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slytherinknowitall · 2 years

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To Bed A Death Eater

Chapter 5: Devotion [Part II]

(Click here for chapter 4!)

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Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

It felt like an eternity had passed before Hermione’s senses finally came back to her. Her head was still swirling from her violent climax by the time she managed, albeit with great difficulty, to prop herself up on her elbows and look down, the edges of her vision a bit blurry yet.

And that was when she saw him: Professor Snape, sprawled half-naked between her bare legs with his head resting on her thigh, panting heavily, his lips and chin glistening vaguely with her own arousal in the feeble light.

Hermione did not exactly know why, but this sight caused her next breath to catch in her throat. He just looked so damn alluring at this moment, unlike anything she had ever seen before. Like Eden’s forbidden fruit. Straightaway, the warm, flushing feeling in her lower belly returned, and she could not help but clumsily sit back up and launch herself at him. She pulled him into a hungry, heated kiss, tasting herself on his lips.

At some point, her hair tie had to have gotten lost, because now her wild mane of curls was cascading down her back and over her breasts, nearly engulfing the two of them as they worshipped each other again with their tongues. Hermione was still so high off of her orgasm that any shyness was all at once forgotten, and the only thing she desired right then and there was to reciprocate, to make him feel just as good as he had made her feel. And so one of her hands slipped between them and somewhat ineptly palmed the hard bulge in his trousers, prompting Snape to groan into her mouth. Spurred on by his reaction, she rubbed him more brashly through his clothes, and he jerked against her touch.

Breaking their kiss, he pulled back until only their foreheads were touching.

“What are you doing to me, witch?” he rasped in a gravelly voice, and Hermione was not able to suppress the wicked grin that spread across her face. She would have been lying if she had said that his response to her did not make her feel as good as almighty. She had the sudden urge to find out just how much she could affect him.

Inspirited by her Gryffindor nerve, she thus inclined her head and kissed his neck as her fingers made quick work of his belt buckle and the buttons of his slacks, partly exposing the front of his underpants. She cupped his clothed groin once more and revelled in the hissing noise that escaped him.

She continued to touch and kiss him, taking delight in his unusual vocalness; and in her boldness, she soon pulled back and made an attempt at yanking down his trousers. It was a feeble endeavour, however, as his seated position made it impossible for her to pull them past his hips, and she was immediately taken aback by this slight hiccup. It felt like the wind had been taken out of her sails, causing her ephemeral confidence to shatter like glass. What was she supposed to do now? She briefly considered whether she should ask him to get up on his knees, but the mere thought of making such a request made her feel even more embarrassed. She cudgelled her brain in desperation, but her consternation was unwarranted, as Snape seemed to have read her mind already. A quick flick of his wrist was all that was needed to vanish his remaining clothing, leaving him completely in the nude.

Hermione gasped when she abruptly found herself confronted with his nakedness. A path of trimmed hair, whose dark tone clashed with his pale skin, led from his navel down to the junction of his thighs where his already weeping erection stood pointedly. Slightly reddish in colour, it looked so incredibly stiff and – for want of a better term – angry.

The Muggle-born’s heart was pounding so fast and loud that she was certain he must be able to hear it. This was the first time that she was seeing a phallus in the flesh, and even though she could only compare it to some rather insipid medical illustrations she had seen in books, she still knew that Snape was definitely well-endowed. His penis looked so long and notably thick that she had trouble imagining how it was supposed to fit even just halfway inside her.

But despite her flabbergasted state, her innate know-it-all nature quickly took over. Before she could curb her curiosity, she had already leaned forward in order to examine him more closely. His straining manhood was all flushed, with veins and ridges and silky-smooth skin, a glossy, milky-hued droplet spilling at the tip. Unwittingly, she reached out and allowed one tentative finger to brush across the head, watching in fascination as the organ twitched in response to her touch.

However, even though his sex seemed to react with eagerness to this minute caress, Snape did not. Without warning, he jolted backwards, practically recoiling from her, and Hermione froze, with her hand still in the air.

“I –” His tone was barely recognisable, sounding all breathless and scratchy, and Hermione thought that even the blindfold could not fully mask the conspicuous wild look of his eyes, his neatly feathered eyebrows raised so high that they almost disappeared in his hairline. For a long moment, neither one of them dared to move.

“I’m sorry,” she then said, careful to keep her voice calm and quiet for fear that he would otherwise again react as though Peeves had just dropped a barrage of Dungbombs on him. “I shouldn’t have touched you without your permission. I’ll just –”

Scarcely had she begun to back away that his hands suddenly shot towards her and encircled her forearms with surprising precision.

“No, please!” His hoarse voice was a mere thread of sound. “Forgive me!”

He lurched forward and pressed one frantic kiss after another onto the insides of her wrists.

“It’s just –, you cannot imagine how –” He swallowed hard, and she watched his Adam’s apple jump in his throat. “Having you … touch me like that … with your scent filling this room so potently and your taste on my lips still …”

His entire body shuddered almost convulsively.

“The curse … it nearly overtook me just then. But I promise –, I swear that I’m in control now!”

Hermione was taken aback by the discernible difference in his speech. These unrestrained, overwrought words – they sounded nothing like Severus Snape, Hogwarts professor and potions extraordinaire. She could not quite put a finger on why this odd change in behaviour bothered her so much, but something about the way the tips of his hair were all of a sudden crackling with sparks of unbridled magic unnerved her.

“It’s all right,” she said softly. “I understand. I won’t do that again.”

“No!”

For an instant, the grip he had on her tightened, squeezing her flesh painfully, before he loosened it again.

“No, you … you can touch me,” he added somewhat more calmly, though still with a pressing imperativeness to his voice. “If you want.”

A wave of unease welled up from her belly. There it was again – that sickening suspicion that the dark magic striving to corrupt his mind was perhaps much closer to the surface than she would have liked to admit. Unlike before, she did not think that he was trying to scarper anymore. No, rather something within him now seemed to be all too keen on staying; and she somehow got the impression that this shift did not bode well for her.

Regardless, they had already come this far – there was simply no way that she could abort their mission this close to the finish line. And so she told him, “Show me how.”

He released one of her hands and pulled the other towards him, wrapping their intertwined fingers around him. He urged her fist down towards the base before more quickly drawing it back up in a sort of twisting motion. Repeating this action a mere handful of times – she had always been a quick study, after all – he ultimately allowed his hand to fall away so that she could continue the movement on her own.

