Spot - Sunkiller - @taylorswiftmicrofic - 352 words - AO3
Meet me at our spot, James reads the note that was slipped into his pocket as the Ravenclaw, or honorary Slytherin, knocked into him when they passed in the corridor. Rolling his eyes, he crumples the parchment up and tosses it in the bin. He’s done with whatever this is with Barty. He’s done with being with the other man. Sure, he knows Barty doesn’t actually care about his girlfriend, that he is only seeing her to please his father and get him off his case after being asked if he was queer over the holidays. But the high of feeling wanted and desired when they snog in storage cupboards or hold each other while stargazing from the sanctity of a dark, empty classroom is always temporary, instantly replaced by all-consuming, stomach-turning guilt the moment they part ways. It’s no longer worth it, and he told him so the last time they were together. It’s over.
Yet as the moon shines brightly in the sky, James throws his invisibility cloak over himself and tiptoes out the dorm, making the familiar trip to the classroom they have coined as theirs.
“I knew you couldn’t resist my irresistible charm,” Barty smirks.
“We can’t keep doing this,” he exclaims. “Unless you break up with her.”
“We talked about this. I can’t do that.” James turns around to leave. “Oh, really, what’s the big deal? It’s not like she knows about this, and she never will.”
“It’s still cheating.”
“And you knew that when we started.”
James grinds his jaw, hating that fact. But fuck, the black and green haired boy really is irresistible to him. He makes the mistake of turning around to face Barty, and he can’t help but step forward and hungrily crash their lips together. “I fucking hate you,” he murmurs as he leaves a trail of kisses across his jaw and bites his neck, eliciting the most delicious moan from his lips.
“The feeling is mutual,” Barty replies, hands roughly pulling his hair. “Don’t stop.”
It’s pathetic, James is pathetic, but how could he ever refuse anything he asks of him?
Throat - Jarty - @taylorswiftmicrofic - 298 words - AO3
James yelps as someone from behind pushes him into a storage room, tripping over a bucket and a mop or a broom - it’s too dark to tell - clatters around them as the door slams shut. A hand wraps around his throat, pushing his back against the wall so their body is pressed right against his in the tiny room. In the dim light coming from under the door, he recognises the tall figure and the feel of his rings against his throat. “What the fuck, Barty?”
“What the fuck, Potter?” he snarls. “I thought- we were- what were you doing with that bitch?”
“That bitch? Do you mean Lily?” James yells. “Don’t you dare call her that.”
Barty scoffs. “Sorry for insulting your girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend, but that doesn’t give you the right to call her names. Not when you’re more of a bitch then her, you will never be as good as her.”
“I wouldn’t dream of being good like her, I’m more than happy being an arsehole.”
“You really enjoy that, don’t you? Pissing people off.”
“What can I say?” he smirks. “You bring out the worst in me.”
“You should really find someone better then.”
James hisses as the hold around his neck tightens, and Barty leans close to him, their lips almost brushing as he speaks. “Don’t you dare say something like that. I don’t care if being with you makes me a better or worse person, I want you and that’s all I care about.”
Heart beating erratically, James closes the miniscule gap between them, grabbing his waist in a bruising grip as their lips crash together. “I only want you,” he murmurs.
“Shut up and kiss me, Potter.” And who is James to refuse such an enticing offer?
using the prompt list provided by @rosekillermicrofic
prompt 28 - no - June 15 - word count - 364 -
Bartemius Crouch Junior was never taught he could say ‘no.’ He never learned that it was okay to not be okay.
Barty Crouch Jr. thought he had to be perfectly fine, every waking second and more, and if someone asked something of him, he had to do it, whether he wanted to or not.
Barty Crouch Jr. did everything in his power to repress his feelings, conceal his mania, and deny being anything but perfect, happy, and normal.
James Potter grew up knowing he was allowed to be upset. That he shouldn't be forced to do things he didn’t want to do, and that he could tell someone ‘no’ and they should respect that.
James Potter was perfectly comfortable expressing his true feelings. He felt no need to hide his scatter-brained tendencies, or shelter his anger and sadness when he felt them.
James Potter was confident, and unashamed of his humanity. It drew people to him, even when they were at their worst. Even when they just wanted to be left to rot.
Barty Crouch Jr. was closed off, cold, and fake. He repelled people without trying to. Made other students nervous with his frenzied fits, and made them dislike his logical and unfeeling side. People avoided him.
So why did James Potter migrate towards him anyways? And why did that feel surprisingly good?
Barty Crouch Jr. was never out of his own control. He never cried so hard he was sick. Never inconsolable, or afraid.
At least, that’s what he tried to portray.
But then why, on the night of October 31st, 1986, while Barty suffered a severe panic attack in the shadows of an abandoned castle corridor alone, did James Potter know to come looking?
Why, when James Potter tried to check on him, asked if he was okay, did Barty have such a hard time doing what he was trained to? Pretending he was fine, like he had for so many years?
What about James Potter made it so hard to say yes. Why did Barty’s body betray him? Sputter the truth before he could stop it?
When James Potter asked if he was alright, all Barty could say was, “No.”
hi kay <33 so i may have gone a bit insane and written you a full jarty microfic so…. here’s that
the alley | jarty microfic | 1.1k | nsfw | fighting, fucking, blood, spit, general grossness
It’s because of the hole at the bottom of Barty’s stomach that he keeps coming back. An insatiable need to consume. A relentless ache. And he’s never been one to deny himself anything, even when saying no would be so much easier.
