GNARLY GYARUS @gnarlygyaruoboi - Tumblr Blog

Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off

Fred Weasley x Fem!Ravenclaw!Reader

Is it still me that makes you sweat? Am I who you think about in bed? I've got more wit, A better kiss, A hotter touch, A better fuck than any boy you'll ever meet, sweetie, you had me. No, no, no, you know it will always just be me.

Summary:

You think Fred Weasley is one of the most annoying people on earth. He gets away with every little thing because teachers wait until he does something massive and overblown in order to punish him, and you're sick of it.

Your fury becomes even greater one day when he grabs your ass during class and nobody seems to notice or care, and you are left feeling insane at the dauntless act. From then on, you are determined to get Fred caught doing something dumb and mindless, even if that thing ends up being you.

Dom!Fred Weasley x Sub!Fem!Ravenclaw!Reader. Enemies to 'Lovers'. Smut with Minimal Plot. Hogwarts Era, No Specific Canon.

Word Count: 19,900

Harry Potter Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full warnings list and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader is referred to as a girl or a woman, and has a vagina and breasts, and the reader is referred to using she/her pronouns, but as with all my fics, the primary pronouns used in the narration are you/yours; the reader does wear skirts; the reader is a Ravenclaw (a bit of self indulgence, hehe); this fic does use Y/N to refer to the reader, as well as L/N (in this case, meaning Last Name); the reader is referred to as Miss at some points; the reader’s hair colour, eye colour, body type, race, and other physical attributes are not described in any way; it is mentioned that the reader wears skirts; it is mentioned that Fred is taller than the reader, but this is based on the assumption that he would be taller than most people because James Phelps is over six feet tall; this is set during the Hogwarts era, but there is no mention of specific book or film plotlines, and for those who have a stick up your ass about it, for all intents and purposes, the characters are eighteen or older (there is a passing mention of them graduating soon); Fred calls reader a number of pet names, including: ‘love’, ‘darling’, ‘sweetheart’,; this fic contains Dubious Consent - Fred grabs and gropes the reader without her explicit consent and permission, and she continually denies that she enjoys it, but they have an unspoken sexual attraction toward each other while all this is going on; severely under-negotiated kink; panty stealing (magic edition); flashing (reader flashes Fred); Fred having (at one time) one-sided sexual fantasies about the reader, Fred writing smut about the reader (Fred refers to the reader as ‘a good little whore’ in this written smut fantasy); there is some Dom and Sub dynamics, and Fred is more dominant and the reader is more submissive, though it is very brat tamer themed (Fred outright refers to the reader as a brat at one point); public/semi-public sex (it’s in a public and well trafficked area, but at a low traffic time while no one else is there); hair-pulling (reader recieving); spanking (reader recieving); dumbification kink - Fred calls the reader a ‘dumb whore’; ass eating (reader receiving) (I know not everyone likes it but Fred is an ass man through and through in this fic); teasing, edging, purposeful orgasm denial (reader receiving); humiliation kink (in little bits and dashes through); anal sex (reader receiving) (spit is used as lube, and there is implications of magically appearing additional lube) (no condom is used); first time anal (but the reader and Fred are definitely NOT virgins in general); punishment anal - Fred uses this as a tactic to get the reader to ‘behave’ and because he thinks she doesn’t ‘deserve’ vaginal sex yet; the anal sex is NOT described as painful, and pain is not majorly used as part of the punishment (it’s more about orgasm restriction and Fred being a teasing, purposefully selfish lover); creampie kink; exhibitionism kink (on Fred’s part, reader is terrified of getting caught) (they don’t actually have sex in front of other people, just in high risk areas); getting interrupted (briefly) - George interrupts them briefly but Fred doesn’t care; I hope I didn’t forget anything, and if I did please let me know!

A/N: I had sooo much fun writing this. The title is an homage to when I first started writing fanfiction (which was Harry Potter fanfiction) - at the time, this song and Dirty by Christina Aguilera where the most scandalous songs I could think of, and I would listen to this song all the time when reading fanfiction (as well as the whole album in general). Idk what it is, but I am just sooo convinced that Fred would be an ass man, and that inspiration alone drove me to this fic. Originally this fic was just gonna be the common room scene, but I got carried away, as I usually do. I hope you enjoy it!

...

You were not someone who took the concept of 'hatred' lightly.

Unlike Slytherins who threw around insults without care, the kind of people who were capable of holding grudges for years, you thought of yourself as someone more intelligent, someone who operated with a higher level of logic and reason. When you chose to hate someone or something, it was with a good pile of evidence backing you up. You were a Ravenclaw, and you liked to believe that you looked at the world through a wiser lens, and you gathered all the evidence on something before you brought your emotions into it.

You hated it when people mispronounced words – a show of mocking intelligence and cockiness, without enough humility to ask for help. You hated feeling belittled, especially by men and boys who thought they knew more than you. You hated people whining and complaining, especially without good reason. And you hated onions – the smell, the texture, the sight of them. That last one was just personal, but still, should be noted.

So when you said that you hated Fred Weasley, it wasn't something that you ever said lightly. You had truly found a long, long list of reasons to hate him. Even if he was so similar to his twin brother George, you found George to be far more tolerable than Fred. For some reason, Fred was the grander of the two scheming, prankster evils, downright detestable, even when he was just standing around and breathing near you.

You found yourself more and more steaming angry whenever you had to be around him for a prolonged period of time. He was cocky, he was far too grand for no reason, he was boisterous, and loud, and generally bloody annoying. And worst of all, he got away with so many little things that other students would never even dream of getting by with. All he had to do was wink and give a smile, and he could move on with his day without the slightest consequence coming his way.

He could swear in front of Professors and as long as he rushed to apologize, they would shake it off. He could turn in his homework late, and as long as it came with some funny, long, winding excuse, they never cared. They seemed proud of him for simply getting it done in the first place. He could tease and taunt other students right in front of authority figures and as long as a group was laughing along with him, nobody reprimanded him for it. It was all simply in good fun, it seemed.

It pissed you off to no end that Fred Weasley got away with so much when others got house points deducted by Professors and Prefects for simply sneezing in the wrong direction sometimes. You were sick of Fred's attitude, and you were more than sick of him acting as though he ran Hogwarts, acting like he was some sort of king that all others should kneel too.

All of this became all the more aggravating and apparent to you one day in class, an unlucky day when Ravenclaw was in the Transfiguration room with the Gryffindor students. A day when you were woefully forced to be around him.

Even before class began, Fred was in the back of the room, speaking in his usually loud, boisterous voice as he regaled his classmates with some tale of his needless stupidity.

“-so Georgie pitched it over my shoulder, and it lands-”

“-right in McLaggen's face!” George added on with a bright laugh.

“We weren't expecting the thing to burst open.” Fred commented, somehow his laughter louder, and all the more annoying than his twin brother's.

“And we certainly weren't expecting the thing to be filled with so much puss.” George finished, causing a round of rousing laughter to come from the Gryffindors they were surrounded by.

You scoffed at the disgusting end to this story while others laughed, shaking your head, making no effort to hide your disdain for their antics. You were annoyed by their overwhelming loudness, the fact that they felt the need to perform for the room like jesters that nobody had called for. You felt deeply disrupted while you were trying to focus on your journal. You weren't writing anything particularly important, just doing random doodles in the margin to try and distract yourself from Fred's irritating voice bouncing off the back of your head. But still – a classroom is a place to study, not to fool around.

“Got a problem there, Miss L/N?” Fred asked, directing his attention toward you, sharply eyeing the tension that was knit across your shoulders as you held your pen with tight fingers. “Or is it just the usual stick up your arse? Making you a bit too stiff this morning, hmm?”

There was a round of quieter, snickering laughter from the group he was sitting with, and you let out another harsh scoff, refusing to turn and look at him. You refused to engage him in this conversation, unwilling to respond to something so stupid, so low.

“Oi, Freddie, one of these days you'll have to have a look up her skirt and see if there is actually one there.” George added on with a laugh. “S'pose you might even find a whole broom up there, with how uptight she acts.”

You distinctly felt the hemline of your skirt move where it was sitting on the edge of the classroom stool, the gentlest shift as if someone had tried to pick it up and look underneath it, just barely threatened to. This was followed by more laughter. You slapped your pen down and whipped around sharply, glaring at the group of Gryffindor boys who were all ruffled with laughter now.

“Stop it!” You snapped. “Don't you have any manners? Have you nothing better to do with your time? You pathetic, mindless-”

“I like that stick up my arse! Right where I intended it to be!” Fred cut you off, performing a shrill, mocking tone of a girl's voice that sounded nothing like you. “Come on, you wouldn't know fun if it smacked you in the face like a...”

He struggled for a moment, looking for a good metaphor, and then George stepped in.

“Like a puss-filled Dittany leaf!”

They rolled into laughter once again, and you were more than thankful when Professor McGonagall strolled into the room.

“Everyone, in your seats!” She yelled out, trying to bring order to the room. “Everyone, stop your rough-housing, and get your seats! I do apologize for my tardiness, but we do need to begin.”

You were surprised when the boys actually listened to her, and relieved when the general noise of the classroom quieted down. Finally, a peaceful place to concentrate. You didn't notice Fred's eyes lingering on you as you turned around in your seat, facing the front of the classroom once again.

“Now, for our first order of business, I will be collecting the essays I requested last time on the history of Vanishing Spells-”

A large portion of the class collectively groaned, and Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes.

“Yes, yes, well you should all have it completed by now. No excuses.” She scolded gently. “Miss L/N, can you please collect the essays and put them on my desk while I write some notes for today's lesson on the board?”

“Yes, Professor.” You nodded and stood from your seat, taking your own essay with you, which you had ready and sitting on the corner of your desk.

You began to walk the room, collecting piles of parchment from everyone else.

And of course, it wasn't long before you came to the row of desks in the back where Fred was sitting.

You were annoyed to even be in his presence, and of course, he didn't have his homework ready to hand over to you. He was even making this process drawn out and detestable.

“Oh, hello love.” He smirked at you. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You didn't say anything in return, and instead, you gave him a harsh look as you held out your hand expectantly.

“You know, not a lot of people could pull off that uptight, frigid expression as well as you do, but somehow, you really make it work.” He said, his voice soft and flirtatious, the half-baked compliment only further serving to piss you off.

“Your essay.” You demanded, pressing your open hand closer to his face, knowing that your tone was, brash, short and nagging. But of course, you did not truly have the patience to be sweet or polite with him. Ultimately, he didn't deserve it.

“Oh, right.” He nodded, putting on that comical act once again, as though he had just remembered what he had been instructed to do only moments ago.

He made a show of slowly bending down to his book bag at his feet, whistling idly as he did so, while George handed you his essay over Fred's back. Because of course, George wasn't nearly as irritating as his brother.

Fred Weasley would never call himself short-sighted. Many others would, because they often never saw the brilliance in all of the detailed planning that went into his pranks. He was definitely impulsive, but he would never call himself short-sighted.

So as his hand came out of his bag with his half-finished, half-assed essay in hand, and he was struck with the most brilliant idea that he had conceptualized in a long time, his impulses certainly got the better of him. Because of course, everything aligned to be so perfect in that moment – how could he resist?

He was still half bent over near his bag, and he found himself perfectly staring at your ass as you faced the front, your eyes locked intently on what McGonagall was writing on the board with all the intensity of a curious, mindful Ravenclaw. And he couldn't help but to chase his impulses then. You weren't paying attention and neither was McGonagall, and you weren't wearing any tights with your school skirt that day – just some sinfully tempting knee high socks, and one well-timed glance up a bit higher told him that you had chosen pink panties that day.

