiles.

It turns out that "The Creepy Employee Girl" should be your nickname now.

After perceiving him as less threatening, you joke around to make the air less awkward. —Really? I had no idea! I thought you were that Lewis guy everyone talks about! But nice to meet you Toto By The Way —you fool around.

He laughs a bit. —You never heard of me before? I guess I'm losing popularity around here nowadays!

—You must hang around more to be part of the "popular squad".

—Who holds the title right now?

—The gnomes.

—Oh, yes, they are quite popular.

—A bit too much, yeah.

As you two reach the entrance to the race base, he rushes his step to hold open the door for you, letting you go first; you feel his intense gaze follow you every step as you pass right across from him, making you feel things he shouldn't.

Everyone who got invited is already there; the usually squeaky-clean and clear white counters now hold cups, party hats, bottles of champagne and sparkling water, delicacies, and a big red cap-shaped cake.

—Great! The boss is here! Please, bring Niki in —you hear the HR director speak through the intercom as she looks your way, sounding so relieved, and a minute later, all of you start cheering as Niki enters the room.

You expect Toto to instantly leave your side and go near the big names of the company and his precious stylish drivers, but no, he stays right next to you.

As Niki almost reaches you two, getting hugs all his way down, he comes closer to Toto first and says in a low voice, but you are still able to hear him. —Is the cake vegan?! —looking concerned before tightly and roughly hugging him, knowing they would call him to blow out the candles and bite the cake soon.

—No, sir, this time they brought Lewis his own cake —you inform him, getting in the conversation, as the two of them turn to look at you.

—Oh, thank god! I almost spit out last year's "fake" cake! Hi Y/N! I didn't notice you there! This mountain was on the way —he pats Toto's chest a bit too strongly. Niki makes a funny face, eyebrows going up, not sugarcoating around as usual but earnest and light-spirited.

You laugh, exhaling cute sounds; even you have to admit you have a lovely, infectious laugh.

—Hi sir, happy birthday!

How on earth does Niki know my name?! He knows who I am?! WHAT...

—...the fuck were you thinking?! —Oliver looks shocked and pale as you update him and Rose about your little adventure today. —You honestly thought it could be Toto?!

—Can a girl have a dream?! —you shrug as you keep typing violently on your computer, wanting to finish that notice as soon as possible to move on to the next task, starting to feel stressed.

—You could have got into serious trouble, like big trouble, like getting fired trouble —Rose says, dead serious. —I feel terrible for enabling you!

—I know it was reckless and stupid, really stupid! —you admit, feeling dumb now about your actions.

God knows what got into you!

The next day, on your way to the cafeteria for lunch, you sense something is going on; everyone is acting weird.

Until you enter the room to find Toto having his meal in there, alone at a table, aware of the looks he is getting.

What is he doing here? He usually goes out for lunch or eats inside his office.

The fuck.

He waves a hand at you; you look around to see if he is addressing someone else till he arches an eyebrow, slightly annoyed, so you hurry up to reach him.

—Well, you weren't wrong! By all the looks I received on my way here, and fairly now, it appears I don't hang around much —he invites you to sit, stretching his arm, pointing to the chair in front of his, before continuing. —It wasn't unusual to see me everywhere before; of course, it was the early days, and we were a smaller team back then —he almost looked sad and nostalgic about it.

—Look at you, man of the people!

—Eat your salad —he rolls his eyes at you as you get your lunch out.

—Is that like a boss order, or?

—Maybe, if I'm feeling moody.

—So, I guess most of the old guard is gone?

—Are you low-hand calling me old?

—Well, how ancient are you?

—I'm almost 70 —he makes you smile and looks all pleased with himself and his dumb humor. —I know, I look good for 70!

—Who would have thought you had a sense of humor? You always look severe and bossy.

—Can you stop low-key insulting me?

—Neva'

After two weeks of having lunch with Toto and getting to know each other more every day, you two become friends; some days, a different person joins you; at some point, you can't believe you are sharing quinoa recipes with Lewis and comparing drinking pub stories with Niki.

—Is it me, or have you abandoned us, the peasants? —Oliver says to you when you return to the office.

—Oh, come on! You can join, you know that! He knows who you two are; we talk about you guys a lot, and he greets you daily!

—Now that you are part of the "big farts" table, hanging with the famous, why would you care about two random coworkers? —Rose overdramatizes.

—OH COME ON!

—Apparently, you don't care about the old and wise saying "Bros before hoes," —Oliver adds.

—Of course, I care about you two hoes. Please join us tomorrow. PLEASE?! —you beg them with the biggest smile and puppy eyes ever seen.

—Eating with the boss and talking to him? I'm not risking it! —Oliver says, dead honest, not trusting himself.

—He is trying to reconnect with the team; he isn't going to judge you! Besides, Toto knows you are my besties.