Yet again, she was glad for his temporary blindness, since she could only imagine his reaction to the expression she surely had to be sporting at the present. She was – for want of a better term – utterly mesmerised by the feeling of his rigid member in her hand. It felt hot, oh so very hot, and somehow both improbably stiff and velvety-soft at the same time. With each pump of her hand, it seemed to grow even harder, swelling within her closed fist. The way his bollocks appeared to have a mind of their own, ascending upwards and nearly disappearing at various times, had her spellbound.

Most importantly, however, Hermione was bewitched by the actual act of touching him like this – of being able to affirm that under all those layers of black cloth, he was just as fragile as the rest of them.

He felt so … human.

“Grasp it a bit more firmly,” Snape whispered, and a low rasping sound was torn from him when she followed his instructions. He appeared to fold in on himself, his head dropping to her shoulder, his unsteady breaths tickling her skin. He bucked against her hand and at once, her fingers became slick with precum.

A shock wave of heat pulsed through her blood. Witnessing him in such a state – it made her feel powerful beyond measure. Because she was doing that. She was the one turning him on like this. She was the one causing him to groan like this, and immediately she craved to draw more of those delicious sounds from him. Increasing the pressure on his cock, she began to speed up her pumps. Up, twist, down. Up, twist, down. She let herself get lost in the rhythm.

“Enough!” Snape suddenly barked as his fingers forcefully seized her waist, and Hermione let go off him as though touching him was scorching her skin.

For a heartbeat or two, they remained in this queer position, both of them unnaturally still. Then he pulled back a little and raised his chin towards her.

“I apologise. I did not intend for that to come out sounding quite this brusque.”

Hermione thought that she could detect a slight flush on his cheeks.

“It’s just –, I … I got …” He ducked his head. “Too … close.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

“I suppose that means …”

“Yes.”

“It’s … time.”

“Yes.”

Hermione felt a trickle of sweat run down the side of her face.

This was happening, she thought, this was really happening. Professor Snape was going to fuck her.

Right. Now.

A chill rushed across her skin, sharp and cold. The time between that ill-starred order meeting and the present moment abruptly seemed to have gone by far too quickly. How had they already reached this point? Hadn’t he knocked on her door only a few minutes ago? For an agonising instant, she was consumed by dread – and then her eyes fell on Snape.

He was a truly miserable sight. The Slytherin was hunched over, cowering almost, his hands balled into shaking fists at his sides. It was then that the reality of their situation hit her like a ton of bricks. For the most part, her nervousness came down to the typical jitters one could expect to get when faced with the prospect of losing one’s virginity. It was clear, however, that his worries were not of the same nature. Indeed, he looked absolutely horror-stricken in anticipation of what was to occur; and Hermione was promptly disgusted with herself for her self-centredness. To think that she would permit herself to wallow in her own qualms, when his state of mind had to be much worse – no, it simply would not do. After all, she was supposed to help him!

Putting aside her own concerns, she thus scooted over to the middle of the bed, took one of his hands into hers and gently but firmly pulled him towards her. Snape was compelled to follow her as she leaned backwards until her back met the mattress. Their bodies collided without much grace and came to lie in a huddle of limbs.

Snape instantly tried to remove himself from her, of course, but Hermione stilled him with one hand on his shoulder and the other cupping his face. Stroking his cheek with her thumb, she gave him an encouraging smile he could not see.

“Please don’t try to run again,” she entreated. “We’ve almost done it now. Just hold out a bit longer, okay?”

The only response she got was a delayed, curt nod, and she had to hold back a groan of irritation.

Easy, Hermione. Remember, this is even harder for him than it is for you.

“Ready when you are then,” she therefore told him, a weird cheerfulness in her voice that sounded fake even to her own ears.

Snape, too, appeared puzzled if his rigid posture was anything to go by, but Hermione decided to play ignorant. What followed was a long, awkward pause which only ended once the wizard finally sighed in capitulation. With slow, reluctant movements, he shifted his weight to one side and took himself in his hand. As he guided his member towards her centre, he pressed his forehead against hers.

“You know that you can tell me to stop at any point, right?” He hesitated. “Well, at least until …”

He trailed off, and though she saw his words for what they were – another stalling attempt – she could hear the earnest trepidation in them as well. She could only imagine how uncomfortable the thought of being wholly out of control had to be to someone like him.

“I know.” Hermione reached between them, curling her fingers around his trembling ones and lining him up with her entrance. “Keep going.”

Nervously, Snape moistened his dry lips. His pelvis pushed forwards, and Hermione squinched her eyes shut. His cock was definitely much bigger than his fingers had been, and the unexpected roughness of his initial thrust did not help. A croaky whine filled her ears, and this time she was very nearly certain that it had come from him.

Fortunately, he seemed to regain his composure following that first shove of his hips and waited for her muscles to unclench before he pressed on, gradually sinking into her as far as her body would allow him. To her astonishment, it did not hurt. There was a momentary, slight pinch as he filled her and then … nothing. Frankly, this unforeseen circumstance left her genuinely confounded.

Even though all signs may point to the contrary, at the end of the day, Hermione Granger was but a young woman who had only relatively recently had her sexual awakening. As such, she had in fact read the occasional dirty article or semi-helpful advice column in certain teen magazines that had somehow found their way from Ginny’s extensive collection into her hands and had even secretly listened in on the gossipy testimonials shared between her giggly dormmates over the years. All that had led her to believe that a girl’s first time was supposed to be far from pleasant, outright painful even. Yet all she was experiencing right now was a strange feeling of vaguely uncomfortable fullness.

She briefly wondered whether or not that had anything to do with the pain relief potion Snape had given her earlier; however, she was pulled from her thoughts in the twinkling of an eye. In her confusion, she had experimentally canted her hips in order to decipher this alien sensation, and her heart jolted when one of his hands suddenly thwarted her rather harshly.

“D-don’t!”

Hermione’s lips parted in silent surprise. Never before had she heard the ever-steady, ever-contained wizard stutter like this. In fact, she could not remember ever hearing him stutter at all. The apparent distress in his voice disconcerted her – and at the same time, it excited her, too. To evoke such an uncharacteristic reaction from such an incredibly self-possessed man like Severus Snape with nothing more than a slight movement of her body was downright exhilarating. Without conscious volition her pelvic muscles contracted.

“Hermione!”

“Sorry! That –, that wasn’t intentional, I swear.”

Throwing his head back, Snape visibly clenched his teeth.

“It’s … fine,” he managed to spit out, evidently with great effort. “Just give me a moment.”