He really couldn't help himself.

He sat back up to his full height, and just before he placed his essay onto the desk top, he reached over with his free hand and grabbed a greedy handful of your ass. No hesitation, no shyness, harsh, demanding, his palm slipping underneath the edge of your skirt and gripping onto the bare flesh where it was sneaking out from the edge of your panties. Such a firm hand that his fingerprints could still be felt in your flesh even after he pulled away.

You let out a quiet, tight gasp, the barest escape of air through your lips – a sound that could barely be heard over the general chatter in the classroom and the sound of McGonagall's chalk smacking against the blackboard. But still, that reaction left Fred intensely satisfied, nonetheless.

By the time you whipped around to catch Fred, his hand was back in his own lap safely, innocently, as if nothing had ever happened. A harsh zip of electricity that you would deny felt anything like lust ran through you, leaving your heart pounding and your pussy echoing a small ache like a scream resounding through a lonely cave, dangerous traces of something yet to come. It left you buzzing with warmth between your thighs, and your mild annoyance toward Fred turning into a bubbling rage.

As if it were some kind of muscle-driven instinct, you reached up with the thick handful of essays that you had in hand and smacked Fred across the back of the head with the pile of parchment. It was no where close to a harmful blow, just a move to stun him in return as he had stunned you.

Fred burst out laughing, even more pleased with your reaction as you grew angrier and more visibly flustered, which made you even more angry as your pussy tingled with lust.

“Weasley!” You snapped. “How dare you-!”

“Miss L/N!” McGonagall's voice entered the mix, and you felt a sharp twist of shame jolt through your stomach, as though you had been caught doing something terrible, something deeply wrong.

You stood up straight, facing the front, hating Fred's wide, satisfied grin in your peripheral vision.

You hated that you felt guilty when in fact, Fred was the one who had groped you so boldly, in public, without even asking permission first. Especially when the context of your interaction was nothing even close to be sexual. What the hell had he been thinking? Had he even been thinking at all?

“I suppose you have a good reason for smacking Mr. Weasley upside the head?” Professor McGonagall continued. “I know it's something we've all had the desire to do at one time or another, but please, tell me it wasn't unprompted.”

Your throat went dry. You could have just told her that he had grabbed your ass. She definitely would have given him detention over it. But some nagging thing in the back of your head told you that he would find a way to escape blame. That he would somehow turn it around on you. You felt him staring at your cheek, and out of the corner of your eye, you could still see his horrible, devious smirk. Maybe he would tell McGonagall that your skirt was too short, maybe he would tell her that you had liked it...

“Miss L/N?”

Unconsciously, your free hand rushed behind you to yank down your skirt, trying to hide yourself from view, hating how it had obviously ridden up from you sitting down, and you cleared your throat.

“He – he was stalling.” You quickly accused, avoiding the truth. “He wasn't getting his essay nearly fast enough-”

“Well, unfortunately, that's not a good enough reason to inflict abuse on someone.”

“Abuse?” You gaped in return. “Professor, I didn't even hit him hard-”

“Oh, my poor head.” Fred moaned dramatically, reaching up and grasping his head.

“Stop it, Mr. Weasley.” McGonagall barked at him, causing him to sit up straight in his seat. “You're not getting out of my class to go to the Hospital Wing.”

Fred sighed and shook his head.

“As for you, I expect better from you, Miss L/N. Five points from Ravenclaw.”

“I'm sorry, Professor.” You rushed to apologize, that ugly guilty feeling biting up far too much for your liking. Especially because the whole thing had not even been your fault.

“What about me?” Fred complained. “I was the one that was abused.”

“I'm sorry.” You groaned out, not even looking at him.

He let out a bright laugh.

You let out a harsh sigh, and simply stomped away, moving to collect the rest of the essays before class began. After you handed them in, walking back to your seat, Fred caught your eye and winked at you, and you glared intensely at him.

You were so tired of him getting away with everything. Something needed to be done.

...

You quickly realized that if anything was going to be done about Fred Weasley, then he would need to be caught doing something small, pointless, and stupid. He would need to be punished for something less grand that turning a fifth floor classroom into a swamp or causing a group of third year Hufflepuffs to start balding by putting something into their morning pumpkin juice.

You realized that he would need to be caught doing something vile, short-sighed, and stupid, like grabbing your ass. Everyone would see, call him an awful pervert, and then you would win.

So you would simply have to bait him into doing it again. It was for the greater good.

...

This simple idea turned into a woefully stupid cat and mouse game.

From then on, whenever Fred was around, you tried your best to get his attention without making it seem like you were trying to get his attention. Which strangely, was much harder than you first thought it would be. You had many academic accolades under your belt, and you were far from socially inept, but of all things, this was making you feel clumsy and stupid.

You couldn't walk by him without him calling your name and drawing attention toward you, causing loud hoots and hollers from the group he was with. You couldn't wear a skirt that was shorter than usual without him making some loud, dumb comment about it, immediately drawing attention to the bait of your plan. He always seemed to be one step ahead of you. He was a dumb, loud mouth, but somehow, he was outsmarting you in this. You could never get him to move from that first stupid step – speaking loudly and laughing – into the second step, taking action, in order for him to actually get caught doing something.

He would never get caught wronging you if he never actually did anything wrong. And perhaps he had sniffed out your whole plan days ago and that was the thing he was entirely counting on. Perhaps, somehow, he had the upper hand.

But no, you weren't going to give up that easily.

You would just have to catch him off guard. You would have to catch him when he wasn't expecting it.

And unexpectedly, a fruitful bit of luck fell into your lap one afternoon. It seemed things were actually going your way. You were more than surprised when Fred Weasley and a group of his Gryffindor buddies came into the library to study. You knew some Gryffindors who frequented the library here and there, it wasn't entirely strange to see a Gryffindor caring as much about their studies as Ravenclaws did.

But Fred Weasley wasn't one of those Gryffindors.

Hearing his boisterously loud voice echoing down through the shelves, disrupting your peace as you tried to work on an essay, was just as irritating and shocking as it was pleasing. Pleasing to that tiny, nagging, hateful part of you that wanted so badly to get him in trouble. You just wanted the satisfaction of having him caught have him punished, whether that be by a teacher or having him socially ousted by his friends for once, rather than having everyone laugh along with him at his performances of stupidity.

You pushed aside the supplies for your essay and stood up from your chair, reaching underneath the modest outer grey sweater that covered up your white uniform button up blouse, grabbing at the band of your skirt. This was a longer one, with the hem comfortably touching your knees. A skirt that you had gotten more recently rather than one from years ago that you refused to give up that was maybe a bit too short on you.

You rolled the band over once, twice, tucking the fabric over itself and securing it in place, until this skirt was now much shorter, hovering around your mid thigh – not scandalously short, but enough to definitely catch his eye. You then smoothed down the material and made sure that your sweater was covering the now oddly bunching waistband before you moved down the stacks, moving toward the sound of Fred's voice. You were surprised that Madame Pince hadn't come over to scold him for being so loud yet, but of course – he was Fred Weasley, and he could get away with anything.

The fucking prick.

You tried to look natural as you walked up through the narrow passage jammed with books – of course, you didn't want it to look like you were rushing toward him. Because you weren't. You were just browsing through the books, and Fred was going to see you, be far too tempted, and then he was going to do something absolutely idiotic right in front of all of his friends. And he would get caught, and they would ridicule him. Everything would go according to plan.

You did genuinely get caught up looking at the differences between two copies of Classical Cures for Complex Maladies – one that seemed much older and one that seemed to be a newer reprint, fascinated by the much more worn version of the text, and you hadn't even realized how long you had been standing there. Not until you heard more loud, bursting laughter coming from the table that Fred and company must have been sitting at. You were startled out of your thoughts by their hyena-like qualities.

“Oh my god, you can't be serious? You would rather marry a ground toad than Snape?” One the Gryffindors at the table spoke up, someone whose voice you couldn't easily recognize, roaring with laughter after he spoke the words.

You rolled your eyes at this. Dumbly, their conversation had strayed to something so stupid and shallow. Of course they were spending their time discussing things like that.

“Of course.” Fred's distinctive voice answered. “And it would be a beautiful, long marriage. Well – for however long ground toads live for.”

“You could look it up. In a book.” You recognized the strained, annoyed voice of Angelina Johnson. “Freddie, we came here to study-”

“Yes, and I'm sure I'll get to it in a few minutes.” He quickly cut her off, brushing off her concerns. “Come on, come on, one more round.”

You had no clue how she had the patience to put up with being around someone like him all the time. You were tensely irritated, and you were standing six feet away.

“Alright,” George chimed in. “Snog, marry, hex – a dragon, Harry Potter, and... uh... Y/N L/N.”

There was another round of laughter from the table, and your whole body tensed up even more at the sound of your own name. You now found George to be a bit more detestable for bringing you into the stupid game. You hated how your stomach churned as you waited eagerly for the answers from a conversation that you weren't even supposed to be privy to.

“Well...” Fred said thoughtfully, and you could imagine him stroking his chin in that dumb, cartoonish way that he usually did when he pretended to think. “I'd say I have to marry Mr. Potter, because he's got gold, and I am not opposed to being a spoiled wife.”

“Really, Freddie?” Angelia replied, brightness and laughter lingering in her voice. “You? A spoiled housewife?”

“I think it would quite suite me.” Fred chuckled. “And ya know, we do share a lot of similar interests, so he is pretty decent to be around. And you know that Mum would be over the moon about it.”

Someone let you a snort of laughter at this comment, and you rolled your eyes.

“Ginny would kill you, though.” George replied.

“I... I did not take that into account.” Fred sighed. “I suppose I will have to elope.”

More laughter.

“And well, I would snog Y/N, because she's absolutely fit, but I think she would hex me if I did.” Fred concluded. “It's a bloody dangerous venture that I don't intend to embark on.”

Your insides stilled, filling with a mixture of disgust and... that horrible, bitter lust you had felt when Fred had grabbed your ass so harshly in front of everyone. The way he said the words, such intense passion bubbling in his voice, declaring so certainly that you were so 'fit', so gorgeous, that he found you attractive, but then immediately writing you off because he believed that you would never allow his affections, or because... he was afraid of you?

You didn't want him to snog you. And it was a stupid game.

You wanted to slam your head into the bookcase in front of you, just to shake away some of the stupid thoughts you were experiencing.

“So I'll have to snog the dragon, and hex Y/N.” Fred announced finally.

“What if you got your face burned off?” The other Gryffindor that you didn't know spoke up again.

“Can we focus, please? For once?” Angelina begged, and finally, the table went silent.

You wanted to march out there and yell at him. But you knew nothing good would come of it. You didn't even know what you would be yelling at him for. 'Hey, asshole, don't tell your friends in some stupid game that you don't want to kiss me.' Because you didn't want to kiss him. You didn't want him. You wanted to embarrass him. You wanted to have him caught. You wanted him to feel as low as he made you feel at times. He deserved it.

You were resigned to it, then. You were going to carry on with your plan, no matter what.

You grabbed several random books off the shelves, making a large stack in your arms, and after a moment of considering the logistics, you made a wide lap around the library, so you could casually pass by the table that Fred was sitting at with his friends. You would walk by him on the way back to your private study desk without making it seem like you were walking by him intentionally. You moved to walk by him, and in the most seemingly accidental, on purpose, un-graceful way that you could, you stumbled on your feet and spilled all the books across the floor beside the table that he was sitting at.