Two long "aw" come your way.

—That's so cute, but NO! —Rose ends the conversation.

As you admire the new bouquet of tulips you get delivered the next day, your phone suddenly buzzes on your desk, distracting you from finishing updating the chart with the latest data.

—Lunchtime already? 😩🥙

—Who this? 👀

—Luke, I'm your father.

—He dead 🙏🌫️

—Oh, shit, sorry! Bad joke!

—💀💀💀

—There's no need to be that explicit.

—It means dying of laughter!

—Oh, shit, I'm old, it's Toto By The Way.

—I'm saving you with that name! How did you get my number?

—By boss privilege.

—YES! LET'S LUNCH PLEASE! I'm Hungarian.

—What?

—Typo sorry, hungry!

—HA! See you in five! 🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️

—Could going to lunch with someone at the cafeteria be considered a date? —you turn around in your office chair to address Oliver.

—Dreaming is free, bestie!

On your way to meet Toto, you bump into the most annoying senior engineer, Mr. Schäfer, in the corridor.

OH GOD! Please don't talk to me, please don't talk to me, you think as you two cross paths, but sadly, you notice him stop his step after making eye contact with you.

—Miss, Y/LN. A minute?

SHIT!

—Sorry I'm late! "Gwen Stefani" got me on my way here!

—Who? —Toto looks at you, amused and confused.

Shit! You burped out.

—Ahem, Mr. Schäfer —you quickly correct, taking your water bottle out of your bag and drinking it after rushing there. Toto stares at the couple of drops that escape your lips and slide down your chin and neck, and he swallows hard.

—What did you call him? —Toto asks, clearing his throat.

—Oh, don't mind me!

—Yes, mind you! It's a pretty accurate nickname, I must admit it, even if I shouldn't, but it fits —Toto shrugs nonchalantly, with a chuckle on his face.

Schäfer is really pretty, lean, blond, pale, has big bambi's brown eyes, and his voice is so annoying.

And now you feel embarrassed.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, as you two eat, Toto says: —Do I have a nickname?

—Oh, no, no one dares.

—Why? Do people fear me? —his expression changes to one of concern. —Maybe that would explain why people always seem to slow down their pace in the main corridor as soon as they see me inside the elevator. I always try to press the hold button to wait for them.

—This leaves me with a question: How do you fit in there? Your hair sure is touching the ceiling —he looks at you with an "Are you kidding me?" face. —No, for real!

—Don't avoid the actual question!

—Okay, okay, it's more like you intimidate. You look a bit, ahem, stern.

—Really? So, that was your first impression of me?

—Well, not really —you feel your cheeks turning red, fuck. —The first time I saw you, IRL.

—Sorry?

—In real life! You were being interviewed at the reception on that pearl/grey, awful porn movie-esque rug, which is inappropriate to say because the interviewer was a kid; anyway, It was something adorable to see. So that was my first impression of you, sweet and kind —his eyes soften at your answer, and you feel your knees touching beneath the table. —And also well lit —you joke.

As you do your best at not being honest and admitting to Toto, you fell in love with him the first time you saw him. It was instant.

—Oh.

Another week goes by, February starts, and the most stunning bouquet to this moment arrives. Okay, this one is a lot.

—Good lord, "Creepy Flower Guy" went full force with this one; what did you do to him?! —Rose asks, jaw on the floor as she stares at that humongous thing.

—I have no fucking clue.

—You think he is about to reveal himself? —Oliver points out. —Maybe this is a "going out with a BANG!".

—Honestly, I don't care much about it anymore —you admit. You feel several heads turning your way, shocked.

"It's not who I would like it to be," you think. You don't need to say more to know that Oliver and Rose get it.

That working day was cut short since it was the Monster-sponsored "Spartan Race," a cross-fit competition.

Many coworkers listed at the contest held outside on the garden grounds where a fancy circuit got built, but not you. You volunteered to help deliver the medals to the participants at the finish line.

In the meantime, you take a good spot with Oliver to watch the competition unfold and cheer for Rose.

—You go, Rambo! —you scream at her as she completes another obstacle course.

You watch Toto pass in those goddamn shorts, looking so hot, all sweaty. Toto's shirt's tight fabric on the skin leaves little to the imagination.

You meet him at the finish line an hour later, as you are now doing your duty. As soon as he notices you, he starts to jog in your direction with the most mischievous smile.

—Oh no, no, no! Don't you even...! —you receive the biggest and tightest hug from a sweaty, wet, and full of dirt and mud Toto.

—OH GOD! Get off! —you pull him away, making yucky faces.

—I was hoping to bump into you at the circuit! —he tells you, still with a lot of energy, as you place his gold medal on his neck, he is bending to your height.

—I'm not that sporty; you would have to drag me to the finish line.

—I would have gladly carried you around in these powerful arms! —he jokes while flexing.

