toxic - @rosekillermicrofic - slightly NSFW - word count: 337
Evan was finally loosening up. Three butterbeers into the night and he’d found a halfway-decent-looking bloke who seemed okay with being chatted up. The anxiety of being in a crowd had given way to the blur of the alcohol and he found himself genuinely chuckling along with what’s-his-name’s story, stomach pleasantly warm.
Until Barty slid up next to them.
“Rosie! Good news!” he nearly-shouted, shoving a piece of paper in front of his face with a flourish. “The tests came back and that sore you have? It’s just herpes, mate, no worries.”
Instantly, the man who Evan had been talking with began to stutter out an apologetic excuse melting into the crowd. Frowning furiously, Evan turned to a triumphant-looking Barty. “What the fuck, Crouch?” he demanded, gritting his teeth.
“Oh, take a joke,” Barty replied, tipping his bottle in Evan’s direction.
“No,” Evan shot back, blood boiling. He was done. “No. We have to stop doing this, Bee.”
Barty chuckled derisively. “Doing what? Fucking with each other? Welcome to our friendship, Rosie, I–”
“Being so bloody toxic! Salazar, if you want me to fuck you, just ask!” Evan burst out, saying the words before he could stop himself. He’d been half-joking to be sure, but at the same time…
It felt like the world stopped for a moment. Barty’s eyes went wide, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. But soon enough, that smirk twisted back on his face as he leaned in close to Evan. “Rosie,” he murmured soft, sweet. “I dare you to take me home. Right now. Make it so the only thing I can say is your name.”
Evan nearly lost his footing, his knees going weak. But he refused to give Barty the upper hand. “No,” he said shortly, waiting for the shorter man’s look of confusion before he smirked as well. “M’not waiting that long, Bee. We’re going to the bathroom. Now.”
Then he grabbed his best friend’s hand and dragged him to the back of the bar, heart hammering wildly.
sizzle - jegulus - @jeggyverses-jegulus-microfic - word count: 385
He awoke to the sound of pots and pans clanging. Meat sizzling as it cooked and the smell of something sweet baking in the oven. Blearily, Regulus stirred, quite sure he was dreaming, because honestly, he and Barty had never even used their oven, so he had no clue if it even worked.
But as his consciousness returned to him, it became more clear: someone was making breakfast.
Then, the evening before came speeding back to him, the memory slamming into his brain with such speed and ferocity he nearly fell into his pillow again. His heart began to hammer, shame washing over him. No. Surely, it had just been a really nice fantasy, brought on by a few drinks and years of yearning.
But as he stumbled into the kitchen, reality hit:
There he was. James Potter, in all of his shirtless glory, standing in the extremely small kitchen of Regulus and Barty’s shared flat, cooking the most elaborate meal Regulus had seen in years, a smile on his stunning face. Regulus wanted to scream.
Instead, he muttered wryly. “Figured you’d be gone by now.”
Potter turned, spatula in hand, and gave him a grin that stole his breath. “Did you? Nah, I’m like Devil’s Snare, Reg. Once I grab on, m’impossible to get rid of. Hope that’s okay?” He was clearly teasing, but there was enough vulnerable sincerity in his eyes to tell Regulus that he meant it. And he wanted to know where they stood.
Regulus opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut off by another voice.
“Bloody brilliant, mate,” Barty said, mouth already full of sliced fruit James had clearly left on the table, a grin on his face. “Stay as long as you like. Hell, if Reg doesn’t want to shag you again, I’ll gladly do it, to keep this service ar–”
“Out,” Regulus snarled towards his best friend, pointing towards the door.
Chuckling, Barty snagged a piece of meat from the pan and ran out, winking at James on his way.
But as Barty left, Regulus felt the need to grimace and turn and call after him, “Don’t even think about it, Crouch! He’s mine!”
Arms wrapped securely around his waist. “Yours?” James whispered happily in his ear, making him shiver. “I like the sound of that.”
“I’m not saying I want to get her a rock, you know?” Dorcas muttered, walking slowly along the glass displays, eyes cast downwards to peer at the rings inside. “She’s not the type that’ll want that. But, y’know…a pebble, maybe…”
Regulus snorted, sending his friend an amused expression. “A pebble?” he repeated, raising one eyebrow towards her.
Dorcas gave him an affronted look. “Listen, she has to wear this forever! I want it to be perfect!” she explained.
Forever.