“Oh no!” You gasped, hoping that your acting wasn't grossly cheesy or too fake as you looked upon the mess you had made for a quick moment before you leaned down to start picking things up.

You got on your hands and knees, positioning yourself right in front of Fred, sloping your ass towards him, feeling your skirt riding up in the awkward position, knowing that soon, he would reach out and grab you. He would be stupid enough to take the bait. He would callously, boldly touch you like he had that day in class, and finally, everyone was there to see. As you stacked one book on top of another, you glanced over your shoulder at him and found his eyes searing into yours from his position at the table, a quill clenched tightly in hand. But he hadn't moved an inch.

Bloody bastard. He wasn't falling for it.

You whipped your head back around and grabbed another book, and then, a moment later:

“Need some help with those, darling?”

Internally, you flinched with disgust at the nickname, hating the way the false sweetness settled deep in your stomach. The distinct tone of condescending making you even more irritated with him.

“No, thank you.” You said the words confidently, but you couldn't beat him to grabbing the last of the books, stolen right out from under your touch.

When you grabbed the whole stack and stood up with the heft of it in your arms, he placed the last few on top, giving you a small, fake smile over top of the books.

“You should be more careful next time, sweetheart.” He told you, tossing out another horribly sickly sweet pet name, something dancing in his eyes that said he knew exactly what you were doing, but he wasn't going to fall for it.

“Oh, I will.” You easily agreed – it was those words of double meaning in your game. A battle of wills that you weren't prepared to give up on.

Next time, you were going to get him.

You stewed on it far too much as you put the books back and settled back into your study desk. His stupid smirk, the look in his eyes. He thought he was so damn clever. You hated every single damn inch of his stupid, awful face. You wanted to punch him, you wanted to make him cry, you wanted to see him groan in pain, you wanted to see him so weak and pathetic. You wanted him to admit that he was wrong.

For once in your life, you wanted to see Fred Weasley lose.

More than an hour later, you were still stewing with anger toward Fred. You had managed to write down a few more scribbled, distracted lines of your essay, and inevitably, it was something you would have to finish later that night in your dorm when you had finally calmed down.

You moved deep into the stacks, looking to gather all the reference books you would need for your homework that night before you finally left the library. You needed to go for a long, calming walk around the castle before locking yourself in your dorm that night to actually work on your homework. You would need to forcefully push Fred out of your mind so that you could do what Ravenclaws did best – clean, accurate academics.

But of course, Fred Weasley couldn't leave well enough alone.

You were trying to put him out of your mind, readying yourself to do so for the rest of the night, and as far as you were concerned, he was out of your mind. You had plenty of other things to worry about. Like the fact that one of the books you needed was just out of reach, and you were too tiredly stubborn to walk all the way back to the study desk where you had left your things just to get your wand in order to use a summoning spell in order to get it down with magic.

So as you reached high up, stretching to reach the book you needed, pressing hard on your aching toes, you were far too concentrated on your own problem, and you became shocked when a pale, freckled hand appeared in your line of sight, seemingly reaching for the same book, and a warm presence folded over your back, far too close for your liking. Fred's hot breath puffed over your back like an unwelcome humidity in the middle of a never-ending summer day as he reached up and snatched the book from you without a word.

You whipped around, quickly finding his neck and jaw far too close to you, crowding you, and as you moved to jump away, seeking some personal space, you were met with a harsh wall behind you. It was the tall wall of the bookshelf stopping you – your heart thumped hard inside your chest as you realized that you were caged in. Your legs turned to jelly as easily as if he had jinxed you, and you were forced to lean on the shelf for support, faint and fading like some frail maiden from a former century. It was pathetic, and you knew that you would have laughed if you had seen yourself from the outside.

He leaned in closer to you, just a bit, barely noticeable, but enough to be looming and intimidating in a way that made your heart beat harsher. He was still holding the book with one hand down by his hip, paying no mind to it as he stared you down with intense eyes, a million thoughts churning within his hazel irises.

“Fancy seeing you here, darling.” He said, greeting you as though it were some sort of casual date.

This annoyed you deeply, and caused everything in you to quickly shift from frail and swooning back to the burning anger that you usually felt around him.

“Give me that.” You snapped, reaching out for the book.

He whipped it back, chuckling under his breath, easily playing the game, clearly getting joy out of taunting you. He had the advantage in reach with his long arms and his height, holding it far away from you, and you didn't play into him, crossing your arms firmly over your chest, hating how numb your hands felt as you continued to glare at him with a stiff jaw.

“So snippy.” He scolded, clicking his tongue, shaking his head as though his opinion of you mattered at all. “And yet you were the one on your knees, showing off your perfect arse to me, on your knees in front of me, practically begging for my cock.”

A flash of heat zipped through you, and you hated it.

The filthy words so easily slipped off his tongue, and you would deny with every inch of your being that his smooth voice started a harsh burn between your legs. He was too cocky. You hated it. You hated him.

“It's the library. I was studying.” You tried to argue, hating the blip of a falter in your soft, betraying throat.

“Oh, is that what you're calling it?” He nipped back, that horrible smirk coming across his sharp teeth once again.

You wanted to smack him, and you gripped the sleeves of your sweater hard inside your crossed arms, purposefully holding your fists back. You knew that if you gave into the stupid impulse, it would only further satisfy him. He would be too damn smug, knowing that he had gotten such a rise out of you.

You were too distracted, attempting to control your own emotions, far too stuck in your own head, and you didn't notice the look in his eyes. The mischief. You barely had time to react when he started moving again. He reached out and shoved a hand under your sweater, grabbing at the thick bundle of rolled fabric still bunched at the top of your skirt. The proof that you had deliberately made your skirt shorter, trying to show off your ass in front of him.

“I didn't know you had to roll up your skirt to study.” He wheezed, his voice ripe with such heavy sarcasm that made you want to smack him once again.

You were quick to reach down and swat his hand away, causing a harsh smack of skin on skin through the quiet of the library as you looked at him with a sour expression.

“Shut up.” You hissed. “You have no idea what you're talking about.”

It wasn't clever, and it wasn't a denial. You hated that you had nothing better to say. You hated that he had cornered you, caught you, and stalled your brain.

“You think you're so clever.” He laughed, a hint of bitterness sneaking into his voice, finally showing a bit of real disdain for you in return. “You were trying to bait me-”

“Oh please.” You bit back, cutting him off, pointedly rolling your eyes. You were feeling far too caught, and you hoped that he couldn't see it on your face. “Bait you? Bait you into what, exactly?”

You were no good at playing dumb. You were so used to being the smartest person in the room that it absolutely did not suit you.

Fred bit his lip, staring at you with a cocky knowing in his eyes and your stomach churned horribly once again. The flood of lust was disagreeing with you like a batch of bad pumpkin juice. It simply wasn't settling right.

“You want me to grab your arse again.” He declared confidently.

You fought to keep your expression neutral, even painting on more annoyance and anger, hoping he wouldn't notice.

“No.” You easily lied, more anger streaking through your voice.

“You liked it.” He continued on, reeking horribly of that terrible, cocky confidence that always came off him. “The first time, in McGonagall's class, you liked it-”

“No.” You said, more firmness in your voice, trying to convince yourself it was the truth.

“Admit it, you liked the feeling of my hand sneaking up your skirt and grabbing a handful of your plump, pretty arse-” He grinned, and you had to cut him off before he strung together more perfect, awful words.

“No.” You ground harshly through your teeth. “I don't want your stupid, slimy hands on me, Weasley. Not now, not ever.”

You were shocked when he didn't open his mouth to speak again.

The fact that he remained silent almost terrified you more. He was dangerous when he switched from speaking to silently thinking, planning his next move.

Instead, his lips remained pressed together as he stared at you, his eyes two bright orbs full of mischief, utterly focused on you. His cheeks were round with a smile that he was struggling to contain, a look of pure, unbridled joy that only made you want to smack him yet again. He was having far too much fun with your denials, as though he somehow knew that deep down, you were having difficulty swallowing them yourself.

You were pressing your teeth together far harder than you knew would be advisable, a harsh strain humming through your entire skull, threatening a headache soon. But it felt better than the intense external pressure of the room, threatening to swallow you up. You knew that you should just run, but you feared that he would take it as a sign of weakness – you backing down from the conflict that you had been the one to start. Then he would win, and that was the last thing you wanted. You couldn't stand to give Fred Weasley another victory.

Idiotically, you felt words swelling up inside your throat before you could stop them.

“Listen, Weasley, whatever stupid, idiotic idea you have brewing inside your head, you better get rid of it – right now.”

You hated that he had dumbed you down so much that he had you using double synonyms in the same sentence. But hell, you felt the need to drive your point home rather than resorting to slapping him like a common angry neanderthal.

Again, he simply stared at you for a moment, his face still cheery and bright, causing an agonizing wait while your blood thumped hard through your neck, and then – he let out a laugh.

“Oh, darling, I can assure you, you have no idea what's going on inside my head.” He said this so proudly, more brightness and lust dancing behind his eyes in the most taunting way possible.

You knew this could only mean one thing: whatever he was thinking, it was far filthier than anything you could have dreamt up.

Obviously, he didn't just want to touch your ass, he didn't just want to snog you. He was thinking far ahead, crossing so many lines in his stupid mind – he wanted to fuck you. Perhaps he was imagining pinning you against the stacks right there and shoving up your already shortened skirt to just take you, despite the fact that anybody could walk by and see the two of you.

Perhaps he was imagining shoving you down to your knees and forcing you to suck his cock, forcing you to swallow down any of your bitter words, quieting your protests that you didn't like him, that you didn't want it. He was thinking of finally proving that yes, you did want him, despite all your denials. Perhaps he was thinking of whipping off his Gryffindor tie and using it to tie your hands together so that he could...

He let out another chuckle, and you were immediately drawn out of your thoughts, back to reality.

He looked at you with a horribly victorious expression and you pressed your teeth together harshly once more. You couldn't bear to say it, but you both knew that he had won a small victory over you – he had successfully gotten your mind to wander to those terrible, filthy places. Even if he had started it, he had successfully dragged you down with him.

He glanced down and saw your thighs pressed together, quivering hard as the muscles clenched, something you struggled with unconsciously and hadn't even realized you were doing. You swallowed thickly, wanting desperately to shout at him that you thought he was foul, that you wanted him to leave, but you knew he would only laugh again. He found this whole thing entirely too amusing.

You were lost for words, and of course, he easily took advantage of that fact.

Fred put a hand on the shelf above your head, and while keeping his body very purposefully poised away from yours, keeping a few dangerous, heated inches between the two of you, he leaned his face incredibly close to your ear, letting his breath waft across your neck in a horribly irritating and intimate way. And then, he whispered something in a low voice that would come to haunt you for many nights when you were alone in the dark of your dormitory inside Ravenclaw Tower.

“You know, if you weren't such a brat and knew how to simply ask nicely, I might have fucked you by now.”

What?

While you were still reeling with shock, he moved to walk away, dropping the book he had been holding away from you onto the ground as he left, naturally adding one last ounce of humiliation in forcing you to pick it up after he was gone.

Once you finally left the library for the night, you took a long lap around the castle, trying to forget about what he had said before you went back to your dorm and finished up all your homework. You would deeply deny that your hand wandered beneath the sheets late that night when his words echoed through your mind once again.

You hated him so much. Fred Weasley, awful scheming bastard...

...