Making every endeavour to lay cooperatively still, she observed his face. The tendons in his jaw were locked in acute restraint, looking more akin to steel hawsers than anything else, and there was a deep line running vertically between his brows, reminiscent of the one which had oftentimes manifested itself in the classroom, whenever he had had to do his utmost not to unleash his fury on one of the – as he so affectionately liked to call them – dunderheads who had just recklessly caused an explosion in their cauldron. The only noise in the room was the sound of small bursts of air being forced out of his flaring nostrils in rapid succession.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the tension in his features eased, and his expression gentled. Snape removed his hand from her waist and following another short moment of indecision began to move. His hips rolled forward, rocking against her in shallow thrusts, very slowly at first and little by little becoming a bit more daring.

As he stiffly slipped in and out of her, Hermione gnawed at the inside of her lip. Again, his movements did not hurt, but they did not feel good either. It must be his girth, she thought, or maybe her own build was simply too small or maybe both of those facts were equally true. Either way, she was sure that they had to be physically incompatible somehow, because right now the only thing she could focus on was that disagreeable stretch she felt.

She was not quite sure why this was disappointing to her. After all, she had not gone into this whole curse-breaking-spy-shagging-fiasco with any romanticised notions in her head. However, she would be lying if she had said that the ease with which he had gotten her off earlier had not caused a bit of hope to swell within her. She was still thankful for the absence of the expected pain, of course, but some frustration nevertheless reared its ugly head. In an attempt to squash it, she tried to distract herself.

She was under no illusion that she would most likely never again see the man who was currently hovering above her like this – without his armour of billowing robes and countless buttons, without his sneering remarks and that perpetual scowl of his. She would never again see him this unguarded. This exposed. Therefore, she was determined to make the most of it by running her fingers across any body part she could reach: his arms, his pectoral muscles, his neck. As she traced the dip of his spine, he let out a soft grunt which made the corners of her mouth curl upwards a bit. Even if the previous pleasures he had given her were now missing, she could at least take solace in this – in seeing this powerful man react to her touch. React to her. Suitably mollified, she allowed her hands to continue to roam across his broad chest. Subconsciously, the muscles in her body began to relax, and so she was somewhat dumbfounded when his thrusts were suddenly bearable. No, they were more than bearable – they actually felt kind of nice. She was unaware of the fact that when her legs had settled more comfortably on either side of him, she had inadvertently opened herself up to him more which greatly helped allay that awful stretching sensation.

All the while, Snape had been holding his body taut in an effort to keep his weight off her, bracing himself against the mattress on either side of her head. The muscles of his lean arms were straining, noticeably flexing beneath his pale skin, and when thinking back to this moment later she would use this fact as an excuse for her following actions; though truth be told, she merely acted on a sudden impulse that demanded him closer.

Her legs wrapped around his waist at the same time that she reached out and linked her arms behind his back. She pulled him towards her with all her strength, and his reaction to this unanticipated change in position was immediate. An almost pitiful-sounding moan escaped him, and his head dropped to her left shoulder. One of his arms stretched upwards, his fingers becoming entangled in her curls, whilst his other arm slid under her neck and cradled her close. Simultaneously, his hips surged forwards, impaling her in one sharp stroke, and for a moment, Hermione struggled for air.

“Fuck,” Snape groaned without even seeming to realise that he had spoken. His grip on her tightened as he rammed his cock into her again. And again. And again.

Hermione screwed up her eyes. She knew that it was the curse causing him to act in such a manner – to be reduced to expletives, to sink his teeth into the crook of her neck in an effort to stifle his gasps and whimpers, to cling to her like she was his salvation. Still, she shifted her lower body just so and met his movements with her own. With each thrust, his hips snapped against hers and his pelvis met her swollen clit in a truly glorious manner, drawing breathy moans from her. No longer did his rhythmic invasion of her body feel foreign, no, it was starting to feel good. Really good.

So that’s what all the fuss is about, she thought just before Snape stupefied her mind with a searing kiss. His lips were needy, the pace of his pounding relentless. She let one of her hands trail the path between his shoulder blates and felt him shudder.

“Ah,” he suddenly panted into her mouth, ceasing his vigorous strokes. His chest was heaving with excited breaths as he pushed himself up on his elbows. “I –, I’m about to –, to … Are you ready?”

In spite of his urgent words, Hermione could hear the evident uncertainty in his voice. Instead of answering him, she cradled his chiselled face in her hands. She pressed a soft kiss onto the tip of his nose before she reached around and slowly unravelled the tight knot that had kept the ominous blindfold in place from the moment the curse had struck him until now. The piece of cloth fell from his eyes, and she found herself confronted with his bluish-tinged eyelids.

“Open your eyes,” she told him, even as her heart stumbled over its own rhythm. “Look at me.”

But he did not. Indeed, he tried to turn his face to the side. Her hands refused to let him move so much as an inch though.

“Hey. It’s all right. Really.” She stroked her thumb across his cheekbone. “I know that it’s … that it’s frightening. But I’m here; we’re here. It’s almost over. Let’s unburden you.”

In that exact moment, she did not feel any fear. She could not be certain as to what was about to happen, of course; she did not know how devastating and destructive the curse would truly prove to be. But even so, she thought that right now she was maybe the calmest she had ever been. Because for once, her mind was not in a state of organised chaos. For once, she was not stuck in that suffocating spiral of overthinking and strategizing and obsessive planning, always anticipating contingencies, always worrying, always anxiously awaiting the next tragedy. Perhaps the reason for it was that there was simply no point. There was no need to look for alternatives, whatever the outcome, because the circumstances did not permit it. There was only one way out, and all they could do now was to let it happen. This inevitableness – it was almost a relief.

She kissed him again, on the mouth this time. Gentle and sweet. It was not a kiss of passion but rather one of reassurance. A kind of promise.

“Trust me,” she whispered, and after a heartbeat, his lashes finally swept up.

Their eyes immediately locked, and for just a split second, Hermione saw the Potions Master as she had never seen him before. His gaze was full of so much vulnerability and uncertainty, tenderness and bewilderment. This bizarre jumble of emotions filled her heart and made her want to bitterly weep at the same time.

But then, his demeanour abruptly changed. To the witch, it almost appeared as though his eyes suddenly glazed over, their pitch-black colour somehow getting even darker. His brows knitted together as if enraged and his lips drew back to reveal his uneven, gritted teeth, which morphed his face into something akin to a grotesque grimace.

With a guttural snarl that sounded less like a human and more like a savage beast, Snape arched his back and drew back only to then promptly slam back into her with unprecedented force, sheathing himself to the hilt in her warmth. Hermione gasped and gripped the sheets as he plunged into her again and again, hard and fast. His pace quickened with each thrust, and she squeezed her eyes shut. It took her all but biting her tongue to keep from making a troubled sound, worried about overly upsetting Snape or whatever was left of him, hidden deep inside that creature-like madman who was so roughly fucking her right now.