The idea began to root around in Regulus’s brain as he walked amongst the glass cases as well, nonchalantly pointing out settings and cuts that Dorcas made little comments about. He hardly realized when he came across the mens’ rings, his eyes gluing to one particular golden band with small starbursts etched in the metal.
And though he’d never put much serious thought into it before–James was usually the one to focus on the positive future of their relationship, with Regulus preferring to panic over all of the terrible things that could happen–he was suddenly obsessed with the idea–that ring, on James’s hand, forever.
“How much is that one?” he ask the witch behind the counter, pointing down at the ring, heart fluttering softly in his chest.
“Hmm, that’s a bit masculine for Marlene, don’t you think?” Dorcas asked knowingly from behind him.
He whipped around, blushing. “Er…I liked it…for myself.”
But she was too smart for him. “Reg,” she said with a smirk, “you only wear silver.”
Biting the inside of his cheek, he said nothing, turning back to the ring.
Two weeks later, when they both went back to the shop to pick up their customized purchases, Regulus couldn’t help but smile nervously at a beaming Dorcas. “Just don’t propose on the same night, yeah? No stealing my thunder,” she said, taking the ring box from the witch behind the counter.
“Alright,” he nodded, accepting the other ring box for himself.
It’s the kind of hypervigilance you develop when you grow up with a man whose moods snap like brittle glass. When one misplaced sock, one unsteady breath, one inch out of line can set off a storm. Barty learned to survive by watching. Tracking. Predicting.
A cup set down too loudly meant his father had a headache.
A two-second pause before answering meant he was annoyed.
The smallest twitch near the corner of his mouth meant danger.
He never unlearned it.
Now, even years out of that house, Barty still reads people like weather maps. Micro-expressions. Tone shifts. The way someone blinks when they lie.
Regulus, for example, thought he was being discreet.
Barty clocked it within ten minutes.
Regulus had returned from “study sessions” smelling faintly of cedar and expensive shampoo. His shirt slightly stretched at the collar. A smile too smug to be academic. And James Potter — who normally couldn’t shut the hell up — had suddenly learned the art of silence whenever Sirius was around.
Those idiots genuinely thought no one knew.
(Barty found it hilarious. He thinks Sirius would find it funny too, if he ever removed his head from the sand. Still, not his circus.)
But the problem — the real problem — was not Regulus or James.
It was Evan.
Because with Evan, the patterns weren’t funny. They mattered.
Evan Rosier had the softest expressions Barty had ever seen. Like his face was always illuminated by something warm. He had these tiny dimples that appeared when he was amused, and the faintest crease between his brows when he concentrated. And Barty cataloged every single one.
He couldn’t help it.
He noticed when Evan’s cheeks flushed when Barty walked into the room.
He noticed the way Evan’s fingers lingered one second longer on his arm than necessary.
He noticed how Evan tugged at his sleeves whenever he was trying not to smile.
All good patterns.
But then there were days — rare ones, but they hit hard — where Evan’s smile dimmed a little. Where his sentences were quieter. Where his eyes flicked away when Barty joked too darkly or laughed too loud.
Tiny things.
To most people, nothing.
But to Barty?
Earthquakes.
He’d lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, pairing each shift with an imagined crime. Did he talk too much today? Did he touch Evan too roughly when they play-wrestled on the couch? Did he scare him when he yelled at the game console? Did he ruin everything?
He has ruined things before. Over and over. The pattern there is crystal clear.
So when he shows up at Evan’s place one Wednesday evening — already rattling with the familiar dread — he hesitates in the doorway. Evan looks up from the couch, brightening instantly.
At least Barty thinks it’s instant. His brain tries to analyze the milliseconds.
“Hey,” Evan says softly, patting the space beside him. “You look like you’re thinking really hard. That’s dangerous.”
Barty tries to smile. It feels wrong on his face.
“Do I… do I annoy you?”
Evan blinks.
Then laughs lightly. “Not yet.”
Barty doesn’t sit beside him. He stays standing, arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw tense.
“I mean it,” he says, voice rough. “You… you make these faces sometimes. And your voice changes a bit. And you fidget differently. And I don’t know if it’s because of me or— or just the day or if you’re tired or if I’m being too much or—”
“Barty.”
Evan stands. Walks up to him. Places a gentle hand on his cheek — slow movements, telegraphed, like approaching a skittish animal.
“I don’t know what faces you’re seeing,” he murmurs. “But none of them mean I don’t want you.”