In the next few days, you easily found yourself driven insane by him. You still had classes with Fred, so you had to see him. It was deeply annoying and deeply against your will. And stupidly enough, even outside of class, you found yourself running into him when you never intended to. Even though you couldn't prove it, you knew that it was something he had planned. He was trying to get back at you. He was trying to bait you in return. Likely trying to bait you into another argument to try and get more upended emotional reactions out of you.

You would be on your way to a class that you didn't even share with him, and suddenly, you would find him and a large group of his friends sprawling around a corridor, blocking your path. And then he would start speaking to you casually, surprised, as though he had no idea you were supposed to be in this area of the very large castle at this time. He just happened to be right where you needed to be, right in your path, just then, just by coincidence.

You would be studying in the library and you would look up and see him looking at you – standing by one of the shelves, hovering, just staring at you. And of course, you weren't going to get up to speak to him. You weren't going to engage in his nonsense. Not after what happened last time. So after a while, he simply left. But he made sure that you had seen him and made eye contact each time before he did.

You would be sitting out on one of the many sprawling lawns outside of the castle, trying to enjoy some fresh air while you did your homework, and he would be on his way back from Quidditch practice, sweaty, covered in mud, walking along with the group of tired Gryffindors all looking the same. And even from a distance, he would lift his head and wink at you through his sweaty tufts of hair, as though he knew your eyes were focused on him from a far and not looking at the book in your lap.

Of course, you couldn't outright accuse him of stalking you, otherwise that would sound absolutely insane. You couldn't let him know that he was getting inside your head. You couldn't let him know that he was succeeding. (Even if you weren't entirely sure of what he was even trying to do.)

He was an awful prat, and if you let him know for a second that he was getting under your skin, then he would only use it as a tool to burrow his way further in. And you wanted Fred Weasley out of your life. You wanted him out of your head, and as far away from you as possible.

You were stewing over all this at dinner in The Great Hall, trying to come up with a solid way to get him to leave you alone, once and for all.

Once again, Fred was sitting with that large group of friends, laughing and talking eagerly, having some in-depth conversation about something that was, without a doubt, utterly idiotic. His twin was tossing peas into the air and Fred was sitting with a wide mouth, trying to catch them. Something that greatly amused everyone at the table, but grandly disgusted you. You were poking halfheartedly at your half-eaten roast potatoes, glaring at Fred and wondering how you were going to solve this problem.

You couldn't confront him directly, because that went horribly last time. And if you did, what would you even say?

'Hey asshole, stop being in the places that I have to be in. And stop looking at me. And you better stop thinking about me.'

He was also a student of Hogwarts, he had to be there, and that wasn't going to stop anytime soon. Hell, he didn't seem likely to pass his N.E.W.T.s in order to graduate, so he might have to be here for longer than you in life. But that wouldn't be your problem all too soon – you only had to worry about him right now. And he was bothering you deeply right now.

He was so obnoxious, and he chewed his food in such an utterly disgusting way. He was such a handsome face drowned out by such a loud, grotesque, overwhelming, stupid, cocky personality. You hated him. He annoyed you far too much. He sent your stress levels rocketing up to a place that was never healthy.

And when you least expected it, he looked up from a very involved conversation where he was flailing his hands, explaining some nonsense, and he locked eyes with you as though he had known the whole time that you had been staring at him, fixated on him as the problem he was. He winked at you with a grin, and then in a blink of a second, he went right back to the conversation, focusing back on his friends and not paying you another single bit of mind.

It had you fuming. He was messing with you. He was playing stupid, awful little mind games.

You weren't having it.

You shoved yourself up out of your seat, and the first thing on your mind was to march over to the Gryffindor table and pour an entire pitcher of pumpkin juice right over his head. But no – he would have loved that. He would have loved knowing that he had gotten to you. He would have loved his stupid, simple little wink to cause you to fly into an entire blown out public tantrum. He would have loved making you look like a crazy, overly dramatic dolt in front of everyone.

So you did the exact opposite of what he wanted – you turned around and marched right out of The Great Hall, abandoning your dinner altogether and abandoning Fred Weasley. If he was so determined to trip you up, you were going to avoid him. You weren't going to let him have the satisfaction of getting any reaction out of you.

It was going to be perfect.

Of course, it would have been perfect – if not for the fact that he was good at keeping up in these little games. He was a lot more used to playing than you were.

You only had a blink of a moment to feel satisfied with your quick thinking before you felt the presence at your back. And then, those large, hot hands were on your shoulders, flipping you around and shoving you into the nearest wall. It wasn't a harsh collision by any means, simply an abrupt one. A move startling enough to have your body going all stupidly jelly-fied once again. It was a declaration of his presence over your own, a stiff command that you stop, an annoyance that you had walked away from his attention rather than continuing to play.

You bit your lip sharply to keep yourself from smiling, loving how much you were getting to him now. The feeling only deepened when you saw the knit of frustration across his brows, having to forcefully crane your neck up across his obnoxiously tall frame to finally meet his eyes, even seeing some wonderfully tedious heat and anger stewing there. Perhaps this was the first time you had gotten a leg up over him. He would never admit it, but you both knew it. He craved a reaction out of you, and when you didn't give him one, it bothered him just as much as his mere existence bothered you.

“Leaving so soon, darling?” He huffed out, his usual smooth charm missing, slightly breathless, revealing just slightly to your trained ear that he was truly bothered. He had rushed out of his seat to follow you. He was overwhelmed. He had been shaken.

“Unlike you, Weasley, I actually have some studying to do.” You hissed in return. “Which I could get to if you stopped using the stupid tree branches that you call arms to block me.”

He had you fenced in on either side, blocking you tightly in against the stone wall of the corridor. You had your wand securely in the pocket of your Ravenclaw robe, and you both knew that if you really wanted to, you could just hex him and be on your way. But that wasn't part of the game. This was a battle of wills, a battle of wits, not a classic wizard's duel.

“Studying... studying...” He mumbled harshly under his breath, reaching up with one hand to rub his chin in a stupidly cartoonish way, pretending to think. “Is that what you call it when you touch yourself while you think about me? Is it some kind of little Ravenclaw code?”

You squeezed your fists tightly again, resisting the urge to slap him.

Once again, he had gotten you with his filthy words.

He bit his lip, not hiding the way his cheeks flexed into a smile when he saw the angered heat lighting up your eyes, knowing that he had brilliantly and easily flipped things to his advantage again. He had truly gotten you. Without you admitting it in any words, he had discovered it, hit the truth right on the head, and he loved that he could picture it so perfectly – the desperation of you biting your lip, trying to be so quiet as to not alert your dorm mates, your hand going wild under the sheets, your whole body writhing, unable to fully satisfy yourself because you were so needy for Fred's cock.

That lustful mischief streaked through his eyes again, and you hated the twist that went stiff from your gut right up through your throat. A sharp zap of electricity that caused goosebumps to form across your skin.

He leaned in close, putting all his weight on his hand that was still perched on the stone beside your head, his lips hovering so, so, so close to yours. You held your breath for a moment, thinking that he might try to kiss you, and wondering what you would do if he did.

You were surprised when he didn't close the final breath of a gap, and instead, his voice came to life against your lips in a whisper.

“You know, darling, it's almost cute... how obsessed you are with me.”

You were quick to react, all that melty lust flowing through you freezing into harsh anger within seconds.

“I am not obsessed with you!” You shouted, reaching up and smacking his chest, a harsh thud against the soft, thick wool of his school jumper, causing him to let out a bright, loud laugh and recoil away from the intense closeness. “I am absolutely not obsessed with you! You are just stupid, and foil, and obnoxious, and awful, and-”

Your words were sharply cut off with a gasp when he stepped close to you again, and in seconds, his hands were boldly up inside your skirt. The shock numbed your voice, and you could barely believe it when he moved to grip onto the waistband of your knickers like he owned them, so bold and confident. The intense heat of his body pressing against yours, your legs quivering – you had no clue why you didn't hit him again, why you didn't move to stop it.

“Oh, but you are obsessed with me, darling.”

He huffed the words tightly against your cheek, his voice dark and confident in a way that you had never heard before, any sense of brightness and joking long gone.

You hardly knew it was you before the whimper escaped your throat, terrible and uncontrollable. You swallowed sharply, trying to force the sound down after it had already reached the air, and he let out a horrible, mocking laugh in response.

“You're just a needy girl, aren't you?”

His hot, rough voice spewed the words at you, and you didn't even fully realize that between those words and the presence of his hands still so confidently under your skirt, you were quickly becoming drunk from the sensations. You hated him – how the hell was he making you feel this way?

He tugged sharply on your panties, forcing the material up between the lips of your cunt, causing a harsh gasp from you as the cotton rubbed right up against your clit. You reached down and grabbed has his hands, attempting weakly to bat away his touch. But your hands, and legs, and mind was far too foggy and numb, your spine and pussy somehow tingling with a blazen heat that you had never felt before, a rumbling fire that had started in seconds of him getting so close to you.

He only found it more amusing – you wiggling in his grasp, unconsciously humping your pussy toward him, desperately seeking out his touch where you needed it most while trying to shove him off you. It was oddly adorable in his eyes.

“See, you would let me fuck you right here, right in this corridor, right where anybody could see.” He growled out those two words, put so much heat into his voice right then, made those two simple syllables sound like the filthiest thing on earth.

“No-” You tried to argue, your voice all breath, trying to deny something that you both knew was the truth.

“No? You wouldn't let me shove my cock inside you right now?” He chuckled in return, loving the way you unconsciously clenched your thighs together at his reckless, rough, filthy words. “See, I know it. You would take it right here, right where the whole school can see how desperate you are for my cock. I bet you're so wet for me right now, aren't you, darling?”

The thing was, your pussy was so throbbing and hot, you couldn't even tell.

You were breathless, your tongue terribly dry, almost on the verge of hyperventilation, and you knew this whole thing was far too dangerous. He was making you stupid. He was knocking away every single possible weapon you had in this battle of wits, and you had to re-arm yourself. You had to get back on solid ground, now.

“Idiot-” You snapped at him, your voice sounding far weaker than you would have liked. You delivered another weak swat to his chest, causing him to let out another bright laugh. He was far too amused by your anger, and it only made you angrier, an odd combination that battled with the lust in your gut.

After some more flailing, he let you go, and you quickly squirmed out of his hold, eager to get away from him, to escape the way he made you feel. You took a few wide, stumbling steps until you were safely on the other side of the corridor, breathing in thick, cool breaths and trying to steady yourself. His laughter only got bolder and brighter, and you hated it oh so much. You whipped back around, prepared to yell at him, prepared to ask him what was so damn funny, but he cut you off with an idiotic, puzzling question first.

“Missing something, sweetheart?”

You raised a brow at him, and it took moment far too long, your brain foggy with that horrible lust, before you truly felt your body again. But then it clicked. That pinch of irritating cotton was no longer pulled taught between your pussy lips. In fact, it had disappeared altogether, leaving your arse and pussy completely bare underneath your skirt. The cool air coming off the stone only made you all the more aware of the throbbing, wet heat between your thighs, something you hated that he had evoked from you.

You continued to look puzzled and Fred smirked at you proudly when he noticed the way you unconsciously clenched your thighs together, seeking friction, or seeking coverage from the air, you weren't entirely sure.

“What-?” You gaped, hating how dumb and unsure you sounded. “What did you do?” You growled out quietly between your teeth.