It was not painful, necessarily – she was far too wet for that – but his forcefulness felt simply overwhelming. It was way too much. She did not try to mask her expression of discomfort; in truth, she even purposefully screwed up her face in an exaggerated manner. After all, should Voldemort truly demand access to his servant’s mind tomorrow night, it was crucial that her supposed distress look somewhat convincing. In the same vein, however, she did make sure to keep her arms tightly wrapped around her torso, covering up as much as she possibly could.

Meanwhile, Snape continued to pound into her with abandon. Accompanied by feral grunts, his furious thrusts were becoming more urgent and erratic by the second. Hermione watched him through the lashes of her squinted eyes. It was all but frightening how different he looked to his usually so composed self, staring at her with those wild, lust-crazed eyes, the veins of his neck protruding to an alarming extent. This was no longer the same Severus Snape she had known thus far – no longer the same snarky professor whose magical prowess she had always admired whilst sitting inside that dark, stuffy dungeon classroom; no longer the same brave man who had sacrificed it all in the fight against the dark side; no longer the ardent lover who had so easily made her become undone and crumble like sand in his arms. No, at this moment, he was truly nothing more than a vessel for that dreadful curse which was holding him prisoner inside his own body.

A desperate moan left Snape’s lips. His breathing was starting to get laboured, and he was little short of frothing at the mouth when he all of a sudden in his rage took hold of her hips, burying his nails in her flesh. Hermione unwillingly yelped in pain as he pulled her towards him in such a frenzy that he lifted her lower body off the bed. This shift in position created a new angle, and even though his movements were still far too harsh and brutal for her sexually verdant self, he was now suddenly hitting that spot within her again which sent a surge of excitement through her abdomen. Hermione whimpered as she felt her inner walls flutter around his length, tightening and throbbing with need. With each powerful stroke, a newly familiar feeling was gradually beginning to build inside her core. Stars danced behind her lids every time he ploughed into her, and against all odds, she yet again found herself climbing and climbing and climbing and –

A throaty roar resonated off the bedroom walls as Snape at last soared into oblivion and spilled himself inside her with one final deep thrust. For an instance, it was like time had stopped, and all Hermione could sense in her foggy state was the peculiar way he was pulsing within her – and then he collapsed on top of her, pinning her underneath his form, his face buried in the crook of her neck. They lay like that for what felt like hours.

“I-is it over?” Hermione ultimately managed to choke out with great difficulty once she had caught her breath, her voice sounding terribly shaky. “The curse … is it broken?”

At her words, the wizard tensed up, and for a mere second, Hermione was seized with panic. In the heat of the moment, she had completely forgotten about their earlier conversation, and so now her wand was lying amidst a messy pile of clothes on the floor, entirely out of reach. She felt her stomach contract into a tight ball as her eyes darted around the room almost feverishly, looking for an escape. After all, she knew that she was no match to him, neither physically nor magically – especially not whilst he was lost to curse-induced delirium.

But then, at last, Snape visibly relaxed.

“No, I … I think … I think it’s over,” he panted between short gasps, and Hermione breathed an audible sigh of relief.

They had actually done it. They had broken the curse. It was over.

The following moments were spent in silence. The unlikely pair remained in their unwonted position, him atop her, their bodies still joined in the most intimate manner. Snape was surprisingly heavy, his weight pressing her into the mattress to the point that she nearly felt smothered, but she somehow could not bring herself to care. For some reason, it simply felt right to have him pressed so tightly against her, to experience those slight tingles every time he exhaled against her skin. Hermione did not think that she had ever felt this content before in her whole life. She would have bottled up and preserved this very moment for all of eternity if she could have.

When he finally stirred and consequently propped himself up on his forearms, she immediately mourned the loss of his touch. Though she still had to wince a bit from soreness as he pulled out of her.

All the while, Snape hung his head low, his long hair masking most of his face – which Hermione did not like, not one bit. Just like she did not like the fact that he was suddenly so quiet again. Whilst she was normally well-accustomed to his long bouts of silence, she could not overlook how vocal and attentive he had been just minutes earlier. Slowly but surely, she was growing concerned. After all, the Potions Master was rather infamous for his frequent violent mood swings. Therefore, she could not stop herself from worrying about what his current state of mind was or even what would happen next, now that they had done what they had needed to do. Would they now simply go back to their previous ways? Were they now again merely ex-professor and ex-student, distant acquaintances at best? Would she never again be allowed to see this side of him, the caring and softer him? Would they never again speak about what had transpired between them today? Though she certainly did not have any romantic feelings for him, the idea still hurt.

Her ongoing whirlwind of thoughts was only interrupted when Snape pushed himself off of her and rolled over. However, just before he came to a rest beside her, Hermione could have sworn that she felt his lips ghost across her left shoulder for merely a wisp of a second.

That was how they found themselves laying side by side on her much too narrow bed, their sweaty, naked bodies practically clinging to each other wherever they happened to touch. The only noise in the air was the sound of their laboured breathing. Something wet and sticky was slowly starting to pool between her legs, staining the sheets beneath her, but Hermione barely noticed. She was still so dazed that she could hardly even think straight. Even now, it felt like every inch of her body was on fire, aglow with the carnal intoxication which continued to flow through her every vein. She was faintly aware of a pounding ache gradually radiating from where he had been grabbing onto her earlier during his manic rampage; there was no doubt in her mind that she would wake up tomorrow morning with finger-shaped bruises adorning her hips.

All of a sudden, the man beside her seized her by the wrist, taking her by surprise.

“Thank you.”

It had scarcely been more than a whisper, but Hermione had heard the words – and the sincerity in them – nonetheless. By the time she turned her head to look at him, however, Snape had already let go of her again. He was staring straight up at the ceiling with a blank expression, his gaze fixated on nothing in particular. Whilst his face was impassive, his posture appeared curiously casual. Resting on his back, he had one bent arm stretched out above his head and the other draped across his abdomen. This pose, paired with his alabaster skin, his aquiline nose and the strands of charred-black hair sticking to his forehead which was beaded with sweat, made him look straight out of a classic painting, and she had to resist the urge to reach out and touch him.

“You’re welcome … Severus.”

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resident-gay-bitch · 3 months

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Regulus’ heart breaks as he stands there, just behind the willow tree, watching James and Sirius roll around on the grass, play fighting in their own little world.

Of course he left him. Of course James would pick Sirius over Regulus, wouldn’t everyone? Regulus has never been picked first. Not once.

Not by his parents, who ignored him throughout his entire childhood to focus on framing Sirius as the perfect son and heir.