Barty swallows hard.
“That’s not how patterns work,” he whispers. “Patterns don’t lie. And I see every one of them.”
Evan softens. “I know you do.”
His thumb brushes Barty’s cheekbone.
“But here’s something you didn’t factor in,” Evan continues. “I’m a person. Not a storm you have to predict.”
Barty looks away, embarrassed — ashamed. Evan tilts his chin back gently.
“If I’m quiet,” he says, “it’s because I’m tired. If I zone out, it’s because my brain does that. If I fidget, it’s because I’m thinking. None of it is your fault.”
Barty breathes shakily. “But what if one day it is?”
Evan considers him for a moment. Then he takes Barty’s hands — slowly untangling the fists he’d formed — and brings them to his chest.
“You’ll tell me,” Evan says. “Instead of twisting yourself into knots trying to read me.”
Barty lets out a weak, incredulous laugh. “Communication. What a concept.”
Evan grins. “Wild, I know.”
For the first time all day, something eases in Barty’s chest. Like a cord being unspooled.
He finally lets himself lean forward, resting his forehead against Evan’s shoulder. Evan holds him immediately, arms warm and firm.
dorm room - jegulus - discord server microprompt challenge - word count: 528
“Fuck,” James groaned, pulling back as the man in his arms bit at his lip and soothed over the small pain with his tongue, making James’s body erupt in goosebumps. “Come back to my dorm room, yeah? I’ll kick out my roommate, we can…we can keep going?”
The man, whose name he’d yet to figure out, levelled him a glare, tendrils of his wavy black hair slipping in front of haunting silver eyes. “Presumptuous, no?” he drawled, kiss-bitten lips twitching the slightest bit in a smirk.
James’s stomach dipped. “Shit, no! M’sorry, I didn’t mean–”
But the shorter man was already leaning forward to shipper in his ear, his sinful tongue tracing along his earlobe. “I’m fucking with you. Take me home. Now.”
So he nearly ran, dragging the man away from the dark, crowded house party where they’d met only hours ago and bringing him back to his dorm a few blocks away. As they walked, James reflected on his luck–how had he managed to convinced this man, the man he’d spotted across the room and promptly fallen in love with, the man who’d sent him a scathing ‘fuck you’ look when he’d asked him to dance, the man who’d then eyefucked him all night long only to corner him in the kitchen, to come back with him?
Magic, maybe? It must’ve been?
He decided to stop questioning it and to just focus on the fact it was happening, as soon as they got to his room. The gray-eyed man was already slipping hands under the hem of his shirt, skating lips over his collarbone. He shivered in anticipation, knowing that this was certainly going to be one of the best nights of his life.
“Let me just kick my roommate out, yeah? We have an agreement about leaving if the other has…company,” James murmured, groaning a bit and fishing in his pocket for his key.
“You have company often?” the man asked, pulling back and raising an eyebrow.
“Er…not much,” he settled on, turning and opening the door. “But he’s got a boyfriend, so I’m forced to stay with my friend, Pete, often enough…oi, Sirius, get the fuck out, mate, I want to…”
But he trailed off as he spoke, realizing that Sirius and the man were staring at each other with matching dumbfounded expressions.
“What’s…going on?” he asked nervously, realizing he was missing something.
Sirius gave him a look that might’ve frozen the sun. “Prongs,” he said softly, pressing a finger to his temple. “Please tell me you’re not kicking me out so you can fuck my brother.”
“I’m not–”
But then it hit him….the dark hair, the gray eyes…”Regulus,” he muttered breathlessly, turning to gaze back at the man he’d been snogging for the past hour.
Regulus crossed his arms. “That’s me, yes. Will that be a problem?”
James only had to think for half a second. He was already too far in this to turn back now.
He turned to Sirius. “I love you, mate…but you have to get out.”
Both he and Regulus grinned and Sirius stomped out of the room, muttering about traitors and finding a new best friend.
“Oi, Moony, buy me a drink!” Sirius demanded with a smile, skipping up to the taller man and pressing a kiss to his cheek happily.
Remus, who had been facing away from him at the bar, turned around only to reveal he’d been talking to a man neither of them knew.
“Oh! Who’s this?” Sirius asked curiously, slipping his arm around Remus’s shoulders.
“Shit, sorry, mate,” the man said, voice apologetic and eyes wide. “Didn’t know he was your boyfriend.”
“No, wait!” Sirius began, but the man was already disappearing into the crowd.