You roll your eyes at him.

The next day, at your desk.

As you blast the newest episode of your favorite crime podcast, Rose and Oliver start making eye contact with you, trying to grab your attention, moving their eyes several times to the left as you take out your AirPods.

—WHAT?!

—Sure, those things cancel noise! I have spent about an hour trying to talk to you!

Oh shit, you jump a little at the sound of Toto's voice near your ear.

—Were you listening to a murder podcast? At work?! You are going to hurt your ears; I was able to hear it from here —Toto is leaning on the left side of your desk.

—Maybe... I was... —you look at him with squinted eyes, and he looks back at you the same way.

—What is that thing?! —Toto says, a bit disgusted at the exuberance, pointing to the enormous bouquet beside your computer.

—It's a long story —you try to avoid the subject.

—I want to hear it when I return. I will not join you at lunch today or the rest of the week.

—Bummer, where are you going then? —you turn in your chair to face him.

Everyone looks at you with a "Did you really ask the boss that?" face.

—Austria, It's my mom's birthday.

—Aw, sweet, wish her a happy birthday for me!

—I will —you look at each other tenderly, both wanting to say more. You suddenly feel the desperate need to hug Toto, but a simple: —See you next week, then! —comes out of your mouth, ending the interaction.

It's almost Valentine's Day, and Toto has returned from his little adventure in the mountains; he laughs when you text him that. You two talked even more than usual every day during his absence.

So you text him if you could go up to his office.

—Knock, knock —you say as you pop your head in at his door.

He brightens as he sees you, fully smiling at you, making your stomach feel butterflies.

—Please, come in!

You approach his desk, holding something in your hands; it's an envelope with an invitation in the old-fashioned way. —Hi! —you smile big at him. —I have the obligation to invite you to the traditional "Lonely Hearts Party" on Valentine's Day!

—No one wants the boss at an outside-the-office party —he looks at you a bit taken out.

—Yeah, I know, we know. But still, you are invited. It's for singles only, assuming that you are single, which no one thinks you are, so here —you feel Toto's hand touching yours as you deliver him the envelope, leaving you with a lingering sensation on your fingers, a very Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy moment in your delulu mind.

—I'm going to be in Brazil, but thank you anyway, and yes, I'm single —he pays attention to your reaction to his words, and you pray for him not to notice the little happy smile forming on your lips. —Are you... are you like... seeing someone? —he asks you.

—I'm going to attend the Lonely Hearts Party, you think?! Listen, my neighbor, Miss Tailor, is 80 and has a boyfriend; even that old rag has seen more action than me this year!

Toto's palm goes onto his face, bursting with laughter; he is laughing so hard at your comment that no sound comes out of his throat, just hallows of air, and he goes all red, not believing your words. —You are quite something! —He lets you know and looks at you with adoration, his face resting on his hand and his elbow on the desk.

—I know —you nod, kidding. —Anyway, have a nice day, and see you later!

During that day's lunch break, Toto demands you to explain to him in detail all about that "Creepy Flower Guy," he even ventures to guess who he is after listening to the whole story.

—Milo, Ben, and Ansel all have stared you down when you walk past in front of them, with lust obviously, and I heard Finn once complimenting your good looks to say it nicely —he informs you.

Is that jealousy you detect?

Toto does pay attention.

It's Wednesday, and your car is out in maintenance, so you make it extra early on that day at the office; you wanted to avoid risking it being late since you aren't used to using public transport to get there.

You make it just in time to witness Mike walking away from your desk inside your desert office through the glass panel wall from afar. As you walk to your chair, you notice new flowers are already in place. You feel your heartbeat going full speed and a wave of disappointment washing you over; what were you expecting, for it to really be Toto?

That entire day, you remain all moody and quiet, and your friends notice it, but you say nothing about it.

You even ask your boss to leave early, being unable to handle being near Toto today, which leaves him worried, judging by the four texts and two missed phone calls you received from him, wondering where you are and if everything is okay.

Four days later, you are like nothing has happened. As you walk your way to enter the building where you work, you notice Toto sitting alone in the distance, having a call; you slowly start to walk toward him, switching paths.

He finally has returned from his trip to Stuggart.

—Well, the "Creepy Flower Guy" saga has come to an end, my friend; I found out who he is —you inform him, unenthusiastic, as you sit on the bench in the pond's garden right next to him.

—You don't seem so excited —Toto's eyes look slightly concerned as he tells you.

—Well, no, to be honest.

—Drumrolls —Toto says, trying to lift your spirits, slapping his thighs, making the sound. —And the creep is?!

—Mike, from financial.

—Magic Mike?! —Toto lets out a bit too loud.

—Yep!

—Are you sure? Like 100%? But how?!