Not by Sirius, who ran away, picking James to be his brother and not bothering to ask Regulus to tag along.

Not in team games, where students would pick through the class one by one, and Regulus would be one of the last few standing.

Not by his friends, who all would chose their partners, or the other people in the group first. He joined last, it’s only fair.

Not even by the lizard who inhabits his dorm room, who picks the three other boys to crawl over to first, every time.

And certainly not by James.

He thought, for once, the cycle might be broken. He thought, for once, someone would pick him first. He’d get chosen over someone else, just once.

He should have known better.

He should have known that the moment Sirius found out about he and James sneaking around in dark corridors and whispering sweet words to each other, James would have to pick.

He was foolish to think James would pick him over Sirius. He was foolish to think that James would pick him over anyone.

And as Lily, with her fiery red hair pulled back into braids, comes marching over to the boys, snatching James up by his collar and earning herself a cheek kiss, Regulus realises he should have seen that coming too.

Not even two weeks has passed since Regulus placed second to his brother, as he does in fucking everything, and James has already moved on.

Regulus would never be anyone’s first choice, he should have known better.

He knows better now.

It’s not until three months later that Regulus finally shatters from it. The crushing weight of never being enough, never being someone’s first choice.

It’s Slytherin against Ravenclaw for the quidditch cup, and there in the crowd, he spots his brother and James.

They’re decked out in silver and blue, and they don’t look at Regulus, not even once.

Barty finds him in the showers, once the entire teams cleared out. He’s dressed in a confusing mix of blue and green, for his own house and his friends.

Hes crying. Regulus doesn’t think he’s ever cried this hard before. The water is pouring down over his head, and he’s still fully dressed in his uniform.

Slytherin lost. He lost them the match, because he was more focused on trying to catch James or Sirius looking his way just once than getting the snitch. They didn’t, and he lost.

Barty clearly doesn’t know how to handle this. The lowest he’s ever seen Regulus would have been prior to an exam he stressed himself out about. Besides, Barty has always been a little awkward when handling emotions.

Regulus tries to tell him to leave him be, he really does. But his words get all chocked up in his throat and he can’t get out much more than a wail or a sob. It fucking hurts.

“What’s the matter, Black?” Barty asks, switching the water off before crouching down in front of him, “What’s got your knickers in a twist, hey?”

“I-I’ll never be… good enough.” Regulus confesses. He’s never said it out loud before. He’s not a vulnerable person, he doesn’t do this. He knows better than to let out his sob story to someone, they can hold it over him one day. But he can’t help himself, he finds. He needs to get it off his chest before it rips him open, “I’ll never… b-be enough.”

Barty’s silent for a while, clearly unsure of what to say. It only makes Regulus sob more. He pulls his knees up to his chest and hides his head in his hand, and he fucking cries. He’s sure if anyone’s still out side, they’d hear it, but Barty locked the door when he came in. At least that’s something.

“I can never be enough.” Regulus sobs again, and this time Barty kicks into action.

He’s still awkward about it, Regulus can tell, he probably has better things to do than listen to Regulus cry as well, which only makes this worse. He pushes Regulus’ sopping hair out of his face and pats his face dry with the end of his Slytherin scarf before hauling them both to their feet.

“Who told ya that?” Barty asks, pulling his wand out to try his hand at a drying spell. It mostly works, so Regulus can’t complain.

“I don’t have to be told something to know it, Barty.” Regulus sniffles, wiping his eyes. They sting, and he knows he looks terrible, but there’s no use in worrying about that now.

“Well… I think, if you haven’t been told, it can’t be true.” Barty shrugs, tucking his wand back in his pocket.

“Fine.” Regulus nods, “My entire fucking family has told me then, on several occasions.”

“Oh.” Barty stills, and he has a look on his face of utter confusion.

Regulus shakes his head and goes to walk for the door, but he winces when he puts pressure on his ankle. He fell on it weirdly, midway through the match when he was knocked off his broom. It didn’t bother him before, but it does now.

“You hurt?” Barty asks, and Regulus nods.

Silently, Barty reaches out and wraps his arm around Regulus’ waist. He flinches at first, startled by the slightly intimate touch, but then Barty pulls Regulus to shift his weight, and he relaxes into it a little. Together, they walk back across the field, Barty carrying Regulus’ broom, and half of Regulus’ weight, and make their way back to the castle.

It’s oddly silent.

It’s always quiet, between them. Regulus isn’t much of a talker, and when Barty runs out of stupid things to say he goes quiet and people watches. He usually watches Regulus, since they’re always together, something that took a while to get used to. Barty really likes to watch Regulus read, it makes him a little self conscious of any strange expressions he might be making.

But it’s a strange sort of quiet now. It’s silent. Regulus isn’t talking, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he feels ashamed for breaking down like that. He doesn’t just break down. Men don’t fucking break down. Especially not in front of people like that. He feels embarrassed that Barty found him.

Well, he’s grateful it was Barty over anyone else, seeing as though they’re supposed to be close friends, Merlin forbid Sirius found him. But it’s still uncomfortable.

The only friend any of them have that likes to talk about feelings is Pandora. Regulus assumed this was because she was a girl, at first, however, Dorcas doesn’t like talking about them either. Pandoras just strange like that, she cares about people in odd ways. Sometimes it’s nice, but mostly it’s terrifying.

Barty looks like he wants to talk. He also looks like he wants to watch Regulus, but every time he turns his head to do so he probably sees the red rimming of Regulus’ eyes and finds something much uglier than usual. It only makes Regulus feel all the more ashamed.

Barty starts whistling. It’s not his regular noise filling whistles either, it’s his uncomfortable whistling. He doesn’t want to be here, Regulus can tell. Merlin, he needs to get away.

“Going back to your dorm?” Barty asks as they round a corridor in the castle.

Regulus nods, “Is Evan-“

“He’s there.” Barty says, “Cas too… dunno about Dora, she’s always off with the fairies. If she’s not hugging Dorcas about their loss then I dunno where she is.”

Regulus goes tense, “I don’t want them to see me.”

Barty stops and swallows, “Okay… how about my dorm then? My roommates are all down by the lake. They snagged some firewhisky.”

“Okay.” Regulus agrees, because he has no where else to go.

Once settled in Barty’s dorm, Regulus changes into more comfortable clothes. Plaid pyjama pants and a green knitted sweater he knows is his own that went “missing” last year. He doesn’t question it, Barty’s strange like that. He likes to collect things, and especially Regulus’ things.

They’re both sitting on his bed, Regulus tucked up under the covers and Barty sitting on the other end. He’s flipping through one of his dorm mates magazines and whistling to himself, his regular whistling again. It calms Regulus a bit.