Remus gave him an odd look, turning completely and allowing Sirius to wrap his arms completely around the back of his neck and pull him into a hug. “Ever think it’s…er…odd? How people always think that?” he murmured into his best friend’s hair.
“‘Course not,” Sirius said, pulling back with a shrug. “Dunno what they’re even on about, what’ve we even done that’s anything other than platonic?”
At that exact moment, however, they both seemed to notice Dorcas and Marlene a few meters away, standing in a position that precisely mimicked their own. The hearts in their eyes made Remus’s chest constrict.
“You boyfriend is a menace,” Marlene called jokingly to Remus as she shoved Sirius away from her food and back towards his own seat at the Gryffindor table. “Like a big, energetic dog, or something! Dunno how you don’t get sick of him!”
“Hey, McKinnon? Fuck you!” Sirius replied with a grin as he sat back down and snatched a bite of Remus’s pie.
“Nah, I get sick of him all the time,” Remus replied to Marlene, knocking his shoulder into Sirius’s and sending him a loving smile. “S’why I don’t mind when he bunks with James. I’m secretly hoping they’ll run off together, you know?”
“Oi, leave Potter out of this,” Lily yelled from a few spots away, her mouth full of potatoes.
“Yeah, you can’t get rid of me that easy, Moony,” Sirius teased, eyes twinkling. “You’re stuck with me for life.
“You never know,” Remus replied, chuckling. “I mean with your family? I could frame you for something awful, get you carted off to Azkaban so I don’t have to deal with you anymore.”
But Sirius just grazed up at him, eyes full of the type of love Remus had never, not even in his wildest dreams, hoped to see from a boy as perfect as him. “I’d escape,” he whispered. “I’ll always come back to you.”
And suddenly, the air shifted. Things didn’t feel so funny, anymore. Remus’s chest squeezed, and he bit his lip while staring into silver eyes. “Same, Padfoot,” he whispered. “Promise.”
James had just arrived back to the flat he was sharing with Remus and Sirius when he heard a shout of laughter from the other room.
“Don’t be thick,” Regulus was drawling confidently at Sirius when James walked in.
James’s stomach flipped slightly as he looked over to the younger man. He was sprawled on the armchair, his limbs spread, his gray eyes sparkling with mirth as he glanced towards James, then back to his brother. Even the split second of their eyes locking was enough to send James’s heart into a frenzy, his blood pumping fast and his body growing hot. Merlin, Regulus was perfect.
“...height has nothing to do with length,” Regulus continued casually, jolting James out of his slightly-adoring reverie.
It took everything in him not to gape at the nonchalance of the conversation. “Er…what?” James asked, blinking rapidly.
“I was just saying that there’s got to be a…what’s the word? Correlation,” Sirius explained from his seat on the couch. “Between, y’know…height,” he held a hand, palm down, above the ground, “and length!” He held two hands, palms facing together, about a foot apart. “Because, for example, Moony’s taller, and his is also bigger, right?”
Still shocked, James looked helplessly to Remus, who just shrugged. For someone who usually got a bit red at such conversations, he seemed very unbothered.
“Alright, but Evan is taller than Barty, and Barty’s is bigger,” Regulus argued with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand.
“You’ve measured Barty’s?” James asked slightly-hysterically, feeling like he was going mad.
Regulus gave him an odd look, his eyes narrowing for a moment before widening again, amusement shining there. Then he shrugged. “He doesn’t hide much.”
James wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“What about you, Potter? You’re tall. How long is yours?” the younger man asked with a quirk of his eyebrow and a half-smirk, still laying rather suggestively on the chair.
He felt like he was about to melt into the floor. “I..erm..” His eyes flickered to a shockingly calm Sirius, then back again, “...dunno, like…8 inches, maybe?”
“Wait…what?” Sirius asked confusedly, but Regulus began to smile wider.
“Yeah, er…not that I regularly measure…”
“Only eight? Nah, I’ve held it before, surely it’s not–” Sirius began, face full of disbelief.
This was around the time James began to feel like he was missing something. “You–Padfoot, you have not held my prick! And eight inches is far above average, thank–”
“We were talking about wands! Like…like the wooden tool!” Remus interrupted, a horrified look on his face.
The whole room went quiet, and James was sorely tempted to run screaming.
Until Regulus said smugly. “Eight inches though, hm?”
And then James didn’t feel that embarrassed anymore.
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