You nod. —I saw Mike near my desk in the early hours a couple of days ago, and the flowers were there as he was walking away from the crime scene! Also, by the drawer full of flower receipts at his office desk. They all match the types of bouquets I received and have the exact dates.

—Are you creeping around in people's offices again?

—WAIT A MINUTE! I wasn't creeping into your office!

—Oh no? What were you doing near my desk? Looking for Niki's cake?

—Shut up! I was looking for you.

—Yes, I love to hide myself in there —Toto playfully and softly pushes you.

—And NO! I wasn't creeping around in Mike's office; Anita sent me to get the notice she needed, and I went there; it turns out Mike was on holiday, but he left the instruction to collect it from the drawer on his desk, and then I opened the wrong drawer and BAMB! It was full of receipts and bills from the flower company that delivered my flowers. Not to be nosy, but Magic Mike is doing pretty well; I had no idea how expensive they were!

—Wait! But you aren't telling me! Are you into Magic Mike? Do you fancy him?

—No, not him, anyway.

Toto stares intensely at you and wants to say more. If you weren't so in the zone, you would have noticed it and given him a chance, but no, you continue blurting out words.

—But I will go and thank him, I guess. I don't want to hurt him; he is lovely. Everyone told me to go out on a date with him. I don't feel like it right now, but it's not always love at first sight, right? Maybe that doesn't even exist; I was expecting to fall in love, you know, movie style, but that may not be real, or at least not for girls like me. Besides, Valentine's Day is approaching, and I don't feel like spending it alone again —you let out a sigh after talking forever.

—Weren't you going to that Lonely Hearts Party? It sounds fun. It's better than going on a date with someone you don't like just to feel better —Toto tells you a bit moody.

—Oh god, I love you; you are always right; you are so annoying —you add while hugging and kissing him on the cheek. —Is there any chance I can fit in your suitcase for Brazil? I wouldn't mind spending Valentine's Day with a hot Brazilian or at the beach.

Toto laughs while shaking his head.

—I have to go! —you complain, checking the hour on your smartwatch. —Unfortunately, I have work to pretend to do!

—Sometimes I feel you forget I'm the boss here —he jokes with you as he crosses his arms and watches you walk backward, still facing him, getting further away.

—YES SIR!

It's the Wednesday before Valentine's Day, and to everyone's surprise, the flowers stop arriving.

"Did Toto tell Mike I don't like him and to stop sending me flowers?" You take out your phone to text him.

—Apparently, even "Creepy Flower Guy" gave up on me.

—Really?! —Toto replies.

—Yes. No flowers today.

He gives you no further information, no replying text comes your way.

It's Valentine's Day, and you are wearing a shiny red mini dress with matching bow heels to the Lonely Hearts Party.

You took your time doing your makeup, which you feel you nailed, and your hair looks sleek.

As you check yourself in the mirror, you feel confident and hot!

After several drinks and enjoying the music and the vibe, you relish the party, but your mind keeps wandering to the anticlimactic ending of the flower guy mystery.

The only crime and murder here was the one of your feelings and heart.

Two hours later, you start to feel bummed out enough after witnessing many hookups and new couples forming, slightly envious of them and feeling lonelier than ever, aching that Toto was here with you instead of Brazil. You decide you've had enough and are about to leave when you feel a soft finger tap on your right shoulder. You turn around to see who it is.

Definitely, you aren't ready for the scene that greets you.

Toto is standing right before you, holding a bouquet in his hands, looking extremely handsome, with a shy smile on his lips.

—What are you doing here?! —you look astonished at him. Am I that drunk?! Thinking you are seeing things now.

—I felt like delivering them to you in person from now on —he offers you the roses.

Your brain takes its time to process his words and what's happening. This is really happening.

—You are? —you try to say and instinctively grab the bouquet.

—The Creepy Flower Guy, yes.

You laugh at the sound of the nickname on his lips.

—Let's call him "flower guy" from now on.

—Yeah, let's call him Toto better, or my love, if you prefer. I hope you aren't as disappointed this time.

—But Mike? —you ask, confused.

—Have you ever heard of the terms invoice and tax returns? He does my accounting, too. Mike helped me deliver the flowers till I felt ready to show myself. He is a long friend of mine.

—That's why he had all the receipts; that makes sense. Wait!

You close the distance between Toto and you and place a kiss on his lips; getting on your tiptoes, he slowly and hungrily starts kissing you more, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer, not letting you move an inch away from him.

—Thank you for the flowers, my love but weren't you supposed to be in Brazil by now? —you ask him as you both catch your breaths.

His lips are so soft and warm.

—Oh, I'm going to be in Brazil soon, but I forgot to mention to you that you would also be there. Happy Valentine's Day, my love! —he gives you another long and delicious kiss.

—Shouldn't I have packed? —you ask against his lips, already overthinking.

Toto shakes his head.

—We aren't going to need much clothes, anyway. -

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