Lying there, stuck with his own thoughts, he can’t hide from the images that pop into his mind every time he closes his eyes. All of Sirius and James, all of them examples where Regulus placed last.

There’s so many it’s hard to filter out which ones are new and which ones are old.

They all hurt just the same.

“Whatcha crying about now?” Barty asks, looking over at Regulus. He didn’t even realise he was crying again, but he is. “Did I do something wrong? I’ll fix it, whatever. Get ya whatever you need, promise.”

“You didn’t do anything.” Regulus sniffles, rolling onto his back to look up at the ceiling. Barty’s stuck posters up there, muggle ones of girls on motorcycles and punk bands, just to piss off his dad. “I’m just…”

“Go on.” Barty asks, sitting up now, cross legged and attentive. “There’s no one here, just me. Promise I’ll never tell.”

Regulus sighs and fiddles with his fingers, “I don’t need your pity, Barty. I’ve survived this long, I can survive some more.”

“Yeah, but you’re crying.” He says, and Regulus glares at him. “What? I ain’t seen you cry before, it’s weird. I know it’s really gotta be botherin ya if you’re crying like this. What would Dora say?”

“She’d probably try to hug me and make me cry more.” Regulus offers.

“Do you want… me to- uhm, hug you?”

“No.” Regulus glares at him. “I don’t want your pity, I said.”

“It’s not my pity, Regulus!” Barty splutters, “It’s a bloody hug. Dora says there really good for ya! I love her hugs, you know. Get ‘em all the time. I- I know I’m no Pandora but… I mean, I can offer ya a real bony one.”

Regulus snickers and looks back up at the roof, “No thanks. That’s weird.”

“Is it?” Barty asks, “Cause… cause I’ve been listening to what she’s sayin and… I think it would be nice.”

“If I hugged you right now?” Regulus raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah… and other times.” Barty shrugged, “I dunno, might be dumb but… we’re supposed to be friends, ya know? Friends hug. Cas hates ‘em, unless they’re from Dora, but Evan and I hug sometimes.”

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m not trying to.” Barty frowned, “I just… I care about you, I suppose.”

Regulus swallowed. The only person who’s said that before has been Pandora, but she cares about everyone.

Barty… well, he doesn’t care about much at all. He cares about so little, that Regulus thought the only thing he probably cared about was pissing off his dad and Pandora herself. But apparently that’s not true.

Regulus doesn’t want to believe it. He doesn’t want to hurt himself by believing that he could be one of the very few things Barty has come to care about.

But they’re friends, and Barty watches him a lot, and collects Regulus’ things, and helps him when he cries, and offers to hug him.

Now Regulus is crying for a whole other reason.

“One hug?” Barty offers, sticking out his arms, “I’ll make it so quick and if you hate it we don’t ever have to do it again.”

Regulus contemplates it. He doesn’t remember the last time he was hugged.

He knows the last good one was Pandora, maybe last year, when they were leaving for summer. Quick and carefree. The last bad one, that was James. Not that it was bad at the time, but it hurts to think about now. It was false stability and ended in heartbreak. The last time he was hugged to be soothed though? His mind takes him back to Sirius, when they were still little.

“Fine.” Regulus mutters, sitting up under the covers, “But make it quick.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Barty nods and moves in, “Sorry if I’m uncomfortable.”

Regulus nods and sits very still as Barty wraps himself around Regulus’ shoulders. It’s awkward, to say the least. They’ve never done this before, and they’re going about it very strangely.

“Reg… you gotta relax a bit.”

“How am I supposed to relax when I have a boney man attached to me?”

Barty scoffs and squeezes him a little tighter, “Just put your head on my shoulder, orrite. Relax, just for a second.”

Regulus huffs but does it anyway. He leans his head over to rest on Barty’ shoulder and drops his own, and… oh, it’s nice. It’s actually really, really nice. Barty’s soothing his back, and twisting his finger around the end of Regulus’ hair. And it’s nice.

He can’t even feel Barty’s ribs poking him or anything. It’s really, really cosy.

Regulus pushes him away, wiping his tears.

Barty gives him a guilty smile, “Terrible?”

“No.” Regulus sniffles, “It was actually grossly nice.”

Barty snickers and nods his head, “Well, if you ever need another hug, I’ll give ya as many as ya kneed.”

“Thanks.”

“No problems, Black.”

Regulus fiddles with the ends of his sleeve, refusing to look up at Barty, who he knows is sitting there and staring. He’s so quiet, when he stares. It’s as if any noise Barty makes would ruin his ability to set his full attention solely on Regulus.

It’s so strange. He’s so strange.

“You can’t tell anyone.” Regulus mumbles.

“What, that we hugged?” Barty laughs.

“No.” He scoffs, “What I said before, wanker. In the showers.”

“Oh.” Barty nods, “Well, I wasn’t gonna anyway. Course not, Reg. I know you. I know you hate people knowing your business.”

Regulus nods, “You really wouldn’t have told anyone? Not even Dora?”

“Cross my heart.” Barty smiles, doing just that, “I know she’s my best friend, but you are too. It means something, you know?”

“Oh.” Regulus mumbles.

Barty can only laugh at him, and Regulus turns a little pink.

“Can I… no, don’t worry about it.”

“No, go on.” Barty offers, “It’s just you and me.”

Regulus sighs, “I just… I’m tired of not being good enough, Barty.”

“I dunno what you mean, Black. You’re bloody brilliant.” Barty says, flopping down on his back like a starfish, “You shoulda been in Ravenclaw with your smarts, and not to mention your skills as a seeker. You’re top of the class, Reggie, course you’re good enough.”

Regulus thinks Barty will never understand how much that singular sentence fucking means to him, even if he tries to explain it. It stings, how good it feels to hear it. He never has. Not once.

“Not just in school, Barty. Everywhere else.” Regulus mumbles, wiping his teary eyes. They’re stinging again, and he really doesn’t want to cry, but he knows he will. It’s so stupid. “Everything else. I’m just…”

Barty rolls onto his side, propping his head up on his elbow to look at Regulus, “Like, with your family?”

Regulus nods, chewing on a hangnail.

“Yeah, I get that.” Barty sighs, “Is this about… those who must not be named?”

Regulus closes his eyes to compose himself, and nods again.

“Right.” Barty says, “Did Sirius do something? You know he barked at me the other day, like a fucking dog. So I’ll go hex him, happily, if you want?”

“No, Barty. Don’t.” Regulus shook his head, “He didn’t… I… they both just…”

“Go on.” Barty said softly, softer than Regulus has ever heard him speak before as he slowly sits up to get level with him.