Fred grinned at you, and then he pursed his lips as he began to whistle rhythmically, fully prepared to put on a show as he would have for his dumb friends. He lifted up his hands, presenting two empty palms to you. He twirled them both in a showy, comical fashion, and after a moment of agonizing showmanship, with your heart thumping heard against your chest the whole time, he dipped two long, painfully handsome fingers into the opposite sleeve, and – fucking hell... he began to pull out the simple white cotton fabric of your knickers. He pulled them taut between two hands, holding them up proudly like the flag of a land he had just conquered.

“Ta-da!” He said, giving another stupid grin.

“Give them back!” You demanded, diving toward him, knowing that it would likely be useless because he had height and strength as two advantages against you.

“Mine now!” He shouted, whiny and petulant like a child fighting to keep a toy he favoured.

Naturally, he was quick to draw them away and hold them above your head, an incredibly childish move that you couldn't think of a way around. Ruefully, a swarm of lust and embarrassment battled in your stomach as you imagined how this would look to someone else walking by – Fred holding your knickers high above your head, taunting you with them as you tried to conquer his tall frame in order to grab them back, your skirt possibly riding up in the back to show off the slightest bit of your bare ass, showing how well you had been bested by him as he laughed gleefully the whole time.

You heard footsteps against the stone, a sure sign of someone else coming along, and your breath stilled in your throat. You couldn't be caught like this.

“Fine. Keep them.” You hissed at him, and the last thing you saw was him stuffing the fabric into his pocket with joyful victory in his eyes as you whipped around and walked in the other direction, desperate to finally distance yourself.

You did receive a strange look from those stray students walking out of The Great Hall as you whipped by, and you thought you heard Fred mocking innocence with more dumb whistling as he walked back in to join his friends once again.

...

Stupidly, the more time you tried to avoid thinking about Fred, the more you ended up thinking about him. He started to consume your mind more and more, and unfortunately, as a Ravenclaw, when you fixated on a problem, you couldn't leave it alone until you solved it. You spent the next few days once again wrecked by thoughts of him, feeling his eyes on you from across the room.

You knew it was no mistake when he showed up to your next Transfiguration class together with the tiniest bit of white cotton sticking out of his pants pocket. It was something that nobody else would ever notice or consider suspicious, but your eyes locked onto it immediately, hyper-focusing on that terrible little detail.

When he felt you staring and he looked over his shoulder, he easily caught your eye, and then – he winked at you.

And of course, he noticed your bouncing knee and the fact that you were barely able to focus for the entirety of the class because of that stupid little bit of white cotton sticking out of his pocket. It was too damn satisfying for him.

You knew that you had to do something to get back at him, but you were puzzled as to what exactly that would be. Confronting him directly didn't seem to work, ignoring him didn't seem to work either. You had to do something more clever. You had to play this game on his level.

You were racking your brain about what to do, until Miriam, a Gryffindor girl in your year asked you to help her with some homework later that night, and she asked if it would be alright if you met her in the Gryffindor common room. You felt bad that a friend was asking you for a favour, and once again, you were stuck thinking about bloody Fred Weasley. But that stupid little devil was acting up in your head, thinking of a way that you were finally going to best him. So you easily agreed to it, promising yourself that you wouldn't let Fred compromise your study efforts – you would let him fall to the background, especially because that would perfectly align with your plan.

You already knew that he got so much more bothered when he was ignored.

...

When you showed up to the Gryffindor common room that night after dinner, you had changed out of your uniform and into some clothes that were nice, but not too suspiciously nice. You didn't want Fred to think that you had gone out of your way to dress up for him. You were wearing a pair of simple, clean trainers with cute, short socks that had lace around the ankles, along with a comfortable, oversized pullover jumper made out of a soft material that had some flowers embroidered all over it, and a short skirt that showed off a lot of your legs. The skirt didn't stand out too much as scandalous or showy with the generally casual nature of your outfit.

It was perfect.

The Gryffindor common room wasn't too crowded, especially because it was only a Thursday night – no excuses for staying up late, no wild parties. There was a dozen or so people lazing around, some odd lone people in quiet corners studying, and you easily found Miriam among them.

She was taking up one half of a cozy little couch with her books already spread out, and you gave her a quick hug before you sat down and began to take out your things. The two of you had agreed to work on some questions from the textbook that you had been assigned by Professor McGonagall, then work on studying some material for an upcoming Charms quiz, and then Miriam had asked you to read over a Potions essay that she had worked on the night before. It would be a full night, but nothing too overwhelming.

Fred was sitting across the room, perfectly in your eye line, cozied up on the rug, his stupidly gangly limbs sprawling across the floor. He was with his usual group of friends, playing a game of Exploding Snap between loud bits of loud, distracting conversation. As planned, you tried your best not to pay him any mind, even if you felt his eyes on you. You had work to do.

Which is exactly what you did. You discussed the homework with Miriam as you worked through it, working quietly and independently on some bits, and then discussing your answers. The two of you worked well for more than an hour or so while Fred continued to play loudly and talk with his friends across the room, and you resisted the urge to yell at him about how annoying he was being. You refused to pay him any mind. Not yet.

It was only when you were sitting quietly, reading through Miriam's Potions essay, that you felt his eyes glued to you once again. You could practically feel him begging for your attention – attention that his obnoxious loudness hadn't gotten him this time. That was when you decided to make your move. You decided to hit him with something that you knew would affect him more than yelling ever would, something more stunning than any hex you could have fired off.

With your eyes still focused on the parchment, still diligently reading through the words, you uncrossed your legs, trying to purposefully appear as though you were adjusting yourself to get more comfortable on the sofa. With Fred sitting on the rug the way he was, even with his massive height, he was perfectly in line to see up your skirt. Especially as you widened your thighs, stretching your legs for a moment before you crossed your leg over the opposite side once again, hiding yourself from view.

This gave him a perfect view of your completely naked cunt underneath your skirt.

It wasn't your fault that he had stolen your panties. Now, he was simply paying the price.

As you handed the essay back to Miriam and began discussing possible improvements with her, you saw a streak of bright red out of the corner of your eye. It wasn't the usual soft, Weasley ginger, but rather a bright, beating red that was most definitely Fred's intense, blushing face. A heat pumping through his cheeks that he couldn't deny. You didn't dare to look directly at him. You couldn't afford to give him a single crumb of the attention that he so desperately craved. Instead, you focused on discussing the work with your friend while he stewed in the consequences of his own thoughtless actions.

You told Miriam about some genuine, thoughtful edits she could make to her essay before handing it in (especially knowing that Snape was a stickler for details and good penmanship). So she was pleased as punch as she walked back upstairs with all her books in hand, ready to make those changes before going to bed. The occupancy of the common room was now trickling off as it got later, and you were staring to get a bit tired yourself. Naturally, you began to pack up your things, readying yourself to leave and head back to The Ravenclaw Tower, hoping that you wouldn't be caught and busted for being out past curfew along the way.

You felt a twist in your stomach when a heavy weight flopped down on the couch beside you, tall and careless as always. You didn't have to look up to know who it was, feeling the presence of a tight smirk and a pair of unholy, mischievous eyes burning against the side of your face.

You glanced over at the rug where Fred and his friends had been sitting, and it seemed that the group had broken off and gone to bed. Only George was left behind, cleaning up the remains of the Exploding Snap cards as he grinned to himself and shook his head, likely thinking about what an idiot Fred was for trying to approach you yet again.

“Good evening, darling.” Fred greeted you without you even looking up to acknowledge him.

“Goodnight.” You huffed out, tired and frustrated with him already. “I was just leaving.”

You grabbed your bag as you stuffed the last things in, getting up off the couch, still refusing to look at him. You were hoping to make a clean getaway, but of course, he couldn't make it so simple. He stepped cleanly in the middle of your path, somehow moving so quickly, finally forcing you to look up at him – making you once again faced with just how damn tall he was as he gave you a terrible, wicked grin.

“Really?” He mumbled out, his deep voice seeming to vibrate against your skin in the eerie quiet of the room. “Leaving so soon?”

“It's getting late.” You told him, attempting to be casual. “I have to get to bed.”

“Hmm.” He nodded. “Could I trouble you for something?”

No. No, no, no, no, no, bad idea-

“What?” You asked, feeding the tiniest bait to a big shark that easily smelled blood in the water now. “What do you want, Weasley?”

“I was wondering if I could get you to look over one of my essays.” He posed, sounding oddly sincere. “I don't want to trouble you, but you are quite brilliant, and I wanted a second pair of eyes on it.”

You could sense that something was off. There was some secret tripwire ready to dump muck on you, some dung bomb ready to explode. But you couldn't quite tell what it was, so stupidly... you played right into his hands.

“Fine.” You sighed, putting your bag back down onto the floor and sitting back down on the couch. “I'm not going to re-write it for you if it's terrible, though.”

“Sweet. Thanks.” He said, turning and rushing upstairs to grab the essay in question.

George walked by, giving you a knowing look.

“Good luck.” He said before he walked off.

A quick glance around the room then caused you to realize that with George's exit, everyone else who was once in the common room had disappeared off to bed, leaving you completely alone with Fred when he returned. You tried your hardest not to let this realization churn your stomach. Surprisingly, he came back with a thick wad of parchment in hand, one that appeared to be covered in his handwriting. So seemingly, he hadn't been lying. How delightfully strange.

He flopped back onto the couch again, flailing himself about carelessly, and handed the parchment over to you with an expression that you couldn't quite read. You thought that for once in his life, Fred had approached you with genuine intentions.

You were quickly proven wrong.

As you began to read through what he had written, you soon discovered the trick behind all of this.

'-with her legs pinned against my chest, I shoved my cock forward, forcing my way into her dripping-'

You let out a harsh huff through your nostrils, not daring to look over at Fred, feeling his gaze staring at you, knowing that he was waiting for a reaction. You could see that stupid smirk out of the corner of your eye, and you wouldn't dare to give him the satisfaction. You knew he wanted you to be shocked, for you to scream, to throw some outrageous fit. But you refused to play into his hands.

Your eyes flickered to the bottom of the page, skipping ahead quite a few paragraphs, wondering if it was all the same.

'-she cried out again, with those pretty, uncontrollable moans, finally opening her mouth and giving in to the pleasure that my cock was giving her. “Please, oh please, Freddie, I need you!” She cried out, desperate for more, needing me, needing my huge, magnificent cock.'

You inhaled slowly, resisting the urge to laugh. You purposefully set a deep frown across your brows, knowing that he was watching you. You hated that this tricked you into even thinking about his cock at all, knowing he had such a self inflated ego... wondering if this writing was over-hyped, wondering if his cock truly was huge and magnificent.

You flipped the page over, and dared to glance at another line.

'-I gripped her hair tighter, pulling her closer and shoving her face down onto my cock. “Yes, take it, take it like a good little whore.”-'

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, finding the phrase to be utterly ridiculous upon first examination. But something deeper in you was utterly melted by those words. Words you had never before considered sexy, were now causing a harsh stinging between your legs.

“So?” Fred prompted from where he sat beside you, now finally attention starved enough that he had to go fishing for a reaction from you. “What do you think?”

“I think it's rubbish.” You told him, keeping your voice dead and dull as you shoved the parchment roughly toward his chest, rushing to pick up your bag once again, trying to flee the common room before he could root around for the truth.

“Really? I thought it was quite good.” His voice was still light and eager, and you let out a sigh.

Fred got up, eager to follow you, tossing the papers carelessly on the couch behind him.

You were so deeply frustrated, and that feeling weighed you down like an anchor, keeping you from running out into the corridor. For some reason, you couldn't leave until you resolved your anger toward him – until you slapped him, until you saw him crumble. Some stupid thing in you froze, spinning around to glare at him.