James Potter sits across the dingy, low-lit bar, pint glass half empty and dripping condensation in front of him. It’s his fifth if Barty’s counting correctly. James glances at him, huffs a laugh and looks back at his beer. He knows what Barty’s planning, and he won’t stop it. He’ll play along like he always does, and they’ll both leave bloody and sore, covered in the indents of each other’s teeth.
Barty nurses his own drink until James drains his glass, then finishes the rest in one gulp. He’s already decided who’s paying for his next.
He’s been making eyes at some guy a few seats over from James the whole night, making sure James has noticed, and it’s time to go in for the kill. He raises his glass, catching the man’s attention, asking him sickly sweet with his eyes, buy me one?
The man moves down the bar next to Barty, asks the bartender to get him another, and Barty runs a hand up his arm.
“Sorry about this,” Barty whispers, leaning in to say the words directly into his ear.
The man pulls back, confused, only for a second before he’s being yanked back by his shirt and thrown to the ground. James is on him in a second with a fist to his jaw.
The man tries to protect his face, buck James off him, but it’s no use. When James gets like this, all you can do is take it. Barty would know.
After a few more strikes and the unmistakable sound of cracking bone, Barty intervenes. He wraps his arm around James’ neck from behind and pulls him off, cutting off his oxygen flow.
“You broke his fucking nose,” Barty says gruffly into James’ ear before pushing him toward the door.
James stumbles back, taking a few gulps of air before responding. “Whose fault is that?”
Barty shrugs, bares his teeth in a crude imitation of a smile. “Aw come on now, Jamie. Let’s not play the blame game.” He punctuates it with a wild punch to James’ cheek. He feels the skin split on impact, registers the trickle of blood down his fist only a second before James returns with a punch of his own straight to Barty’s gut. He doubles over, clutching at his stomach.
It’s grounding, the feeling of having all the air forced out of his lungs. He craves this over and over again. That blissful emptiness before his body forces him to suck the air back in. He can barely manage it before James’ knee connects with his nose, knocking him back and on his ass.
He tastes metallic as he runs his tongue along his teeth, smiles through the pain.
Glancing up, he can see James is being dragged out by two huge guys, but he isn’t fighting. Barty waits his turn, until he, too, is being hauled up and out the door.
The cold air bites into Barty’s skin as soon as he’s thrown outside. He loses his balance with the force of the push, catching himself on the concrete with his hands. He’ll have nasty scratches for days.
“Jesus fucking christ,” James says from above him, yanking him up and pushing him against the nearest brick wall. “You’re sick, you know that?”
Barty’s vision blurs, he can’t tell left from right, but he can tell James is mad mad. The kind of mad only Barty can make him.
“If I'm sick, what does that make you?” he taunts.
James lets out a noise of aggravation, deep and low in his throat, before he smashes their lips together.
It’s hungry and gross and bloody, a combination of want and disgust that equals out to some perverse replica of relief.
James breaks the kiss, dragging Barty behind him to the alley beside the bar. It already smells rotten and wet; they don’t even have to try.
It’s quick and disorienting, the way James shoves his hand down Barty’s pants, palming at his cock a little too harshly.
“Fuck,” Barty grunts, surprised by the sudden pressure. It’s riding that perfect line of too much and not enough.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” James growls. “Get me into a fight and now you want to complain?”
“My only complaint is that you’re not on your knees already,” Barty bites back, raking his teeth down James’ neck, breaking skin when he bites into the soft skin connecting it to his shoulder.
James honest to god whines, busying his hands with unzipping Barty’s pants. “Fuck, B.”
Barty pushes his thumb into the fresh wound, smearing the blood, mixing it with his own before licking a stripe up James’ neck. They always taste so good together like this. He hates how much he likes it.
James doesn’t waste time after that, sinking down and pulling Barty’s cock out. He takes him down to the base quickly, and Barty can feel his throat relaxing around him, struggling to take it all.
“That’s it, Jamie,” Barty coos, condescension dripping from his tongue. “So fucking eager.”
James pulls back, lightly scraping his teeth over Barty’s head in a way that makes him see stars. It’s a warning. This isn’t submission.
Barty grabs roughly at James’ hair, keeping him in place so he can fuck down his throat easily. He watches as James’ eyes stay defiant, never breaking contact. His fingers dig into the meat of Barty’s ass, no doubt leaving nail marks as he pulls Barty deeper with each thrust.
“I hate you so fucking much,” Barty spits with an exceptionally harsh thrust. James gags around him, eyes watering so pretty, tears streaking through smears of blood. Even still, he doesn’t break.
Barty knows James hates him too. It’s why he loves to say it when James can’t respond, can’t argue. He sees it in his eyes, though. That utter fucking disdain. It’s what ultimately has Barty pulling out and coming all over James’ face, painting him in an obscene mural of blood, spend, and tears.
James closes his eyes finally, but keeps his mouth open to catch what he can. Barty uses two fingers to swipe through the mess of fluids, bringing them to his own mouth to taste the sharp tang. He lets it sit on his tongue, mix with his own saliva before spitting it into James’ open mouth.
James swallows, always a little too eager to please, and sits back on his haunches. Barty can see where the dirty alley water has seeped into the knees of his jeans, but James doesn’t seem to care.
He looks up at Barty again, none of his rage extinguished. “When we get home, I’m going to fuck you so hard you forget your name.”