“I’ll always be second best.” Regulus mutters, and then he starts crying again. Hot tears down his cheeks, redness in his eyes, stuttering over himself as he shakes.

“Oh, Reg…”

“He- he just picked James, over his own blood brother. Every time it’s James and… and I… and James just… I loved him. I loved him Barty, I was in love with him. I think part of me still is, but… he, he picked Sirius too. He picked Sirius, and Lily, because she’s just… she’s so pretty, and smart, and she’s got everything that I’ve got but, she’s just… she’s just so much better.” Regulus heaved, pressing a hand to his chest, “Everywhere, I see it everywhere. Not just with them, but mostly, I- I’ll never… I’ve never been someone’s first choice, Barty. Ever. And I don’t think I ever will be. No one picks me just because they can.”

His shoulders shake as he cries, his breath short and stuttered. When Barty reaches out in offer for another hug, Regulus falls forward into his arms, head pressed against his friends chest.

It feels so safe there, to be cradled in Barty’s arms, it’s warm. He cries a puddle through his sweater, but Barty doesn’t seem to mind.

“Shh, Reggie.” Barry sooths, lightly scratching his nails over Regulus’ back and sifting his fingers through his hair. “Just breathe, love. Just breathe.”

Regulus follows his command, taking deep breaths and timing them with the rise and fall of Barty’s chest beneath his head. He relaxes there, letting his eyes fall shut, and Barty continues to rub his back and play with his hair.

“I’m so tired.” Regulus mumbles through the last of his tears, “I’m going to fall asleep if you keep doing that.”

“That’s okay.” Barty laughs softly, “How about we lie down?”

“Isn’t that weird?” Regulus asks.

“Isn’t everything I do weird?”

Regulus shrugs and follows when Barty pulls him down to lay against the pillows. Barty slips under the covers with him, and pulls Regulus’ head against his chest again. Bartys heart is beating faster than it should be, but Regulus ignores it and wiggles around until he’s comfortable.

Once again, Barty strokes his back and scratches his scalp, and folds himself into Regulus a little.

He presses a little kiss to the top of Regulus’ head, and his heartbeat speeds up rapidly.

Regulus tenses, “Why is your heart beating like that, Barty? Are you okay? Did I make you uncomfortable?” He questions, already coming up with a million terrible reasons for it. He’s been so stupidly selfish about his own problems he didn’t even notice how uncomfortable he’s made his supposed best friend.

“No…” Barty half follows as Regulus sits up, leaning back on his elbows, “No, Reg. Obviously not.”

Regulus’ shoulders relax a little, “Well, then what is it?”

Barty looks away, “Come on, don’t tease, Reggie. I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m not teasing.” He shakes his head, “What’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem, obviously.” Barty snickers, “Come on, we can just… we can forget about it by tomorrow if it’s weird.

“What’s weird, Crouch?” Regulus pressed, “I don’t understand.”

Barty looked at him for a moment, eyebrows drawn together in the middle, and his mouth slowly fell open, “You don’t know?”

“Know what?” Regulus asked.

“About me…”

“About you… what?” Regulus shook his head.

“About…” Barty sighed, shaking his head in delirium. He laughed, at himself, mostly, which only confused Regulus more, “Everyone said it was obvious. I just thought we both… I thought we had an understanding. That we’d both ignore it and go on with our lives.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Barty?” Regulus asked, shoving at his chest.

“Oi!” Barty snickered, “That I… well… I thought you knew you’d be my first choice for everything.”

Regulus froze, scowling at him for a moment, “Don’t tease-“

“Not teasing, Reggie.” Barty looked away, taking a short breath. “Look, if it’s… if it’s too weird, I get it. But, I’m okay pretending, if you want.”

“P-pretending?” Regulus whispered.

“Yeah.” He shrugged, sitting up and loosely hugging his knees, “Pretending I’m not in love with you.”

Regulus didn’t have an answer for that. He was truely wound speechless. Barty… loves him?

“I meant it… I’d pick- I’d pick you over everything else in this world. I really mean it, Reggie. I promise.” Barty mumbled, “You’re my first pick, always have been.”

Regulus’ heart stops in his chest for a moment. His throat hurts and his eyes sting again. Regulus doesn’t think he’s cried as much as he has today through his entire life, including when he was a baby.

He can’t help it, crying again. Because Regulus believes him. Barty’s always been devastatingly honest, even at the worst of times. So why would he lie about this? And he looks so earnest, sounds it too. He sounds like he really, truely means it.

No ones ever picked Regulus first, besides Barty Crouch Jr, who has a collection of Regulus’ things, and who stares at him unashamedly, and consoles Regulus when he cries even if it makes him uncomfortable.

And Regulus has been too self centred to ever notice.

But Barty is in love with him, and by the sounds of it he has been for a while. Apparently everyone knows it.

He thinks about it for a moment, while he sobs and cries and heaves. Barty does all that he can to soothe him, reaching out to wipe away tears, and hold him, and rub his arms and back.

Regulus doesn’t think he’s ever felt as safe as he doesn’t when he’s around Barty. Which is an odd thing to realise, because Barty is kind of a loose cannon. He’s violent, and angry, and snarky and rude. But with Regulus he’s always… well, he’s funny, and he can still be a little rude sometimes, but he’s also kind and generous and a little odd.

Regulus now realises all that oddness he’s noticed is just things Barty does that signals he’s in love with him. But Regulus has never noticed, he’s never looked to see how Barty doesn’t do all these very things with other people.

He’s Barty’s first choice.

And now that he thinks of it, Barty might just be his.

He’s the only person Regulus trusts to see him like this. Not even Pandora could, as much as he loves her. Regulus just hates being vulnerable. But he supposed it’s a little different with Barty, because he’s always been a little vulnerable with Regulus.

It’s comforting, to say the least, to have confirmation that he’s wanted. That he’s cared for. That he’s somebodies first choice.

And Barty loves him, which is strange. He’s never looked at Barty in that way before. And sure, Barty makes plenty of jokes about finding Regulus fit and wanting to snog him and so on and so forth, but he’s never thought too deeply about it.

He does that with other people, doesn’t he?

Now that Regulus thinks about it, he definitely doesn’t do it as much as he does it to Regulus.

Barty pulls away, rubbing up and down Regulus’ biceps, as he gives a nervous smile. It’s crooked, like most of Barty’s smiles, but this time Regulus really notices it.

“I’m sorry if it’s weird, I dunno what to do, Reggie.” Barty tries, “How do I stop you crying?”