He gave another smirk, knowing that he had successfully captured your attention, feeling the glory of that victory bathe him like beautiful warm sunlight. You were endlessly aggravated with him, glaring at him with a tense jaw as he stood in the middle of the room and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He looked rudely good, standing there tall and broad, wearing a simple tee shirt, the low light of a dying fire in the hearth of the fireplace crackling against his pale skin and ginger hair, highlighting every single hard plane of his tall, muscular body.

You swallowed down every single terrible, rude thing you wanted to say, once again waited for him to be attention starved enough in order for him to speak first.

“Given, I'm not the academically inclined type like you are.” He added on, trying to carry on the halfhearted 'conversation' from earlier. “That is why I showed it to you.”

You both knew why he had shown it to you. But you weren't going to play into what he wanted so easily. If you said that he showed it to you hoping to evoke a reaction, then he would deny that it was even about you at all. Even if he had spoken about your body in detail, he had intentionally avoided the use of your name.

“You misspelled mattress.” You told him, something stupid you had caught in passing that you could hold over his head. You were bitter, and you were smarter than him.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Leaving it you, darling, to ruin a perfectly good fantasy with a spelling lesson.”

“Perfectly good fantasy-?”

You froze up, cutting yourself off, hating Fred's words and idiotically parroting them back.

You weren't even sure if it was because he called a fantasy, something unreal, something else that could be played off as a joke, or if it was because it called it 'perfectly good'. Not when you could think of more than a few ways it could be improved upon. But you would never admit that aloud.

“You're a stupid, awful pervert.” You hissed at him, posturing, making your shoulders stiff and your voice mean.

Ultimately, you were trying to protect yourself. You were trying to protect that weak little part of yourself that still feared he would laugh at you, shove you away, and call you stupid when you finally admitted your desire. You were protecting yourself when the thing you truly wanted was too dangerous to speak aloud.

He scoffed, glaring at you. “And you're a bloody tease.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” You replied, your voice dull and unconvincing, even to your own ears.

You insisted on playing dumb again, something you were never good at, and Fred shook his head harshly as he let out a stiff breath, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply in his throat with frustration in a way that you found far too attractive.

Your heart thudded hard against your chest when he took a step toward you, reminding you of his towering height, his shoulders looking broader and more intimidating when he wasn't wearing his thick, bellowing school robes. With your intelligence, you weren't used to feeling so powerless, and you found it (oddly enough) to be a bitter thrill.

“We both know what you're doing, sweetheart. Don't play dumb, it doesn't suit a pretty Ravenclaw like you.” He insisted. “You're no dumb slut, are you?”

You scoffed in shock, finding the words offensive as your pussy gave another nagging throb. You found your mouth too terribly dry to reply. You stood there with a terrible gape between your lips, your brows dipped together, as he continued.

“You came here tonight, wearing one of the shortest skirts I've ever seen, no underwear, your cunt bared to the world-”

Those filthy words also lit a fire in you, but suddenly, you found your voice once again.

“To the world?” You echoed back, aghast at this horrible exaggeration. “It's not my fault that you stole my knickers.”

Fred let out another harsh huff, his tongue dipping out to lick his lips as he shook his head once again. Again, him forcibly holding back his anger was terribly attractive.

“Oh yes, of course!” He bit back sarcastically. “The only pair of undies in the entire world! I must have forgotten about that part.”

“Consequences of your own actions.” You hissed back at him, resisting the urge to reach out and shove him, knowing that if you laid your hands on him, you might not be able to stop. “Besides, you're the perv who was looking up my skirt in the first place. It's none of your business what's underneath it. Or what's not.”

Fred smirked.

You had a terrible feeling that a joke was coming and you were missing the punchline.

“Consequences. You know, I like that word.”

He leaned in close, then, and you found yourself holding your breath. He reached out, no hesitation, and grabbed the back of your hair tightly, taking a stinging, possessive hold on you by the roots. This had you shuddering in shock, dropping your bag near your feet carelessly as you leaned into the touch, trying to close the gap between yourself and his fist so there was less yanking but also secretly loving the feeling.

“I think you could learn a thing or two about consequences, darling.”

“Fred-” You gasped out, barely able to speak past the stinging thrill that lit up your body from your scalp. A consuming feeling that went all the way down your spine to your cunt, now positively throbbing between your legs, awoken and needy.

“Hush, now.” He spoke out, so casual and calm, making you entirely unquestioning of his next move.

Somehow, your body was so pliant to his whims as he used the grip on your hair like a dog-lead, bringing you back over to the couch and wrestling you down onto it, crushing the parchment with his filthy story under your knee and easily forgetting it there. He shoved your face into one of the fluffy throw pillows, pressing down for good measure before he finally released your hair, and then, he climbed on top of you from behind.

You swallowed down a moan as he settled over your thighs, forcefully pinning you down with his weight, something that felt so utterly perfect and delicious, yet so wrong at the time time. His weight felt impossibly large anchored onto your hips, and you immediately felt the press of a bulge against your ass, through your clothing and his, something else that sent a spark through you. That bulge was as large as he had described it, and that made you pissed off and excited at the same time.

Your muscles were melting and your whole body was pulsing with the thrill, waiting to see what would come next... you were quickly falling victim to the lust that he had constantly accused you of having. There was still that tiny, nagging part of you that felt the need to fight back. Something in the back of your mind that said you couldn't let him win so easily. Something that felt the need to deny the truth right up until the last possible moment, lest you be mocked by him.

You wrenched your head up out of the pillow, needing to be heard, feeling hot lust pumping through you, yet, you were still fighting it, still trashing him and everything he made you feel with the words flowing out of your mouth.

“Get off me, you dumb perv!” You hollered at him, not nearly hard enough punch from your breathless lungs, causing him to let out a taunting laugh above you. Somehow, that sound only served to turn you on more.

“If I'm a perv, then you're a stalker, sweetheart.” He leaned down, humming the words against the back of your neck, laying a few stray kisses there in a way that send tingles through your whole body.

At the same time, his hands pushed up the back of your jumper, exposing your burning skin to the cool air of the room, making the most teasing, shiver-inducing patterns with his fingers just barely brushing across your skin. You hated that your body involuntarily responded, arching into the touches, visibly seeking more before you could control it.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” He stated firmly, still swirling his rough, calloused fingers across your skin in a way that was almost exploratory, putting his hands all over you like he already owned you, as if he somehow already knew the answer.

Your tongue felt impossibly fat inside your mouth. Somehow, this was the one thing you couldn't bring yourself to say. You could muster every insult in the world against Fred Weasley, but you couldn't say that one negative word to him... you wouldn't dare tell him to stop. The crying hot need between your thighs was just too much, and you feared that you just might fall apart if he stopped touching you then.

“Tell me that you don't like this.” He continued, his voice soft but somehow so confident, like he was reading from a script, like all the answers were written on the skin of your back and he was discovering them as he lifted up your jumper more.

He used two deft, quick fingers to flick open the clasp of your bra and you couldn't contain a whimper at the sudden move, such a contrast to all his over agonizingly slow movements, daring you to believe that he might finally do something – but no. He just continued brushing his touch across your bare skin in tedious, stupidly slow movements, not even bothering to reach for your now available breasts. He was very purposefully taunting you.

“Tell me that you're not aching to be touched.”

The rumbling of his deep voice against your skin felt too good. The heat of his body against yours felt too good. The weight of him pressing down on top of you felt too good.

He was so horrible and perfect at the same time.

“Tell me that you don't want my cock, darling.”

Those words lit up fireworks inside you, and you wheezed out a hot breath before you finally found words.

“Shut up, Weasley.” You huffed, your tone oddly whiny even to your own ears, and Fred let out another annoying laugh.

He scooted further down your thighs, you swallow down sounds of protest as you silently feared that he was backing away and leaving you alone completely because you hadn't complied with what he wanted you to say.

But once again, he shocked you with his sudden movements – he reached forward, ripping up your skirt, shoving it as far as he could up around your waist, seemingly offended by the item now. This left you completely bare to the warm air of the room and feeling as though you were completely naked, still mostly covered with your ass now completely exposed to him, your pussy weeping between your thighs, your pleasure fully visible to him now, no room for doubt about your feelings.

You could feel his eyes on that space between your thighs. He didn't say anything about it, but you could feel his cocky victory polluting the room like poisonous gas coming off a poorly brewed potion. You rushed to close your legs, rushing to hide from him, and he was quick to clamp his hands down onto your skin, tearing your thighs wide open so that he could see.

“Not so fast, love.” He growled out, the growling lust in his voice such a terrible turn-on. “You think you can hide from me?”

“Shut up.” You hissed out again, still dull and breathless.

Feeling so exposed sent another thrill through you, and you knew you were getting visibly wetter and clenching around nothing.

He didn't hesitate or warn you before he delivered three harsh smacks across your ass, quickly painting the skin with a layer of stinging pain that sent more jolts between your thighs and caused you to squirm frantically below him. You couldn't control the moans you let out, shoving your face back into the pillow, hoping he wouldn't recognize your sounds of needy pleasure.

He could not know that you liked this. He would hold it over your head forever if he did.

“The arse that started it all.” He sighed, an odd edge of nostalgia to his voice, seemingly speaking to himself. He grabbed your ass cheeks in both hands and groped them with tight, firm, possessive hands, causing you to arch up into his touch. “Do you have any idea how long I've been obsessed with this perfect, round arse, darling? Watching you waltz around in your pretty skirts, watching you bend over to pick things up when you think no one is watching. And I've been watching you for a lot longer than you knew it.”

You heard the distinct sound of a zipper, and your cunt tingled harshly, zapping with need, unconsciously clenching, waiting to be filled. You squirmed underneath him, trying to part your legs wide, wanting to invite him in between, and he used his thigh to force your leg back into place, snapping your knees shut with a jolt. It was a silent signal that he was in charge, and you wouldn't move without him ordering you to. Another thing that sent a twist through your gut and had you swallowing another moan.

“You know, for a Ravenclaw, you can actually be pretty stupid.” He whispered in your ear, shoving his fingers into your hair once again to take a tight hold, extending your neck just until it ached to force your ear closer to his mouth at his own leisure. “You think I only started watching you because you rolled up your skirt around me? Because you started dropping things in front of me like some dumb whore?”

You let out a sharp breath through your nostrils, the realization hitting you like a truck. He had known the whole time.

Had you thought that he had only started watching you because you engaged him first?

Maybe.

Probably.

But you could never let him know that you were wrong.

“Shut up, Weasley.” You sighed, your sandpaper tongue making the words come out dull and lifeless.

Fred chuckled again.

“I would tell you to shut up, sweetheart, but even when you talk nonsense, I like the way you sound.”

Like most things in life, you thought for certain that you knew the way this would go. You thought Fred would be like most men – take his cock out and stick it into the nearest, willing pussy and then pump until he was satisfied. You didn't think it would take much to get you there at this point, with you being so dangerously turned on, so you didn't even fully care if he actively tried to make you cum or not.

But once again, Fred Weasley surprised you, and left you feeling dumber than ever.

He descended your body in a quick second and grabbed a hold of your ass with two hands again, digging his fingers in, surely leaving marks on top of the ones from where he had swatted at your flesh. He moaned to himself as he kneaded the flesh and stared at you, enjoying the view for a moment.

But then, in a blink, he lowered himself down and you felt something warm and wet pushing against the rim of your ass, feeling his breath against you in hot puffs in a place that you would have never expected. You let out a squeal, partially shocked, twinging with embarrassment, and partially rocked by the pleasure shooting through you.

