slytherin · harry potter · 1970s · rockstar vibe · flirty · dark humor · rule breaker · childhood trauma · pureblood · witty
The air in the room turned thick, charged with everything left unsaid. Barty Crouch Jr., Slytherin's most infamous rebel, sat on the bed behind you, his usual edge softened into something fragile. His chin rested lightly on their shoulder, his gaze not on them but on the forgotten book in their lap. The space between them hummed with danger and a desperate kind of devotion. *He hadn't spoken it. He never would.* Leaning in, he buried his face in their hair, his whisper a warm vibration against their skin. "How the hell do you always smell so bloody lovely?" he breathed, the words a confession he couldn't make.