Regulus sniffled and blinked his tears away slowly, refusing to cry anymore. His cheeks are all wet and sticky, and his eyes fucking ache, as well as his throat, but he’s not thinking about that.

“Do you really mean that?” Regulus sniffles, and he blinks away a few more tears, “Me being your first choice?”

“Of course, why would I lie about that, Reg. It clearly means a lot to you- I just… I thought you knew.”

Regulus scrunches up his nose, “Well, why would I cry about how I’m no one’s first choice if I knew I was yours?”

Barty’s quiet for a moment. He retracts his hands and ducks his head to mumble, “I just thought… well I thought I didn’t really matter, at the end of it all.” He shrugged, “I’d do anything for you- I already have, you know, and… I just… I thought you knew. And I thought it didn’t matter to you because… well, I’m the same, I suppose. I don’t think anyone’s picked me first either.”

“You still… even thinking that I just- I just didn’t care about you, or your feelings or… or anything at all, you still…” Regulus scrunched up his nose, ducking his head to catch Barty’s eye, “You still would have picked me first?”

Barty nodded, “Done anything for you.”

“Oh.” Regulus whispered, shaking his head, “Barty…”

“Yeah?” Barty asked, swallowing a large lump in his throat.

Regulus kisses him. No thoughts, no warnings, no nothing at all. He just leans forward and kisses him right on the mouth.

Barty pulls away first, almost immediately, wide eyed and startled, “What the fuck did you do that for?”

“I don’t know.” Regulus muttered, touching his lips, “You just… I… you love me, and… fuck, Barty. You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah.” Barty nodded, there’s water in his eyes now, and Regulus can tell he’s trying to hold it back, “And you just kissed me. Please don’t- don’t do that. I’m… I can’t handle that, Reg. I can handle us being friends, even though it’s driving me mad, but… I just- I can’t-“

“Well, don’t you want to be more?”

“Fucking hell, Regulus.” Barty leers back.

“What?” Regulus scoffs.

“You can’t just fucking… don’t say that.” He shakes his head, taking a moment to compose himself, “Don’t be stupid, orrite. I can’t fucking… I love you, Reggie. I can’t handle… possibilities because I’m just… I’m gonna drive myself crazy thinking about them. And that’s not good.”

“I’ve never had someone love me before, Barty.” Regulus whispers, “I’ve never had someone… I want- I want to chose you too. You’re my best friend, and I already do choose you. But I want to do it more. I want to… please?”

“I don’t understand, Reg.” Barty whispered back.

Regulus took his hand, smoothing his fingers over Barty’s rigid knuckles. They’re rough and scarred, just as they always are. Just as Regulus knows them to be.

“I don’t really either, Barty.” He admits, “I never knew you felt that way, and I’ve never thought about it- you- us. I’ve never thought about us like that before, but I… I can picture it.”

Barty closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Barty. I don’t want to lead you on. I want to try. Don’t you want to try?”

Barty keeps his eyes sealed shut and he shakes his head no, “What happens when you get bored of me? What- what happens when Potter comes crawling back to you? What happens when you realise I’m fucking… more insane than you thought? I’d- don’t tempt me, Regulus, because I meant what I said, I’d do anything for you.” Barty’s breath trembles, “I’d kill him, I’d kill them both. I’d kill all of them, just to make you happy. So you never feel like a second choice to them ever again- I- I mean it, Regulus.”

“I know.” Regulus breaths, and it scares him, what Barty’s saying, because he does know. It’s not just words. But those words aren’t the part that scare him, it’s the fact that he likes it that does. It makes him want. “I know, Barty. And I know that if I hurt you, truly, truly hurt you like this, you’d make my life a living hell. I know.”

“What about Potter?” Barty asks, trying to mask tears of his own, “Don’t you love him?”

“Maybe.” Regulus admits, regretfully so, “But I don’t want to. He’d never… he could never love me the way you could anyway. The way that I need.”

“And how do you need it?”

“To be your first choice.” Regulus whispered, “How do you need it, Barty?”

Barty took a deep breath, thinking about it for a moment. He looked up at Regulus with a pout and hopeful eyes, “I just want to be good enough for love before anything else.”

Regulus smiles, “You are.”

Barty shakes his head.

“You are.” Regulus confirms, “To me, you are.”

Barty sniffles, “Do you love me… like that?”

Regulus sighs, “N… no.” He scolds himself for the truth, because it seems to shatter Barty’s heart to pieces. “But I want to, Barty… I want to love you the way you do me. And I think I will. You just have to let me.”

“Really?” Barty sobs.

Regulus nods, “Will you let me?”

Barty nods and leans back in, and Regulus kisses him again. They both had wet cheeks, and headaches, and heartaches from crying, but they kiss anyway. And Regulus cries again, for hopefully the last time, because Barty kisses like he never wants to stop.

Regulus has never been kissed like that before.

Regulus has never been loved before.

He thinks with Barty, he might just be enough.

★ ★ ★

Bartylus shippers unite.

This one’s so angsty I’m sorry but I can’t help it and yerr Reggie kinda has misogynistic views which is gross but it’s the fucking 70’s and look at his parents. I USUALLY write them all to be better than that and not arseholes but I wanted to make this one hurt.

Also I don’t think I’ve written from Reggie’s pov before sooooo that was interesting.

Idk I liked this. Let me know your thoughts :)

Read here on ao3

If you want to read more of my stuff you can find it all here :))

Tagging everyone that expressed interest in the angsty bartylus one shot lmao: @lapassemirroir @mayflywrites @garlicbread4ever @moonyluv-s @managingmischeif @stxr-bxy @the-lionsheart @crimsonlovebartylus

#bartylus #regulus black #barty crouch jr #using Jegulus as a plot point for bartylus 😬🤭👀🤷#Reggie has so many big feelings but he’s never got to express them before the poor baby #it’s okay. Barty’s here to save the day #also Barty is a Ravenclaw. and so skinny it’s concerning. he’s trying to defy his dad by being the opposite of the big man he wants him 2 b #Barty is also awkward. not good at emotions but feels them so violently anyway. Barty is also a loose fucking cannon.#barty thinks he doesn’t matter when he actually matters to regulus most of all. they both just didn’t know it yet #and then they kiss and get married and have lots of babies #pandora my beloved and lily both get honerable mentions of being wonderful wonderful women. even though Reggie hates Lily he still thinks #she’s amazing #marauders #slytherin skittles #prev Jegulus #barty x regulus #fluff at the end #angst #kinda Jegulus slander #fluff if you squint #so much angst #dead gay wizards #dead gay wizards from the 70s #RAB #Barty jr #Reggie

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