It was a strange kind of pleasure that you had never felt before, something you had never even considered, and with all the knowledge you had, this left you flailing and wondering how the hell you had never known you could feel like this. He easily had you gasping for breath as your whole body warmed over, arching away from the strange new feeling while loving it at the same time. He forcefully held you down, harshly digging his fingers into the globes of your ass in an attempt to keep you still, working his tongue across your untouched tight hole with a determined fury.

“Oh!”

You struggled to get any words out, moans and breaths choking off in your throat, your lungs just as confused as your mind when processing this brand new feeling. You were unable to squirm away from his firm hold, forced to face the overwhelming new pleasure. He moaned against you, seemingly enjoying himself, sending vibrations through your whole body, making it all the more overwhelming.

When your brain was good and melted, when you had just barely started to comprehend the feeling, he snuck a hand between your legs, forcing his fingers between your quivering thighs at the front between your body and the couch. You wanted to cheer out gratefully, trying once again to lean into the touch, trying to gain more pleasure, enough to finally cum. But all he did was brush two fingers against your swollen clit, waiting for the wail that came out of your mouth, watching the way your body seized with pleasure – as though he was tuning some kind of instrument, testing.

“Oh, fuck!”

And then – he stopped.

He pulled away altogether, causing an embarrassingly wet sound to come from the separation of his lips and your now swollen, over-worked hole. Something that seemed even louder in the empty room where only a few cracks of embers in the fire could barely be heard over your sounds. It should have occurred to you that you were being too loud – that every whorish sound that came out of you was carrying right up the stairs and to the Gryffindor dorms, and the boys would have a field day teasing you after this. It should have occurred to you that this was so out in the open, that literally anyone could walk in and see you with your arse fully exposed, needy and practically begging for Fred's cock.

But Fred had your brain so damn melted that any logical thought slipped from your mind as quickly as it came. Any forethought of the future was not possible between your ears right now.

Fred delivered a few more smacks to your ass, causing you to moan out harshly again, the sound scraping against your throat bitterly now. The echoes of the stinging pain seemed to pang more harshly right between your cheeks, even though he wasn't touching you there anymore. You swore you felt his saliva dripping down through your ass crack, leaking down and mixing with the overwhelming wetness already dripping from your pussy, and that little embarrassing thought had more heat pumping through your cheeks.

“You do have a perfect, sweet arse.” Fred chuckled joyfully, seemingly speaking to himself again. “I always knew you would.”

He rose back up to hover perfectly over your back, a heavy presence of muscle and heat that only made everything between your thighs further cry out. Those nerve endings from your needy cunt now lighting up through to your swollen, spit-sloppy asshole, as though him touching you there for the first time had activated a sense of need there for the first time, had awoken a sense of pleasure there that you had never known before.

“I would say that I can't wait to taste your twat to see how it compares, but that's something you need to earn, darling. I can't very well go rewarding such awful behaviour with my head between your thighs, now can I?” His voice was so light and jovial, so casual when spewing such filth. Which somehow only turned you on more.

This did cause a pang somewhere deep in your stomach, lighting up something inside of you that you hadn't even fully realized was there. That academic achiever in you that loved to be praised for your intellect, the part of you that loved getting assignments back with high grades marked on them. You loved the thought that you could earn things from Fred, that he would be observing you and waiting to reward you and praise you, but at the same time, there was still that last bit of devil fighting within you, that last part of you that said you didn't need his approval.

“You – you would be so lucky.” You said, choking on a horse throat, your words sounding so utterly bitter. “You don't deserve what's between my thighs.”

“Aww, bless her.” Fred hummed, that condescending tone, seemingly talking over you rather than to you – it caused another pleasurably thrum through you that you didn't even truly realize the source of. “She still thinks this is about her.”

You heard the rustling of more clothing, and you could easily picture Fred behind you, struggling to shove his jeans further down in such an awkward position, not wanting to get off you in order to take off his pants completely. You resisted the urge to cheer, because – yes, finally, he was moving on to the main event. You were finally going to get some much needed friction on your aching, swollen cunt.

You let out another shocked gasp when you felt the thick, round head of his cock press forward – not between your thighs and toward the swollen, leaking lips of your pussy, not to the place where you needed him most. But instead, his cock pressed between your arse cheeks, which he was holding apart with one hand, making room for himself between the fatty globes. He used his cock to make strokes across your cleft through the river of spit, seemingly already lubed up with something more that you didn't even have the brain power to fully comprehend.

Your body seized, curious to rock toward the feeling and aching to get away from it, needing him more somewhere else, at war with yourself and quickly losing the ability to fight it. He dug his fingers in once again, shoving you down harder into the sofa, holding you in place with that strong hand firmly on the globe of your ass, while the other hand held onto the base of his cock as he hovered on his knees behind you.

“I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, darling.” Fred began, his tone still utterly condescending as he continued to stroke his cock along the cleft of your ass, not truly applying pressure, just teasing you.

“I saw right through you from the beginning.” He announced, knocking any final air out of your lungs. You should have known it, but hearing him say it well and truly defeated you. “And if you had wised up and simply asked me nicely, I would have fucked you properly. I would have treated you like a proper lady. I would have been so sweet with you – kissed you all over, ate your pretty cunt like a good meal, kissed you while making passionate love you.”

The remaining live part of your brain couldn't conceptualize Fred Weasley making love to anybody. He was rough, rowdy, and rude, and you couldn't imagine him doing anything but this – pinning a girl down and speaking filth to her while mocking her about her need for his cock. Maybe that's why you were so painfully attracted to him... because you knew it would always end like this. Because you knew he would give you something that no other man could.

“But since you had to pretend to be so smart and so mighty, since you had to pretend to be so smart, now it's like this.” He sighed. “You walk around, making everyone believe you're that big, bold Ravenclaw girl on her high, high horse, thinking she's so much smarter than everyone else... but now, you're gonna shut up and take my cock. You get to be treated like the dumb whore that you played for me, teasing me all along. I get exactly what I want, and you get nothing.”

He whispered the words harshly against your neck as he finally pushed forward, the unbelievable thickness of his cock breaching your tight, virgin asshole slowly but in an utterly unforgiving way, forcing you to feel every single bit of just how thick and swollen he was. The slow, smooth stretch only made your pussy sting with more sharp need.

“No!” You cried out, so utterly curious about the feeling, mostly protesting due to desperately wanting him somewhere else. “Weasley, you-!”

You were about to rant, filling your lungs for it, winding up to call him several names, but he stopped you in your tracks. He laid several more quick, heavy smacks across your ass, the sound so sharp in the room, causing more stinging pleasure through you. Then he drove his cock sharply into you another inch, his hips not yet touching your body, causing you to moan out loudly as you wondered just how much you were prepared to take, wondering how much more there was, wondering if his self inflated story had been grossly exaggerated or not.

With him behind you the whole time, you hadn't gotten a good look, and feeling his cock without seeing it only made it seem so much bigger.

“Consequences of your own actions.” He growled, pushing more into you, stretching you to the point where it began to sting.

“But – but – but – ah!”

He delivered another sharp smack, making your body mingle more with pleasure and pain.

“B-b-b-but!” He repeated in a whiny tone, mocking you. “Spoiler for you, darling-”

He huffed, finally sinking those last inches into you, causing your mouth to gape wide as you were finally filled – the feeling so brand new and shocking, your pussy still weeping with need and feeling so empty in contrast to the overwhelming fullness you felt from behind, feeling just how big he was, every single detail, every single vein. Along with the shocking red hot pleasure coming from your flesh from the spanks he had delivered, each jolt of pleasure mounting right where the two of you were joined.

Something so wrong and yet so perfect at the same time.

“I always get what I want. I always win.”

He growled the words lowly, something that would have pissed you off to no end just a few days ago now sparking even more pleasure through you.

You shook your head harshly, still in deep denial of this, your mind yet to acknowledge that he had won a victory over you. Even with his cock throbbing inside your asshole as your body ached to accommodate him, you still couldn't admit that he had won. Your pussy was making a sloppy mess between your thighs – wet, needy, and untouched, your body having no trouble keeping up with the situation at hand, catering to his whims so easily and still begging for more.

Fred was smiling against your neck as he let out a wonderful, wicked chuckle. And somehow, you were all the more turned on by his terrible, wicked attitude.

“But you love it, don't you darling?” He whispered. “You love it when I win.”

And then, he began to move.

It was only a few slow, teasing movements before he picked up a rhythm, seemingly testing you out like trying a new broom before he truly got used to it and could truly have his fun. Barely waiting for your body to adjust to him before he bent his knees, digging into the sofa cushions, and truly put his back into it, going wild. He started slamming his hips harshly into you, creating loud smacking sounds each time his hips collided harshly with your ass, creating more friction along the marks he had left there with his hands, driving home the filthy pleasure with little bits of pain.

It was a feeling you had never considered before, something you had never even dreamt of. So damn full, the overwhelming presence of his cock, but duller than being fucked in the front, like trying to scratch an itch that would never be satisfied, like feeling food stuck at the back of your throat. An echo of a truer pleasure that you knew and loved so well. Halfway there, but not perfect, constantly reminding you of the need singing from your poor, untouched cunt.

Fred was having a perfect time, though.

He let out another bright laugh as he weaved his fingers back into your hair, yanking your head up toward him once again, crowding in close to get a good look at your face as you breathed in harshly through your nostrils, desperately trying to process it all.

“Did – did you really think I wouldn't catch on to you, darling?” He said brightly, his breath hot and heavy across your cheek, causing you to flinch slightly, unintentionally tugging on the grip he had on your hair, sending more jolts of pleasure through you. You let out a loud moan in response, and you though you saw that cocky smirk in your peripheral vision. “Do you really think I'm that stupid? Or do you think that somehow you're so much smarter than everyone else?”

His words lit a fire in your belly yet again, and after swallowing thickly, you found your voice.

“You're the one that stuck in the wrong hole. You can't be that bright.” You huffed in return.

Fred grinned against your cheek.

“No, darling, I'm right where I wanna be.” He hissed, letting out a low groan of pleasure. “Cause while you're leaking all over my bullocks, I get to finish in here,” He thrust particularly hard, driving home his point, and your attempt to swallow down a moan caused a pathetic little whimper to escape, only making him smile wider. “Nice and perfect and warm. And you'll still need to cum. Thinkin' about my cock while my spunk is runnin' down your thighs. You won't be able to get me out of your head, love.”

You did despise his choice of words somewhat, the word 'spunk' making you cringe, but the imagery hit you so hard. You almost wished you had a camera -

No. No.

You wouldn't let yourself be turned on by something so filthy. Not even with the thick, round head of his cock bouncing around inside of you, hitting you in impossibly deep places. You couldn't let yourself stray so far.

“Shut up.” You cursed him, the words sounding far too much like a moan on your lips.

Fred let out another airy chuckle, his voice wavering, sounding so much like he was getting close to cumming. Something that was unfair while you were still so tight with need, your pussy thrumming and your whole body on fire, just as he had wanted.

All that need zapped to anxiety the second that you heard the distinct sound of a foot on the stairs. Your whole body froze, and you found yourself holding your breath, your lungs pulled horribly tight against your ribs as you gripped the couch cushions beneath you, unintentionally trapping Fred's cock in a tight vice as he stilled on top of you, also now suddenly aware of the presence of someone at the mouth of the room, just lingering there.

You were rocked with cruel humiliation when the person spoke.

“It's getting pretty late, isn't it, Freddie?”

It was George.

You tried to press yourself tightly into the couch, pancaking yourself impossibly, praying that if you couldn't see him, it meant that he couldn't see you. You hoped that none of your limbs or any traces of you were visible from around the large back of the couch, not from his position still lingering on the bottom of the stairs.

Fred huffed out an unsteady breath, obviously trying to remain casual, trying desperately not to give away the fact that he was currently inside you while his brother was standing just a few feet away.

“Yeah.” He replied, sounding curt and short, the most irritated you had ever heard him when talking to George, someone who usually made him happy, and you easily understood why. “Why do you care?”

Every single word vibrated through you, his voice feeling deeper as it rocked through his hard cock, so still inside you, persistently reminding you of just how empty your pussy was. You had to shove your face deeply into the throw pillow in front of you to stifle a moan, to silence the sound of your own overwhelmed, hot breaths.

“S'pose I don't, not really.” George replied, letting out a loud yawn. “I just came lookin' for my jumper. I think I left it down here. It's bloody cold tonight.”

You were too far gone to see this for what it truly was – George had intentionally planted his jumper in the common room before he left, wanting to use it as a built in excuse to come back, all too nosy to see how things would boil down between you and Fred.

But this didn't even occur to you, not even popping up as a thought when you were too consumed by dizziness and pleasure. You were far too distracted by the harsh muscles twitches in your own leg and the feeling of all Fred's body weight balancing on his cock, so heavy, so deep inside of you, focusing on trying to keep yourself silent, lest you be mocked by the entirety of Gryffindor house for the rest of the century.

“So take one of my mine.” Fred bit back, impatient and more irritated by the second.

You could have sworn you heard George laugh – a small, nasally breath. Fred's body jostled when he shook his head in annoyance, and the smallest, throaty whimper escaped you, causing him to put a hand on the back of your neck and shove you further into the pillow. He needed you silent and still – it was already torture trying to be silent himself while you were hanging off his cock.

“I thought you'd be in bed by now.” George chuckled quietly.

Again, something that passed over your head – George's coded admission that he thought Fred was going to crash and burn with you once again. He thought that you would be flying out of the Gryffindor common room fast enough to give Fred lots of time to get a long, restful night of sleep.

“So did I.” Fred grunted in return. “Can you leave now?”

George sighed.

“Goodnight, Freddie.”

Your entire system flooded with relief, though your muscles did not dare to relax yet.

“Tell Y/N I said 'hi'.”

Those words zapped through you, hitting you harsher than a jinx. Of course you couldn't have the true hope that George didn't actually know you were there. Was he just working based on assumptions or had he actually caught sight of your position? How much had he seen? It was swirling in your stomach as a terrible feeling, embarrassment and cruelty, and before you could even fully comprehend it, Fred's cock was pulling out of you again, onto to stab back into you in a sharp, unforgiving way that made you cry out.

“Glad we got rid of him.” He grunted against your neck.

“You're awful.” You whined. “You're so awful, terrible, the pair of you.”

Fred huffed, the sound choking off into a moan before laughter could form this time, his thrusts becoming sloppier and uncoordinated with each passing second.

“Perhaps.” He replied, his breath hot and messy against the back of your neck. “No better than you.”

You hated that you couldn't fully deny it. Fred Weasley had caused you to sink to his level.

But even then, any stinging annoyance or hatred that threatened up inside of you was easily drowned out by lust, all you could really feel towards him now. It was a bell easily rung by his heated grunting behind you, by the thickness of his cock pumping into your ass in demanding strokes, by the hum of your pussy between your thighs still begging to be touched. With each harsh slam of his heavy balls against your skin, making you more and more perfectly sore, with each sharp grope of his fingers against your skin, with the stinging pleasurable pain flowing through you – you were coming to know as an iron-clad fact how much you couldn't truly hate this.

You were teetering on the edge of realizing that you didn't hate him, didn't hate being around him if he was the source of this intoxicating feeling. But you weren't quite there yet. Not all the way to that epic realization that would ultimately ruin your life, more than hating him ever did.

His strokes became faster, more shallow, more abrupt, his hips slamming tightly against your ass every second as he hummed moans against your neck, clearly chasing his own pleasure with no regard for the clear evidence of your need dripping between your thighs, or perhaps enjoying his own pleasure more in spite of it, loving using you for himself while denying you what you needed most. He was enjoying being selfish, simply enjoying the feeling of your tight, warm body hugging his cock without a single care for anything else.

You would never admit it, but the feeling of being used so carelessly only added to the fire in your stomach in an utterly dangerous way.

“Gonna dirty you up.” He grunted, his thrusts growing even faster and more desperate, causing another rush of heat through you. “Pretty girl, so proper. Gonna make you so fuckin' filthy.”

He delivered on his promise with a harsh grunt, the sudden wave of wetness and heat deep inside of you feeling so strange. Only growing more and more wet as he as he slammed his hips deep into you one last time, making you feel just as filthy as he had promised. It made the fullness of his cock feel even more smothering, even heavier, and you gasped for breath, almost feeling as though you were choking on it.

When he pulled out all too abruptly, leaving you gaping around nothing but emptiness, the breath didn't return your lungs even then. The feeling of that warm cum starting to leak out of you was such a dirty shock that somehow it turned you on even more.

He sighed brightly, a sound so entirely satisfied, and you felt the tiniest bit of annoyance toward him bubble up again. You then felt his hands digging into the tender flesh of your arse cheeks once again, spreading you open. Somehow, among everything that had happened that night, feeling his eyes on your clenching, gaping hole while his cum leaked out of you was the most invasive, filthy thing yet. You reached back around to smack his arm, trying to get his gaze off you, and he only laughed.

When another needy pang rang through your cunt, you were met with the first good idea you had been blessed with in a while.

You used tired, numb fingers to grab his wrist, lifting your body as much as you could to force his hand between your pelvis and the couch, forcing his hand between your thighs now. Even just the incidental graze of his fingers along your clit from this movement had your whole body jolting, so sensitive and overwhelmed already.

“It's my turn now.” You huffed at him. “That's only fair.”

He let out another horrible, deep, mocking laugh – one that vibrated right to your core in the worst way. His fingers skimmed across your swollen, throbbing clit yet again, an entirely teasing motion that had your entire body buzzing.

“Fair, huh?” He rumbled into your ear. “Darling, I don't think you want to hear about my idea of 'fair'.”

You let out a bitter whine when he drew his hand away from where you needed it most, frustration now pumping through you. In a blink, he put his hands on both your shoulders and flipped your limp body over, finally forcing you to face him. His skin was flushed and coated in a layer of sweat, and his hair was messy, his eyes absolutely wild. He was like you had never seen him before, and you knew that you would always remember him like this.

“If you wanted me to touch that pretty cunt of yours, you should have asked nicely instead of being so damn rude.” He told you firmly. “All the puffing and all the denial will get you nowhere.”

You looked at him sourly. Obviously, you wanted to resort back to rudeness, so you held your tongue.

There was a moment, a heavy moment where neither of you spoke.

He simply stared you down, as though waiting to see if you were even capable of complying with this request.

The silence allowed you to feel your body more, feeling the aching soreness of your asshole and his cum slowly leaking out of you, feeling the harsh throbbing need of your pussy. And somehow... you caved.

“Please?”

You finally found your voice, the word sounding so unsure on your lips, almost dumbly sarcastic – it was something that easily made Fred roll his eyes, and you knew that you hadn't done it correctly.

“Please,” You repeated, trying your hardest to sound more sincere. “Please, please touch me.”

Each attempt ripened with more warmth, and you hated it when you saw Fred's stupid, awful, cocky smirk widening across his lips.

He knew that he had won.

But still, with the twinging need between your thighs, so swollen with blood and desperate to cum that it was almost painful, you were prepared to let him have this.

You would get something in return this time, even if it wasn't the downfall you had wanted to see to desperately upon him.

You nearly cheered when he gripped your hips and descended down your body once again, a harsh whimper radiating through your throat when you felt his breath fanning out against your swollen, glossy wet clit. He leaned in, making you ache with anticipation, and with perfect pursed lips... he laid a single, gentle kiss against your clit. You held your breath, waiting for more, but he made no other moves to attempt to satisfy you or pleasure you before he came back up to smirk at you with his now wet lips. He was devious, basking in his perfect victory.

You let out a ragged, horrible whine, glaring at him indignantly, lost for words.

He leaned down, leaning in tightly to whisper in your ear like he had that fated day in the library.

“If you want to cum, darling, you have to be a good girl.”

He then moved to lay a single, somehow chaste kiss on your forehead. He was refusing to even perform the dignity of kissing you on the mouth after everything else that had happened between the two of you. He then got up off the couch entirely, leaving you tired, throbbing with need, and confused as he tucked his cock back in and did up his pants.

“I – but – you – and-”

You hated stupidly stuttering, but you truly weren't even sure what to say.

“You should probably get going. It's a long walk back to Ravenclaw Tower. And I imagine you'll be walking a bit slower this time 'round.”

He gave you a filthy wink before he walked up the stairs, and you were left stunned, sitting in silence by yourself. Your whole body was terribly stiff now, but eventually, after a moment too long, you forced yourself to get up and move.

You had to perform a cleansing charm on yourself when you felt his cum dripping down your thighs. Even if you didn't run into anyone else at this hour, which, you prayed not to, just the thought of it being so visible with your short skirt was enough to have you recoiling in embarrassment and shock. You felt another twinge of embarrassment as you fumbled to redo your bra behind your back without taking off your jumper.

As you picked up your belongings, you found the crushed, slightly torn remains of Fred's stupid erotic story wedged between the couch cushions, and you shoved it into your bag – the only thing possibly more embarrassing than being caught with his cum on your legs would be if someone found and read and erotic story about you and Fred Weasley. (If that person put together the details and realized it was about you.) You needed to hide the evidence if Fred was going to be so careless with it.

You read through it in more depth as you soaked in the tub that night, obviously unable to sleep after what had happened, and as you read through many lines of your perfect body being 'all his', you realized that he had unintentionally given you the perfect weapon to fight back with.

The dumb bastard.

...

The next morning, you walked into The Great Hall, perfectly polished and made up, and you felt Fred's eyes on you in a moment, especially with the bit of soreness to your gait that would only truly be noticeable to his eye.

And rather than giving him a lick of attention, you moved toward the Slytherin table. You picked the first decent guy you could find, and sat down beside him. You made sure you were well within Fred's eyeline when you began squeezing his bicep and complimenting him on his Quidditch technique – something you knew nothing about, but you laughed brightly and nodded along as he told you some cocky story of an amazing play he had made.

This Slytherin boy had no clue that the real reason you were smiling was because you could feel Fred's eyes on the back of your head, burning up with intense jealousy.

This was going to be so much fun.

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, and this is the end, there will not be an immediate continuation or a 'Part 2'.

Even though I do have an idea in mind for a potential sequel, I will not be rushing to make a follow up anytime soon, and I do not appreciate when people rush to the comments of a oneshot (especially one that is longer like this) and immediately ask for 'Part 2?'. If you liked this and you would like to see a potential sequel someday, I could be encouraged along to make one if you come into my inbox and let me know how much you liked this fic and let me know that you would stick around for a sequel.

Otherwise, I would like the comments section of this fic to stick to discussion about this fic, its characters, and things that have happened here, rather than asking for more.

If you don't want to comment, reblogs are always appreciated because sharing my work always does make my day.

Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed reading, and I hope you have a great day!

Happy Reading,

Sunny ☀️

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